#i just have to take my time i can't rush this

[beefcakekinard]

"Grab a seat."

Bobby claps Buck's shoulder as he passes on his way into the kitchen. Well - sure, it's got a fridge and a stove, but Bobby's definition of kitchen vs kitchenette leans a little spoiled these days. They can't get out of this rental fast enough.

He comes back with two cups of coffee and sits opposite Buck at the table. He waits as Buck adds a heaping teaspoon of sugar to his mug, glowering at the surface of it while he stirs. He waits as Buck sighs with his whole body and flops back against his chair. Bobby blows the steam from his coffee, takes a scalding sip, and waits. Years of experience have taught him that when Buck's really chewing on something, the easiest way to get it out of him is to outlast his patience.

"I miss Tommy."

It helps that Buck and patience are barely acquaintances.

Buck's continuing the thought before Bobby can even open his mouth. "I can't get him out of my head, Bobby. It's, it's like he's haunting me! Everything I do reminds me of him, even if it has nothing to do with him, and I feel like I'm going crazy!"

Bobby waits. Buck pouts. When it's clear he doesn't have anything more to add, Bobby clasps his hands and leans forward.

"Why do you miss him?"

Buck rears back, looking confused. Bobby spreads his hands.

"You think about him when he's not around. What is it you're thinking about?" he asks. Buck considers the question and flushes. Bobby quickly adds, "Keeping it PG."

Buck scratches his nose, keeping his eyes averted. He takes a deep breath.

"I think... I think about how excited I always was to see him," Buck says to the tabletop. Bobby takes another sip of coffee.

"I think about - how I never had to pretend. Like he saw me, just me, and that was enough. I like, I liked, the way he made me feel about myself." Buck curls in on himself and picks at a thread on his jeans. "I, I miss who I was when he was around."

"Just because Tommy's not around anymore doesn't mean you can't be yourself," Bobby says. Buck takes the bait; he whips his head up to look at him, eyes wide with disbelief.

"No, you, you don't understand, Bobby -" Buck leans towards him, insistent. "I miss how he cares so much about everyone even though he tries to look stoic and casual. I miss how he ugly-laughs at his own stupid jokes. I miss the way he talks to kids like they're adults and I miss how gentle he is with anything smaller than him. I miss how he fills his own dishwasher wrong and I have to fix it every time. I miss him more now than the day he broke up with me, what's wrong with me?"

The only sounds in the room are the ticking of the wall clock and the whooshing in-out of Buck's heavy breathing. Bobby waits until he calms down a bit, until he sits back in his chair again and awaits Bobby's input, looking like he's in anguish over it.

"You know he's not perfect." Bobby feels like he's lobbing a live grenade.

Buck scoffs. "Jesus, Bobby, if anyone knows that right now it's me. But I don't want perfect, I just want Tommy."

The clock ticks. Bobby drinks some more coffee. He waits.

Realization overtakes Buck's face between one blink and the next. "Oh," he says. Bobby smiles, enjoys his coffee, and waits some more.

"Oh!"

There it is.

Buck jumps up, springing to his feet like a cartoon character. "I, I have to go, I gotta - I have to go," he says, all in a rush. "Thanks, Bobby!" he calls over his shoulder before running out the front door, slamming it behind himself. The door opens a crack, just long enough for Buck to call, "Bye Bobby!" into the apartment before he's slamming it closed again. He sounds like a herd of galloping horses running down the hall.

Bobby smiles to himself. He checks the clock - Athena will be home soon, and he feels like whipping up one of her favourites for dinner. He takes the mugs - one empty, one full - into the kitchen and leaves them in the sink while he gets started.

[majestyeverlasting]

Hello! If you are willing I would like to request a Frankie morales x reader oneshot? 🙃🙃 im obsessed with Frankie x wife reader lately and I was thinking maybe you could write somethin where the reader is pregnant and having cramps / contractions while Frankie is out with his friends and calls him all freaked out but even though it’s just false labour he still rushes home anyway?🥰🥰

(I love your writing btw I hope you accept this request thank you <3)

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐚𝐲 | 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬

Pairing Frankie Morales x Female Reader

Summary A night of laughter, love, and quiet devotion reminds you and Frankie how much your world has grown—especially with your baby on the way.

A/N Thank you so much for this request and your patience, anon! This is my first time writing for Frankie, so let me know what you guys think. 

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Across the living room, the evening news drones so low, the TV might as well not be on at all. Ten minutes ago, Frankie left you alone on the couch to go get ready for a night out. You’d looked up from your book long enough to catch the wink he shot you before disappearing up the staircase.

As easy as it would be for him to stay in, you insisted he go out and enjoy himself. The two of you had finally settled into your new home. Soon enough, the guys were starting to rib him about falling off the face of the earth.

He's getting better at striking a balance these days. 

“Alright, hermosa,” he announces as he descends the stairs. “Here’s what I’m working with...” 

Frankie walks back into the living room in dark-wash jeans and a sage button down. As you set your book aside, he offers a goofy spin in a lighthearted mockery of what you oftentimes do. You try to restrain your smile, but it shines through anyways. Frankie grins like he’s won a prize, teeth glinting along with the sparkle in his dark eyes.

Everyone said he was trouble when you first met. It didn’t take long to realize they meant the intoxicating kind that disarms a room, draws people in, makes them feel seen. The kind you’d never recover from losing if you let slip away. 

A year ago, he got down on one knee and asked you for forever. That was the moment you realized that, in turn, you were the trouble he couldn’t bear to lose.  

Before you have the chance to stand, he stalks over to you and leans down to capture your lips in a brief, tender kiss. 

You smile when he pulls away to stand back up to his full height, all six feet and broad shoulders. Looking up at him from your seated position feels a little funny, but you can't bring yourself to mind. If for no other reason than the gentle way he pinches your upturned chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Have fun,” you murmur as you blink up at him. 

“I will.”

“And be safe.”  

“Yes ma’am.” Frankie’s touch falls away, and you stand to wrap your arms around his neck.

You tuck your nose into his shirt as his strong arms encircle your waist. He smooths a large hand up your back before stilling at the nape of your neck to deliver a firm but gentle squeeze. As he starts to pull away, you slip your fingers into his hair to scratch his scalp with your nails. It’s been a while since his last haircut, and now the dark strands curl beneath his ears. 

Frankie hums a low note of satisfaction. “Not fair.” 

“Completely fair,” you lilt.

He chuckles and pulls back enough to meet your gaze. His eyes are soft as he says, “Should be back in a couple hours.” 

“I’ll wait up.”

"You don't have to," he says.

"Don't I always?"

He thinks back over the times he's gone out without you, and yeah. You always do.

•••

It's quiet when he arrives back home. 

He kicks his boots off at the door and notices a pink sticky note on the wall above the key holder. There's a smiley face and heart drawn on it along with "welcome back!!!" Frankie feels himself smiling as he plucks it off the wall and saunters further into the house. 

In the living room, one lamp remains on so he can navigate his way through the otherwise dark space. You've folded the throw blanket. Fluffed and arranged the pillows like you do every night before bed. It’s the little things like that, little signs of life, that he’ll never tire of coming back home to. 

When Frankie finally enters the bedroom, he sees your smile in the warm, dim lamplight. You're kneeling on the bed wearing the cutesy black pajama set he likes on you. A breathy chuckle escapes him as he takes you in before his eyes find yours. 

He plays off the warmth in his cheeks by holding up the sticky note you had left for him. 

You tilt your head with innocent, furrowed brows. “Where’d that come from?” 

“Beats me," he plays along as you slide off the bed. 

He sets the note on the dresser so he can rest his hands on your waist when you approach. The scent of vanilla evades his senses in the gentlest way. 

“Did you have fun?” It’s a genuine question, but his mind goes fuzzy when you smooth your hands from his stomach up to his pecs. 

With a distracted nod, his thumbs slip beneath your satin tank top to brush your skin. All he can think about is the gentleness of your touch. The way you begin to toy with the button at the top of his shirt without actually unbuttoning it. 

“But not too much fun, right?” you ask. “You’re not too tired, are you?” 

You finally pop the first button undone, then the next one, then the next. Revealing more and more of the dusting of hair across his tanned chest. 

Rather than answering, he scoops you over his shoulder as you squeak his name. 

- 

Eight Months Later

It’s been a while since Frankie laughed this hard. When he’s finally on the verge of catching his breath, Santiago picks up from where Will left off in the story, and that pleasant side ache returns. If he weren't too busy swiping the tear from his eye, he reckons he’d see every head in the bar turned to gawk at the four cackling hyenas. A live country rock band plays as their soundtrack.

Luckily, that isn’t the case. Like them, everybody is lost in their own little worlds. With their own inside jokes and old stories that endure no matter how many times they're told. 

“And that’s what your ass gets for trying to show off,” Will concludes. It earns him a prompt elbow to the side from his younger brother, whose cheeks are either flushed from the whiskey or embarrassment. 

It had been the story about Benny getting told off by a group of older women during a group trip to Panama. Not in English, but in Spanish. The icing on the cake was that they had been pausing every few words so Santiago could translate for them in real time. 

As their amusement begins to settle, they look around at each other and shake their heads. It’s been too long since they’ve gotten together like this. Frankie takes a small swig from his beer and lets his head rest against the wall behind him. 

Under the dim lights, with drinks on the table, and surrounded by strangers, it feels as though no time has passed at all.  

Benny’s eyes rove over to the recreation room, where people shoot pool and throw darts. 

“I don’t know about y’all, but I’m ready to kick some ass in a game of 501,” he says. 

William folds his hands on the table. “We puttin' money up?”

“Hell yeah, we are,” Benny scoffs and pulls a face. “I’m leaving here with something.” 

“Twenty-five each and the winning team splits the pot?” Santiago proposes. “I call Fish on my team.” He gives Frankie's shoulder a squeeze.

Benny drums a beat on the table. “Let’s do it.” 

They’re in the middle of scooting past other patrons when Frankie’s phone begins buzzing in his pocket. He doesn’t expect to see a picture of your face light up the screen. Santiago is the only one in the group who notices. 

“Gotta take this,” Frankie tells him, and answers the call as he turns away. 

“Hang on one second, honey, I’m getting someplace quiet.” 

To make it to the front of the establishment, he shuffles between a small sea of tables filled with people with loose smiles and glowy faces. He holds the door open for a group of young ladies filing inside, which earns him a series of chirpy thank-yous. The giddy energy of the night fades once he’s outside, as if it was all stuffed within the walls of Dave's Bar and Grill. With the patio being around back, only a few people stand smoking out front. 

The air is warm. A couple of the parking lot lights flicker. Frankie heads toward one of the benches as he says, “Alright, sweetheart, I’m here.”

