#but i think there are times where he has to give them room

[whytheylosttheirminds]

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 8 (part two)

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 6.2k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

A blood curdling shriek rang through the house, jolting Carter from her restless dreams.

She sat straight up in bed, heart racing as she looked around the dark room, head so heavy she could barely remember where she was or how she got there.

In her hungover mental fog, she pieced it together slowly. She was at the beach house, in her room, it was early, she drank so much last night and Topper said -

“OH MY GOD!” 

Another sharp scream came from downstairs, and her heart rate spiked all over again. She pulled the fluffy comforter around her shoulders and hurried out of the room, quiet on the stairs as she nervously approached the source of all the commotion.

When she saw what was inducing Sabrina’s shock, she doubled back, hiding around the corner so they couldn’t see her. Her stomach churned with bitter loathing, and something else even more nauseating…

She dropped the blanket and rushed to the half-bath off the house’s entryway, doubled over the toilet bowl as last night’s poor choices continued to haunt her.

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Rafe drove faster than he had before your interrupted rendezvous, seeming not to want to drag this adventure out anymore. You eyed him nervously from the passenger seat, searching for words that weren’t coming to you. 

Tongue tied and exhausted was not how you wanted to begin this…whatever this was between you. Rafe had given you words, so many of them, back on the beach and all he asked in return was a simple yes or no.

Are you my girl?

No four words had ever felt so heavy. The shitty part was, you wanted to say yes. At the sound of his breathless question every cell in your body was screaming yes! I’m your girl! I’ve always been your girl! 

But then there was that pesky piece of self preservation that cemented itself in your heart all those years ago and didn’t plan to give up any time soon. 

He looked so disappointed when you couldn’t give him a quick and easy answer, his chest now deflated and shoulders sunken as he drove the rest of the route home. Despite your lingering hesitation, you felt like you needed to give him something, needed to lift the frown that was settled on the lips you had tasted so many times this morning.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

“For what?” He asked.

“I’m…slow,” you began, “it takes me a while, y’know? To find the words. I’m not like you, I don’t know how you came up with that speech in less than a minute.”

Rafe laughed, confusing you.

“What?”

“You think I came up with that speech in a minute?” He chuckled, “I’ve been practicing it every day since senior year of high school.”

Your heart clenched at the endearing thought of him in front of the mirror, driving to class, taking a shower all while rehearsing what he’d say if you ever gave him the chance.

“Oh,” you tucked your hair behind your ear.

It was infuriating, your complete inability to get a grip on your own thoughts and feelings around him. It had always been this way. You were well-spoken and sound-minded, until this one person was in your atmosphere, his presence your own personal kryptonite.

To be fair to yourself, it wasn’t just your own weakness for him that had caused you to build such high walls. When you were kids, he sometimes made you feel this way on purpose. He used to have fun watching you get flustered, just the right amount of flirting to send you into a tizzy, only to leave you spinning like a top with no one to stop you.

You truly tried to leave the past behind, burying it somewhere back in the sand on the beach. You reminded yourself that the Rafe of your memories was not the one sitting next to you right now. But that might just be the problem, because at least you knew that Rafe, you knew exactly what he would do next.

If he grabbed your hand, you knew he was about to drop it. If he said something sweet, you knew he was about to say something passive aggressive. If he acted like he loved you, you knew he was about to act like he’d never met you a day in his life.

But this Rafe, this new one, was completely unpredictable. Wild and dangerous in his apparent affection for you. How were you supposed to know what he did next wasn’t going to hurt? He was right about what he said on the jet ski - you won’t know until you give him the chance. Easier said than done.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” he offered after you’d been quiet for a long time.

“This week has just been…” trying to come up with one word to describe it felt like a futile task.

“Overwhelming?” Rafe tried to help.

“Surprising,” you countered. “I’ve never been good with surprises.”

“You like to know what’s coming next,” he nodded, once again displaying a deep knowledge of you that you never knew he possessed.

Like he could read your mind, his arm stretched across the small divide and his palm, warm and soft, settled on your thigh, a single soothing stroke to let you know he’s still here, he’s still yours. The feeling of his skin touching yours was like aloe vera directly on the burn.

With a grateful smile, you leaned back in the seat and took a deep breath as he steered you home.

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Carter padded down the hall, stopping three separate times, trying to decide if she should just go back to her own room. But the sight of her frantic texts to you still saying “delivered” and not “read” was too concerning to ignore.

She opened Topper’s door without knocking.

He was sitting up against his headboard, typing feverishly on his phone. At the sight of her, he clutched his duvet cover, pulling it up higher over his nearly naked body.

“Have you ever heard of knocking?” 

“Please, like I haven’t seen it all before. Like I didn’t see it yesterday,” she rolled her eyes.

“Oh okay, so you do remember. Based on the way you were acting last night I thought maybe you’d forgotten we’d ever been together,” he snipped at her.

“I don’t want to talk about last night,” she waved him off, dismissing his complaints flippantly, “are you aware of what’s happening downstairs right now? Of who is happening downstairs right now?”

“Yes, I saw her pull up,” he returned his attention to his phone and his frenzied typing.

Outside his cracked open door, Carter heard Kelce, Tom, and a few others come barreling up the stairs, chatting about the recent arrival.

“Be so fucking for real, did you invite her?” Carter said, attempting to lower her voice.

“I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this but you do this thing where you think you’re whispering and you’re actually not,” Topper informed her.

“Topper…”

“No, I didn’t invite her.,” he answered. “Actually I was about to ask if you did.”

“Why the fuck would I do that? I hate her.”

“Wow alright, hate's a strong word, Carter, maybe calm down a little.”

Ever since their knock-down-drag-out at the club last night, the arguing that was usually playful and lighthearted had an edge of actual bitterness to it.

“First of all, if you ever tell me to ‘calm down’ again, I’m going full Lorena Bobbitt on your ass. Second of all, you need to go down there and tell her to leave,” she flicked her hair behind her shoulder and held her chin up as she bossed him around. He hated that despite how mad at her he was, he fucking loved it.

“How does that job possibly fall on me?” He scoffed.

“Aren’t you Mr. Team Rafe-and-my-sister? Don’t you want to get rid of the reason they stopped talking in the first place?” She reasoned.

“I’m not gonna tell her she can’t be here,” he shut her down. “It’s not my house, and it’s really none of my business. Or yours.”

Her eyes narrowed at him, “oh yeah? Then who are you texting so much over there?”

“I’m just giving him a head’s up,” he shrugged. “She should probably know too.”

“And you’re just assuming they’re together?” She snarled.

“Puh-lease,” he rolled his eyes, “did you see them at the club last night? There’s no way they didn’t hook up.”

She wouldn’t accept it, couldn’t, even though she knew somewhere deep in her gut that he was probably right. 

When Rafe still didn’t answer any of his texts, Topper sighed heavily, “fuck it, I don’t care if I’m cockblocking, I’m calling him.”

Before he could dial, the house shook with the slam of the front door. Carter and Topper hurried out to the hall and hesitated at the top of the steps. Your lone voice carried up to them, talking to no one in particular as you muttered, “un-fucking-belivable.”

Carter actually did whisper this time, “I think it might be too late for that…”

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The feeling of Rafe’s hand, warm and steady on your thigh, as he drove the rest of the route home was so nice and comforting, you let yourself slip into the possibility that this could actually be it. Maybe you really could just leave the past behind you, maybe you really had finally found each other and it could just be simple like this.

But your fantasy didn’t last long.

Rafe parked in the spot across the street that you had taken Carter’s car from a few hours ago. Even when he turned the key and cut the engine, he didn’t remove his hand from your leg. 

“You ready?” He sighed.

“For what?” You questioned, eyeing him curiously, his face serious as he looked down at the site of his hand on your skin.

He shook his head like he didn’t know the answer himself, “reality, I guess.”

You placed your hand over his, smirking at the sight of your fingers encompassing each other’s, wanting so much more from these hands and truly believing you’d have all the time in the world to enjoy them. 

“Bring it on,” you gave him a small smile.

“He leaned across the center console and dropped a deep kiss to your lips, causing you to sigh into his mouth. All the times you imagined kissing him, you never thought such a rough-around-the-edges guy would have such soft lips. You felt like you might be able to spend forever with them on your skin.

When he finally pulled away, you reached for the handle of your door, beginning to open it, but Rafe reached across your body and pulled it shut again.

“What are you doing?” You asked in surprise.

He smiled that perfect, dimpled grin of his, “extra credit.”

You giggled as he hurried to climb out of the driver’s side, hurrying around to your door and opening it with a chivalrous flair.

“Wow,” you beamed, accepting his hand as he helped you down from the tall vehicle. “You weren’t kidding about trying to be a gentleman.”

“For you, I’ll be anything,” he flirted.

Despite your best efforts not to, you blushed, the red hue on your cheeks deepening when Rafe kept your hand in his, intertwining his fingers with yours as you walked back to the house. It was the first time he’d held your hand out in the open like this, where anyone could look out from the windows of the beach house and see the two of you together. It was foreign to you, his public display of affection, and yet it felt so right. You couldn’t help but wish it hadn’t taken this long.

“Can I ask you something?” You said quietly.

“Anything,” he squeezed your hand assuringly. 

“Why didn’t we do this a long time ago?” 

Rafe’s face fell slightly, watching his feet as they made less and less forward progress on the sidewalk, until he came to a full stop. The question was mostly meant to be lighthearted, a tease really, but his solemn reaction made your stomach twist with concern.

“I…” he started, voice unsteady, not meeting your eyeline, “I don’t know if I should tell you this but -”

You never knew what he wasn’t supposed to tell you, because before he could, a sickeningly familiar voice called out from the front porch.

“Hey guys!”

Head snapping toward the sound, you looked up, and there she was, as stunning as ever in that same signature everything-you’re-not-ness. 

Cassie Bryant.

Her face was adorned with a glistening smile, yours was noticeably not. Everything in you sunk, including the corners of your lips, completely unable to hide the way your heart dropped six feet under the ground at the sight of her.

She was somehow even more golden and glowing now than she was back then. Glossy blonde hair flowing down her back like a waterfall of silk. Her perfect, blemish free skin glowed in the early morning light. Her big, round Disney Princess eyes quickly found Rafe and flicked over your joined hands, clocking the way they were folded together in unmistakable intimacy.

It happened so quickly, and yet it felt like years worth of hurt and heartache compacted into one small moment. 

At the sight of Cassie on the porch, Rafe dropped your hand.

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Surely, any minute now, a camera crew would pop out from the bushes and announce that you were being Punk’d.

Or maybe it’d be the Mythbusters:

The myth? That you can actually heal from your childhood trauma with just four years of painstaking hard work. Well, we’re about to prove that all of that can be unraveled in the span of 72 hours! Also, we will be using your heart as our crash test dummy. Myth busted!

You didn’t look over at Rafe, couldn’t bear to watch the way he pulled his body away from yours, ever-so-slightly, almost imperceptibly. But you could feel it all the same, and you were sure she could too. 

Before Cassie could say anything else, the front door opened behind her, Sabrina stepping out of the house and taking in the unfolding scene on the lawn.

“Oh shit,” she laughed, “this is awkward!”

It’s like her main goal in life was to find new and creative ways to make your bad moments worse.

“Is it?” Cassie asked, seemingly unaware of the cause of Sabrina’s laughter. “We were just saying hi.”

She caught your eye as she said it, a polite but knowing smile on her lips. You realized with shock that she absolutely knew what was happening and was trying to make you feel better about it. You should just be grateful for the unexpected kindness, but something in you was suspicious. The Cassie you knew would’ve jumped at the chance to embarrass you, and she would’ve loved the way Rafe was treating you like you had the plague.

Plus, her taking pity on you, acknowledging the way Rafe had just hurt you, was somehow worse than her just being mean to you. You’d rather she go back to that.

“Y’all having a good trip?” She asked you and Rafe when the silence had lasted just a little too long.

You looked to Rafe, waiting for him to answer, begging him silently to say something that indicated that you were in fact having a good trip…together.

But he just said, “it’s been cool. Weather’s shit, though.”

“Yeah that’s what Sab told me, but I got a few days off my internship so I thought I’d come hang with y’all,” she said, eyes on you as she spoke, like she owed you an explanation.

“Well, welcome, then,” you smiled a polite smile that didn’t meet your eyes.

“You ready?” Sabrina asked, linking arms with Cassie, thick as thieves. 

“We’re going into town for some brunch if you guys want to join,” Cassie offered.

“That’s okay, I need to check on Carter,” you declined, all eyes turning to Rafe for his response.

“Uh yeah, I’m good here, th-thanks,” he stuttered, so awkward and shaky, a completely different person from the guy who was delivering monologues and sweeping you off your feet just a few hours ago.

Cassie just smiled politely once more as Sabrina pulled her into the car. As they drove off, you stood wordlessly with Rafe on the front walk, your chest completely hollow. You mustered some nerve and finally looked at him, head tilted, a completely unamused smile tugging your lips.

“Weather’s shit?” You repeated his words back to him.

“Look…” he began but didn’t finish the thought.

You just laughed humorlessly, shaking your head at him as you stormed off toward the house. Rafe stood frozen for a moment, kicking himself mentally and begging his brain to catch up with the moment, finally rushing off after you, but not able to before you slammed the door in his face.

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Carter and Topper exchanged nervous glances at the sound of you stomping into the house. 

They slowly and quietly settled on the top step, sitting forward to listen in as the front door opened and closed again, Rafe’s voice echoing through the house.

“Wait…” he said, following after you as you marched further into the house toward the kitchen.

You didn’t stop, “No, go ahead, you should go to brunch with her. Don’t let me keep you from a good time.”

“Wait, let’s just talk,” he pleaded.

“I’m too tired, Rafe,” you rejected him. “I can’t do this right now.”

“So you’re not even gonna let me explain?”

At the top of the steps, Carter and Topper simultaneously held their breath as they listened, both jumping as Kelce’s voice startled them, “what are we listening to?”

“Shhh,” Carter waved her hand at him, motioning for him to shut up.

Kelce plopped himself between them on the top step, shuffling a bit so they’d make room for him. He listened in, picking up your and Rafe’s raised voices quickly.

“Oh shit,” he barely whispered, “trouble in paradise already?”

“Dude shut up,” Topper cut him off.

Soon, Maddie, Tom and Jack joined the little huddle on the top step, each cluing in on the source of the entertainment in their own disruptive way before being shushed by the group and eventually sitting. You continued your argument with Rafe, completely unaware you were performing in front of a live studio audience.

“You don’t need to explain,” you told him, trudging down the front hall toward the kitchen. “I know exactly what just happened because it’s happened a thousand times before. What I don’t know is why I’m even surprised.”

“Come on,” he caught up to you, stopping you in your tracks as his large frame rounded you. “It is not the same as it used to be.”

“It’s exactly the same,” you side-stepped him, walking into the kitchen and dropping Carter’s keys on the counter. “I mean jesus Rafe, it’s the same fucking person! I can’t believe I’m here again, it’s like I’m having a nightmare where I’m back in high school. Next thing you know I’m gonna walk into homeroom and I realize I’m completely naked.”

“Sounds more like a dream to me,” he smirked, trying to flirt.

You just blinked back at him, your sharp eyes cutting straight through his head.

“Do you think this is funny?”

His smirk dropped, snatched right off his lips by your ice cold tone. Good. You’d been waiting years to wipe that shit eating grin off his face. 

Something new was rising in your chest, knocking out the embarrassment and sadness with a closed fist, a fury long buried coming back with a vengeance.

“I thought all that shit was behind us, over and done.” Rafe reached out towards you but you stopped him with your own rough grip, lowering his hand away from you and dropping it like he’d dropped yours.

“Oh, it’s fucking done alright, so fucking done,” you spat.

 “You’re really gonna let ten stupid seconds ruin everything that’s happened between us? You’re not even gonna give me the benefit of the doubt. You really think that little of me?”

“It’s literally only been two hours, and you’ve already lied to me once and pushed me away the second someone saw us. And you wonder why I'm having a hard time saying yes to being with you? It’s because I fucking can’t trust you, Rafe!”

