#It's easier for her to carry the children this way

[kamiraaah]

All I picture now is just Vovó Bucchi picking up baby Ruggie (or any random smol child around her) in her mouth when her arms are full.

"Vovó Bucchi taking care of the neighborhood children" lives rent free on my mind 🥺

[mantisgodsdomain]

Emerging briefly from our self-induced solitude (fucking busy and not on tumblr dot com because of it) to announce that we have decided Vi's birthday is August 22nd. This will be relevant for nothing, because our reasoning behind this is basically just a bunch of looking at what the astrology guys are doing and picking the fire sign date that is closest to the end of summer and beginning of autumn, but you can know about it now.

[writersdrug]

Price getting reader a step stool cause she keeps asking Bartender!Ghost to reach stuff for her. Simon obviously brakes it when no ones looking. 👀🤭

LOL

"Is this your way of insulting me?" You ask, holding the colorful, children's stepstool in your hands. You're grimacing at it, a look that has Price chuckling as he folds up the bag from the store.

"I figured you could use it - now ya don't have to wait for Simon to grab anything for you." He says, patting you on the shoulder.

"I don't mind the wait..." You mumble under your breath. The stool feels as decorative as a clowns nose as you tuck it under your arm and head towards the stairs. "I'm keeping it upstairs, I don't need customers laughing at me when I pull this out. Might take it home and spray paint it."

"Suit yourself." Price calls as you bound up the stairs. He heads over to the bar, where Simon is currently polishing the glasses you convinced him to order for the Halloween drink.

"Got a problem with me helpin' 'er?" Simon says, thick fingers rubbing the glass with a rag. He doesn't mean to sound defensive... but he can't help the bite in his tone.

Price smirks, picking up on the jealousy laced into Simon's words. "Thought you might like it. Makes your life easier, and 'ers." He pops open the register and starts filtering through the bills, replacing the larger value ones with smaller ones.

"You don't think I'm capable of runnin' a bar and helping you waitress at the same time?"

"No, but I think you'd be better off if you didn't have to run so much. She's brought in so much business as it is, your workload's gotten heavier."

Simon huffs. "Ya just want to separate us, hm? Want 'er all to yourself." He jokes, grabbing another glass and buffing it.

Price shrugs. "And if I am?" He says, giving him a side glance.

Ghost slows his ministrations, turning his head to his captain. They both stare at each other for a moment, Simon with his slightly angry, slightly questioning glare, and Price with his unwavering eyes. Simon wants to tell him to back down, that you're his - but he can't say that, because you aren't his. He wants you to be. But he doesn't know how to make it happen without letting his walls down.

Price chuckles, turning back to the register to continue swapping bills. "Y'know, if you want to say somethin' you'd best say it." He comments, snapping the drawer shut. "Missed opportunities often come from miscommunication."

He leaves Simon at the bar, heading towards the stairs with his money folder. You jog down the steps and nearly crash into him - he quickly grabs your shoulders and spins you out of the way before you can collide with him. You throw a "sorry!" over your shoulder as you carry an armful of various fruits, leaving Price chuckling as he ascends the stairs to the office.

"The oranges up there aren't looking too great." You chirp, dumping the fruit onto his workspace. A few lemons and limes roll onto the floor, and you bend down to chase them. Simon watches you, a bit miffed at how unaware you were of the situation. What do you think of Price? Do you like him? Would you flirt with him as much as you do with Simon?

You return with the escaped fruit. "I can run to Sevvy's store and grab some for tonight, if you want? The ones upstairs are looking a bit pruney."

"Are you actually gonna use that thing?"

"Huh?" You look at him with confusion written on your face. "What thing?"

"The stool." He looks down at you, his expression unreadable. "'S a bit demeaning, don'tcha think?"

You paused, watching him move the fruit to the side and grab a plastic cutting board. "I mean... he bought it, and I wouldn't have to bug you so much. If I spray paint it black or something, it won't look that ridiculous."

He nods. "Hm."

"I used it to grab the fruit."

"That's interestin'." He mumbles, slicing through an orange. You were right, they have seen better days.

He turns to pop open the register and hands you some bills. "Go get a few oranges, no more than ten. Order should be comin' in tomorrow."

You smile and take the money, stuffing it in your back pocket. With a few hours remaining before the restaurant opens, you go through the kitchen, grab your jacket, and head out the back.

Simon's back to chopping fruit and dumping it into a small bin, bitterly thinking over what Price had said. It's a stool. Price got it to help you and himself. It was a thoughtful purchase. But it's not just that. However unserious this is to Price, he's trying to rile Simon up. He's treating you like the last slice of cake in the tin - Price would like to have it, but he knows Simon's groveling for it. He's forcing Simon to ask for what he wants, and the bartender doesn't like that one bit. Normally, it wouldn't be something that irks him so easily - but this is you we're talking about. Not just anything. You. He wants to grab Price by the collar and throw him into next week with how he's trying to wedge between you and Simon - but he doesn't like having a weakness. He'll keep his cool for now. He'll make a move... eventually.

For now, the only aggressive side he'll present is passive.

Price leaves late that night, somewhere between two and three in the morning. He's beat, spending most of the night between helping you run food and drinks, and fifo-ing the pantry and overflow rooms. He's planning for a day off - of course, after he goes to the bank and comes back here to pay everyone. He's jealous of Simon, who's already upstairs for the night - he wishes he only had a short trip to the third floor before he could crash into his bed. Rather, he has to trek a hefty number of blocks home through the dark streets. He's more worried about going to bed at a decent hour than walking around at night with a bag full of money - people usually steer clear of him when they see his stature.

He locks the back door behind him, puffing out a foggy breath into the frigid air. It's only getting colder - he'll have to break out his gloves and scarf soon. The beanie won't be enough. He shoves one hand into his pocket, the other holding a small bag of trash from the office. He mentally ticks off what he needs to do this week as he grabs the garbage bins, dragging them behind him and towards the street for the trucks to empty in the morning. He pushes them against the store front, taking the lid off and dropping the light trash bag inside.

The loud thunk makes him do a double take. Did he throw away something important? He lifts the bag once again, and a disappointed expression falls upon his face. The colorful kiddie stool he bought for you is there, pieces snapped apart and shoved deep into the bin. Simon didn't even try to hide it underneath the other bags. It's almost like he left it there for Price to catch.

He sighs, dropping the bag and placing the lid back. He trudged down the sidewalk towards his home - he's not too upset by it. He had a feeling Ghost was sinking his teeth into you, and frankly, it's gotten to the point where Price is afraid of what the man might do if someone else tries to take you away. But damn, if his ex-lieutenant's going to make a move, he'd better make a fucking move. For your sake, if not his own.

He pulls his phone from his pocked and shoots Simon a quick, blunt message.

You're paying me back for that.

[fairene]

passenger princess / ln4

established relationship lando norris x fem!reader

no use of y/n, as always.

in which the weekend takes a twist, and all you want is a baby.

prompt⋯ hi! first of all, i absolutely ADORE your writing. i’ve been reading all of your stuff for the past few days!! second, i was scrolling on pinterest and i rediscovered the lando daddy bracelet pic. that combined with THE dutch gp pic made me be down even worse for him. with that i request a fic with an established reader x lando relationship. that’s set during the weekend of the 2024 dutch gp. where he wears the bracelet over the course of the weekend and it gets you(? or me? idk how to phrase that) really worked up, and after he wins they fuck while he’s still wearing it. and it’s like the most rough feral sex known to mankind. but at the end you want him to come in you and he’s like “oh you wanna make me a daddy”. like yes it is a slight breeding kink but it’s more of the idea of the bracelet and how he definitely knew what he was doing when he wore it (in the fic and irl too tbh). that’s the general idea but feel free to put your own spin on it!! i am incredibly down bad for him and that photo did something to me. ty 🤗🧡

a/n ⋯ yeah tbh i got no excuse for this one chat...like...how could i not resist a breeding kink...i know y'all want it too. but for real--- thank you anon for being patient. i had a lot of fun writing this in between doing work. writing is an escape for me. thank you to all for the continued support, and i'll be continuing to get through asks as time moves along. comment below to be added to my taglist, or comment in general! i love replying to all of them as much as i can.

warnings ⋯ SMUT 18+++!!! minors DNI!!!, language, choking, p in v sex (wrap before you tap!), fingering!(f)receiving, breeding kink, impregnation, teasing, possessiveness, jealousy, creampie, begging, mating press-- allat shit tbh. if i miss a warning, let me know.

wc ⋯ 8.5k (unedited.)

things had begun to be different between you and lando. you couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when the gears shifted, the stars aligned, though you only cared how good it made you feel with him. 

but he knew. he knew exactly when.

you’d been dating lando for two years now. it was two years of pure bliss— the exciting lifestyle that you’ve craved, the love and care, the passion that you shared with him was exquisitely yours. he is yours. and you are his.

that morning in the paddock he was speaking to max, chattering about the post collision from hungaroring. they seemed to make up in due time, finding it easier to call one another “brother’s” again, despite the damages done to their cars and the media in an uproar about their impish, punitive behaviors. you didn’t spare any glance towards the comments made about it, knowing that lando had been in a rough shape that weekend. 

you played with penelope, p, as they were talking, squatted on the ground with colored pens in your hand. kelly loomed behind, on her phone, thankful enough that you could occupy her for the time being. you had no issue entertaining her. you loved being around children…most of the time. 

“this one?” you held out the red pen for p, as she was pointing to with a bashful look. she was shy– especially around you, given your ethereal, wanderlust nature. you carried yourself in such an elegant way that could facilitate a ray of sunlight through the most tepid storms. 

she nodded and you handed it to her. she latched her smaller hand around it, coloring in the rb20 from her sketchbook. your hand fell beneath your chin as you watched her carefully color inside the lines, dreading falling out of it. you smiled as she did, the dress you wore crinkling fashionably around your thighs. 

p flashed the page at you nervously, awaiting her input. your eyes glowed, sparkles falling onto the page as you scanned it. she really did do a good job.

“beautiful, p!” you commented, your palm splaying over her upper back. “you’re really good at this, you know?”

a shade of red filled her cheeks, warming her skin. you hadn’t meant to embarrass her, nor make her nervous. 

“do you want to color one with me?” you asked her, pointing to the pages in the book. she hesitated for a moment, as if she didn’t hear you properly, but ended up nodding with the same excitement that she did when she’d see max on the podium. “you pick. something…pretty.”

the gears were turning in her head as she flipped through the pages, trying to find the perfect one for you and her to work on. you, on the other hand, were focused on how her brows scrunched together as she furiously searched through her booklet. it was cute the way she perceived things. she was a cutie. it made you think about your own future, what you wanted. 

what you wanted,

your eyes drifted from the carpeted floors inside the hospitality room, to the shoes that he wore, and up his black jeans to the papaya livery he sported for the day. you lingered on the expanse of his chest, the tan skin peaking through the v-neck of his unbuttoned collar. your mouth watered instinctively, thinking about how lucky you were to have a man like lando love you so deeply.

as you glanced further up towards his chin, the unshaved rigid surface that sparked electricity over your body, you found him already looking down at you. he wasn’t even paying attention to max at this point, already giving you all of his attention and you didn’t even need to ask. 

you gave him a smile, covering your lips afterward to stifle your giggle, and turned back to p once she tapped you that she’d found a picture for the two of you to color.

“mate?”

lando was lost in a daze staring at you. gawking at your figure, the dress you decided to wear. it was a denim colored sheath that you’d twin with alexandra with. she’d wear the gia dress in a pomegranate hue, whereas you took the navy. 

lando’s hand was cupped against his chin, rubbing over his stubble, keen on watching how you interacted with p. 

your relationship had progressed further than he’s ever gotten to before in his life. he was at a point where he knew he didn’t want anyone else, to explore someone else’s body the way he did yours. he knew you, inside and out, and he didn’t think another connection was even fathomable. 

you appeared to be so gentle with her, taking the time to listen to what she wanted you to do, how to color, maneuver the pens. there would be no outside the line coloring on her watch, that was for sure. 

he found himself smiling bright. 

do you want kids? 

he knew that he did. he always knew that. but he’d never broach the subject to you directly. your relationship with him was secure, but was it eligible to be taken to the next level? would you be frightened by his sudden urge to create a life with you? a product of him, and the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen?

“yeah? sorry.” lando looked back towards max. but it was too late, and max was looking over his shoulder towards you and p.

when he looked back towards lando, he threw his hands up in defense. max rolled his eyes. “don’t know why you haven’t proposed to her yet. what’re you waiting for?” 

lando bristled. he waited a moment to answer, wondering the same fucking thing. what was he waiting on? the perfect time, perhaps. summer break was rapidly approaching, and he certainly had a ring picked out. 

the papaya clad driver pulled out his phone and scrolled through his photos, settled on the right one, and handed it to max. the other driver took it, zooming in, not that he needed to. 

“when?”

lando shrugged. “summer break. greece, maybe.” 

max cheered, slapping his hand over his mouth in shock. “you’re serious, mate?” lando nodded. max pulled him in for a hug, slapping him over the back. he couldn’t be happier for his best friend in this moment, starting to jump up and down. lando settled him down and slid his phone back into his pocket. 

“keep it quiet. i want her to be surprised.” 

max made a motion of a lock and key. “surprised about what?” 

lando felt giddy.

you hadn’t been paying much attention to what lando nor max were chittering about. you’d been so hyper focused on coloring with p, that you were absent minded of the conversation behind you. 

p had picked out a cartoon illustration of max and lando smiling towards the viewer. you’d thought it was an adorable choice, and it showed that p was more aware than what she led on to be. she, of course, started coloring in max. with his neutrally blonde hair, redbull cap, she was fast working. 

but then she shoved the book towards you, politely anyways, and pointed at lando, who was yet to be colored in. 

“my turn?” she nodded her head, handing you the orange marker. 

you grinned, carefully coloring in the lines of the drawing before p took a deep breath. “are you and lando married?” 

the question had you freeze momentarily, taken back by her question. “no, p, we’re not.” 

you continued to color, whilst she continued to question. “why not?”

“because he hasn’t asked me.”

“why don’t you ask him?” 

“i’m not sure that’s what he wants.”

p raised a brow. she looked towards lando and max, giggling together like school girls, then back to you and your focused coloring.

she handed you a brown marker for lando’s curls. “i think you should.”

now it was your turn to be inquisitive, “really, now?”

she nodded her head without hesitating. “then you’d be my aunt!” she giggled. 

you colored in lando’s curls, carefully, diligently, thinking of how they felt beneath your fingertips. your breath hitched thinking about the thought of him proposing, wondering if he had ever even thought about it. you knew what your answer would be. it wouldn’t even take a beat of your heart to give him in answer, if he chose to ask. if he chose you. 

with one final stripe of a black marker, your drawing of lando had been finished. you stood up, and so did p. 

“are you going to have babies?”

“p!” you gasped, mouth dropping. “that’s none of your business, young lady.” 

she laughed, twirling around. “what? that’s what mama says happens when you love someone.” confident, wasn’t she? “do you love lando?”

“of course i do, p.”

she gasped.

“is there a baby in there right now?!” she seemed concerned, becoming so bold as to touch your stomach. it was a little higher than where your womb sat beneath your skin, but close enough. 

you shook your head. “no, honey. i am not having a baby right now.” 

she looked disappointed. taking her hand back, she crossed them over her chest. 

“penelope, what are you going on about?” kelly finally chimed in, rubbing p’s back with her hand. 

“nothing.” 

but it wasn’t nothing.

lando appeared behind you, a hand on your lower back. you leaned into him, recognizing his touch, and you got a brief wave of panic wondering if he heard your conversation with p. 

“p,” lando said over your shoulder. she looked up. “do you still have your bracelet making kit?” 

she nodded again, though you weren’t quite sure what he’d need it for. you guessed you’d find out eventually, because lando uttered, “it’s a secret, sorry baby.”

and he followed p to her small table, pulling out the kit from her backpack. she had taken lando’s hand to guide him, and you watched fondly. 

too fondly, you thought, and knew you were in deep shit.

the morning of the dutch grand prix had you biting at the corners of your fingernails with anticipation. the summer break you had spent with lando was more than you could imagine— filled with delicious foods, sunny weather, morning swims, and of course, the sex. with more free time that lando had, he was utterly obsessed with you. he worshiped the ground you walked on, and it made you feel like more than the queen you deserved to be. 

in the paddock you stood, shifting on your feet, anxiously fiddling with your purse once your fingernails sufficed. lily joined at your side, ethereal with her effortless beauty, and she nudged you with her elbow. “you look nervous,” she gave a short laugh.

you scoffed but joined in on her antics. “do i?” you certainly did. lily raised her brows to inquire further of your apparent distress. 

relenting, you couldn’t resist her. there was no reason to— you were both practically attached at the hip. ever since oscar had been signed to mclaren, the two of you were inseparable. the famous mclaren WAGs. 

your relationship with lando had been going on for two years now. sure, you’d had some rocky slopes to climb with the schedule of his career and the development of your own; that’s the thing about relationships though, isn’t it? that no matter what hill you’d have to climb, you’d find one another on the other side. the two of you wanted to make it work, so there was no obsolete universe in which you’d never find each other. 

“he needs this, lils.” you practically sighed, finally gaining the courage to look her in the eye. she looked at you with the same softness that a mother would, or a best friend that you could count on. 

“you know he’ll do well.” oh, don’t you know it. lando, whilst on vacation, never took a moment’s worth of rest. he wanted this just as much as you did for him, a second career win. it was all that you could think about the moment you stepped off the plane before him in zandvoort. it was going to happen. you had a feeling. 

and a good one at that. 

qualifying swept by in a flash. the saturday afternoon was a clean sweep for your boyfriend in the front row. you couldn’t be more proud of him. when he was finished with his interviews and taking his leave with his half removed fireguard, you launched at him.

flinging your arms around his neck, he gripped onto your waist and thighs like his life depended on it. it did. your nose found the sweat against the column of his neck, inhaling deeply. you melted into him.

lando felt the same. with his forehead burrowing into the hair on your scalp, he let out a deep breath that he’d been holding since he got out of the car. 

“missed my sweet girl,” he breathed, the sweat and perspiration heating the hairs on your head. you sighed softly, relaxing into him as he held you tighter. 

you broke away from him, setting yourself on the ground. you stood happily in front of him, rocking on your heels and playing with the hem of the black, sponser-ridden firesuit. 

“‘m so fucking proud, lan. pole? pole on the first race back?” you were in shellshock, overjoyed disbelief. 

he raised a hand to cup your face before he’d be whisked away. the bracelet on his wrist caught your eye, one that he must’ve put on once he stepped out of the car. the friendship letter bracelet read loudly to you, it letters all capitalized. 

‘daddy’

you gripped his hand, observing the ornament. you raised a brow. is this the bracelet he had made with p? 

lando let out a short laugh. “like it?” 

you flushed, staring down at the small, dainty thing. it had you shifting on your feet, ideas and fantasies running wild through your pillage of a mind. “maybe.” you hummed, stroking the beads with your index finger. 

“wore it for you.” 

the statement had you standing up straight. “really now?” lando nodded. 

and before he was whisked away, he whispered into your ear, “don’t get any ideas, baby. i know that look.” 

you were rendered speechless, and by the time you managed to open your mouth, he had already left through the door. 

the following day was race day. you were dressed flawlessly, curating perfection with your outfits to match the same prestige that lando had with his fans. also, you enjoyed feeling pretty. looking pretty, as lando would often say to you. he didn’t forget this morning either, arriving to the paddock with you in tow, hand wrapped tightly with yours.

as he took selfie after selfie, signed hat after hat, he didn’t forget to remind you, “you look beautiful,” that always brought a smile to your face, a blush fanning your cheeks. 

when the two of you made it inside of mclaren’s hospitality, you were greeted by both lily and oscar. you gave her a warming hug, and she returned it with the same affirmation. when you separated, she danced on her tip-toes. lando and oscar side stepped toward the tea and coffee station, chatting amongst themselves. 

“wow!” you were confused, raising a brow. “front row for him, hmm? told you, had nothing to worry about.” 

you rolled your eyes, still holding anxieties for the race. you were always concerned going into a weekend. no matter how many grand prix’s you’ve attended, seen lando come out safe and sound, you still picked at the skin of your fingertips. anxious habits die hard. 

lando’s managers came in alongside oscar’s beckoning both mclaren drivers to follow them to get ready for the race. lando found you instantly, his hands finding the handles on your hips, squeezing inward. you tensed at the action, wondering what had him on such edge. 

you spun, hands running from his chest up to his neck, his cheeks. you cupped his face in your hands, sheepishly smiling. 

“you’ll win this for me?”

he scoffed, “always.” 

you smiled harder—if that was possible— and connected your lips with his. he returned your kiss, diving deep into your mouth. he held you close by your lower back, as if this was the last time that he’d ever kiss you. he sought to deepen your kiss by the clacking of your teeth, his tongue incessantly searching the inside of your mouth. 

you separated yourself, still holding onto his cheeks. lando dipped his forehead against yours, seeking another kiss, but you pulled away. “go. they’re waiting for you.” 

“don’t care.” 

you flushed, allowing him one last peck before you patted his cheek. “seriously. go.” 

he chuckled to himself, kissing the top of your head, uttering a soft “i love you,” before being swept away. 

“i love you too.” you mouthed, returning your attention back to lily. she was in awe of how you and lando behaved, carving such a rugged, playful boy into a man of posture and mannerisms that were only reflected by your good nature. 

“what?”

“nothing…” she looked away.

“lily.” 

“you’ve got that man on a leash,” she broke into a fit of giggles. you looked back to where they were walking out. lando had been looking for you, then at you. he gave a wave, you returned it, then looked back at lily. 

“i prefer the term ‘free-roaming.’” 

the race was coming to an end with a single lap left. lando led the race with a twenty-two second lead, and your hands were clasped tightly together with your headset on. you listened carefully to his radio messages, sassy and revving, and had your eyes locked onto the screen in front of you. with lily by your side, the two of you were anxiously awaiting the end.

your face suddenly appeared on screen, displaying your glistening eyes, perfectly done makeup and hair. a chic smile grew on your cheeks. you turned towards the camera man and allotted a small wave. your name appeared under the screen, lando norris’ partner. 

god…

was there anything more prideful than that?

surely there was, but it didn’t matter to you. you were there to support your boyfriend, lando, your lando, and it was more than enough to see that you were recognized as that. 

the checkered flag appeared and lando was on the headline for crossing. you had to clutch your heart, hoping to grip it from the inside out to slow its beating, and it didn’t cease when his mcl38 zipped past the flag. 

there was an eruption of cheers throughout the garage and you were swarmed with love by the fellow mechanics and lily, too, who was happy for you to witness such a grand victory. a more than well earned victory. 

a second one in the books for him. you couldn’t have been happier. 

the podium gathering didn’t take long, and you managed to be at the front of the barricade, shoved forward by the team. you stood there, graceful and beautiful as he always saw you, and you were the loudest to clap and cheer as he walked out from the cool down room. 

“your winner, lando norris…!” and you couldn’t help the tears that fell down your cheeks, the camera picking up your emotional feedback on the big screen. his eyes caught to it from the bannister, stepping up onto the tallest podium, and found you right at the front. his heart melted, dripped a red hot flame that burned for you. to see you there for him, emotional above all, solidified his feelings. what he wanted in his future. 

you. you above anything else. you above racing, his career, his everything. he had nothing if you weren’t by his side. 

he took off his pirelli hat and let the national anthem play. the camera panned away from you then to zak brown. you swayed gently to the anthem, lost in your own world of loving him. you saw him through clear glasses, though he was always your rose. there was nothing more that you wanted in the future than to be with him. you and lando. 

after his attributed champagne pop, the crowd dissipated from the pit lane and you engaged in conversations with different women, friends, and coworkers of mclaren. you were jovial with your presence, engaged as much as you could be, though your thoughts kept tracing back to him. lando, lando, lando. 

you ended your evening in conversations with the ferrari women— alexandra, rebecca, and one of charles’ friends, marta. you’re a recent acquaintance, meeting her only just a few moments ago. she was noticeably pregnant, and you wondered if that was just the recurring theme of the day. 

“how far along are you?” rebecca chimed in. 

“about twenty weeks, i think.” she smiled, holding her bump and leaning back into one of her heels to get a more comfortable angle. 

“half way there! are you excited?” you asked her, sipping your sparkling water. 

“of course,” she grimaced, though there was joy behind her eyes. “it can be hard, but it’s worth it. always worth it to see my husband with my daughter, and now it’ll be brand new with this babe.” 

you gave her a heart-warming smile. 

“they kick every so often—” she grimaced again, reeling her face into a tight knot. “like right now. do you want to feel?” she was looking at you. it took you a second to understand that she was referring to you, but you jumped at the opportunity.

“are you sure…?” 

marta nodded. “put your hand here,” she placed your hand on her right side. you waited a moment before there was a small lurch beneath your palm. you looked up at her in pure disbelief, marveled by such a feeling. you wondered what it’d feel like to feel your own baby kick. 

“so…” alexandra leered mischievously, “do you plan on having children? with lando?” 

is everyone asking that today?

you stood up straight, embarrassed by the question, and brushed a piece of your hair behind your ear. “for sure. there’s no one else i want. whenever the time is right.” 

“he’d be such a good dad.” alexandra added, and you couldn’t agree more.

“you should’ve seen him earlier with penelope—” the girls were reeling at your story. “making bracelets with her. almost tripped over my own dress,” you covered your mouth to laugh, attempting to keep your voice down.

“someone has baby fever.” marta commented. 

“ugh,” rebecca groaned. “you two are picturesque. alex and i were just talking about it.” 

“oh?” you wished to know more by their insinuation. it wasn’t often that you listened to anything about you or lando’s relationship. half of the time it was negative comments from fans across social media, and you didn’t want the other half to get to your head. you knew you were lucky as is, the least you could do was stay humble. 

“ohhhh most definitely.” alexandra nodded. “you’ve been together for what— ever? we’re waiting for an engagement post.” 

you were floored. it has been a good amount of time. “so am i,” it came as a laugh. you wondered if lando thought about it. if the thought ever crossed his mind— the possibility of you becoming his wife. 

it did. 

he was watching you. he’d been done with his interviews for a good ten minutes now, but he was gripped by the scene unfolding before him. he had distracted himself by glancing at his phone, pretending to be scrolling through notifications. but he was staring. hard. 

your hand was so tender-loving as it grazed marta’s baby bump. you looked up at her with a graceful smile, asking her important questions about her pregnancy. why were you so interested? 

fuck, he hoped the answer he wanted was what you were thinking. 

you, pregnant in your floral dresses, pleated gowns, traipsing around the halls of your joint home. barefoot, glowing, effervescent. he could see it now. the vision coming to life, coming to fruition from just a mere fantasy. he felt his dick twitch in his pants, his groin running hot.

he overheard the conversation, too. 

“do you plan on having children? with lando?” 

for sure. there’s no one else i’d want. 

fuuuuck. lando had to turn around, attempting to calm himself down. his entire body was aflame, an eternal gloss of bliss for wanting you. needing you. he needed to feel you. your touch. your skin beneath him, the way you curl effortlessly against the shape of his body.

yeah, he’s fucked. 

after a few calming deep breaths, he was at least presentable. with his calmed down cock, he immediately made a beeline in your direction. he wanted—no, needed to get his hands around you as soon as possible. it was a world-ending feeling that suffocated him, gripped him by the throat. 

you heard him approach before you saw him. lando���s hands were warm around your hips as he pulled you close. you felt the outline of his cock in his pants as he jut his hips forward. you turned your head over your shoulder, glancing up at him. 

his nose found a home in the curve of your neck. you giggled when you felt his stubble tickle your skin, a hand coming instinctively to hold the side of his face tight against your skin. he breathed soundly against you, finding eternal peace of mind plastered against your body.

“it was nice seeing you alex, rebecca.” you began to bid your farewells. “marta, it was a pleasure to meet you.” marta leaned in for a hug, which pulled you away from the warmth of lando’s body. you felt like a snail ripped from its shell— hollow, cold. 

“the same for you,” pregnancy looked good on her. though, you can’t recall the last time you’ve seen her without a baby blooming inside her. “if you ever need advice…alex has my number.” 

you blushed, feeling lando’s hand around your lower belly tense. “thank you. i’ll be in touch.” you glance towards rebecca and alexandra, following lando’s pace back to the car.

lando’s eyes were hot as they drilled holes into the side of your head. you could feel it, though you weren’t even looking at him. “i can feel your urge to talk, lan.” 

he laughed, holding your hand tight in his. “no. no, it’s nothing.” 

you stopped dead in your tracks, pulling your hand from his, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“okay, okay,” he apologized, taking your hand back into his own, bringing it to his lips to kiss. his lips were warm and wet against your skin. your breath hitched.

“well, go on, then.” 

“this is the congratulations i get? damn, baby, you’re rugged.” 

you shoved his face away, beginning to walk back to the car once more. “you know i’m proud. don’t be silly, now.” 

“i know, i know,” there was a brief silence. “you can show me in other ways.” 

“lando!” you gasped, and he broke into a fit of laughter. “dirty bastard.” you mumbled. 

“what was that, baby?” 

“nothing. nothing. just like what you wanted to tell me, i guess.” two can play at this game. you heard him scoff, but ultimately relent. 

“alright, alright. i just…” he became shy with the tone of his voice. you could recognize it instantly. “heard your conversation with the girls, is all.” 

you attempted your best effort to still your facial expressions from annoyance, shock, embarrassment, and all of the fucking above. 

 “you heard…all of it?” 

“the gist.” 

you tried to cover your face to shield yourself from the world. god, that was your fucking nightmare. you hadn’t ever even touched upon a subject like that with him before. and now he had heard it from you talking to your girlfriends? oh, you just felt like the worst girlfriend in the world right now. 

“fuck. i didn’t mean to—” 

“no, baby,” he opened the car door for you to slip into the passenger seat. you stepped in, gripping his forearm to sit down. 

when he climbed in himself and turned over the engine, you shifted to face him. before you could even open your mouth to speak, he cut you off. 

“i want kids, too, you know. with you.” 

“oh.” a weight lifted from your shoulders in that moment, and then you felt utterly stupid for thinking that he would’ve reacted badly. this is your lando you’re talking to. a man you can share anything with. “you do?” 

he looked flabbergasted. “you’re joking, right?”

you shot your hands up in defense. “i don’t know! children aren’t exactly…temporary. i just— i didn’t know if you thought of me—”

“you’re permanent, love.” his hand wrapped around your thigh as he pulled out of the driver’s lot, whipping past the fans that were keen on snapping a picture of him. 

though you’ve known that, deep down, it still hit you like the first time he told you that he loved you. a jaw-dropping epiphany that had been right in front of you the whole time. you’d been short-sighted, enjoying every moment that you had with him, and had become unknowing about the future you’ve been perpetuating with him.

you covered his hand with your own, playing with the bracelets around his wrist. the charm bracelet ‘daddy’ dangled between your fingers, rolling the beads over and over again. 

“you’d make a good daddy, wouldn’t you?” you said the words under your breath, but even he could hear them like you’d shouted them in his face. he tightened his grip around your thigh.

“don’t say things like that,” he shook his head, eyes locked on the road ahead. 

the air became heavy between you two. when wasn’t it? not only did passion run through your veins, but heinous desire breathed life to your souls. 

“why?” you stroked the top of his hand with your nails. “you heard what i said to the girls.” his head lolled against the back rest. “what’s different now?” 

you felt the car accelerate. it vibrated the cushion you were nestled atop of, sending shockwaves through your cunt.

“driving me fucking nuts, darling.” 

you knew you were. it was the secret to your relationship— the two of you understanding what made you tick. seethe with lust until there was no other option for you to climb him like a tree.

it didn’t take long before he reached the hotel, pulling up to the front. you were getting your things to get up, but he was lost on his phone, pretending to be busy. “coming?” you asked.

“pfft—” you could see him roll his eyes through the rearview mirror. “i wish. give me a second.” you couldn’t help but huff to yourself under your breath, stepping out of the car with your heels clinking to the ground.

 with your purse over your shoulder you stepped up onto the curb, but was distracted by a small voice echoing over your shoulder. 

down the sidewalk was a mother and a stroller. you smirked lowly, taking only the few steps it’d take to reach the mother and child. 

“oh my gosh,” you squealed. the mother was taken back, but by your demeanor and eyes on her baby, she returned a smile. by her pink bonnet and bunny swath, you knew she was the cutest thing you’d ever laid eyes on. “she is just the cutest thing!” 

“thank you,” the woman said.

“she looks just like her mama,” you heard lando’s car door open, most definitely within earshot. “don’t you, sweet thing? yes you do!” you cooed at the baby, who erupted in a fit of louder giggles and mumbles. 

the mother was flushed, but happy. “you’re too kind. you’re good with children? do you have any of your own?” 

jackpot..!!

you clutched your purse as you stood up straight. you played into your theatrics, “oh gosh, i wish! my husband and i have been trying for ages, but he’s just so busy with work…” 

the woman tsked with disappointment for you. “you’d make a beautiful mother,” 

“you think so?” 

she nodded her affirmation. 

“that’s so sweet of you.” you were really milking this scene, especially that you knew lando was listening. 

“is that your husband there?” she pointed to over your shoulder. and there he was, your husband, watching the two of you from behind the ajar car door. 

“mmm, yes, it is.” you offered a cordial wave to him. he stuck two fingers up for a lazy wave, waiting for you to return to him. “i should go. it was a pleasure, ma’am. your baby is adorable.”

she nodded a thanks, and you took your sweet time walking back to the car. you could hear lando tapping the windshield incessantly. before his head dipped down back into the car he called, “get back in.” 

you…admit, you were confused. brows furrowed, you opened the passenger side door and bent down, “why—?”

“get in the car,” your name was a rumble in his chest. you still didn’t know what he was doing nor going, and your stubborn self wouldn’t settle for a verbal answer.

you took too long for him. gripping your arm, he pulled you into the passenger seat, and you landed on your ass with a ‘thump’. 

he fired up the engine again and pulled out of the traffic circle of the hotel. he radiated with heat— you could feel it from where you sat. “where are we going?” 

he didn’t answer you. 

you crossed your arms and legs, looking out the window. the area was unknown to you, but lando always seemed like he knew where he was going. 

it took only a minute for him to pull into an empty level of a parking garage, dimly lit with only one overhead light at the entrance of the ramp. he put the car in park. 

“what are we—”

you couldn’t finish your sentence until you were on his lap, hands gripping your waist so tightly that you had to gasp for air. 

“husband?” 

oh

oh…!

well, this was a change you welcomed with open arms. 

he lowered the seat back until you were straddled atop of him, fingers aimlessly toiling with the zipper of his jeans. 

“don’t know what you’re—”

he snapped upward, gripping your chin between his forefinger and thumb. “baby,” he breathed, and you shivered. “what do you want?”

your hips naturally moved back and forth against his own, dress hiked well above your stomach. his hand snaked between your legs, feeling the wet patch in your underwear. he hummed when you didn’t reply, flicking his finger upward to graze your clit. 

you mewled. 

“what was that?”

your hand twisted around the hem of his shirt. you were already breathless, clenching around nothing except the sound of his words. 

“tell me,” he muttered, staring up at your disheveled state. he made quick work of sliding your panties to the side, massaging the folds of your cunt between his fingers. you continued your writhing against him. 

“want you,” was what you managed to breathe out, hips rutting against his palm. he tsked, but allowed you this moment. a moment for him to bask in the way that you move your hips, writhe against his clothed cock that was egregiously hardening by the second and each amount of pressure you applied. 

he slid his fingers in and out of you with ultra maneuvering, in and out, all around. he was a mastermind when it came to feeling you up, exploring you both on the outside, and the in. you were in heaven, ultimately, when he curled his fingers so deeply upon thrusting them. your cunt tightened so viciously around him that he groaned, his head falling back and his hardened cock thrusting upward. to no avail, his dick was strained against the cloth of his pants.

“fuck,” he cussed, curling his fingers over and over again. your body began to shiver, and only began to fall from grace when his thumb traced against your clit. stimulation grew hotter and hotter, until you let out a piercing moan from the depths of your throat. he angled his fingers differently, making you squirm.

“lando!” you breathed, feeling your climax creeping up on you faster than you could even blink. your core tightened, a coil of veracious flames churning around each other manifesting a slew of energy that released sparks from your nerves. your folds were inflamed, puffy, beating hot that you couldn’t think straight. lando was touching you with his other hand anywhere that he could reach. he palmed your breasts through your dress, twisted a nipple to earn a delicious squeal. 