A heavy breath is the first thing that greets him from the other end of the line. 

“Frankie,” your voice is shaky, and his brow furrows as he takes a seat. 

“Talk to me,” he coaxes, his voice even softer. 

“I’m cramping pretty bad right now.” You take another deep breath. “I think it’s the Braxton Hicks the nurse was telling us about. They’re finally happening.” 

He stands from the bench and begins pacing along the curb. “You sure they're the false ones?” he asks. “You know you’re body better than anybody else…” 

“I’m ninety-nine percent sure.” Another sharp ache pulses low in your stomach, and makes you bite back a small whine. 

Frankie releases his lower lip from between his teeth as guilt tugs at his chest. “Go lay down, okay?” he says as he fishes his truck keys out of his pocket. “Or run yourself a bath if you can manage. Nurse said that’s supposed to help.” 

Shuffling arises on your end. “Okay,” you murmur.

“I’m on my way.” 

Tonight, you can’t muster the willpower to tell him to stay out with his friends. Ever since you hit the thirty-four-week mark, you’ve been hyper-aware of every pang, flutter, and gurgle. Even if you were the one feeling the heat, it was easier to walk through the flames with him. 

“Drive safe, okay?” you say. “Go the speed limit.” 

“I’m always safe.” It’s a white lie, but he was getting much better. Especially now that he was about to have two people looking forward to him arriving home in one piece at the end of the day. 

Life is a delicate, fragile, remarkable thing. It’s a fact that solidified all the more the first time you showed him a black-and-white ultrasound and pointed out your little girl. 

“I’ll be there soon,” he promises. 

Santiago steps outside as he's hanging up, immediately scoping out Frankie. 

“Everything alright, man?” He searches Frankie’s gaze. He’s always analyzing and piecing together. People, places, things. Frankie doesn’t have to say anything. “Your wife and baby okay?” 

Frankie nods, but there’s worry etched across his face. “Gonna head home to be on the safe side.”  

“I’ll let the guys know.” Santiago pulls Frankie into a hug and gives him a few pats on the back. “It was good seeing you tonight.” 

“Likewise.”

“Guess it’ll have to be a playdate next time,” Santiago teases. 

Frankie cracks a smile. 

•••

With the bathroom door cracked, you can hear the familiar shuffling of Frankie entering the house. His keys clink into the bowl shortly before the steps begin to creak under his weight. One purposeful footstep after the next, until he’s filling the doorway with a hand on his hip. But you sit in the bathtub with your eyes closed and your head tipped back. The subtle scent of lavender fills the humid air. You’re only visible from your collarbones up, and your pregnant stomach rises above the bubbly water. 

Rather than speaking, he stands there and takes you in with those soft, dark eyes. You’re beautiful where you lay. His gaze is palpable, and opening your eyes to meet it solidifies for him that you’re okay. It's a silent assurance. These moments when you don't need words have only grown in number. Every trace of worry that once existed has dwindled away.

As he takes a small step inside, he tosses his baseball cap onto the sink counter and runs a hand through his hair. Tension melts from his shoulders in real time. Makes him look even taller where he stands.  

“Hey,” he breathes.

“Hi,” you say, then note, "Your shoes."

The teasing undertone to your words makes him chuckle. At himself, at the fact that he’d rushed home, despite your warning, with a head full of clamoring thoughts. Thoughts of arriving to you in labor and having to deliver his own child. Or packing you into his truck and needing to pull over and do the very same. There was no middle ground.

He’d dedicated years of his life to working under the most intense pressure, but it was his pregnant wife who’d finally thrown that composure off course.  

Yet here you were pointing out the fact that he had tracked his shoes upstairs.

Frankie crouches to untie his boots before kicking them off his feet. He stumbles in the process and has to brace himself on the sink. The smile already budding on your face blooms into a fuller one when he huffs and peeks over at you. When you straighten up, the water sloshes and reveals more of you chest. 

A long sigh escapes him as he sits alongside the tub and stretches his long legs out in front of him. That’s when a laugh bubbles up your throat. Despite his best efforts to retrain his own amusement, he can’t help but join in. The two of you sit there laughing in a mix of relief and acceptance of the fact that your worlds have only just begun to change. 

A comfortable silence soon settles in the space between you. Frankie gets an almost wistful look about him as he stares straight ahead. 

“What are you thinking about?” you ask after a while. 

He rests his arm on the side of the tub. “Us,” he answers. “Being parents.”  

There’s an understated sense of anticipation in his tone that he still hasn’t been able to put into words. A small hint of apprehension lingers too, but the type that propels as opposed to paralyzes. 

You hum as you run a wet hand over your glistening stomach. 

“I love you,” he continues softly. “I love her.”

He reaches out to splay his large hand over your stomach. You smile as he continues talking, “Love that I get to do this with you.” 

Fondness swells in your chest all the more. Like a third lung set on sustaining you too. 

“I’d kiss you right now, but I don’t know how,” you admit. 

Without hesitating, Frankie shifts so he’s able to steady your chin and press his lips to yours. You lift a hand to rest the tips of your fingers against his scruffy cheek. Frankie hums when you ghost your tongue along his lower lip, only to pull away like you have something to say. Before you can speak, he presses back in for one more soft peck, then touches his forehead to yours. 

You feel yourself smiling. “What I was trying to say,” you start, but Frankie kisses you again because you’re right there, and because he can.

Butterflies erupt all throughout your stomach. 

“Go ahead,” he finally coaxes with a small smile, lips brushing yours. “What were you gonna say, hermosa?” There’s a gruff, honeyed quality to his voice that you’re certain is intentional. 

“That I love you too,” you whisper. 

-

Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. I promise I see them all! 

FRANKIE MASTERLIST 

ALL MASTERLISTS

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

bath. l Joel Miller

Summary: Joel is immobilized and giving you a hard time

Warnings:  nothing much, some intimacy, shared bath, Ellie wants to get rid of Joel, boring conversations

A/N: it's something before something, so it's boring. it doesn't contribute much. if you want to support my tired mind, feel free to . kisses

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

A broken collarbone wasn't what Joel expected. When the doctor at the clinic in Jackson, where you took him the next day, told him that he would be immobilized for a few weeks, Joel just sighed heavily. He was put in a sling and told to take care of himself so that the bone would heal properly. 

It was humiliating.

Even when you left the clinic together and you took his left hand in yours, he didn't feel any better.

"I'm useless now." he mumbled, watching you choose apples and vegetables for dinner.

"Not at all." you replied calmly. "You'll just rest now. See how good it will do you."

Where did you get that optimistic belief? Joel had no idea. He was glad that your argument hadn't affected your relationship, because his head was telling him all the tragic scenarios, but now he was dependent on others for help. And worst of all, he couldn't help you,

You were the one who brought the box of food home. And then you hung the laundry out in the warm spring sun. You made dinner, and Joel...

"Can you take him somewhere?" Ellie rushed into the kitchen for the third day, a blush covering her cheeks. "He's unbearable!"

"Please, have mercy on him." you sighed. "This is the first time since..."

"He just came asking if I did my homework!" Ellie rolled her eyes and raised her hands in despair. "I'm not eight! Can we abandon him somewhere? In the forest, for example?"

You looked at her with amusement. "Of course not! But this is new to him. You know he doesn't go on patrol now, that he can't do much in the stables either."

"So you're sacrificing me?"

"Hey! I can't drag him around with me forever, he's an adult."

Ellie folded her arms across her chest and looked at you with satisfaction. "Maybe he's getting on your nerves too, huh?"

"That's not... That's not true!"

But sometimes it was like that. Joel was looking for something to do, something he could do with one hand. When he tried to help you with the laundry, it took longer than usual. Things weren't going his way at the stables either and when you went to visit him there, you saw how furious he was. Even Tommy washed his hands and didn't want to come near him.

"Fine." you finally sighed "I'll take care of him. He won't follow you around anymore."

The girl's face lit up. "I'm sure you'll have a great time!"

You didn't know if she was joking or serious.

You found Joel in the bedroom where he had been struggling with his shirt for a few minutes. He was already irritated enough and when you stood in front of him to help unbutton it, he only mumbled something incomprehensible.

"Don't pout like that." you said, smiling "That won't help you."

"Ellie already complained about me?" you nodded "I just wanted to..."

"I know, and she knows it too. Don't think about it now." You carefully took off his shirt, noticing how he winced when you helped him free his arm. "I'll draw you a bath."

"I can do it myself."

"Let me take care of you, Joel." you murmured, kissing his pouty lips.

This was amazing. A completely different level of sensation and pleasure. The bathroom was filled with steam and the pleasant scent of lavender. He could feel your body behind him, your legs were on his sides, and his back was resting on your chest. Joel closed his eyes in pleasure. You slowly washed his hair, massaging his scalp carefully. This made him turn into a purring mess, which he clearly liked.

"When was the last time someone really took care of you, huh?" you chuckled as a soft growl escaped his chest.

"I can't remember. You take care of me, don't you?"

"As much as you let me. Close your eyes." you poured a cup of warm water over his hair to rinse off the shampoo. "You should use this time, rest, get some sleep..."

His hand slid up your calf. "I feel useless." he mumbled. "Like I'm a fucking cripple or something."

"Nobody thinks of you like that." you wrapped your arms around him and kissed his temple. "Sometimes you're just a pain in the ass. Joel!" he squeezed your calf harder and you jumped. "Stop it, or I'll forget you're hurt!"

You both fell silent for a moment, soaking up this intimate time. These were special moments, you wanted to have them just for yourselves, because they made you feel that what you felt, that you were - was real. Only his voice, quiet but deep, tore you from your reverie.

"Do you remember the first time you hugged me?"

"Yes, I remember."

"I would never have dared to dream of being with you like I am now... I was convinced that I would lose you. It scared me. I didn't remember what it was like to have someone so close. I was sure that when you saw what I was like, you would run away."

You ran your fingers through his wet hair. You remembered exactly how tense Joel was then. You were sure that he would push you away, but he didn't. He just patted you awkwardly on the back as if he wasn't sure if he was doing it right. 

"I was scared too..." you said quietly, glad that Joel couldn't see your face. "I haven't done this in a long time... And you were... Yourself. I saw how you were to Ellie, but I was a stranger to you."

His hand found yours, he brought it to his lips and kissed it. "You were the best thing that happened to us, really. And certainly to me. But... You never told me."

"About what?"

"How did you even end up there? You said you were with a group, then you were left alone, but nothing more."

He felt it immediately. Your body tensed, you took a deep breath.

"This isn't a good time, you know. It's not even important."

"But-"

"We should get out, you know. I'll make dinner, you must be hungry."

Joel didn't protest. You could see the consternation on his face, questions swirling in his eyes, but he didn't want to push you. That was wonderful about him, he didn't push, he just waited until someone was ready to talk. 

