#a glowing promise we hold in out hands

[almostvermin]

THE PATH WE WALKED WILL BLAZE FOREVER............,,,, fuck

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - FOUR

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of pregnancy; abortion; health risks; insecurities. chapter one┆chapter two┆ chapter three

You were curled up next to Rafe, head on his shirtless chest, listening to the rise and fall of his breath.

You could hear the crash of the waves. His fingers were tangled in your hair, slow and lazy, like he had all the time in the world.

“Do you ever think about the future?” You asked, not even sure why you said it. 

Maybe it was the mood, the quiet.

He laughed softly, the sound rumbling through his chest, vibrating against your cheek.

“Future? Baby, we’re in the future right now.” He tilted his head to look down at you, his blue eyes catching the last bits of sunlight, making them almost glow. “What more do we need?”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “I’m serious. What’s next for us?”

He was quiet for a second, and you held your breath, waiting. Sometimes Rafe had this way of avoiding real talk. He’d joke, or deflect, or turn the conversation back to something easy.

“You,” he said, his voice low like he was confiding you a secret. “You’re what’s next. What’s always next.” His arm tightened around you, pulling you into his lap. 

You smiled, that stupid, giddy smile that probably made you look ridiculous, but you didn’t care. His breath tickled your forehead as he kissed you there slowly.

He was so sure in that moment, like nothing could touch you two.

You lifted your head, just enough to look at him.

His face was so clear, each detail spot on, you could reach out and touch it. His messy beach hair, the way it fell into his eyes, his crooked smile, that scar on his chin from when he’d wiped out on his bike in high school.

All of him was yours.

“Promise?” You asked, like a part of you needed to hear it again, needed the reassurance.

Rafe leaned in, his lips grazing yours before he whispered against them, “Promise.”

He had this way of making all feel so simple, like the future wasn’t some big, scary thing.

“I’m never letting you go,” it sounded more like a prayer coming from his lips, fingers tracing small circles on your arm, sending these tiny electric shocks through you. “You’re stuck with me, Thornton.”

“Good.”

But then something changed.

His grip loosened. His warmth started to fade, and you blinked, confused. You lifted your head, trying to find his eyes, but his face was different.

Blurred. Distant.

“Rafe?” You whispered, reaching for him, but he wasn’t there.

The warmth was completely gone, replaced with cold, empty air. You turned, searching for him, but all you saw were shadows where he used to be.

The waves crashed louder, and you realized you were alone. Just like that, everything was gone, everything he promised, was gone.

You sat up in bed, gasping, hands instinctively going to your stomach in the darkness of your bedroom.

He wasn’t here. He was with her. You were alone. 

Pregnant.

You tried to stabilize your breathing, wiping away the tears that had slipped out during your sleep. The bed felt too big, empty without him. And the memory of his touch, his words, felt cruel now. 

You stared up at the ceiling wondering how a memory could feel so real, so vivid, but that was all it was. Just a memory. Just another piece of the past you kept chasing.

You looked down at your stomach, your hand still resting on the bump, if you could call it that. You weren’t showing at all, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t real. You knew it was.

Your very first appointment was in a few hours, and the thought of it made you want to throw up.

You needed to know how far along you were. It would be easier to stay in bed and let the what ifs spiral in your head than to face them, but you didn’t hold that privilege anymore.

You dragged yourself out of queen-sized bed, avoiding the mirror as you moved around the room.

You didn’t want to see your reflection right now, you dreaded facing the girl who had let herself get into this mess.

You threw on a pair of loose, old sweats and a hoodie, one that swallowed you whole, hiding everything.

The kind of outfit that made you feel invisible, and right now, that’s exactly what you wanted. It’s not like anyone around here cared much anyway, rich girl or not, kooks were experts at pretending. 

You grabbed your keys, your phone, and the one thing you couldn’t forget today —courage.

One foot in front of the other. One breath at a time.

The appointment was soon, and you needed to get there. You kept reminding yourself that you’d figure it out once you knew how far along you were, everything would make sense after that.

The drive there was a mess, the anxiety and anger, you didn’t want to acknowledge today were taking turns messing with your head.

You didn’t want to think about how you’d once imagined a future with Rafe, how he’d promised you a lifetime under the sun.

You could never feel guilty about keeping this from him. He’d made his choices, and now you had to make yours.

You rolled up in your car and had to park in the visitor lot, trying to sneak in like you weren’t a whole mess of nerves behind the wheel of a brand-new Range Rover.

It was practically empty, which was fine by you, less people to run into, less eyes on you, since every second you spent there was a second someone could recognize you.

Someone could see, that was the last thing you needed — for this to become some juicy little rumor for the Kildare gossip mill to chew up and spit out. 

You pulled your oversized sunglasses lower on your face, hoping they’d hide the fact that you were shaking.

You hated the fact that you were even in this position as you sat there, tapping your foot impatiently, checking the clock every five minutes like it was some kind of countdown to freedom.

Every noise from the hallway made you flinch, like any second someone familiar would burst through the door, see you there.

You winced in horror when your name was called out, following the nurse leading you down a sterile hallway that smelled of antiseptic. You tried to keep your mind off the fact that this was the first step toward the most life-altering decision you’d ever have to make. 

"The doctor will be in soon."

Times like these you wished you’d chosen a private clinic, but you had to avoid as many kooks as possible, even if it meant slumming it in this hospital. 

This was real.

Sitting down on the exam table, the paper crinkled under you, the sound making you cringe. You felt so small in that room, so alone. You’d always had someone—Rafe, even Topper. But right now, it was just you.

Your legs dangled off the edge of the table as you waited.

It felt like forever before there was a knock on the door, and the doctor entered.

"Hi, I’m Dr. Madison," she greeted you, offering you a smile as she sat down on the stool beside you. "How are you feeling today?"

What the fuck were you supposed to say? That your life was falling apart? That you didn’t know what to do? 

So you settled for a, “"I’ve been better," looking anywhere but at her.

She nodded like she understood, she’d most likely heard it all before. 

"Alrigh’, we’re just going to take a look and see how far along you are, okay? I’ll need you to lay back."

You did as she said, leaning back against the stiff pillow, trying to relax. 

"This is going to be a little cold," she warned as she reached for the ultrasound gel.

A little? You nearly jumped off the table as the gel hit your stomach, cold and slimy, like ice against your skin. You winced but tried to keep still as she spread it over your lower abdomen.

The machine whirred to life, and she placed the probe on your stomach. You sucked in a breath, trying not to cry as the screen lit up with grainy images.

She moved the probe slowly, methodically, her eyes glued to the monitor, and you couldn’t breathe. 

You forced your eyes to the ceiling, refusing to look at the monito, refusing to see. You couldn’t let yourself get attached, not like that.

If you saw what was on that screen—if you saw the shape of something, anything—it would kill you. Your breaths were shallow, and your fingers clenched the sides of the exam table, gripping the paper until it tore under your hands.

Dr. Madison was quiet as she moved the probe over your skin, you knew she was seeing something. You could hear the beeping of the machine, the faint hum of the monitor.

"Okay. Looks like you’re about thirteen weeks along."

"How long is that?"

"Almost 3 months, give or take."

No, that couldn’t be right, you’d barely felt any different.

You were at thirteen weeks. Just over the line.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry.

 "Thirteen?" you repeated, like maybe if you said it out loud, it would make more sense. But it didn’t.

"Alright," you told her, voice even, like that number wasn’t echoing in your head, smashing through the calm you’d been faking this whole time. 

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Madison eyes scanned your face, probably trying to gauge how much of this you were even absorbing. “I know this is a lot to take in.”

A lot? That didn’t even begin to cover it.

The doctor cleared her throat gently. “In North Carolina, after twelve weeks, the options for termination become much more limited unless it falls under specific conditions like rape, incest, or a fetal anomaly. I know this might be overwhelming, but I’m here to walk you through what’s possible.”

You nodded, but it was a lie. You weren’t hearing any of it, you were already listing other possibilities, another place.

Your mind was a step ahead, planning out the details, flights, or maybe driving. Somewhere where no one would ask questions, where you could walk in and get this over with.

Just slip away for a couple days.

She kept talking, saying something about other options, but you weren’t hearing it. It sent your heart into a stampede.

"Thanks, Doctor," you said when you realized she was done speaking, your voice perfectly polite, perfectly controlled. 

It felt like you were watching someone else speak.

You were nodding like you understood like you had a plan. Inside? You were screaming. Your thoughts were a mess, colliding into each other—Oh my God, what now, what the fuck are you going to do? So much more work just because you were stupid enough to wait.

Dr. Madison gave you this list—appointments to schedule, things you should and shouldn’t do, prenatal vitamins to pick up. She might as well have been speaking a different language for all you heard. 

You mumbled something that sounded like “thanks” as she handed you the prescription, barely glancing at the paper. 

“Is there really nothing I can do?”

You couldn't confide your plans to her, for obvious reasons.

“I can’t advocate for any illegal options, but I understand your concern. If you were just a week earlier, we could have discussed a simple outpatient procedure. However, now you’re facing a more complex situation.”

You never felt so frustrated in your life, “But I’m—I can get you anything. You don’t understand, I can pay—”

“Miss Thornton,” she interrupted, her voice firm yet sympathetic, “I know you’re not trying to bribe me right now. I need you to understand that legality and ethics come into play here. What you’re suggesting isn’t something I can support or even discuss further. We have to work within the framework of the law.”

You bit your tongue, resisting the temptation to lash out at her.

“So that’s it, then? I’m just supposed to accept that I’m stuck with this?”

“There are still options we can explore together. We can discuss what’s next in terms of prenatal care, adoption, or even resources that might help you if you choose to carry the pregnancy to term. But I can’t ignore the fact that you’re beyond the legal limit for a straightforward abortion.”

You blinked rapidly, “Adoption?”

The idea of keeping the baby made your stomach bend into a different shape, but that alternative felt just as wrong.

She looked at you with genuine empathy.

“I understand that this is overwhelming. The decision is ultimately yours, but I need to emphasize that time is of the essence, and the choices you make today will have lasting implications.”

Then she was gone, leaving you alone in that sterile room with your head spinning.

You couldn’t even fucking remember the last time you felt normal. Now, you were staring down the barrel of a pregnancy you didn’t even know was this far along. The doctor’s speech about vitamins, checkups, and avoiding alcohol bounced off around in your head.

You swallowed down the nausea that had nothing to do with morning sickness, grabbed your purse, and walked out like nothing had just changed. 

You shoved the papers into your purse without a second thought, your mind already screaming to get out, to run, to go somewhere.

Anywhere but here.

As you walked out into the waiting area, you spotted a mother with her toddler, the kid giggling and playing with his toys. Would your baby be that happy? Would they giggle like that?

No, no, you couldn’t go there.

Your fingers were numb as they fumbled for your keys, and you somehow managed to get into the Rover.

The second the door slammed shut, the tears you’d been restraining started to fall.

All you could think about was getting far, far away from here, somewhere no one would recognize you, where people didn’t know your last name or expect you to show up to some debutante ball with a well-behaved husband, a kid on each arm, perfectly polished.

"Fuck..." you whispered through clenched teeth, squeezing your eyes shut like maybe that could make it stop. But it didn’t. Your whole body was trembling, hands shaking so hard you couldn't hold the wheel right.

You leaned your forehead against the steering wheel, trying to catch your breath.

Thirteen weeks.

You couldn’t stay here, in this parking lot. You needed to go somewhere safe, somewhere that made sense. You needed them.

Without really thinking, you turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the lot. 

You didn’t even know where you were going at first, your body knew, the same familiar route you’d taken too many times. You didn’t realize where you were going at first, but once you passed the last stoplight before the cemetery, it hit you.

You parked haphazardly, not caring if your car was straight or if anyone saw. This was the only place you could think of. The only place that wasn’t ruined by all the mess in your life. 

Your parents. Your sister.

Their graves were tucked away in the back corner, under the big oak tree that had been there for as long as you could remember. You parked the car and got out, the ground crunching under your feet as you made your way to them. 

You sank to your knees in front of their headstones, your fingers brushing against the cool marble as if touching them could somehow make them feel closer. They’d been gone for five years, and no matter how many times you came here, that fact never got easier to swallow.

“I don’t know what to do,” you choked out, stopping to bite down on your bottom lip hard to keep from completely breaking down. “I’m so... I’m so fucking lost.”

The wind rustled the leaves above you, and for a second, you wished it would just take you away too. Make everything disappear.

“I’m pregnant.” You spit the words out, voice cracking, like admitting it was burning your throat. “Thirteen weeks,” you added, saying it out loud for the first time. Your hands curled into fists, fingers digging into the grass.

The tears came back, harder this time, and you bent forward, clutching your stomach, forehead pressing into the ground as if you could just bury yourself there. 

“I can’t—I can’t do this alone. I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Your voice broke completely, turning into a sob that you couldn’t stop. You were crying so hard you couldn’t even breathe, gasping, like you were drowning in it. 

“Why aren’t you here?” you cried, “Why did you leave me? Why did you—” but the words caught in your throat, turning into another round of weeping.

You stayed for a long time, curled up on the ground, crying so hard it hurt, until the tears finally slowed, until you felt empty, drained.

Afterwards, you sat back, wiping at your swollen eyes with the back of your hand.

“I’m pregnant,” you repeated, this time softer, “And I can’t... I can’t tell him. He’s with her, and I—I just can’t.”

You sniffed, cleaning your nose with your sleeve, feeling ridiculous and broken all at once.

Your breath hitched again as you forced yourself to stand up, even though every part of you wanted to collapse back onto the ground. 

They were gone, it was just you. Alone. You think that’s why there was this tiny persistent voice in the back of your brain whispering things you weren’t ready to hear.

This was a chance, wasn’t it? To finally have someone again, someone you didn’t have to say goodbye to.

The second the thought crossed your mind, you felt a gush of panic, a nauseating conviction that you were nowhere near capable of raising a child. You barely remembered to take care of yourself, so how could you possibly take care of a baby?

It felt so fucked up to you, to think this could be a “fresh start” or something like it—no, you weren’t naïve enough to believe that. Not when you’d barely coped to get through the last five years.

You remembered the doctor’s voice, factual, mentioning adoption.

Carrying this baby only to hand it over to someone else—someone who might be better equipped—Could you do that? Carry a piece of your family’s future, only to give it away? It felt wrong.

You were halfway to your car, still wiping the tears from your face, when you heard someone call your name.

“Hey... Is that you?”

You froze. The last thing you wanted was to run into someone, especially now. Not here, not like this.

Turning slowly, you saw her — Sarah Cameron, Rafe’s sister — standing by her mom’s grave.

She was holding a bouquet of wildflowers, brown eyes narrowing as she took you in. She looked like she'd been here a while, but the moment she saw your state, she dropped what she came here to do.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" she asked, her voice rising with worry.

Her eyes, so different from Rafe’s, scanned over you, taking in your bloodshot eyes, the messy hair, the way your clothes were dirty from sitting on the ground too long. 

You hadn’t taken sides when her and Topper split up; you’d just known, deep down, that they weren’t right for each other. He had this stubborn, idealized version of her that she could never live up to, and that had been the beginning of the end.

You opened your mouth to say something, to tell her you were fine, that you didn’t need her sympathy right now. Instead, you just stood there like a fucking idiot, eyes wide, as Sarah dropped the flowers and rushed to your side.

“Hey, hey,” she panicked, as if she was talking to a wounded animal. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Sarah touched your arm gently, and that’s when it hit you, the fear, the panic, the loneliness — it overwhelmed you.

Without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around her, holding on tight.

You didn’t even care how desperate it looked, how messed up you were right now. You just needed someone.

She froze for a split second, caught off guard, but then she softened, her arms wrapping around you tightly. She was warm, solid, and so there, and the moment she hugged you back, the floodgates opened for the millionth time that week.

You started crying again, silent but hard, your face buried in her shoulder as your whole body shook.

Sarah didn’t say anything; didn’t ask questions, just focused on holding you tighter, her hand smoothing over your back like she was trying to calm you down. The kindness of it, the warmth,you hadn’t grasped how much you needed it until right now.

“Shh, it’s okay,” her voice was soothing. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

You hadn’t seen her in months — not since everything went down with her and Rafe after Ward died.

The whole family had fallen apart after that.

Sarah had cut ties again, another fallout with Rafe. Things between them were always like a ticking time bomb, and Ward’s death had blown everything wide open. You knew they hadn’t been on speaking terms since.

It made this moment even weirder, seeing her here, of all places. She looked different, too, she was carrying her grief, her pain, that wild spark in her eyes a little more dim than you remembered.

As you pulled away from the hug, you blinked through the tears, and her face came back into focus. She was still looking at you, her brows knitted with worry, the wildflowers she’d brought for her mom now forgotten on the ground behind her. 

She looked like she was about to ask a million questions, but she was waiting for you to speak first.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” you finally said something, trying to wipe your face with the sleeve of your hoodie. It was a lame thing to say, but you couldn’t find any better words.

Sarah gave a small, sad smile, shrugging a little. 

“Yeah, I just… I come here sometimes. To see my mom.” Her voice was quieter than usual, and you could hear the strain behind it, “I guess I needed it today.”

You understood the feeling all too well.

You both stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, and you could tell she was dying to ask why you were here. Why you looked like you’d just been rolling around in the dirt. 

Instead, she said, “You okay? I mean, really?”

In some weird way, you’d always thought you’d be able to keep this part of yourself locked away, hidden and safe where no one could see it

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, the lie slipping out too easily. “Just… rough day, you know?” Your voice was hoarse, still shaky from the crying.

Sarah frowned, not convinced. She stepped closer, her hand hovering near your arm like she wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if you’d let her.

"You sure? You don’t look fine."

You forced a smile, “Yeah, I’m good. Just needed some air. It’s been a lot.” You didn’t want to get into it, didn’t want to unload everything. 

She sighed, her shoulders slumping just a little. 

“Okay. But… you know if you ever need to talk to someone, I’m here, right?”

You blinked, not really sure how to answer to that, nodding away, hoping she’d drop it.

“I know I was just Rafe’s little sister,” she continued with pursed lips, “but you’ve always been like a big sister to me. Okay? Him being an asshole to both of us doesn’t change that. Ever.”

You could see she meant it. This wasn’t just some passing offer out of pity, Sarah was genuinely worried, wanting to be there for you.

You just nodded dumbly.

Sarah smiled softly with that same old Cameron determination. “Seriously. Whatever’s going on, I’m here.”

You stepped back, breaking the small bubble of comfort, you didn’t even realize you’d let her create.

“I should probably go,” you awkwardly muttered, brushing your hair out of your face and trying to straighten out your hoodie like that could somehow make you seem more put together. “But thanks, Sarah. Really.”

She just watched you with that worried look still across her face, but then she nodded. “Anytime.”

You turned to leave, feeling her eyes on your back as you walked away, your steps slow on the grass.

The loneliness had been suffocating, and even though you didn’t tell her anything, just hearing Sarah say she was there, that she still saw you as family—it meant more than you wanted to admit.

It wasn’t like anything was magically better.

You used to think this island would keep you safe forever, that it was big enough to hold your problems. 

Now, it felt like it was shrinking around you.

You were curled up on the couch, laptop balanced on your knees.

You’d googled “abortion options United States,” expecting answers, but all you found were long lists of restrictions, rules, states drawing hard lines.

You already knew that in North Carolina, you were already past the point of no return. So you kept digging, checking every single state until you found one, a random thread on some forum, that talked about New Mexico.

No restrictions on timing.

You scrolled, following link after link, getting deep into some Reddit threads, reading accounts from women who’d done it, who’d had to pack up their whole lives, fly out, handle everything on their own.

No one to tell, just a flight, a few days’ stay in a place that looked nothing like home, just to try and get back to normal. The whole time you were reading, this weird sense of relief and fear entwined in your gut. 

So you can get out of this.

By the time you shut your laptop, your head was pounding but at least you had something that felt like a plan.

The next morning, you woke up before the sun, tossing on yesterday’s clothes and brushing your hair as best you could with one hand. You scrolled through the numbers you’d scribbled down last night and dialed the first one.

You had to it straight away, without a chance of backing out. So you closed your eyes with all your might and hit call.

A woman’s voice picked up on the fourth ring.

“Women’s Health Center, this is Amanda. How can I help you?”

