#and then there’s that flicker of a moment at the end he hears her say that she wants to be there for him like he’s always been there for he

[lady-of-blossoms]

WHEN LOVE FADES

Pairings: Toji x Y/N

synopsis: Toji’s relationship with Y/N was always a little tricky but Y/N still stayed even though her friends told Y/N how he wasn’t a good partner until he forgets their anniversary and leaves Y/N waiting for him at the restaurant for 6 hours, then when Y/N finally realizes Their love faded.

WC: 1k

CONTENT WARNING: Toji is an asshole, he forgets about your anniversary, alcohol abuse, A HELLA LOT OF ANGST, Fighting, Blaming.

A/N: Sorry this was so unintimate, i didnt have much motivation. Class has been really hard on me rn:(

I sat at a small table, a single white candle flickering in the center, illuminating the carefully crafted menu that lay untouched before me. The whispers of other couples floated around, filled with laughter and sweet nothings. I glanced at the clock for the umpteenth time. It was 9:30 PM, and the reservation had been at 3:00 PM. I could almost hear my friends’ voices in my head, their warnings echoing like a distant memory.

“Y/N, you deserve better than Toji. He’s not good for you.”

But yet, here I was, waiting. Toji and I had always walked a tightrope of chaos and comfort, his flaws often eclipsed by a flicker of charm. He’d sweep me off my feet one moment and leave me questioning my worth the next.

I poured the last drops of water from the pitcher into my glass, staring through the translucent surface. The ashy blue of his eyes would twinkle with mischief, the kind that made my heart race in ways I didn’t even want to admit. But today, they felt as distant as he was.

By the time the waitress cleared my empty table—half-heartedly touching her arm as if to say “maybe you should go”—I felt the weight of hopelessness pressing down on me. Had I been foolish to wait? To believe that today would be different?

Suddenly, the bell above the restaurant door chimed, breaking through my encasing silence. I straightened, my heart stammering as I turned to see Toji step in. He looked disheveled and slightly out of breath, his typical swagger dampened by the despair that surrounded him.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed when his eyes found me—first a flash of relief and then, confusion.

“Where have you been, Toji?” I hardly recognized the coolness in my own voice.

“I… I lost track of time. Things got a bit out of hand.” He ran a hand through his messy black hair, something he did when he was trying to gather his thoughts.

My heart ached as the memories swirled around us—the fond moments we’d shared, entwined with uncertainty and unfulfilled promises. “You forgot our anniversary,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, but the tremor in my words betrayed me.

“I’m here now, right?” he said, and there was a hint of desperation in the smile he tried to muster. “Let’s make the best of it.”

“Six hours of waiting is a long ‘now,’ Toji.”

The flickering candlelight danced between us, casting shadows around the worn features of his face. “I know, and I’m sorry. I just… I lost track. It won’t happen again.”

But something shifted in my heart. Each year, we’d been caught in this carousel of doubt and affection, wit and sorrow. I could internalize this moment, mark it and brush it aside, but tonight, something felt irrevocable.

“The bill…” I started, but Toji cut me off with a wave of his hand, a look of guilt etching across his face.

“We can talk about that later.”

“Can we?” I challenged quietly, rage bubbling beneath the surface. “How many ���laters’ do we have to go through before we face what’s real?”

His eyes flickered, and for a moment, I saw the man I fell in love with, his heart laid bare in the dim light, vulnerable and exposed. But just as quickly, he masked it with nonchalance.

“It was just a bad day, Y/N. We’ve all had them.”

This was our never-ending dialogue—Toji, the eternal optimist, hiding behind reasons and excuses, often leaping from the serious to the unserious, brushing aside feelings as if they were dust. And I, the craftsperson of resilience, sweeping them under the proverbial rug of sanity.

“Six hours, Toji.” I breathed, the hurt echoing in the quiet as I struggled to find reasons to hold on. “What if today wasn’t just a bad day? What if this is just how things are now?”

Toji remained silent, swirling the ice in his glass. It was haunting, the way he could make the space between us feel like a chasm filled with regrets. We used to dance around this exhaustion, always painfully avoiding the heart of the matter.

Realization hit me like a sudden rush of cold. Our love was unfurling like an old leaf disintegrating into dust. The passion, the thrill—it was fading.

“I don’t want to keep waiting, Toji. Not for you or anyone.” I could feel the tears pooling at the corners of my eyes, a testament to the years gone by.

“What are you saying?” His voice slipped, and I could see a hint of panic in his eyes.

“I think I’m saying goodbye.”

“I won’t let you go ma…” he stated fiercely, but even that sounded hollow amidst all the despair coursing between us.

“It’s not about wanting or not wanting. This isn’t working anymore. I’ve tried to hold our little family together long enough…” A silent pause filled the air, thick with words left unspoken. What once felt sacred was now fractured, barely held together by strands of laughter obscured by shadow.

Toji reached for my hand, squeezing it tight as if it would anchor him to the present moment. “Please, don’t walk away,” he begged, his voice raw and pleading.

But I needed to walk. I needed to step into the light of clarity, however painful. I wished I could splinter away his demons, sprinkle his life with joy and love, but you cannot save someone who doesn’t wish to be saved.

“I need to know I’m enough for myself first, Toji,” I whispered, wiping away the tears that had betrayed me. “Maybe one day, you’ll understand.”

With one last lingering look, I stood and slipped out of the restaurant, leaving echoes of what once was behind me, wrestling with the shadows of heartache, yet free from the chains of those delicious, yet debilitating memories.

I guess this really was WHEN LOVE FADES…

🏷️:

[slozhnos]

i think the most heartbreaking moment in childish things is winn and kara’s conversation at the docks bc like “no, you don’t really need me.” bit hurts me so much every time

[augustinewrites]

“what’s on these?” megumi asks, holding up a box of memory cards.

cleaning day always unearthed all types of lost and forgotten items. sometimes it was clothes long forgotten in you and gojo’s closet, other times it was the kid’s old books or toys. you knew every inch of your little apartment, so most times you could identify any mystery items that came up.

“i don’t know,” you hum, plucking a card from the box to inspect it a little more closely. the only hint as to what’s actually on it seems to just be a date.

2006

…and it’s in gojo’s handwriting.

curious, you pop one into the video player and turn on the tv. the kids join you on the couch, clearly eager to entertain any distraction from your cleaning crusade.

when the screen flickers to life, a familiar courtyard comes into view.

you can’t help the gasp when haibara comes into focus…but then you see satoru standing standing across from him, arms spread out.

“who is that?” megumi asks, pointing at haibara.

you think of the bright smile of the boy still lingering in the edges of your memory and tell him, softly, “an old friend.”

“suguru!” gojo shouts, looking towards the person holding the camera. he’s all messy hair and wide smiles, exactly how you remember him in his youth. “make sure you get this one!”

geto grumbles about how he’s paying attention, and suddenly you remember exactly what this is.

“ah, these are from when yaga would make us record ourselves practicing cursed technique application,” you explain as a haibara lines up a shot with a pencil.

the pencil hits gojo in the face, gifting him a small cut on his cheek. “ah, shit!”

behind the camera you can hear nanami and geto laughing as haibara apologizes profusely, and shoko comes over to practice her healing. you come over too, holding a cloth.

“don’t pout,” your younger self says, reaching up to wipe a thin trail of blood from his cheek. “you’ll get it next time.”

as soon you turn away, you hear geto snicker and the camera suddenly zooms in on gojo’s face.

he’s blushing.

“ugh,” you hear him groan behind the three of you, finally finished cleaning the bathroom. “are we done cleaning yet?”

“we’re taking a break!” tsumiki tells him, as megumi pops another card in.

gojo ignores megumi’s protests, stealing the spot on the couch next to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders with a smirk. “move your feet, lose your seat.”

tsumiki, angel that she is, moves over so her brother can sit on your other side as the video starts.

this time, gojo is the one recording, holding the camera out so it’s pointed at his own smiling face. “haibara versus nanami, round one!”

you feel your boyfriend stiffen beside you, looking over to see an odd look on his face. “oh, fuck—”

“jar,” megumi says flatly.

he glares at the kid, and is about to get up when you stop him. “wait! i want to watch this!”

he slumps back, throwing an arm over his eyes as he groans dramatically. ignoring him, you watch the fight play out, which ends with haibara whining whilst in a headlock.

you hear geto’s murmured commentary off camera as nanami releases his classmate, expecting the video to zoom in on the victor.

but it drifts a little to the left, where you’re laughing with shoko on the sidelines.

“so obvious,” geto scoffs. the video wobbles for a moment before being pointed directly at the tips of satoru’s shoes, then ends abruptly.

when you glance over at satoru, he’s pulled his sunglasses over his eyes as if they can hide his pink cheeks.

the next videos are similar. memories of your past viewed through a different lens, showing you things you’d never picked up on when you were living them.

some moments you watch with an aching heart. like when suguru leans close to you and makes a joke at satoru’s expense, or when you reach up to ruffle haibara’s hair.

(moments with cherished friends proving that the grief of losing them never got any lighter as you moved forward with your life, but at some point you’d just gotten used to carrying the weight.)

but what might be most interesting is seeing yourself in satoru’s eyes.

his focus, whether he was the one holding the camera or not, always seemed to drift to you. for all the times he’d denied crushing on you in your early years, the camera proves otherwise.

the way he peeks at you shyly as you fix your hair before a fight.

the way he reaches out instinctively whenever you’re knocked backwards.

the way he smiles brightly whenever you laugh at one of his jokes.

the way your gaze would occasionally meet his, and his smile seemed to come naturally.

“okay, that’s enough for tonight,” satoru announces, shutting the tv off and shooing the children away. “go clean your rooms, you freeloaders.”

you stand, looping your arms around his neck before he can run away. smiling, you gently pull his glasses off, tossing them onto the couch.

“hey! those are gucci—”

you shut him up with a kiss, feeling the way his lips curve upwards against yours. “i love you, you know that?”

blue eyes meet yours, the pensive look he’d been wearing melting into something a little softer. something reserved for you. “you’re obsessed with me, i know.”

you simply laugh, letting him dip down to give you another kiss.

(because you’d had his heart in your pocket long before either of you had realized.)

[lowkeyren]

BUT YOU BELONG TO ME!

in which — some jealousy headcanons / scenarios for our favourite luofu men!

featuring — dan heng, blade, jing yuan (separately) x gn!reader

wc: total 1.8k, from req: here!, they're so silly goodbye, march + fu xuan cameo ;) reblogs w comments are appreciated, please enjoy!!!

#DAN HENG

look me in the eyes and tell me dan heng wouldn’t be the “i'm jealous, but i don’t wanna show it” (but it’s so PAINFULLY obvious that he’s jealous) type, you can’t.

definitely amusing to watch him play it cool, cus he has nothing else going on in his brain when you’re within 10 metre radius from him. 

honestly it would have to be quite specific situations if he ever gets jealous because he likes to keep you close by his side as often as possible. dating or not, he would have some sort of protective instinct —always making sure you’re secure and cared for. (and yes of course march teases him for it, he never admits it though.)

dan heng tries to focus on the book in his hands, but his mind refuses to make any sense of the words on the page —at least not when you’re standing so close to boothill. (too close for his liking anyway)

the cyborg sits at the opposite end of the couch where dan heng was, while you deftly adjust a compartment of his, engaging in small talk as he makes lighthearted jokes with you. dan heng hears your laughter ring out; the laughter that he adores so dearly, the laughter that never fails to warm his chest, and the laughter he wishes he was the reason for instead.

his eyes flicker up from the page to sneak a glance at you, the way your hands glide over boothill's body churns an ugly feeling, twisting in his chest. he shifts in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the unease remains.

his focus on you is suddenly shattered by a loud voice that belongs to no other than march, "dan heng, if you grip that book any harder, you might tear off a page." she stands in front of him, hands on her waist. 

“the way i am holding my book is perfectly fine, now if you will, i must get back to re—”

“oh c’mon! we all know your ass is not actually reading that book!” he raises an eyebrow, and march only rolls her eyes in response. “it’s literally upside-down.” she teases, unable to hold back a chuckle. 

dan heng glances down at the book in his hands, finally noticing the upside-down text, to which he quickly closes the book and puts it down. "maybe i was just testing your observational skills.”

march shakes her head, "yeah right… just admit you’re too busy staring at them!”

“no i’m n—” he begins to protest but is interrupted when you suddenly appear in front of him. “staring at who?” you tilt your head curiously, and he can only hope that you don’t hear the loud thumping of his heart. 

march giggles as she runs off to who-knows-where, he silently curses her for leaving him in this predicament. he manages to regain his composure, though his cheeks retain a faint pink hue. “ahem, anyway…” he trails off when you sit down next to him, your thighs brushing against each other.

alright you can’t keep doing this to him. he’s not a cyborg but it certainly seems like he’s malfunctioning at that moment. (though he doesn't mind if you have to “repair” him next; he considers it far preferable to having your hands on boothill anyway.)

#BLADE

this guy REEKS of jealousy. 

he gets jealous over anything —saying “good night!” to an acquaintance? well unfortunately, i don’t think they’re going to be having a very good night; a friendly smile from a passerby? the sudden chill in the air accompanied by his sharp glare is enough to make them rethink their life decisions. 

and the worst part? he knows it. he's aware of how irrational his jealousy can be, but that doesn't stop the surge of possessiveness that washes over him.

(deep down, he just wants to feel secure in your attention and affection, but it’s true that his jealousy sometimes gets the better of him.) 

blade’s “things to get rid of” list exponentially grows with each passing day, ranging from general items he sees no use of, to addresses of people who have wronged you in the past. 

but there’s one item on the list that stands out from the rest, the one item he can’t seem to bring himself to get rid of, no matter how hard he tries.

37. “blade plushie”

okay but what kind of website is “stellaron hunters fan merch for sell.com” anyway? since when do they have a fanbase, and why did you have to buy a plushie of him, of all things? 

he shoots daggers at the plushie sitting on your bed, on his side of your bed. while he can't always be by your side, surely there's no need for an inferior replacement?

blade sits down beside you, discreetly moving the plushie out of the way. just as you turn to reach for it, he wraps his arm around you and snuggles up to your side; you immediately pause at his affectionate gesture; his hair brushes against your neck as he buries his face into it.

“blade.. what are you doing?” you turn your attention to him, much to his delight. 

“why not spend more time with the real deal instead of… that.” he tightens his grip around you, at this point he isn’t even trying to hide his jealousy (over a plushie lmao) anymore. 

"you mean mr. edgelord...?" you barely manage to stifle your laughter as blade shoots up beside you. doesn’t hurt to tease him for a bit, right?

��what did you say… “edgelord”?” he scoffs, his face twisting into a scowl. he can’t believe you gave that thing a nickname, how ridiculous. he makes a mental note to get rid of it asap. 

“yeah, what about it? jealous that he’s better than you?” you smirk, leaning in close to his face. perhaps you’re enjoying his expression of pure bitterness a little too much, who knew such a handsome face could look so hilariously indignant? 

his eyes twinkle in amusement, before closing in the distance. “hah, never.” his tone tinged with a touch of possessiveness that he can't quite hide.

“really? you seem like you’re about to kill it.” you wrap your arms around his neck, his expression softens for just a split second, but you’re able to catch it anyway. “would you please spare mr. edgelord if i give you a kiss?”

he doesn’t respond with words; he presses his lips against yours, gently cradling the back of your head. (you quickly turn mr. edgelord to face the wall before blade pulls you away)

maybe he’ll spare “it” for another day or so, just don’t let him catch you hugging “it” in your sleep again, alas you want “it” to suffer the same fate as the others on his list.

#JING YUAN

hmm our beloved general… well he trusts you, and believes that you won’t do anything rash; but on the other hand there are just some things that neither of you can control, whether it’s letters sent in to ask for his hand in marriage or admires trying to sweep you off your feet (before he can). 

though not many people would approach you once your relationship goes public, given that he’s the general and all. but imagine him before the two of you became official, clinging to you to fend off your admirers, and the expression on their faces when you shake your head, denying that you’re dating at all. 

“as for the situation at cloudford— general, are you even listening?” fu xuan furrows her brows, and crosses her arms, clearly annoyed. “ah my apologies lady fu, please keep going.” jing yuan only flashes a half-hearted smile at her before glancing over to your direction again.

you feel a pair of eyes boring into your back, undoubtedly jing yuan’s; but you pay it no mind, choosing to focus on the discussion at hand. his grip on his teacup tightens when he sees the foxian talking to you leans closer to catch your words. fu xuan raises an eyebrow in concern, unaware but still sensing the rising tension; his eyes visibly twitch the moment their hand brushes against yours.

“lady fu, let’s reschedule our meeting for another time. i believe i have some… important matters to attend to.” jing yuan rises up from his seat before fu xuan can reply, swiftly making his way towards you.

you’re startled by the sudden feeling of jing yuan’s arms around you, his chest pressing against your back, as he places his chin against your head. “sorry to interrupt, what’re you two discussing about?” the foxian is taken aback by the general's sudden appearance, and especially by your current position with him. 

“n-nothing general!” the foxian seems to hesitate before continuing, “if it isn’t rude to ask, are the two of you…in a relationship?” jing yuan’s face lights up with his usual lazy smile, but this time it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

your eyes widen in surprise as he presses his lips against your nape, you shiver at his touch, a rush of warmth spreads across your cheeks. you should deny it, to say that you're not in a relationship at all, but you can't bring yourself to. instead, you divert your gaze from the foxian, hoping to spare yourself any further embarrassment.

“go on, tell them.” he whispers lowly so that only you can hear him. this bastard, you’re going to give him a stern talking to after this..! “sorry to cut this short, please excuse us.” you give a polite nod before pulling the general away.

two days later, as you’re walking along the streets of central starskiff haven, you come across a group of people gathered around a stall. curious, you head over to check out what’s happening. —you’re absolutely mortified to discover stacks of articles detailing recent events of you and jing yuan.

“breaking news! the general is secretly married?!” / “the truth behind general jing yuan’s relationship status” / “rumours confirmed: a detailed guide to the general of luofu’s relationship saga”

well at least the pictures of you and jing yuan got your good side… and your bad side, and your “i definitely did not sign up for this” side. and oh look, there’s one of you dragging jing yuan by his ponytail too, how wonderful, you’re definitely purchasing that one. 

but yeah no, you’re not beating the allegations after this. 

masterlist

[lovemomhatepolice]

i'll make it fit - rafe cameron

navigation taglist requests

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings: sexual overtones, established relationship, fingering, teasing, unprotected sex (PROTECTED YOURSELF), this damn tiny polo!!, English is my second language!, NO SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4

belonging: NO NUT NOVEMBER!

type: totally smut (this is the first time i've written something like this, which has practically no plot at all, just sex itself. keep my fingers crossed that it didn't turn out badly!!!), small plot but really small

word count: 1,8k

summary: rafe cameron likes things too small for him.

more content: obx masterlist, rafe cameron masterlist

Mornings in Tannyhill were mostly quiet. Since Ward Cameron was dead and his entire family had moved to a house in the Bahamas, it was quiet there. Hearing of Sarah had disappeared - she was probably somewhere with her friends, again putting her life at risk, nothing new. And the only one who lived there was Rafe, who had taken over the company from his father and decided to return to the “old garbage.” Well, and you lived there too, by the side of your beloved. You couldn't have dreamed of a better life.

You were awakened by the bright rays of the sun, which rudely crept through the slightly parted curtains into your shared bedroom. You dragged yourself lightly and glanced at the clock, which was on the bedside table and, as usual, was making that unbearable sound.

After muttered under your breath, you slipped out from under the warm quilt, which, to say the least, wasn't all that necessary - after all, it was summer. But by the fact that you were in just a lace petticoat, it definitely enveloped you with a warmth that was missing.

You didn't know what time it was, but by the fact that Rafe wasn't next to you, you knew it was probably after nine o'clock. You didn't have to look for him for long, because as soon as you stepped out into the hallway from your bedroom, you heard his voice. You looked out the balcony door, which was gently open, and smiled at the sight. Rafe, in a freshly stitched buzzcut, was sitting on the couch talking on the phone. In front of him on the coffee table he had papers spread out and a laptop in which he was busily tapping something. As soon as he noticed you he sent you a slight smile, but he was so engaged in the conversation that he did nothing more. And you couldn't be passive, after all, he was wearing a beautiful blue and damn tight polo that exposed his perfectly shaped biceps. You laughed quietly, seeing him nervously tweak them as they rolled up higher and higher each time, not covering as much of his arm as they should.

Despite his serious tone on the call, his eyes would flicker toward you every few moments, his smile softening just enough to let you know he was glad you were there.

Not one to resist temptation, you decided to have a little fun. You strolled over to him, moving slowly, letting your fingers trail along the back of the couch as you circled around to where he was sitting. Rafe’s eyes darted up, narrowing slightly in a silent warning.

You didn’t make it easy for him. With a mischievous smile, you leaned over and whispered into his ear, "That polo looks a little tight, don’t you think? You might need help taking it off later."

“Uh, yeah… sure,” he said to the person on the other end of the call, clearing his throat as if to regain his composure. “Send it to the office, they'll take care of it,” he muttered, hanging up.

You moved your hands over his shoulders, gently massaging them. Rafe put the phone down on the table, closed the laptop and leaned his head against the back of the couch, looking at you.

“You know what you're doing, huh?” he parroted under his breath.

“Maybe I do,” you whispered, letting your breath tickle his skin. “Just trying to make sure my man relaxes after handling all that business.”

“And what am I supposed to do with you?” he muttered, covering yours with his hands. “Whatever you want,” you muttered, going down with your palms on his chest. “Oh, but this polo is really too small for you.” Rafe laughed under his breath and gracefully helped you past the couch so that you were now standing in front of him, between his legs. You were in just a white lace slip that didn't cover much underneath, so Rafe could immediately see your hardening nipples.

You let out a soft laugh as Rafe’s strong hands gripped your thighs, pulling you effortlessly onto his lap. You straddled him, your knees sinking into the plush cushions of the couch on either side of his hips. The way he looked up at you—like you were the only thing in the world that could hold his attention—sent a warm rush through your veins.

"So needy" He muttered, stroking your hair and putting it behind your ears. “Who would have thought that you would beg for my attentions so much?”

“I'm not begging,” you muttered, swallowing your saliva loudly.

You could have sworn that in that moment Rafe heard your loud heartbeat. And even though you had been together for more than a year, he continued to trigger the same feelings in you. “No?” he asked ironically, his hand touching your pussy, which was covered only by a thong. “I would say something else.”

“Rafe,” you muttered, gently pushing your hips out to meet him as his nimble fingers pressed your clit harder. “So wet,” he mumbled, moving your panties aside and nimbly sliding his ring and middle finger into you.

You brought your face closer to his and grabbed his jaw, bringing your lips together in a sweet kiss. It was still quiet around you, the only things you could hear were the birds and your moans, drowned out by your boyfriend's mouth.

His thumb moved to your clit, the touch was light, teasing, his fingers tracing slow circles that sent tingles up your spine. And his fingers didn't stop moving up and down, each time hitting the exact same spot. Rafe knew what the fuck he was doing, he always knew how to make you in heaven in a moment by his precise movements. He knew your body like no one else, just like you knew his.

“Cum for me, baby,” he said, moving his lips to your naked neck. You felt you were close - Rafe did the same, following the feeling as you pulsed on his fingers. You didn't have to wait long until your body shook with pleasant and familiar reflexes, and you came on his fingers, burying your head in his neck.

Rafe took his fingers out of you and put them in his mouth, sucking on them. Oh this sight and Rafe in his damn tight blue polo, was something too strong for you to go through. You moved against his lap, letting him know that this was not what you wanted. “Still eager, huh?” he laughed throatily, but you didn't have to wait long. Rafe always knew what you needed and you got it right away. "You taste so good, baby"

“Rafe please,” you muttered, clasping your small hand over his large cock, which was getting harder and harder under you. “Anything for you,” he muttered, quickly getting rid of his pants.

Without much warning, he entered you. Slowly at first, because you knew very well that he was big. And even after so many times together, you continued to feel a slight discomfort at first. But Rafe always made it fit. He couldn't resist your tight pussy, which was even screaming for his attention. “Fuck, tight as ever,” he whispered, correcting himself on the couch so that you were more comfortable. “But don't worry, I'll make it fit.”

And as he said, so he did. With agility, he began to move inside you, making both of you nothing but moaning messes.

“Wait, I want,” you said, putting your hand on his chest. On that damn sexy polo. “Oh, a princess wants to take control?” he laughed under his breath, catching you under the thighs, but as if on cue he stopped moving inside you, making you feel again how big he was inside you. You groaned involuntarily, but didn't give in. You moved nimbly on top of him, practically taking him out of your pussy every now and then, and then lowering yourself all the way down again.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Rafe groaned, his head falling back against the couch, exposing the strong line of his throat. His eyes were hooded, his lips parted as he watched you, completely entranced by the way you were moving, the way you were making him feel.

You could tell he was trying to hold back, trying to let you set the pace, but the way his fingers flexed against your skin told you just how badly he wanted to take control.

“Not yet, Rafey,” you muttered, moving even closer to him. “You deserve the best. Especially, when you're in that slutty polo"

You increased your pace, but Rafe couldn't stand it anymore either, and came against you, entering your pussy from below. At that moment your bodies were merging at the perfect moments and places, so you were already not far from orgasm. And with that, he captured your lips again, his kiss rougher this time, more urgent. There was no more teasing now-just the raw, unfiltered need that always simmered between you both, threatening to spill over the edges.

“I'm so close,” you whispered into his mouth, clamping your pussy against him every so often. “I know, baby, I can feel it,” he muttered into your mouth, gently biting your lip to reach inside again. "Mmm, so good for me"

Rafe grabbed your buttocks and with even more force began to pound his cock into you. Your tongues fought for dominance, and your hands couldn't find room on his body, clamping down on the collars of his shirt.

"Shit" he murmured into your lips, feeling as his cum shot into your pussy, making quite a mess.

Not much later you too reach climax, clenching around his dick. Exhausted, you leaned on his shoulder kissing his neck. Rafe stroked your back, still calming down after the orgasm that hit you surprisingly hard this time. You felt him smiling over your shoulder, so you shared his happiness, smiling too. You moved your head off his shoulder, looking him straight in the eyes now. He was still inside you, so every movement, made quiet sighs come out of your throats.

“What's so funny?” you asked, stroking his jaw and kissing the corner of his mouth gently.

“Maybe I should wear that tight polo more often, just to find yourself in your tight cunt again?” he laughed lightly, returning your kiss.

“Oh shut up, asshole,” you muttered, lowering yourself on top of him once more until he groaned and settled his head on the back of the couch, pulling you against him.

A/N: I know there's a lot of Rafe or Drew here lately, but I swear, when I see this man, I feel so ungodly that oh jesus, i hope you enjoyed this

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

[sinfulspencer]

Twisted fantasy

Prompt: Reader asked her boyfriend Spencer to dress up as Ghostface and he obliged.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Rating: mature (18+, minors DNI)

Warnings: light dom/sub dynamic, dom!Spencer, sub!Reader, dirty talking, praise kink, degradation kink, spanking, hair pulling, breath play, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie

Words: 4.1k

A.N.: Thank you to @vampireids for beta-reading this!

“I can’t believe I agreed to do this.”

I could hear the faint sound of Spencer pacing around the room on the other side of the door, along with grunts as he tried to put on the tightest pair of black trousers I had managed to find. 

When October started, I knew it was time for me to make my demand. Even though I had no reason to complain about the many different ways Spencer and I celebrated Halloween, I had one more fantasy to fulfil. Just a little idea that had been stuffed inside my brain for too many years. 

