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hanniebaeee · 1 day ago

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Without you

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: lots of tears

Genre: established relationship, angst, fluff

Summary: When Hyunjin comes home after a week away for work, he finds you gone. And he's furious because you didn't say a word, just packed and left. And he knows it has everything to do with the dinner you had with his parents just before he left.

a/n: writing my pain away. I'm sorry if this is too angsty.

Hyunjin’s knuckles rapped against Jisoo’s front door with such force you feared that it might come off its hinges. You glanced at Jisoo, your face streaked with tears, your heart racing.

“Y/N!” His voice came through the door, sending a jolt of panic through your chest. “Open the damn door, or so help me, I’ll kick it down.”

Jisoo shot you a glance, silently asking if you wanted her to handle it. You just shook your head. You had to face him at some point.

“You sure?” Jisoo asked, her protective instincts flaring.

You nodded, and she sighed before walking towards the door.

Memories of that night flashed through your mind painfully. Dinner at his parents’ place. Everything was going fine until his mum cornered you in the kitchen as you helped her put things away. She was so polite as she suggested that her son was very impulsive, and rarely thought things through.

You heart nearly stopped as she said that, because you had a feeling where this conversation was headed. And then she told you with a smile that if you really loved him, you'd stop holding him back, and let him have the life he truly deserved - a life with a Korean girl who'd fit better with his family. With him.

And she had proceeded to pretend like everything was ok the rest of the night, while you had to do everything in your power to not break down. He was their only son. You didn't want to ruin his relationship with them, considering how wildly protective he was of you.

The man loved you with everything in him. And Hyunjin literally wore his heart on his sleeves, and you would never knowingly do anything to agitate him. And so you'd gone home silently that night, spent a long time silently sobbing in the bathroom as he packed for a one week trip. He had multiple shows scheduled for the week, all outside Korea.

Obviously he knew the minute you emerged from the bathroom with a smile. He had stared into your eyes, his mouth opening and closing like he desperately wanted to talk. But he had to leave in another hour, and he didn't want to start a conversation that he knew he couldn't finish before he left. So he engulfed you in a hug, kissed you deeply and told you that he loved you. And that you're his entire world.

But sadly, that didn't make your aching insecurities vanish. Because after he left, you'd packed your own bags and called Jisoo, panicking.

He called out again, this time a little softer, but his tone was dripping with frustration.

“Jisoo, I know you’re in there. And I know she’s with you. Let me in.” he said. “Please.”

“Fine! But if you make her cry again, I'll make you suffer.” Jisoo opened the door, shooting him a glare as she moved aside. “She's in the guest room.”

Hyunjin stormed in, wearing his travel-worn hoodie and sweatpants, looking so tired, but furious at the same time.

His sharp eyes locked onto you immediately as he stepped into the guest bedroom. Hyunjin stood there for a moment, staring at you. Your face was nearly unrecognizable - eyes swollen, skin blotchy from crying for days. You could barely keep your eyes open.

Hyunjin’s chest rose and fell with deep breaths, and you could see the tension radiating off him.

“You wanna explain to me what the hell is going on?” he asked finally, his voice tight with barely suppressed anger.

You tried to hold his gaze, but the intensity in his eyes was unbearable.

“Hyunjin, please don’t do this right now,” you muttered, wiping your face with the sleeve of your oversized sweater.

“Oh, we’re doing this,” he said, stalking toward you like a predator who’d just spotted its prey. He crossed his arms, towering over you. “Start talking. Now.”

You folded your arms, a weak attempt to put up a barrier. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Nothing to talk about?” He scoffed, letting out a humorless laugh. “That’s rich, considering I came home to our apartment looking like a ghost town. All your stuff gone. My gifts left behind like they were trash. And you dodging my calls?”

His voice was rising, and it was clear that more than anger, he was hurt.

“I didn’t dodge your calls,” you countered weakly, your voice breaking.

“You didn’t answer them. Or my texts,” he fired back. “What the hell, Y/N? I want you to tell me why you thought it was okay to pack your things and leave without a word."

You tried to muster the courage to stay firm, to push him away like his mother had suggested.

“I… I think we’re too different, Hyunjin.” The words tasted bitter on your tongue. “It's for the best…”

His jaw clenched, his angelic features hardening. “Bullshit.”

Your eyes widened at his bluntness, and how he took another step forward.

“You don’t get to pull this ‘too different’ crap on me now,” he snapped. “If you don’t want to be with me anymore, fine, say that. But don’t lie to me. Is that it? You don't love me?”

“No, no,” you insisted, though your voice was shaky. “Hyunjin, please-”

“Then tell me why you cried your eyes out after that dinner,” he challenged. “Tell me why my mom’s been calling me nonstop asking if you’re okay.”

Your heart sank. Of course, he’d piece it together. He wasn’t stupid.

Hyunjin exhaled, running a hand through his short hair, his frustration giving way to something softer. “Baby, what did she say to you?”

You bit your lip, shaking your head. “Hyunjin, it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” he said, his voice cracking. “It matters if it’s enough to make you leave me.”

Tears welled up in your eyes again, and your eyes burned as you blinked them back.

“She loves you, Jinnie…whatever she wants for you, it's for the best…you do deserve better,” you admitted quietly. “Someone who fits into your world better than I do.”

Hyunjin let out a low curse, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He turned away for a moment, running both hands through his hair as he paced the room, trying to calm the storm brewing inside him.

“You deserve someone who won’t hold you back.”

He froze, his gaze darkening as he asked, “You think you hold me back?”

“Hyunjin -”

“I don’t care what she said,” he snapped, cutting you off. “I’m asking you. Do you think that?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

“Y/N,” he whispered, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you. “You’re my world. No one else fits better into it than you. My mom doesn’t get to decide who’s good enough for me, baby. I do. And guess what? You’re it. You’ve always been it. Don’t you see that?”

“I just…” You shook your head, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to cause problems for you. I love you too much to -”

“To what?” he interrupted, stepping closer again. His hands found your face, his touch firm but gentle as he tilted your chin up to make you look at him. “To stay? To fight for us?”

You swallowed hard, your heart aching at the sincerity in his voice.

“And if my mom can’t see what we have, that’s her problem,” he continued, his tone fierce. “But you don’t get to decide for me. You don’t get to run away without even talking to me.”

You felt your resolve crumbling, your walls breaking down under the weight of his words.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you muttered, trying to push him away.

“Like what?” He smirked, his confidence creeping back. “Like I’m madly in love with you?”

“Hyunjin…” Your voice was barely audible as you mumbled, “I don't want you to regret this. Ever.”

“Don’t you dare,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Don’t you dare say that. Because it's bullshit. You’re everything to me.”

The tears flowed freely now, and you couldn’t stop them even if you tried. “But your mom -”

“I’ll handle my mom,” he growled, cutting you off again. “You’re my choice, Y/N. My family. My life.”

His words shattered the last of your resolve, and before you knew it, you were sobbing into his chest, clutching at his hoodie. He held you close, his arms wrapped around you so tight.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your hair, his voice trembling. “And I’m yours. Don’t ever forget that.”

You nodded against him, too overwhelmed to speak. A small tearful laugh escaped you, despite the tears still streaming down your face.

“There’s my girl,” he teased, brushing a thumb over your cheek to wipe your tears away. “Now, grab your things. Let’s go home.”

You hesitated, still unsure if you could ever face his mother again.

“Don’t worry about her,” he added, as if reading your mind. “I’ll handle it. This is not your battle, okay?”

And just like that, the weight on your chest began to lift. In that moment, nothing else mattered. It was just you and Hyunjin - two souls refusing to let go of each other.

And you knew, deep down, that you never would.

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world

#skz #stray kids #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin angst #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz fluff #skz angst #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst

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tinythebunni · 2 days ago

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How bunnyprincess!reader and Rafe met!!

inspired by @rafesangelita @princessbrunette

Rafe always came to the country club on the weekends and on Wednesdays to play golf with his friends. He wore a polo every time and always had his shoes shined pristine. Rafe usually ended up winning and afterwards he’d go inside to sit by the bar or swim in the pool.

After a long and tedious match, Rafe ended up losing. He wasn’t completely locked in on the match due to the argument with Rose this morning.

Walking inside and huffing a sigh, he took off his shirt and slouched in the lounge chair with Kelce and Topper joining him. Rafe ran his hand through his sweaty buzzed hair and used his shirt to wipe his head. He closed his eyes, zoning out the stupid conversation around him.

his head was fucking pounding and their nonsensical ramblings made him even more and more irritated. pinching the bridge of his nose he sighed as he heard someone walking over to them. probably one of those fucking bartenders, he thought to himself.

Rafe was ready to just up and leave at this point but then he noticed 3 things. He could smell the sweet scent of your perfume. Smelled of cupcakes and the sugar cookies his mom would make. Your voice sounded of honey drizzling. And when he opened his eyes, his lashes flutter at how beautiful you were.

“Hai guys! The usual?” you spoke as you pulled out your notepad. your eyes did a sweep over the three guys in front of you, lingering a bit on him. Rafe was very fucking confused, he’d never seen you before and he definitely would know.

Kelce went to open his mouth but Rafe was faster than him. “What’s your name?” He spoke, sounding a little more angry than he meant to.

“Oh i’m sorry if i interrupted your nap, i just know that these two like to-“ He cut you off once more.

“Forget about it bun, ‘m not worried bout it. last fucking thing on my mind right now.”

you blushed and blinked, wide eyed. You told him your name, pen resting on your lip as you looked at him. He introduced himself to you and stood. he towered over you, which was unusual. being tall yourself, you often felt like a giant compared to most guys on the island.

Rafe smirked at your reaction, a laugh bubbling out his throat. You could sense the God inside him, aching to be let out. Maybe you were a bit dramatic but you’re just a teenage girl!

Stepping closer to you, he put his hand on your hip and turned you so that you were right next to him. He slid his hand to the small of your back, whispering a quick come with me to you before turning around and smiling at the boys.

“Rafe come on! Ya can’t keep stealing the pretty girls.” Topper yelled in exasperation, throwing his hands up.

Rafe chuckled before saying something that made your heart flutter. “You don’t gotta worry bout that no more. I want to keep this one. Make her mine and all that” he replied.

As he lead you away to a table in the corner, he asked you little questions. Mainly about your love life, what you were doing at this bar. “girl like you should never have to work. too pretty for all that shit” He added, watching as you glanced down as if your shoes were the most interesting thing in the world.

his thumb tilted your head up and you looked away nervously. “Hey hey. none of that shit. Look at me.” You did as he said, not wanting to lose his attention. “you should have someone providing for you. So you can do all that girly shit yall like and not worry about it.” He watched as you smiled, eating up your reaction. His tounge darts out to swipe at his bottom lip before he speaks again.

“I could be that for you. All my money just rots in my fucking bank account anyways. You want me to be that for you? Could be your boyfriend. Keep your tummy full, nails done, and make you feel good. Whenever you need it.” His words made you flush, your chest blooming with nerves and anxiety. But in the best way possible.

You nodded, your eyes a bit glossy at the casual dominance. You’d always been one to prefer when people take charge about certain things. And this? it was perfect. “Yea. I’d really like dat Rafe.” You stepped closer, making a move. You placed your hand on his chest and stood on your tip toes to kiss his cheek. “Can you wait for me to finish my shift? It’s over in 30 and I wanna talk to you more” you pouted trying to win him over as you regained your confidence.

“Fuck yea!” he said a little too excited. “I mean, yea yea for sure.” he corrected, nodding his head and he turned on his heel. You watched him walk away, noticing the slight bounce in his step.

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goldfades · 24 hours ago

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more luke hughes fics im literally on my knees

i haven't written for baby luke in forever and since i am deathly ill, here is a little fic about being sick.

Luke Hughes is dying.

At least, that's what he claims, his voice scratchy with dramatic flair as he groans from the depths of your bed—not his bed, of course, because apparently yours is "infinitely more comfortable." Never mind that his mattress is practically brand new, or that he has a fancy memory foam pillow that cost more than your monthly grocery bill. No, according to Luke, your slightly lumpy, average, definitely-not-fancy bed holds some magical, restorative quality that his can't compete with. He's staked his claim, a tangle of long limbs and disheveled blankets, looking like the tragic hero of his own melodramatic play.

You stand in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the heap of misery that is your boyfriend. His hoodie is bunched up around his waist, revealing a sliver of pale skin, and his nose is an impressive shade of pink. A tissue dangles precariously from his hand, and a mountain of its crumpled comrades litters the floor beside him like the aftermath of a very soft, very sneezy battle.

"I think I'm dying," Luke mumbles, voice thick with congestion, like he’s auditioning for the role of Most Pathetic Human Alive.

"You're not dying," you reply, deadpan. "You have a cold."

He sniffles dramatically, pulling the blanket up over his head with the kind of effort that suggests he's lifting a thousand-pound weight. "It's worse than a cold. It's, like, a super cold. A mega cold."

You roll your eyes, but there's an undeniable fondness tucked between the sarcasm and sighs. Crossing the room, you perch on the edge of the bed, nudging his burrito-shaped form with your elbow. "Did the super cold steal your ability to get up and drink water? Because there's a glass on the nightstand that's been sitting there since this morning."

A muffled, tragic noise emerges from under the blanket. "It tastes better when you bring it to me."

Of course it does.

You sigh, not because you're annoyed, but because this is Luke—your Luke. And if he wants to be a big, whiny baby about his "super cold," you can let him have this one. Grabbing the glass, you shift closer, lifting his blanket just enough to see his pouty, flushed face peeking out.

"Here, Your Highness," you say, gently pressing the cool glass to his hands. He takes it with exaggerated gratitude, like you've just fetched him water from the Fountain of Youth.

"You're the best," he croaks dramatically, taking a small sip as if it's his last.

You brush his messy hair off his damp forehead, the affection slipping through without resistance. "Anything else for the dying man? Grapes? A cool cloth? A lullaby?"

His eyes, glassy from the congestion, brighten a little. "A cuddle might help. For medicinal purposes."

You chuckle softly, sliding under the covers beside him. He immediately drapes himself over you, all heavy limbs and needy warmth, burying his face into your neck with a satisfied sigh.

"Definitely medicinal," he mumbles, already sounding less miserable.

And even though he’s sniffly and probably spreading his germs, you let him.

A few minutes pass, filled with his occasional sniffles and dramatic sighs. Then, with a pitiful groan, he mumbles, "I might never recover. This could be it for me."

You bite your lip to keep from laughing, the corners of your mouth twitching. "Oh no, what will the world do without Luke Hughes?"

"It'll be a darker place," he whispers, clutching your arm weakly, as if this is his final goodbye. "Tell my story. Be brave."

You snort, unable to hold it in any longer. "I'll make sure they build a statue in your honor. Right in the middle of the living room."

He peeks up at you with glassy, puppy-dog eyes, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the act. "Make sure it’s life-sized. Actually, bigger. Like, heroic proportions."

"Naturally," you reply, stroking his hair with mock seriousness. "Anything for the hero of our time."

And even though he's being ridiculous, you don't mind. Because he's your ridiculous, dramatic, oversized baby—and you love him for it.

A week later, the universe proves it has a twisted sense of humor.

You’re bundled on the couch, tissues piled around you in a sad, crumpled fortress, your head pounding and nose stuffy—an exact, miserable mirror of Luke’s performance from last week. The only difference? You’re not nearly as dramatic. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Luke, on the other hand, is thriving. Not because you’re sick—though he does seem a little too smug about it—but because he’s now fully recovered and basking in the role reversal with alarming enthusiasm.

He saunters into the living room, wearing that infuriatingly healthy glow, hair tousled perfectly like he’s in a shampoo commercial. He’s holding a cup of tea with both hands, an exaggerated look of sympathy plastered on his face.