“I don’t know what else I can do to show you I’m different,” he threw his hands up in exasperation. “This is so fucking unfair.”

“Are you being fucking serious right now?” You stepped towards him as you snapped at him. “You’re actually pissed at me?”

“Yeah, I am!” 

“Why?”

“Because I lost my best friend!”

Everyone on the top of the stairs winced, air sucked from the room when Rafe raised his voice at you. For all his flaws and mistreatment, he had never raised his voice at you before.

“Oh shit,” Kelce whispered.

“Shhh!” Carter and Maddie hushed him in unison, everyone leaning in a little closer to hear how you’d react. But you said nothing. They couldn’t see the widening of your eyes, jaw locked tight as you gave him space to follow up on his outburst.

“Do you really think it didn’t hurt me when you just up and stopped talking to me back then?” He took the space you gave him and slowly unpacked the hurt feelings he’d buried for years. “I know I was a dick, I shouldn’t have taken advantage of how you felt about me, I shouldn’t have strung you along. But when that shit went down senior year and you just ghosted me, I wanted to talk to you and make it right. I tried, but you blocked me out, you went from talking to me every day to radio silence without giving me a single explanation. That fucking hurt. And you’re doing the exact same thing now, not even giving me a chance to explain things. So yeah, I am a little pissed. I’m pissed that you’re just gonna throw it all away again over nothing.”

He waited for your response with baited breath, prepared for you to yell, or cry, or do something. But you gave him nothing, mouth closed in a tight line as you turned on your heel and walked further into the kitchen, lifting the coffee pot from its home and filling it in the sink.

He watched your back as you scooped the grounds into the filter and turned on the machine. Minutes passed and you remained silent, hands on the counter, looking out the big window towards the ocean while the coffee brewed one drop at a time.

Finally, after eight cups had dripped into the pot, you spoke.

“How was prom, by the way?” You turned to face him, the edge of the marble countertop digging into your waist as you leaned back against it, hands crossed in hostility over your chest. “I never asked.”

Rafe’s gaze fell from you almost instantly. He didn’t have to ask why you were bringing this up, the ‘hell hath no fury’ look on your face dragging the memory forth from its carefully hidden spot in the back of his brain. Nothing made him feel like a jackass quite like that memory, and based on the mocking curve at the corner of your lips, you knew it.

The memory used to keep you up at night. 

For a full year after it happened, it was like a fire poker bent into the shape of regret and shame was branding your heart over and over. 

Now, the burn was healed over, still calloused and red at the edges, but you’d done your best to cover the scar tissue in the healing balms of self-love and lots and lots of therapy. Still, it was the moment in your life you were the least proud of.

You’d thought it was gonna be you. Really, earnestly, completely delusionally, you believed when he asked for your help with his grand prom-posal that it was all a playful ruse to ask you to be his date. You stayed up all night, decorating three different poster boards with glitter glue so he could pick the one he liked best. You bought out all the battery-powered candles at Michael’s - he said he’d pay you back, he never did. You waited with him in the park until the sun set, giddy with the hope that he’d drop the ruse and pop the question any minute.

“What will you do if ‘she’ says no?” You attempted to flirt.

“I guess I’d just have to take you.”

Every muscle in his body flinched at the memory and the white hot regret he felt every time it replayed in his head.

The kid who said those words was such an asshole. Standing here in the kitchen, looking down at you, the love of his goddamn life, and facing the possibility that he might lose you for good, he wanted to ring the idiot’s neck.

Because he hadn’t asked you. He made you watch while he asked her. And he didn’t even give you a ride home from the park.

Fuck, he wouldn’t forgive himself if he was you, either.

Rafe felt about two feet tall, looking back at you with absolutely nothing to say. He was relieved for a second when you opened your mouth to speak first, until he heard the words.

“You don’t understand. The voice in the back of my head, the one I’ve spent years trying to silence, the one that tells me I’m not enough, that I’ll never be enough…it’s your voice, Rafe.”

He grasped desperately for a reply, but there were no words in the English language that made that statement any less devastating.

“Maybe that’s not fair,” you continued before he could come up with anything, “but I don’t think I have control over that. I don’t know how to undo it, if it can be undone. So those ten seconds that just happened out there? They’re  not nothing to me. When you dropped my hand at the sight of her, I felt like I was that stupid teenage girl again, giving my whole heart to the one person who knows how to break it. Blind and foolish and desperate for you to notice her. I don’t like that girl.”

You made it through the whole speech with a steady voice, up until the last sentence. Your voice cracked on those words, your heart doing the same as you pictured your younger self. The one who would sit on her bed for hours, rereading the texts she sent him and praying he’d reply.

Thinking about that version of yourself, you weren’t sure if you wanted to hug her or slap her. Surely, she’d hit you right back if she saw what you were doing now, potentially pushing away the boy she loved more than anything, finally having him within your grasp and letting him slip right through.

At the top of the stairs, unbeknownst to you, Carter was picturing that girl, too. She would roll her eyes at you back then, using sarcastic comments like “are you sure Rafe even knows how to read?” to mask her truer concern; that he could but he wouldn’t, and the heart you wore on your sleeve would end up crushed again. Even now, she couldn’t protect it, couldn’t save it from reaching out to this boy who did nothing but break it.

Frustration welled inside her, the absolute powerlessness to put an end to this cycle that hurts you feeling like a dark cloud over her head. The anger manifested into hot, watery tears gathering on her lash line. Without permission, one slipped through, rolling down her cheek slowly.

Topper caught the whole thing, and despite their fight and his resolve to freeze her out until she apologized, he couldn’t stop his hand from reaching out and stroking her cheek softly, wiping the tear away with a gentle swipe of his thumb.

They shared a look so full of unspoken words and tender emotions that they almost forgot about the conversation in the kitchen, until Rafe’s voice cut through the moment and pulled them from their silent reconciliation.

“Are you okay?” He asked you after you’d been silent for nearly a minute, trying desperately to compose yourself.

“Yes, that's all just a lot. I’m processing,” you sniffled.

“Take your time,” he said, pulling out one of the high back stools from the counter and motioning for you to sit in it.

Your body was so exhausted, even your stubborn anger at him couldn’t stop you from accepting the offer. You slumped on the plush stool, folding your arms on the counter and resting your chin on them.

“How do you like your eggs?” Rafe asked.

“Is that a pick-up line?” 

“Nope, just a question,” he said as he opened the high cupboard and pulled out a frying pan.

You tried to remind yourself you should reject his offer to feed you, you should storm out, you should tell him where he can put his frying pan…but you were hungry. And so tired.

“Sunny side up,” you answered.

He nodded and got to work cooking you breakfast, eggs and bacon sizzling on the stove, Rafe close by with a spatula in hand, silent as he stirred and flipped. You rested your head on your folded arms, eyes half-closed and brain sleepy, watching him. 

If you blocked out the last twenty minutes, you could pretend this morning was your real life, could let yourself imagine it really was all this simple and pleasant and sweet; he’d cook you breakfast, you’d make him coffee, and you’d kiss until the sun rose.

At the top of the stairs, Kelce stood and started descending, before Carter reached up and grabbed his arm.

“What are you doing?” She whispered.

“I’m hungry!” He whined.

“You can’t go down there,” Maddie scolded him, “give them some space.”

“Are we just gonna stay up here all day?” Tom complained as he and Jack stood to join Kelce’s crusade into the kitchen.

“Everybody sit down!” Topper whisper-yelled. “Give them five fucking minutes, you’ll all survive. You can fuck off back to your rooms if you want but no one’s going down there.”

Carter couldn’t help the heart eyes she made at him, surprised and delighted by his show of aggression in your defense.

Kelce groaned as he backed back down, Tom rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up as he trudged down the hall back to his room, Jack following with a huff.

“Kelce, I have a granola bar in my purse, c’mon,” Maddie offered, leading him towards her own door.

Alone again, Topper and Carter looked at each other for a long, quiet moment.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

“I know,” he mouthed back.

She scooted towards him, nuzzling into his side as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, kissing her temple.

Downstairs, Rafe was done with your meal, scooping it onto a plate and sliding it to you across the counter.

“Thank you,” you sat up and began nibbling at a slice of bacon.

Rafe took the stool next to you with his own plate of food. You sat in silence for a while, only the sound of forks scraping against porcelain and the occasional “can you pass the salt?” between you.

Between bites, you rested your head on your arm again, nearly falling asleep.

“I’m so tired,” you mumbled sleepily.

“It’s been a long twenty-four hours,” Rafe agreed, taking a sip of his coffee.

“That’s an understatement,” you snorted, sitting up again and finishing the last bite of your eggs.

“What about…the next twenty-four hours?” He asked quietly.

You took a deep breath, the smile falling from your face as you considered the question underneath his question. You didn’t answer him right away, hopping down from the stool and collecting your plate and his, carrying them to the sink. Rafe was quick behind you, arm reaching around and pulling the dishes from your hands to lay them in the sink. His hand rested on your waist, turning you to face him, pulling you in. Reluctantly, and without returned tenderness, you let him.

“Rafe, I can’t…” you said sadly.

“Please just talk to me,” he pleaded, hands running up your arms and resting on your shoulders. You shook your head, blinking away fresh tears as you pulled away from him.

“It hurts too much, Rafe,” your voice cracked. “As great as the last few days have been, you can’t see that being close to you hurts me. I worked so hard to get over you. So this isn’t me throwing it all away, this is me protecting myself. Protecting what I’ve spent years rebuilding.”

“So what, that's it then? You’re just gonna go back to school and pretend this never happened?” The pain in his voice was palpable, and you cursed the part of you that wanted to reach out and make him feel better.

“I don’t know, Rafe,” a small tear slipped through, gliding slowly down your cheek.

“You’re just gonna stop talking to me, stop thinking about me?” He continued desperately.

You looked up at him finally, searching his face, nodding sadly.

“I’ve done it before.”

Hurt flashed in his crystal blue eyes, flinching like your words had burned him. “You didn’t…you don’t…think about me?”

“No,” you told him honestly, another tear joining the one before it. “Never. Because if I let myself think about you, I would’ve fallen apart. I’m not strong enough, I would’ve run to you, and every time I did that before, you’d let me down.”

“What about yesterday? What about this morning? Just think about the beach, everything was so good, it can be that way now…”

He reached out and cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing over the tears as he pulled you in toward him, kissing you out of sheer desperation. Like maybe if you tasted his lips, it’d transport you both back in time, back to the beach, back when he’d done and said everything right. 

You allowed him to take you there for just a second, before the incident on the front walk flashed in your mind again, the pain of rejection like a knife to your gut. You pulled away from him quickly, side stepping him and moving to the other side of the kitchen, creating as much distance between you as possible.

“No, no, you can’t just kiss me and act like what just happened with Cassie didn’t happen,” you shook your head rapidly, wiping your tear stained streaks with the backs of your hands. “I can’t do this right now, I need some time to think.”

It required fighting every impulse he had, but he didn’t push, didn’t close the space between you, didn’t try to regain the control he was so used to having. He just sighed deeply and nodded, eyes low.

“Okay, well let me know when you’re done…thinking.”

With one last longing look at you, he stepped away to the basement steps, stopping at the top and turning halfway toward you.

“Oh and that girl? The one who gave me her heart? For what it’s worth, I like her. Always have.”

With that, he was gone, the door clicking softly behind him.

Carter and Topper could hear you approach the bottom of the steps. Carter stood first, fully ready to greet you and grill you on everything that had happened since you last spoke. Topper could see all her questions and comments written on her face. He grabbed her hand and squeezed gently, stopping her before she marched down the stairs towards you. She looked at him in surprise but understood quickly as he gave her a slight shake of his head, whispering, “give her some space.”

Reluctantly, she nodded, allowing him to lead her quietly down the hall and into his room.

Your footsteps were heavy on the stairs, body aching. Your brain was so fried you couldn’t even pick one thing from the morning to focus on, like the part of your brain that processes events was temporarily out of order. So you stopped trying to think and just let your feet carry you to your bed, crawling under the covers in your clothes, falling quickly into a restless slumber.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

In your dreams, you were back in the kitchen with him, shoulder to shoulder in comfortable silence as you did the dishes together. Rafe washed and you dried. 

Only, it wasn’t the beach house kitchen, it was one you’d never been in before. And in that dream-state way of knowing something you don’t actually know, you were sure it was a kitchen the two of you shared, sometime in the distant, unwritten future.

(to be continued)

a/n: I'm so sorry, I had to do it.......also the prom thing may or may not be based on a true story and I may or may not have cried writing it....

also I’m sick and tired so I didn’t edit much sorry for typos!

please note: the taglist for this series is closed. For updates when I post, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs <3

friendly reminder that writers live off of reblogs, don’t forget to feed your faves! 💘

[rafecameronssl4t]

What's ours || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: canon fic based off this scene in s4 ep6!!!!

Warnings: angst!!!

Word count: 2, 458

A/n: HAD to write abt this scene

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

"Rafey?" your voice rings out as you step out of the shared bedroom, the soft sound of your bare feet padding against the wooden floor. "'M out here on the porch," his voice calls back, low and calm, carrying just a hint of warmth. A smile spreads across your lips as you pick up your pace, excitement bubbling in your chest. Sliding the glass door, you step onto the porch, the late afternoon sunlight casting a golden glow across everything it touches.

There he is, lounging casually on the couch, his polo clinging to his broad shoulders and biceps in a way that makes your stomach flutter. "Hey, baby," Rafe greets, his smile wide and genuine, the kind that always has a way of making you feel like the most important person in the room. "Hey," you murmur, your eyes locking with his. You pause for a moment, giving him the chance to drink in the sight of you.

With a playful glint in your eye, you do a small twirl, letting the flow of your new dress spin out around you, the fabric catching the evening light. You watch Rafe’s reaction carefully, feeling a thrill at how his gaze moves down your figure. "What do you think?" You ask, the words soft but full of a quiet confidence. "It looks good," Rafe says after a beat, his eyes lingering on you for a fraction longer than you expect.

There’s a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his lips, and when he leans back against the cushions of the couch, his eyes never leave you. "You look good," he adds, his voice deeper now, like the words are heavy with more than just praise. You beam at his words, crossing the porch to close the distance between you. "Where you going lookin’ all pretty?" he teases, spreading his legs slightly as he pats his thighs, his grin turning sly.

The gesture is an open invitation, and you happily accept, settling onto his lap. Your arm slides naturally around his shoulders, and his hands find their place on your knee, the warmth of his touch grounding you. "Just shopping with the girls," you explain, playing with the collar of his shirt absentmindedly. "There's this new boutique that just opened up—" You’re cut off by the sound of the front door creaking open and a hesitant voice calling out, "Hello?"

Your brows furrow as you glance at Rafe. "Were you expecting someone?" you ask, your voice laced with curiosity. Rafe exhales a sharp breath, "Yeah," he admits nonchalantly. "Sarah." Your surprise is instant, and your voice reflects it. "Sarah? She agreed to meet up with you?" He chuckles, the sound warm and a little cynical. "Yeah, well… desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess." Before you can process his words, Sarah’s footsteps sound on the porch, slow but deliberate.

Your eyes shift to the doorway, and soon enough, her figure appears. She glances at you briefly as you move to sit beside Rafe, her gaze cool but not unfriendly, before turning her attention to Rafe. "Hey," he greets her with exaggerated enthusiasm, clapping his hands together with theatrical flair. "Thanks for showing up. Good work." Sarah doesn’t miss a beat, rolling her eyes as if she’s heard this act too many times. "Please, stop," she says flatly.

Rafe grins even wider, running a hand through his buzzed hair, clearly enjoying the reaction. You shift slightly, about to stand to give them space, but Rafe’s hand tightens gently on your waist, silently urging you to stay. "I don’t want to argue, Rafe," Sarah sighs, crossing her arms as she looks at him. Her tone is exasperated, but there’s something softer beneath it. "We already have enough people against us."

An awkward silence settles over the porch, the only sound being the occasional chirping of birds in the trees. The air grows heavy with the weight of unspoken things, a tension that seems to hum between them. You clear your throat, trying to ease the tension. "Can I get you something to drink? Iced tea, maybe?" you offer, your voice polite, even as your eyes flicker between Sarah and Rafe, sensing the undercurrent of frustration.