I knew Spencer wouldn’t have denied me anything, so I wasn’t surprised to find a Ghostface mask in my Amazon cart a few days after our conversation.

“You did it because you love me!”

Spencer huffed and I saw the lights flickering inside his bedroom. “I don’t have to prove my love to you by wearing a Ghostface mask.”

“No, but it would certainly be a nice thing to do!” 

The door opened with such force it smacked against the cold wall. I took a step back and I almost collapsed to my knees when Spencer walked out. 

I couldn’t even see his eyes, but I knew he was hiding that damned cocky smirk he had on his face every fucking time he understood what was going on in my brain. It wasn’t difficult to imagine, because I knew exactly how my face looked at that moment. 

Spencer looked absolutely stunning in total black. 

The shirt was tight on his chest and his sleeves were rolled up at his elbow, making him appear even more delicious to my eyes. His waist was perfectly hugged by those tight black trousers he didn’t want to wear, but did it for me, and his thighs made me want to drop down on the floor and nibble all over him. 

And then, of course, the Ghostface mask. 

Sure, it wasn’t the real Ghostface with the black cape and whatever, but it didn’t matter.

“So, do you have a boyfriend?” Spencer asked.

His eyes were covered, I could barely see the outline underneath the mask, and that turned me on more than I could describe. I could barely think straight. And his voice… shivers ran down my spine. 

“Damn,” was all I could say. 

Spencer chuckled in amusement, but the sound of his laugh was toned down by the mask covering his mouth. I had no idea why the outfit turned me on more than I could explain to myself, but it did - and I was glad we had no parties to attend that night, because I wouldn’t have let him leave his house.

There was something inexplicably exciting in not seeing his face, but allowing him to touch me as he pleased. 

I had every right to drag him back into his bedroom and use him for my own pleasure, finally making my fantasy come true - and also put an end to my miserable desire for my boyfriend. 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Spencer asked again.

I whined, staring at him. “Why, do you want to ask me out on a date?”

Though I could not see Spencer’s face, I knew that he was smirking. He was enjoying this probably as much as I was, which made me happy. 

“Maybe. Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

I took another step back to admire every inch of my boyfriend and sighed. I covered my mouth with a hand when Spencer leaned on the doorstep of our bathroom.

“You never told me your name.”

He didn’t move from where he was standing, but I was squirming either way. Spencer hadn’t laid a finger on me yet, but I was ready to jump on him at any minute. 

“Why do you wanna know my name?”

“I wanna know who I’m looking at.”

Spencer opened his arms so that I could look at every detail, but before I could say anything to him he grabbed me by the waist. He pulled me closer to his body and I gasped, pressing both my hands on his chest.

I was sure that my eyes were in the shape of hearts. I had never felt this turned on before in my life, not even during our first time together and the first time we slept in the same bed - which led us to fuck on basically every surface of his bedroom.  

“You look like you’ve seen a Ghost.”

I brought both my hands on his chest, grasping his shirt. I was positive my eyes were shining, staring at my boyfriend like a starved woman in front of a delicious buffet. After all, Spencer looked like a snack and I was craving something sweet. 

“You’re so fucking hot.”

Spencer leaned closer to me and I struggled to look at him, or at the mask. His hands moved from my waist up to my neck, forcing me to keep my eyes on him the whole time. I hated that I couldn’t really see him, but that turned me on either way. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand your obsession with this mask but if it turns you on this much” Spencer dug his fingers into my waist, “I will wear it every night.”

I slid my hands up his chest, tugging on the black tight shirt. “I could eat you.”

“That’s my job, darling. Let me eat you.”

And who was I to deny such a thing?

Spencer helped me to lay down on the bed with my hips on the edge of it, trembling with anticipation. It didn’t take long for him to spread my legs with his large hands, admiring the already wet spot on my panties. 

“Already wet?”

Despite his face being hidden by the mask, I could feel the smug grin just forming on those damned plump lips. 

“Shut up.”

Spencer ran his hands all over my thighs, dragging my panties down my legs. He threw them somewhere and quickly brought his thumb over my clit, massaging it so slowly that it almost made me cry. Spencer knew how much I hated teasing, but he loved it so much - probably more than sex itself. 

“My sweet girl. Shouldn’t you be scared of me?”

A part of me wished I could be able to see his face, but the irrational part of me thought the mask was incredibly hot. I didn’t know what part of my brain was attracted to it, especially if it was worn by my FBI boyfriend, but still - I was thankful that Spencer brought my fantasy to life.

“Fuck, just finger me. Please?”

Spencer hummed, teasing my entrance with his finger. “Should I?”

“I’ll be good for you. Please?”

I whined under his ministrations, following the rhythm of his hand as soon as his index finger slipped deep inside of me. I knew Spencer could never deny me anything and him wearing that fucking mask was the proof of it. 

The squelching sound of my wetness against Spencer’s palm made me shiver as I gripped the bedsheets underneath me. His finger brushed against my sweet point and I found myself gasping for hair when Spencer’s other hand pressed down on my throat. 

I was caged between his slim body and the soft mattress underneath me, spiralling in warm pleasure that washed over me. My toes curled and I felt myself drifting off to that state that I craved each time I was underneath my boyfriend’s body. 

Spencer was staring down at me, I could feel it even though I couldn’t see it. He squeezed my throat again with his fingers, digging them into my skin - I was going to have bruises the next morning, but did I truly care? 

“Always such a good girl for me. Look at you.”

Spencer’s condescending tone made me clench around his finger and he quickly added another one, stretching me out gently as my wetness coated him. The more he squeezed my throat, the more I could feel my soul disappearing from my body and the pleasure taking control of every inch of me. 

My knuckles were white and my whole body was tensing underneath Spencer’s, his fingers working in and out of me at a quick pace that rendered me breathless. His hand was still pressing down on my throat. 

It was difficult to explain the state of peace I felt myself drifting off to, but I felt like I was floating above air. The white clouds caressing my skin ever so gently while my body was carried far away. The lack of oxygen made it easy for Spencer to gain control of me, my body and every sensation that he brought me with his fingers inside of me and his thumb on my clit. 

“You wanna come for me, my special girl?”

His voice was loud and clear in my ears, but I could not find the strength or the will to answer him. I just stared at him with my eyes wide open, gripping his forearm to release some of the tension that I felt building within my body. 

“The last time you were this turned on, was when you saw me shooting with my gun. Should I pull that out?”

My whole body was trembling as his fingers quickened their pace inside of me, making a mess all over the bedsheets - I could feel my own wetness and Spencer’s saliva dripped down between my thighs. 

“Spencer, p-please.”

Spencer didn’t waste any time in cooing at me. I knew that if I ripped that mask away at that specific moment I would’ve found a sly smirk on his lips - and God, did that fucking turn me on. 

“You can’t speak, my special girl? Too stupid to think right? To even speak right?”

When he pulled his fingers out of my wet cunt and removed his hand from my throat, I gasped for air and stared at the ceiling with a shocked look on my face. I was not expecting him to remove all the sources of pleasure at once, but somehow it turned me on even more. 

I knew what was about to come. 

Spencer’s leather belt came undone quickly as he adjusted the mask on his face.

“I need to be inside you. Now.”

Spencer didn’t need to announce what he was about to do to me because I knew it; I had a feeling that everything was turning him on too much, I could feel it in his hands and the way his grip was so firm on my thighs. It felt like Spencer was trying to anchor me to a moment, to a feeling, to the promise of giving me an amount of pleasure that would keep me satisfied the whole night.

“Please,” was all I could whisper.

Spencer grabbed my forearm, forcing me to sit up for a moment. My head was spinning so hard I barely registered my shirt being removed as Spencer left me completely naked in front of him. He was still all dressed up, despite his shirt being slightly crumpled. 

I didn’t know why, but knowing that he was still dressed while I was naked made me even more desperate for the man in front of me. And Spencer knew it as he pushed me down on the bed again. 

He grabbed my ankles and dragged me closer to the edge again, while he pushed his breeches down enough to free his waist. 

“So desperate for me, aren’t you?”

I whined, not really in the mood for more teasing. “You have no idea.”

“I’ll take good care of you now, my special girl.”

I closed my eyes and reclined my head back, waiting for Spencer to just end my misery and give me exactly what I was aching for. My thighs were trembling, my lips were quivering and my heart was beating so hard against my ribcage - if we were silent, I would’ve heard it echo through the walls of our bedroom. 

And then, a second later, I felt Spencer’s cock teasing my entrance. I gasped at the delicious feeling, immediately looking at my boyfriend - that fucking mask was preventing me from seeing his pretty face, but didn’t it look fucking perfect on him. 

“Just fuck me, Spence. Please!”

I supposed Spencer didn’t like the tone I used as I spoke to him, because he leaned on top of me and grabbed a handful of my hair. He pulled on it so hard that it brought tears to my eyes, but I wouldn’t have changed it for anything in the world - it felt deliciously good. 

Spencer must’ve noticed the tears. 

“Oh, are you crying?” he asked, his voice dangerously sweet, “I’ll give you something to cry about.”

Spencer tightened his grip on my hair and tugged on it again, forcing me to get up from the bed. He was controlling me through the painful grip he had on my hair and I swore I had never felt his fingers keeping me close to him so harshly before. I didn’t know if the mask had switched something inside of him, but I did not complain once. 

The fine line between pain and pleasure was subtle, and Spencer was allowing me to ride it. 

Spencer used his free hand to bend me over the bed without laying on it, while the other was still tangled in my hair. I had no idea what Spencer had in mind, but I was ready to follow him through everything - hoping that he would just fuck me at someone point. 

“You’re dripping. Are you enjoying what I’m doing to you, my special girl?”

His voice was so fucking hot.

I nodded my head, hissing when he pulled my hair again. “Yes. Always.”

Spencer moved his free hand down between my thighs, slowly bending over with his chest pressed to my back, and found my entrance again. He slowly sunk his ring and middle finger inside of me, not finding any resistance, and started fucking me again. 

I wanted his cock inside of me, not his fingers, but I remained quiet. 

Struggling to breathe and with my thighs trembling, I moaned his name and leaned my head on the soft pillow on top of the bed. His fingers disappeared inside of me as my wetness coated his palm, dripping onto the bed sheets.

“My special girl,” he pressed open-mouthed kisses all over my naked back, “Am I making you feel good? You like my fingers fucking your aching cunt?”

I saw stars when I heard him speak in such a dirty way and my body reacted as I clenched around his fingers. Spencer must’ve felt it because he chuckled, the sound of his amused laugh muffled by the mask - I was tempted to just take it off and throw it away.

“Please…”

My brain was dizzy, I could not form a coherent thought. All I could think about was just Spencer fucking me with his fingers, with his cock, his hands all over me, bruises and bites decorating my skin. 

I was desperate.

Spencer couldn’t care any less, though. He enjoyed the loudness of my moans, the way my body trembled each time his fingers bottomed out, the squelching sound of his palm against my weeping cunt. 

Spencer curled his fingers, pressing his digits on that spongy spot inside of me, and I found myself almost crying from the amount of pleasure my body was forced to experience. My legs were on the verge of giving out and my hands gripped the bed sheets so hard my knuckles became white. 

Still fucking me with his fingers, Spencer took off the mask and threw it somewhere - I saw it flying on the ground and I almost laughed. Spencer bit the skin between my shoulder blades - one of my favourite places he’d bite. The sharp pain radiated through my body immediately and I whined his name, pushing my hips back to reach his.

“Spence… please.”

His cock pressed against my thigh, but his fingers were relentless. All I could think about was the stabbing pleasure that his cock would’ve brought to me - how wet I was for the man behind me, how desperate I was to feel his balls slap against my buttocks each time he thrusted into me. I was out of my fucking mind with neediness and Spencer was basking in it. 

“Do you want my cock, my sweet girl?”

I nodded my head, my tongue felt heavy in my mouth. The pleasure was building slowly but steadily in the pits of my stomach, my trembling thighs an obvious sign of that. 

“You can have it, then.”

Spencer removed his fingers all at once and I groaned, disappointed but not surprised. His cock rested heavy on my inner thigh before he dragged it through my wet folds, coating it. I knew that he was admiring the sight and how much I was squirming because of him - Spencer was a sucker for my devotion and my obsession for him. 

“Give it to me. Please?” I begged

Spencer cooed, biting the back of my neck again. “Want it all inside of you? Want me to paint your walls with my cum?”

I nodded with my eyes closed, feeling tears of frustration pricking at each side. “Yes. Yes, yes.”

Spencer tapped the tip of his cock against my clit, then teased my entrance with it. He slipped in for a single second and I thought my whole world exploded. The pleasure flashed behind my eyes, but disappeared as soon as Spencer pulled away. 

My hands were twisting the sheets. “Fuck!”

Behind me, Spencer laughed at my pathetic complaint. It wasn’t a fun laugh, it wasn’t a cute laugh. No, it was a cruel laugh that reverberated through every inch of my body and turned me on more than it should have. Spencer sounded exactly like Ghostface, if it even made sense. 

“So desperate,” Spencer whispered in my ear, biting my earlobe, “Such a whore for my cock.”

I protested again with another whine and Spencer pushed his cock inside of me again, but removed it as soon as I wiggled against him. Each time I would move, he’d pull out - and that made my heart tremble in my chest. He was teasing me so cruelly, without a care - but I didn’t blame him. 

Spencer put on a mask for me. I deserved to be tortured a little.

“Oh, stop crying,” Spencer grabbed my hair again, pulling it hard, “I fuck you every chance I get, you’re not going to die if I don’t fuck you now.”

Actually, he was wrong - I was a hundred percent positive that I was going to die if Spencer wasn’t going to fuck me rough, hard and fast in less than five minutes. I wanted to answer him, to beg him again but the tone he used did not admit any talk back. 

I stayed quiet, simply wiggling my hips in order that he’d just give in to his own desire. 

“Good, be quiet for me and I’ll give you my cock.”

Spencer used his free hand to caress my waist, dragging his fingers over the curves of my buttocks. His other hand was still gripping my hair, but slowly loosened his grip until he brought both hands on my hips. 

And when he finally pushed his cock inside of me, meeting no resistance, he started to rock his hips at a painfully slow pace. I didn’t know if Spencer wanted me to die at that moment, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of having me cry because of him - despite the hot tears streaming down my face. 

“That’s my sweet girl. Your cunt feels so fucking good.”

I clung to the bed sheets with both hands, trying to meet his hips but Spencer stopped me. He didn’t say anything; instead, he enjoyed the way my body sucked him in so fucking good that his soft whimpers echoed through the walls of our room. I knew that Spencer loved to watch how my body reacted to his touch, to his painfully slow thrusts and I let him - there was nothing better than knowing he was turned on because of my body.

“Please, please, please.”

No other word came out of my mouth. 

Spencer started thrusting into me slightly faster, but not fast enough to make me come. It was a slow torture that I knew he was basking in - and what made it even more frustrating for me was the light slaps that he gave to my buttocks.

“Feels so good, sweet girl.”

Spencer muttered to me, caressing my buttocks before slapping both with his palms. Over and over, I could feel my skin become hotter and I wiggled away each time he struck me - it hurt, but I enjoyed it far more than I should have. 

When I felt myself losing the train of thoughts running through my mind, Spencer reminded me that he could read me like a book and he picked up the pace of his thrusts. I barely had the time to fix the position I was in because Spencer started to pound into me harder and harder. His balls were slapping against my buttocks and his hands were digging into my skin, leaving bruises that I would admire for the next few days. 

“Take me so fucking well. So proud of you, sweet girl.”

My knees were sore as they scraped against the bed sheets, but I wasn’t going to complain. I kept my mouth shut and leaned my forehead on the pillow, stretching my back with my arms gripping the headboard of our bed.

Spencer moaned at the sight and his thrusts became even harsher. I knew he was desperately close, I could feel it in the tension of his chest pressed to my back and the quick gasps that fell from his lips. 

“Wanna cum?” he taunted me. 

I nodded, my lips twitching into a smirk. “Yes, please. Make me come, please.”

Spencer seemed determined to make me cum first, his left hand still dinging into the soft skin of my waist. His right hand moved between my thighs and his thumb pressed over my clit, eliciting a long unexpected moan. 

“Show me how good I’m making you feel, sweet girl,” Spencer whispered in my ear, his voice low, “Cum on my cock like the whore that I know you are.”

My toes were curling, the pleasure becoming intolerable. Every inch of my body trembled because of his ministrations; I was a puppet in his skilled fingers and Spencer knew it, as he finally pushed me off the edge of my desire. 

With his left hand Spencer pushed my head into the mattress, cutting off the air supply as he buried his cock deep inside of me - I felt him breaching my cervix and it hurt, but Gods. 

I did not want Spencer to stop. 

I needed that pleasure to keep coming in waves through me as it exploded over and over again. I had no idea if I was breathing, I had no idea if I had died and went straight to Hell. 

Spencer groaned in my ear, a sound that I wish I could’ve recorded, and I felt his warmth fill me up deeply. More tears fell from my eyes as I struggled to lift my head up, exhausted and trembling like a leaf in the middle of a storm. I did not expect to have an orgasm so earth-shattering.  And I did not expect Spencer to take off the mask like that, with a disrupting anger that did not belong to him. It was endearing and incredibly hot. 

I collapsed onto the bed with Spencer’s body on top of mine, his lips peppering my back with light kisses. 

“Sorry about the mask.”

I hissed when he pulled out of me, the sudden loss stinging. “Fuck the mask.”

Spencer chuckled at my response. “But I thought you loved it.”

“Oh, I do,” I replied, rolling on my back, “But I love seeing your face way more.”

He got off the bed and went straight to the bathroom, bringing me a warm washcloth so that he could clean himself off me and then himself. I was too weak to move and my thighs were still trembling - I wouldn’t have been able to walk to the bathroom without waddling. 

“Right, so I should keep the mask on in the beginning and then take it off.”

I nodded my head, sitting up on the bed. “That’s a good compromise. Next Halloween I’ll bring one of your fantasies to life. Deal?”

Spencer scratched his chin with his fingers, humming. “I’m not really sure if I want to fuck a character from a movie or a book, though.”

“Okay, then I’ll dress up like myself.”

He chuckled, laying back down beside me. “Oh, that I love.”

[peachysunrize]

Insolent wench ⥃ Prince Regent!Aemond

Summary: when he finds the master of whispers’ daughter in the council room in the dead of the night playing with the marble ball he gave to Aegon earlier, the dragon in him is ready to burn or succumb to her.

Pairing: prince regent!Aemond Targaryen x Larys Strong’s daughter reader

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Dark content -> manipulation & blackmail! Dark!reader even a bit of dubcon, virginity loss, virgin!reader, degrading, rough sex, spanking, pussy slapping, breeding, fingering, porn with little plot, ehem using the ball as a toy, Larys’ daughter has zero description, English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 3.07k+

A/n: thank you @namelesslosers for giving me this dynamic idea & thank you @sylasthegrim for beta reading this for me🥹 Happy rough fucking with Aemond everyone🤭 Reblogs & comments are most appreciated!💕 also I was too lazy to make an aesthetic moodboard for my fic lol

He lurks in the corridors of the Keep that lead to the Small Council room. It has become his little secret, a routine he has always longed to have, and now, after months of yearning, he finally has it.

The halls are silent, and the sound of every step he takes echoes within the walls. Aemond walks with Blackfyre attached to his hip, the heavy weight of the Valyrian steel makes him smirk. Truly, he has never felt an emotion so deeply rooted inside him that makes the hair on his nape rouse, but now being the regent and the protector of the realm does it for him.

He stops for a moment when he finds the door to the council’s room ajar, the flickering of the candlelight visible from outside. He has never encountered anyone at such an hour, everyone has to be abed, except for the guards who are the ones that aren’t found anywhere near this room.

He takes a cautious step towards the door, hearing the sound of a low humming coming from inside. He reaches for Aegon’s dagger, fingers wrapping around the hilt as he pushes the door open slowly, his good eye skimming the room only to find someone’s back to him, leaning over the table and playing with his marble ball.

“A fine night, is it not, my Prince Regent?” you ask him, your back still to him as you fidget with the ball on the table, walking towards the King’s chair with a sway in your hips.

“What is your business here, Lady Strong?” he asks, letting go of the dagger before he locks his hands behind his back, walking towards his previous seat at the end of the marble desk.

He watches you closely, his good eye following your every move as you sit down on his chair at the head of the table, rolling the ball between your fingers as you look up from the ball to him slowly.

“I am disheartened by your words to my father,” you say, leaning back on the chair while your thumb rubs over the smooth surface of the marble ball in your hand, “he has served the King and your grace faithfully.”

Aemond doesn’t move from his spot, staring solely at your fingers as they rub and caress what belongs to him. He listens carefully, though he is not sure what good it might come out of conversing with a lady like you at such an hour.

“Your father sought power when he already had more than he deserved,” he replies, taking prolonged steps towards you, stopping at Tyland Lannister’s empty chair, “my council is no place for cunning rats like him.”

You chuckle, leaning your head on the back of the chair with a smirk tugging on the corner of your mouth, and it irritates Aemond to no end to see you finding such immense joy in tormenting him—even though you have not really started yet.

You were always such a strange lady to him; so much like your father in the sense that you stopped at nothing to obtain what you wanted".He has heard tales of your rebellious nature in the court, always listening and bothering the royals with your remarks, but they have failed to tell him about your blinding beauty.

“I thought you were ruling in your brother’s stead while he recovers, my prince,” you say, pushing the ball until it starts rolling towards where Aemond stands, “allegedly, this is his council, not yours.”

“Yet your father assumed he’d be my Hand, not my brother’s,” he moves the ball on the table as he walks towards Orwyle’s seat, his gaze never leaving yours, “it does make me wonder how hungry both he and you are for the attention of the royals, my lady.”

“Oh, you have mistaken my motives, your grace,” you stand up, stepping on the opposite side of him, matching his pace as he rounds the table with confidence until he’s standing behind the King’s chair, “I am not here to seek power or the attention of the royals, no. I am here to tell you that sometimes you need to think before you utter some words; ugly rats like my father as you said, tend to thrive on them, best is to learn how to say those words without causing a problem.”

“Mind your tongue, little girl,” Aemond spits out the words, closing his fingers around the ball tightly before he strides towards you purposefully with a tinge of fury in his steps.

“Not little, my prince,” you match his tone, standing where you are until he is right in front of you, the purple of his eye now fully gone as darkness seeps through his iris, “certainly older than you. I reckon you like older women, given your rendezvous to the brothel and all.”

His hand comes up to grip your jaw, squishing your cheeks harshly as he looms over you, his face inches away from yours as his nostrils flare in anger.

“Watch yourself, insolent wench. You are in no position to drag my name in the dirt. Your father tried, and look where he is now—called a Toad by me, dismissed as my Hand and ready to fetch Otto Hightower like a dog,” he says through gritted teeth, his nails digging into your face as he leans closer, his hot breath hitting your lips.

“Your name is already filthy by your own hands. You and Larys Strong have more in common than you think; both kinslayers—“ he cuts you off by spinning you away from him, pushing you down on the table roughly by his large palm on your back.

“Filthy whores like you should be executed in the muddy streets of Flea Bottom and their heads parading around the city on a spike,” he presses himself against your back, his crotch rubbing against your skirt, “Lucky for you, I know how to treat girls like you.”

“I assumed His Grace took no pleasure in taking whores,” you laugh with a jab in your tone at him, “I would love to see how you treat them though. Your brother is the one with tales of his masterful bedding, not you.”

“Tormenting me at the hour of the wolf has severe consequences which I will deliver to you accordingly, Strong,” he groans against your ear, reaching for his dagger to tear through the fabric of your dress, the remaining layers falling on the floor with ease. “Punishment or not, you will learn you shall never wake the dragon for you will burn and the only thing that will remain is your ashes.”

Your small clothes join your ruined dress on the floor, leaving you bare and dripping to the Prince Regent’s eye, devouring the sight of your flesh like a man starved.

The moan that slips from your lips when you feel something cold against your heated cunt is shameless, just like the sound a whore in the Street of Silk would make. 

Aemond starts rubbing your buzzing pearl with the marble ball between his fingers, his breathless laugh against the shell of your ear only makes the feeling of the coldness against your most vulnerable part much stronger.

“You were playing with my property, now I shall use it to make you a property of mine as well,” he whispers, his teeth sinking in the flesh of your neck as he moves the ball faster, your juices flowing down on the cold stone in his hand.

You realize you have awakened the beast within him as he quickens his movements, one hand pinning you to the table and the other rubbing the bundle of nerves furiously, tightening the knot in your core. You fist your hands, nails digging into your palm as your breathing turns into panting.

“It is in your blood it seems, to enjoy having the attention of someone who can easily snap your neck in half,” he mumbles more to himself than you, pleased with how shaky you have become, “you see, insolent wenches like you should be put in their place. How fortunate you are to be under my care.”

As soon as you feel your breaking point, he takes away the ball from your cunt, making you whine and arch your back in protest. He chuckles darkly, bringing the ball to your lips before he orders you to suck and clean the ball off your juices.

“My Prince—“

“Go on, you tart, show your prince how much of a power-hungry slut you are, maybe I will reconsider naming your father as my Hand.”

You comply, licking your nectar off the cold marble, humming at the taste. Aemond knows these games, at least he knew them with the little education he had in the brothels, but you? You are a different kind of lady, a master in disguise. It irritates and arouses him to no end.

Aemond lets go of the stone, bringing his palm down on your arsecheek roughly, making you yelp in surprise. He repeats his action, slapping your backside one more on the same spot he did a few seconds ago. 

You whine in pain and unbelievable pleasure as the sting of his hand spreads through your flesh, a deep primal desire rushing to your aching pussy. He looks down to find you wetter than before, and the sight makes him almost lose his self-restraint, almost.

You wrap your hand around the ball tightly, crying out when you feel the impact of another spank not on your bottom but on your cunt. The pain mixes with an undeniably overwhelming pleasure that has you biting your lip, not wishing to give him the satisfaction. He senses it anyway and hears the muffled scream as he lands another slap on your swollen folds with a sinister smile. 

“I wonder if your father knows of your whereabouts, his daughter ready to be turned into his future king’s whore,” he brings two of his fingers to his mouth, covering them with his spit before he reaches down to play with your pussy, no patience left in him as he thrusts his fingers inside you, groaning at the feel of your warmth.

You do not have the chance to tell him about your maidenhead, and with how fast he is moving his fingers, you can no longer think of it as an issue — your plans are falling into the right path.

Your mind has turned into a mush with how luscious his fingers feel inside you, not a foreign feeling but his fingers are much longer and thicker than you and reach deeper inside you, having you moaning and clawing the table.

“It only takes a few fingers to have your mouth shut, Lady Strong. I wonder what you’d do when I have my cock deep in your cunt,” he leans down to lick at your cheek, his fingers moving faster as he presses his bulge to your thigh. This time, he doesn’t pull away and keeps his pace up, curving his digits to hit your sweet spot rapidly, bringing you closer to your high. 

“My prince, please—“

“That’s it, Strong, give it to me,” he groans out the words, resting his forehead on the side of your face. He hums as soon as you start shaking and tightening around his fingers, gushing your wetness on him.

He doesn’t kiss you, no, he just licks over your lips as you moan and part them in pure delight, seeing stars as your peak rocks your body forward. 

“Fuck it, I need to be buried inside you, seeing for myself how the real blood of Strongs feels like,” he says, biting your cheek as he pulls his fingers out, wiping them on the red handprint on your bottom before reaching for his doublet, unbuttoning it and pulling his linen undershirt out of his leather pants. His fingers unlace his trousers quickly, pushing them and his breeches down enough for his cock to spring free.

