#there will be about a thousand more it’s so over/we’re so back moments so don’t get comfy
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
ocdhuacheng · 8 months ago
Text
LESBIANS WE ARE SO BACK THO. THE CYCLE CONTINUES
4 notes · View notes
pastryfication · 2 months ago
Note
hiii! i love your writing please could you do Oscar x reader where reader goes to his home race and sits in the paddock and meets oscars parents and sisters for the first time, reader is super nervous at first but you all get on super well and there all really nice
his mom calls me love
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
pairing: oscar piastri x female!reader note: i combined the request with this since they were almost the exact same!! i love the piastri family they all seem so genuine so this was fun to write <33 hope you enjoy
Tumblr media
you’re nervous, more nervous than you’ve ever been.
the paddock is bustling, the air thick with excitement and the faint smell of burnt rubber, but all you can focus on are your buzzing nerves. just yesterday, you touched ground in melbourne for oscar’s home race, and today, you’re not just meeting his family—you’re meeting them all at once, and without oscar by your side.
he has told you a thousand times that you’ve got nothing to worry about, that his family will love you, but it’s hard to silence the wild butterflies in your stomach when they’re trying their hardest to make you sick.
you spot nicole first. she’s standing with oscar’s sisters by the hospitality area, and as soon as she spots you, she waves you over with a bright smile.
you’re instantly struck by how warm she seems, like a ray of sunshine on an overcast day. she pulls you into a hug the moment you’re close enough, and it’s so genuine, so full of kindness, that a little bit of your anxiety starts to melt away.
“we’re so happy you’re here,” she says, her voice joyful and comforting. “oscar’s told us all about you.”
the sisters gather around, each of them with the same easygoing charm as their mom. hattie, the oldest, gives you a knowing look, as if she’s seen oscar’s nerves about today and knows exactly what this means to him. edie is chatty, asking you questions about the race, about how you met oscar, her enthusiasm infectious. mae, the youngest, is a little held back at first but quickly warms up, giggling at every funny story you tell about oscar and smiling brightly when you compliment her outfit.
you feel the tension in your shoulders ease as you talk to them. nicole makes sure you’re comfortable, offering snacks and making gentle conversation that doesn’t feel forced or awkward. it’s like sitting with old friends, and you can see where oscar gets his sweetness from. the girls are delightful, and before you know it, you’re laughing at something hattie said, feeling lighter than you have all day.
time passes quickly in their company. you’re so engrossed in a conversation with mae, who’s telling you about her latest school project with joyful enthusiasm, that you don’t even notice when oscar finishes his post-qualifying duties and walks over to join you all. he pauses a few feet away, a soft smile spreading across his face as he takes in the scene: his family and his girlfriend—all of the most important women in his life—all together and getting along so effortlessly.
he doesn’t say anything right away, content to just watch. there’s a warmth in his chest as he sees you laughing with hattie, reaching over to fix a stray hair on edie’s head, and listening intently as mae chatters on about something you clearly don’t entirely understand but are genuinely interested in. he loves how naturally you fit in, like you’ve always been a part of this group.
nicole catches oscar’s eye first and gives him a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of how well this is going. it’s everything he hoped for, and he can’t help but feel grateful. he’s never seen you this comfortable around people you’ve just met, and it makes his heart swell with pride and affection.
finally, hattie nudges you gently and nods toward oscar, breaking you out of your conversation. you turn, surprised to see him standing there, looking at you with that soft, adoring smile you love so much.
“hey,” he says, sliding into the circle and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”
you smile up at him, feeling his presence ground you even further. “you weren’t interrupting,” you say, leaning into his side. “we were just talking.”
he squeezes your shoulder and looks around at his family, grateful to see how quickly you’ve been embraced. nicole gives him a wink, and the sisters beam at you both, already teasing oscar about how he’s been replaced by you—and mae doesn’t hesitate to mention that you’re way out of his league and he better not screw anything up, making the entire group burst with laughter.
and for a moment, standing there in the middle of it all, surrounded by warmth and laughter, you realize you’re not nervous anymore. you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.
1K notes · View notes
moonstruckme · 1 month ago
Note
remus x touch starved! reader ❤
i want him to hug me so badly 😭
<3
Me toooooooo! Unsure if this was a request but thanks for sending and potentially for requesting haha <3
Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 707 words
Remus’ foot is touching yours. It’s incidental, thoughtless. You’re sitting on opposite sides of the couch, facing each other as you both read your books, only you’re not reading anymore because all of your attention has been stolen by the way your boyfriend’s foot is lightly pressing yours into the back cushion. The slightness of the contact, the smallness of it, it isn’t nearly enough, and yet you don’t think you could take any more. 
The other side of the couch seems a thousand miles away. 
“You alright?” Remus asks. You look up to find him studying you over the top of his book. 
“Mhm. Why?” 
“You just seem like you might be cold.” You look at him bemusedly, and he nods to the blanket around your shoulders. “You’ve wrapped yourself up fairly tightly there.” 
You look down. You’re holding the blanket closed with a near vice-like grip, cocooning yourself in warm snugness. 
“Oh.” You ease your grasp on it. “Sorry, I didn’t even notice.” 
“Nothing to be sorry for,” Remus replies easily, sitting forward and clasping a hand around your ankle. “Should I go turn the heater up?” 
Every nerve in your being has directed its attention to your ankle, your boyfriend’s fingers braceleting it loosely, casually. One finger moving slowly up and down as though to placate you. Your chest aches terribly. 
Some of it must show on your face, because Remus frowns. “What is it?” 
“What?” 
“You look upset.” He leans forward, his touch coasting up to your knee. His frown deepens. “Sweetheart, what's wrong?” 
“Nothing.” You close your eyes, feeling silly. Shake your head. “Sorry, nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.” 
“Are you sure?” 
“It’s really stupid.” 
Remus shushes you admonishingly. “I doubt that. Will you tell me?” 
“It’s just…” You push out a breath, not quite able to look at him. “It is, it’s silly. I feel like I miss you, but you’re right here.” 
Remus gives you a contemplative look, his lips downturnt. You almost want to laugh just so he’ll take you less seriously. You feel far too exposed. 
“That doesn’t sound silly,” he says after a moment. “I think…I know what you mean, sometimes. Maybe there’s something we’re missing.” 
“Like what?” you ask helplessly. 
He considers you. “Could we have a hug?”  
Now you do laugh. “Yeah,” you say, though you don’t move. “Of course, whenever you want.” 
“Whenever you want, too,” Remus reminds you. He takes the initiative, setting his book down and moving across the couch toward you. 
His arms come around you almost tentatively, one hand moving across your back while the other settles itself between your shoulder blades. You give a little shiver at the contact, and he strengthens his hold, your own fingers bunching in the material of his jumper. That ache in your chest begins to feel like a sort of fracturing. 
“I might cry,” you warn him wobbily. “Don’t worry about it.” 
Remus’ surprised chuckle jostles the first couple of tears out of you. “Oh, sweetheart.” He palms the back of your head. “I’ll try not to, but are you sure you’re alright?” 
“Yeah.” You clutch him tightly. “This helps.” 
“Okay,” he says softly. 
Remus lets you cry it out. He holds you, shuffles closer on the couch, presses his lips to the top of your head. When you’re done and you pull away to press a salty kiss to the corner of his lips, he picks up your fallen blanket and draws it around the both of you. 
Your legs are all tangled together, bent knees and coarse hairs and the jut of an ankle bone into your hip. Remus looks into your eyes with a steady fondness. 
“Do you feel any better?” he asks. 
“Yeah,” you answer honestly. “Sorry, thank you.” 
“Why are you always sorry?” There’s a bit of teasing in his voice now, softened by the brush of his lips against your nose. “You can always ask for hugs, you know. You should.” 
“Okay.” 
“I want you to.” 
“Okay.” Your face feels warm, but you feel a thousand times lighter. “I will.” 
“Good.” He gives you a little smile. “Can we do another now?” 
“Remus,” you smile back at him, “I’m really fine.” 
“I believe you. This one’s for me.”
936 notes · View notes
redzie02 · 2 months ago
Text
San comes home from tour in the middle of the night
needed the comfort so here’s a short San fic
warnings: none ?/ maybe slightly suggestive at the end/ comfort/ dialogue starts under the cut lol masterlist
You'd been thrashing around for hours, trying to find comfort, but no luck. The bed was uncomfortable. Your pillow was too warm. Even your comforter annoyed you.
Peaceful sleep was not something you were well acquainted with the last few months, especially considering the absence of your favorite person. San.
You knew what you signed up for when you and San started dating, but it didn't make times like these any less difficult. Daily phone calls and texts only did so much to ease the longing.
Frustrated and miserable, you sat up and dramatically snatched your pillow and smacked it onto the opposite end of the bed. With a huff, you laid down and exhaled deeply, satisfied with the new sleeping arrangement. It was somehow exponentially more comfortable, but something was missing.
You couldn't be bothered to sit up again, so you slid your foot under San's pillow and gently tossed it to the other end of the bed. You held it tightly to your body, inhaling the subtle mixture of San's shampoo and fresh body odor before tucking it under your chin- the same way he holds you.
The remnants of San's faint aroma hit you straight in the gut. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your throat starting to tighten.
Just one more week and he'll be home. Don't cry. You repeated these words to yourself while blindly patting down the bed in search for your phone. You squinted at your screen before sending a text.
3:58 am my y/n♡: i miss you :(
You tossed your phone to the side, not expecting an answer. You'd sent San over a dozen texts yesterday, but he only responded back by hearting a few of the messages. A bit infuriating, but you understood he was most likely just busy.
-
You awoke with a startle when you felt something lightly dragging up and down your arm. The lamp in the furthest corner of the bedroom was on, casting a soft yellow glow, but still bright enough to leave you squinting at the figure before you.
You almost whimper when you realize San was standing just a few inches away from you. You practically leapt up, throwing your arms around San's neck, almost causing him to stumble. You couldn't help the whine in your voice as you spoke, your voice groggy from the fatigue. “I thought tour ended next week.”
His strong arms wrapped around your waist, constricting your breathing a bit, but you didn't care. “I got the dates mixed up, that’s my fault, baby, I'm sorry. I texted you when I was on my way thirty minutes ago, didn’t you see it? I sent it right after I saw your text.”
“I don’t even know where I threw that thing, if we’re being honest." He chuckled into your neck. "Ugh, I don’t care. You’re finally home.”
You pulled him backwards until he was laying on top of you on the bed. He lifted his head from your shoulder, his smiley eyes taking in every millimeter of your face as you did the exact same. He freed his right arm from under you and smoothed your hair out of your face. His breath tickled your cheek as he quietly spoke, “It was four in the morning when you texted me…Why were you up, hmm?”
You wrapped your legs around San’s waist, your whole body clinging to him. Your hands slipped under his shirt, your fingers caressing his warm, soft skin. “I haven’t been able to sleep without you.”
He raised his eyebrow, but his body relaxed even further in your embrace. “You never mentioned this.”
“The last thing I want is for you to worry about me when you’re about to perform for thousands of people.” You sighed.
He hummed in understanding, but rebutted, leaning down to place kisses on your cheek. “I want to worry about you. You’re the most important person in my life.”
“I’m telling your mom that.”
“Please don’t.” He pouted and took a moment to run his index finger across your eyebrows and down your nose. “I haven’t been able to sleep either.”
You pinched San's waist, drawing out a small yelp from him. “San! You promised you were taking care of yourself.”
“I was, I swear…but it really started to hit me a month into the tour. It was so hard not seeing your clothes all over the floor.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Huh? You make me sound like a slob…”
“What I mean is…the only reminder of you that I had with me was the pendant you gave me and your pictures in my phone. Nothing felt like home.”
“Oh. I almost wish that was all I had of you. Everything in this apartment and this city reminded me of you. It only made me miss you more.” His thumb stroked your cheek. "I know it's your job, but I hate when you leave."
“Me too, baby." San's eyes softened when they met your glossy ones, a small pang in his heart. He couldn't help himself as he brought his lips to yours, inhaling your sigh. What started off as soft kisses, grew more eager, months of deprivation just barely being chipped away.
San let out a noise between a whine and a groan as he pulled away. "I missed this,” he cups your face before dragging his thumb from your cheek to your now wet bottom lip. “And this.” He kisses the tip of your nose and continues to leave a perfect path of pecks down the side of your face. “This.” He places a kiss on your earlobe before taking it between his teeth, gently nipping. “You,” he whispers in your ear. “Us.” His lips leave a trail of kisses down your neck. The breath of his sigh tickles your skin, sending chills up and down your body.
You push San’s hair out his face, running your fingers through his silky, dark locks. You close your eyes, feeling your body relax just a bit too much. As badly as you wanted to keep going, exhaustion was beginning to eat away at you. “Sannie.”
“Hmm?”
“We should sleep.”
“Continue later?”
“Yes, please.”
a/n: San took a shower before falling asleep btw he is not stinky.,,,all my fics are lowkey the same lol
682 notes · View notes
erwinsvow · 7 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
“rafe? can you come over? i think i’m in trouble.” your phone call to rafe is as cryptic as you’ve ever sounded, and you never call him with such a vague message. 
“m’coming. stay there, don’t move.” he hangs up before he can ask you any more questions, mind spinning with a thousand thoughts while he speeds over to your place. are you hurt? was it because of something he did? 
he doesn’t hesitate a second, letting himself in and heading up to your bedroom, finding you sitting on the floor near your bed, wiping your eyes and staring down at a piece of white plastic in your hands. the world stops spinning for a moment when you look up at him.
rafe crouches down to you, bringing you into a hug while you cry on his shoulder. it’s not until you pull away, looking down at the stick—a pregnancy test, he realizes with his heart dropping into his stomach—that he understands what’s going on.
the two of you remain like that, silent, staring at each other, while your eyes well up with tears and you chew your cheeks with anxiety. he knows you, knows you’re terrified he’s gonna up and leave, terrified that you’ve somehow disappointed him. 
“hey, hey.” rafe tilts your chin with his hand, making you look up at him, using his other hand to wipe away your tears. “s’gonna be fine. we’re gonna be okay.” 
he’s actually saying it to reassure himself too, heart thudding in his ears. you, pregnant. he should have expected this, from how often the two of you fuck around with a condom long forgotten. it’s never gotten to this point, so the thought had sort of slipped away.
sort of. he can’t deny that it’s all too easy to cum inside you when you’re begging for it, that it’s his own choice too. the idea of you pregnant was a scary thought before, but now that it’s actually happening, actually a reality, it doesn’t seem that way. 
a vision of you—belly swollen and walking around in a pretty dress, your only care in the world what kind of baby clothes you want to buy and what color he should paint the nursery—dances around in his head. he feels his shoulders relax, his grip on your hands tighten.