It was the second time he asked you about it, and you dodged it again. Joel understood that no one wanted to talk about difficult and painful things, but he had a strange feeling that nothing good had happened to you. And that broke his heart.

"Tommy asked me today if I would go on the next patrol with Sam and Anthony." You said as you both sat down on the couch after dinner, and you reached for the book you were currently reading together.

"I was supposed to go with them." Joel noticed.

"I know, but I thought... After that last trip for supplies, I didn't go anywhere further than the beaten patrol paths. It could be fun."

Joel didn't think it would "be fun," but he knew that you cared about feeling active and important again. He talked to Shane, he knew that your joint patrols were peaceful, but there Walsh kept an eye on you. And now?

"If that's what you want." He finally said and saw the smile on your face. "Just be careful."

"I always am." You opened the book and glanced at the next chapter. "Alright, let's get back to our Bennet sisters. I really liked them."

Your calm voice soon filled the living room, but it didn't reach Joel's mind at all. He was still considering your words, strange fears starting to churn under his skin. 

If it weren't for that damned arm...

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Please could you do a small one shot or headcannon for sevika... soft degradation with love behind it NSFW pleaseeee I need this in my life 😭😭

my nsfw thoughts on sevika

warnings: 18+ content, mentions of different sexual activities and positions, dom! sevika/sub reader dynamic, spankings & pain-play, hair-pulling, soft degradation, shower sex, strap-on oral, and petnames (good girl, Sevika refers to herself as daddy idc it’s my headcannon!)

⋅ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sevika whose favorite position is missionary. Many would say it's boring for a favorite, but Sevika? It's an easy excuse to get the chance to kiss you while she's inside you. She will be on top of you with either her fingers deep in your cunt, letting them squeeze around her like a vice, or forcing your legs wide apart so she can fit her wide hips between them to fuck you with a strap-on. No matter what though, you're gonna have a mouth full of her. It may be soft, sweet kisses that you get when she feels loving with you, her lips taking yours tenderly. However, sometimes when you're both moaning all messily and on the edge of orgasms, she'll find herself harshly shoving her tongue in your mouth, often having to pull away to breathe. In those moments, you hear words that make your pussy clench around her.

"You love getting fucked like this, hm? When I fuck this pussy 'till you feel it in your throat?"

⋅ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sevika who is the type to prefer the strap in favor of scissoring, fingering, and pussy eating. Not to say she won't do foreplay! Sevika eating pussy is another topic for a headcannon below, but her with a strap? She likes being able to have her power over your with her entire body. Feeling your pussy against hers is nice, but there is a certain degree of control that comes with fucking you. She can feel it, but it isn't as messy or as overwhelming. For her, at least. You're feeling her in a way that makes your legs shake and your voice turn raw, while she can stay fucking you above you, able to tease and taunt you.

⋅ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sevika who is a soft sadist. She doesn't enjoy laughing while spanking you or using a flogger or whatever method you're into. She likes watching you struggle with the pleasure combined, too. Imagine bent over her lap, your face buried into the bed as you pathetically cry. Sevika doesn't spank you harder or tell you to count, no. She'll be sweet about it for a bit, make you feel good and loved. Lean down and coo soft comforts in your ear and make you feel like you're off the hook. You're not, though. The moment you confirm that you're still okay, you get another hit on your ass that leaves you instantaneously crying out and cumming. Same with hair-pulling, too. Sevika is a huge hair puller. She likes forcing you to face her either by grabbing your chin(imagine the way she did with Vi during the fight in season one!!), or gathering your hair in a ponytail just to lovingly yank it. It makes her own pussy throb to listen to the surprise in your tone when she does it.

⋅ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sevika who, when she has sex, has to have long sessions. Doesn't settle for quickies, unless it's cannon-world Sevika who would probably enjoy getting the stress eased with a quick fuck. Brothel Sevika would probably be in and out to cum or to fuck one of the girls, but when you're her girl, she will spend hours making you cum. She loves foreplay, saying it's necessary to "prep you for her cock." You will probably cum at least once or twice on with a tongue warming up your clit or her middle finger teasing your g-spot, but try not to lose your voice screaming and lose your energy thrashing, because the main event will last until Sevika physically can't fuck you anymore. Breaks included.

⋅ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sevika who is a pussy-eating enthusiast. Her method isn't Vi or Caitlyn's would be. Vi would probably flick her tongue a lot and Caitlyn would be giving proper ice-cream licks, but Sevika makes it intimate with taking her time. She's in no rush with foreplay, so why not spend a while just teasing around your clit? Why not savor the taste of your wet pussy lips, even dipping her tongue into your hole? Watching you squirm under her mouth, bucking up to get direct contact but failing. She sometimes even finds herself laughing against your pussy, not intending to cause vibrations through you but does anyway. Best believe after the teasing is up that she will not stop fucking you with her nose and mouth until you're begging for mercy.

⋅ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sevika who loves to degrade. She doesn't outright call you a slut, but (consensually) makes comments when you wear lingerie that make you feel the best type of shame. She likes calling out brats, too. She won't hesitate to put you in your place in the most gentle way possible. Sevika is definitely a huge condescending degrader, too. She'll insult you for acting dumb when she fucks you, letting you know how pathetic you are for the bit of drool on your lips from her dick impaling you, and nearly laughing into your ear when you whimper her name like a dog in heat when the tip of the silicone kisses your cervix.

⋅ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sevika who loves shower sex. Having you pressed up against steamy glass, lathering soap all over your back to stall. She loves taking her time, running water down your back to add to the sensations until you’re begging her to fuck you. Then, she’ll bend you over and just simply tease you. Her fingers will slide between your folds, just separating them and collecting the slick that increases there. When she can tell that you can’t take anymore, then she will drop to her knees and eat your pussy out from the back. If she’s had a rough day and you allow her to take her stress out on you, she will fuck you with her thick fingers while the shower water falls onto the both of you, letting out various curses.

“Shh, be a good girl and take my fingers. Maybe I’ll let you choke on my dick after if you listen. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

⋅ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sevika who is a lover of both traditional head and strap head. She likes to watch your lips wrap around the tip of her fake dick, adore how you take as much as you can of the length into your mouth. She can’t feel it, but if she sees you using teeth she’ll use it to degrade you.

“Nuh-uh, you know better. I know you’re better at sucking dick than that. C’mon. Be a good girl and suck daddy’s cock right, don’t you wanna make me cum?”

But halfway through, she just gets so turned on that she rips the harness off, letting your eager (and very slutty) mouth taste her pussy. You love sucking her strap, but her real taste is unbeatable. Her body tenses and her breathing grows heavy above you, nodding slightly when you lap at her clit in earnest. She still guides you through it, but just know that your reward for after is getting to ride her face, so every slightly mean instruction is worth it. You like being bossed around by Sevika, anyways.

[ghostlyferrettarot]

🌷Pick a Picture:🍨⊹˚. ♡ What's coming up for you on February?🎀 ⊹˚. ♡

🎀𝗜'𝗺 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗮 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹🎀

•Pile 1 •Pile 2 •Pile 3

❗️This is a collective reading, take what resonates and leave the rest❗️

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🛍Masterlist🛍

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆Pile 1: Queen of Swords, 3 of Cups and 2 of Swords.

This February, everything may feel a little… random. Like you can't see clearly what's happening or what's coming next. And while it can be frustrating not to have all the answers, the Moon encourages you not to force things. Sometimes not knowing what's going on is a sign that you need to take a step back and allow yourself to feel without trying to rationalize everything.

You may be faced with situations this month that you may have been avoiding. Questions may arise about your relationships, your job, or even your current identity. And even though you may not perceive it now, it's all part of a developmental process. The confusion you're experiencing isn't harmful; on the contrary, it's like a "reminder" from the cosmos that there are elements within you that need to be heard. There will be times when you feel like the pieces are starting to fall into place, but there will also be days when you feel completely disoriented. And that's okay. You don't need to have everything figured out right away. It's a month to meditate, not to rush into solutions.

My recommendation would be not to put too much pressure on yourself. If you find yourself in a situation where things aren't clear, you shouldn't force yourself to make sure everything has immediate meaning. Keep an eye on your feelings, pay attention to the smallest details, and most of all, be kind to yourself. Clarity will come when it's needed, you just have to trust the process and yourself.

🧁Song:

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆Pile 2: The Sun, 4 of Wands and Queen of Wands.

You might feel like the pieces are starting to fall into place again this February, and that will give you a sense of clarity that you haven't experienced in a long time. You might feel more stimulated, more optimistic, or simply intent on giving your best. If there was something that was overwhelming you or that had stopped you, this is the moment when things begin to take a positive turn.

This month, you will experience thefeeling that something inside you is "waking up" in a sense. Perhaps you were already carrying some uncertainties or fears, but now it will give you the strength to face them, i heard "I'm going to put all my effort" as i was channeling your message. It is a favorable month to start a new project, undertake those dreams that you had saved or take on some circumstance that was going around in your mind. You will notice that the energy will be in your benefit. It is as if everything begins to flow without so much effort, like when you discover the right route and everything seems to be in tune.

Even if something is not exactly what you anticipated, your optimistic attitude and your clarity will help you to continue moving forward with confidence. Enjoy everything that this month brings with it. Sometimes we concentrate so much on the objectives that we forget to enjoy the trip. Take advantage of the minimal things, those that give us happiness in the simple things.

🧁Song:

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆Pile 3: 8 of Wands, The Chariot and King of Cups.

This month feels really "fast" to put it in a way, I think it will pass really quickly for you. Surprises can be a bit disconcerting at first, but in reality, they are bringing great potential. Some circumstances could change in unexpected ways, but that is just one component of the process. Don't worry if you feel that things are not progressing as you anticipated. Sometimes, the most significant transformations appear when we least expect them, and the final outcome can be much more favorable than you imagine.

This month could be a bit of a roller coaster, in the broadest sense. Some situations will evolve quickly, and you may feel like you are on a boat, but don't worry. There will be moments of uncertainty, but if you continue to evolve with the transformations, opportunities will begin to arise out of nowhere. It could be a good time to take a little more risk, as everything seems to be going in your favor.

Don't try to control everything. Life has its own rhythm, and sometimes it's best to allow yourself to be guided by the course of things. The surprises that will come this month will take you to unexpected places, and even though you can't anticipate what will happen, trust that everything has a reason to be the way it is. Let go of what you can't handle and continue to progress with the assurance that better things are yet to come <3

🧁Song:

💐Thank you for reading and tell me if it resonated💐

[h-sleepingirl]

Dolly in the Art Gallery: A Charmed 2025 Scene Log/Recap

“Art is how we decorate space, and music is how we decorate time.”