He aligns his leaking tip with your soaked entrance, filling you to the hilt with one swift snap of his slim hips. Aemond groans, your wet pulsating walls enveloping his length in a delicious way that not even Sylvie has made him feel.

His hands make a home on your hips as soon as he starts thrusting his cock at a fast bruising pace, not letting you adjust to how his girth stretches your walls more than you thought you’d expect. Your maidenhead is now gone, you can feel his tip licking at the head of your womb, nudging it with each snap of his hips to yours.

Aemond cannot take his eye off of the way his cock disappears inside you, coated with your essence and wetness as he fucks you with abandon, his brain foggy with a desire he has only felt while burning his brother and killing his nephew—you are special in his eye, you awaken the dragon within him, insolent wench as he so likes to call you.

Your hands grow clammy, and the ball falls from your grasp with Aemond’s rough hammering, rolling on the table until it falls on the floor, making a loud uncomfortable noise that matches your unladylike moans and gasps in pleasure.

“You can’t even hold a fucking ball in your hands, Strong. Is your father as weak as you? Will he succumb to me the way you have with just a cock inside your tight pretty cunt?”

It is you who has succumbed to me, you think to yourself as coherent as your thoughts can get without the feeling of him overwhelming your senses. You nod mindlessly, thinking of how he has fallen into your trap so easily.

He comes hard, his hip bones pushing your plush thighs to the rough edges of the council’s table, filling you to the brim with his royal seed. Aemond’s head is thrown back, groaning at your name as his cock twitches inside you, the final ropes of his warm cum painting your walls.

“What have you done?” you ask shakily, faking terror as you try to push him away from you, 

“what— how could you, my prince?”

“What?” he asks dumbfounded, pulling his now softened cock out of you, looking at you with his mind now sharper than before, “what are you saying, my lady?”

“Which lord will now take me as his bride? I am—may the Seven help me— I am tainted! I-I cannot find a husband, m-my maidenhead!”

“You…” Aemond’s voice falters, “you were… you were still a maiden?”

“I was! How crude you have to be to sully my name like a- like the whores you visit? I cannot believe you—“

“Wait!” he tries to reach for you, his lips parted in sheer surprise and terror as you push away from him, nearly dropping on his knees, “My Lady, we should have a word—“

“No!” You fix your dress as best as you could, shaking your head as you run away from him, opening the doors without even looking at him, leaving him shocked and confused with his soft dick out, looking like a deer caught by the hunters.

With so little sleep, Aemond walks through the same hallways he took last night, waltzing inside the small council with a pulsating heart. His eye finds Larys alone in the room, humming as he plays with the marble ball you — his daughter — were playing with last night.

“My Prince Regent,” Lord Larys stands up and bows, “what a lovely day, do you not think so?”

“Lovely morrow indeed,” Aemond says, sitting at the head of the table, glaring at Larys who rolls his marble ball from side to side, “state your mind or leave me.”

“My daughter, Your Grace,” Larys sighs, a ghost of a smirk finding its way onto his face, “she was… in a not-so-pleasant state for her status when she sought me out.”

“What of her?” Aemond tries to remain unbothered, but he knows there is a scheme going on that his intelligence could not pick up on last night.

“She said you forced yourself upon her,” Larys drops the ball on the floor as he locks his hand on the table, his eyes meeting Aemond’s, glaring at him with newfound confidence, “that no Lord will take her now, that you have tainted and impured my daughter!”

“I assure you, my good Lord, that is a lie. Your daughter was the one who made me do it—“ he tries to reason with him, but Larys has none of it.

“So you admit that you yielded to your desires and took my daughter’s innocence! How wild, how disgusting! To know I wished to be in your council—“

“‘Mind your tongue, Lord Larys. I do not care if you are to leave the Keep, but you will not talk to me as if I’m lesser than I was before!” Aemond’s voice booms through the room, slamming his fist on the table as he stands up.

“You are a lesser man, Prince Aemond. A man who gave into his desires and used his power over a helpless noble woman…”

“What is it you wish for me to do? I have not forced myself upon your daughter, she partook in the act willingly if not more enthusiastically than me.” Aemond’s breathing changes and his knuckles turn white as he tries to stop himself from doing something he would surely regret.

“She was crying in my arms last night—“

“Name it and it is yours!” Aemond yells at him, walking to grab Larys by his collar, “You want me to name you my Hand? I will. But in return, you shall keep your mouth shut.”

“You are in no position to tell me what to do, my prince,” Larys calms down a bit, knowing the plan he and you have made has been done perfectly, “you will make me your Hand, and you will marry my daughter in a fortnight.”

“Not acceptable! We will lose Baratheons’ support!” Aemond shoves Larys back on his seat before he starts pacing, “You are my Hand from now on, and I will arrange a good match for your daughter.”

“No, she will be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, or I will taint your reputation the way you have done to my daughter.” 

Rest assured, Larys Strong’s only child married the former Prince Regent and now the King in a fortnight with a lavish feast thrown for her.

[seonghwaddict]

the best of the best — jeong yunho

in which yunho didn’t expect his tiring shift to end with fucking the prettiest girl who’s ever walked into the clinic.

ripperdoc!jeong yunho x fem!reader. genre. smut. cyberpunk 2077 au. warnings. non-sexual use of daddy, explicit sexual content mdni, big dick!yunho but what else is new, fingering, BACKSHOTS, yunho is a tease, implied voice kink, creampie, he gets a little rough, nicknames (pretty, baby, princess). wc. 2.5k. rating. mature.

lilo’s notes. this is really REALLY rushed because i was hit with inspiration and started writing without actually stopping so like sorry if it’s ass lol. her cyberware is based on this.

DEFINITIONS. ripperdoc; medical practitioners that can install cybernetic prostheses, called cyberware // eddies; game currency. feel free to ask for any clarifications.

listening to. cyberpunk, ateez (duh).

masterlist.

yunho sighed as he threw a bloodied towel into the sink, hands finally clean after having installed some new cyberware on a customer. his day was spent operating edgerunners, never quite seeming to catch a break. but what else could he do as the best ripperdoc in the district, let alone this shithole of a clinic? besides, he somewhat liked his job and the pay was good, his way with words getting customers to give him a few more eddies than they were obliged to.

but, alas, it was finally closing time and he’d no longer have to deal with people until the next day. or at least that’s what he hoped.

the familiar sound of the clinic’s door rang through the lobby, singaling someone had entered before he could lock up and making him sigh in exasperation. he pinched the bride of his nose, calling out over his shoulder from the backroom, knowing whoever it was would still be able to hear him. “we’re closed, come back tomorrow!”

“please, it’s an emergency!” the person replied and he froze.

a desperate, feminine plea. yunho can’t say he’s used to hearing that tone in the clinic. with furrowed brows, he emerged from the backroom to the lobby, right behind the counter as he laid his eyes on you. he was obviously much taller than you, looking up at him with round doe eyes and softly flushed cheeks. you wore a short black skirt and a loose sweater; not a sight he was used to here either, not that he was complaining as his eyes momentarily flickered to the sliver of cleavage exposed by the low neckline. maybe he could make an exception… no. he wanted nothing more than to go home, and a pretty little thing like you couldn’t just magically change his mood.

“my ‘ware has been acting up and i heard this is the best clinic in the area,” you walked closer to the counter, one of the steps looking particularly painful as you winced mid-sentence and stumbled before continuing, “please, sir, i promise i’ll pay you well.”

he looked down at you with a raised eyebrow, letting a beat of silence wash over you before he finally answered with a sigh, “fine. go through that curtain and wait on the table. the metal one.”

you followed his hand to see him pointing at a curtain much like the ones separating beds in hospitals. with a quiet nod, you shuffled over as he ducked through the door he previously came out of. there was a small space behind the curtain and it reeked of hand sanitiser as you sat down, the table cold against your thighs. you smoothed your skirt down as he walked through the curtain and set down a tray of tools on a desk pushed against the wall.

“so, where’s the problem?” he asked, crossing his arms and giving you a once-over that had you feeling a little nervous.

“my back,” you muttered, looking down at your hands shyly as they played with the hem of your sweater, “i’ll have to take this off, if that’s okay.”

“oh, um…” he blinked before nodding and clearing his throat, moving to stand behind you. “yeah, it’s fine, go ahead.”

after a moment of hesitation, your body stretched lightly as you pulled the shirt over your head, his jaw nearly dropping at the sight. an intricately designed thin silver chrome spine merged with your skin and extending from between your shoulderblades down to just above your ass. instinctively, he reached out and brushed his fingers down the length of it, biting his bottom lip as he caught the way your back arched slightly.

“god, you’re a masterpiece.” he couldn’t help but sigh out as he let his fingertips explore the metal and the skin surrounding it. the clasp of your bra covered up just a little bit of it, but there was plenty more to see. after a moment, he caught a glimpse of a little spark in the metal on the small of your back, humming. “i see the problem… must be some sloppy wiring. i’ll take care of you, baby, just relax and stay still. you can do that for me, can’t you?”

“y-yeah.” you practically squeaked out, mentally slapping yourself for making it obvious how his words and touches made you feel.

he grinned but didn’t say anything, reaching for his tools and beginning to work. as he did, he deliberately brushed his fingertips or his wrist against your skin, against anywhere he could reach while fixing the wiring between the blades of the metal spine, just because he enjoyed messing wiht you. your waist seemed to get the most reactions out of you, unable to hold back your hitched breaths and your thighs pressing together. you were so sensitive and sweet, trying to hold back all your sounds as he riled you up with teasingly calculated touches.

“how’d you pay for this, anyway? a mod like this must’ve cost a fortune.”

“my daddy paid for it,” you explained with a shrug, “i’ve been wanting something like this for forever, so he let me get it done on my 18th birthday.”

he raised his eyebrows in surprise, nodding with a soft smile. “well, baby, you must be daddy’s pride and joy if he’s willing to drop so much on an implant like this that does nothing but make you look that much more appealing.”

“appealing?” you echoed his description of you, glancing back at him over your shoulder, “you think so?”

“of course, i’m not blind,” he roles his eyes playfully, licking eyes with you before going back to work, “in fact, i’m jealous i wasn’t the one to install all this ‘ware.”

it didn’t help that as he talked, his breath fanned over the back of your neck since he adjusted the table to raise you higher for him to work more comfortably. you learned each other’s names as he talked you through the procedure, trying to distract you from the occasional prods of a needle and sparks of the wires. he also liked to watch goosebumps form on your skin and the way your back arched just a little more as he responded to your words with low hums or muttered acknowledgments.

his hands feel a little colder than your skin as he barely runs them down your back, eyes trained on the gleaming metal. the tips of his fingers momentarily dipped below the back of your bra before slipping out again.

“does anything hurt?” he asked quietly, in a tone he noticed always made you stutter a little.

“n-no.” you shook your head before holding your breath, feeling his hands covers your waist and move down slowly, holding your hips lightly.

“good.” he hummed, nodding and removing his hands before stepping away from you completely.

the loss of his hands made your brows furrow as you looked at him, stepping into your line of vision with his back turned to you as he put away his tools.

“did you need something, princess?” he tilted his head at the sight of the pout you were trying so hard to hide, voice taking on a mocking tone.

your cheeks warmed and your brain short-circuited as he took a step toward the metal table he sat you on, standing a breath away from your knees and leaning down to your eye level. his hands braced on the table of either sides of your hips. if he wanted to, he could lean forward just a few inches and his lips would finally press against yours.

“you.” you blurted out without thinking, unable to process any thoughts in the flustered state he put you in.

“me, huh?” yunho chuckled, silky and low, fingertips brushing against the hem of your skirt as he pulled himself up to his full height and looked down at you. “a ripperdoc like me who works in heywood fixing cyberware? you need me, baby?”

flustered and a little speechless, you could only nod, lips parted as you left out soft breaths and looked up at him with eyes that begged him to kiss you. his hands left your skirt but found you again quickly, one on your waist and the other cupping the side of your face, half of his hand buried in your hair as he leaned down and finally pressed his lips against yours.

a whimper made it past you as his tongue swiped along your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth, mingling with yours and exploring. you felt him smile against your lips as you let out that sound, his fingers in your hair holding you a little tighter as his hand on your waist slid down your thigh. you, however, didn’t feel that hand moving until his fingers pressed against your soaked panties, somehow easily finding your clit through the fabric and eliciting a whine as he pulled his lips away from you.

“so wet and i’ve barely done anything.” he whispered, kissing you again as he nudged the fabric aside to run two digits through your folds, quiet squelching sounds mixing with your little moans and whimpers as he circled your clit excruciatingly slowly.

not expecting his hands to feel so good, you couldn’t stop your hips from squirming, unable to kiss back very skilfully. he circled your clit with just the right speed and pressure, keeping you restless as your pussy clenched around nothing and click slowly dripped out to smear against the table and inner thighs.

yunho gave your swollen nub a sudden pinch and you winced, your hands on his biceps clenching as he pulled away from you with a click of his tongue. “didn’t i tell you to stay still, princess?”

you parted your lips to respond but could only moan languidly as his fingers easily pushed themselves into you, crooking and perfectly prodding against your sweet spot.

“do my fingers feel too good? is it too much for you, pretty?” he mocked with a fake pout, drawing his fingers out before pushing back in. you felt his hand drop from your hair to reach for something and with a push of a button, the table lowered itself smoothly.

moments later you were on your knees, facing away from him, hips pulled up and chest pushed down. some time while he moved you to this position, he managed to remove your skirt and bra. your nipples brushed against the cold surface of the table, shuddering at the feeling combined with one of his hands kneading your ass intently while the other ran down the length of your spine. as he got to the small of your back, he pushed down a little harder, making your back arch.

“hm, so pretty and perfect,” he hummed as his clothes and very much erected cock pressed against your flushed core. you let out a broken whine, burying your face into your forearm comfortably, his fingers sliding through your folds again and spreading them apart. he groaned at the sight, your wetness glistening in the neon lighting of the clinic, spread between your thighs messily, needy hole fluttering.

when he finally pressed his tip into you and eased his way in, your breath hitched followed by a moan of his name, hands clenching as you pushed back against him. he steadied your hips with his hands, eyes rolling back from your tightness as he bottomed out and stilled to revel in the feeling if you wrapped around him for a moment.

butterflies roared in your stomach as he leaned down and kissed the top of your spine sloppily, pulling out before rolling his hips against yours. you weren’t used to this angle, especially not with someone as huge as him, but your embarrassing amount of arousal made it easy for him to move. you cursed softly, a string of whines and moans falling from your swollen lips as his fingers dug into your hips and his teeth explored your upper back, licking and sucking and biting marks into your skin.

“f-fuck, you feel s-so good.” he moaned, forehead dropped between your shoulder blades for a moment before he straightened up again, pulling your hips against his harshly as he thrusted into you, teeth sunk in his bottom lip.

not long after that you felt a knot quickly tightening in your abdomen, feeling your breath knocked out of your lungs with each snap of his hips. one of his arms wrapped around your waist before venturing lowers so he could rub at your clit quickly, the knot drawing tighter and tighter until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“y-yunho- i’m g-gonna-“

“let go, baby. go on, be a good girl and cum for me,” he cut you off, voice gentle despite his rough movements, snapping the waistband of your panties against you, “you’ll cum for me, won’t you? i’m making you– fuck, i’m making you feel so good, right? p-please cum, baby, just let go.”

his words egged you on and soon enough you did as he said, shuddering and clenching and squealing as you came all over his cock, your juices drooling down his length as he continued pounding into you. his hand left your clit to grab your hips tightly, chasing his own high now that you finished. knowing what he needed, you clenched around him rhythmically, whimpering softly because you knew he liked the sound.

without warning, he spilled himself inside you, filling you up with his hot release. your combined panting and shivers filled the area as he emptied himself. once he collected himself, he pulled out slowly, shuddering as he did so before tucking your panties back into place before his cum could seep out of you. he flipped you around easily and found your lips.

you kissed each other lazily for a while, mind foggy after your orgasms. you gasped against his lips softly as you felt his fingers press right on the fabric covering your hole.

“if you can keep everything in while i close up, i’ll take you to my place for another round… or maybe a few more,” he kissed your cheek, reaching to the side and giving you your clothes before tucking himself back into his pants, “if you’re up for it, of course.”

you giggled, also kissing his cheek in return. “i’d like that, actually. you have a really good dick.”

“is that so? good thing a pretty girl like you only deserves the best.”

networks. @cromernet @wonderlandnet @cultofdionysusnet @pirateeznet @atzhouse

permanent taglist. @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @seonghwasbbgirl @likexaxdaydream @dreamingofyeo @yalyallic @yunhoswrldddd @coffee-addict-kitten @thunderous-wolf @chngbnwf

[coryndoll]

hate to be lame

rafe cameron x reader

— in which y/n, caught in a situationship with rafe, struggles to admit she might love him, constantly holding back her feelings while fearing that confessing could make things more complicated.

inspired by: “hate to be lame” (major) & “ceilings” (minor) by lizzy mcalpine

warnings: super long omfg, me treating this like a music video again LMAO, situationships, swearing, mention of drug use, no hard concepts just rafe who can’t commit to you (yet)

authors note: this has been in the works for a good few weeks lowkey. i literally studied lizzy mcalpine mvs top to BOTTOM to rly portray this mini story as best as i can. hope u guys enjoy!!

i tried to add as much as i could for ppl to notice (hopefully), but ESPECIALLY like parallels of the beginning n the end of the oneshot with the opening of the door and saying “hey”!! i wanted this to be little short film core

your room is cold, and you feel your fingers tingling as you pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders. the clock ticks softly, but each minute feels slower than the last.

you aren’t sure why, but today you’re more anxious than usual, counting down the seconds until rafe shows up. it’s not like you have any real plans, just the usual aimless drive or hanging out.

but the thought of seeing him again—his smile, the way he looks at you, even when he’s not saying anything—makes waiting almost unbearable.

you’ve been more than friends but less than boyfriend and girlfriend for the past five months now. you know it’s wrong, but you know you’ll do the same thing you’ll be doing until you reach six months: push it aside and just enjoy the moment.

you can’t tell if rafe is only there for the pleasure, but if that’s the case then you wouldn’t be hearing about his dreams or the way he struggles with trust. and you’re foolish enough to believe that maybe he’s just scared, and that’s why he can’t commit.

right on time, his texts come in one after the other.

‘ hey ’

‘ otw ’

‘ 5 minutes ’

a faint smile tugs at your lips as you send him a quick ‘okay,’ watching the message sit there, unread. but when the notification changes to ‘read’ and there’s no reply, you drop your phone on your bed and get up.

just as you’re finishing, the faint sound of a knock echoes through the house, and you know that it’s him. you head downstairs quickly, and when you finally reach the front door, your hand hesitates on the handle, but you push them down and swing it open, revealing him standing there. his gaze flickers over you, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“hey,” he says.

and there’s that smile again, “hey.”

rafe’s ring-clad hand grips the steering wheel tightly, veins visible beneath his skin as his knuckles flex. his other arm is draped out the open window, resting easily on the door. you glance over at him, watching the way he seems so effortless behind the wheel, like he was born to be in control, and the engine hums beneath you.

you can’t help but steal glances at him, the way his jaw sets when he focuses, the flicker of light as it catches on his ring every time he turns the wheel. you wonder if he knows how these small details, the smallest shifts in his posture, have started to consume your thoughts.

you know what this is supposed to be—casual, undefined—but sitting here, so close to him, makes it harder to convince yourself that it’s just that. just casual.

and sometimes it makes you wonder—does he feel it too? does he fight the same pull you do?

you and rafe end up at a two-story building, bright and welcoming downstairs. it’s one of those places you’d mentioned a few times, new on the island, somewhere you’d been dying to try.

upstairs, you grab a table in the open air, no roof above, just the sky. pillars hold up a net laced with flowers and plants, the same ones woven into the building’s logo on the far wall. a bar counter curves along that wall, half-circling it. it’s gorgeous.

you’re laughing, enjoying lunch with him. he looks beautiful, just by being there, the way he always has. doesn’t matter what you are—friends, strangers, stuck in this limbo of a situationship—you’ve always felt this way about him.

rafe leans forward, arms crossed on the table, telling you a story that keeps you laughing, each detail funnier than the last.

eventually, the day drifts into the afternoon, and you find yourselves in town, just hanging out. you drag him into a bookstore, then a music store, even a museum, wandering from place to place. hours later, when you’re hungry again, you make a quick stop a small convenience store.

you’re tucking your phone into your purse when you glance outside, noticing the sky’s turned dark, and more importantly, it’s raining.

“alright, catch you later, simon. thanks!” rafe says, grabbing the snacks off the counter. he raises his free hand in a quick wave as he turns, glancing down at you with a smirk while you follow him out.

rafe hands you your snacks, and you take them with a small smile, watching him closely to see his reaction when he realizes it started raining while you were inside. his brows raise as he looks outside, then down at you again. both of you are thinking the same thing—you parked a block away, and now you’ll have to rush to the car without getting soaked.

you pop a piece of candy in your mouth, staring at the rain across the street, when rafe reaches out. “c’mon,” he murmurs, and you take it without hesitation.

the two of you make a break for it, trying to walk as fast as possible without slipping or getting in the way of traffic. the rain pelts down around you, but you’re laughing, and rafe’s grinning as you both duck under the first marquee for cover.

you both continue walking, the car finally coming into view just up ahead. he has to jog around to get to the driver's side. as he moves, you step out from under the last marquee and into the rain, letting it soak through your clothes and into your skin. you tilt your head up, eyes clamped shut, nose scrunched, savoring the moment, even if it’s just a few seconds of quiet, cold rain.

“get in the car,” rafe calls out, his voice cutting through the sound, and you glance over at him, already opening the door.

you shoot him a look, digging into your bag of candy, before tossing a piece at him like he’s ruined the moment. it bounces off his shoulder and he slides into the car without another word, but you can tell he’s amused. with a sigh, you climb into the passenger seat, still dripping wet.

before you know it, the car slows, the tires crunching against the gravel as rafe pulls up to his house. it’s massive, even more so than you remember. cold and impressive, it stands there like a fortress—his world.

for a second, you’re lost in thought. rafe pulls into the garage, parking to avoid the rain still pouring outside. he gets out, crumpling the empty chip bag in his hand, twisting off the lid to his drink with the other to take a few gulps before shutting the car door.

you linger inside a bit longer, popping another candy into your mouth as your eyes wander around the camerons’ garage—messy, yet somehow still clean and wide open.

rafe rounds the front of the car, heading for the door that leads into the house. without a word, he slips inside, leaving you behind in the garage. he does leave his keys on the table beside the door, trusting you to lock the car for him since you’re still in there.

you sit there a moment, your head tilting as you look over at the driver’s seat, replaying the small moments in your mind—running across the street in the rain, how he’s paid for you, or the simple ‘hey’ when he picked you up earlier.

a small, soft smile touches your lips before you finally get out of the car. you crush the candy wrapper in your fist, grab the keys to lock the car, and slip inside the house, the garage door clicking shut behind you.

after hours of being at the cameron’s, only the soft patter of raindrops now begins tapping against the glass, just as you settle into the familiar bay window. you tuck your legs beneath you, leaning your head against the window frame as you stare out into the backyard.

you’ve sat here so many times before—usually with sarah, the two of you giggling about nothing in particular, watching the sky and talking about anything. but tonight, it’s just you and rafe.

the house feels quieter without her, without anyone really, except for the occasional murmur of rafe’s voice as he takes his phone call from the other room. he was quick to excuse himself when the phone rang, retreating upstairs where you couldn't overhear. not that you’d pry, but it’s not like you don’t know about rafe’s involvement with deals in the outerbanks, drugs, cash, or both. you turn a blind eye.

he walks back into the room eventually, his footsteps quiet but still pulling your focus from the window. you feel him glance at you, almost like he's about to say something, but he hesitates when he notices the way you’re sitting there, staring out at the rain.

he knows you too well—years of history have given him that advantage, not just the past few months of this undefined mess you're both tangled in. he’s seen you like this before, especially today, always itching to be outside when the rain falls, drawn to it in a way he’s never really understood.

without a word, he walks over to the door leading to the backyard. the soft creak of the door handle catches your attention, pulling you from your thoughts. you watch as he stands there for a moment, his hand resting on the doorframe, looking at you.

no words pass between you, but the way he gestures outside, a playful tilt of his head, says everything. it’s almost like a silent ‘after you’ as if he’s jokingly daring you to go out into the rain.

a smile breaks across your face, and before you know it, you’re up. you brush past him, feeling his presence right behind you as you step outside. the cool rain meets your skin, soaking into your clothes almost instantly, but you don’t care. rafe is close, following you out into the yard, his chuckle barely audible over the sound of the rain as it picks up.

the two of you don’t need to say anything. you just move, running across the wet grass, spinning around to feel the individual drops as they fall on your face. you pause every now and then, standing in place, arms spread out wide to feel the rain cover you like a blanket. but the peace never lasts long before rafe is at your side again, tackling you to the ground with a sudden burst of energy. you both fall, rolling across the grass in a fit of laughter, his weight pressing into you briefly before you push him off with a shove.

you end up on your backs, lying there side by side in the rain. your breath comes in short bursts from all the laughing, and there’s a calmness that settles over the two of you. you turn your head to look at him, and there’s something in the way he looks back at you, rain dripping down his face. it’s just you and him, the world around you disappearing into the sound of the rain, the hum of your heartbeat in your ears.

in that moment, you feel something deeper. something that goes beyond the undefined territory you’ve been navigating for months. there’s a connection—stronger than before, pulling you in, making you wonder how you ever let yourself fall this far. you feel it with every glance, every brush of his hand against yours as you lay there.

and then, almost without warning, it’s over. you’re in the car again, the engine quietly rumbling as rafe drives you home. the rain hasn’t let up, the windshield wipers swishing back and forth, and the streetlights blur past as you sit in silence.

you sit in the passengers seat, wrapped in rafe’s oversized hoodie, the warmth of it settling against your skin, but the comfort feels fleeting. your clothes had been drenched from the rain, and now, you’re dressed in his.

you don’t want it to end. when you were out there with him, laughing in the rain, time seemed to stretch. it was simple, effortless—like the world stopped just for you. you find yourself wishing it could stay that way, even for just a little longer.

but now, here you are, in his car, the night creeping closer to its end as he drives you home. you rest your head against the seat, staring out at the blurry glow of the streetlights through the rain-streaked windows. in your mind, the memories play on repeat, each one a familiar echo of nights like this.

there’s a pattern—you recognize it now. the closeness, the laughter, the silence when neither of you acknowledges what this really is. a situationship, something more than friendship but never quite a relationship. yet, despite it all, you don’t care. being with him in this confusing, undefined space feels better than being without him.

the car slows as he pulls up to your house, and the quiet reality hits. you glance at him, but he doesn’t say anything, just pulls out his phone when he gets a phone call, but he glances at you when you just sit there. it’s enough. you step out into the cool air, the dampness of the rain lingering in the night as you head inside.

the house is quiet, save for the faint clink of dishes in the kitchen. you walk in, and as you make your way to the fridge, your mom looks up from the counter, her eyes catching on your borrowed clothes. “whose clothes are those?” she asks, her voice casual but curious.

you shrug, opening the fridge and grabbing a water bottle. “rafes,” you reply simply, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. you don’t stick around for her reaction, turning and heading for the stairs, the sound of your footsteps fading as you make your way up.

as soon as you reach your room, you dive onto your bed and roll onto your back. your phone buzzes in your pocket, pulling your attention. with a sigh, you pull it out and open a group chat with your friends. for a second, your fingers hover over the screen, and then, without thinking too much, you begin typing.

how do you know when ur in

your fingers pause over the last word. the L word. it feels too heavy, too real to even finish typing. your thoughts stumble, second-guessing. do you really want their advice on this? what would they even say? maybe it’s not something your friends can help you with. not this.

with a slight shake of your head, you delete the message, watching the cursor blink on an empty screen before you lock your phone and drop it onto your chest.

just nights later, you get word that some pogues are throwing a party at the boneyard, but it’s not just any—it’s sarah’s friends.

you look over to rafe as he gets out of the car, his eyes scanning the beach. topper and kelce are already talking by the car, but rafe’s focus is sharp, as if nothing really starts until he steps into the mix.

he walks around to your side, opening the door and offering his hand. you take it so he can help you out of the car. his grip is firm, the way he holds you close as you step onto the soft sand beneath your shoes.

his arm is slung across your shoulder, and he gives you a playful shake as he leads the way toward the party.

even though he doesn’t say a word, the pressure of his touch says enough. it’s protective, almost possessive, like he’s staking a claim. you glance at him.

he wants you close, needs you to be within his reach, and you know it’s not just casual. it’s the way he is, the way he’s always been with you—controlling, protective. he walks slightly ahead, his arm guiding you forward as if he’s leading you, ensuring you’re exactly where he wants you to be.

and despite the way your body tenses beneath his touch, despite the chill that runs through you as his fingers press into your back, you let him. you tell yourself it’s just rafe being rafe—always wanting control, always needing to know where you are. it’s intoxicating in a way, the way he holds you there, the way he’s so sure that you belong with him.

your skin prickles, not because you’re afraid, but because there’s a part of you that knows this isn’t normal—this isn’t how it should feel. yet, despite that little voice in the back of your mind, you follow him. you always do.

you make your way into the heart of the party with your friends. the air smells like salt and smoke, laughter and music filling the space between the flickering bonfires. rafe’s hand slips from yours, but he doesn’t stray far, keeping close as he weaves his way through the crowd.

people greet him—some with a nod, some with a smile—but it’s like there’s an invisible line drawn around the two of you, keeping the rest of the world at arm’s length. and you don’t mind. not when it feels this good.

it doesn’t take long before rafe comes back with some drinks, and without missing a beat, he pulls you in closer to him. you laugh, sip your drink, and enjoy the chaos of the night, but there’s a quiet satisfaction that hums underneath it all. it’s the feeling of practically being his—of knowing that he knows it too.

the night spirals into a blur. somewhere between the music and the shots, you’ve lost count of how much you’ve had to drink. the warmth of the alcohol buzzes through your veins, making everything feel softer, the edges of reality blurring. but topper is there to catch you when you start to sway just a little too much.