“come on, sweet thing,” he encouraged you with that stupid lopsided smile of his, you were looking down on him, sweat beading at his forehead, pupils blown dark and wide. his hand that was groping your breast moved upward, threading around the column of your throat. “show daddy what you’re made of.” 

his hand tightened, and you felt the coil snap. he continued to pump his fingers in and out, maneuvering so perfectly, hitting that exact spot with precision. 

he knew you came when your eyes rolled back into your head, legs quivering around his waist. god, you’re a sexy thing. 

his hand loosened from around your neck, dropping to your chest, fiddling with the van cleef necklace he had gifted you. it reeked of possession, marking you as his with the “l.n.” initials engraved on the back of the golden surface.

the moment of bliss passed before he was pulling the zipped down from your dress and throwing it from over your head. your panties were next, though the fabric was thin as is. there you were, bare and glistening, before your so-called ‘husband’ as you had worded it. he wouldn’t forget it, a spark igniting within him that was lit by the phrase leaving your tongue. he didn’t think that it would affect him so much—

but it did. 

he made quick work of his own pants, shoving them down to his knees beneath you, breathless and needy. 

you gripped the hem of his shirt. he lifted his arms to hasten the process, and the shirt went to the back seat. with his skin exposed, you couldn’t help but run your hands along his tan, toned chest. it made you dripping wet, though he was barely touching you now. 

with your skin atop of his, carnage was sure to ensue. he took a drag of his fingers against your wet cunt and brought it to his lips. he sucked on them, releasing with a ‘pop.’ your mouth hung open in anticipation for what he was going to do next. he always kept you on your toes. 

but this…this is not what you expected. 

he took a ring from his index finger, plated in silver, and slid it onto your ring finger on your left hand. the wedding finger. 

it stuck to your sweaty palm, sure enough to not slip off. 

“let’s make it official then, pretty girl.” 

you sat upon him astonished, looking down at the adornment that he had given to you. it dazzled on your finger. 

“if you’re my wife, what does that make me?”

the words trembled from your lips, thighs tightening around his own. you could feel his dick sprung to life against your backside. “my husband.” 

“good, baby, you learn fast.” 

you gulped, finally taking a look at him from his propped upright position. he was downright smitten with you, guzzling everything about you inside of him. you were his, so much fucking so, that he was going to ruin you. and he didn’t even feel bad for wanting it. 

“my husband…” you repeated, lowering your face down to meet his own. he smelled so good—a mix of sweat and his cologne. 

his hand tangled into your hair, creating a makeshift ponytail to meet your eye level. 

“makes me fucking crazy when y’say it…” 

you knew that was the truth. you’d known the minute you sat down in the car. his demeanor had changed, shifted to something darker that you didn’t quite understand. it was insane enough as is that you’d discovered so many things about him within a short period of time. 

“husband, daddy…what’s the difference?” you cooed, kissing up and down his neck. he groaned, landing a smack on your ass that had you giggling. 

“‘ll just make you a mommy if you keep throwin’ that word ‘round.” 

you grinned ear to ear. against his cheek, you took a deep breath in, before letting go. 

“daddy.” 

if you’ve ever made a good decision in your life, this has to be the best. a switch flipped. gears started to turn in his head. the spark plug burst into flames. 

you were his undoer,

the key to his shackled restraint,

the sun to his universe.

it was always you. you’d been right in front of him for the past two years. two years to get to this point. two years for the woman he loved most in this world to be sucking his neck whispering ‘daddy’ into his ear. 

lando sat upright in the seat. with a hand at the back of your head, he forced eye contact with you. this was different. this look. you could feel it in your heart, your folds, as they began to beat synchronously. life with him was euphoria, and sex had been the serendipitous release for both of you. 

but seeking the future together?

heaven incarnate.

despite being locked inside such a tight space, lando managed to swap your position with a suave move. you were on your back, shocked by his carnal rampage, as he hooked your legs upward. your toes scathed the ceiling of the car, pressed deep into the metal chassis. 

“kiss me,” you demanded with the breath that you could take. he didn’t waste a second, leaning down to your lips and capturing you with the most breathtaking press that he could muster. his tongue and your own fought for dominance over one another; you lost, quickly, unable to match his revered pace. 

he wanted to eat you from top to bottom. devour your insides, carry you with him every day of his life. you would be his, one way or another, and he didn’t care how it was. 

lucky enough, you were more than willing to be his bride, his lover, his person. 

because he was yours. 

then he was inside of you. braving the treachery of your tight walls, he hissed when the tip of his cock slipped through your folds. you’d been dripping on the leather seat. 

“fuck, baby…” his head fell to the crevice of your neck and collarbone. 

“oh my goddd…” the moan you both let out was terribly lewd, grotesque, even, with how he didn’t start a pace. you both savored this sweet moment of lust, passion, and a figurative toast to a lifelong commitment to fucking one another. 

with each thrust he took, he aimed to make a statement. deeper and deeper he penetrated you, his cock crafted of divine measure with how he quartered your g-spot. 

you could never stay still beneath him. it had him on edge the way you squirmed. dare say it was one of the most favorite things about you, though the list would be never-ending. you shiver from pleasure, leaning into him as your cunt squelches beneath you. 

echoes of moans bounce off the interior of the car, whilst a smile of greed and possession conceives on his own cheeks. the angle he has you at is deeper than any that you’ve had before— it left no room for noncommittal nature, no room for you to complain about wanting him closer, more, more, more. 

“y’feel me here?” his hand rest on your lower belly, your womb, as he applied pressure. you do feel him there. the indent of his cock is poignant, bulging out from the skin. 

“mhm…!” you whine, trying to keep your mouth shut from the onslaught of moans pouring out. 

his attention turned to your tits as he swallowed a nipple whole with his tongue, sucking feverishly at the sensitive bud. it had you weak, dribbling to puddy. 

he could only think about how you’d look pregnant. swollen tits, round belly, glowing with his child. 

“this what you wanted?” he grunted, his pace quickening. you were too dumb to speak, a droplet of drool leaking from your mouth. “hm? fuck you—fuck, fill you up?” 

your back arched at the sentence, not knowing that his words could have such an arousing effect on you. this arousal was different. the way you clench around him was different. your actions spoke a lot louder than your words. 

“yeah? i can feel you, darling.” sounds of skin slapping and your hoarse voice could only be heard. he fucked you so good, treated you even better. fuck it, you’d rather be pregnant than anything else. 

“please, please…” you didn’t know what you were pleading for, in truth— he was already fucking you like he’d been in a rut. 

“yeah? that what you want? want a baby?” 

your head nodded furiously up and down, tears of pleasure streaming down your cheeks. lando bent down to kiss them away, followed by a capturing of your lips. he swallowed your breaths, your moans. he trailed kisses down the column of your throat; your collarbones, breasts, nipples, nothing went untouched by his mouth. 

“god…these…” he muttered against your tits, voice sending shockwaves through your body. “imagine how big they’d be.” he managed to chuckle to himself. “swollen and beautiful,” he kissed the top of your abdomen. 

“lando…”

his head shot up from his daze. 

“the time is right. please, please—” your words seemed to hit him like a truck. the foreplay had turned reality, and he was more than ready to lurch into fate. 

“what, pretty girl?”

your face flushed, biting your lip. “give me a baby, need it—lan, need it so bad.” your hand found the back of his neck, tugging on the strands of his hair. 

he tsked, his pace evening out to a level throttle. your lips formed a sweet pout, and he stroked your chin with his index finger. “give you?” he mocked. “oh, don’t think that’s how we ask, do we?”

“lan…please, please, can i have your baby? need it so bad lando, need it…” you swallowed your breath. “daddy…wanna make you a daddy…please.” 

it was more than enough for him. “atta girl.” he grunted, deepening his lackluster thrusts into thrilling rides on his cock. “y’learn fast…kids ‘r gonna be so smart.” 

“yes, yes! so good, lan.” you heaved, the heat in your cunt finding a boiling point, and he felt it by how tight you became around him. 

“go on, baby, take it. be a good girl and take it all.” you’d do anything to hear your lando call you a good girl. it had been more than enough to send you over the edge into a spiraling orgasm that had slick seeping around his cock. your vision whitened, and you could only see the shadow of your ‘husband’ through the light. 

with sloppy thrusts, lando came with ease. he didn’t pull out urgently, letting his cum soak inside of you. he peppered kisses along your ankles, your calves, and let them fall to the seat. 

out of breath, your chests rose and fell at a rapid pace. lando’s forehead connected with your own, and through the haze of post-sex, he smiled at you. 

you smiled back. the two of you broke into a laugh. 

“fuckin’ knew that was gonna happen today.” he commented lazily into your chest. a hand of yours threaded through his brown curls. 

“your mastermind plan to babytrap me.” 

he raised a brow. “did you plan on leaving?”

you gave him a knowing look. “not in the slightest.” 

he became embarrassed and sheepish as he hid his face into your ribs. “no chance of it, now.” 

you chuckled, flexing your fingers to see the ring still there. “i want a real proposal, by the way.” 

his head shot up. “what? this wasn’t good enough?”

you palmed his face with one hand, and tugged the back of his curled head with the other. “bastard.” 

it only took you two ten minutes to get your clothes back on from such a leisurely excursion from the empty parking garage. covered in his spit, sweat, and cum, you didn’t feel….dirty. 

when he finally pulled up to the valet and opened the door for you, you stepped out as graciously as possible. though your hair was a tangled mess— you tried your best. lucky enough it was late enough to where minimal paparazzi were gathered. thank god. 

you shifted on your feet, shimmying the dress down, but lando came to your rescue. he pulled the dress down where it was crumpled at the back, caught between the hem of your soaked underwear. 

“that was a rental, wasn’t it?” you pointed out, looking over your shoulder.

“they should auction it.” 

you spun around and laughed in his face, gagged by the ego he has. “you have a big head.” 

“need all that room for you.” 

“cheesy.” 

lando’s eyes lit up— though exhausted from the day and your antics, the sun still rose for him— “almost forgot—” he reached into his pocket whilst you waited patiently. 

he pulled out a bracelet.

a friendship bracelet. 

“thought it suited you.” he put it around your wrist, and you analyzed it clearly. in white, capitalized letters it read:

“MOMMY”

“you really had this thing planned.” you were impressed. 

he shifted on his heels, throwing his hands up as if saying ‘what can i say?’ “p thinks you’re pregnant now.” 

you gasped. “lando!” 

“i mean…hopefully.” he winked as you fiddled with the jewelry, still not bothering to take off the ring from your finger. 

“well…” you brought a finger to your lips, thinking, “we have to be certain, don’t we?” 

lando was catching your drift as you walked backwards towards the entrance of the hotel, luring him in with your charisma. “perhaps…”

“so…we need to try again.” he wasn’t going to argue with that. “and again.” or that. “and again, for good measure.” 

“you’re gonna kill me, baby.” he whined, chasing you up the steps. you squealed, running forward. inside the elevator you two went, clicking the floor for your room. 

after further inspection, lando’s brows furrowed after he glanced over you. “what?” 

he covered his mouth to shield his devious smile. 

“what, lando?” 

he coughed to hide his amusement, but it was a very bad act. “you’re…”

“what?” 

“you’re dripping.”

you looked down at your thighs and saw the glistening reflection of his cum seeping out of you. fuck. maybe the first time was the charm, but you hoped it wasn’t. 

you really hoped it wasn’t. 

tags ; @landoslutmeout@basicallyric@mybluesoul1@toriiez@customsbyjcg-blog@sofs16@strengthandstay@mybluesoul1@f1fantasys@cmleitora @idgasb @amalialeclerc @laneyspaulding19 @staurdvst @oreosareara @sideboobrry11 @mortallyblueninja @fionamiller123 @2pagenumb @marvelfangirl04 @brune77e @allabouthappiness @tellybearryyyy @ringdingdingdingx @tillyt04 @danywonderland @rosebud224 @simpfortoomanymen @nataliambc @forcesensitivesoulmate @sweate-r-weathe-r @norlestappen @madszoca @milkandcookhot @fionamiller123 @16f1lc @jwiltsz @plotpal @inevesgf @theonottsbxtch

[sixosix]

SLEIGHT OF HAND | LYNEY

summary you will not let lyney get to you. unfortunately, lyney already got to you the moment you met eyes. after all, what is a magician if not an expert in stealing hearts?

or, local sumeru architect goes to fontaine looking for inspiration and comes out of it with three rainbow roses and a crushing magician.

warnings 13+, gn!reader, follows the fontaine archon quest, so there are major spoilers throughout the entire fic! MURDER (lyney trial spoilers) + feminine french pet names ough + bff!Aether loml + sweet talker lyney + KISS SCENE (suggestive)

notes 8K words. thank u to my french bff art @aanobrain who said lyney is a magician he would say mon lapin 🤧❤️ + other various french pet names. thank u to ellie hyomagiri & earthtooz too for hyping this up, my supporters…

“500,000!?”

Sumeru streets are always bustling with its people—from children skipping around the neighborhood to frantic scholars who zip back and forth before returning to their homes when the moon is high. However, the sun is beating down on everyone right now: street vendors are making a profit, dogs are barking as they play fetch with laughing children, and you stand across the blond traveler and his floating companion.

You wince at the volume of Paimon’s shrill voice, inciting bypassers to send miffed glances your way. Embarrassed, you cover the side of your face with a hand, whispering, “Is—is that not enough? I can—”

“No, no, it’s not that!” Paimon’s arms flail around, eyes blown comically wide. “It’s just, you know, more than what we earn from our daily commissions combined!”

“Oh, I see.” you nod, relieved. “Well, I can lower—”

“No, no, no, no,” Paimon interjects hurriedly, and even the traveler shakes his head. “Pleasure to do business with you! Paimon and Aether, at your service!”

“Really?” you can’t believe your luck—the traveler himself agreed to escort you to Fontaine! Or does it count if Paimon agrees on his behalf? “That's a relief. Even Katheryne of the guild had a strange expression when I posted my commission.”

“It’s probably because of the amount of zeroes you might’ve accidentally put,” Paimon murmurs.

Aether tugs on her foot as if warning her. “We'll be leaving soon. Are you prepared?”

“Oh, yes. My stuff’s over there by the bench, you see?”

Aether and Paimon’s faces simultaneously fall. “All of that?” Paimon starts counting it, gaping when she has four little fingers held up.

They sure complain a lot. “You can still back out.”

Aether takes a deep breath, making his way over to your luggage. When he brushes past, you hear him chanting 500,000; 500,000; 500,000 under his breath. He wordlessly carries all of them, his chest puffed and expression grave.

“They’re heavier than I thought,” Aether wheezes out as Paimon flits worriedly around him. “How long are you going to be staying in Fontaine?”

“Oh, just a day or two, maybe,” you say, taking pity and taking one bag from him. “Most of what’s inside are art supplies.”

“Ah,” Aether says.

“500,000,” Paimon reminds him.

“We’re close,” Paimon says, flying back to where you and Aether are still walking behind, him heaving and you offering water now and then. “I saw a huge ravine-looking view! It was like a city on a waterfall!”

“R-Really?” Aether puffs out a breath, sweat rolling off his temple.

You tried prying some of your bags away from him when it seemed like there were monsters up ahead, but he refused instead to fight them with one hand on his sword. He still won. You guessed that he was trying to make traveling easier for you, yet all you felt was immense worry.

“Are you feeling okay, Y/N?” Paimon asks, floating beside you. “You look unwell.” You should ask your companion that, instead.

“I’m a bit nervous. After all, it’s my first time traveling outside of Sumeru.” You smile, patting her head. She doesn’t seem to mind, beaming back. “But I need to get out of my comfort zone to be better, right?”

“That's right! Paimon has a feeling you’ll enjoy Fontaine!” You and Paimon glance at Aether when he heaves a heavy breath, yet he only waves the pair of you off with his free hand. “Before you know it, you’ll be itching to travel again once you’re back in Sumeru.”

“I'm only there for work. I just need to learn a lot, and then I'll enjoy it.”

“Still a student through and through, huh…”

“I can see it,” Aether chimes in, looking all too relieved to rest his arm finally. “I can see Fontaine up ahead.”

You feel the cool breeze brush against your face, a refreshing change from the past hours you and the other two have been trudging through the desert. You could strip off layers and dive if you could. You can make out the harbor even miles away, pouring water out like an endless waterfall stretching for miles.

Arriving in Fontaine is introducing yourself to the rustle of layered skirts, the water-kissed smell, and citizens left and right babbling about tragic endings and thrilling climaxes.

Aether sets your bags on the floor with a heavy exhale. Paimon feeds him with another jug of water.

“I guess we’re here now.” You pull out a heavy pouch you’ve been keeping in one of the bags Aether had been holding over his shoulder. Paimon takes it with greedy, greedy hands. “Thank you for keeping me safe and carrying my luggage, Traveler— are you even listening to me?”

“There’s a girl over there,” Aether says, now staring ahead.

You and Paimon turn to look; sure enough, someone is standing by the edge, looking forlornly over the water. Half of her foot is off the platform, making Paimon fidget.

She gasps. “She isn’t going to jump into the water, is she? Maybe we should go check on her…”

Halfway through Paimon’s sentence, you gathered the courage to speak to the girl with the cat ears.

“Hey, miss.” Her ear twitches. “Is something the matter?”

She turns, looking faintly surprised. If you weren’t so close to her, you wouldn’t have been able to tell there was a change in her expression. “I'm fine. thank you.”

“Oh.” Now things are a little awkward. “Is there something in the water you’re looking at? You might slip if you keep tipping forward.”

She peers below, unworried—silent.

“As long as you’re okay, I guess,” you sigh, awkwardly hovering above her shoulder when realizing it might come off strange if you touch her. “I’ll leave you be.”

Her lips twitch, something close to a smile. You don’t stick long enough to admire it, heading back to Aether and Paimon and shrugging at their inquisitive looks. “She says she’s fine.”

“I think it’s time for me to separate,” you say. “I want to take all of it in as much as possible. Paimon has my payment. Thank you both so much for keeping me safe.” Mostly Aether, though. But Paimon was there, emotionally.

“It’s no problem,” Aether says, his smile warmer than when you first met him. “Stay safe out there. You can look for us if you need anything else.”

“I don’t always pay 500,000 for each of my commissions.”

Paimon wilts. Aether flushes, stammering, “Not what I meant.” You laugh heartily as they wave when you walk off to the aquabus, hopefully, prepared for what Fontaine will give you.

Your sketchbook is a page away from completion when you hear about a magic show at the Opera House. Not that it was hard to miss—everyone and their grandmothers were prattling about nothing else but the entire day.

Fontaine is known for its love for dramatics, but the twins they keep mentioning must be a one-of-a-kind spectacle to have half their region’s population speak about them so reverently.

After wandering for hours, taking in the endless sights of fresh water streaming and grand castle-like modern buildings, you find yourself in the Fountain of Lucine. You’ve heard of Fontaine being somewhat titled the ‘City of Love,’ but seeing couples surrounding each nook and cranny of the tourist spots was still astonishing.

(You console yourself by thinking that there’s something romantic in sketching frantically while the rest of the crowd are sucking faces.)

To your luck, you spot three familiar heads in the fountain plaza.

Aether senses you before you can even say anything, glancing to the side and smiling when you wave at him.

Paimon flutters excitedly. “Y/N! We didn’t think we’d see you again this early. You look like you’re glowing.”

“Was it that obvious?” you laugh sheepishly. “Fontaine is beautiful; I couldn’t even stick too long in one place before I see something else that catches my attention.” You look to the girl you met earlier, who nods politely. “Hello. Are you three acquainted now?”

“Mhm!” Paimon says, hands on her hips. “This is Lynette! She’s inviting us to the show they’re holding here!” She gasps, “Speaking of—”

“Ah,” Lynette says quietly, “I couldn’t get an extra ticket. I’m sorry.”

Lynette is the magician you keep hearing about? With her seemingly reserved personality, you wouldn’t have guessed it. “Oh, no, it’s fine. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Paimon,” Aether speaks up. “They gave you your ticket, right? Why don’t you just float next to me or sit on my lap?”

Paimon’s eyes sparkle. “Great idea! That way, I can give my seat to Y/N, right?”

“You guys…” Your chest feels warm as Aether hands you one of the two tickets in his hand. “You really didn’t have to.” Is this what 500,00 gets you? The loyal companionship of Aether and Paimon?

“It’s a good idea,” Lynette says. “My brother wouldn’t want you to miss the show. He’d be devastated.”

“If you insist, then I suppose I can’t refuse.” Aether and Paimon do a cute little cheer. “But I need to return to the hotel; I can’t be watching a magic show carrying all these.” Surely Aether can understand.

Later, with your hands finally empty and charcoal-free, you rush back to the Opera Epiclese, the person standing guard kind enough to open the doors despite being a minute late.

“Welcome, one and all, to the Opera Epiclese!” The audience roars with cheers as the spotlight illuminates a figure on the center of the stage. You hurry to your seats, brushing past Aether and Paimon. “I am the star of today’s show, Lyney.”

Lyney bows, then stands upright with a Cheshire cat grin.

The thunder of the crowd’s applause is deafening. If you weren’t able to see it, you’d think that you hadn’t been clapping at all—senses numbed and your fixed stare all on the boy on the stage.

Your eyes catch on the small braid on the side of his head before the gleam of his eyes hypnotizes you.

He’s handsome, you think dizzily at the back of your head.

“Don’t blink,” he says, his voice lower as if meant to be a whisper, “or else you might miss it.”

The show proceeds. A dove soars away from inside as he flips his hat; you flush at hearing the soft laughter that slips from him after. The cards that materialize out of nowhere descend to the floor. His fingers shuffle the cards while talking to keep the audience satiated; they fly off his hands, yet he doesn’t lose focus, stretching them mid-air with a sleight of hand. They fall apart and come together neatly and precisely.

His stage presence is demanding. It would be as if Lady Furina herself would accuse you of committing a crime if you were to look away for even a second.

Then, when he scans the crowd, busy twirling his cards in his fingers, his gaze catches your awed ones.

Something in the air shifts. Or maybe it’s that it slows.

A card slips from his grasp. A mistake. He blinks and breaks eye contact, laughing heartily to play it off. But you don’t believe it—not when you swore your limbs locked in place as well when lilac drilled into your soul.

You breathe, hands bracing against your chest. What was that?

You would’ve played it off as something you imagined if not for Lyney continuing to glance at you occasionally. His slip-up had been forgotten, as though it was all part of the show.

(Is it also part of the show when it seems he’s unable to tear his eyes off of you?)

Of course, the twins prove their worth. They showed you exactly why the people of Fontaine adore watching them through theatrical magic, cards in their sleeves, and defying logic.

You’ve shuffled to the edge of your seat as Lynette disperses into bubbles and comes back alive. You’ve held your breath as Lyney emerges from the box across he was in a moment earlier.

You’ve also been witness to the murder of Cowell.

CRASH.

The shatter of glass resounded along with the horrified gasps of the audience. Sickeningly enough, you could almost hear the crack of bones if you hadn’t been crying out in alarm. Yet, as they gape and shriek over the sight of a limp arm popping out, you find your gaze tracing back to Lyney, who stands motionless in front of the box.

When Lady Furina points fingers and has everyone siding against him, the guards escort the audience from the Opera House. All evidence presented left Lyney in a spotlight unlike his performance: with a disgusted and unamused crowd. Even you have to agree that it isn’t looking well for his case at all.

Yet all you can think of as you leave the room is that Lyney looked as terrified as everyone else was—much too raw of an expression for someone to accuse him of anything at all. He looked young and scared.

(His hands were shaking.)

The rest of your Fontaine trip is admittedly duller when you’re a little more familiar with its city and don’t have a yapping little fairy and a capable Traveler by your side. It’s hard not to hear chatter about the events that went down: Lyney’s trial, Aether volunteering to be his lawyer, and the truth behind the real murderer.

It solved a case beyond the murder of Cowell. Fontaine sure has its mysteries, and the crowd sure loves them as they would a magic show.

You keep your hands busy. Last night, you found yourself thinking back to the magic show, to deft fingers weaving through cards, to violet eyes that kept on flickering to you. By the time you snap back to reality, you’ve subconsciously drawn shapes and lines that suspiciously look like the magician himself: the curve of a smile, piercing eyes, and you entranced by it all.

Flustered, you crumple his face staring back at you out of sight. Yet you can’t bring yourself to throw it away.

You shove the last bit of garlic baguette in your mouth to furiously bat these unwanted thoughts away.

“Isn’t that Y/N?” Paimon’s voice is unmistakable, a short distance off.

You jump out of your skin, spinning to see Aether and Paimon waving and walking over to you. You thought they'd already left Fontaine after that; you wouldn’t blame them if they did.

“Y/N! We haven’t seen you since the Opera House performance,” Paimon exclaims, twirling around your head like a thrilled fly circling a trash can.

You hold onto her back, hoping she’ll stop making you dizzy. “We were escorted out before I could say goodbye. I couldn’t watch the court trial but heard it all turned out fine.”

“That’s right!” Paimon nods proudly. “Paimon helped a ton during it; you should’ve seen it! What have you been doing?”

“I found a fellow architect while visiting the cafe nearby, and we chatted for hours,” you say, remembering that your voice is hoarse for that reason. You also don’t tell them you couldn’t get a certain magician off your mind. “I learned a lot. I don’t regret coming here one bit.”

Paimon says something else that you’re sure you’ve nodded absentmindedly at while your gaze wanders over to the two familiar people a few feet behind, watching you three with cat-like eyes—and it’s not just because of Lynette’s unique features.

“Those are the magicians, right?” you gesture behind Paimon and Aether as if you haven’t already familiarized yourself with their faces.

Paimon nods. “Uh-huh. You should introduce yourself! They look like they want to talk.”

Something about that feels foreboding. “Um, no, it’s fine. I don’t want to be rude and interrupt your conversation.”

“No,” Aether says firmly. He seldom speaks; you might as well play along if he says so. “Besides, Paimon is right. Lyney wants to talk to you, you know?”

“Oh, yeah! He kept mentioning seeing someone sitting beside us! And it couldn’t have been Neuvillette because he said it was an unfamiliar beauty that bewitched this weak magician’s heart.” Paimon nods, even recalling how he’s enunciated each syllable theatrically.

“I’m sorry?” you blurt. “Lyney recognizes me? What did I do?”

“Paimon thinks it’s because Lyney is curious about who Lynette met! He was like that with us, too.” Paimon changes her pitch to match Lyney’s. “Are these your friends, Lynette?”

Aether’s eyes feel like they know something you don’t. “It won’t hurt to strike up a conversation with Lyney. He’s been shaken up since the trial.”

There’s something unspoken hidden in his words. “What does that mean?”

Paimon doesn’t wait for an answer, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you to where the twins are waiting. Aether chuckles as he jogs behind.

“Paimon, Aether,” Lyney says, almost sly, “You haven’t introduced us to your friend here.”

“Paimon can do it!” She floats on top of your head and does a bit of jazz hands. “This is Y/N, the one who commissioned us to escort them from Sumeru up to Fontaine.”

“Generously,” Aether adds.

It’s a little embarrassing to have the legendary Traveler and Paimon introduce little old you to a famous magician such as himself, but his grin is still excited.

“From Sumeru?” Lyney repeats, smiling wider when you nod—as if that crumb of attention is enough for him. “I see.”

He performs a bow around the same height as where your hands rest; he takes one, kisses the back of your palm, and smiles against your skin. “I’m Lyney, and she is my sister, Lynette.”

“It’s nice to see you again.” You smile at Lynette, who nods in return. Lyney straightens to look at his sister.

“We met when the Traveler and Paimon just arrived at the harbor,” Lynette sighs even without looking at her brother.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you say, meeting Lyney’s eyes. The spot where he kissed is still warm—tingling. “Your show was incredible, despite what happened. I’m glad that the truth revealed itself.”

“Thank you.” Lyney’s gaze sharpens. “I saw you at the performance, yes. I was worried for a second you might steal the show if you were to come up on stage.”

You blink. “Are you saying—”

Lyney grins, “I apologize that the night had to end that way; it must’ve been horrifying. Say, what if I give you a little show right now to make it up to you?” Did he make it up to each one of his audience, too?

This is not a man acting “shaken up,” as Aether put it.

“You really don’t have to.” You glance at Aether and Paimon, silently asking for help; however, they’re too far gone, urging you to say yes with gestures and encouraging nods.

Lyney tilts his head, demanding your attention on him once more.

You sigh. “I would love to see it if you don’t mind.”

“Of course!” Lyney looks like he’s the sun bursting personified. “It would be a pleasure, ma chérie. Not to worry, it’s nothing life-threatening. I just need you to focus on me.”

Not that it’s hard. The others have become a dull buzz in your mind as Lyney holds your gaze. “Okay.”

Lyney smiles, much softer, satisfied. “Good. Now,” he tips his hat, “recently, I’ve received a little lesson from someone about the language of flowers. Are you familiar with them?”

“Not in Fontaine, no,” you mumble, watching his hands closely. You were expecting a rabbit to hop out of that hat any second now.

“Shame. But I suppose I wouldn’t want to spoil the fun.” Lyney snaps his finger, then deposits his hand inside his hat. “Hmm… Oh? Something’s not quite right. Would you mind looking into this hat for me to see if the flower is here?”

You hesitate. The hat is so close to him.

Swallowing, you nod, leaning in to inspect his hat at a careful pace. All you can sense is the faint scent of heat Lyney is emanating, the breath you two share, and the pounding of your chest. You swear you could also hear his, matching yours.

“The hat’s empty.”

Lyney smiles wider. “Yes, perhaps because you already have it.”

You jump back in surprise, your hands patting your body to see where he could have snuck the flower in. With your frantic movement, the flower falls off from what seems to have come from your head—Lyney catches it.

His mouth carves into a smirk, leaning to invade your personal space, his free hand coming up to tuck hair behind your ear. “Careful.”

Your face is burning. Plucking the flower out, the delicate and tender pink sears into your palm. “What does this flower mean?”

“What does it, I wonder?” Lyney whispers thoughtfully. “I suppose you’ll have to tell me once you find out.”

And when he inclines backward, it feels like you can breathe again. Time flows normally, and the people passing by seem much louder than before—as though you’ve surfaced from underwater.

Lyney clears his throat. “Shame I haven’t prepared myself a grand show for you, but I suppose that would call for another time, wouldn’t it?”

Lynette is looking at Lyney as if he is stupidly amusing.

“Thank you,” you say, burning, burning. “For the show, I mean.”

“That was a little weird,” Paimon whispers to Aether, but she is terrible with keeping volume and has everyone turning to her with varying expressions. “P-Paimon means that was good! Wow, Lyney! Isn’t that a different flower you gave us? That’s the flower Charlotte was talking about, right?”

“Rainbow rose?” Aether supplies.

“Yes! It means—”

“Ahem.” Lyney is quick to interrupt. “Lynette and I must take our leave now, if you don’t mind. It was fun catching up with you two.” You have to hold your ground and not look away when he hones in on your figure. “And it’s a pleasure meeting you. Don’t be a stranger. Look for me if you want more.”

His smile is a little devilish, you now realize.

“Bye,” Lynette says blankly, following after her brother, who seemed to be hurrying to exit.

His ears were red.

“You’re still staring.”

“I am not,” you rebuke hotly, flailing to cover Aether’s mouth with your hands. Yet all it does is bring your attention back to where Paimon and Aether are staring—the rainbow rose on your person.

Paimon and Aether yelp when you drag them away despite Lyney having already left the scene.

“Hey—! Don’t just go dragging Paimon around like a balloon like that! Did Lyney get to your head that much?”

“He did not.”

Paimon tilts her head, frowning. You shy away from her worried gaze, glaring at the flower instead. You still don’t know how Lyney managed to get it there; you hold it to your chest, where your heart is racing miles per minute because of his stupidly smug smile.

“What does this flower mean, Paimon?”

Paimon seems elated to be of help. “Easy! Charlotte told us that Rainbow Roses mean ‘passion’ and most notably ‘romantic encounters’!”

“Passion,” you curse. The rose seems as if it is staring back innocently, unknowing of the turmoil you’re going through because of it. “Romantic encounters.’ ugh.”

You can still remember how Lyney’s eyes twinkled as you felt his breath against your face.

“Ooh, he thinks he can trick me. He thinks he can affect me just because it pleases him to do so. I’ll show him. I’ll show him! I am not a blushing maiden!”

“You’re already very affected by this,” Paimon says, yet it’s lost by your newfound determination. Two can play at this game.

You’ve definitely been staying in Fontaine longer than what you told Aether and Paimon, but you can’t leave yet. Not when you found yourself walking to a flower shop to purchase a vase, fiercely digging through soil, turning gentle when your fingers reach for the Rainbow Rose. Not when you see it in the corner of your eyes as you try to sleep, and you find yourself daydreaming about a charming violet-eyed virtuoso.

It’s for research, you excused lamely at the hotelkeeper who didn’t ask why you’re extending your stay. In truth, not that you’d tell anyone. It was because you were hoping for another grand show from him. A farewell show for you—closure.

If you were to travel back home and get too drunk to think straight, Kaveh would learn about your crisis (romantic awakening?) and laugh at your face.

In hopes of looking for your Fontaine architect friend, you spot Lyney instead, on the side of the street surrounded by cheering kids. They clap and jump, and Lyney laughs. “One more, one more!”

“Again?” Lyney does an exaggerated sigh. “I’m starting to run out of cards in my sleeves. I’ve guessed my entire deck from your hands by this point!”

“But, Mr. Magician,” one of them whines, pouting up at him and blinking, “we want to see more! We want to know how you do it!”

“Alright, how about this, hm?” And then Lyney peers right at you. Ironically, you’re the one startled when you’ve been watching that entire spiel, and he hasn’t acknowledged your presence beforehand. “Y/N, would you mind giving these children a little show with me?” He gestures for you to come closer.

“What show?” you ask suspiciously, taking slow steps in case he pulls out another flower out of nowhere.

“You don’t have to worry,” Lyney laughs. “Will you be my assistant for this show? You are very familiar with this trick.”

“Please, we want to see!”

You falter at the little kids’ excited grins, especially when paired with Lyney’s pout and round eyes. “Okay, tell me what to do.”

His eyes do the little gleam again. “Stand in front of me, mon lapin.”

Your heart is skipping beat after beat, making itself known as you shuffle until Lyney is directly behind you.

“Relax, chérie, you just need to stand still.” It’s a little hard to relax when you feel his breath against the back of your neck, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of admitting that, so you keep your chin high and relax your shoulders. “Good.” 

He begins to speak louder to his awaiting audience. “I know it’s hard to keep your eyes off this beauty before me, but watch the hat for a surprise, alright?”

He flips it for his little audience, one hand resting on your waist and the other extended to hold his top hat. The proximity is almost suffocating. You watch with bated breath, and they complain about it being empty.

“Oh, is it?” Lyney hums, twirling the hat until it’s flipped upside down, presented right before you. “Perhaps I need my assistant’s help.” You snap out of your daze when you realize he’s talking to you. “Y/N, do me a favor and show them the flower inside.”

You reach inside the hat and, much to your surprise, feel a stem. You pull it out; the Rainbow Rose stares back at you, almost mocking you, saying he did pull out a flower out of nowhere. It's this trick again.

The kids gasp in awe and confusion—it’s all the same for Lyney, who snaps his fingers and creates magic like he was made to. Like magic was for him to summon with his hands.

“What? It was empty!”

“Where did that come from? I was watching Mister Magician’s hands the whole time!”

“Are you a magician, too?”

“No,” you say lamely, holding the rose, feeling Lyney still patiently standing behind you. Heat crawls up your neck. “No, I’m not. It’s all Lyney.”

“It’s all me,” Lyney echoes in amusement. “You’re quite magical yourself.” Finally, he spares you, pulling away to stand beside your figure. He doesn’t take the rose back—maybe even give it to one of the children. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “That’s enough for today. The sun is setting, and your parents might get worried.”

They pout and slump their shoulders, but Lyney has this older brother's sternness to him that has the children scurrying back home anyway.

You then realize having to stand in front of Lyney was unnecessary.

The flower is warm. Lyney’s eyes slip to yours.

“I didn’t even have to stand in front of you like that,” you complain, heart inclined to race off your body.

“Yes, but I feared that I would slip up again if I were to catch a glimpse of your face,” Lyney admits smoothly. His lips curl into a smirk when you stare wordlessly. “What? Don’t believe me? I had to improvise when I saw you watching from afar.”

“A great magician such as yourself? Making a mistake? I doubt it.”

“You already have such high expectations placed on me, chérie,” Lyney says, his smile easy, but his ears are a little red, poking out from his hair. “That’s no good. With no audience, I’m just plain ‘Lyney’ to you.”

“No trickery? No cards up your sleeves?” you play along.

Lyney doesn’t miss a beat. “No, though I do have a few more roses begging to be held by your hands.”

“They can keep begging.” Lyney grins wider when you glance down at his hands. “Do you give them off to everyone you meet?”

