#i love those tiny lovely moments when you get reassured that you’re in the right place at the right time and everything is meant to be

[fadeintolight]

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[etclouie]

kinktober day twenty eight - early morning sex

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 summary: finding a quiet moment with your husband early one morning (Daryl Dixon x fem!reader)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 setting: alexandria before the saviors

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 warnings: smut (with tiny plot), p in v, creampie, soft!daryl + husband!daryl, reader and daryl have two kids, daryl kinda needs some reassurance towards the end, they both say they love the other, uh i’m pretty sure that’s it?? kinda ended abruptly too ?? lmk if i missed any

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 word count: 1.3k

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 a/n: written with this oneshot in mind

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you’d woken up early, before Daryl and definitely before both of your children. 

Daryl was curled into your side, his head on the swell of your breasts and his left arm draped across your stomach as he slept. 

he looked picture perfect. 

hair messy and askew across his face, brown curls draped over his closed eyes. 

lifting your hand and brushing his hair from his face, humming at the sight of the face you fell in love with all of those years ago. 

simply admiring him as he slept, left hand soothing across his back— careful of all the scars that adorn his skin. 

the peaceful nature normally didn’t last long, your daughter always vowing for Daryl’s attention first thing until last. he didn’t mind of course, he loved this chance at being a dad and you loved watching him being a dad. 

but the peace and quiet was a craving you always had when you woke up, even more so with Daryl curled so warmly in your arms. 

as if he could feel your stares even in his sleep, Daryl began to stir. a low tired groan pushing past his lips as he buried his face in against your throat, laughing softly at his groggy state while your hand moved up his back and into his hair once more. 

“morning Dar”

you greeted, keeping your voice soft. he let out a grunt in recognition— his own way of saying good morning. 

scratching your nails softly across his scalp as you continued on, your nails pulling something akin to purrs from his lips. 

“it’s early, kids are still asleep”

innuendo laced your words, and it had his head lifting to meet your gaze. meeting his tired yet hungry eyes while he sat up on his knees between your legs, big hands pulling you closer to him and your head thumping against the pillows while you giggled. 

“good idea then?”

you asked softly, gazing up at him with an equal want. he nodded in response, eyes mapping across your body and focusing longer on the exposed skin that peeked out through your pyjamas. 

“grea’ idea”

he mused, eyes focused on your body while his big hands pawed at your hips. despite his hunger for you his touch was soft, caring— loving. 

his thumbs hooked into the waistband of your shorts, gaze flicking to yours for permission and receiving a nod in return. 

without waiting another minute he was pulling down your shorts, the cotton tossed aside before he moved to repeat his action with your underwear. 

“too many fuckin’ layers”

he complained, finally getting off your underwear and letting his gaze drop lower to your cunt. he groaned at the sight, his hands pushing your thighs further apart and spreading you wider for him. 

his gaze predatory as he watched your cunt drool with arousal, walls fluttering around nothing as warmth pooled in your belly. 

“Daryl, please”

pleading with him until his gaze was on your face again, his head nodding eagerly. his left hand coming up to brace himself on the pillows by your head, while his other hand was pushing down the waistband of his boxers until his cock was springing free. 

you hummed at the sight, his cock throbbing with need against your thigh and the head of him leaking pre-cum. 

“you’re so hard already”

he huffed out a breath of air, his right hand wrapping around himself and giving a couple strokes. your eyes followed his hand as it moved along his cock, the movement rhythmic and hypnotic. 

“‘ad a dream ‘bout you”

he admitted softly, a groan slipping past his lips as he continued to stroke himself. heat flooding his body and his cheeks turning pinky, almost in embarrassment about having a wet dream about you. 

reaching one of your hands between your bodies to wrap around his cock, taking over stroking him and pulling groans from his chest. 

his hips pushed forward as he leaned in to press his lips to yours, his right hand slipping between your bodies again to swipe the tip of his cock through your slick. both of you gasping against the others lips, his hair fallen in your face as he hovered inches from you. 

“need ya sweet’art”

he drawled, his thumb on the top of his cock as he rocked his hips against you. continuing his back and forth motion before nudging himself at your entrance and sliding in in one smooth thrust. 

both of you mewling at the feeling, your walls fluttering desperately around him and trying to accommodate to his intrusion. 

“shit— so fuckin’ tight”

he groaned out, his cock throbbing in your warmth as he bottomed out. his right hand snaked under your t-shirt to palm at your boobs, his thumb padding over your peaked nipples before rolling it between his thumb and pointer finger. 

whining at his touch, your back arching up towards his hand and a chuckled out groan falling from his lips. 

your hands falling to the hem of your t-shirt and helping to remove it, hearing his breath hitch at the sight of your body before he was leaning in to kiss you again— cock still throbbing inside you, aching for any sort of relief. 

“so fucking pretty darlin’,”

he drawled out against your lips, nodding at his words and hooking your arms around his neck to pull him closer and into another kiss. 

the kiss was needier this time, all teeth and tongue. Daryl was pouring every emotion into the kiss all while his hips drawed back, his cock sliding majority of the way out before pushing back into you. 

his pace starting slow, both of his arms on either side of your head. your face inches from his, and his eyes searching yours. 

fingers softly brushing his hair from his face as his hips picked up their pace, his hair jostling back into his eyes with every thrust he gave. 

“mhm love you Dar”

you mewled out after brushing his hair out of his face and behind his ear, blue eyes looking back at you— his pupils blown wide with desire. 

he was leaning in to press his lips to yours again, his hips rutting deeper into you as you parted your lips to allow him to deepen the kiss. his tongue slipping past your lips to tangle with yours, the kiss conveying all the thoughts and feelings he had. 

everything Daryl gave you— sexual or not— made warmth flood your heart, he made you feel loved in every aspect of your life together. and his sheer determination on pleasing you in moments like this showed his want and love. 

his hips continued, the subtle sound of skin slapping against skin filled your room and still quiet house. 

Daryl dropped his head to your shoulder, face tucking in against your throat as heat poured through his body and settled in the pit of his stomach. 

the feeling that shot down his spine was all too familiar, one that made him feel as if he was about to cum too soon.

“close darlin’, shit ‘m sorry”

the words came flowing out, his thrusts stuttering briefly before he continued. his cock hitting that one spot over and over, sending you hurtling closer and closer to your climax. 

“it’s okay, don’t be sorry”

you reassured, his head lifting and his eyes searching yours. nodding in response to his quiet question before he was dipping his head again, tangling your fingers in his hair and scratching your nails across his scalp. 

his groans against your throat and his desperate thrusts showed his impending release, the coil in his belly teetering on snapping. 

“i’ve got you baby, it’s okay”

the words whispered against his ear followed by your cunt fluttering around him was his undoing, he groaned desperately against your throat as the coil snapped. 

his balls drawing up as he spilling himself inside you, his thrusts shaky as he worked himself through his climax. 

subsequently, his undoing was yours as well. 

your cunt spasming around him as the pool of arousal bubbled over in your belly, your climax crashing over you and your release coating his cock. 

fingers tangled in his hair and pulling him up into another kiss, your gaze reassuring as he pulled back to mumble out to you. 

“love you too darlin’”

⋆˚࿔ reblogs are highly appreciated 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[lowkeyremi]

YOU’RE DOING GREAT, MAMA !

pairing: ushijima x fem!reader note: this has been in my drafts foreverrrr. it’s finally seeing the world thank God. i need to write more abt toshi summary: your husband comforts you through postpartum depression. content: angst, fluff, bittersweet moments, marriage, implied pregnancy, reader doubts her ability to be a mother, etc

The three of you returned home after three days in the hospital. During those three days you haven’t really been yourself at all.

Your baby boy, Nao was born healthy and strong. He’s doing all the normal stuff a newborn should do, but for some reason when you look at his tiny face you feel dread pitted deeply in your stomach.

Shouldn’t you feel joy when you see your little baby’s face? A lump forms in your throat as you start to think of the worst outcomes. Are you… rejecting your child? There’s no way. You and your husband spent months waiting for little Nao’s arrival. You were so excited setting up his room and buying him stuff. The ultrasounds were also very amusing to look at.

None of that excitement remains right now. “You must be tired, honey. Since you’ve already nursed him I’ll put him to sleep.” Wakatoshi pulls you out of your saddening thoughts. He shoots you a look of worry, because you’re clutching your chest tight, like you’re struggling to breathe.

“O-okay. Thank you ‘Toshi.” A faux smile crosses your face just to try and reassure your husband. He walks off to Nao’s nursery with his baby carrier in hand, but you know that he knows you well enough to ask what’s wrong later.

While your husband put Nao to sleep you changed out of your clothes into some comfy pajamas and you head to the bathroom to pee, brush your teeth and wash your face.

As the minty paste foams in your mouth you start thinking about your son again and you don’t even notice that you’re crying until-

“Sweetheart, why are you crying?” His voice comes soft and he uses his big hands to wipe away your salty tears.

You spit out the toothpaste, and in a few seconds you’re rinsing your toothbrush and your mouth out.

“I’m not sure- I just- I-” you pause letting out a shuttering breath, how do you even explain something like this? “I’m not as excited about Nao as I had been before he was born…”

Wakatoshi engulfs you in a hug from behind. “I’ve noticed at the hospital how you didn’t want to hold him much.” He too pauses before continuing on, “I was reading into this a few months earlier, but many women get postpartum depression after their baby is born.”

“This doesn’t make any sense, we just brought a life into this world and I don’t even feel any excitement about it.” Wakatoshi rubs small comforting circles onto your stomach which hasn’t completely gone back to its normal size.

“‘Toshi am I a terrible mother already?” You ask looking at him through the mirror. His brows furrow at the suggestion and he shakes his head violently which almost cheers you up because it’s so out of character for him.

“Not at all. Please do not talk about yourself that way. You’re going to be an amazing mother. Just give it some time.” He’s telling the truth, Wakatoshi is nothing but brutally honest about things, so you have no choice but to believe him.

Although, everything feels like it’s not okay, you allow your husband to comfort you through these baby blues. It won’t last forever, you tell yourself, as you put your toothbrush back in the cup.

Wakatoshi kisses your temple, it’s so soft and delicate. “We’ve created a beautiful baby boy and he’s going to grow up with the most loving parents.” He means that too, Wakatoshi grew up in a divided household so it’s no wonder he wants his son to grow up in a household that’s warm and loving.

“You’re right, we’ll raise our baby boy the best we can. Thank you ‘Toshi. I really needed to hear that. I was starting to spiral.” He squeezes you in a hug again.

“It’s nothing, and if you ever feel yourself in these baby blues again, just let me know, so I can remind you that you’re a great mother.” What in the world did you do to deserve this man?

©𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈 All works are written by me! Please do not copy, translate, or upload onto other sites thanks!

[aleskie-hischier]

A THOUSAND MILES SEEMS PRETTY FAR | Quinn Hughes x Reader SUMMARY: But they have planes and trains and cars. He'd walk to you if he had no other way. aka long distance with quinn.

Word Count: 1k Warnings: none :D pure fluff. no angst, just love. ♫ Listen: Hey There Delilah by Plain White T's ♫

You and Quinn are on your bi-weekly phonecall, catching up on each other’s lives in the strange new reality of being miles apart. He talks about training and games, his neighbors and their quirky antics, the dishes he's trying to cook, and the restaurants he’s found nearby for when his cooking doesn't go as planned. There’s a lightheartedness in his voice as he tells you about getting recognized by fans, but you can hear the fatigue too, the weight of adjusting to a life where so much feels new and foreign.

“Tell me what it’s like over there,” he says, voice warm and familiar.

“Oh, honey,” you say with a laugh, “It’s been a wild few days.”

You update him on all the latest drama from home, from your mutual friends’ lives to the ridiculous gossip circulating on campus. You tell him about your classes, the endless cramming, and how you’re running on caffeine and pure determination. You mention the phone call you had with his mom, how she keeps you updated on his little brothers, Jack and Luke, and their texts to you asking for advice on how to hide things from their parents. 

Quinn chuckles sleepily, clearly entertained by their schemes. He’s already in bed, his face framed by the soft glow of his bedside lamp, while you’re still at your desk, laptop open, notes scattered around you. It’s late for both of you, and you know you’ll both pay for it with early alarms and sleepy eyes tomorrow, but the call feels worth it, like a lifeline between you. It was hard, you’ll admit, with him being in Vancouver and you still in Michigan, but it was better than not having him at all. 

“God, you look beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. “Your lamp gives you this warm glow—you look like an angel.”

You laugh. “That’s probably just the homesickness talking. You’re either really sleepy or you just miss me. Or both.”

He stifles a yawn, smiling. “I always miss you,” he says, softer this time, the usual joking edge gone. “I never want to be apart from you.”

“Hey.” You lean closer, resting your chin in your hand as if it’ll somehow bring you closer to him. “Just two more years, Quinny. Then I’ll be right there with you.”

He’s silent for a moment, a question hanging in the space between you. Finally, he asks, “Do you wish I hadn’t left?”

You smile, reaching out to the screen as if you could brush his hair back. “I would never do that to you. This is your dream—you’ve wanted this as long as I’ve known you.”

He shifts in bed, tucking himself deeper into the pillows, watching you with that gaze that always made you feel seen, like you were the only one who mattered. The soft sound of your typing fills the quiet, and he’s content to just watch you, taking in the tiny changes in your expression as you work. In moments like this, he wishes he could teleport, even if just for an hour, just to see you, just to touch you. Being drafted to the NHL is everything he’s worked for, and he’d never give it up, but there’s still a quiet ache whenever he remembers you’re not there.

It isn’t the first time he’s asked if you wanted him to stay, and each time you tell him the same thing. You’d never ask that of him, wouldn’t dream of it. And every time, hearing you say those words—knowing you believe them—it reminds him just how much he loves you. It might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for him. 

“People say we’re crazy for trying to make this work,” he says, his voice softening. “But I don’t think we are. Is that weird?”

You smile, looking at him through the screen, your eyes full of warmth. “Not weird at all, bub. I feel the same way. They can joke all they want, but we know this is real.”

His gaze softens further, your reassurance the steady anchor he didn’t realize he needed. The corners of his mouth tug into a smile, one that’s vulnerable and hopeful all at once.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his words barely more than a whisper, but somehow carrying a lifetime’s worth of promises. “I promise, when you get here, I’ll take care of you. I’ll give you everything you ever wanted.” Even thick with sleep, his eyes hold a fierce certainty, one that leaves no room for doubt. Maybe it was strange to some, betting so much on a relationship that started in university, but he knows, as surely as he’s known anything, that you’re it for him. He can already see it all so clearly—planning a wedding, finding a home, starting a life together. This is it.

“You already take care of me, Quinny,” you say, the affection in your voice unmistakable. “You’re all I need.”

He chuckles, his exhaustion creeping in with a long yawn. “Flatterer,” he teases, even as his eyes droop a little, his smile growing softer with every passing second.

“Might be time to call it a night,” you say gently, tucking your notebooks away and placing your pens back in their case. “Don’t miss me too much, yeah?”

His smile grows sleepy. “Almost summer,” he mumbles, words slow and relaxed. “I’ll have you all to myself then.” There’s a long pause, one filled with unspoken dreams. “I love you,” he finally says, voice laced with sincerity, each word as warm as a goodnight kiss.

“I love you too,” you reply, feeling the words settle in your heart, grounding you. “Goodnight, Quinn. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight.” His voice is soft, eyes fluttering as he murmurs, “I’ll dream of you.”

You smile, your voice tender. “And I’ll dream of you. Let’s meet up again there, alright?”

A sleepy grin spreads across his face, a warmth in his gaze that transcends the screen. “Yeah,” he whispers, his voice filled with a quiet certainty, “Let’s do that.”

You both linger for a moment, unwilling to end the call, sharing a silence so comfortable it feels like being wrapped in each other’s arms. His eyes are on you, tired but happy, and yours on him, both of you letting that last connection sink in before sleep pulls you both under.