“you okay?” he asks, his voice warm as a faint smile appears on his face.

“yeah, just a little tipsy,” you giggle, leaning into him, feeling the world tilt slightly.

as the night wears on, you find yourself laughing at everything, dancing wildly under the stars, the sound of waves crashing nearby blending with the music. but by the end of the night, it’s clear you’re done. you’re not sure if it’s the drinks or the way rafe is nowhere to be seen half of the time.

“this party is lame,” rafe comments as he finds you, topper, and kelce by a bonfire. he’s holding one of the red solo cups but he’s uninterested.

kelce shrugs, “to you, maybe. ‘cause there’s no snow.”

rafe weaves his way through the boys to reach you. “you’re staying with me tonight,” he says, and you don’t argue. you just nod, letting him guide you to the car, his hand gripping yours like an anchor.

once you reach his car, he opens the door for you, his hand lingering on your waist as you slide into the passenger seat. “you really had a good time, huh?” he teases, starting the engine.

“best night ever,” you reply, a goofy grin spreading across your face. you look over at him, feeling a warmth blooming in your chest, the alcohol making everything feel more intense. you just wish you saw more of him that night.

when you arrive at his house, he helps you out of the car. you stumble slightly but he catches you. “easy, easy,” he mutters, leading you inside.

even when his words are dry, and his touch is barely there, you cling to moments like this, convincing yourself it means something.

still, being this close feels good. it always does. you want to tell him—everything. to spill out the truth that’s been gnawing at you for weeks, months. but you know better. don’t ruin the moment, you think, your teeth worrying your bottom lip. it’s too good to ruin. too fragile to risk.

you want to tell him everything, to let it all out. but you can’t. not when he’s like this, not when he looks at you like nothing’s changed.

and now, you’re lying in his bed, the room spinning just a little. the pillows are soft beneath your head, and rafe is standing at the edge of the bed, watching you. his expression is unreadable, but there’s a slight furrow in his brow, like he’s trying to figure something out.

“just get some rest. you’ll feel better in the morning,” he says.

he’s standing over you, and for a moment, your thoughts are louder than the room. he looks at you like he always does—unreadable. it feels like the words are stuck, heavy and burning at the back of your throat. maybe he already knows. he has to. with how often you’re by his side, how you’ve never left, even when he’s cold and distant. it’s so obvious, isn’t it?

“okay. thank you for taking care of me,” you murmur, your words slurring slightly, the alcohol clouding your mind. you look at him, trying to read his expression, wanting to see something—anything—that suggests he cares.

you bite your tongue, trying to keep it all inside, but then the words start slipping, slow at first, like they have a mind of their own. “i love—”

you catch yourself, the words teetering on the edge of your lips. your heart races as you realize what you almost let slip, a rush of fear flooding through you. what are you doing? your heart is pounding and you feel like within a second, you’re able to turn completely sober.

silence. it’s so loud it’s almost suffocating. you force yourself to look up, desperately searching his face for a reaction, anything. but there’s nothing. his expression doesn’t change, not even a flicker of surprise or discomfort. just that same calm, indifferent look he always has.

it’s like he didn’t even register it—or something worse.

“go to sleep,” he says, his voice flat. he takes a step back, glancing towards the door, like he’s already moving on. “i’ll be back.”

all you can do is nod, your heart still racing from the near-slip. “okay,” you whisper, and you pull the blanket tighter around you.

you can’t breathe. you can’t move. your heart is still racing as you watch him leave, the door closing softly behind him. you sink back into the bed, pulling the covers over yourself, but the warmth is gone.

your head spins with everything unsaid, and you can’t shake the feeling that it’s too late.

he doesn’t care. he doesn’t care the way you do. the words hang in the air, heavy and unspoken. a chill runs down your spine as you replay the moment in your head, the way he dismissed your feelings without even a second glance.

he doesn’t care that you almost admitted you loved him? that, or . . . yeah, rafe already knows. and in some way, that scares you more than anything.

you can remember the first time you met rafe—back when you were kids, in middle school. you’d known of the cameron family, but you’d never been around enough to meet rafe specifically. for so long, it felt like you were in two different worlds. but in middle school, rafe finally noticed you, only to say something rude.

it stung, but you were kids. that was the odd beginning of your friendship. it was rough at first, barely getting along most of the time as barely acquaintances. still, you liked being friends with sarah, even if she was a few years younger. you two weren’t super close because of the age gap, but once you hit high school, you didn’t mind looking out for her when she needed it.

only then did rafe approach you again since middle school. he told you to stay away from his sister, as if you were some kind of bad influence. you weren’t, and you told him as much, calling him stupid. that was the end of it—for that day, at least.

you two shared more classes that junior year than you would’ve liked, which meant seeing him nearly every day. you never went out of your way to be rude unless he started it, and he always did. if he saw you, he usually took the chance to say or do something to get under your skin. still, it wasn’t like he was out to get you—it was more like an unspoken routine.

things only lightened up in senior year. you ended up helping him at some volunteer event he didn’t want to go to, and neither did you. you’d brought a flask, figuring it would take the edge off the boredom, and it helped break the ice between you two.

by the next week, you crossed paths again. you drove yourself to and from school, but your tire went flat one day, probably from driving over something sharp in the parking lot while pulling in during the morning.

you didn’t know how to change it, and as luck would have it, rafe spotted you on his way to his friend’s car. he stopped and helped you out. ever since that day, it felt like something shifted, and the foundation for your friendship started to take root.

“y/n,” rafe calls, snapping you out of your thoughts. you immediately turn to your window, tearing off your blankets as you make your way over to peek between the blinds.

there he is, leaning casually against the door of his truck, chewing some gum and fiddling with the wrapper. without wasting time, you rush to pull on your shoes and grab your bag, ready to head out.

now, you’re leaning against the rail of kelce’s boat, staring into your cup as the wind whips around you. it’s the usual sandbar party, and you’re already en route, cruising across the water.

the sun is bright, forcing you to squint when you glance up, scanning the boat for familiar faces. kooks everywhere—laughing, drinking, pre-gaming before the afternoon on the beach. in one hand, you clutch your drink and a pair of sunglasses, in the other, your phone.

you absentmindedly toss your hair off your shoulder, then peer over the rail to watch the water rush past beneath you. two people approach—a boy and a girl, probably friends of kelce’s since everyone got an invite to ride with him.

they linger nearby, the girl shifting nervously until she finally speaks up, “i like your top.” her words come out fast, almost as if she’s afraid you won’t hear her.

you glance her way, taking her in with a brief nod. “i like your . . . shoes,” you reply, offering a small smile. the girl’s wearing sneakers—not exactly the best choice for a day at the beach, but you’re just poking fun.

she seems to miss the teasing tone, accepting the compliment with a hesitant, “thanks.”

the boy steps forward now, smoothly joining the conversation. “how long you been in the outer banks?” he asks, like it’s no big deal, just another casual question.

you tilt your head slightly, thinking for a moment. “most of my life. you and your girl new to the island?”

the boy looks quickly at the girl, and she immediately looks away. “no, we’re just friends,” he says, glancing back at you while you watch them both closely. there’s something unspoken between them, though—especially when the girl throws him a quick, hurt look. clearly, there’s more to their story.

you extend your hand, breaking the tension. “y/n.”

“jasper,” he says, shaking your hand, and for a moment, his gaze locks with yours. but your attention quickly shifts to the girl beside him. you hold out your hand, waiting for her introduction, and after a brief pause, she reaches out.

“i’m isabelle,” she mumbles softly, her voice almost getting lost in the wind.

you give her a genuine smile. the teasing earlier probably didn’t help, but this feels like a better moment. you shake her hand, but something catches your eye. the light glints off the bracelet on her wrist, a delicate piece of jewelry that stands out against her skin. instinctively, you pause, twisting her hand gently to get a better look.

“that’s really pretty,” you say, your voice filled with genuine admiration. isabelle looks a little flustered, glancing down at the bracelet herself before offering an awkward smile.

“my mom gave it to me recently,” she explains, her voice soft, almost like she’s revealing something personal.

you raise your eyebrows, nodding like you figured. “she has good taste,” you say, pulling your hand away and giving her a playful grin. “i wish i had one like that.”

isabelle smiles, this time with a bit more warmth, as you take a sip of your drink. beside you, jasper checks his beer can, frowning slightly.

“i’m out,” he says, looking toward where kelce and rafe are talking. “kelce said he had some in the cooler. be right back.”

you watch him go, your eyes drifting toward rafe as he talks with kelce. for a second, you catch him looking at you, the briefest flicker of attention before he refocuses on jasper approaching. jasper’s probably asking where the cooler is.

you glance over at isabelle, who’s now standing beside you, her posture awkward, her drink clutched tightly in her hand.

you tilt your head at her, curiosity getting the better of you. “is he sure that you and him are just friends?”

isabelle looks startled, her eyes widening as she whips back around to face you, blinking rapidly like she’s been caught off guard. she looks away, the blush creeping into her cheeks as she stares down at her drink.

“he’s sure,” she mumbles, her voice small. “i’m not.”

you wince. the way she said it, the quiet frustration—it all sounds way too familiar. but you wave the thought off. it’s not about you right now.

isabelle looks at you, her lips twitching upward in a shy smile. “i’ve liked him since we were kids,” she admits, the words spilling out now like she’s been holding onto them for too long. “we’re only here for the summer, and our parents are best friends with kelce’s, so . . . i don’t know. it’s just complicated. i don’t think he can even read any of the hints i throw at him.”

you place a delicate hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her. “well, if he doesn’t see that, then he’s stupid,” you say with a small smile, your tone light but firm. “seriously, he’s an idiot if he can’t tell.”

you give her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “he’ll either figure it out, or you’ll find someone who’s not blind,” you say, shrugging. “either way, you’ve got it.”

isabelle shakes her head and looks down at her drink, swirling it gently, the ice clinking softly against the plastic cup. she’s quiet for a second, like she’s not sure if she should even bother saying the rest. but then she lets out a sigh, giving in.

“you know,” she starts, voice low but steady, “sometimes i wonder if he even notices. like, i’ve tried. i really have. but sometimes i feel like he’s just choosing not to see it. maybe it’s easier for him that way, not having to deal with what comes next. and . . . what if i’m wasting all this time waiting for something that’s never going to happen? that scares me the most. i don’t want to look back and feel stupid for hoping.”

isabelle glances up, her brows furrowed, a soft laugh escaping her that sounds more like a breath of frustration. “but what really gets me is the fear of losing him completely. like, what if this—this friendship, or whatever it is—is all we’re meant to be? if i tell him, and he doesn’t feel the same . . . i ruin everything. so maybe i should just keep this, even if it’s not everything i want, than lose him altogether.”

you listen in silence, your chest tightening as isabelle’s words sink in. you nod slightly, acknowledging how close to home they hit. it’s like she’s pulled the thoughts straight from your own mind and laid them out between you.

all those late nights you spent wondering the same thing about rafe, the moments you brushed aside the hints you were giving him, thinking it was easier for him not to notice. you regret the other night at the party. that’s probably the furthest you’ve gotten to practically telling him how you feel.

because dealing with what comes after—if there is even any after—would change everything. maybe you’re scared of that too. of ruining whatever it is you already have, even if it’s not enough anymore.

isabelle takes an innocent sip of her drink, like she hadn’t just spilled her deepest fears. she glances around, shrugging softly. “anyway, that’s how my love life is going.” she laughs, but it’s hollow, like she’s trying to play it off as nothing, like it doesn’t really matter.

you don’t respond right away. instead, you find yourself staring at her, watching as she shifts uncomfortably, unsure of what to do with the vulnerability she just shared. your gaze drifts, following the trail of sunlight dancing over the water as the boat cuts through it.

isabelle’s words replay in your mind, over and over, threading together with every uncertain feeling you’ve been holding onto about rafe. you’ve been walking this fine line with him for what feels like forever, stuck between wanting more and being afraid of losing what you already have. and now, you’re not sure which way you’re leaning anymore.

you pause for a moment, thinking. the words hang on your tongue, but you’re not sure if you should ask. finally, you look at isabelle, your voice careful, like you’re testing the waters. “so you’re just never gonna tell him?” you ask, the question feeling like it’s aimed at both of you.

isabelle shakes her head quickly, like she didn’t mean for it to sound that definite. “no, not never,” she says, shrugging. “this isn’t something i’d take to my grave or anything. maybe when we’re older, when things aren’t so clustered for us right now. i think if we were around each other more often, maybe then i’d say something, but that’s not something i can risk under our circumstances right now.”

you just nod, absorbing her words. there it is—that’s what sets you and isabelle apart.

you get it, the fear of telling someone how you feel, whether it’s like or love, especially when the timing is off or the distance makes it easier to hide. but you and rafe? there’s no distance, no gap keeping you apart. you’ve been inseparable for years, always around each other, no excuses. and yet, here you are.

you blink a few times, but you don’t say anything, the weight of it settling between you and isabelle like a silent understanding. you both turn your attention to the horizon as the boat nears the shore of an island not far from figure eight.

you lean into rafe’s side, his arm draped casually across your shoulder, pulling you in closer, while he talks to the group—kelce, topper, isabelle, jasper—all standing around in a loose circle.

laughter flows freely, and the air smells like sunscreen and the salt of the ocean. people all around have set up umbrellas, towels, coolers—transforming the stretch of beach into a party that’s as chaotic as it is carefree. music blares from portable speakers, the kind you feel in your chest, vibrating through the sand.

volleyball games erupt further down the beach, and the sound of drunken laughter and splashing water fills the air as people float lazily on oversized inflatables.

someone cheers as a girl stumbles down to the water, pulling up her shirt in a flash of skin before diving in, the moment met with more hollering and clapping. it's all easy, light—everyone’s just letting loose, and you’re swept up in it.

you find yourself spending most of the afternoon alongside isabelle, both of you lounging in the sun, sipping drinks and sharing amused glances as the day carries on. there’s this unspoken ease between you now, something that started back on the boat. you talk without pressure, just floating through the day’s moments together.

but there are moments with rafe too. he finds you in the crowd, his hand slipping into yours as he tugs you away, guiding you through the chaos. he hugs you close, his breath warm against your ear as he leans in to say something you can’t quite hear over the noise, but it doesn’t matter. wherever he goes, you follow, and the two of you string each other along from one spot to the next, like you’re tethered together.

and then there’s that kiss. it happens just before you leave the sandbar, when the sun has started to dip lower in the sky. it’s abrupt, initiated by rafe, but it feels like something he needed to do, like he couldn’t let the day end without it.

his lips are warm, lingering on yours longer than usual, and everything else falls away. it’s like you’re the only two people left on the beach, the distant chatter and music fading into the background.

when he pulls back, it’s only for a second before he leans in again, his hands tightening on your waist, not wanting to let you go. you stare up at him after, your heart thudding in your chest, adoration in your eyes as you hold his gaze.

but now you’re home, and the contrast is stark. the dim lighting making the space feel colder, emptier. the energy of the sandbar is gone, replaced by an unsettling quiet. you sit on your couch, your leg bounces up and down, restless, as you stare blankly ahead.

the silence of your empty house is deafening. the faint ringing in your ears from the silence draws you into your thoughts—back to yesterday, back to the way rafe held you close, the way his presence felt like an anchor.

you felt safe, maybe even whole, when you were with him. but now, sitting here alone, the difference is almost suffocating. it’s strange how quickly it can shift—one day surrounded by people, warmth, noise, and the next, alone with only your thoughts, replaying every detail, every touch, every feeling.

the way things are now, it’s safe. there’s no risk, no line to cross that you can’t uncross. but if you were to tell him, to lay it all out there, could you handle the fallout?

because what if he doesn’t feel the same?

but then he kissed you. like he did yesterday, so suddenly, so effortlessly, pulling you into him like it’s second nature. it’s like he knew exactly when to pull you back in, just when you were starting to think too much. and just like that, all those questions you’ve been holding onto, the ones that sit heavy on your chest every time you’re near him, dissolve. because when he kisses you like that, it’s easy to forget everything else.

they vanish, swallowed by the feeling of him, so close, making you feel like maybe you don’t need to figure it all out right now.

but even then, just for a second, it’s on the tip of your tongue. you almost say it, almost let it slip, but you stop yourself. you always do.

i love you.

you convince yourself it’s not the right time, not the right moment, or maybe it’s not something you should say at all. and just when you’re about to pull away, to push the thought down like you always do, he kissed you again.

and just like that, you’re right back where you started. questioning, doubting, but never fully letting go. the feelings circling around inside you, waiting for the next time you’re close enough for them to surface again.

the next few days blur together, each one melting into the next. it feels as though you’re standing still, trapped in your bubble of emotions while everyone else rushes past you, moving faster and faster.

your best friend’s voice cuts through the fog of your thoughts, calling your name with a playful urgency, like she’s been doing for the past few moments. you blink, looking away from the raindrops on the window and finally focusing on her, the light in her eyes breaking through your haze.

“what?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, still slightly disoriented.

she laughs, a warm sound that pulls you back into the moment. as she continues talking, you lean into your pillow, letting the comfort envelop you.

the conversation drifts toward summer plans—what they have been up to, the adventures they’ve had. your friend shares her own stories of beach trips and spontaneous late-night drives.

“we should definitely go to that new froyo place tomorrow,” she suggests. “i heard they have all these crazy flavors. oh my g— remember last summer when we tried to make our own?”

you smile at the memory, letting it wash over you. just as you’re settling into the rhythm of the conversation, your mom pops her head in, breaking the moment. “dinner’s almost ready,” she calls from the doorway.

“thanks, mom,” you murmur, your voice soft as you turn your head slightly to give her a smile. she nods, and with that, she slips away, leaving the door ajar.

as soon as she’s gone, you lean back down, resting your elbow on your pillow and propping your head on your hand. your gaze drifts to your phone, almost expectantly, fingers itching to scroll through your notifications. you’re not even sure what you’re hoping for, but the silence feels heavy, and a part of you longs for a message.

your friend watches you closely, an amused smile creeping onto her lips. “do you want to text him?” she asks casually, the knowing glimmer in her eyes saying she’s onto you.

“him?” you feign innocence, raising an eyebrow. there really isn’t anyone else in your life who fits the bill like rafe, but you can’t just assume. she, however, sees right through you.

“come on, y/n. you know who i’m talking about.” she gets comfortable on your bed, sinking into the pillows as she watches you, her interest piqued. “what’s the deal with him anyway?”

you hesitate, slow to respond, feeling the weight of the question. you can’t seem to pinpoint how to explain what’s been going on. “things are good,” you say finally, the words feeling vague and hollow even as they leave your lips.

the look on your best friend’s face shifts immediately, arching an eyebrow. “good? really?” she prompts, tilting her head as if trying to pry more out of you.

you roll your eyes, exasperated by her unwavering gaze. “fine, it’s complicated,” you admit, the truth slipping out before you can stop it. you grab your phone, sinking deeper into your pillow, scrolling through your notifications as if the action could distract you from your tangled thoughts about rafe.

or maybe even check if you even have a notification from him.

she watches you scroll through your phone, her eyes flicking to the slight frown on your face. she doesn't speak right away, just sits there, observing. then, she reaches over, placing her hand gently over your phone and setting it back down on the bed.

“nevermind. you know, you’re gonna drive yourself crazy overthinking like this,” she says softly, shifting to face you more. “sometimes you just gotta rip the band-aid off and stop worrying about what might go wrong. otherwise, you’ll be stuck forever.”

you glance at her, unsure if you want to hear it. but she’s already readjusting her position, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she continues. “god knows i would’ve done things differently with cooper, but you know.”

you lean your head back, letting out a dramatic exhale at the mention of his name—cooper. you’ve heard enough stories to last a lifetime. but you pull your head forward again, looking at her as she reaches over once more, this time placing her hand over yours.

“i just think you should really do it,” she says, her tone more serious now.

you sigh, rubbing your eyes with the arm you’ve been propping yourself up on.

“whatever,” you mumble, shaking off the tension. “let’s go eat dinner. i’m starving.”

after dinner, your friend excuses herself to use the bathroom, leaving you and your mom at the table. your mom finishes up her plate before glancing at you, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “was it good?” she asks.

you don’t say anything, just smile softly and nod. she smiles back, the corners of her eyes crinkling with affection as she gets up to collect the dishes from the table, already moving to tidy up and call it a day.

you stand too, silently helping her by stacking the plates and utensils as she handles putting the leftovers in containers. the clink of dishes and quiet movement fill the space.

when you walk over to the sink, you place the plates inside, fingers lingering on the faucet handle. but you stop. turning around, you fiddle with your hands, the words you've been holding onto threatening to spill out.

your voice is quieter than usual when you finally ask, “how do you know if you love someone?”

your mom pauses in her search for containers, her hand resting on the cabinet door as she looks over at you. she sets down the lid she’s holding and turns, studying your face carefully. “what do you mean?” her tone is soft, open, and it catches you off guard.

you bite the inside of your cheek, unsure of how to phrase it without sounding like some naive girl, like a kid who thinks she’s in love. you lean back against the counter, gripping the edges behind you. “i’m in this situation—literally—with this boy, and—”

your mom cuts in, a knowing smile spreading across her face. “is it rafe?”

you freeze for a second, caught off guard, but the way she says it, almost amused and without judgment, relaxes you. of course she knows. it’s not like you two ever really tried to keep anything a secret. the island knew, your friends knew, but hearing your mom say it so casually makes your lips curl into a sheepish smile. “yeah,” you admit quietly.

your mom crosses her arms, leaning against the counter opposite you, still smiling. “what’s going on?”

you exhale softly, unsure where to even begin. “i don’t know,” you start, “we’re close, obviously. and he’s been . . . we’ve been spending so much time together lately, more than usual. but it’s confusing, you know? like, he doesn’t commit, but then there are these moments, like, i feel like there’s more between us. and i don’t want to ruin what we have, but i also don’t know if what we have is enough anymore.”

your mom watches you carefully, absorbing everything you’re saying. her expression softens as she considers her words. “i remember when i was your age,” she begins, her voice taking on a reflective tone. “i was in a similar situation with your father. we weren’t perfect—far from it—but i knew i loved him. i knew it because i was scared of losing him, but more than that, i was willing to fight for him. and i did.”

you blink at her, surprised. she rarely talks about how she and your dad got together, and when she does, it’s usually brief.

“we had our ups and downs,” she continues. “but in the end, it was worth it because i didn’t give up on what i wanted. and that led me here,” she says, her smile widening as she gestures lightly, “to you.”

you look down, her words settling in. “so you’re saying i should, what? take a chance?”

“i’m saying if you think it’s worth it, if you believe in it, then don’t be afraid to fight for it. but you have to be sure, really sure. because if you’re not, it’ll show. and rafe? he’ll see it.”

your mom moves toward you, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “whatever happens, just remember, you deserve to be happy. don’t settle for anything less.”

you’re still absorbing your mom’s words, turning them over in your head, when she leans slightly, nodding toward the back door. “go,” she says, her tone gentle yet resolute.

you blink, caught completely off guard. “wh— now?” your voice comes out confused, almost a laugh. you glance toward the window, where rain streaks down the glass. “mom, it’s pouring.”

she waves a hand, like the rain is the least of your worries. "i know. go put on a jacket. tell rafe how you feel."

your chest tightens, a swell of uncertainty rising up again, but there’s something in the way she looks at you—something that makes your heart stutter. “mom,” you start, your voice uncertain, but she interrupts, her expression soft but determined.

“listen,” she says, stepping closer, her hands gently shooing you toward the door, “it’s when you get to the end of your life that you realize how important the choices you made at the beginning were. you’re young, y/n. you have your whole life ahead of you to figure things out.” she pauses, her eyes meeting yours. “but you don’t want to look back, wondering what would’ve happened if you’d just taken that chance.”

your breath catches in your throat. you can’t deny that a part of you has been afraid—afraid of what admitting your feelings for rafe might do to your friendship, to the years of closeness you’ve built. but there’s something about the way she says it that strikes deep, a kind of clarity you’ve been avoiding.

“and,” she continues, stepping back just slightly, "even if it doesn’t turn out the way you hope, you both know you’ll always work out as friends. you’ve known that for a long time now.” she smiles then, soft but sure. “so go.”

you stand there, rooted in place, feeling the weight of your indecision lift—just a little. your mom knows. she’s always known. and the more you think about it, the more you realize she’s right. the fear, the hesitation—it doesn’t outweigh what you already know about rafe. about how solid you two are, even in uncertainty.

without another thought, you step forward, pulling her into a tight hug. “thank you,” you murmur into her shoulder, voice muffled but heartfelt. you linger for a second longer, breathing in the familiar scent of home, of comfort. “i owe you for this. and for the dishes next time.”

your mom chuckles as she pulls back. “all you owe me,” she says, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “is handling your friend when she gets back from the bathroom and realizes that you’re not here.”

you grin at that, shaking your head slightly as you turn away. then you rush toward the front door, grabbing a jacket from the table, your fingers fumbling for your car keys. the adrenaline starts kicking in, buzzing beneath your skin, and your heart beats faster—not from fear, but from excitement. clarity.

the rain hits your face as soon as you step outside, cool droplets splashing against your skin, soaking through the jacket almost instantly. but you don’t care. not this time.

you hurry toward the car, slipping behind the wheel, and as the engine roars to life, there’s only one thing on your mind. you’re not running away anymore—you’re going straight to him. straight to rafe, to tell him everything.

your mom is still standing in the kitchen, smiling to herself as she wipes down the counter. your friend emerges from the bathroom, stretching dramatically.