“Who do you take me for?” Lyney isn’t offended; he laughs, delighted. He is preening under the sunset—or maybe it’s your attention. “Of course not. At least, not like this.”

You stare, unimpressed. “Sure.”

“So cold, chérie,” Lyney sighs, plucking the stem from your fingers to slot it behind your ear. It seems he likes doing that. “Here I am, trying to get you to warm up to me, and you treat me like this.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll be going back home soon anyway.”

Lyney’s expression shifts into something more unrecognizable, his eyes dipping down to somewhere below your nose. “Oh. Avoiding attachment?”

You nod.

He grins, and he’s still so close. He knows how to entrance his audience, pulling you in until you forget to resist. Always watch the hands; yet Lyney could be digging a dagger to your side at this moment, and you wouldn’t even notice.

“I’m flattered you even want to avoid me because you know you’d get attached,” he purrs, tilting his head. Is Lyney just big on personal space? 

“Don’t assume,” you retort. “I know how guys like you think. Even a magician as great as yourself can’t trick someone who’s already seen through it.”

“It would be easier if it were just a trick, wouldn’t it?” Lyney sighs, much to your confusion. “I take it that someone has told you what this flower means?”

You’ve nearly forgotten all about it. “Yes.” You find yourself unable to look directly into his eyes. “I know.”

But even with that, you can still feel his heavy gaze, pinning you down and threatening the strength of your knees. You suppose it comes with being a performer—watching his audience carefully, pinpointing each micro expression to say the right words.

“There doesn’t have to be any attachments.”

“What are you trying to say right now?”

Lyney’s reaches for your hip, sharing your gaze like he doesn’t know how to do anything else. “That you enamor me. That I am holding back from wanting you. I know you feel the same—you can never hide anything from a magician. But if you’re concerned,” he mumbles, “then this doesn’t have to mean anything. You may call it infatuation.”

You want to laugh. Or maybe you want to cry. Most of all, you want to nod helplessly, wrap your arms around his neck, and give in. It’s hard not to when he looks at you like that. “You want me that bad?”

“I almost want to disagree.”

“Almost?” Lyney gets closer, and you stop him with a palm on his chest. “We’re outside.”

Lyney grins. “Have you forgotten what Fontaine is also known for? No one would bat an eye. Love is in the air, and all that.”

“Absolutely not.”

“So still you’re letting me?”

You laugh this time. Letting him, as if you aren’t the one itching to pull him close and find out what he’s like behind the curtains. “Are you asking me as plain old ‘Lyney?’”

Lyney brightens, clearly pleased there wasn’t a ‘no’. “Yes.”

“No tricks?”

“No tricks. No strings.”

You let him lead you away into some dark alleyway. He kisses you like he was longing to do so all his life. You have only met him that fateful day, not even a week ago. But you claw at him like you get it—like he’s ruined you for anyone else the moment you shared gazes in the Opera House.

Romantic encounters, you quietly recall as Lyney swipes a thumb over your aching bottom lip.

You don’t see Lyney the day after that. And for some reason, it makes the itch worse. (Perhaps it’s because you’ve gotten a taste and can’t get enough.)

It’s mostly your fault, the sudden disappearance—you’ve cooped yourself up in the hotel room, buried your face in pillows, and screamed. You berate yourself for giving in, but another part of you—one that’s louder than any other thought in your head—wants to do it again. Wants to hold his handsome face in your hands and have him kiss you breathless. That was nothing like you had ever felt before.

You groan. It’s another new day. You might as well make some progress with your portfolio.

There’s a Café you’ve been visiting more often than not. Ordering a drink and spending a good chunk of your day sketching the view. Instead, you find yourself staring at Aether, Paimon, and Lynette seated at one of the tables.

Lynette’s eyes flick up to yours as she sips tea. She murmurs something to the other two, and you watch with amusement as Aether and Paimon’s heads snap to face you.

You let your gaze wander, eventually landing on Lyney, who is reciting his order with his charming-act-on smile, who is present because of course he is. You want to turn and run away, but that’d be letting Lyney win, and you’re nothing if not stubborn and prideful.

“Y/N!” Paimon greets once you’re within earshot, kicking her feet happily. “Good morning! What are you doing here?”

“Breakfast,” you reply, waving at them. Aether pulls a chair from the other table and gestures for you to sit. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Nope!” Paimon swipes a fork from the table and digs in on the Ile Flottante, leaving nothing for Aether. “Lynette and Lyney told us about another show they’re holding to make up for the previous one.”

“Mouth full,” Aether reminds her, a little too late as the Ile Flottante spews from her mouth.

“Really now? Maybe I can pay properly for a ticket this time,” you laugh, nodding at Lynette. She smiles faintly, hiding it behind the rim of her cup. Lynette sure is the polar opposite of her twin brother.

A shadow looms from behind, the silhouette of a figure with an unmistakable top hat. You tilt your chin and see Lyney peering down at you with a sweet smile. You will yourself to keep your gaze focused on his eyes only and nowhere else below the nose.

Speak of the devil…

“Sweetheart,” Lyney says instead of exchanging pleasantries like a normal person.

“Lyney,” you reply in kind. Then you look away upon realizing that Aether, Paimon, and Lynette had been silently watching the exchange with muted, stunned expressions.

Lyney, holding a tray of drinks and food in both hands, scoots the chair next to yours with his ankle. “I wasn’t informed that Y/N would be joining us,” he says, setting the drinks and plates down like a waiter with a flourish. “You can drink mine. Let me order another.”

You hold onto his wrist as he makes his way back. He turns to you, surprised. “Let me at least pay for my own breakfast.”

Lyney grins, delicately withdrawing from your grip. He places a loud kiss on your hand. “Don’t worry about it.” And then leaves, because he can’t take no for an answer.

“Is it just me,” Paimon starts as you resign yourself to finishing Lyney’s drink (It’s your favorite, the one you always order), “or is Lyney acting weird around Y/N?”

Aether laughs. “There's definitely something going on. Don’t end up staying too long in Fontaine, now. What was it you told us? ‘A day or two’.”

You huff, your face turning unbearably warm. “Shut up, you two. I am here to do research, not to find a summer fling.” You’ve already failed, but they don’t need to know about that.

If you were to touch your lips with your fingers, you’d think of no one else but Lyney’s hands on your hips and his mouth swallowing your words.

Lynette clears her throat, a quiet but noticeable thing. “Don’t be fooled by my brother, Y/N.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m still keeping my safe distance.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not what I mean. Don’t be fooled by my brother.” She stares at you from the rim of her cup—something about that has you listening obediently. “No matter what he tells you, he always cares too much. No matter what you may think, he always gets hurt first.”

“That’s not…” You can’t imagine that. From the start, it’s always felt like he was the one who could do what he wanted.

No tricks.

Lynette is his twin, after all. She knows him best.

No strings.

Defeated, you sip on the straw with the same fervor of an aggravated hilichurl, and that’s the end of that.

Conversations during breakfast are much lighter when Lyney returns with a full meal as his treat. Celebration, he says. Celebration for what? Who knows? Lyney winked, but his glance directed to you said enough.

“You say that you don’t want to get attached, but you’re awfully close to the Traveler, of all people,” Lyney says offhandedly once the others have left for their own matters.

You lean against your seat, grinning. “Are you jealous?”

He doesn’t say anything, instead upturning his nose as if scrambling to regain control. You laugh, oddly endeared. Lyney turns his head away, trying to hide the smile that curls his lips upon hearing it.

“Hey,” Lyney says seriously, reaching for your hand. “Where have you been yesterday?”

“Why? Missed me?”

And because he’s Lyney, he takes his time kissing each of your knuckles. It’s more intimate than the whole ‘no strings’ arrangement you agreed on, but you suppose Lyney thinks that any physical attention is free reign. “What would you do if I said yes?”

“You’ll be fine,” you say slyly. “You’ll have to get used to it if you want to risk your heart just to get laid.”

He rolls his eyes, tugging you closer. “I’m not risking anything to get laid. Do you think so lowly of yourself, chérie?”

“Isn’t this all there is to it? Physical attraction,” you ask, genuinely confused.

Lyney blinks. “Of course, but—” His eyes flicker down, and his words trail off.

When you speak, you feel your breath bounce back from his skin—a testament to your proximity. “Lyney,” you whisper. For what? Urging him to continue? Urging him to close this distance? You’re not sure, either.

You have so much to ask. What do you mean? Why can’t you finish your sentence? Why don’t you just kiss me already? But it’s hard to speak; Lyney’s name is all you can think of. 

You whisper his name again. His grip on your hands tightens and loosens, a frustrated frown creeping up his brows.

Your hand shoots out to reach for the back of his head and give in. He flinches for a second before relaxing completely.

His lips almost taste sweeter than his words. Almost as sweet as how he finds purchase on your waist and holds your chin during every kiss.

You pull away to breathe, missing how he leans closer to chase after you and pouting when he can’t. “Yeah. That—That didn’t have to mean anything. I just wanted to know what it felt like again.”

“Yeah.” Lyney licks his lips, his gaze unable to tear away from where yours are swollen. “Yeah, I know. You taste like my drink.”

Really, no one’s surprised you gravitate towards each other again, feeling like you’re soaring and melting into a puddle at the same time. Lyney doesn’t touch you where you both know would cross the line, but he grips near possessively to what he can, as if breathing you in and worshipping your skin.

You know after this, he’d go back on stage, fooling his audience with what’s invisible to the average eye, as if this never happened. You know this because this is your deal: satiate the feverish attraction you have with each other and leave once you’re satisfied. (But you also know that you’ll be thinking of his touch and his lips while you stare at the vase beside your bed.)

Lyney is a magician, first and foremost.

He hooks you in, and keeps all your attention to himself like he’d die without it. Then he disappears with a snap of a finger. He’s finished his trick, leaving you befuddled in your seat with more questions than answers.

As you drift off to sleep, all you can think of is that there are two roses now.

“Brother.”

Lyney looks up from where he’d been entertaining Rosseland, seeing Lynette with a stern face. “What? What happened?”

Her tail flicks. “You said you weren’t going to get attached.”

Lyney exhales softly, his eyes slipping shut. “I’m not.”

Lynette finds herself smiling softly. “I may just be your assistant, but you can’t lie to your own twin.”

He buries his face in his hands. With his sight gone, images of your face while whispering his name flash in his mind. His eyes fly open, mortified, his whole face red. “I don’t know how it happened. I didn’t think it’d be deeper than that.”

He was the magician in this, but it felt as if you were the one who tricked him instead.

It’s been two weeks since you first arrived in Fontaine. By this point, you’ve grown more familiar with its views than your own city. Having Aether, Paimon, Lynette, and even Freminet around doesn't make it any easier for you to feel at home.

And then there’s the Lyney Situation. You meet up most nights, more than that when he’s free from shows. He keeps seeking you out, and you keep letting him in. There was one night where Lyney spent the night instead of heading straight to the door—and those nights turned into two, then three, and then he finds any excuse to keep doing it.

It’s not like you could stop. He told you look for me if you want more, and you always want more, because how could you not? Lyney treats you like he’s never had to take care of anything more precious but still manages to render you breathless like you’ve never experienced thrill the way he gives it to you before.

But you still have to go back home. And Lyney still has his own life, has his secrets. He feels untouchable even when your arms are wrapped around his neck.

No strings attached can still work for summer flings, doesn’t it? And what are summer flings, if not just that?

Lyney hovers above with his hands caging your face. He’s grinning so wide—and you’ve seen all kinds of smiles on him with your time spent together, but it was never this genuine.

“You’re bad for me.” He says it like a confession, a prayer.

You raise an eyebrow. “What did I do to you?”

His hand trails down until he’s rubbing shapes on your hips. “Make me feel like I’m myself whenever I’m with you.”

At your silence, Lyney clears his throat. “But it’s not like that, don’t worry. I just mean—”

And how does that even make sense? He pours his heart, then later reveals it’s nothing but a decoy to keep this facade realistic.

“Oh,” you say.

That was the final act you’d been waiting for. The final trick—the farewell show.

And so you pack your bags—shoved your sketchbook back inside, face forward, and promise not to look back. Leaving Sumeru hasn’t even been this hard.

Aether and Paimon shouldn’t be surprised if they find you missing; they’d been the first to know that your stay in Fontaine isn’t meant to last forever. And you’ve warned Lyney about this. Avoiding attachments? It felt more like running away from your problem.

Lyney is a busy man on his own; you’re nothing but some architect from a different region who happened to get caught up with him at the right time.

You sigh and call for the aquabus.

A hand clasps around your wrist, pulling you to collide against a familiar chest. Lyney’s eyes are wide, almost insane. Sweat clings to his forehead, and his breath comes in frantic pants.

“W-What—”

Lyney’s eyes search your face. Or maybe it’s him trying to convince himself that you’re right there, in front of him. “You didn’t even tell me.”

“I—I’m sorry—”

“Were you just going to leave like that? Don’t you think I at least deserve a farewell?”

“Lyney, I’m sorry. I know, that was stupid.” You haven’t seen him with an expression like this before—so raw and broken, begging to be glued together with your hands. “I didn’t want to formally say goodbye because I knew I'd want to stay.”

“That’s stupid,” he repeats in agreement.

You breathe shakily, eyes scanning the stunned crowd. What’s The Great Magician Lyney doing here? Holding some stranger in his arms? That must be what they’re thinking.

“How did you even know I was leaving?”

Lyney’s eyes cut down to his hand, gripping a crushed rose. “I was paying a visit to an empty room.” Embarrassed, he tries to toss it away, but you take it before he can.

You wordlessly place it in its home: the spot behind your ears. You don’t tell him that the two other roses he gave you serve as bookmarks in the sketchbook you’ve used all up in Fontaine. Where you’ve drawn his face more often than not.

Lyney groans in frustration, his hands curling around your waist. “Is staying so bad?”

“It’s not like I’m leaving forever.”

And then you notice Lyney’s hands. They’re shaking uncontrollably, not unlike how it did during that incident—and with it came the frantic exhales, as if natural human breathing alone is already hard enough for him.

“Oh, Lyney,” you say softly. You drop your bags and embrace him fully.

He doesn’t hesitate in pulling you closer, burying his face on your neck. “Don’t—don’t,” he gasps, “don’t just try to leave like that.”

It’s hard seeing Lyney like this. He’s usually so composed and easy-going. He gulps in a deep breath, and his voice cracks as he calls for you. This must be something out of his control—something deeper than the back of his stage.

“Y/N,” he whispers.

“Lyney,” you call back as gently.

He swallows your surprised noise with his mouth, moving against you like you’re his last meal on Teyvat. He’s still shaking, but it has subsided the longer you stay pressed against each other. You’re not sure if it’s his Pyro vision or if it’s your skin burning at the thought of Lyney’s skin against yours. It’s searing.

This is different from the last kisses you shared.

Passion, you think dizzily, breathless from his hunger. This is passion.

“What was that for?” you ask, embarrassingly winded.

Lyney brushes his thumb over your bottom lip. He looks sad. As though he only comes alive when you’re with him. “A kiss to make up for your absence in the following weeks.”

“I can always come back,” you say. “No, I will come back. I promise. I just need to get home for a bit.”

“Okay.” Lyney nods, exhaling heavily. “Yeah. I know, I understand. Once you come back, come straight to me, alright?”

“Of course.” You lean in to kiss his cheek. You’ve never done it before because it always came off too intimate. And judging by the blush that explodes on his face, he thinks the same.

It all doesn’t matter. The line has been crossed days ago; you’ve just been turning away from seeing it.

He kisses you again. Then again. “Have a safe trip,” he says in between kisses. “I almost wish you commissioned me to escort you, regardless of the price.”

“What, you want 500,00?” The aquabus has arrived; Lyney grips you a little tighter, childishly willing himself not to see it.

“500,000 kisses, and more.” Lyney rests his forehead against yours, his captivating eyes keeping you still, the way it always does. “But you can give me that when you come back.”

( Before they were taken away from the stage for an investigation, Lynette comes up to her brother and asks, “What happened back there, Lyney? I thought you were about to twist your own fingers.”

He is unsure how to tell his sister that he saw your awed expression and nearly lost his wits.

“It was nothing,” Lyney admits, his face growing hot at recalling his slip-up. 

It wasn’t out of embarrassment, no—not when the memory of your wide-eyed beaming expression and how his mind blanked along with the skip of his heart plagued his mind.

“It was nothing,” he repeats numbly. It’s not. It was the start of something. )

a/n ok just a quick rant this fic BROKE ME. it was like every other day i hated then loved writing this fic. im not used to writing fics this long so pacing is not my forte </3 but i just feel proud of myself for finishing this so HOPE U LIKED IT. if ure still reading until here ily ❤️

more a/n two lyney fics and two kissing scenes. i can’t even lie to myself. everyone can tell.

more more a/n it was halfway through writing this fic that i rewatched the magic show and only noticed lyneys hands were shaking and i GOT SO SAD OMF 😭😭😭😭

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Overindulgent father Astarion who tells his children they’re allergic to any kind of jewellery that isn’t made of the highest grade Dwarven crafted gold. 

It’s not even because Astarion might have a certain aversion to silver, no, he just raises his children to have standards, thank you very much. 

And it doesn’t end with shiny things, oh no… 

The Ancunín brood is known to be dressed in perfectly woven cotton, silk and soft leather clothes, no matter the occasion.

They’re seen playing with expensive toys, reading artfully illustrated books that certainly belong behind thick glass, not in children’s sticky hands. 

There’s even talk that one of the children is not as naturally inclined to music as his parents claim him to be, surely his lyre must be enchanted—the instrument certainly looks extravagant enough! 

And then there’s always this air of effortless haughtiness surrounding the Ancunín children whenever their nannies and servants are parading them through town as if they were perfect little dolls; objects to show off the wealth their parents acquired in quite the mysterious ways. 

So, it’s no secret that Astarion and Tav are pampering their children—some might say they’re even spoiling them rotten. 

And maybe they are, especially Astarion.

But he doesn’t see why he should raise them any other way, nor does he want to.  

When it comes to his children, Astarion has his own standards, and as long as Tav agrees with him nothing really matters. 

Because, these people, they don’t know anything about the Ancuníns. 

They don’t know that it’s not unusual for Astarion to wash out dirt and mud and strawberry stains from comically small finery, leaving behind only the memories of a day spent playing in the garden, chasing after ducks, picking flowers, lazing in the sun…

That any holes and tears the children’s clothes might suffer are quickly mended, making them look as good as new in no time. 

Nor do they know that Astarion doesn’t mind fashioning a brand new dress to match that of a favourite doll, either. Or to embroider a pretty vest with the likeness of that stray cat the children seem to adore, although their father would rather they don’t touch the mangy animal. 

No, those people know nothing at all...

“Not tired!” Astarion’s youngest cries; the vehement denial of her father’s earlier accusation is cut short by a telltale yawn.

The room still smells of fragrant lavender oil and peaches even when the bath water has already grown tepid, just one or two degrees above what Astarion would consider too cold to be enjoyable. 

Amused, he raises an eyebrow at the protesting toddler before he lifts her out of the copper bathtub with little effort. 

By now, he knows every step of this game.

“Tut-tut, my dear child, what did mama and I say?” Astarion kneels, quickly wrapping a soft towel around the child to keep her warm. “We only tell lies outside of this house.”

Unfazed by her father’s gentle scolding, the girl crosses her arms that haven’t yet lost their puppy fat across her chest, reminding Astarion a little too much of a very displeased Tav. 

Suppressing a sigh, he leans back to consider the pouting child, wondering what could possibly be upsetting her this time—the list is growing longer by the day, after all. 

“What’s the matter, dear?” Astarion asks gently, hoping it’s something easily fixable as it’s growing rather late. 

“Want apple!”

Decades ago, Astarion might’ve rolled his eyes—he knows exactly which stupid apple the child wants, it’s been haunting him all day—but once he started to treat his children’s problems as if they were his own, his life has grown somewhat easier. 

“Why, let’s get an apple on our way to bed, then. Would that be alright, Your Highness?” 

The girl promptly nods her head, allowing Astarion to pat her hair dry before dressing her in a clean night dress. 

She rests her cheek against her father’s shoulder as he carries her first to the kitchen to grab a fragrant apple and a knife, then to her bedroom where they settle on the cosy window seat, just like they do every night.

Soft moonlight is pouring through the windows; the child giggles at the way the knife’s blade is catching the silver light as Astarion peels and cuts the apple into even pieces.

“Here you go,” he finally says, giving the slice of apple one last examining look before surrendering it to the impatient little hands reaching for it. “A sweet treat for my little sweet. Doesn’t it taste so much better when we don’t eat it off the floor, darling?” And when it’s not crawling with ants…

The appeased toddler nibbles at the juicy fruit as Astarion carefully combs through her still-damp curls. 

Her hair’s getting long, he notices, knowing that taking care of it will become more time-consuming each day. 

Once, Astarion would’ve thought this task tedious, brushing out hair that’s not his own, oiling and braiding it for no other reason than knowing his children enjoy him doing it. 

But that’s why he loves doing it in the first place, he supposes.

Astarion can tell by his toddler’s heartbeat that sleep is about to claim her. 

The half-eaten slice of apple is still clutched in her little fist as he cradles the child to his chest, slowly rising from the window seat to put her to bed. 

He’s just about to lay the child down that the fruit drops to the floor, his daughter’s tiny hand clutching at his shirt instead.

“Thank you, papa,” she mumbles, more asleep than awake.

Astarion pauses.

He breathes in the clean, yet unique scent of the little girl that is forever engraved in his brain, the same way he knows under which exact constellation she was born. When she took her first steps, what her first word was. Soon, he will have to memorise her favourite colour, and what she likes to eat when dirty apples won’t be that appealing anymore. 

By now, Astarion knows this game by heart, knows that with every year that passes, he has something new to learn about his children.

And sometimes he wonders what it’s like to grow up with clean bed sheets and full bellies. Sleep filled with naught but warmth and happy memories. Ever open doors and tears that are dried by tender kisses. Living in a house where mistakes and anger are welcomed, safe. 

He wonders what it’s like for his children to know that their father’s love comes without conditions. Not now and not ever. 

Sitting down on the bed, Astarion holds his youngest a little closer to his chest, unwilling to let go of her, yet. 

He’s often accused of spoiling his children when most people can only just grasp the very surface of his love for them, the bare minimum of what he feels for his one and only, precious family. 

These baseless accusations are as unimportant to Astarion as the people voicing them.

He’s raising his children to have standards, wants them to take their father’s love for granted, to accept nothing less but pure devotion.

It’s the only way Astarion knows how to love them, the only way that comes most naturally to him. 

Astarion looks down at his little girl, now fast asleep, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. 

After all these years—all these children—he’s still in awe watching them sleep in his arms as if no harm in the world could ever befall them.

And it won’t—not if Astarion can help it. 

“No, thank you, my heart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against the crown of the toddler’s head. 

When it comes to his children, Astarion holds himself to the highest standard.

[bangtanshelves]

JJK Fanfic Recos

Hi. These are some of the fanfics I've read.

I've read A LOT but I'll only be including the ones I really enjoyed reading.

I'm in the process of recollecting them, please bare with me.

I'm also updating this post often, so whenever I end finishing a fic I like I just post it here. hehe

💓 - Fluff ❤‍🩹 - angst 🥵 - smut 🚨 - violence/drugs 🤪 - crack ⭐ - fav 🎣 - latest addition to the list

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚. SERIES ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

My Love is Here - @/solemnreads

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹 (so much angst, I love it), 🥵 summary: "You didn’t mean for it to happen. It’s not like you purposely woke up one day and thought “Hey I’m going to fall in love with my best friend!” No, that is not at all what happened."

Knife's Edge - @/readyplayerhobi

Completed ✅

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵, 🚨 The Jeon Clan is Family, built on blood and loyalty. It’s been an unspoken fact that one day you will marry the heir to the Clan, Jeon Jungkook. You would be a fool to deny that you love him, but what happens when you meet a blue haired man who offers you a chance at normality?

Four Seven Eight - @/jiminrings

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹 (fic made me cry) ,🥵 you’re secure when it comes to loving jungkook, knowing that your husband loves you beyond words. what you aren’t so secure about is his first love — someone who isn’t you.alternatively, jungkook’s married to you, but he still celebrates his anniversary with his ex out of sentimentality.

Close to you - @/muniimyg

Completed ✅ ⭐

genre: 💓, 🤪 It should've been easier than this, right?In which oc and Jungkook sleep together and he can't get over it.

Falling Skies - @/fortunexkookie

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 Jeon Jiyeon was your childhood best friend; her brother, Jungkook, was something else entirely. Once upon a time, she had called you her sun and him her moon; it was fitting, given the constant push-and-pull between you two. You used to consider him a friend, but then he had gone from endearingly frustrating dumb boy to card-carrying fuckboy so fast it had given you whiplash.

Please Love Me - @/ahunderedtimesover

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 As the only unmarried Jeon and Kim children, your families propose a union to symbolize your unbreakable bond that spans generations. But despite developing an affection for Jungkook growing up, he never returned it; he never seemed to like you, actually. You’re okay with the proposal, but surprise surprise, he isn’t.

Lowkey - @/xpeachesncream

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹, 🥵 In order to pass organic chemistry and pay off your car damages from an accident, all you have to do is help the nerd, Jeon Jungkook, with a few things: pretend to be his girlfriend and teach him the way of dating.

Hotter Than Hell - @/chateautae

Completed ✅ ⭐

Genre: ❤‍🩹, 🥵 Jungkook, Lucifer and king of hell, has been cast out of the crimson underworld for a reason he's unsure of. Embarking on his journey for the answers should've been easy, if it weren't for you, the human that nurses his wounded body in her home, and accidentally witnesses the truth of his identity. Kickstarting a hellish adventure with the devil himself, you discover Lucifer is the most infuriating company ever; and Jungkook finds out that maybe his answer to returning home lies within his annoying human confidant.

An Ode to a Broken Heart - @/smoochkooks

Ongoing... ✍

Genre: ❤‍🩹 (bro I've been crying over this fic for days), 🥵 (future smut)  you’ve watched jeon jungkook slip out of your reach your entire life. now it’s time for you to finally move on, bury the past and open a new chapter. however, you’re doing it in your own, unconventional way - by publishing anonymously a novel about your miserable relationship.

Mutual Help - @/personasintro

Ongoing... ✍ (this is also posted on AO3)

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 (damn... that's all i can say)  in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires ⏤ he calls it mutual help

Way Back Home - @/solemnreads

Ongoing... ✍

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹 (please i really love angsty fics, fite me), 🥵

"Please tell me this isn't what I think it is" he asks you with tears in his eyes. You look down at the sight of your son with an oxygen mask on his face while your daughter is sleeping on the couch near the wall. You look into his eyes, broken, and sad. You've dreamt of this day for years, wondering how he would react. But here you are, hoping he could've meet the twins under different circumstances. "Yes... they're your children."

Strawberry Kisses - @/pixieknj

Ongoing... ✍

Genre: ❤‍🩹, 🥵 (Chapter 1 has been posted, but its something else) Jungkook is notoriously known as a f^ckboy who doesn’t eat p^ssy, until he finally gets alone with you…

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚. ONE-SHOTS or TWO-SHOTS ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

The Right Choice - @/honeytae

Genre: 💓 for as long as you've known Jungkook, you would think that you're witnessed all sides of him. But when you notice the way he's looking at you right now, you think you may be wrong about that.

Rainy Days - @/rklve

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 Your life choices left not only yours, but Jungkook's hear broken in pieces. Now you're back in town, and just like Pluto, even if its cold and dark he tends to orbit around his sun forever.

High Demand - @/bunnyhugs77

Genre: 💓, 🥵, 🚨 A modern day Romeo and Juliet

SOJU - @/hoseoksluna

Genre: ❤‍🩹,🥵 Jungkook gives you all that he has—his feelings, his dominance and his cum.

Lost & Found - @/kooktrash

Genre: ❤‍🩹 (if you squint), 🥵 your college years have never been something you dwelled on for too long. you didn’t want to think of all the chances you lost and that’s why when the guy you had a crush on moves back to town, you try not to let it affect you again. but then he brings up old memories that didn’t go the way you thought they had and you’re thrown for a loop. you’re stuck between finding something new with him and falling back into old habits of never standing up for yourself. it probably doesn’t help that he dated your best friend, where everything seemed to go wrong.

Bottle Up Old Love - @/wintaerbaer

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 Jungkook may have broken up with you a year ago, but that's not going to stop him from coming to your rescue when he sees you being cornered by a creep.

Pink Sapphire - @/jiminrings ⭐

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹(please I'm a sucker for this) ,🥵 Having Jungkook as a husband is great as far as arranged marriages could go; he's easy to love. Your relationship's perhaps become so easy that Jungkook doesn't think sometimes— and that's what makes it the easiest for you to hate him.

Will it fit? - @/jeonsweetpea

Genre: 💓, 🥵, 🤪, ❤‍🩹 (just a little bit) So what if your roommate caught you masturbating? At least he forgot about it the next day. But he can't exactly forget the big dildo you left in your shared bathroom...

Break up with your Boyfriend - @/spideyjimin

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 Jungkook, the campus fuckboy, has decided to make you his next victim, but you're far from being like any of his previous hookups. You're not single. You're actually in a very long-term relationship with Baekhyun, the man you consider the love of you life, but it's for sure something that won't stop Jungkook. He wants you, and he's going to do absolutely everything to have you, even falling in love.

Paint me naked - @/gimmethatagustd

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹,🥵 After the mysteriously hot guy in your university class starts taking an interest in you, should you really trust that he's not like all the other college fuckboys? Especially when his best friend is the guy who broke your heart?

I hate you, I love you - @j/ungblue 🎣

Genre: ❤‍🩹,🥵 You hated him at seven, warmed up to him at twelve, and liked him at fifteen. Now the two of you are twenty years old and inseparable best friends... and you're absolutely in love with him; he's in love too—just not with you.

How to Get a Guy - @/taeshobipop 🎣

Genre: 💓, ❤‍🩹, 🥵 Star basketball player Jeon Jungkook has a reputation as the ultimate fuckboi. He's loved by everyone. Everyone. And you would have followed suit if he had not broken all your strict Roommate Rules™ within the first week of his stay. Jungkook, on the other hand, thinks you're absolutely bizarre. But there's a silver lining— Mr. Fuckboi here knows basketball captain Min Yoongi, your dreadfully clueless crush. He strikes up a deal with you: he'll teach you the ways of flirting if you lessen your load of rules (so Jungook can continue persuing his way through the ladies on campus). Yet the longer Jungkook spends with you, the more he realizes that maybe he doesn't want to tbe the campus fuckboi anymore. The problem is, how does he prove that to you?

[targaryenimagines]

Twin Flames

Dark!Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 8,219

Summary: With your due date drawing nearer, you begin to wonder what sort of life you’re going to be bringing into the world; dealing with your constantly fluctuating emotions is easier than facing the thoughts that grace your mind during the midnight hours. You should have known it’d only be a matter of time before your dragon became aware.

Warning(s): G!P Daenerys, grief, self worth issues, allusions to sex, and descriptions of labor/childbirth (non-graphic).

Notes: This shifted around from what I had initially planned, but I can’t say that I’m upset with how it turned out! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it for you all! Thank you to @justyourwritter69 for the wonderful inspiration — it may not be exactly what you had been thinking of, but I hope you like it all the same!

Series Masterlist

Warm palms run up the sides of your heaving body — still coiled tightly from the last shockwaves of ecstasy passing through — pulling you ever closer, even as a light laugh is hidden in the crook of your neck, the large grin stretched across your wife’s lips being more than apparent when she nuzzles the sweaty expanse of skin.

“I have to admit,” Daenerys pants, pressing one last lingering kiss to the underside of your jaw, before pulling back to peer down at you: silvery-gold hair acting as a curtain, cutting off the rest of the world entirely. “You might be starting to wear me out, dearest one.”

You arch a brow, legs opening to allow for Daenerys to comfortably settle once more between them; the heat radiating from her back, when you stroke a gentle finger down the length of her spine, offering a sense of comfort that no quilt ever could. “I wasn’t aware that was a possibility,” you tease, a lightness to your tone that caused Daenerys’ own smile to grow that much more. “In fact, I believe it was you who kept me up all night in Meereen. Because, and I quote, you wanted to watch the sun set and rise while being inside of me.” A huff of laughter falls from your lips. “Where has that woman gone to?”

Violet eyes roll skyward, but the open fondness within her gaze, and the bone-deep adoration etched across her face, never wavers in the slightest. “She’s still here, ñuha perzys. Very much so.” As if to prove her point, Daenerys ruts softly against you; letting you feel the extent of the influence you had upon her body. “But I can’t do all of the things I wish to do to you. Not when you’re carrying such precious cargo.”

A brilliant grin stretches across your face at the reminder — even as one of Daenerys’ palms slides from its place on your hip to the growing swell of your abdomen.

Precious cargo, you muse, taking in the sight of your Khaleesi’s peaceful expression. Your twins.

It had come as quite a shock to you when you discovered that you could potentially be having twins from the Palace Healer; a wave of complex emotions crashing over you as Daenerys had puffed up at the thought. It’s a trait you couldn’t help but admire in your wife. You had only ever seen her truly shaken a few times in your long relationship, even when she was the young would-be conqueror trying to find her way in the world, she rarely ever allowed herself to fall.

So, while you were swept into the tide of varying emotions, Daenerys stood as a sturdy rock beside you, preening with pride and jubilation at the fact that she’d soon have two more children to love, to adore, to protect.

In a manner she wasn’t able to before. A thought that had caused a spike of pain to lance through your heart, squeezing at your lungs to stifle the air that your two children would never be able to breathe again; Viserion and Rhaegal were never far from your mind. The golden gleam of the sun hitting the Narrow Sea reminded you of the warmth within Viserion’s aureate gaze, the pristine white of your wedding dress reminiscent of his beautiful scales. Whereas the changing seasons, from the cold winter months to the tentative grasp of spring, brought with it the memory of Rhaegal’s emerald-hued wings stretched across you in a protective embrace, the rumbling of thunder on the horizon, as a summer storm rolled in, bringing back the resounding echoes of his fiery roar to the forefront of your memory.

You knew, deep within your heart, that as long as their memory lived on within you, within Daenerys, and the people that they had graced with their presence, they’d never be truly gone.

Even though you wanted nothing more than for them to be here: to see three shadows flying over King’s Landing, to hear their roars echo along with Drogon’s, to feel the warmth of their bond within your very soul.

Their absence, as your pregnancy delved into the final months, became more apparent with each passing moment. You wished, more than anything, that you could share the kindling of new life with your darling Prūmia and Bāne; knowing that Drogon, your Mīsio, would find comfort from them as well. Instead, he now carried the burden of being an elder brother completely alone.

What was once three, is now only one…

The dragon is supposed to have three heads, but what do you do when two have been ripped away?

If you couldn’t protect Viserion and Rhaegal, mystical beasts from the oldest tales of Westeros, descendants of the mighty creatures of Old Valyria, then how would you ever be able to do so for your twins?

How could you be a proper mother when you’ve already failed so greatly?

“Where have you gone in that beautiful head of yours?” The gentle question pulls you from your torrential thoughts, unfocused eyes snapping to look into a calming violet gaze. At the sight a small smile quirks Daenerys’ lips, but you can detect the worry glimmering just beneath the surface. “There you are.”

You muster up a small smile, knowing that it was lackluster by the way Daenerys' frown seems to grow. "Here I am," you joke. "I was just lost in my thoughts, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you worried."

"I will always worry about you," Daenerys replies. "As long as my enemies walk this world, and something can cause harm to you, then I will continue to be worried. That's what you do for the people you love."

"Really?" Silken skin meets your fingertips as you gently trace a line from high cheekbones, down to a sharp jawline, to full lips, and back again. "I wasn't aware I ranked so highly on your list of priorities, Khaleesi."

Violet eyes narrow at the blatant teasing. "I don't have a list of priorities." You almost laugh at the petulant pout that overtakes your wife's face. "It's true, beloved."

"I don't think that's true, Daenerys." You begin to count on your fingers. "You have the Seven Kingdoms. You have your armies. You have the whole mess with the Stark's. You have--"

Soft lips do a great job at shutting you up, an expert tongue acting in a great supporting role to make you boneless beneath the commanding form of your wife, as nimble fingers curl through the strands of your still sex-mussed hair. "Nothing," she whispers hotly against your mouth, warm breath still mingling with your own. "Will ever be more important than you. The Iron Throne means nothing to me if I don't have you by my side while I rule. My armies mean nothing if I do not have you to defend. This right here?" Daenerys rubs her nose against your own, smoothing a hand down the swell of your belly. "Our family that you've blessed me with, our son that's been ravenously waiting for his little siblings, is all that I could ever want. Nothing will ever be more of a priority to me than my family."