“See you soon,” you say softly, a quiet promise in your voice.

“See you in dreams, love.”

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: 17

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Mature (mentions of child loss and grief, aka we go through Joel's past one more time as he says goodbye)

A/N: We are at the end ❤ I am insanely nervous since the whole story was built around this final chapter...I really hope you like it. I am going to make a separate post with all my thank you notes, but for now: @the-scandalorian I literally could not have done this without your guidance and reassurance and constant support. I owe you everything, and I love you. @mrsmando thank you for looking this over for me, for being such an amazingly emotional ride or die and for inspiring me since day one of this fic with your massive brain. I adore you. finally, @bageldaddy thank you for yelling at me in the doc when I needed it, and for your constant Joel advice. You make me better. ❤

Series Masterlist

--

“That’s it, honey. You’re doin’ so good.”

 “Yea?” Straightening your back, you let your hips roll with the movement under you. The inside of your thighs burning with overuse, your voice is slightly breathless. “Like this?”

“It’s like you’re a natural,” he muses, giving you a wink. 

“I don’t know about that.”

A trampled path guides the horse more than you do, a circle carved into the grass in front of the cabin and you let out a breath, feeling yourself relax for the first time since you first climbed on. 

He didn’t believe you when you’d said you’d never been on a horse until you stood next to it, terrified. He had helped you up that day, climbing into the saddle behind you. When he noticed that you were paying more attention to the way his broad body encased yours from behind, he cut the lesson short with a teasing scold. 

Only to continue it in the bedroom later that night. 

He’s silent for a moment as he walks next to you, until June’s babble from the edge of the field calls out across the space. 

“See?” he says. “She thinks so too.”

She starts to crawl towards the two of you, and Joel is quick to stride over, picking her up. 

“I feel like I got the hang of it,” you say tentatively. “I’m not sure what to do if I have to take off on it though.” You look at him, the scenario only now occurring to you. “Hang on. What if I’m holding her and we have to run? How will I hang onto her and the horse? How –”

His hand comes to rest reassuringly on your thigh with a squeeze, stopping you.

“Don’ focus on that right now.” He shifts June in the crook of his elbow so that her outstretched hands can touch the horse. “Just focus on learnin’ the basics. When she’s down for her nap, I’ll get on with you and we can practice goin’ faster. Okay?”

He holds your gaze for a moment, sunlight catching the brown in his irises and curls. He raises his eyebrows in question, and you nod. 

“Okay. Yea, okay.”

Giving the horse a pat on its neck, you let June brush her hands over its coat. Her tiny fingers dig in, pinching the animal in exploration. 

“Easy, baby girl. Easy,” Joel murmurs. “You gotta be gentle. Like this.”

He takes her hand in his, petting the horse. Having no patience for the slow movement, she tugs her hand free to make a quick grab for the animal, and he chuckles, stepping back - only for her to erupt into a wail. 

“Aw come on. Don’ gimme those crocodile tears, baby.” 

Lifting her into the air, he holds her above his head and looks up at her scrunched face. His biceps strain the sleeves of his t-shirt, his curls fluttering in the breeze as he suspends her until her cries turn into whimpers, then giggles. Only then does he bring her down, kissing her on the cheek. 

“I knew you were fakin’.”

–

The plan was to leave tomorrow, at first light. 

Weathering weeks of up and down emotions, you’ve been constantly wavering between wanting to follow the others in hopes of finding somewhere safer for June and being terrified that you’re making the wrong decision. A silent war within yourself, always waging as you prepared. 

When it was just you and Joel, there were times that you had been afraid. You had eventually made peace with the idea that something might happen to you, even though you would have fought with everything you had to prevent it. The fear you feel now, however, is on a whole other level. Something more base, coming from deep within you. 

 It’s so much harder with June. So much more left to lose, so much more at stake. 

A bone-deep type of fear that took root in you the moment you realized you were pregnant, it only grew until it was something overwhelming. Something that choked you with nerves the day she came into this world. Something that reached down into the heart of you and grabbed hold of reserves you never knew you had. Something that turned you into another person entirely when you thought about anything happening to her - a very real possibility given the unknown you were willingly venturing into. 

In comparison, Joel seemed…calm. Always the case when he had a clear direction and a purpose, you couldn’t tell if it was because he truly believed this was the right thing or just because he was so caught up in the planning of it all.

Plants harvested and then pulled up to save the root system, seeds meticulously dried and saved in scraps of paper, everything protected with as much safe keeping as you could provide it. Stores of food organized and packed in makeshift saddle bags, clothing and rags for diapers and two sleeping bags and medicine and first aid supplies and knives and anything else you could think of that might be useful, already accounted for and packed away. 

All of it placed by the front door, waiting. 

You run down the mental list one more time while rocking June, eventually placing her in the crib after cradling the soft, warm weight of her sleeping body for a moment. 

“She go down okay?” Joel looks up from his place on the bed, the lantern glowing warm edges around the curve of his shoulders. The light splays across his skin, and he sets his book to the side. 

“Yea, she was just a little fussy.” Yawning, you crawl into bed next to him. “I think she can feel something in the air. Our nerves or something.”

“Probably,” he agrees. 

Sliding down under the quilt, you watch the shift of his muscles as he stretches to turn out the light. Joining you, he rolls on his side so you’re face to face.

Getting comfortable, you scoot closer. “So. Our last night.”

“Looks like it,” he replies, grasping your hand. He runs your knuckles over the  seam of his lips, giving them a kiss.

“Are you nervous?” 

He considers for a moment. “Yea. I know it’s time, but I can’t say I’m ready for what’s waiting out there.”

You nod.

Content silence rests between you, a cricket chirping right outside the window, the  gentle current joining the rustle of leaves as they stir in the warm night air. Your fingers play idly with the sparse hair that covers his chest, and he watches you in the darkness. 

“Are we doing the right thing?” you ask, your voice almost a whisper. 

“It’s a little late for that, honey,” he teases, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone. When you don’t reply, his tone softens and he continues. “Hey now. We are. I know it.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, I’m not sure. I don’t know if anyone is with any decision they make, honey. ‘Specially not parents. You can only hope, ya know?”

You draw your lip between your teeth, and he gently plucks it out with his thumb. Guiding your face to his in the darkness, he runs his touch across your cheek, stroking the soft curve. 

“Look at me.”

He’s right there, holding your gaze. Brown irises turned black in the dark room, holding you steady. There, like he’s always been. 

“This is the right thing. I know just as well as you that there is plenty out there to be afraid of, but I got you. I got you both. I ain’t gonna let anything happen.”

A tear slips from the corner of your eye, dampening the pillow case. Your fears getting the best of you, words come pouring out. 

“What if she crawls away while we are sleeping, or what if she gets sick? What if someone tracks us, and tries to take what we have?” You swallow hard, taking a deep breath. “If something happens to either of you, I –”

You can’t even bring yourself to finish the sentence, and he’s gathering you in his arms, pulling you close. The steady thump of his heartbeat underneath your cheek greets you, and you bury your face in the soft crook of his neck. 

“I know we have to, but I don’t want to leave. This is our home.”

He softly shushes you. “We’ll make a new one. Together.”

Cradling your head in his hand, he lets you cry, his fingers stroking over the crown of your hair. Wrapped in his hold, you let it all pour out: not deep, shuddering cries of despair but rather the silent cries of mourning, of nerves strung too tight for weeks. 

His hand slips down to rub between your shoulder blades and you close your eyes for a moment, trying to commit everything about this moment to memory: the mattress underneath you, the heat of his body, the husky rumble of his voice. The soft sheets and the worn blankets that have held the heat of your naked bodies countless times. His side of the bed that smells like him, his things on the nightstand, the feel of him in the middle of the night when it’s too dark to see. The scratch of his beard against your palm when you sling your arm over him in the night, just to find the bare patch along his jaw with your fingertips. 

You think about everything that’s ever happened in this bed: his confession about Sarah, the intimacies you’ve shared with each other under the safe veil of darkness. Sounds that these walls have absorbed night after night: his low chuckles and his murmured praises and his endless, reassuring love. 

When you’re done, Joel guides you back down into the mattress, using his hold on you to close the distance between your mouths. A gentle kiss for your lips, then your nose, then each one of your tear damp eyelids before finding your mouth again. 

You shift up, giving him access to deepen it as his tongue slides against yours, your body arching into the familiar taste and path of his kisses. Your fingers thread through his hair, slip down the breadth of his back, and curl around the back of his arms.

Your thighs hug his hips, his head dipping to find more of your skin. Laving the edge of your jaw, he gives your throat an open mouthed kiss as his hand pushes your sleep shirt up. Up, up, exposing the bare skin over your sternum and when his lips find your nipple, he draws into his mouth with a reverential suck. He laves his tongue over and around it, playing with the stiff bud as he rocks his hips into yours and when his teeth gently scrape, a moan catches in the back of your throat. 

The last time you’re ever going to feel him in this bed, you savor it. 

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he groans softly when his fingers find your slick warmth. 

“So do you,” you breathe, reaching down to guide his fingers inside you. They slip in with a slick, snug stretch, and he rests his forehead along the plane of your chest, watching your hand move with his. Crooking his touch to reach a spot that makes you keen, he rubs against it and you muffle your sounds against the firm round of his shoulder. 

Quiet. You have to be quiet. 

“Fuck me,” you plead against his skin, and he works his fingers faster, pulling back to watch your face. 

“I wanna make you come like this first. Gonna be awhile before I can take my time with you again.”

You say nothing, the air seizing in your lungs as you arch into the tight, syrupy warmth he’s building inside you. Clenching around his fingers, you’re tipped over the edge by the heft of his stiff cock rocking against your thigh.

“There’s my girl,” he praises. 

His words wash over your heated skin, his eyes flashing in the dark. Slipping his fingers from you to drag damp over your skin, he pushes your legs open to make room for himself.

–

Leaving you sated and asleep, he slips from bed as quietly as he can, stepping out into the inky night. Tugging a sweatshirt over his head, his feet are bare, the hem of his pajama pants skimming the grass as he walks down to the shore. 

A simple handmade cross made from the leftover wood from June’s cradle is gripped in his hand.

He kneels and taking his time, begins to delicately smooth out a patch of sandy earth. His fingers pluck away wayward strands of grass and toss out tiny pebbles until it’s cleared. A stack of stones he’s been gathering for the last few weeks rests in a pile nearby, waiting. 

Satisfied, he rests back on his heels.

“Hey, baby girl.”

Silence greets him, and content with that response, he continues.

“We’re leavin’ tomorrow.”

Reaching for the biggest stone, he turns and sets it just at the edge of the lapping water. He then balances the next one on top, slightly smaller than the one underneath it. 

“I’m not sure when we’ll be back, if we’ll ever be. But I’m gonna mark a spot for you just in case. My favorite spot.”

He adjusts a third stone on top of the others, his hand lingering to make sure it stays put. 

“I never got to –” he starts, steadying himself. “I never had a spot for you. Just kept you in my head, and in my heart.” He holds the fourth stone in his hand, looking at it. “I always wanted a place to visit you. A place to come to when I missed you, a place to talk to you.” 

He sniffles, using his knuckle to wipe at a tear that slips free and then places the stone on top of the others.

“Now I know that you’re always listenin’.”

The water washes over the base of the stones, the ripples sparkling in the moonlight and he finishes the cairn in silence, listening to the sounds around him. When he’s done, he looks up, and stares at the expanse of stars above him. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers. His voice wavers, and he swallows hard. “For everything. I know you know this, but I’ll – I’m always thinkin’ about you. I’ll always be here when you need me, okay? I will never stop bein’ your dad.”

A few more tears roll down his face, and he lets them go. The corner of his mouth eventually lifting, he clears his throat. 

“Maybe you could watch over your sister for me, make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble on this trip? Sometimes she gets this smile on her face and it’s just like the one you used to get.” A low chuckle slips free, and he hangs his head with a shake. “It's like I know she’s about to do somethin’ that she ain’t supposed to do, and all…'' 

The rueful smile on his face softens, his voice lowering with a rasp. 

“All I see is you.”

More tears come, silent paths gliding down his face and he sits alone with his thoughts then, on the edge of the river. 

That night comes back to him: the sheer terror he felt, the despair, the helplessness. The rage that filled him when he woke to find out that her body had been left behind, twisted and broken and all alone in the dirt somewhere. Like no one even cared to bury her, even if he knew that wasn’t the case. 

The blur of black days that followed her death, when he longed to join her. 

The weight of the gun in his grip, the thud it made when he whipped it at the wall with a scream when he missed. 

All the years after, trying to lock the memory of her away. The shadow of a person he became, all the things he did without an ounce of regret. 

A man with nothing to lose, because he’d already lost it all. 

When his tears dry, he looks up at the sky again and finally, he remembers a different memory. 

A warm night sky just like this one, the slippery cushion of a sleeping bag under his back and a petite, squirmy body stretched out next to him. 

“What’s that one, dad?” A swirl of stars above them, her small finger points at the brightest one. 

She sits up, the silhouette of her unruly curls calling to him and he brushes his hand through the soft texture of it, making up a name.

“Dad! Stop it,” she laughs. “For real. What is it?”

He makes up another one, and the girlish peal of her laugh echoes in the dark; the kitchen light from the house glowing behind them. 

Still feeling her curls against his palm, he takes the cross in his hand, and pushes the bottom of it into the dirt. Standing with a soft grunt, he brushes the sand from his knees and looks at it for a moment. 

A tiny thing, shadowed by the protection of a tree. 

Protected and safe, finally. 

“I love you, baby girl.”

With one last look at the cross, he makes his way slowly back up to the cabin. 

–

With June secured to your front, you walk around the inside of the cabin one last time. 

Domestic warmth infused in every room, items you have to leave behind paint a picture of the people that lived here: the westerns he read in his early days of avoiding his want for you stacked next to his side of the bed. The flowered quilt that you tucked yourself under on rainy days spread over the mattress. The bathroom, with its neatly folded yet mismatched hand towels draped over the bar next to the sink. 

The living room, with the dust that once coated everything gone, and the kitchen, with a neat row of washed pots lined up next to the dish rack that holds a mug used this morning. 

The clean windows that would let in the bright sun, save for the tarp along the back that has been secured in place.

Even the strangers that line the hallway live in cleaned frames, and walking past them, you wander into June’s bedroom to take one last look at her cradle. Impossible to bring with you, it hurts the most to leave behind. You’re still looking at it when Joel comes in from outside, calling your name.

“In here,” you call back, and he comes to stand behind you, curling his hands around your hips. You lean back into him, and he rests his chin on the top of your head, reading your mind. 

“I’ll make her a new one, honey. I promise.”

You turn and give him a watery smile, and he presses his lips to your forehead. 

“A big girl bed this time, I think,” he coos down at June, and she reaches for him, fussing when he doesn’t pick her up. 

Cradling her squirming body, you follow Joel outside. 

Next to the porch, the horse shifts under the weight of the saddle bags, stomping her feet and you watch as Joel soothes her, sliding his hand down over her coat. Ropes securing everything, she is weighted with your belongings and with the plan  to walk beside her as much as possible, you start to untie her reins while he closes the front door. 

The original tarp that covered it is dragged back into place, and when everything is as it was on that first day you found it, he gives it one last look.  

Coming to join you with his rifle slung over his shoulder, he takes the reins. 

“You ready?”

At the sound of his voice, June looks at him and smiles, a tiny dimple piercing her chubby cheek. He returns it, reaching out to grasp her foot with a wiggle. 

“Are you?” you ask. Your brow knit with gentle concern, you nudge your chin towards the water. 

“Your spot is beautiful, by the way,” you say softly. “June and I said goodbye this morning. It’s perfect for her.”

He says nothing, gratitude spilling from the depths of his eyes. Looking at you for a long time, he then leans in to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. 

“I guess time heals all wounds,” you muse, thinking of the man you came here with and he pulls back.