Sarah’s eyes meet yours, her gaze flicking over the space with an almost detached interest before she shakes her head. "No, thanks. I don’t plan on staying long." You nod, the smile on your lips soft but understanding. There’s something about the way she holds herself—tired, wary—that makes you feel a strange sense of empathy. It’s clear she’s not here for pleasantries.

"Kiara mentioned…" Sarah starts, her voice uncertain as she scans the porch, her eyes flitting from the furniture to the surroundings, clearly uncomfortable. "That you might be able to help." She directs the latter half of her sentence at Rafe, her gaze lingering on him, but there’s a hesitation in her tone, a quiet pleading buried beneath the words. Rafe pulls at the sleeve of his polo, his fingers tugging at the fabric.

He doesn’t look up immediately but instead turns his attention to the ground in front of him, gathering his thoughts. "Uh, no. No, not with the land stuff. You guys are on your own with that," he responds firmly, his gaze briefly flicking up to meet Sarah's. There's an almost apologetic edge to his words, but it's clear that he's drawing a hard line in the sand. Sarah’s expression falls, disappointment flashing across her face, her shoulders sagging slightly as if the weight of unspoken words is pulling her down.

"Right," she mutters softly, the edge of frustration in her voice barely concealed. She pauses, taking a breath before looking back at Rafe. "Sorry," Rafe adds, his voice quieter, almost regretful, but the frustration is still evident. "But…" He hesitates, his gaze dropping to the papers scattered across the table before him, the flicker of something heavier passing through his eyes.

"But there's… there's something else I wanted to talk to you about," he says, his tone shifting. It’s not just business now—there’s a vulnerability that creeps in, something raw beneath the surface. You watch him, your eyes tracing the subtle movements of his hand as he runs his fingers across his lips, trying to gather the right words. You stay silent, your own gaze fixed on his profile, your heart picking up pace as you sense the shift in the air.

This is no longer just a casual conversation—it feels more like a breaking point, something much deeper. "So when…" Rafe starts, his voice faltering slightly, the words coming out with an almost painful deliberation. He takes a moment, his eyes lingering on the papers again, then he looks down at your left hand resting on his shoulder, his gaze momentarily softening when it lands on the ring you wear—the one his mother gave him.

"Dad died," he finally says, the words coming out like a slow exhale, as if speaking them is harder than he’d like to admit. You feel the change in his tone immediately, the sadness in his voice gripping you, and you instinctively start rubbing gentle circles on his shoulder with your thumb, your mind connecting the dots, knowing how touchy the subject of Ward’s death always is for Rafe.

"...the first time," Rafe adds, his voice quiet, as though even acknowledging that death was not the final one is too painful to process fully. "um, he said I got a quarter of what he had," Rafe continues, his voice distant now, lost in the past as he leans forward, flicking through the papers with a focus that feels almost obsessive. "Yeah, he said I got a quarter too," Sarah chimes in, nodding slowly.

There’s something tired in her voice, a recognition of the weight of their father’s legacy that neither of them ever truly asked for. "But you didn’t get it, did you?" Rafe’s words are sharp, his gaze intense as it locks onto Sarah. There’s a challenge in his eyes, a quiet demand for the truth. Sarah hesitates for a moment, the silence stretching longer than it should. You can see her thinking, weighing her words carefully before answering.

"No," Sarah says finally, her voice quiet but firm. "Yeah, well, good luck trying to get that from Rose's greedy paws," Rafe scoffs, the bitterness dripping from his words. "She's got that money locked down tight." Sarah’s brows knit together, "well, I keep trying to call," she retorts, her tone sharp. "She won’t even let me talk to Wheezie." She crosses her arms, her gaze flickering away as if saying it out loud makes the situation even more real.

Rafe leans forward, his elbows digging into his knees as his expression hardens. "Yes, yes, that’s what I’m saying," he says, his voice rising slightly. He locks eyes with Sarah, a fiery determination in his blue gaze. "We’re a family, and I’m not—" He cuts himself off, inhaling deeply as he shakes his head. "I’m not even allowed to talk to my own sister? That’s not fair, Sarah. You know that."

Sarah’s jaw tightens, and she slowly nods, her lips pressed together as she looks down. "And then Rose," Rafe continues, his arm gesturing wide as his frustration boils over. "She just gets to keep all that gold for herself? What gives her the right? That’s not what Dad intended." His fist slams into the wooden coffee table with a resounding thud, causing Sarah to flinch in her seat. The tension spikes in the air, and you instinctively place your hand on his shoulder, your touch firm yet gentle, hoping to ground him.

"That’s not what Dad wanted," Rafe repeats, his voice cracking slightly as he pounds the table again. Sarah visibly recoils this time, her discomfort palpable. "And it pisses me off!" Rafe’s voice rises, his anger spilling out unchecked. But before his hand can connect with the table a third time, you reach forward and grab it, your fingers curling around his. "Rafe," you say softly, your voice calm but firm. His eyes dart to you, and for a moment, the fire in them dims.

He exhales sharply, leaning back slightly as he glances at Sarah, who keeps her gaze down, avoiding his. "That’s our money, okay?" Rafe insists, his tone quieter but still edged with frustration. Sarah lets out a shaky exhale, her hands fidgeting in her lap as Rafe sighs heavily, running a hand over his buzzed hair. The silence stretches, heavy and uncomfortable, until you place your palm on Rafe’s thigh, your thumb brushing soothingly against the fabric of his shorts.

He glances at you, and you offer him a small, reassuring smile. He manages a faint one in return before looking back at Sarah. "I don’t know about you, but I really—I need that money," Rafe admits, his voice tinged with vulnerability. Sarah’s gaze snaps to him, her expression hardening. "And what about the gold cross you stole?" she counters, her tone sharp and accusatory.

"It was gold-plated," Rafe shoots back with a shrug, rubbing his eyes as if the conversation is draining him. "It was a good score. It’s not endless. It’s not like the Merchant gold, so..." His voice trails off, exhaustion creeping in. "I’m so sorry to hear that," Sarah says, her words laced with sarcasm. Rafe exhales through his nose, standing abruptly, "I don't know. I was just thinking, um." Both you and Sarah track his movements as he walks to the porch railing, gripping it tightly before turning to face her.

"You know, you and me," he starts, gesturing between them, "we try to get Wheezie back." Sarah’s eyes narrow in disbelief. "How?" she asks, her voice flat, as if she’s waiting for him to say something ridiculous. "I don’t know, but..." Rafe admits, pacing back to the table. He moves the glass in front of him before perching on the edge, leaning closer to Sarah. His proximity makes her shift uncomfortably, but she doesn’t move away.

"And then we try to get the money back," Rafe continues, his voice steady and resolute. You can see the determination etched into his features, the way his jaw sets and his eyes gleam with a fervour you know all too well. He pauses, his gaze fixed on Sarah. "Which is why we need to work together," he says, his tone almost pleading now. "Just like Dad taught us. We align our interests." Sarah’s lips press into a thin line, her eyes fixed on the table as Rafe quietly watches.

"I just thought, you and me," Rafe begins again, his voice softer. "We can get back what’s ours." There’s a beat of silence, the weight of his words hanging between them. Sarah bites her lip, her gaze darting to Rafe, then away again. "Look, I’m trying here—" Rafe says, but Sarah cuts him off, rising to her feet abruptly. "No," she says firmly, shaking her head. "I’m sorry."

She turns and strides off the deck, the sound of the front door slamming shut echoing behind her. You stand, moving to where Rafe is still perched on the table, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed. Your hands find his shoulders, squeezing gently as he lets out a frustrated groan. "Can’t she see that I’m trying?" he mutters, his voice laced with annoyance. "Like seriously—" "Shh," you murmur, your thumbs massaging the tense muscles in his shoulders.

"I know, baby. I know you’re trying." You move to stand in front of him, slotting yourself between his legs as he rests his forehead against your stomach. Your manicured fingers run through his buzzed hair, the rhythmic motion calming him as he exhales deeply. "When will she realise that we’re on her side here?" he whispers, his voice tinged with despair.

"You just have to give her time," you reply softly, your fingers stilling for a moment. "She wants to trust you, but she can’t just yet, Rafe." He tilts his head to look up at you, his blue eyes glassy. "I’ve already lost Dad," he says quietly, his voice cracking. "I don’t want to lose her—I don’t want our family to fall apart." Your heart clenches at the raw vulnerability in his tone. You cradle his face gently, your thumbs brushing against his cheekbones as you hold his gaze.

"Listen to me, Rafe," you say, your voice steady and full of conviction. "You won’t lose Sarah, and your family won’t fall apart." His lips press into a thin line, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. "How can you be so sure?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just know," you reply softly, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. "Because I believe in you."

[luveline]

If you are still writing for bombshell x Spencer could you write something from early seasons when he had feelings for JJ 👉🏻👈🏻

Hotch told you once that he was tempted to put an automatic lock on the office doors, so that he can lock them when he sees you coming during your working hours. 

He has yet to follow through. You slip in through the doors and take a deep breath. It smells like coffee, printer paper, all the same stuff as your own office, but your office doesn’t have Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, or Spencer Reid. 

“Neither does this one, apparently,” you mumble to yourself, casting your gaze around the room to no avail. The boys aren’t here. 

Emily’s sitting at her desk. She’s new, you’re jealous of her job, but she’s gorgeous. You won’t mind sitting at Spencer’s desk until they get back. “Hello,” you drawl, setting down in Spencer’s chair comfortably. 

Emily’s mildly startled. “Hey?”

Spencer’s desk is an explosion. You debate cleaning up for him. What if you put something in the wrong place? It’ll be more annoying than helpful. “How are things?” you ask, pushing Spencer’s chair back, and kicking a leg over your knee, high heel bobbing. 

“What?” 

You smile at her. Flirting, just a little, but your concern is real. “How are things going, Prentiss? With you?” 

“They’re good. Yeah. I just moved into my new place.” 

Bless her for not knowing what to do with you. She doesn’t have practice like the rest. “A new place? Where to?” 

She relaxes while you talk. Her apartment overlooking Kingman, her cat’s annoyance at the new smells and the long case time away. “Spencer says that cats aren’t capable of holding grudges, but Sergei can.” 

“He’s cute, isn’t he? He knows a fun fact for everything.” 

Emily sits up. You can see the excitement of a secret in her dark eyes. “He’s adorable. His little crush on JJ is so sweet, I’ve tried to give him some advice but he’s totally stuck on her.” You falter. And Emily, profiler in training, she catches it. Her lips part, startled. “You’re not–”

“I had no idea Spencer had a little crush,” you breathe, sitting up with a smile. “For how long? What about JJ, is she interested in him?” You hug your hands together. “You know, I think they’d make a cute couple.”

“Well, I heard they went to a football game together, but I don’t know when. Before I got here, at least.” 

What? “That’s fun.”

“I don’t think it’s serious.”

You tip your head back and the heavens have opened, Derek Morgan’s making his way toward you with a grin and a hand reaching for you. “Sweetheart, where have you been?” he asks. “It’s been weeks, I was starting to miss you.” 

You texted him a few days ago about a property nearby for rent, and you had coffee the day after to hear his advice on the area, so he’s just making stuff up. “Hi, Derek.” 

You get up and let him hug you. You deserve it. You’re beautiful and fun and smart, and you deserve a handsome man rubbing your arm and telling you he missed you. “How much?” you ask warmly. 

“Like a hole in the head.” 

Hotch is behind him. And there, the surprise item of the afternoon, Spencer Cheating Reid. 

“Hi, Hotch,” you say. 

“I heard something about you I’d rather not repeat,” he says. 

“Hotch, the details were wildly exaggerated, and I was less at fault than you might think.”

“I thought it was entirely your fault.” He shakes his head. “You’re shooting yourself in the foot, doing things like that.” 

“Why, what did you do?” Spencer asks. 

You falter again. Everyone sees your insecurity: Hotch’s brow furrows deeper than it had been, Morgan pauses, and Spencer, to your panic, holds your eye as the emotion passes. “It’s not worth talking about,” you say, shrugging. 

“Try not to do it again,” Hotch says. “Morgan, with me.” 

“Uh, Hotch?” Emily speaks up. 

“You too, Prentiss.” 

He leads a procession up to his office. Morgan throws you a look like he wants to talk to you, but you’ve plastered unaffectedness over the wound again. Why does the idea of JJ and Spencer going on a date upset you? He’s a sweet guy, she’s a nice girl. Is it because you didn’t know? 

“You really haven’t been here in weeks,” Spencer says. 

“Missed me?” 

He holds the strap of his bag. “Yeah, I did.” 

What use does he have missing you? “I heard something interesting about you, Spencer.” 

“You did?”

He looks shy, pale, and worried. You forget sometimes how he’s not just your favourite dork, he’s a friend. And he doesn’t seem to have very many of them. 

Oh, you think, jealousy, you heartless monster. 

“The rumour mill says you aren’t sleeping enough,” you say gently. 

“I sleep fine.”

You put one kitten heel in front of the other and stay, squinting at him with a teasing suspicion. “That’s not what my informants have been telling me. You look tired, honey. You aren’t sleeping, or Hotch won’t let you?” 

“Both.” 

He does that playful smiley thing that makes you wanna scrunch his hair in your hands, like he knows he’s made a good joke. 

“Your case in Cincinnati sounded tough.” 

“Wait,” he says. 

“What?” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Usually. Why?” 

“Are you okay right now?” 

“I’m fine.” You purse your lips. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Just– you– I don’t know, you didn’t seem like yourself. I didn’t mean to upset you, asking about that stuff. It’s none of my business, sorry.” 

“How are you feeling about physical touch today?” you ask. 

He seems to regard you with distrust, for a few seconds, like he’s worried you’re messing with him. “I’m okay with it,” he says eventually. 

You step into his space and touch his cheek gently, fingertip tapping into a beauty mark you often remember only when he’s in your reach. “You didn’t say anything wrong. I’m sorry I made you think that.” You drop your hand. “Just having a weird day.” 

“Me too.” 

Spencer puts his bag under his desk and mentions a video he found on profiling you might like by one of the old Unit Chief’s, SSA David Rossi. You steal Derek’s chair and sit knee to knee with him to watch it, Spencer’s cheeks turning dark with blush in the screen’s reflection. 

Can JJ make him blush like that? 

—

bombshell fics

[creamflix]

christmas event looks so kewl! can i have sukuna + mistletoe (naughty) please? 😽😽

you’ve received a gift! ⋆˚����𝜚˚⋆ want your own gift? ・:〃➜ click here! 

SUKUNA has never understood your fascination with christmas. 

the baubles, the garlands, the lights strung across the tree — it all seems excessive and nonsensical to him. when he catches you draping the tree with shiny ornaments, your tongue peeking out in concentration, he’s half-tempted to ask if this is some kind of sacrificial ritual. 

but he keeps quiet. mostly because watching you enjoy yourself so thoroughly feels... oddly satisfying.

the mistletoe, though? that’s where things get complicated.

he first notices it dangling from the ceiling in the entryway. you don’t bother explaining it, brushing past with a knowing smile, leaving him to squint suspiciously at the strange green plant. 

“warding off spirits?” he mutters to himself. “what kind of pathetic charm is this?”

of course, his assumptions are shattered after an admittedly frustrating deep dive into google, of all things. the man searches everything from “green thing christmas ceiling” to “magic christmas plant meaning” before finally landing on an answer. 

and when he learns the truth? his mood sours instantly.

a kiss. it’s some absurd tradition that demands he kiss you underneath this thing. 

you’re his; he doesn’t need some ridiculous plant giving him permission. but then again... maybe it’s not so bad if it’s an excuse to remind everyone else of that fact.

the next time you catch someone entering a room under mistletoe, sukuna is already there, arms crossed, posture tense. his crimson gaze flickers between the plant and the unsuspecting victim like a predator sizing up its prey.

“don’t even think about it,” he growls lowly, stepping deliberately into their path. his presence alone is enough to make them reconsider, slinking away without so much as a glance in your direction.