You allow your Khaleesi to hold you close for a moment, at peace within her strong embrace, but soon the need to rile her up once more overtakes you. "All of those things you just mentioned are priorities to you?" Daenerys hums in agreement, having shifted over onto her back to allow you a better position to rest upon her chest, slender fingers now gently carding through your hair to untangle some of the strands. "Wouldn't you call that a list, Khaleesi?"

Daenerys' answering chuckle rumbles through her beneath your ear, her fingers never halting in their soothing motion, as she pulls you impossibly closer to her lithe form. "No, I wouldn't call it a list. A list makes it sound militaristic, cold, unfeeling, and that's the exact opposite of how I feel." She peers down at you through dark lashes, full lips quirked in adoration. "I call it the very reason for my next breath, the reason that my heart will continue beating, and the sole purpose that I'll never lose my fire to continue fighting for a better future."

Silence falls then — both being soothed by the company of the other; you by the steady beat of Dany's heart beneath your ear and Daenerys by the heat of your body curled against her own. You could even feel yourself beginning to fall asleep, something you're hoping will last till morning, before a need fills you once more. This time, instead of being one to tease your dragon, it's one to reaffirm that her adoration, her love, was more than reciprocated.

"You're everything to me, Dany," you sigh, nuzzling into warm skin. "I just want you to know how much you mean to me."

"And you, my dearest flame, are the big house with the red door and the lemon tree." Her arms tighten around you, her last words whispered against the crown of your head as you drift off into sleep. "I'm no longer lost when I look back. You helped me accept my past, embrace my present, and look forward to my future."

It’s only hours later, when your wife is nestled closely to you, a lithe arm wrapped around your abdomen in a protective embrace, that you finally give up on your battle to find sleep. You had hoped, as you had the many nights prior, that Daenerys would tire you out to the point that you could fall into dreamless sleep from sheer exhaustion; something that typically worked.

But no one, not even your dragon, could maintain that level of vigor at night coupled with being Queen of Westeros during the day; although she made a valiant effort, certainly better than anyone else could hope to accomplish.

Refraining from making too much noise, even if it was to just sigh, you slowly edge your way from underneath your dragon's arm — something that's a lot easier in theory, even if you had been doing it more and more recently as sleep continued to elude you — almost panicking when Daenerys tightened her hold, grumbling something against the nape of your neck, before she slackened once more.

Slipping from the bed, after ensuring that Daenerys had truly fallen back asleep, you carefully maneuver around the room, slipping on a discarded tunic that you vaguely recall Daenerys wearing upon entering your shared chambers after dinner — having quickly shed her clothing to take a much-needed bath after the arduous day.

Following your usual route, you find yourself standing on the overhanging balcony that let you see King's Landing in its entirety as well as the harbor twinkling softly in the night. It's on nights like this, when the moon is bright and the stars are twinkling, that you have the most trouble falling asleep. On stormy, or simply overcast, nights you didn't ache deep within your bones, but when the world unveiled itself in its natural state of beauty?

It's like having shards of glass travel down your throat every time you took a breath. Memories of nights underneath a different starry sky, in arid deserts and ancient cities, wherein Viserion and Rhaegal danced across the sky like they were trying to join the very stars themselves — always testing to see who could fly higher.

Looking up now, at the stars shining so brilliantly, you can't help but wonder if they were up there now? If they had finally made it in their pursuit to see who could make it to the top. You wonder if Viserion had saved a special spot for Rhaegal... You wonder if he was currently saving spots for you all...

Tears blur your vision, distorting the sky into a hazy blob of black and silver, and you hope, that wherever they may be now, that they were happy. That they were safe and loved in a way they always deserved to be treated.

Could they see you now?

Could they hear the way your heart cried out for them?

Did they know how much you missed them?

Did they know how much you love them still? How much you will always love them?

Did they know how much darker the world had become since their light was taken away?

"What are you doing out here, ñuha perzys?"

No, your mind cries out. Why tonight, of all nights, did she have to wake up?

"Beloved?"

You hesitated in turning to look at her, knowing that the moment you did you'd be caught, but the longer you waited, the longer you stalled, the more Daenerys would become agitated, her protective instincts flaring into life. There's no way for you to get out of this... Not without the conversation you've been desperately trying to avoid.

So, with a soft sigh, you turn to face the love of your life; being met with the adorably disgruntled form of Daenerys Targaryen: clad in only a rumpled robe that had been thrown across a vanity due to her haste to have you hours before.

"Dany."

Daenerys rarely had to ask you what was plaguing your mind when it became like this — her ability to read you like a book coming in handy — and, for a brief moment, you're glad that you won't have to explain it to her. Explain to her how much of a failure you felt like you were. How your fears of becoming a mother were amplified because you had failed so spectacularly before.

Violet eyes observe you for another moment, darkening with an untold emotion, before something seems to shift inside of her.

"Do you blame me?" The question is uttered softly, on a hesitant breath, that is the complete opposite of your veracious wife. "Do you?"

You shake your head. "Blame you for what, Dany?"

Please don't know, please don't know, please--

"Viserion and Rhaegal."

The mention of their names, coupled with the latent thoughts still swirling within the dark recesses of your mind, causes you to flinch, arms instinctively tightening around yourself in a protective hold. An action that Daenerys must have taken as a positive answer to her question; if the almost injured look that's now openly expressed across her beautiful face is anything to go by.

"We've had this discussion before, Daenerys," you murmur, not wishing to rehash harsh words and reopen still barely healed wounds. "I don't blame you for Viserion. Not anymore."

Daenerys winces at the reminder of what had occurred in Dragonstone all those moons ago. "But you did." It's not a question. There's no need for pleasant lies when in the face of your soulmate. "Who's to say that you don't again? I wouldn't blame you if you did. It was my fault to listen to my advisors instead of my instincts. It was my fault to agree to send Jon Snow beyond the Wall with Jorah. It was my decision to go after them completely alone. It was my own stupidity that led me to turn my back on everything that I learned, everything that I had become in order to get to where I am now." She steps closer to you, unshed tears causing violet eyes to shimmer like untouched amethysts in the argent light of the moon. "It was all because of me that Viserion was struck down in an icy hellscape. Where he was forced to become enslaved to that thing. It was because of me that our son, our youngest child, had his fire drowned by ice."

Your eyes shutter shut at the memories her words invoke. Flashes of icy blue eyes where there should have been gentle gold viciously cycle within your head as you try to forget the brokenly shattered form of your son that you had found after the Battle of Winterfell.

"Not to mention Rhaegal," Daenerys continues, angry spite, all of it directed at herself, hardening her tone. "If I had paid more attention, if I had kept him closer to me, if I had been more cognizant that Euron would have been lurking in the waters below, then he would still be with us. You wouldn't have had to watch as he fell from the sky, you wouldn't have been bathed red by specks of his blood, you wouldn't have had to use milk of the poppy or dreamwine in order to fall asleep because you had such bad nightmares. You wouldn't have suffered if it wasn't for me. Our children would still be alive if it wasn't for me."

Even if some of what she said held merit — others being beliefs you had held onto just to inflict pain onto her; not unlike the pain you had felt when dealing with the unending grief — you refused to let her drown within her pain, refuse to let Daenerys' light get snuffed out. Not when she had been your steady rock for so long, your guiding light to bring you home, the only reason you had been able to pull yourself from the dark abyss their deaths had caused.

"No," you rebuke, tone firm. "I don't blame you, Daenerys. The Night King killed Viserion. The Night King is the reason our beautiful boy was trapped in an unending purgatory instead of the peaceful death he deserved. Rhaegal—" Pausing, lips pressed into a thin line, you take a shuddering breath before pressing on. "We didn't see Euron's fleet either. We were all aware of the potential risks he posed, but none of us took the proper precautions. Rhaegal, what happened to him, and what occurred afterwards, wasn't solely on you, Dany. You were foolish, I won't pretend that you weren't, but you were trying to make too many people happy, trying so hard to be the ruler that they all wanted you to be, instead of being the queen you were always meant to be. You got lost, Dany, and while the price we paid was high, and I don't think the pain will ever fully disappear, I'm just happy you were able to find yourself in some manner in the end." You step closer to your darling dragon, pressing a reverent hand to a flushed cheek. "So, no, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, I don't blame you for the deaths of our children."

Daenerys simply stares at you for a moment, her gaze almost inscrutable, but you can see the light beginning to return, even as her lips downturn slightly. "Then why do you blame yourself?"

No answer is forthcoming even as a thousand more spring to mind.

How could I not be? I didn't speak up; I saw what was happening and didn't do anything. I wasn't the partner you deserved, Daenerys, not like the one you have been to me and, because of that, because I couldn't find it within myself to just fucking speak up, our sons were killed...

How could I not be responsible when I still remember the sounds of Viserion's distorted roar and Rhaegal's scream of agony?

How could I not be when I'm still haunted by their faces every damn day?

You know that you couldn't say any of those things — Daenerys would probably blow a fuse — but the look within your wife's gaze let you know that she wasn't going to let you off the hook quite yet.

"I don't know," you admit, shoulders slumping as you turn from her inquisitive stare. "I don't know. Are you happy?"

The warm presence of your wife settles before you, standing closer than she had since the entire discussion had begun. "Of course, I'm not happy. You're in pain." Slender fingers gently grasping your face to turn your head to look at her. "It's something I will never enjoy seeing, but I want you understand me when I say this." Daenerys' eyes sharpen, violet pools burning with an inner fire that bespoke of her bloodline. "You need to stop wondering what might have been. It's something I couldn't stop doing, something that I still struggle with on occasion, but it will only make it so that you miss what's happening now. Viserion and Rhaegal are gone, which is something that will never leave us, but to only carry the darkness around with us would be a disservice to the light they had brought into our lives. They're gone, but they'll never be forgotten, because we won't let that happen. So, please, don't blame yourself any longer for something you can't change. Not if you won't let me share that blame alongside you." She steps closer, always drawn like a moth to a flame when you're near. "I promised to protect you from everything when I took you as my wife, to love and hold you through any storm that may come, to weather any battle that'll mean you'll be okay. Even if that means contending with the beasts that lurk within your beautiful mind. I know it's hard, my beloved, but I can't stand not knowing when you're in pain. Not if there's something I can do about. So, please, don't shut me out even if you think you're protecting me by doing so."

You nod, heart twisting at her soulful plea. "I'll try."

Even if you don't know how you'll accomplish it...

"That's all I'll ever ask for."

There's a moment of silence — wherein only the world dares intertwine within the moment you were now sharing with your dragon — before Dany gently smiles at you, love and adoration etching themselves across her face in an open mural of her devotion towards you.

“Come back to bed.” Daenerys reaches out for you, her hands slightly chilled by the night air when your own slots perfectly in place. “You know how I hate the emptiness when you're not there.”

Fighting the urge to smile, you follow your wife back from the balcony into the spacious bedchamber you’ve made into your haven, and you're not surprised in the slightest when Daenerys flops down onto her back, arms wide open in a silent invitation for you to take your rightful place between them.

This time, when you fell into your dragon's embrace, the warmth of your bed surrounding you, though never standing a chance against the heat of your wife, you knew, in that moment, that you'd finally be able to sleep.

Even if it took a while for your mind to finally catch up with what your body needed.

You’re not sure when you had fallen asleep, but suddenly awakening, standing on a sunlit coast that was all too familiar, with the sound of sea birds and crashing waves surrounding you, gave you the impression that you had at some point.

Either that or you were finally going insane.

Turning in place, you take in the sights, the smells, and the sounds of a world that you hadn’t believed you’d ever return to; even if Essos was simply across the Narrow Sea, you don’t think you’d ever be able to see it the same way again. Not after everything that’s happened.

Still, even now, you couldn’t deny that the sight of the Great Pyramid, far off into the distance, didn’t elicit some bone-deep reaction within you. Memories of easier times flickering through your mind — even as the faces of the ones you lost threaten to overwhelm you — allowing for a small smile to stretch across your lips.

A smile that turns into a full blown grin the moment you crane your neck to look at the azure sky and see two familiar shapes circling overhead; Viserion and Rhaegal. Their wings beat rhythmically, creating a soft, soothing sound that echoes across the peaceful landscape as they begin to descend. The sight of them, at the ease in which they danced upon the wind, and around the other, brings a tug of longing to your heart; wishing, more than anything, that this wasn’t a dream. That you’d be able to see it when you awakened.

Landing with a soft thump, a small spray of golden sand showering over your feet, their massive forms tower over you, but you weren’t intimidated for a moment; not when they radiated an aura of warmth and familiarity.

Viserion approaches first, cream colored scales shimmering brilliantly in the sunlight, causing the golden accents to almost appear like flames, and nudges you gently with his snout, a gesture of recognition and affection. Pressing a hand to his cheek, almost crying at the feeling of his sun-soaked pebbled scales, you look into his gleaming golden eyes, a feeling of absolution settling over you as you realize that the icy blue wouldn’t be the last color you witnessed any longer.

Rhaegal, not to be outdone by his younger brother, soon approaches; emerald scales gleam like precious gems as the bronze hues brings with it the thought of your countless hours laying in a field watching him dip and dive in the wind. Tears, that had been gathering from the moment you saw your sons in the air, begin to fall down your cheeks, a sob being stifled in your throat, as you press your hands into both of their cheeks; wanting to be reassured that they were actually there. That they wouldn’t just vanish and leave you bereft once more.

“I miss you both so much,” you whisper, throat still tight from the efforts of keeping your sobs at bay. Their soft croons in response, large heads nuzzling closer to the warmth you provided, nearly being your undoing. “I’m sorry that I failed you. That I wasn’t able to protect you.”

They both let loose short rumbles in response; clearly not agreeing with your evaluation of your past deeds. Rhaegal nudges you with his head, forcing you to take a step back, as he and Viserion seem to have a silent conversation with the other. A sight that brings a small furrow to your brow, but you're not able to say, or do, anything before the world seems to tilt on its axis and everything blurs together. Your stomach lurching at the suddenness of solid ground, and a miasma of colors, as everything seems to settle once more.

Well... almost settled, you think, casting a quick glance to the world around you; noting, with a sinking feeling in your gut, that your sons were nowhere to be found, but that wasn't the only thing that had captured your attention.

Gone were the shrieking of the gulls, the warmth of the sand beneath your feet, the almost sweet scent upon the wind; now you stood at the precipice of a cliff you hadn’t been to since Daenerys had claimed King’s Landing — a place that’d forever haunt you.

Dragonstone…

The air is unusually still, carrying an otherworldly scent of sea salt and dragon fire. The sky above is a swirling canvas of deep purples and oranges, with stars twinkling faintly through the wisps of clouds; an almost dizzying shift from the golden sunlight, crystalline skies, and a warm ocean breeze.

Beneath your feet, waves crash against the rocks with an unparalleled intensity, sending sprays of foam into the air. You didn’t have to look behind you to know that the ancient castle was looming; towers reaching towards the sky as if to grasp what the owners had lost in the years since the dragons vanished.

Twin thumps, and rush of air that ruffles your hair, is all the warning you receive that your sons had arrived.

“Why are we here?”

You didn’t have the heart, or the strength of will, to ask all of the other questions plaguing your mind: Is this my punishment for failing you both? To be forever trapped in the place that I had last seen you? Happy. Whole. Together.

Viserion’s warm head bumps against your side, a small croon bubbling from deep within his throat; it was a sound he always used to make when he wished to go flying, or wanted you to scratch just a bit to the left, or simply because he wished for you attention, for your love.

You laugh wetly, fighting a losing battle in keeping your tears at bay. “I know you dragons are beasts that'll never be fully understood, but I’d like a straight answer at least once.”

None was forthcoming — not from Viserion, whose gentle gaze never wavered from where he had curled his neck around your body, nor from Rhaegal, who had decided to rest on the opposite side, bracketing you within their warmth, keeping you from the cold, harsh wind of the surf — but, in that moment, you realized all you needed to know.

It's a realization that barely registered before Viserion confirms it for you, pressing a warm snout against the clothed area of your abdomen — a place that had once been flat, now round with the promise of new life — and you feel your twins instantly react to his presence. A fact that causes Viserion to snort happily and for Rhaegal to finally raise his head to nuzzle closer; a position that you had been in numerous times before, wedged between your youngest boys while Drogon was off with Daenerys. The bittersweet twang that this moment causes makes you want to never leave, to never get up from the warmth that they had always provided.

Knowing, that when you woke up, you'd be without them once more.

Memories of the last time you had been on this cliff, watching the sun cast a miasma of colors across the Westerosi sky, as Dothraki and Unsullied soldiers worked on the sands far below, assault you in a vicious attack; echoes of Viserion's playful chortling as Rhaegal snarled in response to his brother's continued insistence to steal some of his food. A squabble the two had grown accustomed to having — one you had grown used to overseeing — that never escalated past the first few nips; wherein you'd finally step in and give Viserion the rest of whatever you had on hand.

You remember, with sharp clarity, the way the sun had cast an almost angelic aura within Viserion's kind eyes and the way in which it brought out the darker green hues within Rhaegal's hide.

You remember the serenity you had felt watching Drogon dip and weave across the bay, leaning up against Viserion's warm side with Rhaegal's large head nestled close to your lap.

You remember the sounds of raised voices, that you had previously ignored when they graced your ears through the whistling wind, growing closer; Tyrion's exasperation and Daenerys' calm nonchalance finally keying you into the severity of what was occurring.

You remember your own objections being raised when Daenerys had told you her plan — worry and fear nearly choking you. For her. For your children. For what it could mean for her men if something were to happen. For the future that you weren't ready to live without her in.

You remember the gentle kiss and promise that she had bestowed on you before mounting Drogon: "I will be back soon. You'll be cuddled up with our children and me before you know it."

You remember the warmth of Viserion's cheek as you caressed his pebbled scales, the way your hair blew back when Rhaegal huffed as you leant to kiss his nose, and the amused look within Drogon's crimson gaze when you scratched under his chin.

You remember the heavy feeling in your chest nearly crushing you as you watched all three, along with your Khaleesi, disappear into the horizon.

And, above it all, you remember the look within violet eyes upon Daenerys' return, her pleading words when you looked out into the bay expecting to see three forms but instead saw only two, the distance that had grown between you as you dealt with your grief, the pain that kept you up at night, the regret that hung over you for not speaking up, and that same weight bearing down onto you.

You can't even bear to look out towards the open water now where Rhaegal had fallen, where his emerald scales had been stained forever crimson, and the sounds of his cries still haunted your dreams; your darling boy, your Bāne, always so hotheaded, disappearing beneath frothing water... Simply gone before you could even blink.

Both gone before you could...

The sudden realization of why you're here, why Viserion and Rhaegal were nestled so close to you, finally clicked into place and, with that realization, your tears finally cascaded down your cheeks.

"To say goodbye." You look down into their eyes, one set gold and the other bronze, as tears continue to fall from your own. "That's why I'm here. You're letting me say goodbye."

Twin rumbles meet your declaration, large heads pushing closer as they gently nuzzle your growing stomach. A sight that you would do anything to see in real life — knowing, with everything you had, that they would have made the best big brothers. Smoothing a hand down Rhaegal's jaw, and then shifting to Viserion, you lean closer and allow yourself to be fully wrapped in their embrace.

"I wish that I could go back and hold you both a bit longer. Give you a bit more of the fish I had stolen from the kitchen. Stayed a little bit longer snuggled into your side as I read. I wish that I could get all those little moments back and hold them tightly, so I'd never lose them, never lose you." Rhaegal nudges your shoulder, causing a watery chuckle to escape from your lips. "But, above anything, I wish that I had been able to show you both how much I loved you as fiercely, and as loyally, as you loved me, because I would have died to protect you. I would have gladly sacrificed myself so you both could live."

Shifting back, you look at your darling boys, never letting your hands stray too far from the warmth of their scales. "I want you to know how much I love you, how much I will always love you, and that you'll never be far from my heart. No matter how much time passes, I will never forget either of you. I will never forget the moments we made together and the love you freely gave me. I will never forget what you both have done for me." You lightly place a kiss on both of their snouts. "Goodbye, my darling boys, for the next time I see you, I won't be leaving your sides ever again."

Viserion and Rhaegal press closer, their wings stretching out further to eclipse the very sky above you; casting the diluted light into a fractured array of bronze and gold coloring. The sight bringing you peace as the beginnings of the world starts to blur at the edge of your vision.

And, even as everything fades into grey around you — the twin gazes, one gold and the other bronze, act as a beacon of light to where you were meant to go.

Rain hammers against tall windows, accompanied by the occasional flash of lightning that illuminates the grand tapestries on the walls within the royal bedchamber; the air heavy with the scent of salt and sea, mingling with the sweet incense burned by the attending septas.

You don’t know what had caused you to feel the sudden urge to travel to Dragonstone, remnants of a hazy memory being your only clue; as you rarely left King’s Landing since the news of the impending heirs became public knowledge. Daenerys hadn’t been happy about the potential trip — the way in which she had grit her teeth almost made you believe she was about to spit fire — but something in your eyes must have given her the impression that you weren’t going to back down.

Her acceptance didn’t mean it was an easy trip — with Daenerys’ constant hovering, Drogon snapping at anyone that got too close, and Grey Worm almost stabbing three maids that had suddenly appeared to help you out of the days outfit, being the lightest of the events that had occurred — but the sight of the ancient castle, with its dark spires reaching out to seemingly conquer the sky itself, brought with it a wave of relief that nearly keeled you over; the pressure within your heart clicking into place, making everything right once more.

Everything had gone smoothly for the first five days of your spontaneous vacation, but things had almost imploded when Daenerys had been told, via a raven, her presence was needed in King’s Landing due to a few of the minor noble families stirring up trouble with the visiting dignitaries from Essos. You knew that your wife didn’t wish to leave you, not so late into your pregnancy, nor did your son, but escalating drama within King’s Landing — one Daenerys wanted you far away from — compelled her to shift from doting wife to Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

She had left the next morning, with a searing kiss pressed to your lips, arms wrapped tight around your form, and a whispered vow seemingly imprinted into your skin: “I will be back within the next two days, I swear it. Even if that means I have to kill every last person that would dare keep me from you.”

Which means it was only right that you’d go into labor on the end of the second day; a raging storm, the likes that hadn’t been seen since your darling wife had been born, crashing over Dragonstone.

“Daenerys still isn’t here?” You gasp, a strangled groan escaping you at the same time. “Shouldn’t she be here by now?”

Grey Worm stands by your side, his sharp features etched with concern. “No, Your Grace, but I know she’ll arrive soon. Even with this weather I’m certain the raven will have reached her by now. For the moment, until Her Majesty can be here, I implore you to focus on yourself.” His rough hand clutch yours, offering what little warmth and reassurance he can. “I’ll be by your side until then.”

The maester, with his wispy beard and trembling hands, no doubt aware of what would happen to him if something were to go wrong, moves between your legs, his voice steady despite the chaos outside. “Push now, gently,” he instructs, his soft tone a sharp contrast to the tempestuous night.

You follow his guidance, clutching at Grey Worm’s proffered hand, summoning every ounce of strength left within your body.

The ancient stones of Dragonstone seem to tremble in response to each clap of thunder, as if the very castle shared in your agony. Yet, amidst the roaring winds and pain — a single strike of clarity, not unlike the lightning streaking through the sky, hits you; a profound sense of determination racing through your haggard form, burrowing deep within your heart, to bring life into this world, despite the raging storm and the absence of your wife.

Gritting your teeth, an agonized cry tears itself from deep within your chest, as you push once more, only faintly hearing the guiding words of the maester.

And, just as another streak of lightning illuminated the sky, Daenerys stormed into the room, her presence commanding and urgent; violet eyes burning with residual fury at being held up, and silvery-gold hair slightly disheveled, betraying the haste in which she had arrived to Dragonstone.

Where she is, Drogon is sure to quickly follow, you think, warmth spreading through you at the sight of your wife and the knowledge your son was home. And, just as the thought crosses your mind, a familiar shadow casts itself over the room, thundering wing-beats being easily discernible from the crackling lightning. No matter how tired he may have been from his long journey, Drogon would stay outside until you brought the twins into this world; a thought that brings a wave of affection for your eldest crashing through you.

“I’m here,” Daenerys announced, voice strained in apology but her relief was palpable as she made her way to your side; taking the spot that Grey Worm had quickly vacated. Pressing a kiss to the hand clasped in hers, Daenerys brushes a sweat-soaked strand of hair from your overheated forehead. “I’m sorry I’m late. I wanted nothing more than to be back by your side the moment I left it.”

You’re only able to offer her a strained smile in response, another wave of pain shooting through you as the maester continues guiding the process along.

Daenerys, easily taking note of your state, turns wild eyes to the gathered servants. “How is she? How far along are we?” The strained quality of her voice, coupled with the vice grip she has upon your hand, gives you an easy understanding of where your wife’s mind had went; to the night of her own birth in this very castle — a night where Daenerys Targaryen was borne but Rhaella Targaryen ceased to exist. “Has there been any issues?”

“No, Your Majesty.” A midwife helpfully supplies, her presence near the bed signifying that you’d hopefully bringing one of your twins into the world soon. “Everything has gone well. Her Majesty has been doing well. There’s no cause for alarm.”

Daenerys, while still stiff, seemed to accept the response, her attention swiftly falling to you solely. “I’m right here, my beloved. I’m not going anywhere.”

Time seems to stretch into an eternity — you’re barely able to discern Daenerys gentle hold, and soothing words, from the maester that was still acting as a guiding light — and the pain is almost stifling until, with one final push, the first of your twins enters the world.

Exhausted, yet elated at the same time, you watch, through bleary eyes, as a midwife quickly takes the babe into her arms to clean, only giving you the barest glimpse of a tiny form before disappearing into the swarm of moving bodies.

But, however much your body may rebel at the thought, the labor wasn’t over yet; another wave of pain crashing over you, ensured that you understood that fact. With every bit of strength you had left in your body, while sweat beaded your brow, and your wife stayed steadily by your side, you give one final push and feel as your second child comes into the world; the same process quickly taking place as the babe was swept away to be seen to.

Twin cries soon fill the chamber in a harmonious display of new life — cutting through the fog that had fallen over your mind — a sound that brings tears to your eyes and a lightness to your chest, as if a weight had suddenly been lifted that you hadn’t even realized was there.

“Boys! You’ve had two beautiful boys, Your Majesty!” A portly midwife bustles towards you, a delicately small form cradled against her clothed chest. “Perfectly healthy.”

Your son is soon placed on your chest, skin to skin, and he’s soon joined by his brother; both babes swaddled but giving you a perfect view to see their beautiful faces. Looking up at your dragon, you can’t help the tears that stream down your face when you notice her own glistening upon porcelain skin.

“Two handsome princes,” you murmur, gently tracing a line down a chubby cheek. “I can’t believe we’re mothers, Dany.” Your eyes meet the violet gaze of your wife, happiness shared between you like the love that has bonded you for years. “After all this time, I can’t believe that I’m actually here.”

“I never wish to be anywhere else,” Daenerys replies, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple, smoothing a hand down your back. “I would do it all over again, go through all the pain and heart ache, if it meant that I could end up right back here with you, with our children.”

Angling your head, you huff out a light chuckle, taking note that Drogon had taken his leave to, no doubt, rest on the cliff side until he was allowed to meet his siblings in person; something you were excited to do, but your new position also allows you to get a better look at your Khaleesi for the first time; your brow furrowing in concern instantly.

“I thought I was supposed to be the only one covered in blood.” You tug at the crimson stained fabric of her ornate tunic. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m more than fine, dearest one,” Daenerys soothes, calmly smoothing a wild strand of hair back behind your ear. “I simply honored the promise I made to you upon my departure.”

Even if that means I have to kill every last person that would dare keep me from you.

Your eyes flutter shut, arms tightening ever-so-slightly around the twins. “Who did you kill, Dany?” Violet eyes, filled with open amusement, are the first thing you see when you collect yourself. “It wasn’t anyone that’d cause a war, is it?”

“As if any of the nobleman would dare test me,” she scoffs, clearly affronted at the mere insinuation. “I made it abundantly clear how foolish it’d be to keep me from arriving back at your side promptly, something that most of those imbeciles seemed to take as a challenge. A feat that became even more imbecilic when I had received the raven stating that you had gone into labor.”

“How many?”

“I don’t see why that would matter—”

“How many, Daenerys?” You interrupt, the sharpness within your gaze causing your wife to halt mid-sentence. “Don’t you dare lie to me either, I’ll find out sooner or later.”

Daenerys huffs. “A little over two dozen, I’d wager.” Her eyes roll skyward, as if she still couldn’t believe the audacity of the people who had stood between her and her family. “However, as I was saying, I don’t see why that would matter. I did tell them to not get in my way, especially since I was already in a horrid mood having to deal with their foolishness to begin with, not to mention leaving your side, I simply ran out of the patience that had already been in short supply.”

“I don’t even wish to imagine what you would have done if you had missed the birth of our sons.”

Your wife tilts her head. “I would have killed them all, of course. Keeping me from you is a sin upon itself, but keeping me away so you go through something like this alone? Wherein anything could have happened to you?” Daenerys shakes her head at the mere notion. “There wouldn’t be any mercy left in my heart; for there can never be any remnants if someone dares affect you due to their actions.”

Despite yourself, and still wanting to know the finer details about who exactly she had killed, and what sort of mess you could expect upon your return to King’s Landing, you couldn’t help the affection that courses through your veins; Daenerys, for everything that she was, and everything she used to be, had always loved you. More than you think you deserve, in all honesty, but the clear dedication she had for you was never more apparent than in this moment.

So, for her, for everything that she has done, and will continue to do, in the name for her love towards you, you decide to drop the conversation for the moment. This wasn’t a time to get into a petty squabble with your wife; not when your sons slumbered peacefully against your chest.

Daenerys, clearly on the same wave of thought, runs a slender finger across the wisps of silvery-gold hair peeking out from underneath the cloth of the twin closest to her. “What shall we call them, ñuha perzys?”

You pause, ruminating over the variety of choices; Old Valyrian was an obvious choice, something strong to showcase the roots that your sons now held to the ancient world, but what names stuck out the most?

Suddenly, as if hit by a bolt of lightning, you realize the only choice of what they could be.

“I have the perfect names in mind, Dany.” Whispers of a phantom dream wisp through your mind, echoing deep within your heart and soul, your smile turning soft as you gently stroke the soft cheeks of your twins. “If you’ll allow me the honor of bestowing them?”

Daenerys’ beautiful smile in return, violet eyes glassy with unshed tears, is all you needed to see to understand that she was more than willing to grant you whatever you wished.

“I think I’ve always known. It’s just something I haven’t been able to see until now.” You lean against your wife, nestled safely underneath her arm, forever seeking the warmth she so effortlessly provided, as you spoke to the room at large: the surrounding midwives, a wizened maester, various servants, and your most loyal guards, all standing at attention. “I’d like you all to meet Prince Rhaegon and Prince Viseryn of House Targaryen.”

And, if you allowed yourself to believe, to listen close enough, through the crashing of the waves and the rage of the wind, as well as the cheering of the people within the room, you could just make out the twin sounds of answering roars from across the Narrow Sea.

[hyperballart]

patrick teaching you and art to share <3

fighting with art over patrick’s cock is as pathetic as it sounds. the man himself towers above you both holding his erection while the two of you rock paper scissors over who will get to suck him first. it is pathetic, of course, but patrick finds it endearing. how you and art are reduced to a pair of bickering petulant children on their knees for him. it makes him feel needed and wanted in ways that fill the voids of insecurity and self-doubt he carries. he loves you both so much, and in a moment he comes up with a solution that will fulfill you three.

he orders you both to stick your tongues out, and as you do he lets go of the grip he has on his cock to push your heads closer. “thereeee you go, share with each other,” and you and art don’t need to be told twice. you’re each licking and kissing the lenght of him from your respective sides, but when you suddenly stick your tongue out on the underside and feel art’s, your brain turns to mush. you can tell patrick feels this as well because he starts pushing your heads harder to meet in the middle, he’s sliding them up and down while letting out deep groans and drawn out whines.

“that’s it, kiss that fucking dick,” art lets out a high-pitched moan at that that you can feel through the connection of your mouths over the boy above, “god—fuck me—that’s right. move your tongues a little more, shit, yeah like that.” he then starts taking you guys lower, until you’re met with his balls. he can’t really get words out at this point so with a grunted suck them, you get to work. each one of you sucks at one of them, you’re hallowing your cheeks and feeling the fuzziness of it and by the sounds patrick is letting out you know art is doing the same. he brings you back up by the hair and continues to thrust between your mouths.

“come on artie, give her a kiss. you guys have to apologize for being so selfish—holy fuck— yeah just like that,” you and art are trying to get as close to each other’s mouths as you can with patrick’s tip in the way. his slit is drooling precum that adds to all the wetness and you feel it spilling out and dripping on your faces. you open your eyes and see that art’s are crossed, his pupils eclipsing the blue of his eyes and it makes you hum. the sound again travels and patrick twitches hard.

that’s when he loses composure, seeing how fucked out and slutty you and art are slobbering on his tip, passing it back and forth and taking small suckles that are driving him insane, he has to go deeper. he pulls you both off. every ten seconds he takes turns grabbing one of your faces to fuck your throats, you have an easier time taking him without gagging while art has tears spilling down his face. patrick thinks it’s the hottest thing either way, having two people at his service like this.

when he’s ready to cum, he tells to both to kneel next to each other and stick your tongues out—make sure they’re touching—and with two pairs of eyes pleading at him like that, he lets go. it’s a heavy load, you make sure to catch everything.

“oh my god, don’t waste a single fucking drop, catch it—mmmmm fucking sluts.” without having to be told, you and art lick into each other’s mouths to pass around all the cum you’ve just received. you grip his curls and moan into his mouth while he’s whimpering and squeezing your waist. patrick watches it while catching his breath with a grin. he loves making you bond like this.

[nadvs]

home before dark (part six)

pairing rafe cameron x kook! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary as children, you and rafe were best friends, but then tragedy suddenly struck his family and he shut everybody out. years later, you need his help when a pushy ex-boyfriend won’t leave you alone. rafe is perfect for the job because everybody’s afraid of him. except for you.

content warnings stalker ex, violence, substance abuse, death and mourning of parent

» masterlist

· · ── ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ── · ·

Rafe didn’t have a drop of alcohol last night, yet he feels violently hungover this morning.

He stares up at the ceiling of your guest room, running on a few hours of broken sleep. He feels so exposed. Once he started talking to you, he couldn’t stop.

He was fine living an empty life. But then you walked back into it, completely unaware of how painful it is to be around you. But it feels so damn good, too.

Nonetheless, when he looks at you, he sees his doomed childhood, his lost happiness. He’s not sure the good will ever outweigh the bad. Especially because he’ll never be able to tell you the entire story. You’ll never completely understand why he is the way he is.

Maybe he shouldn’t have told you to leave last night. You were just trying to help. After so many instances of telling himself he’d stop brushing you away, he’d stop acting like your asshole of an ex, he did it again.

But telling himself he should do something and actually doing it are two very different things. Everything in this nonsensical world is easier said than done.

You’re making breakfast in your kitchen, your temples aching from the sadness that hasn’t left you.

Rafe wasn’t awake before you for once. You don’t know how you’ll face him. You feel just as powerless as you felt when you were ten, unsure of what to say to him or how to act around him.

He was in the car. It won’t stop clanging around in your head. He was with her the last minute she was alive.

And when you tried to hold him, to be there for him, he told you to go away. You know better than to attempt to get him to talk about it again.

“Hey.” Rafe’s deep voice pulls you out of your haze. You look up to see him standing by the far counter, then return your gaze back down to the pan. For once, you’re the one avoiding eye contact.

“Hey,” you reply. Your shoulders are stiff. You know he wants to leave. “Just a second.”

You pull the pan off the range and cross the kitchen, pacing to the front of the house. When you open the door and re-arm the security system, you step to the side, hand tight on the knob.

You will yourself to look up at him, meeting his blue eyes. He’s standing between you and the front step of your home, unmoving.

“Did you want to stay?” you ask. “Maybe have some breakfast?”

It’s like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, taking another risk of rejection, expecting to fall but having a shred of hope that he’ll pull you to solid ground.

“I can’t.” He walks past you, a hard push off the edge. You’re disappointed. In him for denying you again. In yourself for thinking he wouldn’t.

You’ve always felt safe with him. But right now, while he’ll protect you physically, your heart isn’t even close to feeling whole. He’ll break it every chance he gets.

You spend your morning in a haze. You wish you could carry at least some of Rafe’s pain for him, but he’ll never fully open up to you. Last night, when he told you about the accident, he pushed you away the second you tried to comfort him.

After lunch, you realize you can’t handle being alone any longer. You text a friend and accept her invitation to hang out at her house.