“it’s gonna be okay, kid. we’ll go today, get the paperwork and get married. we can do all that wedding shit later. and we can find our own place, for the three of us. i’m gonna take care of you, alrigh’? you won’t have to worry about a damn thing.” he runs a hand through his buzz, settling on the back of his head. “well, besides the baby, i guess. and, uh, i can fit a carseat in the truck. i bet wheezie’s crap is still in tannyhill, somewhere.. i'll have to find it. and tell your parents. shit.” 
your breathing evens out, staring up at your boyfriend with big eyes. he brings you into a kiss, whispering more reassuring words against your skin.
“we’re gonna be fine, okay? you and me,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours. you melt into rafe’s touch.
“rafe?”
“yeah, kid?”
“is this a bad time to say april fools?”
Tumblr media
2K notes · View notes
l4ndonorizz · 2 months ago
Text
cooking stream gone wrong / lando norris x reader
Tumblr media
pairing: lando norris x reader
song: disclosure - latch
summary: cooking stream is not something lando does often, but when he does it's worth it. and gossip is his middle name.
wc: 1.3k
“Alright, we’re live!” Lando grinned at the camera, adjusting his headset as you stood beside him in the kitchen, waving to his thousands of Twitch followers tuning in for what was supposed to be a simple, fun cooking stream.
“Say hi!” he nudged you with his elbow, a cheeky smile playing on his lips.
“Hi, everyone!” you laughed, feeling a little awkward but excited at the same time. Cooking was not your strong suit, but Lando had convinced you it would be fun—how hard could making pasta be?
“So, here’s the plan,” Lando started, turning back to the camera. “We’re going to make...well, attempt to make some pasta. Easy, right? We’ve got everything set up, and—”
“And by ‘set up,’ you mean we threw everything onto the counter and hoped for the best,” you interrupted, earning a laugh from Lando as the chat started flooding with comments.
"Lando can’t even boil water."
"This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?"
"Who’s the better cook?"
Lando squinted at the screen, reading the comments. “Who’s the better cook? Honestly, neither of us, but I think I’ve got this. Easy win,” he said, confidently reaching for the flour to start mixing the dough.
“Sure, sure,” you teased, rolling your eyes. “Let’s see how that confidence holds up when we burn your kitchen.”
As you both got to work, the chaos started almost immediately. Lando spilled flour all over the counter while trying to measure it, and you couldn’t stop laughing as he attempted to save it by brushing the mess into a pile.
“Mate, I’m a racing driver, not a chef!” he exclaimed, looking at the camera as if that excused the growing disaster in front of him. The chat was already spamming laughing emojis.
“And yet, here we are,” you said, reaching for the eggs. “Okay, let’s at least try to make the dough...not a total failure.”
A few minutes later, you both had something that vaguely resembled dough, though it was sticking to your hands and the countertop. You exchanged glances, trying not to burst out laughing.
“This...doesn’t feel right,” you said, holding up your sticky hands.
Lando shook his head, grinning as he swiped some flour from the counter and smeared it across your cheek. “You’re doing great.”
You laughed, pushing him away playfully. “Seriously? You’re just making it worse!”
The chat exploded with more comments.
"What’s happening here?"
"This stream is pure chaos."
"They are so bad at this!"
“Alright, alright, let’s focus. We’re gonna make this work,” Lando said, trying to regain control of the situation. “We just need to roll it out, right?”
You nodded, grabbing the rolling pin. But, in true chaotic fashion, you accidentally knocked over the bag of flour, sending a cloud of white powder into the air. Both of you froze for a moment, staring at the mess before bursting into uncontrollable laughter.
“Okay, this is an absolute disaster,” you managed to say between laughs, wiping the flour from your face.
“Disaster? Nah, this is quality content,” Lando grinned, gesturing to the camera as he brushed the flour off his shirt. “Everyone loves a bit of chaos.”
The chat seemed to agree, with viewers sending donations and spamming messages about how this was the funniest stream they’d seen in a while.
With the dough finally rolled out (though not exactly perfectly), you both moved on to boiling the water. Lando confidently set the pot on the stove, turning up the heat.
“See? Easy,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel. “We’ve totally got this.”
“Don’t jinx it,” you warned, but the damage was already done.
Just a few minutes later, the water started boiling over, steam rising from the pot. Lando scrambled to turn down the heat while you frantically grabbed a towel to clean up the mess.
“I said don’t jinx it!” you laughed, trying to keep the chaos under control.
“Okay, okay, I might’ve messed that one up,” Lando admitted, wiping his forehead dramatically for the camera. “But we’re still going strong!”
As the chaos in the kitchen continued, you both got more and more caught up in the moment. Between the flour, the boiling water, and the laughter, it was easy to forget about the camera still rolling. The playful banter between you and Lando became more flirtatious as the minutes passed, and you couldn’t help but notice how close you were standing to each other now.
Lando leaned in, a grin on his face as he pretended to offer you a bite of the pasta that had somehow ended up slightly burnt. “Care for a taste, chef?”
You laughed, leaning back against the counter. “Oh, I’ll pass. Looks like you’re trying to poison me.”
But instead of pulling away, Lando stayed close, his hand resting gently on your waist. The playful energy shifted, and suddenly, the laughter faded, replaced by an unfamiliar tension. His eyes stayed on yours, the teasing glint in them softening as the air between you thickened.
You felt your pulse quicken, your heart racing in your chest. "Lando..." you started, unsure if you should break the moment or let it take its course.
He didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze dropped to your lips, and before you could even process it, his hand slid up your side, pulling you closer. His lips found yours, softly at first, as if testing the waters, but then something shifted, and the kiss deepened with an urgency neither of you had anticipated.
Your hands moved instinctively to his chest, your fingers curling into his shirt as you kissed him back, completely caught up in the moment. Everything else faded away—the kitchen, the mess, the stream. It was just you and Lando, lost in a kiss that felt far more intense than anything you’d ever shared before.
His hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him as the kiss grew hungrier, more desperate. You could feel the counter digging into your back, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was the warmth of his body against yours, the way his lips moved over yours, the way your heart raced uncontrollably in your chest.
Then suddenly, the shrill sound of a phone ringing pierced through the haze.
You both froze, your lips still inches apart, breathing heavily as reality crashed back into the room. Lando’s phone continued ringing, and you blinked in confusion, your mind scrambling to catch up with what had just happened.
Lando reached for his phone, glancing at the screen with wide eyes. “It’s Max,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.
Lando answered the call with trembling fingers. “Uh...hey, Max.”
“Bro,” Max’s voice came through the speaker, half-amused, half-panicked. “Are you guys seriously still streaming? Because, uh...you’re about two seconds away from getting banned for...whatever the hell you were just doing on that counter.”
Lando’s eyes widened in horror as he glanced at the camera, finally realizing that the chat was still going crazy. His hand shot out to shut off the stream, but it was too late. The damage was done.
You stood there in stunned silence, your face burning with embarrassment as you covered your mouth with your hand. How could you have forgotten about the stream?
“Well,” Lando finally said, breaking the silence after what felt like an eternity. “That...happened.”
You let out a nervous laugh, still feeling the lingering heat from the kiss. “Yeah. That definitely happened.”
Lando ran a hand through his hair, clearly still trying to process everything. He looked at you, his expression a mix of embarrassment and something else—something unspoken.
Before either of you could say anything more, he reached for your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I guess...we’re going to have some explaining to do, huh?”
You nodded, still breathless from the chaos of the last few minutes. “Yeah. But...I don’t regret it.”
Lando grinned, a hint of that familiar mischievous spark returning. “Neither do I.”
931 notes · View notes
norrizzandpia · 9 months ago
Note
Heyy, hope you’re having a good day.
Don’t know if your requests are open but I really wanted to ask something. Could you write Oscar with baby fever, but like a lot, to the point that Lando knows about it and makes fun of him, and he is always trying to convince reader that they are ready to have a baby and how he would love to see her pregnant and obviously showing all the time vídeos o cute babies. Then to make it a little longer you could make some embarrassing moment of this baby fever, like Oscar getting flustered (or more lol) when seeing reader with a baby or like zac listening him saying some weird stuff, something like that yk. Then after months she accept. (If you are felling writing a little angst, you could write in the same one or another part, they trying to get pregnant but they can’t and Oscar gets very frustrated and ends up venting with Lando or so and little time later they discovered she is pregnant just to end in a cute way).
If you like the idea and decide to write it, feel free to make any changes you desire, I love your writing and I’m sure you’ll make my idea a thousand time better. Thank you <3
It is CRIMINAL how long it took me to answer this superb request.
Let’s Have A Baby, Baby (OP81)
Summary: There is nothing Oscar wants more than for Y/n to get pregnant with his kid, and everyone knows it.
Warnings: sexual conversations, language, Oscar has no filter at all, an extremely graphic and sexual conversation that has Zak traumatized (pray for him), tooth rotting fluff idk where any of this came from
Note: i didn’t put any angst in this because THIS WAS TOO CUTE TO ADD ANYTHING BAD THIS COUPLE DESERVES EVERY BIT OF HAPPINESS AND MORE WITHOUT ANY COMPLICATIONS I MEAN IT.
How do you tell someone having a child at the ripe age of 22 is not a good idea?
Y/n sat at the end of the bed, watching Oscar pace back and forth as he rambled about how much he wanted to get her pregnant.
“Baby, you’d look so pretty. Please? You know how good the sex would be.” He turned toward her, eyes holding hers as he looked at her with his persuasive doe eyes.
Y/n groaned as her head fell back, “Osc, the sex is already good. Why do we need to add a child to the mix?”
Oscar fell to the floor, kneeling in front of her with his hands resting on her knees as he tilted his head, “Because it’ll be fun! And you could dress them up in little clothes and…” He trailed off, his eyes shifting toward the floor before meeting hers once more, “We’d be a family.”
Y/n’s lip pouted out, emotions running strong in her body as her boyfriend held her hands so tightly, “Oscar,” She rubbed lightly over his cheekbone, “I would love to be a family with you, make a family with you, but I just don’t think I’m ready for that right now. Your career is just taking off and I’ve just barely started to figure out what I want to do with the degree I just earned. It’s not the right time.”
Oscar sighed, head lulling forward and into her lap, “Fine. I guess you’re right.”
Y/n smiled softly and folded forward, planting a kiss into his hair as she scratched at his scalp. “This doesn’t mean I don’t ever want kids, you know?”
He gave a small smile into her lap before looking up at her, “I know. I think I’m just a bit crazed with baby fever right now. You’re right. It’s not a good time to have a whole ass kid now.”
Y/n giggled, “Glad we’re on the same page.”
Oscar stood up, moving to sit beside her on the bed. His arm hooked around her waist, pulling her into him and kissing her hair quickly as he murmured, “I still think you’d look good pregnant. With my kid, to be precise.”
“Y/n, are you seeing this?!” Oscar exclaimed as he shoved his phone in his girlfriend’s face. The TikTok he was showing her was of a little girl giggling continuously as, from what Y/n could gather, the child’s father tickled her stomach.
She blushed, “Yes, very cute, baby.”
Oscar rolled his eyes, “Exactly. Baby. I want a baby.”
“Mate…” Lando said with exhaustion, his head lulling back onto the couch he was sprawled out on. The McLaren crew members off to the side, getting coffees from the hospitality center, snickered.
Oscar’s head snapped to his teammate, “What? You’re just jealous you don’t have a girlfriend to have a kid with.”
“Oscar!” Y/n yelled, hitting his arm as a warning while Lando just keeled over in laughter.
His face was red as he got out, “Oscah! Who taught you to talk like that?!”
Oscar just smiled, “You.”
Lando leaned back, gasping for breath as he came down, “Does that mean I can be its uncle?”
Oscar shook his head, “I’m thinking godfather.”
Y/n scoffed, “We are not having a child! Stop dreaming of something that is not going to be happening for a few more years.”
Oscar shot her a quick glance with a grin, “Just wait till I give you a preview of what having a kid could let us do and I’m sure your mind will change.”
Lando’s mouth fell open, “I need to be removed from the country after hearing that come out of your mouth.”
“Oscar, there is something mentally wrong with you.” Y/n hit his arm once more, shooting him a warning look.
He sidled up to her, “Think a baby could fix that?”
Y/n groaned and Lando laughed, “OSCAR!”
“Y/n! Oscar! Do you guys think you could watch Mila while Sav, Ollie, and I all go for a walk on the paddock?” Lando asked hesitantly, eyeing Oscar with his niece in his arms.
From the way they were staring at each other, Y/n knew Oscar had put Lando up to this. Nonetheless, she smiled, “Sure!”
Oscar beamed.
Y/n took Mila from Lando’s arms, turning to Oscar as Mila stared after her uncle as he walked away. A shy child, Y/n knew Mila would do well with a bit of childish conversation.
“Mila, who’s your favorite? Uncle Lala or Oscar?” Y/n smiled, pinching Mila’s cheeks to draw a few giggles from the little girl.
Mila squealed, “Uncle Lala!! Lala!”
Y/n’s heart warmed at the way the cute child screaming the sweetest nickname. Oscar looked down at his girlfriend and, in his delusions, their child.
He cocked his head, “You fall into the role quite well.”
His comment went ignored by his girlfriend as she continued poking Mila lightly, laughing along with the young girl as her head fell into Y/n’s chest from the tickling.
Y/n smiled up at him before turning around, wandering off into the McLaren garage with Mila still tucked under her arm. Oscar wished he could take a picture. Save it for later. He loved everything before his eyes.
When he was done getting lost in fairy land, he jogged in the direction his girlfriend had taken. What he found was a sight so dear to his heart. Y/n in conversation with Mark, a sleeping Mila in her arms. Part of the reason why he loved the image so much was how comfortable Y/n looked, how Mila laid against her body so easily and how Y/n swayed as if it was second nature.
He wished she could see what he saw.
Mark nodded at him as he came to stand next to Y/n, pulling her into him by the waist and trying to decipher the topic of conversation. “You’re talking about Otmar leaving Alpine?”
“Yeah, good riddance.” Y/n sighed, hand rubbing up and down Mila’s back.
Oscar squeezed her hip softly, “I want to leave that man in my past.”
Mark rolled his eyes, “Don’t we all.”
“There isn’t any corner of the world he could be that is too far from us.” Oscar murmured, face grimacing at the thought of the horrid man.
Y/n laughed and kissed his shoulder, “It’s okay, Osc. You don’t have to deal with him anymore.”
Mark nodded along, eyes entranced with the picture in front of him. He knew Oscar yearned for kid with Y/n, but it had never looked so real before. The boy he had watched grow up, helped fight for, had all of a sudden grown into a man who pushed for children with his girlfriend. Mark knew Oscar was still young, too young for kids, but it still felt a bit odd to see him as someone’s father. It was sobering to see Oscar, his girlfriend, and a child all at once, in a position that made them look like a family. Truthfully, a part of him felt at peace to know the war was over. Oscar had found a seat, a team that prioritized him, and a person who loved him wholly. There was no need to worry about Oscar anymore. What was he to do now?
“Can I take a picture of you two really quick?” Mark asked, a question so surprising Oscar and Y/n shared a strange look.
“Sure?” Y/n said, not fully understanding the reason behind his request.