I first heard this Jean-Michel Basquiat quote in a rope class from Barkas, in the context of how we play within both space and time in a kink scene. I think about it frequently, especially as I feel more and more passionately about the brutally human impulse to create art.

I have been coming to hypnosis events since 2013, before Charmed existed -- my first event was packed with my own manic energy, held in a dungeon where people could hypnotize me basically at will. No hotel staff, no sneaking back to a private room. I developed a reputation as an aesthetically pleasing subject, often put on display in subtle and overt ways.

I have grown up in this community. Essentially my entire adult life has been spent involved in going to events and cons. I'm 33 now, and as Charmed celebrates its 10th year I've perhaps been unconsciously influenced to reflect on myself aging.

I feel so much older than that 21 year old exhibitionist. I'm more reserved, quieter, more selective, and certainly smarter. I like who I'm becoming, but I do miss parts of who I used to be -- that confidence, that energy. 

On Friday evening I looked at the schedule and saw there was going to be a Gallery of Living Art -- it's been a staple at Charmed for a number of years, but I'd never done more than peek inside.

I thought to myself: “Why not try to get in touch with that playful younger self? Why not show everyone who I am nowadays? Why not live out a fantasy?” 

Surely I’m not too old. Surely I haven’t grown out of this.

The time comes and I connect with my partner about it. He knows that one of my absolute favorite things is being totally frozen. We decide against anything complicated. No one will touch me or trigger me or anything like that. It’s the most “negotiating” we've maybe ever done, but I still leave all details to him. I tell him: “I was really just thinking this is an opportunity for me to sit blank and still for a long time.”

We walk into the room, and it’s overwhelming. People are setting up intricate exhibits with lots of creative interactions. There is a sheet we need to fill out to describe what our “art” is, which my partner writes on cryptically.

“Dolly can't talk. Duh…”

“Dolly is precious -- don't touch!”

Under “Artist”, where he is meant to put his name, he writes a question mark.

I am so in love with him, watching his mind work on the spot.

We find a place in the loud room and look at each other. We are a fluid force of nature in a bed together, spontaneous and wild. This planning doesn't feel like us. This hypnosis isn't a formality, per se, but it just feels sort of like “We both know how this is going to end on some level -- so how do we spend this time?”

He gingerly removes my name tag and starts murmuring to me. 

Being a dolly is such a luxurious treat that the moment he suggests it, I crumble, gripping his shirt with my weak little fingers, moaning too softly to be heard by anyone but him.

He poses me. He fixes my gaze blank and forward. He lets me practice standing and sitting. This kind of rehearsal is unfamiliar for us, and I almost relish doing something that feels a little awkward.

I am a dolly when he leaves me, frozen and posed, but I know it is going to take a couple minutes to settle in. I am a dolly getting comfortable, a dolly with twinges of self-consciousness. After a couple minutes he walks me over to a different chair, one that is highlighted by empty space around it, and I sit, and I know this is truly where I am supposed to be on display.

Finally, total stillness rushes over me like pure relief. 

I sit, and I stare, and I don’t do anything else. My mind is blank, and sometimes all there is inside my head is “I’m a dolly, I’m a dolly,” in my little dolly voice. It is pure, simple bliss.

People begin to come up to me to look at me. I am a good dolly and I am silent and I do not move even my eyes. They patiently read my sign and then observe me. I cannot change my body position to be any more or less appealing to them, I cannot hide nor flaunt myself.

Some people say things to me, little compliments and appreciations, and I can’t really process their words. The little dolly voice in my head screams in pleasure when I’m spoken to and given attention.

I have ADHD, I’m addicted to my phone, I’m a fidgeter. But there is nothing that carries the unique pleasure of being frozen and still. It reminds me of Quaker meetings, of spiritual silence and meditation that makes one feel time itself as though it has a sensory texture.

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel talks about the Jewish sabbath as proof that it is not intuitive for us to sanctify time. But nevertheless as Jews we must learn to do it to make shabbat holy every week. Shabbat is “a cathedral in time,” he says, and I’ve been thinking about how much that applies to my experience of hypnosis. Hypnosis is not a physical object. We may sometimes have props but we cannot touch trance and it leaves no marks. It is time that is the sacred dimension in hypnosis, the time that we set aside (“kadosh” in Hebrew) with another human being.

Heschel says we are slaves to space and material things. And in this moment I feel like I have gotten as close as I can to releasing that. I am not even moving my physical body within the physical world. I am just relishing each passing second of stillness, building my cathedral in time.

Of course, sometimes I think sacred space and objects are very important. After all, I am in a space that is incredibly rare, that only exists very briefly, that I had to travel at length to get to.

And I am an object -- art -- inside of it. I am literally decorating the space, as Basquiat would say.

Am I thinking all of this as I sit there motionless? No, not with any sophistication. I truly feel blank. But I am feeling flashes of this as abstract mental sensations that I will untangle later.

Something else strikes me very quickly that I observe within. When people walk up to look at me, something inside me tenses up. I realize that I am unconsciously preparing myself to talk to them. I have been coming to cons for so long, and especially since beginning to write books I always meet a ton of new people every year who come up to me to talk, which I adore. But right now I am in a space where I literally cannot have a conversation with anyone. I don’t even have my nametag on anymore -- my partner was so clever to remove it.

It is the opposite of vending books, where I sit in a chair and am helpless in the sense that I must engage in conversation with the people who come up to meet me. Now, I literally cannot talk to anyone, and they cannot talk to me, and most people may not even know who I am.

It is a hit of extreme objectification, more real than it has ever felt. I am not sleepingirl -- I am a dolly. “Who” I am doesn’t matter. I am art.

My partner also is not sitting there receiving compliments for me. He is nearby, in eyesight, just watching. But he’s anonymous too. And there is something about this mutual anonymity that makes me feel even prouder about us as a couple. There is no performance of who we are. I don’t know how to describe it, but obviously it feels more authentic than public play usually ever does. Like a little secret we are sharing a corner of.

And he looks ever the artist, sitting back and watching me. I feel very strongly that this little scene isn’t the art -- it’s me. Our relationship is what’s really on display. All the work he’s done over 7 years of brainwashing me, real work on my personality and identity, my wardrobe, every single way I express myself and who I am. The people coming by are seeing his bimbo, his dolly, his [x] -- without necessarily knowing who either of us are.

The rhythm is addicting. My mind babbles my self-given dolly mantra over and over, I luxuriate in the stillness, and I stare. I only can sort of half-see with darkened vision, though my eyes are wide. I love when people notice me sitting there -- their expressions change as they observe me. They step into my metaphorical space, which is eerily silent compared to the revelry of the creative demonstrations that fill the room. They are no longer “being entertained,” and no one can communicate to them what I am doing -- they must engage with me out of their own curiosity.

Sometimes they decide to talk to me. I can’t process most of it, but I remember a few interactions.

Someone says, “What an excellent dolly.”

Someone else notices that I’m wearing a bracelet that says “bimbo,” and says, “Even the details on this one are exquisite.”

Someone else says, “Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen sleepingirl play before.”

That last one hits me in the gut with memories of a time now long past: Play in public spaces was universal at cons; I couldn’t move from one place to another without someone dropping me into trance; absolutely everyone knew what I looked like when hypnotized.

Even now as I am on display, I have a mask on, and the people can’t see my gently parted lips.

It is a rush of emotion that is very complex for my simple little dolly head, but it goes away.

For a long while, I just exist as a thing in bliss while the room -- the whole world -- bubbles with activity around me. 

Eventually even as I sit frozen and blank, a little timer starts ticking in my head -- I could sit here for much longer, but I don’t want to make him wait for me, and I have other things I want to do tonight.

Reading Heschel has been helping me release some of that odd panic that bubbles up when I awaken from trance -- the feeling that magic is slipping through my fingers, memories are slipping out of my mind, and I can take no memento from it. I sometimes write, draw, or make music to try to capture the things I feel in hypnosis with my partner. I think it is from that impulse to be able to touch and hold hypnosis, to make it a “thing” in space as opposed to something of time.

But I do think there is something else, just a human drive to create art about this transcendent experience that we engage in together. I need to create art to try to communicate the perfect way I don’t move and my eyes go glassy. I need to express my emotions, my desires, my dreams, my love. I am only human, a human blown away by this very human thing we do that we call hypnosis.

Only my partner sees it, and he does see so much into the soul of it for me. But this is exactly what I have wanted -- a chance to publicly communicate the beauty of what he and I do. To make this art by performing it, living it. To engage in a human act of creativity by having my humanity stripped away from me.

I am a bimbo, a dolly, I am art -- and that doesn’t go away when I get up to tell him I am done sitting here. I am his art. I am a manifestation of his creativity in this world, and he has a beautifully creative mind which I love so dearly.

This is serious for me, this is real for me, this is so highly personal and jealously guarded as my own precious identity.

Ten years ago I laid my head on his lap and he transformed my eyes into dolly eyes and told me that someday he would turn my whole body into a dolly body. And as we laid together in a bed after the Gallery on Friday he talked about how I had those dolly eyes again in that room. But to me, it’s not about being a dolly, or even being a bimbo. It’s about creating art together, art with a power imbalance. And fucking respecting that as sacred and exciting.

I don’t have much else to say except extreme heartfelt gratitude to Mazirian for running the Gallery, and everyone who came by to look at me and said nice things to me and joined me in my world for just a little while. 

(If you’re curious, I was sitting there for about 30 minutes.)

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 6 - you look good

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: lanuguage

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

you headed out of bed and made your way downstairs to where everyone was having breakfast, a rush of nerves taking over you entered the room, searching for the group.

you could feel rafe's gaze on you before you even looked in his direction, and when you did, you could see his eyes narrow, his look unreadable.

"there you are!" sarah spoke, "thought we were gonna have to leave without you." she laughed.

"don't be silly i just needed my beauty sleep." you laughed back. "what's the plan for today?"

"thought we could have a walk around a bit before we had to drive back?" cleo asked.

"sounds good" you said as you grabbed some pastries. "you gonna come rafe?" you asked him directly as he was yet to address you.

"i will if you are" he said quietly, making your heart skip a beat, his remark not going unoticed by the rest of the group.

jj cleared his throat, and a small smile played on sarah's lips, enjoying the small interaction between the two of you. "alright lets get going then, you guys ready?" she said.

"yeah lets go" topper said bluntly, a shift in his usual upbeat demeanour, but he quickly bounced back as you all made your way outside.

after a few hours walking around, you all made your way back to the hotel to pack up your things and get ready for the drive home. the boys had a flight to san francisco for their show before they were headed to LA for their last nights on tour there.

you had all made a rough plan to fly out to LA for the last show, making sure the whole group was there to celebrate the end of tour.

as everyone made their ways to their rooms, you hung behind with rafe, walking slower than the rest of the group, intenitally from you, and hoping it was for rafe also.