“Aww, look at my poor, sick baby,” he coos, crouching beside you and tucking the blanket around your shoulders like you’re fragile glass. “Is this what it felt like when I was dying?”

You glare at him, voice raspy as you croak, “You weren’t dying.”

“Oh, I was,” he insists dramatically, setting the tea down with the flair of someone performing a sacred ritual. “But unlike some people, I didn’t complain.”

You snort, which unfortunately turns into a cough. Luke pats your back with an over-the-top gentleness, like he’s comforting a Victorian child with consumption.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers, brushing your hair off your clammy forehead with mock tenderness. “I’ll tell your story. Be brave.”

You weakly smack his arm, but the grin on your face betrays you.

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honeyryewhiskey · 1 day ago

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when dean falls in love

or, all the little details that run through dean's mind when he's falling in love. and all the fears and self-doubt that come crashing down on him. warnings ! a pinch of angst | mostly feel good | kissing | confessions | dean admiring reader | dean's internal struggles | reader being patient | sam third wheeling j's note ! this is my apology for that sad one i posted last night. also, i had little baby 26-year-old dean in mind for this one. enjoy <3 5k words

Few rules exist in Dean’s life—most are made to be bent, broken, or ignored altogether. But you?

You’re the exception. You’re the rule he refuses to cross.

You are entirely off-limits.

Not that you seem to care. You crashed into the Winchesters' world like a wildfire, all sharp eyes and steady hands, showing up guns blazing in the middle of a nasty hunt. There was no slow introduction, no time for cautious trust. One minute, it was just another night, another hunt—then suddenly, there you were, standing in the wreckage, breathing heavily, covered in blood that wasn’t yours.

Dean should’ve known to let go right then and there—you were too good to be true. But he didn’t. Instead, you stuck to the corners of his mind like sugar between his teeth, sweet and relentless. Your energy, raw and electric, burned through everything around you. You invaded his thoughts, wrapped around his mind like a constant hum.

You were the kind of girl who made a man forget his own damn rules.

At first, Dean tells himself this newfound trio is temporary.

You’re a lone wolf, and the Winchesters don’t do long-term attachments. But somehow, you weave yourself into their lives like you’ve always belonged.

You slip into the passenger seat of the Impala without waiting for an invitation, kicking your feet up on the dash just to piss him off. You steal fries off his plate like it’s second nature, smirking when he glares at you but never stopping. You roll your eyes at his bravado, call him out when he’s being an ass, and yet—when it matters—you’re always there. Ready to fight. Ready to bleed for this life, for them.

For him.

Dean tells himself he doesn’t notice the little things. The way you hum along to his rock tapes like you’ve known them forever, how your hands—so much softer than he deserves—patch him up without hesitation. The way you meet his teasing with just as much fire, never backing down.

None of it means anything.

Because it can’t.

Not when he’s always been too rough, too jagged around the edges to hold onto something as good as you. Somewhere around his twentieth birthday, he made peace with the fact that he was cursed—fated to be nothing more than a soldier, a brother, a blade meant for war.

Being anything else, wanting anything more—wanting you—would only end in tragedy.

But then he catches Sam talking to you in hushed voices over coffee in the morning, like you’re family. As if every diner table and wobbly motel kitchenette was always meant to sit the three of you. He watches you clean his gun without being asked, like it’s second nature now. He hears your voice on the other end of his phone at 3 a.m., always answering when he calls, asking if he’s okay after a rough hunt.

And just like that, you’re in. You’re a part of them.

A part of him.

And that? That’s the most dangerous thing of all.

Dean doesn’t know when it happened—when the lines started to blur, when the rule he swore by turned into something fragile, something breakable.

Maybe it’s the way you slip so effortlessly into their lives, settling into the spaces he didn’t even realize were empty—mediating brotherly arguments like you were always meant to be their missing piece. Maybe it’s the sound of your laughter, bright and unshaken, slicing through the heaviness of a bad hunt. Or maybe it’s the way you look at him, like he’s something more than the scars, more than the sharp edges—like he’s worth seeing at all.

Or maybe it’s the small moments like this.

The diner is warm, buzzing with the quiet hum of conversation, the clatter of silverware against plates. Sam’s focus is his laptop, half-listening to whatever you’re saying as you flip through the menu, sitting beside Dean, debating tonight’s meal. Dean’s trying to keep up, trying to ground himself in the normalcy of it all.

And then, without a second thought, you reach for his jacket.

It’s been draped over the back of the booth since he sat down, familiar and worn, carrying the weight of long nights and too many miles. And you just take it, slipping your arms through the sleeves, tugging the collar up like it belongs to you.

Dean’s fingers tighten around the menu.

It’s nothing new—he’s handed it over a dozen times before, thrown it around your shoulders without a second thought on cold nights. But this? This is different. You didn’t ask. Didn’t even hesitate. You just did it, like it was instinct, like it was yours.

He clears his throat, trying to force down the feeling clawing its way up his chest. “Comfy?”

You hum, settling into the fabric, your fingers curling into the sleeves. “Mmhmm.” Your voice is light, easy. “You always run so warm. Thought I’d steal a little of that.”

Dean swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry. Prying his eyes off of you, he tries again to look like he’s reading the menu. Scanning the small font, even though he’s already decided on a burger and fries like he always gets.

Across from him, Sam sighs, clicking at his keyboard. “You guys do realize you act like a couple, right?”

Dean shoots him a glare. “Shut up.”

Your laugh falls out sweet and quiet, the sound pressing against his heart with a persistence to make it move faster. Your boot nudges Dean’s under the table, and he takes it as an excuse to look at you again. “You jealous, Sammy? Want me to steal your jacket next?”

Dean barely hears the response. He watches as you burrow further into his jacket, your nose dipping beneath the collar. Then, with that same mischievous glint in your eye that always spells trouble for him, you lift the collar to make a show of taking a slow, exaggerated sniff.

His brows press down, lashes forming a tight squint around his eyes as he braces himself, “What the hell are you doing?”

Your lips twitch like you’re holding back a laugh. “One thing about this old jacket, though,” you muse, taking another thoughtful inhale. “There’s this metallicy smell… buried under all that cologne you drown this poor leather in.”

Dean scoffs, shifting in his seat and turning his head to save himself from letting you see the pink creeping up his cheeks. “I do not drown it in cologne.”

Sam doesn’t even look up from his laptop, but his chuckle doesn’t help ease Dean’s embarrassment. “You kinda do.”

Dean’s head shoots up, tilting slightly as he glares at his brother. You’re already grinning, undeterred, your fingers lazily tracing the worn seam of the sleeve. “It’s faint, but it’s there. Like… gunpowder. And whiskey, I would assume. And maybe a little bit of blood?” Your teasing gaze flicks up to meet his, “What have you been getting into, Winchester?”

Dean should play it cool. Shrug it off. But he can feel his ears burning red and hot from that little teasing smile on your lips and his brain is a few steps behind, caught somewhere between you’re too damn close and when did this get so hard to ignore?

He leans back, arms crossing over his chest. His mind makes quick work to steady buzzing nerves, “Dunno what to tell ya, sweetheart,” he sighs, jaw popping as he finds his barings, “That jacket’s seen more action than you have.”

You feign offense, pressing a hand to your chest. “Wow. First, you over-season your leather, and now you’re just slinging insults?” You shake your head, dramatic as ever. “I thought we had something special, D.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Yeah, yeah. You done sniffin’ my jacket, or should I be concerned?”

You huff, settling back against the booth so that your arms brush against each other when you shrug. “I dunno. Might need another whiff.”

Dean points a warning finger at you, his smile breaks his attempt at stoicism, and all it does is make you grin wider.

Sam lets out another long-suffering sigh, shutting his laptop with a little more force than necessary. “I’m concerned. And I’m officially done with this conversation.”

You smirk, smug as ever, but Dean? Dean’s just trying to pretend he’s not completely, stupidly gone for you.

The rest of dinner passes in easy conversation—at least, for you. Dean is quieter than usual, letting you and Sam fill the space between bites of food and stolen fries. He tries to focus on anything else—the chipped laminate of the table, the hum of the old diner lights, the way his fingers tap absently against the side of his glass.

Mostly, he tries not to look at you.

Not when you lean forward, chin propped in your palm, laughing at something Sam says. Not when you nudge his boot under the table, stealing the last bite of his pie with a satisfied little smirk. Not when you adjust the lapels of his leather jacket like it’s yours now, like it belongs to you the way he does.

By the time the check hits the table, he’s still got too many thoughts in his head, and none of them are ones he should be having.

Outside, the night air is crisp, the motel’s flickering vacancy sign glowing just across the lot. Sam mutters something about research and trudges off toward their shared room, leaving the two of you lingering by the diner’s door.

Dean shoves his hands into his pockets, suddenly hyper-aware of how quiet it is. You shift on your feet, then tilt your head toward the motel.

“What’s it gonna be tonight, D?” Your voice is soft, slipping into the quiet like it belongs there. “You sticking around for a bit, or heading to bed?”

Dean exhales, shaking his head. “Gotta make sure you get in safe.”

Your laugh rings through the empty parking lot, light and easy, curling around him like warmth against the cool night air. And despite only wearing a flannel, despite the late hour and the breeze whispering through the lot, he feels nothing but warm.

“Ah, yes,” you tease between giggles, nudging his arm. “My knight in shining armor, always keeping me safe.”

The short walk across the lot is quiet but never empty—the kind of silence that lingers in the spaces between you, comfortable and charged all at once.

At your door, you unlock it with a flick of your wrist, pushing it open before leaning lazily against the frame. The dim motel light catches the amusement in your eyes as you glance back at him.

“See?” You gesture to the empty room with a grin. “All’s quiet on the western front.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves you off, stepping inside without a second thought, the door clicking shut behind him.

You move past him with easy familiarity, shuffling through your things while Dean leans against the dresser, arms crossed over his chest. He watches as you slip into your usual routine—kicking off your shoes, pulling your hair back, stifling a yawn with the sleeve of your sweater. His jacket, draped over the chair beside your bed, stays untouched. He doesn’t move to take it. If he’s honest, he kind of hopes you’ll sleep in it. Let it take on your scent instead of his.

When you return from the bathroom, fresh-faced and sighing contentedly, you crawl onto the bed and sit cross-legged, flipping absentmindedly through an old paperback—the one you grabbed from the library when you were supposed to be researching.

“You gonna tell me what’s got you so deep in thought tonight?” you break into the silence without looking up, voice soft but knowing.

Dean huffs, tipping his head back. He’s trying to find something other than you to look at, he’s gotta stop watching you so often. “I’m always deep in thought.”

You snort, “yeah, okay. Sure.”

Your eyes flicker over him, he’s always following you into your room like a stray pup, like he doesn’t know where else to go. He lingers in your space, but is careful to maintain a set distance. At first you thought he was trying to claim you as another notch on his bedpost, but all that ever happened on these nights were quiet talks until your eyes grew too heavy to keep open. And by morning, you’d be alone, tucked beneath the blankets like someone made sure they were pulled around you just right.

You watch him for a beat, noting the familiar tension winding through his shoulders. “Seriously, though. You were kinda out of it at dinner.”

Dean hesitates, glancing away like he can pretend he didn’t hear you. His eyes settle on the peeling motel wallpaper, tracing the cracks like they hold some kind of answer. He hadn’t planned on sticking around this late—not when his head is already full of you. Not when it’s dangerous for the sanctity his carefully drawn lines to be near you like this, feeling the way he does.

But neither of you move. You, cross-legged on the bed, book in hand. Him, still leaning against the dresser, pretending he has somewhere else to be.

He should make an excuse, crack a joke, steer this conversation somewhere safer. But your voice, soft and steady, tugs at something in him. And instead of fighting it, he lets himself lean in.

“You ever think about what happens when we stop?”

Your fingers still against the worn pages of your book. “Stop what?”

“This.” He gestures vaguely, like that explains everything. “The hunting, the moving around. All of it.”

Your brows furrow slightly as you consider his words, the weight of them pressing down in a way you don’t want to acknowledge. This life—it’s far from glamorous, but it’s all you’ve got. Stepping away from it is a thought you buried long ago, a fantasy that never had a chance. You shrug, pushing the thought aside. “I don’t know,” you say quietly. “Never really let myself think about it too much.”

Dean exhales a heavy breath, eyes dropping to the floor like the weight of your words is sinking in. “Yeah.”

A beat of quiet settles between you. It’s not uncomfortable, but there’s a weight to it that presses against Dean’s chest, making the space feel tighter than it is. You can feel his tension, like he’s holding something back, but he doesn’t look up.

Then, you shift, breaking the silence with an easy gesture—a pat to the empty space beside you on the bed. “Don’t just trail off on me, D. Sit down. Tell me more.”

Dean hesitates for a split second. This is a bad idea. It’s an invisible line he’s been toeing for too damn long, one he’s tried not to cross—never sit on the bed, never get too close when we’re alone. But then again, it’s you. You’re looking at him like you care, soft and patient, as if whatever’s inside his head actually matters.

And just like that, he gives in. One little exception, just for tonight.

With a quiet sigh, he pushes off the dresser, settling beside you on the bed. He stretches his legs out, but the small mattress makes it impossible to keep any real distance. His legs brush against yours, and his arm brushes yours too. He hopes to hell you don’t see the flush creeping up his neck.

If you notice, you don’t mention it. There’s no teasing, no playful smile—just the quiet comfort of your presence beside him. You don’t push, don’t pry. You just sit there, calm and steady, waiting for him to speak.

“I dunno,” he mutters, “just been thinkin’ lately. About what it all looks like when it’s over. If it ever is.”

You tilt your head, studying him. “And?”

Dean swallows, debating how much to say. How much to admit.

“And… I don’t see much of anything.” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Spent my whole life doing this, I don’t see an ending where I’m not dying at the hands of this. Y’know, going down in the fight.”

You’re quiet for a moment, then—so softly he almost doesn’t notice—you shift closer, your arm snaking its way around his. You’re snuggled right up next to him, watching with careful eyes.

“There will always be monsters to hunt,” you murmur, your voice soft yet steady in the dim room. “But you don’t have to be a warrior forever, D. There will always be hunters, too. Doesn’t mean you have to be one.”

Dean chuckles, but it’s a hollow sound, more an exhale than a laugh. His gaze drifts toward the bedspread, unable to meet yours. "Yeah, well... I don't know if I could just walk away." His words come out quieter, like he’s unsure if he’s talking to you or to himself.

You turn slightly toward him, noticing the tension still coiled in his shoulders. The quiet settles deeper now, heavier with each passing moment, but he doesn’t seem to notice the distance between your words.

“What’s got you thinking about all of this?” you keep your voice light, though there’s a weight to it.

Dean rubs the back of his neck, his thoughts at war with the words he wants to say. "I can’t have the things I want, not really," he finally admits, the confession slipping out before he can second-guess it. His gaze drifts to the side, and his fingertips come up almost absentmindedly, dragging across your temple, pushing stray hairs back into their place.

“This life," he continues, barely above a whisper, "it consumes all the good things in my life."

“Not true,” your voice is firm but gentle, like you’re trying to remind him of something he can’t see.

He doesn’t answer immediately, just quirks a skeptical brow at you.

“You have your brother,” you continue, “and you’ve got me. Nothing in this universe can take us from you.”

Dean’s breath catches, and for the briefest moment, he wonders if you understand just how much weight those words hold. He swallows, trying to hold it together, but he can’t ignore the ache that creeps up his spine. He gives a small, almost rueful chuckle, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "What makes you so sure?"

You meet his gaze with a steady confidence. "Because I know you wouldn’t let it."