Mark moved back an inch, position his camera as Y/n and Oscar smiled. Y/n leaned her head against his shoulder while Mila stayed in her arms, still asleep against her body. He turned his camera around to show the couple what he had just captured and Y/n’s heart squeezed. Oscar almost screamed and ripped his hair out. He wanted what this picture implied so badly. With her.
He kept his composure, “We look cute, no?”
Y/n hesitated, a lingering grin on her face as she stared down at the image. Though, her smile lengthened and she tilted her head, “Can you send that to me?”
Oscar was in rare form. From the moment he had woken up, he was making suggestive comments in Y/n’s ear. To put it shortly, he was horny for the woman by his side. When Oscar got like this, he became impulsive and threw caution to the wind. Therefore, Y/n wasn’t surprised when he started rambling to her in the middle of the McLaren garage.
“All I’m saying is that you would look damn good carrying my kid.” He giggled, hand dangerously low on her back.
“Oscar…” She whispered, eyes darting around them in an effort to show him how public he was making their conversation.
He shook his head, “No one can hear what I’m saying. They’re too wrapped up in their work. They don’t know that I’m telling you how good it would feel to fuck you raw.”
She blushed, “Oscar,” She tried once more, though her voice was beginning to lose his edge.
His hand brushed her hair out of the way, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “Do you like that idea? Like the thought of me coming inside of you? Like the thought of everyone knowing you’re mine because you’re carrying my child?”
Her hand brushed up against his abs as she turned to look at him, his eyes boring down into hers. “Oscar, you are working.”
“So? We can go try for one right now, love. Just say the word.”
She tried to hold her composure, “Oscar, you are so bold.”
He kissed her softly, “Yeah? Or am I just attracted to the idea of seeing my cum leak out of you? I’d fuck it back into you with my fingers. Make sure it takes.”
Y/n rolled her eyes, but her insides clenched together.
He tried once more, “I can tell you want it. I can feel your skin getting hotter under my hands,” He brushed his fingers against the skin peeking out from her crop top, “I could be feeling you cum around my bare cock too.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but a loud throat clearing stopped her.
Oscar froze, Y/n paled.
The couple turned their heads slowly behind them, Zak side glancing them from his place inches away from them. Oscar opened his mouth to apologize, but Zak put up his hand.
“I never want to talk about this ever again.” He said, his voice so sharp it could cut ice.
Oscar’s hand flew to his mouth, “Zak, I’m so incredibly sorry. That wasn’t meant to be hear-”
Zak shook his head, “Oscar, I don’t care what the hell you do on your free time. Hell! I think it’s endearing how much you want to have kids with your girlfriend. But, I swear to God,” His eyes closed as he took a deep breath, “If I have to hear you talk about doing anything physical with your girlfriend, I will give you a bad car.”
Oscar nodded shortly, “Understood. I’m so sorry.”
Zak grimaced and shivered before giving the couple one last glance. A whisper loud enough for them to hear, “I’m so unsettled.”
Oscar turned back to his girlfriend. The woman so horrified, she refused to look at him.
He tilted his head, “It’s not that bad?”
Y/n snapped her head up at him. Her gaze fiery, it turned Oscar on. “You will never speak to me when we are near Zak, yeah?”
She walked away before he could respond.
“Y/n, that’s insane!” He screamed as he ran after her.
Lando chuckled to himself at the scene. Not knowing what Oscar had said, but inferring from the way Zak stared at a trash can like he was five seconds from vomiting into it.
Oscar stared down at Y/n as they laid in bed together, post-sex haze slowly depleting. His hand pushed tangled hair out of her face as he laid small kisses on her face, “I love you,” He whispered.
She smiled softly, “I love you too.”
From the way his eyes softened, Y/n’s being found peace. When she was younger, she had been so convinced she would never find love, never find a man who wanted to love her. Part of her wished she could go back in time and show her 16 year old self a picture of Oscar, detailing the man she would later find. Even though they fought and he got her so annoyed sometimes, he would always live to show her that what she had thought was unrealistic in love, was completely attainable. She had loved romcoms, yearning for that kind of feeling for someone else, but she was always lectured on how impossible that was. Oscar was the living counter argument to that statement. From the way he looked at her to the delicate nature of how he held her hand, she was secure in his love for her. A child was a lot, but a child was also a statement of forever. She wanted forever with Oscar, he did too. She wanted to share something so intimate with him beyond sex and vulnerability.
She wanted a kid with him.
In the silence of the night, she lightly spoke the words, “I think I’m ready for a baby.”
A year later and the sentence finally met his ears. Oscar stared at the wall behind her for a moment before letting his gaze fall to her.
“What?” Is all he could find within himself. The woman and the words of his dreams, finally a reality.
She giggled, “I’m ready to try for kids, Osc.”
His hands flew to cradle her face. He shook her head lightly as tears flooded his vision. His voice broke, “What?”
He couldn’t begin to muster another syllable, the staring was all his body could take. He wanted to memorize the twinkle in her eye as she completed his world. He wanted to think back on this moment and remember the way her hand felt against his rapidly beating heart, the way his hands got lost in her hair, the smell of her faded perfume, and the sincerity in her words.
He kissed her lips, soft and gentle as tears fell from his eyes. When they pulled back, she laughed and wiped the wetness on his cheeks, “Why are you crying, baby?”
His mouth opened and closed before speaking, “Because we’re having a kid… and I’ve found you, found the person I know the rest of my life was meant to be shared with. I think I’m just…” He trailed off, trying to find his words amongst all the things swirling around in his body, “I always knew I would be proud of myself if I got into F1, achieved a seat in the sport. I thought that would be the greatest achievement of my life, the most proud I would’ve ever been of myself. But, that’s not true because, in this moment, I am so much more proud of myself for being worthy enough of you and having a kid with you than getting a seat in Formula 1. I never thought about who I would settle down with, but now that I know it’s you, I can’t believe it was ever something that wasn’t on my mind. You are everything I ever think about. The life awaiting us and whatever tries to ruin our plans, I want it all. You are the beginning and end of my life.”
Y/n’s eyes were teary by the end of his confession, feeling as if she was drowning in the love of the moment.
When they kissed again, it felt more solidifying. Solidifying in that tomorrow, when they were filled with energy again, they would try for a baby. Solidifying that sometime, whether that was five years in the future or next week, a positive pregnancy test would sit brightly on the counter of their bathroom, affirming the forever they already knew was in store.
(ONE MONTH LATER)
How do you tell someone they’re 23 and going to be a dad?
Y/n snuck through the McLaren building at the Australian Grand Prix. Lando was in tow behind her as well as Mark and Oscar’s family, all eight of them tiptoeing toward Oscar’s room with large smiles.
Y/n clutched the pregnancy test in her hands, palms sweating heavily moments before she presented Oscar with news that would send him into sobs. No doubt.
“That one,” Lando whispered, pointing toward a black door at the end of the hallway. When they reached it, Y/n turned back.
“Who’s recording?” She asked quietly as Mark smiled and shoved his phone out in front of him.
Y/n giggled, “Screenager,” before sending him a playful glance, her teasing out of love.
With another look to the group, her knuckles rapped on the door.
“One sec!” Oscar’s voice yelled, a few moments passing before he was flinging the door open with a smile. That smile, however, soon fell slightly at the sight of everyone he ever loved standing before him.
“Oh, no. What have I done?” He asked, face dropping as he made eye contact with his beaming mother. “What’s going on?” He asked, slightly confused at the manic faces of his family and closet friend.
“Oscar,” Y/n whispered, his attention drawing to her immediately.
His head cocked to the side, “Baby, what’s going on?”
Y/n smiled, “A baby.”
His confusion grew, “What do you mean ‘a baby’?”
“Oscar…” She said once more, hands shifting in their grasp.
In the tone of her voice, he found happiness.
“No,” He whispered.
Her hands came to rest between their bodies, the pregnancy test on clear display, “Yes,”
A very concerning scream erupted from Oscar before be flung himself into the arms of his girlfriend and, therefore, everyone behind her. There was loud squeals and laughter before Oscar pulled back.
“THERE’S GOING TO BE A BABY?!” He screamed, the volume bouncing off the walls and most likely down to the garage.
Y/n nodded, “OUR BABY!”
Another scream that Lando would have to make fun of Oscar for later. The couple hugged each other tightly, jumping and down in the most giddy way. Truly embarrassing for Oscar, according to Lando, but the Brit also knew how much his friend had pleaded for this.
It was clear in the way he choked back tears; clear in the way he held Y/n; clear in the way he stuffed the pregnancy test into his pocket, mumbling to himself about wanting to put it in a scrapbook for their first child.
Maybe the moment could have been left to just Oscar and Y/n, but, as they all conversed excitedly about nine months in the future, Oscar found everything he ever needed.
Formula 1 was a bonus.
This was his dream.
Y/n and Baby 1 were his drea-
Y/n and Baby 1 were his reality.
2K notes · View notes
steddiealltheway · 1 year ago
Text
(A special post for my dear friend Cass @henderdads who is celebrating 10k followers 🫶💛 can’t wait to celebrate more milestones with you 🥳)
Eddie watches the follower count on the Corroded Coffin TikTok rise every time he refreshes their page as the rest of the band looks over his shoulder.
“I can’t believe your bat song is going to bring us to ten thousand followers. Considering it’s about-”
“Shut up,” Eddie cuts him off, refreshing the page again.
“Seriously though,” Grant says, pointing at the follower count, “We’re going to hit ten thousand pretty soon.”
“Which is a big milestone for us,” Jeff adds before circling in front of where everyone in staring at Eddie phone. “Shouldn’t we celebrate or something?”
All the boys pause for a moment, and Eddie can feel them all staring at him, waiting for some type of creative revelation as if he can just come up with something on the spot like... “I have an idea.”
Gareth and Grant high five as Eddie jumps up and points at Jeff. “Go get some lame confetti party poppers and a cheesy celebration cake.” He turns to Gareth and Grant and points at them. “You guys need to find out how to put our follower count on a laptop or something while I set up my room so we can do a livestream on Tiktok in there.”
“We’ve never done a livestream.”
“Exactly!” Eddie says clapping his hands excitedly, “That’s what will grab people’s attention and boost our follower count. We’ll tell them that follower ten thousand will get a special private video from us or something. I don’t know. Whatever they want!”
“What if they ask us to strip?” Grant asks.
Jeff sighs and puts a hand on his shoulder. “No one is going to ask you to strip, dude.”
“You never know!”
Eddie just laughs as he rushes off to his room.
“Wait!” Jeff yells after him.
Eddie pauses and turns around.
“What money am I using to by this stuff?”
Eddie sighs and digs his wallet out of his pocket, pulling out two twenties and handing them over. “If this doesn’t cover it, you’ve done something wrong.”
Jeff smiles widely before running out the door yelling, “I’m gonna spend all of it!”
Eddie doesn’t even care about his money going down the drain, he’s too excited about reaching ten thousand and being able to call Wayne about it. For now, it’s time to seriously do some work to his room in order to make it somewhat presentable…
-:-:-:-:-:-
Eddie adjusts the camera stand and the ring light he bought for their videos that he gets constantly made fun of for buying. But the guys can’t deny how much better their videos look, so he doesn’t want to hear it.
“Jeff, give me your phone.”
Jeff hands his phone over but whines, “Why my phone?”
“Because you have the best camera,” Eddie explains, setting it up and going to their tiktok page. The numbers are quickly climbing through the nine thousands, and at this rate, they’ll definitely hit 10k during the livestream.
Once everything is prepared, Eddie asks, “Ready?”
Everyone nods and Eddie starts the livestream. He waves at the camera and watches the view count grow quickly. “Oh wow. Hi everyone. We haven’t done this before, so sorry for anything weird that may happen or when Grant inevitably says something dumb.”
Eddie gets a smack on the back of the head as Grant says, “Hey!” Jeff and Gareth just look at each other knowingly and laugh.
Eddie half winces and smiles as he rubs the back of his head and reads the comments asking about the numbers on the computer. “Oh shit. Yeah! Oh wait, I don’t think I should’ve sworn. Oops. Uh, anyways!” He takes a deep breath and gestures to the computer screen. “So, this the whole reason for our livestream. We’re about to hit ten thousand followers-”
“Thanks to you guys!” Gareth interjects.
“Yes, thank you guys. Really. From the bottom of my heart. Thank you,” Eddie says sincerely, laying his hands over his heart. “And we thought that we’d do something special for our ten thousandth follower. Maybe send them a video of us doing a cover of their favorite song or something. We don’t know! Whoever it is, you get to choose.”
“But you can’t make us strip!” Grant yells.
Eddie runs a hand over his face before gesturing dramatically toward Grant. “And this is what I meant when I said Grant would inevitably say something dumb.”
Gareth and Jeff just laugh as Grant turns red. Eddie turns around and pats him on the shoulder. “You know we love you.”
“Yeah, because you would suck without me.”
Eddie turns around and looks at the camera. “That’s absolutely true.” He looks at the comments and notices people asking them questions about when they’re releasing another song and if they’re planning on touring anywhere soon.
Jeff leans over squinting and says, “Oh! Our next song is called Hellfire Rains!”
Gareth looks at him slowly and asks, “Dude, are we allowed to say that?”
Eddie puts his head in his hands. This is absolutely a disaster, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Eddie’s head pops back up. “We could do something even worse and give them a sample of it.”
He sees the comment section flood a bit with affirmations of YES PLEASE. I BEG OF YOU.
Eddie turns to the guys and shrugs. “Are you guys good if I play a weird acoustic version of it?”
All the guys shrug and nod until Jeff stops to say. “Wait, what if we hit ten thousand during that?”
“Then, you guys stop me and we look at the follower,” Eddie replies.
Jeff nods and says, “Okay, but what if I told you we’re only nine followers away from ten thousand?”
“What?!” The rest of the boys yell and turn to the computer, noticing the numbers going up.
Eddie scrambles to grab his phone and go to their page, refreshing their notifications to grab the name of the ten thousandth person. He quickly looks at the camera and says, “Okay guys, I’ll give you that cover after we hit this milestone and freak out.” He refreshes the page and grabs Gareth’s shoulder. “Wait, do you have the party poppers?”
“Shit!” He yells running to the plastic Walmart bag and digging through it, handing them to everyone.
“It’s about to happen guys!” Jeff yells.
Eddie’s heart thuds in his chest as he refreshes the page over and over.
“Holy shit!” Grant yells first as Gareth and Jeff yell to celebrate. Eddie glances at the screen showing 10,000 and laughs as everyone pulls their confetti party poppers. He turns back and refreshes the page.
He freezes.
“Eddie, man, who is the lucky person?” Jeff asks excitedly.
Eddie looks at them with wide eyes.
“What?” Gareth asks.
Eddie looks back at the name and presses on the profile, noticing their mutual followers confirming that it’s a legit account. “Oh my god.”
The guys all rush around his phone and stare at the page.
Gareth shrieks with laughter. “Holy shit! Steve Harrington? The same infamous Steve who your bat song is about?”