"how are you feeling to be finishing the tour?" you asked him, breaking the silence.

"sad, but ready for a long break and to spend some time at home" he replied leaning against the door as everyone got into their rooms.

you nodded understandingly, "LA will be good though. it'll be my first time there."

"no way? i'm gonna have to show you around then." he responded smugly.

"yeah?" you pushed.

"yeah." he smiled, "can't have you lost in the streets of LA now can we?" his height meaning he had to lean closer to you to get his words across.

"i guess we can't."

"i'm happy you're gonna be there." he added

"you are?'

"course." he responded quickly. "always nice to know there's a pretty girl in the crowd cheering me on." and with that, he turned away from you and made his way to his own room, leaving you flustered and stuck in your stance, taking in his words. pretty girl?

as you went to open the door, it flung open and sarah dragged you in.

"oh my god not to be a CREEP but i heard that all" she said excitedly. "y/n he likes you. i knew it i knew it!" she shut the door with an exagerated slam, not even giving you time to process what just happened.

"lord sarah what just happened." your voice barely above a whisper.

"he literally just called you pretty. i KNEW he was acting different around you, he's been so nervous." she squealed.

"are you sure it wasn't just rafe being rafe?"

"stop right there. look i'm not blind. it all makes sense now, the way he's always looking at you. i just thought he was trying to figure out his opinion on you, but he likes you. rafe isn't the type to throw out compliments like that, he's always playing it cool, he doesn't care about anything. but the way he just spoke to you? that was different"

"you don't mind?" you asked nervously.

"i would if i hadn't got to know you like i do now. i'm so protective of him and his whack ass fans, but i love you y/n, you've become my best friend in such a short time, i want you happy, and i want my brother happy. do you like him?"

"fuck, maybe. what does this mean?"

"i don't know, but i know LA is about to get a whole lot more interesting." she grinned. "come on let's hit the road and chat with the girls. we need to come up with a plan."

and with that, you finished packing and headed out the door, making your way to the car for the long drive home, where you were sure a lot would be unpacked.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: feeding you all today, felt the slowburn needed to be RESOLVED. anyway just wanted to clarify you can tell who's ig story it is by the profile pic as i'm not sure if that was clear or not my bad

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm @pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes @judesgfirl @4urvalidation

[pretty-little-mind33]

Dad!James Potter x wife!fem!reader

Summary: Telling James you're pregnant again is scary.

Genre: pure fluff

Warnings: reader is pregnant, vomiting

~ set after Santa Baby and before Snow On The Beach ~

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

Date nights were extremely important to James. Since Henry's birth, he was adamant that his alone time with you was something he didn't want to neglect, even if there was a child in the picture.

Now that Henry was nine, convincing Sirius and Remus to babysit wasn't hard. Especially since they would bring their four year old, Cassiopeia, with them and Henry would graciously play her while you and James went out. 

Tonight's date isn't any different than the others, except that you're a bundle of jumping nerves. It certainly doesn't help that James looks positively stunning with his dark hair slicked back, a few loose curls arrayed across his forehead, and his dark suit, which conveniently matches the velvet navy dress you're wearing.

The restaurant is fancy. It's James's favorite and you secretly think one of the reasons is he likes showing you how much he can spoil you, as if he hadn't been doing just that for the past thirteen years. He'd ordered this fancy appetizer, along with some wine you haven't touched and was currently talking about work. Taking over his father's company was putting some stress on him, which you understood. 

"You know, I can't wait till Harry starts school, not that I won't miss the little bugger," James chuckles behind his wine glass, his mind wandering, "but because we'll have more time. Just us."

His words cause your stomach to sink. How are you supposed to tell him now, you think. James, always observant to your emotions, frowns when he sees your expression. 

"You okay, you look like you're going to be sick—" 

As he speaks, the nausea hits you hard and you stand, holding a hand over your mouth as you rush to the nearest bathroom without any warning. You clumsily throw yourself on the ground, vomiting into the toilet and you choke on an embarrassed sob. 

James is hot on your heels the moment you leave dinner so abruptly, running into the women's bathroom without a care in the world. The older women, who'd been mildly appalled by your vomiting, send him some dirty looks but he doesn't pay them any mind as he opens the stall. He kneels next to you, gently gathering your hair in his hand as he uses the other one to rub soothing circles on your back.

"Hey, my love, what happened?" He asks between soothing words, his hand strokes your hair as you slump against him, tears glistening in your waterline. 

Your husband isn't stupid and he knows you. He looks into your eyes and he understands instantly. His breath hitches as he remembers just how bad your 'morning' sickness was when you were pregnant with Henry, lasting and becoming even worse in the evenings. His gaze softens instantly and clicks his tongue. "Why didn't you tell me?" he scolds half-heartedly, still rubbing soothing circles on your back. 

You sniffle, wiping your mouth with an enormous amount of toilet-paper as you whimper, "I felt like I was going to disappoint you, you seemed so happy for time alone and—"

"And now we are going to have another baby," James finishes for you, kissing your temple as he helps you up and brings you to the sink. He pushes hair behind your face as he gently takes some paper-towel, wets it, and gently runs it under your chin and around your mouth. You look miserable and his heart breaks. 

He doesn't say anything for a moment as he washes your hands, washing his in the process as well. Your mind races. You don't know what to think, what to feel about this new life growing inside you.

He places his large palm on your stomach. You're not showing, yet. You flinch, sniffing. "Why so sad, love?" he whispers as he tries to comfort you.

"You're upset," you whisper, looking at your appearance in the mirror. You look like a mess.

James grins. "Says who?" He laughs and presses a kiss to your forehead again. 

You look on the verge of tears again and your husband's smile falters. He leans down, catching your gaze so you're looking at him properly. "Hey, love, please don't cry okay? I'm not upset, I promise. I'm happy. So so happy, really," James reassures you, a familiar glint of sincerity in his eyes. "We are having another baby. This is the best news, okay?" 

Tension eases in your shoulders and you finally relax. The warm feeling of happiness seeps back into you. You sniff again, looking into his eyes. "Promise?"

He straightens himself and holds out his pinky for you to take. "I pinky promise." You hook your pinky with his and he leans down, kissing his closed fist. You hesitate, finally cracking a small smile as you do the same. 

"Excuse me? This is the ladies room," a snark voice calls from behind you both and you look towards the voice. A woman is standing tensely in the doorway, gripping the hand of her young daughter, and she's glaring daggers at James.

The little girl looks confused and she's clearly feeling the fear her mother is and you can tell from James's expression he feels bad. 

"Sorry." He waves his hands in the air, his cheeks dusted pink, as he points to you, "My wife was sick—I was just leaving—" James looks your way and mouths, "You coming?"

You nod, taking his hand, as he leads you out the door. You mumble a small apology to the woman and James sends a small reading smile to the girl, hoping not to scare her.

Once your back at your table, James gulps down his wine and looks at you sheepishly. "Oops," he mutters. You smile and cover your giggles. James's smile widens when you laugh and he reaches over, resting his hand over yours. 

"Seriously, baby," he says, seriously now, "I'm really happy. And Henry will be happy too."

You rub your temples, taming some of the wisps of hair that fall in front of your eyes. "Yeah? You think so?"

James laughs, "No. He's gonna be furious," he pauses when he sees that his joke isn't landing and he squeezes your hand. "I'm joking. He'll be the best big brother. He's already so good with Cassi, he's practically an older brother already."

You smile. "He is, isn't he?"

James hums, that giddy smile of his returning. "Pregnant. Again," he muses, "I can't believe how lucky I am," he says and looks at you like you're the brightest star in the universe. You feel your cheeks warm. "I love you."

"I love you more," you say back, bringing his knuckles to your lips. 

James grins and when he catches glimpse of your untouched wine glass, a smirk curls his lips and shake his head, clicking his tongue. "Can't drink this, baby," he teases you and slides it over to his side. You roll your eyes. 

"I wasn't," you argue playfully.

"Hmm?"

You swat his hand, knowing he's teasing you on purpose to lighten the mood. Still, your nerves have calmed and you aren't feeling as nauseous anymore. In fact, you can finally truly feel excited now. Another baby. You smile.

Once the food arrives and the topic of conversation had changed to James excitedly coming up with new baby names, you feel at ease again and warmth spreads in your stomach.

You move your foot under the table, gently touching James's ankle—just to let him know you love him. James doesn't mention it but his smile widens as he speaks, a look of adoration and love sparkling in his eyes. 

[wizard-on-whales]

Okay but imagine late 80s to 90s James dating an overly emotional girl. He's the macho, men don't cry type of guy who doesn't let anyone see him get emotional over anything. He's either just stoic, angry, or occasionally silly but that's it.

But she's a roadie who he quickly falls for and they start spending all of their time together. But just as quickly as he fell for her, he realizes just how emotional she gets over things and how often she cries.

The first time it happened he panicked, walking into a backroom where she was organizing some chords and seeing her a complete mess. He rushed over to her, wrapping his arms around her and cooing.

"Hey..hey, birdie why are you crying, what's wrong!" He questions in a bit of a panic, making her look up at him.

"I'm okay...I just can't get these chords wrapped right!" She sobbed, dropping her head to his chest. He looks over at the chords on the desk, perfectly wrapped in his eyes.

"Baby, they look fine, why are you crying over something like this," James sighs softly, lifting her head from his chest and wiping her tears.

"I keep wrapping them the wrong direction and having to start over! They go a certain direction! I always wrap them that way!"

After that day he realized there were many things that she had to do a specific way or she'd burst into tears and criticize herself. Although it was a little upsetting to hear her call herself stupid over the smallest things, he could help but smile at some of her childish tendencies.

And when it got worse it was an easy indicator of her period getting ready to start soon. He'd prepare by getting her chocolate and making sure she had her heating pad and meds. And of course, his simple efforts made her cry over how sweet he was.

The tour was over and she had come home with him. James was at the studio all day but he promised he'd bring something home for dinner, he decided on pizza. He stumbled through the door of the house and set the food down on the counter, his ears picking up on a soft sniffling.

He rounds the corner of the kitchen and steps onto the living room where she was sitting on the couch crying, a photo clutched in her hands.

"What's got you crying now, Birdie?" He asks softly, stepping over to the couch. She looks over at him with her messy face and puffy eyes, another sob escaping her as she holds out the photo. It was a childhood photo of his.

"You were so cute, I just wanna hold you!" She sputters out causing him to laugh softly and shake his head in amusement. He sits down on the couch and pulls her head to his shoulder, kissing the top of her hair.

