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capquinn · 18 hours ago

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hear me out - quinn and reader find out they’re having a girl during the ultrasound and he’s overwhelmed in the best way. all nervous beforehand, totally in awe during the scan and after that he calls his parents from the car to share the news

The waiting room hummed softly, a blend of muffled conversations, the occasional shuffle of papers, and the faint static of a television mounted in the corner. Quinn sat beside you, his knee bouncing in a restless rhythm that made the corner of your chair wiggle. His hand held yours firmly, his thumb moving in slow, repetitive circles over your knuckles — a grounding gesture, though you could tell it was as much for him as it was for you.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, taking in the way his jaw was set, his lips pressed into a tight line. He looked calm to anyone else, but you knew better. The tiny crease between his brows and the faint tension in his shoulders told you everything.

“You okay?” you asked softly, leaning closer so your voice wouldn’t carry beyond him. Your foot nudged his lightly, breaking him out of whatever thought had a hold on him.

He blinked, pulled from his thoughts, and gave you a small, sheepish smile. “Yeah, just… ready to find out,” he admitted, his voice low, almost like he didn’t want to disturb the calm of the room.

“Still think it’s a girl?” you teased, your own nerves bubbling under the surface, though your tone came out light and easy.

Quinn’s smile deepened, just enough for the faintest hint of a dimple to appear in his cheek. “Yeah,” he said with quiet confidence, his voice steady. “Definitely a girl. We’ve been calling her ‘she’ for weeks now,’ he reminds you.

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a teasing smile. “And what if we’re wrong? What if it’s a boy?”

His brows knitted together briefly, the corners of his mouth twitching in thought before he shrugged lightly. “Then we’ll have to start calling him ‘he,’” he replied, his tone simple but lacking any real weight. “But…” His voice softened as his eyes met yours again. “It’s not a boy.”

It wasn’t that the idea of a boy threw him — it didn’t — but the way his gaze dropped instinctively to your belly told you exactly where his heart had landed.

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could, the door opened, and a nurse called your name. Quinn was on his feet almost instantly, helping you up before you could so much as shift in your seat. His hand stayed on the small of your back as you walked into the dimly lit room, and you shot him a teasing glance over your shoulder.

“Relax,” you murmured. “It’s just an ultrasound.”

“Yeah,” he said, but the slight hitch in his voice gave him away. This wasn’t just another appointment. This was the appointment.

The ultrasound room was dim and quiet, the faint hum of the machine filling the space as the technician adjusted the wand on your belly. The monitor flickered to life, displaying a grainy black-and-white image that Quinn couldn’t stop staring at. He sat in the chair beside you, his knee bouncing ever so slightly, betraying the calm expression he tried to maintain. His hand found yours, squeezing gently, and you squeezed back, grounding him.

The technician smiled warmly as she shifted the wand again, her voice soft and professional. “Alright, let’s take a look.”

Quinn leaned forward instinctively, his elbows resting on his knees, his entire focus zeroed in on the screen. The blurry shapes slowly sharpened, and there it was — the curve of a tiny head, a faint flutter of movement that made his chest tighten. The technician pointed to the screen, her finger tracing the faint outline of what she was seeing.

“Here’s the head,” she said, and Quinn’s breath hitched slightly as his eyes followed her gesture. “You can see the curve of the spine here, and… oh, look at that — a little hand.”

His gaze locked onto the tiny, perfectly formed hand, visible on the monitor as it shifted with slow, delicate movements. A smile tugged at his lips, small at first but growing wider as the technician adjusted the wand, pointing out the rhythmic flutter of the baby’s heartbeat. The sound filled the room, fast and strong, and he could feel his own heart beating in tandem.

“They’re waving,” the technician joked lightly, and Quinn’s chest tightened, the weight of the moment settling in his bones.

Beside him, you laughed softly, the sound warm and full of wonder, your eyes bright as they stayed fixed on the screen. He glanced at you then, and the expression on your face — a mixture of awe and love — made his throat tighten even further.

In that moment, it wasn’t just the image on the screen or the steady rhythm of the heartbeat filling the room. It was the way the tiny movements on the monitor brought everything into sharper focus. This wasn’t just an idea or a dream anymore — this was your baby, real and alive, moving inside you. Already loved beyond measure, even without knowing who they were yet.

The technician continued, measuring the baby’s head, her legs, the curve of her abdomen, explaining each detail as she worked. Quinn didn’t catch all the words — his mind was too full, too overwhelmed by the sheer reality of what he was seeing. A baby. Their baby. Right there on the screen, impossibly small yet so completely whole.

“Would you like to know the sex today?” The technician asked suddenly, cutting through his reverie.

Her question lingered in the air for a heartbeat, and Quinn’s eyes instinctively darted to yours. The excitement flickering in your expression made his heart stumble, the warmth of your eager nod grounding him in a moment that felt surreal.

“Yes,” you said quickly, your voice trembling with a joy that sent a ripple of relief through his chest.

He nodded too, swallowing hard as words failed him. His hand tightened around yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a rhythm that betrayed the nerves he hadn’t admitted to himself. It wasn’t fear — he knew. You both just knew. But knowing and hearing were two different things, and the certainty you were about to receive was enough to make his pulse quicken.

The technician shifted the wand slightly, her eyes focused intently on the screen, the glow casting faint shadows on the walls. The gentle whoosh of the baby’s heartbeat filled the room, steady and rhythmic, the kind of sound that felt like it had existed forever and yet was still so new.

“It looks like…” she began, her voice calm, teasing just a little, as if drawing the moment out on purpose.

Quinn’s heart thudded in his chest, and his grip on your hand tightened further as his gaze darted from the screen to you, taking in your hopeful expression.

“…you’re having a girl.”

Quinn blinked, the three words reverberating in his chest, through his veins, through every corner of him. He felt your grip on his hand tighten even more-so, your other hand flying to cover your mouth as a quiet, breathless laugh escaped you.

“It’s a girl,” you repeated, your voice cracking slightly, and the sheer relief in your tone made his throat tighten.

He let out a shaky exhale, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile so wide it made his cheeks ache. His eyes glistened with the kind of overwhelming emotion that made your chest feel too tight and your throat catch — a joy so profound it left him teetering on the edge of tears.

He couldn’t tear his gaze away from you — from the way you turned to him with that look, the one that was equal parts amazement and love so deep it felt like it might spill over.

His arms slipped around your shoulders, pulling you close as you leaned into him, your hand fisting gently in his shirt like you needed to hold onto him to steady yourself.

“We knew it,” he murmured, his voice rough and low, like he was still trying to convince himself it wasn’t just a dream. He let out a quiet, breathy laugh, his free hand brushing a piece of hair behind your ear before his palm cradled your cheek, his thumb sweeping across the damp skin beneath your eye. “We knew it, but… knowing and knowing is so different.” He paused, his gaze steady on yours as his voice softened. “It’s real now. A girl.”

Your laugh came out trembling, your tears spilling freely as you nodded. “A girl,” you repeated, your voice breaking on the words, leaning further into the warmth of his hand.

He leaned in, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to your temple, his lips staying there as though he could somehow lock the moment into his memory forever. His hand slipped from yours to brush away another tear sliding down your cheek, his thumb impossibly gentle, his touch grounding.

He glanced at the screen, where your baby — his baby — was nestled in shades of black and white, her tiny heartbeat filling the room with its steady whoosh.

“She’s perfect,” he murmured, his voice rough, the weight of the words sinking deep. He turned back to you, his gaze softening as he took in the tears brimming in your eyes. “You’re perfect.”

You laughed softly, the sound light and warm as you leaned into his touch, tucking your head against his shoulder, finding comfort in the solid warmth of him, your breath mingling with the quiet hum of the room. Your gaze drifting back to the screen.

The faint outline of her tiny form was right there, and yet she felt so much bigger than the sum of her parts. She wasn’t just a daughter — she was possibility, a future, a life you’d created together. The steady rhythm of her heartbeat filled the room, and you stayed like that, wrapped in the certainty of each other, in the love that now had a shape, a sound, and a presence you could hardly believe was yours.

The appointment wrapped up with the technician handing you the printed scans, the black-and-white images of your baby feeling almost surreal in your hands. The midwife had gone over the essentials — measurements, heartbeat, and everything looking healthy — before helping you schedule your next appointment. You’d tucked the photos carefully into your bag, double-checking that you had all the paperwork before stepping out into the cool air of the parking lot.

As the two of you settled into the car, the weight of the moment lingered, filling the space with a quiet kind of joy. You caught Quinn glancing at the photos as you pulled them back out, his lips curving into a small, awestruck smile.

“Your parents are going to love this,” you said softly, your voice brimming with warmth as you held up the scan to show him again.

He let out a breathy laugh, his smile widening slightly. “Mom’s been counting down to this since we told her,” he said, his voice light but carrying a note of affection that made your chest tighten.

You grinned, shaking your head. “She’s going to cry the second we tell her they’re having a granddaughter.”

“Dad, too,” he added with a chuckle, leaning back in his seat. “You know what he’s like… He’ll act like he’s holding it together, but he won’t last long.”

You reached over, your hand brushing against Quinn’s on the console, and he turned his palm upward to link his fingers with yours.

After a beat, he glanced down at his phone, turning it over in his hand before looking at you. His expression softened, a glimmer of excitement flickering in his eyes as he asked, “should we tell them right now?”

You nodded, biting your lip to stifle the grin threatening to spread across your face. “I think they’ve waited long enough.”

Quinn’s thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating for just a moment before he tapped it, the familiar sound of the ringing tone filling the car. His hand tightened slightly around yours as the first ring passed, then the second, a quiet exhale slipping from his lips as though he were bracing himself.

The third ring was barely halfway through when Ellen’s voice burst through, bright and eager, as if she’d been sitting with the phone in her hand all day.

“Finally!” she exclaimed, the excitement spilling into her words. “How did it go? Is everything okay?”

Her voice filled the car like sunlight cutting through clouds, her anticipation so palpable it tugged a smile from you both even before Quinn could respond. He let out a soft laugh, his shoulders relaxing just slightly as he glanced at you, a flicker of warmth lighting his expression.

“You’re on speaker,” Quinn said, his voice steady but quieter than usual.

“Hi, Ellen,” you said warmly, leaning a little closer to the phone.

“Oh, sweetheart, how are you feeling? How did everything go?” Ellen asked, her tone soft but brimming with energy, her emotions barely contained, excited.

You exchanged a glance with Quinn, his lips curving into a small, nervous smile as you answered. “Everything’s perfect. The baby’s healthy, measuring right on schedule, strong heartbeat. And I’m feeling good. Really good. No complaints at all.’

There was a pause, a soft exhale from Ellen, like she’d been holding her breath. “That’s wonderful,” she said, her voice thickening slightly. “I’ve been waiting to hear those words all day.”

Quinn shifted in his seat, the scans still balanced on your lap catching his eye. His hand tightened slightly around yours, and he swallowed hard before speaking.

“We, uh… we found out the gender,” he said, his voice faltering just enough that it made you glance at him.

Ellen’s breath hitched audibly. “You did?"

Quinn nodded, though she couldn’t see it, his gaze fixed on the glossy photos. “We’re having a girl,” he said softly, almost like he was saying it to himself as much as to her.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, a pause so deep it felt like the world had stopped. Then Ellen let out a quiet, shaky laugh that broke into a soft sob.

“A girl,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Oh, Quinn… A girl.”

The words hit Quinn like a wave, like he was reliving the appointment all over again, and you felt it immediately — his hand trembling slightly in yours, his jaw tightening as he looked down at the scans again, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. When he blinked, you saw the telltale sheen in his eyes, and he turned his head slightly, as if the window would give him somewhere to hide.

“Mom,” he said, his voice cracking just slightly, “don’t cry.”

“I can’t help it,” Ellen said, laughing through her tears. “I’m just so happy for you both. I can’t even—” Her words faltered, and you could hear her trying to pull herself together.

He let out a quiet, breathy laugh, shaking his head as he quickly swiped at his eyes, trying to clear the hint of tears before they fully spilled over. The corners of his mouth twitched upward, caught somewhere between holding it together and letting go.

“You’re gonna make me cry too,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, rough with emotion.

You reached over, your hand slipping out of his to slide up his back in slow, soothing circles as you leaned closer. He tilted his head toward you, the smallest touch grounding him, even as his eyes stayed fixed on the photos in your lap. For a moment, you said nothing, letting the quiet stretch as Ellen’s soft laughter and sniffles filled the space.

“I can’t help it,” Ellen repeated, her voice trembling, thick with emotion. “It’s just…” She trailed off, unable to finish the thought as another soft sob escaped. “You’re building this beautiful life, and now… a baby girl. Oh, Quinn.” He could picture her waving a hand in front of her face, trying to brush away the tears, though it never did anything to stop them. “I’m just so proud of you. Of both of you,” she managed, her words cracking under the sheer weight of her joy.

There was a shuffle on the other end, the sound of Ellen sighing deeply, happily, as though she was still trying to gather herself. The faint rustle of movement was followed by the warm, steady tone of Jim’s voice breaking through.

“A girl,” he said, his words carrying a quiet kind of awe. “That’s incredible, Quinn. Congratulations to both of you.”

“Thanks, Dad,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It’s... it’s something, huh?”

Jim chuckled softly, the kind of warm, familiar sound that made Quinn feel grounded. “More than something,” he said, his tone light but there was a weight of pride that wasn’t lost on Quinn. There was a brief pause, and then, with a softness that made the words linger, he added, “your girls, huh? They’re lucky to have you.”

Quinn’s chest rose with a slow, deep breath, his fingers twitching briefly against yours as he tried to steady the emotion threatening to crest again. He glanced at you, his lips curving into a faint smile that didn’t quite mask the way his eyes still glistened. He didn’t speak, couldn’t, biting his bottom lip as though that alone might keep him composed.

Sensing the words stuck in his throat, you stepped in, your voice warm but steady. “He takes good care of us,” you told him softly, your tone heavy with conviction, offering something Jim could easily picture — his son, dependable and steady, already holding his family close.

Quinn turned to look at you, something tender in his expression, the gratitude clear even though he didn’t say a word.

Jim must have sensed it too, the way his son had fallen silent, his emotions skimming the surface. He didn’t push — he never did. Instead, his voice came again, wrapping the moment in reassurance.

“You’ve always had a good heart, Quinn,” he said thoughtfully, his tone warm but grounded. “That little girl’s going to grow up with two incredible parents to show her the way. She’s got it made already.”

The words settled in the quiet of the car, and they hit you unexpectedly. You shifted slightly in the passenger seat, your fingers tightening just a fraction around Quinn’s, and that subtle movement was all it took for him to notice. His eyes flicked to you, catching the way your lips pressed together, your gaze cast downward as you blinked back the glimmer of tears welling in your eyes.

Without a word, Quinn’s hand squeezed yours again, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles in a rhythm that felt grounding, the touch steady and reassuring, as though the small strength he was offering you was also something he needed himself.

“She’s going to have so much love,” Ellen chimed in, her voice lighter now, no longer trembling but still full of emotion. “So much love waiting for her.”

Quinn nodded, his voice stronger now as he murmured, “She already does.”

#MWAH a kiss for you nonny!!! what a sweet request <3 #he's never beating the mummy's boy allegations #dad!quinn #sort of? yeah!#capquinn's requests #capquinn's writing #quinn hughes

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tbgblr2 · 1 day ago

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Mickey and Skye - Trapped!

This one could have possibly taken 9 months to write, thanks to stops/starts, holidays getting the way, writers block and all sorts, but we got there in the end. Special thanks once again to @allkindsofpreg for the help in writing this. Enjoy!

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Mickey and Skye were flustered, there’s no two ways about it. How they got into this predicament is a bit of a tale in itself. First we should delve into a bit of their history.

The two of them met at an apprenticeship intake for a local IT company. It was definitely an entry level data job but it helped give them a bit of spending money whilst they lived with their parents. At the age of 20 and 21 they suffered an unfortunate ‘oops’ moment as the condom broke and Skye found herself sporting her sizeable bump several months later. Their parents helped and in truth life was looking good for the young couple. They even got married, Skye wearing a dress which clung to her gravid belly, leaving no one in the congregation guessing about the nature of their marriage. However, they were young, in love, and things were working out.

As is the natural sequence of things Skye began to feel contractions around 10pm the night previous. After labouring at home for several hours, around 2am they were told to come to the hospital as the labour became more established. After getting admitted and assed, around 3am, the pair were completely exhausted but wanted to try and walk around the hospital corridors to move things on. Skye was 4cm dilated and was potentially looking at a long, drawn out labour.

Blindly they walked down empty corridors stopping for the occasional contraction until they reached a door. Pushing it open they were met with darkness. Thinking it was a quiet corridor and the motion sensors would turn on the lights as they walked down they trudged on, tiredness dulling their senses.

That was until they stepped inside, and the lights flickered on to show they were in a store cupboard. Mickey turned to find the handle was missing from the door. He pushed it - nothing. They were trapped.

As Skye was mid-contraction, the realization came upon Mickey first. He tried not to panic, because he was sure there would be a way out. Surely no reputable hospital would contain an inescapable room that two exhausted, unsuspecting parents-to-be could just wander haphazardly into.

He inspected the door more closely, the spike of adrenaline finally allowing his bleary eyes to focus, and he saw a metal plate over where the handle would be and a doorstop by his feet. Only then did he vaguely recall a paper sign taped to the other side of the door. He hadn’t read it, but he now guessed it said something like “Caution: do not close, door locks automatically.”

Still, this was a busy hospital; it couldn’t be that long before someone would need something from this supply closet, right?

When Skye’s contraction ended and her breathing normalized, she found her husband wide-eyed and stricken and any tiredness that had been clouding her mind vanished. “What? What is it?”

“Okay, don’t panic.” He held out his hands in an almost pleading gesture. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

His placating tone only made her fear ratchet up another notch. “What does that mean? What do you mean everything’s going to be okay?”

“Well,” he explained, wrapping an arm around her waist and letting her lean into him, “we seem to have found ourselves in a somewhat unconventional labour suite.”

Skye looked around, first confused, then slightly amused. “Oh. You’re right—no bed? no doctors? no epidural?? Yes, this is certainly no place to be having a baby.”

Mickey grimaced—she was right, but at the moment they had no other choice. “That’s the thing, yeah? The door is…” he trailed off, nodded toward the door, but she either couldn’t or wouldn’t put the pieces together. “It’s kind of one-way, love.” Still no hint of recognition. “And that way… is not out.” He shrugged and did his best to adopt a more light-hearted tone. “We’re stuck.”

Skye’s eyes danced frantically around the small room—the low ceiling, the dirty floor, the packed shelves lining the walls, and finally the door. The very solid-looking, heavy and more importantly, locked door.

Her breathing quickened, heart rate spiking, as the reality of their situation finally began to sink in. “Oh shit,” she whispered, a tremble in her voice.

“It’s going to be okay,” Mickey said again, as much to himself as to her.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” she continued muttering, her eyes turning up to the dimly lit ceiling in an attempt to stave off the tears that threatened to spill over. Her midsection tightened suddenly, quick and fierce, and she gasped, her litany of curses cut off as she attempted to hum through the pain.

Mickey immediately moved from emotional support position to physical support position. He guided Skye’s arms around his neck and wrapped his strong hands around her hips, giving them a gentle squeeze of counter pressure.

“Mick,” she whined into his chest, and he squeezed harder as her fingers dug into his shoulders. They swayed together as the contraction built, but paused at its peak, clinging to each other tightly. He swept the hair back over her neck and away from her face and whispered in her ear until her body finally slumped against him. “That one felt stronger,” she said, “And longer.”

Neither wanted to admit what that might mean, and since neither of them had a watch so they couldn’t be 100% sure. But after three more merciless contractions in relatively quick succession, it certainly seemed like the stress of the situation had finally kicked her labour into high gear.

“Ok let’s keep calm” came the reasoning voice of Mickey as he tried to assess the situation.

“Calm! Calm! I can’t even turn around in here without either my ass or belly touching one of the sides. This is no place for a pregn… gah!” Skye’s rant was cut short by her hand grasping the underside of her belly as she groaned through another contraction. It was certainly not 5 minutes between them that’s for sure.

Mickey resumed his supporting position, using one arm to cuddle his wife whilst the other brushed at her hair in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. He felt tears stream down her cheek.

He looked at the floor. In the dusty grime on there he at least saw footprints. He explained it to Skye and both were buoyed that at least they were somewhere that someone visits. Perhaps they need to wait until morning… even then 7am, that’s at least 3 hours away, maybe more. If the day staff don’t arrive until 9am that’s even longer. Skye might not last that long.

As Skye came down from her flustered bout of crying, and he was confident that she could stand unaided he banged on the door and asked her to be quiet. He concentrated in the silence listening out for any reply beyond the edge of the door. He tried again and shouted a yell at the same time ‘thump… thump…thump’ went the rhythmical banging. Once again they listened out to be greeted only with silence. They even held their breath.

Until Skye yelped. “My waters!”

Mikey looked down at the water running down Skye’s leg. “At least there’s a mop,” he joked, which only made Skye glare first at the dirty water bucket and then back at her husband. “Sorry, bad timing?”

Skye’s face settled into something more like anxious resignation as her eyes welled back up again. “What if they don’t find us before the baby comes? I don’t- how am I supposed to have a baby in here?”

Mickey pulled her in close again and stroked gentle fingertips up and down her back. “No need to worry about that just yet. We’ll take things as they come, yeah?”

She nodded—what other choice did they have?

“How’re you feeling? How’s the little one?”

Skye took a deep breath, forced down the spiralling worst case scenarios playing in her mind, and actually focused on how she felt in her body at this moment. “Mm, baby’s low,” she said, noting how her stance had unconsciously widened after her waters had gone. “More pressure. Definitely moving down.”

If she thought the pressure was intense just standing there, she had no words for its severity once the next contraction started. It would have brought her to her knees if Mickey hadn’t already been holding her.

“Skye?” he asked with concern when she moaned and dropped into as much of a squatting position as the cramped space would allow.

The stinging weight filling her from within was unfamiliar and sudden and her hand found its way between her legs. She half expected to feel a bulge there, but of course there was nothing yet—it was irrational to think that a single contraction would progress things along so quickly, but fear and pain weren’t exactly known for producing rational thoughts.

Weathering the contraction in this position made her quads and glutes ache and by the time it was over she was sweaty and overheated.

“I’ve got to get this gown off,” she muttered, tugging at the thin fabric as she clambered to an upright position.

“What was that?” Mickey asked, unsure what she wanted or how to help her.

“I’m fucking roasting in here.” Skye clawed at the gown but it clung to her damp skin and she couldn’t unfurl her arms or twist well enough with her giant belly in the way. “I can’t get this fucking thing off!” she cried out in frustration, one elbow stuck in the arm hole.