“The same infamous Steve who you had a horrible crush on in high school but could never get the courage to talk to him?” Jeff adds with a laugh.
“I talked to him once,” Eddie grumbles out running his hands over his face. This cannot be happening.
Gareth laughs loudly and says, “Let me recall it.” He turns to Jeff and acts like he gets flustered as he says, “Uh. Steve. Steve Harrington. You’re. Hi. Yeah. You. Uh. So Dustin and you. That’s cool. I. Well. Good seeing you!” Gareth then turns to run away quickly.
Jeff laughs loudly as Grant says, “Uh, guys?”
Eddie shakes his head as Gareth and Jeff ignore Grant to laugh about it until Grant yells, “Guys!”
They all look at him and notice him staring off. Eddie realizes that he’s staring at Jeff’s phone…which is still streaming.
They all seem to realize it at once and freak out. “Turn it off! Turn it off! End it!” Eddie yells as Grant drops the phone and Jeff scrambles to end the livestream.
They all pause and slowly look at Eddie who breathes out, “What are the chances that Steve wasn’t on that livestream and that everyone will forget about this?”
The rest of the boys slowly turn to look at each other with grim looks on their face.
“Oh no,” Eddie says burying his face in his hands. This is not going to be good.
-:-:-:-:-:-
Sure enough, the next day, there’s a viral TikTok going around of the movement that someone had screen recorded, and Eddie’s phone is spammed with texts from Dustin, annoyed at Eddie for never telling him about his pathetic crush on his babysitter.
Eddie ignores it and his friends attempt to drown out his sorrow with cake and platitudes of, “Hey, we’re actually gaining a lot of followers from this.”
Eddie just groans and buries his face in his bed. This cannot be happening.
“We did promise that we’d give our ten thousandth follower something special,” Jeff says. “So we still need to follow through with that.”
Eddie sighs, “I’m not going to message him.”
“Then I’m going to message him from our account and pretend to be you,” Jeff says.
As Gareth and Jeff encourage him, Eddie slowly sits up and says, “No. No. I’ll do it.” He begrudgingly reaches over and grabs his phone.
“And while you’re at it, people are complaining about you not doing that short cover so…” Gareth trails off as Eddie shoots him a glare.
“Okay, well we’re going to go pick up some food and give you some space so you don’t kill us,” Jeff says while grabbing Grant and Gareth and dragging them away.
“Thank you!” Eddie yells after them.
“But you’re not getting food unless you’ve sent him a message!” Jeff yells before closing the front door.
Eddie sighs and takes a deep breath before he glances at this phone, ignoring all the text notifications from Dustin, but he becomes curious about the text from a number he doesn’t have saved. He clicks on it.
As your 10,000th follower, do I still get to request something?
This is Steve Harrington by the way
Eddie nearly throws his phone but swipes to Dustin’s texts instead typing out, YOU GAVE STEVE MY NUMBER????
He scrolls through the dozens of texts, noticing a sequence of important texts he missed.
can i give steve your number? he’s asking me for it
eddie i swear he’s not mad or anything
okay i can’t promise that but it didn’t sound like he was mad
eddieeeee
eddie stop ignoring me
if you don’t respond im going to send your number
okay
im sending it
if anything happens i expect to be the first to know!!! don’t make me find out from a tiktok ever again
Eddie takes a deep breath and reasons that at least now he knows the number is legitimate. He opens the texts from Steve and stares at them. There’s no way he can text him.
And for some reason, he immediately decides to call him with is arguably a thousand times worse, but before he can hang up, Steve already answers with a, “Hello?”
Eddie swallows and tries to remember how to speak. “Hi,” he croaks out before clearing his throat and trying again, “Shit. Hi.”
“Hi,” Steve says, sounding amused.
Eddie sighs and lays back on his bed. “So, what are the chances that you weren’t on the live stream and you didn’t see that video?”
“Zero.”
Eddie groans. “I’m so sorry. I haven’t checked TikTok yet, but have people found you and flooded your notifications?”
“Uh…” Steve trails off, sounding hesitant to answer.
“I’ll take that as a yes. God, I’m so stupid. I just completely forgot the livestream was going or I never would’ve dragged you into this mess.”
Steve pauses and asks, “And what if I told you that I’m glad you forgot it was still on?”
Eddie sits up. “What?”
“What if…” Steve pauses and Eddie hears rustling on his end as if he’s anxiously twisting around. “What if I told you that I know what I want as your ten thousandth follower.”
“To punch me?”
Steve laughs, and Eddie tries as hard as he can not to latch onto the noise. “To ask you on a date.”
Eddie freezes in shock. Yeah, this isn’t happening.
“Eddie? Are you still there?”
“Yup, still here,” Eddie manages to breathe out. He pauses before asking, “You’re serious?”
“Yeah,” Steve replies, “I kind of had a big crush on you in high school, too. And I may have redownloaded TikTok when I heard about your live stream.”
“No way,” Eddie calls him out.
“Yes way. You should ask my best friend Robin. She saw the live stream and timed the follow perfectly for me. Plus, she’s suffered through my crush on you and has always been mad at me for never doing anything about it.”
Eddie can’t believe it. “Steve, can you FaceTime me right now?”
“Uh, sure. Yeah.”
Eddie clicks on the FaceTime button and waits until Steve’s face appears on the screen, further confirming it’s him and further freaking him out. Gosh, he hasn’t seen him in a while and he’s almost forgotten how gorgeous he is.
“Hey,” Steve says with a smile.
Eddie wants to melt into a pile of goo. “Hi.” He pauses for a second, getting a bit lost in seeing Steve’s smiling face on his phone. Then he remembers, “Oh! Okay, tell me again. But look me in the eye so I know you’re not lying.”
Steve chuckles and asks, “Eddie Munson, my secret high school crush, will you go on a date with me and fulfill the promise you made to all your followers?”
Eddie smiles and says, “Yes.”
-:-:-:-:-:-
A few days later, Eddie posts an update on the Corroded Coffin TikTok with a video of him singing a sneak peak of their new song then glancing off camera to ask, “Does my ten thousandth follower like it?”
Off camera, there’s a voice that sounds exasperated as they say, “How many times are you going to call me that instead of your boyfriend?”
Eddie puts his guitar down and rushes off camera quickly with a smile, but then the voice asks, “Did you end the video?”
Eddie pauses before saying, “No.”
“This is going to be a lasting issue isn’t it?”
“Maybe,” Eddie confesses.
Then, the mystery man appears in the shot, revealing Steve’s smiling face before he ends the video.
Once again, the video ends up going viral, and soon enough, Eddie is celebrating 50k with all the band members along with Steve (and Dustin who is very mad to find out about their relationship via the second TikTok). But he wouldn’t have it any other way.
2K notes · View notes
boneblushed · 10 months ago
Text
Labyrinth
Uh oh, I’m falling in love / Oh no, I’m falling in love again
Tumblr media
synopsis you’re reunited with your ex-boyfriend, Rafe, at an Outer Banks wedding.
tags Rafe Cameron x fem!reader, exes to lovers, second chance romance, slowburn-ish, A LOT of angst, an equal amount of pining, an awful breakup but a wonderful reconciliation 💓
wc ~11k
“You look,” you murmur, squeezing Brooklyn’s shoulder gently, “perfect.”
She’s sitting in front of a round, gold-rimmed mirror, the windows on either side of her painting her skin a warm aureate. You stand in shadow behind her, the sunbeams unable to reach your pretty features. There’s a wistfulness to them that’s almost imperceptible.
Almost. If she weren’t your best friend, someone you’ve known since forever, she probably wouldn’t have noticed the way you were hiding from them. The smile on her face falters as she looks up at you through the mirror.
“Look,” she begins tentatively, frowning, “if this is too hard —”
“Do not,” you interrupt. You try for an encouraging smile; what you hope is an encouraging smile. “I’m totally fine, okay? I’m over it.”
A pause. Brooklyn’s reflection sends you a long, hard look. “No one would blame you if you weren’t.”
You know what that means, the insinuation behind her words: you were supposed to be the first one. It’s all anyone in the Figure Eight was saying when they first found out about your break-up: you’re meant for each other, though, we can’t imagine you not being a couple!
Well, neither could you, not that it really mattered. Six months on with half a heart and pulseless motive, you’ve come to realise that wretched pining comes at a costly price.
You can’t afford it anymore.
“I know,” you reply quietly.
The spaghetti strap of your cowl neck falls as you straighten, the periwinkle fabric shimmering forebodingly. An image of the Rafe you knew flashes in your mind, slipping it down to press a kiss on your skin. Your stomach drops.
“But I am,” you add, louder. As though you’re trying to convince yourself more than you are her. “I promise.”
Brooklyn stares at you for a long time before her gaze falls, acquiescing with a sigh. “I hate that you still don’t believe it.”
“Believe what?”
“That he could live a thousand lifetimes and never deserve you.”
You bite back another wince, the fresh sting of forgotten feelings pricking at your eyelids. “I do believe it,” you say quietly. “I do. That’s what makes all of this so fucking hard — that I know we’re never getting a second chance. That he chose to throw all of it away and I’m never going to be able to forgive him for it.”
“You shouldn’t have to, though!”
“We were together for half our lives, Brooke!” You turn away from the mirror, taking in a jagged breath. “We — his mom had promised me her ring before she died, for God’s sake. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to walk away from what we had?”
A long pause. Brooke’s voice is gentle, but her words cut like a knife. “It’s not as though you had a choice, Y/N/N. He didn’t give you one.”
You look around at her, unshed tears making your pretty eyes shine. “What does it say about me that I’m no closer to accepting that than I was six months ago?”
“Babe.” A tear falls. Brooke’s features soften, and she pulls you into a tight hug, enough pressure to wring out the melancholy in your chest. “It says that you’re human.”
She rocks you for a moment before you’re forced to pull apart, a knock on the door breaking your reverie. “God,” you self-reproach, sending Brooklyn a watery smile. “I would find a way to make your day about me, wouldn’t I?”
“Maybe I should ditch Kelce,” Brooklyn replies faux-seriously, catching the stray tears wetting your lower lids. “We can elope or something.”
As though on queue, the Universe intervenes before she can go through with this idea. Perhaps it knows, having watched the pair of grow close throughout college, that there’s a part of her that really would call this all off if you asked her to.
“Sweetheart!” Comes Brooklyn’s father’s voice from behind the door, punctuated by the sharp rap of his knuckles. “It’s nearly time!”
The tension ebbs. Suddenly, everything about this wedding—the same one you’ve been helping her plan forever—becomes entirely too real. Your melancholia is a tide in this way, flowing forth and receding as its surroundings permit. Never fading away; ever-present. Though it may not be as unbearable now as it was when you first broke up, it lingers.
You’re afraid that it always will. You push down this fear like you’ve done every other.
Focus. Your eyes widen in anticipation, mirroring Brooklyn’s as they transform into nervous excitement.
“Come in!” Brooklyn calls anxiously, biting back a squeal. You’re grateful for the fact that you haven’t ruined her mood completely. “Oh my god. Oh my god!”
She stands up and turns around just as her father enters the room, his lined face shining with a wistful sense of happiness. As the atmosphere in the room shifts, she glances back at you, and your insides twist in cruel mocking. More repentant than jealous. I was supposed to be the first one.
You don’t let your expression falter. The first few chords of the processional float into the room through the ajar door, and you spring into action, smoothing out your dress and readjusting your bouquet of flowers.
“That’s my queue,” you say, squeezing her arm once more before slipping past her and her father.
In true Kook fashion, Brooklyn’s wedding ceremony is taking place on the Island Club green. Upon exiting the storage room you’ve transformed into a vanity, you find yourself in the entranceway that leads to the venue, the set-up just visible beyond its oak doors.
Benches of beige driftwood sit on either side of the aisle, twined with buttery white lilies and ivy-like viridescence. They face a brilliant floral wedding arch, where the officiant and Kelce stand talking in hushed whispers. And the sky above you is a vibrant, cloudless blue, golden sunlight fanning down upon the crowd, bathing them aureate.
In the beat that passes, you search for someone you shouldn’t.
The last time that you saw him, he was hunched over his father’s office desk. His eyes were bloodshot and his tired gaze dull; half-finished documents stared up at him in mocking, and a nagging ache was making home in his chest.
The week prior, you hadn’t seen much of each other. And it wasn’t as though he’d requested this space—he rarely did, rarely asked you for anything—you’d just taken it upon yourself to give it to him. Stay in control. If you proposed time apart before he did, maybe it would feel more deliberate; hurt less.
You were dead wrong.
“Look,” he sighs, this cruel, heavy sound that splices right through your chest, “I realise I’ve been neglecting our relationship a lot recently.”
“Yes,” you respond tentatively. “But you’ve been under a lot of pressure recently. I get it.”
“You shouldn’t have to.” He glances up at you through red-rimmed irises. “I… I don’t know how long it’ll be like this. With everything that’s happened… my dad dying, and me taking over the firm —”
“I’ve seen you through all of it,” you interrupt quietly, your voice cracking. “I’ve — no questions asked, I’ve done it. I get it, Rafe, you’ve got different priorities at the moment. But we’ve loved each other for so long now that I —”
“But that’s the thing,” he says then, swallowing hard, “I just don’t know if I do anymore. Not as much as I used to.”
The silence that follows feels as though it’s suffocating you. You haven’t said a word, and Rafe’s said plenty, but it’s you with the lungs that heave for loveless oxygen.
“Oh.”
Rafe’s Adam’s apple jumps again, and he breaks eye contact as unshed tears brim to the surface. “I’m sorry.”
It doesn’t make any sense.
“Maybe,” you try, grappling hard for a logical explanation, “maybe your grief’s fucking with your ability to feel anything.”
Rafe’s gaze lifts to your face again, teardrop tracks making your pretty cheeks shine. His heart aches, hard, and he finds it difficult to catch his breath. “But… I’ve dealt with it,” he says quietly. “I’ve had to.”
“How can you have?” You throw back, exasperated. “Rafe you — you haven’t had a moment to yourself since his funeral last month, you’ve holed yourself up in his office and acted like everything’s fucking okay!”
“Because it is!” He replies, his face hardening momentarily. “I’m — I’m fucking fine, alright? I just need to be alone right now.”
“Because you don’t love me anymore.”
Rafe winces. Your lower lip trembles. “Yeah. Because something’s missing… the — the fucking spark, or whatever… and right now, I can’t give you the sort of love you deserve.”
He was tired of hurting you through his abjection, he’d said. As if breaking things off wasn’t the most hurtful thing he ever did.
Thankfully, you aren’t able to spot him in the crowd; if you had, walking down the aisle would have been infinitely more difficult. Out of courtesy to you—and Brooke forcing his hand, of course—he hadn’t asked Rafe to be a groomsman either, so you were well safe from an untimely encounter at pre-wedding festivities. And from standing opposite him in front of the altar. You aren’t sure such close proximity in holy matrimony would be healthy for either of you.