Looking down at you both, his expression turns into a sort of solemn earnestness.

“It wasn’t time that did it.”

Your fingers locked in June’s fist, she pulls them into her mouth for a nibble and his hand reaches up to stroke the curve of her cheek, and then your own before leaning in for a kiss.

Walking away from the cabin, you look back when you reach the far edge of the original path that brought you here: the only visible indication of the structure a slice of muted, dingy blue in a sea of lush green. Leaves crunch underfoot as you walk beside him, the slope of his broad shoulders a map that you’ve always followed without question. With another couple steps, the cabin disappears from view.

Looking forward, you lace your fingers with his and walk.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ Somewhere Only We Know ♡

♡ Pairings: artist!boyfriend!hyunjin x fem!reader

♡ Genre: fluff

♡ Summary: Things have been hard for you lately so you retreat to your boyfriend's apartment where you find all of the love and reassurance a girl could ask for.

♡ Word Count: 1.2k-ish

♡ Warnings: None really but reader's been going through a lot so she is indeed a little sad tonight.

♡ A/N: This is a request from @jehhskz who I promised to write a literary hug for so I really hope I lived up to my promise. Thanks so much for the request you beautiful human.

The night hangs quietly over Hyunjin’s loft, the fresh earthy post rain air gradually filling the space. Seated at his desk facing the open window, Hyunjin hums along to the music flowing from the record player tucked in a nearby corner. Before him on the desk sits an open sketchbook, textured canvas paper coated in a gradient of pastels that mirror the night sky.

And seated on the floor between his legs, wrapped up cozy and warm in his favorite blanket, is you. Working with his pastels typically dictates that Hyunjin use two hands but tonight he makes due with one, the other preoccupied with more important things like playing with your hair or tracing the contours of your face.

With your head resting against his inner thigh he can only reach one side of your face but that’s more than enough room for him to silently praise those beautiful features that take up more space in his mind than you know. The tips of his fingers are delicate, each brush of them across your skin so deliberate that it’s almost as if you’re one of his paintings. 

Lately it seems that the whole world’s caving in on you. The pressures of life have begun to take their toll and it’s all so much…too much. What you’ve needed more than anything is a safe place to be, somewhere to get away from it all, and Hyunjin couldn’t be happier to be that for you. “Jinnie…” you say—the first thing you’ve said in at least an hour—and the scratching of a midnight blue pastel against paper comes to a halt. In an instant everything around him disappears. There’s only you.

Hyunjin reaches around, cupping your chin, and tilts your head up towards him. You lock eyes, him looking down and you looking up. His eyes are the moon, yours are the sea, and, oh, how he moves you. “Need something, sweetie?” he asks, strands of dark hair falling loose from the hair band keeping it out of his face. You shake your head, the tiny hairs on your arm standing up as he strokes the side of your neck. “No, it’s just…do you ever wanna…I don’t know, run away?”

Hyunjin gasps, pretending to be on the verge of tears, “She said I’m so boring I make her wanna run away.”

“You’re such a drama queen” you giggle, rolling your eyes, “It’s not that. I mean, I do want to run away but not from you. From…” Your chest tightens at the thought of what troubles you, stopping your words short.

Hyunjin leans down to kiss you on the forehead, grounding you in this moment with him. His way of reminding you that you are safe here. “From everything else? Just drop it all and run as fast as you can to escape it? I feel that way all the time. Way more than I’d like to honestly.” 

“So how do you get over it?” you ask, relieved to finally have someone who gets it. “Hmm,” he sighs, glancing out at the endless night and back down at you, “Someone once told me that when we feel bad things that’s just our hearts telling us that something’s not right. So we shouldn’t just get over it. We should pay attention to it.”

You shudder at the concept, paying more attention to what you’re feeling is the last thing you want to do. “But every time I think about it I get so upset. I feel weak.”

Hyunjin’s expression sours the second the word “weak” leaves your lips. Sitting back in his chair, he holds his arms out to you, “Come sit.” Staying snug in your blanket burrito, you make your way onto his lap, quickly adjusting to your new spot. Hyunjin laces his arms around you, holding you close to him like something too valuable to let sit unprotected.

“Never say that again” he says, empathetic but unwilling to let you doubt yourself, “You are not weak. You’re human. Life sucks sometimes and you don’t have to force yourself to be okay with it. Not for anyone.”

Fidgeting with a loose thread in the blanket’s stitching, you fight your hardest to choke back the tears that inevitably come streaming down your cheeks. Life may be overwhelming but this—being loved by him even when you’re falling apart—is overwhelming in its own way.

Hyunjin pulls the sleeves down on his sweatshirt, using the smooth cotton to wipe away your tears as they fall. “So, where are we running to?”

“What do you mean?” you sniffle, blinking through the tears. 

Hyunjin looks at you like his reasoning’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You wanna go so let’s go. Right now. We don’t even have to tell anyone. Let’s just…fuck it…let’s go.” 

“You can’t just go, Jinnie. You have that thing tomorrow and—” 

Hyunjin kisses you, wiping your brain clean of any thoughts of pushing him away. His lips play a game of catch and release with yours. Drowning you in their soft embrace, letting you come up for air, and dragging you back down again. “What’d I say to you when I asked you to be my girlfriend?” 

“You said, ‘It’s me and you’” you recall, as if you could ever forget. 

“Me and you and you and me and me and you” Hyunjin says faster each time until you’re giggling through what’s left of your tears, “We’re in this together. You’re stuck with me.” 

He lingers closely enough to your face that you could steal a kiss of your own if you wanted to and you do. Your body rushes with so much heat that you let the blanket fall away, exposing you to a light breeze. Hyunjin pulls you over so that you’re stadling him, his arms locking around your waist.

“Take me wherever you want,” you whisper, “As long as I’m with you I don’t care.” It gives him butterflies to hear you say that and you notice his cheeks begin to go all rosy on you. It’s the cutest thing. Hyunjin plants his feet firmly on the ground, lifting you up without warning, and carrying you towards the bed. You cling to him for dear life, only letting go once he has you safely on the bed. Even then the two of you can’t quite untangle from each other. Not that either of you try. 

“Cuddle tonight and prison break in the morning, deal?” he asks, lit up with all the possibilities of where you could escape to together.

You yawn, settling into the fluffy mattress, eyelids growing heavy, “Deal.”

Hyunjin pulls you in, your head nestled against his chest, and strokes your hair as he hums along to the music once more. You drift off to sleep in no time. Comforted, loved, protected, and safe in the knowledge that tomorrow won’t be like the others have been because you’ve finally let him in. Finally let yourself trust that it truly is you and him. 

And him and you and you and him and…

[ragnvindrgf]

i love nerdy ajax <3

☆ pairings: tutor!childe x bimbo!reader

☆ warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it fellas), creampie, reader refers to childe as ajax, not totally proofread

ajax watches as you idly flip the pages in the near 10 pound textbook on marine biology, clearly not even pretending to at least skim the pages. this was going nowhere. 

“so, uh, valentine's day is coming up. any plans?”

you roll your eyes, “valentine's Day is just a commercial scam. i don't waste my time on that lovey-dovey crap.”

“oh, well, i was just curious. anyway, let's focus on these aquatic biomes.” 

you sigh and turn to look at the ginger next to you and pause. ajax’s eyes are shifting between everything in the room, the damn textbook, the wall, the door, everything but you. you weren’t unaware of the effect you had on guys, what with your tiny tube tops, miniskirts and shiny lip glosses.  unfortunately, there was more to life than shiny and revealing clothes and you desperately needed to pass this marine bio midterm. so, you enlisted the help of ajax, the nervous mess next to you, he’s top of the class and surprisingly not at all bad looking. easily over 6 ft, lean build, bright orange hair that was messy but like in a good way, and god those gorgeous blue eyes. 

“y���know, you're cute, ajax. maybe there's more to you than just textbooks.” you rest your chin on your hand and peer at him.

“um. what?” ajax’s brain nearly short circuits at the fact that the very hot girl next to him just called him cute and to make matters worse you’re now staring at him and leaning close and- oh, you smell like flowers. and your lips are plump and pink, pursed in a thoughtful, expressive way. he wonders what they would taste like, would they taste like the strawberry flavored gloss you applied a few moments earlier? 

“i thought nerds were like, all glasses and braces and total virgin looking but you're actually pretty hot.” you smile flirtatiously, watching ajax’s cheeks pinken as he shifts in his seat. 

screw it, you're not getting anywhere with this review and god knows your pretty little head could use a break.

ajax’s eyes widen when he feels your lips crash onto his. one of your hands on his shoulder while the other rests on his knee. he was right, your lips do taste like strawberries and he can feel the sticky residue on his own lips. his own hand comes up to tentatively cup your cheek, accepting that this really was happening and leaning deeper into the kiss. 

eventually, you both need air and briefly break apart. you waste no time in removing your baby tee, shivering at the cool air hitting your bare skin. ajax stares in awe at your plush tits and hardened nipples and quickly follows in removing his own shirt. you gaze appreciatively at his toned stomach and move over to sit on his lap and latch your lips together again. this time you grind down and moan softly at the friction of your clothed cunt and his very hard bulge. ajax’s hands are gripping your waist and his head is reeling. frankly, he can't even think right now, all he knows is that his dick is practically trying to burst out of his jeans from the hot girl’s pussy on him. which you can definitely feel.

“aww, I’m flattered. looks, or should i say feels, like we’re on the same page here,” you giggle reach in between you two to undo his belt. 

“i-um,iI don't have a condom,” the ginger murmurs into your neck.

“no need for that, i’m on the pill,” you reassure him and make work of his zipper. you lean back on the desk just enough to tug his boxers down so that his cock springs out. it slaps against his stomach and your mouth waters at the sight. he’s so fucking big that you briefly wonder if it’ll even fit, you wouldn’t have thought someone like ajax was hiding something like this in his pants if you hadn’t seen it for yourself. and it’s pretty, the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen, thick and flushed red at the tip. there’s a bulging vein running along the side that’s begging for your tongue to run over it. 

ajax squirms anxiously under your eyes, “is it…okay?”

“ ‘okay’? ajax, i can't believe you’ve been hiding this from me,” you press a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips, “i definitely need you in me now,” and with that you're standing up and removing the rest of your clothing. ajax watches with hooded eyes as you pull down your tiny shorts and your panties with them. even from your frontside he can see how plump your ass is. 

and then you’re guiding his cock in between your folds, slowly sinking down and wincing from the stretch. ajax’s hands wander and squeeze your ass, gripping it so hard you’re sure it’ll leave red marks. but it's worth it with the way ajax sounds and looks so good under you. his head is thrown back with a loud groan falling out his lips. with the way you’re bouncing on his cock and squeezing around him so deliciously, he’s not sure he’ll last very long. his tip is hitting up into your cervix repeatedly, making you whimper sweetly. 

“fuck— you feel so good,” Ajax gasps in between his own moans, you laugh breathily, you could say the same thing.

his brows furrowed together as he feels a familiar coil in his stomach beginning to tighten, “i’m gonna- you should get off before i- fuck,” his hot cum spurts deep inside you before you can even tell him that no, there's no way you're going to let this man pull out of you. instead, you moan at the feel of his cock twitching inside of you as your own orgasm washes over you. you sink down on him one last time before your cunt’s squeezing around him and you're crying his name into the air. 

your legs are shaky when you try to stand up, his cock slipping out with ease and a blend of his and your cum starting to leak down your thighs. ajax stuffs his dick back in his pants when you move to grab your shirt, ignoring the uncomfortable gooey mess. 

and he surprises you when he stands and grabs your hand and pulls you back in for a kiss. It’s sweet and gentle and you’re both smiling. “um, thanks, i think,” He grins sheepishly against your lips. 

your eyes widen at such simple words, no guy has ever kissed you after sex, much less thanked you, they just used you as a method to get their dick wet.

taking Ajax’s face in your hands, you lean in to connect your lips one more time, lips moving in sync before breaking the kiss with a smile.

“thank you, you just made learning about fish a whole lot more interesting.” you giggle as realization flashes over ajax’s face when he notices the abandoned study materials on the desk. he chuckles and shakes his head, “not like you were doing much before i guess.”

“that’s true,” you smooth your hands over your clothes when an idea pops in your head, “but, we still have time until my test… maybe we can get together again wednesday night?”

ajax looks over your cute, hopeful face, “wednesday.. like valentines?”

you shrug nonchalantly, trying to suppress the butterflies in your stomach, like i said, just another day.”

[sethvzekiel]

what could have been | 141 x cold!reader

a passing admission proceeds to completely take over his mind

141 x cold! reader. callsign azrael. gn! reader. mild angst + pining. multiple POV, no established relationship. flashback central, marked in red + italics.

part 1/same AU as this

Long hc/short fic. 3.6k words.

It was banter — really, just mindless chatter to fill the silence on the way back home. Something to wear off the adrenaline from the previous battle. It spilled from lips like loose threads, mindless ramblings about past experiences and feelings and army stories.

Stories like “LT, what do ye mean I wasn’t first place? That was a solid run I just did, solid!” and “When you were our age, Captain, they didn’t have telly,” between snickers and friendly insults.

You were the contractor, not one of them: a position you were keen on protecting as you kept to the far corner of the army plane, typing up your own report for Laswell. The chatter droned on in the back of your mind as you spared only the barest sliver of attention for emergencies. It was only when someone mentioned your name that you looked up from your laptop.

Gaz tilted his head at you, a spark of mischief in his eyes. He’d been getting bold lately, fully confident that he was your favorite comrade. Gaz did always have a sharp tongue, even for Price.

“Have you ever been in love?”

You scoffed, fully ready to get back to your report.

“What are we, schoolgirls at a sleepover? Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Someone closed your laptop. Soap.

“No, no, answer his question!”

“Scotsman. Get your hand off something that’s five times your salary, or I’ll remove it myself.”

You were only half kidding; the laptop was six times his salary. Merc money was a lovely thing.

Soap quickly retreated, muttering something about being on the wrong career path and “five times my fuckin’ salary, get off yer arse,” but nudged you nevertheless.

It felt as if the conversation was finally going to move on when another spoke.

“Answer the question, Azrael.”

This was a joke. You didn’t hide your disdain as you glared at Price.

“Really, Captain?”

Price took a long drag of his cigar.

“Answer it and I’ll tell Kate you’re on good behavior. She’ll be over the moon to hear you’re getting some social interaction.”

Unfortunately, he wasn’t lying. Laswell did not hide her hopes of getting you true comrades, not just contracted acquaintances, when she introduced you to the 141 — a hope you’d gone out of your way to quash for a long time. If a false reassurance from Price would get her mind off that ridiculous idea and focus on getting you more kill contracts…

Well, not a bad trade-off for pretending to be friends for one plane ride.

You let out a sigh from deep within your soul, opened your laptop again, and pulled up the report. Almost mindlessly, you spoke whatever came to your mind at that very moment, not knowing how badly it would change the 141.

“Sure.”

God, you could feel the whole plane lean in with anticipation.

“Never had the time to fall in love, but…” 

You mentally shrugged. This was fine to admit, right?

“... I was briefly interested in one of you. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

You popped on your headphones, leaving the boys to dwell with that answer.

The plane couldn’t have gone any faster.

◈ GAZ

Interested? Like, interested-interested?

There was no getting you out of those headphones—he’d tried before, didn’t end well. The entire task force was stunned silent for a minute, each one picking apart your casual admission and grappling with the idea of Oh God, is it me?

It was Soap who broke first, exploding into a shocked yell that boomed throughout the tiny plane. That shook Gaz out of his stunned silence, but he still blinked rapidly as he tried to comprehend what you’d just said.

Interested. In one of them.

There was a one in four chance that it was him. Five, if Laswell counted, but he was certain that you saw her more as a mentor and confidant than a romantic prospect. Besides, she wasn’t even in the plane. It was between him, Soap, LT, and the Captain, and this was a battle royale he was keen on winning.