“ugh, i have the biggest food baby right now,” she groans, rubbing her stomach with an exaggerated pout. “like, seriously, i think i might be in my third trimester.”

she stops mid-step, suddenly noticing that you're nowhere to be seen. her gaze flickers around the room, confusion settling on her face. “where’s y/n?”

your mom just smiles, glancing up from the counter with a knowing look.

the rain pounds against your windshield and your fingers grip the steering wheel tighter, knuckles white, as the tires cut through puddles, water splashing up on either side of the road.

it’s dark outside, the kind of dark that makes the world feel like it’s closing in, and yet you drive, the rain blurring everything except for the weight of what you’re about to do.

you can hardly believe you're doing this—driving to rafe’s house, of all places, on a night like this. it’s pouring. but the rain, the storm, the darkness—they almost feel fitting. like the weather outside mirrors the chaos that’s been brewing inside you for months.

you think about him. about rafe. about the time you’ve spent together—the laughs, the touches, the kisses, the way he makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world.

you think about the nights he’s held you close, his breath warm against your neck, and the mornings where he pulls away just a little too soon, leaving you wondering if you imagined it all. it’s like being on a tightrope, balancing between something beautiful and something terrifying.

this thing with him, it’s not really a relationship, is it? it’s more like a maze with no exit, a constant loop of confusion and longing, of wanting more but being afraid to ask for it.

you’ve told yourself a thousand times that you’re okay with it—that whatever this is, it’s enough. but it’s not. and deep down, you’ve always known it’s not.

you’ve spent so long trying to figure it out. is this love? do you love him? or is it just the idea of him? the way he makes the world feel quieter when everything else is so loud, so overwhelming. you’ve wondered if maybe you just needed someone, anyone, to make you feel like you weren’t going through life alone. you’ve questioned if it’s love or if it’s desperation.

but then you remember the way his eyes soften when he looks at you—like he’s seeing past every wall you’ve ever put up. you remember the way his touch feels like it’s grounding you, like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. and it hits you, harder than you’ve ever allowed it to before. you do love him.

you’ve probably never loved anyone as much as you love rafe cameron. and it’s terrifying.

because how do you tell him that? how do you tell someone you love them when you’ve spent months pretending you’re fine without a real answer, pretending that this . . . undefined space you’ve both been living in is enough?

your mind is racing, your heart too, as the road blurs in front of you. the rain is relentless, but you barely notice. all you can think about is him. about how you’ve spent so long holding back, holding yourself in this limbo, waiting for something—anything—to change. but nothing will change unless you make it change.

you’ve waited for him to make the first move, to say something, to define what’s between you, but you’re done waiting. you love him, and whether or not he feels the same, you need him to know. you need to say it out loud. maybe for yourself, more than for him. you can’t keep living in this. you deserve more than that.

the rain is pouring harder now, like the sky is trying to drown the world, but it doesn’t matter. nothing matters except for the fact that you’re almost there. almost at his house. almost at the point of no return.

your heart is in your throat when you pull into his driveway. you sit there for a moment, the engine still running, the rain beating down on your car, and you just breathe.

but then you remember his smile. his laugh. the way he makes you feel like you’re floating and falling all at once. and you know you have to do this. you can’t keep living in the in-between.

you throw your jacket over your head as you step out into the rain, the cold water soaking through your shoes, your pants, everything. it’s freezing, but you barely feel it. you walk up to his front door, your steps heavy, heart even heavier. you knock, once, twice, and then wait.

your heart feels like it’s about to explode. everything you’ve wanted to say, everything you’ve felt—it’s all bubbling up inside you, ready to spill out the second the door opens. you’re nervous, terrified, but ready. so, so ready.

the door creaks open, and there he is. rafe.

he looks at you, rain-soaked and trembling, and it’s like something clicks in his eyes. like he knows exactly why you’re here. like he’s been waiting for this moment, too.

you smile, a soft, trembling smile, your heart in your throat. “hey.”

he stands there, staring at you with that familiar look, the one that’s always made you feel like maybe—just maybe—he’s been feeling the same way all along. and then he smiles back, a small, understanding smile that makes your heart skip a beat.

“hey.”

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 20 / epilogue)

masterlist

-

Black trees against a yellow sky at evening time. 

It’s late when you finally reach home. Dark enough to almost be night—a full day longer to return than it took to leave, but then you hadn’t ridden as hard coming back, too sore and sleep-deprived to manage the same pace. Even the meager sleep you got on the road was hardly sufficient.

Then the shape of your house appears on the horizon and you nearly break down in tears. The sight of it fills you with such relief that you nearly lose your balance, your head slumping forward. Too long. Days that felt like weeks, your body and mind weary from the long trek home. Against the gold of the horizon light, it appears like a boat arriving at port. 

You throw yourself off your horse and to the ground before John has even had a chance himself to dismount and come help you down. He stomps over when your foot nearly catches in the stirrup, nostrils flared and mustache twitching with his scowl. 

“Don’t go breaking your leg before I’ve even gotten you home,” he growls when he reaches you, fitting his hand around the nape of your neck and giving it a squeeze. You’d shiver, but your body is too exhausted for your libido to manage more than a half-hearted twitch. Instead you nod, head bobbing like a baby doll. 

John takes the horses to the stables while you clamber up the stairs on wobbly legs, headed straight for your bedroom, passing out the second your head touches the pillow. Your growling stomach will have to be addressed in the morning.

You aren’t conscious for when John comes up to join you, but you swear even in sleep you can sense his presence in the room. Certainly when he curls himself around you, the wall of warmth at your back briefly making your eyes flicker open before sleep claims you again and they slide shut. 

In the morning, you eat a big breakfast before letting John rub a liniment onto your inner thighs and bandage the cuts on your hands and face. The doctor he takes you to see after breakfast for the shoulder that Graves dislocated prescribes bed rest and light stretching for recovery and laudanum for any lingering pain. 

“What did you tell him?” you ask when the two of you head out for a light lunch in town before heading back home. 

“Told him you fell off a horse.” He shrugs. “Not that uncommon around here.”

All you can do is roll your eyes. 

Still, it’s as good an excuse as any. No one questions your story when you tell it to them over the following days, when your shoulder is still too tender for you to move it too vigorously. Only Kate lifts a brow knowingly, all but cornering you for the real story when you finally get a moment alone. 

“That sonuvabitch,” she hisses when you finally break and tell her what happened. 

“It’s fine,” you insist, shushing her. “John… Well, John handled it.”

She nods approvingly, then looks like she might say more before thinking the better of it. Silence falls between the two of you. 

“He—” you pause in the middle of your sentence, unsure of how exactly to say it. “It wasn’t so bad. Telling him, I mean.”

Kate must catch the slight inflection in your voice because she stares at you expectantly, waiting for you to say more. “…I’m happy to hear that.”

You inhale as if gathering your breath to say more, but nothing comes out. You know what it is you want to say, but it’s getting it out that’s the tricky bit. What you want to tell her is that your trust wasn’t misplaced in the end; all of your fears that the truth would shatter the affection and trust that had finally been shown to you after a lifetime of nothing were unfounded, proven ultimately wrong. 

“Was there something else you wanted to add?”

You chew your lower lip. 

“No. Nothing else,” you say in the end. There’ll be a time someday to tell her that her trust wouldn’t be misplaced with John or Kyle either; perhaps that day will come sooner than you expect, but for now it remains on the distant horizon. It’s not your place to lecture or admonish; your place in her life is to offer the same feeling of security and companionship as she’s offered you.  

Today, you loop your arm through hers and join her for lunch. 

In town, people greet you like you never left. Only one person asks you about the man you were walking with the previous day, and Kate covers for you when you stumble over your answer, throat constricting in your panic. There’s no suspicion in the question, but still you anticipate it because life has conditioned you to expect pain as a response to any action or inaction. 

You are surprised when pain doesn’t come this time. But still, you are wary.

When you get home, John fills the tub with hot water for you and lets you wash up on your own while he tends to the horses, the third now unofficially his. You lean your arms over the side of the tub and drift in and out of your daydreams, ears attuned only to the sound of his voice and the owls calling from the trees just beyond the house. Eyes fluttering shut until slipping deeper into the water kicks you back into wakefulness. 

“You falling asleep in there?” he asks when he stomps back inside, the door slamming shut behind him and nearly giving you a heart attack. 

“No,” you deny, discreetly wiping the rheum from the inner corners of your eyes. “Just resting my eyes.”

“Of course,” he snorts. Amused as ever by seemingly anything that comes out of your mouth.

A telegram comes in to the sheriff's office some weeks later asking about a missing bounty hunter, and though you pitch forward in your chair when John tells you this, he’s quick to remind you that as far as anyone else knows, Graves moved on after his first visit a month or so back. 

It takes time to reassure you, but slowly your hands unclench from the edge of your seat. 

Still, you make yourself scarce for a week after that. It takes some time for you to feel safe again. You spend those first few days after hearing about the telegram constantly looking over your shoulder, plagued by the worry that you’ll be found out. Sharing your worries with John doesn’t go a long way towards alleviating them because his confidence never wavers. It’s almost infuriating. 

“Would it kill you to just pretend?” you huff, cracking an egg into the skillet. 

“Nobody’s gonna come looking for him here. ‘Far as anyone knows, he made his way west a long time ago,” he says, dismissing your concerns while clipping his fingernails at the kitchen table. You scrunch up your nose when you glance over your shoulder.

“You better not think I’m sweeping those up.”

He barks out a laugh at that, shaking his head at the same time. 

True to his word, the front door stays shut. No one comes knocking looking for an errant bounty hunter. Perhaps that is a lesson that you can take away from all of this—that there is no reward for isolating oneself. Your safety has only ever been assured in community, in putting your trust in others and safeguarding their secrets in turn. Only love has ever held out its arms for you to fall into. 

And now the days pass like clouds in the sky. 

Tranquility hovers on the periphery of your life with every intention of calling out your name. It’s waiting for you with open arms. 

In the evenings, John takes you upstairs to the bedroom and pries you open enough to fit himself in. His mouth blazes a trail across your body, sucking your nipples until they’re beaded, wetting his beard with the essence of your pleasure, and bringing you to the brink of completion time and again before pushing you over. 

After a while, he leaves a piece of himself behind. 

Weeks pass and the seasons change. The changes you notice in your body are physical as well as emotional. At some point since coming home, you must have started to unwind. Shoulders loosening up, knots melting down your back. Is it just you, or does the air smell fresher too? 

You pin the laundry up on the clothesline and wait for your husband to come home. The sun sets earlier these days with autumn just around the corner. Already the leaves have begun to redden and brown, some breaking off from the branches altogether and floating to the ground where you know eventually they’ll rot and dissolve into the earth, starting the cycle of death and rebirth all over again. 

Winter is fast approaching and you know this one will be tough with a little one on the way. You’ve already started preparing for the winter months—canning and storing corn and potatoes and other root vegetables harvested from your garden, making preserves from the fruits of autumn—apples and pears sealed in jars of thick syrup—and filling the cellar with barrels of salted and cured meats. In town, you visit the seamstress for clothes of thicker material and leave with an armful of wool flannel petticoats, fur-trimmed bonnets, and corsets of a heavier cotton coutil. 

You rest a hand on your belly as you stare off into the distant mountains. Even the sky darkens earlier these days. When all of the laundry is pinned on the line, you pick up the wicker basket resting by your feet and bring it back inside, shuffling into the kitchen to get started on supper. 

There’s still much that needs to be done before winter arrives. Firewood to be chopped, furs and blankets to be hung on the walls, the fireplace to be swept, and more. Enough to keep you busy and your mind occupied when you aren’t bent over a book because that’s also your reality these days. The librarian in town now knows you by name and knows to set aside a few books a week for you to pick up when you pass by with Kate. 

You don’t think much of the knock at the door at first, absent-mindedly thinking that it must be a neighbor come to visit. Only when you open the door to an unfamiliar face do you pause. 

It’s a woman, not too dissimilar in looks from you. A bit taller, but otherwise if someone were to describe you from looks alone, they might be tempted to use the same words for either of you. She stands on your porch with a suitcase held by her side, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead from the short trip from town. She dabs her forehead lightly with a handkerchief before pocketing it again.

“Hello there,” she greets, a bright smile on her face. “I’m looking for John Price. I was told he lives here?”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at her nonplussed, not understanding why a strange woman might be at your door asking for your husband in such a familiar way. It takes a moment for it to sink in. Then the light goes on and your confusion shifts to disbelief with a twinge of rage. 

“We’re engaged to be married,” the other woman hurries to explain, taking a step closer, foot wedged in the door almost as if intending to barge right in. 

Her gall nearly makes you lose your temper. Months ago, you might’ve welcomed her arrival, eager to prove to John that you weren’t the woman that he mistook you for so that you could be on your merry way. But that time has long since passed. There isn’t anywhere else in the world you’d rather be than here. You’ve put roots down, entrenched yourself in every way.

Your lips pull into a hard line, face set in stone. “You must be mistaken. He’s already married.”

She blinks, uncomprehending. “That’s…—are you sure? We’ve been corresponding. I know I’m a few months late, but I was held up back in—”

You cut her off by sticking out your hand, topaz ring shining bright on your third finger. “I’m sure. But thank you for stopping by; I’ll let John know you send your apologies.”

And with that, you shove her foot out with yours and shut the door on her face. On another day, you’ll allow yourself to feel guilty for your rudeness; for now, this is your happy ending to enjoy. 

And savor it, you will.

[5sospenguinqueen]

Team Betrayal | Red Bull! Reader x Platonic! Grid

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N races for Red Bull but when she's caught out drinking another brand, she enacts her revenge until the Grid outs her snitched.

Apologies but this is a female reader.

Warning: Bad writing. I'm not sure what this is but it was prompted between an energy drink dilemma I had the other day.

There is no timeline for this. Make it up.

Main Masterlist.

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

Swiping away the sweat that ran down the back of her neck, Y/N grinned at the camera, drinking in the euphoric energy enveloping her on all sides.

"Thank you for joining us after such a long day." The interviewer beamed, pleased to have been able to catch the Red Bull racer before debrief started. "How're you feeling? You look absolutely drenched."

"Yes. Max thought he was funny tipping the entire can of Red Bull over my head. I'll wash my hair three times and still go home smelling of the stuff." Y/N joked, dabbing the drop of sticky liquid rolling down her forehead.

Pleased that the conversation had naturally developed down that path, the interviewer smirked at the camera before turning their attention back to you. "So, you've been driving for Red Bull for 2 years now? Is it safe to say you're also a big fan of the drink?"

She laughed nervously, unsure why such an odd question was being asked after a Grand Prix. Usually the media used this opportunity to ask how she felt about losing/her teammate winning. Again. "Who isn't?" Y/N joked.

Whipping out her phone, the interviewer (dressed in traitorous McLaren orange) thrust it in front of her face. The grin from Y/N's face instantly dropped as she squinted against the blinding sun. Disbelief painted her face.

"Where did you get that? That's actually me!"

"One of your fellow racers provided it earlier." The interviewer informed, tucking away the damning photo of Y/N drinking a can of Monster Energy, dressed in her Red Bull racing suit and attempting to hide her behaviour behind a laughing Lando Norris.

"Who?!"

"I'm afraid we're not at liberty to say. We promised confidentiality in favour of the photo," teased the interviewer.

"That's my face." Y/N's eyes darkened challengingly. She leaned into the microphone, staring down the camera. "In that case, those boys won't know a moment of peace until I get my answer."

She straightened just as soon after, smile flickering back into place as she heard her name being called. "Oops, I was meant to be in debrief a minute again. Thanks for talking to me. Catch you later!"

"Thank you for your time." The interviewer called after the retreating navy figure. She turned back to the camera. "Ladies and Gentleman, I think it's safe to say that Y/N Y/L/N is as ferocious off the track as she is on it. I don't know about you but I would not want to be a member of the Grid this evening."

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

The interview went viral.

YourUserName this you? (She retweeted with a pic of Lando wearing a Monster Energy hat, a can of Red Bull in hand)

→ LandoNorris no.

User 1 not Lando deliberately lying about his own face

User 2 oh, no. Lando. What have you started?

User 3 not me checking my phone every 2 seconds to see if Y/N has posted after she vowed vengence.

→ Your User Name 👀👀

User 4 don't drag poor Maxie into this. He's always seen drinking Red Bull.

User 5 she never was good enough for the team, hope they drop her after this.

User 6 may as well just go to McLaren with how much time she spends with them.

OscarPiastri just a warning. I can hear her laughing evilly next door.

YourUserName so just to clear a few things up. I have never bought a Monster Energy in my life.

YourUse Name i am always supplied with them by people who are attempting to remain innocent in this scandal.

PierreGASLY yeah, well. My shoes are cleaner than yours so...

→ LandoNorris you sure showed her.

User 7 not the Grid coming for my girl only to end up fighting for their lives.

User 8 coming for his teammate

User 9 not the whole Grid teasing her for betraying Red Bull

User 10 always knew Max didn't like them. This just confirms

YourUserName not you too. You said you had my back

→ Max33Verstappen this is why you didn't get on the podium

Max33Verstappen not my babies?!

→ YourUserName i may not have a podium but I do have your cats.

→ Charles_Leclerc you're making this worse for yourself

→ YourUserName watch out or Leo's next

→ Charles_Leclerc *horrified gasp*

User 11 alex fighting for his innocence.

User 12 the Grid are feeding us tonight.

User 13 what's the odds that they're fighting for their lives in the gc?

User 14 bet they're compiling a list of times they gave her Monster

→ User 15 trying to figure out who might be next

User we found the snitch

User 2 anyone else see Red Bull lurking in the likes?

LandoNorris @ danielricciardo this is why she didn't respond

Max33Verstappen daniel's currently crying.

redbullracing christian said you have a meeting with PR tomorrow.

→ YourUserName crap.

User 3 can we take a moment to appreciate all the Grid content we got this evening?

→ User 4 and look at how quick Y/N's responses were. Boo was ready for them.

→ User 5 what are the odds they were all sitting next to their phones, terrified every time it buzzed

→ lilymhe can confirm.

[rafeyscurtainbangs]

“𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞” - 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛

𝙷𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚢!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝚂𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚎𝚢𝚜𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝟸𝙺 𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

𝕽𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖇𝖞: @kisses4angels

warnings: pet names, jealous!rafe, possessive!rafe, ownership kink, swearing, mentions of violence, public sex, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, rough sex, choking.

💌 𝓐𝓼𝓴: omg bb congrats on 2k!!! i’m so so so proud of you <333 was just thinking about hockey!rafe. so what about him with ditzy!reader who was dressed in his jersey, all there to support her man when one of his teammates comes up and suddenly starts saying how it should be his number on her cheek instead of rafe, and his jersey. meanwhile rafe overhears and gets all jealous, kind of staking a claim on her in the locker room with the door wide open??

⭐lightly edited⭐

1.5K

Reader’s POV:

“You waitin’ for me, doll?” Your eyes widen on your friend’s, the two of you knowing what would surely come as you hear the big brunette shuffle out of the locker room. You feel his hand rest on your lower back as he shifts closer, looking down at you with a smile before pulling you in for a “friendly” hug. “You’re killin’ me in this jersey, sweetheart,” Bauer croons. You match his chocolatey brown irises—his lips curling into a devilish smirk.

“Hi, Bauer,” you greet him sweetly. I mean, he’s Rafe’s teammate, after all.

“Two. Huh? Got Cameron’s got you in his jersey now? Did I miss somethin’?” He asks. “You two-”

”Dating,” you hear a different voice cut him short, the one that never ceases to give you butterflies: Rafe, lifting you off your feet into a big hug. His forehead tips against yours, his freshly washed fringe pressing against you, his nose nuzzling as he smiles along your lips. “My girl. Hmm?” He mumbles loud enough for everyone around you to hear, including Bauer. Rafe’s soft lips greet yours, giving you a few pecks.

“Yours,” you whisper with a smile. “Good game, baby.”

“Thank you, princess. Stayed out of the penalty box all night. Think I'm goin’ soft.”

You chuckle and roll your eyes as you scratch your nails into his hair at the nape of his neck. “Hat-trick?”

“Mhmm…” He hums proudly. “Just showin’ off for you.”

Rafe sets you down on your feet, drawing back enough to take you in in his away jersey. His arms wrap around you; big hands falling lower than Bauer’s had sat just moments before, resting on the fullness of your ass to let the other boy take in the sight of his hands on you and his name embroidered across your shoulders. You rest your hands on his broad chest, running them down the luxe material of his gameday suit.

“You look so good-”

“You two goin’ out tonight?” Bauer cuts in, fighting for the little attention he lost.

“If we make it out,” Rafe answers fast and smug, his eyes never wavering from yours. He wets his bottom lip, looking down at your lips hungrily.

“Well, I think we’re goin’ to View House,” Bauer invites. You go to look over your shoulder, but Rafe has other plans, hooking his finger under your chin, guiding your gaze where it belongs.

“I don’t care where there goin’. Do you?” He mutters with a condescending bite, letting out a raspy chuckle on the back end that has chills running down your spine. ”I know you’re really interested in what I’m doin’, Bauer. I’ll text you boys later… Or not,” he taunts as a few of the other guys trickle out of the locker room. Rafe looks over your shoulder, watching as the locker room lights flicker off. A couple of his teammates gather around, talking to the other girlfriends and amongst themselves, making plans for the night. “Forgot some shit in there, princess,” he nods towards the closed door before giving you a wink. You bite your lip and smile, nodding in agreement, knowing Rafe well enough to know what he’s pulling you into.

The two of you walk toward the locker room, leaving the crowd behind. You look up at Rafe, watching his features harden before his head snaps back. “The fuck was that, Cooper?” Rafe asks Bauer in disbelief, your mind so muddled with Rafe that you missed what got him upset in the first place.

“Just fuckin’ with you, Rafey,” Bauer smiles as he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his dress pants, staring you down before lifting his gaze to Rafe. “Just said ‘she’d look good in number four,’ is all.” The burly defender pokes his tongue in cheek; a few of Rafe’s teammates watch on, just waiting to break up the inevitable.

Rafe scoffs out an annoyed laugh, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. “View House. Yeah?” Your boyfriend asks, shocking the group with a question versus a brawl. “Ya’ll headin’ there now?” He asks, getting a nod ���yes’ from a few of his teammates. “Great. That’s great. Think we got some shit we need to clear up, Coop,” Rafe drawls. Bauer shifts his stance, chest puffed as his hands work out of his pockets, crossing tightly across his broad chest, knowing that exchange would be met with fists, not words. “Got some shit I need to work out first.” Rafe grabs the locker room door, pulling it open with a smile, letting you pass through. He gives that same cheeky wink to Bauer before stepping through the threshold himself, lazily tugging at the door handle, making no attempt to shut it.

You gasp and squeal as Rafe steps forward with a purpose, taking you into his arms and backing you up against the cool metal lockers. He presses his big body into yours as you kiss, hands palming your curves, leaving you putty in his arms. “This okay, baby?” He rasps against your lips as you reach for the bottom of his crisp white button-down, tugging at it needily.

“Mhmm,” you hum, focused more on getting your hands and lips back on him.

Rafe chuckles darkly, lips dusting over the top of yours as his big, rough hands trace under his jersey, looping under the band of your leggings, toying with your lace thong. “With all these boys out there, princess?” He asks with a sleazy laugh, in love with the answer he already knows he’ll get.

“I don’t care, Rafe,” you smile as you finger his belt and buttons, splaying the zipper as you suck on his tongue. Rafe tears off his suit jacket, letting it fall to the floor as his slacks do the same, gathering in a mess at his ankles.

Rafe pulls your leggings and panties off your body between messy kisses. You whimper as his fingers press against your aching pearl, your pussy ridiculously wet already. You wrap your hand around his long, thick cock, stroking him a few times, rubbing your thumb across his head, smudging his sticky precum across his swollen tip, making him groan.

"Fuck, Rafe," you whine as he stuffs himself deep, pressing you against the wall to give you every inch of him. You wrap your legs around his trim waist, manicured nails clawing into his broad shoulders and dress shirt as he fucks you into the locker, hardware rattling with each rough thrust. Rafe pants and smiles as your head falls back, resting on the locker, hand clasped over your lips as you muffle moan after moan with the palm of your hand as he starts to pound into you.

Rafe tucks his head in the crook of your neck—his warm breath fanning across your soft skin as he grunts with each push of his dick. “Feels so good, baby,” you mewl as his fat cock hits your sweet spot with precision, his tight body griding perfectly against your clit. ”M’gonna cum.”

”Fuckin’ do it, pretty. Come for your boy. Huh?” He mumbles as his lips find yours again. Your body comes undone in his strong arms, pussy creaming all over his thick length as your praise echoes through the empty locker room. “Atta baby… Fuck. That’s my girl,” he praises. “Bend over for me.” Rafe sets you down and turns you around quick, gathering his jersey around your hips as you press your hands against the wall, arching your back. “Mpfhh—Just like that,” he groans. You look over your shoulder, watching Rafe lick his lips, looking at your glossy cunt, his number and name printed on your back, fueling his possessiveness even further. Rafe thrusts himself into you, toned hips snapping against your plush ass.

"Shit, Rafe," you cry in pleasure as he starts to stroke again, his hands drifting under the jersey, pushing your bra up to take two fistfuls of tits. You match his thrusts, throwing your ass back into him.

"Ugh, y/n. Keep doing that... Just like that, baby.”

"M’close," you whine as you move your hand down to your clit, fingers spiraling as Rafe fucks into you from the back.

"Mmm... Me too, baby,” he huffs. You gasp as his hand wraps around your neck, pulling you back to his chest, his large bicep squeezing around your throat as he thrusts mercilessly into your fluttering cunt. “Cum for me, princess. Let all these boys know who owns this sweet pussy. Say my fuckin’ name, baby.”

“Rafe,” you cry as you cum just like he asked, pulsing around him as his cock throbs inside you, filling you with his cum. Rafe breathes unevenly with you, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

His arm loosens around your neck slightly as the other works lower, landing on your clit, running lazy circles as your body trembles for him. “Think he knows now, princess?” He asks smugly. “Let him try that shit again. I’ll make sure he understands you’re mine.”

tags (tag list is on my pinned post. If your name is crossed out your tag isn’t working 💕): @loserboysandlithium @rafesthroatbaby @kisses4angels @watchmerora @buckybarnessweetheart @anamiad00msday @namelesslosers @cades-outsider @romaescapes @starkeysprincess @oxpogues4lifexo @unrealmirrorball @sleepiibunniiii @gri959 @rafesgiirl @daryldixon83 @akobx @hyperfixationgirl

[crescenthistory]

Where Padfoot Lays His Head

Summary: Inspired by @thewriterghost's reblog of my last animagus!reader fic, this is just a sweet drabble of Whiskers comforting Padfoot:,)

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, your marauders/animagus name is whiskers, walburga black, black family dynamics and trauma, vaguely implied abuse, sirius spiraling into self-loathing, platonic physical affection, romantic!regulus x reader but platonic!sirius x reader is the main focus, background platonic!moonwater

Note: this is based on the same reader from Feline Touches, Sweet Like Honey and Padfoot vs. Whiskers, sirius' beloved almost-sister-in-law that he has frequent (loving) sibling squabbles with

Sirius pretended he didn’t feel the humiliation burning through his veins from his friends’ worrying looks.

Stop looking at me, stop caring so sodding much.

His internal begging was all for naught; this was apparently what he signed up for when he strolled into the train compartment that housed the largest smile Hogwarts had ever seen and his pack of make-shift slightly-fucked-up-but-lovable friends.