It’s unfair on him though, you know it is. He has as much a right being best man as you do maid of honour — the four of you were thick as thieves once upon a time; in fact, it was you that’d introduced Kelce to Brooklyn.
It feels like so long ago when you think back on it now, being nineteen-years-old with a naïve heart and nothing to lose.
You and Rafe had seemed invincible then, high-school sweethearts that were somehow surviving college-borne distance. Forever, that’s the word that ended every drunk call or late night text; forever, and the promise of a proposal and beach-side villa.
“Shi—did you not see the sock on the door, Smith?” Rafe groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder in defeat. He’s spent the past half hour getting you into a compromising position, his rough hands awry and his wet mouth on your soft skin. The amaranthine imprint of his kisses have made home on your neck. You’re straddling him with your arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he really doesn’t want to sacrifice any amount of closeness.
Kelce enters the room tentatively, his hand firmly pressed over his eyes. “Hard to miss. You two decent or what?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
You let out a peal of laughter as Rafe glowers at his roommate, his calloused palms dropping from your hips to your thighs. You push the fabric of your dress over his hands, but he kneads the flesh anyway, the skin on skin like spare oxygen.
Kelce peeks at you from between his fingers before pulling them away, an unimpressed look on his face. “C’mon, surely you’re done with her Cameron. I’ve given you guys the entire fucking day together.”
“Half an hour,” Rafe replies, his blue eyes narrowing.
“As if you need more than five minutes,” Kelce snorts, plopping down on the bed opposite Rafe’s.
“Oh fuck—” Rafe’s large hands circle your thighs and tighten, standing up and advancing toward Kelce with you in his arms, “—right off—”
“Rafe!” You gasp, suppressing another surprised laugh. “Put me down, you asshole.”
“No way, Y/N/N,” Kelce says then, raising his arms in preemptive surrender. “Your PDA’s the only reason he hasn’t given me a shiner yet.”
Rafe affirms this sentiment by pressing a chaste kiss to your temple, his eyes still narrowed as he glares at Kelce. “You’re lucky I love my girlfriend more than I do my fucking reputation.”
Kelce makes a face, keeling over and mock-gagging. “Yeah, yeah, you guys have been bethrothed since fucking pre-K, I get it. Now will you stop being so possessive and let me have a conversation with her?”
You look over your shoulder at him, untangling your arms from Rafe’s neck so he can let you down gently. When he does so, it’s with great reluctance, and he doesn’t hesitate to circle your chest so he can pull you back against him. His strong bicep is warm against your neck, solid pressure.
“What’s up, Kelcey?” You ask, surveying him with interest.
“Ghosted,” he says gloomily, falling back against his duvet, “again.”
Rafe glances down at you at the same time you look up at him, a sage, sympathetic emotion passing between you. In the weeks after your break-up, you’ll come to yearn for this emotion more than anything else — that feeling of being immune to inadequacy, of having found the love of your life so effortlessly.
“You’ve gotta stop coming on so hard, bro,” Rafe says, resting his chin on your forehead. “These sorority chicks are probably all looking for something casual.”
“He can’t help the fact that he’s a lover boy, Rafe,” you defend, frowning. “You’ve just gotta find a girl that wants what you want, Kelce.”
Kelce raises his head hopefully. “Know anyone like that, Y/N/N?”
“Well,” you pause, chewing your bottom lip thoughtfully, “I am thinking of inviting my roommate Brooklyn to the Bahamas over summer break —”
“To Rafe’s?” This piques Kelce’s interest. He props himself up onto his elbows, a hopeful grin transforming his features. “Sold.”
How times change.
Today, Kelce stands at the other end of the aisle, waiting for the same Brooklyn that was once your roommate, now his almost wife. He’s wearing an elegant black tuxedo with a lily tucked into the breast pocket, its buttery white petals shining in the sun. He looks so, unimaginably, happy. It should’ve been you and Rafe. Your heartstrings twinge.
“You’re not ready,” you murmur as you pass him on the altar, finding your place opposite his best man, Topper.
Kelce smiles at you, a little nervous, a little unshed. “Will I ever be?”
You shake your head, smiling in tandem.
The wedding procession is a brilliant display of love, and you find a way to make it about your lack thereof. Seconds blur, minutes melt into each other, and your poor mind strays to when things were far simpler. The Island Club was your date night spot, once upon a time. It’s where you’d envisioned you’d get proposed to; where you would get married one day, too. Just like this.
You’re happy for them, you swear it. It’s just a difficult emotion to maintain when the opposite comes so naturally.
Rafe doesn’t arrive until the reception itself.
He wants to believe that this is entirely accidental — he’s had a long day at the office, filled with several meetings with prospective clients. He can’t though, his wretched conscience won’t let him. He chose to go to work today, chose to schedule important meetings at the same time as Kelce’s nuptials.
He thinks he knows why this is, and isn’t sure whether he can handle the why in a satin slip and strappy heels. He wants to believe that he meant everything he said to you six months prior, but the dreadful ache in his chest crescendos in mocking every time he tries this.
He’s made a mistake. He won’t admit this if it killed him. But he knows, deep down, that something isn’t right about all of this.
If he really didn’t love you anymore, if that fucking spark was missing, there shouldn’t have been anything to move on from—the ship should have already departed. But he’s struggling, hard, and his thoughts juxtapose his actions. Despite telling you that he needs to be alone for the time being, you remain unmoored in his mind, rocking back and forth but never sinking.
He’s done his fair share of fucking up over the past few months. Got into something else too quickly, tried that no contact thing and failed miserably. There’s no going back after everything that’s happened. And yet…
“Hello?” He greets you like it’s a question; like greeting you isn’t second nature anymore. Your stomach turns.
When you respond, your voice comes out jagged, pained. “Look. I get that you’re doing this ‘no contact’ thing, or whatever, but Sarah told me something pretty fucked up and I think you owe me an explanation.” Your voice is far weaker.
Rafe winces, a familiar ache pulling through his chest. “If this is about Elle —”
“It’s been a month, Rafe. You may as well have cheated.”
…that fucking hug.
After you’d confronted him about shamelessly flirting with Sarah’s friend, Elle—in front of Sarah, no less, who told you the second it happened—he’d asked to meet up in person and explain himself.
You weren’t quite sure what to make of it all, which is probably why you’d foolishly agreed to hear him out. Ward had hired Elle as an intern before his death; she’d been around a while, long enough for an affair.
It shifted bile into your throat.
And when you’d met him, the exact opposite of what you’d hoped had happened. He’d had the gall to tell you that he thinks something’s there, that he feels that bullshit spark that he swore was missing in your relationship.
What were you meant to say?
But then he’d apologised, recognised it was too soon, begged to stay friends. Friends—like a platonic relationship is in any way gift receipt redeemable. And ironically, hearing him out wasn’t even your biggest mistake, it was that wretched hug goodbye that you’d permitted you get.
It was as though that hug held everything unsaid. Your figure had moulded against his quite perfectly, and why wouldn’t it? He’s the only romantic embrace you’d known since you were a teenager.
And when you’d finally pulled away, separated the pieces of your heart that were finally greeting his again, you hadn’t realised that he’d think about that hug for weeks gone by, just like you.
All the way up until Christmas, which occurred two months after your sudden break-up.
It was the last time you saw him under the pretence of amicability, when you came by Tannyhill to drop off presents and see his family. Mostly him. It felt pathetic, even then; for all you knew, Elle was on his mind and you were somewhere insignificant.
Rafe’s pretty sure he’s fucking doomed.
Your laugh reverberates through Tannyhill like a siren song, and he’s pretty sure he’ll never not recognise the sound of it. It’s as though every bone in his body vibrates in tune to it—so unabashed, so freeing. Far more painful now than it used to be.
You’ve become so many Taylor Swift songs and none of them end happy.
He follows your sweet timbre to the hallway before he can help himself. Once upon a time—God, it feels so long ago now—he’d have been the first person you’d have texted before dropping by the house. Instead, as he stands paralysed at the foot of the stairs, it’s Sarah who’s hugging you, who gets to hold you in her arms.
Luckily for him, your eyes are closed in the embrace, and he’s afforded a second to recalibrate after taking you in. He’s known that you’re beautiful like his first memory on Earth, but that doesn’t mean your proximity leaves him any less winded. You’re fresh-faced with limbs that have an untouchable quality to them; you aren’t his to mark anymore, no longer his to ruin.
He can’t remember the last time he kissed you. He wants to remember so fucking bad. You’re slipping through his calloused fingers and fragments of you are all he has.
“You didn’t have to get us anything!” Sarah exclaims, pulling away faux-disprovingly.
“Hey, don’t do that, of course I did.” Your arms fall back to your side, and you open your eyes in tandem. When they flit past Sarah’s face and find Rafe’s instead, it feels as though someone has tipped ice-cold water down your singlet. A pause. “You’re family.”
Sarah notes the change in your tone with a frown, turning to look over her shoulder. “Oh,” she says, her expression hardening. “Sorry, Y/N/N. I didn’t know he was home.”
You swallow. “It’s no big,” you reply, forcing yourself to look back at her. “We’re alright, really. But I should go, I have a few more presents to drop off.”
Sarah frowns harder. “You sure you don’t want to stay a bit? I know Rose’d love to see you, we’ve all really missed having you around —”
“I’m sure,” you interrupt, handing her the bag of presents you’ve wrapped. “I’ll send her a text, okay? And listen,” you pause, your expression softening a little, “I know this holiday season’s going to be hard without your dad, and I want you to know that I’m here for you, whenever you need me.”
Sarah’s eyes well with tears. “It’s going to be hard without you too, Y/N,” she murmurs. “You’re my sister.”
Your features sadden in tandem, and you give her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And I always will be. You know that.”
“You should come to Christmas, then,” she says hopefully.
“I —” you falter as your voice cracks, grimacing slightly, “— I’m sorry. I don’t think I can.”
When you turn around, something in Rafe’s chest cracks too. He’s still hanging on to that expression-softening catalyst from a moment prior, yearning hard for the feeling of being on the receiving end of your love.
“Why the fuck,” Sarah fumes, rounding on him once you’re out of earshot, “do you have to ruin everything you touch?”
Rafe doesn’t even have it in him to wince. “I don’t know,” he responds quietly, with an honesty that aches. “If I did, maybe I’d have found a way to fix it.”
Sarah takes pause. Slight disbelief transforms her features. “You have to still love her. How can’t you?”
“I don’t know, alright?” Rafe runs his hand through his hair slovenly. “I just — I’m not happy anymore. It’s not fucking there… I don’t know if it’ll ever come back.”
“What isn’t?”
“The… the spark.”
“Bullshit,” Sarah spits out, accusatory. “The ‘spark’ is fucking bullshit, Rafe. You’re telling me you’ve felt it the entire time you’ve known her? You’re telling me this doesn’t have anything to do with dad’s death?”
Rafe swallows thickly, discomfort coating his throat. “I don’t, alright? All I know is I can’t give her what she needs right now; I don’t know if I ever will.”
To this day, he doesn’t know about your detour that evening — how instead of driving home, you took a left to the look-out where you shared your first kiss. He doesn’t know that the waves crashing ashore bore witness to your heartbreak; that sunset orange painted your tear-streaked cheeks a gentler amber. Caressed them, subdued them, where he no longer could. He doesn’t know you agonised over how much his hair had grown in your absence, the subtle stubble on his jaw, the stark outline of his biceps.
The him that’s foreign to you, now; the him that’s Elle’s and not yours.
At twenty-four years old, Rafe Cameron doesn’t know fucking anything.
Of course, once he does eventually recognise that his ‘something there’ with Elle is a rebound, it’s too late to entertain returning to you with his tail between his legs.
He can’t. Not after everything he’s put you through in the past. So he allows regret to caulk his limbs and bitterness to coat his insides, and Rafe Cameron does what he does best — pushes it down and ignores it.
Which brings him here, a non-attendee to his best friend’s wedding and an hour late to his reception.
He sidles into the venue through a pair of double doors, and the first thing he notices is the dimmed sconces and muted fairy lights. It’s the first thing, because perplexingly, the crowd is hard to discern but you glow anyway. A spotlight illuminates the centre of the room where Brooklyn and Kelce share their first dance, but they don’t draw his gaze, your beautiful features do.
Of course you do, in your strappy cowl neck slip. There’s less periwinkle fabric than he’d anticipated, more exposed limbs, and Rafe feels like he’s run a fucking marathon as he takes you in. And your pretty eyes and glossy lips cascade into a bare neck; soft skin that’s forgotten his rough touch, his bruising kisses.
It’s momentary lust that his regret promptly squashes. He can’t think those thoughts about you anymore, even if they’re almost second nature. Even if he’s spent more tangible years of his life as your boyfriend than he has a fucking stranger.
That’s what you guys are meant to be right now: strangers. His stomach coils. His tired eyes search for the open bar on instinct.
Once he’s acquired a whiskey neat and a glass of champagne, he pulls through the crowd and makes toward your figure.
You aren’t as lucky as he is to mentally prepare for a reunion. When he holds out the shimmering flute and prompts your gaze toward him, there’s a split-second of slack-jawed diffidence before you find your common sense.
God, you wish he wasn’t so easy to stare at.
He’s wearing an expression that isn’t yours anymore, with his thick brows furrowed and lips slightly parted. Yearning, but he can’t be. His blue eyes make your heart leap. Your gaze lifts before it falls, taking in his damp hair, his larger than ever frame. Both feel unfamiliar; he’s shed the skin and aureate curls your fingers once traced. Same notes of patchouli on his neck, though you note the absence of the silver chain you once bought him for Christmas.
Does he still have it, somewhere, hidden in a shoebox under his bed? (His hand is so close to your chest, it feels like you’re dying.) Is it as painful for him to see you like this after months and months of no contact?
Can’t be. Shouldn’t be. The ache may linger, agonisingly, but you’re stronger now than you were when he first ended things.
“Oh,” is all you can muster, accepting the flute of champagne. When your fingers brush, you reprimand the jolt of static. Lust may be hard to shake, but you resolve to let logic prevail. “Thanks.”
Rafe feels it too, harder, more unbearable. “Don’t mention it.”
You break eye contact to look out into the crowd, though it’s a struggle finding anything to focus on. “When’d you arrive?”
“Five minutes ago,” he admits, staring at your side profile for a second longer than he probably should. He analyses the glittery stuff on your cheekbones—highlighter?—for traces of a familiar feeling. “Work shit.”
“Ah,” you reply, raising your eyebrows at him. “Some things never change, huh?”
Rafe winces. “Look, Y/N, I —”
“I’m kidding, Rafe, relax,” you interrupt, sending him a small smile. It makes his stomach turn. “It’s all going well, I hope?”
“It is, yeah,” he responds, smiling in tandem. “Ish. Still doing a fuck tonne of late nights and weekends.”
“Bummer.” It feels strange, making small talk in this way. Strange, though not particularly as awful as you’d predicted. “How’re Rose and your sisters?”
“Yeah, they’re good,” they miss you, “Sarah’s going to UCLA in the fall.”
You nod. “She told me.”