“Okay. Okay, it’s alright, you’re just—“ Mickey stilled her frantic flailing limbs and pinched the open flap of her hospital gown. “Just a bit twisted up here.” He peeled the fabric over her shoulder and down her arm, which freed it to assist in freeing the other. He caught it before it hit the filthy floor—they may need it later—and placed it on top of what looked like a relatively clean surface.

Skye spent a few moments bending and rotating and testing her newfound freedom of movement. Once her breathing levelled out and she appeared to relax a bit, Mickey didn’t exactly mind the sight of his wife’s full, curvy figure bouncing and shimmying in front of him.

“Better?” he asked as she finally stilled, fully upright with hands pressed into her lower back. He loved looking at her like this, and he mentally scolded himself for starting to get hard at a moment like this.

It was as if Skye just remembered her husband was here, but once her eyes found his she recognized the look in them and she looked down at her naked body. Well, as much of it as she could see. It could very well have been a closet just like this in which their child was conceived, and the irony had her giggling.

Mickey looked somewhat perplexed at the change of tone, but didn’t object when she pressed into him, guided his hands to her bare breasts and kissed him. His body responded automatically, teasing her nipples as his tongue danced with hers.

“Fuck!” Skye gasped and he began to pull away, but she shook her head, kept his hands anchored to her body. “Do it again.”

His fingers barely brushed her, but her whole body clenched with the onslaught of another contraction. “Already?”

“Mmhmm.” Skye closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of his hands on her body—so familiar, so comforting—and suddenly knew, no matter what, they could get through this. Together.

Skye’s response to the contractions had changed since she shed her gown. She no longer seemed to be focused on riding through them, but rather seemed to be actively working with them. Her hands were clamped around Mickey, pressing her body – at least the parts that were sticking out as a result of the pregnancy – tight against him. She breathed deep breaths in moments of relief between the pains, and made a lot of noise during the pain. The noises weren’t painful noises – shouts and screeches – more “ooh’s” and “ahh’s.”

It had the effect of causing her chest to heave up and down. Naked flesh pressed against Mikey’s clothing resulted in more friction, and in turn, her nipples were rock hard and being rubbed – not painfully though – quite the opposite. Mikey’s ears picked up a change in tone… almost erotic. He heard that noise a lot when they were in bed. It was almost a whimper. He risked a kiss to Skye’s forehead and she returned in kind, her head tilting up to allow her lips to meet his and they grabbed into an embrace.

Tongue met tongue as their natural instinct took over, though it was broken quickly by the onset of another contraction. This one took Skye a little by surprise and she wasn’t ready for it, her hands grasping Mickey’s hair and pulling tight as her voice let out the closest thing a yell of pain so far.

“You ok?” Mikey asked, concern in his voice as he felt Skye’s legs shuffle apart. She didn’t answer. “Babe?” he asked again. Still Skye pulled on his hair. It was getting painful now, but he knew he wasn’t exactly in any place to complain. He gritted his teeth and just rode it through with this wife.

Skye finally gasped, and much to Mikey’s relief, loosened her grip on his hair.

“What was that?” he asked, still a note of concern in his voice.

Skye blew out her breath, and took a moment to compose herself. “Just the joy of contractions I think. No two seem to be the same. Just hope I don’t have many more like that. That wasn’t fun.”

“Yeah,” came Mikey’s reply. “I didn’t like that, it hurt!”

The absurdity of the moment caused Skye to burst into laughter. “That hurt? Don’t be a baby. You should see what’s happening between my legs.”

Mikey took a gulp before continuing. “Lets not focus on the between the legs too quickly. I mean we need to get out of here first. Then I’ll gladly stare down the barrel of the gun and watch our baby come out, and I’ll not even complain when you squeeze my hand tight as you’re doing it.”

“Oh you charmer…” winced Skye, the next contraction building. This was starting to get exhausting, all she wanted to do was sit down and take her weight off her legs. There as nowhere to sit though unless she sank down onto the floor… and maybe then she might never get up. No… need to stay focused on getting out. Cross my legs, lean on Mikey. She had an inner monologue going through her head as she felt her midsection tighten, hold and release once more. Whilst it wasn’t exactly comfortable, she had gotten used to the pains happening again and again and found ways to cope. She just had to hope that they were released before it came to the main pushing phase. She really didn’t want to be caught on some CCTV pushing her baby out in a corridor, and she knew it was quite a walk back to the birthing suite based on how far they walked to get into the situation they were in right now.

They swayed, hummed, kissed and breathed through several more pains, but it was becoming harder to focus on anything but the steadily increasing contractions. The worst of the pain ebbed and flowed, but the pressure seemed constant now and she ached from her back all the way down to her ankles. She wasn’t able to catch her breath after one contraction before another one would begin and the discomfort became sharper—less a broad, dull ache and more concentrated, stabbing deep down through her core.

Skye wanted to ask Mickey to check her dilation, but firstly, she wasn’t sure either of them could contort themselves into a position that would make that possible at the moment, and secondly, she suspected it wouldn’t be all that accurate anyway. She just had to trust her instincts, and right now her instincts were telling her that things were about to get really intense.

“Mm, I need to—“ Skye shifted restlessly, wriggling her hips and pausing in several different positions before frowning. “I don’t know... something.” She bent over, leaning heavily into the shelf ledge as gravity shifted the pull on her gravid belly and a fraction of the tension in her lower back eased.

The next contraction was on her before she’d anticipated and her grip tightened. Natural reflexes took hold and she started to lower into a squat when Mickey’s panicked voice breached the fog of pain.

“Skye!” Mickey threw his body over his wife’s hunched form and several items from the higher shelves bounced off his back and onto the floor. With more force than intended, he ripped her hands away from the unstable shelving unit.

Skye didn’t resist, but cried out and collapsed onto her knees, which spread wide of their own accord. “Sorry, baby. Sorry,” she muttered as the objects rained down around her and she heard Mickey’s little “ow’s” and “oomph’s”. “Didn’t mean to. Didn’t—“ She couldn’t finish the thought. Her breathing was shallow and quick, Mickey’s heat overwhelmed her already flushed skin and she suddenly felt like she was going to be sick. “Sorry,” she finally said again, closing her eyes and willing the nausea to abate.

Mickey shushed her and gave her a little squeeze, which caused her to flinch. He pulled away and examined his wife more closely — curled in on herself tightly, both arms encircling her belly, and whiter than a wedding dress. He was sure if he could see her face it would be wearing a grimace.

How could he help her?

He tried pounding on the door again to no avail, and the added sensory input only made Skye wince even more. Looking around the room, he noticed that the mop bucket was actually two nested buckets, which meant the bottom one was empty and Skye could finally have somewhere to sit.

“I need you to stand for me, love,” Mickey pleaded, which earned him a pained groan. “I know, but only for a minute.” She started to get up, but then he realized that if she did then he wouldn’t be able to get past her to reach the bucket. Instead, he grabbed her hand and sort of ushered her between his legs as he stepped over her, which was awkward and hurt his shoulder, but he was glad he did when she nearly toppled over once he was on the other side of her. “Alright, up one more time for me. You can do it.”

Skye was shaky and a bit dazed and dizzy, but she allowed Mickey to help her to her feet and then leaned heavily against the door. Mickey bent down into the newly occupied space below her, but another contraction was building and she groaned loudly. “Mick, hurry.”

Mickey extricated the empty bucket and hastily flipped it over, but it was far from clean. He grabbed Skye’s discarded gown and draped it over the top, piling as much fabric as he could at the top. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable chair in the world, but it was better than nothing.

Skye’s legs were already splayed, so it didn’t take much effort to slide the makeshift stool between them. Wordlessly, and more like she could no longer hold herself up than that she’d realized what he’d done, she grabbed Mickey’s forearms and began sliding down the door.

“That’s it, there you go.” Mickey breathed a sigh of relief at the same time Skye’s laboured huffs picked up again. “Just relax and focus on the baby.”

Skye would have laughed at the idea of relaxing, but she had no air to spare—it was all going toward a meditative hum that was the only thing keeping her from screaming.

Things were moving quickly now. The contractions were long and brutal, right on top of each other and she blindly grabbed for Mickey’s hand. His grip was both strong and comforting and once again she reminded herself that she could do this as long as he was there by her side.

Her body was in transition—she could feel it, the descending, the opening, the hint of an urge beginning to build—and the hardest part was yet to come. If they were going to be found before the baby came… it would have to be pretty damn soon.

Mickey settled down into a squat between Skye’s legs as she hummed and groaned through one contraction after another. He held and squeezed her hand, rubbed her thigh and leaned forward kissing the belly. After about 20 minutes of what seemed like non stop pain he started feeling cramp himself in his legs and moved to a kneeling position, his jeans legs getting messy from the muck and liquid spilled on the floor. He looked around and tried to find something - anything that could mop up the mess. Best he could find was piles of toilet rolls.

“Better than nothing” he grumbled as he got up and pulled them off the shelf. He started unspooling the paper from the roll, dropping it in the floor and trying to mop things up with his foot. It looked comical. Not only was the paper disintegrating as it hit the wet floor, but the sticky mess was caked on his shoes within minutes.

He looks up to see Skye giggling.

“I know you’re trying to help but just give up will you?”

Mickey, flustered responded “I can’t have the floor this messy what if you do have the baby in here and you need to lay her down on the floor ?”

Skye still looked to have humour in her features, though she did seem to pant a little out of breath as she spoke.

“Firstly… I’m not having her here. Secondly… you see these?” She grabbed her breasts and jiggled them.

“Yeah, how could I not…” commented Mickey - his wife’s pregnancy enhanced bosom a constant source of pleasure for him since they got over the shock of the pregnancy.

“Well these will be where the baby will be, cradled in my arms even if it’s here, there or anywhere else in this building.”

Mickey sighed and reluctantly returned to his position on the floor supporting Skye. “Ok you’re right I’m just trying to find something to do.”

Skye had gone a little white as he said the last sentence. She announced “you might need to catch the baby… I think I need to push!”

Two equally powerful instincts warred within Skye—the desperate desire to give birth with the help of professionals in a big clean bed versus the absolute feral need to give in to her body’s need to push. As the next contraction built she clung to the former, panting and squirming and squeezing the hell out of Mickey’s hand. Anything that wasn’t bearing down with the impossible pressure.

She was able to weather another three or four contractions this way before the pain of holding back far surpassed the fear of giving in.

“Babe, I can’t- I have to—“ Skye whimpered, trailing off as the reality began to sink in.

It was Mickey’s turn to squeeze Skye’s hand, and she looked down into his determined gaze. “I know. I know, and it’s alright.” She nodded, but her face was pinched and tense and looked like she was trying not to cry. He put his free hand on the curve of her stomach and felt it clench and harden beneath his touch. “You want to try pushing?”

Skye hesitated, but then nodded again, breathing picking up as her midsection coiled and squeezed. There had started a small respite between contractions now, and it gave her precious time to renew her strength—both physical and mental. She released her hold on Mickey and closed her eyes to block out the less than ideal environment and instead focused inward.

The bucket seat was hard and awkward and caused an ache in her sacrum. She adjusted her position, scooting her ass forward and opening her knees as wide as they could go while leaning back and pressing into the unyielding door. Her palms and fingers dug into her thighs and everything tensed as she gave her first real push.

“Hhhah, hah, ah, fuck,” she huffed, kneading the muscles in her thigh before grabbing them and holding her breath and pushing again. She strained harder this time, tilting her hips up and shaking with the effort she was putting into it, but it was still like trying to roll a boulder up a hill.

When it was over she collapsed against the door and gasped in deep gulps of air, the sheen of sweat causing her heaving belly to glisten.

“Okay?” Mickey asked, coaxing her hands to release their death grip on her own legs. Her response was a disgruntled whine. “You’re doing great,” he assured her.

She “hmph”-ed again and opened her eyes to look at him. “It doesn’t feel like anything’s happening.”

Mickey chuckled. “It was one contraction. You’re good, but you’re not that good.”

Skye pouted and rubbed both hands over her impressive swell. “It all just hurts. Everywhere. I can’t tell where she is. I don’t- I don’t know how to do this.”

“Is that all?” She glared at him, but he just smirked in response. “I think I can help with that.”

Mickey pulled her forward on the makeshift stool even more, then his hands moved up her thighs to between her legs. She was wet with birthing fluids and his fingers easily slipped between her folds. Her muscles instinctively clamped around him, then relaxed enough for him to push deeper, then clenched again with the start of another contraction.

“Relax,” he instructed, teasing her just enough to release the tension there but not enough to pull her focus. “Can you feel me?” He wiggled his fingers and her mouth quirked up into a half smile. “Push. There. Push for me, love.”

The effort was still there, painted into her features and posture, but more concentrated now. He could see the muscles in her abdomen press in, push down; he could feel the soft flesh press gently but insistently against his fingertips.

“She’s not far,” Mickey announced, voice suddenly thick with emotion. “You’ll have her out in no time.”

Skye redoubled her efforts. She could feel Mickey’s hand on her, in her, with her. She wasn’t just pushing her baby out from her body, she was pushing it into his hands.

She stopped keeping track of how many contractions came and went—didn’t want to lose that tenuous connection that was holding the three of them together—but then something shifted. It stopped feeling like there was no progress being made and started feeling like it was being made far too quickly. Like every push was testing the limits of her flesh. The pressure just kept building, and building, with nowhere for it to go.

Skye was pressed back hard against the door, but no amount of length in her spine would alleviate the fullness in her hips. She wailed as that immense force narrowed and sharpened, concentrated at a single unyielding point.

Mickey’s heart rate spiked as the last push came with a distinctive bowing out of her skin, evicting his fingers completely. He was about to tell her has such when they were both jostled harshly as a crack of light appeared in the doorway and a frantic voice on the other side was calling their names.

They had finally been found… but Skye wasn’t going anywhere.

Skye was jostled forward as the door opened. It only opened a crack before her body stopped it moving but the voices behind were recognisable as the two midwives the couple had met on their arrival.

“Hello! Hello are you ok?” One of the concerned voices shouted beyond the door.

“We’re alive, if that’s what you mean” shouted Mickey in response. “Skye’s pushing, I can feel the head right there. She can’t move. We need help. “

“What do you mean she can’t move, is she injured?” Asked the midwife.

Skye was the next to answer “no, there’s a bowling ball between my legs, I can’t get up!” She was clearly stressed and yelling. “I need to push it out, I don’t know what to do!”

Skye closed her eyes and gripped onto Mickeys hands, a clear sign her contraction had started again. The midwives listened carefully as Skye yelled out a few moments later, all her effort into a push.

“Is she dilated?” Asked the midwife.

“How do I tell?” Asked Mickey in response.

“If you can get your fingers sanitised you should put them in your wife’s vagina, you might be able to feel around the head and take a guess at how wide her cervix is open?” A hand poked through the gap in the door “ if it’s open up as wide as needed your fingers should be this wide” the disembodied hand showed a gap between thumb and forefinger.

“Listen!” Yelled Mickey to make his voice heard over Skye’s own pained moans “the head is fucking right there, it’s bulging out. I can’t even fit my fingers in right now.”

“Ok” came the voice from the other side of the door “sounds like she’s doing what she needs to be doing. I really need you to help her to her feet and get her out of the way so we can get in.”

“Nooooo!” Wailed Skye. “Don’t ask me to stand. Don’t think my legs will hold my weight. Need to push, need to push!” She closed her eyes and let out a grunting sound.

Skye’s body stiffened as the urge built up inside her once again. She threw her head back, the tendons cording in her neck as her face reddened. Some wet, strangled sound escaped her throat as she took in a few ragged breaths and then redoubled her efforts. She pushed this way for several contractions and the effort nearly made her sick, coughing and sputtering as she came down from the last one.

“Remember to breathe, Skye,” came the unhelpful reminder from the other side of the door.

“Don’t force anything; the babe will come. Relax if you can,” the second midwife added.

“Relax?” Sky growled, incredulous. How the hell was she supposed to do that? She looked down at Mickey and his eyes were pleading—she was giving it everything she had and still wasn’t crowning and he was worried about her. “Help me. Please.”

“Anything.” Their space was limited, but Mickey managed to lean forward, one hand still cupped around Skye’s sex, and kiss up her thigh, her belly, her breasts. “You’re so beautiful like this. So strong.” She was about to protest but he bit down lightly on her neck and she gasped, releasing the vice like grip she’d had on her legs and instead curling around the muscles of his shoulders. “Working so hard to bring our baby into the world.” Just as his lips reached her jaw she tensed and began to arch away from him, but he anchored her in place and whispered in her ear, “Stay with me, love. Right here with me.” She nodded against his temple and he smiled. “Good girl. Gentle pushes for me now.”

It seemed counterintuitive to Skye, that putting in less effort would yield greater results, but the subtle burning release she felt between her legs as she hummed and grunted her way through the next few contractions hinted that it was working.

“How are things progressing in there?” the midwives asked.

Mickey pulled back and Skye whimpered, grabbed onto his wrist. “I’m just going to take a look,” he promised, sitting back on his heels. When he finally saw what was happening between his wife’s legs, tears began welling in his eyes. “I- I can see the head,” he called to the crack in the door. Then, to Skye, “The head is right there, baby, even when you’re not pushing. You are the most amazing woman who’s ever lived.”

Sky giggled at that. “Pretty sure there are at least a dozen other women right down the hall doing this exact same thing right now.”

Mickey shook his head. “Nope. None of them are as amazing as you.”

“None of them doing it in a broom closet, though, I can assure you of that!” one of the midwives added, only slightly exasperated.

“As if that’s something to brag about,” Skye muttered.

Mickey was going to say something back about it at least being a damn good story, but then Skye’s eyes screwed shut and her chest heaved with laboured breaths. Her body pushed of its own accord and she wailed as her opening widened another fraction of an inch.

The midwives’ chatter picked up at the change in her tone. “Yep, sounds like the beginning of a crown to me!”

Skye let out a groan which echoed around the confined space of the cupboard. Mickey got himself back in close, his hands kneading Skye’s shoulders and his lips exploring her face.

“Just like that…” he said, keeping his voice low and calm.

Skye continued her effort, grunting, sighing, moaning and holding her breath almost in a cycle as she felt her body do the work it needed to do.

The burning sensation between her legs grew and grew, as the head of their babe continued its unrelenting journey, but at the end of each panting contraction, there was noticeable movement between Skye’s legs.

She had stopped any sort of conversation at this point, only managing enough energy to keep going, and when the contraction subsided, she used the opportunity to pant and catch her breath.

Mickey on the other hand was chattering on incessantly.

“I can see the head, you’re doing great. She’s almost got the head out. What do I do to catch it. The heads coming. Baby I’m so proud of you. Keep going, do what you’re doing. “

“Shutup shutup shutup!” The exclamation from Skye was unexpected and Mickey was taken aback for a second.

“What’s up?” He asked.

“It burns… it really burns. Mickey help me…” Skye looked pleading

“Anything baby… what I can I do”

“Rub my clit…”

The announcement may as well have been shouted out using a loud speaker the fact that Mickey and the 2 midwives both went silent.

Mickey froze, shook his head, certain he’d heard incorrectly. “You- I—what?”

“Mickey, please. Please, baby,” she whined, the words just as breathless and desperate as they were in the bedroom, but now for entirely different reasons.

When his mind finally caught up with her words, a slight blush coloured his cheeks. “What, here? Now? Can I do that?” Then, because he was sure the women on the other side of the door had heard her request as well, “Am I allowed to do that?”

“Never argue with a pregnant person,” one replied.

The other hummed in agreement. “Do what you need to do, sweetie. Whatever makes the pain a little easier to take.”

Babe!” Skye gasped—a warning, an appeal. She whimpered and panted and shifted her hips, but there was no relief to be found there. “Please,” she said again, and this finally spurred Mickey into action.

He adjusted the hand that was supporting the emerging head, his thumb immediately going to work on her sensitive bud. The motion was habit, done without thinking in his usual strong vigorous rhythm, and she flinched away from him with a cry. He snatched his hand away and examined her with frantic eyes. “Oh my god, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you? The baby? I thought—”

Skye shook her head, reaching blindly for his hand. When it found her grasp, she guided it back between her legs. “Slow. Please. Gentle. Slow,” she managed punctuated guidance between panted breaths.

Tentatively this time, almost fearful, Mickey brushed his thumb featherlight across her clit and she shivered, exhaling a little more forcefully. Encouraged by her response, he pressed deeper into her folds, tracing the lines and edges in lazy circles.

“Mhmm, just like that,” Skye moaned, wincing as the pleasure mixed with the pain. The burn was intense now, stealing her breath just as quickly as Mickey’s ministrations allowed her to catch it. “Is the head, is it—hah, ah—is it almost—fuck—out?” Mickey’s pause was answer enough and Skye threw her head back against the door in frustration. “Fuck.”

“You’re stretching really good, babe.” Skye huffed. “No, really. So much is out already. There’s just… you’ve still got a little ways to go yet.”

Skye growled as another contraction wound its way around her midsection. “Just don’t stop.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mickey said, a smile in his voice, shaking out his hand and flexing his fingers before returning them to their post.

This time, just to give her own hands something to do, Skye drew them up the curve of her belly and moulded them around her full breasts, kneading the tender flesh and rolling her nipples under her thumbs, between her fingers. The action seemed to intensify the contraction and she curled forward instinctually, her upper body wrapping around her tight stomach and one arm dropping to hook under a knee and pull her leg up and back as she released a primal strangled cry.

Mickey had to abandon his duties between Skye’s legs in favour of making sure she didn’t fall over. He put a steadying hand on her waist as her roar intensified, the pain now in full force without the distraction of his intimate touch.

“That’s it, baby. Keep going, let it out.”

“Burning. It’s burning,” Skye panted in desperation, wrapping her free arm under his and digging her fingers into his back. She nestled her head into his neck and grunted, getting in a few more small pushes before slumping into him as the contraction waned. “Hurts.”

“I know.” Mickey kissed the top of her head and she released her hold on her leg. His hand drifted back down her inner thigh and he gasped excitedly. “Holy shit, the head’s almost out!”

“Really?” Mickey nodded. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?” Mickey’s lips found hers and he guided her hand to where his had just been. Her whole palm filled with something soft, wet, warm, and she stroked her thumb along the gentle curve. “Hi, baby,” she cooed, voice thick with emotion. “We can’t wait to meet you. I can’t believe you’re almost here.”

“Just another push or two ought to do it. You were so close on that last one.”

“Mm, you better be right about that.” Skye let out a few short quick breaths before pulling her leg back once more, leaning forward into another big push.

“Ehm, about those instruction on how to catch…?” Mickey called out to the hallway as Skye’s screams began anew.

“Just hold the head as it pops out, DON’T pull it” came the supportive voice from beyond the other side of the door - though the end of the statement was punctuated by the warning which he readily took in.

Mickey leaned back to get as good a look as he could under Skye’s belly and he let out an involuntary gasp. Where before her hole was red and swollen it was now white, stretched to the extreme, and the boulder shape of their baby - an object easily as wide as his hand - rested there almost at the tipping point.