Gaz wasn’t blind. He was the first to notice the changing opinions of his teammates on you. Bearing the combined advantage of brains and emotional awareness, things the 141 usually lacked one or the other of, he picked up on Price’s constant attention towards you that increasingly felt less like a professional checkup. He knew about Ghost’s rivalry with you that brought a tinge of tenderness to his gruff exterior as he complimented your skill. And who could miss Soap locking onto you like a missile from day one?

But it had to be him, right? He was the only one you spoke to of your own accord, the one whose name you called when arranging for shared night shifts. The one who’s actually been to your room (he happily ignored the fact that he was just there to fetch a report for Laswell). The one who, at a drunken night out where you’d actually gotten tipsy for once, you’d stuck to like glue, no matter how rowdy the pub got.

Gaz was your first defender in the 141. When even Price was wary of your cold nature and mercenary background, Gaz was always up at arms, ready to express the simple truth that you were just a professional, and Price could look at Ghost for an example, couldn’t he? Always jumping the gun, fighting back even Soap’s teases at your expense simply because you weren’t present to defend your attitude and the unfairness of their assumptions felt real to Gaz. They didn’t see the you he saw. They just had to.

You were soft around him. Safe. And Gaz felt the same way, too. As much as you’d listen to his ramblings of whatever’s going on in his life, he looked forward to your own stories, hanging off of every rough-toned word as you shared your wisdom from past fights and your assessment of his skills, which he’d known was your way of caring for him. Making sure that he’d live long to fight good.

“In another world,” he’d said one night as you watched the last hours of your watch tick away. “Would you be back on the field again? If you had a choice to walk away from all this, live a normal life?”

Back then, your moonlit expression was intense, but sorrowful as you considered your answer. Gaz thought that you were only being sincere in answering him when you’d gazed deep into his eyes, but now, he couldn’t help but wonder if you meant something else when you replied:

“I don’t know. Where would you be?”

“Dunno either. Always wanted to protect people. Make some real change. Don’t think I’d handle being an artist or bloody stockbroker all my life.”

He was so fucking stupid. Why didn’t he actually listen to what you’d said when he was too busy imagining living some alternate life, when you were right in front of him and so close?

You smelled nice.

“Then I’ll follow you back to the fight, Kyle.”

“Aw mate, I’ll look forward to it, yeah?”

The memory, the regrets, and the what-could’ve-been’s swirled in Gaz’s mind and stung at his eyes.

He wanted to look at you again, but he wasn’t going to risk anyone seeing his face right now with how he’s feeling.

He was a bloody moron, and he lost his chance.

◈ SOAP

“Yer taking the piss!”

Laughter was always Johnny’s first response. Little Johnny-boy giggling nervously as his mother demanded to know where he’d been after playing outside until dark. Freshly-recruited MacTavish snickering as he far surpassed the other recruits in exercises, again, to their dismay. Sergeant Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish cackling with delight and adrenaline as he fired off the C4, lighting up the battlefield with plumes of orange fire.

Laughter was also a defense mechanism: difficult personalities, hard questions, bad days. Heal it or shrug it off, Soap was never one to make things more complicated than they should be.

This laughter… he wasn’t sure if it was one of joy or nerves.

You were interested. Were, he tried to remind himself, but his mind kept on latching onto the ‘interested’ part. One of them—which could’ve been him. 

He was delusional now, flailing around and being the jokester when it was all just an act to hide his inner turmoil. Fuck, did you know that he had it bad for you? It was his fault for not bothering to hide it and trailing after you, but he thought that you already shrugged it off as a joke. Did… did you take him seriously, after all?

Or worse, what if it wasn’t him? 

His glance went to Gaz, remembering how he’d fallen asleep on the truck that one time and accidentally leaned on your shoulder, how you stiffened, then slowly settled down, even adjusting your shoulder for the entire two-hour drive. How, no matter the situation or your mood, you always called upon Gaz with a decidedly softer tone than the one you used on him.

Surely, he wasn’t that attached to you. You were comrades, a passing fancy wouldn’t hurt anything.

He’d never seen LT smile, ever. Part of it’s the mask, but it was clear in his voice and the lack of crinkling around his eyes that smiling wasn’t his thing. But then Ghost and you had that sniper competition, dragged Soap in to referee, and when you hit dead-center for all moving targets, Soap wrenched his gaze away to catch a shine of something in Ghost’s eyes as he watched you.

Friends and professionals. That was all you were, right?

“Good health makes good men, MacTavish,” you said sharply as he sat up on his bed. Soap was forced into the medbay after a particularly grueling op. Long, sleepless nights, absolute hellfire, and blood loss all culminated in him passing out from shock mid-battle. His memories of the exact moment he collapsed were hazy, but he knew that he heard someone call his name in a choked scream.

Was it Gaz who screamed then? He was always the worrywart. Soap scratched his head, wincing as pain flared up his side at the simple motion. He shot you a shining, albeit weak, grin.

“Don’t lose yer head over me, was just the one time.”

Your glare narrowed.

“One time is all it takes, soldier.” 

Fuck, you were calling him ‘soldier’ now? You were pissed. Soap raised his hands in surrender.

“I give, I give. I’ll take my meds a day and all that shite. No trouble from me.”

For a moment, he was expecting more scolding, admonishments of his recklessness or a possible lack of skill. A “stop dragging the rest of us down with you,” considering your pride in your own battle prowess. But he got no such thing.

You sighed, looking a thousand nights older as you did, and he caught the marks of sleepless nights under your eyes. The roughness of your hands as you held his good shoulder. The miniscule caress of your thumb that he assumed (back then) was purely accidental.

“Make good on that, Johnny,” you whispered, gaze drifting off elsewhere. “You have to.”

Your voice was hoarse—why? When you left and the medic had taken your place, refreshing Soap’s bandages, he asked about how long he was out.

“Three days, sergeant,” the medic replied. “And your scary friend insisted on staying here for all of it. Tended to you like one of our own staff.”

“Psh, LT? Knew he was soft.”

“No, no, not the lieutenant. Your PMC friend.”

Without even thinking about it, Johnny laughed.

◈ GHOST

He definitely wasn’t paying attention to the mindless gossip, and anyone who’d say otherwise will have months of latrine duty awaiting them. Gaz calling your name piqued his attention, but only barely, and brought a tickle of amusement when he asked you such a ridiculous question.

He was much less amused at your answer.

It was sarcastic, he tried to reason. Spouting off bullshit to keep the boys off your trail and get back to work as soon as possible. That’s what you’re always like, and that’s what he liked about you.

He also liked your shots. The pride you took in your expertise. The devotion to your warcraft. How you always took his challenges as if your name was on the line. How you’d smirk if you won, or promise comeuppance if you lost.

He liked your loyalty to Laswell — and envied it. You obeyed him and Price, yes, but he would never forget the brief gleam of admiration when the boys asked you about Laswell over lunch. He liked and envied your closeness with Gaz: a sign that you might be a true ally of the 141 after all, but a closeness that he wondered if you could extend to anyone else. He respected your ferocious protectiveness of Soap when he’d (stupidly) collapsed mid-battle, but watching you tend to Soap for nights on end wrenched something awful from within his chest.

You were a shade more casual with Price. According to the captain, you had some snark to you when not in work mode: a privilege Price had gotten purely because you were both friends of Laswell. You bonded with Price like you were fellow leaders, people down similar paths instead of mere colleagues, and when planning missions, you and Price made up a tactical machine to be reckoned with.

It was whenever he’d deliver late night reports to Price’s office, that he’d listen before knocking on the door. Muffled conversation—most of it Price’s, but every so often, there was a quick chuckle that wasn’t his, or a quiet snark followed by Price’s gravelly laughter. The office would be thick with cigar smoke when Ghost was allowed in, but what was harder to swallow was the cigar hanging from your lips that you’d returned to Price, and he’d popped it between his teeth without question.

Ghost was in deep. He’d never admit it to anyone, not even to himself, but he was. That chilling, anxiety-inducing truth nudged at the back of his head as he silently watched Soap cackle and holler throughout the plane while you intentionally ignored them, eyes trained on your report like your life depended on it.

You and the laptop. A familiar sight when he’d pass by the rec room on late nights, where you’d be tapping away at the laptop with stacks of coffee cups and energy bars littered across the table.

“Bloody hell, that can’t wait until tomorrow?” He’d asked, exasperated, by the fifth night.

You took a moment more to work before responding.

“The mob won’t wait for tomorrow. This mission needs to go down tonight.”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

He didn’t know why he stayed there with you, sharing the couch as he made tea for two and set a cup beside you without a word. He could have actually tucked in for the night, gotten some well-deserved sleep lest he be grouchier than ever for the next day’s training drills. Or popped open a book if he felt like it. Anything more productive than sit beside you all night as you silently blazed through reports and phone calls, arranging operations that he had no business in caring about.

You were exhausted, but you were determined and alert as you ferried reports on the trafficking ring takedown. The calm, effortless strength in your voice as you spoke—sometimes strongly—with operatives much higher up the chain than you, because you knew what you were doing and were going to see this op to the end. A flicker of silent gratitude as Ghost refilled your tea again and tidied up your makeshift workspace.

A call by the first sliver of sunrise made you sag into the couch with relief.

“Mission accomplished?” Ghost asked.

You slid your tired gaze to him, and this close to you, he caught your tiny, sleepy grin.

“G’job, LT,” you murmured, voice thick with lethargy. “Mmh… needta phone Kate…”

“I’ll do it.”

“Not your op.”

“Don’t think Laswell’d understand a word of what you’re saying right now. C’mon, let’s get you some rest.”

He beckoned for you to stand up, only to hear a soft, muffled snore. You… were sleeping, knocked-out dead, with a hint of your grin remaining, probably dreaming about a job well done. Disheveled, snoring, and surrounded in loose notes and coffee stains, you were far from the cold professional that you normally made yourself to be.

The rec room was no place for sleeping. Soap would be here any minute, booming and hollering as him and Gaz would raid the fridge, again. You needed to be anywhere else.

And if Ghost was going to carry you in his arms all the way back to your room and go through the trouble of arranging for your sudden day-off, then he was going to do it silently, and pretend it never happened when you approached him the next day.

◈ PRICE

That… was a surprise.

While Price was the most privy to your story as your commanding officer and, more importantly, Laswell’s friend, much of your life was still a mystery to him. Laswell only gave him a few pointers: “They’ve had a long life, John,” and “Trust is a double-edged sword for them.”

He could guess when you entered Laswell’s life. It was some years ago, when she was busier than ever, to the point that he’d considered staging an intervention alongside her wife when Laswell refused with fire in her eyes. She was fighting for something, he could tell, but he didn’t know what exactly until she told him about you.

Somewhere in the gaps between what little he knew about you, Price hoped you had some normalcy to your life. Enough memories on hand to look back fondly upon, to carry you through the darker days. Yet he had a feeling that you had little of such memories to yourself. Perhaps, that was why he decided to share with you some of his own.

Foolishness in his youth. Summers from his wilder days. Dreams he’d had and lost, but never mourned—the kinds of men he’d wanted to become before making peace with himself. You understood, somehow: you were an old soul, no matter your age, a wealth of experiences and wisdom in you with just as many unanswered questions.

You can be safe with me, his soul all but screamed in your nightly chats. The doubt and fear and sorrow layered on your shoulders like dust was easy for him to see when he could feel the same thing. You weren’t delicate, not by a long shot. You were one of the strongest people he knew, but there was nothing Price could do to stifle the yearning in his chest to hold you, let you rest in his shadow and believe for once that everything was going to be alright.

“Do you have any interest in living long, sir?” You muttered as Price brought out his first cigar of the night. He wouldn’t be smoking this early in the night, but he had to deal with higher-ups and red tape all day just for some damn clearance. You were the only person he’d actually looked forward to speaking with that day.

“Smoking won’t kill me, Azrael—” You scoffed, then. “—it’s the bloody Pentagon that will.”

“And the UN. And the UK.”

“If the boys don’t get to me first. Where’s my lighter?”

“Here you go.” You didn’t have his lighter, but you had your own up and ready.

“Picked up the habit, did you?”

“No. You’ve lost your lighter enough times that I bought one myself.”

He offered you a gruff thanks and sank into his chair, watching the smoke swirl up to the amber light. You leaned back on his desk, your body barely brushing his—something that he was used to by then that he was second-guessing now.

It was beautiful and terrible, how close his hand was to yours.

Stupid stories made you laugh, but not foolish ones. Your concern for the boys was evident even in simple retellings of the past; a fact that burned in his heart when he noticed. So he told you about how Gaz tried to fix a leaky shower only to explode the entire camp’s plumbing system, he clung to your brief chuckle like a lifeline. The mirth lighting up your face was going to be his second addiction.

“Want to try, soldier?” He asked as he held out his cigar, not for the first time.

“Just this once. If it’s ass, you’re not getting another light out of me.”

He was going to offer you a new one, but you’d taken the one he’d been smoking and casually placed it between your lips, as if the very sight hadn’t made the blood roar in Price’s ears. You frowned at the taste—he laughed, ignored the flush of heat across his body.

A knock on the door: Simon, turning in his papers. He froze when he saw you and Price, and though obscured by his mask, Price knew the lieutenant well enough to recognize the hesitation in his steps.

Why did he do it?—Price wondered now as he recalled that night, how you’d returned the cigar and he, without thinking, popped it right back to his mouth in front of Simon. And why did he feel proud?

But Price had to hold himself in check. As captain, he had boundaries that he mustn’t cross. The team’s well-being was his top priority, that was always the truth of it, and as he watched the boys dwell in the fallout of your shocking admission, he had no place in making this rivalry worse, no matter how he felt about you.

[elysiaheaven]

Killer Chat main cast in the bedroom? 🫣

This was so fun to write thank you for the request!

RONIN - The DEVIL'S BUTCHER

Ronin may act nonchalant, but the moment you’re in bed, he drapes himself over you like a heavy blanket. Whether it’s his arm slung lazily across your waist or his whole body practically pinning you down, he needs the contact. If you try to move? Forget it—he’ll grumble, “Where d’you think you’re going?” and pull you back tighter.

No matter the situation, Ronin is a sucker for forehead kisses. If you're curled up against him, he’ll drop lazy kisses on the top of your head without even thinking about it. He finds it hilarious how quickly they make you blush and always teases you, whispering, “Blushy already, huh? How cute.”

Ronin sleeps like a tangled mess. His legs are always draped over yours, and sometimes you wake up to find his arm tucked under your neck or his head buried in your shoulder. Even if it gets too warm, he’ll stubbornly cling to you like a koala, mumbling, "You’re not escaping me."

Running his fingers through your hair is one of his favorite things—whether you're awake or asleep. He claims it’s "just to keep his hands busy," but really, it's soothing for him. Sometimes, he’ll absentmindedly braid tiny sections or twirl strands around his finger while lost in thought.

As much as Ronin plays up his confident, devil-may-care persona, he’s occasionally struck by waves of doubt, especially when dysphoria hits. He might hold you a little tighter on those nights, wordlessly seeking reassurance.

If you run your hands down his chest and kiss him gently where his scars are, it’s the kind of tenderness that undoes him. He’ll try to cover it with a half-sarcastic, “Don’t get all sappy on me,” but the slight tremor in his voice betrays him.

Sometimes, he’ll ask if you’re sure you’re okay with the way he looks, in a voice that’s so quiet it breaks your heart. Your answer always matters to him—more than he’d admit.

Ronin’s not much of a spooner in the traditional sense—he likes to wrap himself around you, snake-like, or tangle his legs with yours in the messiest, most chaotic way possible. He has a habit of lazily tossing an arm or leg over you, murmuring, “You’re not leaving, right?” as he buries his face in your neck. If you try to move, he’ll just pull you closer with an annoying little grin.

Ronin’s intimacy is all about control, not in an aggressive way, but in how he carefully chooses when and how he gives himself to you. Knowing that you love him as he is—without expectations—eases his fears, but it’s still a process.