Most days, Sirius was grateful to the bone for the family he had been able to assemble at Hogwarts, stretching from his boyfriend to his boyfriend’s childhood best friend to his biological brother and the boys that became his brothers. However, on days that Walburga Black, the hag to end all hags, sends him a Howler berating him for leaving home over the summer, few sentiments besides anger, self-loathing and isolation remained in the young boy’s body.

When he eventually stops reeling and wallowing, all this attention would make him feel warm once more, especially when he sees they didn’t stop showering him in it even as he retreated perhaps a bit rudely from it. Right now, though, it just kept the wound open and Sirius was sure the infection would kill him this time around.

He was sure of that every time.

It became evident quickly that he would not be able to get away from his friends. James was practically glued to his side from the moment he left the Great Hall after Walburga ruined everyone’s lunch. His brown eyes were so wide beneath his glasses and Sirius was sure he could almost see tears in them as he swung his arm around Sirius’ shoulders and kept telling jokes like his life depended on it. Remus was not much better. He had learned by now not to soften his touches when Sirius was in these moods – on the contrary, harsh, direct touches helped ground him – but his hands rarely left his being, as if he would fall apart without him. Even Lily tuned down her playful banter with him, swapping it for concerned questions and checking in on him throughout the day. Sirius loved them all, but he hated it.

Even Regulus showed him more compassion than normal, though he didn’t say much. His entire being seemed to radiate I get you, I understand more than anyone, because frankly he did. Even as hearing Walburga’s voice must have rattled Regulus too, he didn’t show it, instead holding space for Sirius, carrying what was supposed to be his burden.

Humiliating. 

All of which to say, Sirius did what Sirius does best; he ran from them all, in the one form none of them would be able to hold a conversation with him in.

Padfoot had turned out to be a blessing that way. Sirius picked up on it from you, who only ever was in your animagus form when you felt particularly well or horrifically poorly. Difficult to ask how a dog is feeling, yeah? 

He laid in front of the common room fireplace, stretched out in a position that showed he was ready to pounce should anyone try to pet him. Around him, his friends were cuddled up on the sofas and armchairs, chattering lowly amongst themselves and playing the occasional game of wizarding chess. Padfoot had his head placed on his front paws as his gaze flickered all over the room, unable to settle. His nerves always seemed to transform with him, manifesting as the most anxious dog Gryffindor had seen.

Their stares were still on him, penetrating and with downturned frowns over their faces. Stop it, stop it, stop it. He couldn’t string too long sentences together in his dog brain – part of its fantastic appeal right now – but that sentiment remained steadfast.

You were sat in Regulus’ lap opposite the fireplace, murmuring something in his ear as you both intermittently looked at Padfoot. Your hands were playing with his hair, lips almost grazing his skin as you talked, even pressing the occasional kiss to his cheek, his jaw, his ear. Love. Padfoot loved love and he loved his little brother getting to experience it so wholly, even as he laid here, destroying the moment with the same misery that hunted any children raised by the Black family. He felt as if he was sucking the joy out of the room with his wallowing, yet he couldn’t stop himself.

Padfoot couldn’t help the low whine that escaped him at the darkness swirling around inside him. Upon fearing having to meet the gazes of anyone who caught the noise and see the goddamn sympathy and pity in them, he brought his paws up to cover his eyes, pathetically hiding within himself.

Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad.

In his internal chanting, he didn’t notice when the chatter died down a bit, nor did he see the glances exchanged. He felt the footsteps reverberating through the floorboards, suggesting somebody was walking away, but he didn’t register its true implications. Leave, was all he could think. Good, leave. Go.

What he did notice to its fullest extent was when a few moments later, soft fur collided with his own as something was rubbing against him.

A bit too quickly, almost too violently, Padfoot’s head snapped up from beneath his paws to see what this intrusion was – only to come face to face with a white-and-grey cat, blinking slowly at him. His mouth fell slightly open, and he thought a complaining bark may be on its way out, but then you – Whiskers – butted your head against the side of his neck, caressing him with your feline body.

The adventures of Whiskers and Padfoot were a running joke, especially one Remus and Regulus loved to team up to tell. Whether it was chasing each other around, hunting rats – preferably Wormtail, but any would do – and mice or playing with the house elves, you two loved to conduct mischief together in the one form you could never be properly caught in. There had been the occasion where you cuddle or pet one another, but it was rare and usually unspoken, attachment growing deeper and softer without either properly addressing it. 

So, this was not necessarily out of left field, but it surprised him nonetheless. He couldn’t say it wasn’t quite welcome, though.

You had started purring as you walked up and down his body where he was laid in front of the fire, soaking up the warmth he was bathed in and oddly calming the vibrating nerves within his own body. Whenever you reached his head, you bumped your snout against his, rubbing the space between your ears all over his face.

Cats are weird, Padfoot thought. Like it.

Mere minutes ago Sirius had been surveying his friends and his effect on them intently, digging himself deeper into his self-inflicted hole. Now, his attention was captured by the much smaller animal beside him, and he didn’t see how most conversation had stopped to witness the interaction. Lily and James looked at them in almost shocked awe, both having been snapped at and ran away from when they attempted to pet Padfoot themselves. Regulus and Remus, however, sat there with soft, knowing smiles – seeing the girl they loved most go for it with no fear and comforting their favourite dog. Remus would deny it to anyone who asked, but there were tears in his eyes.

The next time Whiskers came up beside his face, you stayed there, leaning yours against his. You laid your body down over the paws Padfoot had previously rested his own head on and made yourself comfortable in a position no one but a cat could possibly conjure up. From there, you began cleaning his fur like you were his personally-assigned cat mother, licking the strands in their correct direction. When his face was too far away, you lightly brought your paw up to his snout to bring him further towards you.

Despite being placed in front of a fire, warmth didn’t truly spread through Sirius before now. When he brought his head down, he laid it on top of you and let it rest there across your midsection, careful not to hurt you, as your upper body curled around his head. You continued cleaning up his fur as you purred loudly, easing the tension from Padfoot’s poor body.

A cuddle only animals could come up with, an embrace Sirius would deny anyone today, yet like this, it just worked.

When his eyes became heavy, Sirius let them fall. You continued your ministrations without hesitation, carefully and slowly tending to Sirius face, only stopping occasionally to nuzzle your forehead further into his fur and purr even louder. 

He didn’t quite fall asleep, he rarely did as Padfoot, too alert and awake in this form, but he let himself fall into a place of tranquillity. Walburga’s harsh words seemed almost funny in their anger now, and Sirius’ own spiral was becoming a thing of the past. 

Would he still be red-cheeked tomorrow and avoid his friends’ eyes for the first half of the day? Perhaps, but they would reel him into their arms and hearts regardless. Would he sputter and fall back into his evil cycle of thoughts if anyone brought this specific moment up? Without a doubt, but that’s why they would not, at least not before he settled. 

Padfoot was suddenly safe in the Gryffindor common room. He was safe with this warm weight over his paws and beneath his head, he was safe with love being quite literally carded into every strand of fur on his body. He was safe with the hearth behind him and his pack in front of him, quiet voices further lolling him further into a state of peace.

Padfoot was safe – maybe even loved.

Across the room, Remus and Regulus had gravitated further towards one another, as theirs were the only eyes who never left the scene of cat-dog-solidarity displayed before them. 

Regulus bumped into Remus’ arm with his elbow and whispered, “He doesn’t like cats, he says?” with a knowing smirk.

The other boy huffed a laugh at that, lips remaining softly upturned. “I believe he has an exception or two to that rule.”

[rafeandonlyrafe]

only you, always

words: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, cheating, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex

you would never admit it out loud to anyone, but a twisted part of you likes when rafe cheats on you. its a dark truth, one you wrestle with every time it happens.

it's always when he's blackout drunk or high at a party, usually a combination of both. it's often when you're fighting or on a “break”. like last week, when your blowout argument ended with rafe slamming the door behind him and stomping out into the night. you were quick to hear that he made out with some girl at kelce's party. the pain lasted until the next day when he showed up back home, disheveled and tear-streaked, clutching a bouquet of flowers.

“i fucked up.” he croaked. 

you just stared at him until he fell to his knees, blue eyes rimmed with red as he pressed his forehead against your stomach. “please don’t leave me. i can’t lose you.”

the cheating hurts you every time, but rafe coming back crawling and crying, begging your forgiveness and worshiping you for the next few weeks always makes up for it.

“hi beautiful.” rafe kisses at your cheeks, a week having passed from your fight and his infidelity, the tension replaced with the warmth of his lips against your skin. 

“hey.” you smile, running your fingers over his face, stubble gracing his cheeks as he hasn't shaved for the last couple days, preferring to spend every waking moment with you instead as if he’s afraid you might slip away.

“i love you so much.” rafe leans in and kisses the tip of your nose this time, then your forehead, before dropping down to your lips.

“i don't deserve you.” rafe whispers before kissing you again.

“you probably don't.” you giggle, rolling on the bed so you're fully on top, pinning him beneath you. 

“i said i was sorry.” rafe pouts.

“and i forgave you.” you shake your head, your voice gentle but firm, realizing you probably shouldn't make fun of the situation, but humor feels safer than vulnerability.

“it won't happen again.” rafe says. it always does, yet he always promises it won't. maybe as you both grow older and more mature, both stop drinking and fighting so much, it will really be over, breaking the cycle. at least this time it was just kissing some random girl instead of sleeping with her.

you knew what you were getting into when you began dating rafe. he came with a wild reputation and an even wilder past. practically everyone in your friend group had a one night stand with rafe, but you didn't mind, because he chose to come back to you, not anyone else.

“what are you thinking about baby?” rafe asks, watching the emotions flicker over your face.

“just how good of a boyfriend you can be.” you answer with a small smile. 

“yeah?” rafe smirks, his head tilting to the side as a mischievous look flashes over his eyes. “do you want me to show you just how good of a boyfriend or do you want breakfast first?”

“you first.” you say quickly. “and then bacon and eggs.”

“scrambled or sunny side up?”

“scrambled of course.”

rafe grin grows, hands moving against your bare skin. “just like im about to scramble your-”

“allllright.” you cut him off before he can finish his joke, laughing as you roll off of him.

“no come back.” he pouts, pulling you back against his body, molding his chest to your back as he spoons you.

“you're so ridiculous.” you chuff, though your voice betrays the affection simmering beneath the surface.

“ridiculously in love with you.” rafe counters, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder. he just had you last night, but he's already craving you again, missing the feeling of your bodies pressed together in the most intimate way.

“you're extra corny this morning.” you hum out.

“sorry.” rafe chuckles. you love that he's only like this around you, and only when he's just cheated. he turns into a dopey lovesick puppy until the need for your forgiveness and guilt wears off and he's back to his normal self.

rafe places his hand on your stomach, circling around your soft skin, each movement sweeping lower every time, deliberate and teasing.

“rafe.” you whine, eyes shutting as he begins to dip into your underwear with every gesture. 

“mhm.” rafe hums. as much as he likes to tease you, he wants to pleasure you more. his hand dips all the way into your underwear, fingertips coming to your clit.

he knows your body so well, exactly what to do to drive you crazy, every touch sending electricity through your body. his strokes over your clit are gentle, occasionally purposely missing to rub lower towards your entrance, like he's teasing where he's going to be later. it’s a dance you’ve done a hundred times before, but it never gets old.

“that feels so good.” you moan out, not even realizing that your eyes had fallen closed. rafe moves his other hand so it's under your body, your head coming to rest on his shoulder as he sculpts himself around you, other hand cupping your chest.

“mmm.” you hum, feeling rafes hardness pressing against your bum as his fingers stop teasing your clit, rubbing intensely now with the purpose of getting you wet and open.

“oh, baby.” rafe moans as you reach behind your back, hand cupping over his underwear, squeezing at his length through the fabric.

“fuck me. please.” you begin to move your hips, grinding yourself against his hand.

“be patient.” he tsks, fingers pinching at your nipple before going back to cupping your breast.

“unfair.” you pout, but decide two can play at that game, bringing your hand underneath his waistband to stroke up and down his cock.

you can't see rafes face, but you're sure his expression just shifted to one of pleasure.

his hand delves further between your legs, finger circling around your entrance only once before pushing into your cunt, making you moan loudly.

“fuck yes.” you rock your hips again, this time back against rafes crotch, your hand still moving up and down his cock.

“god, i can barely wait.” rafe groans, finger moving faster inside of you, building you up as quickly as he can.

“stop waiting then.” you move your hand, turning onto your back, rafes hand maneuvering to still fuck into you. “come on, rafey.”

you know once he sees your pout he can't resist, not when he's still making things up to you.

“god, that face kills me.” he presses a quick kiss against your lips before moving, pulling your underwear down and flinging them off the bed before disrobing himself.

you grin as rafe doesn't even bother to ask how you want him, instantly lying himself over top of you and lining up his cock with your entrance.

“i love you.” you press a kiss against rafes cheek as your arms loop around his shoulders.

“i love you.” rafe echos back, connecting your lips that quickly develop into moans as he pushes inside of you, engulfing his cock in your heat.

rafe knows he doesn’t need to give you time, already used to his cock being sheathed inside of you. he begins to swing his hips in an even rhythm.

your fingertips dig into his shoulders, pressing into his tanned skin.

“nobody even gets close to you.” rafe groans as you tighten your cunt around him every time he pulls out to thrust back in.

“its only you.” rafe continues as he drops one hand between your bodies, placing his thumb against your clit as he rubs to the rhythm of his thrusts. “only you.”

you can't help that smile that stretches across your face. you don't give a shit if it's only you, as long as he continues to fuck you like this and treat you like a queen.

“faster, rafe.” you pull his chest tighter against yours, your nipples pressing against his skin, stimulating them with his every movement as he speeds up.

“c-close.” you whine.

“me too.” rafe grunts in agreement. “gonna cum in you, yeah?”

“yes.” you nod rapidly. “yes, please, please, please, rafe.”

your head is swirling with the overwhelming pleasure as rafes thumb presses against your clit just as his cock is thrust deep inside of you. it's enough to throw you over the edge, back arching up into rafe as you moan loudly, legs shaking as you feel him lose it to, his moans loud in your ear as he pumps into you.

“fuck, b-baby, y/n.” rafe groans as he finishes, making sure you get every last drop inside of you.

rafe drops himself to the side of you, the mattress bouncing as you both become slack against the sheets, hearts beating fast and chest rising and falling rapidly.

“i really do love you baby.” rafe says, his voice soft and slightly hoarse. “im sorry i always fuck things up.”

“you don't, though.” you move so you're resting against rafes chest, snuggled against his side. “you make mistakes but you always come back and make it right, that's all i ask for.”

you hear rafe sniffle and you know he's holding back tears, always extra emotional after a reconciliation, as if hes purging himself from the guilt.

“ill go make you some breakfast now if you wanna get dressed.” rafe slides quickly off the bed, keeping his back to you as he pulls his underwear back on.

“why would i get dressed if i want you to fuck me again after breakfast?” you tease, your lip quirking up.

you see rafes hand raise to his face, and you know he's wiping at his cheeks, but you give him time to collect himself, secretly happy only you can make him act like this.

“alright.” rafe turns around, his eyes still glossy but filled with adoration as he bends down to press a kiss to your forehead. “bacon and scrambled eggs and then ill fuck you on the table, then in the shower, then ill take you shopping and fuck you in the dressing room.”

“perfect.” you grin.

[talesof-old]

handle it | a.s., h.l.r., g.c.

pairing(s): poly!batboys x fem!eader

warning(s): 18+, smut, couples arguing, teasing, piv sex, handjobs (f receiving), oral (m receiving), reader has a vagina and is referred to by her/she, reader is called pretty girl, men being annoying and protective/possessive, if you squint there’s wing play, i did not proofread or edit because for some reason this put me in a slump, i think that’s all

word count: 1.7k

a/n: sorry this took me so long i was strugglinggg so it does end kind of abruptly

masterlist

poly!batboys + smut, angst + happy ending

“For the last time, you will not tell me I can’t go.”

Azriel barked a hoarse, humorless laugh, his eyes cold as he looked down at you. Gone were the days of training at Windhaven, children playing war as the world fell apart. No, now Rhys was High Lord, and you were a long way from the mountains you once called home.

“I’m in charge of this mission. What I say goes. And you are not going.”

Throwing your arms up in exasperation, you catch a glimpse of Cassian’s amused expression and Rhysand’s impassive face. They knew better than to get between the two of you. Azriel’s barely contained rage that settled just beneath his skin could burn hot at any given moment, and you were a formidable opponent that even your battle seasoned superiors knew better than to rile.

“You’re staying here.”

You whirled around, face nearly coming into contact with Azriel’s hard chest. Your wings flared.

“Rhys has the final say. I’m going.”

Violet eyes flickered between the two of you, one side of his lips quirking up in a smirk as Rhys shrugged. Anger flared in your chest. There was no reason for him not to side with you. You’d proven yourself over and over again, earned your place just as much as they had. It wasn’t fair.

“Rhys, I swear on the Mother-“ Rhys shook his head, silencing Azriel as he moved. Cassian followed after him, both quick to leave you two alone.

“Figure this out between you. We’re not getting involved.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched as the door shut behind them; the silence that followed was deafening. His shadows darted out and away from him, only to return to curl around his body like they couldn’t decide whether to comfort you or their master. It would’ve been comical, really, if Azriel’s sharp eyes weren’t burning holes into your forehead. You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

“I’ll see you at dinner.” Azriel didn’t say a word as you walked out the room.

Dinner was not a pleasant affair. Mor picked up on the tension between the shadowsinger and you with a simple glance, and it seemed to only agitate you further. Territorial fae bastards, the lot of them.

“We still set for that shopping trip on Saturday?” Mor’s honey voice filled your ears and you allowed yourself to smile. At the end of the table, Azriel sat stiff as a board, barely touching the food on his plate.

“Of course, I still need something for Dawn’s ball.”

She nodded, sipping her wine as she contemplated. You raised a brow. There was something mischievous in her eyes as she spoke next.

“I hear Caius was asking after you.” Shadows exploded across the room, darting out to weave through your hair and urge you towards their source. You narrowed your eyes at Mor who simply threw her head back and laughed. Amren scoffed over her glass.

“Az.” At Rhys’ firm tone, the shadows were reeled back in, and light filled the room once more.

“We’re leaving. I’ll keep you both updated.” A warm hand clasped yours and then all of a sudden you were in Rhys’ bedroom, perched on the edge of his bed. You turned to the partner in question.

What the fuck?

Rhys chuckled in your mind.

I thought you two would’ve sorted this out.

You rolled your eyes at that, turning to flop onto the bed, wings draped over your body. Rhys rested a hand on your lower back, shivers crawling up your spine as he massaged your tailbone.

He’s a possessive prick.

Rhys laughed out loud this time, trailing his hand over your backside. You preened under his touch, twisting to stretch out like a cat and smiling over at him softly. A grunt sounded from behind you. Rhys glanced over, sending an image to you.

Cassian and Azriel (the former having already removed half of his clothes), lip locked and tugging hard at each other’s bodies. Heat pooled in between your thighs and you turned to raise a brow at your companion. He smirked. In a blink, he was hovering over your body, chest pressed against your left side. You tilted your head upwards, pressing your lips against his. He moved slowly, pressing you down as he swiped a tongue over your lips. Rhys’ palm moved to cup your arse, rubbing your clothed cunt against the bulge in his pants. You sighed as you melted into his touch.

A broken moan drew you away from your High Lord.

You turned your head, pupils blown wide with lust as Cassian manhandled Azriel, tugging at his short hair and biting the exposed skin of his neck. Rhys laid back, hauling you up to rest on top of him. He helped you straddle him.

Someone hit the wall behind you, choking on a groan. You grinned as Rhys pulled you into him, licking a stripe up your throat.

“You’re both fully capable of resolving your issues, hm? Isn’t that what you said the last time?” You let out a long suffering sigh and gripped Rhysand’s hair.

“Don’t be a dick.”

He trailed light fingers up your sides, the sensation dulled by the fabrics covering your skin. Teasing touches turned rough as you rolled your hips. You smiled sweetly.

Behind you, the bed dipped as your two lovers joined you.

Cassian’s rough hands gripped your hips, careful of the wings you now arched high. Azriel settled against the pillows next to Rhysand, watching you with half-lidded, dark eyes. You maintained eye contact with the shadowsinger, grabbing Cassian’s hand and slipping it into your loose fitted pants. He cupped your mound, urging you to grind against his palm. You did so, head falling back as the roughness of his skin dragged against your lips and clit. He let you use him, your chest heaving as you rode yourself to climax. Your legs shook, upheld only by Rhys’ hands.

Rhysand took to leaning forward and nipping at the skin of your sensitive neck. He grinned as you keened, cunt clenching onto nothing as you tumbled over the edge. You fell against Cassian as your blood rushed through your ears. He chuckled, ignoring the way you jolted when your wings made contact with his frame.

Your body trembled following your orgasm, blissfully warm but not entirely relaxed. Azriel grunted as Rhys cupped his bulge. Your eyes flashed to his, annoyance still eating at your gut.

“Come on, pretty girl. Don’t be like that.” Cassian mouthed at the juncture of your neck and shoulders, sucking hard. You moaned softly, writhing against him as he massaged your breasts.

“Lovely, isn’t she?” Rhysand’s low voice sounded from beside Azriel. He huffed, abdomen muscles tense as the High Lord slipped a hand into his trousers. He pumped his cock, running a gentle hand over his slit and laughing when he hissed.

“You managed to piss her off pretty bad. Wonder what you’ll have to do to make it up.” Heat rushed to Azriel’s face. You watched with rapt attention, eyelashes fluttering as Cassian stripped you of your top to expose your breasts. You shivered at the sudden chill.

“Will she let you touch her?”

Azriel clenched his hands into fists, all but tucking them underneath his thighs. You giggled. Looks like he wanted to be tested tonight.

“Rhys.” You purred.

He whipped his head towards you at the sound of your voice, his name dripping with lust. You wriggled your ass against Cassian’s dick and tugged on Rhysand’s shirt.

He was on you in an instant, mouth hot against yours as Cassian pulled down your trousers and underwear. He was quick to line himself up your cunt and slowly sink in, leaning forward to press kisses to your upper back as you moaned. Rhys swallowed the sounds all too willingly.

As Cassian bottomed out, Rhys tugged down his own pants, situating himself right by your mouth. You lowered yourself onto your elbows, a soft whine leaving you as the angle changed how deep Cassian was within you. Rhysand grabbed a handful of your hair and guided your mouth to his cock. He grunted when your lips wrapped around the reddening skin.

Cassian pulled half-way out of you, giving an experimental thrust. Your eyes fluttered shut. He was slow with it, setting a lazy pace to keep you from climaxing too soon. You shivered as one of his hands grazed the inner part of your wings. Molten heat burned between your hips.

With a practiced tongue and a few well timed sucks, Rhys was pulsing in your mouth, balls drawn tight. His head was thrown back, moans tumbling from his lips in a way that would’ve had you grinning. Cassian kept his sensual pace.

You hollowed out your cheeks, gagging as Rhysand’s cock hit the back of your throat. He choked on a moan, halfway through cooing at the tears on your cheeks when his orgasm tore through him. He shook; beside him, Azriel trembled with need.

You swallowed his cum greedily, humming. Rhys jerked. You pulled off of him with a pop, grinning like a madman.

“Wicked thing.”

You shrugged, arching your back to meet Cassian’s thrusts. One of his large hands splayed across the bottom of your curved spine, the other coming around your waist to toy with your clit. You spasmed against him.

A low chuckle sounded through the room.

“Be careful tonight, we’ve all got a mission tomorrow.” Even in the midst of your pleasure, your head jerked towards Azriel. He wore an expression half resigned, half lustful. You reached for him with one hand, balancing on your right, fingers trembling. A moment ticked by. He moved, graceful as a panther, and tugged you to him. Cassian groaned as you involuntarily clenched around him. He pulled out of you, letting you splay across the shadowsinger’s front.

“You’re really giving in?”

Azriel’s sigh was answer enough, but he responded with a simple, “Yes.”

You smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to his chin. The ache between your thighs was desperate for attention, however, so you moved to straddle his hips.

Much to the displeasure of your two other lovers, the words “You’re mine for the rest of the night,” were what left your mouth. Azriel leaned back.

“Show me you can handle it.”

+++

[be4chywritez]

unbound | max verstappen

max verstappen x fem!reader

you get pregnant, and there is no doubt in your mind that it’s Max’s.

beachy’s masterlist 🐚

beachy’s prompt list🥥

You take a deep breath, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the tests. The seconds tick by slowly, each one a reminder of how this moment could change everything. Amanda, your assistant, leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you closely.

"Okay, but does he know? Have you told Max?" Amanda’s voice cuts through the silence, and you feel your stomach knot up at the mention of his name.

You bite your lip, avoiding her gaze. "No... and I don’t plan on it. Not yet."

Amanda sighs. "You know that’s not going to fly. Especially with someone like Max. He’s not the kind of guy you can hide this from for long."

You feel the weight of her words but shrug it off. "I'll figure it out. Right now, I just... I need to know for sure."

You both fall silent as the timer hits zero. With shaky hands, you reach for the first test.

Amanda shifts beside you, clearly hesitant. “Before you look… have you thought about what you’re going to do if it’s positive? I mean… are you going to keep it?”

Her voice feels like a hammer against your already fragile state of mind. You swallow hard, eyes still glued to the test in your hand, the one that hasn’t yet revealed your fate.

Keep it? The question spins in your head, knocking against every other doubt you’ve been pushing aside. You hadn’t let yourself go that far in your thoughts—hadn’t let the possibility of becoming a mother really settle in. But deep down, despite the fear, there’s something else. Something you can’t quite name but it’s there, pulling you to this decision before you can even explain it to yourself.

“Yes,” you whisper, surprising yourself with the certainty in your voice. Amanda’s brows raise, but she doesn’t interrupt. “I don’t know why, but I just… I feel like I have to. I can’t explain it, but it’s like… this is happening for a reason.”

For the first time since you grabbed that handful of pregnancy tests, you let yourself exhale. The truth is, as much as the thought of raising a child alone terrifies you, there’s a small flicker of something new—a calm. You’d been feeling it for weeks. Alex had mentioned it, too, just the other night over dinner.

“There’s something different about you lately,” she’d said with a soft smile, her eyes flicking between you and Charles. “You seem more… grounded. Happier, even.”

At the time, you’d brushed it off. But now, that calmness makes sense. It wasn’t just work settling down or the comfort of being around friends. It was something else entirely.

Amanda is staring at you now, her skepticism softening into something more like understanding. “Okay,” she finally says. “But Max… What about him?”

Your heart tightens at the mention of his name. Max Verstappen. Memories of that night flood back, unbidden—the way the celebration bled into something deeper, something more intimate. You’d both been drinking, still riding the high of his podium finish, the afterparty spilling out into quieter spaces. You’d always felt that tension between you two, but you never acted on it, knowing how complicated it could get.

Especially since Max had just ended things with his girlfriend. You remember hearing it from Charles a few weeks earlier, and you couldn’t ignore how Max looked that night. A bit more reckless, a bit more vulnerable.

Maybe that’s why you hadn’t pushed him away when things escalated. You weren’t thinking about his ex or how raw it all was. For that brief moment, it felt like it was just the two of you, no strings attached.

But that moment didn’t stay in the past. Now it’s staring you right in the face.

Amanda raises an eyebrow, waiting for your response. You shake your head, avoiding her eyes. “I’m not telling him. Not yet. I don’t even know how to start.”