“suku!” you scold, but your amusement betrays you.

“don’t ‘suku’ me,” he snaps, scooping you into his arms and positioning you directly under the mistletoe. “you think i’m going to let anyone else get near you? this is my right.”

his lips claim yours in a possessive kiss, fierce and unrelenting, as if marking you all over again. and when you pull back, breathless, his lips merely shift to your jaw, trailing downward in a heated path.

“sukuna,” you murmur, half-laughing, half-scolding. “that’s enough! it’s just a silly tradition.”

“no,” he grumbles, hands sliding to your waist and tugging you closer. “it’s a tradition that involves my human. and if some stupid plant demands it, i’m not going to stop at one kiss.”

his lips find the sensitive spot on your neck, and you can feel his sharp teeth scrape teasingly against your skin. one of his hands creeps beneath your shirt, splayed warm and possessive across your back.

“kuna, stop! your hands —”

“my hands are exactly where they belong.” his voice is a low rumble, a mix of defiance and desire. but he finally relents, letting out a dramatic sigh as he pulls away, though his hands linger at your waist.

“fine. you win. for now.”

you shake your head, biting back a smile. “you’re impossible.”

“and you love it.” his smirk is smug, but there’s something softer in the way his thumb brushes against your hip, his gaze lingering on your face.

truthfully, he still doesn’t understand half your human traditions, but if they involve you — your laughter, your blush, your kisses — he supposes they aren’t so bad.

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[theactualsunshinechild]

Seeing this post always immediately reminds me of a fun story from early on in my relationship that my partner and I affectionately refer to as

The Can Opener Incident

This was back in my college days. That semester I was living in a dorm that was more like a collection of small apartments on the very fringes of campus territory. My partner had come over to spend the night at my dormroom, and we were going about making some pasta in the little kitchenette. The pasta was already fully cooked and strained when we suddenly encountered a problem:

The canned pasta sauce I had bought was not a pop top, and rummaging around the kitchen for a can opener revealed that I had neglected to bring one.

Not one to settle for miserable, dry pasta on a cozy home date, I ran over to the dorm room next door and asked to borrow a can opener. They're a little startled to find someone knocking on their door at 9 PM, but they let me borrow it with no resistance. Upon bringing it back is when the problems truly began.

You see, all of my life I had used a can opener which you latched to the side of the can and twisted the knob to make the sharp ring cut into the top of the can vertically, parallel to the side of the can. This one looked similar, all the right parts were in the right places, so I gave it a shot... but nothing happened. My partner comes up and tells me I'm using it wrong, and I think to myself "oh, okay, so maybe he's used this kind of can opener before, I'll let him at it," and I hand it off to him.

The can opener my partner has used his whole life is the kind that you latch on to the TOP of the can, so instead of holding the handle at the side, you're holding it horizontally over the top of the can. I didn't know that kind of can opener even existed, so when he tried using this one his way, I looked at him like he was insane. This look quickly intensified as this method also didn't work. Things rapidly went downhill from there. He defensively explained the way his can opener at home worked, and I started pointing to the structure of the can opener and arguing why this one wouldn't work that way. We're a little frustrated, but it's nothing some pasta can't fix, so I propose I simply go over next door to the people who I borrowed the can opener from and ask them how to use it.

As I reached over to take it from him, he held it out of my reach.

"No! I'll figure it out myself!" He announced.

"What? Why? It's easier to just ask the owner," I argue, jumping around trying to get at the items.

"Because I can figure it out!"

Okay. Fine. I guess he wants to solve this like some kind of puzzle for enrichment. I give up and I wait. The fiddling begins. I'm standing there watching him try increasingly improbable methods of getting that thing to work over and over. The pasta is getting cold. He's testing methods that have already proven not to work, trying new methods that physically couldn't work, then trying the ones that have already failed us all over again. My stomach growls.

"We should really just ask," I grumble, hungry and frustrated.

"No, I've got this."

He does not fucking got this. I want my goddamn food and I do not have time for this puzzle solving.

"Give it here."

"No."

"I'm just gonna take it to the owners and ask them to show us how to use it, you can come with."

"No! I want to figure out out myself!!"

"And I want my food god fucking damn it!!"

This went on for a bit. The pasta was drying to the side of the pot and getting crusty. At some point during this yelling match I got so pissed off that I stormed out of my own apartment into the cold with no coat on.

'I need to make him see reason!' I thought to myself, making my way through the snow. One building over was where two of his friends were rooming together. I knock on their door, boiling with rage. It is 10 PM.

"Hey, can you come over? [Partner] is being completely unreasonable and obstinate over figuring out how a can opener we borrowed works and won't let me take it to the owner to ask. Please help me convince him to hand it over, I'm literally too short to wrestle it from him."

"Alright, let me grab my coat."

We head back over to my place to find my partner Still Messing Around with that godforsaken can opener.

"Let me see that for a second," says his friend, taking his coat off. I experienced a moment of relief, thinking to myself, 'Finally!' as my partner pouted for a second, but relinquished the can opener.

This peaceful glorious relief fizzled out into horror as his friend began to try to open the can the same way I had.

"That's weird. It really looks like it should work this way..." he mutters.

"Try it from the top, that's how my parents' works," my partner suggests.

"No no, that won't work, just give me a second to figure it out."

Oh my fucking god.

I stared blankly, watching them study the can opener and turn the can this way and that, both completely absorbed in finding the solution to this hour long problem. I was going to lose my fucking mind. Perhaps in that moment I really did. Shellshocked, I stood, wondering how it had come to this. I just wanted some fucking pasta and a relaxed night in, and instead I've gotten these goddamn STEM majors milling around in my kitchen at 10:25 PM arguing over how to use a can opener that isn't even mine. So I went and did what, in retrospect, I should have done ages ago: I went next door for help.

I can't imagine what my neighbor must have thought of me, showing up over an hour after borrowing their can opener, looking as if something inside of me had died, and, with a hint of desperation in my eyes, begging them tearfully to come next door and show us all how to use their can opener. Over an hour after borrowing it.

Well, whatever they thought of it all, they did oblige my pleas. Their arrival thankfully broke up the debate, and as all three of us watched intently as hawks over their shoulder, they cracked open that can of pasta for us.

Using it the exact same way I had tried at the start of it all.

It was just dull.

"I don't need a shopping list; with effort, I will remember that I need this item"

Okay but will you be able to remember that you already bought it? Because apparently I can't.

[sinofwriting]

Share - Ollie Bearman

Words: 1,155 Summary: Ollie just wants to cling to his girlfriend after being away from her for weeks. Their nephew has a different idea. Note(s): Slightly NSFW, Clingy Ollie, Set After Jeddah 2025 (ik ik), oh and this is inspired by the vids of guys coming home and wanting to kiss their wife only for their son to be like, no, that’s my mom!

Masterlist | Support Me!

Ollie lets out a sigh of relief as he closes the door to the apartment behind him.

He was finally home.

He knew he was going to be exhausted after his first ever triple header as a Formula 1 driver but then as if everything in 2024 hadn’t been enough, more surprises and drama had cropped up just one race in and left him nearly scrambling for the final two.

But now he was home and would get to see his girlfriend after the last few grueling weeks.

“Ollie?”

He smiles, “Yeah, it’s me!”

Toeing off his shoes, he kicks them out of the way and steps out of the small entryway into the living room and the breath gets knocked out of him.

God, she was gorgeous.

He nearly runs to her, throwing himself onto the couch beside her and wrapping his arms around her.

“I missed you so much.” He mumbles.

Her fingers comb through his hair, “I missed you to bear.”

He pulls away a bit, lips already puckering up a bit when tiny hands are smacking against his side. He jerks away and then a small body is wiggling between him and his girlfriend, legs kicking at him.

“Mine!”

“Noel!”

Ollie looks at the toddler in between them, surprised to see a glare on the normally happy three year old's face.

“Hey buddy.”

He waits for the angry face to turn happy, for the exclamation of ‘Uncle Ollie’ but it doesn’t happen. Noel turns completely away from him, wrapping himself around her.

“What did I do?”

She gives him a sorry look, reaching out to hold his hand where conveniently Noel can’t see. “He’s decided that no one is allowed to touch me. He nearly screamed Joe’s ear off yesterday when Joe tried to hug me goodbye.”

“Oof. How’s Hil feeling about that?”

She rolls her eyes at the mention of Noel’s mom. “She thinks it's great, which is why I’ve had him every day for the past week.” Seeing Ollie’s look, she nods. “Yeah, Joe isn’t happy about it. But they leave today and Joe is off for three days, so I will be off.”

“So, I’ve got to share until bedtime?”

“No share!” Noel chimes in and it’s cute, Ollie even gets it. He loves hugging his girlfriend, everyone and their mother calls him clingy, but he can’t help but already feel tired of it and it’s barely been ten minutes.

He can share, he has shared his girlfriend's attention and affection, but he can’t help but just want her full focus after three and a half weeks away. He hasn’t even gotten a kiss yet and the thought makes him frown.

“No cause papa is gonna be here early. I think I remember something about going out to eat and the park.”

It’s funny to watch the way Noel seems both excited about it but also displeased, already knowing that his favorite and only aunt won’t be coming with.

“Hey, Noel.” His voice is gentle and he pokes at his shoulder. “Could I get a hug from my favorite kid?”

He fully expects Noel to refuse with the way he’s managed to wiggle himself onto Y/N’s lap, but he slowly moves off her lap and hugs him.

“Hi buddy.” Ollie says, hugging him tight. “You been having a fun time with Auntie?”

“Mine.”

“I don’t get to know what you guys have been up to? Have you played race car?”

Noel’s eyes light up and he shakes his head. “No! I want to play!”

Ollie grins, easily standing up and picking him up. His neck aches a bit, but he ignores it as he puts Noel on his shoulders and begins to pace around the living room in laps.

Giggles fill the room and he can’t help but smile, occasionally spinning or making a weird turn that makes Noel claps his hands together before asking him to go faster.

It’s only when he starts to get dizzy that Ollie stops, moving him off his shoulders and holding him upside down.

“I hope he hasn’t been like that long.”

“Papa!” Noel shouts and Ollie quickly rights him and puts him in Joe’s arms.

“Only for a few minutes.” Ollie jokes.

Joe shakes his head with a laugh. “Well, as long as it was only a few minutes.” He looks over at Y/N. “How was he?”

“Good, like always. Still clingy though. He told Ollie that I was his.”

Joe has to stifle a laugh, well aware that Ollie had probably hated that.

“I got to hug her for I think five seconds.”

“Better than me, I got to for maybe a second yesterday before nearly losing an eardrum.”

Ollie sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Tough luck, mate.”

“Very. Alright, bud say goodbye to Uncle Ollie and Aunt Y/N.”

Noel pouts a little and extends his arms out towards Y/N who is now standing.

“Goodbye Auntie.”

She hugs him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Bye Noel. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

“Bye buddy.”

“Bye, Uncle Ollie.”

As soon as the door shuts, Ollie whirls around and is tugging her close, their lips pressing together.

It’s a frantic kiss, desperate, and Ollie can’t help the way his hands slip under her shirt, pressing her closer as his fingers dig into her bare skin.

It doesn’t stay a kiss for long. Clothes fall onto the floor and they barely manage to make it to the bedroom, the bed only a few steps away, but they end up on the floor, bodies pressed as close as they can get.

“Fuck, Ollie.” She breathes later, laying on top of him.

He lets out a breathless laugh, kissing her sweaty brow. “I told you I missed you.”

“You fucked me twice. There’s missing me and then there’s that.”

“Is it bad I want to go again after dinner?”

“If you don’t go again after dinner, you're sleeping on the couch.”

He grins, pressing another kiss to her skin. “Fantastic.”

His fingers trace shapes along her back as they both slowly get their breath back, hearts slowing to a better beat.

“Y’know,” She breaks the silence after a few moments. “You’re going to have to share me.”

“I do share you. I just did with Noel.”

She laughs, kissing his chest. “Yes, and I’m so proud of my clingy bear. But I mean, if we ever have kids and we have a boy. He’ll probably be just like you.”

Ollie feels his heart speed up at the idea of them having kids. He can see it in a few years after they’ve been married and are in a house. “Just like me?”

“Yeah, loves me to bits and never wants to be away from me. Your smile, hair, love for racing. Just a mini Ollie.”

“I guess if it’s our kids, I can learn to share you.”

[goldfades]

does joe ever sneak the baby into the locker room after a game? i feel like the team would go wild seeing him holding his kid in one arm and a football in the other 😭 dad joe is everything to me i don’t think you understand

it happens after a big win, one of those nights where the crowd’s energy follows him all the way to the locker room, the adrenaline still buzzing in his veins. he showers, changes, and then sneaks out to where you’re waiting in the family lounge with your baby, their tiny Bengals onesie nearly swallowing them whole.

“come on,” he says, grinning as he reaches for the baby. you give him a suspicious look.

“joe... what are you doing?”

“the team wants to say hello,” he says casually, like this isn’t the most chaotic idea he’s ever had. before you can protest, the baby is securely cradled in his arm, and joe is already halfway out the door, motioning for you to follow.

the locker room falls into a stunned silence when he walks in, baby on one hip and a football casually tucked under the other arm. for a moment, it’s just a bunch of grown men staring like they don’t know what to do with themselves. then chaos breaks loose.

“BURROW BROUGHT A BABY?!” someone yells. you think it might be ja’marr, but it’s hard to tell over the sudden uproar of voices and laughter.

“let me see!”

“is that a mini jersey?”

“oh my god, he’s got your eyes, joe!”

“coach is gonna lose it if he finds out about this.”

joe is eating it up, of course. he shifts the football to the bench, so he can adjust the baby into a more comfortable hold, grinning at the attention. “this is my number one fan,” he says, looking down at the baby with the softest expression, his finger lightly tracing his tiny hand.

“that’s our number one fan,” ja’marr corrects, already reaching out to gently take the baby, who blinks up at him with wide, curious eyes. “oh, man. you’re gonna have us all wrapped around your little finger, huh?”

one by one, the guys all take turns fawning over the baby, arguing over who gets to hold them next, their usual post-game banter replaced by coos and goofy grins. someone puts the baby in a helmet that’s way too big, and another snaps a picture of joe holding them up like they’re the lombardi trophy.

by the time you manage to wrangle your little family out of there, your baby has been nicknamed “team mascot,” and joe looks so proud of himself you can’t even be mad.

“you know coach is gonna hear about this, right?” you say as you buckle the baby into their car seat.

joe just shrugs, that same ridiculous grin plastered across his face. “worth it,” he says, leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek and then one to the baby’s forehead. and honestly? you can’t argue with that.

[pomefioredove]

@hxney-lemcn said more cater fics and I am here 2 deliver ✌️✌️

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ friends kiss, too

type of post: short fic characters: cater additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, friends 2 lovers ON TOP! a little making out

Every time Cater drags you through one of these things, you ask yourself why you let him, and every time, the answer is the same: he's your best friend, and you love him.

It's the very same reason you let him spam you with texts and annoy you with surprise selfies. It's the reason you rarely hang out with anyone else, because you know it makes him jealous, though he'd never admit that.

It's the reason you're here, now, awake in your room well past curfew.

Despite the threat of a Housewarden who would flay you alive if he caught you and Cater sneaking around in the dead hours of the night, your bestie was absolutely insistent on this all-nighter.

It's a trend on Magicam, he said, and he had, of course, pouted and whined like a sad puppy until you agreed to "support him" by keeping him awake.

By two in the morning, you were more bored than tired.

"Pass. Pass," Cater says, swiping through dating profiles on his phone. "Hm... no, pass."

You sigh and slump against the headboard of your bed. "You've said that word so many times, it doesn't sound real anymore,"

"Ughhhh. Is Sage's Island where hotties go to die? I just want a cute holiday romance!" he exclaims. "Think of the pics!"

You roll your eyes. You'd heard that exact string of words probably ten times in the past few days.

"You can't date someone just for couple photo ops,"

Cater pouts. "Oh, yes I can. I specify "nothing serious" on my profile! It's not like I'm lying!"