You cleared your throat, trying to sound normal. Like you weren’t shaking like a leaf.

“Hi. Um, I’m calling to see about scheduling… an appointment. I’m about thirteen weeks.”

“We do have availability. Our next spot is ten days from now.”

Ten days. Shit. Could you wait that long, or was that too soon? Shouldn't you think about it some more?

Maybe you needed more time.

Or maybe you shouldn’t be doing this at all.

You were already running through a hundred different what-ifs, a panicked mental list of everything you hadn’t thought through.

“Is that… is that the soonest?” You surprised yourself by asking.

There was a pause on the other end, and you could hear the kindness in Amanda’s voice.

“Yes, it’s our first available spot for a procedure beyond twelve weeks,” she informed you, “We’d also want to complete a few assessments with you, along with some necessary paperwork and counseling. I can walk you through everything if that helps.”

You nodded automatically, realizing a second too late she couldn’t see you. “Yeah… yeah, okay.”

“I’ll go over a few things with you, so you’re prepared. Do you have a pen handy?”

You grabbed a random envelope and pen from the countertop, jotting down every detail.

“You’ll need a form of ID, proof of residency—we’re required to check for that. Some basic insurance information if you have it. You’ll also have some health assessments here when you arrive, mostly standard but including a psychological evaluation just to ensure everything’s covered from a health perspective.”

It was all just words, logistics. You weren't exactly processing the information, just robotically writing it down.

“There’s also a mandatory counseling session we’ll need to go through. In case you have questions, or concerns. This will all be confidential, but it’s for your safety, both physically and emotionally.”

“Right,” you said, just to say something. You didn’t know if you even wanted to talk about it, not with her or anyone. You just wanted this to be over with.

“The procedure itself is straightforward, but it’s still a surgery. It’ll last anywhere from 10 to 20 minutes, with a little more time afterward for recovery. We’ll go over any complications with you once you’re here—risk of infection, bleeding, discomfort. We make sure you’re clear on what to expect before anything happens.”

You forced yourself to nod, then remembered she couldn’t see you. “Got it. I’ll—yeah, I’ll get the paperwork together.”

"Just one last thing," Amanda added, "Given the nature of the procedure, we ask that you bring a companion along, someone to stay with you. They don’t have to be in the room, of course, but they’ll need to be present to help you get back safely after."

Your hand stopped. A companion?

"What?"

The small sense of peace was gone in a heartbeat.

You wanted to tell her that it would be fine, you’d figure it out, because, rationally speaking, who could you ask or who would you even trust with this?

"It's a requirement,” Amanda clarified, “For your safety. You’ll need someone there with you. It’s non-negotiable.”

“Right. So, like… a friend? Or…” You trailed off, trying to hide the fear overcoming your senses.

“Exactly,” she said. “A friend, a family member—just someone you’re comfortable with. It’s standard procedure for anything this involved.”

A friend. Family. Someone who could sit in that waiting room and just… know everything. You didn’t even have anyone who could know you were pregnant, let alone be with you for this. 

“The total will be around $3,500, which we typically split into a down payment and a final balance due at the time of the procedure. We can take payment in cash, card, or even a wire transfer if you need that flexibility. We’ll also require a 20% deposit to hold your spot, which you can pay over the phone now or through our secure online portal.”

You glanced at the envelope where you’d jotted down notes, biting your lip as you stared at the numbers. “Right, um, yeah, I can do the deposit now.”

“That’s perfect. One moment, please.” There was a click as she transferred you, and while you waited, you blinked down at the deposit amount. 

Seven hundred, you thought. Seven hundred dollars just to hold a place. It was nothing to you and yet it felt monumental.

A robotic voice greeted you, and you keyed in the card information, watching the screen as it processed. The payment cleared, and you felt the strangest sense of finality.

It was real, stamped and sealed.

Amanda returned to the line, “Thank you for taking care of that. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

“No, that's all. Thank you."

“Of course. We’ll see you in ten days.”

Now you were at this god for saken country club brunch. Why you even came, you had no idea.

Maybe it was a pathetic attempt to feel normal. 

You were trying so hard to look casual, like you hadn’t just been on the phone with a stranger, scheduling the most personal appointment of your life.

Thankfully, Ruthie had canceled last minute — some emergency with your cousin, no doubt. Small miracles. The last thing you needed was her crazy ass analyzing everything you did.

The spread of food on the table looked like a minefield of smells.

Just the sight of the eggs benedict made you want to hurl on your seat, and the fruity smell of the mimosas wafting through the air was…torture.

You’d kill for a sip, maybe even two. 

You were watching the sunlight catch on the bubbles, sparkling like they were tauting you. The craving was there, whispering thoughts that felt equal parts impossible and unavoidable. The idea hovered, tempting you with a cruel promise.

A few mimosas could maybe make this go away, couldn't it? Maybe you’d get lucky and this nightmare would just end on its own.

But the thought made you sick.

You could almost feel it, this new life clinging to you, sticking around no matter how much you wished it’d leave. There was some echo of a moral sense—some annoying, reasonable, voice within your head that wouldn’t let you grab the damn mimosa even though your fingers were twitching for it.

What was the problem if you were getting rid of it anyway?

You forced yourself to look away from the mimosas, knowing that just one glass might make you feel something—anything—other than this sick dread.

With an effort, you forced yourself to say, “Water, please.”

Of course, the universe just had to have its laugh, because the one bringing it wasn’t just any waiter.

It was Sofia. 

How come everyone got a break from shitty things happening to them, and you didn’t?

You must’ve been really awful in your past life.

Perhaps you were one of those medieval villains who ordered people to be drawn and quartered, or some spoiled empress tossing servants into dungeons for looking at you wrong.

How else could you explain it? Life kept pilling more shit on top of you. Or maybe it was less about karma and more about some fucked up endurance test. You were still here.

Rafe’s latest… girlfriend? Hookup? Whatever the hell they were, she had that title, and now she was in front of you, all fresh-faced, her apron hugging her like she’d just walked out of some pinterest brunch board.

Her hair was pulled back in this cute little bun, and her face held that perfectly innocent smile that made you want to scream.

She was practically glowing. 

Her skin had that effortless, sun-kissed warmth like she’d just gotten back from the Maldives or something. Not a shadow under her eyes, not a single stray hair — just this easy, perfect beauty that looked even more surreal under the soft morning sunlight.

It was ridiculous.

Meanwhile, you felt like a mess. Dark circles, a slight breakout on your chin, and an overall look of someone who hadn’t slept in… weeks? or was it months?

The last good night before nausea became a part of your daily life, and the constant anxiety kept you up at all hours, staring at the ceiling and wishing it’d all just disappear.

And here she was, gliding around like she was untouched by anything so messy, so…human.

You glanced down at your outfit, the pristine, tailored Miu Miu set from the new collection —the cropped blazer was light and airy, perfectly cinched at the waist, with sleeves just long enough to make it feel sophisticated but breezy, paired with a sleek, high-waisted mini skirt, the whole ensemble skimmed your frame effortlessly, made just for you.

You knew you looked expensive, the kind of look people envied, even if they’d never admit it. 

Every stitch, every button on this outfit screamed privilege and class, and yet here you were feeling like some tragic, half-dead version of the old you.

Why the fuck were you even comparing yourself to her? She was still a pogue, for god’s sake.

Rafe’s latest toy or project or whatever, you had no business even wasting brain cells on her. So what if she looked a little too chipper, too perfect? 

She wasn’t worth the mental energy.

Just as you forced yourself to refocus, Sofia reappeared, setting a glass of water in front of you with that same innocent, syrupy smile.

“Here’s your water,” she chirped.

You hated that sound. 

She didn't look or sound in-your-face or territorial, more salt on an open wound.

Just hours ago, you were piecing together plans to get rid of the very thing that tied you to Rafe, and now here she was. 

You gave the glass a pointed look and then raised your eyes to meet hers. “I asked with ice.”

No, you didn’t.

You were supposed to be above this kind of petty bullshit, weren’t you? But the bitterness rooted in your gut like the mimosas you wanted so desperately.

“Oh?” Her face froze, that little smile twitching just a bit. “You did? I must’ve heard wrong. I’ll be right back with it.” She looked genuinely flustered as she turned to head back to the bar, her apron fluttering behind her. 

You caught yourself feeling the tiniest bit pathetic.

An unspoken vendetta against the girl serving water? Really? You almost felt a little ridiculous… almost.

“Oh, beautiful girl!”

It was Mrs. Aldridge, an old friend of your mother’s, all pearls and Chanel, her wrinkled hands wrapped around her mimosa.

“How’s your darling Rafe? I haven’t seen you two in ages!”

Instead of thinking better about it, your eyes slid over to Sofia.

She was setting the glass down, her face draining of color, frozen mid-action like a deer caught in headlights. It was almost too perfect.

You were gonna have fun with this, putting on your best sympathetic casually as if you’d had this conversation a hundred times. 

“Oh, we’re not together anymore,” you said, tone dripping with faux sweetness as you nodded in Sofia’s direction. “She is.”

Mrs. Aldridge’s eyes widened, almost bulging out of her head as she followed your gaze, putting two and two together with the slow, scandalized horror that only old-money kooks could manage.

You could hear her brain struggling to comprehend the fact that Rafe Cameron was now involved with the server.

The other women at the table leaned in, whispering behind manicured hands and designer sunglasses, eyebrows shooting up as they stole obvious glances at Sofia.

She was still standing there, stunned, her mouth opening like she wanted to say something. You half-expected her to look annoyed, maybe give you the scathing glare you’d be giving her all morning.

Instead she looked like she wanted to disappear into the woodwork.

“Oh dear…” Mrs. Aldridge’s voice trailed off, her eyes scanning her from head to toe with the kind of judgmental precision only years of country club experience could bring.

She cleared her throat as if she could somehow undo the fact that the help had captured Rafe Cameron’s attention.

“I suppose he’s… rebelling, then?” Another old lady muttered, eyebrows raised in suspicion, already delighted by the gossip forming on her tongue.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Who knows? That’s Rafe for you.” 

You took a sip of your water, feeling satisfied as murmurs spread across the table, surprise and judgment all directed squarely at Rafe and Sofia, who looked like she might faint on the spot.

You couldn’t lie — it was the most fun you’d had in weeks.

“Such a sweet girl,” Mrs. Aldridge mused, her gaze fixed on Sofia, who was now engaging another table with her bubbly personality. “But bless her heart, she doesn’t quite belong here.”

“Definitely not,” you clicked your tongue, allowing the disdain to seep into your voice, even as a small part of you felt like a spineless bitch for feeding her to the sharks.

“New money, if you ask me. I can’t take them seriously. Remember when Ward was just a pogue with big dreams, trying to make a name for himself.”

You saw her again, just a gimplse of her still taking orders with that big grin, still doing her job.

This was exactly what you’d wanted, right?

To see her squirm in her hand-me-down shoes, to show her the world she’d trespassed on wasn’t as welcoming as she might have believed.

But your conscience decided to make an apperance, one more time, slipping in with a knowing sigh. You wanted to hurt Rafe, not her.

This was cruelty, plain and simple, the girl was only trying to survive.

She was dealing with these judgmental eyes and assumptions, probably used to being reminded that she didn’t belong, that she didn’t measure up, and you were sinking to that same level of entitlement and superiority.

The satisfaction wasn’t as sweet as you’d thought it would be. Dragging her into it was cheap, easy, like pushing someone off balance simply because they happened to be standing there.

You forced a giggle to match the others, playing the charade, but inside, something started to feel uncomfortable. You knew what it was like to be scrutinized, to have them pick you apart, to whisper behind your back.

You remembered how much it hurt.

To these people, you were only steps away from that same old judgment. If they knew about the appointment...their conservatives asses would ruin your reputation.

They’d tear into you in the same way, a scandal spread in manicured lawns and private golf courses.

Mrs. Aldridge leaned in conspiratorially, her aged perfume filling the air. “If he truly cared for her, he wouldn’t be making a fool of himself like this.” She sighed, looking at you like she expected you to agree.

You took a breath, one that felt painful, because were you really about to do this shit?

“It’s Rafe’s life,” you replied, shrugging. “Maybe she makes him happy. Who knows?”

The table quieted, a few eyebrows raised, flabbergasted that you hadn’t indulged in more snide remarks. At the end of the day, the life you wanted — it wasn’t this.

Maybe it was time to let some of it go.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige @rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron @serrendiipty @sunny1616

@yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog @psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[littlelamy]

with rafe

a/n: SPOILER for S4; rafe x pogue!reader; if you haven’t seen s4 yet and don’t want spoilers please do not read it !!! i wanted to post it tomorrow but i love it so much so I’m posting today!

proposal with rafe

The sun casts a golden glow across the water as Barry’s boat floats in the middle of the water while a determined rafe zooms on his jetski to shore. He swings a leg off the jet ski, wading through the shallow waves as he makes his way to where you’re sitting under a tree, your gaze meeting his. There’s something different in his eyes—a softness, maybe even a hint of vulnerability, and you feel your pulse quicken as he reaches for your hand, his grip warm and gentle.

“Come sit with me,” he murmurs, his voice low but steady, leading you to a spot beneath the shade. His expression is so uncharacteristically tender, it leaves you feeling both anxious and curious. He takes a deep breath, as if summoning the courage for something important.

“Before I... before I take off, I wanted to say something,” he says, his eyes searching yours, his tone holding a weight that makes your heart race. Confused but drawn in, you nod, watching as he sinks down on one knee before you, reaching into his pocket to pull out a beautiful diamond ring. The delicate silver band catches the light, and you see his hand tremble slightly as he holds it out, a touch of vulnerability showing through.

“It was my mom’s,” he says quietly, his voice filled with a softness that you rarely hear. "Been in the family forever, so I know that's some Kook bullshit, but I..." His gaze holds yours, a gentle warmth shining through. “I just wanted to you to have it, before I...I left, so you know that we're real.”

Your heart swells, overwhelmed by the sincerity in his eyes and the gesture that feels so intimate, so unexpected. You nod, a smile breaking across your face, and the weight of his love wraps around you as he slides the ring onto your finger with a tenderness that takes your breath away.

Your heart still pumping fast at his words as warmth spreads through you as he steps forward and sweeps you into his arms, holding you close as his lips find yours. His kiss is deep and passionate, filled with longing and the intensity he’s been holding back. He groans softly, pressing you closer, and you feel the weight of his emotions as you loop your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair. He pulls you deeper into the kiss, as if it’s his way of saying everything he can’t put into words.

He pulls away smiling at your now heavy finger, his thumb brushing over your hand before he reaches into his pocket again and pulls out his keys. He holds them out to you, his fingers brushing yours as he places them into your palm.

“I want you…” he starts, his voice husky with feeling, “…I want you to quit your job, and I want…I want you to move in with me.” He pulls you in again with a even more passionate (if it’s even possible) kiss that makes your knees buckle. "Now we got that sorted," Rafe says laughing with the biggest smile as he pulls away from the kiss.

“I’ll be back in a few weeks, all right? Here. Stay at my…..Stay at our place.” He presses the keys into your hand with a firm but gentle insistence. As he pulls back his hands, he rests his forehead against yours, smiling, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I love you,” he says softly, pressing a final kiss to your forehead, then lips before stepping away. He pauses, looking back at you one last time, his eyes holding a promise, a warmth that leaves you feeling like the luckiest person in the world as he steps back onto his jet ski.

As he starts up the engine and disappears across the water, you’re left with the keys, the ring, and the weight of his words—feeling the love and commitment he’s offering, and the life he wants to build with you.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @wniektty

[giannaln4]

GIANNA'S KINKTOBER '24 SEASON

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Kinktober day sixteen.

Breeding Kink (3.2k words)

summary: Since the moment he met you, Lando knew he wanted you to be the mother of his children, and that feeling only intensified when he saw taking care of your nephew.

warnings: NSFW, +18, smut, MDNI, established relationship, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talking, breeding kink.

To anyone else, and as people would expect, seeing your significant other with a child should warm your heart; it should give you a soft spot for the person you’ve vowed to spend the rest of your life with. 

Lando did feel like that when he saw you interact with any kid, like when you were walking in the paddock and a kid came up to him and you always made conversation so they wouldn’t feel so shy, or when a driver brought their kid to the race and you immediately leaned down to talk to them, sometimes even holding their tiny hands as they swore they had the coolest thing to show you.

That was the first few times, at least. But he will never forget how everything inside him shifted when you first met his niece. She instantly fell in love with you, and she needed to drag you everywhere. Who could blame her, really; that’s just the effect you have on people.

But god, the effect you had on him? That was another level, because the way he felt that weekend when you picked up a motherly role when you were with her made him feel something he had never felt before, something he never imagined, and quite honestly, he couldn’t explain it. That was until you were saying goodbye and the little girl nearly cried when her mother took her from your arms, and his hands instinctively landed on your tummy when he walked you back to the car.

The thought of you carrying his child and taking care of them the same way you did with his niece — now that is a fire he could never put out, not until it became a reality. He wanted- no, he needed to make you a mother; he desperately needed to put a baby in you in a way that was almost primal.

You and Lando have been together for years, and it was common knowledge that he wanted kids. Sure, you have talked about having a family one day after getting married, one day, but sometimes he just wishes you could skip all of that and make a baby once and for all. 

For months, he kept those thoughts to himself, not wanting to ruin what you had just because he couldn’t contain his desire buried for a little longer; that was until you babysat your 5-year-old nephew, Charlie.

He came back home sometime in the afternoon, eyes tired and body aching for the intensity of the past weeks. He wanted nothing more than to be with his girlfriend and forget about the world, but as soon as he stepped into your apartment, he heard the TV and loud chuckles coming from the living room.

His brows frowned in confusion as he dropped his bags next to the door and followed the noise, his heart nearly stopping when he spotted you playing with the little kid.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” He said with a huge smile.

“Oh hi, you’re home,” you sprinted towards him, hugging him tightly when he caught you in his arms. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too, sweetheart,” he kissed your temple. “And how is this little guy doing?" Lando walked towards Charlie, kneeling next to him to be at the same level. 

“Good, we are playing with the puppies,” he exclaimed, his tiny finger pointed at the TV. 

“Yeah? Are they fun?” He just nodded and ran closer to the glowing screen, completely forgetting about Lando’s existence and jumping again as his tired eyes followed the dogs.

“Don’t worry, my sister will pick him up in a couple of hours.”

“It’s fine. He seems happy.”

“And very tired. I think it's time for a nap, what do you say?” You walked towards him, trying to pick him up, but he refused.

“No! I wanna play racing again.” 

“We can play some other time, I promise.” 

He looked up at you, the corners of his mouth turning down as his eyes quickly filled with tears. He shook his head and ran back to Lando, who was still on his knees, as he caged himself in his arms.

“I wanna play racing,” he repeated, this time to your boyfriend, sniffling and wiping his tears.

“Yeah? We can play for a little while.”

“Lando-” The way he just betrayed you, you would never forgive him.

“He’ll want to go to sleep soon, don’t worry.” You saw them walk to Lando’s streaming room, Charlie skipping as he held his hand.

You rolled your eyes and followed them, crossing your arms as you rested against the door frame. Lando tried to pick him up, intending to sit him in the sim, but he nearly lost his mind, as if Lando had no idea how playing racing worked.

“No! Auntie.” Lando freaked out and out and put him back down, looking at you as he begged for your help with a single look.

“I’m right here, sweetie.”

You stepped closer to them, sitting on the chair as you picked him up and put him on your lap. He was happy again, his little feet kicking in the air as he gripped the steering wheel.

“We’ll do one more, okay?”

“Yes!” He happily exclaimed.

Lando watched the both of you in awe as you started the game, showing Charlie all the cool cars he could choose from.

“I want the blue car again!” He said, pointing at the Red Bull. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lando joked. You giggled at this, but chose the Red Bull for the race.

It was a free practice session, so you weren’t actually racing other cars, but you still got to drive it super fast, which is exactly what he liked. 

As the session started, you placed your hands just below his. You were doing all the work, but the illusion was still there. 

It was a little harder to drive like this, but you still managed to put up a few good laps without messing up too much, but even when you did, he was enjoying it, giggling and pointing at the screens as he turned to Lando to ask him an excited “did you see that?” Any time something happened, and every time, Lando would just nod and match his enthusiasm.