Something in Rafe’s chest drops. He turns to you, his piercing gaze making your skin burn. “I didn’t realise you guys kept in touch.”
“We’ve always been really close. You know that.”
Because of me. “Right.” His eyes fall to your throat as you take another pull of champagne, smooth and unblemished and painfully foreign. “I’m glad.”
You turn to him then, an unreadable expression on your face. “Me too.”
A beat. The pair of you stare at each as the surroundings buzz into static.
“Listen, Rafe, I —”
“Y/N, I’ve been —”
You falter first, scrunching up your face abashedly. “Sorry. You go.”
“I…” Rafe pauses, running his calloused palm through his hair, “I guess I just want to apologise. For everything.”
Your eyes widen, and you turn away from him abruptly. “Rafe, I don’t know if now is the best time to have this conversation.”
“Shit, I know. I know I’m about five months too late and don’t deserve to be heard out.”
“Well,” you pause, chewing on your bottom lip apprehensively. Your voice quietens. “Maybe not at a wedding.”
Or ever. You tip back the rest of your champagne just as the slow dance fades out, breaking away from him. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”
Rafe fucking hopes so. He needs a clean slate if it’ll kill him. He nods reluctantly, watching you disappear into the crowd in front of him. The ache in his chest crescendos as the physical distance swallows you completely.
“We love you,” Brooklyn mouthes, blowing you a kiss through the open window. The limousine she’s in stretches forward with jet-black grandiosity, its ignition blaring alive as you catch it in mid-air.
When you blow one back, Kelce peeks over her shoulder and sends you a wink. The pair of them wave to the wedding-goers surrounding you before the vehicle pulls forward, leaving you in its dust. You watch them exit the Island Club gates, and a sense of bittersweet melancholia finds home in your chest.
That should’ve been you. You turn around as the crowd begins to disperse and find yourself face to face with Rafe once again.
“Oh,” you say, looking up at him in surprise. When your expression relaxes—in recognition—his chest pulls in tandem. “They’re sweet, huh?”
Us; that should’ve been us. Rafe nods, smiling wistfully. “Can you believe you’re the one that set them up?”
“At your holiday house,” you return, smiling in tandem. “This was a two-person wing man job.”
“Nah. You were the one that saw their potential.” A pause. “You’ve always been really good at that.”
Your brow furrows. “At setting people up?”
“At seeing their potential,” Rafe corrects. An unreadable emotion crosses his blue irises. “Even when they don’t deserve it.”
Your expression falters. You aren’t sure what to say to this, so you don’t say anything at all.
“Listen,” Rafe tries again, scratching the back of his neck, “d’you need a ride?”
“Well…”
You hesitate, looking over his shoulder for your parents. When you spot them, they’re in avid conversation with some family friends; they look extremely comfortable, like they’re going to be dawdling until God knows when.
You’re searching for justification even though he doesn’t deserve it. After all the pain he’s caused you, your wretched heart still yearns for more.
Fucking sadist.
“Actually, yeah,” you finish after a beat, bringing your gaze back to him. “That’d be great, thank you.”
His shoulders relax. “Yeah, of course. You have all your things?”
“Uh huh.”
“This way.”
You allow him to guide you to his pick-up trunk, pretend that you didn’t discern it right away. Besides, you were meant to have forgotten the location of his unofficial ‘official’ parking spot. So you follow him toward it, deny the familiarity of its number plate, and act like every dent and wretched scratch isn’t a piece of your heart.
“Shit—ow!” You curse, hurtling forward as you stall, again. “This is fucking impossible, Rafe. I quit.”
Rafe grins perplexedly, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “Baby,” he placates, “if Top can learn to drive manual, anyone can.”
You make a frustrated noise, crossing your arms over your chest. “Not me, clearly.”
Rafe lets out a laugh, unbuckling your seatbelt so he can pull you into his lap. “C’mere.”
When he does so—with entirely too much ease—he pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb so he can guide your lips against his. It’s an unhurried kiss, a sure press of emotion, as though he’s rousing the embers that live within your ribcage.
He has this funny way of leaving you out of breath no matter how chaste the embrace. You break away reluctantly, raising your eyebrows at him. “So is this the reward system you used when you were teaching him to drive, hot-shot?”
Rafe makes a face, dipping his head to sponge a kiss to your neck. “Why? You jealous?”
“Never,” you sigh, running your fingers through his hair. “You wouldn’t dream of leaving me for someone else, Rafe Cameron. The Figure Eight wouldn’t forgive you if you did.”
“I wouldn’t forgive myself if I did.” Another teeth-scraping kiss. “I’d be crazy to let you go. I’ve been in love with you since we were freshman.”
He doesn’t open the passenger’s side door for you after unlocking his pick-up truck. That isn’t his place anymore.
He wants to, anyway. You want him to, badly. This revelation passes unsaid between the two of you as you climb into the seat yourself, unscathed by chivalry.
Once you’re buckled in, your gaze lifts to the new air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. “Huh,” you say, flicking it absently, “you replaced it.”
He wants to say, you left me no choice. He wants to say, old spice smells like you. “Oh yeah,” he replies instead, clearing his throat. “Rose got me it.”
“It’s nice.”
“Thanks.”
He shifts into reverse and backs out of the park, and there’s a split second where he almost places his hand on your headrest. He can’t do that anymore. Too close; not close enough. You notice it too. An ache passes from his heart to yours.
“Are you going to take any time off over summer break?” You ask, keeping your gaze on the road ahead.
Rafe pulls out onto the main road before turning to you and responding, “I wasn’t planning on it, but I think I might need some.”
“I think you might need some too,” you agree, sending him a fleeting smile. “Bahamas?”
You don’t expect the tears in his eyes that follow. You straighten abruptly, your eyebrows pulling together. “Sorry, I didn’t mean —”
“No—shit, I just—” he falters as his voice cracks, clearing his throat again, “I don’t think I could go back there any time soon. Too many memories.”
Your expression softens. “Your dad, of course. I get it. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry about.” He takes in a jagged breath. “Shit, I’m the one that should be apologising. For everything.”
“Rafe —”
“No, listen…”
He pauses as he turns left onto your street, pulling onto the side of the road as soon as he can. He’s still a good mile away from your house, but it feels an injustice to keep you waiting for an explanation. When he turns and angles his body toward you, there’s a brokenness on his face that makes your miserable heart falter.
“I’m… I’m so sorry for everything I put you through after I broke up with you. Even if that was what I needed at the time, even if it was the right decision, I shouldn’t have been so fucking heartless and I regret not reaching out to you more often.”
You swallow thickly. He takes your silence as encouragement to keep going.
“You deserved better than the way I treated you… you’ve always deserved better than me. I didn’t know how to deal with all of my grief and I pushed you away in the process. It was… fuck, it was so selfish of me, and I’m sorry. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t hate myself for it.”
He’s taken all of the oxygen in the car, and you find yourself struggling for air. You turn to him, every drunken rationalisation manifest. “Thank you,” you whisper, “for saying that.”
“And listen, the Elle thing —”
Too much. “Rafe,” you interrupt, swallowing again. “Stop. It’s fine. I accept your apology.”
Rafe frowns, the furrow in his brow painfully evident. “Yeah? Because… because I’d understand if you didn’t.”
“Yeah,” you affirm, turning away from him. “Besides, it’s ancient history. I forgave you a long time ago in my head.”
“You did?” Rafe’s asks, searching your features in earnest. “Why?”
The champagne you’ve consumed swirls uncomfortably in your stomach. “I had to,” you say quietly. “It was the only way I was going to be able to move on from the situation.”
Rafe’s stomach drops. “Which you have.”
“Which I have.”
The smokescreen between you smothers any semblance of hope you might’ve shared. He nods, turning on the ignition once again. “I hope that means you’re happy, Y/N.”
“It does,” you reply, “I am.”
“Good.” It doesn’t feel good at all. “Maybe this means we can be friends.”
You turn to him again, raising your eyebrows. “Friends?”
“Like we were before,” he affirms, putting the car into drive. His fingers brush the bare skin of your thigh near the gearshift. A very unfriend-like jolt of static shoots into your chest. “I… I don’t know. Sometimes I think I just miss my best friend.”
Your heart sighs. “Me too.”
“Friends then.”
“Yeah,” you reply, sending him a small smile. “Friends.”
You haven’t been to Shake Shack since you broke up with Rafe. You didn’t even realise you’d evaded it so long; perhaps it was a subconscious thing, too many painful memories to bear.
You remember when it first opened up in the Banks, this egalitarian refuge nestled between the Cut and Figure Eight.
Rafe Cameron remembers too, remembers bringing you here on your very first date. Roguish at fourteen with endless charm and a handsome face, he had far less creases etched onto his forehead then; far less familial expectations to deal with.
If only you knew he’s evaded it too. When he pulls into the carpark, the aforementioned date comes forth in fragments.
When memories lie dormant so long in one’s head, they tend to lose the stitches that hold them together. Nervousness, excitement, cherry coke and a lilac singlet. The strange feeling of forever before either of you could place it. He doesn’t remember any of your conversation, nor how long the date lasted, but he remembers the cloudless sky, the flutter of new love in his stomach.
The pair of you share a look before exiting his pick-up truck. A look that says: uh oh, and insinuates far more than that.
“So how’s work going, anyway?” Rafe asks, shoving his hands into his front pockets. He’s a beat behind you head toward the entrance, and you can feel your neck burn where his eyes remained trained on you.
“Yeah, alright, same old,” you say, sending him a fleeting smile over your shoulder. His blue irises are dappled golden in sunlight, and their brilliance unsteadies you, the eye-contact like a firestarter. You clear your throat. “Sam quit.”
Rafe’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding.”
“Not kidding,” you shake your head, “he ended things with Peyton and booked a Contiki in South East Asia.”
“Shiiiiiit,” Rafe wolf whistles, shaking his head in tandem. “Is he going through some kind of quarter life crisis?”
You shrug. “Who would let someone like Peyton go, huh?”
Rafe resists the urge to wince. He can think of one person in particular who threw away something far more special. He clears his throat significantly, regret like molasses coating the sides of his windpipe. “Yeah. How’s she doing with it all?”
“Oh you know Peyton, she’s the queen of acting unbothered,” you reply, sounding reproachful. “Even when she’s heartbroken, she refuses to tell me about it.”
Rafe frowns. “Fuck that.”
“Yeah?” You send him a wayward glance, raising your eyebrows knowingly. “Cause to me, it sounds like someone else I used to know.”
There’s a pause as he meets your gaze, a frightening wistfulness passing between you. It lingers.
“Right.” You’re at the entrance to Shake Shack now, and Rafe grapples for purchase on the one thing he can control—friends. He pulls open the door and beckons you forward, “So. Is today the day you branch out and order something new, Y/N?”
When you pass by him, a tendril-like brush of shoulder on chest, the buttery scent of your vanilla perfume lingers. A lot about you does, a lot more than he’d care to admit.
Rafe’s wretched heart cycles between the old and new you like it’s trying to make them both fit within its chambers.
“Don’t think I have a choice,” you reply, sending him a smile over your shoulder. “They’ve completely revamped their menu since the last time we were here.”
Rafe raises his eyebrows at you. “They have?” You checked?
“Uh huh,” you reply, nodding. “I was going to make a reservation here for our anniversary way back when.” You clear your throat. “When I went on their website to do so, I realised that their menu was totally different.”
You leave out the part where you’d stopped by soon after, asked—no, begged—the manager to serve you the originals when you came. You know, when old time’s sake was a sacred concept. When that sweet, lovesick version of you still existed.
“Oh shit,” Rafe says. Though it’s subtle, he catches the smidge of diffidence in your voice, like the ghost of relationship’s past rearing its ugly head. You checked, for him, and you’re so nonchalant about it. Like it may have mattered then, but right now it matters far less.
He feels an awful twinge in his chest. He adds, “That sucks.” He isn’t sure whether he’s referring to the change in menu or the change in your heart’s purpose.
“I know.”
“I was looking forward to ordering the usual.”
“Me too.” You shrug. “We’re just going to have to find a new usual, I guess.”
What you mean is, make new memories that’ll replace the old ones. What you mean is, erase the nostalgia being here brings.
Also, though you’d never willingly admit it, start anew.
Rafe nods, stepping forward and glancing up at the menu. Though it’s different to the one he remembers from his youth, the interior of the diner is comfortingly familiar — same ugly yellow track lights, same checkered linoleum underfoot. Same fingerprint-smudged counter and broken drinks machine, same uniform on the workers, same greasy smell permeating.
And the same booth you were partial to nestled in one corner, it’s retro cushion covers faded as ever.
The menu, and the girl beside him. The only two things that feel different.
“Hm.” You frown, deliberating over the menu. “I’m thinking the ‘classic’. You want to split some curly fries?”
Rafe raises his eyebrows, his blue eyes full of mirth. “So the one that’s exactly your old order, minus the pickles. Got it.”
“Yes,” you decide. “Except I’ll ask them to add pickles.”
“Of course you will.” Rafe grins. “I’ll get the same.”
You gasp, faux-scandalised. “Rafe Cameron eating pickles? Now I’ve seen everything.”
Rafe raises his eyebrows. “How d’you know I’m not just ordering it to pawn ‘em off to you?”
You balk. “I don’t, I guess.”
“And yes, to the curly fries,” he adds, quick to change the subject. The bashfulness on your features dissipates, but the tension in the room weighs ever-present.
You nod, sliding your wallet out of your back-pocket. “Should we just split the bill, then?”
“No way,” Rafe says, clasping your wrist to hold it in place. Your pulse feels funny. “I got it.”
“Rafe.” You frown, shaking your head. “Look, it really isn’t a big deal —”
It is to me. “Exactly,” he interrupts. “Which is why I got it.”
Maybe you should argue some more, insist on paying until he gives in. But you don’t. Between the pulse-jolting closeness and mocking sense of nostalgia, you aren’t sure you have it in you to retaliate.
Though in an act of rebellion, you avoid your usual booth. Once you’re seated at a new table and separated by your burgers, you re-enter this stupid friendship thing you’ve adopted. The one that boasts no-strings like the red one isn’t obvious.
“So,” you say, popping a curly fry in your mouth. “You remember Maya, right?”
Rafe makes a face. “That psycho roommate you had in senior year? Yeah, pretty hard to forget.”
“Well, she hit me up a month ago to let me know she’d be in the Banks to see her boyfriend.” At his audible gasp, you nod significantly. “I know. Asked if I wanted to catch up while she was here.”
Rafe wolf whistles in amusement. “No fucking way. After the Hell she put you through?”
“I fucking know,” you reply, grimacing in disdain.
Rafe raises his eyebrows, swallowing down a handful of curly fries. “Tell me you said no.”
You raise yours in tandem. “What do you think, casanova?”
“Y/N!” He groans, shaking his head. “Why do you put yourself through this shit?”
You frown, reaching for your soda and sipping stubbornly. Condensation rolls down your palm, the soft skin shining. “C’mon! It was useful, I swear. I got the intel on Maya and her mystery OBX man.”