Another eye-roll. He's technically right, as always, which just makes you even more annoyed.

But you don't want to get into an argument about the morality of flings right now.

"And it's cold out. Who am I gonna hold when it gets even colder? It's cuffing season, hon,"

Something about the way he says that bothers you. You try not to think about it so much.

"Well, you'll always have me," you tease.

Cater giggles, and sets his phone down on the bed, a subtle way of showing you that you have his full attention now. "Oh? What's this? Sounds like you're offering,"

"Not what I meant," you counter. "I'm your bestie, not your bae."

"Boooo. What are you, a nun? Friends cuddle all the time,"

Again, he's right. He likes being right, and you can see that on him now, too. He has that competitive glow on his face.

You smile. "Sure, sure, but we all know that cuddling isn't what you're looking for,"

Cater gasps, feigning offense with a hand placed delicately over his heart. "I am not that easy! I'm starting to think you really do want me all to yourself,"

If anything, it's the other way around. Since befriending him at the start of the school year, you'd always had the feeling that he took up all your time on purpose. But you don't say that.

"Besides," he goes on. "There are a lot of things that besties can do that are perfectly friend-like. The segregation of romantic and platonic is a totally oppressive amatonormative structure, anyway."

You roll your eyes. "You have got to stop reading those infographics. Do you even know what any of those words mean?"

"Not the point! I'm saying that there's lots of cute stuff we can do while remaining besties,"

He's very enthusiastic about this. You can't tell if it's his penchant for being right, or something more.

"Pfft. Okay. So, what, friends can kiss?"

"Obviously," Cater crosses his arms over his chest, giving you that smug look of his. "Friends kiss, too."

"Then prove it,"

The words that had you had been holding in the back of your mouth for the past few minutes escape before your brain can stop them.

Even Cater, who's never surprised, pales a little.

Your mouth opens, then closes, then opens, again without your thoughts offering any support.

"I didn't mean-"

"Okay,"

You blink. Something hot and cold at the same time runs through your body- adrenaline, anxiety, maybe it's just your own blood heating up at the way Cater leans closer, cupping your face in his hand, his fingers curled under your jaw and thumb gently brushing against your cheek.

His hands are kinda sweaty. You don't really mind, and even if you did, it wouldn't have mattered, because his lips are now sweetly pressing against yours.

You fit together quite nicely. As if he was just meant to kiss you.

It's hard not to think about everything all at once; his warm hand moving to cup your chin and hold you close to him, his hair brushing against your face, the way his lips still linger with spice from whatever he'd eaten earlier...

It's not perfect. But it's him, which is close enough.

Cater pulls away, his breath dancing across your lips, but he gives you no time to recover before he's closer, kissing you again with a sort of heat that matched the taste of his mouth.

He holds your face in both hands, shamelessly pinning you against the headboard and sitting in your lap as if he belonged there, always.

Minutes go by. Maybe hours. You wouldn't have noticed, or cared, either way. When you finally part from one another, it's felt like years.

You feel like an entirely different person. As if the world had ended and begun again in the six minutes you had been kissing him.

Cater sits atop your thighs, panting, his face redder than his Housewarden's hair, that of which would have flayed you both if he were to catch you like this.

Luckily, it's just the two of you.

"See?" Cater finally mumbles, dismounting you and scooting back to where he left his phone. "Platonic."

You're too breathless to argue.

You suppose you'll let him be right again.

[sorceresssundries]

A Study of Hands

Pairing: Emmrich x Female Rook

Tags: Oral Sex, masturbation, Porn with Feelings, Emmrich Volkarin being a soft dom.

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: First Veilguard fic and it's smut. I am nothing if not predictable. Anyway, I had a vision of Emmrich very slowly taking off all that slutty jewellery he wears and then this happened.

Bon appetit!!! <3

Another battle done, another day survived. More bruises to body and ego. Things had not gone as planned - they so rarely did these days. But Rook was still alive, and so was the team. So was Emmrich.

She had retreated to her quarters to breathe, to let the steady, reliable rhythm of her lungs remind her she was here, still standing. Her love, as usual, wasn’t far behind her. 

His breathing was not as steady as hers. 

“You almost died,” he said, his voice tight as he crossed the room. Without hesitation, he reached for her, his elegant fingers brushing along her jaw, trailing softly across her cheekbone, where a bruise was just beginning to bloom into full colour.

She winced at the contact, and he immediately began to pull his hand away. She stopped him, covering his hand with hers, holding it in place. She needed to feel his touch, even if it hurt. 

“But I didn’t”, She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, pretending for a moment that they weren’t in the Fade, weren’t in someone else’s domain. That they were somewhere real, somewhere with day and night and time and a heartbeat. Maker, she thought, i’d give anything for more time. 

“I’m pretty tough,” she added, opening her eyes and smirking at him, trying for a lightness that didn’t quite escape the shadows. “It will take more than merely two unkillable Gods and a few hundred...”

Her teasing faltered as his lips crashed into hers, cutting her words short. His hand slid from her cheek to cradle the back of her head, holding her to him as though she might vanish if he let go. 

Too soon, he pulled back, his lips leaving hers as abruptly as they’d claimed them. The fire simmered and waited. He looked at her, his breathing ragged, and in his eyes, she saw everything he didn’t say - the fear, the need, the relief.

“I… My apologies,” he said, his voice uneven as he stepped back, running a glittering, ring-adorned hand through his hair. “I lost the run of myself. Adrenaline has… certain effects on the body, and I am only flesh and blood, after all. And you…”

“Emmrich,” she interrupted, her voice sharper than she intended. “If you start with your gallantry, I swear I’ll crack the spine of every book you own.”

That drew a quiet, warm laugh from him, and the tension in his posture eased just slightly. He rubbed the back of his neck, a crooked, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

His gaze flicked over her, lingering on the bruises that mocked him with their shameless display of her mortality. He was always so eloquent, so dexterous and purposeful with his words, but they had all abandoned him now. He couldn’t think of how to express the depth of his feelings; perhaps there were no words for it, or perhaps they had been stolen along with his heart.

Finally, he made a weak attempt, “Darling, I cannot watch you almost slip away again.”

“I didn’t slip away. I’m right here.” She stepped closer, placing a hand over his chest, feeling the wild thrum of his heart beneath the layers of fine fabric. “And so are you.”

Before she realised it, her back hit the wall, her smaller body bracketed by his. His hand left her hair, trailing down to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing the edge of her bruised cheek like an apology. She felt the tremor in his touch, the barely restrained hunger in the way his lips trailed from her mouth to her jaw, down to the curve of her neck. His breath was hot against her skin, and her knees almost buckled when he nipped lightly at the sensitive spot just below her ear.

“Emmrich,” she managed to breathe, her voice shaky. He hummed softly at the sound of his name on her lips, his fingers splayed against the small of her back.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured against her throat, his voice dark velvet. His lips were back on hers, swallowing whatever words she might have said. Her hands slid up to his hair,  and the low, rumbling sound he made at the sensation sent sparks dancing across her skin.

She had lost sight of him earlier, during the battle. She thought she had lost him completely. 

A brief silence settled between them, not awkward, but heavy with the unspoken. Their combined breaths mingled in the narrow space left between their bodies. His eyes searched hers. 

“Is everything all right?” He pulled back, his hand still cupping her face. “We can stop here, if that’s what you want,” he murmured, his voice and eyes kind. 

She shook her head, her fingers tightening in his hair. “Don’t stop,” she whispered. 

He leant in slowly, giving her every opportunity to change her mind. But her mind was as steeled and immovable as her newly-given heart. 

Emmrich’s hands moved with care, sliding from Rook’s face down to her hips. Without breaking the kiss, he guided her gently, his touch featherlight, until the backs of her knees met the edge of the sofa. His lips parted from hers just long enough to whisper, “Lie back for me, my love.”

She obeyed, her breath shallow, her body alight beneath his gaze. Emmrich undressed her slowly, reverently, as though she were a gift so desired, so deeply hoped for, that to rush would dishonour the moment. Each button of her blouse came undone with measured precision, his hands never faltering.

When he pushed the fabric from her shoulders his breath caught, his lips parting slightly as though the sight of her had stolen the air from his very lungs.

“Beautiful”, he said as he took in her soft and scar-flecked skin in the pulsing blue light of the aquarium, making the marks and lines of her body dance like an aurora across a midnight sky. 

His hands came to rest on her waist as he knelt above her, his fingers flexing around her sides, thumbs brushing her abdomen. She arched under his touch, her back bowing instinctively, and a shiver passed through her at the cool press of his rings and bangles against the heat of her sensitised skin. Leaning forward, he pressed a long, devoted kiss to the space between her bare breasts, lingering there as though offering a silent prayer. Then, without a word, he let her go and stepped away.

Rook’s eyes snapped open, her breath hitching as the loss of his warmth sent panic flooding through her. She sat up, her mind racing. Had she done something wrong? Too much? Not enough?

Her fears were met with the sound of his soft, rich chuckle - intoxicating as aged brandy. Standing by the small bowl on her dressing table, Emmrich lifted his eyes to hers, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Apologies, darling,” he said, his tone smooth, “Let me strip off these trappings. I wish to touch you properly, without jangling like a jailor.”

Rook’s eyes followed his every move, unblinking, as he turned his attention to the task. He moved with his usual grace, deliberate and unhurried, his hands steady as he slid the first bangle free from his wrist. The metallic sound of it landing in the bowl—clink— echoed in the stillness, resonating in her chest and low in her stomach.

He worked at the clasp of the next bracelet with calm precision, maddeningly slow, every motion purposeful. The deliberate pace of it - the care, the sensuality - had her chest rising and falling rapidly, her breaths uneven.

She couldn’t look away. Those hands, so elegant, so recently mapping the curves of her body, now moved as though performing a sacred ritual. Every flick of his fingers, every twist of metal, felt deliberate, charged, and she could feel her composure coming apart with the golden clasps.

Another bracelet fell into the bowl. Clink.

Heat pooled in her abdomen, spreading across her skin as her thighs pressed together involuntarily. She was burning, the tension inside her coiling tighter with every piece he removed. Emmrich paused, glancing up at her.

“Growing impatient, are we?” he teased, the crooked grin on his lips devastating.

Rook shook her head steadily, though her voice betrayed her. “Not at all,” she managed, her breath uneven. “Please, take your time. I’m very much enjoying watching you.”

His head tilted slightly, a subtle, feline movement, his expression one of curiosity.

“Fascinating,” he murmured thoughtfully. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen this particular reaction before. You’re practically breathless, my dear.”

He was hesitant to touch her, to put his desires into practice without first understanding the intricate theory of her. Emmrich was a scholar at heart, an academic by nature, and he could never bring himself to handle something so intricate, so breathtakingly delicate, without first understanding its every nuance. She was a symphony waiting to be composed, a masterpiece to be studied in exquisite detail. He wanted to get this right. No, not just right. Perfect. 

He would require a demonstration. 

Her half-lidded gaze and the flush blooming across her skin captivated him as he methodically worked another ring from his fingers. Every one of his movements was deliberate, each moment stretched and savoured.

“I’m going to take all of these off,” he stated, his voice low and steady, “slowly. And then, my darling, I’m going to touch you.”

Clink.

As soon as his ring hit the dish she gave a soft, uncontrolled moan, her lips parting, the sound like magic newly discovered. His jaw tightened, but he held his composure, his hands still moving with practiced control.

“But first,” he continued, the silken patience of his voice wrapping around her, “I would very much like you to touch yourself.”

Clink. Another ring in the dish. 

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t waver. Her hands trembled slightly as they moved to obey. She let out a shaky exhale as her fingers dipped lower, brushing through the curls between her thighs and finally to the place where her body burned with need. Where she had touched herself before, in secret moments spent imagining him speaking to her like this, watching her like this.

“You’re doing beautifully” he murmured, his molten voice guiding her forward. 

His fingers found the last ring on his thumb, twisting it slowly before slipping it free and added it to the bowl with the others.

Clink.

Her fingers moved delicately at first, trying to pace herself, basking in the delight and eroticism of watching him unadorn his beautiful scholar's hands. She wanted him to touch her, so desperately, but she also wanted him to see her like this and know it was all for him. She wanted more than just sex, she wanted every intimacy. She wanted him to know, without doubt or question, that he was worthy of being wanted. That she wanted him now, as she always would. 

As her fingers slowly caressed herself she gasped and tilted her head back, she was hurtling far too quickly towards rapture. 

“Don’t stop looking at me, darling.” Emmrich said, as he worked another cuff off his wrist. He was finding it more and more difficult to keep steady, his fingers stumbling a little over some of the clasps, so focused was he on watching what she was doing, how she was touching herself. 

Clink.

She was slow, delicate, moving in featherlight circles. Occasionally stopping to dip the tips of her fingers inside herself, even from here he could see, he could tell how slick she was. He studied her rhythm and pressure as he continued to delight in the vision of her. 

Just a couple more bangles, and he would be free to touch her, to rest the pads of his fingers upon each dip and swerve of her body. 

"Tell me, what does it feel like when you touch yourself like this? What goes through your mind?” He wasn’t commanding, he was curious. Yes, his voice was deeper than usual and slow like thick honey - but he wasn’t trying to take charge of her, he was trying to learn from her. 

“You,” she confessed, bold now, her blush forgotten as her gaze locked with his. “It’s you. And it feels…” Her words broke off with a gasp, her hips rising to meet the rhythm of her own fingers, and his composure wavered. He fought the urge to grasp her by the ankles and pull her to him, his restraint hanging by a thread. He was slipping, and they both knew it.

“More, dearest,” he coaxed, his voice hoarse but steady. “I need more than that. Specifics, if you please.”

She exhaled sharply, the challenge in his words igniting something reckless in her. Fine, she thought. No more teasing. If he wanted the details, she’d give them to him—and let him act on every single one.

“Your hands,” she began, her gaze dropping to them. She groaned softly, watching as he stripped the cuff from his wrist, his fingers deft and deliberate. She wanted to grab those wrists, pull his hands to her body. She wanted those fingers in her mouth, on her skin, inside her.  “Those fingers… I think of them. Everywhere.”

His breath hitched, his composure cracking as her words painted vivid images in his mind. Images he had also lost himself to in his solitude. His mouth went dry. She wasn’t done. 

“Your mouth,” she continued, her voice low and sultry now, “your tongue… On me…”

“Where?”

Her answer was a moan first, then words. “On my cunt.”

She tried to continue, her lips parted as though to speak, but no words came. Instead, she let her hand move faster, her breathing turning into soft gasps, and Emmrich felt his control unravelling. His heart pounded in his chest, his hands tightening into fists as he fought the urge to abandon his methodical restraint and close the distance between them.

For all his careful planning, for all his scholarly precision, he knew one thing with absolute certainty: he had never desired anything, anyone, as much as he desired her.

“Emmrich, please.” 

That’s all he needed, he would never deny her. The last of his cuffs slid off his wrist in quick succession, and he finally made his way over to her. To kiss her. To capture her moans and sighs and taste the sweetness of them. He cradled her face, he would touch her like this first. Like he had waited a lifetime just to feel her lips upon his. 

“You are perfect.” He said gently, “You did so well, my love”

She hummed softly, a sound of pure contentment, as he lifted the hand she had used to pleasure herself. Slowly, he brought her fingers to his mouth, his gaze never leaving hers. He took them in deeply, his tongue swirling around them with deliberate reverence, humming like a starved man savouring the first taste of a feast. His teeth grazed her fingers gently before releasing them.

“May I take over from here?” he asked.

She laughed lightly at the politeness of his request, as though she had not just begged him, as though she had not been fucking him with her eyes and her words and stroking herself to almost-completion at the very idea of his hands upon her. He was a romantic, a gentleman through and through, and she adored him for it. She played along, because she knew this mattered to him - that this wasn’t just about passion, but about care.

"You may, but I would like to study you a little first" she lilted, taking his hand in hers. His hands, now bare - free of rings and cuffs - were beautiful: lithe, strong, and elegant. They were hands made for conjuring magic, for turning the pages of ancient tomes. Hands made to touch her. 