Talking with your friend about everything but what’s been weighing on you is a welcome distraction for a couple of hours. Rafe is always at the back of your mind, but being with someone else helps ease the pain.

After you say your goodbyes, you walk down to the street where you parked. You notice a white paper rectangle tucked under your windshield wiper.

Your stomach drops. Normally, you’d assume it’s a ticket of some sort. That maybe you parked where you’re not supposed to. But you know that’s not what this is.

You pluck the paper from under the wiper and get into your car, trembling as you lock all the doors. You look around, terrified you’ll meet Ty’s stare.

But you’re alone. Nobody is around.

You rip open the envelope. On the top inner fold, in his messy writing: I always have my eyes on you.

Fear’s razor-sharp claws squeeze your insides when you pull out what’s in the envelope. Photos of you from the past few days. At the gas station. At the mall. At the pool.

Ty’s been following you. Taking pictures.

You lock your doors again, even though you know you already did. You’re at a loss for what to do. Where to go.

Just walking up the driveway back to your friend’s house is daunting. And going home to an empty house is just as scary.

So, you go to the one person you know will take away the fear. You drive, park, and find his name in your phone.

Rafe is sitting on the balcony leading out of his bedroom when his phone starts buzzing. He sees your name on the screen and scrambles to answer as fast as possible.

“You okay?” Rafe says.

“No.” Your voice is shaky. “No. He’s been following me.”

“Where are you?” he asks, standing and rushing to find his keys.

“I’m in front of your house.”

“Good,” he says. He tucks his gun into the band of his jeans. “Good. It’s okay. I’ll be right down.”

Rafe spots your car at the end of his driveway. When his eyes find you, he’s sure he’s never seen someone look so shell-shocked. He tugs at the passenger door handle a few times before you catch on that you need to unlock it.

He settles in the seat next to you, brows furrowed in worry, watching you stare ahead at your steering wheel.

“I don’t even know how I - I drove here,” you stutter with a humorless laugh. You’re in a fog.

“What’d he do?” he asks.

Your eyes dart down to the ripped open envelope in your cup holder. Rafe grabs it and leafs through the photos. Anger climbs up his body in half a second.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters.

“He left it on my car,” you say.

You can’t let Ty do this to you anymore. You’re not above wishing Rafe would beat him within an inch of his life. You want to fight back in every possible way you can. You want him to lose.

“I think this is enough to go to the police,” you breathe. “I need a restraining order or something. I can’t just watch this happen. I mean, I have enough evidence of - of stalking, right?”

Saying the word out loud is what finally breaks you. The tears you’ve been pushing down rush up without any mercy. You start to cry quietly, your chest heaving.

“Listen to me,” Rafe says softly. “He’ll pay for this.”

All he can feel is a burning urge to protect you. To make sure you never feel this way again. He’s not leaving your side for a minute.

You sense Rafe’s hand on your knee. It’s like you’re watching this happen to someone who looks and sounds like you because he can’t possibly be happening to you.

“You want me to drive?” he asks.

You nod, tears rolling down your face, unbuckling your seatbelt.

You watch Rafe’s knuckles turn white as he drives your car down the street. You ask him to stop at your house to grab the letter Ty left for you, glad you didn’t throw it out in haste, and arrive at the police station carrying the proof of your ex’s incessant hounding.

Rafe tucks his gun under the seat before going inside.

The building is dingy. You approach the front desk, locking eyes with the man sitting behind a computer, his uniform dull and washed out.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

“I need to file a restraining order,” you say. The words feel odd coming out of your mouth.

The officer hands you a sheet of paper on a clipboard and a pen, instructing you to come back up to the desk after you fill it out.

It’s vile. You’re scared for your life and in response, a stranger hands you a form.

The waiting room is empty. You and Rafe settle in the worn, ripped up leather seats. You look down at the words in front of you, your hands trembling.

“Here,” he says, taking the clipboard and pen from you. You’re too shaken up to focus.

You watch Rafe write your full name at the top. Your address. Your date of birth. He remembers it all.

Then, he drags the pen over every box that applies to you.

The defendant and I are persons who are in or have been in a romantic relationship. He marks it with an X.

The defendant has inflicted emotional distress on me. X.

I want the Court to order the defendant not to assault, threaten, follow or harass me. X.

I believe I am in danger of serious or immediate injury.

Rafe looks to you.

“Not when you’re around,” you say honestly. “But you can check it.”

When Rafe comes across the blank sections, he sniffs in unease before reading the instructions out loud.

“Give specific dates and describe in detail what happened,” he recites. He doesn’t want to hear this. “Just talk. I’ll write.”

You go through it all from the beginning. The aggressive text messages. The in-person threats. The email. The letter. The photos. Rafe writes it all down. His stomach turns as he listens to you recount it all.

You take the clipboard to record what’s left: Ty’s contact information.

You drop the form off at the front desk and sit back down. Rafe watches you blankly stare ahead, your knees anxiously bouncing.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he mumbles. You nod, unconvinced.

“We can grant you an emergency protective order,” a police officer tells you after taking you and Rafe to a private room. “There’ll be a court hearing within ten days. You need an attorney to represent you and to help prove that the letter and photos are from him.”

“Okay,” you say. The old man across the table is speaking like he’s talking about something boring, like the weather.

“So, wait - are you saying - he can just walk around free until then?” Rafe asks.

The officer looks at Rafe, his face emotionless. Then he looks at you again.

“The defendant will be informed about the temporary order and he’ll be told not to contact you,” he responds. “If he violates the terms, you need to let us know. But a judge will determine if a permanent order should be granted. It’s up to them to decide if this person is a danger to you.”

“Are you kidding?” Rafe shuffles in his seat, shaking his head. “Someone’s gonna tell him to stay away from her and - and that’s it? Until a judge maybe makes it official?”

“That’s the way the law works,” the officer says.

“The law is bullshit.”

“Reconsider your tone, young man,” the cop warns.

Rafe scoffs, like he’s taking it as a challenge. You’re frustrated that the man is being so cold about this, but Rafe’s hostility isn’t helping.

“Rafe,” you say, placing your hand on his forearm. “Can you wait for me outside?”

He meets your eyes. He realizes he’s stressing you out. Times like these, he hates his temper.

Rafe has been standing by the front doors of the building for five minutes when you come out, your arms crossed.

“I didn’t mean to…” he mutters. “He was just so goddamn casual about the whole thing-”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I know.”

You still feel like this is a nightmare you’re waiting to wake up from. Your parents are overseas for work, totally oblivious to what’s happening. You need to call them. How the hell do you even deliver this kind of news?

“Did he say anything else?” Rafe asks as you make your way to your car.

“He just told me I should get a lawyer as soon as I can,” you say. “I found one in the area and I called her office. I have a meeting with her tomorrow.”

You’re still shaky and you’re glad Rafe is heading for the driver’s side without you having to ask him. You settle in your car, locking yourselves in silence.

He’s not starting the engine. He’s just looking at you. You meet his eyes and try not to think about last night.

“You’re scared,” he says. Your eyelids flutter. You are scared. The last twenty-four hours have been a mess.

Rafe wallows in the feelings of failure and self-pity. He’s supposed to make you feel safe and he’s fucking it up. You look terrified.

“I’m not gonna leave your side, alright?” he says. “I’ll make sure you’re never alone until he stops. And he will stop.”

Normally, you’d ask him if he can really take that on. But you have to ask yourself if you can take it on first. Being around someone who’s committed to keeping you at a distance is starting to wear on you. But this all started so he’d keep you safe. Whether you can handle it or not, you will.

Rafe grimaces when you don’t respond. Maybe he’s not enough. Maybe you need to feel like you have the power to keep yourself safe, too.

“I’m teaching you how to use a gun,” he decides.

“What?” you say. You can’t have heard him right.

“You won’t be scared if you know how to protect yourself,” he says. Then he shoves the key into the ignition and drives to his house to swap to his bike.

You cling onto Rafe as he drives his motorcycle along the coast. He approaches a clearing in an overgrown field. You can understand why he changed vehicles when you feel how choppy the terrain is. He navigates over the grass and stops under a tree.

“How do you even know about this place?” you ask once he kills the engine and you take off his helmet.

Rafe doesn’t want to admit that he passes by this barren corner of the island several times a month to pick up coke from his dealer. That he’s been here to shoot at nothing multiple times before.

“Just do,” he says. “Come on.”

You swing your leg off his motorcycle, wishing you didn’t feel the loss of his touch as deeply as you do.

When Rafe leads you deeper into the clearing under the cloudy afternoon sky, the road now out of sight, he pulls his gun out of the back of his jeans. It’s unreal watching him adjust the weapon in his hands, how casually he’s handling something that could kill a person.

You look over your shoulder, wondering if Ty is hiding somewhere. Will you always be on edge like this, worrying his eyes are on you?

You glance back at Rafe.

“Where’d… you learn?” you mumble. “To use it.”

Rafe looks up at you. Your eyes are wide. Maybe this was a bad idea.

He was being impulsive when he suggested this. He forgot how you looked at him when you noticed his gun at the party a few nights ago. He’s supposed to be making you feel safe. But you look freaked out.

“If this is a bad idea, we don’t have to do this,” he says. “I was-”

“No,” you interrupt. “You’re right. I’ll feel better knowing I can defend myself if it… if it comes to that.”

The thought sends a chill through your body. You try to shake away your fear.

“I was just wondering,” you say.

“I taught myself,” Rafe admits.

“How come?”

His jaw clenches.

“I told you, sometimes I get pissed off and…” He tries to bring down the sharpness of his tone. “This helps. It feels good. You’ll see.”

You can tell just how heavy his soul is as you watch him focus, sliding the magazine of the gun in and out. You wonder how many times he’s come out here, running towards a twisted form of solace.

You get it. You don’t know how you’d react if what happened to him happened to you, but you doubt it’d be very different from this. You’d be angry at the world, too. You’d want to take it out any way you can.

Rafe steps closer to you, opening the chamber, every column in it filled.

“It’s loaded,” he tells you. “You can see the bullets here. Safety’s on.”

He closes the chamber and offers the gun to you. It’s heavy in your hand as he rounds to stand behind you.

“You see that tree over there?” he says, his voice low. You follow his finger to see a tall, broken stump in the distance. It looks like it was hit by lightening and torn in half.

“Yeah,” you say.

“Aim at it,” he instructs you. “Use both hands. It’ll have some kick.”

You’re tense as you raise the gun towards the tree. You have one hand wrapped around the grip of the gun and tuck the other underneath the barrel.

“Like this,” he mumbles. His arms encircle you, his chest firm against your back. Your breath catches as he rests his hands over yours. He guides your left hand closer to your right, adjusting your fingers to spread wider.

“Safety’s on,” he reminds you. “Just get used to the feeling, alright?”

“Alright,” you say.

His forefinger settles over yours, pushing down on the blocked trigger.

“This is where you press down,” he says. You nod against him.

Rafe’s trying not to notice how nice your shampoo smells. The way your body feels enclosed in his. The fact that his heart started racing the second he gets close to you like this.

“You ready for me to turn off the safety?” he asks you, zeroing in on the reason he’s here. You nod and in seconds, the loaded gun in your hands is completely unguarded.

“It’ll be loud, okay?” he mumbles. You feel his warm breath against your cheek. “You don’t have to be scared. You have all the power here.”

You feel like you haven’t had any power in a long time. You take a few breaths before you pull the trigger. The bang is ear-splitting and force is hard, jolting your arm, sending the bark on the tree flying within a second. You actually hit your target.

You lose your stability, hands loosening beneath Rafe’s. He quickly pulls the gun back and turns the safety on again.

“Shit,” he says amusedly. “You did it.”

You’re in disbelief that you’re doing this and that it kind of felt good. You turn to look up at Rafe, who’s towering behind you.

Your eyes are locked as you stand together in the desolate patch of unkept greenery. You’re silent now and so is he, your breaths in unison.

“Feel better?” he finally asks.

“Yeah.”

Rafe has spent so long harboring hatred for everyone, including himself. But as he drinks in your features and the way they come together so beautifully, he’s sure he doesn’t hate you and never has. How could he when you look at him like this, like you’re expecting the best from him after all he’s done is disappoint you?

Just like last night, the words come rushing out of Rafe’s mouth. He’s getting worse at keeping them in around you. It’s still uncharted territory, so he’s struggling to find out how to say exactly what he’s thinking.

“I don’t…” he says. He starts over. “You should be… happy. I mean, you shouldn’t have to be dealing with all this.”

You chew on your lip. He’s right. Nobody should have to suffer like this, scared of a maniac who won’t leave them alone, who seems to find pleasure in inflicting fear.

Rafe hates that you’re fighting for your own comfort. You deserve to live in ease.

“Thanks,” you say. You gaze into his eyes, wishing they didn’t see what they saw when he was ten years old. “I want you to be happy, too.”

Rafe’s lids drop, his sharp jaw tightening as he grinds his teeth. He can’t cry in front of you. Not again.

“Give it another try,” he says, handing the gun back to you after turning off the safety. You take it in steady hands, aiming at the tree. He doesn’t hold you this time.

After a few seconds of concentration, you pull the trigger and miss. Then you try once more. You hit your target. You can’t imagine ever using this on a person. But if it comes down to it, to your life or Ty’s, you’re picking yours every time.

You lower the gun, realizing your breaths are faster now.

“I think that’s enough,” you say, your stare still fixed ahead. You feel Rafe slowly take the weapon out of your hands again, his fingers brushing yours.

“You wanna go home?” he asks.

“Yes.”

Without another word, you head back to your house, feeling Rafe’s heart thudding against your palm as you cling onto him on his bike.

Rafe waits in the front room while you try to call your parents. Neither of them answer, likely asleep in their timezone.

You put your phone away, looking defeated. He said he wouldn’t leave your side and you couldn’t be more grateful.

“I’ll try again in the morning,” you tell him. “You can just make yourself at home. There’s food in the fridge. I’m gonna go lie down.”

Rafe nods, his elbows on his knees as he sits forward on the couch, as if he’s ready to strike any threat that might come your way.

You stand and cross the space, then breathe out a slow exhale when you reach the end of the room, your hand on the edge of the wall.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, glancing back at him. “I know it’s hard for you to be around me. My parents will fly back after I talk to them and you won’t have to do this anymore.”

You round the corner, leaving him with his thoughts.

It’s not until after sunset that you come back downstairs, feeling trapped in your own home. Rafe is where you left him, scrolling on his phone, surely bored.

“Hey,” you say. You got a text from a friend a few minutes ago about a party at a house down the street. “You wanna get out of here?”

More people are drunk than sober when you arrive at the party, the music and chatter almost deafening. Rafe is brushing through the crowds in front of you.

You spot your friends on the other side of the room and find some relief in seeing people you know actually want to be in your company.

You tug at his shirt to get his attention. Rafe turns and leans down to hear you over the music.

“I’ll be with my friends,” you tell him. He pulls back, confusion in his stare.

“You sure you should go on your own?” he asks.

“You’ll be close, right?” you say.

Rafe shuffles in place, looking tense before he leans over to speak again.

“I’m fine being around you, okay?” he says, thinking about what you said back at your house. “If that’s what this is about.”

He’s fine. You don’t miss the coldness of his words. He’s simply fine being around you, while you ache for him when he’s gone.

“I don’t want to just be… tolerated,” you confess. “I’ll stand over there and I won’t move.”

“Aren’t we supposed to pretend we’re together?” he asks, suddenly desperate to feel you. He offers his hand. You look down at it.

For the first time, you don’t want to touch him. Because you’re so painfully aware that this is all a farce. Because you went through so much today that keeping up appearances feels ridiculous.

When you don’t take Rafe’s hand, the sting of rejection pools through him.

“I don’t care about fooling him anymore,” you say. “We don’t have to keep lying to everyone.”

You offer him a sad smile and brush past him. Your friends’ faces fall when they see you. That’s when you know you’re wearing your anguish for everyone to see.

You stand against the wall, alert and sharp-eyed in case Ty shows up. Maybe he won’t. Maybe the police scared him from even risking being in the same room as you.

He doesn’t seem to be here. But you’re drained of all hope a mere half-hour later when you suddenly see your ex in the crowd. When his gaze meets yours, his lips thin in anger.

Like an animal charging towards its prey, he rushes towards you, shoving past people. You look around and feel overwhelming relief when you see Rafe’s profile locked on Ty as he scrambles to get to him.

“You went to the fucking police?” Ty shouts, rushing towards you.

Even over the music, you can hear the sound of Rafe’s fist making contact with Ty’s jaw. The crowd quickly scatters, shouts erupting as they clear out the space.

Everyone runs away but you. You step forward, watching in disbelief as Rafe leans over, one hand on Ty’s collar, the other delivering blow after blow.

Rafe’s knuckles ache with every punch as Ty lies on the ground, absorbing every strike, slack-jawed. He sees red. Every punch is harder than the last.

“Don’t follow her, don’t talk to her, don’t even fucking look at her!” Rafe yells. “Do you hear me?”

Pure rage fills his veins as he takes everything out with his fist. Every reason he’s so painfully angry. The misery you’re going through. The loss he feels every single day. The fact that people like this get to live when his mother doesn’t.

“Rafe, that’s enough, man!” you hear. You watch two of Rafe’s friends pull him off. He scrambles to get out of their grip.

You can see Ty clearer now. His face is covered in blood, his head rocking side to side.

You turn to see Rafe is pinned against the wall, a third friend now holding him back. His jerks to get free are violent and frantic. Until he sees you.

You look shattered. He stills. You close the distance.

“Let’s go,” you say, unable to recognize your own voice. “Please.”

Rafe’s friends look at each other, never having seen him settle down so quickly. They loosen their grip off of him and he hurries to you, his body curving over yours in an effort to shield you from everything that just happened.

As you rush out of the party, Rafe’s hand is pressed at the small of your back. You’re glad it is, because you’re not sure you’d be able to handle anything without him keeping you steady right now.

When you make it home, your heart is still pounding in your ears. In the moonlight, you noticed how bloody Rafe’s knuckles were as he drove, so you impulsively lead him to the closest bathroom on the first floor of your home.

He doesn’t realize what you’re doing until you turn on the faucet, checking the temperature of the water before you take his hand in yours and wash off the evidence of the fight.

Blood starts to pool down into the sink in a spiral. It wasn’t that long ago you watched Rafe cleaning himself up like this at his house the night he agreed to pretend to date you.

You turn off the tap and take a hand towel, gently dabbing his swollen knuckles. Rafe watches you, the way your face twists in concentration, his lips parted as he breathes heavily.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” you ask.

“No,” he says.

You’re not thinking straight. You’re doing this because you feel like you owe him for making Ty pay for what he’s been doing to you, but it’s better not to be touching like this. Not when you know it’s a matter of time before he goes back to being a stranger.

“I guess you can do this yourself,” you say nervously. You hold out the towel for him to take with his good hand.

Ever since Rafe fell into this destructive pattern of fighting, he did this part on his own. Cleaning himself up, dealing with the ache, breathing through the residual adrenaline. Nobody ever took care of him like this. He never let them.

Really, he never let you. Because you were the only one holding out a hand while everyone else watched him drown.

“Can you?” he mumbles. You look up at him, puzzled. He always rejects your offers to help. But not now.

“You want me to?” you say. Your voice is brittle, echoing in your small bathroom.

His eyes are soft, as soft as they were when he was a boy, and he nods.

You continue to press the towel against his knuckles. You look at his hand, thinking about the way you watched it write for you earlier today, recording every detail of the torment you’ve lived through over the past few weeks.

What would’ve Ty done if he got his hands on you tonight? And how could Rafe think so low of himself, call himself a psycho, say he fucks everything up, when he could be the only reason you’re alive right now?

“You okay?” he mumbles. You look up, realizing he’s watching you and can see the anxiety etched into your expression.

“The court order didn’t work,” you respond. “It didn’t scare him. It’s a good thing you were there. Thank you.”

Rafe has never felt sure about his place in the world. Not after his loss. But the sense of purpose that taking care of you has given him, the feeling of being told it was good he was somewhere, is unlike anything else.

He flexes his throbbing hand, your words from earlier tonight rattling in his mind. The insinuation that he tolerates you. It’s wrong. It may bring back bad memories to be around you, but it’s not like he’s merely putting up with you, like he’s eager to get rid of you.

“Should I get you ice?” you offer.

Rafe doesn’t answer. He only stares at you.

“I don’t just tolerate you,” he says after a moment, his voice rough.

Your heart aches. Tears prick your eyes. You inhale slowly, your face crumpling with sorrow.

“What is it?” he says.

“I can’t… You told me not to talk about it.”

Rafe chews on the inside of his cheek. He can tell how much it’s been hurting you, how much you’ve been yearning to have this conversation.

“Say it.”

You look down, so overwhelmed that it hurts, accepting his invitation.

“What happened to you was… I don’t have the words. I never did,” you whisper. “It changed you but I can still see parts of who you were before. You’re a good person. Maybe you don’t think so, but you never stopped being good. You asked me why I care about you. That’s why.”

Rafe is speechless. Everything in him is urging him to walk away from you again. The closer he gets to you, the more it hurts. The more it reminds him.

He ignores the impulse to leave. He lets you keep talking.

“And I understand why you shut me out. You were grieving. I’m just so… so, so sorry.” You know it’s a risk to say, but this might be your only chance to tell him. You take a breath. “She’d be so proud of you, Rafe. I know it.”

You stare up at him through your lashes. Finally, you’ve said everything you’ve been wanting to say to him for years.

To hear someone he trusts telling him his mother would be proud of the man he’s become, even when he always feels so angry and rotten and broken, gives Rafe an overpowering sense of relief.

Then, it creeps up on him, the way he can’t bear that he survived and she didn’t. She should have stayed alive. Why did he deserve it? Why didn’t she?

You watch Rafe’s face fall, brows pinching, eyes starting to gleam with tears. Seeing him cry because of what you just said is a punch in the gut.

You should give him space. It’s what he always wants. But just in case he needs any of the comfort you can offer him, you give into your impulse to touch him. At this point, it’s senseless to fight it.

You drape your arms over his shoulders, bringing him close to you, squeezing him into a hug. When he doesn’t return your embrace, you start to retreat, but then you feel big hands drag up your waist, pulling you back in.

Rafe digs his head into the crook of your neck. His body starts to tremble with his cries. And finally, he surrenders himself to you completely.

(part seven)

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[cherrylovelycherry]

𓂅new order. "tarte aux fraises and uh... a éclair au chocolat."

How un.fortunate

pairing. Boothill x fem!reader cw/genre. angst, misunderstood, crying, disappointment, frustration, bittersweet ed, some fluff synopsis. he heard part of the conversation with your friends, exactly a bad part. full menu

"Isn't he cute?" One of your friends, Elisa, blurted out. Who carried a small baby in his arms.

"Oh…yes he is!" You spoke, excitedly, taking his small hands in your fingers.

How you loved babies and children in general.

"Can I carry it too?" You asked this time looking at another of your friends, Laila, who was the little boy's mother.

"Sure! Just be careful with his head and neck."

"Hello little one." You spoke to the baby as you held him in your arms as Laila instructed.

Together with your friends, you had met after so many planned outings, which in one way or another ended up being canceled since one was always busy.

Recently one of them had another child. Of your small group of 4 friends, you were the only one who didn't have children until now.

Even though when you were in your student days, you and your friends said that you would be the first to have children.

How unfortunate.

"Oh…he's so fragile." You commented with a soft and cheerful smile.

"He's too cute!" Elisa commented looking at the baby.

"Yeah. And he cries so much." Laila commented in a tired tone. as she gave a soft yawn, it seemed that she was quite tired of the baby, which she had been looking after all the time.

"What else do you expect? He's little." Elisa spoke.

"Is he very noisy?" You asked, curious.

"He keeps us up all night with his crying, you have no idea." Laila responded.

"Sure it's cute at first," said your friend, Myre, "but when you have to deal with them for real… It's a whole other story."

"Are your children also a hassle to you?" You asked with a slight chuckle and curiosity.

"Nah, I love those little ones with my soul." She said, slowly sitting down in the chair at the table where the four of them were sitting. She had to be careful since she was 7 months pregnant.

Your friends, except for Myre, groaned at this.

"How can you say something like that when you're going to have more children?" Laila asked in a tired tone.

"Haha I do not know." She said, laughing, "And I didn't even want to have children."

They all laughed, commenting on one or another trick to make parenting easier. While you stayed talking to the baby with a soft voice. You rocked him in your arms calmly.

"Oh, and wouldn't it be a good idea to put our children in the same academy, just like we planned when we were younger?—" Elisa's words were cut off by a gentle nudge from Myre.

As if to try to silence her.

"Uh…sorry" Elisa's tone of voice was low and with some embarrassment.

You knew very well that in a certain way they felt sorry for you, refusing to talk about that kind of things in front of you.

You really tried not to let it affect you.

"Oh, no. It's totally fine, girls." You spoke, smiling somewhat embarrassed, keeping your gaze on the baby that you still held in your arms.

The baby began to let out soft cries and to move his little arms. You had no idea why.

"Oh, he must be hungry." Laila said, taking a small bottle of breast milk from the bag she had brought with her.

Putting some hot water in it from another thermos that she also brought.

"Here." She handed it to you.

"Are you sure you want me to do it?" You asked, looking at Laila.

She just smiled and shook her head.

You couldn't help but smile at him in response, as you brought the bottle closer to the baby's little mouth.

Then, the baby started drinking his food from the bottle you were holding.

Your friends smiled in reassurance, understanding that you were fine.

"Dear, I had a question actually…" Myre spoke slowly.

"Go ahead." You responded, curious to know what she would ask.

"What about your boyfriend?"

The question made you a little nervous. You had a small worry on your mind, a worry that you've told no one about. Your head was full of thoughts at that momen, it became a sudden silence in the table.

"Uh…well," You let out an awkward chuckle. "Recently we haven't seen each other much." That was the truth.

Lately you had seen your boyfriend less and there was a reason behind it. Boothill was not one to stay on one planet, as he was a galaxy ranger. But that didn't stop him from deciding to stay on your planet for a long time. I went and came back to be with you.

"Well, not all couples see each other every day." Elisa commented, taking a sip of her hot tea.

You were currently residing on a planet that orbited near Jarilo-VI. Or at least that's what Boothill told you.

"She's right, after all not every couple is the same." Laila commented.

They all remained silent, giving each other slight glances.

Of course it didn't go unnoticed by you.

"…We just want you to be a happy girl, sweetheart."

"Um…what's this all about?" You asked, looking at Myre, who after handing the bottle to Laila, took your hand.

"We're worried about you and your situation." She said, looking into your eyes.

"Why…?" That was all you could come up with.

"Lately you've been quite… Distracted or down." This time Laila spoke, with a worried expression.

It was true, you were sure that you had been acting distant lately, at least for the last two weeks. You didn't want to but they had noticed.

"I'll be honest, you're scaring us, sweety girl." Elisa spoke, taking off her glasses and rubbing her eyes with them.

"You really don't look happy, dear." Myre, after saying that, squeezed your hand tighter, as if she wanted to give you comfort.

"We care about you, you know."

The others nodded as well, you had a feeling what was going to happen, they were very obvious.

They all cared about you, you had known each other for long time after all. You knew what they were going to say.

"The truth is that we don't know if that cowboy is the best choice for you." Elisa's words made your heart feel a little heavy.

They knew almost perfectly who your boyfriend was. They knew that being more metal than human, it was impossible for you to have children.

"Dear," Laila started to speak, "You've told us time and time again that you want children of your own. And you know that he can't give you children…"

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat. That was what hurt the most.

She was right, maybe too right.

How unfortunate.

Your gaze was now positioned on the baby, who was now being carried by Elisa.

How much you longed to be able to hold your own children just as you held your friend's child moments before.

You couldn't stop your eyes from filling with a thin layer of tears.

You looked down at your legs, in an attempt to not let them see your face like that.

You let out a silent sigh.

Of course, you knew it wasn't going to be possible to have a baby with Boothill. He was more made of metal and circuits than a living being.

The only way you could have your own children would be to have them with another human. It didn't matter how hard you tried, there was just no way.

Something you didn't know was that the person your friends were talking about was right around the corner from the cafe where you were.

His happiness at seeing you was suddenly turned off, as if it were a switch.

He had heard what they had been talking about.

He saw your reaction.

You didn't deny anything, nor did you say anything in response to your friends' words. In his eyes, you just lowered your head.

If he had a heart, he would have thought his heart was falling towards his now nonexistent stomach.

The beautiful bouquet of flowers that was going to belong to you was now in an alley, exactly in a garbage container.

…

You took out your key to enter your house, you were tired.

You chose to return on foot.

You inserted the key, unlocking the door lock. Entering calmly.

It was a great surprise to see Boothill there.

He could enter whenever he wanted since you had given him a spare key that you had.

It was good for you that he returned to your planet, you really needed his affection now. You were a little down because of the conversation you had with your friends.

"Hello, love." You said, smiling softly at him.

Your eyes were still a little red from the crying that your friends had to witness and comfort.

You fully entered your house and closed the door behind you, approaching your boyfriend so you can kiss him.

Your lips met briefly. You couldn't help noticing that this time it was a much colder and dry caress than usual. He even seemed a little uncomfortable.

He was expressionless, but you could still see something of disappointment hidden behind his eyes.

"Hey, are you alright?" You asked, in a low voice, stroking his cheek with your hand lovingly.

He moved away from your touch, as if it burned his face.

"How unfortunate, isn't it?" He asked as he looked at you.

How unfortunate? The hell was he talking about…?

You took a step forward in an attempt to be closer to him. But he, in response, just took a step back and away from you.

"Don't touch me with those hands."

Those words hurt like a stab in your heart.

Hands… those hands you tried to use to comfort him, caress him.

His look of disappointment was replaced by a look of frustration.

"What do you mean…?" You asked, confused, with a worried expression.

"Oh, you know…" He said, faking nonchalance.

"You can't make your greatest dream come true with me." His words sounded cold.

Your expression dropped, tears slowly filling your eyes, at that moment you remembered the conversation you had with your friends.

"You hear..?" You asked, in a low, broken voice.

You were trying to compose yourself.

Boothill just responded with a chuckle, that hurt you more.

"It's funny how you try to hide your disappointment and your frustration when you see others living the life you want, but you'll never be able to have."

It was the truth after all. A truth that no matter how much you want to ignore, it hurt you more and more.

You tried to open your mouth to speak, but just a small incoherent sound came out.

"No matter how many nights we've lived together, you'll never bear my children."

It was the cruel truth, a reality that you were aware of, but still you let yourself live that lie.

You wanted so much to have his children.

Yet he couldn't give you what you desired.

You took a deep sigh trying to calm the turmoil of emotions that were going through you.

"Boothill…" You whispered, trying to keep your voice from breaking any more than it already had.

His name came out of your lips like a mantra as you were drowning in tears.

"Stop crying." His tone of voice sounded sharper this time, which hurt you even more.

He was acting completely different than usual. He wanted to hurt you?

No, he wanted to get away.

But the pain was too great, tears began to run down your eyes.

"Maybe your friends are right."

"Maybe you should consider looking for someone else."

The tears were falling down your cheeks like a river and your sobs were getting worse.

Those words were so cold that they made your body freeze, your breath came out shaky.

"Please don't say that." You just managed to speak through sobs.

With those words, you walked towards your boyfriend in an attempt to hold him tight and kiss his entire face. To hold him close to your body. But as you were approaching, he just took a step back.

"Just admit it." He muttered in between his teeth.

That filled your head with questions. Admit what?

"Eh?…" You blurted out, giving him a confused look. With your hand you dried the tears that stained your cheeks.

"You also think the same as them."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"You're disappointed, you're frustrated… aren't you?" This time his tone of voice was much calmer, as if he was more tired.

You couldn't respond.

"Say it."

"It's not like that, I'm not—" Your words were interrupted.

Boothill laughed lightly at your denial. "Be honest."

Your brow furrowed slightly. What had he heard then to make him say that?

"You didn't say anything when they told you i wasn't good for you, that you weren't happy."

So he had heard most of the conversation.

But not exactly everything.

"You didn't say anything when they said it was better for you to look for someone else, someone human."

Again you wanted to try to speak but his words were a constant punch to your heart, your body felt heavy.

It was a cruel reality.

You knew that if you stayed with Boothill, you would never be able to have children.

But that didn't matter, it didn't matter to you. You loved him, more than anyone could ever understand.

You loved him, more than your own life.

You didn't want to lose him.

He was the person you wanted by your side for the rest of time.

"I did say something, you didn't fully hear how the conversation went. We can sit down and talk." Your voice rose and fell in pitch as you tried to appease the lump in your throat.

He didn't respond, lowering his gaze to the ground for a moment, as if he was taking the time to think about what he would do next.

"If you're not going to make the decision, I'll help you decide."

He proceed to give you the spare keys to your house.

You stayed still before that, feeling how your eyes were filling with tears again.

Wait, hold on.

"You should search for a human male, someone who can give you what you desire more than anything."

Your body had gone completely tense.

The keys were now gently placed on your palm. Your eyes couldn't process what was happening at the moment. "I'm not going to come back."

As the moment passed and his words and his action were processed in your mind, you slowly managed to raise your face to look at him.

You felt as if at any moment your heart would explode in your chest.

He was going to break up with you. He wanted to break.

Boothill was going to leave you.

"I'm sorry I couldn't fulfill your desire." He started to speak again.

You could hear the disappointment in his words.

"That's it?" You asked through your tears.

That was the last thing he was going to tell you?

Your question was ignored.

"Take care… Darlin'."

In response you didn't manage to say a single word.

You just watched him leave your house.

As you watched the door close, your legs betrayed you and you almost fell to the ground, but managed to hold on to the furniture.

It was impossible for you to contain your tears as they now fell like waves, your breathing became heavy and the sobs were now unbearable.

You had a terrible time that night, that week, that month, that year.

How unfortunate.

"Be careful. Hold on to the ice cream you might drop, dear."

You let out a soft sigh looking at the little girl.

Your little girl.

The little girl was full of energy, you always wondered where she could get so much energy.

You adored her with your life, thanks to her you were able to stop being stuck in that hole of hopelessness in which you were.

You really wonder what things would have been like if you hadn't had the opportunity to raise and care for this little girl.

Currently it has been 6 years since your relationship ended.

Every time you stop to remember what the first 2 years were like, a chill would run down your spine. You basically left yourself abandoned. You weren't living anymore, you just survived. Your dreams of having children faded over time, you decided to give up on that dream.

You could say that it had been a difficult year, with many ups and downs.

At the end of your second year, your friends tried to cheer you up. They tried to get involved with other people, but it was all in vain, in the end they were just people who wanted to take advantage or make use of your body.

So you also chose to stop that. In your mind, you still had hope that one day he would return. However, you saw it as impossible. Because he left, it's not like it was the first time they had disagreements or big misunderstandings.

Quite apart from that, he also noticed your actions, becoming more and more discouraged with the passage of time.

For the third year, one of your friends who worked in a hospital, told you about the most recent crisis she had attended to while she was on duty.

The mother of a girl who was about 1 year old had just died and there were no records of family connections or anything.

So the hospital staff tried to take care of the little girl as much as they could. Since they knew that child care centers were not the best at taking care of children.

You don't really remember how things happened. By the middle of the third year, you were trying to get custody of the girl.

Things turned out well for you, everything happened too fast.

You were more than dedicated to her, going to new parent courses, reading books, watching videos, among other things. It was like the world gave you another chance.

You were finishing ordering your own flavor of ice cream, holding a baby carriage with one of your hands. Yes, you also fought to get the adoption papers for the baby who was barely 9 months old.

"Mom! I dropped it!" Your little girl's small voice shouted, sounding worried and sad.

You finished asking, turning your head towards the scream, sighing and laughing softly. "Leave it there, honey. Come, I'll buy you another one."

She came running again, smiling that she would have another new ice cream.

"This is the last one I bought, be more careful this time." You spoke to her with a somewhat stern voice as you watched her jump with joy, extending her small hands towards the employee who was handing her her new ice cream.

"'Kay!" She let go quickly and ran again in the opposite direction from where you were.

You shook your head as you went back to paying for the ice cream.

The little girl left the games, moving a little away from the initial place where she was. She was a little distracted, walking while happily eating her ice cream.

In one of those, she turned her gaze, opening her small eyes in surprise, now running again in that direction.

He approached a tall man, who seemed to be in his own world at that moment.

With all the daring in the world, the little girl spoke. "You look like my daddy!"

The girl's voice caught the man's attention, looking at her with complete curiosity. "Um…" He looked up, looking around, looking for his parents.

When he didn't find anything, he got a little worried. "Where are your parents?"

The little girl was more than amazed analyzing the man. "My mommy is over there." She said, pointing in the direction she had come from.