On nights where he lets you touch the parts of him he’s most insecure about, it feels like he’s handing you a piece of his soul. He needs the reassurance that you see him fully and still love every bit.

He likes playing mind games even in the bedroom, leaning into teasing and tension just to make things more interesting. He’ll smirk against your lips, murmuring, “Think you can handle me?” knowing full well you’ve already won.

Ronin isn’t big on over-the-top dominance, but there’s always an edge to the way he kisses you—like he’s trying to claim you, even in the softest moments. It’s not about control; it’s about wanting you to feel how much you matter to him, in every breathless second.

After everything—after the teasing, kisses, and playful jabs—he’ll lie there in the quiet, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounde

He’ll never say it outright, but you can hear the unspoken words in the way he presses his lips to your hair: I love you. I love you. I love you.

Ronin wakes up before you sometimes, and instead of getting up like a normal person, he decides to mess with you. He’ll tickle your nose with his hair or blow gently on your face, waiting for you to groggily swat at him. When you finally wake up annoyed, he’ll grin, kiss your forehead, and say, “Rise and shine, sweetheart. Couldn’t sleep without annoying you first.”

While Ronin enjoys having control, he gets a thrill out of moments when you try to take charge. He’ll let you straddle him or pin his hands—just to see how far you’ll take it before he flips you over, smirking, “Cute. Now it’s my turn.”

He’ll pull things like lightly slapping your thigh or teasing you when you try to resist, smirking the whole time. If you ask him to stop being such a tease, he’ll drag it out even more, murmuring, “What’s the rush? I want to enjoy every second of this.”

In his twisted way, everything he does is an expression of love. Ronin is about pushing boundaries, breaking down walls, and molding you into someone who matches his chaotic, unhinged energy. “You’re mine,” he’ll whisper, not just as a promise but a warning—he won’t ever let you go, not truly.

After everything, he’ll drape an arm over you, pull you close, and nuzzle his face into your neck. But don’t expect sweet pillow talk—he’ll mutter something like, “Can’t believe you’re stuck with me,” or “How’d I get so lucky to ruin you, huh?” He shows affection in the strangest, most chaotic ways—sometimes by stealing kisses, sometimes by pinching your nose just to annoy you.

Ronin isn’t clingy, but he’s possessive in subtle ways. He loves when you wear his clothes after, especially when they’re oversized on you. Seeing you wrapped in something of his, especially after being tangled in bed, scratches an itch deep inside him. “That’s mine now,” he’ll joke, tugging at the collar.

He enjoys pushing your limits—whether it’s with teasing or something more intense. But the moment you hit your threshold, he’ll stop instantly. He doesn’t just listen to your boundaries; he respects them, taking pride in knowing exactly how far to push without breaking you.

V- For Vigilante- Batman

V isn’t someone who’s big on words or grand romantic gestures, especially in the bedroom. He shows care in the subtleties—like making sure you’re comfortable, leaving space for you to adjust, and observing how you react to him.

He’s slow to pick up on flirting, so if you make playful remarks or compliments, you might be met with a blank stare or a simple, “What are you trying to say?” But when he does catch on, he’ll become flustered, a rare softness peeking through his cool demeanor.

Touch isn’t second nature to V—he treats it like an unspoken contract, something intimate and earned. It takes time for him to initiate contact, but once he’s comfortable, you’ll notice small, deliberate gestures.

He has a habit of resting his hand on your back, just below your shoulder blades, or brushing his fingers along your arm. When you reach for him first, there’s always a flicker of hesitation before he lets himself lean into it.

In the bedroom, V’s energy is steady and composed—he isn’t someone who rushes into things. Every touch feels purposeful, as if he’s assessing your reaction and adjusting his actions accordingly. He might not say much, but his intensity speaks louder than words.

Though he’s naturally aloof, he likes when you take charge at times, especially if you lean into your nurturing but domineering side. When you pin him down playfully or grab his chin to make him look at you, a subtle smirk plays on his lips, amused by your boldness.

If you have pets, V will subtly encourage them to join you two on the bed—whether it's a cat curling up at your feet or a dog lying across the covers. He finds their presence grounding, though he’ll never admit it aloud.

You catch him more than once stroking an animal absentmindedly during conversations, and there’s a tenderness to the way he interacts with them—soft and careful, like they’re the only beings who understand him.

V may seem detached, but he’s hyper-aware of your moods. If you’re having a bad day, he won’t say much; instead, he’ll just pull you into bed and let you rest against him in silence, fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin.

If someone has hurt you or crossed your boundaries, V shifts into a dangerous kind of calm. “Do you want me to handle it?” he’ll ask in a neutral tone, fully prepared to make that person regret ever breathing near you.

On nights when sleep feels distant, V doesn’t mind spending time with you tending to plants in your room—watering them, pruning leaves, or simply sitting in comfortable silence while the scent of soil fills the air.

He loves the way you care for living things. When he watches you tend to plants with gentle hands but turns around and sees that same kindness transform into brutal protectiveness for those you love, it intrigues him deeply.

V’s way of being intimate is subtle but commanding—he won’t rush things, preferring to explore you at his own pace. He takes time to memorize every part of you, his cool fingers trailing across your skin like a silent promise.

When things get heated, he’s not one to vocalize much. Instead, you’ll catch the way his breathing hitches or how his fingers tighten on your hips ever so slightly. If you tease him for being quiet, you might get a deadpan, “Is this supposed to be a conversation?”—but the rare flash of amusement in his eyes gives him away.

V might not be outwardly affectionate, but when he does express it, it’s in ways that feel uniquely him—like pulling you into his side while reading a book together or casually draping an arm across your waist as you sleep.

If you ever catch him in a rare moment of vulnerability—like if he’s half-asleep and mumbles something soft about how much you mean to him—it’ll be a fleeting moment, and he’ll act like it never happened. But you’ll know.

He admires how you can be nurturing to animals and plants but unforgiving toward people who cross the line. When he sees you switch from soft to sharp in a heartbeat, it stirs something in him—a quiet respect and attraction.

He knows you could easily handle yourself, but there’s still a part of him that feels responsible for your safety. If things ever go wrong, V’s loyalty is absolute, and anyone who threatens you becomes a problem he’s more than willing to solve.

In the stillness of the night, when it’s just the two of you curled up together, V’s voice becomes a little softer. He might murmur simple things—how the stars looked that night, or a quiet compliment like, “You smell nice.”

And when he’s finally on the edge of sleep, with his head resting against yours and his hand resting lazily on your hip, he’ll let slip the rarest kind of confession: “You’re the only one I trust.”

Misaki- Chaos gremlin

The bedroom isn’t just for sleeping—it’s for chaos. Misaki loves randomly initiating pillow fights or wrestling you onto the mattress with no warning. “Bet you can’t take me down!” they’ll challenge, even when they’re the one getting pinned two seconds later.If you play along and banter with them during these moments, they’ll grin like you’ve just made their day. Bonus points if you act dramatic when they win—“Noooo, I’ve been defeated!”—because it feeds their need for praise.

Misaki lives for your compliments, especially in casual moments. “Look at you, my little badass,” you say offhandedly, and they melt. You’ll catch them trying to hide a smile, only to respond with something like, “Heh, I know I’m amazing—but say it again.”They also adore teasing praise—“Wow, you really managed not to break anything today, proud of you”—but if you really hype them up when they’re struggling emotionally, it grounds them more than they’ll ever admit.

Misaki hates being alone and will cling to you like Velcro the moment you’re available. They’ll drag you into bed and sprawl out across you, often grumbling things like, “You’re not going anywhere, right"

They’re the type to demand cuddles but wiggle around so much it turns into a playful wrestling match. Eventually, they’ll flop dramatically on top of you, sigh, and say, “I’m staying right here. Deal with it.”

Misaki loves calling you during missions or jobs, not just because they’re bored but because it makes them feel connected. “You’re my lifeline,” they’ll joke, even though they’re dead serious about how much those calls mean to them.

Misaki is the master of cracking jokes during vulnerable moments. They’ll deflect emotional conversations with humor, brushing off their feelings like, “Eh, emotions are overrated, right?” But deep down, they’re craving someone who can see past that.

If you gently call them out—

“You’re deflecting, babe”—they’ll groan dramatically and act like you’ve caught them red-handed, but the fact that you noticed? It means the world to them.

If you’re a good cook, Misaki adores you—praising you like a culinary god and demanding home-cooked meals at every opportunity. But fair warning: they love joining you in the kitchen, often causing delightful chaos.

Picture them trying to flip pancakes a little too high or sneaking bites from every pot while yelling, “Quality control!” They might make a mess, but they’ll be having the time of their life doing it with you.

One minute you’re cuddling in bed, and the next, Misaki’s throwing blankets and pillows everywhere to build a fort. “C’mon, no fort is complete without snacks—grab some!” they’ll say as they bury themself in the pillows like a gremlin.

The two of you end up snuggled inside, eating snacks and watching movies—until they inevitably fall asleep on you, snoring softly with their head on your chest.

Intimacy with Misaki is playful but deeply affectionate. They’ll joke mid-kiss—“Wow, are you trying to knock me out with that kiss?”—but the way they look at you, like you’re their whole world, is no joke.

Even when things get spicy, they mix teasing with genuine tenderness, making you feel cherished in their own chaotic way. And afterward? They’re all about aftercare

If anyone messes with you, Misaki’s inner chaos gremlins activate. They’ll laugh it off in the moment, but rest assured—they’ll come back with just enough payback to leave the offender wondering what hit them. “Nobody messes with my partner,” they’ll say, grinning.

And if you joke about them being your personal protector, they’ll puff their chest dramatically and declare, “You better believe it. I’ll traumatize them right back.”

At the end of the day, Misaki is a ride-or-die partner. They’ll love you to the ends of the earth, sticking by your side through every mess and adventure. Whether you’re making pancakes at midnight or just lying in bed watching TV,

they’re happiest when they’re with you.And every night, just as you’re drifting off to sleep, they’ll murmur something sweet, like, “I’m really glad you’re here, y’know?” It’s their way of saying, in their chaotic but sincere way, that they wouldn’t trade this—or you—for anything.

Angel- Heartsick Angel

Angel’s optimism often comes with a tinge of self-doubt, and you’ve learned to recognize when her mind starts to spiral. She might smile through it, masking the anxiety, saying, "Everything’s fine!"—but the way she grips your hand a little too tight tells you otherwise.

You ground her gently, pulling her into your arms and resting your chin on her head. “It’s okay to not be fine, y’know,” you murmur, brushing your thumb along her back. Her shoulders relax slightly as she sighs against you, grateful that she doesn’t have to pretend.

When Angel’s having a manic episode or feeling overwhelmed, she needs time to herself. You’ve learned to respect those boundaries without taking it personally. Instead of pushing, you leave her a glass of water and a small snack nearby—a quiet reminder that you’re always there, even if she needs space.

On tough days, she’ll eventually crawl into bed with you after hours of isolation, curling up against your side. You say nothing, just pull the blanket over both of you, and let her rest with her head on your chest. "Thanks for waiting," she whispers into the darkness.

Being a model and YouTuber, Angel’s life can be exhausting—early photoshoots, constant editing, and keeping up with trends. But on her rare days off, she craves nothing more than lazy mornings in bed with you.

She’ll snuggle close under the covers, still half-asleep, and mumble, “Stay five more minutes,” even though she’s been saying that for the past hour. You stroke her hair, brushing stray strands away from her face, and she hums happily. “Okay…maybe ten more.”

Angel is big on little kisses—forehead pecks, kisses on the nose, or brushing her lips against your shoulder just because she feels like it. She thrives on those small moments of affection, each one grounding her a little more.

If you surprise her with a kiss mid-conversation, her face lights up with the sweetest smile. “Hey! No fair!” she laughs, though she’s already leaning in for another one.

Angel hides her sadness behind smiles, but in the quiet of night, when her mind finally slows, she feels safe enough to let the tears come. She won’t say much—just clings to you like a lifeline, shaking slightly as she lets out quiet sobs.

You hold her close, fingers running soothing patterns along her back, whispering soft reassurances. “You’re not alone, Angel. I’ve got you.” And for the first time in a while, she believes it.

When she spirals, her mind becomes a tangle of doubts and insecurities. She might lash out—not in anger but in frustration at herself. “Why do you even stay?” she asks in a voice that’s too quiet, too broken.

Your answer is simple and steady: “Because I love you. And I’m not going anywhere.” That reminder, spoken without hesitation, pulls her back from the edge every time.

Angel’s approach to intimacy is both playful and passionate. She likes to tease—trailing soft kisses along your skin, then giggling at your reactions. “What’s wrong? Can’t handle a little teasing?” she’ll say with a mischievous grin.

But underneath the playfulness is a need for closeness. When things get more intense, her giggles turn to breathless whispers, and she clings to you as if letting go would shatter her. In those moments, it’s not just about the physical connection—it’s about the emotional safety she finds in your arms.

Angel isn’t afraid to reach out when she needs you—whether she’s having a rough night or just wants to hear your voice. “I know it’s late, but… can we talk for a bit?” she’ll ask softly, voice tinged with vulnerability.

You stay on the line as long as she needs, reassuring her with every word. “I’m always here, Angel. No matter what.” And that promise means the world to her.

Even mundane moments with you feel intimate to her—like brushing your teeth together in the morning, or lying in bed scrolling through your phones, feet tangled under the blankets.

Sometimes, she’ll sit in your lap while editing her videos, needing the comfort of your presence even as she works. “You’re my good luck charm,” she says, kissing your cheek before diving back into her tasks.

Cooking with you is one of Angel’s favorite ways to unwind. She loves standing side-by-side in the kitchen, playfully stealing bites of food from your hands and swaying to the music playing in the background.

“If you burn the toast, I’ll still love you,” she jokes, though you both know she’s the one who always forgets the timer. When the meal is finally done, she’ll cuddle into you on the couch, whispering, “This is perfect.” And in that moment, it really is.

Angel sometimes struggles with sleep, her mind racing with a hundred thoughts at once. On those restless nights, she’ll crawl into your lap, nestling close, and murmur, “Can’t sleep… can you talk to me?”

You wrap your arms around her, holding her until the rhythm of your heartbeat starts to calm her down. Sometimes, you talk about anything—nonsense stories, funny memories, or what you’ll have for breakfast. Other times, you just hum softly, running your fingers through her hair.

“Stay like this forever,” she whispers drowsily, and though she falls asleep soon after, you keep holding her, content in the quiet intimacy.

After long filming days or stressful shoots, Angel tends to collapse into bed, drained and emotionally spent. She craves your touch most during these moments, melting into your embrace like she belongs there.

“Mmm… you’re my reward for surviving today,” she mumbles, cheek pressed to your chest. Her exhaustion shows in the way she clings to you, a silent request for comfort.

You stroke her back, pressing soft kisses into her hair, and promise, “I’m always here, Angel. No matter how tough it gets.” Her contented sigh tells you that’s exactly what she needed to hear.

Angel isn’t the jealous type—she trusts you completely—but that doesn’t mean the little pangs don’t sneak in sometimes, especially when work takes you away from her for too long.

“You know… you’ve been spending a lot of time with other people lately,” she’ll say with a teasing smile, though the underlying insecurity is evident.

You pull her close, kissing her forehead. “They’re not you. They could never be you.” Her smile turns real, and she presses herself tighter against you, content with the reassurance.

Mornings with Angel can be quiet and raw, especially after a rough night. She wakes up groggy, with her guard lowered, snuggling closer to you with a sleepy whimper.

On mornings like this, she doesn’t say much—just holds you as if anchoring herself. “Stay with me a little longer,” she whispers, her breath warm against your neck. You’re happy to oblige, brushing lazy kisses against her hair as the world outside waits.