His hand lingers by your face, his thumb brushing softly against the warmth of your cheek. There’s an electricity in the touch, something that feels too close and yet too natural. He can feel the way his pulse quickens, how much his body wants to close that last inch of space between you. But he doesn’t.

You don’t push him. You just watch him, like you’re waiting for him to decide whether to take the step—or to retreat.

Dean’s breath catches in his throat, and his eyes drop to your lips for a moment before meeting yours again, like he’s trying to reconcile the gravity of what he’s feeling. His voice drops to almost a whisper, his words thick with something raw. “You have no idea how right you are, little miss.”

Your hand comes up, curling over his with a quiet, deliberate touch. The softness of your skin against his makes it almost impossible for him to remember the times he’s watched you move through the world—handling a gun with precision or a blade like it’s second nature. Most of you makes him forget, really, about everything that doesn’t involve you in this moment.

Your warmth, your softness, it makes him lose himself in daydreams of a version of you—one that doesn’t belong to this life. A version where you’d lean into that gentleness, the part of you that exists outside the hunts and the danger, in a life far away from the chaos that haunts him.

You shift, sitting up, still keeping your gaze on him, and it makes something in his chest tighten. The determined strain in your features catches his attention immediately. It’s the same look you get when you're deep into a lore book, your brow furrowed with that little scowl—like something has piqued your interest, and you won’t rest until you’ve unraveled it completely.

“Dean, there’s more to this than you’re letting on.”

He shakes his head, trying to brush it off with a quick, dismissive shrug, his lips pouting up into his best attempt at nonchalance. “Nope. That’s pretty much it.”

You let out an exasperated huff, and Dean can tell you’re seeing straight through him. It’s not enough to deflect you. What he doesn’t expect, though, is the rough shove to his shoulder. It makes him blink in surprise, but before he can recover, your fingers press right back into the tension of his muscles he’s been trying to ignore all night.

“You’re as stiff as a board,” you point out, your fingers digging in a little harder. “Something’s bothering you.”

His breath comes out shakier now, and for a moment, his whole body feels like it’s been wound too tight. You can feel it, he knows you can. There’s no denying it now, but the words feel too heavy in his throat. He wants to argue, to brush it off again, but something in the way you’re watching him shifts. It’s not just curiosity anymore—it’s concern. And maybe, just maybe, a part of him wants to let you in.

But damn if it doesn’t feel like a risk.

Dean shifts uncomfortably, trying to pull away, but the pressure of your fingers is a subtle anchor, keeping him there. His gaze flits to the floor, anywhere but your eyes, because once he looks at you, he knows he won’t be able to hide.

"I told you, it's nothing," he mutters, his voice rougher than usual, the words escaping before he can stop them. He tries to push himself up, but the weight of your stare presses him back down.

You don’t buy it. You never do.

"No, Dean," you start softly, the concern clear in your voice, "I know you better than that. Something’s been eating at you for a while, and you’re not gonna keep dodging it."

His chest tightens, his heart racing in his ribcage. Every part of him wants to throw up some wall, some excuse. Something to keep you from seeing the rawness of what’s inside. The vulnerability he’s been running from his entire life.

But still, you watch him, waiting, your eyes steady and unwavering.

"Come on, just let it out," you press, your hand moving to his shoulder again, your touch gentle now but insistent. “You don’t have to carry it all by yourself, you know?”

He swallows hard, his jaw tightening, hands suddenly restless at his sides. The fight inside him is crumbling, piece by piece, until he's barely holding on to whatever's left. His voice comes out strained, almost desperate.

“Please, just drop it,” he grinds out, his eyes briefly meeting yours before flicking away again, helplessly. “I’m fine. You don’t... you don’t need to know all of it.”

You sit forward, leaning in just a little, your hand still gently gripping his arm as you search his face. The determination in your gaze doesn’t waver, but there’s something softer there now, almost like a plea. “Dean—”

He jerks back slightly, suddenly standing up with a bit too much force, the air between you thickening with a tension that’s making it harder for him to breathe. He takes a few steps away, running a hand through his hair, his back turned to you as he tries to calm the storm rising inside.

"I can’t do this," he mutters, his voice low, rougher now, like it’s been dragged over gravel. His shoulders still tense with the weight of the world pressing down on him.

You’re silent for a beat, and he knows it’s because you’re giving him space. But he also knows you won’t stop until you get him to say what he’s been holding back.

He exhales sharply, his hands trembling as he clenches them into fists, his back still turned, fighting a battle he knows he’s losing. "God, I don’t want to talk about this." His voice cracks slightly as he says it, and he hates how much it betrays him.

His eyes flick to you then, and there's a crack in the armor—a vulnerability that’s almost painful to see. He looks at you, but he’s not sure he can bear the weight of your gaze anymore. Not when all he wants to do is keep you safe from the wreckage inside him.

His body is coiled tight, but his chest feels like it’s going to implode. He wants to walk away. He wants to escape from the weight of this conversation, from the way you're looking at him like you’re waiting for him to finally crack open and spill it all out.

But when he finally turns back to face you fully, all he sees is that unflinching patience, that quiet insistence that you’re not going to let him go until he finally says what he’s been hiding for so long. It makes him want to burn every rule he’s built for himself.

"You don't get it," he spats roughly, eyes flicking to the floor. "I can’t just... say it. It’s part of me, it’s who I am, this thing that I can’t get away from."

You rise to your feet, crossing the room in one smooth motion. There’s no anger in your steps—just a calm resolve that cuts through the tension between you like a knife.

"I'm not an idiot, Dean," you peek up at him, unfamilarly timid as you cross this uncharted territory. "I see the way you look at me. Hell, at first I thought I was imagining things but I can see it’s eating you alive. And I—” your words cut off in your own shock at the confession, the sincerity in your expression making his knees weak, “I can’t bear to see you like this.”

Your hands reach up tentatively, like you’re scared he’ll tear himself away again. But he stills, letting your warm hands press into either side of his jaw, “you’re my rock, alright?” your words trail into a soft laugh, easing the tension of your own truth. “I don’t wanna live in a world where I’m not by your side, because you make life worth the fight to stay alive. But you can’t just keep me in the dark, I have to know what you’re feeling.”

His breath catches in his throat, the weight of your words hitting him harder than he expected. The realization that you know, that you’ve seen through all his defenses, makes everything inside him ache.

"I don’t know what you want from me," it comes out sounding like a plea, still looking for an excuse to retreat into himself.

"I want you to stop hiding from me." Your words are simple, but they strike right at the heart of the matter. "I want you to stop pretending like you can’t have the one thing you want most."

His throat tightens, and he shakes his head, trying to dismiss it. "I don’t get it," he mumbles, though his eyes are locked on yours, searching for the reprieve he still doesn’t believe he’ll find. "I don’t... I’m not fit for this."

"I’m not either, D. I’m just asking you to let it happen." You’re so close now, he can feel the warmth of your body, the soft pressure of your fingers against his jaw. Your gaze doesn’t break, it never wavers.

And that’s when it hits him. He’s been afraid of this—afraid of the way you make him feel like he can finally breathe, like all of his pain and avoidance can cease in your presence. he’s been holding himself together with tattered shreds for so long, and you’re the only thing that’s strong enough to pull him out of the mess he’s made of himself.

And letting that security live in someone else terrifies him more than any monster he’s faced.

“I’m not perfect,” he admits quietly, his words like gravel in his throat. “I’m broken, and I’m scared as hell, but god, if you only knew how much I want—”

You stop him with a soft kiss, the sweetest touch of your lips to his. It's gentle, almost hesitant, but it shatters something inside him, enough to freeze him in place. The weight of everything unspoken presses in, and for the first time, it feels like the walls he's built around himself might finally crumble in your hands.

The chains of his tightly kept composure snap at the delicate pressure of your lips, and without thinking, his arms wrap around you, pulling you closer. His hands find purchase at your waist, holding you as if you were the only thing that kept him grounded. The kiss deepens, desperate, as if he's trying to kiss away the years of holding back, the silent fear of letting you see the real him, the uncertainty of if you’d stay with him in the wreckage.

When you finally pull back, your lips linger just above his, breaths mingling. Your voice is a soft whisper, but it cuts through the tension like a thread being pulled taut. “Then say it, Dean. Tell me what you want.”

His heart beats in his chest, loud and frantic, as his walls come crashing down, piece by piece. He can’t think straight with you in his arms, all of his steely armor melts at your touch. And for the first time in what feels like forever, he lets go of some of those fears.

His eyes are nearly consumed by his pupils as he takes in the sight of you slightly out of breath, lips wet and a little more pink. From his doing, from his touch—it makes every broken rule worth the trouble.

“I've fallen for you, Sweetheart,” he breathes, his voice is raw, shaky, but it's honest, every word carrying the weight of what he’s been holding back. “I want to keep falling for you, love and all that crap. And I’m terrified of it, but I can’t keep hiding this from you.”

Your thumb brushes over his cheek, the gesture soft, but nevertheless, grounding. A quiet smile tugs at the corner of your lips, and your eyes hold nothing but certainty. “You’ll never have to hide any part of yourself, Dean. I’ve been here all along, with nothing but love. Just been waiting for you to see that.”

tags <3 @titsout4jackles @floralscented @deansbeer @snowluvvie @dulcescorderitas @bluemerakis

#dean winchester #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fluff

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inkedinshadows · 1 day ago

Note

the world(and me. mainly me tbh) is in dire need of prompt 22 with eris. also ily and your writing!

Steamy Intentions

Pairing: Eris x f!reader

A/N: thank you my sweet!! ily too 🩷 this one's a bit shorter than the others, but i hope you enjoy anyway!

Prompt: "You're such a tease today."

Warnings: fluff, teasing, suggestiveness

Word count: 588

Eris groaned softly when you pressed your thumbs into the tense knot at the base of his neck.

He was soaking in the bath you had drawn for him earlier, his eyes closed as you massaged his shoulders. It had been a long week, and you could feel it in the lingering tension coiled within his body.

“Your hands work wonders, my love,” he said quietly.

You smiled, continuing your massage for a few more moments before you let your hands slide down to his chest. Leaning forward from where you sat on the edge of the tub, you pressed a trail of tiny kisses from his neck to his ear.

“They can do even more wonders, you know,” you murmured, caressing his chest until your fingertips brushed the warm water.

Eris's eyes remained closed, but you didn't miss the way the corner of his lips curled in a grin. “Oh, I know they can, darling.”

Your mouth trailed down the side of his throat as your hands dipped beneath the water. “Want me to show you?”

His chuckle was low and soft, like a caress. “You’re such a tease today,” he mused. “First with that little dress, now this… What's the occasion?”

You smiled against his skin. “I knew you liked that dress.”

He could deny it all he wanted, but you knew better. You had caught him stealing glances at you every time he thought no one else would notice. But you did. You always did.

“Well, I couldn't let everyone know how much you affect me, could I?” he retorted.

You hummed before leaving one last kiss in his hair and standing up. At the rustle of fabric, Eris cracked open an eye just in time to watch that very dress slip from your shoulders and pool at your feet.

He sat up a little straighter in the tub, arms draped over the edges as you stepped into the water and settled between his legs. Warmth and bubbles immediately surrounded you, but your focus remained on your mate.

“The occasion,” you said slowly, reaching out to brush his jaw with wet fingers, “is that you've been working hard lately. I wanted to help you take your mind off things.”

His already relaxed expression softened further, and he kissed the tip of your thumb when you brushed it over his lips. He wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing you as close as he could in the snug space of the tub.

“Then I must congratulate you, my dear,” he murmured. “Because you've succeeded. I'm as relaxed as I could ever be.”

He pulled you in for a kiss, his lips soft against yours. You indulged him for just a moment, and when you pulled back, he followed, chasing your lips for another kiss. You only smirked.

“Are you, though?” you teased, hands already disappearing beneath the surface. Now that he had drawn you closer, you could feel his erection rest hard and heavy against your thigh. “Because it seems to me like someone might still need those wonders, after all.”

“Don't you act all innocent, as if it isn't entirely your fault.” Eris smirked right back at you. “You've been teasing me all day. And you looked ravishing in that dress.”

You chuckled, leaning in to kiss him again as your fingers wrapped around his hard length. He shivered and throbbed in your gentle grasp.

“Well, then,” you whispered against his lips. “Since it's my fault, I suppose I should make it up to you.”

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

#eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra x y/n #eris acotar #eris vanserra fic #eris vanserra fluff #eris vanserra smut #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #sjm #sarah j maas #fluff #smut #fanfiction #drabble

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crepezinhos · 1 day ago

Text

The Lion and The Fox

POV: Sunday has always had high expectations of you, his dear secretary, and his lovesick obsession for you has only made his trust on you increase uncontrollably. But now, he felt like his world was crumbling right in front of him when he learned that you were pregnant, and the father was the man he most despised, that he wish he could deport from Penacony, Aventurine.

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This is a Yandere and Suggestive SFW Oneshot

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns

— Contains: A lot of dirty-talking and racially-motivated talking, accidental pregnancy, bloody fighting, attempted murder, violent language and obsessive/possessive behavior.

— Yandere!Boss!Sunday x Pregnant!Reader x Yandere!Aventurine

— AU is: In-Game

“Ah, Y/N. You’re here.” Sunday turned his gaze away from the windowed wall of his office with a little grin growing in the edges of his lips to look at you, who was entering the room with embarrassment already taking you over.

“Hi… Mr. Oak.” You didn’t even dare ignoring his greet as you pushed the door back to its place from behind, especially considering how much he personally respected you.

But you immediately sighed in defeat as you realized how obviously awkward your tone accidentally came out of your throat, which you knew would alarm his attentive ears in a blink.

“Is everything okay?” And his speed to figure someone’s head out, or at least yours in particular, made you even less confident to keeping making eye contact at those mesmerizing amber eyes of his. “You seem very disturbed, dear.”

“Mr. Oak, I—” At the same you desperately wanted to vomit those words out of your chest, your logical thinking warned you that the conversation you were about to have with him right now would not be easy work, perhaps even heartbreaking.

Sunday begun silently walking away from his spot and going towards you, as if he was trying to avoid any explosive reaction out of you or comfort you. But unfortunately, his elegant apparent d and tall figure completely triggered the opposite out of you.

“I need to take a break.” You threw your head to the left as you confessed your intentions to him without any further context, paralyzing the Halovian. “Like… a few days or a whole week…”

“A whole week?” Sunday’s tone did not change, though, and after a few seconds waiting for a response, he finally figured you were too uncomfortable to speak any more without his leadership. “May I ask why?” He continued walking, a little more faster this time, cornering you against the wall even if his hands remained behind his back as usual.

“I’m not feeling quite well, Mr. Oak—”

“Please, address me as Sunday, dear.” You suddenly felt something wooly reach your left cheek and begin to caress it gently, figuring it was Sunday’s fingers after successfully cornering you against the door. “My apologies… I won’t interrupt you again.”

“I’m just feeling sick. That’s all…” You awkwardly finished yourself while trying to ignore his intimate demonstration of care.

“And you need a whole week to recover from it?” His tone shifted to a more serious one while that hand of his spread itself around your whole jaw and slightly pulled it upwards, forcing you to look at him again, and your silence made it obvious to him that you were either lying or hiding something from him. “Let’s sit down, dear.” His hypnotizing grin almost made you vomit the truth right there out of guilt.

Sunday released you and begun stepping towards where his office desk and fancy chair were, without acknowledging how quickly he had convinced you to speak the truth to him. That distressing nod in your throat was already unbearable on its own, but that you were being forced to tell such disappointing news to such a sweet and caring boss like Sunday, that truly admires you and trusts you deeply, just couldn’t be postponed anymore.