"You're a little mess, you know that," He says affectionately, stroking her hair. He couldn't help but feel his heart warm over the fact that she was crying over his baby photos.

"I just wanna hold you and make all your pain go away," She mutter softly, her thumb gently stroking the photo as her tears fall. James had never really understood how she got emotional over simple words and actions but as she says that he can't help but feel a pang of longing in his chest, his throat closing, and tears threatening his eyes.

"You seemed so sweet but so sad. I hate everything you went through," She continues, sniffling softly and trying to look up at him but he doesn't let her in fear of her seeing his glossy eyes. He swallows thickly and takes the photo from her hands, looking at it himself. Baby James...where did it all go wrong? He thought to himself...why was that my life? Why did those things happen? And why is this lovely woman in my arms so emotional over wanting to protect me at that age...

He feels her hands on his cheeks, her thumbs stroking the silent tears that had fallen. She looks at him with concern before tugging his head to her lap and wrapping her body protectively around his head. His hands gripped her tightly as a sob left his lips, a sound that hadn't left him in who knows how long...maybe not since that photo was taken. She coos to him softly, her own tears falling quicker at the sound of his broken cries and how tightly he was clutching her, as if she was a lifeline. Right now, to her, he was the same little boy in that photo. She rocked him softly, her fingers stroking his hair, letting him cry.

"I love you," he mutters quietly, looking up at her with a pout on his lip, his cheeks red and wet with tears. Her own face matched his as she leans down and places a kiss against his forehead.

"I love you too, My Lion."

His little bowtie....OH MY SHAYLA 😭🙏

✭-----------------------------✭

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Wedding bells

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Toto one-shot, let me know what you think:) If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

The morning sun filtered softly through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the bridal suite. A sea of ivory tulle and delicate lace surrounded you as you sat before the mirror, heart pounding in your chest. It was your wedding day—the day you had dreamed of, planned for, obsessed over to the very last detail. Yet, instead of excitement, all you felt was an overwhelming sense of pressure.

The makeup artist dabbed at your lips with a final stroke of soft pink, stepping back to admire her work. "You look stunning," she said warmly, but her words barely registered. Your mind was spinning with thoughts of the seating arrangements, the flowers, the music. What if something went wrong? What if the guests didn’t enjoy themselves? What if the cake toppled over before you even got a chance to cut it?

A gentle knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts, and your bridesmaid, Anna, rushed to open it. She gasped, spinning toward you. "It's Toto!"

Your eyes widened in panic. "He can't be here! We're not supposed to see each other before the ceremony!"

But before Anna could protest, the tall, commanding figure of your fiancé stepped into the room, his dark eyes locked onto yours. Toto Wolff, ever the composed and confident man, stood in his perfectly tailored suit, his expression unreadable for a moment—until it softened into something achingly tender.

"Toto!" you hissed, scrambling to cover yourself with the sheer robe draped over your wedding gown. "You’re breaking the rules!"

He ignored your protests, closing the door behind him and striding toward you. Anna wisely excused herself, leaving you alone with the man who, in a matter of hours, would be your husband.

Toto reached out, taking your hands in his, his touch grounding you instantly. "Liebling," he murmured, his Austrian accent wrapping around the endearment like silk. "I had to see you."

Your breath hitched as he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. "You look breathtaking."

Your earlier worries melted, if only for a moment. "Toto, you’re not supposed to see me before the ceremony. It's bad luck."

His lips quirked into that knowing smile of his. "We make our own luck, schatz. And right now, you look like you need to breathe."

A lump formed in your throat, the weight of the day pressing down on you again. "I just... I want everything to be perfect."

Toto sighed, shaking his head before pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. "Perfect?" he echoed. "Liebe, the only thing that matters today is that we love each other. Everything else is just noise. If the flowers aren’t right, if the music is off-key, if the entire world falls apart—none of it changes the fact that by the end of today, you’ll be my wife. That’s all that matters."

His words settled over you like a balm, soothing the storm in your mind. "But what if something goes wrong?"

He chuckled, his hands slipping down to your waist as he pulled you closer. "Then we laugh, and we dance, and we celebrate anyway. Because today is about us, not perfection."

Tears pricked your eyes, and you let out a shaky breath. "How do you always know exactly what to say?"

His lips brushed over yours, a whisper of a kiss that sent shivers down your spine. "Because I know you. And I know that you have the biggest heart, the most beautiful soul. And you are mine."

A tear slipped free, but Toto caught it with his thumb, his smile never faltering. "No more worrying, ja? Just enjoy today."

You nodded, your heart swelling with love. "Ja."

His eyes sparkled at your response, and he kissed you again, longer this time, as if he wanted to steal this moment for just the two of you before the world swept you away in the whirlwind of the wedding.

A knock at the door interrupted the intimate bubble you had created. "We need the bride! It’s time!"

Toto sighed, resting his forehead against yours for one last moment. "I’ll be waiting for you at the altar, schatz."

You let out a soft laugh, the nerves that had gripped you earlier now nothing but a distant memory. "I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else."

With one final kiss to your forehead, he stepped back, his eyes lingering on you as he made his way to the door. He hesitated, giving you one last smile before disappearing down the hallway.

You exhaled, a newfound sense of calm settling over you. Because Toto was right. At the end of the day, none of the small details mattered. The only thing that truly mattered was the love you shared, and the future you were about to begin together.

And that was more perfect than anything you could have planned.

@justaf1girl

[mid-80s]

esposa

pov: it's your honeymoon, and miguel can't seem to keep his hands off his new wife.

cw: oral (f receiving), praise, body worship, begging, cumming untouched, manhandling (if you squint), possessiveness

"please, mi vida."

"jus' wanna see you cum, need you to cum in my mouth, on my fingers--fuck baby, please."

you blush as miguel lowers until he's on his knees in front of you, trailing his kisses to your lower stomach.

miguel always had a way of making you feel like the sexiest woman on earth, but holy fuck.

this made you feel like a goddess.

the hottest man you'd ever had the pleasure of meeting was on his knees begging for you to ride his face? somebody pinch you.

you had just arrived in your honeymoon suite for the night before your flight to the caribbean the next morning, and you had barely gotten the door closed before he was all over you. "miggy, we gotta put our bags down first, we haven't even turned on the lights." you start, scratching the hair at the nape of his neck in the way he likes. he groans and presses his forehead onto your lower belly, gripping your hips for support.

"no. need you now." he growls.

you feel your knees buckle at his clear display of affection for you, a fluttering feeling in your stomach as his big hands cup your waist. miguel only gets like this when you've been fucking for a good while.

you smile and grip his hair a bit so he'd face you, relishing in the whimper he gives in result. "gonna help me take my dress off at least?"

in a flash, you're pressed against the door as miguel pulls the dainty zipper down with fervor. "careful!" you rush out, reaching back to hold his hand delicately while looking over your shoulder at him. "wanna save this for our kids someday."

it's hard to miss the outright moan miguel releases at the mention of having kids with you, a fantasy that's lived in his head since he dropped you home after the first date. "mierda..." he places his forehead on your shoulder before walking you over to the mirror, facing you towards it as he unzips your dress with much more care.

the beautiful fabric falls to reveal the lingerie you've been hiding the whole night, a gorgeous dark blue--his favorite color--with an intricate design you personally adored. miguel audibly gasps at the reveal, staring at you in the mirror before seemingly remembering he has access to the real version right in front of him. the moon--the only source of light in the room--makes you look downright angelic, and effectively shuts down miguel's brain. his mind looks as though it's running a mile a minute as you attempt to bring him back down to earth.

"i got it for our first anniversary, but i loved it so much and decided it needed to be saved for our wedding." you explain, turning in his arms right when his hands find purchase on your hips. "d-do you like it?" you can't help but feel a bit shy, this time having sex seems different. more emotional.

miguel seems to have found his words, his eyes breaking from their marveling at your body to look you in the eye with sickeningly sweet affection. "¿me gusta? cariño, eres tan jodidamente perfecta, nunca dejas de dejarme sin aliento. no puedo creer que seas mi esposa."

you giggle and reach up to wrap your arms around his neck as he stares at you like you've hung the stars. "i'll take that as a yes." you kiss him, passionate and deep, yet slow and soft. your husband groans into your mouth, fangs popping out before he can stop them. his brain is all mush by the time his picks you up to lay you on the bed.

he settles between your thighs before breaking the kiss to sit back and get a good look at you. your hair--now loose from its meticulous style--spreads around your head like a halo, illuminated by the moon light. your skin--buttery and smooth and glittery from the body shimmer you like to wear--is warm and soft as you take his left hand in yours, kissing his ring and miguel's brain short circuits at the sight. how the fuck did he manage to get the most gorgeous girl in every universe underneath him wearing his last name? he's genuinely surprised you even let him touch you.

"you're so gorgeous baby..so so fucking gorgeous..my wife.." he groans against your skin as he kisses down, practically ripping his blazer and dress shirt off when your soft voice requests oh so politely. he feels feral, like he wants to eat you whole.

you breath picks up as miguel's shaky hands reach behind you to unclasp your bra. he always had this way of making you feel so shy under his gaze. small, in a good way. wanted. miguel lets out a shaky breath as your breasts spill out from their confines, as if this is the first time he's seen them. you can't bring yourself to tease him for it, because you feel the exact same way. "oh dios, me voy a correr en mis malditos pantalones."

you giggle. "what?" you had picked up a bit of spanish over years of listening to his ramblings, but you had no idea what the fuck he just said. but none of it mattered once he dipped down to suck at your right nipple, tweaking the left with a calloused finger. "ah!"

"gorgeous, fucking gorgeous.." he mumbles to himself as he switches his attention to your other nipple before pulling off with a wet pop. he looks up at you with a fire you'd never seen before as he kisses down your torso, sucking hickeys along the way. "gonna make you feel so good, baby, fuck."

you whimper as he trails closer to your core, pushing onto your elbows to look at him while he sucks dark hickies into your inner thighs. he's off the bed, on his knees with your legs hooked around his shoulders, and he looks like he'd rather be no where else. "jesus, you're so wet. this all f'me?" he slurs, already pussydrunk.

"all for you baby. mi esposo."

the guttural moan he lets out in response would have made you flinch if he didn't immediately follow it up with a thick wet stripe up the length of your pussy, collecting the slick on his tongue before using the tip to circle your clit. "shit!"

he continues to lap at your cunt like it's his last meal, moaning into it as he shakes his head from side to side. "so fuckin sweet.." his words are muffled by your cunt and your cries out as you grip his hair, ring tangling a bit and tugging. this spurs miguel on more as the following buck of his hips against the bed is more forceful than the last.