Intimacy with Angel is equal parts playful and passionate. She likes to tease and challenge you, enjoying the push and pull. “Oh, think you’ve got me figured out?” she taunts, lips brushing against yours.

But there’s always tenderness beneath her teasing—a desire to be close, to connect on a level that feels safe. In those quieter moments, she melts against you, breath hitching as your touches become slower, more deliberate. “You feel so good,” she whispers, eyes fluttering shut.

She loves when things slow down, when it’s not just about the physical but the emotional closeness. You can tell from the way her fingers linger on your skin, like she’s savoring every second.

Angel tries to mask her sadness with jokes, but in the sanctuary of the bedroom, she knows she doesn’t have to pretend. Some nights, she’ll vent about the pressures of her work, her insecurities, or how overwhelming life feels.

“Sometimes I just… don’t feel good enough,” she admits softly, fiddling with the edge of the blanket. It’s not easy for her to be this open, but with you, she feels safe enough to try.

You cup her face gently, brushing away the stray tears. “You’re more than enough, Angel. I see you, and I love you for exactly who you are.” The look she gives you—full of gratitude and love—makes every tough moment worth it.

Angel doesn’t always need grand gestures—what she values most is your time and presence. Even just lying in bed with you, scrolling on your phones or watching random videos, feels special to her.

“You being here means everything,” she’ll say quietly, her hand resting on your chest as if to anchor herself. The way she smiles when you squeeze her hand makes it clear she means it.

During her worst splits, Angel sometimes pushes you away—not because she wants to but because she’s afraid of being a burden.

“You don’t have to stay,” she mumbles, curling into herself. But you do stay. You sit with her in the silence, gently running your fingers along her arm until she relaxes.

“I told you I’m not going anywhere,” you remind her softly. And when she finally looks up, her eyes are full of gratitude—and maybe a little hope.

Pillow talk with Angel is full of random, sleepy conversations—she’ll talk about her dream YouTube ideas, the weirdest trends she’s seen, or the cutest animal videos she found.

But sometimes, in the dead of night, her words turn softer, more vulnerable. “Do you think I’ll be okay?” she asks quietly, her fingers laced with yours.

“You’re already okay, Angel,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “And I’ll be right here with you, every step of the way.”

For Angel, love is found in the quiet moments—the way you hold her when words aren’t enough, the way your fingers brush hers absentmindedly, the way you stay even when things get hard.

And as she drifts off to sleep in your arms, she knows she’s exactly where she belongs.

[m1ssunderstanding]

Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day 20

I literally got second-hand anxiety hearing, “How many numbers do you think you’ll have by tomorrow?”. I was like. TOMORROW? They are Not ready. The only reason the rooftop works out is because they’re the fucking Beatles. No one else would pull that out of their butts so well. 

If only John could’ve listened to Glyn about Klein. smh

Classic Paul. Starts out saying “us” ends up just talking about John. “The best bit of us always has been, and always will be, is when we’re backs against the wall and we’ve been rehearsing, rehearsing, rehearsing. And he knows it’s a take on the dub. And he does it great.” It’s okay, Paul. We all know you like to get him up against a wall. No but seriously, Paul is not okay about John. 

Takes every opportunity to flirt, doesn’t he?

“I can’t wait to work here, you know . . . I mean, here in our life, it’s like home.” It’s the gentleness, yeah. But it’s the focus, too. Most people (I know I would) would be so done with him and his anxiety spirals and his neuroses and over-thinking on and on and on by this point. John probably is, but he shows no sign of that fatigue at all. He is zeroed in on working him through this. He’s done it a million times before, and he’s ready to do it as many more times as Paul needs. Ugh, they make me into such a sap!

“Yeah, well that’s why I’m talking to John, not you.” If Paul can talk like that to George Martin, one of the most respected men in his life, when he’s in the middle of a thing with John, imagine how he must’ve bullied other people that tried to worm their way in. 

That smile he gives George though! That’s how he got away with all his shit, isn’t it? So fucking cute.

“I agree with you, I think it’s disappointing, but all right, we only got to seven. Let’s do seven.” The tone of voice, man. So. Fucking. Gentle. No wonder Paul can't stand the projected "acerbic, tough Lennon" shit. If that was how someone treated you and took care of you? And then everyone acts like that part of them just didn't exist, and emphasizes the parts of them that they themselves hated and actively worked against? Yeah I'd be pretty pissed too.

Glyn reassuring Paul that there’s no reason they can’t come back and do a TV show later. Yeah, fifty years later. 

John’s eyes constantly flicking back to Paul as George is talking . . . 

George really does take so much better care of himself than the other three at this time. Pictured here, silently begging viewers like you to chip in just ninety-eight cents toward his freedom.

I actually think, though, that if Ringo had said he didn’t want to go on the roof either at that moment, that they wouldn’t have done it. I think they look to him for common sense in their decision-making, and Ringo saying he didn’t want to do it really might’ve broken the whole thing.

George’s reaction to Ringo voting for the roof VS John. It’s giving tragic heroine VS villain origin story

Honestly heartbroken at the “I love you, blue”. How many times did John just straight up say those words to Paul only for Paul to be completely unresponsive? That genuinely hurt to watch.

The tiny little looks they give each other. “Okay. We got this.”

“Fuck all that. I’m just gonna do me for a bit.” Good for you, baby. 

“I had a good dream last night, you’re black or you’re white, you want equal rights.” I know some people say it’s hypocritical or preachy or whatever, but I ADORE this John. Look how fucking happy he’s making Billy right now and then talk to me about how John’s political side is meaningless. I think it’s beautiful.

I think it’s actually too embarrassing for them at this point to sing Two of Us without being insane.

“We’re all sleeping at Georgie’s tonight. Get in the mood.” Oh how I wish they actually had. I mean, maybe they did. Someone write the fic!

Oh, the “who knows, Yoko,” moment. It’s so embarrassing. The fact that there was just no response whatsoever. Yeesh. 

So many nerves when I saw the camera zooming into that circled date with “Rooftop Concert” written on it. What is wrong with me?

[yeehawbvby]

Can you do an Arven x f! reader who likes to wear his shirts?

Of course!! I'm sorry it's a bit short/if there are any errors, I was super tired while writing this ;;w;; I hope you like it! 💕

Snug as a Scatterbug | Arven x F!Reader

Rating: G | WC: 688

The first time you wear one of Arven’s shirts, he’s very puzzled.

Standing at the doorway to his room, he watches you work. He left a few moments ago to grab some snacks, and when he came back, the last thing he expected to return to was his girlfriend standing topless in front of his closet. At first, this leaves him speechless and flustered.

Then, he observes as you pick his favorite, comfiest, yellowest sweater out of his wardrobe and toss it over your head. This is where the confusion ensues.

“...What are you doing?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe while his lips curl into a grin. 

You stop flattening out the hem of his sweater, freezing in place. You’ve been caught red-handed. Rather than explaining yourself, outwardly panicking, or apologizing, you simply mutter, “Don’t worry about it,” before continuing to situate yourself in his clothing. You don’t even turn around to address him. 

He won’t lie to himself – something about seeing you with his shirt engulfing your tiny frame has Butterfrees going nuts in his stomach. There’s something simultaneously adorable and hot about the sight of you in his favorite article of clothing; about how the fabric reaches your knees, and the sleeves go past your hands, creating little paws when you lift them up. Not knowing how exactly to respond to this situation, Arven decides to leave it be. 

The next time you wear one of his shirts, it’s his white uniform top. ‘Why that old thing?’ he silently wonders.

You two don’t even have classes to attend that day – you’re just grabbing sandwiches at the local Every Wich Way. The shirt you had on originally matched your outfit more than this, too – your pastel pink leggings worked better with the pastel purple hoodie you had on up top. 

Feeling his cheeks burn hot when he peers down at the way his dress shirt drapes over you, he decides once again not to question it. It’s not like you’re gonna keep stealing his stuff, right?

…‘Again?!’ Arven thinks to himself the third time. 

He left you alone to take a shower and change after a long day outdoors with your teams, and when you return to him, another one of his sweaters is consuming your torso. This one is a black, Shiny Wooloo wool turtleneck that he bought while interning at a restaurant in Galar a few years back.

“I gotta know,” he prompts, getting up from his spot on the couch and walking towards you. “Why do you keep taking my shirts?”

Your cheeks redden, and you look away from his face. “Thought I told ya not to worry about it, punk,” you sass.

Arven laughs. “I’m not worried, I’m just confused.” You try to walk by him, but he stops you with your ultimate weakness: head pats. As his large palm lands on your scalp, you stop in your tracks. “I don’t mind you wearing my stuff, it looks adorable on you anyway,” he reassures you behind a wide smile. “I just wanna know why.” 

You sigh, before bashfully answering, “Your clothes are really cozy, and they smell good.” You fidget with the oversized sleeves around your hands, finally looking up at him. “Feels like you’re constantly hugging me when I have one of your shirts on... It’s nice.”

Arven nearly keels over. ‘So cute!’ If this man wasn’t already head over heels for you, he definitely would be now.

From that point on, Arven goes out of his way to offer you his clothes. Oh, you wanna stay over for a night? Screw those pajamas, take one of his tees instead. 

Is it chilly out? Toss one of his sweaters, maybe even one of his jackets, over your own shirt to keep warm. 

Not seeing each other for a few days? He’ll offer you half his wardrobe. “That way you never run out of hugs!” he proclaims, making you feel warm and fuzzy inside. 

Now that Arven knows your “secret,” he might love seeing you wear his shirts just as much as you love wearing them, if not more.

[earthtoharlow]

Don’t Like The Lights

Sequel to Flashing Lights series, must read Flashing Lights first to understand

series masterlist

12. Sweetest Devotion

And there is something 'bout the way you love me that finally feels like home. You're my light, you're my darkness. You're the right kind of madness

The next couple of weeks flew by, and Maryse had been so caught up in everything—work, life, and planning their new home—that she hadn’t even noticed she was running low on birth control. Jack wasn’t exactly consistent with the pull-out method, and the pill had always helped regulate her periods. It had been a busy time, so when she went in for a routine check-up and to get her prescription refilled, she didn’t think much of it.

Sitting on the exam table, Maryse waited for her doctor, casually scrolling through her phone. When the nurse walked in with a bright smile and said, “Congratulations on your pregnancy!” Maryse’s heart plummeted into her stomach.

She looked up, eyes wide, and immediately shook her head. “No, no… I’m not pregnant,” she stammered, her mind racing.

The nurse looked puzzled, glancing back at the chart. “The test we ran earlier came back positive. Maybe there’s been a mix-up… let me get the doctor.”

As the nurse left to find the doctor, Maryse sat there in shock, her thoughts a whirlwind. Trying to think back over the past few weeks. She hadn’t felt sick, there were no signs of morning sickness, no unusual fatigue, and nothing that stood out to her as a sign of pregnancy. Everything had seemed normal—well, as normal as life could be with everything going on.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Maybe it was just a mix-up. That had to be it.

The door opened again, and this time the nurse returned with the doctor. They both had the same concerned but gentle expressions, which only made Maryse’s anxiety spike.

The doctor approached her with the chart in hand. “I’m sure this is quite a shock,” she began, her voice calm and reassuring, “but we ran the test twice to be certain. And both came back positive. Maryse, you’re indeed pregnant.”

The words hit Maryse like a freight train. Her breath caught in her throat, and she could feel her pulse quicken. This wasn’t something she had been expecting—at all.

“But… I don’t feel pregnant,” Maryse managed to say, her voice trembling slightly. “I haven’t felt sick or anything.”

The doctor nodded understandingly. “Not everyone experiences the classic symptoms right away. Some women don’t even realize they’re pregnant for a few months. It’s possible that your body just hasn’t started to show those signs yet.”

This wasn’t how she imagined finding out—so unprepared, in the middle of everything else going on. But there it was, the undeniable truth. She was pregnant.

The doctor’s words become a blur as they hand Maryse a stack of pamphlets about pregnancy care, her next steps, and what to expect. She nods absentmindedly, feeling as though she’s moving through the motions without fully comprehending what’s happening. They schedule her next appointment, but it all feels like it’s happening to someone else, not her.

When Maryse arrived home, she felt a wave of relief wash over her as she noticed that Jack wasn’t home yet. The house was quiet, giving her the perfect opportunity to process everything on her own. She slipped off her shoes and hurried to the bathroom, her heart pounding in her chest.

Standing in front of the mirror, she hesitated for a moment before lifting her shirt. She stared at her reflection, her eyes searching for any sign of a change. Her stomach looked the same as always—flat, with no hint of a bump. But the knowledge that she was pregnant now made her look at herself differently. It was surreal, almost as if she was expecting to see something that wasn’t there yet.

She placed her hand over her belly, feeling the smooth skin beneath her fingertips. There was a tiny life growing inside her, something she couldn’t quite wrap her head around. Her thoughts raced, thinking about how this would change everything—her life, her career, her relationship with Jack.

She pulled her shirt back down and took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside her. There was so much to think about, so much to plan, but for now, all she could do was take it one step at a time. And the first step was figuring out how to tell Jack, whenever she was ready for that.

Maryse places her hands gently on her stomach once more, imagining the tiny life growing inside her. A wave of joy washes over her, and she can’t help but giggle. The thought of becoming a mother fills her with a warmth she’s never known before. It’s a new kind of happiness, one that feels bigger and more profound than anything she’s experienced

As she was leaving the bathroom, she heard the front door open and close, meaning Jack was home. Maryse tries her best to act normal but the excitement and nerves swirling inside her make it difficult. She greets Jack with a smile, leaning in for a kiss, but she’s sure he can feel the slight tremble in her hands as they brush against his chest.

“Hey, how was your day?” she asks, trying to keep her voice steady as she follows him into the living room. She watches him closely, hoping he doesn’t notice the way her eyes keep flicking down to her stomach or how she’s fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

Jack gives her a long look, his brows furrowing slightly. “It was alright,” he replies, a note of suspicion in his voice. “What about you? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, of course!” she answers a little too quickly. She clears her throat and tries again. “I mean, yeah, just a normal day. Took the dog out, ran a few errands. Nothing special.”

But even as the words leave her mouth, she knows she’s not convincing him. She can see it in the way his eyes narrow slightly, the way his head tilts as if he’s trying to figure out what’s off. Jack is too in tune with her, too aware of her moods to miss the subtle signs.

“Uh-huh,” he says slowly, watching her as he takes off his jacket and drapes it over the back of a chair. “You sure there’s nothing else going on? You’re acting a little… weird.”

She forces a laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “Weird? No way, I’m just tired, that’s all. Maybe we should just order in tonight and relax.”

Jack doesn’t press her further, but she can tell he’s not convinced. As they settle onto the couch, she tries to focus on the show they’re watching, but her mind is racing. She can feel his eyes on her every now and then, like he’s waiting for her to slip up, to reveal whatever she’s hiding.

The secret feels heavier than ever now that Jack was home, it takes everything in Maryse not to blurt it out right then and there. Every time Jack reaches for her hand or leans in to whisper something in her ear, she feels a little thrill of anticipation mixed with anxiety. But for now, she keeps her secret, hoping she can hold it in just a little longer.

Later that night, Jack found himself tossing and turning in bed unable to shake the feeling that something was off with Maryse. She’d been so fidgety and distracted all evening, barely able to meet his eyes. He had been with her long enough to know when something was on her mind, and this was more than just being tired.

By morning, the uneasy feeling was gnawing at him. He decided he needed to talk to someone about it, someone who could help him make sense of what was going on. Without overthinking it, he grabbed his phone and texted his Urban, asking if he could swing by his place.

When he arrived, his Urban greeted him with a concerned look, already sensing that something was up. They settled onto the couch, and Jack wasted no time getting to the point.

“Man, I don’t know what’s going on with her,” Jack started, running a hand over his face. “She’s been acting really weird lately. Like, super jumpy, and she’s trying so hard to act normal, but I can tell something’s bothering her.”