Rafe leans forward in interest, taking a pull of his soda too. “Go on then.”
“God, I’ve been sitting on this information for ages,” you say, your pretty eyes full of excitement. Rafe’s heart leaps. “I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out, but we weren’t talking and you were avoiding me and I didn’t know whether I should break no contact.”
It deflates just as quickly, sinking into his stomach like deadweight. “I wasn’t… I don’t know, I thought it’d be best if I kept my distance.” He sighs, sitting back and raking his fingers through his hair. “Clearly that was a mistake. I haven’t been this relaxed in fucking ages.”
You smile small. “Yeah. This is nice.”
“Nice.”
“Anyway,” you clear your throat, this sticky, molasses-like something rising from your chest, “it’s Dylan. Like Dylan fucking Young that had a crush on me in freshman year.”
“Fuck off, seriously?” Rafe replies, mirth evident on his features. “Not kidding, think it’d be grounds for a restraining order if she ever found that out.”
“That’s what I’m saying!” You exclaim, raising your eyebrows significantly. “You promise to take this to your grave, Cameron?”
Rafe nods, faux-somber, extending his pinky toward you. “He won’t hear it from me, Y/L/N.”
When your fingers entwine, you wonder whether he feels it too. It’s a jolt of static that leaves your skin warm and your insides funny, and you wonder whether the effect it has on you is endearing or pathetic.
The latter, you conclude. The red string of fate disagrees.
“Good,” you say, retrieving your hand. “Oh, and,” you take a generous bite of your burger, “did you hear that Taylor’s moving to Texas?”
“I did, actually,” Rafe replies. “From Top, funnily enough.”
You frown. “He’s still pining, huh?”
“Unfortunately.” He pulls apart his burger to pick out the green pickles, placing them onto your plate before re-assembling. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. In the offensive, fluorescent lighting, they shine up at you in mocking. “Anyway, I should probably learn to get used to it. I’m moving into Kelce’s room now that he’s happily wed.”
Your jaw slackens in surprise. “You’re moving in with Topper?”
Rafe grins. “I know. Who would’ve thought, huh?”
“But,” you pause, popping another curly fry into your mouth, “why?”
“Needed to get out of Tannyhill, I guess.” He falters, swallowing down the bile-like rise of emotion from his chest. “Too many memories.”
Your expression softens. “That makes sense.”
“Besides, Sarah’s starting college soon, and Wheeze’s off at boarding school for the majority of the year anyway.” He shrugs. “And Rose… well, she’s at the Bahamas house more than she is in the OBX.”
“Too many memories,” you repeat, frowning sadly.
“Yeah. I guess.”
There’s silence then, the comfortable kind. An emotion passes between you that feels both familiar and new at the same time.
It matters less when you finally finish, what you speak about, whether you’ll meet again. All you know is, something feels different now, as though there’s embers that this reunion has reignited in your ribcage. Dormant though they had once been, you’d always hoped that the renewed hope would set them aflame.
The next day, you wake up to a text from Rafe.
thank you for yesterday. It was really nice.
You don’t have it in you to reply; Rafe doesn’t mind. He knows you feel the same way.
It’s a few weeks before you see him again, at a farewell party for Brooklyn and Kelce.
Prior to embarking on their honeymoon, they were shifting their lives to Chicago; laying down the foundations of stability so they could return to a clean slate.
It upsets you to no end. You’d always assumed that her marriage to Kelce would guarantee that she settles down in the Banks.
Rafe Cameron must remember this, the way he does everything else. He hands you a beer and clinks his own against it, beads of condensation sliding over his calloused hand.
“Huh,” he murmurs, shaking his head in faux-disappoint, “so much for staying here and ruling the Eight with an iron fist.”
“That’s what I’m saying!” You exclaim, taking a generous pull of beer. Rafe’s gaze falls to the bare column of your throat, and he temporarily loses his bearings. “Does loyalty mean absolutely nothing around here?”
Rafe grins appreciatively. “They’re bound to come back, you know.”
“And how can you be so sure?”
“Because,” Rafe pauses, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “we were all cursed by the hometown witch when we were babies.”
You let out a peal of laughter. “Is that why I came back here after college?”
It isn’t lost on you that Rafe is standing far closer to you than he should. His spicy, cedar-wood cologne presses over your figure in waves. He bows his head to eye level, still grinning his mirth, “It’s why we all did. It’s also why they aren’t going to last more than a year in Chicago, I’m calling it now.”
“Who isn’t going to last more than a year in Chicago?” Comes Brooklyn’s voice from behind him, pulling the pair of you from your reverie.
He breaks away and turns to find her standing behind him, her eyebrows raised accusatorially at your closeness.
You smile guiltily at her, raising your arms in surrender. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t deny it either!” Brooklyn reproaches, faux-scandalised. She sends Rafe a playful glare, reaching for your arm and pulling you away. “I’m rescuing her from your bad influence, Cameron.”
Rafe nods sagely, taking a sip of his beer. “I think that’s wise, Astor—” he balks, shaking his head, “—sorry, Smith. Shit, Brooklyn Smith, huh? Guess I can’t do that last name thing ‘round here anymore, can I?”
“Not with us,” she replies, turning the pair of you around. She sends you the ghost of a wink before adding, “Y/N’s fair game, though. You know she’d rather die than take a guy’s last name.”
Something in Rafe’s chest deflates. “Yeah?”
You frown at him over your shoulder, mildly bewildered. “You knew that, Cameron.”
Maybe I thought I was different. “True.” He raises his beer bottle in acknowledgement. “Besides, Y/L/N suits you too much.”
Not as much as Cameron would have, once upon a time. You nod approvingly, the twinge in your heart conveying the exact opposite. “Doesn’t it just?”
Brooklyn steers you to the kitchen under the pretence of grabbing a drink, her true intentions becoming obvious when Kelce pivots into earshot on his barstool.
“So?” She prods, rounding on you once you’ve halted. “What’s the deal?”
“Deal?” You echo, feigning confusion. “What deal?”
“Don’t do that,” she replies, narrowing her eyes accusatorially. “Are you guys seeing each other again?”
You swallow. Your gaze darts to a helpless-looking Kelce. “Why? Has he said something?”
“That’s the thing,” Kelce mutters, shaking his head thoughtfully. “He hasn’t. But he’s… different.”
You frown. “Different how?”
“I don’t know… chiller. Happier. Like he was before Ward passed away.”
“Of course he is,” Brooklyn snorts, not buying it for a second. “He’s finally being absolved of all his guilt!”
“Brooklyn…” you sigh.
“What? It’s true!” She asserts, crossing her arms across her chest. “He’s… listen, Y/N, whatever you think this is, you need to snap out of it. He’s proved time and time again that he doesn’t have the emotional capability to deal with his shit, and you’ve been made collateral too many times to forgive him this quick.”
“Quick?” Your chest feels on fire. Isn’t seven months of torture enough exoneration?
“C’mon baby, you’ve gotta cut him some slack,” Kelce assuages, gentle but firm. “He fucked up, sure, but he also lost his dad, remember?”
“Grieving or not, he shouldn’t have pushed her away.”
“Granted, but we’ll never know exactly how he was feeling —”
“We shouldn’t have to, you just don’t do that to someone you love —”
“I’m still here, you know,” you interrupt quietly, frowning. “That someone that Rafe doesn’t love.”
A pause. Its silence that’s distilled in the overhead lighting, the scene beneath it awash in dim regret.
Brooklyn’s features are softer when she breaks the silence. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I just… I worry about you.”
You know she does; it isn’t her fault. She’s the one that slept over for four weeks straight post break-up, forced food down your throat and wiped away all your tears.
“Don’t apologise, Brooke, I get it,” you say, sending her a small smile. “But I’m fine, I promise. This isn’t even… this feels different.”
“Different how?”
“Like… you know that saying: ‘You’ll never find the same person twice, not even in the same person’? That’s how this feels. We haven’t fallen back into old habits.”
Brooklyn regards this for a moment, surveying your features carefully. “But you’ve been hanging out?”
“Only once,” you reply honestly. “Sent a few texts back and forth, that’s all. If… if anything were to happen, it’d be like a new relationship, not like restarting the old one. You know?”
“I do.”
Kelce smiles. “That’s… shit, that makes sense.” There’s a wistfulness to his voice. “That’s why I couldn’t figure out what it reminds me of, this different him that’s chilled and happy.”
You furrow your brow. “Hm?”
“It’s freshman year him all over again,” he explains. “You know… when the two of you got close the first time ‘round.”
“Oh.” Your heart soars. “Square one, huh?”
Kelce shrugs, sharing a meaningful look with Brooklyn. “Square one I guess.”
You’re about to respond when Rafe’s figure pulls your gaze, his crossed arms and broad shoulders blocking the kitchen entrance. He’s wearing a handsome expression and his hair is perfectly unkempt, the heady scent of his cologne juxtaposing his lack of proximity.
Sometimes, life is unfair. Your ex-boyfriend, now new friend, eliciting such un-platonic thoughts is one of those instances.
And it isn’t as though you’ve given Rafe much of a break, his blue eyes caught on your figure like a moth to a flame. You aren’t wearing a dress he recognises, which is both a delightful and agonising revelation.
Delightful, because it reveals bare expanses of skin that make his wretched hands itch in longing. Agonising, because it’s a reminder of the seven long months that he’s had to spend grappling with your absence.
Having a smile as pretty as yours is extremely unfair, all things considered. And eyes. Soft skin. He needs to stop staring before he does something stupid.
“Perfect,” he announces brusquely, “are we hosting our intervention now?”
He looks at you expectantly. You raise your eyebrows. “You know,” he adds, “the one where we beg them to stay in the Banks?”
“Hey!” Brooklyn exclaims, her green eyes full of mirth. “What d’you mean stay in the Banks? Newsflash, I’m not even from here.”
“You’re not from Chicago either, Ast-Smithy,” he returns significantly, sending her a meaningful glance. “Besides, you married into a Figure Eight family. You are very officially one of us now.”
“Not for long!” Brooklyn sings, sending you a wink.
“C’mon, Smith,” Rafe tries, turning to Kelce and feigning disappointment. “What happened to our sacred pact?”
“We were eight, Cameron.”
“And already privy to the tragedy of small-town life,” Rafe sighs faux-dramatically, nodding in agreement. “I’m bitter, alright? I thought I’d be the first one to get out of here.”
He glances over at you fleetingly as he says this. We’d be the first ones, his heart corrects in vain.
“As if,” you scoff, raising your eyebrows. “Mr Cameron fucking Development leave this place before me? No chance.”
Rafe grins roguishly, his blue eyes shining with amusement. “You’re all talk, Y/L/N. We both know it.” He sends Kelce and Brooklyn a meaningful glance. “We all are.”
“Yeah, yeah, we’re going to be here all fucking night if we keep arguing about this,” Brooklyn decides, patting Kelce’s thigh to prompt him to stand. “C’mon, baby, we should probably get back to mingling.”
“You know,” she adds, narrowing her eyes playfully. “‘Cause it’s the last time we’ll see some of these people.”
You let out a laugh, shaking your head bemusedly. Any retaliation on Rafe’s tongue fails at the timbre of it.
Once they’re out of sight, you turn to him, adopting a faux-somber look. “If we are truly doomed to a life in the Eight, will you promise me something?”
He’s still grappling with the fact that he’s a man starved of your beautiful laugh, now reborn. “Go on.”
“Should you find me yelling at Island Club employees about flower arrangements or charcuterie boards, shoot me.”
Rafe laughs, and it reverberates through your bones warmly. “And suffer alone? No way. I’ll meet you in the middle. Lobotomy?”
“No thoughts in my brain? So generous,” you tease. “Alright. It’s a deal.”
Rafe clinks his beer bottle against yours in confirmation, taking a generous pull of the bubbly liquid. “Can we trade promises?” He asks.
You take a sip in tandem, maintaining eye contact as you do so. There’s tension in the air, that familiar-new feeling manifest, and it’s no longer frightening, but rather a comforting embrace.
You marvel in it. Breaking free feels fruitless. “Yes.”
“If you make a plan to settle elsewhere, will you tell me?”
“Of course I will.” A pause. “Although, I think you’re right. I don’t think any of us are truly capable of leaving permanently.”
“If anyone is though, it’s you,” he says, so matter-of-factly, like he actually believes it. “I mean… you’re the only one who had the balls to go to a college out of state. The rest of us just accepted a cushy offer at UNC.”
“Doesn’t matter,” you dismiss. “I was back here so often I barely left.”
Rafe raises his eyebrows. “Only because you had a reason to come back.” You still do, if you’ll take me.
I still do, if you’ll take me. “True.” You frown, thinking on this for a moment. “Even so… I don’t know. Maybe it’s that hometown curse talking, but I wouldn’t want to raise my kids anywhere else in the States.”
Rafe’s gaze steadies, pulsing through you in waves. “I get that. We had a pretty sweet childhood, all things considered.”
You make a face. “Like, I don’t think I can deal with this iPad kid epidemic. Least we were sheltered from all that crap, you know?”
“Yeah,” Rafe replies, raising his eyebrows significantly. “Even if there were plenty of other things to jade us with.”
“Shit, I know,” you respond, laughing bemusedly. “See, only people from the Eight know how political beach clean ups can get.”
Rafe chuckles in tandem, taking another sip of his beer. “God, our lives are fucking ridiculous.”
You raise your bottle in agreement. A comfortable silence falls between you.
After pause, Rafe speaks up again. “You know,” he says quietly, an unnameable emotion flickering across his blue irises. “I don’t even think it’s everyone in the Eight.”
You balk. “Hm?”
“The whole, knowing each other thing,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “You’ve always understood me better than anyone else.”
Your traitorous heart leaps, and you force yourself to ignore it. Actions have always spoken louder than words, and you decide now’s as good a time as any to confront him about this.
It’s time to be brave, you decide. You say, “I find that hard to believe.”
“Why?”
“Elle.”
Rafe’s miserable heart falters, penitence like a lump in his throat. He’s been preparing for this accusation since your very first reunion, but it still doesn’t feel like enough; he’s a coward trembling at the frontlines, anyway.
“I’ve… we’ve… my therapist and I have talked about that situation at length.”
You eyes widen in surprise. “Your therapist?”
“I’ve been going to therapy, yeah,” Rafe replies, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “For a month or so now, every week without fail.”
It isn’t lost on you that Brooklyn and Kelce’s wedding was a month ago. The rift in your ribcage widens.
“Has it been helping?” You ask.
“A bit,” Rafe admits. “Mostly just to validate what I knew all along, I guess.” At your silence, he continues, “That… shit, that I’ve got this problem where I push people away when I need them the most. The Elle thing, there’s no fucking excuse for it, none, but it became pretty obvious after you confronted me that she was just a rebound.”
“A rebound,” you echo.
“A distraction, an escape… I don’t know.” He rakes his fingers through his hair slovenly. “All I know is, I didn’t care about her, so I didn’t have to push her away. She didn’t make me talk about my dad, my grief, anything, so she was easy enough company to have around when I felt like it.”