The session ended, and just like you did earlier today, you congratulated your nephew for his amazing driving. He took the compliments proudly as if he just won a championship, but his head soon fell on your chest, yawning as he snuggled closer.

“Okay, time for a nap.”

He didn’t resist this time. Instead, he nodded as his eyes closed. Lando helped you get up as you held Charlie close to you, walking towards the guest room; that was the room he preferred, saying your room was too scary and probably haunted.

You carefully laid him down, taking his shoes off and covering his body with a blanket. How was he already in a deep sleep? You had no idea, but you envy him.

While he was asleep, you took the time to clean up the mess he made earlier, picking up all the toys he brought and putting Lando’s helmets back where they belonged. You loved your nephew, you really did, but man, it was really challenging to take care of a child. Not only were they messy and unpredictable, but they had so much energy you could barely keep up. You often wondered how your sister did it. 

Once you finished up, you dramatically collapsed on the couch. “I need to sleep for like a week,” you joked, your boyfriend laughing at your antics.

He made his way to the couch, sitting next to you as he pulled you in a warm embrace, hands caressing your sides as he placed a sweet kiss on the top of your head. “Me too, and I was only here for like half an hour.”

“Imagine! I’ve been with him since this morning. I’m never babysitting again.”

“No? But you love Charlie.” He looked at you expectantly, trying to decipher if you were being serious.

“I do, but it’s too much sometimes. I honestly don’t know what we’ll do when we have our kids.”

Our kids. Two simple words that opened up a can that you would never be able to close. He stayed silent, mentally cursing the tent forming in his pants for betraying him in such an innocent moment.

You didn’t think anything of it, nor did you realise what those two words did to him, so you just reached for the remote control and browsed the channels. You ended up picking a cooking show, paying attention as if you would ever cook anything like that.

The entire time, Lando was paying attention to you — all of you. He admired your face, your hands, your hips… your tummy. He couldn’t stop himself from placing both his hands on your stomach, imagining what you would look like carrying a child. His child. He was well aware he was getting ahead of himself, but after witnessing today’s events? God, he needed to do something about it.

Another hour went by, and you were already catching up to your boyfriend’s intentions. To you, everything seemed normal at first, but the lower his hands got and the way his thumb was rubbing soft circles on your stomach, it clicked. You knew how Lando felt about having a family with you, but it never crossed your mind that seeing you with kids affected him so much. Though it all made more sense now, any time you were near a kid, even if you didn’t interact with them at all, his hands would be all over you, and when he got you alone? That’s another story, but you never connected the dots until now. 

Suddenly, a phone call made both of you jump. It was your sister calling you to let you know she was in the building, ready to pick Charlie up. You gathered all his things as Lando greeted your sister, walking her in and guiding her to the guest room.

“Aw, he looks so peaceful.”

“Well, you should’ve seen him two hours ago,” you joked.

“I know,” she laughed with you. “Thank you for taking care of him on such short notice, you saved my life today.”

“It’s okay, I love spending time with Charlie, and I’m happy to do it any other time.” 

“Thanks, Y/N. He honestly loves you, you have no idea how happy he got when I told him we were coming here.” Your sister was about to carry Charlie in his arms, but Lando offered to bring him down to the car. 

Okay, now you got it. You had to admit that seeing Lando carry a little kid did things to you, and since your realisation a few minutes ago, you couldn’t stop thinking about a family; how did you suddenly get your own case of baby fever? Sure, you were still young, and that probably wouldn’t happen for at least a few years, but fantasising couldn’t hurt anyone. 

You walked back to the apartment holding Lando’s hand, his grip so tight you thought he could break your hand if he squeezed a little harder. As soon as the door closed behind you, he grabbed you by the hips and turned you around, his lips crashing into yours in an intense kiss.

Kissing him back, your arms wrapped around his neck as one hand played with his hair.

“You looked so pretty today, taking such good care of the baby,” he mumbled against your lips, biting it sofly. You couldn’t contain the moan that left your mouth, only encouraging him further. 

He carried you to your bedroom, immediately throwing you in the bed and hovering over you. He pressed himself further into you, making you very aware of his hardening cock as he nudged his bulge into your lower stomach. You moaned again, your legs going around his torso to pull him down.

“I wanna put a baby in you. God, you would look so perfect.” He didn’t know what to do with you. He wanted to kiss you, bite you; he wanted to touch you everywhere, his own mind making him feel overwhelmed. 

After quickly taking off your shirt, he started kissing you everywhere, a trail of wet kisses making their way down your body. His touch was electric, making you nearly squirm beneath him as your fingers kept a tight grip on his hair, and his words only made the feeling intensify. 

“Lando,” you moaned, he hummed in response, “do it,” you simply said. God, the way everything inside him shifted is something he wanted to remember for the rest of his life. He looked up at you, eyes filled with a hunger and desperation you had never seen before. 

“Yeah? You want me to put a baby here?” He asked you, his big hand falling on your lower stomach as he kissed it. 

“Mhm, yes.” Your heartbeat was as strong as ever, and you were already having a hard time focusing. You needed him to do something and you needed it now. 

“Fuck,” he breathed as his hips involuntarily thrusted into the mattress. His lips kept exploring the lower part of your body as his hands worked on getting rid of your joggers, hands falling on your thighs immediately after to move them to rest on his shoulders. 

“Please, I need you so bad,” you begged, and he assumed you were asking him to pay attention to your poor pussy, which you were, but his mouth is not what you needed right now, so you stopped him after one firm lick. “Inside me.”

“As you wish, my love.” 

He got off the bed to quickly discard his clothes as you did the same with your bra, falling back on the bed as you eagerly waited for him. You felt like his gaze was piercing you as he lowered his body, pressing himself against you.

You moaned in anticipation, your arms wrapped around his neck as you felt your pussy starting to drip with desire. He moved his fingers along your sides and all the way down to your hole, collecting your wetness and spreading everywhere, finally getting to your clit as he rubbed soft circles for a moment.

He moved his mouth to your chest, taking one of your nipples into your mouth as he whimpered, and his mind instantly went to how sensitive and full they would be once you were pregnant, and he couldn’t wait any longer. “You look so fucking sexy tonight, sweetheart... I wanna fuck you so bad.” He was practically drooling as his fingers left your pussy and grabbed his cock, pumping it a couple of times before guiding it to your entrance.

You couldn’t help your gaze dropping to his member, already swollen at the tip and bubbling with precum. It seemed impossible, but you were sure you had never needed him this bad.

He pushed into you, making both of you moan loudly as his eyes met yours for a moment before pressing a kiss on your lips, whispering a little “I love you.”

He didn’t give you that long to adjust. His hands went under your ass, moving you up and down his cock. As if your sex life wasn’t already rough, the intention he had in mind just made him go crazier, because the way he was thrusting into you was bound to leave you sore for days. 

The room was filled with whimpers and slick noises the whole time, moans of each other’s names joining from time to time. “Gonna fill you up so good,” he breathed, his hands squeezing your ass, “fuck, can’t wait to see your tummy grow.” All you could do was moan, the words leaving his mouth putting you under a spell that you could never escape. “Do you want that, love?”

“Uh- huh,” you managed to spit out, fingers drigging into his strong biceps.

“Wanna hear you say it.”

“Fuck- ah. I want you to put a baby in me.” You replied, eyes focusing on what your words did to him.

His hips began to speed up, thrashing your head against the pillows as he repeatedly hit that sweet spot deep inside you. He was so deep you could practically feel him in the pit of your stomach.

“Harder,” you whimpered, and he immediately started to drill into you, the air nearly getting knocked out of your lungs as his grip tightened. 

“You feel so good around me, so so good for me,” he pants, looking down to where you were connected. “Fuck.”

“Ah- Lando.” It felt so good. So good that you are too far out of reality to form any thoughts; you could only think about him and how good he looked above you, with his mouth hung open in pure pleasure as he panted.

One of his hands made its way to your tummy, pressing down where he could feel himself. It was so simple yet so effective; he could feel his cock moving deep inside you. He gragged it further, his fingers catching your clit.

“Fuck,” you let out a broken moan, “just like that.”

He smirked at this; it was like you were begging him to get you pregnant as you began to tighten around him. He knew you were close; he could not only feel it but see it, the way your eyes were squeezed shut as your legs started to quiver.

“You wanna cum? You wanna cum while I fill you up?”

“Fuck,” you screamed as your head frantically nodded. 

“Cum with me, I’m gonna put a baby in there.”

With that, your orgasm began to take over, squeezing around him tighter, triggering his own release. He slowed his movements down and both his hands took a hold of your waist, keeping you in place so you wouldn’t waste a single drop.

Both your moans were even louder as he did his best to continue pushing into you through his orgasm, wanting to pump as much of his seed into you as he possibly could. When he physically couldn’t keep going, he stopped, keeping his cock deep inside you as he tried to catch his breath. 

He looked down at you, a smile adorning his face as he looked down at the mess he made. Slowly, he pulled out, his fingers quickly replacing his cock as he pushed his cum back into you, making you squirm and whimper at how sensitive you were. 

“Gonna have to squeeze for me, love, you gotta keep it inside.” The sight almost made him want to fuck you again; he couldn’t believe how pretty you looked filled up to the brim with his cum.

His eyes locked with yours, fingers going inside his mouth as he licked them clean. He had lost his mind; you were sure of that, but fuck, you couldn’t deny how hot that was.

With a satisfied smirk, he fell next to you, pulling you into his arms as he kissed you once more. “I love you so much,” he whispered.

“I love you too.”

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[connorsui]

Bound by Diamonds - Sylus x reader

Genre/warnings: pure fluff, established relationship between the both of you, teasing, sweet kiss, darry ring (a literal soulmate ring), no warnings …unless you want to say no to his proposal..

Synopsis: Sylus carefully plans the perfect moment to present you with a lifelong promise.

Note: the most expensive darry ring is well over 150 grand in U.S currency …that is the equivalent of $5 dollars in Sylus money

w.c: 2,119

VIP: @zanyssins (I thought u might like this ...)

The night felt like something out of a dream, the kind you didn’t want to wake up from. The streets were alive with the hum of the city, the faint glow of the streetlights illuminating the sidewalk as Sylus guided you toward the restaurant. His hand was warm, steady, wrapped around yours with a casual but firm grip that spoke of his protectiveness—a gesture you had come to know well over the years.

Sylus, as always, had made sure every detail was perfect. The air held a cool crispness, carrying with it the subtle scent of rain that had fallen earlier in the evening. His steps were confident, exuding the quiet authority that made heads turn as you walked into the grand entrance of the restaurant. You caught a glimpse of the way people shifted in their seats, straightening as he passed, their gazes following him with a mixture of respect and curiosity. There was no denying Sylus held power, not just in your life, but in the world beyond it. He had a presence that commanded attention, but with you, it was softer, more intimate.

The host greeted you with an almost reverential nod, leading the two of you through the dimly lit space. The restaurant itself was an oasis of luxury—high ceilings adorned with chandeliers that sparkled like clusters of stars, and soft music playing in the background, barely audible but creating a calm ambiance. Sylus had arranged for a private room, of course. He always did when it came to moments like these. Privacy was something he valued when it came to you.

As the waiter opened the door to your secluded table, your breath caught in your throat. The room was stunning—glass walls on three sides that offered a panoramic view of the city below. The lights from the skyscrapers stretched out endlessly, flickering like tiny diamonds in the distance. You could see the entire skyline, the towering structures glittering against the inky black sky. It was the kind of view that made you feel like you were floating above the world, a private escape far away from the chaos below.

Sylus gave your hand a gentle squeeze, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he led you to the table. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, that signature teasing note dancing in his words.

You turned to him, catching the way the city’s lights reflected in his eyes—those mesmerizing crimson eyes that never failed to draw you in. They burned with intensity, as if every emotion he felt for you was captured in their depths. You smiled softly, feeling your heart flutter as you nodded. “It’s far greater than beauty… it’s stunning.”

Sylus’s gaze never left you, a smile playing on his lips as he leaned closer, his voice soft and intimate. “And yet, as stunning as this view is, it pales in comparison to the radiance you bring into my life. To me, you are the true masterpiece—more breathtaking than any cityscape, more precious than anything im bound to give you”

He countered smoothly, pulling out your chair with the kind of grace and charm that was so uniquely Sylus. “Tonight, let me show you just how much you mean to me,” he said, his eyes holding yours with a deep, earnest gaze. “Because you deserve to know that, no matter where we are or what we’re doing, you are the center of my universe.”

Heat flushed your cheeks, but you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. “Please, if you keep talking like that you might as well make me believe in total perfection ” you teased, lowering yourself into the plush seat. The cushions were soft, molding to your form, and the table was adorned with a single candle flickering in the center, casting a warm, romantic glow over everything.

Sylus took his seat across from you, his long fingers playing with the edge of the menu, though his attention never wavered from you. “It’s not about being perfect, sweetheart,” he said, leaning forward slightly, the flame of the candle reflecting in his eyes. “It’s about being honest”

There was something in his tone tonight—something deeper, more deliberate. You could feel it, the way his gaze lingered on your face, the way his fingers tapped idly against the table as if holding back some secret. But for now, you let it slide, content to fall into the easy rhythm of your usual banter.

For a while, the two of you talked, slipping effortlessly into conversation like you always did. You told him about your day, about the little frustrations and victories at work, the mundane details of life that seemed so much more interesting when shared with him. Sylus listened with the same rapt attention he always gave you, his eyes softening as he watched you speak, a small smile playing on his lips.

“ — I would love for the both of us to have some peace together …alone” you smiled, leaning back in your chair, “I know everything has become so demanding these days – so, having something cozy as a cabin would be sweet”

Sylus tilted his head slightly, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his wine glass. “Is that your subtle way of telling me you want a getaway?” His smirk widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Because you know I’m always game for spoiling you.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the grin that tugged at your lips. “You spoil me enough as it is. Sometimes I think you’re trying to make me a little too used to luxury.”

He chuckled, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine. “Only the best for my love. Besides, why wouldn't you think you deserve it. You deserve everything.”

His words were so sincere, so full of warmth that it made your heart swell in your chest. You looked down at your glass for a moment, trying to hide the way your pulse quickened under his intense gaze. “You’re too good to me, Sylus.”

His eyes darkened slightly, a more serious expression crossing his face. “I don’t think you realize how much I mean that,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

Before you could respond, the waiter arrived with the bottle of wine Sylus had chosen—a rare vintage, no doubt, something he’d picked specifically for the occasion. He poured two glasses with expert precision, and Sylus raised his in a silent toast.

“To you,” he said, his voice soft, reverent. “To us.”

You clink your glass gently against his, taking a sip of the rich, velvety wine. It was perfect, of course, just like everything Sylus planned. But as the conversation continued, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was on his mind, something unspoken.

It was in the way he watched you—his eyes never leaving your face, even as you spoke about the most mundane details of your day. He was always attentive, but tonight, it was different. There was a weight in his gaze, a quiet intensity that seemed to hum between you like a current of electricity.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Sylus leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the table in that familiar, thoughtful way. He reached into his pocket, his movements slow and deliberate, and your breath caught in your throat when you saw the small, black velvet box in his hand.

Your heart pounded as he set it on the table between you, the flickering candlelight casting soft shadows over the velvet. “Sylus…”

“Let me finish,” he interrupted gently, his voice barely above a whisper. His crimson eyes were locked on yours, filled with a tenderness that took your breath away. “I’ve been waiting for the right moment, the perfect time, the perfect setting, but I realized…that each moment I have tried — my mind couldnt conjure the right words out of my mouth …the right sentence ..or the right feeling ..everything felt out of place ..but tonight is different–this ring is different”

He slid the box across the table, his fingers brushing yours as he did, sending a spark of warmth through you. “This is a promise, sweetheart. A promise that no matter what happens, no matter where life takes us, I’m yours. Always.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you opened the box, revealing a stunning diamond ring nestled inside. It wasn’t just any ring—it was a Darry Ring, a once-in-a-lifetime promise. You’d heard of them before. The kind of ring that symbolized true love, loyalty, and commitment. Sylus had chosen this for you.

“I… Sylus..” you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked up at him, the tears threatening to spill over.

Sylus stood then, moving around the table to kneel beside you, his hands gently cupping your face as he smiled softly. “You don’t have to say anything, love. The only thing I would ask is for you to please stay with me”

Your breath hitched as you nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks as you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Yes, I’ll stay with you. Forever.”

He pulled you closer, his lips capturing yours in a tender, lingering kiss. It was soft and gentle at first, but as the moment deepened, it became more passionate, filled with all the love and promise he had for you. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that perfect bubble of intimacy.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were sparkling with a mixture of love and mischief. “A promise ..more of a bound between our souls, don't you think?”

You smiled through your tears, the weight of the ring on your finger a beautiful reminder of his commitment. “gods, you say the most ..its perfection is what it is”your voice still tinged with emotion.

Sylus stood, helping you to your feet, and pulled you into a close embrace, his strong arms wrapping around you as he pressed another tender kiss to your lips. This kiss was soft and full of promise, a sweet punctuation to the heartfelt words and gestures that had defined your evening.

He guided you towards the glass walls of the private room, where the breathtaking view of the city seemed to sparkle even more brightly now. The air outside was crisp, carrying the faintest scent of blooming flowers from the terrace. Sylus led you to the private terrace he had arranged—a cozy space adorned with plush cushions and blankets, perfect for a serene escape under the stars.

The terrace was illuminated by a soft, ambient light from string fairy lights that twinkled overhead. The city lights below glittered like a field of diamonds, their reflections mingling with the soft glow of the lights above. Sylus settled you into the cushions, his hand gently brushing against your cheek as he sat beside you, pulling you close.

“This is where we’ll end our evening,” he said, his voice tender and filled with affection. “Just the two of us, surrounded by all the stars of the night.”

You nestled against him, feeling the warmth and comfort of his presence as you both sank into the soft cushions. Sylus’s arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you into a snug embrace. The peaceful quiet of the night was punctuated only by the occasional distant murmur of the city below and the soft rustling of the wind.

As you looked out over the city, Sylus’s gaze never wavered from you. His eyes were filled with a love so deep it seemed to shimmer in the gentle light. “In a world full of fleeting moments” he murmured, his lips close to your ear, “this is one I want to hold onto forever with you”

You turned your head to look up at him, your heart swelling with a profound sense of happiness. “it almost feels surreal…”

Sylus’s eyes softened even further, his expression a blend of affection and admiration as he pressed a final, soft kiss to your lips. “It's a reality I wish to keep you in”

The night stretched out before you, filled with the promise of many more moments like this. As you lay together on the terrace, wrapped in each other’s arms, the city lights below and the stars above seemed to echo the love and commitment you had just sealed with a kiss. In that perfect moment, you knew that no matter what the future held, you had found something truly special—a promise of forever, made in the glow of love and a diamond ring.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧

Note Part two: I wrote this while listening to Mario Kart Rainbow Road Music! Also a darry ring is a fancy French ring that once you get it — you must sign both of ur names that this relationship is forever and ever and you can't get a second ring for another relationship!

[litchifaerie]

hii! i hope you’re doing well!!

can i get a jace fic where she’s his younger sister and she’s just really dependent on him, and like follows his around and tried to stay w him while he’s really protective of her especially from the greens

pairings: protective!jace x valeryon(strong)!reader

warnings: not quite angst unless the last line. but the tension is there, fluff i suppose, romantic tension, canon typical incest. if anything else let me know, MAJOR SPOILER FOR FIRE & BLOOD/FUTURE HOTD

word count: 1.8k <3

masterlist

a/n: I am sorry i have been tardy with my promise but here is your much awaited request!!

You liked it here. Laying in bed, reading a book of poems while your mother combed through your hair. Rhaenyra always had a soft spot for her only daughter, caving in and allowing every reasonable whim you had. “Mother” you speak slowly, putting the book down and holding it close to your chest. Rhaenyra stops her gentle movement, looking down at you with fondness, “yes my child”?

“Can we stay here in king’s landing for longer?” you ask, “I do not wish to leave grandsire’s side yet. The maesters do not bring news of improvement any longer and I fear….” You trail off not wanting to word it out loud. Rhaenyra knew of the gravity of her father’s health but she feared the wedge between her children and her half siblings will only give rise to new fights and arguments every day.