“I’m pregnant!” As soon as the distance between you and him was comfortable to you, when Sunday’s hand was about to reach his chair’s arm support, you let the beast out of its cage. “I am feeling sick indeed, but it’s because I’m pregnant and I have no idea what to do about it yet!” Your voice cracked a few times as you bowed your head down, tears barely glistening your eyes, but you did your best to hold them back and not stress Sunday, who had fully paralyzed in his spot.

…

“I beg your pardon?” Sunday slowly turned his head to you, the rest of his body immobile in its place.

“You heard me, Mr. O—… Sunday… I’m pregnant.” You crossed your arms and legs, leaning against the wall vulnerably.

And once again, Sunday didn’t say anything again some awkward seconds, causing your heart to beat even faster than it already was.

…

“P-Pregnant..?” This was one of the first times you’ve ever heard Sunday’s voice crack and stutter.

“Yes, sir.” You quickly nodded.

…

“Like… pregnant pregnant?” Sunday repeated himself again, a little more desperate.

“Yes, sir.” And you nodded to him again, a little more desperate too.

“When did you…” He didn’t know what to ask you due to the unprocessed shock. “For how long have you known this?” Sunday sounded a little madder as you expected, but at the same time you could feel some worry and anxiety coming from him as you saw him move a hand to his collar and start fidgeting his own tie.

“I took the test a few days ago, Mr. Oak.” Although you noticed how you referred to him in the wrong manner, Sunday didn’t seem to notice it, or at least preferred to not scold you again.

“How many people know about it yet?” Sunday finally turned his full body to you. After all, that question mattered a lot.

“None of my friends know about it yet, only the father and you, sir.” At this moment, it felt like all of your friendship with Sunday never existed in the first place, considering how incredibly negative his reaction was.

“Ah, yes… the father.” Sunday spat the word like a curse, scoffing at it right afterwards before pausing for a moment. “Who is the lucky man, Y/N?” Sunday decided to speak in a warmer tone, hoping it would help appeasing the suspense between you two, but it wasn’t quite useful to you.

“Sunday, I… I don’t think I should—”

“I have to know who the father is, Y/N.” He immediately shut you off with a shaky, anxious voice before you could fully reject him. “I don’t think it would be beneficial for us if the people of Penacony were to learn that the secretary of the Head of the Family… my secretary… is pregnant of someone of bad influence, especially if I was not aware of it or consenting to it. Don’t you agree?” Sunday’s voice cracked a few more times with his growing anger as his fingers became more aggressive with his tie.

You weakly nodded, feeling more tears rise up to your eyes. You were expecting Sunday to have a negative reaction indeed, but you did not expect him to be this bold. It even made you question your non-professional friendship with him. Was he not as attached to you like you thought? Was his kindness to you just a souvenir for your hard work? Have you two ever developed a friendship in the first place? If not, were you really just a secretary to him? If yes, how intimate are you two?

“This seriously endangers your job, Y/N, so if you don’t wish me to take extreme measures with you, tell me, dear, who is the father..?!” Despite his self-control, you noticed a pattern of how he was simply unable to hold all his anger when he mentioned the ‘father’.

You breathed in and out, preparing yourself for the bomb you were about to drop on him. After all, losing your job to this did not seem to be the smartest choice to be done, although the answer itself could still make you lose your job anyway.

“I believe the father is Aventurine, sir.” You closed your eyes as you told your version of the story, trying to make it more broad by stating as a theory rather than a fact, but you were certain that the baby was Aventurine’s.

…

Sunday scoffed.

…

“Aventurine?” Sunday’s tone deepened, almost falling into pure madness. “The Sigonian from the IPC?”

“…Yes, sir.” You weakly nodded again, finally finding some courage to open your eyes and look up to him.

“You’ve been going out with him?” Sunday’s tie wasn’t tucked under his white tuxedo anymore, and he was barely blinking his widened eyes.

“I believe you’re crossing a line of privacy, sir. I won’t be answering that.” You felt blood rush to your cheeks as you remembered your last date with the gambler, specifically when the baby was being made, speaking a little bit more annoyed.

“Why? He didn’t assault you or anything of the sort, did he, dear?” Sunday’s hands crossed around each other.

“No, sir.” Your tone went back to its previous shy one.

Sunday’s eyes finally dropped and stopped violently staring at you, looking around in confusion as he breathed in and out harshly. It did help you and your body to calm down, though.

“You know you can always trust me if there’s any danger going on in your life, right?” Sunday looked at you again with curiosity, which made your body stiffen again.

“Absolutely, sir.” You nodded more confidently. That statement reassured you about your previous thoughts about Sunday.

He really isn’t that bold. He never was. Today was just a minimal and reasonable exception.

“Good.” Sunday’s eyes got distracted again as he thought about all the facts that have been told, and you decided to contribute with your own silence.

…

“You know what? I must apologize to you, dear. What kind of man treats a pregnant lady like this? Only some uneducated punk… It was very childish of me, Y/N, I’m truly sorry.” Sunday suddenly relaxed in a blink, his hands going behind his back as usual while a cute grin took over his lips again as if he hadn’t almost gone mad in front of you.

After all, self-control is a really important aspect in this sort of job.

“No, it’s ok… I understand. I would be very worried too if I found out my secretary suddenly got pregnant.” Sunday hummed a giggle at your comment as you shrugged your shoulders.

“Go home, dear.” Sunday walked to you again, his hands landing on both your shoulders. “Go take a good rest. I’ve made you work enough this week.” His thumbs gently brushed your skin like wet porcelain, even raising them a few times to push some strands of your hair behind your ear.

“You’re… you’re not mad?” Deep down, you found his sudden change of behavior weird, and you weren’t exactly comfortable with it.

“Mad? Why would I be mad at you, dear? I trust you to make a smart choice about this.” And now that you were closely staring at his fine face, that smile, no matter how warm it was, it seemed to be betraying whatever was going through his mind. “Make sure to keep your commitment with the Family in mind, ok?” Sunday suddenly leaned his face to the right side of your face, his mouth hanging inches away from your ear as his voice suddenly turned serious.

“Of course, boss.” You nodded to Sunday, who patted your head in appreciation for a few seconds before finally letting you go.

SLAM!

All the human bodies in the casino were attracted by the loud bang of the double doors being against the walls as they were brutally pushed open, whispers beginning to accumulate onto each other as they realized it was Sunday Oak who walked in.

“Is that Sunday Oak?”

“I thought he condemned gambling…”

“What is he doing here?”

“Sunday Oak?”

“Should I ask for an autograph?”

“Isn’t he Robin’s older brother?”

Sunday couldn’t care less about any of those comments or the glances landing on him as he walked inside the flashy halls of the casino. He was entirely interested and focused on his hunt, and his hunt only.

After all, it didn’t take him more than 5 seconds to identify what he was searching for.

Aventurine.

The slim, blonde man sitting down lazily on a chair with spread legs and a pack of cards in his hands, accompanied by two other men playing with him, sitting in the opposite corners of the table, all of them shaping the form of a triangle where Aventurine was directly facing Sunday. The table was full of cards and chips thrown around it, even a few real credits too, showing that they weren’t just playing casually, and three cups of alcohol being the only objects standing still.

“Ah, the Head of the Family himself, Sunday Oak! What an honor it is to have you in my casino! What brings you here tonight?” The gambler put his cards facing down in the table to open his arms to Sunday in a warm greeting.

His purple eyes still managed to shine through the dark pair of sunglasses he was wearing and the whole dark ambient around them.

But Sunday’s murderous face didn’t appease a bit with his warm greeting.

“Leave.” He glanced down at the two other gamblers, who simply shared confused looks with each other and Aventurine when they heard his order. “NOW!” Both men immediately flinched upwards hearing his scream, fleeing from their seats as if they were fleeing for their lives.

After all, who would be insane enough to challenge the Head of the Family?

As soon as the steps of the coward men started to become faint murmurs in the ambient, Aventurine finally started taking advantage of their privacy to speak again.

“See… when I say that you’re always welcome in here, Mr. Oak, that doesn’t necessarily mean you have the right to interrupt any of the games—”

“You got Y/N pregnant..?!” Aventurine’s smirk grew as he realized what was Sunday’s objective in his casino and how angry he was due to it, even if he had been interrupted.

“Ah… so you’ve heard the news…” Aventurine proceeded to grab the glass of liquor sitting closest to him and took a sip of it. “It is also an honor to have being the first person to congratulate me…”

“Congratulate you..?” Sunday’s eyes widened in audacity at his words. “Congratulate you?! For what? For making such an absurdly irresponsible decision?!” Sunday finally dragged one of the empty chairs closer to him and sat himself down at on it, both his hands slamming the table while Aventurine simply mired down at the liquor in the glass. “You’re a gambler, and you’re completely addicted to it! What is wrong with you?! What kind of man sustains his family by gambling?!” Aventurine couldn’t help but scoff at his words as his eyes finally looked up to meet his again, starting a war of eye contact.

“Oh, please, we both know that you’re not mad at the fact that I’m a gambler about to become a father.” The gambler finally placed the glass back to the table, his arms crossing as he leaned against the chair.

Sunday refused to answer him although both men had a lot of privacy to discuss such an intimate topic.

“You’re mad that it’s not going to be a beautiful and cute Halovian baby growing inside her with cute little wings on his head and a shiny golden halo that will grow to be the Family’s next prodigy..! And instead, it’s going to be a little Sigonian trash with cursed fortune.” Aventurine used his hands to point at Sunday’s features and his owns, but it didn’t trigger Sunday to answer him, despite his boiling annoyance. “Not that? No? Then it might be that… you’re mad at the fact that it wasn’t you who made the path inside her womb first?” Aventurine uncrossed him arms and set them on table while leaning his body a little closer to his to challenge him, finally causing Sunday to slightly snap.

After all, an obsessed man like him could not handle the imagination of his perfect pure darling being bred by the man who directly competes with him for her, all twirled around his figure and showing him your nudity.

“You little shit…” Sunday fisted his own hands as his eyebrows to frown in the table’s cloth as he tried avoiding those sinful thoughts.

“Me?” Aventurine’s eyes widened with Sunday’s hypocrisy. “Imagine you’re constantly trying to hang out with this marvelous, jaw-dropping and inspiring woman, but she’s always rejecting you because she was either working in a Saturday night, or too exhausted from it on Sunday, hum? You feeling me now?” Aventurine tried waiting for an answer, but Sunday refused to let himself downgrade to the gambler’s level and backed down again. “I think I should actually thank you for making her exhausted and home-alone during her precious weekends. You’ve surely left that woman touch-starved, and I certainly took advantage of that whenever I insisted in visiting her in her home… She’s actually extra tight when she’s stressed.” Aventurine winked at him, intentionally ignoring Sunday’s unblinking, widening eyes. “Just to think about my cock suffocating inside that tiiight pussy of hers while she begs for me to keep ravishing it nonstop makes me so hard…” Aventurine was rubbing his legs together under the table to avoid his slight erection to grow any further under his pants while his cheeks slightly reddened.

“You hell-sent maniac…” That was all Sunday could mumble without exploding. “Do you even listen to yourself? Is this the poor vocabulary that poor kid would learn from their father? You have absolutely no conditions of being a father. I know it, you know it, Y/N knows it. Do you have any idea how worried she was when she was talking to me about this mess? Do you think she’d be that worried about it if I was the father of her child, hum? Do you think she’s happy to be pregnant of you?” Sunday finally decided to take some dominance in the conversation and leaned closer to Aventurine.

“Do you think she’d be any happier to pregnant of you, Mr. Oak? Her manipulative boss that takes advantage of her every free second to keep her revolving around you, yet, refuses to take a single step forward with your relationship with her and keeps edging her pleasure in you?” Aventurine sounded a little angrier as he described Y/N’s work ambient.

“You know nothing about me and Y/N…” Sunday hissed at him. Deep down he knew he had a fair point and that he had to change his relationship with her if he wanted to conquer her heart.

“Well, I certainly know all of this would’ve probably been avoided if you weren’t the coward that you are, and asked her out before I did. Now, even if you did manage to make her fall in love with you and make her your wife, you’d never be able to get rid of the shape of her insides, forever prepared to receive me inside her instead of you because she knows who introduced her the magic of paradisiacal pleasure.” Aventurine twirled his fingers together and set his chin on top of them, his face proudly hanging on it.

“You do realize Y/N is most likely going to abort that cursed baby, right?” Sunday finally found an opportunity to counter Aventurine, smirking in victory after all those sexual comments of you Aventurine has been doing to frustrate him.

“Good for her.” Aventurine shrugged his shoulders, dumbfounding Sunday, who allowed his smirk to die for a moment.

Sunday didn’t understand. Wasn’t he cheerful about her pregnancy? Wasn’t he happy about claiming her womb first and making her a mother before him? Wasn’t he initially arguing with Sunday about being a father?

“You’re just bluffing. I know you’re disappointed.” Sunday brought his grin back before Aventurine could take dominance again, trying to convince him to let that guilt out of his mind.

“I don’t think you’ve understood it yet, Mr. Oak… I don’t intend to be a father. Never intended to be.” Aventurine spoke with a straight face, very relaxed as he confessed his feelings, unlike Sunday.

“I beg your pardon?” Finally, Sunday felt challenged again, so his smirk died again and never rose again.

“Sure, it would be disappointing if she did decide to abort the baby. After all, the idea of repopulating my clan back to this world sounds good to me… but I got her pregnant simply because I want to get her away from you, and that pregnancy is going to force her to take a break from you, and maybe eternally. I already heard you did let her go home today, so it’s already working! Thank you, Mr. Oak!” Sunday was entirely speechless at Aventurine’s confession, not a single full phrase managing to form in his head as the gambler paused again to take another sip of his liquor.

And Sunday knew he had more to add onto that confession, seeing how he swallowed the liquor quickly.

“It surprised me how all it takes to impregnate a woman is a single little puncture in a condom… Make sure to double-check your condoms before sex, Sunday! Protection isn’t a joke!” Sunday couldn’t believe all he had to add to his confession was a joke.

“You..! You did it on purpose?!” Sunday hissed as if he wanted to squeeze the gambler’s head until it crushed into a gory mess.

“Congratulations, Mr. Oak! We can finally have a man-to-man conversation!” Aventurine threw his hands in the air cheerfully as if he was celebrating his birthday.

“Do you have shit in your head instead of a functional brain?! Do you realize you’re putting the life of a child on stake and even her trust on you?! You’re a monster! You had no right to fool Y/N like that!” Sunday was finally finding out how little power of you he had on his hands, his anger finally spilling from its chamber.

“Oh? But you have the right to keep overworking her with the stupidest tasks ever? Making her bring you breakfast and lunch from the cafe with the stupidest exigences ever?! Like ‘No veggies, only keep the onions’, ‘Diet raspberry juice’ and ‘Strawberry cupcakes for desert with no sprinkles or extra frosting’? To make her rearrange your whole calendar for the month because you suddenly have a doctor’s appointment in the middle of month? Knowing she’s not intelligent or bossy enough to tell you’re just taking advantage of her position and her trust on you? That you’re a very busy man and genuinely can’t deal with fucking calendars on your own?” Aventurine also dropped his smirk, speaking in a more angered one as well.

“It’s her job, and I’m her boss. And don’t you worry about it because Y/N gets some good money for all her hard work and she loves me for it.” Sunday defended himself a little proudly. It was a good reason to keep her busy with him.

“And I’m just a great fucking friend! See? We’re both playing dirty here…” Aventurine giggled at his own pun, which made Sunday’s wings to twitch.

“Don’t imagine it… Don’t picture it…” Sunday thought to himself, and Aventurine took advantage of his silence.

“And, think about it, what is the worth in all the money you apparently give her if she can’t find herself some time to spend it because her boss can’t let her enjoy her weekends, hum?” Aventurine crossed his arms, settling them on the table to keep himself still leaning close to Sunday’s face.