Skye didn’t notice Mickey as she whimpered, the sensations taking all of her focus until she suddenly flinched completely in her seat and let out a yelp then suddenly, just like that, the head seemed to surge forward and it was suddenly… out.

The bottom half of the head slipped forward as Mickey darted his hand down instinctively only to get it covered by amniotic fluid but he held onto… something. It took a moment to realise that nestled in his palm were the features of their baby. He could feel the nose, the mouth. He was dumbstruck.

“Mickey!” shrieked Skye

“Baby!” shrieked Mickey

“What happened” came the voice from the other side of the door.

“The… the heads out.” stammered Mickey. He took in the scene. Skye was panting big heaving breaths, taking what time she could to rest, their baby’s head was nestled in his hands and he was squatted down like a baseball catcher. The puddle of water that just came out of Skye was spreading wider on the floor beneath him… and he realised his thighs ached like crazy.

“OK stay exactly as you are. Keep supporting the head. Check the neck, make sure there isn’t a cord wrapped around it” came the voice of guidance

“How?”

“Stick your finger in there and run it around the baby’s neck.”

Mickey tentatively extended a finger and probed it into his wife. She didn’t flinch or react, oblivious to this tiny additional movement, but compared to before… it was nothing.

“No, it’s not there.” Mickey sounded relieved that’s for certain.

“Ok so the head will want to rotate, then when baby is turned to the side it’s time for the shoulders.”

Skye grunted, shifted in her seat as Mickey felt the head rotate. He took a chance to adjust his position, knees going to the soggy ground as the baby’s head turned.

Looks like things were happening again.

It was a strange sensation, feeling the baby shift partially inside and partially outside her. The consuming burn had eased with the passing of the head but the pressure remained just as insistent. Once again it felt as if the baby would simply fall out of her—if only it would be that easy.

“That’s it, baby, keep pushing, just a few more pushes,” Mickey encouraged as Skye grunted and bore down with the next contraction.

“Mmm, no, not again,” Skye pleaded with no one in particular as her tender opening bulged and stretched with the press of the shoulders behind it. “I can’t do it again,” she whined, breaths become erratic, panicked, pained, “I’m not ready!”

Well, she was ready for this all to be over, to have her baby in her arms and an actual bed to lie in, but the pain was still so fresh and raw, her tissues fragile and strained.

“S’okay, Skye. Take a break, take a breath. Baby’ll still be waiting for you whenever you’re ready,” came a voice through the crack in the door.

Mickey was thankful for their guidance then, as he’d had no idea what to say to Skye in that moment. As she puffed out quick breaths of air, he squinted in the dim light, peering under her belly. Now that the baby had rotated, it was actually facing toward him. Waxy and wet and scrunched, Mickey had never seen anything more beautiful.

“Hi, baby,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over a chubby cheek. The baby’s mouth opened and closed, already responding to his touch. “Go easy on mommy, okay? She loves you very much, but you’ve got daddy’s big head and she’s a little sore at the moment.”

Skye smiled at that, eyes still closed in a rare moment of rest, and reached down to stroke the top of the baby’s head. “You listen to your father now,” she warned, breathing picking back up again.

“Ready?” Mickey asked. Skye paused a moment, then nodded. “Whenever you’re ready—let’s have a baby.”

Skye nodded again, this time to herself, gathering her wits about her. Her groan was guttural, deep, primal, an animal driven by instinct. Her whole body seemed to bow inward, concentrating all its forces into her core. One shoulder would peek out, only to slip back in as soon as Skye sucked in a quick breath. She’d shift her hips and then the other would make an appearance, but then the stretch would become unbearable and cause her to cry out, weakening her efforts just enough for it to disappear back between her folds. She pressed her palms into her thighs, digging into her flesh and forcing her knees outward as far apart as they would go.

When another contraction came and went like this, Skye heaved a sigh of exasperation. “I don’t,” she panted, “think I,” another breath, “can get the shoulders out like this.”

Mickey, their child’s head still cradled in his hands, bit his lips and directed his question toward the door, a tinge of worry creeping into his tone. “How do we do this? What- what can we do?”

“Just keep calm. The best thing to do is open up her pelvis. Either a nice deep squat, or we push her legs back to get the same thing.” The voice was reassuring, realising that Mickey was starting to panic.

“I’ll get down I’ll get down” voiced Skye as she lifted her butt up ready to push the bucket she had been resting on out of the way. She actually shuffled a step forward and overbalanced Mickey who tumbled to the floor, though he kept his hand fixed to the head of their child.

The commotion caught the attention of the team on the other side of the door who tried to make sense of the clattering and banging going on inside the closet.

Skye hunkered down and grunted, her deep squat resulted in Mickeys hand, holding the baby’s head, being pressed into the ground, in the muck and birth fluids that were pooling there.

A strong grunt, a whine and another grunt. Suddenly she yelled “help, it’s not moving”

From the other side of the door came the question “Mickey do you still have the head?”

“Yes…” came the response.

“Ok… let go, and pull Skye up.”

“You sure?”

“Trust us…”

Mickey wriggled his hand out from under Skye leaving the head exposed, grabbed her hands and heaved backwards so Skye was back on her feet.

“She’s up”

“Ok stand back, we’re coming in.”

There was a blur of activity. Finally the door opened wide, and Mickey and Skye were met with the sight of 2 midwives, someone wearing a pair of overalls presumably from the maintenance team and a cold blast of air as the air conditioned corridor opened wide.

One of the midwives rushed in and grabbed Skye by the arms as they led her backwards, wide legged and frog-walking out of the closet.

One kept close attention to the baby as Skye was turned around and lowered to the floor. Everything looked good as she was laid on her back, icy cold flooring sending shivers all over her body as her legs were pushed back and her hips were opened wide.

“Skye, give me the biggest push you can, right now!” the midwives commanded.

As the cold seeped into Skye’s bare flushed skin, she was suddenly very conscious of the fact that she was completely naked in the very non-private hallway, with her legs spread open as wide as they were capable of going.

The medical staff, at least, had the decency to mind their own business even as the passersby gaped and gawked. She wasn’t embarrassed, exactly, but it made her self conscious about her actions, her noises, her progress, and she couldn’t quite give herself over fully to the next contraction.

Skye whimpered, close to tears and feeling like a failure that she still wasn’t able to get her baby out. She grabbed for Mickey’s hand and he knelt on the far side of her, hunching himself over her body and blocking at least her upper half from view from all but the most curious onlookers.

“Too big,” she whined, looking into his eyes for comfort or encouragement or sympathy, she didn’t know.

“I know, baby, but you’re so close. Your body was made for this, just a few more pushes, you’ll get out baby out, I know you will,” he murmured in the space between contractions. Then, when Skye released a sharp breath and her belly visibly tensed, “Come on now, as hard as you can.”

Skye nodded at the same time the midwives forced her knees comically far back and down, lifting her butt off the floor so that her vagina was practically sticking straight up toward the ceiling. When she crunched up, folding over her belly, her head was almost between her knees and all the air was forced from her lungs.

She held the push as long as she could, the baby’s head pressing up and away from her hips, attempting to free itself from her tight hole. She fell back to the floor, gasped in a breath, and curled back up, the baby’s head bobbing up and down in time with her efforts.

Mickey was so focused on his wife’s face that he didn’t see when the midwife stuck half her hand around the emerging shoulder in Skye’s opening, but he saw the change in her expression, heard as her cries escalated into strangled, wild howls.

“What are you doing!” Mickey asked frantically, bordering on yelling.

“Just helping the other shoulder along; don’t want it getting bruised or stuck,” the midwife explained.

Mickey wanted to protest, but Skye was nodding, eyes still screwed shut with pain. Something must have given way because Skye gasped, surged forward into an almost unexpected push as the baby was finally shifted into a proper position. She screamed one last time as the shoulders emerged, stretching her even wider than the head, and then the rest of the baby slid out easily, along with an impressive spray of amniotic fluid, and immediately placed on Skye’s bare chest.

The scream brought a few people running and Skye ended up being the unfortunate recipient of yet more public scrutiny… but at that point she couldn’t care. She’d done it. The sound of her and Mickeys baby crying loud wails was music to her ears and nothing could take that fact away.

Tears flowed freely down her cheeks and the same was true of Mickey, the events of the day had reached a point where he was just so glad it was over.

He sensed a figure appear behind him then heard a cough. Turning he looked at the maintenance man in his overalls behind him, holding forward Skye’s gown she had discarded earlier.

He thanked him and grabbed it, looking to the midwives for guidance.

“I’ve called for a wheelchair for Skye, I want to get her back to maternity before she has to deliver the afterbirth.” Mickey nodded at what the midwife had said. He moved around to the back of Skye and pulled the gown over her, as one of the midwives took the baby temporarily and held it - finally getting a good chance too look at the gender and realising the couple had a girl - as Skye did the best she could on the floor to pull the gown over her thighs and get handed back the baby again.

“Besides… I think Skye may need a few stitches… that last few moments were quite… forceful I think it’s fair to say.”

As the chair arrived and between Mickey and one of the midwives they managed to get Skye to her feet the group left at a hurried pace back to the room assigned to them.

For Tom the janitor, he just looked at the mess in the cupboard and sighed. Best get to tidying that little patch of chaos up… and changing that door handle.

#birth kink #fpreg #birth #pregnancy #labor kink

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levisolace · 3 days ago

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[9] Expendable Hearts (Levi x F!Reader)

Chapter 9: Small Steps

WC: 7,433 Chapter Warnings: none Summary: Everyone in Levi's life knows he only ever dated one girl and that she left him wrecked, bitter, and heartbroken. Many years later, she's back in his life and he doesn't know what to do. story masterlist | prev chapter > next chapter

“Sir, should I make you morning tea?”

Connie asked, his voice careful but laced with curiosity. Levi looked up from the stack of reports on his desk, his expression as unreadable as ever. Connie stood at the door, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

Levi’s eyes flicked to the clock on the wall, his lips pressing into a thin line. He didn’t need Connie to spell it out for him; he’d already noticed you weren’t here the same time as yesterday. He leaned back slightly, folding his arms over his chest.

“No need,” Levi said curtly.

Connie raised a brow, clearly intrigued but knowing better than to push Levi’s limits. “Alright. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

As Connie disappeared out of his doorway, Levi let out a soft exhale and glanced at the empty cup on his desk. The air felt heavier than usual this morning, though he wouldn’t admit it aloud. The truth was, he was actually looking forward to your presence, as begrudging as it made him feel.

For someone so insistent on “making it up to him,” you were a bit inconsistent about showing up with a cup of hot tea in hand, ready to push through the invisible barrier between you two. His gaze lingered on the door, his mind drifting to whether you’d finally decided it wasn’t worth the effort anymore. It’s only been yesterday since your promise, did you already change your mind?

He shook the thought off quickly. It wasn’t his concern if you did. At least, that’s what he told himself.

It wasn’t until 30 minutes later that the door to Levi’s office creaked open, and he looked up just as you stepped inside. You looked far from your usual self—your shoulders slightly hunched, dark circles under your eyes, and a weariness in your step that you couldn’t quite hide.

“Good morning,” you murmured, your voice softer than usual, as though even speaking was an effort.

Levi’s sharp eyes narrowed, scanning you for a moment longer than necessary. He noted the pale cast to your complexion and the slight tremor in your hands as you placed the tea on his desk.

“From the café you asked for yesterday,” you added, trying to muster a polite smile.

He leaned forward, his gaze flickering to the cup before returning to you. “You look like hell,” he stated bluntly, his voice carrying a mix of irritation and something softer—concern, perhaps, though he hid it well.

You blinked, startled, before letting out a short, breathy laugh. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Levi leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “Didn’t realize running late also meant showing up like you haven’t slept in weeks. What happened after yesterday?”

“It’s nothing,” you replied quickly, brushing off his question. “Just… didn’t get much sleep, that’s all.”

He studied you for a moment, clearly unconvinced. “Tch. Doesn’t matter how good the tea is if you’re falling apart while delivering it.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, standing straighter. “Really.”

Levi raised a brow, clearly skeptical, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he reached for the tea and took a careful sip. You waited, holding your breath, unsure if he’d approve.

After a moment, he set the cup down and gave you a curt nod. “It’s better.”

A flicker of relief crossed your face, though you quickly tried to hide it. “Good. I’ll remember that for next time.”

Levi glanced at you again, his gaze lingering. “Next time,” he repeated flatly, though the edge in his tone had softened. “If there’s a next time, get some sleep first.”

You handed him a small smile. “I’ll be here tomorrow, too. Same time—earlier time. Same tea.”

Levi’s brow raised at your declaration, though he didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached for the tea again, sipping quietly.

You lingered near the door for a moment, uncertain whether to leave as you had yesterday. But something about today felt different—or maybe you just weren’t ready to step back into your own world yet.

Instead of leaving, you took a few hesitant steps back into the office, your eyes wandering across the shelves and the framed photos lining the walls. You take your time admiring each picture like it was an art museum.

Levi watches you from his peripheral, curious to see what you were doing. After a while, he had enough of the silence. He leaned back in his chair, watching you with a raised brow.

“Didn’t realize this was a tour.”

You shot him a small grin, your fingers grazing the edge of a sleek model of what you assumed was the Stohess street layout. “It’s impressive. You’ve come a long way.”

He didn’t immediately answer, but you caught the faintest flicker of pride in his expression. “Took years. A lot of trial and error.”

Your curiosity grew as you continued observing. “This model—was it your idea?”

“Partly,” Levi said, his tone even. “Marketing team thought it’d help investors visualize the growth potential. Turns out they were right.”

You nodded, trailing your fingers over the polished surface of his desk. “And these?” You gestured to a collection of framed photos of Stohess street—before and after shots of the transformation.

“Documentation,” he said simply, though his voice softened slightly. “Reminds me how much has changed.”

You turned back to him, meeting his gaze. “You’ve built all this… from scratch. Do you ever stop to think about it? How far you’ve come?”

Levi’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, you thought he might brush off your question. But then he shrugged, looking almost uncomfortable. “I think about it when there’s time. Doesn’t happen often.”

You leaned against the edge of his desk, tilting your head at him. “You should, you know. Give yourself credit. This is… amazing.”

Levi’s gaze lingered on you, his expression unreadable. “You don’t have to stick around to tell me that,” he said, though there was no bite to his words.

“I know,” you replied, your smile softening. “But I wanted to.”

For a moment, the office was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. Levi looked down at the tea you’d brought, then back up at you. Instead of commenting on your overstayed welcome, he gestured toward the chair opposite his desk.

“If you’re going to hang around, at least sit. You’re making the place look uneven.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, settling into the chair. “Fine. But only because you asked so nicely.”

You lowered yourself into the chair across from his desk, shifting to get comfortable as Levi watched you with narrowed eyes. His eyes shift to you from his laptop. “Don’t you have work to get to?”

You shook your head, offering a half-smile. “Took a sick leave today.”

Levi’s brow furrowed, his expression sharpening with concern. “You’re not feeling well?”

You shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “Just tired, that’s all. Figured I could use the day to catch my breath.”

He didn’t seem convinced. His lips pressed into a thin line, and his gaze lingered on the faint shadows beneath your eyes. “Tch.”

You tilted your head, confused. “What now?”

“Still overworking,” he said bluntly. “You gotta let go of bad habits.”

Your smile wavered as you looked down at your hands. “I’m not… overworking. I’m just busy.”

Levi scoffed, the sound soft but sharp enough to make you glance up. “Busy? You look like you haven’t slept in days. You don’t need to work yourself into the ground to prove something.”

“I’m not proving anything,” you said, a hint of defensiveness creeping into your tone.

“Then what are you doing?” he countered, his voice calm but firm. “Running yourself ragged for what? You can’t fix everything by burying yourself in work.”

His words hit closer to home than you wanted to admit. You shifted in your seat, feeling suddenly exposed under his scrutinizing gaze. “It’s not like that,” you said quietly, but even to your own ears, the words sounded hollow.

Levi sighed, his hand brushing against his desk as he leaned forward slightly. “Take care of yourself, or you won’t be able to take care of anything else. It’s not that complicated.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the rare softness in his voice. For a moment, you considered brushing it off, changing the subject, but the sincerity in his expression stopped you. Instead, you gave a small nod, your voice subdued. “I’ll try.”

“You’d better,” Levi muttered, reaching for the tea you’d brought. He took a sip, glancing at you over the rim of the cup. “Otherwise, I’ll be stuck telling you this every time you show up late with some overpriced drink.”

Despite yourself, a quiet laugh escaped your lips. “Noted.”

You leaned back in the chair, letting a moment of silence settle between you both before speaking up again, your voice softer this time. “Would it be alright if I stayed for a while? I promise I’ll be quiet. Just… not feeling up to being alone right now.”

Levi stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. His hand hovered over the stack of papers on his desk, as if weighing the inconvenience against the awkwardness of saying no. Finally, he let out a sigh, rubbing his temple with his free hand.

“Fine,” he muttered, though the tone made it clear he wasn’t exactly thrilled. “But don’t expect me to entertain you. I’ve got work to do.”

You nodded quickly, a small smile tugging at your lips despite how tired you felt. “Thank you. I’ll stay out of your way.”

True to your word, you remained quiet, occasionally glancing around his office with a mix of curiosity and admiration. The clean, minimalistic décor suited him—everything in its place, not a single thing unnecessary.

As you sat quietly in Levi’s office, the rhythmic scratching of his pen filled the space like a steady metronome, grounding you in the moment. He worked with a precision and intensity that was uniquely him, his focus unwavering as he sifted through documents and signed off on reports. It wasn’t just the tasks themselves that impressed you—it was the way he carried himself, the quiet command he had over every detail, every decision.

Your gaze drifted across the room, taking in the meticulous organization of his desk, the framed certificates on the wall, and the subtle but distinct logo of Stohess Stone Group etched into a plaque near the window. This wasn’t just an office—it was the culmination of years of effort, persistence, and vision.

And it was all his.

Erwin’s words from last night echoed in your mind, a haunting reminder of what you had learned. Levi had poured himself into this, not just for success, but as a way to cope. To prove something. To build something that might have brought you back. The realization hit you again, heavier this time. Everything he’d created, the street that flourished under his guidance, the empire he now managed—it was all born from a belief that he wasn’t enough for you to stay.

Your chest tightened, the weight of guilt pressing down on you. You’d spent the last few days trying to figure out how to make it up to him, but now… you weren’t sure if you even could. How do you apologize for something that shaped the course of someone’s entire life? For a wound that turned into a foundation, for better or worse?

Levi flipped a page, his expression neutral but focused, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking. Did he still resent you? Did he even want you here, in this space he’d built for himself? Or had you already overstayed whatever tentative truce the two of you had formed?

You looked down at your hands, twisting them in your lap. The guilt simmered, pulling you into a spiral of self-doubt. What could you possibly say to him that wouldn’t sound hollow? You’d already promised to make things right, but standing in the shadow of everything he’d achieved, your promise felt painfully inadequate.

The silence was too much, and before you could stop yourself, you spoke.

“Are you happy, Levi?”

The question came out softer than you intended, but it landed sharply in the quiet room. Levi didn’t even glance up, his pen pausing only briefly before continuing its steady movement across the page.

“Why are you asking me that this early in the morning?” His tone was clipped, dismissive, as if brushing it off might make it disappear entirely.

You swallowed hard, your hands gripping the edge of the seat. “I just… I was wondering.”

“Wondering?” he echoed, finally looking up. His brow furrowed as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “What kind of question is that? Especially from you.”

The way he said “you” stung, but you pressed on, unwilling to let it stop you. “All this,” you gestured vaguely around the office. “It’s… incredible, really. But I just—do you even like the person you’ve become?”

Levi stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a scoff, he looked away, his focus shifting to the window behind his desk. “Tch. What does it matter?”

“It matters to me,” you said quietly, but with enough conviction to make him glance back.

Levi sighed, rubbing a hand across his face before finally answering, his voice low. “It’s not about being happy. It’s about getting things done. Making things work.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He shot you a sharp look, but there was less bite to it this time. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally. “I never really thought about it. Doesn’t matter anyway.”

You bit your lip, the guilt twisting tighter in your chest. You didn’t say anything after that.

Levi’s jaw tightened, his gaze dropping back to the desk. “Is any of us truly happy?”

You hum, opting to offer him a slightly amused smirk. “Yeah, guess you’re right about that.”

He didn’t respond, but the quiet that followed felt heavier than before. Levi didn’t look at you again, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his pen stilled in his hand.

He was lying. And you both knew it.

“Can I lie down on your couch?”

The next question is the opposite of your odd questions this morning, still odd but humorous this time. Levi shrugged, “Suit yourself.”

For a while, the only sound was the faint scratching of Levi’s pen and the distant hum of office activity. You found the stillness oddly comforting, a reprieve from your own frantic pace. You even removed your shoes, put in your earpods, and scrolled away on your phone. But as the clock inched closer to noon, your stomach growled softly, and you shifted in your seat.

Levi didn’t look up but spoke anyway. “If you’re hungry, there’s a vending machine down the hall or I could ask Connie to get you something.”

You hesitated, then cleared your throat. “Actually… I was wondering if you’d have lunch outside with me.”

That made him pause. He set down his pen, finally meeting your gaze with a raised brow. “Lunch?”

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a casual tone. “It’s the least I can do, since you’re letting me crash your office. Plus, I’m on sick leave, remember? I could use something decent to eat.”

Levi leaned back in his chair, regarding you with a skeptical expression. “You’re not going to ask me to eat at Stohess, are you?”

You chuckled lightly, shaking your head. “No, no. I’ll let you pick the place this time.”

He seemed to consider it, his gaze narrowing slightly as if searching for any hidden motive. Finally, he sighed, shrugging. “Fine. But if you don’t like it, don’t blame me.”

Relieved, you smiled. “Deal. Just… nothing too fancy. I’m trying to keep things simple today.”

Levi muttered something under his breath about being dragged into things, but you could tell he wasn’t as annoyed as he pretended to be. Instead, he picked up his phone, scrolling through a list of places he knew.

“Alright,” he said, finally standing. “Let’s get this over with. Get up.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, standing as well. “You make it sound like a chore.”

“Just don’t make me regret it,” he shot back, but there was a faint softness in his tone that eased your nerves.

Levi didn’t say a word as he grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, slinging it over his shoulders in one swift motion. He looked at you, his expression unreadable.

“Come on,” he said flatly, gesturing for you to follow.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Where are we going?”

“Lunch,” he replied curtly, already heading for the door.

Scrambling to keep up, you grabbed your bag and hurried after him. He didn’t wait, his pace brisk and determined as he made his way down the hallway and out of the building. You noticed how the employees subtly stepped aside as he passed, their gazes respectful, even nervous. It was a stark reminder of the person Levi had become—someone powerful, influential, and commanding in ways you hadn’t fully grasped until now.