“You know we can’t my dove”, she pets your head affectionately, “who will look after Dragonstone with us gone?”

“Please”, you request sitting up and turning your back to face her, “I do not want to risk not being here when he passes away and miss my chance at a last good bye.” Even Rhaenyra couldn’t argue with your words. Your request comes from a place of adoration for your grandfather, he was quite fond of his elder granddaughter, but Rhaenyra also contemplated what can go wrong if she isn’t here for her father’s death. No matter the legitimacy of her being named heir to the throne, she is well aware of the whispers at court, the scheming of the hand and the queen. Aegon Targaryen cannot be king if she is here to take control of the situation.

“It’s settled then” Rhaenyra agrees after a beat of silence. “We shall stay here for as long as you desire.” A smile of gratitude makes its way on your face at your mother’s words and you are quick to embrace her “Thank you mother”. Rhaenyra chuckles, rubbing soothing circles on your back “Now rest my dove, it has been a hectic day.” She leans in to kiss your forehead “sweet dreams”.

You make your way beneath the sheets, head resting comfortably on the pillow “Farewell mother”. With one last look at you Rhaenyra steps out of the room. The door closes softly behind her, letting the dim glow from the candles lull you into sleep.

Morning arrives gently, with sunshine streaming through the windows casting a soft glow in your room. The ladies assigned for your care had let themselves in, rousing you from your sleep and ushering you to the bath to get ready for the day.

The baths at King’s Landing were more majestic than back home. You take your time soaking in the warm water with jasmine oil and rose petals, sighing in pleasure. It didn’t take long for you to get dressed with the help of the ladies and having your breakfast alone, opting for some calm in the morning knowing your brothers and uncles will inevitably destroy any sense of peace in the coming hours.

“I’d like to take a stroll through the keep, alone. Much has changed since I’ve been away.” The guard assigned for your duty only nods at your command as you make your way out of the room. The seven-pointed star glares at your face at every turn you make, a stark contrast to the regal décor the keep had in your childhood.

“Sister! Wait!” comes a voice from your right. You stop turning around only to be faced with a panting Jacaerys. “Brother” you greet with a slight smile “You are up early today” you tease. “I was looking for you” says Jacaerys, ignoring your teasing. “I was wondering if you were alright after last night’s events”.

You slightly wince at the memory of Jace throwing a punch at Aemond and Aegon and Luce starting a brawl of their own. Your cousin Baela even tried jumping only for you to grab her by the waist as you yelled for them to stop.

“I’m alright” you dismiss his worries. “It was just a graze”. Aemond’s elbow had hit you in the cheek causing you to yelp in pain. Aemond’s actions did stop midway not expecting you to be so near and get hurt but it only spurred Jace even more as he landed even stronger punches than before at his uncle’s jaw.

Jace gently reaches a hand up to caress your face. “Its good it didn’t bruise” he thumbs at your cheek, “I’d not let it go if that brute ruined your pretty face”. And there it was again. Jace always had a penchant for using certain choice of words which reddened your face.

“Jace” you warn, “Do not fall prey to our uncle’s provoking. You know both of them only say words to rile us up.” Jace let’s go off your face sighing “I can’t help it if they accuse us of…” Accuse us of what? The Truth?

The somber tone in his voice lets you know of his mood dropping. It was only the start of the day and you will be damned if you let your older brother sulk so early. “I’d like to accompany you to your training if that’s alright with you?” Nothing makes him happier than being able to show off his skills to his younger sister and you are well aware of that. Jace is quick to look at you with shining eyes and agrees to your request.

You follow after him as he excitedly tells you of a new method he learnt from Daemon, smiling at his words and nodding when you think its appropriate to let him know you are attentive. Jace liked having your sole attention on him. It was just you and him in the beginning. His mother told him that the first time he saw you when he was a boy of two, you had looked at him as if he hung the moon and the stars in the night sky. Your crying would only stop if your older brother was there to shush you with his toys. You were the happiest baby when in his presence, trailing behind him like a little duckling, a trait which you still carry. Nothing soothes your nerves like being near Jace.

You watch as Jace spars with a squire. A sheen of sweat on his forehead making him look godly in the late morning sun. “I do not think its fit for a lady to be here niece” comes a chilling voice from right behind you, closer than you’d like that voice to be. “Uncle” you greet, your eyes not wavering from Jace at all, “I think I can go wherever I’d like. The Red Keep is my home as well after all.” Aemond smirks at your reply. Out of all the strong bastards you were his favourite to toy with. The boys were quick to throw punches but the ability to sometimes make you unable to come with a witty response brought him immense satisfaction.

“Hmm” he hums, coming to stand by your side, a little too close for comfort, “I hope my elbow didn’t cause you any harm princess. It would be unfortunate to see your brown eyes blacken from my unintentional hit.” Brown eyes. He emphasized it. He is trying to make you take the bait again. And his backhanded words of comfort and presence did unnerve you more than you’d like to admit.

“If you wish to see how real men train perhaps you should watch me instead of your no good of a brother. He moves like a boy who was gifted a sword a day ago” Aemond whispers in your ear. His breath hitting your skin makes your skin crawl and you shiver in disgust, moving back and putting a distance between yourself. “No thank you” you decline politely. “I prefer my brother over all”. Aemond only gives a sly grin at that, “Even in your bed?” he mocks.

What was stopping you from slapping this bastard from even suggesting such nonsense. You grit your teeth in frustration, almost hitting him yourself when a protective arm wraps around your waist bringing you back into a sturdy chest. “Who my sister brings into her bed is none of your concern dearest uncle” Jace says cooly. “And I suggest you refrain from using certain phrases that will bring the honor of my sister into question” he raises his brows at Aemond challenging him. “I’d hate to dislocate your jaw over some misunderstanding, we are family after all.”

One thing Aemond had learned from the beginning was Jace will never lose a chance to be your protective guard dog. He could hit two birds with one stone by simply choosing to pick on you instead. Why rile up one Strong bastard when you can rile up two? “I’d like to see you try” Aemond grins leaning in to challenge your brother.

“Jace” you whisper, “Don’t.” Aemond chuckles at your warning. “Aww will poor Prince Jace listen to his sister like an obedient mutt?” Jace clenches his jaw at his statement. “He isn’t worth it Jace” you interlock your fingers with Jacaerys’s trying to tug him away. Once you are able to move him from his spot, you lead Jace away and turn to Aemond to give him a disgusting sneer “You’re pathetic.”

Aemond's grin widens, his eye gleaming with amusement as he watches you walk away, Jace's hand still in yours. "Run along, little dove," he calls out mockingly, but you don't look back.

As you and Jace walk through the courtyard, the tension slowly eases from his shoulders. "You shouldn't let him get to you," you whisper, glancing up at him with a reassuring smile. "He only seeks to provoke."

Jace nods, but his grip on your waist tightens protectively. "I won't let him hurt you," he promises, his voice low and determined. "Not ever." You squeeze his hand, drawing strength from his presence. "I know, Jace. I know." You kiss his cheek gently hoping to calm him “No one can hurt me with you breathing down my neck” you giggle trying to lighten the mood.

He rests his chin on top of your head. “I won’t let any harm come to you ever. No one can hurt you.” His arms squeeze around your waist.

You always felt restless without Jace, and nothing brought you more comfort than being in his arms. You never have to worry about being safe with your brother around.

But years later when you crumble at the sight of the body of Jacaerys Velaryon with an arrow through his neck, no one is prepared for the wail of anguish that leaves your throat at not having your Jacaerys beside you anymore.

[witchwyfe]

karma is my boyfriend - rc

pairing - (non-canon) Rafe Cameron x female reader

précis - a lil princess treatment from rafe :)

content/warnings - mentions of alcohol/alcohol consumption, fluff,

word count - 673

"Rafe, Rafe!?" You're spinning around, looking for your boyfriend until suddenly you whirl around and bump into a broad chest.

"Hey!" You gasp, until you look up and see his face. "Oh! Hi baby!" You coo, reaching up to cup his cheeks. 

"Hi sweet girl." He smiles, running his thumb along your cheekbone. 

You greet him happily, leaning in to his touch. "Did you get my drink?" You wonder, suddenly remembering why he left you in the first place.

"Hmm, sure did." He nods, handing you an ice water rather than the vodka redbull you'd requested.

You don't seem to notice though, slipping the paper straw into your mouth and slurping it down happily.

"We gonna dance s'more?" You wonder, straw between your lips.

"We can't, baby," He says, smoothing a hand down the back of your head. "They're closing."

"Nooo!" You groan, throwing your head back.

"I know, I know," He soothes. "But we can go home and get some snacks and watch a show...?" He offers.

"Okay!" You're smiling once again, digging your fingers into his tee shirt.

"Finish your drink and we'll go home, kay?" 

You nod, bypassing the straw and tipping the rest of the water into your mouth, before handing your empty glass to Rafe.

You're not even that drunk, really just a little past tipsy but you're fine with letting Rafe handle everything and take care of you.

Suddenly his jacket is being draped over your shoulders, coupled with a soft kiss to the top of your head. 

"Thank you." You simper. You slide your arms into the sleeves and blink up at your boyfriend.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

You lead him out of the bar, arms shoved into the pockets of his jacket, while he has your little purse slung over his shoulder, your phone, his phone, and the keys all in one hand.

"How much farther?" You ask a few moments later, looking back at him.

"Not too much," He frowns looking out at the street. When the two of you arrived at the club, hours before, he'd had to park his car somewhat far due to the lack of space. "Your feet hurting, baby?"

You shrug a shoulder. "Yeah." You nod. "But it's just till the car then I'll take my shoes off."

"C'mere," He says, shoving both of your phones into his pocket.

"What?" You wonder, turning to give him a coy smile.

Your sweet boyfriend kneels down on the dirty sidewalk, taking your ankle into his hands so he can unbuckle your heel. You're flustered beyond words, heat rising on your cheeks while Rafe's rough palm softly works your foot out of your strappy shoe. 

"Stand on my foot babe, so I can take your other shoe off." He says, running his hand up your calf. 

Once both of your heels are dangling from his hand, he scoops you into his arms, bridal style.

"Are you sure, Rafe?" You wonder softly. "I feel bad, you don't--"

"You have nothing to feel bad about." He assures, lips at your temple. "Just let me take you to the car, okay gorgeous?"

"Okay." You hum happily, relaxing in his hold.

Your arms are sling around your neck and you have easy access to his neck if you strain a little--and you do--at least five times on the way to the car, so you can kiss his neck.

He pretends like he's not flustered by it, but you can see the rosy glow of his cheeks from the street lamps, the harsh light making him appear ethereal and you have to shut your eyes for a second to remember he's real.

You’re still in a fond trance when he uses one hand to open the car door and gently deposit you into the passenger seat. He buckles your seatbelt and tugs on it, before pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“Love you,” You croon, leaning back against the seat to look at him. 

“Love you so much more.” He promises. “C’mere angel, gimme a kiss.”

© witchwyfe 2024. absolutely no reposting, translating, or modifying, even with credit.

[mommynott]

Ride of your life

Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: Matching with a hot biker on tinder leads to not only an amazing date, but a motorcycle ride…and another kind of ride as well. Starry nights certainly set the mood for a…romantic type of atmosphere.

Warning: 18+, SMUT, MDNI, chars 18+, biker!theo, dom!theo, rough sex, semi public sex, outdoor sex, PIV, degrading, hook up

After a wonderful and heated date, you both stood in front of his bike, Theo turning to you, a sly smile on his lips. “Interested in a ride, Cara Mia?” he asked, starting up the bike. The low rumble of the motorcycle idling behind him. His eyes gleamed in the soft glow of the street light above, the invitation laced with a hint of danger and temptation. Who knew a Tinder date could go THIS well?

You couldn’t deny the attraction you felt, the way your heart thumped against your chest in response to the question. Staring over at the bike, sleek and powerful, the engine purring softly as if coaxing you to say yes. Do I do it? Fuck it. It’s fine. Just as you were about to answer, he tilted his head to the side.

Theo chuckled, his eyes still fixed on yours, almost as if he couldn't look away. Which he couldn't. He was a hunter tonight, and you? His prey. "You look like you're thinking hard about it," His already deep voice was low and teasing. "It's just a bike ride, you know. Unless... you're worried that being that close to me might be a little too much for you to handle."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, a thrilling mix of excitement and adrenaline coursing through your veins. "Is that a challenge?" You countered as you met his gaze with a flirty smile of your own. Theo raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the banter between the two of you. "More like a promise.”

You laughed, the sound tinged with a hint of nervousness. There was something about his confidence, his charming demeanor, that made you feel almost dizzy. "Alright then." you took a step closer to him. "But you better not disappoint me."

"Oh, trust me. I never disappoint." Theo’s eyes raked down your body in a way that made your skin tingle. He reached out, his hand skimming the small of your back as he guided you toward the bike and lifting you on with ease. He unclipped his extra helmet, helping you put it on.

As Theo's strong hands adjust the helmet on your head, the heat of his body radiates against your own. His fingers graze against the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. "Comfortable?" he asks in that same low tone.

You nod your head and he hops on in the front. Immediately taking hold of your hands to wrap them around his waist. Feeling his muscles through the material of his shirt. Fuck. Theo feels this and throws you a glance from over his shoulder, a cocky smile tugging at the corners of his lips from under his helmet.

As your hands settle on his waist, you find yourself aware of just how close your body is pressed against his. Feeling his muscles flex under your touch, it takes every ounce of your restraint not to let your hands wander elsewhere. "You ready?" Theo asks, his voice slightly raised over the low growl of the engine.

Before you can even respond, he takes off. Revving the bike and smoothly steering it into the city streets. The cool breeze hitting you, but Merlin, you were loving this already. Fuck am I already turned on? “Where are we even going?” You asked through a sea of giggles while he started to pull out of the city.

Theo shot a sly glance over his shoulder, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You'll see, bella" Answering almost in a cryptic manner, his Italian accent slipped through his lips with ease while he accelerated further. The speed causes the wind to rush against you, making your hands grip his waist even tighter. I hope I don’t regret this.

The streets give way to a series of winding country roads As the bike rumbles underneath you. Theo reaches one hand back to give your thigh a squeeze. "You okay back there?" he asked just as he pulled up to an open area of a field. You nodded your head slowly, enjoying this ride more than you even thought you would.

But little did you know, Theo was hard. Rock hard. His cock almost bursting through his jeans from your simple and soft touch. The field was secluded, away from any prying eyes. Not that there were any around anyway. He came to a slow halt while he turned off the bike.

Theo grabs your waist, picking you off the bike to set you down on the pebble road, helping you take your helmet off. But his hand never leaves your side. A smile paints over your face as you glance around. Stars. The sky was filled with nothing but stars. a view you wouldn’t see so close to the city. “Gods-Theo…This is magnificent…”

Theo's hand slid from your waist to your hip, his fingers tracing small circles through the fabric of your clothes. He smiled at your awe while you looked upwards, the stars spreading out across the night sky like a sparkling blanket. "I knew you'd like it," he spoke out his voice tinged with pride. He took a step closer, closing the gap between you.

Your breathing got heavier as you looked up at him. He lifted the visor. His ocean-blue gaze visible and his brows furrowed teasingly. But nothing could have prepared you for his next question. Nothing. “You ever been fucked on a bike?” The second those words left Theo’s lips you gasped at the vulgarity of them. Beginning to feel that second heartbeat between your thighs. No. No, I haven’t. But for fucks sake, do I want to.

“N-no. I haven’t.” You stuttered as you shook your head. Theo crept a tad bit closer to you. Both of his hands wrapped around the small of your back. His cologne, a scent mixed with musk and leather, wafted over you. The fragrance evoking something within you. “Well…Do you want to be fucked on a bike?”

He asked through a cocky chuckle finding this all too amusing. He gave your waist a firm squeeze, a little whimper escaping your lips. Fuck. I’m about to fuck a biker. On his bike. In a fucking field. “I-Yes. God. Please fuck me.” You whispered, your hands trailing down his t-shirt. This slight movement only made Theo’s dick pulsate in his pants.

With ease, Theo picked you back up to set you on the bike before slapping your thighs open. Your legs spread open through the skirt you had on, lace panties on full display for Theo. “Keep begging. Just like that.” With that, he slammed his visor down, you could see your shocked and flustered reflection in it.

Theo’s hands snaked down, unzipping his pants and shuffling them down. Taking his massive length out while he stroked it with one hand, the other tugging your panties to the side. A groan of approval escaping his lips while his eyes burned down to your leaking slit.

“I’m going to give you the ride of your life, Tesoro,” Theo growled before teasing his precum-covered tip on your aching clit. Soft moans release themselves from your lips. “Ride of my life-“ Your words cut off as he slammed himself deep inside of you without warning. Not giving you any time to adjust to his throbbing cock. And hell, did you feel otherworldly to Theodore.

“So wet-Fuck…So fucking tight.” Theo spoke through his grunts, the sound of slapping wetness heard around you both. One hand remained gripped on your waist as he pounded into you senselessly, the other reaching up to yank your top down, along with your bra. Your breasts bouncing out and fuck, Theo could have busted from that sight alone. “Look at you. Getting fucked on my bike like the dirty slut you are….You’re-Fuck…too fucking good.”

His degrading words only fueled the arousal that was heating up throughout your body. You couldn’t even speak. The mix of the great pleasure Theo was giving you along with the reflection of yourself in his tinted visor was about to push you over the cliff of climax.

“Don’t you dare fucking cum,” He demanded while you seemed to freeze up. Theo came to a complete stop, twitching his cock inside of you teasingly. A low chuckle escaping from under his mask. “The first time I make you finish, I want to taste it.” Again, you were stuck in that state of shock. Not even knowing what to say or do. Is he saying what I think he is?

“I-I’m-“ your words cut off when Theo pulled himself out of you, his cock glistening under the starlight, your juices completely coating it. He threw his helmet off, his light brown hair a mess. But in just a few moments you’d be making it even messier. “Shut the fuck up. You can talk while I eat this pussy, tell me how good I make you feel.” Your eyes went wide, the apples of your cheeks flushing bright cherry red.

Theodore didn’t waste any time, dropping to his knees and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. His manly and veiny hands dug into your upper thighs while he spread your legs even wider. You leaned back on the motorcycle to prop yourself up, your own nails digging into the leather seat as you prepared for this. But nothing could prepare you for what Theodore Nott was about to make you feel like.

Electrifying. You swore you felt lighting bolts shoot down around you the second he buried his face between your thighs. Your hands find their way into his locks. “Theo!” You cried out in pleasure, your body already reacting to his touch. Nothing. And I mean NOTHING, had ever made you feel this fucking good. Your gaze shifted down to meet Theo’s darkened and hungry eyes. They were burning up into yours and through the swirls of magic his tongue was focused on doing to your clit, you swore you saw a smirk on his lips.

I’m about to cum. And fast. From fucking oral. Who the fuck Is this guy? “You taste fucking incredible, Tesoro.” He said through a tough, long lick up your slit, never breaking eye contact. “So sweet.” Another long lick, making your legs tremble like no other. “Cosi Delizioso, Bella,” Theo spoke into your wet and warmed core, but never removing his mouth off of you.

“I’m so close. Fuck, baby. P-please, don’t stop!” You moaned in a plea, your fingers tugging on his hair even harder. But fuck, did Theo love it. Snaking one of his hands down to his needy cock, stroking it as his tongue flicked faster against your swollen little bud. “That’s it, cum for me. Make a fucking mess on my bike.” Theodore encouraged, lapping his tongue even faster than before. Wanting to see you in that orgasmic state of bliss.

A heaven-like feeling of pure euphoria washed over you, your eyes rolling back into your head, a scream of pleasure echoing into the starry night above the two of you. An orgasm like none other before, Theo drinking in the sweet nectar of your juices. Making sure to taste every last drop and Merlin, was he drunk on you. “Mio Dio, hai il sapore del paradiso.” A low growl muffled against your sensitive skin. Your body quivering under Theo’s touch, he pulled away, smacking kisses along your upper thigh. “T-that was- it was-“ You were stumbling over your breathy words, an embarrassed smile plastering on your face.