“As soon as I get you out of my way, I’ll make sure she’ll have a lot of time to enjoy her life with me as her company.” Sunday threatened him with a mean smirk in his face, finding joy in Aventurine’s struggle.

“I don’t think you’ve realized it yet, Sunday. Y/N is already mine. All, all mine. She’s been mine for a long time now and will always be mine. Your little tricks to imprison her with you are clever, but you know how gambling with me works. I’ll always find my way out of risk and become the winner. And if Y/N is clever enough to remember this little fact, you might face a serious danger of her deciding to keep the baby.” Aventurine’s irises were trembling with excitement and hatred for Sunday as he talked about his possession over you.

“We both know she won’t.” Sunday hissed, still keeping his smirk, although he was doing a great effort to not punch the gambler’s face.

“How do you know, hum? Y/N is the kindest soul in this planet! I don’t think she’d opt to interrupt that growing life inside her so easily like you think. Maybe she’ll start sympathizing with it and decide to accept the duty of raising it with me as the father and provider. And if that happens, what are you going to do, huh? Shove your hand inside her womb and abort the baby yourself? You can’t do anything!” Aventurine cackled at the thought of Sunday trying to get rid of the baby inside you or convincing you to do it and pathetically being defeated.

“Maybe I’ll fire her. I can’t afford to have a secretary who’s going to birth a disgusting Avgin nor can she afford her life without the salary I give her… It’s a fair trade!” Sunday threatened enthusiastically, although in his mind he knew he’d never do that to you.

“Oh, really? And make her hate you forever? What a stupid way to give me the opportunity to finally imprison her with me, Sunday! Maybe she’ll learn how great it is to have me as her sugar daddy…” Aventurine threw himself in the chair and I’m his arms in the arm as if he was receiving a gift from Sunday.

“Or maybe I’ll take the matter to my own hands and marry her with me before you. And trust me, gambler, I’ll make sure you have the lowest share of custody, or maybe even none. I’m the head of the Family Oak. I own this whole planet in the palm of my hand.” Sunday also rose his hands in the air and inflated his chest, trying to demonstrate the size of the power he owns.

“Yet, you can’t stop the woman you love from fucking with other men.” Aventurine hummed some giggles while Sunday had to stop himself again to impede his brain from picturing that scenario. “I would rather die than let a baby of my blood to be raised by you. To be raised like a mere annoyance in the house… forever incapable of making his daddy proud of him because he’s not his real son… destined to be overshadowed by his future siblings… Both Y/N and the baby would be happier to have me taking care of them instead of you.” Aventurine’s tone deepened again, his arms lowering sown to his knees and gripping them to control himself.

“I will not lose Y/N to you, gambler. I don’t care if that baby would not be the happiest one in the world. I refuse to let you have her for another single minute of your life with those dirty hands of yours.” Sunday spat his prejudice for the gambler with no remorse.

“Oh-ho? Are you afraid I’m a better womanizer than you, Mr. Head of the Family? That my ‘dirty hands’ are capable to make Y/N moan my name in a volume you’ll never be able to get out of her?” Aventurine stared at the deepest corners of Sunday’s eyes.

“Quiet.” Sunday hissed barely above a whisper.

“That my fingers will penetrate that wet pussy of hers while I devour her throbbing clit with my dirty Avgin mouth? Oh, yeah, I’ve already done that!” Aventurine brought a hand closer to Sunday, only to thrust the air with his ring-finger and middle-finger a few times, pretending it was your pussy.

“Shut. Your. Mouth.” Sunday made sure to pronounce every syllable of his order slowly, exciting Aventurine to keep teasing him even further.

Sunday’s cheeks were reddening with arousal as he couldn’t hold back the few pictures his brain illustrated for him of Y/N’s naked body being touched by Aventurine, meanwhile the gambler moved his hands to his body and started brushing his own body in a suggestive way.

“Ohh~… Aventurine..! You feel sooo good around me~… Oh, right there..! Fuck me right there, Aven..!” Sunday’s fingers gripped on the table’s cloth as if that was the only thing keeping him from having a boner on his own, trying to force himself to focus on the gambler’s threat rather than his pathetic teasing. “Ah, yes~! Touch me, Aventurine! Touch me!” Aventurine put his own palms on his own breasts and gently fondled them, which made Sunday feel so disgusted he slightly backed away from the pervert in front of him.

“Do you seriously think acting like this is going to annoy me?” Sunday bluffed, betraying his own mindset. “I must thank you for the spoilers, though.” He shrugged his shoulders, pretending there wasn’t a noticeable tent growing in his pants.

“See? Even you recognize you’ll never be her first in anything because I’ve been there first!” Aventurine dropped his act, jumping back to the table, leaning over to challenge Sunday with a creepy expression and a proud smile. “Every Saturday night, when you decided to send her a ‘Goodnight’ message and ask how she was doing, I was already pining her down on her own bed and taming her pussy.” Sunday’s mind was unfortunately too attracted to that scenario, forcing himself to think about it.

Thinking about your insides being stretched by the gambler, your breasts fondled by the gambler, your pretty moans being listened by the gambler, your mouth kissing the gambler, your clothes being taken off by the gambler…

All by that stupid gambler, and not him.

“Focus, Sunday. Focus. Focus on the gambler.” Sunday thought to himself.

“Sometimes I even answered you for her, y’know? Sending you a ‘Goodnight’ with cute a heart sticker, pretending to be your dear woman while the real one was gagging on my cock.” Sunday’s eyes widened as he heard that disgusting confession.

Every time you talked to him at nighttime, Sunday would think about what were you possibly doing while texting him. Maybe you were changing yourself into your pijamas, specifically a beautiful nightgown of his favorite kind. Maybe you were kicking your feet and your cheeks were red because you were talking so intimately with your sweet and handsome boss.

How did you even save his contact as? Most likely ‘Mr. Oak’ or maybe ‘Mr. Sunday’ because of your professional relationship with him, but maybe it is something more friendly like ‘Sunday’ or ‘Sunday ❤️’.

But now all those fantasies that made fall in love with you even harder, were crushed by the gambler’s words, and he was really hoping the man was just bluffing to annoy him.

“You disgusting piece of crap..! You had no right to do that!” He hissed as his mind pictured more and more dirty illustrations.

“Seeing you smirk at me every time I passed her to you, thinking you were in charge of her and that I was losing precious time with her, made me want to laugh. Poor you..! You had absolutely no idea! You could’ve died without knowing!” Aventurine started cackling as he saw Sunday’s destroyed ego.

Sunday couldn’t believe it either. The gambler was right, and he did not plan on ever admitting it. To think that he has been interpreting you so wrongly all along and that that Aventurine was taking advantage of his foolishness was making him ache in need for revenge.

It was embarrassing to see a man of his level of money, power and intelligence to commit such a rookie mistake, of letting your weekends free of his obsessiveness and stalking, and find himself in the edge of losing to someone so weaker than him.

But Aventurine didn’t notice Sunday’s breathing becoming louder and louder.

“That’s why I had to show you the truth. To show you who is truly in the lead.” Aventurine unexpectedly leaned closer to Sunday until he was a few centimeters away from his right ear, invading his personal space. “That’s why I made a little hole in my condom before going to her home and ejaculated a lot of sperm inside that pussy when we were having sex. Thousands of my little spermatozoids… finding a way out of that rubber barrier and swimming their way inside her womb, claiming ‘your’ territory…” Sunday shit his eyes, trying to control his painfully quick heartbeats while Aventurine kept enjoying the mental torture. “And trust me, Sunday, despite her not knowing what I had planned for her, she was the one that kept begging for me to keep fucking her and to cum inside her again. Not a single cell of her body wants you—” Sunday unexpectedly unchained himself from the chair, violently grabbing Aventurine’s collar by his green uniform and fisting his knuckles across his cheek.

Sunday just couldn’t deal with his own imaginations anymore.

It hurt him to imagine you not desiring for him to touch you that way. The same way you’ve allowing the gambler to do. It couldn’t be true. He knew he could make you feel as good as the gambler did. All that he was missing was courage to ask you out. To think of Aventurine having the privilege to watch you during sex, giggling about Sunday’s obnoxiousness. To think of the gambler fucking you right in front of him, conquering your heart, and you enjoying it rather than asking him to stop and to saves by Sunday.

Even if it was just a dark fantasy. A horror one. One that would never come to be true, if it depended on you at least, he smacked Aventurine’s face as if he wanted to avoid that possibility as much as he could. He did not want that scum making someone like you fall in love with it anymore.

Although the punch itself wasn’t hard enough to make Aventurine drop his smirk, it was surely made him roll down from the table and vulnerably land on the floor along with a few cards, chips and one of the wine glasses, that broke as soon as it touched the ground, and Sunday throwing himself on top of him.

“YOU FOUL DISGRACE!” Sunday kept attempting to spank Aventurine, who allowed himself to receive every single punch like a masochist while laughing at how Sunday snapped. “YOU HAD NO RIGHTS TO DO THAT TO Y/N!” Everyone in the casino already had their bodies turned to both men, some had even stood up to have a better view of the scene going on, all the whispers accumulating onto each other again.

“What’s going on?!”

“Are they fighting?!”

“Why are they fighting?!”

“Did Sunday Oak lose a bet?!”

“Who is Y/N?”

“They know each other?!”

“Punching me… won’t undo what has been done, Sunday! She’s pregnant! 100% pregnant!” Finally, Aventurine got bored of Sunday’s amateur boxing and rose his hands from the floor, clutched them around Sunday’s cranial wings, squeezing them hard to almost break its bones, and launched his forehead against Sunday’s.

“Who is pregnant?”

“This Y/N person is pregnant?”

“For God’s sake, who’s Y/N?!”

Sunday moaned loud in pain, accidentally weakening his weight on top of Aventurine, who quickly pushed him away from the top and reverted the positions.

“She’s mine… all mine!” Despite the few blood drops running down his nostrils and red marks in his cheeks, Aventurine kept smirking as if he was having the biggest thrill of his life. “And I’ll make sure to keep impregnating her every time I need to remember you who is in the lead! Over and over again!” Aventurine made sure to whisper his words about you and guarantee that nobody would gossip about their conflict, or at least gossip it with all the context behind it.

Aventurine’s punches were way more painful compared to Sunday’s, which was causing him to become so pained and desperate that he couldn’t even react to it, nor hold the gambler back. He doesn’t really tell people that he’s quite stronger than he looks. Although his slim body and smaller height sell the contrary image, all the years he spent being a slave strengthened his muscles forever, unlike Sunday, who has never quite invested in giving himself a buffer body. And the many rings hanging in his fingers, made of multiple gems, were making it only worse.

Sunday started to panic. So many people were witnessing the worst side of him, the Head of the Family, the representative of their planet, being in a casino and initiating a fight on it, one that he was also pathetically losing. After he’s given so many speeches about the importance of peace and the abolishment of violence, he was the first one to opt for violence when the stakes of a fight got too high? Even if he found a way to avoid the situation to escape everyone’s mouth, it still wouldn’t hide the multiple bruises in his face, and that would immediately denounce that he got involved in a fight, whether being who started it or not. Injuries like hematomas and cuts can take weeks to fully heal depending on their depth. How would he hide that from his public? His dear little sister? Gopher? Or… you?

“Oh, fuck.” Sunday thought.

Had he just made a bad decision? Had he embraced his instincts rather than his critical thinking?

He couldn’t let himself lose his reputation or influence so easily. He’d be willing to beg for Aventurine’s mercy as long as his face remained intact. So, that’s why he did his best to turn his face to the side while his arms and cranial wings crossed on top of it to create a barrier between him and Aventurine.

“What is it, birdie? Are you scared?! Come on, punch me again, I dare you!” Aventurine teased as he started digging his hands under his protection and undo it.

But Sunday was way more focused on the miracle laying in the floor by his side. The cup that had previously fallen in the floor and was ignored by them had broken into many big shards of glass, all beautifully laying down by his side and going unnoticed by the gambler.

How fun would it be to stab the foul gambler?

One of Sunday’s arms slowly reached out to the glass, but it wasn’t long enough to grab it, his fingers slightly touching the pointy tip of the glass. And unfortunately, a single arm on its own wasn’t enough to impede Aventurine from breaking through his barrier and curl his both hands around his neck.

“Bye-bye, Mr. Oak…” Aventurine’s eyes only widened in pure joy the more he suffocated Sunday’s throat.

Sunday grunted and gasped, trying to salvage the remaining oxygen in his body while his single hand kept helplessly trying to fight him back and pull at least one of Aventurine’s arms away of his neck.

Aventurine was so invested in his own sadism, watching Sunday’s face contort and crumble, that he still didn’t realize what was his other arm doing, slowly pulling the glass closer to his palm bit by bit.

And when Sunday’s fingers were finally able to pull that piece of glass close enough to him, with a swift movement, Sunday was finally able to—

“ENOUGH!” Aventurine was suddenly pushed away from Sunday by a security guard, immediately making Sunday’s lungs fill themselves with the oxygen he had lost while the glass stabbed nothing but the air.

And with the assistance of incoming men, Aventurine was quickly struck on the floor with his belly turned down and his hand locked together behind his back.

“Smart move, birdie! But, don’t you see..? You don’t stand a chance against my luck!” Aventurine cackled while he was momentarily being cuffed while Sunday was still recovering from the murder attempt.

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU!” Sunday couldn’t stand seeing that smirky face of his anymore and quickly stood up again, getting up on his feet again just to launch himself on the gambler again, the shard of glass already prepared to stab him.

But Sunday was immediately held back by even more guards that arrived in the scene, every muscle of his arms being held back while his legs desperately kicked the air.

“N-No!” He grunted in agony while one of the guards that cuffed Aventurine begun moving to Sunday and undoing his grip on the shard, pulling it away from him after a few seconds.

Aventurine kept cackling at the scene he watching, loving to see Sunday losing all his power and dignity in front of so many people.

“I PROMISE YOU I’M GONNA KILL YOU WITH MY OWN HANDS ONE DAY, YOU MANIAC!” Sunday spat his violent threat while still trying to launch himself towards Aventurine.

“Lets settle the bet, then! Whoever kills each other first gets to keep Y/N forever! Fair trade, ain’t it?” The gambler rose his head to talk to Sunday more confidently.

“AND I’LL MAKE SURE YOUR DIRTY CLAN WILL BE ERASED FROM HISTORY!” Slowly, both men were dragged afar away from each other, Aventurine being set in a sofa while Sunday was kicked out of the casino, rolling down a few staircases before finally finding himself wormed on the floor.

“Oh, wanna raise the stakes?! If I’m the one who kills you, then… your little sister will be punished too~…” Sunday fumed in anger as he thought of the murder of his little sister.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE PUT ROBIN INTO THIS, YOU LITTLE SHIT!” Aventurine rolled his eyes in boredom with Sunday denying to raise the stakes of their bet.

“Get him out of my sight.” Aventurine looked at the guards and spoke more seriously, a smirk still displayed in his lips.

Sunday gasped when he begun being pulled away from his prey.

“YOU’RE DEAD, GAMBLER! DEAD!” Sunday made sure to state his final words before he was thrown in the streets.

Sunday rolled a few stairs down, ruining the perfect white color of his suit, but unfortunately he couldn’t stop to relax, ease the pain and fix himself because of the people that could be around him. So, he quickly got up from the floor and fled to a narrow corner between two tall buildings, surrounded by dark and trash and isolated him from anyone’s sight.

Meanwhile he fixed his suit, hair and face, while calling a cab to pick him up, Sunday kept insulting the gambler and even himself.

Sunday knew he should’ve asked you out long before all this situation, but he didn’t believe he had to do it since he didn’t think Aventurine’s competition was that dangerous. So, he preferred to wait until he believed you and him had developed a better friendship, and possibly sparked you to like him more than as a friend, a colleague or a boss.