The cold autumn air nipped at your skin as you followed Levi down the bustling street. His hands were shoved deep into his coat pockets, his gaze fixed ahead. He didn’t speak, and you didn’t dare break the silence, too preoccupied with your own thoughts.

After a short walk, Levi stopped in front of a small restaurant tucked between two larger establishments. Its unassuming exterior was decorated with warm string lights and a hand-painted sign that read The Midnight Hearth. He opened the door and stepped aside, waiting for you to enter first.

“After you,” he said, his tone clipped but not unkind.

Inside, the restaurant was cozy, with wooden beams, mismatched chairs, and the smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the air. It wasn’t flashy or overly modern, but it had a charm that immediately put you at ease.

Levi led you to a table near the window and slid into the chair opposite you, picking up the menu without so much as a glance in your direction. You followed suit, unsure of what to say.

The silence stretched as you scanned the options, but your thoughts kept drifting back to him—his earlier admission, the weight of his words, the lines of stress etched into his face.

Finally, the server arrived, and Levi ordered with a familiarity that suggested he’d been here more than once. He looked at you expectantly when it was your turn, and you fumbled through your choice, your nerves suddenly making it difficult to concentrate.

When the server left, you found yourself staring out the window, the tension between you thick and unspoken. Levi broke it first.

“This place isn’t fancy,” he said, his voice low, almost defensive. “But the food’s good.”

You looked at him, surprised he was even addressing the choice. “It’s perfect,” you said honestly.

He grunted in response, leaning back in his chair. “Don’t expect me to bring you here every day.”

You smiled faintly, the corners of your mouth tugging upward despite the heaviness in your chest. “Noted.”

The food arrived quickly, and for a while, the two of you ate in silence. But it wasn’t the tense kind of silence from earlier. It felt more… comfortable, like an unspoken truce.

As you picked at your plate, you finally worked up the courage to ask, “Do you come here often?”

Levi raised an eyebrow, his fork pausing midair. “Why? Planning to stalk me now?”

You rolled your eyes, a small laugh escaping before you could stop it. “Just curious.”

He shrugged, taking another bite. “Not really. Physically, anyway. Connie gets me takeout when I ask him to.”

You nodded, your gaze drifting to the other patrons. “That makes sense. You’re a busy person.”

Levi didn’t respond, but when you glanced at him again, you thought you saw the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Levi set down his fork, leaning back in his chair as he looked at you with an unreadable expression. “So,” he said, his tone casual but laced with something playful, “do you plan to come pester me every day now?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanor. “Pester you?” you repeated, feigning offense. “I wasn’t aware I was pestering you.”

He raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Bringing tea, hanging around my office, asking me philosophical questions first thing in the morning—sounds like pestering to me.”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms with a mock pout. “It’s called making it up to you.”

Levi’s smirk grew a fraction wider, though his eyes softened as he looked at you. “Ha,” he breathed out an amused expression, followed by a tone light but probing. “How exactly are you planning to make it up to me, anyway?”

You hesitated, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his sharp gaze. “I… I’m still figuring that out,” you admitted, avoiding his eyes as you pushed a piece of food around on your plate. “But I’m serious about it. I want to—no, I need to make things right.”

For a moment, Levi didn’t say anything. When you glanced up, his expression had shifted, the teasing edge replaced by something quieter, more thoughtful. He rested his elbows on the table, his hands clasped loosely as he studied you.

“Well,” he said finally, his voice softer than you expected, “if you’re serious, don’t overthink it. And stop making that face.”

His words hit you harder than you anticipated, and you swallowed the lump rising in your throat. You shake your head, lightly slap your cheeks, and bring out a wide smile. “Fine,” you said.

Levi had to hold back a laugh at your actions. He looked away and gave a small nod, returning to his food without another word. But the weight of what he’d said lingered between you, unspoken but understood.

And just like that, something heavy, but not quite all, had been lifted off your chest.

Levi set down his glass of water and glanced at you. “How’s work?” he asked, his tone casual but carrying a hint of genuine curiosity.

You paused, surprised by the question. “It’s… fine, I guess,” you said, shrugging slightly. “Busy as always. A lot of cases coming in this month.”

He nodded, his gaze steady. “Cases keeping you up at night?”

You let out a small laugh, though it lacked real humor. “Sometimes. The tougher ones tend to stick with me, you know? But that’s part of the job.”

Levi studied you for a moment before responding. “Doesn’t mean it’s good for you.”

You looked up at him, caught off guard by the subtle concern in his voice. “It’s not like I’m the only one who overworks themselves,” you countered, raising an eyebrow.

“Tch.” Levi’s mouth twitched in a faint smirk. “I’m better with it now.”

“That’s… good to hear,” you said softly, lowering your gaze to your plate.

In an attempt to keep the conversation going, you began to tell him about what you do on a daily basis, your new coworkers, and the boss you’re slowly warming up to—Pixis.

“Pixis Dot?”

A brow raises from you. “You know him?”

Levi shrugs. “A little. It’s Erwin who knows him.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” you think out loud. It’s Erwin, of course he knows everyone in the city.

“So, your coworkers,” Levi starts, his tone neutral as he finishes chewing. “Have they been treating you well?”

You nod, spearing a piece of your meal with your fork. “Yeah, they are, surprisingly. I thought it’d be more distantly competitive. We’re talking about lawyers here, y’know?”

Levi’s lips twitch, almost forming a smirk. “Cutthroat by nature, huh?”

“Something like that.” You chuckle softly, setting your fork down. “But they’ve been helpful—supportive, even. It’s a little shocking how decent they are.”

Levi lifts his glass of water, his gaze steady. “And that blonde-haired man you were with at the restaurant… your coworker?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Blonde-haired man?”

“The one who was with you that night at the restaurant,” Levi clarifies, his tone clipped but casual enough to mask any deeper intent.

“Oh, Nanami?” you say, realization dawning. “Yeah, he’s a coworker. Why?”

Levi shrugs, taking a sip of water. “Just curious. You seemed… comfortable with him.”

You tilt your head, studying him. “Comfortable? Is that a bad thing?”

“Tch,” Levi mutters, setting his glass down. “Didn’t say it was. Just making an observation.”

You can’t help but smirk, leaning forward slightly. “Is this your way of trying to figure out if there’s something going on between us?”

His expression doesn’t waver, though his silence speaks volumes.

“There isn’t,” you continue, unable to resist teasing him a bit. “Nanami’s just a coworker and a good friend—a fellow “workaholic” they said.”

Levi’s gaze remains unreadable, but you think you catch the faintest flicker of relief in his eyes. “Good. I’d hate to hear you’ve developed a lousy taste.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “And what exactly does that mean?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead picking up his fork and resuming his meal. “Just means I hope your taste in men hasn’t gone downhill.”

The comment hangs in the air, laden with unspoken meaning. You bite your lip, unsure how to respond, so you let it pass, focusing instead on the warmth creeping into your chest.

Somehow, your heart swells that he cares about who you’ve been with or who you might be with. There’s been none that mattered, you want to tell him, not much as he did, anyway. But that’d be too much for now.

“Someone’s been busy.”

You glance up from setting your bag down, only to find Pieck leaning casually against your office doorframe, her arms crossed and her expression entirely too amused. She raises an eyebrow at you, her grin as sly as ever.

“What?” you ask, feigning innocence as you pull out some files from your bag.

Pieck takes a slow step inside, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of your appearance. “You’ve got this glow about you lately. And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been sneaking out during lunch breaks. Someone’s definitely keeping you entertained.”

You sigh, shaking your head but unable to stop the faint heat from rising to your cheeks. “Pieck, I’m not sneaking out. I’ve been… visiting a friend.”

“A friend, huh?” she teases, pulling out the chair across from your desk and plopping down in it like she owns the place. “And does this ‘friend’ have a name? Or do you just refer to him as the reason you’re suddenly so chipper these days?”

You glance at her warily. “I’m not chipper.”

Pieck lets out a dramatic gasp, leaning back in her chair. “You’re not denying it’s a him, though. Oh, this is good.”

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Pieck, please. It’s not what you’re thinking.”

She leans forward, resting her chin in her hand as her grin only grows wider. “So you are seeing someone.”

“No,” you protest firmly, sitting down and opening your laptop. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Hmm,” she hums, entirely unconvinced. “So, you’ve just been casually visiting this ‘friend’ during your lunch breaks, bringing them coffee, and probably making googly eyes while you’re at it?”

You give her a pointed look. “It’s not like that.”

Pieck smirks, tilting her head. “If you say so. But you should know, friendships like that usually come with a free side of unresolved feelings. Maybe even a sprinkle of heartbreak, if you’re lucky.”

Her words strike a little too close to home, and you fumble for a retort. “It’s complicated,” you finally say, hoping she’ll drop the subject.

But this is Pieck you’re dealing with. “Oh, I bet it is,” she says with a chuckle, standing up and stretching. “Don’t worry, I won’t pry—much. But if this friend of yours is the reason you’re smiling more, I say keep visiting him.”

You watch as she saunters toward the door, her laughter trailing behind her.

“And for the record,” she calls over her shoulder, “you really do have a glow. Whoever this is, they’re doing something right.”

You exhale, resting your forehead in your hand. Pieck might be too perceptive for her own good, but she isn’t entirely wrong. Something had shifted over the past week with Levi—though you’re not sure yet what it all means. You don’t know what it is but it’s helping you and your relationship with Levi. Maybe even more for you. Waking up these days feels a lot lighter than it had been for the past years.

It’s late at night. You’re comfortably lying on your bed on a Saturday when another message came through from Levi. You’ve been texting quite frequently for the past few days. Earlier today, you told him to enjoy the party. To your surprise, he was actually doing the opposite—opting to text you throughout the night to update you on what was going on.

It’s a disaster here. Moblit’s already passed out, Miche’s running some drinking game like it’s the Olympics. They roped Erwin in too.

You laughed softly, imagining the chaos at Moblit’s bachelor party that Levi was invited to. Another message buzzed through.

Everyone’s drunk. Connie keeps trying to out-chug someone. It’s pathetic.

You smiled, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Your mind raced for something lighthearted to say. Finally, you typed:

Just leave when it dwindles down. No use staying if you’re not enjoying.

The response was almost immediate.

Should I?

You chuckle. It’s been known that Levi would just leave a party if he wanted to. A simple grace of his presence is enough for him to say that he had been to the party and that was that. And yet an idea came through your mind. You hesitated before sending your next message. It was a bold thought, one you hadn’t planned on voicing until you were typing it out.

If you want, you can just steal a few bottles and come over here.

Your heart leapt the moment you hit send. You stared at the screen, fingers tightening around the phone as you braced yourself for a dismissive reply—or worse, silence. But then, Levi’s reply popped up, short and simple as always.

Alright.

Your eyes widened. He agreed? You reread the message twice, waiting for him to backtrack, to tack on some excuse about being too tired or having responsibilities. But nothing came.

Now, it was your turn to overthink. Was this a mistake? What were you even going to say to him if he showed up? Yet, despite the nerves crawling up your spine, a strange excitement settled in your chest.

You texted back quickly.

Let me know when you’re on your way. I’ll be waiting.

Levi’s reply was almost instant.

Sure.

You set the phone down, pressing your palms to your cheeks in an effort to cool the heat that had crept there. You tell yourself that it’s just a casual visit. But you know the truth—you had crossed a line somewhere, and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or the worst idea you’d ever had.

In a fit of panic, you actually squeal like a teenage girl as you run to the bathroom to fix yourself. You’re already done with your skincare for the night, ready to sleep. You were wearing a simple white shirt and pajama shorts. You pondered changing to better ones but that would make it more awkward, won’t it? Would he even notice?

A few minutes later, the knock on your door was firm but familiar. You glanced at your phone—he hadn’t texted that he was on his way, but here he was. With a deep breath, you pulled the door open and froze.

Levi stood there, a pack of beers dangling from one hand, his expression unreadable in the dim hallway light. The sight instantly took you back to college: the two of you sneaking out into the crisp night air, a six-pack in tow, finding hidden corners to share quiet moments over stolen drinks. The weight of nostalgia hit you square in the chest.

“You gonna let me in, or should I just drink these in the hallway?” Levi’s voice was dry, but there was a faint flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“Oh, right—sorry,” you stammered, stepping aside to let him in. “I wasn’t expecting… well, this.”

He raised an eyebrow as he walked in, glancing around your apartment. “What? You’re the one that suggested it.

You shut the door behind him and leaned against it, watching as he casually set the beers on your small kitchen counter. He seemed completely at ease, but for you, it was anything but.

“I did,” you admitted, your voice softer now.

Levi turned to you, his gaze steady. “Yeah. Just like old times, huh?”

You smiled, “yeah.”

There was a pause as the memory hung in the air between you. Those nights had been different—easier. Back then, you hadn’t carried the weight of unresolved feelings, unanswered questions, and years apart.

“Did you drink there?” you asked finally, gesturing to the beers.

Levi shrugged, pulling out two bottles and popping them open with the opener you handed him from your drawer. He handed one to you and kept the other for himself.

“A little bit,” he said simply, before taking a sip.

You stared at the bottle in your hand, the cool glass grounding you in the moment. “I didn’t think you’d actually come”

Levi leaned back against the counter, his expression unreadable again. “It won’t be weird if you don’t make it weird.”

You let out a soft laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “No. I guess not.”

“Good.” He tilted his bottle toward you in a silent toast, and you tapped yours against his.

As you took a sip, you felt a small knot in your chest loosen. Maybe things weren’t exactly normal, but for now, they felt… okay. The rest could wait. Tonight, you’re just two friends sharing beer together.

The two of you sat on the couch, each with a bottle in hand. The dim light from the lamp in the corner gave the room a cozy, almost nostalgic glow. Levi had started recounting the chaos of Moblit’s bachelor party, his tone dry but tinged with subtle amusement.

“You should’ve seen them. Moblit thought it’d be a great idea to challenge Miche to a drinking contest,” he said, shaking his head.

You let out a laugh, already picturing the disaster. “I don’t know about Moblit’s drinking habits but I already have an idea how that went down.”

“Moblit passed out after three shots. Miche kept going just to rub it in.”

You laughed harder, covering your mouth as you tried to catch your breath. “That sounds about right. Poor Moblit, though. It’s his party.”

“He woke up before I left,” Levi muttered, taking another sip of his beer.

The conversation flowed easily, and you found yourself savoring every word. Levi wasn’t one to talk much, so when he did, it felt like you were being let into a part of him he rarely showed.

“So, what about Connie?” you asked, leaning forward. “He’s your secretary, right? I didn’t know he hung with your circle.”

Levi raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Connie? He’s one of Mikasa’s friends.”

“Mikasa?” you repeated, not having heard of that name in a while. She’s Levi’s distant cousin who stayed with him and Kuchel for a short while back when you weren’t even close. She would sometimes visit Levi back in college.

“Yeah. She introduced me to Connie when I was starting out. Said he was an idiot but dependable. She wasn’t wrong.”

You grinned. “He is dependable, but an idiot? That’s harsh.”

Levi shrugged. “He’d agree. He’s good at his job, though. Took to it faster than I expected.”

“You sound like you’re proud of him,” you teased, nudging his shoulder lightly.

He scoffed but didn’t deny it. “He’s grown up. Better than most of the people I’ve had to deal with in this line of work.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, trading stories and laughter. For the first time in a long time, it felt natural—like the years apart hadn’t created an unbridgeable gap.

As Levi talked about his employees and the antics at the party, you found yourself watching him closely. The way his usually sharp features softened when he allowed himself to relax, the faint smirk that appeared whenever he found something amusing—it all reminded you of why you’d been drawn to him in the first place.

It was rare to see him like this, and you knew it. So, you tucked the memory away, a quiet reminder that maybe, just maybe, things between you weren’t as broken as you feared. On the third bottle, a slight buzz is going on in your head, your laughter turns into hazy giggles, your words slurring a little, and the distance between you and Levi is a lot less than when you first started out.

As the night wore on, you began to notice the subtle signs of exhaustion creeping over Levi. The way his words grew slower, his responses shorter. His eyes, usually sharp and piercing, softened with the haze of sleep tugging at him. He rested his arm on the back of the couch, his beer bottle empty on the table between you.

“You look tired,” you said gently, looking into his eyes. You’re sitting shoulder to shoulder now so your faces were a bit close to each other.

Levi raised an eyebrow, a ghost of his usual sarcasm in his tone. “Thanks. Always nice to hear.”

“I mean it,” you said, ignoring his quip. “You’ve had a long night, Levi. You should rest.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, shifting as if to sit up straighter, though the motion only seemed to emphasize how drained he was.

You gave him a pointed look, crossing your arms. “You don’t look fine. Stay here tonight.”

Levi blinked, the suggestion catching him off guard. “Here?”

“Yes, here,” you said firmly.

He glanced toward the door, hesitation flickering in his eyes. “I don’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me,” you replied quickly. “Besides, it’s late. No one’s going to hold it against you for getting some rest.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze meeting yours as if searching for any reason to argue. But instead of pushing back, he sighed, the fight leaving him.

“Fine,” he muttered, leaning back against the couch. “But don’t think I’m doing this because you’re convincing.”

You smiled, hiding your relief. “Sure, Levi. Whatever you say.”

As you got up to stretch while yawning, you caught the faintest curve of his lips. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to tell you that, at least for tonight, Levi didn’t mind staying.

“And you’re taking the bed,” you said firmly, standing with your hands on your hips as Levi gave you a flat look from the couch.

“Why? I’m fine here.” He gestured lazily at the cushions, though his tone was more annoyed than convincing.

“You’re not fine,” you argued, pointing at the couch. “This thing is terrible. I wouldn’t let my worst enemy sleep on it.”

Levi arched an eyebrow, leaning back slightly as if testing your claim. The faint creak of the cushions didn’t help his case. “It’s fine for one night.”

“It’s not,” you countered, crossing your arms. “You’ll wake up feeling like you got hit by a truck. Just take the bed, Levi. I’m not going to fight you on this.”

“I’m not kicking you out of your own bed,” he said, his tone definitive. “That’s final.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the armrest of the couch. “You’re not kicking me out. I’ll sleep in the guest room, or on this death trap if I have to.”

Levi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to summon patience. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stubborn,” you shot back. “But I’m not budging on this. You’re tired, Levi. Just sleep in the damn bed.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before finally letting out a resigned breath. “Fine. But only because I don’t feel like arguing anymore.”

“Good,” you said, flashing him a triumphant smile. “I’ll grab you some fresh clothes and blanket.”

As you headed to your closet, you heard him mutter under his breath, something about “bossy” but you chose to let it slide. By the time you returned, Levi was already making his way toward your bedroom, his usual air of composure slightly softened by exhaustion.

“Thanks,” he said quietly as he passed you, his voice low but sincere.

“Don’t mention it,” you replied, watching as he disappeared into the room.

When the door clicked shut, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. It felt good to take care of him for once, even if he’d grumble about it later.

An hour had passed, and you were still wide awake, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. The cushions were too thin, the springs poking through in ways that made it impossible to find a good position. Your back throbbed, and you let out a quiet groan as you rolled over again, glaring at the ceiling in frustration.

You’d insisted Levi take the bed. You were proud of that small victory—until now.

The sound of a door creaking open broke the silence, and your heart leapt into your throat. You glanced toward the hallway, half-expecting to see a shadowy figure, but instead, Levi stepped out.

He was barefoot, wearing your shirt and the pair of sweatpants that you assumed run in his size. His hair was a little messier than usual. He rubbed at his neck, his expression a mix of exhaustion and mild irritation.

“Why the hell are you groaning like an old man?” he asked, his voice low but carrying clearly in the quiet of the apartment.

You sat up, wincing as the movement sent another twinge through your back. “I wasn’t groaning,” you lied, trying to sound casual. “Just… adjusting.”

Levi raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorway. “Adjusting to dying on that piece of crap?”

“It’s fine,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze. “Go back to bed.”

He didn’t move. Instead, he sighed, his voice softening as he said, “You’re clearly not sleeping.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted again, though the wince that followed betrayed you.

Levi watched you for a moment, his sharp eyes taking in your obvious discomfort. Then, without a word, he walked over and stood beside the couch, staring down at you with that same unreadable expression he always wore.

“Get up,” he said simply.

“What?”

“Get up,” he repeated, gesturing toward the bedroom. “You’re not sleeping here.”

You blinked at him, surprised. “Levi, I told you—”

“And I’m telling you to stop being stupid and just lay down beside me,” he cut in, his tone firm but not unkind. “There’s plenty of space, and I’d rather not hear you groaning like a dying cat all night.”

Heat rose to your cheeks at his bluntness. “I—”

“Don’t argue,” he interrupted, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re already making this awkward. Just take the bed.”

You hesitated, your pride battling against the undeniable relief the offer promised. But the way he was looking at you—exasperated but sincere—finally tipped the scales.

“Fine,” you muttered, throwing off the thin blanket you’d been using.

Levi stepped back, giving you space as you stood up. He didn’t say anything as you followed him to the bedroom, and you weren’t sure if that made the situation better or worse.

When you both lay down, the silence stretched out, awkward but strangely comforting. The bed was warm, the mattress soft, and for the first time that night, your back stopped aching.

“Thanks,” you mumbled after a moment, keeping your eyes on the ceiling.

“Just go to sleep,” Levi replied, turning onto his side.

Despite his words, there was something in his tone—soft, almost gentle—that made you smile faintly as you closed your eyes. For the first time in hours, sleep came easily. Maybe it was the alcohol… or maybe it was the pair of arms that wrapped around your waist that pulled your back flushed to his warm chest later that night.

#levi x reader #attack on titan fanfic #attack on titan x reader #levi ackerman #levi ackerman angst #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi imagine #levi fluff #levi x you #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #snk x reader #levi angst

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hookhausenschips · 21 hours ago

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Crowning Moments: The Power of the Perfect Style

Summary: Part Two of Men Who Know Too Much

Drivers: Lando Norris, Franco Colapinto, Carlos Sainz, George Russell, Charles Leclerc, Max Verstappen, & Oscar Piastri

Taglists

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

Lando Norris – Fulani Braids with 1B Ombré Tips (British Grand Prix)

Y/N stood in front of the mirror in her hotel room, her freshly done Fulani braids gleaming under the overhead light. The golden cuffs and beads nestled perfectly along the intricate cornrows at the front of her scalp, transitioning into waist-length 1B ombré braids that darkened from brown to jet black. She tilted her head, inspecting every angle.

“I can’t believe you nailed this, Norris,” she said as Lando leaned casually against the doorway, smirking.

“Told you I’ve got an eye for these things,” he replied. “Now hurry up. The fans are going to riot if we’re late.”

The buzz outside Silverstone was palpable as the couple arrived at the paddock. The British Grand Prix always drew an enormous crowd, and the energy in the air was electric. Y/N walked beside Lando, her braids bouncing lightly with each step. Fans were pressed against the barriers, shouting his name—and hers.