“Amazing huh? Someone seemed to really like that.” Again, with the cocky demeanor, but fuck did you like his confidence. His aura. Everything. You felt the heat pool onto your face while you nodded your head to his question, gazing up at him with a doe-eyed stare. “Bend over.” He demanded through his shit-eating smirk. Waving his finger toward the bike. “On your bike?”

“Yes, on my bike. Come on now. Don’t keep me waiting, Cara Mia.” Theo stroked his throbbing erection with a great need while he watched you turn around and arch that perfect ass up. And oh what a perfect ass that was. He stalked closer behind you, letting his hand come down with force-SMACK. The redness spread across your cheek, a hiss releasing from your lips. But the pain and pleasure were mixing together to create something of bliss.

Theodore jiggled your ass, watching it ripple with his touch while he took his cock, teasing it at your slick entrance. “Such a good girl. You listen so well don’t you?” He husked, taking this moment to appreciate the spectacular view of you. A good fucking sub. “Mhmm” You panted, waiting for his next move.

Just then, once again, without warning he rammed his hardness deep inside of you. But this time a tad easier than before. Loosened up that pussy. Your view was the pebble road beneath the bike. Seeing the tires, the gears as he mercilessly pounded into you. -Smack smack smack. You could hardly contain yourself. This was something out of a fucking smut book.

“Gods, you look…so fucking pretty bent over my bike,” Theo grunted through his rough thrusts. That charming Italian accent rolling off of his tongue with dominance and assertiveness. And fuck did you love every second of it. “Oh yeah? You think so?” You tested him with a slight hint of your bratty side. That familiar feeling of nearing climax running through your body.

“I know so.” Smack- Theodore’s strong hand came down to another firm slap across your ass. Seeing his handprint swell across your juicy cheek, a prideful smirk forming on his face. You were close, and Theo could tell. Feeling your cream coat his cock, your walls clenching and gripping his huge length.

His hand tugged into your hair, pulling you back so your glossed-over eyes could meet his. That same smirk never leaving his face. “I wanna see those pretty eyes of yours while you cum on my cock.” Theo teased, moving himself harder inside of your pussy. The sounds of wetness only increasing. “Y-yes, baby” You managed to squeak out from the babbling mess forming in your throat.

You couldn’t hold back any longer, letting loose as your gaze locked with Theo’s only intensifying the orgasm you were reaching. Loud screams escaped your mouth, never once did Theo stop his rhythm. “That’s it, baby girl. I’m going to cover this perfect ass in my cum.” He grunted, thrusting himself inside of you a few more times before lifting your skirt a bit more.

The view. The orgasms. You. It was all more than enough to get Theo off. He pulled his length out of your pussy, stroking it over your ass. His thick white seed shooting out all over your backside. Watching as it sprawled out all over, dripping down your thighs along with your own cum. “Fuck... You’re something else-You good, Bella?” You nodded your head, you were more than good. You were in the afterglow in the midst of following this phenomenal hook-up.

Theodore, grabbed a soft rag from under the seat, taking his time to clean you up before helping you get settled and dressed. From the dominant side you saw earlier, you were now seeing a more sweet side of him. “Thank you…For the help of course.” You giggled, feeling the slightest bit awkward. Thank you? Seriously? Theo chuckled along with you, opening his seat again to pull out a thin blanket.

You watched as he laid it on the ground next to his motorcycle, a sweet smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Stargaze with me?” Theo asked, a sweet smile of his own creeping onto his face. You sat beside him, his arm thrown around you as you both got lost in the starry night above you.

You never expected the date to go this well, let alone have sex on a damn bike in the middle of nowhere. Guess it was a beautiful and fun night, filled with wild adventures for you both. But it was a good ride. Just like Theodore said. The ride of your life.

Divider is from here! Hope you beautiful stars enjoyed🖤

[luveline]

Hi honey! I hope you’re taking care of yourself ❤️ I love love LOVE how you write! Can I please request bombshell reader x Spencer telling the team she’s pregnant 💕

thank you for requesting! <3 fem, 2k

“Spencer?” 

Your quiet tone has his attention faster than any shouting would’ve; he expects high energy from you, and your murmur scares him half to death. He backtracks from the bathroom with his toothbrush still in his mouth, toothpaste dripping down his fingers as he yanks it out and asks, “What?” 

“Is this okay?” 

You chew your lip and turn to the side, illuminating your problem with a hand framed under your tummy. Your skin peeks out from the bottom of your shirt. 

The wonder of you is that you’ve always been beautiful, always, in Spencer’s eyes at least if not the entire world’s, because of how you present yourself, and of course because of your big heart. Your smile, the way you talk, all of it is beautiful and, most of the time, measured. Your clothes are carefully picked, and now you’re changing and your clothes need to change with it —your bump has appeared faster than Spencer realised it would, and you haven’t had time to upgrade your wardrobe. The cases are endless and you’d been more interested in doctor’s appointments and house viewings than clothes shopping.  

“What’s wrong?” he asks, perhaps a bit useless, white frothy paste sliding down his chin. 

You smile momentarily, nervous on your feet as you adjust your shirt. “I think I look very pregnant.” 

Spencer goes back into the bathroom to finish brushing.  “You look mildly pregnant,” he agrees loudly over the rush faucet. He spits, wipes his face, and rinses his toothbrush. 

“Compared to my usual non-pregnant look, I mean,” you say. 

“It’s just that shirt’s a little tight,” he promises. “We’ll find something.” 

You probably aren’t going to find something, you both realise. You stand in front of him in one of your soft bralettes, the ‘S’ of your pendant on your rising chest, shirtless and likely to stay that way. “Oh,” he says, tapping your bump gently with his knuckle. “Maybe it got bigger overnight.” 

“I think so,” you agree, taking his hand where it hovers to press to the top of the slope of the bump. You’re holding his hand more than you’re protecting the bump, a perplexed frown on your lips as you kneed his fingers in yours. 

“We don’t have time to go to the store, but we could be late,” he says. 

“What if we have a case?” 

“That’s a better reason to go shopping.” 

You pout for a kiss, leaning up to press your lips to his wry smile. “No. Do you still have that maroon sweater? The one that didn’t fit you right, with the v-neck?” 

Spencer helps you into said sweater though you don’t need his assistance, smoothing down the wrinkles carefully. It hides the too-short hem of your white shirt underneath, and paired with the collar, Spencer couldn’t be more in love with you. “You’re dressed like me five years ago,” he says. 

“Like it?” you flirt, your cheeks apples with your smug smile, your hands under your chin.

“You really are glowing.” 

“Don’t tempt me into kissing you stupid,” you say, still flirting, voice dipping into that warm, sweet place that probably caused the bump between you in the first place. 

“You’re lucky I don’t kiss you stupid,” he jokes, putting an arm around you for a quick hug. “Too bad we need to work to save to buy a stupid house instead.” 

“Have a stupid baby,” you mumble happily, your face pressed to his chest. He kisses your cheek. 

You’re both in incredible moods when you finally make it to work, tethered together from the parking lot to the elevator to the BAU office. There’s been a lot more hand holding since you found out you were pregnant, though you’re trying to keep it private just a little bit longer. Hotch gets antsy about pregnant people in the field (though he’d never force you to stay home), and the others can tend to be overbearing. 

You are excited to tell them. Spencer’s your family, the team is as good as, and they’ll all be so, so happy for you. At first you’d been waiting for the twelve week milestone for practicality’s sake, but now you’re just waiting for the right time. 

“Clothes get lost in the move?” Morgan asks. 

You aren’t telling them about the pregnancy, but you’re honest about other things. They know you’ve moved in with Spencer, and that you’re looking for a house. Morgan would’ve been offended if you hadn’t told him. He’d offered up a bunch of his properties to you both for viewing and promised a very good family and friends price point, but they hadn’t been perfect enough. It’s just a starter house, he’d argued, mostly unoffended at your pickiness. 

He doesn’t realise that you and Spencer wanna raise a baby, and you want as perfect a home as possible for at least the toddler years before you start looking to move up the ladder. A family home. 

“Very funny,” you praise, letting Spencer pull back your chair for you as you sit down. You feel the new extra roundness of your bump and wonder why nobody else has noticed it either. Spencer certainly can’t stop looking at it. You catch him all the time, and at night, alone and in bed, you let him run his hand up and down the hill of it, clearly amazed. 

“It looks good on you, mama,” Morgan says. 

You laugh. “Doesn’t everything?” you ask with an exaggerated smirk. 

“Yes,” Spencer says. 

You dip your head back in your chair. “This is why I love you.” 

“Devotion,” Spencer guesses, wiping at a smudge of makeup under your eye tenderly. 

You put your hand on your stomach. It’s weird how things change and don’t at the same time. You feel like you love him so much more now you’re a family with him, but you loved him endlessly before. Moments like this were plentiful and warm as sunshine, the undulating care in his touch a practised exercise at this point. You let your eyes close. He strokes your cheek. 

“Hotch wants everyone in the conference room,” JJ says, announcing herself and her towering cup of coffee as she breezes past the bullpen. 

You follow her upstairs to the conference room. Rossi, Hotch and Penelope are already waiting, everyone accompanied by their own creature comfort (coffee, coffee, and tea, respectfully). You and Spencer take seats opposite Hotch and Rossi, hands held together as always, his left in your right, his thumb kind against your knuckles. 

“The jet is still pre-loading from last time, so we can’t leave until late tonight, but we will be leaving,” Hotch begins, nodding at Penelope. “Until then, we’ll work the case from here.”

She nods back and clicks onto some severely disgusting photographs. 

You work through the facts together. Emily arrives late with apologies soon forgiven, your team a well-oiled machine. Of course, without being there, there’s only so much you can do, but it’s never not useful to have these discussions and to spitball with one another. 

Spencer gets stuck in his head. You fight the urge to kiss his cheek as he’d kissed yours this morning and decide on a more work appropriate show of affection, popping down to the kitchenette to make him a cup of coffee. 

You aren’t drinking coffee or anything caffeinated for the baby. You aren’t thirsty, but Spencer will worry if you don’t make yourself a drink too. You fill a glass with water from the sink and make your way back up the steps to the conference room. 

“It looks like there’s a racial motivation,” Spencer’s saying to Morgan. 

“Sure, but with only two victims so far, it could be coincidence,” Emily says. 

“Or not,” JJ says with a frown. 

“I think our killer would show it more, if it were,” you suggest, “there’s usually some aspect of overkill with hate crimes we aren’t seeing here.” 

You put the cup of coffee down in front of Spencer and sit in your chair. The sleeves on his sweater are too long. You push them up for the tenth time. 

“That’s Spencer’s?” Emily asks, having noticed your struggle.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been sort of scatterbrained, I forgot to put a load in the dryer.” 

“Is your go bag ready?” Hotch asks. 

No. “Yeah, it’s fine. You don’t like my new look?” 

“I’ve never known you to wear clothes that don’t fit,” Morgan says.

“What are you trying to say, Derek?” you ask, propping your face in your chin. 

“You’re getting sloppy in your old age.” 

You turn to Spencer, beaming, and he shakes his head at you immediately. 

“And what’s with the water?”

Your smiling turns deer-in-the-headlights. “What?” 

“You don’t drink coffee anymore?” Morgan prompts. 

That piques the interest of Emily and Hotch simultaneously, but you know you’re caught when realisation colours JJ’s gaze. She stares straight at your glass, then your face. You can practically see her profiling your behaviour these last few weeks, the sudden trips to the bathroom, the worse than usual reluctance to be away from Spencer, and the sudden propensity for safer practice in the field. 

You smile. You’re caught. You see Hotch’s expression and know he knows it, too. 

You give Spencer a little nudge with your thigh, as though telling him, You say it. You know he wants to. 

“You can’t have more than three hundred milligrams of caffeine when you’re pregnant,” Spencer says, his pride unmissable in the slight lift of his chin, “it disrupts midterm foetal growth. Our baby might come out too small, which isn’t what we want, obviously, so she can’t drink coffee. Not for another six months, at least.” 

“Wha– wha– what?” Penelope asks, the physical manifestation of a kettle about to boil over, excitement bubbling and raring to explode as she grips the table. “You’re pregnant?” 

“With Spencer?” Emily asks, though she’s laughing before she’s finished. 

You frame his cheek with one hand and lean in to kiss it gently. “Who else?” you ask. 

The best part is watching everybody hug Spencer. You’re happy they love you and you accept their congratulations and their love with pleasure, but seeing a room full of people thrilled for him finally getting the life he’s wanted, and knowing you’re at least part of the reason, is pretty sweet. You put your hand on your baby bump and take a mental picture of him under Morgan’s arm, his cheeks pink, his smile achingly wide. 

Still, he cuts through his moment to reach for you. “Maybe someone else will be able to convince you to slow down,” he says, hand moving to your stomach protectively. 

You pretend to think it over. “Maybe in a month or two.” 

[cailinsblog]

Lando’s Little Protector | Lando Norris

Lando Norris x reader

Masterlist

The morning sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains of your shared bedroom, casting a warm glow on the cozy space. You stirred beneath the covers, blinking slowly as the sound of soft footsteps approached. Before you could even sit up, the familiar face of Lando Norris appeared beside the bed, holding a tray with breakfast.

“Good morning, love,” Lando said softly, his signature smile lighting up his face. He carefully set the tray on the bedside table, revealing a plate of toast, scrambled eggs, and a cup of tea. “I brought you breakfast in bed.”

You chuckled, sitting up against the headboard. “Lando, you didn’t have to do all this.”

“Of course I did,” he said, placing a pillow behind your back for extra support. “You’re carrying our baby now. You shouldn’t have to lift a finger.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “Lando, I’m only two months pregnant. I’m not helpless.”

He huffed, crossing his arms in mock seriousness. “Doesn’t matter. You’re growing a tiny human, Y/N. That’s a big deal. I want to make sure you’re taken care of.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his determination. Lando had always been protective, but ever since you told him you were expecting, he’d taken it to a whole new level. He insisted on doing everything for you—cooking, cleaning, even carrying the groceries, despite your protests that you were perfectly capable.

As you ate your breakfast, Lando sat beside you, watching you closely. “How are you feeling today? Any nausea? Headaches?”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “No, I’m fine, Lando. You don’t have to check on me every five minutes.”

“I’m just making sure,” he said, his tone serious. “I don’t want anything to happen to you or the baby.”

After breakfast, you got out of bed and stretched, ready to start the day. But as soon as you reached for the laundry basket, Lando appeared out of nowhere, gently taking it from your hands.

“Uh-uh, no way,” he said, carrying the basket out of the room. “I’ll do the laundry.”

“Lando, I can handle—”

“Nope,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “You sit down and relax.”

You followed him to the living room, where he had set up a cozy spot on the couch with blankets and pillows. He guided you to sit down, then handed you the TV remote and a glass of water.

“There,” he said, satisfied. “Now, you stay here and watch something. I’ll handle everything else.”

You sighed, but a warm feeling spread through your chest. His protectiveness was endearing, even if it was a bit over the top. As you settled into the couch, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for how much he cared.

---

Later that afternoon, you decided to test just how protective Lando could be. While he was in the kitchen, you stood up and started tidying up the coffee table. As soon as Lando noticed, he rushed over, his eyes wide with concern.

“Y/N! What are you doing?” he exclaimed, gently taking the stack of magazines from your hands.

“I’m just cleaning up a bit,” you said innocently.

“No way,” he said, placing the magazines back on the table. “I’ll take care of that. You’re supposed to be resting.”

“Lando, I’m not made of glass,” you said, trying to suppress a laugh.

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated but also determined. “I know, but I don’t want to take any chances. You mean everything to me, Y/N. I just want to keep you safe.”

Your heart melted at his words. You reached up, cupping his face in your hands. “I know, Lando. And I love you for it. But you don’t have to do everything on your own. We’re in this together.”

He leaned into your touch, his eyes softening. “I just want to make sure you and the baby are okay.”

“And we are,” you reassured him. “But if I need help, I promise I’ll ask. Deal?”

He sighed, nodding reluctantly. “Deal. But I’m still going to keep an eye on you.”

You laughed, pulling him into a hug. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

---

As the weeks went on, Lando continued to hover, but he also started to relax a bit. He still insisted on doing most of the household chores, but he allowed you to join him for walks and even let you help with small tasks, like folding laundry.

One evening, as you sat on the couch together, Lando placed a hand on your still-flat stomach, his eyes filled with wonder.

“I can’t believe there’s a little person in there,” he said softly.

“Me neither,” you said, resting your hand on top of his. “But I’m so excited to meet them.”

“Me too,” he said, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your stomach. “And I’m going to be the best dad ever. Just wait and see.”

You smiled, your heart full of love. “I already know you will be, Lando.”

As the months ahead stretched before you, you knew that with Lando by your side, everything was going to be just fine. His protectiveness might drive you a little crazy at times, but it was also a reminder of how deeply he loved you and your growing family. And that was more than enough.

Requesting and rebloging helps me a lot guys 💕

[beautysamour]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟑: 𝐯𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬

— 𝐂𝐄𝐎!𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

“Why?” Your boyfriend looked at you with a raised brow, two silicone toys in each of his hands.

You let out a shaky breath, the entire situation making it difficult for you to breath. You weren’t sure how Miguel was going to react when you brought using toys during sex—he’s always been the type to prefer using himself to make you cum, he took pride in it.

He straightens his back, “If I haven’t been making you feel good—“

“That’s not it,” you interrupt, taking one of the vibrators out of his hand, “I just thought it’d be fun to try,” suddenly you couldn’t look him in the eye, “a—and mj got it for us as a gift, it’d be rude to give it back after accepting it.”

You peek up at Miguel and find him looking at the sex toy in his hand. You hold your breath hoping that he’d—

“Alright. Are these the only ones?”

Without realizing it, your back straightens and your eyes have a sudden glow in them that was dulled by the previous nervousness, “For now, yeah.”

He chuckled at your wording, you planned on getting more?

“Great,” he sticks out his hand with the vibrator on his palm, “We can try these out after the dinner, yeah?”

Your body deflates at his words. After dinner? You can’t promise you’ll be able to wait that long, not with the other vibrator in your possession.

Well, that’s only if you stayed here.

He leans forward attempting to press a kiss on your forehead before his body falls against yours, his eyes fall down to your hand gripping onto his tie as he stops his tip with a hand against the wall.

His eyes flicker to yours seeping with confusion, “What was that for?”

You hum innocently, questioning his question.

Suddenly you release your grip on his tie, softly patting it against his chest as you smooth out the wrinkles. “You might be gone long—no—you will be gone long,” you rest your other hand on his chest, and start tracing circles with the vibrator on his left tit, “and the dinner will get rather boring pretty quickly.”

You lean up on your tippy toes, pressing a kiss against his jaw, “And the house gets lonely without you,” you press another kiss along his jaw, “And I’ll get bored—“

“Ok,” Miguel roughly breathes out, his large hands rest on your hips—the other vibrator still in his hand, “Do you want to come with me then?”

You smile. “I’d love too.”

;;

“I understand, Mr. O’Hara, but with the recent hit the industry took…”

You gripped onto Miguel’s hand as your vision went blurry, “Mig…Miguel,” you bite your tongue hoping the suppress the moan that nearly came out.

The coworker who was talking turned his head to you, “Oh, Mrs. O’Hara? Is everything alright?”

Your grip strengthened around your boyfriend’ hand as sweat started to trail down your throat and your pussy clenched around the toy.

“Mrs. O’Hara?”

You forced yourself to look up, to look at the coworker, and to speak. Your lips, both of them, trembled as they opened—a moan sitting prettily on the tip of your tongue.

“A—I—“

Your boyfriend was so sweet, so loving, and so attentive. He knew you were close, you just needed a little more, and he was more than happy to help you out. Especially when you were so obviously struggling to get any noise out of your mouth.

He played with the remote in his other hand under the table, pretending to look at you with worry in his eyes as a beautiful moan rips out your throat.

You pray that when you get up there won’t be a puddle of cum.

“Uh—uhm—Mrs. O’Hara—?”

“Pardon me,” Miguel heroically interrupts as his holds your close to his, “My wife isn’t feeling well, could you excuse us for a bit?”

“Oh—of course, yes.” The coworkers all move out of the way, making a clear path for the both of you to go through.

You cling onto him as you try to stand up, your legs tremble as you take your first step. “Miguel,” you breath out, “Ca—can we go, ah, home?”