But now, the race for your hand in marriage has started and Sunday is ready to cheat to win.

It doesn’t matter if he suffocates you with work.

It doesn’t matter if he has to kill Aventurine or the baby.

It doesn’t matter if he’ll not raise the baby without a lot of love and care.

It doesn’t even mattter if you don’t want to marry him in the first place.

He’ll win this bet.

Taglist: @komelliko @gaboplaydespacito

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paperstorm · 9 hours ago

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The final chapter is up! We had so much fun writing this all season and thank you every single person who commented or kudos'd or just read this fic. Here's a tease from the last chapter. If you're looking for both morning sexy times and the happiest of endings for this little family, we got you covered 😉

Jonah flops against him and Carlos moves in closer on his other side, the two of them bracketing him like protective bookends.

“How’d you sleep?” Carlos asks him.

It might be too complex a question for a three year old, but Jonah grins up at him and brightly answers, “I have a race car bed!”

“You sure do!” Carlos agrees, reaching down and smoothing stray hairs out of Jonah’s eyes.

Jonah looks to TK and asks, “When is Daddy coming home?”

For a moment, the question twists like a GI infection in TK’s gut. He exchanges a sorrowful glance with Carlos, who sadly shrugs a shoulder. They have so much to learn, so many things to figure out on this new adventure together, and how to talk to someone this young is something TK knows he hasn't mastered just yet.

Carefully, he answers, “I don’t know. It might not be for a long time.”

“Oh.”

“But,” TK continues, slouching further down onto the pillows and snuggling in closer, “you’re gonna live here, now, with me and Carlos. And we love you so much. And everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Okay,” Jonah answers, easily accepting his answer, at least for now.

TK breathes a sigh of relief. TK knows it isn’t the end of the conversation. Jonah’s so little, he has to be so confused, and that makes TK’s heart hurt. But it’s a conversation they don’t need to have this morning. He looks at Carlos again over the top of Jonah’s head. Carlos nods at him reassuringly, moving in closer from the other side so they can cuddle Jonah together.

“Can I have breakfast?”

“Of course you can. What do you want to eat?”

“Pancakes!” Jonah decides.

“Pancakes it is,” Carlos replies. “You two hang out for a bit, I’ll get them started.”

“Stay?” TK asks Carlos quietly, circling his wrist with his fingers over Jonah’s body. “For a few more minutes.”

Carlos pauses and looks between the two boys in his bed. He must be feeling what TK is feeling, the overwhelming emotion that comes with experiencing their first morning together as a family of three, instead of two. Carlos nods quietly and settles back against the headboard. He lets his arm drape over the pillows that have flattened during the night until TK is curled under it and Jonah is snug between them again.

“I’ll get started on breakfast soon, okay? Unless you’re so hungry now that your stomach is turning into a monster.”

Carlos tickles Jonah’s belly and he giggles. “No,” he says confidently, like a monster could never hurt him.

TK observes quietly, feeling like he’s in a dream. He knows nights of crying and fear are around the corner, where Jonah wakes up confused and scared and missing his dad. TK knows that it’s not all smooth sailing from here, but right now he looks at Jonah’s resilience in wonder, and Carlos’ natural ability to bond with him, and he feels like the luckiest man in the world.

“Good,” Carlos tells him. “Because you know what the best part about today is?”

Jonah looks up at Carlos in wonder, four big brown eyes staring at each other. TK is in so much trouble with these two. He could let them get away with anything.

“What?” Jonah asks, hanging onto every word Carlos says like Carlos is already his hero. TK knows the feeling.

“We don’t have any plans. Which means we get to sleep in and then do whatever you want.”

Jonah’s eyes grow even wider and his head whips over to TK as if to confirm Carlos’ words. “Whatever I want?”

TK smiles, squeezing Jonah’s arm. “Whatever you want,” TK confirms. Maybe he and Carlos can be the fun brothers for one more day and spoil this boy beyond belief. He deserves it. Tomorrow, they’ll begin to figure out how to be parents that say no and set limitations, but today, Jonah can get whatever he wants.

“I want ice cream!” Jonah cries out, and both TK and Carlos laugh.

Carlos meets his gaze over the top of Jonah’s head, and TK nods.

“We can do ice cream,” Carlos agrees. “But maybe this afternoon, huh? It’s supposed to be hot.”

“Hot!” Jonah repeats.

TK chuckles. “Yeah, you’re not used to this, bud. It gets way hotter here than it does in New York.”

“It does?”

“Mhm. Think summer all the time.”

Jonah’s grin goes wide. “Yay,” he cheers. “Can we bring Lou-Two with us?”

TK laughs again. “To get ice cream? Probably not, he likes staying here. But you can help me feed him some red peppers later.”

“Okay!”

They fall into silence for a few blessed moments and TK’s gaze naturally drifts to Carlos again. Carlos is already looking back, and his fingers dance along TK’s neck.

‘Love you,’ Carlos mouths, and TK smiles.

‘Love you too,’ TK mouths back, and then puckers his lips to ask for a kiss.

brighter in the morning

co-written with the lovely @paperstorm <3

Sometimes nights together are hard to come by, but TK and Carlos find ways to connect as husbands in the morning. A series of 12 mornings together for each of the 12 episodes in season 5 (plot permitting …)

Chapter One: 5x01 - 7.0k

Chapter Two: 5x02 - 3.8k

Chapter Three: 5x03 - 3.9k

Chapter Four: 5x04 - 2.4k

Chapter Five: 5x05 - 4.2k

Chapter Six: 5x06 - 6.6k

Chapter Seven: 5x07 - 5.7k

Chapter Eight: 5x08 - 2.8k

Chapter Nine: 5x09 - 3.2k

Chapter Ten: 5x10 - 5.3k

Chapter Eleven: 5x11 - 4.6k

Chapter Twelve: 5x12 - 5.4k

#911 lone star #911ls fanfic

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emsdevs · 2 days ago

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As someone who's southern, yr thoughts about Luke and Nico w Appalachian reader is making my brain worms wriggle. Thinking abt Quinn with someone from the area and the memes of him staring on the bench during the games is him trying to decipher what the fresh fuck you just said to him. I have a Canadian friend and I always giggle at her slightly accent and trying to explain certain things to her that they just don't have. Quinn would be so lost about boiled peanuts and buying them off the side of the road🤚🏻

Boiled Peanuts

a/n: here to let everyone know that I'll write southern and/or Appalachian reader any time for anyone!! it's one of my favs!! sorry for the wait nonnie!!

masterlist | NHL Masterlists | Quinn Hughes Masterlist

Quinn was sitting on the bench in between shifts. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the pictures being taken. He knew it wouldn’t be long before it was the latest “Quinn Hughes is seeing ghosts” picture, but he honestly didn’t care. Truly, most of the time when he was zoned out like this, he was trying to keep his focus on the game, even though he wasn’t playing, but right now, it’s something totally different that has him looking like he’s in another realm. He can’t get your conversation from earlier in the day out of his head.

He was eating some lunch before going to take his pregame nap when he noticed you heading back to the stove, ready to cook something else.

“What are you making, baby? If you want more food, you could’ve just asked for some of mine,” he was a little hurt you’d try to make yourself something extra without telling him he was hogging all the food.

“I didn’t eat a lot because I was saving room for what I’m about to make, and I would’ve offered you some, but I don’t really think you’d like it,” you shrugged.

“Well, I still wanna know,” he was genuinely curious, wondering why you’re being secretive.

“I’m gonna boil some peanuts,” you laughed as you spoke, knowing Quinn would think that’s a weird answer.

He’s silent for a moment, and you can see the confusion on his face. “Why would you do that?”

“It’s good, Quinny. We used to buy them at stands on the side of the road all the time back home.”

“You WHAT?” Quinn couldn’t believe his ears. He was fully aware that the southern parts of the U.S. had a completely different culture from the northern part he grew up in, and that awareness had only grown since he began dating you. He had heard all kinds of stories from before you moved to Vancouver, and he swore each one shocked him more than the last. This one, though, might take the cake. “Babe, you can’t just stop at stands on the side of the highway and buy stuff. That’s so dangerous.”

“Sweetheart, everyone does it all the time where I’m from. I mean, Lordy, someone’s probably doin’ it right now. Besides, I didn’t say highway. It was a two-lane road, honey.”

The shock hadn’t worn off at all. He spent every second he had on the bench concerned for your safety and wondering what in the world made you want to try boiled peanuts. He had heard you say some truly insane phrases, and he didn’t question the weird suspicions you grew up with. He doesn’t know if he can let this go, though.

Boiled Peanuts??

taglist: @heartsforjh @fofiquierellorar @justxpaulina @alex-wotton @devilinpradaheels @coldheartedmar @juxmi @macklin-celebrini-71 @puckmedude @one-sweet-gubler @pickedapuck @alexxavicry @dancerbailey3 @madebyhappymeals @ccomandercody @kirajessie @beenucks @bookshlmc

join the taglist

#em's inbox #em's nonnies #em's writing #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #qh43 #vancouver canucks #canucks hockey #nhl #nhl x reader

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quarterlifekitty · 8 hours ago

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Hi!!!!! How do you think Nikolai would eventually confront you in the secret baby scenario?

It depends on whether or not you crack! But in the scenario where you don’t, I imagine he’d bring it up at a pretty terrible time.

Your baby’s first birthday, maybe. Pulls you aside to the kitchen, helping you to clean up after the smash cake while the others take turns making the baby laugh.

“Milaya, tell me the truth. She’s mine, isn’t she?”

It’s right to the point. Well, as much as it can be after he’s spent so long waiting for her to crack and confess.

“Yes. But I don’t have any expectation that you’ll be her father, so don’t worry.” You say it so easily, like it’s natural that’s what he would want. Like it doesn’t hurt him to watch her grow up without her papa.

“Why would I be worried about that?”

You set a plate in the sink before turning to face him. “Listen, Nik— I don’t want you to volunteer because you feel obligated. I didn’t write your name on the birth certificate or anything. I’ll be fine— she already has quite a lot of male role models, don’t you think? You don’t have to ruin your life just because you made the mistake of sleeping with me.” Once again, you tear out his heart with such little effort.

“It wasn’t a mistake. Not to me. You really think I’d feel that way? That I’d spend all that time chasing you and regret it?”

“Whether or not you enjoyed yourself, you’re not built for a relationship, much less a family. You know why you had to chase me? I didn’t want to be involved with a man who’s constantly in the far corners of the world fighting other people’s battles. And I definitely don’t want that for my daughter. I don’t want to see her waiting at the door on the day you don’t come back.”

“I would never abandon you—“

“Don’t you get it? You might not have a choice.”

#writing #cod fanfic #cod #nikolai #nikolai cod #Nikolai x reader #secret baby

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leighsartworks216 · 3 days ago

Text

Claw Machines

Sylus x gn!Reader & MC

Raven deserves the world and more and I need to heal their inner child so so bad and who better to help than MC?

Warnings: fluff, silly, growing friendship, arcades, healing their inner child, kissing, swearing, banter

Word Count: 1,678

Main Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Third Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Sylus was 'busy', but you're dead certain that was just an excuse to nudge you into bonding with Miss Hunter. When she'd called to invite him out, you saw the smirk that curled his lips. You'd glared at him when he said you'd take his spot. You'd even been tempted to ditch her, but you couldn't in the end, knowing how much she means to him.

The claw moves around the box, following the movements of the little joystick. She looks as if she's facing down a Wanderer, not a stuffed koala with a teddy bear. Her tongue pokes out of her mouth, head swivels to the sides of the box to make sure she's lined up properly, fingers tapping impatiently on the machine before she hits the button. The claw descends. Closes. And as it rises, the koala is stuck in its grasp.

"Yes!" Miss Hunter laughs giddily as she bends down and grabs her prize from the chute. She squishes its face, eyes shining brilliantly with glee. Suddenly, she turns to you. "Have you ever played before?"

You shake your head, appearing quite bored with the whole thing.

"Do you want to try it? I can give you some pointers!"

A relentlessly stubborn part of you wants to refuse. Stand around like her own personal bodyguard while she travels from machine to machine with tokens purchased with Sylus's card and a bag full of toys.

But... you're also curious. You'd peered through shop windows and seen kids with toys your whole childhood, without any hope of having one to call your own. You'd made peace with that a long time ago, aided in the fact you now have plenty of money to live comfortably, though you keep that money close to your chest. Now Miss Hunter's barging through that peace, eyes shining and full of childish energy. And you give in.

You step up hesitantly to the controls. She squeals in glee and stands right beside you, nearly leaning on your arm. "Okay, this is the joystick! You use it to move the claw around. And then when you're lined up with something, you push this button and it'll try grabbing it."

You quirk an eyebrow at her. She smiles deviously. "It's a lot harder than it looks, trust me."

You should have listened to her. She makes it look so easy; you have to wonder if she's somehow using her Evol to cheat. No matter what target you went for, it always slipped through. Sometimes in the most ridiculous ways - bouncing off the edge of the plastic surrounding the chute or flipping off into an unreachable corner. You're not usually one to give up on a challenge, but this is getting ridiculous.

Miss Hunter smiles apologetically at you after your target falls over, just out of reach of the claw. "Maybe this machine isn't calibrated well," she suggests, but it's a half-baked excuse. "Let's try another one."

So you do.

And another.

... And another.

It's agony. She'll take over, pleading with big round eyes and a pout that works like a charm on Sylus to play a round, and get a plushie on her first try. Her bag is almost overflowing. She considers asking for a second one, but she looks sorry when she says so out loud.

Another machine catches her eye and she dashes over like a child. You watch her go.

It's... confusing, contradictory, to see someone like her be so carefree and childish. Her life has not been a cakewalk, and she's been through things normal people would never recover from. Yet here she is, squealing and giggling with delight, while you stand amid the flashing lights and chiming bells, arms crossed and frowning.

You hate to think you could ever possibly be jealous of her. Jealousy was unnecessary when you had all the means to get what you wanted so easily. Still, it's difficult not to envy in some ways the ease with which she enjoys such simple things.

You sigh. You damn Sylus for having you take his place on this little playdate with Miss Hunter. Damn the machines and their stupid claws. Damn all the plushies that seem to hate you.

The arcade is relatively small. When you begin walking around the various machines, it's easy to keep an eye on her. After all, if something happened to her here, it would be your fault. And you don't exactly want a repeat of last time.

It's by pure chance you happen to glance over. Pure random chance that your eyes slipped onto a series of miniature claw machines, stacked 3-on-3 in an alley between the bigger machines. You would not have stopped if you hadn't then done a double-take to make sure you saw what you thought you saw. And sure enough, as you step up to the small machines, you see in one a tiny keychain in the shape of a crow.

It's adorable. Big eyes that take up half its body stare longingly out at the arcade, half-closed with an air of disinterest. A little white ruff wraps all around its body. Two little feet with three toes each stick out the bottom.

You glance around to find Miss Hunter. She's moved on to the Balance machines, where her skilled fingers shift the two-pronged claw to nudge the box off the poles. An employee already stands there, waiting to re-setup the machine, as they chat with familiarity. She seems safe enough...

After a moment of watching to make sure the employee doesn't try anything, you reach into your pocket and pull out the tokens she gave you earlier. You insert one, and a small LED display counts down a timer.

The joystick is tiny in your hand - you can only imagine how it would fit in Sylus's. You shift it over top the crow. After spending however long failing on the other machines, you don't have much hope, especially when these are designed to give the impression of being easier so people will want to try them even more. You push the tiny button, and the claw lowers. The crow is picked up, shifting slightly in its loose hold. It's carried to the chute...