“Y/N! Your hair looks amazing!”

“The ombré is so sleek!”

“You’re stunning!”

Y/N smiled, her cheeks warming as she waved at the fans. She wasn’t used to the spotlight being so focused on her, but the outpouring of love made her feel like she was walking a runway.

“See what I mean?” Lando whispered, leaning close as they headed toward the McLaren hospitality suite. “They love it. Told you to trust me.”

“I’m not saying you were right,” she teased, nudging him playfully, “but you might be onto something.”

As they stepped into the garage, the team greeted them enthusiastically.

“Y/N, those braids are unreal!” one engineer said, gesturing toward her hair.

“Thanks,” she replied, flicking one braid over her shoulder dramatically. “I had a little help.”

Lando, standing smugly beside her, interjected, “A little help? Try a lot of genius.”

Later, during the race, the cameras caught her sitting in the McLaren garage, her braids glowing under the sunlight streaming into the pit lane. Social media exploded with photos of her look, fans commenting on how effortlessly she stole the show.

When Lando returned post-race, sweaty but grinning after securing P2, he winked at her. “Told you, you’re the real star of the day.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “I hate to admit it, Norris, but… maybe you were right. Just this once.”

Franco Colapinto – Pink and Black Butterfly Locs (Spanish Grand Prix, F2)

The vibrant pink tips of Y/N’s butterfly locs shone brightly under the blazing Spanish sun as she adjusted her sunglasses. The locs, a bold mix of black and hot pink, were an adventurous choice, but Franco had insisted. And now, as she strolled beside him through the Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya paddock, she couldn’t help but feel like she belonged in a music video.

“Te dije que ibas a ser la estrella del día,” Franco said, grinning as his hand brushed against hers.

“You might be right this time,” she admitted, glancing around at the fans who were already pointing and whispering.

The moment they reached the paddock entrance, the reaction was instantaneous. Fans gasped and clapped, shouting compliments in both English and Spanish.

“¡Guapa!”

“Y/N, the pink is everything!”

“You look like a model!”

Y/N laughed, waving at the crowd. “They’re really hyping me up today, huh?”

“Por supuesto,” Franco said, his grin widening. “But who wouldn’t? Mira—everyone is staring at you, not me.”

As they passed a group of journalists, the cameras swiveled toward her. A reporter stepped forward.

“Y/N, we have to ask—what inspired this bold new hairstyle?”

Y/N smiled coyly, glancing at Franco. “Let’s just say I’ve got someone in my corner who has a good eye for these things.”

The two slipped away to the garage, where Franco’s team members were equally impressed. “That hair is insane, Y/N,” one of them said, giving her a thumbs-up.

Franco leaned closer, whispering, “Told you. You’re the reason half the crowd is here today.”

“Alright, alright,” she replied, laughing. “But if I find out there’s some girl who taught you about butterfly locs, it’s on sight.”

“Confía en mí, mi amor,” Franco said, placing a hand over his heart. “Todo esto fue mi idea.”

She smirked. “You’re lucky it worked out.”

Carlos Sainz – T1B/Red Ombré Medium Knotless Braids (Monaco Grand Prix)

Monaco’s glamour was unmatched, and Y/N felt like she fit right in with her medium knotless braids. The T1B roots seamlessly transitioned into a fiery red, mirroring Ferrari’s iconic color. Standing beside Carlos in the paddock, she adjusted the braids that framed her face, the red tips catching the sunlight like flames.

“¿Lo ves?” Carlos said, gesturing toward her hair as they walked toward the Ferrari garage. “I told you the red would be perfect. Matches the car, matches you.”

“You just like that I look like a walking Ferrari ad,” she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

“Maybe,” he admitted with a grin. “But you look stunning. Everyone’s staring.”

And they were. Fans lining the Monaco paddock snapped photos and shouted her name.

“Y/N! You’re glowing!”

“The braids are gorgeous!”

“You’re the Ferrari queen!”

Y/N waved, her confidence surging as Carlos pulled her closer. Inside the Ferrari hospitality suite, the compliments kept coming.

“That red ombré is perfection,” one team member said.

“Thanks,” Y/N replied, giving Carlos a sidelong glance. “Though I’ll admit, it wasn’t entirely my idea.”

“Entirely?” Carlos repeated, feigning offense. “It was all me, cariño. You just brought it to life.”

As the race day unfolded, the cameras frequently panned to Y/N, seated in the Ferrari garage. Social media buzzed with praise for her look, fans calling her the unofficial Ferrari ambassador.

When Carlos returned to the garage post-race, he leaned down, brushing a finger against one of her braids. “Told you. You’re the highlight of Monaco.”

Y/N smirked. “Maybe you’re better at this than I thought.”

George Russell – Deep Brown Alicia Keys-Inspired Braids (Singapore Grand Prix)

The humid Singapore night couldn’t dampen Y/N’s shine as she stepped into the Marina Bay paddock. Her deep brown braids, inspired by Alicia Keys, were styled to perfection. Thin braids flowed down her back, each strand adorned with golden beads and shells that jingled softly with her movements. The style was elegant and classic, a perfect match for the sophisticated night race.

George walked beside her, his tailored white shirt rolled up at the sleeves, exuding a quiet confidence. He glanced at her, his expression softening as he admired the way her braids glinted under the track lights.

“You look breathtaking,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur.

Y/N arched a brow, smirking. “You sound surprised, Russell.”

“Not surprised,” he corrected quickly, his lips twitching into a smile. “Just… impressed. Every time, you manage to outdo yourself.”

“Maybe it’s the hair,” she teased, running a hand along the length of her braids. “But don’t let it go to your head, Mr. Stylist. You’re still not picking my next look.”

“After this reaction, I might have to,” he said, gesturing toward the fans.

The crowd was buzzing as the couple approached.

“Y/N! Your hair is amazing!”

“George, she’s stunning—you’re a lucky man!”

“The beads are such a vibe!”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, waving at the fans. She could feel their eyes on her, their admiration boosting her confidence.

“See what I mean?” George whispered, leaning in slightly. “You’re the real showstopper tonight.”

Inside the Mercedes garage, the team quickly chimed in with their own compliments.

“Y/N, those braids are flawless. Did George have anything to do with this?” one engineer asked, only half-joking.

“Not officially,” she said with a sly grin. “But he did suggest the style.”

George gave her a knowing look. “See? I have good taste.”

Later, as she sat in the garage, her braids gleaming under the pit lane lights, cameras frequently panned to her. Social media lit up, with fans dubbing her the queen of the night race.

“You’re trending again,” George said after the race, handing her his phone to show her the comments.

Y/N smiled, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Guess I’ll let you pick my hair again someday… maybe.”

Charles Leclerc – T4/27 Pop Smoke Braids (Italian Grand Prix)

The roar of Tifosi filled the air at Monza as Y/N stepped out of the car. Her Pop Smoke braids were a work of art, the chunky cornrows flowing into a mesmerizing blend of T4 (dark brown) and 27 (honey blonde). The warm tones highlighted her features, and the intricate design gave her an effortlessly regal look.

Charles opened the car door for her, smiling as he offered his hand. “You’re going to steal the spotlight today, chérie. Not even I can compete with this.”

She chuckled, smoothing her braids down. “Please, Leclerc. The Tifosi only have eyes for you.”

As they made their way into the paddock, the crowd erupted. Fans waved Ferrari flags and chanted Charles’ name, but a significant portion of them were calling out to Y/N as well.

“Y/N! Those braids are incredible!”

“The honey blonde is perfect!”

“You’re the real Ferrari princess!”

Y/N gave Charles a look, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “You hearing this? I might just be more popular than you today.”

Charles laughed, his cheeks flushing slightly. “It’s only because you let me pick the style.”

Inside the Ferrari hospitality suite, the compliments kept pouring in.

“Y/N, the braids are stunning!” one staff member said, her eyes wide with admiration.

“Merci,” Y/N replied, throwing Charles a pointed look. “Though apparently, this one’s taking all the credit.”

“And I deserve it,” Charles chimed in, his tone light but proud. “You wouldn’t have done it without me.”

During the race, the cameras frequently panned to Y/N, sitting in the Ferrari garage with her braids catching the sunlight. Social media exploded with praise for her look, fans calling her the “real Ferrari MVP.”

After the race, Charles approached her with a wide grin. “Admit it, I was right.”

“Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes but smiling. “You were right. But don’t let it go to your head, Leclerc.”

Max Verstappen – T1B/Light Blue Lemonade Braids (Dutch Grand Prix)

At Zandvoort, the vibrant orange sea of Dutch fans was impossible to ignore, but Y/N’s lemonade braids somehow stood out just as much. The sleek cornrows swept across her scalp in intricate patterns, the ends dyed a bold light blue that popped against her dark skin. The playful yet edgy style perfectly suited the high-energy vibe of the race weekend.

“Je ziet er geweldig uit,” Max said as they walked through the paddock. His Dutch accent made the compliment sound even more sincere.

Y/N glanced at him, smirking. “Translation, Verstappen?”

“You look amazing,” he repeated, his eyes sparkling with pride.

“Thanks, but I’m still suspicious about how you even know what lemonade braids are,” she teased.

“I told you, I did my research,” he said, shrugging. “Doesn’t matter how I know—what matters is that everyone else knows you look perfect.”

As they approached the grandstands, fans immediately began shouting.

“Y/N! Love the blue!”

“Max, she’s outshining you today!”

“She’s got Dutch vibes with a twist!”

Y/N laughed, waving at the crowd. “They really like it,” she admitted, glancing at Max.

“Told you,” he replied smugly.

Inside the Red Bull garage, the team’s reaction was no different. “Y/N, those braids are a masterpiece,” one engineer said.

“They’re Max-approved,” she quipped, earning a laugh from the team.

Throughout the race, the cameras lingered on her, her unique style making her the talk of the paddock. Post-race interviews even included questions about her hair, but Y/N simply smiled and said, “Just something fun for Zandvoort.”

Later, Max pulled her aside. “So? Did I do good?”

She grinned. “You did great. But don’t think this means you’re in charge of my hair from now on.”

“Of course not,” he said, leaning closer. “Unless you’re stressed again.”

Oscar Piastri – Blonde and Auburn Bohemian Box Braids (Australian Grand Prix)

Under the bright Melbourne sun, Y/N felt like she was radiating a light of her own. Her freshly installed bohemian box braids blended shades of 613 blonde and 33 chestnut auburn, creating a striking yet natural gradient that framed her face perfectly. Loose, wavy strands peeked out between the braids, adding an effortless, ethereal touch.

Oscar was already waiting for her in the paddock, hands in his pockets, his boyish grin widening when he saw her.

“You look… incredible,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet awe.

“Yeah?” Y/N asked, turning slightly to give him a full view of the braids cascading down her back.

Oscar nodded, his ears tinged red. “Better than I imagined, honestly. The blonde suits you. And the auburn… it’s perfect.”

“Don’t sound too surprised,” she teased, stepping closer to him. “You’re the one who picked it.”

“Well, I didn’t think it could look this good,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a more serious tone.

The Australian Grand Prix was buzzing with excitement, fans cheering wildly as the couple walked toward the paddock. Y/N noticed several eyes lingering on her, some fans even holding up their phones to snap pictures.

“Y/N! Your hair is stunning!”

“Love the blonde—it’s giving goddess!”

“Oscar, she’s glowing!”

She exchanged a quick glance with Oscar, who seemed as unbothered as ever, though she caught the proud tilt of his smile. “Looks like you’re stealing the show,” he whispered.

As they entered the McLaren garage, the team didn’t hold back their admiration either.

“Y/N, those braids are insane,” one team member said, shaking their head in disbelief.

“Thanks,” she replied, tucking one loose strand behind her ear. “Oscar’s idea, believe it or not.”

“He has good taste,” another engineer quipped, earning a laugh from both of them.

During the race, the cameras couldn’t seem to get enough of her, capturing her seated in the garage with her glowing hair catching the sunlight. Social media exploded, fans praising her look and nicknaming her the “Golden Queen of the Paddock.”

After the race, Oscar returned to the garage, looking a little sheepish but undeniably pleased with his performance.

“Not a bad day,” he said, grabbing a water bottle and leaning against the counter.

“Not bad at all,” Y/N agreed, running her fingers through her braids. “And clearly, you’re not just good at driving. Who knew you had an eye for hair?”

Oscar chuckled, his usual calm demeanor intact. “Well, I figured you deserved something as incredible as you are. And I was right.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Don’t let this go to your head, Piastri. But… thank you. I love it.”

“Good,” he replied, his grin softening. “Because you’ve just raised the bar for the entire paddock.”

••••••••••••••••••••••••

F1 Grid Taglist: @esserenorris, @tallrock35, @lightdragonrayne, @evie-119, @donteventry-itdude, @dhanihamidi, @xoscar03, @miarabanana, @decafmickey, @icecoldtires, @evesfile, @mellowluka, @bdreamalot99, @qxeenjen

F1 Taglist: @tallrock35, @yourbane, @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery, @dhanihamidi, @decafmickey, @cmleitora, @d3kstar, @mellowluka, @omgsuperstarg, @qxeenjen

A/N: writing these are so addicting (also I found this while looking up a gif for charles😂😂)

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tanjamikaelson · 1 day ago

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BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER -CHAPTER 11

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 11: | AFTERMATH |

You followed Sarah upstairs to her room, the heavy silence between you two feeling like a storm on the verge of breaking. Sarah threw herself onto her bed, her face pale and eyes still red from crying. Her body shook with the intensity of everything that had happened, and she was barely holding herself together. You could feel the tension radiating off of her in waves, thick and suffocating.

As you sat down at the edge of her bed, she turned her head to look at you, her expression pained. “This is why I didn’t want you to be with Rafe,” she said softly, her voice a mix of exhaustion and frustration. “I knew something like this would happen. I knew he’d hurt you or someone else.” Her voice cracked on the last word, her emotions bubbling over as she wiped at her eyes.

You swallowed hard, feeling torn. You had loved Rafe for so long—trusted him. How could this have happened? “I... I never thought he could do something like this,” you admitted quietly, your fingers nervously twisting together in your lap. The reality of the situation was finally sinking in. You had defended him, trusted him, and now he’d gone too far.

“I told you,” Sarah continued, her voice sharper now as she pushed herself up, leaning forward with her hands clasped tightly together. “You’ve always seen the good in him, but this is who Rafe is. He loses control. He always loses control.”

You flinched at the truth in her words, but you also couldn’t shake the thought of him standing there, broken, with tears rolling down his face, terrified of what he had done. That wasn’t all he was. Rafe had darkness in him, yes, but he also had pain, confusion, and fear that he hid under all that anger. You couldn’t just walk away, not like this.

“I have to talk to him,” you finally said, standing up abruptly. Your heart raced with the decision, but you knew you needed to speak to Rafe, to try and understand what was going on in his head. You couldn’t leave things like this.

Sarah’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What? No, Y/N, you can’t. He’s not stable right now!” Her voice rose with concern as she stood up as well, grabbing your arm. “You saw what he did. He’s not safe to be around.”

You shook your head, your determination hardening. “I need to talk to him, Sarah. He’s messed up, but I can’t just abandon him when he’s like this. I need to know why. I need to hear it from him.”

Sarah bit her lip, her eyes searching your face for any sign that you were changing your mind, but you weren’t. Finally, after a moment of tense silence, she let out a deep sigh, her shoulders sagging in defeat. “Fine. But... just be careful, okay? He’s not thinking straight.”

You nodded, your chest tightening with a mixture of anxiety and guilt. You knew Sarah was right to be worried, but you couldn’t stay away. You had to hear Rafe’s side, had to understand what had driven him to such a dark place.

“I will be careful,” you promised her, your voice soft but firm. You squeezed her hand gently before turning toward the door, feeling the weight of what was about to come next pressing down on your shoulders.

As you left Sarah’s room and made your way down the stairs, your mind raced with what you were going to say, what you were going to do when you saw Rafe. You knew this conversation wouldn’t be easy. You knew things would never be the same after this. But deep down, you hoped that somewhere, somehow, you could still reach the part of Rafe that you loved—the part that wasn’t lost to anger and fear.

•°•°•°•°•°•

You walked down the hallway, every step feeling heavier than the last as the reality of what you were about to face sank in. Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of fear and desperation twisting inside you, making it hard to breathe. You knew this conversation with Rafe was going to be difficult—he had crossed a line, a line you never thought he was capable of crossing, and yet, here you were, unable to walk away.

The door to his room loomed in front of you, separating you from the man you cared for, the man you thought you understood. With trembling hands, you knocked softly before stepping inside.

Rafe sat on the edge of his bed, his posture stiff, shoulders hunched like he was carrying the weight of the world. He didn’t even glance up when you entered. His gaze was fixed on the floor, his expression distant, as if he were somewhere far away.

You stood there for a moment, uncertain. The silence between you felt suffocating, filled with unspoken words and unresolved tension. What do you even say to someone after witnessing them do something so horrifying?

"Rafe," you whispered, the sound of his name barely leaving your lips. It was like you were testing the waters, afraid of how he'd react.

For a long, agonizing moment, he didn’t respond. His body remained rigid, unmoving. You could almost see the storm brewing inside him—the guilt, the anger, the confusion. When he finally lifted his head, his eyes met yours, and the raw vulnerability there nearly broke your heart. His once blue eyes were bloodshot, and a mix of emotions simmered beneath the surface—anger, guilt, and exhaustion.

"You shouldn’t be here," Rafe said, his voice hollow. He wasn’t telling you to leave out of anger; it was the guilt speaking, as if he knew he didn’t deserve your presence, didn’t deserve your understanding. He looked at you like he knew he was beyond saving like he didn’t deserve your forgiveness.

But you couldn’t turn your back on him. Not yet.

"I needed to talk to you," you said softly, taking a step closer, your voice shaking. "I needed to understand."

A bitter, humorless laugh escaped him as he ran a hand through his hair, his movements sharp and agitated. "Understand?" he echoed, disbelief etched into every word. "Understand what, Y/N?"

The weight of the situation hit you all over again, pressing down on your chest. How could you even begin to grasp what had happened? What had Rafe done? You swallowed, trying to push back the fear that was clawing at you. “Why, Rafe?” Your voice cracked. “Why did you do it?”

He stopped pacing, his jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. His eyes flickered with something—anger, desperation, maybe both. "I did it for Dad!" he shouted as if saying it louder would make you believe it. "I did it to protect him!" His voice was raw, trembling with a mixture of anger and fear. “She was going to arrest him, and I couldn’t just sit there and watch. I had to do something.”

You flinched at his outburst but held your ground. "But killing someone..." you whispered, shaking your head, "That's not how you protect anyone."

"I know!" Rafe shouted, cutting you off. His voice echoed in the room, bouncing off the walls like a physical blow. His chest heaved as he stared at you, his eyes wild with emotion. “I know, okay? But I was scared. I panicked. I thought if I didn’t stop her, Dad would go to jail, and we’d lose everything.”

Tears gathered in his eyes, and his hands began to shake. For the first time since you’d walked into the room, you saw the vulnerable boy behind the hardened man. The mask of anger slipped, revealing a fragile, broken side of him. You stepped closer, your heart aching at the sight of him so lost, so desperate.

“Rafe, I get that you were scared,” you said gently, your voice softer now, trying to reach that part of him that was still human, still capable of understanding. “But this... this is too far. It’s gone too far.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and for the first time, you saw the full weight of his guilt. His shoulders sagged as if the realization of what he’d done was finally sinking in. "I know," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I talked to Dad. We figured we could say John B did it." His voice picked up again, more confident now, as if convincing himself this was the solution. "He was staying here. He could’ve stolen the gun."

You blinked, disbelief coursing through you. “You want to blame it on him?”

"Yeah, who else?" Rafe said, frustration lacing his words. "If anyone finds out it was me, I’m screwed. You’ll back me up, right?"

Your heart twisted painfully at the desperation in his voice, but you shook your head. "If anyone asks, I wasn’t there."

Rafe’s frustration bubbled over, and he stepped closer to you, his voice sharp. "Why can’t you just say John B did it?"

"I can’t," you whispered, shaking your head. "I can’t do that to Sarah."

His eyes darkened, his anger boiling to the surface. "You know very well she won’t hold back from saying it was me," he said through clenched teeth. "And you can’t even lie for me?"

“I’ll say I wasn’t there,” you repeated, your voice firmer now. “That’s a lie too, Rafe.”

His hands clenched into fists, and you could see the tension radiating off him, his movements jerky and unsteady. "You said you were on my side. You said we were in this together. Now, what? You’re just gonna turn your back on me? Let me take the fall?”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You had promised to stand by him, but this... this was more than you’d ever expected, “I am!” you exclaimed, your voice rising with frustration. You took a shaky breath, trying to find the right words, but everything felt hollow. "But this... this isn't just something we can lie our way out of."

Rafe’s jaw clenched as he ran his hands through his hair, gripping it tightly for a moment before letting go. His eyes were wild, the emotions swirling within them too intense to hide. "So what then? What am I supposed to do, Y/N? Just... let everything fall apart? Let dad go to prison? You don’t get it!" His voice rose, a mixture of anger and anguish.

"I do get it," you said, stepping closer, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. "I get that you're trying to protect your dad, but Rafe—this is too far. You can't just kill someone and think it’s okay to blame someone else! You know that’s wrong."

His eyes flashed with frustration, and he slammed his fist against the wall, making you flinch. "What other choice do I have?" he shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. "I didn’t want this! I didn’t want to kill her! But if I hadn’t done it, my dad would be in jail right now or worse. Don’t you see that?"

“I do.” Your chest tightened as you watched him. "Rafe, I don’t want to be caught up in this mess.”

His eyes flickered with hurt, and for a moment, the vulnerability returned, softening his expression. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by anger. "Well, maybe you should’ve listened to Sarah when she told you not to be with me," he snapped, his voice dripping with bitterness.

The sting of his words hit you hard, and you took a step back, your chest tightening as the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over. "Don’t say that," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I wouldn’t change a thing about us, Rafe. But I can’t let this consume me. I can’t let it destroy everything—my friendship with Sarah, my conscience…”

He scoffed, looking away as if your words meant nothing, but you could see the hurt behind his cold demeanor. "Yeah, whatever.”

You stood there for a moment, staring at him, your heart aching as the distance between you grew wider with every second. Then, with tears streaming down your face, you turned and walked out of the room, your footsteps heavy, each step feeling like you were leaving a part of yourself behind.

•°•°•°•°•°•

As you left Rafe’s room, your chest felt heavy, weighed down by the tension, guilt, and confusion swirling in your mind. Every step you took away from him seemed to press harder on your heart like you were leaving a part of yourself behind in that room. But you knew you couldn’t stay there. You needed to get out. To breathe.