Urban leaned back, crossing his arms as he listened. “Weird how? Like, does she seem upset or more… I don’t know, nervous?”

Jack shook his head, clearly frustrated. “It’s hard to explain. She’s not upset, I don’t think. It’s more like she’s… distracted, you know? Like her mind’s somewhere else. And when I asked her about it, she just brushed it off. But I can tell something’s up.”

Urban nodded slowly, considering this. “You think it’s something to do with everything that’s been going on? Like, the stress of getting back to work and all that?”

“Maybe,” Jack said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “But I don’t know, man. It feels different. And she hasn’t really been herself since I got home last night. I can’t put my finger on it, but something’s definitely off.”

He was quiet for a moment, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Have you thought about just sitting her down and talking to her? Like, really talking to her, not just asking if she’s okay?”

Jack sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’ve thought about it, but I don’t want to push her if she’s not ready to talk. I just wish I knew what was going on in her head.”

Urban offered a reassuring smile. “You know her better than anyone. If something’s bothering her, she’ll tell you when she’s ready. Just give her some time. But if it’s really eating at you, maybe just try to be there for her without prying too much.”

Jack nodded, though he still looked troubled. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I just… I don’t like not knowing what’s going on. It makes me feel helpless, you know?”

Urban clapped him on the shoulder. “I get it, man. But you’re doing the right thing by giving her space. Just keep doing what you’re doing, and she’ll come to you when she’s ready.”

Jack gave a small smile, though the worry hadn’t completely left his eyes. “Thanks, man. I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime, just relax before you start getting grey hairs.”

Jack laughed before reaching over to punch Urban in the arm, feeling a little better after talking it out. He just hoped that whatever was on Maryse’s mind, she’d be ready to share it with him soon. Until then, he’d do his best to be patient and supportive, even if it drove him a little crazy not knowing.

***

Days later, Jack and Maryse were in LA for the Color Purple movie premiere. As Maryse was getting ready she started to feel self conscious about her body, wondering if anyone would notice any changes.

Every glance in the mirror feels like a test—Maryse examines her figure, wondering if there’s any hint of a baby bump.The thought of being a mom brings a rush of happiness, but also a wave of fear about how she’ll manage everything in her already hectic life.

Maryse takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She knows Jack will be by her side through all of this, and she can’t wait to tell him, but for now, she has to focus on the premiere. But as she gets ready, her mind keeps drifting back to the baby, to how Jack will react, and to the daunting task of balancing her career and motherhood. It’s a lot to process, but she’s determined to keep it together, at least for tonight.

She continues adjusting her dress trying to push away her worries when Jack steps up behind her. He places a gentle hand on her shoulder and leans in, his voice low and full of affection. “You look beautiful,” he whispers, his gaze sweeping over her with pride. “You’re glowing and you’re wearing my favorite color.”

Her heart skips a beat at his words. She feels a rush of warmth, the urge to spill everything, to tell him about the baby, to share the news that’s been swirling in her mind since she found out. But as she looks around the hotel room, filled with stylists, makeup artists, and assistants buzzing around, she knows now isn’t the right time.

Maryse forces a smile, trying to keep her emotions in check. “Thanks,” she murmurs, her voice a little shaky. She can feel the weight of the secret she’s holding, the excitement mixed with anxiety, and it takes everything in her not to just blurt it out. Instead, she turns back to the mirror, taking another deep breath to steady herself, and reminding herself that there will be a perfect moment to tell him—just not yet.

But it’s hard, so hard, not to let it slip when he looks at her like that, with so much love. She knows he senses something, but for now, she has to keep it together, at least until they have a moment alone.

Maryse walked the red carpet, the cameras flashing from every direction, she felt a mix of emotions—nervousness, and excitement.

It was her first public appearance since everything had happened, and the weight of it was heavy on her shoulders. But she also felt a strange sense of pride. This was her movie, her moment, and despite everything, she was here, standing tall.

Jack stayed a few steps behind her, watching her closely. He admired how she handled the pressure, how she smiled and waved at the cameras, even though he knew she was nervous. He wanted to be there for her, to support her in any way he could. But he also wanted to let her have her moment in the spotlight.

As Maryse posed for photos, she glanced back and caught his eye. There was something in her expression—an unspoken request. She subtly held out her hand, her fingers reaching for him. Jack didn’t hesitate. He walked up to her and took her hand, standing by her side as the cameras continued to click away.

Jack knew how much this moment meant to Maryse, especially after everything she’d been through. And even though she was the star tonight, she didn’t want to do it without him by her side.

As Jack looked down at Maryse, his eyes filled with pride and love, he said, “I’m so proud of you. I love you so much.” His words were soft, almost drowned out by the flashes of cameras and the murmurs of the crowd, but they reached her heart.

Maryse, feeling overwhelmed by his words and the weight of the moment, looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She took a deep breath, and whispered back, “I’m pregnant.”

Time seemed to slow down as Jack processed her words. The world around them faded away, and all he could focus on was the woman standing before him, glowing not just from the lights of the cameras but from the life they had created together.

His eyes widening in surprise as her words sank in. He felt a rush of emotions all at once—shock, joy, love, and an overwhelming sense of responsibility. His hand instinctively tightened around hers, and he blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. They were surrounded by flashing cameras and the press, and he knew he had to hold it together.

But as he looked at Maryse, the woman he loved more than anything, standing there with that secret smile and a quiet strength, it took everything in him not to break down right then and there. He leaned in closer, pressing his forehead to hers for a brief moment, whispering, “I can’t believe it… I’m so happy, baby.”

As soon as they stepped inside the venue, away from the flashing lights and prying eyes, Jack couldn’t hold back any longer. He gently tugged Maryse to a quieter corner, his heart racing with excitement and disbelief. Without a second thought, he scooped her up in his arms, her elegant dress swirling around them as he lifted her off the ground.

“Is it true?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion as he searched her eyes for confirmation. “Are we really having a baby?”

Maryse’s smile widened, her hands cupping his face as she nodded. “Yes, it’s true. We’re going to be parents.”

Jack let out a shaky breath, his eyes filling with tears as he hugged her tightly, not caring about the possibility of wrinkling her dress or the fact that they were still in a public space. “I can’t believe it,” he murmured, burying his face in her neck. “I love you so much. I’m gonna take such good care of both of you.”

Maryse held onto him just as tightly, feeling a wave of love wash over her as they shared this incredible moment. It was as if the world had fallen away, leaving just the two of them in their own bubble of happiness.

After the premiere, they were absolutely giddy, exchanging secret smiles and soft laughter that made the entire night feel magical. Every glance between them was filled with unspoken excitement and the shared knowledge that something incredible was unfolding.

When they finally got home, still riding the high of the evening, Jack couldn’t resist dropping to his knees in front of Maryse, his hands gently resting on her flat stomach. “Hey, little one,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe and tenderness. “I know you’re not big enough for us to see yet, but I already love you so much. Your mom and I can’t wait to meet you.”

Maryse couldn’t help but laugh softly, her fingers threading through his hair as she watched him talk to their baby. “You know, they can’t hear you yet,” she teased, though her heart swelled at the sight of him being so sweet and caring.

Jack grinned up at her, a playful glint in his eyes. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, planting a kiss on her stomach. “I’m gonna make sure they know my voice from day one.” He kissed her stomach again, this time with more reverence. “And you,” he added, looking up at her with nothing but love in his eyes, “are going to be the best mom.”

Maryse’s heart melted at his words, tears welling up in her eyes as she bent down to kiss him. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“I love you more,” Jack replied, standing up to pull her into his arms. “We’re going to be the best parents, I promise.”

They spent the rest of the night talking about their hopes and dreams for the baby, laughing and imagining what the future would hold. Every moment felt perfect, and they couldn’t wait to see where this new chapter in their lives would take them.

***

an: GO CRAZYYYYYYY 🥰🥰🥰

Tag List

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[lu-twilights-pup]

Hello Hello!

Recently found your blog through some mutuals and holy hylia I love your art and writing! (Totally not biased because if our mutual obsession with twilight ahem)

Anyways I was inspired of your adorable twi-forehead-kisses drawing and wanted to ask- how do you think he’d react to smooches on his face? Like- cheek kisses, forehead, ears, lips 👀 (can be a head cannon, or drawing-meme style, I know you’re not open for writings right now)

aahh just thank you so much! (Don’t worry if you don’t get around to it 🥰)

This is too cute not to do!!!! Also i pormis im not dead, just slow and dying of research papers lmao.

---

Twilight's reaction to types of kisses!

DISCLAIMERS:

n/a

:readmore:

Cheek:

A classic, to give and get.

especially when hes does something fro you and you show your thanks this way,

his heart absolutely flips

Forehead:

Absolute favorite, 12/10, will always accept no matter the time or place. will 100% accept any kind of make up left on his face if his partner wears it. makes him feel loved and cherished (wolfie also enjoys these kisses the most)

Ear:

very very flustered, boys got sensitive ears,

but thankful for the love all the same.

would not allow in public though

Hand:

a little less flustered and a bit unsure,

not sure if he should kiss your hand back or not.

thinks more about the fact that you are holding his hand

Lip:

another classic.

will make his heart soar.

as close as close can be for him.

is the type to just give you 100 tiny pecks until you pull him for a full blown kiss.

Nose:

another more personal one,

will shy away the first time.

again less likely to let happen in public,

sweet moment for him and only him,

same thing with giving them. an absolute favorite to give.

Shoulder:

reserved for those special moments when he needs reassurance in the quietest way.

the first time you did it when he was having a form of spiral,

it helped ground him in reality and not what was.

now sees them as the best reassurance that he is not alone and is cared fro and loved.

[slashertrash]

Hey if your requests are open can I get a smol and sensitive (emotionally and physically) whom is getting bullied and goes to the slashers for help? The slashers would be mabey Jason, Michael, Freddy and Tiffany Valentine if you do them?

Of course sweetheart!!! 💗💝 I hope you’re not going through any of this, and if you are please don’t forget, you aren’t alone in any of this!

Jason, Michael, Freddy and Tiffany with an s/o who deals with bullies

Jason

Jason knows what it’s like to get bullied, he experienced it 'till his last living moments. He came back though, stronger and faster than ever. He finally got to avenge his and his mother’s death. Then he found you, someone who he needed to protect and take care of, to love and to hold, and damn anyone who dare and hurt you.

For the past few days, you’ve been coming back to the cabin with a gloomy look on your face, you’ve also been a lot quieter than usual and Jason has noticed rather quickly.

He asked you if anything bad happened while you were out or if you were hurt. He even asked if he had done anything to upset you, but you brushed it off and reassured him that there was nothing wrong, and that he didn’t have to worry about you.

But one day, you had taken longer than usual to arrive back home. Jason had gotten worried about you and searched all over the woods and camp for you, but couldn’t find you anywhere, so he decided to head back to the cabin to see if you where there by any chance.

And lo and behold, you were sat over the steps of the cabin holding onto your right side with a pained look on your face. Jason came rushing to you to see what was wrong.

You were shaking, your arms were covered in multiple bruises, your lip was busted, nose slightly bleeding and when he lifted up your shirt to see your torso, you had a giant purplish bruise blooming over your right side.

Before he could ask who dared do this to you, your vision started to get fuzzy, then everything went dark. Jason quickly picked you up gently and set you onto the couch, he then ran to look for the first aid kit. He spent all night taking care of your injuries and didn’t sleep to make sure you were alright, he was panicking on the inside, worried about anything bad happening to you. If you were to seriously get hurt, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. He can’t lose another loved one... He can’t.

You awoke the next day, with a pounding headache and a worried Jason sitting on a chair next to the bed. He checked your injuries again and you had to reassure him that you were alright. After that, Jason pulled you closer and engulfed you in a big hug, being careful as to not hurt you any further than you already were.

A few minutes passed, and Jason pulled away from the hug. He asked you who had dared do this to you, when you hesitantly told him that you were being bullied by some assholes. He would ask you where they live, and he’d be dead set on finding them and chopping them into tiny miserable bits. It’s your choice if you want him to take care of them.

If you do, Jason would totally go after them and kill them for you. Then he’d come back to you with gifts he got for you on his outing.

If you don’t, he’d be a little upset about not avenging you, but he would stay with you at the cabin cuddling and raining praises & gift upon gifts on you.

You’re his love and there is nothing he won’t do to protect you from those who want to hurt you.

Michael

He would instantly know if you were being bullied, he follows you around everywhere whenever you go out. So he would see it happen right in front of his eyes. Don’t get him wrong, he wanted to shred those bastards into pieces for saying those rude things to you and for pushing you around.

But he couldn’t. Not in broad daylight at least... it made his blood boil seeing them treat you such ways.

Once your bullies leave, he would stalk you for a bit more to check if you were harmed, then he would go back to follow those who dared mess with you.

Michael would stalk each of them, and eliminate them one by one. He would be more aggressive with his kills.

Not giving them any mercy or any chase. He would give them a slow, but excruciatingly painful death.

Michael would return back home late, way past midnight. Drenched in blood and viscera from head to toe. You asked him where he had been all night and he just silently stared at you.

He would pick you up and carry you into your bedroom to lay down on the bed. With him holding onto you tightly, ignoring your whining about him dirtying up the bed with blood n’ gore, and the strong smell of it. Just because he wanted to be a bit nicer to you since you had a rough day, he decided to clean you up and himself plus the bed, but he just ripped off the sheets and called it “cleaning”

You both layed on the bed, with Michael holding you close to him. You eventually fell asleep to the sound of Michael’s soft breathing and his steady heartbeat.

Michael stayed up staring at your sleeping figure, with an overwhelming feeling of possessiveness. You are his obsession, his drive, and only he can touch you and be mean to you. Any other person who even thinks of harming you, will die by his hands.

Freddy

You’ve been getting bullied for the past few weeks, and it’s been affecting your sleep. The constant worry of having to see your tormentors everyday just keeps you up at night, and leaves an awful feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Of course Freddy has noticed your change of demeaner in the dream world, and he’s worried but he'd never let you know .

He already knows about your bullies and who they are. He knows all your deep personal thoughts and secrets.

He ends up giving them a lil' visit, just to scare them shitless and make them back off. If they step out of line again he'll know and it won't end well for them.

Afterwards, he sneaks into one of your dreams.

You're curled up in a corner of your room when he finds you. You look a bit shaken and it seems something's on your mind, he can tell.

Freddy's not that good at comforting anybody, but he'll try for you.

Get ready to have this dream demon conjuring up all kinds of shenanigans to try and cheer you up. If you don't wanna talk that's fine with him, he can do all the talking. If you just want some quiet time he's fine with that too.

"Just finished giving your little friends a good 'ol scare. I'll deal with them later, don't cha worry about it." He says while pulling you closer.

Tiffany

You dropping by to Tiffany's trailer late at night wasn't unusual for her, you've been doing it more and more recently, she's noticed. What was unusual was for you to look all ragged and scuffed up with a solemn look on your face.

She's immediately at your side asking you about it. "Sugar? What's wrong? What happened?"

She'll be all over you trying to make sure you're all right. She would patch you up, help you get clean and make you something to eat. Maybe some cookies too, she knows you love 'em <3

Afterwards she would ask you again what had happened. If you don't want to talk about it, she would be understanding and dote on you for the reminder of the night. Cuddling you to sleep.

If you decide to spill the beans and tell her what happened, she'll probably ask for names and addresses.

And just like Michael she will sure all of those who hurt you will be dealt with, once and for all.

Nobody. Touches her sweetheart.

You dropping by to Tiffany's trailer late at night wasn't unusual for her, you've been doing it more and more recently, she's noticed. What was unusual was for you to look all ragged and scuffed up with a solemn look on your face.

She's immediately at your side asking you about it. "Sugar? What's wrong? What happened?"

She'll be all over you trying to make sure you're all right. She would patch you up, help you get clean and make you something to eat. Maybe some cookies too, she knows you love 'em <3

Afterwards she would ask you again what had happened. If you don't want to talk about it, she would be understanding and dote on you for the reminder of the night. Cuddling you to sleep.