Amanda sighs, leaning back against the counter, arms crossed as if bracing herself for whatever’s next. “You can’t hide it forever, you know,” she says, her tone softer this time, but you can still hear the weight of her words.

“I know,” you mumble, eyes flicking between the tests. The seconds feel like hours, and you swear the air is thicker in the room. Your hand hovers over one of the tests, but you can’t bring yourself to flip it over just yet.

The fear gnaws at you, but there’s something else lurking just beneath the surface—something you haven’t let yourself fully acknowledge. It’s not just about Max or his recent breakup. It’s the deeper realization that everything in your life is about to shift.

You think about your career. How every fitting, every runway show, every photo shoot demands your undivided attention. And how, lately, it’s felt different. Less exciting. A sense of disconnect has settled in, like the passion that used to fuel you has been replaced by something quieter.

You’ve been more cautious, too. Alex had noticed that, even if she didn’t say it directly. She had joked that you were glowing, attributing it to stress-free work weeks. But in reality, you knew something was different. You just hadn’t wanted to admit it to yourself yet.

Amanda’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “If you’re serious about keeping it, you have to start thinking about what that means. For your career. For… everything.”

You finally reach for the first test, hands trembling as you turn it over. The small screen stares back at you, the two lines clear as day.

Pregnant.

Your breath catches in your throat, and your mind goes blank for a second. Amanda shifts beside you, leaning forward to peer at the result. You don’t need to look at her to know her expression—part concern, part disbelief, maybe a little bit of shock.

“Okay,” she says after a beat, letting out a long breath. “It’s real. So… now what?”

You can’t tear your eyes away from the test. “I don’t know.” It’s the only truth you can manage. The room feels too small, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once.

Amanda stands up, moving toward the door as if sensing you need space. “Take your time. But we need to talk about this—especially if you’re not planning on telling Max right away.”

As soon as she leaves, the quiet settles in, and for the first time since you grabbed the tests, you let yourself think about him. Max. You can almost picture his face—how serious he gets before a race, his intense focus on the track. And that night, when everything between you shifted, the wall he kept up with everyone else had cracked, just a little.

But you’d been ignoring the other side of it. The fact that he’d just come out of a relationship. You didn’t let yourself think about how complicated it would make things, how fragile he might’ve been, how vulnerable. And now, here you are, carrying a secret he has no idea exists.

You press your hand to your stomach, the reality finally starting to sink in. You are pregnant. With Max’s child.

And you’re not sure what to do next.

A few days later, you’re back in your studio, standing in front of a team of designers. The hum of creativity fills the air, but today, your mind is scattered. You’re doing your best to stay focused, but every now and then, your hand absentmindedly drifts to your stomach.

“So, as we prepare for the upcoming show, I want us to think outside the box for the new collection,” you begin, scanning the room as your team listens attentively. Amanda is there too, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. She knows what’s going on beneath the surface, but for now, she keeps it to herself.

One of your lead designers, Jasmine, raises a hand. “Any particular direction you’re thinking of?”

You hesitate, the words sitting at the back of your throat. You hadn’t planned to go this route, but suddenly the idea feels right. Maybe it’s because the pregnancy is at the forefront of your mind. Or maybe it’s because designing has always been your way of processing things.

“I’ve been thinking…” you start, choosing your words carefully. “What if we explored a maternity line? Something that celebrates women at every stage, from expecting to post-pregnancy. Comfort and beauty, no matter the changes.”

The room goes quiet for a moment. You can almost see the gears turning in their heads as they process the idea. Jasmine looks intrigued. “A maternity collection. That’s… actually brilliant,” she says, and the others quickly chime in with nods and murmurs of agreement.

Amanda’s eyes flick toward you, but she doesn’t say anything. Only she knows the real reason you’re suggesting this. But for now, you focus on the work. It’s easier that way.

“We’ll workshop it,” you say, clearing your throat and moving the conversation forward. “But for now, let’s keep brainstorming. We’ll still need a core collection that fits within the show’s theme.”

As the meeting wraps up, you retreat to your office, sinking into your chair with a sigh of relief. For a moment, it feels like you’re back in control—like you’ve managed to keep everything balanced. But as the minutes tick by, the reality creeps in again.

You’re pregnant. And no matter how much you try to focus on work, it won’t change what’s happening.

Before you can dwell too long, your phone buzzes on the desk. A message from Charles.

Lunch with me and Alex today?

You stare at the screen for a moment, biting your lip. You’ve been

avoiding them. Ever since Alex pointed out how different you’ve been acting, you’ve been worried that spending too much time with them might give you away.

But Charles is persistent. You can already imagine him showing up at your office if you don’t respond.

Sure, you type back.

At lunch, the three of you sit outside at your favorite spot, the sun shining down on the café’s terrace. Alex leans forward, her eyes twinkling. “You seem busy lately. Is the new collection stressing you out?”

You force a smile, stirring your iced coffee. “You know how it is. Just a lot to manage.”

Charles tilts his head, a teasing grin on his face. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding us? We’ve barely seen you the past couple of weeks.”

You laugh it off, hoping they don’t notice how nervous you are. “I’ve just been focused on work. Things are… hectic.”

Alex narrows her eyes, studying you. “You’re different, though,” she says softly. “It’s not just work. You’ve been… calmer. Happier, even. Something’s going on.

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your expression neutral. “What do you mean?”

Charles nudges her. “Let her breathe, Alex. She’s probably just—”

“No,” Alex interrupts, still watching you closely. “There’s something else. You’d tell us if something was up, right?”

You nod, trying to keep your cool. “Of course. But there’s nothing. I promise.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but before she can push further, your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Max.

Hey, haven’t seen you in a while. You okay?

Your stomach flips. Of all the times for him to message you.

You quickly tuck your phone away, but not before Alex notices the look on your face. “Max?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you admit. “Just a quick text.”

Charles snorts, leaning back in his chair. “You and Max… I still can’t believe you two hooked up.”

“Charles,” Alex chides, but she’s smiling too.You roll your eyes, trying to brush it off. “It was just a one-time thing.”

Charles grins wider. “Sure it was.”

The days following your meeting with the design team become a blur of fittings, sketches, and late nights. Your life has always been busy, but now, every task feels ten times harder. The fatigue hits you in waves, leaving you drained before lunch, and the nausea is unpredictable, striking at the worst moments.

You’re at a photoshoot, trying to direct the models, when a sudden bout of dizziness hits. You steady yourself against the table, hoping no one notices, but Amanda’s sharp eyes catch you.

“You good?” she asks, her voice low enough so the others can’t hear.

You nod quickly, swallowing hard. “Yeah, just a bit light-headed. I didn’t eat much this morning.”

Amanda eyes you, clearly unconvinced, but before she can say more, one of the photographers calls your name. You straighten up, forcing a smile, and head back into the chaos of the shoot. But as you move around the studio, you can feel the weight of it all pressing down on you.

Later that afternoon, you retreat to your office, closing the door and sinking into your chair. You rest your hand on your stomach, feeling the subtle changes in your body. You’re not showing yet, but it won’t be long. The realization sends a wave of panic through you. You have no idea how you’re going to keep this up—how you’ll manage your work, your friends, and your pregnancy without something giving way.

Your phone buzzes on the desk, and you glance down to see a message from Alex.

Dinner tomorrow? We miss you.

You sigh. They’re getting suspicious, and you know it. You’ve been avoiding them, but you can’t keep this up forever. You type a quick reply agreeing to dinner, then toss your phone aside.

As the days pass, your work continues to pile up. Meetings, photoshoots, fittings—it never ends. Your team is buzzing with excitement over the maternity collection, and while part of you feels proud, there’s also an underlying anxiety. The very thing you’re designing for is the secret you’re desperately trying to keep hidden.

You’re in the middle of a meeting when another wave of nausea hits. You excuse yourself quickly, making a beeline for the bathroom. Once inside, you grip the sink, taking deep breaths to steady yourself.

The door creaks open, and Amanda steps in. “You okay?”

You nod, but it’s clear she doesn’t believe you. She waits a beat before asking, “Are you planning on telling anyone?”

You freeze, her question hanging heavy in the air. Amanda has been your rock through this, but you haven’t told anyone else. Not Alex, not Charles. And certainly not Max.

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just trying to figure it out.”

Amanda watches you for a moment before sighing. “You can’t keep this up forever, you know. People are going to start noticing.”

You know she’s right. The signs are already there. Alex is suspicious, Charles keeps asking if you’re okay, and the physical toll is getting harder to hide. But you’re not ready—not yet.

It’s late in the evening when you finally return home, exhaustion pulling at your every step. The weight of your secret is growing heavier with each passing day. As much as you’ve tried to push through, the reality of your situation is beginning to feel impossible to ignore.

You’re in the kitchen, preparing a cup of tea to unwind, when there’s a knock at the door. You freeze, unsure who it could be at this hour. The only person who comes by unannounced is—

The knock sounds again, louder this time, followed by a familiar voice. “It’s us! Open up!”

Alex.

You rush to the door, already knowing who’s on the other side. Sure enough, when you swing it open, Alex and Charles stand there, both wearing expressions of concern. Alex pushes past you, stepping into the hallway with Charles trailing behind her.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” Alex says, her arms crossed as she looks you over. “So, we decided to check in.”

You bite your lip, glancing at the unopened texts on your phone that you’d been ignoring all day. “Sorry, I’ve just been...busy.”

“Yeah, we figured,” Charles adds, rubbing the back of his neck. “But you’ve been acting weird for a while now. What’s going on?”

Alex walks over to the kitchen counter, leaning against it with her eyes fixed on you. “And don’t say it’s just work. You’ve been off. Charles and I have been worried.”

The concern in her voice stirs something inside you, and you feel the familiar pressure rising in your chest. You’ve been keeping this secret for weeks, but now, standing here with two of your closest friends staring at you, the weight of it all is unbearable.

You feel your heart race as you take a deep breath, trying to find the right words.

“I—I need to tell you both something,” you begin, your voice shaky.

Alex’s expression softens instantly, while Charles tilts his head, confused but attentive.

“What is it?” Alex asks gently.

You take another deep breath and close your eyes, forcing the words out before you can change your mind. “I’m...I’m pregnant.”

There’s a beat of silence, followed by a stunned look from both of them. Alex’s eyes widen, her mouth parting in shock. Charles, on the other hand, looks like he didn’t quite hear you correctly.

“You’re—pregnant?” he repeats, his voice full of disbelief.

You nod, your hands trembling slightly. “Yeah. I just found out a few weeks ago.”

Alex steps forward, her hand instinctively reaching for yours. “Oh my God...are you okay? How are you feeling?”

Her immediate concern almost undoes you, and you blink rapidly to keep the tears at bay. “I’m...I’m scared. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Charles lets out a low whistle, running a hand through his hair. “Wow. I mean...wow. Does...does Max know?”

At the mention of Max’s name, you shake your head quickly. “No, he doesn’t. And I don’t want him to—not yet.”

Alex’s brows furrow. “But you’re going to tell him eventually, right?”

You hesitate, the uncertainty hanging in the air. “I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can. He just got out of a relationship, and things are complicated.”

Charles shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, clearly unsure of what to say. “But...he’s the father, right?”

“Of course,” you reply quickly, your voice sharp. You sigh, feeling the tension in your body ease slightly. “It’s just...with everything that happened between him and his ex, I don’t want to make things worse. He’s been going through a lot.”

Alex squeezes your hand gently. “That doesn’t mean he shouldn’t know. He has a right to.”

You nod, but the idea of telling Max still feels too overwhelming, too complicated.

“I just...I need some time,” you say quietly. “I need to figure things out.”

Alex nods, her expression softening again. “Okay. We’re here for you, whatever you decide.”

Charles finally steps forward, his usual goofy grin gone. “Yeah, we’ve got your back. Whatever you need.”

You offer them both a small, grateful smile. “Thanks. I’m just trying to take it one day at a time.”

Alex hugs you, her arms wrapping tightly around your shoulders. “We’ll get through this together.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. You’re not alone in this anymore. Alex and Charles know now, and even though there are still so many unanswered questions—about Max, about the future—you finally feel like you can breathe.

The morning light filters through your studio windows as you sit at your desk, reviewing concept boards for your upcoming fashion show. You’ve tried to focus on work, pouring yourself into designs for your new maternity collection, but it’s hard to ignore the subtle changes in your body.

Your fingers hover over the designs, and despite how proud you are of the collection, you can’t shake the worry creeping up the back of your mind. Every day, the nausea comes in waves, the exhaustion more overwhelming than usual. The weight of the secret you’re carrying feels heavier with each passing moment, but for now, you have to keep it buried.

Amanda steps into the room, placing a cup of herbal tea on your desk. “Here,” she says, her eyes scanning your face. “You looked like you needed something soothing.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, taking a sip and letting the warmth calm your nerves. You hadn’t realized you were fidgeting until now.

You’ve been so careful at work, going through the motions of meetings, fittings, and shoots as if nothing is different. But Amanda’s keen observation skills—and the subtle way she’s been watching you—make you feel more exposed. You’re not sure how much longer you can keep this up.

As the day goes on, you notice whispers among the team. Little comments about how you seem “glowing” or how you’ve been calmer than usual. It’s innocent enough, but each time, your pulse races, worrying that someone is beginning to piece it together.

Later, during a meeting with your design team, you present the new maternity line. You speak confidently, knowing the collection is some of your best work, but a small voice inside you can’t help but feel nervous as you explain the inspiration behind it. One of your designers raises an eyebrow when you mention how the pieces will offer both comfort and style for women during all stages of pregnancy.

“Interesting choice,” one of the assistants remarks. “Are we expanding into maternity now?”

You force a smile, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yes. It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I want this collection to reflect the different phases of life, including motherhood.”

The team nods in approval, but you can feel the weight of their curiosity. As you finish the presentation, you excuse yourself from the meeting, heading to your office for a moment of quiet.

As soon as you close the door behind you, you slump into the chair, rubbing your temples. The anxiety is starting to wear on you, and keeping this secret feels more daunting with each passing day. You grab your phone and see a text from Alex, asking how you’re holding up.

Just as you’re about to respond, Amanda pokes her head in. “By the way, don’t forget about the event tonight.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten. The event is a high-profile charity gala—a perfect storm for running into Max.

“Right... thanks for the reminder,” you say, trying to sound calm.

That evening, you arrive at the event, your oversized dress flowing elegantly as you step into the ballroom. The room is filled with the usual crowd—models, designers, athletes, and celebrities. You take a deep breath, hoping that blending in with the crowd will be enough to keep attention off you.

But as you make your way through the event, your eyes catch sight of someone across the room. Max.

He hasn’t noticed you yet, but the sight of him is enough to make your heart race. This is the first time you’ve seen him since... well, since everything.

He’s talking to a few people, his usual relaxed posture, but there’s something different in his expression—maybe from his recent breakup. Your breath hitches as you watch him for a moment longer before you turn to find Alex and Charles, hoping to stay out of Max’s line of sight.

But just as you turn to walk away, you hear a voice behind you.

“Hey.”

You freeze, knowing exactly who it is before you even turn around. Max stands there, his eyes scanning your face, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them.

You turn slowly, heart pounding as your eyes meet Max’s. For a moment, it feels like the rest of the room fades away, and it’s just the two of you standing there, an invisible tension hanging between you.

“Max,” you manage to say, your voice steady but your nerves buzzing beneath the surface. You hadn’t planned on speaking to him, not here, not like this. But now that he’s standing right in front of you, you don’t have a choice.

He looks... good. That familiar sharpness in his gaze is still there, but you can see the weight of something unsaid behind his eyes. It’s probably the breakup. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, his tone neutral but tinged with curiosity. He looks you over quickly, taking in your outfit, but you’re thankful it hides enough that he wouldn’t notice anything off at first glance.

“I—yeah, I wasn’t sure if I’d come,” you say, forcing a small smile. “Work’s been crazy.”

He nods, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression, like he knows there’s more to the story. “I get it. Same for me. Trying to get back into the swing of things.”

You know he’s referring to his recent breakup, and for a brief second, guilt claws at you. He doesn’t know, and this would be the absolute worst moment to drop the bomb. Not at a public event, not in front of all these people. You can feel Alex and Charles watching you from across the room, their presence grounding you, reminding you that they know—but Max doesn’t. Not yet.

“Have you been all right?” he asks, his voice dropping a little lower, more sincere. “It feels like it’s been a while since we last... talked.”

The way he says “talked” holds so much more than the word itself. It brings back memories of the last time you saw him—when things between you had been anything but simple. The night you hooked up still lingers in your mind, the way it felt like something more, but you’d both walked away from it without a word about what it really meant.

“I’ve been fine,” you lie. “Just... busy. You know how it is.”

Max tilts his head, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Yeah, I do.”

There’s a pause, and the air between you feels heavier. You can tell he’s trying to read you, trying to figure out if something is wrong. And part of you wants to tell him. But you can’t. Not here.

Just as the tension starts to rise, someone brushes past you, pulling your attention away for a second. It’s Alex, making her way over with a casual smile that barely hides her concern.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” Alex says, glancing between you and Max. “I just wanted to steal her for a second.”

You can see Max's eyes flicker to Alex, then back to you. He steps back slightly, giving you space. “Of course,” he says, his voice clipped, though you can’t tell if it’s from irritation or something else.

“Catch up later?” he asks, his tone softening, and you nod, though your stomach twists at the thought.

“Yeah, sure,” you murmur, and with that, Alex gently pulls you aside.

As soon as you’re out of earshot, Alex leans in. “You okay?” she asks quietly, concern etched into her face. “I saw you two talking, and I wasn’t sure if you needed an out.”

You nod, feeling a wave of relief but also guilt. “Thanks for the save. I wasn’t ready to talk to him... not yet.”

“I figured,” Alex says, giving you a sympathetic look. “But he’s going to figure it out eventually.”

You know she’s right. The more you run into him, the harder it’s going to be to keep the secret. And after tonight, it’s clear that Max isn’t going to let things stay unresolved between you for much longer.

After Alex pulls you away, you take a moment to breathe, letting the tension drain from your body. But the thought of telling Max still lingers in the back of your mind. Maybe tonight was the right time after all. Maybe it’s time to stop hiding and face whatever comes next.

You glance back at him, half expecting to see him still standing where you left him. But instead, your breath catches in your throat.

Max isn’t alone anymore.

His ex stands beside him, her hand resting casually on his arm as she leans in to say something. He’s smiling, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. Still, it’s enough to make your heart sink. The sight of them together—so familiar, so comfortable—leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

Whatever you were about to tell him evaporates in an instant. The idea of burdening him with the news of your pregnancy feels impossible now. He’s clearly moved on, and you can’t bring yourself to pull him back into something so complicated, not when he’s just gotten out of a relationship.

You turn away quickly, trying to shake off the sudden wave of emotion. Alex notices and wraps a supportive arm around your shoulder, leading you away from the scene. “You did the right thing,” she says quietly. “It’s not the right time.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I know.”

But deep down, it doesn’t make it any easier.

The night of the fashion show arrives, and the energy backstage is electric. Models are rushing around, designers are making last-minute adjustments, and the press is already swarming outside. Your collection is the centerpiece of the show, and the maternity line is about to debut in front of some of the biggest names in the industry.

But despite the excitement, a familiar weight presses down on your chest. You’re nervous—not just about the show but about being in the spotlight while trying to hide your pregnancy. The oversized designs you’ll wear tonight should help conceal it, but you can’t shake the fear that someone will notice a change in you.

As you step out into the bright lights of the runway, you remind yourself to breathe. Focus on the work. Focus on the moment. You can do this.

The show goes off without a hitch. The audience loves the collection, and you manage to keep your composure throughout. But as you walk backstage after your final look, you can feel the pressure building again. You’ve made it through the night, but the reality of your situation is starting to catch up with you.

As the weeks pass, your body begins to show subtle signs of the life growing inside you. The small bump is barely noticeable, but to you, it’s impossible to ignore. The reality of your pregnancy is becoming more apparent each day, and with it, the pressure to step back from work mounts.

After another long week of trying to conceal the changes and fighting off fatigue, you make a decision—you need a break. The relentless cycle of photoshoots, meetings, and creative pressure is too much to handle while carrying a secret this big. So, with a heavy heart, you inform your team that you’ll be taking a leave of absence from both modeling and designing. It’s the first time in a long while that you’re putting yourself first, but it doesn’t feel like a relief. If anything, it makes the situation feel more real.

You spend the next few days quietly preparing for your time away, tying up loose ends and planning for what comes next. But even as you try to rest, the world keeps moving. One evening, as you sit on the couch scrolling through your phone, you receive a text from Alex.

Hey! How do you feel about coming with us to Vegas for the Grand Prix?

You deserve a break, and it’ll be fun! Plus, it’s cold—perfect for layering up and hiding that cute bump of yours 😉

You smile at her playful message. Alex always knows how to make you feel better, and despite your initial hesitation, the idea of going to Vegas for the race sounds like a good distraction.

I’ll think about it, but I’m not sure…

No excuses! Charles and I already have everything set. You need this, trust me. It’s going to be amazing.

After a bit of back and forth, you reluctantly agree. The timing couldn’t be better—Vegas would be a good place to get away from everything, and the cold weather gives you the perfect excuse to bundle up and hide the bump that’s starting to show. Maybe, just maybe, you can get through this without anyone noticing.

The Las Vegas Grand Prix is buzzing with energy when you arrive. The city is alive with lights, and the cold air nips at your skin as you step out of the car, pulling your oversized sweater tighter around yourself. You’ve layered your outfit perfectly—no one would suspect a thing.

As you make your way through the paddock with Charles and Alex, you do your best to remain inconspicuous, but it’s hard not to feel like you’re under a microscope. Max is here. You haven’t seen him since that fateful night at the gala, and even though you’ve done your best to avoid him, you know it’s only a matter of time before your paths cross again.

Sure enough, as you’re chatting with Alex near the Red Bull garage, you spot him out of the corner of your eye. He’s walking in your direction, his gaze sweeping across the crowd until it lands on you. For a brief moment, you think about turning away, but it’s too late.

“Hey,” Max says, stopping in front of you, his eyes scanning your face. “You look… really good.”

There’s an awkward pause as you search for something to say, but all you can manage is a quiet, “Thanks.” The tension between you is palpable, but before anything more can be said, Charles interrupts, pulling you away to meet some of the other drivers.

As the race time approaches, Alex notices you’re starting to look tired and pulls you aside. “Hey, why don’t you watch the race from Charles’ driver’s room? You can get some rest if you want. It’s warm in there, and no one will bother you.”

You hesitate, but the thought of escaping the chaos of the paddock for a few hours is too tempting to pass up. “Okay,” you agree. ���But you stay here and enjoy the race. I’ll be fine.”

Alex gives you a soft smile. “I’ll come check on you after.”

The room is quiet, the hum of the crowd fading into the background as you settle onto the couch, finally able to relax. You didn’t realize how exhausted you were until now, the weight of everything catching up with you. Before you know it, you’ve drifted off to sleep, your hands instinctively resting on your bump as you doze.

After the race ends, Max heads to Charles’ driver’s room, searching for him. The door creaks open softly, and he freezes in his tracks at the sight in front of him.

There you are, fast asleep on the couch, your oversized sweater no longer hiding the soft curve of your belly. His eyes widen, his mind racing as the pieces start to fall into place. The realization hits him hard—this isn’t just a rumor or a secret anymore. You’re pregnant, and somehow, he knows deep down, it’s his.

Max stands frozen in the doorway, his heart racing as he stares at your sleeping form. The soft rise of your belly is undeniable now, and everything clicks into place in a way that feels almost too shocking to comprehend. His breath hitches, the noise startling you awake. You blink, disoriented for a moment, before your eyes land on him.

“Max?” you murmur, your voice groggy with sleep.

But the look on his face makes your heart drop.

“You’re pregnant,” he says flatly, his voice stripped of emotion.

You nod, unsure of what to say. The words you rehearsed, the explanations and apologies, all seem to disappear in the suffocating silence between you.

Max’s eyes narrow, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips. “And you weren’t planning on telling me, were you?”

“Max, I was going to—”

“When?” he interrupts, his tone sharp and cutting. “After the baby was born? Or maybe when the media started asking questions? Did you think I wouldn’t find out eventually?”

You swallow hard, feeling the lump in your throat grow larger by the second. “I didn’t know how to tell you… You just got out of a relationship. I didn’t want to make things more complicated.”

His jaw tightens, and he stares at you like he doesn’t even recognize you anymore. “More complicated?” His voice rises, incredulous. “You think hiding the fact that you’re carrying my child isn’t complicated enough?”

“I didn’t know how you’d react,” you say softly, your voice trembling. “I didn’t want to ruin everything.”

Max scoffs, his face twisted in disbelief. “Ruin everything? You already did. You made this decision for both of us without even giving me the chance to decide if I wanted to be involved.”

You feel your stomach drop. The look in his eyes is colder than you’ve ever seen, and the weight of his words hits you like a punch to the gut. “Max, please… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”

He takes a step closer, his voice low but laced with anger. “You didn’t mean for what to happen? To get pregnant or to keep it from me?”

You can’t meet his gaze. “Both,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Max lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to let them fall. “Max, I didn’t want to hurt you. I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing by giving you space. I thought—”

“You thought wrong,” he snaps. “You didn’t give me a choice. You took that away from me.”

Your heart sinks further, and the lump in your throat makes it difficult to speak. “I know I should have told you sooner. But we can still figure this out. We can—”

Max cuts you off, his voice cold and detached. “No.”

The single word hangs in the air between you like a death sentence. Your eyes widen, and your chest tightens with panic. “What do you mean, no?”

“I’m not doing this,” Max says, his tone icy. “I’m not going to be part of something you kept from me. You made the choice to go through this alone—so you can finish it alone.”

You feel your breath hitch, your resolve faltering. “Max, please. You don’t mean that. You can’t just walk away.”

Max’s gaze is unwavering, hard as steel. “Watch me.”

The finality in his voice cuts through you, but you manage to keep your composure, standing your ground. “You don’t get to make this decision for me. This is our child.”

“I didn’t get a say in that!” he retorts, anger flashing in his eyes. “You’ve known all this time, and you’ve had the luxury of time to process it. I just found out, and now I’m supposed to act like everything’s fine? Like I haven’t been completely blindsided?”

You open your mouth to argue, but the words catch in your throat. You can see the hurt and betrayal etched across his face, and it pierces you deeper than any insult.

“Max, this isn’t just about you. I was scared. I didn’t know how you’d react, and I didn’t want to complicate things more, especially after your breakup.”

“Maybe I wanted to be a part of this!” he yells, frustration seeping into every word. “But you made it clear that I’m not. You decided that all by yourself.”

A heavy silence hangs between you, thick with unspoken emotions. You take a breath, steeling yourself, but he’s not done.

“Do you even realize how selfish that is?” Max shakes his head, disbelief written all over his face. “You think you can just decide what’s best for me without even asking?”

“I thought I was protecting you!” you reply, your voice firm despite the tremor underneath. “This is hard for me too, Max. I didn’t want to burden you with something I didn’t know how to handle myself.”

Max’s expression hardens, the anger in his eyes morphing into something colder. “You don’t get to choose what I can and can’t handle. I’m not a child, and this is not just your life. This is our child we’re talking about.”

The tension in the air is palpable, and you take a step back, feeling the weight of the moment bearing down on you.

“What happens now?” you ask quietly, almost pleading for some kind of understanding.

Max crosses his arms, his posture defensive. “You’re the one who made this choice. You can raise our kid alone if that’s what you want.”

“Max, I never wanted that!” you insist, desperation creeping into your voice. “I thought we could figure this out together.”

He shakes his head, disappointment flooding his features. “I can’t be part of something you hid from me. I won’t. It’s too late for that.”