You close your eyes, your over sensitive pussy is able to track every movement the little toy inside of you makes—it makes you pull away from Miguel, you’re body acting as it would whenever he’s in you.

Your heart breaks a little when you hear him laugh—and your legs nearly give out as the toy goes up to its next setting, “Miguel!”

He ignores your cry, maneuvering you around the tables until the bathrooms are right in front of you. He hums a tune, almost mockingly, as he opens the family bathroom, “Come on tesoro, get in.”

An almost heart wrenching whine leaves your throat as Miguel locks the door. You fall to the floor and your mouth opens, a silent moan comes out as you cum on your drenched underwear. Your back arches as the toy never stops it’s movement.

Miguel tsks as he kneels next to you, “What’s wrong cariño,” he feigns innocence, “Doesn’t it feel good?”

“Can’t,” you choke out, “Ca—can’t!”

He holds the remote out, purposely putting in the your line of sight. He twirls it around his fingers, “You said you wanted to go home? Thought you wanted to come with me, tesoro.”

You grind your pussy against the cold floor as you feel your body start to heat up.

“Miguel,” you cry, “Why are you being mean?”

You lean into his touch as his hand cups your cheek to make you look at him. He looks at you, eyes soft as he rubs your cheek.

You turn your head to press a kiss on his palm, stupidly taking this act from him as kindness.

Your head drops immediately, tighs pressing against each other as the vibrations in your pussy get more intense.

“F—fuck.”

Miguel presses a kiss to the top of your head as he watches you crumble underneath him, “Sorry tesoro, but you’re just so pretty like this.”

[cumironi]

OH, I'M DESTROYED : GOJO SATORU

he's your best friend— gojo satoru, he's getting married soon with kids on the way even though your heart is craving for each other, you sarcastically, jokingly tell him, “pleased? oh, I'm destroyed,” after hearing the news, he laughed, almost crying as he looks at you.

w/c. 3,4k

warning : non-sorcerer! gojo satoru. little bit angst. (idk)

p.s. when i said the reader didn't believe in god it's just for writing purposes, i, myself too believe in god. this fiction is inspired by one day series episodes 8? I forget.

“y/n, can we talk?”

there he is, satoru gojo— your bestfriend, your other half, your oasis in the desert, your everything. standing with two of his warm, delicate hands stuffed into his pocket. a warm smile makes themselves home on his handsome face. his blue eyes— satoru gojo’s blue eyes, shimmered like the clearest ocean on a sunlit day, mesmerizing depths promising thousand, endless even, unspoken emotions.

each glance felt like being wrapped in the gentle embrace of a summer breeze, full of warmth and tender affection. his eyes held a universe of mystery and allure, making it impossible to look away, as if they whispered secrets of love and devotion only meant for you— hah, you wish’ you thought.

“sure,” you smile.

your hands gripping the bouquet tightly, so tight the spine cuts through your finger without you realizing. you two walk side by side into the maze behind the chapel where suguru geto and shoko ieiri weddings are held, yours and gojo’s other friends. you refuse to look at him, sparing the man a glance that feels strange after all those two years living your life with no contact from him, neither do you try to reach him, at least not after the fight you have that night.

“how are you doing, y/n?”

the simple question lingers through the air for quite a time when the two enter the maze. your silken hair is pretty, falling gently, enchanting, on your back, touching the soft material of your bridesmaid dress, a blue one, the same color as his eyes— oh, his eyes.

you look to your left to fulfill the starving of your heart, take a glimpse by a glimpse of his frame. two years was too long without seeing those pretty eyes, those warm smiles, those pretty long white lashes, those . . . no, just him.

“it was fine,” lied, of course.

you couldn’t find the courage to pour your heart out, you wouldn’t dare. you wouldn’t dare to tell your best friend how much the longing, how thousand days and nights, and each time you closed your eyes there he was before you, standing in the void inside your dream, how he all of the other people the one who you falling into the abyss to.

“turn right?”

you only nodded, his palm barely touched your lower back and your breath was already prepared to leave your body only for it to come back the second gojo pulled his hand away. the two of you sat on the concrete bench, nailed in the middle of the maze. under the moonlight, the soft glow casting a magical aura around you. the silvery light made gojo’s eyes come alive, no longer hidden behind the black glasses he once wore so often.

his striking blue eyes shone with an ethereal brilliance, reflecting the moon’s gentle radiance. his white locks shimmered like strands of stardust, adding to his otherworldly beauty. in that moment, with the moonlight dancing on his features, he looked more breathtaking than ever, a living embodiment of celestial grace and charm. the night seemed to hold its breath, as if time itself paused to admire the sheer beauty of the scene, leaving you both enveloped in a cocoon of serene enchantment.

he is as beautiful as ever, as breathtaking as you can remember— that’s how you always saw him.

oh, but how gojo wishes you could see the way he sees you. sitting before him, his oh-so-called-bestfriend, his unwavering rock, his compass, and how sometimes— no, every time, it’s just ‘his’.

under the moonlight, with its silvery beams casting a soft glow around you, in the heart of the maze where the world feels like a distant dream, it’s just the two of you. the stillness of the night amplifies the beauty of the moment, every shadow and glint of light painting a picture of serene intimacy. here, in this secluded sanctuary, surrounded by the whispering leaves and the cool night air, the universe narrows to the space between you.

gojo looks at you, his eyes filled with a tender intensity, wishing you could see yourself as he does—captivating, radiant, and indispensable. in this moment, under the tranquil moonlit sky, you are his everything, the silent heartbeat of his existence, the unspoken song of his soul.

“you know,” you say, breaking the silence, “i never thought we’d end up here again. thought you’d be too busy saving the world or something,” you throwing the man side glance, a little smirk playing on your lips.

gojo chuckles, the sound light and familiar. he brings the glass of almost-finished wine to his lips, takes a sip before answering, “and i thought you’d be too busy being mad at me forever,” he jokingly smiled at you.

you roll your eyes, the smirk turns into a smile, tugging at your lips. “well, you did deserve it. you were being insufferable,” you laugh a little. and without you notice, it caught gojo by surprise, a little. two years long he survived with hearing your little giggle— giggle for me, again’ he thought. eyes fixed to you as he takes another sip, smiling.

he smirks, leaning back on his hands. “insufferable? that’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” your head slightly shook, “nope, just accurate,” you retort, popping the ‘p’ as you nudging his shoulder playfully. “you have a way of getting under people’s skin, you know.”

“oh, come on,” he protests, a teasing glint in his eyes. “you know you missed me. admit it.”

“missed you?” you asked, giving the man a glimpse of ‘knowing look’ before smiling, “more like missed having someone to argue with,” you reply, though there’s a softness to your words. you glance at him again, the moonlight making his blue eyes shimmer like twin stars. “it’s been quiet without you around.”

he laughs, the sound echoing in the quiet night. “same old you. always ready with a comeback.”

“and same old you, always thinking you’re the center of the universe,” you quip, though your tone is softer now, the old familiarity seeping back. “well, i am pretty important,” he says with a wink, but then his expression turns more serious. “i’m sorry, you know,” his eyes moving slowly, looking for your expression, “for what happened. i never wanted to hurt you.”

for the second time, you nodded your head, eyes focusing on your laps. you finish the rest of the wine on your glass before putting the glass down on the bench and look at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. “i know, satoru. i’m sorry too. i shouldn’t have walked away like that.”

he reaches out, taking your hand in his. the hands he always wants to hold, straving even. the hands that always perfectly fits with his like a puzzle, the warm, your pulse hitting your soft skin a little harder every time he holds it— oh, how he loves the feeling. “we both made mistakes. but we’re here now. can we start over?” you squeeze his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch. “yeah, i’d like that.”

he grins, the mischievous spark back in his eyes. “good. because i’ve got two years of teasing to make up for.” you laugh, shaking your head as your brain begging you to let go of his hands, so you did.

shaking your head slightly, you scoff, “bring it on, gojo. i’m ready.”

he shifts closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. “you know, i really did miss you. it wasn’t the same without my best friend around.”

best-friend, fucking hate that word’ you thought.

you look at him, the honesty in his words melting away the last remnants of your anger and blossoming the garden of regret and sadness you used to grow, still. “i missed you too,” you smile so little, just like how your feelings made you feel right now. “more than i wanted to admit,” you added, jokingly.

gojo chuckles softly. “well, lucky for you, i’m back now. and i’m not going anywhere.”

please don’t— you want to beg him, wishing he wouldn’t make any promises, you hope he would go anywhere. at least until these feelings start to leave your body, faded, disappearing like whispers on the wind.

but you smile because feeling a sense of peace settles over you. “good,” you lie to yourself. “because i don't think i could handle losing you again,” it was a pleasure to be burn for gojo satoru, it was always a pleasure.

he looks at you, his eyes filled with tender intensity and something unfamiliar— you think, only to not realize he looks at you just like how the way you look at him. his love for you breaking all his bones and soul, but all he can do is just laugh; you were his best friend, after all. beautiful, crushingly so even, you look like the rest of my life— no, that’s not how a best friend thinks of his best friend. gojo satoru wouldn’t dare.

“you won’t. not if i can help it.”

the two of you just look at each other after that, with soft smiles on your faces, letting the weight of the past dissolve in the quiet night. under the moonlight, in the heart of the maze, it feels as if the world has been righted, and for the first time in a long while, everything feels as it should be.

or maybe it shouldn’t.

gojo shifted slightly and reached into the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket. “hey, i have something for you,” he said, his voice tinged with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. curious, you watched as he pulled out an envelope. the paper was thick and elegant— the kind used for important occasions, a soft lavender color that stood out against the dark fabric of his suit. he handed it to you, his fingers brushing yours, sending a familiar warmth through you.

you took the envelope, feeling a mix of anticipation and dread. opening it carefully, you find a beautifully crafted wedding invitation inside. the names on it made your breath catch in your throat: satoru gojo and his fiancée.

your heart sank, but you managed to keep your expression neutral. “satoru..” your voice came out as a whisper, blending with the soft hustle of the leaves. “this is lovely,” you said, forcing a smile as you looked up at him.

gojo’s eyes searched yours as if trying to read your thoughts. the grief— it’s all over your eyes, the grief that is more honest to him than you ever could. but gojo does not know the reason, why are you grieving? it is because of your sorrow and he can’t give you the shoulder? or is it because you, once again, are letting yourself burn for loving him? the saddest is, he doesn’t know that, not that he has to.

is it still a pleasure to burn for him now?

“i wanted you to have it first,” he said quietly. “you’ve always been important to me, more than anyone else.” the weight of his words hung in the air, making it harder to maintain your composure. “thank you,” you replied, your voice barely steady. “i wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

you smile at each other as if trying to comfort each other. “are you pleased?” he asked softly— too afraid if his voice came out louder, he would break you. please, don’t say yes’ he begged his heart. just say the word, y/n’ he continued. he begged, once, twice, three time, for the past twelve years of his life knowing you, under the moonlight, to the moon that you say the words, begging him to stop the wedding. just say the word and he’ll come running to you.

you groan a little, “pleased? oh, i’m destroyed.”

no, he was destroyed.

so he leaned closer, faster enough to fill his eyes with a mixture of affection and again, something you couldn't quite identify. “you know, you’ve always been my closest friend. my confidant. my anchor.” you nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. “and you’ve been mine,” you said softly, the unspoken words lingering between you.

the silence between you grew heavier as you stared at the lavender envelope in your hands. with a deep breath, you carefully opened the lavender envelope, your fingers trembling. the wedding invitation was exquisitely crafted, each detail speaking of the elegance and care that had gone into its creation. the elegant script revealing the date. seven weeks from now. your heart sank further, the realization hitting you like a wave.

you looked up at gojo, the question evident in your eyes. “seven weeks?” you whispered, barely able to keep your voice steady. “that’s. . . soon.” he nodded, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “yeah, it’s a ‘shotgun’ wedding,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “things have been moving quickly when you are not around,” your heart ached at his words, the reality of his imminent marriage sinking in. “why so soon?" you asked, struggling to keep the tears at bay. “you are going to be a father? is that allowed?”

he chuckled at your attempt to joke, trying to hide the sadness that was so clearly there behind his eyes. the smile on his lips didn’t quite reach them, but he tried his best to keep up a brave face for you.

he scoffs, “apparently, they did,” he nodded.

he shrugged nonchalantly, trying to act as though it didn’t bother him in the slightest. he didn’t want you to know just how much turmoil he was facing with this entire situation. “yeah, not like we had much of a choice in the whole matter . . .” the fact that he was getting married had been eating at him for weeks. all of that time he had spent with you, all the memories. in just seven short, short weeks it would come to an end. he wanted to tell you. tell you just how much you meant to him, but . . .

but what? would it do any good?

your hand is gripping tightly around the bouquet, so tight, suffocating, until— for the second time that night the spine digs itself through your skin, straight to your heart— the pain, it’s unbearable, you feel like dying.

there was a long pause, the maze around you silent except for the faint rustling of leaves. you wanted to tell him everything, to confess how much he meant to you, but fear held you back. instead, you tried to focus on the moment, on the bittersweet reality of his impending marriage. “oh, my god—” you choke on your own. one hand covering your mouth before you face him.

gojo reached out and took your hand, his touch warm and comforting. “promise me we’ll always be friends, no matter what,” he said, his voice almost pleading. you squeezed his hand, fighting back tears. “always,” you promised, even as your heart shattered a little more. your hands, the one he wants to carry his heart by.

your eyes are shaking, matching his heart, it’s hurting. “i’m so happy for you,” your smile didn’t reach your eyes. someone once said that people’s hearts appear in their eyes, gojo can see yours now; it’s broken, shattered before him.

please don’t be happy for me, be miserable, so i don’t have the heart to leave you, so i can be with you,’ he wants to scream at you.

“oh, god, i’m so happy for you. . .”

look at you, a girl who doesn’t believe in god now crying, begging, pleading while calling his name because the pain was unbearable. how is cruel love can be?

the weight of the moment hung heavy in the air, the lavender invitation between you acting as both a bridge and a barrier. you took a deep breath, feeling the tears welling up, and without thinking, you pulled gojo into a hug. he stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, wrapping his arms around you in a familiar embrace.

your tears flowed freely, once, twice, thrice, the moonlight catching them and making your eyes sparkle like crystals. “i’m happy for you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of joy and sorrow. satoru held you tighter, his breath warm against your ear. “thank you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “it means everything to me to have your support.”

the maze around you seemed to close in, the hedges whispering secrets and memories of times past. you clung to him, your heartbreaking and mending all at once, the scent of the night flowers mingling with the salt of your tears. “i wish you every happiness,” you continued, your words barely more than a breath. “you deserve it, ‘toru. you deserve all the happiness in the world.”

he pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. his own were glistening, the usual sparkle tempered by the weight of the moment. “and you deserve happiness too,” he said softly, his thumb gently brushing a tear from your cheek. “promise me you’ll find it.”

your foreheads met, and the gentle press of his skin against yours felt like the most natural thing in the world. your breaths mingled, soft and warm, creating a delicate rhythm that only the two of you shared, a silent conversation of souls.

his eyes, filled with a depth of emotion you had always known but never fully understood, locked with yours. the moonlight bathed you both in a soft, ethereal glow, casting a spell that held the night in a timeless embrace. every unspoken word, every hidden feeling, shimmered in the air between you, a tapestry of love and longing woven through years of friendship.

gojo’s hand gently cupped your cheek, his touch feather-light, as if he were afraid you might disappear. slowly, almost reverently, he began to close the gap between you. his movements were unhurried, each inch a testament to the gravity of the moment, the culmination of everything that had been left unsaid.

your heart pounded in your chest, a wild, erratic beat that seemed to echo through the silence. the anticipation was electric, every second stretched into an eternity. as his lips drew nearer, you felt the world around you blur into insignificance, the maze and the moonlight fading into the background. then, with a tenderness that took your breath away, his lips brushed against yours. the touch was soft, almost tentative, like the whisper of a dream.

oh, how empty he is to be full by you.

the contact sent a shiver through you, a spark that ignited every fiber of your being. you responded instinctively, your hands finding their way to his face, fingers threading through his hair as you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.

the kiss was everything—a confession, a promise, a revelation. it spoke of years of hidden desires, of nights spent wondering, of the unbreakable bond that had always connected you. the taste of him, the feel of his lips moving against yours, was like coming home after a long, arduous journey.

when you finally pulled back, your breaths mingling in the cool night air, you opened your eyes to find him gazing at you with an expression that mirrored your own—wonder, longing, and a profound sense of rightness. ‘longing’, such a tender name for such a miserable state of being.

you nodded, the ache in your chest making it hard to speak. “i’ll try,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “but right now, i just need to be here for you.” gojo’s gaze held yours, the moonlight illuminating the silent understanding passing between you. “you’ve always been there for me,” he said, his voice a soft caress. “and i hope you always will be.”

the world around you seemed to fade, the only sounds the rustling of the leaves and the steady beating of your hearts. you felt a bittersweet calm wash over you, knowing that despite everything, your bond with satoru was unbreakable, saddest.

“i will be,” you promised, your voice firm despite the tears. “no matter what.”

he smiled then, a small, tender smile that spoke of shared sorrow, of the disaster from loving you, but oh how he promised, i will always be this tender for you. “good,” he whispered, pulling you back into his arms. “because i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

his arm tightly around you as your cheeks rest against his chest— he gathers you up, folds you to his heart, and looks at each other a little too long to be just friends.

[hellishjoel]

reborn

1.4k / pairing: jackson!joel miller x f!reader

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summary: Joel’s long hair is a testament to a long life in Jackson, Wyoming. He hasn’t had time to get it cut since the birth of his daughter. 

warnings/information:  joel’s long hair appreciation post!!!!!, fluff, established relationship, a little swearing, soft!joel, girl dad!joel, jackson!joel, mother f!reader, ellie and joel are just fine okay!!, obvious maria appreciation, reader doesn’t have a physical appearance but has given birth

A/N: this is super short and I wrote it in 24 hours - you all know why we’re here, we saw that new picture of long haired joel miller and yadayadayada now we’re here! graphics by @saradika-graphics

There’s a new baby in Jackson. 

One more teeny tiny resident. The population sign must be repainted to acknowledge its three hundred and fifth resident. 

And she’s your little girl. 

She’s not just perfect, she’s the center of your universe. Wrapped in a freshly hand-washed baby pink blanket, a testament to the hours of labor in Jackson’s makeshift delivery room. Joel held your hand throughout. 

This was his second child, but his first with you. The flood of emotions was overwhelming, and you promised to stand by him, even if you could never truly understand the pain tangled with newfound joy. 

But you should have seen the way his eyes softened at the first sight of her. Everything changed, for the both of you. His once-buried fatherly instincts took over, walking with the delivery nurse from your bed to the small cleaning station. He couldn’t let her out of his sight.

Already so protective and wound around her little finger from the moment she took her first breath and wailed her first cry. 

Scream it, little one, tell the world you’re here and that you’re ours. You are already so loved with your big glowing eyes and round cheeks, your small hands curled into your chest, and you kick your tiny little feet. Stomp, roar, live. 

You’re born into the most dangerous time in history, but your parents are here to protect you. The moment your baby girl was born, you and Joel were reborn. 

One month old, and nothing has changed. Except for your and Joel’s sleep schedules. Tommy gave Joel temporary leave from patrol duties, which Joel did not protest. He found it impossible some days to leave the house for food and supplies. 

Ellie was helpful. Despite no blood relation, she and Joel shared many qualities. She didn’t let you lift a finger if she could help it. She had moved into the garage a few months back. After all, she was a teenager who loved having space.

“You sure you don’t just wanna move back inside the house, Ellie?” She was here more often than not, and her company and help were dearly appreciated.

“And wake up to a crying baby twelve times in the middle of the night? I love you guys, but no thanks,” she teased as you playfully rolled your eyes. 

“That’s fair. But the offer still stands.”

Ellie shrugs nonchalantly and lands beside you on the couch, laying her head on your shoulder as you both stare lovingly down at the baby sleeping soundly in your arms. 

“I know, but you should make my old room the baby’s new one. Besides, Joel just set up my stereo, and I blast that thing non-stop. No baby is gonna like that.” 

“Oh, trust me, we know.” You whisper as you kiss the top of her head, your cheek nudging against her brunette tresses tied back into a ponytail.