She brought his fingers to her lips, pressing soft, deliberate kisses to the places where his rings had rested. One by one, she kissed each faint indentation, reverent of every spot where the weight of his adornments had marked him. Her lips trailed to the delicate veins at his wrist, where she lingered, savouring the thrum and rush of his pulse beneath her mouth.

It was her turn to undress him. He looked achingly beautiful in his loosely buttoned shirt tucked carelessly into his slacks—so different from the polished, formal attire he typically favoured. His hair, usually immaculate, was slightly tousled, a stray strand dancing across his brow. His shirt was rumpled from her wandering hands.

Rook’s shaky fingers undid the buttons of his shirt, until he stood bare from the waist up in front of her. She drank him in, pale and lithe, like a sculpture carved from marble and brought to life. His slacks hung low on his hips, drawing her gaze to the sharp, defined V that disappeared below the fabric. The sight of him made her breath hitch, and she couldn’t resist leaning forward to press her lips to the planes of his stomach.

The sound he made - low, raw, unrestrained - was a revelation she had never heard from him before. It was nothing like the measured, gentlemanly demeanour he always carried. She felt a surge of smug satisfaction that she could unravel him, piece by piece, with just the brush of her lips.

Her kisses trailed lower, her mouth finding the soft, sensitive skin just above the waistband of his trousers. She pressed her lips there, featherlight. His thumb brushed tenderly against her cheek, his fingers combing gently through her hair,

“You do not have to…” 

She didn’t wait to hear the rest of his polite protest. She was done with his control, his formality, his carefully composed demeanour. Those were the parts of him she cherished, but tonight, she wanted them undone - wanted him undone, entirely by her hand.

Her lips curved into a triumphant smile against his skin as she eased his slacks lower, freeing him. The sharp hiss of his breath and the way his body tensed beneath her touch were all the confirmation she needed. His head fell back, his composure shattering as a single word escaped him, raw and unrestrained.

“Maker.”

The sound of it, desperate and wrecked, sent a wave of pure exhilaration through her.

She let her kisses trail from his stomach to his length, her tongue tasting him, savouring the heat and the way his breath hitched with every movement. Slowly, deliberately, she used her mouth to drive him further from that refined man she adored, coaxing him into a state of pure, unfiltered need. And as his hands tightened in her hair, his low, broken moans filling the space around them, she knew she was succeeding.

He closed his eyes, his breath hitching as her lips moved over his skin. She smiled against him, revelling in how this slow worship left him helpless, and as she took him as far back as she could and hummed with pleasure, he gasped and bucked and she knew he was close. 

But just as he teetered on the edge, he pulled her upright, his strength effortless as he brought her face to his. 

“Not yet.” 

He didn’t want to finish yet, he wished to prolong the exquisite and wholly perfect feeling of being this desperate and priapic for her. Most importantly, he wanted to witness the crest of her pleasure before his own. 

After one final kiss to the fullness of her lips, he knelt before her. An acolyte at his altar, a scholar at his tome, and when she gasped his name as he pressed his lips to her core, he decided he would never hear it said so perfectly again. 

The taste of her was an elixir, a rejuvenation, a nectar that the Gods themselves would bottle and lock away if they knew the glory of it. Sharp and deep and singular, he mimicked the movements he had watched her demonstrate, keeping the strokes of his tongue light and focused where she needed, occasionally dipping his tongue inside her, gathering more of her taste on his tongue, savouring her like an Nevarran vintage. 

Rook was shaking, breathless at his worship. At the lap and hum of him against her. Her hands reached for him greedily, her fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer as she whimpered his name again, her voice breaking on the syllables. Her hips lifted instinctively toward him, seeking more of the pleasure he so skillfully offered.

“Exquisite” he breathed against her, his lips brushing her skin, the timbre of his voice vibrating through her, “I could stay here forever, my love.”

The words sent a new wave of heat flooding through her, and she felt herself teetering dangerously close to the edge. Her breath hitched, her body tightening as the tension inside her coiled impossibly tight.

“It won’t take forever” she gasped, and his low chuckle against her sensitive nerves made her back bow. 

He didn’t falter. His focus was unwavering, attuned to every sound she made, every shift and quiver of her body. He listened intently, learning her as if she were a concertino, each moan, gasp, and tremor guiding him. Her cries grew louder, her breaths shorter, and the trembling in her legs turned to uncontrollable quaking. Ever the rigorous study, he allowed himself a brief, smug satisfaction in his success—but his hunger for perfection remained insatiable. There was always more to learn, more to explore, and he intended to make this particular discipline a daily, devoted pursuit.

When she finally shattered beneath him, it was with a cry of his name, her voice raw and filled with abandon. He held her through it, his hands steady on her thighs, caressing her even as she came undone. His lips and tongue coaxed out every last shiver and aftershock, prolonging her ecstasy until she collapsed back onto the bed, utterly spent—boneless, breathless, and radiant.

Only then did he pull away, his chest rising and falling heavily as he watched her, his lips shining with evidence of his devotion. He looked at her as though she were the centre of his universe. 

“You are extraordinary,” He leaned forward to press a soft, lingering kiss to her inner thigh. Then, with the same care he had shown her throughout, he moved to join her on the sofa wrapping his arms around her trembling form, pulling her against him. His hands, steady and warm, cradled her as though she might break under anything less than absolute gentleness. “And I would do this again, and again, and again, just to grant you a single moment of peace and pleasure.”

"Believe me, it was much more than just a moment." Her voice sounded unfamiliar to her own ears, softened by a serenity she hadn’t felt in as long as she could remember.

He held her tighter, burying his face against her hair. He refused to let his fears seep out and blight the perfection of this night. How many moments like this would they have? The question loomed and sneered at him, but he banished it, focusing instead on the warmth of her in his arms.

They spent the night in blissful discovery - talking, laughing, teasing, and drifting between bouts of comfortable snoozing and slow, tender lovemaking. Time stretched and sighed around them, and Emmrich’s laughter was unguarded as he teased her about her stubbornness. She would fire back, calling out his incurable weakness for romance, and inevitably their banter dissolved into playful kisses that deepened and slowed into seduction.

When exhaustion finally stole them into slumber, their bodies remained entwined, her head resting on his chest while his fingers combed idly through her hair. But sleep was fleeting; neither could hold still for long. Time and again, they would wake, their gazes and mouths meeting in the dim light. Without a word, they came together, hungry and hot, not wanting to waste any time when there was no sun or moon to guide them. 

As she lay asleep in his arms, peaceful and radiant in the bloom of dreamlight, Emmrich watched her, still not quite believing his privilege. She was the glow in the lighthouse in a land without seas, where no storms raged and no darkness fell. She was his anchor in an unmoored place.

If death had ever scared him before, it terrified him now. The thought of her being pulled into it without him, of existing in some plane where he was not, was an agony he could not endure. 

He held her a little tighter, and eventually followed her into sleep, slipping into an uncertain tomorrow where he vowed he would not lose sight of her again. 

[grapehyasynth]

when i picture you

Picture You by Chappell Roan won the poll for this fun fic challenge by @saynomorefic, and that actually slid really easily into place with a little fic idea I'd had a while ago, and so I am almost embarrassed with how quickly I wrote this 🙈

rated M - nsfw - set after s1

Simon’s heart may be broken, and his logical brain may be fully onboard with the break-up with Wille, but his body seems to be determined to not get the message. 

For the fourth time since school let out for their winter break, he wakes up with an erection and a half-dozen fleeting dreams. Dreams of Wille, patched together by the traitorous lizard part of his brain - Wille rowing while wearing a suit; Wille giving a speech to the nation in just his boxers; Wille sucking Simon off on a piano bench, the tie from his school uniform holding back his bangs. 

Simon huffs with frustration and heads for the bathroom. His mom keeps promising they’ll get a door for his bedroom - they’re all a little extra touchy about privacy since the video came out - but it hasn’t happened yet, and there is no way he’ll be able to get himself off when he can hear Sara singing along to the radio in the kitchen, and he doesn’t trust one of them to not just come barging through the towel that shields his room. 

He wastes no time turning on the shower once the bathroom door is locked. For a second he wishes he’d brought his phone, for some music, or inspiration -- but that’s another thing that makes him paranoid now, wondering whether his mom can see his searches on their internet, wondering if someone would try to hack their family, to see what the boy from The Video gets up to. He’s put tape over the camera lenses on his phone and his computer but he just doesn’t really trust anything at this point. 

So, when he sits on the ground with his back to the tub and tugs down his boxers, he has nothing but his own imagination. Which, unfortunately, still very much means Wille. 

He wonders, as he gives himself a first gentle ghost of a stroke, shuffling down a bit so his head is tipped back against the side of the tub and his feet press into the wall (this bathroom, this house, is fucking small), if Wille thinks of Simon when he touches himself. He wonders if there’s a masturbatory version of him haunting the castle. What does Wille picture? He never got to ask him. 

He bites his lip and closes his eyes and goes for one of the disjointed fantasy images from last night. They’d been in the library at Hillerska, and Wille had had Simon pressed against one of the shelves. They were both wearing the white robes from Lucia night, something Simon hadn’t previously clocked as sexy, but he squeezes himself now at the thought, his chest lifting a little with the sensation. His own robe was rucked up to his waist, his knees bent and tight around Wille’s hips so that Wille could fuck into him, pushing him against the shelf behind him with each thrust. Simon grasped a shelf behind him with one hand while the other strove to keep Wille’s own gown out of the way, so that he could see. 

He doesn’t have the time to finger himself, but his ass clenches anyway. They never had that kind of sex, and now Simon is both grateful and aggrieved -- it would be another thing to regret, or mourn, but then again, it already feels like Wille is inside him, irretrievably, all the time, so what would have been the harm? 

He imagines one of Wille’s hands on him, on his cock; a ripple of warmth spreads over his skin as he works himself. He’s losing track of whose hands and arms are where and if they even have enough limbs for this but he doesn’t care. He wants Wille to flatten him like a book he can’t get enough of, to crack his spine, to hold him open as he devours him. He presses a heel to the cleft of Wille’s ass to urge him closer; Wille is panting into his neck; the tub is hard and unforgiving behind Simon’s head but he imagines it’s the shelf supporting him as Wille fucks him. And then, in his imagining, the shelf supporting him keels over, catching the next one which also falls, and now Wille is fucking him on the tilted shelves, and the candles of his Lucia crown (had he been wearing that the whole time?) catch on the books and everything is burning around them, the school is burning to the ground, and Wille gasps I love you with every thrust, and all Simon can say is God Jul, God Jul, God Jul... 

It’s such a ridiculous image that he’s laughing as he comes, the twin sensations tugging deliciously at his core, and he falls sideways so that his cheek is pressed to the bath mat. For a moment, before the high clears, he wishes he could tell Wille about this, that they could laugh about it, that Wille would tease him about the silly fantasy until they realized they were both half-hard-- 

“SIMON!” Sara is rapping on the bathroom door. “I need to pee!” 

“Just a minute,” he grumbles, and he turns the shower, which has been running this whole time, to its coldest setting; he will need the jolt before he can go out there and face his life. 

[ghostgirl-22]

what was patrick’s reaction to seeing art in his skimpy briefs for the first time? 👀 he’s only ever seen him in baggy boxers so how do you think he’d react seeing art’s thighs and ass in those panties?

Oh he definitely went crazy…

CW: 18+ !NSFW!

—-

Patrick’s sneaking into their hotel room because he woke up to a message on his phone saying: come now Lily’s still sleeping. Luckily enough he was hard when he woke up. Well that wasn’t so much luck as it was a day ending in y.

Tashi smiles at him, easing her panties back on as he walks in. It’s all she’s wearing, black lace panties and she pulls a grey t-shirt over her head.

“Wait, no…you guys couldn’t wait for me,” Patrick says exasperated, tugging at her t-shirt and pulling her close to him.

Arts lying on his side, slightly flushed under the blankets staring at them.

“We texted you 20 minutes ago,” Tashi says.

“I just woke up. First thing I did was brush my teeth and come over.” Patrick looks her over, she’s glowing. Beauty that takes his breath away especially when she’s this close, full lips that look so soft and her doe eyes gazing at him. He kisses her, he can’t help himself and as her lips part for him, he eases his tongue inside. She pulls back curling her manicured fingers into his hair.

“Give me a minute I’ll be right back and then we can— you know,” she says.

“Where are you going?”

“My mom called, I’m gonna take Lily over there and then I’ll be back.”

Patrick glances back at Art, he’s still laying there, chewing his bottom lip.

“I should’ve slept in here, no text was gonna wake me up after that fucking grueling match.” He grumbles.

“It’s too confusing,” Tashi sighs. “We introduced you as Uncle Patrick. And her other uncles don’t sleep with mommy and daddy.”

Patrick grins. He knows it’s not appropriate but he loves when they refer to themselves as mommy and daddy. He sighs and attempts to slide his fingers inside her, her panties are already soaked.

“I said… wait,” She bats him off playfully and he licks his finger tips.

“Mmkay mommy,” he smirks and she rolls her eyes. A million years later he’s never forgotten the way she tastes, it melts like candy on his tongue. “You should’ve told her I’m scared of the dark and need mommy and daddy to protect me.” Patrick says.

“Yeah, tell her that and there would’ve been four of us in bed.” Art says, coolly.

“Exactly,” Tashi says. She grabs a pair of jeans that were draped over the chaise lounge and steps into them. Patrick still can’t believe that she’s real. That any of this is real.

Tashi leaves the bedroom and Patrick lingers a moment, pondering whether to come back later or stay. He still hasn’t talked to Art. Not in the way they should. He would have fucked them both last night if he could, but they were both too busy being mommy and daddy and daughter and son in law while they all went out for a celebratory dinner so Patrick was forced to be on his best behavior.

Art rolls over to look at his phone, he’s stretching out on the bed and that’s when Patrick gets a peek.

His ass in tight little briefs.

That was never Art’s thing before but now he’s all grown up. And good god did he grow up. Instead of boxers he’s all packed into that slutty barely there fitted underwear.

Patrick rubs himself idly through his boxers as Art turns back to look at him. “So this has to be your dream come true?” Art says.

���Uh huh,” Patrick says distractedly, thinking Art must be talking about his ass in those panties. Now that Arts on his back, the blanket no longer covering him, Patrick can see the line of his cock in the briefs. He’s not entirely hard but he isn’t soft either.

“This works out just perfectly for you,” Art continues dryly, oblivious to the way Patrick is fixated on him. “You get to keep fucking my wife and now all I get is to know when your doing it. Maybe this was your plan all along.”

“Sure,” Patrick smirks, he’s not really listening to him. The words he’s saying. It just nonsense. None of it stings the way it did 48 hours ago in the sauna when Patrick simultaneously wanted to fuck him and fuck him up. Now it just sounds like meaningless words in his familiar know-it-all lilt.

All while Art’s body is making so much noise. His thighs, creamy white contrasting with the dark blue underwear, peeking out from beneath the blanket. Solid, toned, just like his perfect fucking abs. Patrick wants to bite at the cut of his waist. He’s so clean shaven Patrick knows he won’t find much hair there if any, when he gets those fucking briefs off. Maybe he doesn’t want to take them off. Maybe he wants to push them to the side, suck him off while they're still on. Hear Art moan as they’re pulled too tight squeezing his balls.

“You know you can’t just get rid of me that easily.” Art is still talking, talking, talking.

“Uh huh,” Patrick climbs on the bed.

“Like even if she likes you more I’m still her husband. And I beat you yesterday which means—”

”What?” Patrick asks, pulling the blanket down so everything is exposed. “What does it mean?”

“It means— w-what are you doing?” Art asks.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“She’s— she’s probably talking to her mom, she’ll be back in a minute.”

“Yeah I know,” Patrick nudges his thighs. Art’s cheeks are suddenly blooming with color. “Is that all you wear when you go to sleep? Hm?” Patrick asks, softly.

“I uh— some nights.”

“It’s so—“ Patrick pulls at the briefs trying to get a good look inside.

“Patrick.” Art breathes, pushing his hands away. But he’s going from kinda hard to the fabric stretching so far it’s just barely able to contain him.