If you decide to spill the beans and tell her what happened, she'll probably ask for names and addresses.

And just like Michael she will sure all of those who hurt you will be dealt with, once and for all.

Nobody. Touches her sweetheart.

I'M BACK AFTER WHAT... 80 YEARS!? APOLOGIES, LIFE'S BEEN HECTIC! Also, Happy Thanksgiving as well to those celebrating today! Love y'all!

[chierafied]

Over Her Dead Body

Written for @jilytoberfest - Bittersweet Challenge. Prompt: "I never thought I could have this” 770 words. Also on AO3.

His step on the stairs was heavy as Lily hastily piled a few boxes against the door. It was a futile attempt, as far as barricades went. Clumsy, working with only one arm. She knew it was the end, but her broken heart was still pounding in her chest.

-

His heart pounded against hers. His legs were tangled with hers in the best of ways as his fingers brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. His hazel eyes were intent on hers. “Lily Evans”, he said, his voice low, warm and soft, “please marry me. Will you be my wife?”

-

Her screaming had died. Silence reigned now, ghastly and terrible; only broken by the ominous creaks in the stairs. Each of those small sounds stabbed right through her as tears slid down her face.

-

A single tear escaped when she saw them threaten in his eyes, as well. His hands were warm and steady as they clasped hers, and he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. The smile on her lips bloomed into its full glory as she gave her answer. “I do.”

-

If only she had her wand with her. She’d been stupid, so stupid. But even with the wand she knew there wouldn’t have been time to take down the Anti-Apparition enchantments. She’d layered them deep and refreshed them just last week. Maybe she could have chanced the window, if — the hand resting on her stomach twitched.

-

Her hand rested on her stomach and he couldn’t take his eyes off it.

“Really?” he asked for the third time.

“Yes!” Lily laughed. “You’re going to be a father.”

James couldn’t stop grinning.

-

Terror squeezed her throat as she gently rocked Harry in her arms.

“It’s all right, Harry. Mummy’s here.” But though the words were reassuring, her voice was strained, on the edge of breaking. Harry’s face scrunched up and he let out a whimper.

-

The tiny whimper had been merely a warning; in the next second it swelled into an indignant cry. James didn’t mind. He was full of stunned awe as he cradled the disgruntled baby in his arms. His eyes were shining with tears when he finally tore his gaze off his son and looked at her. “He’s perfect, Lily. Look how perfect he is.”

-

The thud of feet on the landing shot a new jolt of fear and anguish into Lily. From there, it only took seven steps to reach the door. Trapped here, in this worst nightmare of hers, anticipating the horror about to come, she almost wished it over. Waiting for the inevitable was just another form of torture.

-

Waiting had been torture. First, she’d had to be absolutely sure. Then, the Order mission assigned to him had run long, her excitement drooping into anxiety as the hours passed. But now, finally, there was a knock at the door. Lily hastened through their usual routine of code phrases exchanged, then hauled James in and into her arms.

“What’s all this?” he murmured into her hair. “It’s all right. I’m all right.”

And, unable to wait another second, Lily blurted the news. “I’m pregnant.”

James staggered back and the look he gave her was stunned. Then his hands were cupping her face, pulling her into a wild kiss.

“I never thought I could have all this,” James whispered against her lips. “You. Harry. Everything. You’ve filled my life with so much love, Lily. Given me so much to be grateful for. And now we’re getting another one.”

And in that moment, despite all the darkness surrounding them out in the world, with James’ hand lightly stroking her stomach, Lily’s heart was bursting of happiness.

-

The door burst open. The boxes she’d piled against it flew aside. And then he stood in the doorway, looming large, his wand at the ready. All Lily’s fear condensed into a quiet desperation. She pressed a kiss on Harry’s forehead and slipped him into his cot with a murmured goodbye.

She whirled around and threw her arms wide, shielding her son and the only remaining sliver she had of James.

Looking into the eyes of her enemy, of the wizard who’d murdered her husband, Lily began to beg for mercy.

“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!”

But of course, he didn’t have any mercy to give.

“Stand aside, you silly girl... Stand aside, now...” he demanded coldly.

Lily Potter trembled, but stood her ground. Her place was here, always here, between danger and Harry. Between certain death and her son. The only way Lord Voldemort was going to get to Harry, was over her dead body.

[kikimurphys]

Behind Closed Doors (part 16)

Pairing: Cillian x Y/N

Cillian drove you back to your apartment to gather more clothes for your stay with him. As you sat on the edge of your bed, folding clothes and carefully packing them into a small suitcase, he moved around the room, helping wherever he could.

“Can you grab some of the baby’s clothes from the bottom drawer?” you asked.

He leaned down and opened the drawer, finding a few tiny onesies, hats, and socks. The sight of those little garments brought a soft smile to his face. He gathered them and handed them to you, watching as you carefully folded each item.

“Thanks,” you said, smiling up at him. “Livvy gave me this set,” you added, holding up a matching hat and pants.

Cillian’s smile widened, his eyes never leaving you. There was something so natural, so right, about you preparing for your baby. You looked beautiful with his child growing inside you, and he felt a deep sense of pride and affection swelling in his chest.

You placed the baby clothes beside your own belongings and then leaned down to open the drawer again. Alongside the rest of the baby’s clothes was a small, pale blue blanket and a soft rabbit plush toy with a rattle.

“This was mine when I was a baby,” you said softly as you resumed folding.

“You’ve kept it all this time?” Cillian asked, his voice laced with admiration. He found it endearing that you’d saved these cherished items, imagining your baby holding onto something that once belonged to you.

“Yeah,” you admitted quietly. “I’ve actually got a box full of my old baby clothes. I think it’s back home somewhere.”

“Why? Did you always know you wanted to be a mum?” he asked, curious. He’d never met anyone who’d saved their old belongings for their future children, and it struck him how deeply maternal you were, even back then.

“I’ve always wanted to have kids. I love children,” you sighed, your eyes dropping to the clothes in your lap as you tried to focus on your task. “I… uh, I actually always wanted to be a teacher. I’ve just always loved being around kids.”

Cillian hesitated for a moment, not wanting to push you but unable to hold back his curiosity. “What happened?”

“I just never got to it. My family and friends always made sure to remind me I was too dumb, so I ended up doing what all the ‘dumb’ girls did,” you said with a small, self-deprecating laugh.

“You’re not dumb, Y/N. I can’t imagine that,” Cillian replied, his tone firm yet gentle.

“I know that now,” you said, your voice softer. “But at the time, I really believed I wasn’t capable of doing anything but being pretty and focusing on ‘girl’ things. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job, and I was always drawn to fashion and the film industry, but it’s always been my dream to work with children or have my own.”

Cillian nodded in understanding, offering silent support. He never liked throwing out comforting words just for the sake of it; he preferred to listen, to be there. And you appreciated that about him. You never liked being vulnerable in front of others because you hated the empty reassurances. But with Cillian, it felt different—he got it, and that was enough.

“What about you?” you asked, glancing up at him. “Did you always want to be an actor?”

Cillian paused, leaning against the dresser as he considered your question. “Not really,” he began, his gaze distant as he looked back on his past. “I was actually more into music when I was younger. I thought I’d end up being a musician, maybe in a band.”

You looked up at him, surprised. “Really? What changed?”

He chuckled softly, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. “Well, I did have a band for a while, and we even got a record deal offer. But I was young, reckless, and a bit too wild for my own good. I ended up turning it down, thinking I’d have plenty of time to figure things out.”

Cillian’s eyes met yours, and he gave a small shrug. “Life doesn’t always go the way you plan, though. I ended up going to university and studied law for a bit, but it just wasn’t for me. I was miserable.”

You nodded, listening intently, feeling a deeper connection as he opened up about his past.

“One day, I went to see a play,” he continued. “And something just clicked. I don’t know how to explain it, but watching those actors up there, I realized that was what I wanted to do. So I dropped out of university, much to my parents’ dismay, and threw myself into acting.”

He paused, a small smile playing on his lips as he remembered those early days. “It was tough, you know? Starting out, taking on small roles, doing theatre… But I loved it. Every moment, every character, every story—it felt like I was finally doing something that mattered to me.”

You smiled softly, understanding the passion behind his words. “And now you’re here,” you said quietly, admiring how far he had come.

“Yeah,” he nodded, his voice tinged with gratitude. “Now I’m here. But it’s funny… no matter how far I’ve come, how many roles I’ve played, I still think back to those early days when I was just a kid with a guitar, dreaming of a different life.”

You reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “You’re amazing, Cillian. What you’ve accomplished—it’s incredible.”

He looked down at your intertwined hands, then back up at you, his eyes softening. “Thanks, love. But honestly, I think what you’re doing is even more incredible. You’re bringing a new life into this world, and you’re going to be the best mother.”

Your heart warmed at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Maybe… but it’s still scary. I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it. It's scary.”

“You will be,” he said firmly, his hand tightening around yours. “You’ve got so much love to give, Y/N. Our baby’s lucky to have you.”

For a moment, the room was filled with a comfortable silence, both of you lost in your thoughts. Cillian’s thumb traced small circles on the back of your hand, a soothing gesture that made you feel safe, like everything would be alright as long as he was there with you.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice soft. “I’m really glad you’re here, Cillian. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He smiled, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You’ll never have to find out, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere.”

He smiled, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You’ll never have to find out, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere.”

After settling down in his apartment, you were curled up on the couch with a blanket and a pregnancy book. Even though you were naturally maternal, you didn’t know much about babies, so your sister had sent you some books on pregnancy, childbirth, and the first few months of your baby’s life.

“Here you go,” Cillian said, approaching you with a cup of tea.

“Thanks,” you replied, taking a sip as he sat down next to you and turned on a movie.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while—Cillian watching TV while you read your book. The warmth of the tea and the coziness of the blanket made you feel relaxed, but your mind was still full of thoughts and questions.

After some time, you broke the silence. “And Max? Do you only have him on weekends?”

“Yeah,” Cillian nodded, his gaze still on the screen. “Just until he can move in with me this summer. so I can have half of the custody.”

You smiled at that, imagining how happy Max must be to spend more time with his dad. “He wants to meet you, you know,” Cillian added after a moment, his voice soft.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you looked up from your book. “Really? Did you tell him about me?”

“Course I did. You’re giving him a baby sister,” he replied, patting your thigh affectionately.

You sat up, a mix of surprise and concern flooding your expression. “You told him I was pregnant?”

Cillian nodded, sensing your worry. “I did. I wanted him to know, to prepare him. He’s a smart kid; he’ll understand.”

You bit your lip, anxiety creeping in. “What if he doesn’t like me? Or what if he thinks I’m trying to take his place?”

Cillian moved closer, his hand resting on your back. “He’s not going to think that. Max has always wanted a sibling, and he’s been curious about you for a while now. He’s going to love you, Y/N.”

“Okay,” you replied, biting the inside of your cheek. The thought of meeting Max scared you. He was a kid, and while you knew he’d likely be well-behaved, given who his father was, there was another layer to your anxiety—Siobhán. Cillian had told you they were on good terms, but when it came to their child, women could be fiercely protective. The idea of stepping into that dynamic made you nervous.

Cillian tried to reassure you, mentioning that Max would be coming over this weekend. You tried to mentally prepare yourself, but the anxiety lingered.

After spending more time reading, you decided to make yourself useful and headed to Cillian's guest room to unpack your bag. The room was spacious, and as you looked around, you thought to yourself that it could make a great nursery. But then you glanced at your suitcase and cursed under your breath. “Fuck!” You remembered Dr. Nelly’s instructions—no heavy lifting.

“Cill! Can you help me with my suitcase?” you called out, feeling a bit frustrated with yourself.

Cillian quickly stood up and came to your aid. You hated bothering him, especially knowing how tiring the week had been for him. Being in his apartment felt a bit awkward for you, and though you knew it was for your baby’s health, you couldn’t help but feel a bit useless.

He lifted the suitcase with ease and placed it on the bed, unzipping it. “I’m sorry. Thank you,” you said, feeling a bit guilty.

“No bother,” he replied with a kind smile, shaking his head. He was always so gentle and understanding with you.

“Let me help you,” he murmured, starting to unpack your belongings.

“No, it’s okay,” you argued, not wanting to be a burden.

“Please, Y/N,” he insisted, his tone gentle but firm. “The doctor said no unnecessary effort.”

“Fine,” you sighed, giving in as you sat on the bed and leaned against the pillows, watching him work.

As Cillian took out two ziplock bags with baby outfits, he paused, curious. “Why did you bring the baby’s clothes?”

“Well, if anything happens, we have to be prepared. I don’t think I got enough stuff anyway if she was born now,” you said with a small, nervous laugh.

“Yeah, about that. We should start buying things, like a cot and a pram.”

“Yes, I suppose,” you replied, your gaze drifting off as you stared into space. He was right, but the realization that you didn’t even know what you needed began to weigh on you.

“Are you alright?” he asked, noticing your sudden quietness.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m just… tired. Do you mind if I take a bath?” you asked softly, feeling the day’s events catching up with you.

“Of course, go ahead,” Cillian replied, his concern evident as he watched you. “I’ll run the bath.”

“Thank you,” you responded with a grateful smile, touched by his attentiveness.

You spent half an hour soaking in the hot water, finally finding some peace after the stressful week you'd had. With one hand, you cradled your belly, while the other held the pregnancy book you were reading. A small kick against your palm made you smile, reassuring you that your baby was going to be just fine.

After drying off and greasing your stretching belly, you padded to the living room to grab your phone, which was ringing. Cillian was seated on the couch as you picked it up.

“Hello?” you answered, pacing slightly as you spoke.

Cillian shifted his gaze from the TV to you, his eyes following your every move. You were wrapped in a simple white robe and your hair in a messy bun, your outfit making your growing bump even more noticeable. He couldn't help but feel a stir of desire at the sight of you. The way your breasts bounced slightly inside the robe with each step gave him a tantalizing glimpse, and he felt his body react.

“Ash called,” you said as you took a seat on the kitchen stool, brushing your hair absentmindedly. “She just wanted to check on me, see how I was holding up.”

Cillian glanced over at you, noticing how often you mentioned your sister. “You’re very close with her, I see,” he observed.

“Yeah, we are,” you replied with a soft smile. “She’s the only one in my family who understands me. Or, well, tries to.”

“Why? Are they not supportive of you?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“They are, it’s just… I can be very complicated sometimes,” you shrugged, trying to downplay it.

Cillian let out a small chuckle at your response. “How come?”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know,” you warned him playfully.

“I do!” he insisted, turning around to face you. He leaned on the counter, crossing his arms, the sleeves of his shirt cuffed at the elbows, revealing his toned forearms. The sight of his veined, muscled arms and the light layer of hair covering them made your mouth water.

“Well…” you looked around the room, trying to think of an example. “For instance, what are you making?”

“Chicken curry with rice,” he replied.

“Okay, so I’ll eat this because I’m pregnant, and she’ll just make me eat anything,” you laughed, “but normally, I wouldn’t like it.”

“Okay, I see where they’re coming from,” he said with a smirk, understanding your point.

“And it’s the same with so much more. I’m a pain in the ass!” you declared with a proud smile.

“No, you’re not,” Cillian reassured you, his tone warm and teasing.

“Are you close with your sister?” you asked as you stood up to get a glass of water.

“Yeah, with all of them, but especially with my brother Paidi,” he said, a fondness in his voice when mentioning his family.

Just then, the doorbell rang, catching both of you off guard.

“Are you expecting someone?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Cillian shook his head, looking puzzled. He walked over to answer the door, and as soon as it opened, a lively voice called out, “How is it going brother?”

“Orla?” Cillian exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise.

tags:

@mamawiggers1980 @xsweetcatastrophe @galactict3a @thistheivyseason @cillianmurphyvevo @sweetcheesecakesblog