Ellie cooks some sort of monstrosity in the kitchen upon Joel’s return from Tommy and Maria’s. He holds piles of Maria’s hand-sewn diapers and onesies. She was a God send, a woman you consider a Jill of all trades. 

Oh, Maria. She always desired that Jackson would not fall into turmoil like most of the country had surely found its way to. In her eyes, Jackson would remain a thriving and welcoming community to those who were good of heart. 

That woman worked to the bone to ensure that Jackson’s residents were safe and happy. Living here was like living in a snow globe, safe from the outside world and protected from danger. 

As the de facto leader of the Jackson settlement, she wore many hats. From trading and supplies to security and community welfare, Maria made it her mission to ensure that all new families found their new home in Jackson to be an inviting one—a safe haven from their old lives and here to start anew. 

“Maria bartered for new cotton,” Joel whispers as he enters the living room, quiet so as not to stir the baby. 

“She did?” You ask softly, sitting up slightly as you feel his hand cup your cheek from above, tilting your head back so he can give you a proper kiss. 

“Yeah, she was gonna try and find somethin’ alternative to cotton for the diapers, but they set her up with some scavenged materials and clothing to make lots of diapers out of. Plus, gave her some stuff to cultivate it here. Y’know, be self-sufficient.” 

“Wow,” you mutter tiredly, rubbing at your eyes as your daughter begins to twitch in your arms. “I think she hears her daddy’s voice.” 

Joel cooes softly, quick to drop the items off on the kitchen counter with haphazard abandon. He grunts quietly as his knees scream for rest until he sits beside you on the couch with open palms. You delicately hand him the baby, and his eyes twinkle at the sight of her. He was adorably cute when he baby-babbled, though he swears he never does. 

“Hi sweet wittle girl, pretty pwincess, did you have a good day with mommy?” 

It takes you this long to realize how much his hair has grown out. Your fingers softly weave into the greying curls, twirling one around your finger before you let it fall into its natural waves. 

“It’s so long, baby,” you whisper like honey.

He lets out a quiet chuckle and absentmindedly leans into your touch. “I’know. Haven’t had time to get it cut,” he turns his attention back to the little girl swaddled in his arms, “and I think I know who’s been keepin’ me so damn busy.” 

You hum and gently clutch the curls at the nape of his neck, truly in awe of how long they were. You’ve never seen him let it get this long. As Joel would say, this is Tommy long. But was there really a look he couldn’t pull off?

“I, uh, I don’t want you to cut it.” Your words come off shy and sweet, making him melt as he slowly turns to look at you with a raised brow. 

“Is that so?” His southern twang rolls freely off his tongue. 

“Mhm, you look so handsome. I think I would cry if you got rid of that thick mane of yours.” 

He chuckles again, a low and sultry one. “Alright. I’ll keep puttin’ up with it.”

“Mmm, please do. It’s sorta doin’ somethin’ for me.” 

Joel pauses and watches as the aging sunlight shines over your face. He takes your hand in his large calloused one and squeezes, circling his thumb along your wrist. “You’ve given me a life I sometimes don’t feel like I deserve. A happy one. I don’t think there’s a way I can ever say thank you or I love you enough for how my life has turned out. Without you, I might be dead.”

“Oh, Joel,” you whisper as you rest your forehead against his own, both of your eyes falling closed. “You are deserving of every moment of happiness in this life. You make my life worth living. You saved us.” 

Joel lets out a wet chuckle, kissing the tip of your nose before meeting your lips delicately. 

In this light, the amber glow of the sun setting just beyond the walls outside, he’s so handsome. It truly makes your heart skip a beat. After all these years of pain, loss, and suffering, Joel is happy. It’s all you’ve ever wanted to make him. 

During the first few weeks in this new and unfamiliar settlement, Joel would shoot up in the middle of the night, upset that he had fallen asleep. He hadn’t slept in a home with four solid walls in so long, none of you had. You remember the first night he slept soundly, snoring like a madman and nuzzling into his pillow. He was safe. There were no clickers in waiting, no scavengers to fend off. His people were protected. He could breathe. 

Never did you once think that at the ends of the world, there would be room for you to feel like this. Reborn. It led you to Joel and Ellie and continued with your baby girl. Your lives are getting a second chance. 

You didn’t know how long it would stay like this because nothing was forever. But you would wake up tomorrow morning and run a hand through Joel’s hair, through the pretty curls that tickled his neck, and the opportunity for it to keep growing would be another sign that your lives weren’t ending. They were only just beginning.

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[yuwuta]

CAN YOU FEEL MY HEART BURNING, CAN YOU FEEL ALL MY GOOD LOVING — YUUJI ITADORI

cw: mentioned sex, friends to lovers, yuuji greatest boy 

The first time that Yuuji asks you out, you reject him. It’s not a matter of not liking him or liking him (even though you do like him, a lot)—it’s a matter of maintaining your friendship, about weighing risk versus reward, and about pushing your personal feelings aside for what’s best for everybody. 

Yuuji doesn’t listen. To him, your rejection was just confirmation about what he already knew about you—that you had a tendency to run away or avoid things you didn’t want to confront, but only when you were really, truly scared.

So, he does what he does best; he takes it to the next level. Despite being rejected, he holds your hand, and pulls you close, gives you kisses on your cheek, and your neck sometimes, and once you even let him leave a hickey, even though you spew the same mantra of—“You shouldn’t—Yuuji we shouldn’t be doing this”—you let him charm you every time.

Because Yuuji knows that you like him back, and he knows that even though you’re scared to say it, deep down you know that he’s always been yours. Because Yuuji is your best friend, and he knows better than anyone how to punch through the walls you so carefully build up. Because, honestly, you should have learned by now to stop trying to keep him out—he makes his way in no matter how many walls you put up. 

It’s how you end up in bed with him only three mere weeks after rejecting his confession. And even though you’ve both been as close as two people can be, Yuuji knows he’s missing one thing from you; one final seal to show you that he’s it, that there’s nothing to be afraid of, and to get you to stop running once and for all. 

Which is exactly why when you ask him if he wants to see thew new Spiderman movie after breakfast, he smiles and puts his plan into action. 

“Yeah, of course,” Yuuji grins, “If you say that it’s a date.” 

Your smile falls halfway, but Yuuji’s only widens as he slips his hands into his pockets. He waits, expectantly, even through your stunned silence, and you finally sigh when he begins to rock on his heels.  

“Yuuji, you know that–” 

“What I know is that you’ve got to get out of that head of yours sooner than later,” he says, leaning forward to happily invade your space to tap at your forehead, “And that you love me.”  

“Yeah, I kind of thought the confession that I only turned you down because I didn’t want to lose you, and the having sex with you last night kinda let you show that.” 

“Yes, yes, there was all of that,” Yuuji moves his hands to cup the sides of your head, looks into your widening eyes and grins, “But I’m giving you a way to make it official in that complicated little head of yours. So, go on, ask me out. I promise I won’t say no.” 

Your eyebrows pinch together. Yuuji immediately moves his thumbs to stroke at the tail ends of them as you pout, “What do you mean ‘make it official?’ I know—I mean I hope that all our feelings are official.” 

“Make it official to you,” Yuuji clarifies, using his right thumb to tap at your temple, “In that beautiful—” he bends forwards to press a kiss to your forehead, “—smart —” another kiss, “—very complicated —” and another, “—head of yours that I love so much. So, like I was saying: ask me out, so that you get your closure even though you don’t think you need it, and you start seeing and learning that I don’t want to do anything with you without romantic intentions.” 

Yuuji presses one last kiss before pulling away to show you his glowing smile. Your expression softens through his speech—confusion sinking into surprise and then pure adoration. You’re slightly amazed that Yuuji has deciphered this for you before you could even fathom a justification behind your emotions, but then again, you think, you shouldn’t be; Yuuji has proved, throughout the course of your friendship and his courtship, that you have his undivided attention—that you are the object of his desires, and as such, it’s only natural that he knows the parts of you that you don’t think about.  

So, you concede, push your shock and pride aside, and close that embarrassing gaping mouth of yours because this is Yuuji and for all the shit you’ve put him through, the least you could do is ask him out.  

“Okay. Will you go to the movies with me?”  

Except when screws up his face and purses his lip in dissatisfaction, you wonder if you should put him through the wringer yourself.  

Yuuji’s grip on your head tightens ever so slightly, not enough to be uncomfortable, just enough for him to manually shake your head to mirror his own, “You have to make it clearer that you’re asking me out. We go to the movies all the time, I love movies—” 

“Yeah, exactly,” you frown, reaching your right hand to grab at Yuuji’s wrist to still your shaking head, “I’m asking you to do something I know you love.”  

“Ah, but you see how that’s confusing to me,” Yuuji quips, “I am but your oblivious friend—you have to let me know that you want me to be there with you because you like me, otherwise I might not know for the next twenty-something years, and history will repeat itself and—ow!” 

“I get it, you asshole,” you bite. Yuuji gives you a shallow shrug, and a crooked smile, that you, begrudgingly, find endearing. So much so that you groan and let your head fall forward until your forehead is pressed against Yuuji’s chest. You can hear his laughter; feel the way his palms immediately latch to your back to rub shallow circles. “This is stupid. I can’t believe I like you and you’re making me do all this for some three-hour movie.” 

“Oh, wrong L-word, try again.” 

“Even worse. You know I love you and you insist on making me do this.” 

“You must think I’m worth it, or you would have left me hanging a long time ago,” Yuuji gives you another kiss to the crown of your head, before he holds you by the shoulders to urge you to stand up straight, “Now come on, ask me out, sweep me off my feet, m’lady.” 

You blink your eyes open slowly, adjusting for the sparkling image of Yuuji standing before you, waiting far too patiently. That awe washes over you again—a wave for the overbearing love you feel for him, another for the incredible soul the boy in front of you is—for how lucky you truly are to have him.  

And you are lucky to have Yuuji. To be loved by Yuuji. So, you reach for his hands and wrap yours around them before you look up to face him and ask, “Itadori Yuuji, will you go out with me?” 

“Yes, and I’ll do you one better,” he smiles, shakes your hands off so that he can put them on your waist to pull you to his chest, “I’ll be your boyfriend, too.” 

[theonottsbxtch]

WAR IS OVER | CL16

an: this has been in my drafts for so long and i’ve been so excited to share it with all of you! listen to happy xmas by john lennon to enhance experience or whatever. MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!! (if you don’t celebrate, then happy holidays and happy new year!) also this is low-key slightly angsty and emotional but HEA!!

airforce!charles x reader

wc: 2.8k

Snowfall had begun in earnest that December, blanketing the village in a hush so profound it felt as though the world itself were holding its breath. The young woman stood at the kitchen sink, hands submerged in icy dishwater, staring absently out the frost-etched window. The sky was a pale grey, a curtain of wintry gloom stretched thin over rooftops where chimneys smoked and whispered of warmth.

She glanced down at her hands, red from the cold despite the scarf wrapped snug around her wrists, and sighed. Dorothy and Julian were in the parlour, their laughter spilling into the house like sunlight. Dorothy had spent the morning cutting paper chains while Julian orchestrated a kingdom of tin soldiers on the hearth. Their joy pierced her heart like shards of glass—a reminder of Charles. Julian’s unruly hair fell into his eyes just the way his father’s had, and Dorothy’s cheeky smile carried the same tilt of mischief.

The letter was still hidden in her dresser drawer, folded too neatly for something so devastating. It had arrived in the brittle chill of early November, its official tone draining all warmth from the room as she read the curt words: "Presumed missing, believed dead." Protocol, they’d called it. A mechanism for closing doors, for stitching the torn fabric of lives left behind. But the wound in her heart remained unsewn.

The children didn’t know. How could they? She had tucked the grief away, smothering it beneath cheerfulness she didn’t feel. “Mummy, can we have plum pudding this year?” Dorothy had asked, her face aglow with anticipation. She had forced a smile then, nodding and promising, though the thought of Christmas without Charles’s deep laugh, his steady presence, seemed unbearable.

As the evening descended, the village grew quiet save for the occasional crunch of boots on snow as neighbours hurried home. The lights on the tree—a scraggly thing Julian had insisted was perfect when they’d brought it in—glimmered faintly, their glow reflected in the baubles Charles had hung last year. She turned away, blinking back tears, and began laying the table for supper.

That night, as she tucked Dorothy and Julian into bed, their excitement was infectious. “Father Christmas is coming soon!” Julian declared, his small fists clutching the quilt.

“He won’t forget our house, will he?” Dorothy asked, her voice serious.

“Of course not,” she replied, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. She kissed their foreheads, inhaling their innocent warmth, and closed the door quietly behind her.

In the stillness of her bedroom, she unfolded the letter once more. The inked words blurred as she stared at them. It was easier, somehow, to believe that the man who had written her so many tender notes, who had kissed her hand on their wedding day, was merely gone for now. Lost but not beyond reach. Yet the shadows of doubt loomed larger with each passing day.

She had told no one. Not her neighbours, whose own husbands and sons littered foreign graves. Not her children, who still whispered prayers for their father each night. She carried it silently, a solitary burden she could neither lay down nor bear much longer.

Outside, the bells of St. Mary’s chimed the hour, each peal a cruel reminder of time’s unyielding march towards Christmas. A Christmas that loomed hollow and bereft. She pressed her forehead to the cold glass, her breath misting the windowpane. Beyond, the world glittered as if untouched by sorrow, as if unaware of her breaking heart.

Christmas morning arrived with the world awash in golden light, the snow outside sparkling like diamonds. Dorothy and Julian burst into her room, their faces alight with the boundless excitement of the day.

“Mum! It’s Christmas!” Julian shouted, already tugging her from her bed.

Dorothy held a small package, wrapped in newspaper and tied with string. “This one’s for you! We saved it, just for today.”

The sight of their shining faces filled her with guilt and gratitude in equal measure. She managed a smile, sitting with them by the hearth as they tore into their small pile of gifts. Wooden soldiers for Julian, a tin tea set for Dorothy—modest treasures in a time of rationing, but enough to spark joy in her children.

As they played, a commotion erupted outside. Shouts echoed down the cobbled street, punctuated by the sharp clang of a handbell.

“The war is over! It’s over!”

She froze, the words piercing through her like sunlight breaking a storm. From her seat on the rug, Dorothy gasped. “Mummy, does that mean Daddy’s coming home?”

She couldn’t speak, the question lodging like a thorn in her throat. All she could do was pull them close, and smile.

“Let’s go outside and celebrate!” She replied instead, walking over to the coat hangers.

She bundled the children into their coats and scarves, their squeals of excitement filling the small house. Dorothy’s cheeks were already pink with joy, her hands fumbling with her mittens.

“Mummy, hurry!” Julian urged, hopping from foot to foot. “We have to go see!”

She forced a smile and kissed the top of his head. “Go on, both of you. I’ll be just a moment.”

The children dashed out into the snow, their laughter spilling down the lane to join the jubilant cries of the neighbours. She closed the door softly behind them, the house falling quiet once more.

Leaning against the door, she drew in a deep, shuddering breath. Her hands trembled as she pressed them to her face, the tears spilling unchecked now that no one was there to see. The news should have been a balm, but it felt more like a cruel twist. The war was over, but Charles would not be coming back with the others. She was sure of it now, the hope that had lingered for so long finally extinguished.

The house felt cavernous again, the weight of her solitude pressing down on her chest. She moved into the kitchen, the floorboards creaking underfoot. The sight of the breakfast dishes—half-eaten toast and crumbs left behind in the morning’s rush—only deepened her ache.

She braced herself against the sink, staring out at the frost-covered garden. Her shoulders shook, the sobs spilling out of her like waves breaking against a crumbling shore. She had carried this grief alone for so long, but now it threatened to consume her entirely.

“Mummy?”

The soft voice startled her, and she turned to find Dorothy standing in the doorway, her small face pinched with concern.

“Why are you crying?” Dorothy asked, stepping forward with cautious, measured steps.

“I’m not, darling,” she lied, hastily dabbing at her cheeks.

“You are,” Dorothy said plainly, slipping her hand into her mother’s. “But you don’t have to. The war’s over, and Daddy would want us to be happy. You should come outside. Everyone’s singing.”

The simplicity of her daughter’s words cut straight through her. She knelt, wrapping Dorothy in a fierce hug, the warmth of her small body grounding her.

“All right, love,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Let’s go and celebrate.”

Dorothy smiled and tugged her hand, leading her to the door.

The street was alive with celebration. Neighbours who had spent years steeped in quiet, rationed hardship now spilled into the snow-covered road, their faces alight with relief and joy. Someone had hauled a wireless outside, the strains of carols mingling with the jubilant cheers. A man passed with a tray of mince pies, offering one to Julian, who accepted with sticky-fingered glee.

Dorothy twirled in circles, her arms outstretched as snowflakes caught in her hair. Her mother stood at the edge of the crowd, watching her children with a tender ache. For their sake, she tried to let herself feel the joy that surrounded her, to bask in the miracle of peace.

“Mummy, look!” Julian called, pointing to a group of men raising a toast with tin mugs. “Maybe Daddy’s with them!”

Her breath caught. She scanned the crowd reflexively, knowing in her heart she wouldn’t find him there. Yet she let Julian cling to the hope she couldn’t bear to shatter.

As the afternoon waned, she gathered her children, their cheeks red from the cold, their hands clutching treasures gifted by neighbours—sweets, a small wooden horse for Julian, a knitted scarf for Dorothy.

Inside, the warmth of the house embraced them, the fire crackling merrily in the grate. She shepherded them upstairs, brushing away their protestations.

“Christmas isn’t over, Mummy,” Dorothy said, yawning despite herself.

“No, it isn’t,” she said with a small smile, tucking her daughter in snugly. “There’s still tonight, and tomorrow, and the day after that.”

She kissed their foreheads, lingering just a moment longer to drink in their innocence. How had they carried on, so untouched by the weight that threatened to crush her? She envied them their resilience, their belief that the world could be made whole again.

Once they were asleep, she descended the stairs, the house eerily quiet once more. The fire in the hearth glowed faintly, its light casting long shadows across the room. She settled into her worn chair, pulling a shawl around her shoulders, her hands curled around a steaming mug.

The world outside had stilled. The street celebrations had quieted, the snow falling again in soft, measured drifts. Her thoughts wandered to Charles, as they always did when the house was silent. She tried to picture his face as it had been the last time she saw him, standing tall in his uniform, a brave smile hiding the fear she knew he felt.

A sharp knock broke through her reverie. She startled, her mug slipping from her hands and clattering to the floor. For a moment, she sat frozen, her heart racing. Who could be calling at this hour?

She rose slowly, her legs trembling as she crossed the room. The cold air seeped in as she opened the door, her breath catching in her throat.

There he stood, framed by the golden glow of the streetlamp behind him. His uniform was tattered, his face pale with exhaustion, but it was him—Charles.

“Hello, love,” he said softly, his voice hoarse but warm, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

Her hand flew to her mouth, a sob escaping her lips as the weight of the months, the grief and fear, melted away all at once. “I thought you were dead,” she choked, her words barely a whisper.

He stepped forward, his arms wrapping around her tightly, solid and real. She clung to him, her tears soaking into his coat as he murmured soothing words, his voice trembling with emotion.

For the first time in what felt like forever, her heart felt whole.

For a long moment, she couldn’t let go of him. Her hands clung to his coat as if he might vanish if she dared loosen her grip. The snowflakes clinging to his hair melted into beads of water, and his warmth seeped into her, chasing away the cold that had lived in her heart for months.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispered again, her voice trembling.

“I nearly was,” he admitted, his voice low, hoarse with emotion and exhaustion. He pulled back slightly to look at her, his hand lifting to brush away her tears. His touch was tender, his fingers lingering as though trying to memorise her face. “There’s so much to tell you, love. The mission went wrong… we were shot down. Most of us didn’t make it. I was captured—held prisoner for weeks.”

She gasped softly, her heart breaking anew at the thought of what he must have endured. “Oh, Charles…”

“It’s over now,” he said, his voice steadying as he cupped her face in his hands. “I escaped when the retreat began. It was a long road back, but I’m here. I’m back. And I’m not going anywhere again. Ever.”

The tears came fresh, her relief pouring out in sobs that wracked her entire frame. He pulled her close, his arms encircling her as he held her tightly, anchoring her in the moment.