“What? I hear you Art. Blah blah blah. It’s my dream come true that I get to fuck your wife. Blah blah blah. I can’t get rid of you. You think I want to get rid of you? You really think that’s what I fucking want? That I’ve been waiting over a decade just to get rid of you.”

Art’s staring at him. He’s trying to go for confusion but his eyes are hooded. His chest is heaving.

“Does she fuck you like a slut?” Patrick asks gently, Art takes a breath and tries to look away but Patrick touches him again which makes him push back.

“God look at you,” Patrick sighs. Art’s gripping the sheets next to him, the flush has spread down to his chest. He looks like he belongs in a museum. Something too beautiful to touch. It just makes Patrick more eager to take him apart.

“You walk around in those and you’re really gonna pretend she’s never fucked you?” Patrick continues. “Or that in all those years since we kissed, in all those locker rooms filled with hot naked boys you’ve never let anyone just… slip it in.”

Art shivers. “I mean—just because I— it doesn’t mean I’m— it only happened when—-” The know-it-all tone has been replaced by silly attempts to figure out how to tell Patrick the truth or what the appropriate lie might sound like. Patrick rubs him through the cotton till he’s pitched a bit higher. Teases where the fabric has started to dampen with his precum and Art’s stammered words turn into full bodied moans.

Drunk with the sound Patrick moves to start mouthing the outline of his cock through the fabric of the briefs. Breathing him in, tasting him while he continues to palm him and rub him off.

“Oh god, Patrick. oh my god,” Art loses it moments later, moving his hips, moaning like a cat in heat. It’s ridiculous how quickly it happens. Patrick is throbbing in his boxers as he sits back to watch. Gently rubbing as Art comes all over the briefs. The wet spot expanding wider and wider. Art bucks his hips helplessly in the after shocks as more and more spurts out. Soon it’s so much come it’s soaking through in a way that’s just fucking obscene. Patrick makes a mental note to get the briefs off and pocket them, the way he’s done with women’s panties in the past.

“Mm,” Art sighs. He doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed when he’s all done. He just climbs on Patrick’s lap and starts kissing him. Like it’s this thing he’s always wanted to do but never felt like he had permission until now. He takes a minute to rub his face against Patrick’s cheeks like he just wants to feel the hair there. It’s actually kind of adorable. But Patrick can also taste Tashi all over Art’s lips which is actually kind of… filthy.

Patrick ruts into him, a few times, not even on purpose, it just happens because he’s so fucking hard. Art seems to take the hint. He starts grinding. Patrick’s lap, his mouth, his brain is all full of Art. Only the thin fabric of his boxers and the briefs are keeping Patrick out. It’s so juvenile and yet so fucking hot, letting Art ride him like this. He must have done this before. Patrick just knows he’s been fucked before. The way he’s humping and moaning like a little fucking slut.

Patrick’s muscles still ache distantly from the way they played yesterday and the ache feels so delicious. It’s enough to bring Patrick over the edge.

“Mm fuck,” he groans in Art’s ear, stilling as wave overtakes him. Art hums, moving his hips a little slower.

“Oh fuck,” Patrick says again breathlessly. He takes Art’s face in his hands and Art grins at him. “Yeah… speaking of my dream come true,” Patrick whispers. Art licks his lips before Patrick kisses him again.

[burningcheese-merchant]

I know that it is highly unlikely that it is the case, but come and give it a thougjt with me (Yandere Spice with a twist).

What if: Burning Spice, despite being completely obsessive and being the sadomasochist he is, routinely cuts off the heads of animals and cookies and brings them to her the first time with a love letter (he used to be the Herald of Change, so I'd imagine he's got- and retained- some brains, enough to at least write a psychotic obsessive love letter).

Now, Golden Cheese is obviously gonna freak the f out and gape as he shoves the head into her arms (probably throw it into the air and back up in panic) while Burning Spice- though displeased at first, just grins manically at her reaction soon enough (maybe even laughing), before he grabs it and shoves the letter and head onto her hands again and leaving.

Golden Cheese, having noticed his reaction to her throwing it, becomes concerned with what he might do if she doesn't accept the 'gifts', decides to keep it (She flies hella fast and enters through her window and hides it in a secret compartment in her room, before creating a hidden room the other gifts in the future).

Now, here's the twist:

Despite the shock and horror she displayed to Burning Spice's gift, she knew that deep down... She fucking loved it. She silently revels in it, even. At having so much of the Beast- A cookiebeing you could practically almost consider primordial and all-powerful-'s attention and taking up so much of their headspace. To be obsessed over adored by someone like that, so much so that they would go out of their way to behead someone and something and write a love letter daily, just to give it to her as a gift-

In short, she absolutely loves the attention she will never say it and will keep that to her grave and Burning Spice and everyone else is none the wiser of it. Of how she'd kept every letter and laminated every single one with the care and cautiousness and love one would use when holding thin glass, of how she intentionally goes out alone every day for a few minutes just so Burning Spice would 'see an opening' and give his gift, where Golden Cheese would then act terribly disgusted and horrified, and then keep the gifts. Ignorant of how she has a room full of the 'gifts' he's given her- which she'd taken the time to personally taxiderm each and every one, before hanging it on the wall like a reward or trophy. Of how she'd come to the room every night to just adore it just the sight makes her want to coo and purr in delight for a few minutes to an hour, before going to bed and resting.

Sorry for the rambling and the long paragraphs 😅😅

This is such a horrifying (in a good way) concept that I MUST acknowledge it and give my take!!! Gonna put it under a cut because this is particularly dark

Yandere Spice basically acting like a cat is so fucking funny to me lol I love it

I'm so glad you think Spice is a smart guy due to having been the Herald of Change/History, because I think that too! He simply HAS to be intelligent, even wise to a degree. It would be ridiculous if he wasn't; being buff doesn't automatically mean you're dumb. And I LOVE the letter thing, I've always headcanoned Spice (the "normal" one, not the yandere one) as writing Golden romantic poetry (and her liking it lol. It helps win her over).

Now, with the murder gifts: of course Golden is horrified. Not only has Spice ended innocent lives, but he did it for her. In a way, it's her fault, and she feels horrible. Animal, person/cookie, doesn't matter, Spice has killed again and he gives the fruits of his sinful labor to her as a declaration of "love". It's sick. No matter how deranged she finds him, he finds a way to sink lower. (But... one thing: he never hurts birds. He has never once brought her a dead bird, because even he knows that's a step too far and she REALLY won't like it. It's the one little drop of care and tact that he possesses.)

But that twist: somewhere beneath all those layers of shock, disgust and righteous anger is... flattery. Sick, twisted flattery. There's nothing Golden loves more than being praised, than being worshiped, than being showered with attention and gifts... and Spice is doing that. He's feeding her ego, albeit in the worst way possible. And so great and terrible is her ego, no matter what she does to temper or suppress it, that somewhere deep down inside, she enjoys what he's doing. That he'll gladly kill for her. That he'll show off his hard work in search of her praise and admiration. She is a goddess and he knows it. He is giving her the adulation she rightfully deserves.

Now, of course, this contradicts her normally altruistic nature, and she has a massive crisis of conscience. She keeps everything Spice gives her, she keeps the heads and the letters and stores them all properly, because... Well, she tells herself that it's better this way. If she refused them, he would retaliate, if not against her then against another innocent. If she preserves the heads, she can later discover who they belonged to and hopefully return them to the person's family (and it was the least she could do; clean them up, give them back even a fraction of their grace and dignity...). If she reads the letters, she'll have better insight into his mind and how he thinks, and thus be able to formulate a better response to him and his behaviors. These excuses are what she mutters under her breath over and over as she sneaks the heads into her room, through the window so no one sees her. As she tidies and laminates the letters, and stores them in a secure folder that she tucks into a box under the bed (which eventually becomes boxes, the more and more letters she gets). As she expertly taxidermies the heads and places them on nice shelves in a hidden closet in her room. It's better this way. She has to do this.

...and these are all true, they really are. But at the same time... Existing alongside this pain and terror and crushing guilt, is the sick joy in knowing that she has someone wrapped around her finger this completely. And a Beast, too. The Beast of Destruction, no less. Burning Spice himself, heads over heels in love with her, willing to do anything to have her. It shouldn't please her to have a monster practically at her beck and call, but... it does. It really, truly does. And no matter how much she hates herself for it... It's never enough to make it stop.

Sometimes, she'll hint at a specific person she doesn't like - usually a known enemy of her kingdom - just to see if he'll do what she thinks he will. Sure enough, the next time they meet, he has that person's head ready for her, all but puffing his chest out in pride and grinning that hideous, face-splitting, cruel grin of his. She acts upset, but she's actually pleased to know that she was right: he WILL do what she tells him to, just to please her.

Sometimes she'll stand there admiring her ever-expanding taxidermy collection, congratulating herself on her hard work; she does a better and better job every time. (And when the guilt comes bubbling to the surface, asking her why they're still here and not with their loved ones so they can have a proper funeral, she tells it that Spice will lose it if he catches her giving them away. Or she'll be made out to be the one responsible, since she's the one who has them. Or they're dead, their souls have departed to the afterlife, what happens to their mortal vessels matters not anymore...)

Sometimes, when she's in bed at night, she'll pull out the letters and read them. Sometimes she'll read one, sometimes a few, sometimes all of them. Some are surprisingly sweet and romantic, full of oddly gentle and doting words; she can feel the warmth and affection soaked into the page. Others are downright vulgar; she feels her own face catch fire as she reads through what are obviously his fantasies, the list of ways in which he wants to pleasure her so long and graphic that she suspects he wrote them one-handed, if you know what I mean. The rest are just flat-out deranged: feverish rants about his ownership of her, how he hated and wanted to get rid of those around her, how she took everything from him (his power, his sanity, his heart, his soul) and he was willing to pardon it if she gave him everything of hers in turn. How he will never stop hunting her. How he will slaughter thousands to get to her. How he will bring the world to ruins just to have her to himself. Madness. All-consuming delusion that she fears is incurable.

But the worst part is... she doesn't know if she wants it to be anymore.

All she can do now is... hope he never finds out. Hope he never knows she feels this way. That she relishes his kills, his gifts. That she has a godforsaken trophy room now. That now she's as starved for his attention as he is for hers. (And he will. The idea is simply too tantalizing. He WILL find out eventually, someway, somehow - and when he does... Oh boy.)

TL;DR: Golden is so greedy that her greed has warped her into being as bad as Spice, at least in her own way. They probably deserve each other at this point. Pure, incorrigible arrogance and psychopathy all the way down. God/Witches have mercy on us all

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Roadside

Summary: On your way back from a long weekend that you got to spent with Joel, his car breaks down. While you both waited for Tommy to get there to help, Joel has some ideas on how to spend the time waiting.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 792

Rating: T

Warnings: roadtrips, falling in love but slowly, car trouble, implied smut, kissing, flirting, feelings, teasing, kinda secret dating, fourteen year age gap

A/N: I'm missing references to three pics I think, but it doesn't get better than this lol (technically I am not here, because I am on a writing break) The moodboard screamed road trip to me, so this is what I did. This is for @iamasaddie 24 hour writing challenge and I hope it does not suck 🙃

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Full Masterlist // Joel Miller Masterlist

„What are you gonna tell him when he gets here?“ You hummed, looking up at Joel. He gave you a small smile before he stepped closer, his big, strong hands coming down to part your legs for him, stepping between them so he was towering over you, the sun slowly setting on the horizon.

You had almost made it home. 

After a long weekend of having Joel to yourself without the fear of running into someone you both knew (if you left your hotel room at all) that you had spend in a tiny town in close to Dallas, you were on your way back, just an hour out of Austin when his truck made a very sad noise until the engine went out and the car stopped on the side of the road. 

He had tried to get it to work before, with a long groan, he told you he had to call Tommy cause the something something needed a something so he could fix it. He had kept his eyes on you the whole times as he made the call, looking beyond sexy in the shirt you bought him, with his too long getting hair that you had spent all night running your fingers through as he made you cum over and over again until you both passed out. 

You had met Tommy before. You just hadn’t met him as Joel’s girlfriend.

Things between you and Joel had been… slow until they weren’t.

You’ve known each other for almost two years due to you working as an interior designer occasionally with his company. But it was six months ago that you had gotten closer as you worked on a very time consuming project where the client brought you both to the verge of insanity with how often they were changing the plans. 

He had finally asked you out one night and the rest as they say, was history. 

„Guess I’m finally gonna introduce my controversially young girlfriend to him,“ Joel smiled before he kissed you softly. You gasped in mock offence, before tilting your chin up to meet his lips with a smile, your hands running up his broad back until your fingers slipped into his hair on the back of his neck. 

„Not that controversial,“ you grinned and he chuckled before his lips kissed down your neck. 

„Fourteen years is a lot,“ he mumbled against your neck and you sighed, letting your head fall to the side to give him more access. One of his hands slowly drifted up your thighs, his fingers pushing the fabric of your skirt up. 

„Only if you care what other people think. Last time I checked, we’re both very consenting adults,“ you said and he playfully bit into your neck making your shriek. 

„How consenting are we talking about here exactly?“ He asked and you looked up at him as one of his hands slipped between your legs, his fingers brushing over your damp panties. 

You could feel your nipples harden against the fabric of the shirt you had put on this morning and Joel seemed to notice too, his other hand coming up to cup one of your tits, his thumb playing with your nipple.

Looking around you realised that you were pretty much in the middle of nowhere. You couldn’t even remember when you had seen a car drive by the last time. 

„Consenting enough to let you fuck me in the middle of nowhere until your brother gets here,“ you whispered against his ear and he groaned, letting his forehead fall against yours. 

„Atta girl,“ he grinned, before he kissed you again while his hands made quick work of your underwear. 

You could still feel him dripping out of you, your legs a little weak, when you jumped of the back of the truck, Joel taking your hand as the door of the car that had parked behind his opened and a man jumped out, looking between the two of you. 

The sun had set by now, the cold air making you shiver and Joel let go of your hand, to put an arm around your waist, pulling you closer against him, the warmth of his body helping instantly. 

„So this is how I get to find out the mysterious woman that makes my brother grin like a teenager with a crush when he looks at his phone is you?“ Tommy Miller approached with a wide grin. You could practically hear Joel roll his eyes and you smiled at his brother. 

„You got a crush on me, Miller?“ You teased and looked up at him. 

„Brat,“ he sighed, fighting a smile.

„You love it,“ you winked, feeling him pull you closer. 

„Yeah, I really do,“ he hummed before he kissed you softly. 

[silenttrxxs]

choi san! x reader

best friends to lovers! nsfw, smut. 18+ NO MINORS!!

3am, the time read on your phone, you groaned loudly rolling back over and pulling the duvet back over your head as you sighed. Why the fuck your phone was ringing at 3am was beyond you... you sighed when the ringtone ended and silence fell over the room again. You smiled to yourself and gave into the wave of tiredness that spread through your body. Growling, you got up picking up your phone and putting it on speaker as you grabbed a blanket wrapping it around you sliding your slippers on and trudging to the kettle as you spoke on the phone. "san i swear on anything that may be above this better be good or im personally going to string you up and gut you its 5am" you growled into the phone. Giggling a little as you heard him suck in a slight breath as your tone shocked him. "s-sorry y/n but im outside and i need you packed and ready in 2 hours okay, i brought you your favourite snacks and drink now open up please" he spoke as he picked up the bag and stood ready to be let into your home.

"youre lucky i have a soft spot for you and you know a way to bribe succesfully" you said opening the door and smiling hanging up the phone.

you took the bag and put it on the table as you wrapped your arms around sans shoulders, hugging him tightly.

"i have missed you san-san but why this early you know i like my sleep" you spoke stepping back and grabbing a cookie and taking a sip of your drink. san stood there, watching your every move and smiled.

"well i thought since the company has finally allowed us time to go away for a while i thought who best to spend time with than my best friend. And plus you get sick and tired living with hwa and mingi after a while" san says laughing a little. "right so i have 2 hours to pack for what exactly" you scoff pulling the blanket of and walking back to the bedroom pulling out your suitcase and not so graciously throwing it onto your bed. You turnt to your wardrobe grabbing your underwear and rolling it up putting it in and your toiletry bag, pulling out a multitude of clothes out and rolling them up. "well where are we going then sannie?" you question as you look over at san who is pulling out your makeup and putting it into a bag for you.