A tiny jingle plays, similar to the one that follows Miss Hunter around every machine.

You... you did it?

You hesitate before opening the little hatch, as though you just imagined all of that and you're going to be woefully out of luck when you reach in to find it empty. But no. You reach in and your fingers touch soft fur. You pull it out. There he is - your very own tiny crow plush.

The crow's big eyes seem to stare up at you, unimpressed. But your mind says he's happy, free from his cramped little prison.

Footsteps approach and you're immediately back on alert. You'd been smiling without even realizing it, but that is wiped away for neutrality. Miss Hunter doesn't seem to notice, gushing over the prize in your hand.

"Awe, you won that! It's so cute!" She pokes its cheek with her finger, giggling. "I've never been able to win anything from these machines. How many tries did it take you?"

Something flutters in your chest. A feeling you'd only felt when Sylus praised you - pride. You really managed to do something she couldn't? It sounded impossible after seeing her win over and over again without fail.

You hold up a finger. She gapes at you.

"What? It only took you one try?!" She looks at the machines, and all the cute mini plushies within. She frowns, considering something, before pulling out a handful of tokens. "Maybe they made these easier, somehow? Let me try."

"Have fun?"

You dangle the toy in front of Mephisto. He stands in your lap, playfully pecking and nipping at it. He's careful not to damage or tear it - he's always such a good bird.

Sylus wraps his arms around you from behind the couch. His chin rests on your shoulder, large hands massaging your sides. He kisses your cheek. "You're smiling."

Your first instinct is to turn away, but he stops you. Fingers grab your chin and turn you to face him instead. Crimson eyes, smug and teasing, meet yours.

You sigh. You have to admit that it was fun, even if you'd love to be stubborn and say it wasn't. Maybe if you hadn't won anything, you wouldn't have to pretend you hated it. Unfortunately, the toy that dangles from your finger is evidence to the contrary.

"She's a menace on those machines," you say, voice low, like it's a secret.

He chuckles. "How many did she get?"

"I lost count."

You glance back at Mephisto and shift the toy to rest in your palm. He grabs it in his beak, cawing around the object in his mouth, and flits off to go put it with his little hoard. Or, well, you thought he would. Instead, he flaps off to his perch and, using his foot and beak together, manages to hang it by its chain on the end of it. They look like a matching set as he fluffs up and settles down to rest

Sylus kisses the corner of your smiling mouth. You feel exposed. How is it possible for something so small to catch your emotions off guard?

"I'm glad you had fun," he whispers sincerely. "If you'd like, we can go together sometime."

"We wouldn't win anything," you tease. You rub your nose against his, drawing out a soft look of love from his eyes.

He shrugs. "Then we'll steal one."

"How criminal. This may be your most dastardly scheme yet."

"Mhm. And I'll need my best man on the job to help me pull it off." He closes the small gap to kiss you. His thumb rubs over the ball of your chin. Another kiss and his hand shifts to your jaw. Another, then to your neck. He draws you in, over and over, languidly savoring you, like you have all the time in the world.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one

#fanfic #fanfiction #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

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sophsbookstore · 2 days ago

Text

A Splash of Sunshine

Carlos Sainz x wife!reader ｡･:*˚:✧｡

Masterlist can be found in navigation!

Word count: 1,100

It was one of those sunny, early afternoons when everything felt perfect. The kind of day where the air is warm, but there’s a gentle breeze that makes you feel comfortable, even when you’re running around with two kids in tow. Carlos was excited, you could tell by the sparkle in his eyes. The excitement wasn’t just about picking out baby furniture—it was about getting everything just right for the new arrival.

“Are we ready?” Carlos asked, giving you a grin as you buckled Carmen into her car seat, while Santiago climbed into the back of the car, his little sneakers kicking the seat with enthusiasm.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, patting your pregnant belly. “The nursery needs a lot of work. I just hope the kids don’t get too... distracted.”

Carlos laughed, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Distracted? I think they’re going to be a big help, trust me.” He turned to Santiago in the back seat. “Right, buddy? You’re going to help us paint, right?”

Santiago, already wearing a superhero-themed apron, nodded proudly. “I’ll paint! I’m super good at it!” He waved his little hands around like he was already holding a paintbrush.

You chuckled. “Just remember, we’re painting the walls, not the floor, okay?”

Carmen, who was only two, let out a babble from the back, her big eyes bright as she clutched onto a stuffed bear. You knew she had no idea what was happening, but she could feel the excitement in the air.

After a short drive, the family arrived at the store. The children were practically bouncing with energy as you all entered. Santiago was already sprinting toward the aisle with cribs, his face lit up with curiosity.

“Dad! This one! It’s so big! The baby can sleep in this!” Santiago pointed to a crib that seemed to take up most of the aisle, much too large for any newborn.

Carlos knelt down beside him. “That one’s a little too big, buddy,” he said with a smile. “We need a crib that’s just the right size for the baby. Let’s keep looking.”

Meanwhile, Carmen toddled around in her own little world, running her hands over the soft fabric of baby blankets, occasionally stopping to give them a squeeze. “Soft!” she giggled.

You and Carlos exchanged amused looks, knowing full well that this was going to be an adventure in itself.

As you went through the store, Santiago insisted on picking out a set of bed sheets for the baby, proudly holding them up like a trophy. “Look, mama! The baby can sleep on this!” he said, presenting a set with cute little animals on it.

“That’s perfect, Santiago,” you said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Great choice.”

The shopping trip was full of little moments like this, where your kids showed off their excitement and their enthusiasm for the baby. By the time you had everything you needed—crib, dresser, changing table, some soft, pastel blankets, and cute little baby clothes—you were ready to head home and get to work setting up the nursery.

Back at home, the real fun began.

Carlos set up the crib in the corner of the room while you, carefully balancing your growing belly, looked over paint samples. After some indecision, you both decided on a soft, light yellow that would brighten the room.

Santiago was eager to help. He grabbed a small paintbrush and started "painting" the walls, splattering a few strokes onto the paper you had laid down on the floor. “Look, mama! I’m doing it!” he shouted with pride, his face completely covered in yellow paint. You laughed.

“That’s... one way to do it, buddy,” you said, gently taking the brush from his hand. “Let’s try to keep the paint on the walls, okay?”

Carmen, curious as ever, decided to get involved too. She waddled over to the paint bucket, dipped her fingers in, and then started creating colorful handprints on the floor. Her giggles filled the room as she patted the wall and then looked at her hand, completely amused. “Paint!” she giggled, showing you her little rainbow-colored hands.

Carlos, who had just finished assembling the crib, turned around and saw the chaos unfolding. His mouth dropped open in surprise, but he couldn't help but laugh. “I think we might need to paint the floor, too!”

“Maybe we’ll just keep those handprints as a memory of today,” you said, smirking.

After a few more moments of paint-induced chaos, you managed to corral the kids and get everyone back on task. While Carlos set up the changing table and dresser, you supervised as Santiago helped you roll the paint over the walls, and Carmen... well, she had a blast running around the room, occasionally stopping to admire the new furniture.

By the time evening came, the room was starting to take shape. The crib was in place, the walls were a cheerful shade of yellow, and there was a brand-new sense of warmth in the room that made you smile.

Santiago, who had been bouncing from one task to the next all afternoon, stood proudly in the middle of the room. “Look, mama! It’s perfect! The baby will love it!”

You walked over and crouched down to his level, pulling him into a big hug. “It’s perfect because you helped, Santiago. You and your sister helped make this room so special.”

Carmen toddled over, holding up a little toy bear she had found, offering it to you with a bright smile. “Baby bear!” she said, clearly proud of her contribution.

Carlos wrapped his arm around you from behind, his eyes filled with love and gratitude. “We couldn’t have done it without them,” he whispered, his voice full of affection.

You leaned back into his embrace, looking around the room that was now ready to welcome the new baby. “This is a memory I’ll never forget,” you said softly, your heart full.

“Yeah,” Carlos murmured, kissing the top of your head. “It’s a perfect start to our new chapter.”

As the day ended and the kids were tucked into bed, you and Carlos took a moment to sit together in the nursery, the soft glow of the nightlight casting a warm, comforting light around the room.

“We’re ready,” you whispered to Carlos, resting your hand on your belly. “Whenever the baby is ready, we’ll be ready.”

Carlos nodded, his eyes full of emotion. “We’ve got this. Together, we’ve got this.”

And as you sat there, surrounded by the love and chaos of your little family, you knew that everything was exactly how it was supposed to be.

#carlos sainz x female reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz one shot #carlos sainz imagine #dad!Carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz fanfic #Carlos Sainz x wife!reader #carlos sainz x y/n #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

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biblical-chronicles · 2 days ago

Text

Baby fever

_________________________________________

where Noel can't get enough of watching you take care of Lennon.

_________________________________________

You and Noel had just sat down on the couch, him sinking into the cushions with a sigh like he was already bored out of his mind. You’d barely had a second to settle in before the sound of tiny feet pattering across the floor made you perk up.

“Lennon’s in?” you asked, turning to Liam with a grin.

“Yeah, yeah, the big lad’s here,” he muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “But don’t get too excited, he’s a right little menace today.”

You didn’t listen. The second the little blond toddler rounded the corner, you were beaming. “Lennon!”

His head snapped up, bright eyes finding you instantly, and before Liam could warn you, the kid was launching himself at you. Small arms wrapped around your legs, and you scooped him up effortlessly, laughing as he clung to you like a little monkey.

“Well, hello to you too,” you chuckled, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Didn’t know you were waitin' for me.”

“Course I was.” he said simply, in that blunt way only toddlers could manage.

Liam rolled his eyes. “Oi, don’t inflate her ego, kid. She’s insufferable enough as it is.”

Lennon ignored him, making a beeline for the couch just as you sat down next to Noel again. But rather than plopping himself down anywhere else, the toddler wedged his tiny frame right between you and Noel, determinedly claiming the space like it was a matter of life and death.

Liam snorted, shaking his head. “Bloody hell, Noel, watch out. Looks like the little one’s about to steal your missus.”

Noel barely spared a glance down at the sudden intruder in his space, just raised an eyebrow before Liam piped in again. “Reckon she’s got a type, then. Clingy, bossy, and about three feet tall.”

You burst into laughter as Lennon, oblivious to the teasing, just snuggled further into you, like he’d already won some great battle.

“Well, I can’t argue with that, can I?” You lifted him into your lap instead, letting him settle in comfortably, absentmindedly smoothing out his hair as he leaned against you.

Noel just shook his head, amused. “Right little charmer, he is.”

Liam scoffed, flopping into the armchair across from you. “Don’t encourage him, man. He’s got enough of that from his mum.”

The conversation drifted into the usual back and forth, jokes flying between you, Liam, and Noel, with Lennon happily nestled in your lap, soaking up the attention. But, of course, with toddlers having the attention span of a goldfish, Lennon soon started wiggling restlessly.

“I’m bored,” he announced dramatically. “Can we play footie? Please?”

Liam raised an eyebrow. “Oi, this isn’t your guest, you know.”

Before he could go on further, you grinned. “Oh, I don’t mind at all, if you'll excuse me for ten minutes.” you said easily, shifting Lennon off your lap and standing up.

Lennon’s face lit up, practically glowing with pride. He turned to his dad with a smug grin. “Look, she wants to play with me.”

Noel snorted, and Liam shot him a glare before looking back at you. “Yeah, yeah, alright, but don’t let him run you ragged. He’s relentless today.”

You ruffled Lennon’s hair. “I think I can handle it.”

With that, you followed the little one outside, letting him dash ahead to grab the ball. The air was crisp but not too cold, the sky still holding onto the last bits of daylight. Lennon wasted no time, rolling the ball toward you with an eager grin.

“Alright,” you said, tapping the ball back toward him. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The game was chaos from the start. Lennon had all the energy in the world and none of the technique, yet that didn’t stop him from running around like a madman. You tried showing him some basic kick-ups, but he was more interested in dribbling the ball in a messy zigzag and making dramatic goal celebrations every time he got past you.

Inside the house, Noel had half a mind to listen to whatever Liam was going on about, but his attention kept drifting toward the window. His fingers drummed against the armrest, eyes narrowing slightly as he watched you outside. The way you crouched to Lennon’s level, patiently showing him how to control the ball. The way you laughed when he got it wrong but tried again anyway. The way Lennon absolutely adored you.

Liam caught where his gaze had wandered and smirked. “Jesus Christ, look at you.”

Noel turned back, frowning. “What?”

Liam gestured lazily toward the window. “You’re bloody mesmerised. Don’t think I’ve seen you look that in love with owt that isn’t a guitar.”

Noel scoffed, but his gaze flickered back outside, where Lennon had just tackled you in an overly enthusiastic hug after managing to kick the ball past you.

Liam smirked. “Baby fever, is it?”

“Shut up.” Noel muttered, sinking further into the couch.

Liam laughed. “Nah, mate, I get it. She’s good with him. Natural, even.” He leaned back, arms crossed. “Bet you’re thinkin’ about it now, aren’t ya?”

Noel rolled his eyes. “You're a bloody wind up merchant, you.”

Liam just grinned. “Say what you want, but I bet if I walked out there right now and told her you wanna put a ring on it, you wouldn’t even deny it.”

Noel glared at him. “You do that, and you’ll be the one buried in the garden.”

Liam just laughed harder, but Noel ignored him, letting his gaze drift back out the window, watching as you ran around with the toddler, both of you grinning like it was the best day ever.

After a while, you and Lennon made your way back inside, slightly breathless, your shirt damp from running around with him. As you stepped into the living room, you wiped your forehead dramatically.

“You were right,” you said to Liam, shaking your head. “He’s a bit relentless today. We’re gonna grab some water, yeah?”

But Lennon had other ideas. “No!” he piped up, bouncing on his feet. “I wanna show them the song!”

That got Noel and Liam’s attention. Noel leaned forward slightly, intrigued, while Liam raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah?” you asked, crouching down to his level. “You sure? No water first?”

Lennon ignored that completely, puffing his little chest out. Then, with all the confidence in the world, he started singing.

"Blue moon… you saw me standing alone…”

He got through the first few lines, not quite in tune, words a bit jumbled, but the effort was undeniable. When he finished, he stood there beaming, waiting for approval.

You clapped immediately, grinning. “That was brilliant, Lennon!” Then, you turned to Liam, shaking your head. “I’m actually disgusted, Liam. How could he not know the club anthem before?”

Lennon, catching onto your tone, gasped and looked up at his dad, eyes wide with betrayal, clearly not wanting to miss the opportunity to tell his dad off with you behind his back.

“Yeah, what she said.”

Liam groaned. “Oh, come on—why are you two ganging up on me in me own house?”

Noel let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Looks like you’ve lost this one, our kid.”

You smirked. “Might be time to admit you’ve failed as a parent, Liam.”

Liam pointed at you, shaking his head. “You’re a terrible influence.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” you teased, running a hand through Lennon’s hair. “You’re just bitter ‘cause I got there first.”

Liam scoffed. “He’s just three! I was gonna teach him.”

Noel just continued watching the whole thing unfold, arms crossed as he leaned back into the couch. But something about the scene—you, standing there, Lennon practically attached to your side, both of you smirking at Liam like you were conspiring against him—was doing something to him. And the fact that you’d been the one to teach him Blue Moon? That just sealed it.

Liam, of course, clocked it immediately. He turned to Noel with a knowing smirk. “Oi, you alright there, mate? You’re lookin’ a bit—what’s the word? Smitten?”

Noel scowled. “Oh give over.”

But Liam was already laughing. “Oh, this is great. You’re gone, mate. Completely gone.”

You turned back to Noel, raising an eyebrow. “What’s he on about?”

Noel just shook his head, but the smile was already creeping onto his lips. “Nothin’. He’s just windin' me up.”