Meanwhile, when you finished paying for the ice cream, you looked for your daughter.

Not seeing her nearby, you thought the worst, adrenaline rising through your veins little by little. You started looking for her while shouting her name out loud and asking people near the playground if they had seen her.

You were so scared that your hands were shaking, you had left your freshly bought ice cream on the store counter.

Approximately 5 or 6 minutes passed until in the distance you saw a Little girl running towards you.

A strong sense of relief filled you.

By the time she finished running, coming to stand in front of you, the first thing you did was to bend down and hug her.

“Clementine! You scared me, honey.”

The little girl slipped her arms around you, reciprocating the hug. Then, as if remembering something, she pulled away as she turned her head back.

“Look mommy, that man looks just like daddy.” She spoke, excitedly.

You looked at her in confusion, picking yourself up off the floor, grabbing the baby carriage with one hand again. You looked up, and saw who your daughter meant.

You felt as if all the air in your lungs had disappeared. Your eyes could no longer open.

Your heart was now beating painfully hard in your chest.

Why is…? How…? Is it…? Your mind was a complete chaos of thoughts, all of them racing through your mind and making it feel like it would explode. Your head feels light and you feel dizzy.

You were so shocked that you couldn't even react, not blinking again or being able to move an inch.

You couldn't take your eyes off him. He was there, standing in the distance, looking back at you.

His white hair now tied in a low ponytail. His gaze, piercing and intense, remained the same, just like your memory.

He felt so many things at once. Even how fate came to work at the perfect time for you to name your little girl that name. The same way he named his daughter.

A mixture of surprise and disbelief had taken hold of him, but his body betrayed him.

His body, without even processing in his mind what he was doing, began to approach slowly.

You seemed as if you were frozen in time, he watched you as if no time had passed. Your appearance was almost identical to how he remembered you 6 years ago. The only thing was your hair, which was now short, almost to your shoulders.

"Lil' lady."

Boothill's voice sounded in the small space, watching the young girl turn her gaze towards him.

He held out his hand in front of him, letting the little girl take his fingers. “I'm Boothill, dear. May I know what's your name?”

He introduced himself to her, since moments before he had not had the opportunity to do so.

She looked at him intrigued, squeezing the fingers that held her as she raised her face to speak.

"I'm Clementine!" She replied excitedly, raising her shoulders in an excited gesture.

Your daughter, turned her little head towards you, still holding Boothill's metal hand. "Mommy, he even has a name like daddy!"

No matter how much you tried to formulate words, nothing came out of your mouth.

The child's innocence was endearing.

He just laughed softly, a warm, somewhat nostalgic smile forming on his face. “Yeah, we got the same name.”

The fact that there was a little girl right there who was calling him "daddy" and he had no idea what was going on was a complicated situation. But, he also couldn't help but find it so cute and lovely that he couldn't stop smiling even if he wanted to.

He turned his gaze to you, taking a few seconds before speaking.

"Can we talk?" His tone had a hint of imploration.

You nodded your head weakly in response.

As you did so, you heard your daughter speak again, this time in a more shy and embarrassed manner.

"Dadd— Mr. Boothill!"

"Yes, darlin'?" He tilted his head to the side, focusing his gaze on the girl in front of him again.

"Can you hold me?"

"Clementine!" You reproached her for her question, she didn't even know Boothill well and she was already being open with him. Besides, you didn't want him to get upset about it.

He was a little surprised by such a bold and direct request, but he couldn't say no, of course.

"Hah, sure, why not?"

He had to kneel down to take her gently in his arms.

Seeing your daughter in his arms was one of the most surreal scenes you had ever experienced.

Once he picked her up, she put her arms around his neck, feeling a little safe and comfortable being held in his arms. He gave you a warm smile to reassure you so as not to make you more uneasy than you already seemed.

Although that gesture of his made you even more uneasy. You avoided his gaze, looking at your baby, who was still sleeping peacefully in the stroller.

As you started walking towards your house, you could hear how people nearby whispered as they pointed at the scene.

"He's so tall!" "What a cute girl!" "It looks like it's his dad…"

You bit your tongue lightly, trying to ignore all the sounds.

Looking at his expression, you could tell that he was confused, maybe even a little overwhelmed. The way his eyebrows knitted together and there was a slight frown on his face.

He had that same nervous look on his face as before. He was as bad at hiding his emotions as you.

You remained silent throughout the small stroll of approximately 10 minutes. You could feel his gaze on you, but you didn't dare look at him. There was no doubt that a tense aura surrounded you.

You arrived at the front of your somewhat large house. It wasn't the same one you had 6 years ago, you moved because you needed more space for your children.

You unlocked the door, and let him in, he still had Clementine in his arms as the girl had her face hidden in his neck since she had fallen asleep.

Once the door was closed, you looked at her for a moment, a soft tender look filled your features. After you finished observing her, you turned your gaze towards him.

The room had a warm and cozy atmosphere, with a pleasant temperature that made it easier to breathe.

Both you and Boothill stayed quiet for a few seconds before you spoke again.

“Can you lay her down on the couch?”

You told him as you squared your other baby's stroller. Taking him out of this and carefully taking him to his room, so that he could continue sleeping.

He obeyed your request, carefully laying her down. He took a few seconds to take a good look at the child's face.

He noticed how her small chest rose and fell steadily on the surface of the couch’s pillows, letting out small and soft sighs in the process.

By the time you returned to the living room, he was sitting on the couch, frowning a little and deep in thought.

You let out a quiet sigh, trying to mentally prepare yourself for what was coming.

You also sat on the couch, only on one that was almost in front of him.

Seeing you close to him left him breathless.

Now he was able to see you much more closely.

The same bright and unique eyes, the same small and soft lips.

The expression on your face was a mix of nervousness and discomfort.

He remained silent for a couple of seconds, still trying to process everything.

He parted his lips, finally starting to speak.

"You managed—"

"Sorry for—"

You and him literally spoke at the same time.

You immediately became silent for a moment, feeling a little nervous and embarrassed.

A small, almost unintentional chuckle escaped his lips. Despite everything, the situation was somewhat funny and entertaining.

“You go first.”

He spoke in a gentle, almost sweet voice. His gaze remained focused on yours, paying attention to your expression.

You could feel your mouth going dry, the words not wanting to come out of your throat.

You fidgeted a little, feeling somewhat guilty about what you wanted to say.

"Ah, I'm sorry…" A small gasp escaped your lips as you tried to find the right way to say it. "…for the fact that my daughter said you looked like and had the same name as her dad."

You wondered where the security had gone and the many words you had thought and even rehearsed saying to him the first time you saw him again.

“Oh, nah, that's alright."

He chuckled again, sounding somewhat calm and even amused.

Your nervousness only grew as you felt embarrassed. You thought maybe he would get mad or upset.

The room was silent again.

It went like this for a few minutes until he spoke.

"You managed to have children." He said, with some nostalgia.

"Yeah…I managed."

Your voice came out shakier than you originally planned.

You didn't want him to know how nervous you were, you didn't want him to know that your heart was racing a thousand beats a minute and that you were thinking over and over again about so many scenarios, most of them bad.

He seemed to notice your nervousness, even though you tried to hide it.

He gave a reassuring smile before continuing to speak.

"It…surprises and makes me quite happy." He admitted with sincerity.

You only chose to smile at him in response in a somewhat shy manner.

"By the way, your husband won't be upset that I'm here?" he asked.

“Upset? That's an interesting choice of word.”

A slightly sad expression appeared on your face. Your lips curved downward and your eyebrows frowned.

He had misunderstood you.

You didn't know if you should clarify his comment, if you should explain to him or if you should keep quiet.

You sighed, deciding to speak and be honest with the cowboy.

“Boothill…I don't have a husband…”

The cowboy's eyes widened at the sound of the words coming out of your mouth.

He couldn't tell if you were just kidding or if you were saying it seriously. He was really confused.

"Did you divorce?" he asked.

You shook your head. You lowered your gaze, staring at your fingers on your hands that were clasped together.

“That…” You hesitated for a few moments, searching for the right words. “That implies having been married in the first place. I was never married."

You spoke as you raised your head again, looking at him with a small smile.

"…I'm a single mom, Boothill.”

The cowboy was surprised at the news. He expected many possibilities, but he certainly hadn't thought of this one.

After letting this information sink in, he looked at you with a confused expression.

"But your daughter said I looked like her father—"

Despite all the clues you gave him to understand the situation, he still didn't reach the true conclusion.

That gave you some humor, you assumed he would be nervous.

You let out a small laugh, looking away from him for a moment.

"I adopted my two children." You said once you stopped laughing, looking at your daughter, who was still sleeping peacefully on the couch next to you.

"And…maybe I made the mistake of telling Clementine about you."

He was silent for a few moments as he continued to process the information you had just given him.

Oh.

The expression in his eyes changed from one of confusion to one of surprise.

His eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly in shock as he seemed unable to form any words.

He couldn’t help but feel a tinge of guilt and guilt at all the conclusions that passed through his mind.

“Wait…”

A few uncomfortable seconds passed before he continued. "Why do you say that?"

"Uhm…" You also took care to organize your words, so that they were direct.

And, before you could answer him, your baby, who was sleeping in his room, started crying. Probably because it was time for him to eat.

You quickly got up from the couch, smiling apologetically at him as you left the living room to enter your other son's room.

He watched as you ran into the room.

The cowboy was so distracted with the news you had told him before leaving that he couldn’t help but hear the whole exchange that was going on in the room next door.

Your voice was low and gentle, almost singing to soothe the baby’s cries.

It was like a rollercoaster of emotions.

He leaned back against the backrest of the couch, covering his face with his free hand.

He had to digest all that had happened.

Not only did you manage to have children, but you never married and on top of that you got custody of two children that you did not give birth to.

After a few minutes, you were able to finish feeding your little baby.

The crying had stopped, leaving him in a calm state.

You were able to leave the baby's room once again. Only this time with your son in your arms since he didn't want to sleep again.

As soon as you reentered the room and saw the cowboy’s position, you laughed internally, letting out a soft sigh.

You sat on the couch, but this time next to him. Placing the baby in your legs.

"Sorry for the delay."

You stayed quiet for a while, watching as your son grabbed your fingers and played with them.

"When she was younger she found a photo of both of us. And well…I had to tell her about the relationship we had." You sounded a little embarrassed, however you were no longer nervous, on the contrary, you were calm.

He dropped his hand from his face and turned to look at you, but you continued to look down at your baby.

He listened to your words for a few seconds, now putting his hand on his chin, pondering the new information you had given him.

"And she thought I was…?"

He wasn’t quite sure how to say it without being too frank, but you had a small smile on your lips, guessing what his words would be.

You nodded your head, looking up at his face and watching his expression change.

His initial surprise soon turned into something else.

Your little girl believed and thought that a cowboy like him was her father.

How cute.

You still remember when you had to tell him about your past relationship. Your daughter was barely 2 years old when she found letters and a photo. Specifically from you and Boothill.

Before her gaze full of curiosity and many questions she asked you, you were transparent with her and told her about what your relationship with him was like.

That afternoon, she began referring to him as her dad.

You, who couldn't imagine that in perhaps other circumstances you could have considered starting a family with him, you let him call him that.

Telling him more things about him, that he didn't always stop on your planet, etc.

You allowed yourself to remember him that way, since over time you managed to stick to his words; "I'm not going to come back."

The room fell silent. Your gaze focused on the baby in your legs, as he held onto your fingers, his gaze locked on Boothill.

"I assumed you would never come back so I let Clementine continue calling you that." Your voice sounded somewhat bitter as you spoke.

He remained silent for a few moments before a small laugh escaped his mouth.

"That explains why she said I looked like her dad." His own words had made it all make sense to him at that moment.

"Yeah…"

You both remained in front of the other in an awkward silence, you didn't really know how to continue the conversation.

Your daughter's words kept replaying in your mind.

“You look like my daddy! “ She said it was as if no time had passed. In your head you couldn't help but think that it felt like 6 years ago, it felt like the first time you met him…

You were so immersed in your thoughts that you felt a shiver run down your spine.

His eyes, watching you so intensely, felt like they were burning you from within.

“Why didn't you get a partner?…” he dared to ask, in a tone of voice you couldn't identify this time.

You didn't expect that question.

"Uh…"

It was the only thing you could articulate, since once again you were at a loss for words.

You avoided his gaze a bit, looking at a random spot on the floor. You didn't know how to answer that, or rather… you didn't know if you wanted to answer.

When you didn't answer, Boothill thought you didn't want to talk to him. He understood he was probably overstepping a line.

"It's okay, you don't have to—"

But he was interrupted by your voice, after finally finding the words that were lost inside your mind.

“Because I was waiting for you." Your voice came out slow. Fragile as a whisper.

You had been waiting for it. Past time.

Again you avoided looking directly at him but you could practically feel his stunned gaze on you.

He hadn't expected that answer. Instead he had expected many excuses.

'I'm not interested in a relationship.' 'I focus on my children and myself.' 'I never found the right person.'

Anything, anything. But not that.

She waited for me…? He thought.

He continued to analyze you with a stunned expression, seeing the state you were in, and then a pang of regret hit him.

He wanted to say many things. He wanted to apologize.

But his own words felt caught in his throat. His mouth parted open a little, but he couldn't say anything. His mind went totally blank.

Faced with his other lack of speech, you chose to go straight to the point this time.

"Why did you come back?" Bitterness and nostalgia.

"…What do you want of me?" Frustration and sorrow.

Those were your emotions that predominated in you at that moment.

What were you looking for? Did he want to leave you in ruins again? You didn't want to feel vulnerable again. Even though now you're feeling that way again.

Those words hit him like a punch in the face.

The frustration and sadness in your voice only made him feel worse about himself, his guilt increased as every word left your mouth.

He couldn't find the words he wanted to say. His mind was a mess, and every time he tried to start speaking. Only some incoherent sounds came out of his mouth. He tried to speak, but his words died in his throat.

His eyes watched you desperately, not knowing what to say. He felt how in those moments he had become a total idiot. A completely lost man.

"I wanted to see if you were okay." His voice also sounded like a whisper, calmly.

Your words sounded almost like reproaches, which they truly were.

There were so many things you wanted to tell him, so many questions that you wanted answered but you were holding back. You just couldn't find the words as well.

"I…" He started again, with difficulty.

"I never forgot about you."

At his words, you couldn't help but frown.

"Forget…?"

You were now even more frustrated. Frustrated with him, and even more frustrated with yourself for still feeling this way about him.

"It is unfair." you said, your eyes now filling with tears, you were holding back the urge to let your feelings out.

"After being gone for 6 damn years, you come back and tell me that?…" You refused to look at him, because if you did, everything you had been ignoring, your feelings and sorrows, were coming to the surface.

"It's too unfair…" You felt your vision now blurry and the salty taste of your tears on your lips, which simply came out without delay.

Your baby, who had stopped seeing Boothill, was looking at you, as if sensing your discomfort, grabbing your fingers with his small hands, bringing them to his small face.

The cowboy was beginning to understand your frustration, he was frustrated himself, he felt guilty that after so much time he was back in your life, and that you had to cry because of him.

He could say that you looked more vulnerable than he remembered, with your body shaking as you cried and your voice breaking and filling with frustration, despair and sadness.

You couldn't stop the tears from coming out like a waterfall.

You felt a lump in your throat as you tried to keep yourself from sobbing as much.

Each time you inhaled to take a breath, your exhale became a small broken sob.

You never thought that the reunion would be like this. When you dreamed of his return, it was always a happy dream, a warm and emotional reunion.

But it wasn't, it was the opposite.

The last time he saw you, you were crying, and now that he saw you again, you were crying again.

He brought his hand to you, trying to wipe the tears that were now freely falling from your eyes.

His touch alone sent a small shiver through your body.

You moved backwards away from the touch, shaking your head as if telling him not to do that.

His touch brought you too many memories that you'd tried to bury for a long time.

It made you miss him even more, miss the good times you had when it was just the two of you.

That simple thought caused another sob that escaped from your lips. The tears continued uninterruptedly.

"Please no."

He wanted to hold you, embrace you tightly, wipe away your tears and tell you that he wouldn't leave you again, never again.

But just a minute ago you had tried to keep away from his touch, so the only thing he could do at the moment was to keep his hands to himself.

Seeing you in this state, crying bitterly and being speechless and motionless, made him not want to move from his place. As much as he wanted desperately to hold you, he just stayed there, watching.

"Darlin', I-" He spoke, being totally interrupted by your daughter, who had just woken up.

His words echoed within you, calling you darlin'…

"Mommy? Why are you crying?"

Her small voice cut through the tense, silent atmosphere of the room. Like an oasis in the middle of the desert.

You were surprised, since you hadn't even realized that your baby had woken up, probably because of your small cries.

You turned your head quickly, looking at her as she rubbed her eyes, trying to wake up properly.

You wanted to speak, but all the words seemed to have escaped your brain. The only thing that came out of your mouth was a strangled sigh, trying to calm yourself as you wiped away the tears that continued to fall.

Until you finally managed to answer her, "I'm fine love, don't worry.", with a small, forced smile. Trying to convince her that you were fine, even though your face was red and tearful.

With one hand free, you managed to run your hand over your face, wiping away the traces of tears.

Your little girl's face was troubled as she looked at you.

You let out a sigh, asking her to come closer.

She did and you brushed a small unruly strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Honey, can you take your little brother to your room with you?” your voice to her was always sweet and soft.

“'kay, mommy.”

Despite your still teary eyes, you laughed softly at your daughter's obedience. “What a good girl.” You said in a whisper.

Just as you said, she carefully picked up the baby in your arms and walked with slow steps to her room.

Once she disappeared after closing the door to her room, you covered your mouth with your hand, in an attempt to stop the sobs that arose.

You felt his gaze on you at all times, which made your eyes sting even more. Maybe you should have refused his proposal to talk.

“Please.” At first his voice faltered a bit, being more of a whisper. Almost afraid of being expelled from his mouth.

Suddenly you felt the couch move quickly. By the time you realized it, he was already holding your face.

The metal of his hands made the heat in your cheeks from crying cool down.

With an undaunted look, he spoke again, “Please…”

Oh, if he had a way to cry, he'd be doing it right now.

“…give me 6 more years.” Even though he couldn't feel the warmth emanating from your cheeks, its softness that he only felt when your face and his face collided. He wanted you to feel his touch, soft and caring, like a piece of porcelain.

You stood still, not struggling to release his grip, your eyes focused on his.

He knew he didn't even deserve to make a request, but he wanted to try anyway.

“Give me those years you lost to try to make up for.” Just by looking at him, you could sense that he himself was two words, “please” and “sorry”.

You were terrified by his proposal, you were afraid that a similar situation would happen again. Your brain did its best to reason, while your heart gave itself totally to him, to accept his proposal.

Your mouth opened slightly, looking for words to come out, but nothing came out. Not even sobs. The only ones that came out were tears.

He didn't stop talking, he was letting the feeling that was eating him up inside take over him. “And… if in that time I don't make up for how bad you felt, I'll stop trying.”

He felt like a dog with its tail between its legs. Begging, but in a way more shameful. He was putting his pride aside by giving you this proposal.

And yes, he himself believed that only 6 years was not enough time to be able to ask for forgiveness in appropriate ways.

Your shoulders moved involuntarily and you finally started sobbing again. Even though you wanted to yell at him like you had done in the past on some occasion, you were too overwhelmed to even do that right now.

His words affected you more than you expected.

As much as you struggled to hold on to reasons, your heart longed for his presence every day for the last 6 years.

All the suffering you felt, the tears you shed, and the times you wondered what your relationship was worth to him.

It was painful. Thinking of all those things made your chest ache.

Even in such a delicate conversation, he did not release your face, still holding it tightly in his hands.

He gently wiped away your tears with his thumb for a few minutes, as if he were cleaning a mirror, which was useless and ridiculous, but he didn't care. He hoped to at least make you comfortable. He could tell how hurt you were from the tears, and it shattered his heart into pieces, leaving no trace behind.

He was scared. He was scared that you didn't want him again like before. And he understood you if you didn't.

“Let me try, please.”

You could see a deep regret in his eyes as he caressed your cheeks.

Those feelings.

You closed your eyes tightly, trying to avoid seeing that look on him.

You couldn't think, not when he was touching you that way.

His touch, a feeling that you thought you would feel no more.

You felt your heart contract at his words, his proposal echoed in your mind, repeating itself continuously.

Despite the fact that you didn't give him a direct answer, you made him close his mouth, pressing your body against his.

You really longed for it for so long.

You still weren't entirely sure if his proposal would work, but it was at least worth letting him try. Who knows how things would turn out this time.

He didn't expect your reaction, but when your body was pushed against his, his chest felt so full. He reciprocated quickly, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

He felt like he had you all to himself again. It filled him in a way he couldn't describe.

He closed his eyes gently, burying his face in your neck. The scent of you still hadn't changed, it still felt the same.

He let out a shaky breath, his arms not loosening their grip on you.

Now it only depended on time for things to get better. Time and him.

Maybe he could even really become the father of your little ones. Who knows.

How unfortunate he felt.

©cherrylovelycherry do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[shisabun]

Before I start, I just want to say thank you to the husbands, brothers, and fathers who voted to support their daughters, sisters, and wives. What I'm about to say doesn't include you.

To the women who voted for Trump, you are a disgrace. Thanks to you, your children and grandchildren will be forced to fight the war that was won by your grandmothers.

You sit content and joyful while others mourn. You laugh in the face of their fears when there's a knife floating above your head poised to fall. You have no idea what's coming, but any woman with half a braincell does.

Let me tell you a story. My great aunt was basically my grandmother. She was born in the 1930s in Spain. Right after their revolution. Right after Spain became a dictatorship. She told me so many stories in her final years that I'll keep with me for the rest of my life. But I'll give one example.

One of her closest friends married young. Her husband claimed she was unfaithful and literally beat her to death. He was never arrested. He was never convinced. He walked away free and remarried in less than a month. Catholicism wouldn't allow divorce back then. He wanted to get remarried and simply got away with it because he was a cop. Franco gave cops full impunity. So does Project 2025.

I know some people reading this are rolling their eyes, and you know what?

Fuck. You. You are trash.

That girl was murdered at 20, and her killer walked free after openingly admitting it. My Tia never told me her name, but she carried her in her heart until the day she died at 98. And so do I.

To my fellow women who are mourning and scared right now, I'll give you the same advice my mother gave me. "Have your cry. Then get up and get things done. You're strong enough not to have this break you."

You are Mary and Esther. You are Caterina Sforza. You are Princess Diana. You are Anna May Wong. You are the living legacy of every woman who has come before you. You carry their strength, their courage, and their determination.

This shit is going to suck. Pure and simple. But we'll do what we've always done. We'll bite and claw our way to a better future. We'll tear down every obstacle so our children and grandchildren will have an easier path to walk.

We are dragons in human form. Steel your heart and give them nothing. Do not give them your affection, your care, or your bodies. Fuck being demure and mindful. When they spew hate, you spit fire. When they ask for your smile, you give them your fangs. Become a walking inferno that they have no choice but to take note of. Do not yield.

You are powerful, and you are not alone. You are a sister in a coven that is millions strong. You are the daughters of the witches they couldn't burn.

To my fellow Millennials. I know you're tired. Our young adult lives were stolen from us, and we've been struggling uphill ever since. But do what the previous generation never did for us. Fight. Fight for the ones that are entering adulthood. Fight for the children who have no idea what they're about to grow into.

They called us snowflakes for pointing out their flaws. Fine. Let's give them a fucking blizzard. If they try to build momentum, we stop them. We are at the age where we need to be both shield and anchor. Let. Nothing. Pass.

We're about to face an orange shitstorm of epic proportions. But we'll do as we've always done. We fight, we endure, and we win. In the words of Samwise Gamgee, "There's good in this world, and it's worth fighting for."

[novaursa]

I have a request. Rhaenyra has an older brother and they always thought they would marry. But after persuasion from Otto, Viserys betroths his son to Alicent. Him and Alicent do their duty and have children. Alicent loves him but his heart still belongs to Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra marries Laenor but her children suspiciously look very much like her brother. Alicent suspects he's been having an affair with her and an argument ensues. To keep the fic short like you want, the main focus of the story can just be their argument.

Bound by Duty

- Summary: When your father married you to Alicent, your heart remained with your sister.

- Paring: Rhaenyra Targaryen/male!reader/Alicent Hightower

- Note: The reader is the eldest child of Viserys I Targaryen and Aemma Arynn, and the older brother of Rhaenyra.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @literaturedog

The scent of burning wax mingles with the faint breeze from the open window, but the room is heavy with something far more tangible than just night air—the weight of unspoken accusations. You stand by the hearth, hands clasped behind your back, the heat from the flames licking at your skin, but it is not the fire that makes your chest tight.

Alicent’s voice cuts through the silence like a blade, trembling with restrained emotion, yet firm in her accusation. 

"How long has this gone on?" she asks, her brown eyes piercing into yours, her hands clenched at her sides. There’s no hesitation in her tone, only years of repressed suspicion finally breaking free. “How long have you and Rhaenyra been carrying on behind my back?”

You inhale slowly, feeling the weight of her words press against your chest. Her accusation isn't unexpected, but it still stings. It feels as though the walls are closing in, every inch of this chamber suddenly suffocating. You have always known this moment would come—Alicent has always been sharp, her eyes always watching, searching for cracks in the facade you’ve built.

"I don’t know what you mean," you reply, though the words taste bitter on your tongue. You avoid her gaze, looking instead at the flickering flames. It’s easier to face the fire than the truth in her eyes.

Alicent scoffs, her breath hitching with something that might be laughter if it weren’t so full of pain. “Do not lie to me. I am not a fool, nor am I blind.” She steps closer, her green gown swishing with every step, her hands trembling now as they reach out, grasping your forearm. “Her children... Rhaenyra’s sons. They look nothing like Laenor. But they look like you.”

You close your eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of her touch and the accusation that lingers in the air between you both. You want to deny it, to turn from the truth that burns in your chest, but how could you? You have always known the children’s resemblance would betray you, just as your love for Rhaenyra has always betrayed your marriage to Alicent.

Alicent’s grip tightens. “Do not insult me with more lies. I have seen the way you look at her, how you speak to her. It was always her, wasn’t it? Even when Viserys ordered our marriage, your heart was never mine.”

Her words are a dagger, twisting deep into your chest. You can hear the hurt in her voice, the years of loyalty, duty, and sacrifice she made for a man who could never truly belong to her. You force yourself to meet her gaze, seeing the unshed tears that make her brown eyes glisten.

“I did my duty,” you say quietly, but the words are hollow. “I married you. I fathered our children. I have been the husband I was expected to be.”

She lets go of your arm as if burned, stepping back with a sharp intake of breath, her expression one of betrayal, as though you had slapped her. “But you were never mine,” she whispers, the hurt cracking through her voice. “Not truly. Your body may have been here, but your heart… your heart was always hers.”

Silence falls between you both, thick and oppressive. The truth you’ve tried so long to avoid now lies bare before you, and there is no more hiding. 

“I loved her long before I loved you,” you admit, the confession heavy on your lips, each word like a stone thrown into a pond, creating ripples in the fragile peace that once existed. “When we were children, we thought—hoped—we would marry one day. But Viserys listened to your father, to Otto, and instead, I was wed to you.”

Alicent’s face hardens at the mention of her father’s name, but the pain in her eyes does not fade. “And you have resented me for it ever since.”

You shake your head. “No. I have never resented you, Alicent. You have been a good wife, a good mother to our children. But my heart…” You trail off, unable to finish, because the truth is too much to bear even for you.

“Your heart belongs to her,” Alicent finishes for you, her voice barely a whisper. She turns away from you, walking toward the window, her back rigid, her hands clenched at her sides. “You think I do not see the way she looks at you? The way she covets you? I may have married you, but she owns you.”

You can hear the bitterness in her voice, the deep-seated jealousy that has festered for years. It is the same bitterness that has always existed between Rhaenyra and Alicent, ever since your father took Alicent to wife. And though you wish to comfort her, to tell her that none of this was meant to hurt her, you know the truth would only be another wound.

“I never wanted to hurt you, Alicent,” you say, your voice low, strained with the weight of your guilt. “But Rhaenyra… she is part of me. She always has been.”

Alicent whirls to face you, her eyes blazing now, her composure finally shattering. “And what of our children?” she demands. “What of them? You have given me sons, a daughter—and yet, all this time, your mind, your soul, has been with her. What am I, then? Just a toy in your game?”

“No,” you say, stepping toward her, but she holds up a hand to stop you, her expression one of sorrow now, not anger.

“Do not come closer,” she says, her voice thick with unshed tears. “I have borne enough of this pain. The worst part of it all is that I believed… I believed for so long that if I tried hard enough, you would see me. That I could win your love.”

Her words twist something inside you, guilt sinking deeper, because despite everything, Alicent had always deserved more than what you could give. You stand there, unable to offer her anything but the truth, a truth that has always been both your burden and hers.

“I wish things were different,” you murmur, but the words are empty, and you both know it.

Alicent wipes away a tear, her face hardening once more. “So do I,” she whispers, turning away from you again, her gaze fixed on the dark sky beyond the window. “But wishes change nothing.”

As the silence stretches, you know this moment is a turning point, a fracture in the fragile peace you’ve maintained for so long. You have done your duty to her, to the realm, but in doing so, you have wounded the woman who now stands before you, a woman who will never truly have your heart.

And as you look at her, the weight of your choices pressing down upon you, you realize that no matter how much you have tried to balance duty and love, something—someone—was always going to be left in the shadows.

[writingforstraykids]

I keep thinking about dilf!Felix like him being your besties dad or something….

-🎀

I swear I've been staring at this for so long, debating if I should do a full fic or just some thoughts. Well, thank my dear Azzy @galaxycatdrawz for this, because you made his thoughts go wild. Basically I just had to transform his whole little plan into a fic. There will be 2nd chapter (including smut) but have fun with this for now.🖤

Finding home in your heart

Pairing: Felix x fem!reader (mention of Minchan | Jisung)

Word Count: 7571

Summary: Felix got cheated on by his wife repeatedly and ends up heartbroken after the discovery. His adoptive daughter, your best friend, tells you the whole story and asks you to move in as you're struggling to find a place. Your only problem; you had a crush on Felix for ages and living with him isn't making it easier...

Warnings/Tags: angst, emotional hurt!comfort, fluff, insecure!lix, domestic shit, baking, cuddles, slowburn (ig?), first kiss, age difference (8 years, it's legal since this fic is for adults, chill out)

PART TWO

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Felix’s love life had been nothing but a steady stream of predictable days blending into years. He would have never doubted his beautiful wife and would have never second-guessed her love for him. They had gotten married early and soon found out his wife was incapable of carrying his children. So, after some consideration, they adopted a young girl and raised her like their own. She had grown into a smart young woman, and Felix couldn’t be more proud of her. Given the age gap of only ten years he had always been rather close with her and later you, her best friend.

One night he decided to surprise his wife, coming home early as his daughter was staying at yours. What greeted him wasn’t the usual warmth and coziness of his home but the sight of his wife in a certain setting no man wants to find the love of his life in with another man. For a moment, Felix found himself frozen in place, the safe foundation of his life slowly crumbling away beneath his feet. He whispered her name in disbelief, only to find out that this had been going on for years. Felix felt like his whole life shattered to pieces and the betrayal left an ugly taste of bitterness on his lips. How the hell was he supposed to get out of this?

-

“And then she just left,” your best friend ends her story, and your eyes grow even wider than they have already been. 

“You’re kidding?” you ask, shocked. 

“Apparently, she said something about how this shit has been going on for years, that she never really loved him, and that she’ll leave until he finds a new place,” she rages on and paces her bedroom angrily. “Oh, and I’m just another burden he talked her into,” she scoffs, and your frown deepens. 

“You won’t stay here, right?” you ask cautiously. You can’t imagine she will, but still. 

“Oh, hell no. I’ll go with Dad, she can piss off,” she shakes her head and drops onto her mattress. “The perk of being not related to her is that I can push her out of my life for good,” she snorts, and you gently pat her back. “I feel so bad for him,” she sighs. 

“It must’ve been a huge shock,” you nod, your heart feeling heavy. Felix has always been kind to you from day one. Whenever your family was struggling, he helped out, even if it was simply by taking you with them to theme parks, the movies, or shopping. Felix was only eight years older than you and ten years older than your best friend, so the older you got, the more he felt like an older friend instead of your best friend’s father. Also, he was stunningly handsome, but that wasn’t relevant right now.

“He’s trying to hide it, but I know how shitty he feels right now,” she tells you worriedly. “I mean, he’s never been with anyone else and-.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” you assure her gently. “He has such a kind heart, I’m sure someone will love him, truly.”

“I will thoroughly check the next person. You’ll have to help me then, go all detective on them,” she smirks, and you agree, laughing. 

A gentle knock at the door interrupts you, and Felix opens the door flashing you a tired smile as a greeting before glancing at his daughter. “Channie called, he has a spare place we can have.”

“Just like that?” she asks baffled. 

Felix chuckles weakly and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, just like that. I told him I’d pay, but Minho insisted they don’t need the place, and it’s all paid off.”

“How convenient,” she smirks and rolls her eyes. “Typical uncle Min,” she grins.

“Yeah,” he laughs and sighs softly. “You think you can get everything ready in the next few days?”

“You really can’t wait to get out of here, huh?” she laughs, and his smile dies, eyes clouding with pain. 

“Yeah, I guess,” he nods and clears his throat as his daughter looks at him apologetically. “Well, let me know when you’re hungry, and we can order something,” he announces, putting on a smile and quickly pulling the door closed. 

“See?” she whispers. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

You hum gently and pat your best friend’s knee. “Well, I can help you move, I have nothing to do those next few weeks.” 

“You’re so sweet,” she giggles and hops up, ripping the door open. “Dad, Y/nnie says she’s gonna help us move our stuff!” she shouts downstairs. 

“Lovely,” Felix shouts back halfheartedly and flinches as his daughter slams the door closed again. “Fucks sake, this woman,” he snorts and stands still in the living room for a moment. He chews on his lower lip as the many memories he made in this very room crash over him like a wave, trying to drown him. “You’re such a dumbass,” he whispers to himself. 

“No, you’re not, she’s just a massive bitch,” you speak up gently, suddenly standing in the living room with him. 

He blinks at you with wide, confused eyes before a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Mhm, you could say that. Doesn’t make me any wiser, letting her fool me for the past ten years,” he huffs softly and rubs his face. “I just feel bad for her,” he says, and you know he means your best friend upstairs. “All I always wanted for her was a stable home after everything she went through.”

“Look at her, you did great,” you tell him, and he chuckles weakly.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this,” he waves you off and blinks at you surprised as you offer him a hug. He accepts it after a short moment of hesitation and bites back a laugh as you pat his back encouragingly. 

“You’ll be okay…she’ll never find someone better, so fuck her. It’s her loss,” you tell him, and Felix snorts before letting go of you and grabbing his phone. 

“We’ll see,” he hums softly, subtly bringing some distance between the two of you again. “You’re gonna stay for dinner?” he asks, and you gently shake your head. 

“I promised Mum I’d be home for dinner today,” you tell him, and he nods gently.

“You need a ride?” he offers, and you wave him off. 

“I’ll be fine, promise,” you assure him and exchange your goodbyes.

One week later

You put down the boxes you carried inside and look around with wide eyes. “Wow, Min wasn’t lying. This place is huge.”

“Right? I didn’t quite believe it as well,” your best friend giggles and puts down her boxes as well.

“Why would I lie about that, huh?” Minho asks playfully offended, adding some boxes on the floor next to yours. “You think we’d give your dad and you some shabby place? You think that lowly of us?”

Chan pokes his side, making him squeak and giggles as Minho playfully raises his fists to fight him. “Relax, no one’s calling you a liar, baby.”

“Sure hope so,” he teases and naturally intertwines their hands, pulling Chan with him. “You haven’t seen the view from up here yet,” he announces and waves you after him.

You follow the pair of them onto the huge balcony, and your breath hitches. From up here, you can see parts of the city and the ocean, and still it’s so peaceful up here. 

“How’s your dad, kiddo?” Minho asks your best friend after a moment of comfortable silence.

“Worse than he admits,” she answers, and Minho hums gently. “If you ask me, he’s fucking heartbroken and feels worthless. If you ask him, he’s okay and just a little caught up in his thoughts,” she further explains. 

“Give him time,” Chan tells her gently and sighs, looking down at the ocean. “Ten years is a lot, you know?”

The door to the balcony opens, and Felix steps outside, laughing at you all. “Seriously? You’re out here enjoying the view while I’m carrying all those boxes?” he asks, and you all start laughing before hurrying back inside to help him.