"hmm ill tell you when we get there..." he says shrugging his shoulders.

"b-but" you gasp and give him a puppy dog look, trying to get him to break and tell you.

"excuse me you think that works, i deal with wooyoung on a daily basis im indestructible to that charm darling" san giggles and pats your head placing the bag in your suitcase and helping you to zip it up.

You both walk to the car, san taking the suitcase from you and lifting it setting it into the boot of his car before opening the door and ushering you into the passenger seat. He starts the car and looks at you, "you better have your passport thats all im saying madam" he laughs as you pick up your bag and root through it, you make a noise that makes san jump as you hold the passport up and put it back. "okay so its abroad hmm... interesting" you say as you fumble with the stereo and put some music on, enjoying the journey to the airport.

you both arrive pulling out your suitcases and giggling together as you help tuck sans hair into his hat and adjust his mask, walking to the terminal. You try to guess the destination but you're dragged away from every sign and each time the tanoi announces a boarding san is quick to cover your ears and shake his head laughing.

"this isn't fair you know, you could be leading me to my own death and ... stupidly id be traipsing along like a lost puppy" you roll your eyes and cross your arms.

"what if i am, what would pouty little y/n do about it huh, they love their sannie too much to say a word" san says in a teasing tone.

"god i could just slap you right now" you joke and smile a little as you watch the way his eyes crinkle as he laughs with you.

san jumps as he covers your ears as your boarding is announced he covers your eyes as he leads you onto the plane. "thank you thank you she isnt to know where we are going so im gonna cover her eyes till were seated" he says to the staff as they ask what hes doing.

you laugh as you get guided to the seat of the plane and once sat you look around, youre sat in first class with san, milan posters everywhere. " San you didnt" you gasp out as you realise where you both are going.

"oh yeah its beautiful there and i have always wanted to bring you but its been a busy season lately and i never got the chance" san says.

"now get some rest ill wake you when we get there" san says patting his shoulder as you rest into his hold on the plane, he puts on a movie and holds you tight enjoying the journey with you.

time skip

you both arrive in milan. the city lights shinging brightly as you exit the airport together, you look over to san as he ushers a taxi. youj gasp as he speaks fluent italian.

"ciao sì, potrei avere un taxi per 2 per favore" he says and you roll your eyes a little trying to will away the blush that creeps on your cheeks before he turns to you.

"dai allora amore mio" he says look at you as he smiles. noticing the slight red tinge to your neck. "someone likes my italiano" san says as he loads the suitcases into the taxi with your and opens the door as he slides in next to you.

you shove him a little as he gets in and sigh relaxing a little as you enjoy the trip. You gasp loudly as san speaks pointing to the building your getting closer to the hotel beautifully traditional. "were here mi amor" he says as he helps you out the taxi and grabs the suitcases, thanking the driver and paying him.

"now lets go and see the room" he says excitedly as you follow behind taking in the decor of the hotel, the walls splayed with dolce and gabbana photos. "is this what i think it is san-ah" you ask. trailing behind san as he opens the door to the penthouse suite.

"come on then dont just stand there with your jaw on the floor" he says pulling you into the suite and laughing.

"san what the fuck do you think your doing... this place..." you say your thoughts trailing off as you take in the view. Your suitcases dealth with and a whiskey being poured and a glass of red wine passed to you.

"here" san says passing the drink to you and smiling as he wraps his arm around your waist as you both look out the window, san takes the glass of whiskey and smiles, his attention being diverted to your face as you sip the wine. He takes in the flush that spreads across your neck and up into your cheeks as his hand squeezes your waist a little testing your will a little.

"its beautiful isnt it" he says his eyes glistening with a look that you had never seen before. "s-san" you breathe out turning slowly, sans lips ghosting over yours as you sucked in the breath his lips were on yours. The way your lips melded together sent shivers to course through your veins. Your body heating up with the feeling of his hands wandering across your body. You spent years trying so hard to keep your feelings at bay, keeping the relationship you held with him at an arms length not wanting your heart to get broken yet again with the feeling that he may have not felt the same way but this pang in your heart being struck away as your mind was filled with the feeling of his tongue ghosting across your lips silently asking for entrance. You opened your mouth allowing him entrance, your hands gripping onto his shirt the glasses of drink long forgotten as your body was lifted from the ground. The air only thickening with desire and lust as you found your body thrown onto the bed. The cool air hitting your body as sans skilled has made ease of removing your layers.

You whine into his mouth as his hands grip into your skin, the pain making you hiss slightly you was sure his touch was going to leave a trail of marks in its wake. You smiled as you locked your gaze with his, noticing the unmistakable feeling of his arousal pressing against your core. You let out a moan, the noise causing san to buck his hips into you, wanting nothing more than to hear more of your noises as he took his time to unravel you from the inside out.

"fuck youre beautiful like this" he breathed out as he sat up, his gaze falling over your body, taking the look beneath him in like the smoothest whiskey he had ever drank. His thirst becoming unquenchable until he has his lips on you. He groaned as he felt your hands reaching for him, gripping into his thighs as your nails scratched into the skin, the burn setting aflame something animalistic in him. He gripped you, pushing your legs apart, moaning as your pussy clenched around nothing, the arousal leaking out of you in waves, he licked his lips as he smirked. moving his body weight to the end of the bed, pulling your weight with him, his face finding purchase between your thighs, drinking in the sweet scent that fell from your body the closer he got. He turnt his head licking a stripe along your thigh, his teeth biting into your thigh, the feeling igniting something inside you that you didnt know was there. You gripped into sans hair tugging harshly, his face now close to your aching core. "so needy arent we baby" he breathes out before licking a slow stripe along your folds, your arousal coating his tongue as his hands grip into your thighs ensuring you stay still, only allowing your hips to buck as he teased your clit with a smirk places across his face. You moaned loudly his name spilling from his lips as he brought you closer and closer to the most intense orgasm you have had in a while, your sight becoming hazy as you felt the familiar knot tightening in your gut, the wave coursing through your body only to be ripped away as he lifted his head, moving to stand, his fingers gently caressing your folds as he collected your arousal on his fingers and stroking himself, you blinked as your body was tossed around, now on your knees as he pulled your hips off the bed, bending you over it as he lined up with your entrance, pushing himself inside you as your walls clenched around his throbbing cock. He felt himself bottom out, the warmth of you covering him in a hazy feeling as he moaned at the feeling his hands stroking your back, pulling you up slowly, the angle making you both moan loudly.

You gasped, moans falling from your lips as he thrusted into you slowly the burn of the stretch long forgotten and your body aflame with pleasure as you felt his hands gripping into your hair tugging harshly as he used his other hand gripping into your hip his thrusts becoming harsher, you whined as he groaned his grip on you getting harder as he chased his own pleasure with you.

"fuck baby you feel so good, p-please" he breathed out, the way he spoke causing you to clench around him. A hiss leaving his body as he abused your hole.

"let me cum inside you please baby i need to feel your cunt milk me" he hissed out as his hips thrusted into you harder. You whined louder his name becoming the only vocabulary that you knew in this moment. You clenched around his throbbing cock as a silent agreement. Feeling the way you clenched around him he moaned loudly, releasing into your core, his seed pouring out mixing with your own release around his cock, his attack not stopping as he fucked both your arousals back into you, the overstimulation causing you both to hiss as the feeling. "fuck baby" he breathed out as he pulled out of your abused cunt.

you turn around slowly, the thin layer of sweat covering his body making him look more heavenly than you ever dreamed of. "i- i have no words" you breathed out trying to contain how your heart wished to pour itself into him.

"lets go take a shower and talk about that after hows that sound" san says lifting your body from the bed, helping you to the shower.

[mattluvr]

dad!matt, a concept.

best read in dark mode ⏾

🧸 part ii — the labour. . .

ᡣ𐭩 october 22nd. 6am. exactly one day late, and yours and matt’s daughter is on the way.

you’re nervous, naturally, the mere sight of the soaked bedsheets from where your waters broke moments ago making your chest feel tight; it hadn’t really sunk in that you’d actually have to give birth eventually, the pain slowly creeping its way through your body planting reality in place. even more so when the first contraction grips you.

you move towards matt, seeking comfort in his hold as the pain ripples through you. “fuck, i didn’t think it would hurt this bad.” you mutter through gritted teeth, nails clamping onto matt’s shoulders.

he sighs, rubbing the small of your back in soft circles as his eyebrows draw together. he’s concerned, obviously, but the contraction passes quickly, and he seizes the opportunity to grab your hospital bag and pack you up into the car.

after you did your hair and makeup of course.

ᡣ𐭩 the journey to the hospital is more dangerous than the one from your labour scare a month ago; matt drives faster with only one hand on the wheel, the other clutched in yours as you use it to ground you through each contraction.

they’re more often and closer together, which you know from the endless pregnancy books you read is a telltale sign of your cervix dilating, and you silently start to pray this also means that the rest of pregnancy goes smoothly, complication free.

although, judging by the death grip matt has on your hand, you’re not sure whether you can rule out the prospect of your boyfriend fainting from pure stress.

he pulls into the hospital’s parking lot in a record time of 10 minutes, at least five speeding tickets with his name written all over them, but does not stop to give either of you time to breathe, a whirlwind as he rushes round to your side, hospital bag from the trunk already resting in the crook of his arm.

you laugh, accepting matt’s outstretched hand as you amble towards the entrance to the hospital. “i’ve never seen you move you fast.”

ᡣ𐭩 you and matt check in at reception, with only one contraction marring your words, and the midwives are quick to find you a room and gown.

you change in the bathroom, trying your very best to ignore how the contractions make you double over each time, the green pattern on the hospital gown making your eyes hurt alongside the baby. you settle down in the bed and your midwife introduces herself to you and matt as she hooks you up to a monitor, the name betty suiting her grey curls and soft smile perfectly.

although you like betty less when she tells you that you’re only 3cm dilated. out of 10. matt swears your expression could curdle milk in that moment and he chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“you’ve got to remember that each birth is different, so this could take a long time or a short time.” betty reassures you as she props the pillows up behind you. “you can help the labour pass by moving around. we can bring in a yoga ball if you’d like?”

matt answers for you anyways. “absolutely.”

ᡣ𐭩 betty comes in throughout the day to check in on you; she brings you the yoga ball at 8am when you finally dilate one centimetre, helping you lower down onto the contraption, with matt by your side the second a sliver of pain crosses your face.

he rubs those soft circles into your back, and you rest your head on his torso when you bounce up and down. which obviously makes matt laugh, a mindless comment about how this is a familiar sight passing his lips, causing you to glare in turn, claiming that he’s making your contractions worse. that shuts him up.

ᡣ𐭩 at 10am, you’re 6cm dilated, the yoga ball long abandoned in the corner of the room; you now find yourself on all fours on the hospital bed, rocking back and forth slowly. in your head it’s helping with the pain, but the real soother is matt’s constant presence next to you, the simple sound of his breathes calming you.

he’s already made the respective phone calls to his parents and brothers, nick audibly crying from joy over the phone whilst chris whooped and cheered.

“I’M GOING TO HAVE A NIECE BY THE END OF THE DAY!”

“would you calm the fuck down?” matt had hissed. “we’re in a hospital right now.”

“i wish they could see my death glare.” you had piped up, easing your rocking to look over at matt. he offers you an apologetic glance, hushing a see you later to the boys on the phone before hanging up.

you don’t even let matt apologise, babbling out words before your next contraction hits you. “can you call my mom?”

he doesn’t even hesitate. and that’s why you love him.

ᡣ𐭩 the next hour flies by, a centimetre passing every 20 minutes, marking you at 9cm dilated by 11am and crying from how badly it hurts.

the midwives have moved you back to a flat position, your legs now in stirrups to give them easier access for checkups. matt is crouched down by your side, pushing your hair out of your face as you blubber in agony.

“i don’t think i can do this, matt.”

“are you kidding me?” matt squeezes your hand, his expression soft as he moves forward to peck your forehead. “you are the strongest, prettiest, most powerful girl i know. i love you and this baby, and i know you can do this.”

the tears from that point onwards are mixed with joy, comforted by matt’s presence beside you.

ᡣ𐭩 at 11:30am, you’re ready to have your baby girl. biologically, maybe not mentally, your chest tightening as betty tells you with a soft smile that you’re now ready to start the process of pushing. but on the other hand, you’ve gone through at least 20 years worth of pain in the space of 5 hours and want nothing more than to get this baby out of you. so you reluctantly agree.

with matt’s hand clutched in yours, you lean forwards into each push, ungodly screams leaving your mouth in an attempt to cancel out the pain gripping you.

“good work, keep going!” betty spurs you on, her scrubs confined by an apron as she waits in anticipation. “the head’s almost there, a few more pushes!”

you exhale, turning to matt who gives you an encouraging nod despite his pale complexion, the boy about three minutes away from fainting. which almost pushes you on, now desperate to get your daughter out into the world before her dad passes out. you sit up on your elbows once more, vision blurred as you start the final stretch.

the head is out before you know it, and with one more weak push, the rest of your daughter is out into the world, sobs spilling out of your mouth as betty brings her up to nestle by you.

her lungs are full, both your cries mixed together in the thick atmosphere of the hospital room, matt’s own tears hidden as he leans over to observe his baby, shaky fingers reaching out to caress her skin.

he moves back to press another kiss to your forehead. “i told you you could do it.”

ᡣ𐭩 october 22nd, at 11:33am, your daughter arrives into the world, and yours and matt’s lives are about to be changed in the best ways possible.

taglist. . .

( @aelinslegend, @mattslolita, @emely9274, @conspiracy-ash, @chrissturniolossidehoe, @mattbrainrot ) is open!

[sickficideas]

Ooooh since you're doing dandadan now, can I request general headcanons for sick okarun and momo? Like who'd get sick more often, how badly would it affect them, symptoms, caretaking etc? Whether or not it's related to your current wip :)))

YES!!! absolutely anon i am happy to start talking about them...!!!!! You gave me a lot to work with and I tried to include everything you mentioned but if you ever want anything more specific from these feel free to come back !!!! 👽👽💖💖

PS I'm fighting demons on whether to call him Okarun or Ken but he's Okarun for this post since that's what you've called him lol

- Okarun is definitely sick more often but only as a result of his body not being able to handle his Yokai form. Like random high fevers, awful body aches, nausea, tinnitus, nosebleeds (i think even worse things like coughing up blood or absent seizures from over using it)...he's kind of a baby about it, he has a very low pain tolerance and fevers are so overwhelming for him with all of his senses being muddled 😭😭

- Momo isn't necessarily sick often but her similarly her newfound powers give her the gift of frequent headaches and migraines 👍 they don't hold her back most of the time, she just pops a ton of pain killers and moves on (after complaining), but bad with migraines she's huddled up in her dark room and just praying it goes away 😭😭😭

- Momo's fevers don't get as high and aren't as frequent as Okarun's, but the fever really messes with her abilities. She can't use it properly with Any higher temperature, but she gets really weird visual and auditory hallucinations too and she has a hard time distinguishing them from reality. This Deeply concerns Okarun any time he notices and he'll usually pick up on her hallucinations before he realizes she has a fever 😭 she hears him ask her something when he didn't even speak and he's on high alert all of a sudden like, miss Ayase I didn't say anything are you okay what's wrong?????

- Okarun does a good job taking care of Momo if she's sick but he's a tiny bit overbearing (to the point where she might snap and accidently scare him off...she Wants to be taken care of she's just very easily embarrassed) and also Horribly worried. Especially if she's acting weird or quiet he Might cry and she has to comfort him and he feels guilty about it. Vicious cycle lol

- Momo is similarly the overthinker of all time, she's watching all of his movements and focusing on everything he says and does when he's sick because he won't verbalize how he's feeling to avoid worrying her. Dummy. So she tries to figure it all out herself. She takes good care of him though and tries to make sure he's not too overwhelmed 🥺🥺