Before you could press him, Lennon tugged at your sleeve. “Can I sing it again?”

You grinned, reaching for his hands. “Course you can, rockstar.”

As Lennon launched into another—somehow even less accurate—rendition of Blue Moon, Noel pulled you down beside him. He then leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple.

It was so natural, that for a second you almost didn’t react. But then you glanced at him, catching that little smirk of his, and felt warmth spread through your chest.

Noel’s voice was low, just for you. “I love you, y’know. To the moon and back.”

_________________________________________

I loved this, big thanks to @tashi-3 for the request, hope you liked it love !!

I know the picture doesn't match that well but he just looked too good not to put it in, biblical side profile x

#oasis x reader #oasis one shots #oasis band #britpop x f!reader #britpop x reader #britpop fanfiction #noel gallagher x reader #noel gallagher x you #noel gallagher x f!reader #noel gallagher one shots #noel gallagher fanfiction #oasis noel gallagher #noel gallagher x y/n #oasis fanfiction #oasis fic #britpop one shots #britpop x you

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torturedtypewritersdept · 2 days ago

Text

blue eyes + bruises - blurb - she has your eyes

✯ pairing:

doctor!rafe cameron x fem!reader

✯ summary:

a tragic car accident looks like it'll be the end for you, but dr. cameron is here to make sure that doesn't happen.

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, and fear, car accident, death of a spouse (not rafe or y/n), major surgery, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity back in 2021/2022 and i have rewritten + reshared it here :) the next chapter i spent literally so much time on and i can't wait to share it!!!!

You stood at the reception area of the emergency department, an olive green smock-style dress draped over your form as you held the underside of your nine-month-old belly in an attempt to ease the pain of the fifth contraction you’d had in the past hour. You squeezed your eyes shut again as another wave of pain passed over you.

“Can you page Dr. Rafe Cameron, please?”

You asked the nurse through clenched teeth who you weren’t familiar with; ‘she must be a new grad’ you thought to yourself. Where’s Jenni when you really need her?

“I sure can, may I ask what he needs to be paged for?”

You couldn’t blame this newly hired nurse for her question, you were sure that she was wondering why a woman who looked to be in active labor was wanting her to page an orthopedic surgeon. You knew it was procedure unless you were family for them to ask what the doctor was needed for and if you were in your right mind, you would’ve recognized that. But, you weren’t in your right mind – the not sleeping because of the pain in your pelvis was getting to you and with Rafe working days so he could be at home with you at night, there was no way you could wake him up and ask him to do the massage that the physical therapist had taught you. You let out an exasperated sigh and just as you did, Jenni, your most favorite person in the entire world, turned the corner. You were anxious for many reasons; your body about to push out a baby was first on the list, needing to find your husband was second, and the third, and most looming dreadfully, was the fact that apart from lunches and picking your husband up and doctor’s appointments, you hadn’t been in the hospital in a long time – you hadn’t been a patient in a long time and the anxiety of it all was threatening to overtake you completely.

“Ma’am, what does he need to be paged for?”

The new grad nurse, who you now realized was named Lizzie, asked you again at the same time that Jenni made her way behind the desk. As you read her name tag – you hyper fixated on whether or not it was short for Elizabeth or something else. You and Rafe had thrown around the name Elizabeth for a middle name – a tribute to the eldest Cameron girl, but had decided against it. You wanted your sweet baby to be unique and to grow into her own name, not be in the shadow of someone else’s.

“Hey, sweet girl, are you looking for Dr. Handsome?”

She joked, knowing who you had been asking for before even hearing the contents of the conversation in front of her.

“Yeah.”

You spoke meekly and Jenni watched you carefully as you squeezed your eyes shut, this time doubling over and yelling out as the contraction attempted to bring you to your knees. She quickly made her way over to you, grabbing your hand in hers and taking your hospital bag from your shoulders, doing her best to bring you back to an upright position.

“I think we’re having this sweet baby, today, mama.”

You gingerly nodded with fear stricken eyes. Being back here – in a place where you spent so much of your time – where you met your husband, but also where you struggled to walk again, where you almost died; it all has quickly become too much to handle and you needed Rafe to remind you of the strength it gave you, the beautiful little girl you were about to bring into this world, and the wonderful life it had helped you create. You just needed him and you just needed him now.

“I can’t do it without him, Jenni. I need you to find him.”

Your pleading eyes told her all she needed to know – you were scared – and she hadn’t seen you look this way in a long time.

“Lizzie, call the OR and let Dr. Cameron know that his wife is in labor.”

She instructed, tone forceful but kind before she looked back at you.

“Look at me, mama. He’s gonna be with you soon, I promise. But, right now, I’m gonna take you up to Dr. Lebel’s office, okay?”

It only made sense to move your OB-GYN’s office to the hospital; Rafe worked here and it made attending appointments much easier. Not to mention, he no longer likes the idea of you in a car by yourself, even five years after your accident. You nodded your head at Jenni’s words and let her lead you to the elevator and up to the fourth floor, where Dr. Lebel’s office was located.

You were in the waiting room for ten minutes when Rafe came barreling through the door. You couldn’t help but giggle at how disheveled he was – still draped in the same scrubs he had left the house in that morning; but hair messy and all over the place, and that fucking mustache; even nine months pregnant and in extreme pain, it was heating up your core. You made grabby hands at him like a baby and he obliged with the Rafe Cameron smile, pulling you in for a hug and rubbing your back with both of his hands.

“Hi, mama. What’s going on, sweetheart?”

He asked, sweetly, happy to see you, of course, but concerned by the tone of voice Lizzie used when she called the operating room. He quickly got another doctor to step in and finish the surgery he was performing so he could be with you just in case your little bean decided to make her debut into the world, today of all days.

“I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

You said, moving to sit back down into the chair as another contraction made its way into your atmosphere, yet again. You doubled over, the pain was growing sharper each time and they were becoming closer together. You knew you were going to meet your baby girl very soon. Rafe moved quickly, grabbing your hands so you didn’t fall forward and scooting you back into the chair that sat in a sea of ones just like it in the somewhat empty waiting room. You opened your eyes as the wave of pain passed and you panted for breath, the fullness of your belly moved up and down with the correlation of your breasts as your lungs expanded to try and get more air. Rafe waited with kind eyes and a patient tongue, letting you finish explaining what was going on before opening his mouth to speak.

“I tossed and turned all night – the pain in my pelvis – it was just too much.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, growing quiet as you waited for him to respond. His strong hands moved to your head as he began to rub soothing circles into your hair. The two of you were no strangers to the effects that the accident had on your pregnancy and pelvic pain from the previously crushed bones that Rafe reorchestrated and seemingly put back together was one of them. He was proactive; getting you quickly into prenatal physical therapy by the end of your first trimester and going to every appointment with you, listening to the physical therapist and massaging your hips in the way you liked so much every time he could.

“Why didn’t you wake me up, baby? I would’ve done that massage you like.”

He spoke and you almost melted, knowing that had you just woke him, the thing you wanted was what he would’ve done anyways; how very – Rafe Cameron of him.

“I didn’t want to wake you, sweet boy. I knew you had to work.”

You replied, cupping his cheek.

“Yeah, but you’re more important than anything here. You know that, mama. You and my sweet girl in your little tummy are so much more important.”

Rafe was selfless and if Molly’s death taught him anything, it was not to take the ones you love for granted. That was something he never intended to do again and it was a lesson that had stuck with him, even seven years later. You put your forehead to his and he kissed your nose before you continued with the events of the morning.

“Anyways, the pain spread from my hips to my tummy this morning and when I had five contractions in an hour, I came in. I think we’re about to have a baby.”

He almost squealed in excitement.

“I can’t wait, mama. My girl is giving me a baby girl.”

He spoke in content as the door flung open and the nurse called your name for you to come back and see the doctor. Rafe stood and grabbed your hand, helping you move to your feet ever so slowly, the nine-month-old bump you sported made you teeter and the last thing he wanted was for you to fall. His protective hands guided you through the threshold of the door.

You made your way to the room after the nurse noted that your blood pressure was a little bit elevated. You shook that off quickly, the anxiety of giving birth and the pain that had been coursing through your body all night made it make sense. Rafe helped you onto the table and the nurse gently draped the cloth over your lower half, lifting your dress to just below your breasts as Dr. Lebel came in.

“I heard you’re not feeling the greatest, mama.”

Rafe gingerly nodded as he met her eyes. He had placed himself on a stool at your head, rubbing soothing circles into your hair once more, the hand of yours that was closest to him was squeezing his – the anxiety coursing heavily through your veins. One thing had never changed about you and that was your need for his touch in a crisis. He loved that about you. While he couldn’t physically help because babies weren’t his specialty, he could soothe you with his touch and that’s what he intended to do.

“Her contractions are getting closer and closer.”

Rafe spoke into the air and the doctor nodded.

“Well, let’s take a look at our girl, shall we?”

You looked at Rafe who gave you a smile before eagerly nodding at your doctor. One special thing that Rafe developed during your pregnancy was the way he smiled ear-to-ear every time he saw his little girl on the ultrasound screen. He was giddy – like that of a giggling little girl; he never could get over the fact that because of you, because of Molly’s orchestration of him finding you, he was married to the love of his life and he was about to get to be the daddy to the world’s most perfect little girl.

“Jelly’s gonna be a little cold.”

She brought the bottle over your belly, squirting it and watching as it gently fell on to your tan skin. You squirmed under the chill of the gel and Rafe giggled. After nine months of ultrasounds, your reaction was still the same – even though you had felt the icy-like drop of the gel as it descended down to your belly more times than he could count on his hands, you always, always, expected it not to be cold. He marked it up to you expecting the good in everything; even this tiny detail about cold gel made him love you more than he did the second previously. His eyes went from the doctor to the screen as she dutifully began to spread the gel around your abdomen and your baby girl appeared on the screen. Her heartbeat was the symphony and yours was the orchestra; one couldn’t co-exist without the other. You were thankful that through all the fear of the morning, her heartbeat was still there. It meant she was good, it meant she was safe. Tears lined your eyes as you turned your head to look at Rafe, the sheet of paper draped over the pillow crinkling as you met his eyes. He smiled and leaned in to place a kiss on your forehead.

“She’s okay, baby. Look at her moving around, she’s perfect.”

He said pointing at the screen. Dr. Lebel was quiet for a moment before locking eyes with Rafe and speaking only with her eyes, something only doctors seemed to know how to do. Rafe knew what it meant – it meant something wasn’t right.

“What is it, doc?”

He asked, nonchalantly but his tone was laced with concern. Your eyes went wide.

“I-is something wrong?”

You stuttered. Which Rafe knew meant your anxiety was reaching a peak of no return, rapidly.

“Slow down, nothing is wrong. We don’t want to scare you, mama. Baby girl is measuring at nine pounds – like we discussed previously, with the previous crush injury to your pelvis, a nine pound baby is going to be extremely rough on your body; it may even re-break your pelvis. The pelvis loosens quite a bit in a normal person, but because of the pins and screws in yours, I don’t want to risk reinjury.”

Rafe’s eyes almost popped out of his head at the thought of your tiny bones breaking for the second time in order to bring your daughter into the world. The worst part was, he knew you’d be fine with that, he knew you’d go to that length to ensure that a c-section wasn’t necessary because if he knew anything about you it was that you didn’t want anyone besides him operating on you – you didn’t trust anyone besides him to. It made sense, he had been the one to repeatedly bring you through surgery over and over, it was him who laid with you and held you close so you’d know you weren’t alone all those late nights in the hospital. You were scared, you were experiencing post-traumatic stress and there was little to nothing he could do about it. But, he knew for damn sure that he was not going to let your first chance at motherhood be spent the way your days in the hospital were – you were going to enjoy this if he had anything to do with it and you deserved that much.

“So, what do you suggest, doc? What are our options here? I know she’s pretty dead set on a vaginal birth, is that still possible?”

Rafe questioned her with intent – he needed to know what the odds were that your pelvis wasn’t going to break into pieces right in front of him.

“It’s possible, but the outcomes are extremely grim. Rafe, you know what happens when a pelvis splinters, she’s risking internal bleeding. Not to mention, the significant amount of pain she will already be in as a new mom. We don’t need to add emergency surgery to fix broken bones to that. I would suggest a c-section. I know that’s not in your plan, but it is the safer option.”

You looked to Rafe with pleading eyes, begging him not to make you do this.

“I’m going to step out and let you guys talk about it for a few minutes.”

Dr. Lebel said, giving the both of you a reassuring smile before stepping out and closing the door behind her.

“Rafferty, please don’t make me do this.”

You whispered, your voice cracking as the emotion of it all overcame you. Nothing hurt Rafe more than that sound, but he knew he had to give you some tough love in this situation to protect you.

“Come on, mama. You had to use my government name and the conversation has barely started?”

It was a half-joke, he needed you to smile so you’d know – so he’d know that this would all be okay and at the end of the day you would have a healthy baby. But, a smile is not what he got. Instead, he watched as your lip trembled and he lurched forward, pulling you into his arms, your belly creating distance between you. It was almost as if the sweet girl inside you was giving her input into the situation.

“Rafe, c-can’t you just – c-can’t you fix it if it breaks?”

He was taken aback by your question, though he shouldn’t have been. He knew you like the back of his hand and he knew this was the eerie and winding path your brain would go down. He wished so badly that your brain would give you a break and that for once it would follow the yellow brick road – the normal path of thinking. But, anxiety is anxiety and he knew it well, no matter what the doctor had said, you were going to be anxious because this was a monumental life event for the both of you and him wishing things were different wouldn’t change that.

“No, mama. I can’t. It could splinter and make you bleed internally. It could kill you baby and as much as I love you and want to make you comfortable, I have my boundaries too, baby – watching you die is not on my to-do list for today. Not to mention, I can’t – I won’t – let you enter motherhood unable to walk and in intense pain; that’s not fair to you or little bean. She needs her mama and she needs her mama whole and healthy, okay?”

You could only whimper as you nodded in response.

Only an hour later, you were laying on your back on an operating table, arms spread wide, tied to the table in the shape of a crucifix. Rafe sat on a rolling stool at your head, his regular blue surgical garb adorned his body and his hands sat on top of your head. You looked up at him with fear stricken eyes as the doctors and nurses worked around you, moving the contents of your stomach out of it in an attempt to get to your baby girl.

“Rafe, I’m scared.”

You whispered and he stood, peering his eyes down and over the mask that sat on his face until they met yours.

“I know, baby. But, it’s okay. Not much longer, now.”

Those blue orbs were the only thing that grounded you as you heard the faintest cry, that managed to get louder and louder by the second. He brought his forehead to yours and you breathed out a breath of relief.

“Our girl has arrived, mama.”

He muttered and you smiled softly at the thought.

“Rafe, go with her.”

You demanded and he nodded his head as they took her to the incubator in the corner of the room, working quickly to rid her of the contents of your blood and fluid. As quickly as he had left, he returned to your side with tears in his eyes as he brought your daughter to your chest and allowed you to place kisses to her tiny pink button nose. She was the perfect mixture of you and Rafe; his nose, your cheeks, his hair, your lips, and just as you were committing her features to memory she blinked her eyes open. They were the same cerulean blue of her father’s and you thanked your lucky star’s the one prayer you had sent up had become reality.

“Rafe, she has your eyes.”

He mewled at the small fact as he took her from your arms, holding her head in his palm and placing his other hand on her tiny bottom. He bounced her for only a moment, letting tears cascade down his face as the harsh reality hit him that even though he had lost Molly, he had gained all the things he ever prayed for in the end. He placed his forehead against hers, taking in her scent, scared that he’d never smell it again.

“Millie June Cameron. Hi, baby. I’m your daddy.”

He cooed.

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