When she looked up at him again, he smiled, the lines of weariness softening into something infinitely gentle. She reached up, her hand trembling as she touched his cheek, then leaned in, her lips brushing his. The kiss was slow, delicate, and filled with everything she couldn’t put into words—her anguish, her longing, her love.

When they finally broke apart, his forehead rested against hers, and he let out a soft, shaky breath.

“The kids?” he asked, his voice hushed, as though afraid to disturb the peace of the moment.

She smiled through her tears, taking his hand. “Come on,” she whispered, leading him up the stairs.

The house was quiet save for the creak of the floorboards beneath their feet. She paused at the children’s door, easing it open with care. The soft glow of the moonlight spilled through the window, illuminating Dorothy and Julian as they slept soundly, their faces peaceful.

Charles stepped into the room, his hand still in hers. He knelt by Julian’s bed first, his expression softening as he took in the sight of his son. His fingers brushed the boy’s dark hair, and his throat worked as though he were fighting back tears.

Then he moved to Dorothy, his gaze lingering on her delicate features. She stirred slightly in her sleep, murmuring something incoherent before settling again.

“They’ve grown,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

“They have,” she said, her own voice trembling. “They look so much like you.”

He glanced back at her, his eyes shining, and then turned to gaze at them again. “I can’t believe I almost missed this. Missed them.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder, the two of them standing together in silence for a long moment, watching their children sleep. It was a moment she thought she’d never have again—a moment that felt too precious to disturb, too fragile to let go.

When they finally left the room, closing the door quietly behind them, he pulled her into his arms once more. “I’m back,” he murmured against her hair. “Back for good. We’re whole again, love. Whole.”

The quiet of the house enveloped them as she led him to their room. The door creaked softly as she pushed it open, revealing the familiar space that had so often been her refuge—and her prison—in his absence. The room felt warmer with him in it, the shadows less oppressive, the air lighter.

Charles stood just inside the doorway, his weary eyes scanning the room, as if grounding himself in the life he had fought so hard to return to. She turned to him, her fingers trembling as they moved to the buttons of his tattered coat.

“Let me,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his gaze fixed on her face as she worked the buttons loose, one by one. The coat slipped from his shoulders, heavy with the weight of everything he’d been through. She caught it before it hit the floor, draping it carefully over a chair. When she looked up again, she saw his shirt beneath, threadbare and stained, a testament to all he hadn’t told her yet.

Her breath hitched, and she reached out to touch him—his chest, solid and warm beneath the worn fabric. Her tears came again, spilling silently as she rested her forehead against him.

“War is over, Cha,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “It’s over.”

His hand came up to cup the back of her head, his fingers threading through her hair as he held her close. “It’s over,” he echoed softly, his voice steady, as if speaking the words made them real.

They stood like that for a long moment, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire downstairs and the whisper of the snow against the window. She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, and in his eyes, she saw the same relief, the same raw gratitude that coursed through her.

Wordlessly, she led him to the bed, pulling back the quilt she had lain under alone for far too long. He eased down beside her, his body sinking into the mattress with a sigh of exhaustion. She followed, curling against him as he wrapped an arm around her, drawing her close.

For the first time in months, the bed didn’t feel so empty, the darkness didn’t seem so vast, and the ache in her chest was no longer unbearable. They lay in silence, the words unspoken between them carried in the warmth of his touch, the steadiness of his breathing.

As sleep began to claim them, she whispered into the stillness, “You’re home, Charles.”

And in the soft darkness, he answered, his voice a balm to her weary soul: “I’m home.”

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow

[aurumalatus]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 (𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔)

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.4k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers (yes kinich literally invented this trope okay. sue me), mini-drabbles, childhood to university, modern!au, fluff and slight angst, lots of bantering but it's light-hearted i promise

summary.

you've always been a sore loser—kinich is just the only one brave enough to say it. or, you and kinich fall in love over the course of your lives, and one thing never changes—you're both idiots

author's note. credit to @/scythidol for the header images! a bit of a different fic format this time (who is she....). i'm sick over kinich, i have nothing clever to say or excuses to make. that's all, thank you for reading! i'm finishing this at 5am so i'll fix any errors later lol. reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

I.

“You’re annoying.”

The old TV in your backyard treehouse buzzes with static and the constant thumps of Kinich’s fingers against the controller buttons.

It’s a summer evening—crickets chirp merrily in the grass and lightning bugs float lazily through the air, glowing among the stars. You’re sitting next to him, knees pulled to your chest and the straw of a Capri-Sun settled between your lips.

His reaction (or lack thereof) to your words leaves you less than entertained, a sour pout fixed on your lips as he sighs.

“You’re a sore loser. We said whoever got up here first got to play first.” Despite the intense game occurring on the screen in front of him, he diverts about half his attention to watching you out of the corner of his eye. “And I got up here first.”

“But you always win,” you whine. Kinich nudges at his own juice box with his knee, and you roll your eyes before picking it up and holding it to his lips—he drinks gratefully, still focused on his game. You’re not sure why you keep agreeing to this bet; you don’t think you’ve ever won.

“Then you need to get faster.”

Both of you know that such a feat would be impossible—Kinich has been the fastest kid in your grade since you started school. His athleticism affords him a bit of popularity, still at the age where winning a playground race is essentially the deciding factor between the cool kids and the lame ones. But he’s not interested in any of that, and he makes that quite clear in his actions.

After all, all the popular kids avoid him since he started a fight with them last year. 

“They were saying things about you,” he’d shrugged, like it was no big deal. The school seemed to think a bit differently, and his suspension felt like the longest week of your life.

The screen flashes then, a loud and colorful display that shows the words “you win”. Kinich leans back in his seat, a pleased half-smile spreading across his face. 

“Okay, now you can play.”

He tries to hand you the controller, but you huff, crossing your arms and turning away.

“I don’t even wanna play anymore.”

Kinich is far more mature than you at this age—even your own mother tells you as much—so he merely sighs, accepting of your tantrum.

“Okay, what do you wanna do then?”

You ponder that for a moment. There’s a lot of things you do often, but many of them are things that Kinich is much better at than you. Playing video games, climbing trees, riding bikes—he’s far more talented at them all. It’s one of the reasons you even became friends in the first place—you’d practically begged him to teach you to beat the final boss of Super Mario Galaxy, and the rest was history.

“I don’t know,” you mumble noncommittally, blowing your straw wrapper at him. It lands right on target, bouncing lightly off his forehead as he rolls his eyes.

“Come on, whatever you wanna do, we’ll do it,” he says, poking at your cheek. “I’ll even play house.”

And you know Kinich hates playing house—he has boundless amounts of energy most days, and house isn’t “challenging” enough of a game for him to expend it. But he does it occasionally, just for you.

You brighten at the prospect. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, already descending the treehouse ladder, waving you along. “Let’s go inside first, though. I’m hungry.”

Scrambling to your feet, you jump down to meet Kinich, already standing in the grass.

“Last one inside is a rotten egg!”

II.

The rainstorm ends just as classes dismiss—when you walk out the school entrance, a slight drizzle is still letting up, fresh puddles lapping at your toes. Kinich’s gaze finds you instantly as he slinks out of the school gates, bag tossed loosely over his shoulder.

“My socks are wet now,” you whine, patting down the edges of your skirt to look down at your shoes. You’d only just bought them recently, and your mom likely wouldn’t be pleased with the prospect of you ruining them so soon.

Kinich chuckles at first, a snarky sound as thick as the gathering clouds, only to sigh when your pout persists.

“Alright, alright,” he relents, squatting to the ground and gesturing for you to get on his back. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

He’s a bit frail, still in his growing phase—his bones and muscles shift rhythmically under his skin as he walks—but he’s so distinctly warm. The heat makes you curl closer, nose brushing against his neck.

He walks you home most days like this, spending the day at your house until the sky grows dark with dusk. His home life is something he rarely discusses, but you know enough, and you’re happy to welcome him to yours.

“You’re slow,” you mumble into his shoulder. The steady thump of his steps is comforting, nearly putting you to sleep.

“You’re heavy,” Kinich replies teasingly, adjusting your weight atop his back. His words are biting, but he’s being careful with his steps nonetheless, taking each one lightly so as not to jostle you.

“You’re rude,” you scoff back. His nose scrunches in annoyance when you loop your arms tighter around his neck, pretending to choke him as punishment. “You’re not supposed to say that to a girl.”

He blows his bangs out of his eyes, peering up at the newly visible sun that starts to dip low in the sky. You watch a cat scurry through the bushes to your right, golden eyes peering through the foliage before disappearing into the darkness. 

“Yeah, that’s why I’m saying it to you.”

Kinich is always a bit wittier than you, a bit quicker to the punch, but you like that about him. You like a lot of things about him, and you’re sure he knows it, too. A weighty silence settles between the two of you, unnatural—it’s usually you who fills the silence, and Kinich who patiently listens.

But something bigger sits at the back of your mind, and the words are having trouble surmounting the obstacle of your tongue. 

You’re still floundering for something to say by the time your house appears in the distance. The sight lights a fire under you—you don’t want to discuss something like this with your mother in earshot. You force the words out, voice weak and small.

“I heard Mualani confessed to you yesterday.”

The rumor had flown through the school like wildfire. Mualani is popular with the boys after all, so there’s bound to be quite a bit of heartbreak if she ends up in a relationship. Someone had seen them together at that sakura tree behind the school, and it instantly became a hot topic—it’s all you’ve heard about all day.

And though you know it’s not really any of your business, you can’t help but be curious, and the thought fills you with dread.

You manage a glance at his expression, searching for any sort of unrest, but he doesn’t show any at all. In fact, he seems wholly uninterested in the topic.

He shrugs. “Yeah, so?”

You take a deep breath for courage—you’re not sure you want to hear his answer. 

“So? What did you tell her?”

And it’s nothing against Mualani, really—she’s kind and beautiful, and you wouldn’t blame Kinich for falling for her. She’s never done anything wrong to you at all. But a beat passes, and you’re already halfway through mourning the end of your long-time crush when he replies.

“I told her I was flattered, but I wasn’t interested.”

A sigh of relief escapes you then, but you reel it in quickly—he can probably feel you relax against his back at his response.

“Oh,” is all you say, as aloof as you can manage. Kinich latches onto your hesitation instantly.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” comes your hasty reply. “...Is there any reason you said no, though?”

He frowns. “I don’t know. She just isn’t my type.”

“...Then what is your type?”

You’re going too far, you know—even just speaking the words has your chest twisting painfully, and you want to crawl into a hole and disappear. If Kinich isn’t an idiot, he can surely tell why you’re practically breathing down his neck over the whole thing.

But maybe Kinich is a little bit of an idiot, at least about these things, because he merely shrugs.

“Not sure. Never really thought about it.”

A frost unfurls in your chest, bitter—of course Kinich wouldn’t know, he’s never thought about anyone that way. Including you.

“Right.” You attempt a laugh, teeth gritting. “It’s all stupid anyway.”

You drop your head into his shoulder, trying to hide the pained expression on your face, and only then does Kinich’s stare flicker to you, soft.

“Right,” he says, a quiet rumble from his chest. “It’s really, really stupid.”

III.

Walks turn to drives when Kinich turns sixteen and buys his own car.

He’d saved up for months, working part-time jobs on weekends and after school, until the day finally came when he pulled up into your driveway, keys in hand. Your mom had been overwhelmingly proud—bought a cake and everything—and you’d merely been grateful that you no longer had to beg her to drive you places. 

It’s nothing crazy, just a simple sedan, but it represents a freedom that the two of you have never experienced together before.

That’s how you end up parked underneath the flickering streetlight just outside your house, excitedly recounting a story to your best friend. He’d driven you home from your club after school, an errand that always ended in several other stops—today, it had been fast food and boba.

His eyes seem to glow in the fading daylight, a pretty jade and amber that you’ve always thought was beautiful. It feels a bit more intense with his stare trained on you—Kinich isn’t the talkative type, sure, but he always ensures that you know he’s listening.

“So then she was asking me about you.”

“Mhm.”

“And get this,” a nervous chuckle escapes you then, “she thought we were dating.”

Everything falls still.

It’s times like this that you really start to hate just how unreadable your best friend can be. Despite how much you tease him for it, you actually enjoy how difficult it can be to force an expression out of him—it’s a little challenge every day. But now, when you’re on the precipice of pouring your heart out, his impassive expression stings.

Nothing on his face changes, save for a slight tilt of his head—he’s considering your words. The silence feels endless; a lump starts to form in your throat, humiliation burning at your cheeks. 

“I know, it’s so ridiculous,” you assert hurriedly, trying to avoid the rush of shame. “I mean, we would never—”

“Tell her we are, then.”

You’re sure that in that moment, your heart stops. 

Truthfully, you hadn’t planned to get this far—you were planning on brushing over that part of the story and moving on, but something deep in your heart had forced it out of you. Now, you aren’t sure what you really want to happen.

It’s always been your underlying fear, that once Kinich finds out, everything will change. Or even if he does return your feelings, it’ll all go up in flames eventually and you’ll never be the same. It’s terrifying enough to have kept your mouth shut all these years.

A tense laugh erupts from your throat, cutting through the silence. “I—I mean, it’s not that simple—”

He arches a brow. “Do you not want to?”

That’s another difference between you and Kinich—he’s far more straightforward about getting things that he wants. It’s one of the reasons that people misinterpret him as cold, but he sees it as being logical.

You gnaw at your lip, fingers tracing over the car door. Do you?

If the countless daydreams and romantic notebook doodles are anything to go by, you do. You really do. You’re just not sure if you’re brave enough to take that step.

When you look at him again, he’s observing you carefully, a delicate fondness lying in his stare. You shrink under the weight of it.

“No, I do,” you admit quietly. 

The moment falls still, and your eyes are drawn to the only movement within your line of vision—the quick bob of Kinich’s throat. Then, his hand advances toward your face at a measured pace, giving you endless opportunities to retreat.

Of course, you don’t.

“Can I…?” he asks, barely a brush of a whisper. The tension runs thick in the air as his tongue peeks out, swiping over his bottom lip at a tantalizing pace. It’s nearly enough to drive you crazy, but you know he’s just as anxious.

“Yes,” you breathe, wincing at the sound of your own voice—it sounds almost too eager.

But Kinich presses his lips to yours all the same, soft and wanting, and your heart flutters in your chest. It’s a chaste kiss, nothing like the fireworks-exploding-making-out-with-tongue types you’ve seen on TV, but it’s just right—it feels like him, and that’s all that matters. He pulls away slightly, lips still millimeters away from yours.

“I like you. If I’m not wrong, you like me too. I think it’s that simple.”

You almost want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Though you’d never admit it, you’ve practiced this scenario thousands of times in front of your bedroom mirror—what you would say to him, what he might say to you. Leave it to Kinich to not follow the script.

But he’s always done things his own way, so really, you should’ve expected this.

Gently, he reaches for your hand, fingers slotting through yours with ease. You sigh.

“I guess it is.”

IV.

“...that far, huh?”

Kinich stares at you upside down, head dangling off the edge of your bed as you sit at your desk, laptop keys clicking rapidly. He knows you’re serious about your future goals; you both are. He just never imagined it would bring the two of you so far apart.

You pause with one hand resting on the mouse, still staring at the screen. The map looks so daunting, too daunting, and you can’t imagine being that far away from him. 

An awkward, weighted silence hangs in the air, and by the time a few seconds pass, you’ve already foreseen eighty different bad endings for this situation. Clearing your throat once, you force yourself to speak.

“Kinich, I—”

“I get it.”

He doesn’t mean to interrupt you so suddenly, but he does. He couldn’t stop himself if he tried. Because while he does understand—he really does—he also can’t help the stinging sensation of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. It feels pathetic. It feels selfish. Here you are, chasing your dreams and supporting his, and he’s caught on the fact that there will be a little space between the two of you. And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but maybe you’ll get tired of waiting and—

“You’ll come back to me, right?”

There’s an unmistakable thickness to your voice, evidence of the steadily growing lump in your weary throat. It grows larger with every passing second, an insurmountable mass dwarfed only by the impending distance between you and him.

That question catches Kinich off-guard, and he nearly wants to laugh then; not because he doubts you at all, but because he doesn’t, and he finds it ridiculous that you would ever think otherwise. Here you are, worrying about him.

Kinich doesn’t have any doubts or fears. He never does when he’s with you.

Maybe that’s why.

With a light laugh, he lets his eyes flutter closed, finally allowing an uneven breath to fill his lungs. The natural light outside is slowly dimming, the fluorescent lamps dotting your street flicking on one by one. He knows he should go home soon. His car is sitting outside, the same one the two of you have had endless adventures, fights, and make-ups in. It’s the same one he will use when he moves an unfathomable distance away from you. The same one he will use on the day you will cry, clinging to him like your life depends on it, before watching him disappear into nothing but a mere dot in the distance.

His fist clenches at his side. 

But you’re still here, the closest feeling he has to home, and you’re still in love with him, and he is still in love with you.

Maybe that’s why this is enough, for now. 

Turning onto his stomach, Kinich sees you right-side up this time, and it’s like nothing has changed.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.” 

V.

A knock echoes on your apartment door in the middle of the night.

You raise a brow at the sound, a bit unnerved—a lone college girl answering the door in the dark isn’t the safest thing, you think as you peek one eye through the peephole. But there’s a familiar figure standing outside, and it has your hand turning the knob immediately and flinging the door open.

He’s here.

“Kinich,” you breathe, in disbelief. Last you’d heard, he was somewhere halfway across the country, and certainly nowhere near your front door. But he’s here, in a black hoodie and grey sweatpants, looking like he’s just walked out of your dreams.

“Hey,” he says simply, as if his appearance hadn’t been totally shocking. He takes advantage of your shell-shocked state to invite himself inside, curiously looking through your apartment. “Nice place.”

You step aside in a daze. “Kinich—you—what are you doing here?”

He’s holding three flimsy bags in his fist, grocery store logos and restaurant labels stamped over the plastic, keys hanging off his pinky finger. He’d come prepared, clearly, but for what you’re not sure. 

He towers over you a bit more than he used to, hair a bit longer, and everything about him feels so grown up. It reminds you of all the moments the two of you have missed over the years, how much change has occurred beneath your nose, maybe without you realizing. 

He spreads the bags over your kitchen table—the mouth-watering smell of Chinese takeout filters through the air, and your stomach grumbles in reply. But it’s your tear ducts that react initially, a sting at the corners of your eyes as you squeeze them shut.

Kinich doesn’t notice at first, absorbed in inspecting the photos displayed on your wall—photos of you, photos of him, photos of the two of you together. It makes his chest warm that you still think about those times. He does too—after all, it’s rare that you leave his mind.

But he turns back to you, tears running rivers down your cheeks, and his breath hitches.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, carefully cupping your face. A lilt of panic laces his voice. “Does something hurt? Are you sick?”

“You’re here,” you sob, curling into his shoulder. None of it feels real. He’s warm and firm beneath your fingers, and you clutch at him tighter, half-expecting everything to disappear. It’s so much different than FaceTime or calling or anything else you do when he’s away. Because right now, he’s completely within your reach, and everything falls into place.

“Of course I am,” he murmurs. You cry into his hoodie, soaking the fabric with your tears, but he holds you close all the same. “Because you’re here.”

You spend a few minutes that way—you crying until your tears dry over your skin, and him comfortingly rubbing at your back. Air slowly returns to your lungs, and you sniffle, glassy eyes meeting his. 

“But why? I mean, it’s the middle of the semester, isn’t it?”

A rare half-smirk graces his lips.

“We made a promise. I came back to you first. So I do believe that means that I win,” he says. If you weren’t so emotional, you might have rolled your eyes—of course, all he ever focuses on is winning.

He drags you over to the couch, laying down and pulling you on top of him, safe. You draw closer to him, tangling your limbs together until you’re not sure where he ends and you begin.

“You’re annoying,” you whisper, muffled into his chest.

Kinich shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“You’re still a sore loser. Thought you’d grow out of that by now.”

You grumble a few choice words at him, and he smiles—a sight that only you and the stars can claim to have ever seen.

And he’s right; you are a sore loser, and he’s been right just about every time he told you so. But you find it doesn’t matter, not really.

You could never win against Kinich anyway.

(Maybe you never wanted to.)