Once everything is inside, Minho and Chan give you a tour through the house and you wonder what Felix and your friend would do with all this space. The couple soon leaves again to give them some space to settle in. 

Your best friend strolls through the house and frowns softly. “You’re alright?” Felix asks her, frowning softly. “I know it’s not home, but we can make it work, it’ll just need some time and-.”

“Dad, home is wherever you are, relax,” she laughs, and Felix nods, stunned, looking adorably touched by her words. “I just…this place is huge.”

“It is,” he nods. “I have no idea what the hell they had planned for this.”

“Nothing useful, as Min put it,” you chime in, and Felix grins at your remark.

“I’ll feel so lonely here if you’re at work,” she speaks up after a moment, and Felix’s face softens.

“Dear, there’ll be a point in your life when you move out and everything. I won’t always be around,” he says, and she glares at him. 

“Don’t say shit like that, you’re only ten years older than I am, it’ll take a while,” she points out, and he snorts but gives in, remaining quiet. “Y/nnie, how’s the hunt for a flat going?” she asks.

“I already told you it’s shit,” you sigh softly, not quite picking up on her true intentions behind that question. “It’s either too expensive or so much out of town it’s not exactly convenient.”

“Oh, you’re going to move out?” Felix asks, busying himself with one of the boxes.

“I want to, my parents could use the space for something else,” you nod.

“Dad?” she asks, drawing out the word with a sweet tone. 

“What do you want?” he asks, not even looking up.

“She could move in with us,” she says, and you frown at her. Felix looks up, confused, and tilts his head at her. “She can’t find a place, I worry about getting lonely here…you could use some more company as well before you’re fully depressed and-.”

“Will you stop?” he snaps at her. “I’m not depressed, I’m fine besides the fact that I got cheated on after wasting ten years of my life,” he continues and shakes his head at her. “Stop reading into it that much, I’ll start believing you at this point.”

You lower your gaze at the floor and awkwardly shuffle on your feet. “Gosh, relax,” she sighs. “That just proved my point.”

Felix throws the contents of the box back inside and pushes himself up. “I’m getting some fresh air. And yes, you can move in if you want to, it’s not like we’d lack space or whatever,” he says before leaving the two of you. 

“Nice one,” you sigh softly. 

“What?” she groans and rolls her eyes. “You know I’m right.”

“And that makes it better?” you chuckle, and she huffs softly. “Fine, fine, I’ll go apologize…but would you?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh softly. “I’d feel like I’m intruding,” you argue gently. 

“Never,” she shakes her head firmly. “Also, you’re here every day anyway, so nothing changes,” she grins before sighing softly. “Dad?” she shouts, and you roll your eyes at her.

Should you? Move in with your best friend and her heartbroken, conveniently handsome adoptive father? That could only go wrong, right?

You join them on the balcony and sigh softly, meeting your best friend’s eyes. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

She shouts in joy and pulls you into a tight hug, hopping excitedly. “You’re the best best friend I could’ve ever wished for!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you chuckle and roll your eyes playfully, catching Felix smirking at the two of you.

Three weeks later

You hum to yourself as you make your way from the kitchen to the living room area. Your best friend is staying the night at her boyfriend’s, and Felix is out on Stray Kids duty, as you jokingly call it. So, for now, you have the whole house to yourself. You moved in fully about two weeks ago, and your new room is bigger than you ever dared to imagine. There’s an attached bathroom as well, and your few things look ridiculous, trying to fill up all that space you have now. 

You grab your phone and check your messages before scrolling through some news. Refreshing the page, a new article appears on top, and you realize it’s about Felix. Curiously, you click on it, and your eyes widen, realizing it’s about what happened with his wife. You read through it and smile sadly; Felix seems to have tried putting it as respectfully and vague as he could. You don’t support what that woman did for years one bit, but you also know how their fans can get so you’re glad Felix tries to stay neutral in public.

You glance up from your phone as the front door opens downstairs, and Felix comes up the stairs only a little later. Looking at him, you can tell he was crying, and your heart sinks to your stomach, seeing how tired he looks. His eyes meet yours, and you swallow softly as he stops in his tracks as if he just remembered you live here as well. “You’re okay?” you ask softly, and for the first time in weeks, Felix shakes his head.

“Not really, no,” he admits, his voice a little raspy. You can tell he’s fighting back tears, and you gently pat the spot next to you on the sofa. Felix momentarily searches your eyes before moving forward and dropping down on the sofa next to you. “I know it’s my own fault because I took off my wedding ring but I didn’t expect them to ask already,” he tells you quietly and nervously fidgets with his hands. “Chan told me to be honest before she comes up with something that’ll drag me down.”

“I think you’ve handled it quite well,” you tell him gently, and he groans in response.

“Already online, huh?” he sighs, and you hum softly. Felix throws his head back against the sofa and stares up at the ceiling. You can’t help but take in his side profile and let your eyes wander down his neck. “I hate this.”

“Hate what?” you ask gently.

“I have to have an explanation for everything as if I’d know why she cheated. Maybe it’s because I’ve been gone often with all our schedules. Maybe she got bored. Maybe she just saw past that facade of fame and sunshine behavior and realized I’m not as lovable as everyone thinks I am,” he huffs, making you frown at him. “Maybe she never loved me in the first place, and I can’t even blame her for that.”

“Stop it now,” you scold him firmly and Felix turns his head, blinking at you. “Have you ever considered that maybe she’s just a massive bitch and there is absolutely nothing wrong with you?”

“Not really, no,” he shakes his head and sits up straight again. “That’s rather unlikely, isn’t it? There’s always a reason people cheat.”

“Sometimes it’s simply stupidity,” you insist. “Not everything is your fault, Felix.”

“Why does it feel like it then?” he asks quietly, and your heart breaks at the desperate glint in his eyes. “Why does it feel like I’m the one who fucked it all up? And why doesn’t she care one bit, and I’m here feeling like complete shit?”

“Because you loved her,” you say quietly and watch his face fall. “She didn’t try to make it right, did she? She didn’t protest when you suggested a divorce.” Felix shakes his head, eyes brimming with tears. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe she never loved you for who you truly are. Maybe all she saw was the fame, the money, the places you went to…but how is that your fault?”

“I…I should’ve known,” he says quietly, his lower lip quivering a little. 

“You can’t know that shit if they’re good at hiding and pretending. Who knows how long she could’ve kept up that show if you hadn’t come home early that day?” you ask, and Felix avoids your observant gaze, staring down at his hands. “The only thing you’re at fault for is beating yourself up for this and thinking you’re worthless.”

Felix remains quiet and presses his lips together tightly as hot tears run down his cheeks. His hair falls into his face as his head hangs low, and you can only tell as he sniffles softly. You hesitantly reach out for him and rub his back soothingly. Felix whispers an apology and buries his face in his hands, a quiet sob rippling through his body. You don’t know where you get the confidence from, but you move before you can reconsider what you’re about to do. Wrapping your arm around him, you pull him into a warm embrace and gently rub his shoulder. Felix tenses up briefly before he relaxes into your touch, allowing himself the comfort you spend. 

It doesn’t last for all too long, and Felix pushes himself off the sofa, messily wiping his cheeks. “Sorry, I shouldn’t-,” he stammers and exhales shakily. “I shouldn’t dump this all on you.”

“I don’t-” you start and shut your mouth as he raises his hand to stop you. 

“I know you don’t mind. I know,” he says and shakily wipes his cheek. “That doesn’t make it any better. I appreciate you trying to help, but I’ll go before I start unloading even more nonsense,” he sniffles and flashes you a sad smile. “Thank you, though.”

“You’re welcome,” you nod gently and watch him leave. Only then do you notice your heart racing in your chest and the wet patch of his tears in your sweater. “So much to keeping boundaries, Y/n,” you scold yourself, rubbing your face tiredly.

Felix closes the door to his room and buries his face in his hands with a soft groan. “What the fuck are you doing?” he whispers and stands still for a moment. What is he doing, sobbing in his daughter’s best friend’s arms? Is he going insane? Felix closes his eyes and tries to forget how comfortable your hug felt, how good you smelled, and how soothing your presence was to him. “Fuck,” he whispers into the emptiness of his room.

One week later

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest as you walk down the hallway, clutching your visitor pass. Your best friend asked you to pick up Felix from work tonight because she had to work late and would then stay at her boyfriend's again. Would he think weirdly of you for it? He's been avoiding you a little after that emotional breakdown a week ago, and you can't blame him. 

You reach Chan's studio and knock gently, letting yourself in. 

“Oh, Y/nnie,” Chan greets you cheerfully. 

“Haven't seen you here in a while,” Minho adds curiously. 

“Yeah, uh, I have to pick up Felix,” you say, and they frown. 

“I thought-”

“No, she's working late and staying at her boyfriend's or something like that,” you shrug your shoulders. 

“She asks you to move in so she isn't lonely and leaves all the time,” Minho shakes his head, amused. “Well, at least someone's keeping an eye on Lix, then.”

“Mhm, yeah,” you nod. “Where is he?”

“In the practice room down the hallway. Uh…he's in a shit mood today,” Minho tells you. 

“Define shit mood,” you chuckle. 

“Everything is shit, nothing works, he's useless,” Chan sighs softly and shakes his head. “We tried.”

You sigh heavily and roll your eyes. “Fine, I'll do my best.”

“Good luck,” Chan giggles. 

Only a little later, you open the door to the practice room and slip inside. You frown as you spot Felix stretched out on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. “I swear, Channie, if you're here to tell me another bad joke that's supposed to make me laugh, I'll snap,” he announces. 

You stop next to him and tilt your head at him. “Not Channie,” you say. “What's that supposed to be?” you ask, vaguely waving at his current position. 

“It's my new favorite yoga position called utter depression,” he says dryly and throws you a peace sign. “That's I'm a failure, what's your name?”

“Chan wasn't lying,” you nod slowly. 

“Did Chan call you? Seriously?” he asks, sitting up on his elbows. 

“No. In fact, it was your lovely daughter asking me to come pick you up. She's working late, and then she'll stay over at her boyfriend's.”

“I still can't believe she asked you to move in so she wouldn't be lonely, and now she's barely home,” Felix snorts and groans softly. 

“Mhm, you guys are repeating yourselves, Min said the same thing,” you tell him and gently poke his side with your shoe. “What's going on, Mr. utter depression?” 

“Nothing, as you can see,” he sighs. “I fucked up during practice today. Minho only didn't call me out for all the mistakes because he felt sorry for me at the time,” he tells you. 

“And that led you down the good old road to self-hatred?” you ask, sitting down on the floor next to him. 

“Maybe,” he answers vaguely. 

“Surely,” you correct him. “Lix?” you ask gently, and he turns his head toward you. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No,” he shakes his head as his eyes trace your features. 

“We could take a walk and grab some food on the way. We don't have to talk or anything. It's just for you to clear your head and empty all that garbage you keep up there,” you tell him, tugging a small smile at the corner of his lips. 

“Yeah, okay,” he nods. 

You exchange your goodbyes with Min and Chan, who secretly throw some hearts your way when Felix isn't looking. Idiots. 

-

After that evening, it all got easier again. You didn't talk much that day, but the fresh air, bright lights, and warm food had lightened Felix's mood immensely. Over the following two weeks, you two grew closer, and Felix allowed himself to be more open. With your best friend gone quite frequently, it was often only you and him. 

The more time you spent together, the more you realized how ridiculously perfect Felix was. His beautiful brown eyes, soft features adorned by all those sweet freckles, and blond hair falling around his face made your stomach flip. His sweet smile and even prettier laugh made you feel like winning a trophy every time you were the reason for it. He's so kind and polite that it makes your head spin. 

Felix can't quite stop himself from looking at you whenever you don't notice. The more time you spend, the more he notices how beautiful you are. How caring and gentle. Your smile brightens his days and he can't fully shake the longing to be in your arms again off. He hasn't felt as comfortable around someone in a while, and there's a lingering worry in the back of his head telling him that he really shouldn't allow himself to fall for you. It only gets worse watching you doing the most mundane things and wishing that you wouldn't leave again. 

-

Another two weeks later your best friend announces she'll be abroad for a holiday with her boyfriend for two weeks. Two weeks. It'll only be Felix and you for fourteen days. That thought wasn't helping your anxious heart, trying not to fall for him at all. 

You decided to make the best out of it and forget about your worries. Seeing Felix smile again was all that counted. 

The first morning, Felix tiredly strolls down the hallway from his room and stops in his tracks when he sees you at the stove. A sweet scent lingers in the kitchen, and he realizes you're making pancakes for breakfast. His heart picks up pace, and he takes a deep breath, reminding himself to act normal. “Morning,” he says, not knowing that his even deeper morning voice sends shivers down your spine. 

“Good morning,” you smile at him, bright as ever. He has to look somewhere else to stop himself from blushing. “Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes,” you tell him, and he hums softly. 

Felix sits down at the kitchen island and watches you thoughtfully. It's ridiculous how used to your presence he got over the past few weeks. Almost as if he couldn't imagine it any other way anymore. “Do you have any plans for today?” he asks and you shake your head as you put the pancakes on a big plate. 

“Why?” you ask curiously and turn off the stove. 

“Uh, I was thinking about painting her room since she wanted a new color so badly…I was wondering if you'd like to help?” he asks nervously. 

You put down the plate and nod. “Sure, why not?” 

Felix flashes you a sweet smile and thanks you as you hand him a plate with some pancakes. They're so fluffy they almost melt on his tongue, and he has trouble biting back a moan. “Oh, they're amazing,” he tells you and notices the subtle blush settling on your cheeks. 

“Thank you,” you smile almost shyly. 

Seriously, can't you give him a break? 

-

After breakfast, Felix takes a quick shower, and you put on some clothes that could be ruined by the paint. You meet again in your best friend's room, and you smile at how soft Felix looks in a pair of gray sweatpants and a wide sweater. You pull all the furniture away from the walls, covering everything up before Felix shows you how to apply the paint properly. In the beginning, you're both quietly working and it feels peaceful, just focusing on painting for now. Then Felix starts talking, trying to kill the silence. “I signed the divorce papers yesterday,” he says casually, and you need a moment to figure out how to answer. 

“Congratulations?” you chuckle, and he laughs, realizing how out of pocket this has been.

“Sorry, that was pretty random,” he apologizes. 

“No, it's fine. I'm glad you did,” you say, and he glances at you, making you ramble on quickly. “I mean, it's the right thing to do. Did you settle on anything? Does she demand stuff?”

“If she doesn't want my legal team to be less nice about the reason we're getting a divorce than I was, then she won't,” he tells you and sighs softly. “She has the old house, and I don't have to pay her anything. I'm glad when we're done with the whole process,” he admits tiredly. 

“I bet you are,” you nod gently. “You deserve some peace after everything,” you say, and he hums softly, pressing his lips together briefly. “We can stop talking about it,” you assure him gently, and Felix nods thankfully. 

“We need more paint,” he states. 

“Well, we should let this dry anyway for today,” you nod and flash him a gentle smile. “We could go buy some more and then call it a day?”

“Sounds good,” he nods, rubbing his face tiredly, and turns toward you fully now. 

“You've got some paint on your cheek,” you say, and he blindly reaches out to wipe it off. He doesn't quite get it and you step in front of him, reaching out for him. “Let me help,” you say and gently rub your thumb over his cheek, wiping the still fresh paint off. 

Felix freezes in place, staring at you as you do so. He feels like the world stops for a moment but then your soft touch is already gone again. He exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding in and follows you outside. Fucks sake. 

-

You wander through the store next to him and you end up buying some more stuff to decorate the house a little more. Felix's phone rings and you can tell it's Chan by the way his face lights up. He nudges your side after a moment. “You're hungry?”

“I could eat,” you nod.

“Min and Chan ask if we wanna stop by,” he tells you, and you shrug your shoulders. 

“Sure, why not?” 

Only shortly after, you reach their house, and your eyes widen, spotting the two small kittens on the carpet. “Oh, you have new ones?” you ask excitedly and Minho looks at you as if he's going to hit you. 

“Or not?” you ask, chuckling. 

Chan gently pokes his cheek and grins at you. “Yeah, we got them like a week ago,” he nods, and you crouch down as they make their way over. 

“Can I hold them?” you ask, looking at Minho, and his face softens. 

“If they let you,” he nods and tells you to sit down on the floor. 

He picks up the first one and gently hands it over to you, making sure you hold it right. “He's usually very calm, so if you don't move too quickly, you should be fine,” he tells you and sits down, grabbing the second one. “She's a little rascal,” he smirks and gently scratches her head. 

“They're so tiny,” you say, amazed. 

“Here, he loves those,” Chan says, handing you a little treat. 

You hold out your hand for the kitten, and he doesn't waste much time. You giggle at his tiny tongue licking over your palm and beam at Minho excitedly. Chan passes Minho and gently runs his hand through his hair mindlessly. Minho smiles softly and looks up at him so full of love you can't help but wish you'd find someone you shared the same type of deep love with. “Wanna help me set the table, Lix?” he asks, and Felix hums, following him, not after a quick glance in your direction to make sure you're alright. 

Soon after, you're all gathered around the table, and you all thank Minho for cooking. Chan glances at Felix after a while and seems to debate whether he should ask what's going through his head. “Lix?” he asks, and his friend turns toward him. “How are you holding up?”

“I'm fine,” he smiles tiredly, and you know the question starts to bother him by now. 

“You said that from day one,” Minho chuckles and tilts his head at him. 

“No, I am. I signed the papers yesterday and then soon it'll all be over,” he explains. 

“Have you met anyone new?” Minho asks curiously. “I mean, it's been almost two months.”

“Mhm, after ten years of a fake marriage. I still have time, don't you think?” he asks sourly. 

Chan steps in, trying to ease the mood. “We're just worried about you getting lonely, Lix,” he tells him. 

“I'd rather be lonely than that,” he says and rolls his eyes at them. “Not everyone finds the one and lives happily ever after from day one on,” he says, looking at the two of them. 

“That's hardly realistic, nothing was perfect from day one,” Minho shakes his head. 

“Not really, no,” Chan snorts and winks at him. 

“Well, you're not me, so…,” Felix says quietly, and the mood changes. 

“Meaning?” Minho asks patiently, even though you can tell he’d rather punch some sense into him.

Felix puts down his chopsticks and sighs heavily. “I'm way too emotional, I'm too shy to approach anyone or initiate anything further, I mess up stuff constantly and-.”

“Will you stop?” you cut him off, and everyone looks at you as if they're remembering you're still here. “You keep on talking shit about yourself, and you don't even realize you're letting her win.”

“I'm not letting her—” he frowns. Chan is about to speak up, but Minho stops him, resting his hand on his. 

“Yes, you are. She used you for years, and you're still letting her by making it all your fault. As if she had no other choice but to go off and fuck around with whoever she found moderately fuckable,” you say, and he blinks at you, stunned as Chan chokes on his breath. “You're talented at what you do, you're hardworking, and you're one of the most caring people I know. You didn't have to, but you always made me feel at home when I visited your daughter. You haven't done any differently since I moved in, and as long as you aren't talking shit about yourself, you're pretty funny. And-.”

“Y/nnie,” he says softly, and it's the first time he's called you that. “Eat up; it's going to get cold.” 

You quickly shut your mouth, ears burning up as you realize you've just been pretty open in front of Minho and Chan. “Yeah, okay, you better shut up then…respectfully.”

“Message received,” he smiles gently. 

Minho raises his eyebrows and glances at Chan before moving his eyes between the two of you. Chan frowns before his eyes widen, and he squints at him. Minho widens his eyes and puts on a little passive aggressively encouraging smile, signaling him that, yes, he is VERY right about this. 

“You can stop the eye fuckery over there, I'll get sick,” Felix calls them out, and you frown softly at Minho's mischievous grin. 

“Y/n, what about you?” Minho asks curiously. 

“You're playing cupid as a side business, or what is this?” you ask right back. 

“Simply interested,” he gives back. 

“I'm single if you must know so badly, and no, my self-esteem isn't drowning as much as Lix’s,” you say, and Felix pokes your side, protesting softly. 

Chan watches you quietly before glancing at his husband and humming softly. Minho simply smirks. 

Later, when it's time to leave, you hold your hand out for Felix, and he tilts his head at you questioningly. “Keys, please,” you smile. 

“Huh?” he asks, amused. 

“You had two drinks, I didn't have any, and I'm driving,” you tell him, stretching your hand out once more. 

“Listen to her, Yongbokie,” Minho tells him, and Felix gives in and hands you the keys. 

-

“That was really sweet,” Felix says, almost too quiet to hear. 

“The kittens?” you giggle. 

“Mhm, yeah, they too,” he nods and glances over at you. “I meant what you said…I uh... thanks.”

“Oh,” you nod and feel your heart warming at the softness in his eyes. “I meant it.”

“I know,” he whispers and can barely meet your eyes. 

“You should give yourself more credit. Try seeing yourself through the eyes of the people you mean something to from time to time,” you say, parking the car in front of the house. 

Felix looks at you, a little stunned. “I mean something to you?” he asks softly. 

“Well, of course you do, Lixie,” you smile and lean over, brushing his hair back for him. 

“Yeah?” he asks, eyes traveling down to your lips before he can fight it. 

“Mhm,” you hum softly and search his eyes. Suddenly, you move forward and your lips meet in a soft kiss that has him melting in his seat. He reaches up to bury his hand into your hair and-.

“Felix? Felix, wake up,” you say gently. 

“Huh?” he asks confused. 

“Wake up, Lix, come on,” you say softly, daring to brush a loose strand from his face. “Come on, let's get you upstairs.”

Felix blinks at you drowsily and needs a moment to realize he's been dreaming—dreaming of kissing you. His face burns up red with embarrassment as your gentle eyes meet his, and he shoots out of his seat. “Yeah, sorry,” he stammers, and you watch him a little confused. 

“You're okay?” you ask, closing the door for him.

“Sure, why wouldn't I be?” he asks, laughing nervously. Don't look at the lips. Don't. 

“Man, you're weird when you get woken up,” you shake your head and unlock the front door, letting him in. Felix stumbles taking off his shoes, making you laugh. “Is alcohol having such an effect on you?”

“Mhm, yeah,” he lies, spotting his lifeline. 

“Well, let's get you to bed then,” you say and gently pat his back, shoving him inside. 

“I'll make it on my own, thank you,” he quickly says and wishes you a good night. He throws himself face forward onto his bed and groans into his blanket. “Fuck, no, Lix, you can't.” He turns onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, brushing his fingers over his lips. Groaning softly, he fumbles for his phone; he needs some clarity now. 

“It's late, what the fuck, mate?”

“Jisungie, I fucked up,” Felix whines softly. 

“Oh, please don't tell me you're drunk,” Jisung sighs softly. “Do I have to pick you up somewhere?”

“No,” he quickly assures him. “I just…there's this certain someone I can't stop thinking about, and…Ji, it's wrong!”

“I don't like the sound of this,” he states calmly. “Go on.”

And Felix does, spilling all his hurt, feelings of emptiness, and worthlessness. Telling him how you mend his heart, fill his entire being with happiness, and make him feel loveable. He confesses how he can't stop thinking about you, worrying how messed up this could get. 

Jisung lets him ramble on and nods gently once he's done. “That's fucked up, mate.”

“I know,” he whispers. 

“No, I don't think you know how bad that bitch fucked you up,” Jisung says, and Felix is too stunned to speak for a second. “Fucks sake, Lix! Where's my pretty boy getting all the girls, huh? When did you get all shy and scared? Did she fuck up your self-esteem that badly?”

“Ji, you're missing the point here,” he insists. “Everyone would think I'm using her, she's eight years younger. They'll make her a victim and-.”

“Lix,” he cuts him off firmly. “I'm that victim you're describing here, you do know that, right? My hubby is ten years older, Hyune’s wife is six years younger, and no one gives a fuck,” he tells him. “The thing you really can't take is the fact that she's your daughter's best friend.”

“That surely doesn't help,” he groans. 

“Well, technically-.”

“She's my daughter, you can try and twist this how you want,” he shakes his head. “And she'll hate me if I act upon my feelings for Y/n.”

“All she wanted was for you to be happy. Why not with Y/nnie?” he asks gently. “Listen, buddy, you gotta figure out what you really want and then act accordingly. Stop sending her signals if you don't want this to evolve into something more.”

“I know,” he sighs softly. Fuck. 

-

“Can you get the eggs?” you ask him as you pour some sugar into a bowl, weighing its content as you do. 

“Sure,” Felix nods and his hand rests on your lower back for a brief moment, notifying you of him standing behind you to stop you from bumping into him. 

You swallow softly at the lingering touch, and it's already gone again before you can't think much of it. Felix got home from the studio about an hour ago, and you two decided to surprise your best friend with a cake for her birthday tomorrow. At least she had planned to come back again for it. After quickly buying the ingredients, you two got busy in the kitchen. He's unusually clumsy, your hands brushed against each other four times already since you've started and you already bumped heads, both wanting to grab something off the floor he dropped. The brief touches and his soft eyes combined with that shy smile are slowly driving you insane. 

Once you're all done you put it in the oven and set a timer, cleaning up the kitchen for now. You'll still need a few things for the icing later but you get rid of most of the mess for now. After loading the dishwasher, the 25 minutes are over, and Felix carefully takes it out. You leave it there to cool and throw yourself on the sofa. 

Felix joins you and turns on the TV, putting on the next episode of the series you've recently started watching together. After a while, your head slowly drops onto his shoulder and it takes him a moment to realize you fell asleep. He cautiously wraps his arm around you to make you more comfortable and lets you rest against his chest. He tries not to think too much of it and chews on his lower lip nervously as he tries to pay attention to the screen. 

As much as he tries to fight it, he's exhausted from their intense practice today, and his eyes grow heavier with every minute. It doesn't take long and he falls asleep as well, getting more comfortable and dragging you down with him in his sleep. 

You wake up in his arms, your head resting on his chest. Your eyes widen in shock, and you fight the urge to jump up and get as far away from him as possible. You barely dare to lift your head. Glancing down at him, your heart skips a beat at how soft and vulnerable he looks in his sleep. His chest is slowly rising and falling, his hair hangs into his face and he looks so soft it makes you want to squish his cheeks. You admire the beautiful freckles painting his face as the fading sun caresses his golden skin. Gosh, he's pretty. 

He moves in his sleep, tightening his grip around you and rolling you both onto your sides. Burying his face in your neck, he lets out a content sigh and pulls you in close. You bite your lip and curse yourself for wanting this so badly. You should really wake him up…but you couldn't. Not when he had a long day and finally got some rest. Not when he looked this content and peaceful. You couldn't. 

You timidly rest your chin on his fluffy hair and wait for a moment, but he doesn't seem to mind. Carefully, you fondle his back and rest your hand between his shoulder blades. He doesn't stir one bit, and you decide to try sleeping some more as well. 

-

You wake up again when he stretches in your arms, pulling back with a soft groan. Felix squints at you drowsily before he slowly picks up on your current situation. A blush creeps up his neck and colors his cheeks and ears. He pulls away and rolls onto his back with a soft sound, rubbing his face tiredly. “Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“For what?” you ask gently. 

“Uh…this,” he awkwardly gestures between the two of you. “I uh…I tend to get cuddly when I fall asleep. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable or-.”

“You didn't,” you say firmly, and he slowly glances at you. 

“No?” he asks quietly. 

“Not at all,” you assure him, and he hums gently in response. “You seemed like you needed it, so I let you sleep a little longer.”

“Oh,” he nods dumbly and searches your eyes timidly. “Okay.”

“Yeah,” you nod and smile at him. “I think we can finish the cake by now.”

“Probably,” he laughs and sits up. 

The pair of you soon gets busy in the kitchen again and Felix turns on the mixer to finish the icing for the cake. It's a little too fast, and some of it lands on his sweater. “Fucks sake,” he curses softly before slowing it down. 

You laugh at him, and he turns to you, raising his eyebrows. “Oh, you got some on your face,” you giggle and step in front of him. You cup his face gently with one hand, rubbing your other thumb across the icing on his forehead. “Keep still, Lixie,” you say and don't quite notice his lips parting at the new nickname. You move further down, wiping the bits on his cheek off, and only then you meet his eyes. They're wide and filled with thousands of questions and insecurities. “You're okay?” you ask worriedly. 

Felix blinks at you before very slowly shaking his head. “I'm not okay,” he says, and you turn off the mixer, bathing the room in silence. 

“What's wrong?” you ask and want to pull your hand off his face, but his hand wraps around your wrist keeping you there. 

“I…,” he trails off, sinking deeper into your eyes, and you can see the sudden longing in them. It's pure and innocent, making you all dizzy the longer you look at him. “You're driving me nuts,” he confesses. 

“Breathe,” you tell him before experimentally brushing your thumb over his lips. He exhales shuddery, eyes fluttering close at your touch. “Can I kiss you?” you ask. 

“What?” he squeaks, eyes snapping back open. 

“You heard me,” you say and tilt your head at him. “Can I?” Felix gulps before nodding timidly. You close the distance between the two of you, and your lips brush against his. A soft, quiet sound escapes him and then you're cupping his face and kissing him. Felix melts into the kiss, body searching yours as he grips your waist and stumbles a little, shoving you against the kitchen counter. He pulls back only to catch his breath and presses his forehead against yours. “You're okay?” you ask again. This time, he nods. 

“Yeah,” he whispers with a soft smile. “I'm okay...”

PART TWO

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist: (Please let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the taglist!)

@atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @kailee08 @mal-lunar-28 @lilmisssona @aaa-sia @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @michelle4eve @lixie-phoria @xxstrayland @kibs-and-bits @mellhwang @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @palindrome969 @harshaaaaa

[rose24207]

Unseen tears

Summary: A mother struggles with emotional isolation and her distant family until her husband finally steps in to confront their children and begin mending their fractured bonds.

Genre: Mafia!Dad!Lando, angst, (fluff)

TW: Mafia

A/N: Amelia is 15 and Jacob is 13 and basically everyone is being a bitch… yeah anyways. English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome (fr request something pls (I sound like a desperate ex))

Masterlist

The large estate was filled with the sound of clinking glasses and soft chatter. It was the kind of evening where everything seemed in its place—elegant, calm, and polished.

But beneath the surface of the pristine home, the tension was palpable. You had hoped it wouldn’t last, that the rift between you and the kids would heal over time, but you could feel it worsening.

Every day, it was becoming harder to put on a smile and pretend like everything was okay.

Amelia and Jacob, once so close to you, had become distant, angry. They were growing up, yes, but the way they acted now—so dismissive, so cold—was not the way you had imagined it. They were becoming more and more like strangers, and it hurt, deep down.

But what hurt even more was the silence that had come between you and Lando.

Despite everything going on, he hadn’t noticed. He couldn’t see it—the way you cried yourself to sleep every night, the constant knot in your stomach, the ache that lingered from the words they threw at you.

To him, the house was running smoothly, business as usual. He didn’t know the weight you carried every day.

"Mom, you're being ridiculous," Amelia had snapped at you earlier that afternoon. Her voice, normally filled with playful sarcasm, was now laced with anger. "Why do you always act like everything’s falling apart when it's not? Just stop being so overdramatic."

Jacob, standing next to her, didn’t even bother to glance your way. He was busy on his phone, his fingers tapping mindlessly on the screen. The look on his face—a mix of disinterest and frustration—cut deeper than any sharp words ever could.

Why wasn’t he even listening?

But you didn’t react.

You’d learned, over the past few weeks, that it was easier to keep the peace by saying nothing. Easier to take the insults and pretend they didn’t sting.

That night, after dinner, you went up to your room earlier than usual.

You didn’t want to argue anymore.

You didn’t want to face the cold glares and the harsh words.

The sound of the door closing behind you should have brought relief, but instead, it felt suffocating. The room, while large and filled with luxury, felt like a prison. Alone. Isolated.

Lando hadn’t even looked your way tonight, his focus on the kids and the staff, making sure everything was perfect, as usual.

He didn’t know you were fighting tears, again.

You sat on the bed, letting the weight of it all hit you. You’d tried so hard—always doing your best, always putting the kids first, making sure Lando’s life and work were smooth and effortless.

But it never seemed to be enough.

The tears fell freely now.

Quietly.

The sobs wracked your body, but you made no sound. There was no one here to comfort you. Lando was out of the house, probably in his office, and the kids were still running on their own schedules.

You were alone in your sorrow.

The next morning, you were still struggling to hide the redness of your eyes. The servants and staff walked around the house quietly, careful not to disturb the uneasy atmosphere that had taken root.

You’d spent the night awake, your heart still aching, and now you were just going through the motions.

When Lando came into the kitchen, he didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong. His usual cocky grin was in place, and he kissed your cheek casually, as if everything was fine.

“Morning, love. How’s everything today?”

His words were like a slap to your face.

How could he ask that when everything felt like it was falling apart?

You forced a smile, wiping your eyes before you responded. “Good, just—just a little tired, that’s all.”

Lando didn’t notice the exhaustion in your voice. He didn’t see the faint tremble of your hands. His focus was on getting ready for the day.

"Right. Well, I’ll see you later then. I have some meetings and... we’ll catch up tonight?"

You nodded, though you knew the “catching up” would never happen.

It never did anymore.

As the day wore on, Amelia and Jacob continued to shut you out. Amelia was particularly icy, her words sharp and cruel.

“It’s not like you can do anything right, anyway,” she said during lunch, her tone dripping with contempt.

Jacob wasn’t much better.

Whenever you tried to talk to him, he ignored you or gave half-hearted answers, his mind preoccupied with his phone or whatever else he found more important.

You tried to speak to Lando about it that evening, but he was distracted again, caught up in his own world.

“Can we just sit and talk for a second?” you asked, your voice tired and strained.

Lando looked up, sensing the urgency in your tone. But instead of offering comfort, he simply sighed. “Not now, (Y/N). I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, and the kids—”

“They don’t listen to me anymore,” you interrupted, your voice breaking. “I can’t do this alone, Lando. I’m trying, but they’re pushing me away.”

Lando’s eyes softened for a moment, but he quickly brushed it off. “Don’t make it about me. I’m doing the best I can. The kids will grow out of this phase.”

But you knew better.

This wasn’t just a phase.

You had watched your children change, seen the way they grew colder, more resentful, and you didn’t know how to fix it.

You had tried everything.

Later that evening, it happened again.

Amelia and Jacob’s insults had been building all day, each one more hurtful than the last. But you had tried to stay calm, tried to understand that they were only struggling to find themselves.

But that night, when you were sitting in the family room, watching the kids laugh at something on TV, it hit you—the sudden realization that you were invisible.

It felt like they didn’t care at all.

That they didn’t want you to be a part of their lives anymore.

You stood up, silently, and slipped away to your room. The tears came fast again, spilling down your cheeks as you tried to stifle your sobs.

It wasn’t long before Lando came looking for you. He knocked gently on the door.

“(Y/N)?” he called, his voice softer than before. “Are you okay?”

You couldn’t respond, couldn’t find the words to explain the ache that had been growing inside of you. Instead, you turned your back to the door, wiping your tears quickly.

The door creaked open. “(Y/N), look at me.”

Reluctantly, you turned around, meeting Lando’s gaze. His eyes widened at the sight of you—at the tear-streaked face and the redness of your eyes.

For the first time, he saw the pain you had been hiding.

“What’s going on?” he asked quietly, stepping into the room. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You couldn’t speak.

You felt too raw, too exposed.

But Lando, noticing the silent answer in your expression, immediately understood.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

He stormed out of the room, heading straight to the living room where the kids were lounging.

“Amelia. Jacob,” he said, his voice loud and commanding. The force of his presence made them both jump.

“What’s wrong with you two?” he snapped, his anger rising. “Why are you treating your mother like this?”

They exchanged nervous glances, clearly not prepared for this confrontation.

“Dad—” Amelia began, but Lando silenced her with a harsh gesture.

“No. Don’t speak. I’ve been blind to what’s been going on, but I’m not anymore. You two are spoiled, entitled and ungrateful. Your mother has done everything for this family, and yet you treat her like she’s invisible. Like she’s nothing.”

Jacob shifted uncomfortably, but didn’t speak.

Lando’s eyes flared with fury. “You will not disrespect her again. Do you hear me? I’ve been far too lenient with you both. From now on, you will both lose privileges. No more going out with friends until you understand the weight of what you’ve done. No more free reign in this house. No more devices for you. You want respect? You’ll earn it.”

Amelia opened her mouth to protest, but Lando shot her a warning look.

“Enough,” he said. “I don’t want to hear another word. Get upstairs. And don’t think I won’t follow through.”

Both kids stood up slowly, their faces a mixture of surprise and shame. As they left the room, Lando’s shoulders sagged with exhaustion.

He turned back to you. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). I failed you.”

You shook your head, unable to hold back the tears anymore. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to be the bad guy. I just wanted to help them.”