By the time you reached the front door, your hands were trembling. The air outside was thick with humidity, but even the fresh air couldn’t help you think clearly. You needed space. Time to process everything that had just happened—the way Rafe had looked at you, the pain in his voice, the way things had spiraled so far out of control.

The walk home felt like a blur. Your mind raced with thoughts, each one more overwhelming than the last. You had never seen this side of Rafe before, and now, the memory of him with the gun, the desperation in his voice, was burned into your mind. It was like a nightmare that you couldn’t wake up from.

When you finally reached your house, you slipped inside as quietly as you could, hoping to avoid any confrontation. But as you closed the door behind you, your mother’s voice drifted in from the kitchen.

"Y/N, is that you?"

You froze, not ready for a conversation but knowing you couldn’t avoid her. "Yeah, it’s me," you called back, trying to keep your voice steady as you made your way toward the stairs.

Your mother appeared in the doorway, concern etched on her face. "Where have you been all day?"

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, you considered telling her everything. But the weight of it all was too much, and you couldn’t bear the thought of explaining what had happened—of watching her face fall as she learned the truth about Rafe and the danger you were caught up in.

Instead, you forced a small, tired smile. "Just out with friends."

Your mother studied you for a moment, clearly sensing that something was off, but she didn’t push. Maybe she knew you needed space, or maybe she just assumed it was a typical teenage drama. Either way, she sighed and nodded. "Well, don’t stay out too late next time without letting me know, okay? I was worried."

"Yeah," you mumbled, already heading toward the stairs. "Sorry, Mom."

You didn’t wait for a response. All you wanted was to get to your room, to crawl into bed, and hide from the world. You needed the silence of your own space to think—to figure out what your next move was going to be.

Once you were in your room, you closed the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment as you took a deep breath. Your mind was still racing, images of Rafe flashing through your head—his desperate eyes, the way his voice had cracked when he said he did it for his dad.

You made your way to your bed, collapsing onto the soft blankets. The room was quiet, but your thoughts were anything but. All you wanted was to find some sense of clarity, but right now, everything felt too overwhelming, too heavy.

As you lay there, staring up at the ceiling, you knew one thing for sure: nothing was ever going to be the same again.

TAGS: @wearemadeofstardust0 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @thepopcultureaddict @deeznuggetsbebussin

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webanglikethat · 1 day ago

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things ram and devi have done and said without even saying they’re in love / being in a relationship because they drive me insane:

Ram defied orders from the LITERAL goddess because he didn’t want Devi to die, thus ignoring his duties

-> like …. he willingly let another woman DIE in Devi’s place and !!!! this act had been committed five years ago, when the affection between the two had BARELY begun blossoming

-> “Why bother when the goddess herself allows you to decide people’s fate?” had been Devi’s question to him, but little did she know, he already defied every rule for her, going against literal fate

he saved Devi during the arson, putting her before his own BROTHER

he went after Devi when she took off on an horse during the attack, and carried her in his arms back to safety (which he realllyy didn’t have to do 🤭)

it’s revealed he would purposefully change his route to catch a glimpse of Devi

-> Ram’s wishful desire was to see her at every service; just hoping to catch her smile along the hallowed halls where once they met

he “noticed an unfamiliar feeling rising inside him” when he met her again

Ram always found an excuse to touch Deviya — holding her hand to lead her somewhere, brushing his fingers over her cheek to calm her, cupping her face, putting a hand on her waist, trapping her against the wall, his finger on her lips, holding her hands tighter as if it could heal her holding her waist as she straddled him

he said he “missed her smiling at him”

he kissed her neck (quite literally marking her) while thinking of how De Clare would react, not realizing the jealousy that was growing in his heart at the thought of losing her to him

-> which he then said (in season 2) he’d do it on her wedding day too !!

-> in the same episode he tried to pretend he doesn’t care about their engagement 💀, mission failed my dude 🤭

“That. The way he felt when she was near him. The reason he always looked for her in the crowd and couldn’t stop teasing her”

ram always thought of marriage as a transaction, a duty to be fulfilled, something he simply had to do. and love? love wasn’t a necessary equation. that’s what his family line looked like — alliances, partnership, all devoid of tenderness. but Deviya awakened something in Ram — and for the first time, he was confused and lost

“It’s ironic that even with all the knowledge and wisdom of the world at my disposal, I still can’t figure this out on my own. I’m almost thirty, and for all of my life I have denied myself what I wanted because the greater good was more important. And in all this time… no one has ever been able to enchant me as much as…”

Ram talked Devi through her anger at the reception so she wouldn’t make a mistake in front of her guests and lose the position she had so long worked for (he helps her see the bigger picture)

Ram told her their connection wasn’t for nothing. they were fated for a reason

the less often he saw her, the more he wanted to see her

-> and if she didn’t came, he would wait for her

he noticed everything she did — be it the way she shifted from foot to foot when she was nervous or how she looked at him in fear (from the subtlest of things to the most obvious, he noticed it always)

he teased her about how much she liked him but then said:

“such a rakhasi cannot possibly die. I need her”

admitting, even if it was meant as a tease, that he could no longer exist in a world in which her presence didn’t fill his heart’s pages

he comforted her on the day of her death, quickly realizing that:

“/ wish this had happened to me instead... hasn't she been dealt enough pain already, in her life?”

“when Ram realized how sincere his desire to take all Deviya's troubles for himself was, it quickly became clear that their secret relationship had taken on a new meaning … growing into something profound”.

what started as a perhaps meaningless, fleeting, teasing affair quickly turned into something more — something he couldn’t put a name to, but he could feel encompassing his body every single second

he could no longer pretend it was just for fun or a distraction

so he finally mustered up the courage to ask Devi to be with him (but not officially 😔) even if it was in secret — for he would rather have her in secret, than lose her be it to death or another man.

noticing how distressed she was, he closed his eyes and then slowly began kissing her fingers. Devi noticed that his eyelashes were trembling. “he’s nervous as well, but once again he tries to reassure me first, even though he could use some support himself."

he always put her before himself, over and over again. this isn’t something he was taught, like I mentioned before. for him, marriage or love was based on children, mutual respect and the husband’s views. yet he interminably put himself in the background, just to help Devi shine

“they kissed each other gently and yet desperately at the same time, as only doomed lovers can kiss.”

“he was with her right at that moment. sharing her pain and fear... would that have been possible if what they had was fleeting? he always chose her, no matter what.”

Ram: “I'll be with you. no matter what.” Devi: “I know”

he fought for her, allowing her to escape

and her thoughts led to him, even as she bled out

“the very thought of losing him was unbearable. and just as things were beginning to blossom between them.” “dying would be a little easier if you were holding my hand right now”

"I'm with him in my thoughts, heart, and soul." // "even if it doesn't make any real sense, it does for me. l feel calmer this way."

being away from her, when she was in a coma, made Ram feel like he was dying too // the thought of losing him (as she actively died) felt even worse than death

-> his biggest dream was being able to touch her again, to gaze into her eyes, to see his affection being mirrored in hers. to hear her laughter again was all he could hope for

they risked MULTIPLE times to be caught just to bask in each other’s presence — even if it was only for a few moments because the risk was worth it — they are worth it to each other

his face “instantly lost colour” when she mentioned her wedding

he tried pretending it didn’t hurt him — that he could accept it, that he could have a part of her and let it be enough, but they both knew the truth

so she laid out her future: her married to De Clare, visiting India from time to time, meeting Ram’s wife — but not him because he would still remain a coward who couldn’t voice what he wanted

so he finally let his feelings free and kissed her, marking her neck (in the middle of the hall where everyone could’ve caught them)

he touched her under the table — at dinner, where again, anyone could’ve seen them !!!

the moment Devi’s smile faded, Ram noticed immediately and shifted his tone, asking softly, “is something wrong?” -> he is SO attuned to her emotions, so skilled at noticing even the slightest change — which is especially important since Ram isn’t portrayed as someone who does this for just anyone

they know each other well enough to play off each other’s words without malice — their banter is so much fun (especially on passion route)

he fingers her in the library 🤭 he’s SO careful with her even though it’s obvious they’re both overwhelmed by the connection — he’s letting her set the pace and the fact that Ram doesn't push, but instead allows her to slowly move at her own pace, amplifies her vulnerability and makes her every move feel more significant. she’s still confused on what she wants and he lets her explore it on her own, and she knows he will wait for her

he wanted to dance with her despite not knowing how to — and in front of everyone too !! he was ready to embarrass himself for her

-> he is so caught up in her that he’s willing to push past his own comfort zone, even if it means embarrassing himself a little; as long as he can witness her smile

now she is the one who takes the power and kisses him, marking HIS neck — and so they imagine each other naked, finally taking the next step and ….

he finally admits it to himself.

He wanted to finally understand what it meant to connect with the woman he loved with all his heart.

Ram Doobay is in love with Deviya Sharma.

#rc ram #rc deviya sharma #devram #they drive me so insane #you guys don’t get it #i teared up multiples times writing this #they consume all of my thoughts #if I was a good writer #rc kfs #rc kfos #romance club #rc devi #devi x ram

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bullet-prooflove · 7 hours ago

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Haunted: Leroy Jethro Gibbs x Reader (feat: Mike Franks)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @riley-kore @ilovemark1951 @love-affair-with-fandoms @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

Companion piece to:

The Ice Queen - Gibbs meets The Ice Queen for the first time.

Break The Ice - A act of decency helps Gibbs to break the ice.

Grave - You and Gibbs bump into each other in an unexpected place.

Safe - You and Gibbs work through your grief in different ways.

Check In - Gibbs checks in with you after the night before.

Wait It Out - You and Gibbs wait out a threat to your saftey.

All Dressed Up - You and Gibbs have a frank conversation about an office event.

Right Here - You come home to find Gibbs waiting for you on your doorstep.

Revelations - Gibbs is surprised to discover a connection between you and Mike Franks.

There are three cases that haunt Mike Franks.

The Gibbs case, the Larsen case and your sister’s case, the one that was never his to begin with. After all they don’t let special agents investigate the death of someone close to them, especially not the woman that was about to become your spouse.

It hadn’t stopped Mike from hounding the agents that were working the case, sifting through their files or surveying their interviews from the opposite side of the interrogation room window.

It had earned him a suspension, forced bereavement leave they called it.

He’d checked out for a while after that, booze, fights, the whole nine yards. You’d bailed him out more than a handful of times because you couldn’t let the man who had loved your sister throw away his life or his career.

He gets his shit together just in time for the funeral, then spirals again right after.

“She wouldn’t want this for you.” You tell him one night as the two of you sit in your living room trying to regroup. He’s clasping an ice pack to his knuckles from another fight and you’re stitching up the cut above his eye from some asshole’s class ring. “It’s time to put on your big boy pants and start doing the shit she fell in love with you for instead of this nonsense.”

“You don’t understand.” He finds himself saying, his voice raw as the thread tugs tightly, pulling the edges of the wound together. “It’s like I have all this rage, all this emotion but there’s no where for it to go, no one to blame…”

Because they haven’t found the man that brutalised Violet and that case, it just gets colder every day.

“And you Maeve, you just don’t seem to feel a damn thing.”

“That’s because I don’t.” You tell him frankly, sniping the tail off the stitches before sitting down on the coffee table so you can meet his gaze. “I’ve been empty ever since the day they’d found her dead.”

And that’s when he realises you’re depressed.

You’ve spent all this time looking out for him…

And he’s done jack shit for you.

He makes you a promise that night, while he’s sprawled out on your couch. He’ll do whatever he can to pull you out of this fog because he knows where that numbness leads.

You don’t have a gun so he guesses it’ll be slit wrists in a bathtub or a handful of pills down your throat. They’re usually ladies choice.

So he gets his shit together, goes back to work, starts making an effort. He makes sure to check in on you, get you out of the house, dinner, drinks, walks with Gary. You start to come back to the world again and so does he.

It’s when he starts to date again that things hit a speed bump. The moment you see him with another woman, it’s like a flip switches inside you because you realise Mike can just move on, find someone else to take up the position that Violet filled in his life but you can’t, you can’t replace your sister.

The fight you have that night, it’s the first time you’ve exhibited any emotion about Violet’s death. You scream, you shout, you throw crockery and Mike, he just takes it because this is what he’s been waiting for, the moment you admit to yourself that Violet’s gone, that she’s never coming back.

You get distant after that, colder. When he approaches you a few weeks later you make it clear that you don’t want anything to do with him. As far as you’re concerned any personal connection between the two of you died with your sister.

It wounds him in a way he doesn’t care to admit but he respects your wishes because he understands that this, this is how you move on.

Now he’s sitting in your office, on the opposite side of your desk because the probie, he’s been digging through your sister’s case and he thinks he’s found something, and Mike kinda thinks he has too. He just needs you to make sure.

“They never found her engagement ring.” Mike tells you, his elbows coming to rest upon your desk as he leans forward, his hands clasped together on top of the blue folder he’s placed there. “I was too fucked up to notice at the time. Is there any chance you have it?”

It’s a distinctive piece. An aquamarine stone set amongst a couple of diamonds in a silver band. It had cost him a couple of months salary but it had been worth it at the time because that gem, it had been the exact colour of Violet’s eyes.

“No.” You say softly, your eyebrows furrowing into a frown. “I thought you’d kept it afterwards as a keepsake.”

He sees the realisation hit you, about what must have happened to that ring. He knows it’s like a gut punch because that’s exactly the way that he felt when Gibbs asked him the question. The other man had spent hours trawling through those evidence logs trying to locate it. Mike has to give him his due diligence, he’s spotted something nobody else did, even though he wasn’t supposed to be working the case.

“You think that son of a bitch took it?” You ask him. There’s a dangerous lilt in your voice, one he recognises from the last time the two of you were in the same proximity.

“I do.” He says and he watches you literally bite your tongue in order to stop yourself from cursing out the assholes who clearly dropped the fucking ball with Violet’s case. They’ve moved on now, retired, he’d had Gibbs and Lala check in because he didn’t trust himself not to tear them a new one.

“What does that mean?” You ask him, agitated. “That she was a victim of a serial? Those guys like to take trophies right?”

“Actually, we’re thinking a little more close to home.” He says as he pushes the blue folder towards you with his fingertips. “I got Strickland to put together a profile. I wanted to see if it fit anyone from back then, someone that was in her life, maybe someone I didn’t know…”

There’s a reluctance in you, he sees it. The thing is this folder, it’s a grenade. It has the power to tear your whole life apart and you’re just getting back on your feet, you’re just starting to climb out of that hole you’ve been trapped in for so fucking long.

“I still dream about her Maeve,” He tells you with a tremor in his voice. “I’m with someone else, in love with her but Violet’s ghost, it still haunts me.”

Your hands are shaking when you open the folder, you swallow hard against the ache in your chest as you study the words written in Strickland’s neat scrawl. Age, behaviours, job description. It’s like you’re seeing him clear as day, leaping up at you from between the pages.

“Maeve…” Mike says as he studies the expression on your face. “Do you know him?”

There’s an agony in you, it’s excruciating because this son of a bitch, he still visits your sister’s grave. He puts white lilies against the headstone, every birthday and Christmas because they were friends, such good fucking friends.

“Yea.” You say, your voice devoid of emotion as your gaze sweeps up to meet Mike’s. “I fucking do.”

Love Gibbs? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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#leroy jethro gibbs #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #ncis origins #gibbs #gibbs x reader #austin stowell #mike franks

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paleprincessturtle · 20 hours ago

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Always Somewhere

Sooooo, this one isn't my usual Harvey Specter fic. I've known F1 for ages (my fiance is a diehard petrolhead and an F1 huge fan, so I've heard about it here and there). But with all the media coverage, I've been exposed to the world of F1 more than usual lately. And I've had this idea in my mind for a couple of weeks now, so why not post about it?

This is definitely going to be a mini-series. Forgive any errors in my writing. I hope you guys enjoy this!

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

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader (for now🤭)

Word count: 1.6K

DECEMBER 2021

It was a little over 9 pm when Max made the urgent call to Charles. Being alone in his apartment, Charles told him to come to his place. He wouldn’t say that Max was his best friend, but they always had that chemistry going on between them, also the urgency in Max’s voice, Charles couldn’t lie that he got quite worried. Even when his nickname was Mad Max, he never really let his emotions get the best of him outside of the racing world. Charles always saw him as a very poised man, against all odds.

The ding to Charles’ apartment startled him. When he opened the door for Max, he was surprised. Max looked... disheveled. The black circle under his eyes, the unshaved stubble. Max smiled weakly as he raised a bottle of wine. Max sat quietly on the couch as Charles disappeared with the wine bottle. He carried two glasses of wine and managed to also hold the bottle in his right hand. As Charles sat across from him, Max sighed. That deep long sigh that was laden with something heavy. It was silent for a couple of seconds before Charles broke the silence. “Are you okay?” Max didn’t look at him right away; his gaze fell upon the white fuzzy carpet under the table, then to the stacks of magazines on the table, to the wine glasses, to the withering flowers in the vase. Everywhere but Charles’ eyes. Max sighed again, and what after felt like an eternity, finally he met Charles’ gaze. “I feel like total shit,” Charles commented with a small laugh. “No shit.” Max snickered at Charles’ response. Max also felt the same way about their friendship. But Max knew Charles understood. Not to mention they live only a few minutes drive away. Desperate times called for desperate measures, Max thought. “I couldn’t sleep. When I slept, it was full of nightmares,” Max paused, Charles nodded and encouraged him to continue. “The burden of everything...” he trailed off; both his hands found their way to his face, and he groaned. Charles looked at him with full sympathy. He put a gentle hand on Max’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I can’t help much. But you know, if you are open to suggestions,” Charles threaded carefully as Max looked at him. “I know a therapist, a psychologist; she can help. She’s like the best one I know.” Again, Charles looked at him carefully. Afraid that Max took it as an offense at the prospect that he needed professional help. “You are seeing this psychologist?” Charles shook his head. “No. But I’ve known her since I was a kid.”

So that night, Max saved the number of said psychologist, just in case he wanted to go see her. The rest of the night went smoothly, transforming the depressing topic into a lighter one. Max laid on his sofa, Sassy sprawled across his chest. His finger hovered over the number he had just saved the previous few nights. Max won’t even deny it. There was some pride in him that he just couldn’t admit that he needed to talk. Of all the things he could do, he needed to talk. Just talk. But the past few nights had been horrible. “Fuck it,” he mumbled to the empty house as he pressed the number. A chirpy voice in French greeted him, and he awkwardly chuckled before saying that his fluency still needed some finesse to it. “Yes, I would like to set an appointment.” Max waited, sat straight up now. It was nerve-wracking, he thought. He listened (not so) patiently and nodded, “Just as soon as I can.” The chirpy voice came to a halt once again: “Okay, Mr. Verstappen. I can schedule you today at 6 pm. Would that be okay?”

It was 5.45 pm when Max arrived at the building. He sat there in his car, in complete silence. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He could just say he suddenly got sick and bailed out of it. Max was not one to pour his heart out. He sighed as he rubbed his eyes. He closed his eyes and leaned back. He took a steady breath. He needed this. He needed to get better for the upcoming season.

As he waited for the elevator to go up, he couldn’t help but marvel at the lavishness of the building. This psychologist must have made a lot to be able to rent a place like this. As the elevator came to a halt, Max took some cautious steps. He again was greeted by the same chirpy voice he heard on the phone just a few hours before. “Good evening, Mr. Verstappen.” She was greeted with a warm smile. Max stopped at the reception table and nodded his greeting. “Mr. Verstappen, there are some forms that need to be filled just before you proceed with your evening here,” she handed him a transparent clipboard and a pen.

Max then entered the psychologist's room. He pushed the heavy door and was greeted with a woody smell. The room was big with a ceiling-to-floor glass window overlooking the dark Mediterranean Sea. A woman, he bet wasn’t even older than him, turned to him as she heard the door being pushed open. She was beautiful, Max admitted. Not models kind of beautiful but like normal kind of beautiful. Her hair was long and wavy. She dressed in a tan sweater and navy pencil skirt just shy around her knees. Her high heels clacked over the marble floor as she approached Max. “You must be Max Verstappen; it's a pleasure to meet you,” she offered her hand and smiled at him. Her name dripped out of her mouth like honey. “You can call me Max.” Max sat down on the single-seater leather sofa just across from her. “Okay, Max. So how are you today?”

To his surprise, the conversation went smoothly. He didn’t feel like he was under the scrutiny or anything. He talked about his father, the burden of this year’s WDC, the nightmares, and the feeling that he had never done anything good enough. Everything. Before he knew it, their session was over. Max held himself from whining when she informed her that they had finished their session. “You should think about our conversation,” she said, looking at him thoughtfully, legs crossed. Max mused, deep in thought, then nodded. “We can continue this next week, yes?” She smiled at him before writing something down in her notebook. “Next week? That’s like so long,” Max's brows knitted. She laughed, and he found himself smiling at the sound. “You need to think about what we talked about today, Max. And not that I discredited your ability to think about it, but this type of thing takes time. Okay?”

FEBRUARY 2022

What Max only planned as one session turned into 5, and 5 turned into 20. It wasn’t always face-to-face sessions. Sometimes Max needed out of the country multiple times, so they continued via video calls. Sometimes, Max asked for more than one meeting per week. And she obliged as she deemed necessary. But on this 20th meeting, they met again in her office. After an hour passed, she put down her glasses on the side table. “Max, it is with great joy that I inform you that this is your last session with me,” she smiled brightly at him. Max was flabbergasted, to say the least. “What do you mean the last? I still need you." She smiled at him, full of understanding. “Max, let me ask you something. Say that you go see a doctor for a headache; the doctor prescribed you some ibuprofen. Upon deeper investigation, it happened that you have poor sleep hygiene, and you never ate on time. That is what caused you persistent headaches. While fixing your sleeping and eating schedule, you keep taking ibuprofen. But once you can maintain a good sleeping and eating schedule, the headaches vanish. Do you think you would still need to take the ibuprofen?” Max slowly shook his head. “Why?” she asked again. “Because the core of the problem is handled.” He answered but his voice was smaller than usual. “Exactly,” she smiled and watched him. “You don’t look happy,” she observed. “How if I can’t do it without you?” she gave him a warm smile and a gentle, brief squeeze on his hand. “It’s you that has been doing it all this time, Max. Not me. You did it all just before the season started. Wasn’t that your goal? You should be proud of yourself as much as I you.” Max nodded at her answer, feeling defeated. “You should be glad. Cheer up, Max! You don’t have to keep paying me now,” she tried to lighten up the situation with a joke. Max chuckled, “Money is not the problem.” She looked deep into his eyes. “I know.” They stayed like that for a couple of seconds until an idea crossed Max’s mind. “But we can be friends, right? You’re friends with Charles, and I’m also friends with Charles.” He looked at her, eyes full of hope. “We can’t be involved in any relationship at least until 2 years from today,” Max’s jaw dropped. “Said who?” he quipped. “Said the code of ethics,” she chuckled. “I’m also moving to Cambridge; I’m taking my doctorate.” She blushed as she shared the information; she was never really one to share with her client, even on the last termination session. Max beamed over the news, “Oh, I’m so glad to hear that! I hope England will treat you well.”