"holy fuck miggy!" you practically scream over the lewd, wet sound of miguel in your pussy, heels digging into his muscled back as you push his head impossibly closer and grind onto his tongue. he hooks his hands around your thighs and keeps his tongue out for you like the good boy he is, and you have an overwhelming sense to tell him so. "s-so good f'me miggy--oh fuck--so g-good..."

miguels eyes roll to the back of his head as his thrusts into the mattress get more frantic, as do yours as the tell-tale signs of your orgasm come barreling towards you. miguel flicks his tongue against your clit as a thick finger curls into your cunt right against your sweet spot. the dam breaks and you back arches off the bed, stars bursting behind your eyelids as heat fills your body.

miguel coaxes you through it all before you signal him to stop.

he comes up with a wet chin and just as shiny eyes as he looks at you expectantly. you kiss him deep, tasting your juices on his tongue as you stroke his jaw affectionately. "you did so well for me, mr. o'hara. so fucking good."

and that's when miguel o'hara creams his pants like a fucking teenager.

[my-prompt-dump]

Junho slowly dying from major injuries at the end of the series.

He can't run anymore. He couldn't even stand anymore. The base is quickly going up in flames. The others have evacuated, and the only ones left are;

Gihun, who's at the end of the group to make sure everyone is safe, (and that's means Inho and Junho)

Junho, who's practically dead weight and has no energy left due to his injuries,

And Inho, who is still holding onto his brother for dear life, injured but trying to carry his brother out with what strength he has left.

Junho collapses not even halfway through. Burning debris fell from the ceiling and hit Inho's leg.

Gihun rushes to them and tries to help them out. Inho can't carry Junho anymore, and Junho is not moving except for labored breathing.

Gihun is conflicted. He doesn't know what to do. He can't carry both of them and by the time he getd one out, it'll be too late for the other.

"Take Junho, Gihun-ssi"

"What?"

"There's no decision to be made. Take my brother and go!"

Gihun hesitates. Just as he was about to open his mouth, Junho spoke.

"Hyung?"

It was weak.

"W-why is it dark, hyung?"

Gihun let out a sharp gasp while Inho's ragged breathing was interrupted by what sounded like a strangled sob.

Gihun catches Inho's eyes, and they know.

Junho is not gonna make it regardless.

Gihun kneels down to Inho and tries, one last time.

"Let's go. You can still get out."

Despite everything, Gihun already knows the answer.

Inho doesn't respond. He just held his little brother tighter, carding his hands through the dirty hair of the modt precious thing he has left.

Gihun exhales and ran his hand through Junho's hair as well.

"I'll take care of your mother."

After sparing one last look at Inho, whose eyes are looking at his brother only, Gihun leaves.

The flames are getting closer to them, but Inho can't feel anything other than Junho in his arms.

"Hyung?"

"Y-yeah?"

"It's warm."

Junho nuzzles closer to his older brother. Inho does nothing but reciprocate.

"It is, isn't it?"

"I. Hah. I don't think our house had been this warm in a long time."

Ihno chuckles and sobs.

"Hyung?"

"Yes, Junho?"

"I'm glad you're home."

If I can rewrite this as a proper one shot, I'll be posting on ao3

[wolftarotcrafts]

I'm writing this after doing the readings, and this is for people in relationships and situations. If you are looking for the singles, it is on my page or linked below. I also forgot to put in the extras/signs I usually put in, so I'm sorry about that.

I also have more information on my Ko-fi down below.

I'm not going to lie this is a little bit of a heavy one so just keep that in mind. Like after I was done I let out a big sigh. Its not bad I don't want to scare anyone off becasue some of it may not apply to you.

Pile One:

Pile one, I see two scenarios of a relationship and, for others, a situationship. If you are in a relationship, it's fresh and new. I see your past relationships may have been really toxic and not healthy, but you have done the work and really healed. I see that you are now with someone who makes you feel free and strong. For what you can expect, I think it's more change and growth. It's a steady incline, and I think you can expect to get to know one another and really take that time. There is no need to rush. For people in situationships or just talking to people, if the other person is not giving you attention or not putting in as much effort as they should be, I see you now knowing your worth and finding something better. You know you deserve better, and you deserve someone who is going to put in the work, and if this person isn't doing that, then you need to change it up and find someone who will. You know what you want and are manifesting, so don't settle for less.

Pile Two

Pile two, you may have also picked pile one. I think your person doesn't feel the same. They do not feel what you feel for them. I think they just like the attention you give them, but they don't actually care all that much. I feel this is a one-sided relationship/situationship. You need to choose yourself and work on yourself. I think there is someone else out there, and this person isn't for you. You will know if this applies to you because your relationship is just stagnant and nothing is happening. They aren't really returning your affections. You should do some shadow work and self-work. It's time for you to walk away from this situation.

Pile Three:

Pile three I see some of you may be in a fight, or this could be a common fight you and your partner can have often. I see some of you just being stuck in this rut. I see fights can stem from insecurity and jealousy. I think you need to have an honest conversation with your partner and really talk it out. If you want this to work, you have to be willing to have the conversation because you can't avoid it forever. You and your partner may be stubborn, so you need to be brave enough to have these conversations because I see there is love here, so don't let it go. Talk to each other and remember that you are good enough.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My Ko-fi link is here, so if you would like to take a look and support me over there too, that would be amazing! I added a PAC on there for 'what you need to focus on for the month of February.' Another one will be on its way tomorrow.

If you want to put a request for different PAC readings you want to see then feel free to comment them under this other post on my page.

Thank you!

[stylesluxx]

vocal cords – a. hotchner

[warnings: sad hotch but that's it]

summary: in which y/n encourages aaron to talk about his feelings – inspired by day one of febuwhump

word count: 866

main masterlist

You sang softly as you stirred the pasta on the stove. You weren't belting, just humming quietly, lost in the simple rhythm of it, too happy that Aaron was finally coming home after a week away on a case in Wyoming.

You didn't notice the grim look on his face—sunken eyes, hollow cheeks—until it was too late. You were too caught up in the thought of him walking through the door to realize that he had already walked in.

But when you saw him, you saw him. Everything else fell away. You dropped the spoon and rushed to where he stood in the doorway, his shoulders heavy with something unspoken.

"Aar..." you mumbled, cupping his face. "Hey, what's wrong?"

You gently took his bag from his hand and guided him to the kitchen island. As he sat down, he pressed his head into his hands, and the tension in his posture was enough to make your heart ache.

"What's wrong? What happened?" you asked, more insistently this time.

He didn’t answer; just sat there, his hands hiding his face. You stood there for a moment, watching him, before gently running your fingers through his hair.

"You have a beautiful voice," he mumbled, deflecting, avoiding the question.

"You're too kind," you replied, the edge of sarcasm softening the concern in your voice. "Now tell me, are you okay?"

He sighs and is quiet for a moment. He picks his head out of his hands and looks over at me, letting me take in how disheveled he looked. "I'm fine," He nods and rests his hands on the island. You roll your eyes and cross your arms, giving him the look—the one that says you both know what's going on here. He knows, and you know. The crack in his voice betrays the mask he's desperately trying to hold up. The way he avoids eye contact with you and shakes his head so you can no longer get a clear look at him. You wouldn't say he was closed off. When he was happy or surprised or even nervous, he expressed himself with you. You were the first person he thought of when it came to expressing himself. "I can't wait to tell her about this." "I'm so nervous, I wonder if she'll be happy." But when it came to more negative emotions such as envy, anger, or sadness, he was quiet. He shut down completely but you were slowly breaking into his vault. You could always tell by his voice or the look in his eyes, which is exactly why he looked away from you. His eyes were his tell when it came to you. You always knew. "Why do you hide your sadness from me? You know and I know and I'll always find out." You sighed and rested your hands on top of his large, warm ones. "I don't want to spread it to you." You were quick the shake your head and shushed him, not wanting to hear that nonsense. "Oh stop it." He's slow to look up but when he does, you see it all. All the tension, anger, and sadness, warring in his eyes as he looks at you. None of these emotions are toward you but it's as if he can express them as he looks at you. "I'm just not used to it. I have to be a calm, levelheaded leader at work," He admits. You nodded and gently rubbed his hands. "But when you get home, you don't have to be that. So, why? Why hide yourself from me? You don't have to. You can use your vocal cords and talk to me." "Like I said, I'm not used to it." You nodded as you took a seat next to him. "You've met my dad. You see how I have to practically tie him down to get a hug. Or how I won't let him leave the house without him saying he loves me back. You see how... how he doesn't express himself well," You said softly. Aaron takes a minute, but he nods. He knows how closed off your family was to affection and sharing it. Your family loved you immensely but it wasn't in their nature to say it often and show expressions of it. "Yeah, how he pretends he doesn't like when you hug him..." Aaron chuckled, followed by you. "Yeah... Well, I was just like him. But then I went to therapy and realized how much I needed these things; I needed to hear my dad say that he loved me. I needed his hugs. I'm no profiler, Aar, but this is likely a result of your environment growing up. You're still strong even when you're sad. You're still a 'man' if you're giddy and happy. You're still a good leader if you break down sometimes. And if you can't do it at work, you can always do it with me. Do you understand?" His brown eyes shifted to look into yours and he nodded. "Thank you," He said quietly. His eyes were now relaxed and full of sadness and anger. "Always," You beamed at him and patted his hands. "How about I make you some tea while I finish cooking?" He nodded, causing you to back away from him, and walked to the cabinet and fixed him a cup of tea. He watched on, grateful for you and grateful for his voice.

[AN: day one done :) taglist and ko-fi]

[fizzing-imagines]

Rush Hour | Eddie x Bartender! Reader

Notes: This is lowkey a vent, enjoy!

Words: 764

Warnings: Drinking

You were beyond swamped with orders. The tickets kept coming in, no break in sight. With the additional customers asking you to "Hurry up my order, I've got to leave soon." you couldn't help but roll your eyes whenever your back was turned to the customers. Sam, otherwise known as Drunk Sam, was your only entertainment in the midst of this as he told anyone who'd listen about his divorce. That humoured you to an extend where it was bearable.

Graduation week just sucked. So many people came to Hawkins and wanted to catch up at your bar. Plus, two coworkers called in sick so there was barely any help behind the bar except one of the waitresses sometimes pouring a beer.

"Two Martinis.", you said to the two extremely drunk and extremely annoying women sitting at your bar. "Finally.", they commented without even looking at you. You would've loved to empty the glasses over their heads, but since this was service industry-you that wasn't an option.

While you were pouring two Lone Star cans into a glass each, a group sat down at your bar. Not any more, you thought. Regardless, you turned to them with your fake smile. Your boyfriend Eddie and his bandmates greeted you, although all of them were nothing less than tipsy already. "Hey, pretty bartender.", Eddie flirted with a grin. Going home with a drunk boyfriend after all this? Honestly, you didn't know if you could deal with that.