Lando pulled you into his arms, holding you close, his voice softer now. “I’ll make it right. I won’t let them treat you like this anymore.”

The days that followed were filled with apologies from the kids, awkward but heartfelt.

They knew they had messed up, and while it didn’t immediately heal the hurt, it was a start. Slowly, things began to improve in the household.

Lando kept a watchful eye on everything, making sure to include you in the family decisions more than ever before.

And at night, when the house was quiet and the kids had gone to sleep, Lando would sit with you, wrapping his arms around you, reminding you that you weren’t alone.

“I’m sorry,” he would whisper, his voice filled with guilt. “I should have seen it sooner. I should have protected you.”

You just rested your head on his chest, letting the comfort of his embrace soothe you. Things weren’t perfect, but for the first time in a long time, it felt like they could be.

And for the first time, Lando was truly listening.

Thank you for reading!

[georgiapeach30513]

Two Good Reasons, Part 7

Summary: Andy is such a daddy

Pairings: Andy Barber X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, breedable reader and a breeding kink man, unprotected sex, creampie, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 7.9K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

You should really wake up. There is a lot to do today; Audrey has her Donuts with Dad event at school, Suede had an allergist appointment, Andy’s day wasn’t too bad and he said he would go with you. But you don’t want to wake up, you want to enjoy this moment. You’d rather lay in this bed, facing Andy’s handsome face, and watching him while he sleeps. It could be creepy to some, but you doubt that Andy would mind.

There’s just something so magical about seeing the man you’ve always loved facing you, and his warm breath blowing over your cheeks. Life wasn’t perfect, but with him in your life you know you have a partner, and now not everything sits on your shoulders. He carries the weight, and he makes life fun again for you and the kids.

It didn’t seem like that long ago that you cried on the floor, while you watched your babies sleep. You were silent as tears stained your face and chest, watching these beautiful babies sleep soundly, while their father grunts in pleasure in the background. You didn’t understand why he would risk losing them. They are perfect, and he knew — knew that infidelity was the point of no return.

He risked a relationship with his offspring, the thing he claimed to desire the most, because he knew you would fight like hell to have custody of your children. They were all you have left of your marriage. And you just stared at them in awe. Audrey held onto Suede like he was her personal stuffed animal. And their lips were puckered out as they slept so serenely, having no knowledge of their babysitter fucking their disgusting father.

You tired of sitting on the floor, and crawled in Audrey’s bed, holding onto both of them like a lifeline. You had to be okay for them. You just didn’t understand. You had two good reasons in your arms for not cheating; he is two and she's four, and Scott was the ultimate idiot.

You made yourself believe that you stayed because they adored their father. You knew that the two of you had been drifting apart. Sex was a chore, until it was completely absent. His harsh words for Suede changed the way you thought of him. How someone could see this perfect tiny little baby that was in the NICU fighting to breathe was a miracle. You made yourself suffer through a subpar relationship because you felt it’s what they wanted.

It would have been easier on you if he told you he didn’t love you anymore. The low blow was who the woman was. He had to pick out the young girl that was every man’s fantasy, so you thought. She was young, stupid, perfect hair, perfect teeth, perky full tits, had a stomach that hadn’t carried and birthed babies, she was just the epitome of sex goddess. Your mom told you that you were stupid for hiring a babysitter that looked like her, but she was readily availed. Too readily.

And you thought she was fun for the kids for the few hours she watched them. She wasn’t supposed to be watching your husband. He wasn’t supposed to be coming home during a lunch hour to fuck her while your babies slept. Yours. They have always been yours. And you feel like a fool for staying in a loveless marriage, because their happiness now is infectious.

And now today, and everyday for the rest of your life you can thank Taylor because you have the better man in front of you. The man of your dreams. The man that is so fuzzy and warm, and then hard and protective for his family. That’s what the four of you are; family. His family.

It has made you painfully aware how you all are a family everyday. Every day Andy wants to do something as a family. He wants breakfast together, dinner together, play time with no electronics (thanks Ransom), he even helps Suede sound out his words more, and has mentioned a few times on helping him potty train. He immediately was the best bonus dad for your kids. Better than their own father.

As much as you would like to prolong this moment, you know you need to get breakfast started. Andy will join you later to set the table. He would even get Suede ready while you got Audrey ready. Keep them occupied while you make lunches. He was a help. They weren’t a burden to him. You know he’s always wanted a family, but you didn’t realize how much he would flourish as a father.

You try and let him get a few minutes extra of sleep, while you ease out of the bed. Giving a final look to the most beautiful man inside And out as you pick up some shorts out of the floor. Getting into the kitchen, you check the calendar for the menu today, and pull out the ingredients for pancakes. Even this part of life made you happy, Andy enjoyed helping you and the kids create the menu for the month. Blissful is a good word. Now if Scott could just buzz off, and let the four of you live in peace.

Lighthearted, you start laying bacon onto trays for the air fryer. Mixing up the batter for the pancakes as you dance around to happy music in your head. Not all mornings are this joyful, but you feel different. Usually he was the one that woke up before you did, and he would start this process. You hear the alarm go off in the bedroom, and start to make a yogurt dip for fruit.

“Morning, handsome,” you look over your shoulders as Andy pulls down his shirt, and makes his way behind you. He wraps both arms around your front, laying his hands flat on your belly as he starts roaming around. His hands become more needy, and he adds a bit more pressure, pulling you into him. “I gotta finish the last pancakes, and pop them in the warmer. Gimme me a moment.”

“I need my morning kiss,” you bump your ass out, pushing him back, just a tiny bit to get the pancakes off the griddle, and turn off the stove. Andy is already peppering kisses up your neck before he lifts a hand to turn your head to the side. “I need a real good morning kiss because the babies are still asleep, and the air fryer hasn’t shut off.”

“Kiss until one or the other happens?” He nods his head as he inches closer to your mouth. You wish he’d let you turn around to kiss him properly, but he’d taken to kisses like this. His hands continue to caress over your belly. Dipping under the hemline of your top, so he can have his hands on your skin. One hand roams a bit too high, and he pinches your nipples.

“The babies,” you manage to get out, and his hand already sinks back lower. You kiss him like there’s no care in the world. The best way to start a day. You are ready to get out of this house, and find a forever home with him. Create memories with everyone. Start drawing lines on a door frame to show how much they’ve grown. A big fenced in backyard because you have thought more about a dog for the kids, and a bonus if it can be a service dog for Suede’s allergies.

Andy bites on your lip, pausing his ministrations as a giggle makes him pull off you, “You look like you are eating each other,” Audrey giggles again, but Suede jokingly scowls at Andy.

“My mama,” he stomps his foot, and Andy copies his motion. “No oos!”

“You want to race to the table for her?” Both Audrey and Suede’s faces light up with a smile, and they bend low, bouncing in place as they look up at Andy. “Ready,” he drops his arms from around your body. “Set,” Andy walks over to where the kids are, getting in a running stance with them, “Go!”

Running in the house isn’t often. But these short bursts of racing to the table are fine. Scott would hate them. You open up the air fryer, and start placing bacon on a plate. Setting out the plates onto the counter. Pulling out some cups. “Auds, you want juice or milk, baby?”

“JUICE, mommy!”

“Suedey?”

“UICE!”

Starting a pot of coffee, you give Andy a chaste kiss as he grabs the plates and utensils, walking back into the dining room, “Suede, all the way in your seat,” Suede listens immediately, and Andy lays out the plates, “Do not stand up in the chair while I go get the drinks, okay?”

“Chess.”

“I mean it, Audi, you watch him, angel, okay?” She holds up a thumb as Andy jogs back into you. Finishing up pouring the drinks, you slap his ass as he trots back, “Ma’am!”

“Don’t have such a cute tush,” you shrug. He seriously has the best scrumptious ass that you will bite one of these days. Andy rolls his eyes, and you grab up the tray of food. Walking in to see your family. “Coffee should just about be done.”

“Is it just me today again?” You give him a nod. Coffee has been giving you the worst heartburn lately, so you’ll stick with just water for today. Now is one of your favorite times of day. Time to talk with your littles about their day. Time to watch Andy try and help Suede calmly sound his words out a bit more. It’s amazing what positive reinforcement from more than you helps him learn.

His speech is already improving, but also his behavior. He is still two and has his moments of big emotions for a little boy. But it’s almost like he has a male that now pays attention to him, and talks to him like he’s a human instead of at him because he isn’t perfect. Suede isn’t a mistake, and Audrey isn’t perfect. You didn’t want her to have these impossible goals, because no one is ever going to perfect. She would fail. There would be things she wouldn’t naturally be good at, and you wanted her to have those moments.

“Audi, are you excited about your dad coming to pick you up today?” You start the morning conversation. She hadn’t seen him in over a week. Even his nightly calls are dwindling down. Either he’s too busy with Taylor, or his insecurities towards Andy are taking over his need to be a decent father.

She finishes the gulp of her juice before she sits it down on the table, nodding her head. She missed him. Suede didn’t care or way or the other. If it didn’t hurt your children, you’d rather he just stay absent, “And and and and and…”

“Breathe,” you whisper. She has picked up a bit of stuttering with her excitement recently. You hope she didn’t have these moments with her dad. You shudder to think what he’ll say about her not being perfect.

She takes a slow breath, wiping her maple hands down her front, “Daddy says he’s going to take me to that new donut shop.”

“Me, too! Na Na, me go!”

“Buddy, we have to ask if they have donuts without eggs first. This is just,” Andy looks over towards you, wondering how he should phrase the next sentence. No matter how it comes out, it’ll be how it sounds.

“Suedey, today is just for sissy and daddy,” he furrows his brows, and folds his arms over his chest. “I know. But maybe you and Andy can do something special Friday evening, and Audrey and I can stay home.”

“Chess!”

“Can can can can,” she takes a deep breath without being coached this time, “Can you and I make Pinkalicious cupcakes? My teacher read the book, and I need pink cupcakes.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea. But, Suede?” Suede immediately sits back on his bum as he looks at Andy, and he thanks him quickly, “I need you to be extra brave today. You got to pick out tonight’s dinner, remember?”

“Chess,” he says slowly. “Me,” he looks at you, and then only at Andy, “B-b-br…bave,” close enough. He smiles so big as he looks at Andy, and he reaches across the table, holding out a fist, and Suede bumps his hand. Andy moves it to Audrey who returns the favor.

“Alright, you two take your plates to the dishwasher, and head to the bathroom for teeth and hands and faces,” today was going to be tough. But today wasn’t going to be bad.

Andy checks his watch again while Audrey sits and stares out Sloane’s window directly to the parking lot. She stands up on her little tiptoes, trying to see cars closer to the building before sighing, and walking over to Sloane’s desk, and crawling back underneath. Andy’s assistant glares at him.

Waiting on the little girl to put her headphones back on, “Fix this,” she whisper screams. “Her looks so pitiful, and I can’t do anything to help it. So you have to fix it!”

“And what am I supposed to do? Her dad was supposed to be here ten minutes ago to pick her up. It’s a Dad’s and Donuts day at school. And no, the dads are not a requirement, but dads, moms, father figures, whatever are invited.”

“And you’re the step,” Andy clears his throat, his eyes scanning the parking lot again, “Bonus dad. Take her to get her donuts, and you take her,” Andy starts to make a comment before he pulls his phone out of his pocket, and walks into his office. Closing the door softly as he paces around.

“Doe!”

“Don’t tell me what I think you’re about to say,” there has been a sneaking suspicion in your mind all day. Scott hadn’t called to confirm the event at school, which only meant one thing, he wasn’t going.

“He’s not here,” you groan in frustration. Keeping your eyes on Suede who scribbles on a piece of paper with his tongue sticking out. It would be any moment that you were going to be called back for Suede’s test, and Scott wasn’t there to get his daughter.

“Days like this I want to hit him. I know that work gets in the way, but he can schedule around this, right? You do. God, I just wish you were her dad,” Suede looks up at you smiling, pointing at his paper, and things grow silent on the other end. Andy wouldn’t leave her hanging like this. You can imagine her looking out the window, and then going back under Sloane’s desk to hide.

She thinks that nobody notices when he disappoints her, but you do. More and more Scott’s insecurities about Andy were coming out, and she is the one that suffers for it, “Honey, tell me if I’m overstepping my bounds, but I can take her,” you inhale swiftly, staring at Suede, and how he tries conversing with a little boy in the waiting area. His confidence growing by a positive male influence.

“Okay,” responding quickly because Audrey deserves doughnuts that could potentially have eggs. “Yeah, okay. Umm, I’m going to send you the address,” your phone pings, and you check to see if it’s Scott, and it isn’t. “Andy, her favorite color currently is…”

“Pink, I know. Ransom, why are you here?” Andy looks at his colleague confused. Of course Ransom is there. He had to let you know that Audrey is hiding. Those iPads are going to be a blessing and a curse.

“Audrey is hiding under Sloane’s desk, and she sent me a message asking if I could bring her some doughnuts. I thought that — he didn’t show up,” Ransom growls, and reaches into his pocket for his keys, “Alright, let's get the kid the most obnoxious cupcakes…”

“Doughnuts,” you and Andy say at the same time, even if Ransom couldn’t hear you. “And I’m driving. You don’t have a car seat.”

“Yeah, whatever, let’s go,” Ransom leans under Sloane’s desk, smiling at the tiny little Audrey, “Come on, let’s go nuts for doughnuts,” nerd. Ransom is a liar, and he’s a nerd. He was the best liar and only because he ended up being the most tender man besides Andy. He is all bark, and only bites for mean men.

Audrey holds onto her box of donuts, and Andy opens her door, helping her get out, “Do you think the gold is too much?” She asks, looking down at her gaudy pastries, and Ransom scoffs. The gold had been his idea, “So people will love them, Uncle Ann?”

“They’re going to love them, sweetheart,” Andy butts in. He lets Audrey walk in front, leading the way into the classroom. “We’re just two minutes late, but I think the pink and gold were the right fit,” Audrey holds her head up higher. “You’re coming, too?”

“I’m not sitting out in the car. I want donuts,” Audrey looks like she’s commanding these two men. She guides them through the doors, stopping to let Andy sign her in before continuing her trek down the hallway. Nodding her head as she passes the classroom doors.

“That’s Suede’s room. He hasn’t been back since he was stung. Mommy wants to make sure there’s no other allergies before he comes back. Oh! Miss Tatum! My Uncle Ann and — Andy brought me. My daddy is busy, but this is okay, right?”

“Of course. Go sit your donuts on the table, I’m sure your uncles can help you,” Andy starts to protest. “We’ve got a quick circle time, and we’re going to go directly into the donuts. You’re welcome to sit down with her, or you can join the adults behind the table.”

“Haha, she thinks we’re a couple,” Ransom giggles, and he gets a sharp look from Miss Tatum. “You think she’s single? She is a feisty one.”

“I think she thinks that she’s not your type,” Ransom look from Miss Tatum to Andy, his lip curling a moment.

“You’re right, I don’t like kids,” Andy’s face falls flat as he stands in the back of the classroom. That isn’t at all what Andy was insinuating, “I don’t. This,” Ransom motions to the classroom of fifteen children, “this is terrifying. Perfect birth control. But she sure is cute,” Andy elbows his partner in the ribs as Miss Tatum sits on the floor with a guitar. “What does one do at donuts for dads?”

“I’ve never done this,” he keeps his eyes on Audrey who sporadically watches him as she sings. The biggest grin on her face for their morning song. A little dimple showing on her cheek that only appears when she’s at her happiest. “I think I’ve got the cutest kid here.”

“Well, yeah, Audi is the best. Why is she so tiny though? I swear she’s the shortest here,” she is. One of the younger students, but also one of the daintiest.

“She’s perfect,” Andy whispers, smiling back at the little girl. “I couldn’t imagine not showing up for her. Look how happy she is. It’s all she wants is someone to show up for her. And this way she gets put first. Nothing about today is about Suede, just her,” the song finishes, and Audrey gives both men a huge grin, and waves her hands. She bounces around in her spot, but waits for Miss Tatum to dismiss them for the donuts.

“Alright, children, go to your grownup, and let's get our breakfast started. Don’t fill up on just donuts, there’s fruit as well,” Audrey bounces up, sprinting over to Andy and Ransom. She crashes into Andy’s legs giving him a huge hug.

“Come on, we have to hurry so we can sit at the best table. It’s the one closest to the kitchen area, and there’s a window, and you can pretend to have a store, and we have a money thingy that really beeps. And! Oh, look, come here,” grabbing both their hands she pulls them to another section of the classroom.

Forgetting she had a special table, she just wants to show off her space, “This is where I paint. And you see that picture way up there? That’s my hand and we made it into a pumpkin! And and and and and and…”

“Audi, breathe.”

“Yes,” she inhales slowly, exhaling, “That’s our reading area. And this book,” she pulls up a book from the shelf, showing both men, “This is my favorite right now. It’s Pinkalicious, and it has a girl who turns pink in it,” she lets out a roaring giggle before pulling the book out of Andy’s hands, and showing them something else.

“See the bags on the windows? We’re trying to sprout beans! And oh,” she drags them to another area of the classroom, “This is the block center. Jacob makes really big buildings and he knocks them down. And one time a block fell on my head and I cried.”

“Which one is Jacob?” Ransom’s eyes narrow as he looks at every little boy in the classroom. Putting Jacob on his list.

“Ransom!” Andy says under his breath.

“Mommy had to sign a paper that said I got in an accident. I just don’t go there if Jacob is going to be there,” Audrey shrugs, and sighs.

“Does he still bother you?”

“Not really. He hits the cymbals too loud, so Miss Tatum doesn’t let him have those anymore. Come on, we should really get some donuts. I want two of my pink and gold ones,” she drags them along even if Ransom whispers and asks Andy about who Jacob is. “Here are your plates. Oh, daddy, look there’s plenty of my donuts left.”

Audrey is able to squish in between a little girl, reaching for the donuts she brought, while Andy stares at her curiously. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t skip a beat. That name rolled off her tongue effortlessly, and while Andy is swimming in feels, it worries him. Scott is a non-issue as far as he’s concerned, but what will Audrey think when she realizes what she’s said? Will you be upset? Was it an honest mistake?

He’s spent every night with you and the kids, minus Scott’s weekends. He wakes up every morning with them. Drops them off to school with you. He reads all three of you bedtime stories every night. It’s not that he doesn’t think he deserves the title, it’s a worry on how everyone else will feel. He doesn’t care about his feelings when something like this can change so much.

“I bet that kid is Jacob,” Ransom motions to a little mischievous boy that gets reprimanded by his dad. “He looks like a trouble maker, that's definitely the brat that hurt Audi.”

“Shh, I’m going through an internal crisis right now,” Ransom furrows his brow as they make it down the line of food. Watching as Audrey fills her plate up with fruit. “Audi, let me carry this to the table, and you grab us some juice boxes.”

“Juice boxes? I was promised beverages,” juice boxes was not on Ransom’s list of things he was willing to drink. He’d been thinking a mimosa at least.

“We’re at a pre-k center.”

“Okay, daddy. Uncle Ann, what is your favorite flavor,” Ransom’s mouth drops open, and Audrey looks at him weird, “Orange juice, okay,” before she skips off, and the two men pick up their plates to walk to the tiny little chairs.

“Is that the first time she’s called you that?”

“Yup.”

“Is that your crisis?”

“Yup.”

“Well,” Ransom gives Miss Tatum a nod as he sits down in the chair, she really was cute, “These are the smallest things I have ever in my life seen,” he states, slotting a too small chair away from the table. He sits down, and glares at Andy. His knees feel like they’re up to his chin, “They are cute, but I look like an idiot,” he follows Andy’s eyes as he watches the man staring at the little girl digging around the cart for the right juice. “It was bound to happen.”

“Eventually. But is this too soon? How do I bring this up? Is she okay? Is she pretending that I’m her dad for today so she’s not embarrassed? Is she confused? I have so many questions running through my head like I’m in court, and all I want to do is stare at that little girl, and wish she was mine. She should be mine.”

“Can I be honest with you?” Andy’s head bobs up and down quickly. He is ready to get home to you, and talk through this with someone who was involved. He trusts Ransom, but this is a family matter. “She is yours,” Andy looks at him confused, “You’ve stepped up for her, her brother, but most importantly stepped up for her mom. You’ve become part of the integral familial unit, and the kids are both thriving. My guess is eventually Scott will quit trying to tear her down, and will eventually back out of the kids' lives a bit more permanently. He already has with Suede. He’s hoping Audi is going to be a good name for him. It’s the only reason he’s kept a somewhat decent relationship with her. By the way, the talk of the assistants is that he doesn't have a photo of his kids on his desk. It’s just him and Taylor, along with his phone wallpaper. Let’s see yours.”

Andy lays his phone on the table, and Ransom has a hearty laugh. “See, you, Doe, and both kids. What’s the other one?”

“Doe sleeping,” he smiles, waving at Audrey. She’d been talking to Miss Tatum about something. Her dimple sinks in as she points over to the table. She really is the cutest here, especially when she’s happy.

“And your fall family photos where you and Suede have actually matching shirts is on your desk. You’ve become their dad. Scott’s just their father. Hey princess, what’s this?”

“Miss Tatum said there’s no orange juice left, but she can go ask if you want her to. But I said you could drink apple cider with us. Uncle Ann! What is that donut?”

Her chubby little finger points at an overly decadent donut piled high with something, and he takes a big bite. Moaning at the deliciousness, “This is a cookie butter donut.”

“I think Jacob brought those,” Audrey giggles, looking up at Andy.

“This isn’t that great. I’ve definitely had better donuts,” he says annoyed. He gives a little glare over to the boy who he has deemed Jacob. He can’t believe he hates a four year old, but said four year old hurt Audrey.

“He he he he he,” she calmly takes a long breath when Andy’s hand lays on her back, “He always brings fancy stuff like that. Mommy says that his mom wants brownie points, but that is a donut. I don’t know what she’s talking about. Umm,” Audrey looks up at Andy. Her pink frosting clad hand lays on his pants, getting a bit of the confection on him, and he doesn’t care. She looks content.

“Thank you for bringing me. I’m sad that Suede can’t have these. But but but me and Mommy will make him some Halloween donuts, also the Pinkalicious cupcakes when you take him somewhere.”

“You’re welcome,” she doesn’t say the title of daddy again, and she also doesn’t remove her hand. Andy’s thoughts are swimming. Swirling thoughts of what this all means, but he can’t deny that Audrey is happy. She seems at ease, and that is all that matters to him. Even if this feels right, and all because you trust him. And he’ll continue to show up again and again, no matter what Scott thinks.

You inhale the hot water deeply. Letting the steam open up your sinuses, while you just stand in the heat. You’d finished cleansing your body, but you need these moments of just breathing. It feels like a never ending battle with Suede’s allergies somehow getting worse. You followed the rules. You didn’t introduce common food allergies to him. You introduced a new item a little at a time, and still it got worse.

He should be allowed to be a normal child, and not have to watch every little thing that he ate. It’s why you made sure to prepare things for him. Always carried snacks that were safe for him. It’s like Scott cursed him in some way. He pushed his distaste for his son onto him, and it made allergies appear or something. He was just two and had so many complications.

Too many complications. It isn’t fair.

You rest your head in your hands, massaging your temples. It had been such a long day. He cried, asking you over and over again why. The nurses said it would only sting a little bit, and immediately he went on edge. Crying uncontrollably because sting now meant bees. It was rough, so you loved hearing that Audrey had the best day possible, despite Scott not showing up again. Hadn’t called. Didn’t even bother giving an excuse. Out of sight out of mind. He’d never bring this up again.

Andy’s hands slide around your waist, and he pulls you into his hard chest. Laying his chin on your head, he keeps you tucked into him, and you drop your own hands, and return his embrace. Burrowing yourself into him, and letting Andy shoulder the heavy weight laying on you. “Honey, you don’t have to come in here to hide. I will listen. I take it today wasn’t a good day?”

“He’s not allergic to bees, that’s a good thing. The seventeen times just caused the breathing issues and swelling. I should be thankful,” that is such a minor thing. You were told to still be cautious, like you wanted him to ever get stung again?

Andy starts to rock you back and forth. You want to make sure your home with him has a huge bathroom like this house. A giant shower for you to comfort Andy, or in this case, him comfort you. Completely naked and vulnerable to each other, and nothing sexual. It’s just purely you and him. “He did add in all shellfish and soy though.”

“Audrey’s going to be very upset then,” leaning back, you stare up at him confused, “Uncle Ann said he wanted to make us some clam chowder,” it’s so silly and goofy, and it shouldn’t matter, but tears well up in your eyes because you hate that it seems like Audrey always gets the leftovers because her brother has allergies.

“She wanted clam chowder?”

“Ehh, she said it sounded gross. We’ll just have a funeral for the clam chowder that never was. She hasn’t tried it, so she doesn’t know what she’s missing. And I’m not so sure about Ransom’s cooking. However, I’m more concerned about what this beautiful woman is doing crying in the shower without me. You’re not alone in this.”

“I know. I just needed a moment to decompress. You didn’t have to see his pitiful face. It got started all wrong. He’s terrified of bees now, and just a mention of them — it was awful.”

Andy’s fingers massage your head as he sways you back and forth. Normally he complains about the water temperature, and even though his skin is turning bright red, he doesn’t say a thing. “Audrey called me daddy today,” gasping, you look into his eyes, and he’s so far away. Remembering the very moment she said it.

“It wasn’t purely an accident. She said it twice. She got pink frosting on my pants. We’ll take it to the dry cleaners, but it was so sweet. She just had her hand resting on my leg, and just would stare up at me with this cheesy grin. Doe, she was so happy today. She got to eat a pink and gold donut, and was proud that we were there. And with me she did show — I don’t even know. It’s silly, but it’s like she was claiming me as her dad to her friends. And who the fuck is Jacob?”

You snort, giving him a kiss to his chin. “Just some kid that has some behavioral issues. I think Audrey tries to befriend him though. So how do you feel?”

“How do you feel?”

“I want my kids to be happy and content. That’s it, and they are. Names are not important. Whether you’re Andy, Na Na, or daddy. So how do you feel?”

He spins the two of you, putting himself in the stream of water while he grabs the shampoo. You pull it out of his hands, and squirt the liquid into your hand before standing on your tippy toes, and washing his hair yourself. Getting a good lather, letting the suds stream down his body. He takes long deep breaths in and out before leaning forward for a sweet kiss.

“I liked it a lot. Is it going too far to say I feel like her dad?” You shake your head no. This is Andy in his element. He was seriously meant to be a father. “I didn’t want to correct her at first because I thought it was a mistake, but then she said it again, and I don’t want this to confuse her. I don’t want this to be a fight for Scott. I don’t want her or Suede to feel they have to call me that. But I liked it.”

“Maybe we should talk to her,” it seemed like a logical start to understanding. It might have just slipped out, she might be confused on what she should call Andy. But it should be discussed with her. Let her know that neither of you cared. “Just with her, we can wait for the next weekend we have them, Suede still takes two naps, and we just have a conversation with her. I’ve been feeling so guilty lately. I feel my baby is growing up too fast, and it’s not because she’s growing up but because she’s having to be an adult with her brother. She’s had so much trauma with the divorce, and his allergies, and she’s not even five. I want to make it a point to have special moments with her.”

“I think that’s the best idea. Not to change the subject, but are you going to wash my body, too? Want to spend some extra time on my dick?” Andy wiggles his brows around, and you snort rolling your eyes. He’s such a teenager sometimes. That’s one way to change the subject.

“Not in the shower.”

“Why not?” He asks, getting all squeaky. You start backing away from him. “Wait, wait. It’s been a hard day, we should take it out on each other’s bodies.”

“We are too old for the shower,” you can just see how this plays out, with someone slipping and falling. Or worse, both of you falling.

“No, we’re not. This is a perfect place to have sex because all our sins get washed down the drain.”

“Those sins cost a lot of money in a water bill, and I am afraid it’s too slippery in here. In theory that sounds extremely sexy. But why don’t you wash your balls, and I’ll lock the door, and then we can make sweet love in bed?”

“You’re mean. You could wash my balls with your mouth,” you give him a quick wink before fully leaving the shower, and Andy hurriedly washes himself. He gives himself a glance into the mirror while he towels off, and then throws it into the hamper. Remaining naked as he walks into the bedroom, and hisses between his teeth.

That’s what the wink was for. Looking all delicious and beautiful, you are on the bed, ass up in the air, while your face is on the mattress. “I take back what I said about you being mean,” watching him grow and harden while he walks closer to you is such an oddly satisfying thing. “Is this all for me?”

“It always was,” he runs his cock through your glistening folds. Using your juices as his personal lube, while he waits on himself to get to full mast. His fingers knead and caress your body, and you wiggle your ass around. Bouncing it, and circling it around before Andy slaps a cheek, causing you to yip. “Are you wanting to punish me, daddy?”

“Don’t start that shit again.”

“If I recall, you kinda got off on me saying that on one of your few visits from college. Everyone was so jealous that I was dating a college man,” Andy’s ego swells, right along with his cock, so you keep talking. “They’d see us out at dinner, and how needy we were for each other. They didn’t hear our whispers of how much we loved each other. How you were already so horny to see me pregnant, but knew it wasn’t the time.”

“Doe,” Andy warns, plunging two fingers into your cunt. His fingers immediately curl as he hits that spongy spot inside of you, and he drives himself in and out. The honey in your pussy create the most lewd sounds, echoing into the bedroom.

“Remember that one time?” his eyes flutter closed as he reminisces, “I told you that you had one time my senior year to knock me up. I was so scared, but at the same time, I wanted it. It was the end of the year, and it would mean that I didn’t have to go to my mom’s college. I could move in with you, and we could begin our life. But…I think this is how it was meant to be, and I love you more today than I could have ever imagined.”

He removes his fingers so quickly, popping his hips forward, and sheaths himself all the way to the hilt. Stabbing you into the depths of your soul, while he swells inside your warmth. His cock aching and throbbing, but he holds still. “I’ll protect you, too, daddy,” your voice whines out the last word, and you get another slap to your ass, “Andy.”

“You play too much.”

“You don’t like it?” Andy grips tightly to your hips, and begins pistoning inside of you. Harsh, sharp movements that leave you clinging to the bedspread. You whimper out his name, trying to push yourself back into him. You want him deeper. You want him all the way into your stomach. You never tire of him, never can get enough, so you wanted him to be welded to your insides.

“I’ll like it more when you talk to our kids about daddy, and it’s me you’re referring to. Doe, I don’t get off on that name. I get off on being a father, and having a family with you. I’m not an overly kinky man,” he pushes into your warmth so hard and deep, your body pushes forward on the bed. “I wouldn’t mind fucking your ass, though.”

“But you’re spanking me,” he does it again, and you sob out his name.

“Because you like it. You enjoy the slaps to your ass, so I will do that for you,” he spanks you again, and then spreads apart your cheeks. Staring so intently on where the two of you connect. Your arousal soaks his cock, and you suck him right back into you. Even your body couldn’t get enough of him.

“Your family loves you, but didn’t give you the attention you deserved. They didn’t care that you were out with me, when you shouldn’t have been. You even said you thought they hoped you got pregnant. And now here they are, traveling around the world, and don’t have a relationship with their grandchildren,” he barrels himself into you, but leans over your body.

Hips snapping him into you at the most toe curling angle, “It’s why we have each other. You and I were meant to be each other’s family.”

“I don’t want therapy during sex,” you mewl, glancing back at Andy. His steel blue eyes capture your own, and he goes deeper.

“You don’t want to talk about it any other time. You don’t have to be the strongest person anymore,” someone had to be strong. And you didn’t care if it was you.

“And neither do you,” Andy thrusts so deeply that you see stars. His grunts louder than normal as his seed spurts into you, and you hope and pray that this is the one that takes.

“You didn’t come,” he pants. He doesn’t leave from inside of you, but tucks his hand under your body as he stimulates your clit.

“But you did. I don’t think you understand the pleasure I get from feeling you,” Andy gives your shoulder a bit of a nibble as he works your bundle of nerves. “How good it feels to know that you still find me sexy, and want to fuck me. And that my body can give you so much pleasure,” his movements become erratic, more rapid and harsh as he tries to get you to the finish line.

“We’ve got the rest of our lives, and sometimes, it just might not happen,” he bites on you again, but this time a bit harder, mixing the pain with the pleasure, “But knowing that I’m the cunt your sinking into,” Andy’s hips start a wave of motions. He’s softening in your cunt, but he pushes you forward, giving you the illusion that sex is still happening, and your body tightens. Winding the coil in your belly up to the point of explosion.

“You will come, or I can’t sleep,” clenching your eyes closed, your head drifts to the bed, and you listen to his voice. Only his voice. Envisioning your new home, full of new memories with Andy. A baby on each of your hips as he plays in the yard with Audrey and Suede with a dog chasing the three of them.

The potential of Suede growing out of his allergies is there, you just had to stay consistent. You would. You and Andy were going to have the picture perfect life. There would be arguments, there would be hard times, but you would be together. You would give everyone the life that they deserved. The life you wanted, and craved.

“Andy!” you can hardly breathe with how much your body is clenched. His love and your pleasure race through your body, bones, and veins, until you can’t even see.

“You’re right there. You’re fluttering around me,” you wonder who the kids would look like. Would they have your lips? Or Andy’s eyes? Would they be tall or short? Would they have health problems? Would they be a girl, a boy? Who would they strive to be? You are going to enjoy whatever they bring to your life.

“Doe, I love you,” he sounds like himself now, but also that young man that you became obsessed with. You and Andy had already created a family all those years ago and didn’t realize it. You were each other’s family, and that’s why nothing else ever worked. It’s why you saw flashes of Andy holding onto your babies as they were born. He was always meant to be in the equation.

Children aren't an obligation to Andy, they are what he wants. It’s why everything is so easy for him. Because this is what he needs. And he craves it with you. Two people that fell in love too young, and somehow made their way back to one another, and nothing had changed. And you can’t wait to see Andy in every new part of his life.

“Andy, I’m coming. My god, I’m coming!” Nothing has ever felt more magical than in this moment. The way that he’s still connected to you as your pussy tightens around him. His grunting breaths fanning over your back, while he coaches you through your high. Life isn’t perfect, but starting today, you’re enjoying every moment for what it is.

You will get a divorce. You will get joint custody of the kids, and it will eventually become full custody. Suede will grow out of his allergies. Audrey will be able to be a child without mothering her little brother. And you will give Andy a biological child.

“Doe, will you marry me?” Andy asks as he kisses down your neck. So much for taking things slow. You didn’t care. You have never stopped loving this man, and you never would. To some this might not seem like the most romantic of proposals, but to you, it is.

The two of you are completely nude and vulnerable to one another. Legs and arms entwined together. You two connect in the most basic animalistic way. Skin on skin, heart to heart, soul to soul. It’s raw and feral, but it’s the most beautiful feeling and something like you’ve ever felt in a lifetime.

“Of course I’ll marry you.”

“Okay,” he exhales quickly. Smiling against your back. “Okay. When — you know when I get out of you, I’ll get the ring.”

“You have a ring?!” You nearly shout as you try to push him off you. He falls onto the bed on his back laughing. Holding onto his heaving chest, and you sit up in the bed looking at the district attorney like he’s a teenage boy, “Andrew Stephen Barber! You have a ring, and you wait until you and your cum are inside of me to ask?”

“I thought it was kinda sweet. It was in the moment, and we were fused together. It’s totally sweet,” collapsing on top of him, you giggling. It was sweet in a grotesque way. It made sense, even if you’re laughing so hard at the stark differences in proposals. Scott’s was big and extravagant, while Andy’s was just Andy. Literally nothing was between you.

“I feel you’re hornier in your older age.”

“I’m not the only one. Who was riding my cock in the middle of the night last night?”

“I was stressed about the appointment, and your hard on was sticking into my back. Your body was inviting me to it,” he pulls you closer into him, his hand rubbing up and down your back. He really was turning you on by you being able to feel him. You couldn’t help it, so you had to take care of him.

“I’m not complaining. Waking up to you using me to pleasure yourself was sexy as fuck. I’m just proving my point that you’re just as horny as I am, so don’t forget it,” you wouldn’t forget. It was his fault. How could you not be horny when you wake up to someone that looked like Andy? “We should get cleaned back up, and unlock the door, just in case the kids have bad dreams.”

They rarely toddled downstairs to join you and Andy, but the fact that he even thinks about them might showing up warms your heart. He didn’t care to have them in the room with you. “When are you giving me the ring?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we’ll go on a date, and I’ll ask you again. If you say yes twice, then I’ll give you the ring,” as long as the two of you were together, it didn’t matter. You are engaged to Andy. Now to get divorced, and then your life with Andy and your babies can have a fresh start. Next stop is a house. Maybe a dog. Maybe a pregnancy. But it will always be Andy.

Next

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