As Max waited for the elevator to bring him down, he realized he wasn’t that thrilled about the news that she was going to continue her doctorate, nor at the news that they couldn’t be in any relationship for the next 2 years. Something tugged at his heart. He was going to miss her.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfiction #formula 1 #max verstappen #max verstappen fic #f1 x reader #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 x reader #mv1 x reader #mv1 fanfiction #max verstappen imagine #F1

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scarletwinterxx · 2 days ago

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one sunday morning - hong joshua imagine

how it took me this long to finally write a sunday morning referenced au for joshua idk too HAHAH but it's here

for my other svt fics, check them here

if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You hear the soft hum of the espresso machine as you stand behind the counter of the cozy little café you’ve managed for years.

It’s a quiet Sunday morning, sunlight spilling through the wide windows in golden waves, the kind that makes everything feel warm and alive. You’re arranging the freshly baked croissants in the display case when the bell above the door chimes, signaling the arrival of your favorite regular: Joshua.

Joshua, with his tousled brown hair, that lopsided grin, and the slightly oversized denim jacket he wears like it’s a second skin. He walks in with a lazy kind of confidence, as if the world couldn’t possibly surprise him, but his eyes light up the moment they find yours

Every. Single. Time.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says, leaning casually against the counter. “What’s the special today? Let me guess… something ridiculously overpriced but totally worth it if you make it?”

You roll your eyes, but your lips curve into a smile anyway. “Good morning to you too, Joshua. And no, the croissants are reasonably priced. But since you’re feeling cheeky, maybe I should double the price just for you.”

His laugh is warm and rich, like a favorite song you never get tired of hearing

“You wouldn’t dare. You like me too much.”

You arch an eyebrow, trying to look unimpressed. “Bold assumption.”

“Oh, come on. Admit it,” he teases, leaning closer. “I’m your favorite customer.”

“Second favorite,” you counter, suppressing a grin. “Mrs. Kim tops you, hands down. She doesn’t mock my pastries.”

“Mrs. Kim who said the cake wasn't moist when it was literally called moist cake?” he says, feigning offense. “But fine, I’ll accept second place... for now. What do I need to do to get bumped up to first?”

“Be nice to the barista, that’d be a start.” you say, pointing to yourself

Joshua places a hand over his heart, as if wounded. “I’m always nice to you. I even brought you this.” He pulls a small bouquet of daisies from behind his back, slightly crushed but undeniably charming.

You blink in surprise, the teasing retort on your tongue dying instantly. “You brought me flowers?”

“Don’t look so shocked,” he says, grinning sheepishly. “I saw them at the farmer’s market and thought of you. Figured they’d look better on your counter than in my office”

Your cheeks heat, and you curse the telltale blush. “That’s… really sweet. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck as if embarrassed. Then, his voice drops into a playful lilt. “But if this earns me a free croissant, I wouldn’t say no.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Nice try. But fine, I’ll give you one. Consider it a thank-you for being marginally charming.”

“Marginally?” He gasps in mock horror. “I’m devastated. Here I thought I was irresistibly charming.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Joshuji” you say, sliding a warm croissant onto a plate and handing it to him. “There. Now go sit down before I change my mind.”

He takes the plate, his fingers brushing yours for a brief second.

A touch so fleeting you’re not sure he even noticed.

But you do. Every time.

As he settles into his usual spot by the window, you catch yourself glancing his way more often than necessary. He’s flipping through a dog-eared paperback, his brow furrowing every now and then in concentration.

There’s something about the way he exists so effortlessly, so entirely himself that makes your heart ache in the best way.

Later, when the café is quieter and he’s the last customer lingering, he makes his way back to the counter.

“So,” he says, resting his elbows on the polished wood. “What’s your plan for the rest of the day?”

“Nothing too exciting,” you admit. “Probably just laundry and a terrible rom-com.”

“Terrible rom-coms are my specialty,” he says with a grin. “Need company?”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Are you inviting yourself over?”

“Depends. Do you have popcorn?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, his grin softening into something quieter, something warmer. “Let me make the popcorn. You can pick the movie. Deal?”

For a moment, you hesitate, the weight of the invitation hanging in the air. But then you see the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, and you think: Why not?

“Deal,” you say, and his face lights up like a summer sky.

And just like that, without even trying, Joshua makes the ordinary feel extraordinary. This, you think, is how you fall in love.

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captsharonstark · 2 years ago

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James Bond and Madeleine Swann in Spectre vs No Time To Die.

#James Bond #Daniel craig #Madeleine Swann #lea seydoux #00swann #okay but this hurts #because he didn’t hesitate to hold her hand when she was she was scared #but in NTTD he couldn’t bring himself to do it this time for obvious reasons #because they weren’t on good terms #they were broken up - they had hurt each other #and she didn’t even want to shake his hand anyway #but he notices that she’s scared almost as though he knew she might be #given who they were about to see #and you KNOW he wanted to take her hand #he wanted to hold her hand and comfort her and reassure her that it was alright #but he couldn’t #and she probably wouldn’t want him to even though deep down? she likely did #she just couldn’t admit that and she wouldn’t let him #but you know she thought about that moment in Spectre #when he held her hand because she was scared #and she wanted to in that moment but she couldn’t #MY HEART UGH #my gifs #parallels

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dykedvonte · 1 month ago

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I just realized some people are confused about events in the alluded to past in Mouthwashing, particularly about how long the crew has been working together.

The only person who is truly new is Daisuke and it’s why his dynamic with the crew and role in the story is very unique and somewhat distant. Curly didn’t just get Jimmy this job on the Tulpar, he got him the job with the Pony Express. He’s been his copilot for probably a couple of years but still not as long as they’ve been friends. None of them are new with the freight industry, Anya and Swansea especially have been doing this for years, together.

Jimmy is the newest on the regular crew, maybe just a few assignments, but it’s not his first time working with them. I think it’s just something important because this isn’t just one bad mistake that snowballed with giving Jimmy the job. None of them thought Jimmy would do anything, no matter how off-put by him they could’ve been, since he hadn’t done a thing since being there. Generally unpleasantness isn’t a crime and he’d be aware of that.

It was a festering thing and a sort of forced trust they had to give him that he knowingly took advantage of. He was the black sheep and still a wolf under the wool. He expected when he lashed out, that he had been there long enough for it to be looked over completely. Got too comfortable in the space he inserted into and did a lot of damage with his claws when he felt he was going to get shaken out.

#I think acting like if Curly just didn’t give Jim the job this wouldn’t have happened is underplaying that they’ve all been working for PE #for a bit and that Jimmy got comfortable enough to do something horrible like #a lot of factors made the trip being out the worse parts of them but Jimmy was slowly letting his worse parts show and I think people assume #that this was one a few mission he went on with Curly and that he advocated for him completely when it was more likely #he pulled some strings so Jimmy could work right under him and stay out of trouble with a decent job and it back fired cause Jimmy is just #not a good person like I see people acting like his breakdown and choice to crash the ship was because this was probably one of the last #chances to fix his life and he couldn’t admit he fucked up soemthing literally handed to him so badly and cruelly #I think people forget that predators like Jimmy rarely do anything the first day. or week or month or year #they ingrain themselves into the schedule and dynamic and build a sort of stability that make it harder to knock them down or push back #he has Curly’s trust as the co pilot and as a friend #Swansea doesn’t like him but doesn’t trust him and Anya is just wary initially #he doesnt even attack her at the start of the trip it’s implied it happens after the psyche evals and when she confides in Curly how #patronizing he is to her and her position. he’s retaliating against a perceived slight to his stability to him it was pure act of power and #anger because he’s at his core an avoidant bully who can’t take responsibility #mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #jimmy mouthwashing #I didn’t want this to be a Jimmy post but it is #more so about how abusers like Jimmy work but I digress cause most of it’s in the comments

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agxxb · 12 days ago

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Prettier Than a Star .𖥔 ݁ ˖

rafe cameron x f!reader

summary: when rafe finds you alone, you finally get to know one another.

warnings: smut. unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), oral (f!receiving). use of pet names (baby, sweetheart). praise. underage drinking. best friend’s brother. [5k]

read part two here!

“You’re not supposed to be out here. It’s off-limits to guests.” You turned around in surprise upon hearing a new voice, only relaxing after seeing the familiar face. “Ah, it’s just you.”

Rafe’s head cocked to the side, surprised to see you standing on one of Tanneyhill’s many balconies — but it was a pleasant surprise. He didn’t smile, but his expression softened just a little.

“Sorry, Rafe,” you apologised, a small yet sheepish smile on your face. You hadn’t expected anyone to find you, let alone your friend’s older brother. You just wanted peace and quiet away from the jamboree happening below.

Rafe walked over with a hand in his jeans’ pocket, the other holding a beer. He turned and leaned against the rails beside you. “Didn’t expect to see you at my party.”

“Sarah invited me,” you explained, a short shrug following as you took a deep breath through your nose. “She kinda left me alone as soon as she saw her boyfriend, and I got overwhelmed with the party. This was the only place I knew no one would be.”

Rafe chuckled lightly. “Sounds like Sarah.” He shook his head. He couldn’t lie and say he was surprised Sarah had ditched you. “What? Can’t handle a little party?” he asked, clearly teasing you.

“I can.” You shot him a look, but still grinned. “Just not when people I don’t know are shoving unknown drinks into my face.”

He smirked, taking a quick swig of beer from the bottle. “Hey, those are the best kind of drinks. Free alcohol is good alcohol.” He glanced over at you as he spoke. “You should’ve just come found me when Sarah ditched you.”

“Free drinks are the best, but not when there’s a possibility of them being spiked,” You gave him another small smile before shrugging. “And, in all honesty, I didn’t even think you liked me enough to talk to me. You’ve only ever spoken to me when Sarah’s been there.”

Rafe’s smirk faltered, and his expression softened ever-so-slightly. “Why wouldn’t I like you?” he asked, cocking his head to the side again, looking at you. “You’re one of the few people that Sarah hangs out with that I don’t want to throw into a wall the moment I see them,” he added, giving a scoff of a laugh.

You smiled at Rafe’s words, letting out a short chuckle. He kept his gaze on you for a moment more, something almost thoughtful crossing his face before he looked out to the front grounds of the house.

The night sky was vast, the stars glimmering above. The sea breeze was cool and fresh against your skin, and the sounds from the party down below were just low enough to be a distant rumble. It was nice and peaceful.

“I’ve always adored the island,” you said after a short while of silence, following his eye-line to admire the view: the sea in the far back, the beautiful sunset just above the sea line, and the houses in the close distance.

Rafe looked away from the view, to you, listening to you. He’d never really paid much attention to how beautiful the island really was. The night was nice, though; even he could admit that. He thought about making a snide comment about the view – that it’d be prettier with a joint or drug to enhance it – but didn’t. Instead, he just nodded.

“It is nice,” he agreed, taking another swig of the beer in his hand.

He turned to lean against the railing once more, his side now facing you. He raised the bottle to his lips, tilting his head back as he took a healthy sip, enjoying the taste of it. It went quiet again, and he glanced at you from the corner of his eye. He watched as you kept your gaze on the sky, and you looked almost mesmerised.

It was almost like you were in a trance, the way you just watched the stars above. The sight was honestly rather fascinating to Rafe; He’d never seen anyone just stare into space. He continued to watch you though, and found himself almost studying how captivated you were by the stars, like there was some sort of peace in that moment.

“You like the stars?” Rafe heard himself ask, his voice low and casual as he looked upwards as well.

“Oh, I adore them…” Your eyes twinkled whilst the stars blinked. You smiled, a small one, but it was filled with admiration and fascination.

Rafe listened intently, watching as the soft smile appeared on your face, and he found himself feeling a sense of curiosity. “Why?”

“Because it’s all unknown. It’s scary, but also so cool.”

Rafe hummed lowly, and he found he actually agreed a bit with what you said. The stars and sky were definitely a little scary, but the unknown always was. And yet, it was interesting, too.

He went silent for a few moments, the alcohol in his system making him more relaxed and a bit less guarded. He felt more open, like he could say things he wouldn’t normally say, and that was why he spoke again after a moment of silence. “Want some?”

You looked over at Rafe, seeing him tilting his beer in your direction. You accepted his offer with a smile, taking the glass bottle from his hold and bringing it up to your mouth, wrapping your lips around the top and tilting your head back.

Rafe watched your actions, licking his lips as his thoughts spiralled. He found his eyes trailing over your face, lingering on your eyes, and then your lips, which looked soft and full. The alcohol he had consumed had made his thoughts fuzzy, and he suddenly found himself imagining something else instead of the beer bottle.

The thoughts of how you looked and the soft tone of your voice made his mind wander, imagining what sounds you might make in other situations.

"What’re you doing?" you teased, biting your bottom lip and moving slightly closer to Rafe. You had noticed him staring, scanning your body and – possibly –admiring you.

Rafe knew he had been caught looking at you, and he didn't even know what to say when you moved closer. He tried to keep his composure, though he found his eyes straying once more as he noticed a glimpse of your collarbone.

"I'm enjoying the view.”

"Yeah?" You lightly blushed, cheeks turning a pink champagne, and smiled up at him. "Enjoying it, hm?"

Rafe was captivated as you smiled at him, and his breath hitched as he watched you take another sip of his beer. It was more than a little attractive, and he found his thoughts getting muddled again, his mind wandering to places it had no business going.

"Yeah," he answered simply, his voice coming out deep and rough as he shrugged.

He tried to look away, but he found himself looking at you again, eyes drifting from your collarbone and over the swell of your chest. He knew he was being obvious with his staring, but he couldn't help it. He found himself admiring you, the soft curves and slopes of your body, the shape of your hips. Even though you were still standing a few inches apart, he was suddenly aware of how close you were, and he wanted you to be closer.

“Just admiring?” you wondered aloud, almost hinting at the fact you wanted him to do more.

Rafe briefly wondered what would happen if he reached out and touched you, to feel his hands on your skin. It would probably be so soft, he bet. He could smell the sweet scent of your perfume, and it was like an invitation to him.

His eyes flicked back up to your lips when you bit your bottom one, and he found himself wondering what they would feel like against his own. He took a step forward, his boots thudding against the balcony floor, and reached out, his fingers hovering a few inches away from your skin, the tips of his fingers just barely touching your cheek.

Rafe slowly lowered his hand until it connected, gently resting his palm against the soft skin of your cheek. He gently caressed your skin, feeling the softness underneath his fingers as he stroked your cheek. He felt emboldened, and the alcohol in his system made him a more reckless.

“Your hand's warm," you told him, resting your cheek into his palm. You were aware of Rafe's history and his anger issues, but you weren’t scared of him... especially after the way he'd treated you that night. Rafe hummed in acknowledgement, trying to ignore the way his heart flipped at how you leaned into his touch.

He wanted this, wanted to touch you, and he wanted more than that, too... so much more.

"You're soft," Rafe mumbled, his voice rougher than usual, and he let his thumb gently brush against your jawline.

"I am?" you asked, almost shy after hearing him say you were soft. He hummed in response once again, unable to stop himself from gently rubbing his thumb along your skin, slowly, over and over again.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice still sounding rough, and his thumb started to travel down the slope of your neck. "Soft everywhere."

“You haven’t even touched me everywhere.”

Rafe’s eyes snapped up to yours, trying to see if there were any hints of intoxication behind your words. He let his fingers press gently against the underside of your chin, just barely lifting it.

"You like when I touch you?" he asked quietly, the words just slipping from his mouth. You hummed a response, agreeing to his question silently, and a rush of heat flowed through him. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

The way you almost begged for a kiss made his lips twitch up. His hand slowly moved to the back of your neck as he gently pulled you forward, tilting your chin up. He looked into your eyes as his face hovered close to yours, wanting to make sure you really wanted this. His breath fanned over your face, and he slowly closed the remaining gap to press his lips against yours.

Rafe let himself just hold his lips against yours for a second, just the briefest moment, before he really kissed you. His lips moved against yours, molding themselves to your mouth in a shockingly gentle action.

You moaned softly as your lips moved together, never wanting to stop kissing now you had tasted him. Your hands lifted, placing the beer bottle on the balcony to your right before you touched him: one hand on his torso and the other on the back of his neck, fingers gently scratching at the nape.

At the sound of your soft moan, something inside Rafe snapped. He felt your hands on his skin, the feeling of your fingers scraping against his neck just made him want more, and so he took more by pressing his lips harder against yours.

Rafe quickly wrapped his other arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his front, and he let his tongue gently slide across your bottom lip. His mind was a chaotic mess of thoughts, filled with just need and want and you. He was vaguely aware of the party going on below, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Rafe groaned and pressed even closer against you, pinning you up against the railing. He let his tongue explore your mouth, tasting you before he raised a hand to your throat once again, tilting your head to the side and away from his. He started gently nibbling and sucking on the skin there, letting his lips travel down over your pulse.

“Fuck,” you moaned quietly, closing your eyes as you basked in the pleasure gained from him kissing your neck. “Rafe…”

He felt a rush of satisfaction at the way you gasped his name, the sound going straight to his already-hardening cock. His lips continued to move along the skin on your neck, sucking and then biting down gently, trying to get more of those sweet sounds out of you.

“You sound so sweet when you say my name like that,” Rafe muttered in a deep grumble against your skin as his free hand started to slowly lift up the edge of your shirt.

He felt another rush of heat flow through him, settling deep in the pit of his stomach, at the breathy sound you made in reply to his praise. He let his fingers slide across the newly-exposed skin of your hip, his warm touch sending shivers through you.

“You gonna let me take you to my room?” he asked huskily, pulling back from your neck to look into your eyes again.

“Is that what you want?” you asked him with a soft grin, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. You tilted his head to the side, littering kissing up and down the column of his neck.

Rafe groaned as he gave you more access to his neck, pressing lower-half against you, and his fingers dug into your hips. He was already so hard, just from the way you sounded and the feel of your lips. He felt like his brain was completely clouded over now, and he couldn’t think of anything except you.

You hummed, lightly nipping at his neck and smiling softly as you heard Rafe let out a sound, like a moan had been caught in his throat. You pulled the collar of his shirt to the side, sucking at the skin between his neck and shoulder, leaving a mark and soothing over it with your tongue.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Rafe groaned again, the feeling of your tongue making him shiver. He took a shuddering breath as he tried to force himself to think clearly, but all he could really think about was your mouth on his skin.

Feeling how hard he was against your lower stomach, you pulled back to bite your lower lip. “You wanna take me into your room, Rafe? Wanna have your way and do whatever you want to me? Make me feel good?”

The teasing tone of your voice had his lust-filled brain short-circuiting. He felt your hand press against his hard length and he gritted his teeth, your hand moving up to slide over his abs, feeling his muscles tense.

“You keep doing that, and I won’t be able to make it to my room,” his voice was low and gravelly as he spoke.

“Yeah, pretty boy?”

He grunted as he felt an unexpected rush of heat at the nickname, and length twitched against your stomach. “Keep it up, and you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

“What if that’s what I want?” you whispered into his ear, leaving another peck against his cheek.

Rafe quickly turned his face to capture your lips with his own, the kiss anything but slow or gentle. He tried to pour all of his need into it, pushing his tongue into your mouth and hungrily tasting you. He nipped at your bottom lip, his teeth scraping against your sensitive skin, and he began to move his mouth down over your jaw.

“Take me inside, Rafe. Please.”

He heard the hint of a moan in your voice, and the way you said his name, begging him to take you inside, was almost his undoing. He needed to get you alone, behind a locked door. Now.

Rafe pulled back, looking at you, his eyes dilated and filled with so much lust that it was like he’d completely lost himself in the need for you. “Come with me,” he said, voice raw, and he stepped away, just enough to grab your hand.

He wasted no time in pulling you along with him, hurrying through the balcony doors into the house, barely giving you a second to shut the door behind you before he was pulling you down a hallway and toward his room at the end. Rafe quickly opened his door and pulled you inside, shutting it behind you and locking it.

He pushed you up against the door, trapping you with his body. “Please fuck me,” you begged with a moan, fisting at the fabric of his button-up shirt.

The sound of your soft, pleading moan and your words made his head spin. At that exact moment, he was done trying to control himself. He felt his brain shut down, any higher thought completely gone, and he suddenly all he cared about was getting his hands on you.

He quickly unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it off and tossing it aside, before his hands almost immediately went to the shirt you were wearing. “Too many clothes,” he whispered thickly, his voice barely more than a rough grumble.

The moment he could see your skin, Rafe’s hands were on you again, touching you, feeling you. He couldn’t help but notice the little shivers you were making when he did. He brought his lips down to your neck once again, leaving more hot, wet kisses. His tongue traced the hollow of your jaw as his hands outlined your body, his touch rougher and greedier with each passing second.

Rafe let his lips move lower, down your neck and over your chest, sucking and kissing, his teeth gently scraping against your skin as he went. He stopped just above the line of your bra, taking it off before looking at you. You looked gorgeous: hair all tousled, marks already forming all over your skin, and breathing heavy.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” Rafe muttered almost gruffly, his eyes travelling over your face and down your body.

“Only for you, pretty boy,” you bit your bottom lip, running your fingers over his buzzed head as he knelt down in front of you, his hands on your hips.

He couldn’t help the way his breath hitched at the feeling of your fingers. He felt himself almost entranced by you, your sounds, words, and touch making it so that he didn’t care about anything other than you.

He continued his journey down your body, his lips on your stomach, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses and bites on your skin. His hands started to wander too, touching and exploring, sliding over your legs and moving up the inside of your thighs.

He looked up at you, watching your face as did so, the urge to mark you as his so primal and strong. He continued to kiss the tops of your thighs, leaving another mark behind before slowly making his way up again, closer and closer to the edge of your underwear.

“Fuck… Please.”

“Please what, Sweetheart?” He let his hands slide up your sides to your lower back, hooking his fingers on the edge of your underwear. He started to pull them down, his eyes still looking at you for your reaction. “C’mon… talk to me.”

“Please touch me.” Tears began to form in your’ eyes, but not from upset or pain; you were so turned on and impatient — you needed Rafe to touch you. “I’m so wet for you. Please.”

His own breathing was ragged now, his eyes dilated to the point the blue of them was almost completely gone, only a ring around the edge of his pupils visible. The way you sounded, so desperate and needy, almost had him fucking you against the door.

He brought his head closer to where you needed him, his lips hovering by the skin there for a moment. “How bad do you want me to touch you, baby?”

“So fucking bad, Rafe. Please,” you begged, running a hand over his short hair again. “Please.”

He leaned so that his cheek was resting on your hip, and he let out a low exhale, his breath warm and hot against your skin. “I’m gonna take my time with you,” he murmured, and then his lips were on your skin again, leaving kisses down your hip, towards your center.