You feel a chill wash over you as the finality of his words sinks in. “You’re just going to walk away?”

“I’m not walking away,” he replies, his voice now steady, devoid of any emotion. “I’m choosing not to be involved in something I didn’t even know was happening. You’ve made that choice for me.”

With that, he turns, heading for the door. The sight of him walking away feels like a knife to your heart, but you refuse to let your emotions spill over. You hold your ground, your expression steeling.

“Max,” you call out, but he doesn’t look back.

The door clicks softly behind him as he leaves Charles’ driver’s room, leaving you alone with the echoes of his rejection. You stare at the space he once occupied, your hand drifting instinctively to your stomach. There’s no sobbing, no collapse of emotion—just a stillness, a numb realization of where you stand.

You wish you could cry. Somehow, the tears refuse to fall.

The quiet is almost suffocating, pressing against your skin like the cold air outside. Max’s anger had been expected, but the way he looked at you—the coldness in his eyes as he dismissed not just you, but the life growing inside you—had cut deeper than you anticipated.

You rub your hand absentmindedly over the soft curve of your belly, feeling that strange mixture of loss and strength. I can do this. You’ve been on your own before, and now, it’s not just about you.

You stand, smoothing down your oversized sweater, and move to gather your things. As you slip into the hallway, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

Alex: We’re coming over.

You almost don’t want to see them, but the truth is, you need them now more than ever. Alex and Charles have always been your safe space, and tonight, that space feels smaller, more fragile. But it’s still there.

Half an hour later, the knock at your door is soft but insistent. You open it to find Alex standing there with Charles just behind her. Her face is a mix of worry and expectation.

“We came as fast as we could,” Alex says, pulling you into a gentle hug before you can speak.

You smile faintly at their concern, the warmth of Alex’s embrace easing some of the weight on your chest. Charles steps inside, eyes scanning your face as if searching for clues to what happened.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, his brow furrowed.

You nod, but it’s not convincing. “I told Max,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

They both stiffen at your words. Alex exchanges a glance with Charles before guiding you to sit down on the couch. “And?” she presses gently.

You hesitate, fingers tracing the seam of your sweater as you exhale slowly. “He doesn’t want to be part of it.”

There’s a long, heavy silence. The tension in the room shifts as Alex sits beside you, her hand finding yours, squeezing it tightly. Charles crosses his arms, looking frustrated but holding back his words.

“He’ll come around,” Alex says softly. “He’s just… dealing with a lot right now.”

You shake your head, the words not offering much comfort. “No, I don’t think he will. He was clear, Alex. He… he said I should’ve told him sooner, but—” You stop, biting your lip as the frustration rises. “I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping it from him. He just got out of a relationship; the last thing he needed was this.”

Charles leans against the wall, arms still crossed, his expression unreadable. Finally, he speaks. “Max is an idiot. He’s got his head so far up his ass, he can’t see what’s right in front of him.”

You let out a dry laugh, but it’s tinged with sadness. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I expected him to be thrilled.”

“Still doesn’t make it okay,” Alex adds. “You don’t deserve that.”

Your heart swells with gratitude for them. They’re not sugarcoating anything or trying to fix what’s broken. They’re just here, and in that, you find comfort.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now,” you admit quietly, your hand resting protectively on your bump. “I wasn’t ready for any of this, and now… it’s just me.”

Alex’s gaze softens. “You’re not alone. Not by a long shot.”

Charles moves to sit beside you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “Whatever happens, you’ve got us. And you’re going to be an amazing mom. Max… he’s missing out.”

You smile through the heaviness in your chest. “Thanks. I needed that.”

For a moment, you sit there in silence, the three of you. The conversation shifts to lighter topics—Alex telling you about some ridiculous thing Charles did last week, the upcoming races, and work. It’s grounding, reminding you that despite everything, there are pieces of your life that still make sense..

Max sat on his couch, his eyes staring blankly at the TV, the sound barely registering. His mind kept drifting back to the race, and more than that—to her. The image of her asleep in Charles’ driver’s room, her hand protectively resting over the curve of her belly, haunted him.

He sighed, rubbing his face, trying to shake the thoughts away. He didn’t want to think about it, about her, or about the decision he’d made.

But before he could fully retreat into his thoughts, there was a knock on his door.

Max frowned, standing up and crossing the room to answer it. When he opened the door, he found Charles standing there, his face hard with barely concealed anger.

“Can I come in?” Charles asked, his voice tight.

Max stepped aside, already knowing this wasn’t going to be a casual conversation.

Charles didn’t waste any time once the door was shut behind him. “What the hell are you doing?”

Max blinked, taken aback by the intensity in his friend’s voice. “What are you talking about?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about,” Charles snapped, his arms crossing over his chest. “She told you about the baby, and you just walked away?”

Max’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t walk away. I told her how I felt.”

Charles scoffed. “You didn’t tell her how you felt. You pushed her away because you were scared.”

“Scared?” Max repeated, a bitter laugh escaping him. “I’m not scared, Charles. She kept it from me for months. How am I supposed to feel about that?”

Charles stepped closer, his eyes blazing. “You’re supposed to care, Max! She’s pregnant with your child. You don’t get to just check out because it’s inconvenient for you.”

Max clenched his fists at his sides, the frustration rising. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is.” Charles’ voice softened, but his words were firm. “You’re making it complicated because you don’t want to deal with it. But she’s doing this alone. She’s carrying your son.”

Max froze at the last word, his eyes snapping up to meet Charles’. “Son?”

Charles nodded, his gaze steady. “Yeah. She found out a few days ago. And you should’ve been there.”

Max stared at him, his thoughts spinning. A son. He didn’t even know it was a boy. And the weight of that hit him harder than he expected.

Charles’s expression softened, his eyes filled with understanding. “I know exactly why you walked away.”

Max tensed, his heart pounding in his chest. “What are you talking about?”

“I know why you’re scared, Max,” Charles said quietly. “Because of him. Because of what Jos was like when you were growing up. You think if you stick around, you’ll turn out just like him.”

Max’s eyes flickered with surprise, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Charles could see the truth in his silence.

“I know you don’t talk about it, and I don’t need the details,” Charles continued, stepping closer. “But I’ve seen how hard he was on you. I’ve seen how you shut down when people talk about family, about fathers. You’re scared that if you stay, you’ll mess up the way he did.”

Max stared down at the floor, his heart pounding. “He made my life hell, Charles. Every mistake I made, he made sure I knew. He made me feel like I wasn’t good enough… like I’d never be good enough.”

Charles watched him closely, his voice soft but firm. “But that’s not who you are, Max. You’re not him. You know what not to do. That’s what makes you different.”

Max swallowed hard, his throat tight. “What if I’m worse?”

Charles sighed, shaking his head. “You won’t be. I’ve seen you with kids, with your nieces and nephews. You’re good with them, whether you believe it or not. You’re not going to be him, Max. But if you walk away now, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

Max didn’t respond for a long moment. The fear, the guilt, it all weighed so heavily on him, and yet Charles was right. He wasn’t his father. He didn’t have to be.

“I don’t know what to do,” Max finally whispered.

“You start by being there,” Charles said simply. “That’s it. You show up. Everything else will fall into place.”

“You’re going to regret it if you don’t step up,” Charles said quietly. “She’s stronger than you think, but she shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

Max didn’t say anything as Charles left, the door closing softly behind him. But the words stayed with him, even after the silence returned to the apartment.

Work had always been your way of coping. And now, it was a necessity. You threw yourself into finishing the pregnancy collection, meticulously crafting each piece to enhance the models’ natural beauty. The collection was personal—more than anyone realized—and every design was a tribute to the future you were about to step into.

The name you’d chosen for the collection, Adrie, was a secret only you and Alex knew. No one else had any idea that it was named after your son, a silent tribute to the life growing inside you.

As the final touches were made, you found moments of joy. Your appointments with Alex were always a reminder of what was coming. Finding out you were having a boy brought a strange sense of peace, even as your relationship with Max remained broken.

Now, the fashion show was finally here.

The runway was alive with excitement as your models strutted down the catwalk, each wearing pieces that reflected a new chapter in your creative journey. The audience was captivated—every detail, every design, was met with applause. But as you watched from backstage, your heart pounded for a different reason.

You spotted him. Max. He was here.

He sat in the audience, his expression unreadable, but you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. You hadn’t seen him since Monaco, since he walked out of Charles’ driver’s room without a second glance. And now, he was here, watching.

Your stomach churned, the slight bump beneath your dress making you feel more vulnerable than ever. You could have asked Alex if she knew he was coming, but there was no point now.

The show reached its peak, and it was time for you to take your final bow. You stepped out onto the runway, your face composed, your smile professional. The applause was deafening, and yet, all you could feel was the knot in your chest as you avoided looking directly at Max.

Don’t look at him. Don’t let him see.

But you could feel him. You felt his eyes on you the entire time. The weight of his presence was inescapable, but you held your head high, walking the length of the runway with grace.

Once you were backstage, the relief was instant. You’d done it. You had survived.

But before you could catch your breath, a voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Hey.”

You turned slowly, already knowing who it was. Max stood there, holding a bouquet of flowers in his hands. His expression was softer than you’d seen in weeks, but you didn’t let yourself fall into the trap of believing it meant anything.

“I thought you did amazing,” he said, stepping closer. “The collection… it’s beautiful… you’re beautiful.”

You forced a polite smile, taking the flowers from him. “Thanks.”

But you didn’t say anything else. You couldn’t. Not yet.

Max seemed to hesitate, like he was searching for the right words. “Can we talk?”

Max’s voice hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you hesitated. The flowers in your hands felt heavier than they should, and the weight of the past few weeks pressed down on your chest.

You nodded, keeping your expression neutral. “Okay.”

Max gestured toward a quieter part of the backstage area, away from the bustling crowd of designers and models celebrating the show’s success. You followed, your heart pounding in your ears as you prepared for whatever he had to say.

Once you were alone, he turned to face you, his eyes searching yours for something. But you didn’t give anything away. You couldn’t.

“I’ve been thinking,” Max started, his voice low, almost hesitant. “About everything.”

You folded your arms over your chest, waiting. You weren’t sure where this was going, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to know.

“I reacted… badly, at the Grand Prix,” Max admitted. “I was angry, and I said things I didn’t mean.”

You raised an eyebrow, keeping your voice steady. “You made it pretty clear how you felt, Max.”

“I know,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But I wasn’t thinking straight. I was… scared.”

“Scared?” you repeated, incredulous. “Of what?”

Max looked away for a moment, his jaw tightening. “Of being a father. Of screwing everything up.”

Your heart clenched at his words, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “Why would you think that?”

“Because of him,” Max said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because of Jos.”

The mention of his father made your heart soften, if only a little. You knew about Max’s complicated relationship with his father—how Jos had pushed him relentlessly, made him feel like he was never enough. But this wasn’t about Jos. This was about the baby.

“You’re not him, Max,” you said quietly.

He shook his head, his eyes filled with doubt. “What if I am? What if I end up doing everything wrong, just like he did?”

“You won’t,” you insisted. “You’re not him. You’ve already proven that by caring enough to be scared in the first place.”

Max stared at you, the vulnerability in his eyes catching you off guard. This wasn’t the Max you were used to seeing—the confident, untouchable racer who never let anything faze him. This was a man who was terrified of repeating his father’s mistakes.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he admitted.

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle into your chest. “Then why are you here, Max?”

“Because I want to try,” he said softly. “I don’t want to walk away from this. From you. From… our son.”

The word hung between you, raw and real.

You took a deep breath, your heart aching. “I can’t do this alone, Max.”

“I know,” he said, stepping closer. “And I don’t want you to. But I need you to believe me when I say I’m going to try. I just… I need time to figure this out.”

You reach a hand out hesitantly, before reaching his for his hand, you thumb pads over his calloused palms, you place his hand on your stomach, “His name is Adrie Emillian Verstappen,” you whisper.

Max’s eyes widened as his hand rested on your small, growing bump. The warmth of your skin beneath his palm sent a shiver down his spine, and for the first time, it all felt real. The name—Adrie Emillian Verstappen—echoed in his mind, grounding him in a way nothing else had before.

“Adrie…” he murmured, the name foreign on his tongue but already carrying so much weight. His thumb brushed gently across your belly, and for a moment, it was just the two of you—no racing, no fear, just this life between you both.

You watched his expression closely, unsure of what to expect. This was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him, and it made you both hopeful and terrified at the same time. But you couldn’t afford to let your guard down just yet.

“You need to understand something, Max,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “I’ve been doing this alone for months. I’ve been preparing myself for the possibility that you wouldn’t be there—because you made it clear at the Grand Prix that you didn’t want to be.”

Max flinched at the reminder, his guilt palpable.

“And now you’re saying you want to try,” you continued, your voice steady. “But trying isn’t enough. I need to know that you’re in this for the long haul, that you’re not going to back out the moment it gets hard.”

Max’s jaw tightened, his hand still resting on your stomach. “I won’t walk away again. I swear, I won’t.”

You searched his face for any sign of doubt, but all you saw was sincerity. He looked terrified, yes, but also determined. You wanted to believe him, you wanted to trust that he would follow through on his promise—but the fear of getting hurt again lingered.

“I want to believe you,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. “But you’ve hurt me, Max. You’ve hurt me more than you realize.”

Max’s expression crumpled, the weight of your words hitting him hard. “I know… and I’m sorry. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if that’s what it takes. I just… I can’t lose this. I can’t lose you.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, determined to stay strong. This was about more than just the two of you now—this was about your son, about the life you were about to bring into the world.

“You don’t have to do this perfectly, Max,” you said, your voice softening. “You just have to be here. That’s all I need.”

Max nodded, his hand pressing more firmly against your bump. “I’m here. I promise, I’m here.”

For the first time in weeks, the tension between you began to ease. You weren’t naive enough to believe that everything was suddenly fixed—that there wouldn’t be more challenges ahead. But for now, this moment felt like the first step toward something better.

As Max stood there, his hand still on your stomach, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he was telling the truth. Maybe he really would stay.

Because this wasn’t just about you anymore. It was about Adrie.

And for him, you would fight to make this work.

The following weeks settled into a rhythm, with Max becoming a regular part of your daily life. He started attending your doctor’s appointments, always arriving on time, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes, people mistook the two of you for a couple, and while it felt awkward at first, you quickly learned to brush it off. There were bigger things to focus on—like preparing for the baby.

“Your husband’s got a great bedside manner,” one of the nurses had said during your most recent appointment, and you’d simply smiled, glancing at Max, who didn’t bother to correct her either. Neither of you needed to explain what you were to anyone else.

Max moving in felt just as natural, though unspoken. One day, after another doctor’s visit, he casually mentioned that it would make more sense if he stayed with you, at least until the baby came. You hadn’t objected, and before you knew it, Max’s things were scattered around your apartment—his shoes by the door, his jacket hanging on your chair, and his presence… well, it made things feel a little less lonely.

The ultrasound technician turned to you with a warm smile as she spread the gel over your bump, your eyes glued to the monitor. Max’s hand, as always, was resting on your shoulder, his thumb absently tracing comforting circles on your skin.

“There he is,” the technician said, pointing at the screen where your son’s form appeared.

Max’s grip tightened ever so slightly, his gaze softening as he watched the baby move. “Adrie…” he murmured, the name that still felt so new but so right slipping from his lips

later that evening, Alex and Charles invited you to dinner at a nice restaurant by the ocean..

“You know,” Alex began, poking at her salad, “Max is really stepping up. It’s nice to see.”

Charles leaned back in his chair, glancing at Max and you, sitting across from him. “Yeah, you’re practically a family already.”

The air went a little still, and you felt your cheeks warm, though you quickly masked it with a casual smile. “We’re just doing what’s best for Adrie. That’s all.”

Max, seated beside you, stayed quiet but gave a small nod of agreement. He didn’t seem bothered by the comment, but there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you that things weren’t as simple as everyone else assumed.

Alex and Charles exchanged another look—one that said they weren’t buying your explanation, but thankfully, they let it slide. The evening continued with light conversation and laughter, but every now and then, Alex’s eyes would drift toward you and Max, her knowing smile never far behind.

Dinner had gone well enough. That is, until you ran into Max’s ex-girlfriend.

The instant her eyes landed on you, her polite smile shifted to something sharper, something filled with disdain. The glance she gave your bump—barely noticeable beneath your loose dress—felt like a dagger, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of being… less than.

She was flawless. Tall, sleek, the picture of everything you weren’t right now.

You tried to smile through it, act like the growing tightness in your chest didn’t bother you. But the look on her face as she spoke to Max, dripping in casual familiarity, gnawed at the edges of your confidence. Her tone was light, as if to remind you that she and Max had a history, while you were merely the woman carrying his child.

When she finally left, you could breathe again, but the damage was done. The rest of the evening was a blur of polite conversation, your responses automatic. Max noticed, of course—he always did—but you shrugged off his concern, plastering on a fake smile until you got home.

Once back at the apartment, Max followed close behind you, his presence a silent comfort. But the tension between you both had shifted, the air thick with something unspoken.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft as he stepped closer. You could see the concern in his eyes, and that made it worse. You hated how vulnerable you felt, hated how the ex had made you feel small.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied, your voice a little too quick. “I’m just tired.”

Max didn’t believe you. You could tell by the way he kept watching you, his eyes studying your face, your movements. But he didn’t press. Instead, he nodded, giving you space as he retreated to his own room.

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, frustration swirling in your chest. Why did you let her get to you? Why did you care? But it was more than that. It was your body. You hadn’t felt like yourself in months. Your bump had grown, your clothes fit differently, and while you knew you were supposed to love the process, part of you felt disconnected, like you weren’t in control of your own body anymore.

Sleep wouldn’t come. Not with the weight of everything pressing down on you. So you slipped out of bed, pulling on a pair of shorts and a tank top, padding softly to the kitchen for a glass of water.

And that’s when you saw him.

Max stood by the counter, shirtless, looking like he hadn’t been able to sleep either. The dim light cast shadows over the defined lines of his body, and you paused mid-step. The air between you crackled with tension, neither of you saying a word.

His gaze swept over you, lingering just a little too long on the way your tank top clung to your frame, the hint of your bump visible. You felt exposed, and yet… drawn to him.

Before you knew it, you were standing close, too close, and Max reached for you, his hand brushing your arm as if testing the waters. Your breath hitched, and when his lips met yours, it was slow, tentative, as if asking for permission.

The kiss deepened, and suddenly, the world fell away. You forgot about his ex, about your insecurities, about everything except the way Max made you feel in that moment. His hands roamed your sides, skimming over your bump with the gentlest touch. But then reality crept back in, your self-doubt surfacing.

You broke the kiss, pulling back, your breath shaky.

“I… I can’t,” you whispered, avoiding his gaze. “Not like this.”

Max looked at you, confusion and concern flickering in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

You bit your lip, arms instinctively wrapping around your midsection. “I just… I don’t feel like myself. My body… it’s different. And I feel like…” You couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t bring yourself to admit that you thought he might still want his ex.

But Max understood. He always did.

His hand came up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, the sincerity in his voice making your chest ache. “More than you’ve ever been.”

When you didn’t respond, he lifted you gently onto the counter, his hands firm but tender as they held you in place. “This,” he said, his hand resting over your bump, “is the most beautiful you’ve ever been.”

You stared at him, unsure how to respond, the words stuck in your throat. Max’s hand remained on your bump, his touch warm and grounding. There was something about the way he looked at you—like nothing else in the world mattered except this moment, except you.

“I don’t know how you can see me like that,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I don’t even recognize myself half the time.”

Max’s eyes softened, and he stepped closer, his other hand reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I know it feels different. But I see you. The same person you’ve always been. And more.” His thumb traced your jawline gently, his touch sending sparks of warmth through your skin. “You’re carrying our son. That makes you even more incredible to me.”

You swallowed, feeling a lump rise in your throat. There was so much you wanted to say—so much you’d held back because of your own fears. The weight of your insecurities pressed against you, threatening to pull you under, but Max’s gaze kept you afloat.

“I guess I’m just scared too,” you admitted softly, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your shorts. “Scared that I’ll never feel… normal again. That you won’t see me the same way when I’m… like this.” You gestured toward your body, feeling the self-consciousness creep back in. “And what if you still want her?”

The confession hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. It felt like a weight off your chest, but the uncertainty still lingered, gnawing at the back of your mind. You couldn’t bear to look at him, afraid of what you’d find in his expression.

But Max didn’t flinch. Instead, his hand moved from your bump to tilt your chin upward, forcing you to meet his eyes. The intensity in his gaze caught you off guard—there was no hesitation, no doubt.

“Look at me,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “I don’t want her. I want you.” The sincerity in his words wrapped around your heart like a lifeline. “I’ve wanted you this whole time.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the truth of his words sinking in. He wasn’t just saying it to make you feel better. He meant it. And you realized that maybe, just maybe, you had been too wrapped up in your own doubts to see that.

“But I—” you started, but Max didn’t let you finish.

“Shh,” he whispered, leaning in closer, his forehead resting against yours. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. This—” his hand pressed gently against your bump again, “—only makes me want you more.”

The words melted into you, warm and soothing, slowly chipping away at the walls you’d built around your heart. You could feel his breath against your skin, the closeness between you so palpable it made your head spin.

“Max…” you breathed, the tension still humming between you.

He smiled, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m not going anywhere.”

In that moment, it felt like everything around you faded, leaving just the two of you suspended in a quiet, fragile space. Your heart pounded, and despite all the fears and insecurities you had, you leaned into him. You kissed him again, slowly this time, letting yourself get lost in the warmth of his lips, in the way his hand cradled your face with so much care.

This time, you didn’t pull away.

His hands slid to your waist, steadying you on the counter, and you felt the warmth spread from your chest to your fingertips. You were aware of every touch, every small breath between kisses, the way Max’s fingers brushed the exposed skin of your lower back. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t thinking about your body or the way it had changed.

You were just thinking about him.

When the kiss broke, both of you were breathing hard, the air between you charged. Max rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his thumb brushing along the side of your neck.

And for the first time in a long while, you actually started to believe it.

The last few months had been a whirlwind, and now, at 29 weeks pregnant, you found yourself in a place you never expected: meeting Max’s family. Victoria, Max’s sister, and Sophie, his mother, welcomed you with open arms. Their warmth felt like a much-needed embrace, especially during those moments when the pregnancy felt overwhelming.

Victoria’s laughter echoed through the room as she shared stories. “You should have seen him as a kid! Always getting into trouble. There was this one time he tried to ‘fix’ my Barbie car, and it ended up in pieces all over the living room.”

You chuckled, imagining a young Max surrounded by chaos. “I can see that. It’s a miracle he became a champion instead of a mechanic!”

Sophie smiled, leaning closer. “He always had a knack for determination, but it’s his heart that really makes him special.”

As the evening wore on, you felt a warmth blooming in your chest. You loved hearing their stories about Max, but they quickly turned into advice about motherhood. “Just remember, every child is different,” Sophie said, her eyes shining with wisdom. “Trust your instincts.

That night, as you and Max settled in back at your place, you couldn’t stop thinking about it all—the baby, the move, everything. With Victoria and Sophie by your side, it suddenly made sense to have the baby in the Netherlands, closer to Max’s family. You looked over at Max, his face soft in the dim light.

“I’ve been thinking,” you started, playing with the edge of the blanket. “I want to have Adrie in the Netherlands. I want him to grow up close to your family.”

Max’s gaze flicked to yours, surprise flashing in his eyes before it melted into something softer. “You sure? You don’t feel like it’s too much?”

You shook your head, smiling. “No, I think it’s the right thing to do. Plus, Victoria and Sophie are going to spoil him rotten. He’s going to need us to balance that out.”

Max chuckled softly, reaching over to rest his hand on your bump, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. “I think Adrie will like it here.”

A few weeks later, at the Zandvoort Grand Prix, you were there to support Max. At 30 weeks pregnant, you were still getting used to all the changes in your body, but you didn’t let that stop you from being by his side. You’d already become close with Victoria and Sophie, who spent time with you while Max was training.

That day, as you were making your way through the paddock, you finally met Jos. Max’s father had always been a shadow looming in the background—he rarely came to races and, from what you’d heard, wasn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type.

The meeting went as you expected—Jos was standoffish, his hostility barely veiled. “So, you’re the one Max has chosen to have a baby with,” he said coldly, scanning you with disdain. “Interesting choice.”

You stood tall, refusing to let his words shake you. “Yes, I am. And we’re excited to welcome Adrie.”

Max’s jaw tightened as he stepped closer to you. “That’s enough, Dad. You don’t get to talk to her like that.”

You placed a hand on Max’s arm, calming him down. “It’s fine, really. I don’t care what he thinks,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “But he did say something nasty, and I just thought you should know.”

At that, Max’s jaw clenched, his hand tightening into a fist. “What did he say?”

You repeated Jos’s comment, and Max immediately stood, pacing the room. “I swear, I’m going to—”

“Max, stop,” you interrupted, gently pulling him back to sit beside you. “He’s not worth it. You’re better than that.”

Max looked at you, his expression softening at your calm demeanor. His hand instinctively went to your belly, feeling the subtle movement beneath his palm. “I don’t want him saying those things about you. You don’t deserve that.”

You gave him a small smile, placing your hand over his. “He’s just bitter because we’re happy, Max. Don’t let him ruin this.”

That night, you FaceTimed Alex and Charles, updating them on everything. As always, they were excited to see how far along you were, Alex’s eyes lighting up when you told them about the latest doctor’s appointment.

“The baby’s kicking more now,” you said with a soft laugh, placing your hand on your bump as if to prove it.

“Let me see!” Alex demanded, leaning into the camera. Charles, sitting beside her, was equally invested.

You shifted the camera to show them your belly, and right on cue, Adrie gave a little kick. Both Alex and Charles gasped, their faces lighting up with joy.

“That’s amazing!” Alex exclaimed. “He’s going to be such a strong little boy!”

You smiled, feeling a rush of warmth at their excitement. It was moments like these that made everything feel more real.

Finally, the day came. You went into labor, and everything happened so quickly that it was a blur. Max was by your side the entire time, his worry evident in the way he hovered around you, making sure you were comfortable. He held your hand through every contraction, whispering words of encouragement, his voice steady even though you could see the fear in his eyes.

When Adrie finally arrived, the room was filled with emotion. Max’s hands trembled as he held his baby boy for the first time, tears slipping down his cheeks as he looked down at his son. You’d never seen him like this—so vulnerable, so overwhelmed with love.

“He’s perfect,” Max whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He looked over at you, his eyes softening as they met yours. “You… you’re amazing. I love you.”

The words hit you like a wave, but they felt right, as if they’d been waiting to be spoken for months. Tears welled up in your eyes as you reached for Max’s hand, squeezing it gently. “I love you too.”

Just as you were about to revel in the peaceful moment, the door to your hospital room burst open, and in came Alex and Charles, balloons and gifts in tow.

“We’re here!” Alex declared, holding up a massive ‘It’s a Boy!’ balloon. Charles followed close behind, grinning like a kid in a candy store.

“Look at him!” Charles beamed, practically bouncing on his feet. “He’s perfect!”

You and Max couldn’t help but laugh at their entrance, the lightness of the moment breaking through the emotional haze of the past few hours.

“Well,” Max said, looking at the both of them, “We have something to ask.”

Alex and Charles immediately quieted down, their eyes wide with anticipation.

“We want you both to be Adrie’s godparents,” you said, smiling as you saw their reactions.

Charles let out an excited whoop, while Alex’s eyes filled with tears. “Of course!” she exclaimed, rushing over to give you a careful hug. “We’d be honored!”

And just like that, everything felt perfect. You had your family, your friends, and most importantly, you had Max and Adrie. It was the happiest ending you could have imagined.