"Hey, pretty boyfriend.", you said back with a small smile. "The usual?" They all nodded in agreement. "Might take a bit, I'm slammed with orders." Regardless of how much they drank previously, they were all understanding.

To your luck, a waitress helped you to finish orders before taking them out. It eased the situation a lot, so much that you could finally go outside for a smoke. Like a puppy, your boyfriend followed behind you. "Hey, baby.", he mumbled while hugging you from behind. You leaned your head back against his chest while taking a drag of your cigarettes. "You smell like beer."

"You smell like smoke."

"Fair.", you chuckled. Eddie kissed the top of your head and squeezed you once. "You look stressed, baby." A small groan left your throat while you closed your eyes. "The rush is dying down, it'll be fine." His scent was so calming, despite the hints of alcohol in it. "I know something to make you feel better at home.", he mumbled into your ear before placing a kiss right behind it.

This wasn't the first time he suggested this after drinking, and it wouldn't be the last time either. But your reply would always remain the same: "I not gonna have sex with you when you're drunk, but we can make out and cuddle." That answer always pleased him, and you knew by the way he hummed into your neck.

When Eddie saw that your cigarette was burned down, so he took it from your hands and put it out for you. "I gotta get back in.", you said before leaning in for a kiss. "Love you lots." He kissed you back and grinned like an idiot afterwards. "Love you too."

As predicted, the rush died down and you were able to close at 3am. Eddie's bandmates were picked up by Jeff's boyfriend and he waited at a table while you were counting the money you made that night with Bev. At least he was sobering up with the pizza you made him and a glass of water. "That's 120$ in tips for you", Bev said as she handed you a wad of cash. "God, that's amazing!", you said with a wide grin while taking the money. "You were saving for Eddie's birthday anyways, weren't you? Seems like a good addition." You shushed her, not wanting Eddie to hear it. He's been talking about a certain guitar he wanted for a while now, and you were saving up to get it for his birthday. "I've pretty much got it all, but he can't know." She gave you an understanding nod before dismissing you.

You drove home with Eddie. Luckily, he was pretty sobered up by now and didn't need the usual guidance you gave when he was drunk.

All you did was strip your clothes off, except for your panties, and plop into bed. Your boyfriend followed soon after, cuddled up to you and started kissing your neck.

"What was that about making out?", he mumbled as his hands started squeezing your boobs.

"20 minutes.", you replied before your lips found his.

[f1cflcfic]

Just Because I Called You (Carlos Sainz)

Well, sometimes the muse outruns your earlier plans. I wasn't going to write a Carlos fic, but here we are :) This one is fully written and only has three parts, hope to update every 5 days!

pairing: carlos sainz jr x fem!reader

summary: y/n knows there's a reason for his contact details to be saved under 'do not interact', but one call does not mean you miss him.

genre: 1.6k words, written au, brief 18+ content, angst

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons

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Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just the sheer exhaustion that’s keeping you from finding your house keys after a night out with your friends.

You curse out loud, digging your hand back into your purse, even though you know it’ll be another futile attempt.

It’s not there.

Dread settles in, as you consider your options. You’d been the last one in the Uber, so all your friends have undoubtedly already crashed out. You could book a hotel, but that seems very excessive, expensive, and also just incredibly inopportune. Everything you need, your contact solution, your glasses, your pyjamas – it’s all just on the other side of the door.

With a sigh, you lean your clammy forehead against the front door.

“Fuck,” you whisper, as realisation sets in. You’re going to need a spare key. And it just so happens there’s only two other people who might have one, of which one is currently on holiday in Thailand.

Which leaves you with the worst option of all. With a sigh, you grab your phone and scroll through your contacts. “x do not interact x ”

“Needs must,” you mutter to yourself, then press the green call button. It’s well past midnight, and you feel bad about calling – but you also know that if anyone’s going to answer, it’s him.

The line rings once, twice, three times, before it comes to life with a little crackle.

“Hello?” You close your eyes almost on instinct, as his rough voice washes over you. It doesn’t hurt as much as it once did, but the ache still lingers.

“I know it’s late, and I know we’re not supposed to talk, but I’m drunk and dumb, and I can’t find my key,” you rush out all at once.

There’s faint rustling on the other end of the line, but then he comes back. “I got it. Just eh – wait? I’ll be there in 10.”

For seven minutes, you pace up and down the hallway in your apartment building – desperately convincing yourself of the fact that this won’t end badly.

You’re broken up. Have been broken up for a month. It’s the sole reason why your friends took you out, to celebrate that it’d been a month of going no contact with your ex.

Because you deserved better. You deserved someone who’d say “I love you” back, who’d buy you flowers, who’d take you out on dates that weren’t just sponsor events, and holidays that were just the two of you.

You deserve to be someone’s priority. So you’d told him it was over, and it had somehow made you even more mad that he’d just accepted it.

“Hi,” a voice says softly, and you immediately feel tears burn behind your eyes.

“Hi Carlos,” you reply meekly, waiting and watching as he approaches slowly. He’s wearing soft grey sweatpants, and a hoodie you once bought him in your favourite colour.

It’s uncomfortable and weird, the way in which neither of you really knows how to greet each other beyond that. Initiating any type of bodily contact seems like a bad decision, not when you know it's never going to satisfy the itch. It'd only make you crave his touch more, in ways you can't have it. Not anymore.

He awkwardly lifts his hand and shows you the spare key you’d once given him. The one he hadn’t given back yet. Your stomach lurches as you catch sight of the tiny sparkly chilli keychain dangling in the air.

“Shall I?” He asks, motioning at the door that you’d unconsciously been blocking with your body.

“Right, sorry,” you mutter, and quickly take a step back to give him some room.

Belatedly, you realise you should’ve just taken the key from him altogether right then and there.

But he's here now.

So instead, you thank him for coming out to you at 3AM in the morning. “Do you want to come in? Have something to drink before you leave again?”

You regret it the moment the words come out your mouth, as you can see Carlos visibly flinch. “I didn’t mean – no, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I think you did, though. And you’d be right. I was pretty good at leaving, wasn’t I?” He rubs his face with his hand, your eyes following the movement.

It drops back down, then pushes the door open a little further. Your eyes trail up his arm, lingering briefly on his neck. It’s lost some of its thickness, signalling the off-season. He’s handsome either way, but it just makes you hurt over lost time and moments together.

Your need to catalogue all the ways in which his appearance has changed is distracting, and you’ve inched closer to him – closer than strictly necessary, before you realise.

You shuffle past him, carefully knocking into his arm just so. You kick off your heels, and hang your bag on the coatrack.

You look back over your shoulder, then point at the basket neatly situated on the side table in your hallway. “Look. Keys are right there.”

“Cariño,” he warns, but against what, you’re not entirely sure.

He should probably leave, you think. He could have left. If he’d wanted to.

“You could just drop those keys off there as well,” you add, coaxing him to make a choice.

To finally step foot inside your apartment for the first time in 6 weeks. Or to never see it again.

He exhales, dark brown eyes zeroing in on yours as he makes his way in. He doesn’t drop the keys in the basket, but instead closes the door behind him, then takes off his shoes. Clearly he remembers how much you hate dirty shoes inside. “Don’t you think tonight proves it’s probably good if I held onto these?”

“I think it proves I need someone to have spare keys. It doesn’t need to be you,” you counter, then turn around and walk to the kitchen. He follows wordlessly, gaze never straying from you as you pour the two of you a glass of wine.

“Where are you staying, anyways? Ten minutes isn’t far off,” you ask, softly this time.

“Alex’ place,” he explains. “Our – the apartment flooded.” He’s quiet for a second, then takes the glass of wine as you hand it to him. “This keychain is a chilli. It’s mine.”

You study him across the top of your wine glass, follow the way he takes a sip and lets the red wine slide down his throat. It makes your cheeks flush, although you’re fairly certain you can hide behind the alcohol you’d already consumed earlier this evening.

“Mi favorito,” Carlos murmurs appreciatively. You know he’s talking about the wine, but for a millisecond, you deliberately let yourself misunderstand. Let yourself forget and fantasise.

Silence wraps around the two of you as you offer him a piece of leftover tiramisu that you pull from the fridge. He grabs the spoon from you, and takes a bite. It shouldn’t look as sinful as it does. But it’s Carlos, and it’s you. Habits die hard.

Sure, maybe it is the alcohol, maybe it is your exhaustion, you reason with yourself. Or maybe it’s the charged air that surrounds you two – even now you’re no longer together.

“Why’d you answer when I called?” You blurt out, the alcohol making you a little bolder than you’d normally be.

His hand stills from where it had been swirling the glass. He looks up at you again, and you feel your knees go weak. There’s a devastating vulnerability in those eyes, one that’s hard to ignore. “Tu sabes. Do you wish I hadn’t answered?”

You set your wineglass down again, now empty, then lean over the countertop. Close enough to count his eyelashes, and the tiny freckles he’s acquired from being out in the sun with his family. It hurts not having seen them develop in real time.

“I wish a lot of things, Carlos.”

His eyes rove your face, then linger on your lips for a second longer. “Me, too.”

Your gaze drops, too. And even though your heart is smashed to smithereens in your chest, your memories are telling you not to do it, and you know your friends will crucify you before picking up the pieces - it’s the lust and love-addled part of your brain that handles purely on emotion that wins out.

On reflex, you’ll justify later, you find yourself kissing Carlos in your kitchen at 3AM in the morning.

On reflex, you don’t even register how your own fingers roam around his body, and peel off the hoodie you’d gotten him.

On reflex, he hauls you into your bedroom, and teases you with his tongue while his lashes flutter against the apex of your thighs.

It’s not on reflex, when he asks if he needs to use a condom. It breaks the lust-fuelled haze, and instead it’s got you on the brink of crying in the blink of an eye. But you’re so close now, can almost taste the way in which this is going to both ruin and complete you at the same time.

You know this is exactly why you shouldn’t have called him, but it’s also exactly why you’re not going to stop this now. Even when you know you should.

So instead, you let the anger course through your body, scratching his back with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. “You tell me,” you pant in his neck, before sucking a bruise into his skin. You can feel his jaw tick, but he refrains from grabbing a condom nonetheless.

It shouldn’t make you feel the things it does.

Then again, Carlos shouldn’t be in your bed, buried balls deep inside of you, making you come three times in a row either.

Not when you’d been doing so well at the no contact rule.

You guess, then, that you deserve the feeling of hot shame and embarrassment rushing over you the next morning. It’s your punishment for being foolish, as you realise you shouldn’t have been surprised at the fact that he’s no longer next to you.

The only evidence he was ever there, is the stupid fucking hoodie left on your bedroom floor, and the sticky feeling between your legs.  

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