It was like he’d suddenly lost all self-control, his need to touch you, to taste you, was so strong that it was pushing him past that edge of self-restraint. He pressed his lips against your core from over your lace panties, his tongue immediately tasting you through the fabric, and he let out a low moan.

“Fuck, you taste good.” He spoke directly against you, his voice gravelly and thick with lust, before slowly hooking his fingers under the lace of your underwear and pulling them down, needing to get them off you so that he could taste you properly.

Rafe’s hands were suddenly firm on your hip as he pushed your legs apart, keeping you open for him to put his mouth on you, his tongue licking and exploring. He was relentless, actions desperate. He felt the way you trembled under his touch, and he knew that he wasn’t going to be able to hold back for very long, not if he kept hearing those little sounds you were making.

You moaned loudly, eyes rolling back in pleasure and head titling back against his bedroom door. “Fuck! Feels so good, oh my god!”

Rafe loved the way you sounded, the way you reacted to him as he continued to suck on and lick at your clit. But he needed more. He pressed his hands against your hips as he continued with his attention, his tongue more demanding now. He was addicted to the taste of you, not wanting to ever touch another woman nor that he’s had you.

He continued his actions on your clit, finding what made you shiver and moan, what made you melt. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of the sounds you made as he worked you with his mouth, pushing you higher and higher.

Rafe suddenly shifted, his tongue switching to a different angle. He could feel you shaking, getting closer and closer to the edge. He didn’t let up, his hands having moved to your thighs, keeping your legs open as he pressed himself closer, his tongue never slowing down, never stopping.

“Fuck!” you sobbed, the pleasure almost too much but so fucking good. “Please don’t stop, please don’t stop. Feels so fucking good.”

Rafe couldn’t possibly stop now, not when you sounded like that, not when you were so close. He could feel how your body was tightening, almost trembling as you got closer. He was so caught up in your sounds, in your taste. He kept his movements at the same speed, not wanting to change anything, and then you were there, falling over the edge. Your legs shook as you came, crying out his name as he lapped you up greedily, still wanting more after tasting you.

Only when you were starting to come down did he stop. Rafe slowly stood up, his mouth still wet and glistening, and looked at you, at the way you were leaning against the door and trying to get your breath back.

You immediately leaned forward to kiss Rafe, your lips meeting his instantly. He felt you melt against his body, and his arms encircled your waist, kissing you almost desperately, like he was starving and you were the only thing that could possibly satisfy him.

Rafe grabbed the back of your thighs and wrapped them around his waist, picking you up and moving you over to his bed, lightly dropping you onto the mattress before crawling over you. He loomed over you on the bed, his hands on either side of you. He could feel how you were looking at him, your eyes raking over his bare chest and the bulge in his pants, almost like you couldn't decide where to look first. It was driving him crazy. He felt like his skin was on fire, and he needed you to touch him, wanted to feel your hands on him.

“Please fuck me,” you quietly begged, looking up at him through your lashes. He leaned back, hands moving to his belt as he unbuckled it before sliding it through the loops of his jeans, taking them and his underwear off next.

“Yeah?” he asked breathlessly, raising an eyebrow. “You want that?” He looked down at you hungrily, his eyes taking in the way you looked beneath him. He suddenly grabbed your wrists and pinned them to either side of your head, trapping you beneath him. “You gonna be good for me if I give you that?” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly.

You nodded, silently pleading, begging, Rafe. You were soaked, and not just from when he ate you out moments prior. There was something about hearing him say those words, something about the way his voice sounded, so sweet and dominating, that made pleasure burn through you, making you want him even more.

He gently, almost reverently, released your wrists, his hands roaming over your body instead. “Good girl,” he murmured, voice rough. “That’s my good girl.”

Your hands lifted to rest on his bare back as Rafe smirked, reaching down and lining himself up before pushing forward into your sopping wet pussy. Your eyebrows furrowed together in pleasure, having him fill you to the brim.

"Oh, my god…” Rafe was hypnotised, his fingers grabbing at your hips. He could barely think, his mouth hanging open as his eyes glazed over.

The feeling of you beneath him, around him, was so intense he had to pause for a moment to collect himself. He felt like he was on fire, his body tense, his muscles coiled tight as he held himself above you. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this way, this intense, this desperate. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before he started to move, his hips rocking against yours, eyes locked on your face.

He could feel your hands on his back, your nails clawing at his skin, and it only turned him on more. “That feel good, baby?” Rafe asked, voice strained with how good you felt.

“S-So good,” you nodded, tears building up in your eyes once again from the pleasure. “So deep.”

“Fuck,” Rafe moaned deeply, eyes squeezing shut for a moment. Your lips parted as his hips slapped against the backs of your thighs. It left you feeling dumb, no thoughts left in your head apart from how pretty Rafe looked above you. “Pussy’s so good.

“Please, please, please,” you begged, tilting your head back to look up at him. His own lips parted as he reached his hands up, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as he stared as your tits in awe. “Just like that — keep fucking me like that.”

Rafe could feel every little gasp, every moan, every whimper you made, and it was driving him crazy. You were making him feel things he didn’t know he could feel, and he was lost in you. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, could feel himself losing control, and he knew he couldn’t hold back for much longer.

He suddenly leaned down, his face just inches away from yours, and pressed his forehead against yours. He was breathing heavy, his breath mingling with yours, his heart racing. He was hanging on by a thread, fighting the urge to let go, but he wanted to see you fall apart for him first.

Rafe suddenly slid his hand down your body, his thumb finding your clit and quickly rubbing it. You moaned loudly, nails scratching down his back and leaving red marks in their wake.

“F-fuck!” you cried, the pleasure consuming you. Rafe sped up, going harder and rougher, his own hand coming up to wrap around your neck, adding a little pressure — just the way you liked it. He loved the sound of your voice, the way it changed as he touched you, the way it got higher and more desperate as you got closer to the edge.

He couldn’t hold back a low moan of his own, keeping his hand on your neck as he sent harsh thrusts up into you, your pussy squelching with each one.

“That’s it,” he rasped. “Let me hear how good you feel.” He suddenly grabbed your hip, using it as leverage as he started to move rougher, his body tensing up. He was so close, so close to losing control, but he wasn’t ready for it to be over yet. He suddenly leaned down again, his mouth right next to your ear, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. “Cum for me, baby.”

“O-Oh, my God!” you moaned loudly, barely able to say anything other than that and his name.

He knew you were close, could feel it in your body, and he felt his own body tense up in response. ”That’s it, Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice thick and low. “That’s it. Let go for me.”

“Rafe!” you screamed his name as you came, legs shaking around his waist with your head thrown back against his bed. He felt you tighten around him, felt your nails digging into his skin, and he couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Gonna cum so fuckin' deep in you,” Rafe mumbled, letting go of your neck and running purely on primal instincts now. “Gonna take it all like my good girl, yeah?”

“Uh huh," you whined, tits bouncing as he continued to fuck himself deeper into you. “Please cum in me!”

“Prettier than any fucking star.” Rafe grabbed ahold of your hips, grinding his hips deep into yours a few more times, before coming to a stop. He came hard, his body tensing up as he buried his face into your neck, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as he rode out his orgasm.

You felt full as his cum filled you up, letting out a hum of content. Rafe couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but lay there, his body weighing you down, face pressed into your neck. He was breathing heavily, his body still shaking from the intensity of his release, and he couldn’t remember ever feeling this good, this wrecked, this satisfied.

He suddenly lifted his head up, eyes locking on yours immediately, his face flushed. “You… are amazing.”

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mostly-imagines · 8 months ago

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Banished

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason misses his girlfriend

warnings: extremely mild angst, he’s just mopey (he’s fine)

Jason sits slumped over the kitchen island, head lying in his crossed arms. His now soggy cereal disregarded after barely a few bites.

Dick’s been rummaging through the cabinets for the better part of twenty minutes and Tim sits atop of the nook table shoving donuts in his mouth for the better part of thirty.

Damian trudges past them to the nook bench, taking out a knife and beginning to whittle away at a block of wood.

He glances at Jason with a scowl. “If you’re going to be so miserable, can’t you do it in your own home?”

Jason just grunts.

He wishes. You and Bruce had conspired to trap him at the mansion for the week so he could heal from injuries sustained during the last mission without risk of him suiting up and sneaking away from you in the middle of the night.

It’s not even the fact that he’s basically being babysat that’s got him so disgruntled. He wouldn’t mind it at all if you were here too. But you were dead set that the manor was too far out of your way for work, so you’d stay behind. A lose-lose for Jason.

“He’s just mad his girlfriend kicked him out,” Dick teases, swiping through the fridge.

Tim snorts from the doorway, “Me too. He’s a lot more depressing on his own.”

Jason kept his head down as he blindly reached for the spoon in his cereal and chucked it at Tim’s head.

Tim catches it without thought, continuing, “A lot more irritable, at least. Why isn’t she here?”

“She’s gotta work,” Dick says, scanning through the pantry.

Damian peeps his head up from his project. “But Todd has a rather large supply of less than legally obtained money, does he not?”

“Yeah, but she said she wants to pay her own rent, I think,” Dicks hums, finally giving up on his quest for a snack.

Damian pauses.

“So she wants to live in a tiny apartment?” He asks, a mixture of confused and horrified.

“Watch your mouth,” Jason mumbles.

“It was a genuine question!” Damian protests, face screwed up.

Jason finally lifts his head up, turning to his little brother with a raised brows. “And I’m genuinely going to break your nose.”

It’s an empty threat, maybe. But it was enough to shut Damian up anyways. Jason turns back to his cereal and swishes the bowl around.

Dick rests his arms on the counter across from Jason and speaks lowly. “You know, it is just a few days. She’s coming back.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Jason was never one for showing his feelings—let alone talking about them.

He misses you, plain and simple. Dick could see that much clearly, though the longing looked unfamiliar on Jason.

Bruce lingers in the hallway, just past the island, listening.

He’ll admit (to himself) that he’s worried about Jason. It’s been three days and Jason has yet to show a crack in this demeanor. And while it’s not uncommon for him to stow himself away, there is something quite wrong with the way he hasn’t countered his brother’s jabs at him or teased them.

And while he could do without the blatant threats, he’s proud to hear his son defending his girlfriend, even over trivial things. It’s one of the few moments where he feels like he did right by him as a father.

And now here’s his son, caring about someone else more than he cares about himself. Someone who’s a good person, no less. It had been your idea to trick Jason into staying at the manor, you were scared that he would push his body past its limit when you couldn’t do anything to help.

Bruce knew you didn’t feel great about basically banishing him for the week but he could see that you just wanted what was best for Jason. He could see it so clearly. Maybe Bruce could never have been a perfect father, could never have given his son everything he needed despite having more money than he could ever use. Maybe he couldn’t help him, even now.

But you could.

Bruce peers around the corner, leaning up against the doorframe.

He watches Damian give up on carving at his block and start into the leg of the table.

He watches the bickering that broke out after Tim grab the last glazed donut, which was apparently the only thing Dick could possibly fathom eating.

And he watches Jason.

As Jason’s phone lights up on the counter next to him. He glances down at it with a frown before his face absolutely lights up.

He scrambles to pick the phone up and starts typing away. A quiet action that catches the attention of all of his brothers.

He types and types, waits for ten seconds for a response and types and types again—smile on his face.

The Waynes didn’t need to be the greatest detectives in the world to know who he was texting.

✨ reblog fics or face the block button ✨

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gallavichsreddie1128 · 4 months ago

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FWB to Lovers w/ Logan

Description: How Y/N and Logan went from Fuck buddies to Lovers

Warning: Dirty talk

Ever since Y/N, Wade and Logan saved the timeline it has been a known thing that Logan and Y/N had tension and Wade always made it known: “UGH just fuck already Disney can just cut it out of the film.” “What?”

Y/N tried to hide her feelings at first knowing that Logan probably wanted someone his age and not a younger woman with little to no experience. Boy was she wrong: “Wade’s right. We should fuck.”

Though he said that drunk, Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about it. She was sure he wouldn’t remember saying that but the never next day when she just stared at him a little too long she was up against the wall in a second: “We need to hurry before Wade gets back.”

He was huge compared to her and the size kink was real. For his age he had a nice body and a dick that hit all her special spots: “Fuck. I didn’t even know that spot could be reached.”

He took her on everything in that house. The couch, the wall, the beds (even Wade’s), shower, counter and even on a chair. Wade found out and his reaction wasn’t even surprising: “You guys can’t just fuck on my bed and not let me watch.”

Y/N was falling hard for the man and Wade could tell. Her stares were no longer just filled with lust but love. She looked at him like he was the whole world and more: “OMG is the Y/N falling in love?” “Shut up!”

Logan was too and that showed when he found out that Y/N and Wade had slept together before. Though Y/N and Logan weren’t together and only supposed to be FWB, He got extremely jealous: “YOU GUYS HAVE SLEPT TOGETHER?” “Duh. Have you seen us? Two hot people fucking is the norm.”

Y/N and Wade both found it odd that he got mad about that given it was 2 years ago and before any of this. Logan stormed off to his room ignoring them calling his name. Wade looked at Y/N with a knowing look: “Seems like your pussy is a love potion and he had too much of it.”

Though it wasn’t the best idea, Wade went to talk to him about it. Y/N almost wanted to do it herself but Wade offered and said that he wouldn’t crack jokes about the situation: “Listen peanut, I understand that you have a bad boy reputation to stick too but that hard on you’re showing says you enjoyed the thought of it.” “WADE GET OUT!”

Y/N couldn’t sleep that night. Her mind was on Logan and how he just stormed out of the room after hearing that they fucked. Did he love her back? She needed to know. She walked to his door and knocked, not caring if he was asleep or not: “Do you love me?” “Y/N, It’s 3 am.”

He did in fact love her and he should’ve shown it better. Wade always wanted to get under his skin and that’s probably why he mentioned that: “I said that to get you two together. It’s annoying to see you guys act like Blind AL trying to find something.”

Ok Wade maybe a little too far?

Both of them were idiots for not just admitting how they felt but now it was worth it in the end and Wade was to thank: “I’m not thanking you with Tacos!” “Well aren’t you just ungrateful?”

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aquaticmercy · 2 months ago

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Almost Kisses

Summary : Bucky's kisses have become a daily part of your life together, but it wasn’t always that way.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Reader (she/her)

Warnings : very slight mention of food and mild cursing

Requested by : @buckys-wintersoldier

Word count : 1.8k

Note : This one was very fun! I was listening to Work Song By Hozier while writing this, so it's safe to say the song served as a bit of inspiration, too. I did say it would be >1k word blurb but I have once again got over the limit.

Requests are open!

Kissing you had become second nature to Bucky. Every morning when he woke up, every night before bed. It was part of his routine, it felt as natural as breathing. He kissed you when he passed you in the kitchen, when you laughed at something ridiculous, when you weren’t paying attention. He kissed you just because he could.

It was hard for him to remember a time before that, but once, kissing you had seemed impossible.

The first time the thought even crossed his mind, you were standing outside his apartment door, trying to get his attention. Sam had called you, worried about him after days of radio silence, days of ignoring texts and phone calls from both him and his therapist.

Sam could get through to Bucky on most days, but on the really hard ones, when the weight of his past pulled him under the covers and refused to let him go, there was only one person who could reach him. You.

Somehow, Bucky had imprinted on you in a way he never had with anyone else. Sam wasn’t stupid— he knew that Bucky was down hard for you. Hell, everyone who ever saw the two of you interact knew that Bucky was in love with you. Everyone except you.

Because love had to keep you blind like that, at least for a while.

"Bucky?" Your voice was soft that day, muffled by the door separating you from him. You knocked again, gentler this time. "I brought you pizza. Just cheese, no toppings—your favorite." You paused, like you were waiting for signs of life, anything, but the silence was deafening. You lowered your voice, a whisper now. "I cut off the burnt bits, the way you like it."

The door creaked open, just a sliver of light pouring in from the apartment. Bucky's figure stood in the shadow, his frame filling the doorway, but his voice was small and frail. "Extra cheese?"

"Of course, Buck." Your lips curved up knowing you’ve essentially made it in. You slipped inside the moment he stepped back.

That night, you didn’t leave his side. You pulled him out of the dark waters he had drowned himself in. He told you about his nightmares, the memories that wouldn’t let him breathe. You listened, laughed when he cracked the odd dark joke, and cried while exchanging stories. Minutes blurred into hours, and eventually, you fell asleep beside him on the couch, your head resting on his shoulder.

That was the night he realized what you did to him. You didn’t just pull him out of his pit of despair— you made him feel alive. Electric.

The next morning, you took a shower, borrowing one of his shirts since yours were dirty. Seeing you in his oversized clothes twisted something inside him, drove him insane with wild thoughts— he almost said something, but bit his tongue to stop the flow of words that would have been unstoppable. When you hugged him goodbye, he held on just a second too long, his arms tightened around you, hesitating to let go and wishing he could stay in the safety of your embrace forever. And for just a heartbeat, he stared at your lips. He almost gave in, almost kissed you right then and there, but he shoved the thought away at the last second. Why would you ever want to kiss someone like him?

The second time he almost kissed you was at the ice rink in Central Park. It was the holiday season, and this year Bucky realised that he didn’t need to spend it alone anymore. He invited you out, convincing himself it wasn’t a date— just two friends hanging out, doing friend things.

You were hesitant, admitting you couldn’t skate and that the ice never seemed to agree with you, but he insisted.

"You can hold onto me," he teased, though he left out telling you how much he wanted you to. Just to feel you close. Just for you to embrace him again.

"Buck!" you squealed when he picked up speed, your hands clutching his jacket tight around your fist in a death grip. "You’re going way too fast!"

He laughed, slowing to a stop in the middle of the rink. The moonlight between trees shrouded the two of you. You stumbled into his chest, your fingers curling into his coat. For a second, you didn’t move. You stayed there, taking in his scent. "What would I do without you?" you murmured into his chest, voice barely above a whisper.

In that moment, he realised that you weren’t just his friend out of pity— You made him feel wanted. Needed.

His hands found your cheeks, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. He could almost taste how your lips would feel— soft, warm, perfect. His breath hitched, his body taking control. But then, just as quickly, he put his logical mind back in the pilot seat. He pulled away. Why would you want to kiss someone who’d been broken as many times as him?

The third time he thought about kissing you, he could’ve sworn you wanted it, too. You were on one of your usual runs and morning coffee— your ritual together. It happened once or twice a week when he wasn’t whisked away to some strange land for a mission.

Bucky always slowed his pace to match yours. He didn’t mind since he could spend those extra moments near you.

After the runs, you’d get coffee together. He talked about everything—his life in the 40s, his family, Steve, his friends from school.

You gave him pieces of his humanity back with every conversation. With you, he felt more than a soldier— you made him feel more organic. Human.

He felt that, for once, he was more interesting than the winter soldier.

He then talked about wanting a small pet, maybe a dog, or a white cat.

"What, am I not companion enough?" you had teased.

His ears burned, and the super soldier found himself stammering. "That’s not what I meant."

You laughed as you brushed coffee foam off his facial hair. The briefest touch and his heart started racing out of control.

He could've sworn you leaned in just slightly, almost instinctively. He wanted to kiss you. He needed to. But again, he pushed it down, convincing himself that the two of you were just friends.

The day after, he found himself lying on the couch, thoughts spiraling. He couldn’t stop thinking about you— your lips, your laugh, your touch. He didn’t know what to make of it. The feelings ate away at his sanity, and they wouldn’t go away. For the first time, he asked himself the question he was too afraid to ask: was this how it felt to be truly, deeply, and desperately in love?

Then came the knock.

He opened the door, and there you were, looking as tired as he felt. Your hair was a mess, your clothes crumpled, and you looked like you haven’t slept since he saw you yesterday, but you were still so goddamn beautiful. You had this infectious wild energy, like you were on the edge of discovering the secret to world peace.

"I’ve been thinking all night," you said, stepping inside the gap he had open. That was how welcome you felt in his space, how comfortable he was with you. "If I’m wrong, this is going to be so embarrassing, but— three times. You almost kissed me three times."

Bucky blinked, caught off-guard.

"That night with the pizza, when I said goodbye," you continued, pacing around the room in deep thought. "The ice rink. And yesterday at the coffee shop." You held up three fingers at his face, your hands trembling slightly. "Three times is too much to be a coincidence. Three times is too much to just accidentally lean in. Please, tell me you’ve thought about it. Tell me you’ve wanted to kiss me because—" You stopped, looking into his beautiful eyes. "Because I’ve thought about it too."

Your voice was shaky. Bucky had never seen you so vulnerable, so uncertain. So hopeful.

"This is so embarrassing," you muttered, your voice now barely a whisper. But before you could say anything else, Bucky closed the distance between you. He grabbed you by the waist and kissed you, his lips capturing yours in a desperate rush. All the hesitations melted away from the tension in his muscles, and it was better than he’d imagined a thousand times. He didn’t know how it was possible, but you tasted even sweeter than he had dreamed. His hands tangled in your hair as you stood on tiptoes, clutching him as if he might slip away.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, you whispered in disbelief, "So I was right."

Bucky smiled, finger running along your skin, in a sensory attempt to remind him the was all real and not just one of his fantasies. "Only took you half a year to notice."

You laughed softly, melting into his touch. "I could say the same for you."

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss you again. "Shush," he whispered between kisses. He was addicted now. He needed his fix. He needed your touch, your warmth, your lips on his. Again, and again, and again.

And that was more than a year ago. Now, Bucky still couldn’t stop kissing you. If anything, it had only gotten worse, not that you were complaining.

He kissed you every chance he got. When you rolled over in bed, still half asleep, he kissed your forehead. When you stretched in the kitchen, reaching for a mug for your afternoon tea, he kissed the back of your neck. When you came home late from work, tired but smiling, he pulled you into his arms and kissed you breathless, as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

"Buck," you laughed, stopping his train of thought, playfully trying to squirm away as he pulled you onto his lap. "We’re supposed to be watching a movie."

His lips found the sensitive spot behind your ear. "But I’d rather kiss you."

You were powerless against him, as you always are. Laughing softly, you said, "You know, you kiss me every day. Aren’t you tired of me yet?"

He pulled back just enough to look at you, reminding himself of how lucky he was that he had you here. That if it wasn’t for you storming into his apartment in a frenzy with a theory, you wouldn’t be here in his arms. "Never." His voice was so soft, making your breath hitch.

You were about to say something smart, but Bucky stopped you with another kiss, his lips gentle and loving, yet there was such a fiery passion beneath. You curled into him, his warmth wrapping around you like a blanket. When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, the movie long forgotten.

He stared at you, thumb brushing the side of your face, as if memorizing every detail. "I’m never gonna stop kissing you," he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. His voice was a little rough, his throat dry from the taste of you. "I don’t think I could, even if I tried."

And you believed him.

-end

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