“Oh.” You swallow. “But I did.”
“But you did,” Rafe affirms, grimacing sheepishly. “Shit, all you fucking did was care about me and all I did was push you away.”
You try to be pragmatic. “Grief makes people do shitty things.”
“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t deserve it.”
“True.” A pause. Your gaze falls over Rafe’s face in paces, his haggard expression making you soften. “Listen. I’m glad you’re going to therapy, seriously. I know that’s a pretty big step for you to take.”
For you. “Thank you,” he replies quietly. “It… I just wish I’d listened to you the first time, you know? When you’d told me to go to therapy before I’d ended things.”
Your throat feels funny. “No use living in the past.”
“You’re right,” Rafe replies. A pause. The ghost of a smile flickers over his features. “What did I ever do to deserve your forgiveness?”
You smile in tandem, a little rueful. “Maybe you were a martyr in your past life, Cameron.”
“And you’re one in this one,” Rafe responds. “You know, after I lobotomise you over flower arrangements and charcuterie boards. Does that count as a full circle moment?”
You grin. “Not when you live on the Eight. Infinity sign, baby.”
It slips out before you can stop yourself, the ghost of pet-names past pushing Rafe’s pulse to fibrillation. Your eyes widen abashedly. “Should we rejoin the party?”
Rafe nods, “Probably,” and then, when you’re just out of earshot, “I’d do something stupid if we didn’t.”
Over the next few weeks, you begin to see more and more of one another.
A few texts back and forth become more than a few virtual trysts, and every spare moment you have is dedicated to being in each other’s presence.
And it isn’t as though you’re mending old love, this feels like something else altogether. Though old memories may flit through your brain on occasion, they are boundless and free — they don’t define this connection.
You’re starting anew. Rafe realises it too.
He still remembers how it felt to tell you he loved you the first time around, fourteen years old with a bashful smile and enough hope in his heart to ache. He still remembers what you were wearing the first time he drove you around; the first time you came to UNC to visit; the shade of lipgloss you worshipped from Sephora. And you remember it all too, the feeling of being in his pick-up, of being with this roguish, freshman boy that had so much charm your insides soared.
Going through it all again feels like receiving a new lease on life. How lucky are you to love a different person in the same man?
Currently, the pair of you are sprawled out on beach towels, velvet dusk revealing the bespangled sky stretching above you. Beside you, take-out boxes and sodas lie in the sand, discarded. Every now and then, his wrist brushes yours with a jolt of static.
You’re lying closer to each other than you should, his body heat pressing over you in paces. He’s pretty sure his clothes are going to smell like your soft-toned, vanilla perfume later, and he quietly delights in this.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says finally, breaking the silence.
You smile. “Shocker.”
He nudges your shoulder with his in faux-admonishment, turning his head toward you. It lingers; he’s closer. Your pulse feels boundless. “I’ve been thinking,” he repeats. “And I’ve realised something.”
You turn your head in tandem, his proximity making you balk. “What’s that, Cameron?”
“If we hadn’t broken up in the first place, I’d probably never have gone to therapy.”
A hush falls. “True.”
“And I’d never have worked through my emotional unavailability and all the problematic shit that comes with it.” He pauses, a heavy emotion making his blue eyes somber. “We’d have stayed together, but I’d never have become the man that you deserve.”
You swallow. “Is that what you are now?” You murmur, your voice unsure. “The man I deserve?”
“I don’t think so,” he answers quietly. “Don’t think I ever will be. But… but I’m working on it, properly this time. And getting to know you again, for real, has made me realise just how worth it this is.”
It’s too much. You make to turn away but Rafe’s hand stops you, gentle but firm on your face. His thumb swipes over your warm cheek in comforting circles, and you find yourself leaning into his touch inadvertently.
Uh oh, you’re falling in love. You sigh. “It feels inevitable, huh?”
“D’you believe in soulmates, Y/N?”
Your lashes flutter shut in response. Rafe inches closer still, his hand slipping down to your jaw, and when he kisses you, old embers create a new flame within your heart. It’s chaste, unsure, a second first kiss. And yet, though it’s soft, the press of his lips is a ravaging embrace.
“Do you, Rafe?” You return, opening your eyes tentatively.
His gaze is still trained on your pretty mouth, less iris than pupil as his yearning transcends everything else. He presses his thumb on your lower lip gently. “Only if it’s you.”
“I think I am,” you murmur.
Rafe smiles. Oh no, he’s falling in love again. “I think you are too.”
I thought the plane was going down / How’d you turn it right around?
1K notes · View notes
natalievoncatte · 3 months ago
Text
Alex worked the skin of her forehead with her fingers, angrily kneading the flesh in a vain attempt to suppress a pounding headache.
“I’m telling you, I’m fine,” Kara insisted.
She was not fine, damn it! Kryptonite exposure was serious, even if it had no apparent, immediate effects. The little chunk of vibrant purple rock was currently in a lead-lined chamber where Brainy was mercilessly prodding at its secrets, trying to figure out exactly what it did other than make Kara sweat profusely when she was within ten feet of it.
“I don’t feel sick. What’s the big deal?”
“Red Kryptonite didn’t make you sick at first, either,” said Alex. “You’re not leaving the Tower until I’m certain you’re not going to track down Cat Grant and fling her off the nearest roof.”
Kara, seated on her hospital bed in the med bay, crossed her arms and pouted theatrically. “That was one time.”
She sounded a little brittle, probably because they didn’t talk about that. Well, they did -Kara cried for hours- but afterwards the whole thing became a sore spot and it was clear they they weren’t going to talk about it again. Alex could hear the little crack in Kara’s voice, the touch of strain that signaled how on edge she was.
“Running off and hiding won’t make it any less real, kiddo,” Alex sighed. “Once we’re sure you can go, but no Supergirl for at least a week. I don’t know if what that stuff did to you, but I don’t want to risk your powers shutting off while you’re thirty thousand feet up, or something.”
Kara huffed. Fine.
It was an abundance of caution, to be sure, but the others could pick up the slack. Kara had taken breaks before, and the world didn’t fall apart. Sometimes Alex wanted to just grab her and shake her for all the good it would do. Kara deserved some time off. She deserved to be a person too.
“What’s going on?”
Alex looked up and tried to conceal her relief as Lena walked into the room. Alex liked this new Lena a lot more, the Lena who ran a charitable foundation and didn’t straighten her hair anymore and wore hoodies most of the time. This Lena was friend-shaped, as it were, and put her at ease.
Almost.
“Kara was exposed to a new form of Kryptonite, and…”
And she was off the bed.
Kara was already on her feet. Her pupils were so dilated that her eyes were almost black, the blue almost absent. She was staring at Lena with such an intensity that Alex was afraid she was about to attack her.
Lena looked panicked, but not by the Kryptonian staring her down. “What? Where is it? I need to see it right now, what if…” Lena trailed off, her face going slack for just a moment.
Alex stared at her. What the fresh hell was this?
“Guys?” said Alex. “What’s wrong with… you…”
Kara stalked forward, walking in a hip-popping sashay that would have made a Victoria’s Secret model blush, surging into Lena’s personal space, and… sniffed.
Then sniffed again.
Kara was smelling her.
“Uh,” said Alex.
Lena looked up at her -in flat shoes she was noticeably shorter- and sniffed back. Alex’s jaw went slack.
“Okay,” said Alex. “I’m going to need one of you to explain why you’re doing… that. Like right now.”
They both ignored her. Lena slipped in close, ducking under Kara’s chin, and sniffed at her again. It looked quite a bit like she was about to press her mouth to Kara’s throat, which was both shocking and… seriously, five fucking years of these idiots shooting and missing was bad enough, but right in front of her?
“Hey,” Alex said, taking a step towards the door. “Uh, we good?”
Kara wrapped Lena up in her powerful arms and nuzzled her nose into Lena’s hair, her chest thrumming with a loud purring sound.
“I’m in the room,” Alex deadpanned.
“Alex,” Brainy called, rushing up the hall.
A powerful… scent, or maybe an odor, washed over Alex and she nearly gagged. Whatever it was, it was making Lena try to climb Kara like a tree. The moment Lena popped one of the snaps on Kara’s cape and it fell halfway off her back, Alex bolted for the door and yanked it shut behind her as she stumbled into the hallway.
Brainy was outside, snd Nia was with him.
“Alex, I have good news. The radiation from the lavender Kryptonite sample appears to be entirely benign, although curiously it seems to have activated some anatomical peculiarities that appear to be, so to speak, left over from the evolutionary ancestors of Kryptonians.”
Alex groaned. “Such as?”
“Scent glands, and a peculiar ability to-“
“Guys,” said Nia. “What is that noise?”
Brainy paused, focusing. “I believe that Lena just addressed Kara as…”
“Did she say ‘daddy’?” said Nia.
“Shut up!” Alex barked, slapping her hands over her ears. “I am not hearing this, tralalalalalalala I’m going to the bar!”
“Yeah, I’m coming too,” said Nia.
Brainy turned, listening.
“Evidently, so is Lena.”
“I hate my life” Alex muttered.
406 notes · View notes
certifiedlovergirlsstuff · 5 months ago
Text
kiss kiss fall in love | s.r. x pregnant!fem reader
your hormones have peeked at your five month mark. your belly started to properly show now and your tastebuds were only slightly concerning. at least the morning sickness was gone, top two worst things about pregnancy, second having to give birth.
you lounged on the couch as you watched your daughter and husband playing on the floor, bits of their hair covered their faces in a curtain. spencer was already teaching her the ways of chess, she asked him many questions.
“how come the queen isn’t wearing a gold crown? she’s special.” holding a black chess piece in her small palm. you chuckled at the childish question.
“well she is wearing a crown, but if you want we can paint it gold. she is the most important piece of the game.” spencer agreed with annabeth, ruffling her locks. he stood from the ground, made a quick stop to kiss your cheek and went into the hallway to comeback with the craft supplies box. he pulled out the paint pens, “why don’t you decorate all of them how you want? it’ll be our special set.”
annabeth went quick to work on coloring over the pieces, some covered in swirled and dots while others had hearts or stars. she even drew a couple of happy expressions, then one sad one, “because he’s just a pawn.” you and spencer chuckled at her reasoning.
you rubbed your palm along your swollen stomach, old stretch marks reappearing at the bottom. your cotton shorts and simple tank feeling suffocating even with minimal fabric. “oh!” a tiny yelp from your lips, eyes widening and mouth pursing.
spencer snapped his head your way, “what’s wrong?” hurrying over to you. annabeth stopped her work to watch both of you with her big eyes. you let a smile ease onto your face, “the baby kicked.”
annabeth scrambled over, “can i feel?” tucking her hands into her chest for restraint. “of course, sweets. here,” holding a palm out for her tiny hand to sit and you guided it over to where the kick happened.
“try speaking to them. they like hearing our voices,” whispering to your daughter when the baby didn’t kick right away. little annabeth leaned in close, her lips grazing your ticklish skin, “i can’t wait to meet you. i’m gonna be the best big sister to you.”
it took a moment but then another kick appeared, “kick! i felt a kick!” she squealed, giving a little jump to her body. she looked to spencer, “daddy! daddy feel the baby!” reaching for his hand like you did earlier.
spencer cooed and gasped with annabeth when another kick appeared. “hi little one,” spencer whispered close, “i’m your daddy and your big sister is next to me. we can’t wait to meet you.” another strong kick followed.
“okay, how about we give mommy a rest. cause my organs aren’t feeling happy about being a soccer ball.” ruffling at your daughter hair. annabeth pressed a kiss goodbye to the growing baby and went back to her art project.
spencer joined you on the couch, arm thrown behind your head and resting on your shoulders while you leaned into him. “how are you feeling? need anything?” his rich voice caressing your ear and making your heart race.
you turned to him with a bright smile, “i do actually. i need a thousand kisses from you. haven’t been given my usually attention.” pouting exaggerated.
spencer looked surprised, “a thousand? man i must be really behind.” clicking his teeth. you nodded, “you have mister. better get started.” puckering up with your eyes closed.
spencer’s light giggles filled your soul and then his lips on yours caused a craving. “more,” a quiet demand.
a fast peck, “oh this is gonna take awhile.”
a lingering drawl, “we’re getting somewhere.”
another fast kiss, but you could tell spencer didn’t move far away. his breath tingled your wet lips, “i’m gonna have to call hotch to babysit if you want all those kisses.” a fifth kiss before his weight left the couch and his footsteps disappeared. you thought it was a little funny he was gonna call his boss on an off day so your child and his could have that playdate that’s been in the works.
“bethie,” calling for your daughter with outstretched arms. she worked her way beside you on the couch an wrapped her arms in a side hug, here genetic reid puppy eyes glaring upon you. “would you be okay to have a playdate with jack today?” smoothing a hand over the crown of her head.
“really?” eyes wide with excitement. you nodded, “you have to be a good girl for mr and mrs. hotchner. that’s daddy’s boss and our friend, say please and thank you. and also make sure you’re cleaning up after yourself.”
spencer walked back into the living room, “the hotchners are on their way. and they happily agreed to bethie joining them on their trip to the aquarium.” scooping annabeth up, both of them yelling “aquarium! aquarium!”
“i wanna see the stingrays!” annabeth declared to jack when him and hotch appeared at your door fifteen minutes later. the three of you watched the two chat while you packed her little backpack of supplies, you handed it off to hotch with a grateful smile.
“thank you for accepting on short notice. i just really want to be alone with my husband, im deprived of attention. i’m wilting like a flower.” sighing and aching as you talked to hotch.
the older man smiled and lightly chuckled, you’re one of the few to crack that stone facade spencer says. “jack’s been missing her anyway, he was trying for a sleepover as well tonight.” you raised your brows, “we’ll see how the afternoon goes.”
once you were completely alone, you dragged spencer behind you into your shared bedroom. “more kisses please,” sitting at the foot of the bed.
spencer moved to stand in the space between your spread legs, his hands cupping at your cheeks like you were fine china. your wandering fingers slid under his plain t-shirt, sitting in his waistband and rubbing against his slim stomach. “don’t keep me waiting, pretty boy. i will start getting angry.”
spencer bent in and let his plush lips mesh with yours, his nose tickling at your cheek when he changed angles to broaden the intimate act. a hum sounded from your throat as you opened your mouth wider and let your tongue wonder, desperately needing a french kiss. a moan echoed in the room as spencer moved from your lips to your jaw, further down onto your neck.
“this- this is nice,” letting a hand sink into the ends of his hair. your nails scratching at his scalp as your eyes fluttered and pulse spiked.
“i love you so much,” lips causing a shiver to erupt. you sighed, “i- i love you too. so lucky for- for marrying you.” your hands starting to mess with spencer’s belt and zipper.
“gonna show you how loved you are.”
864 notes · View notes
justliketoreadsowhat · 4 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Saturday Night Lights ❦
- 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 -
𝐀/𝐧 ; 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝, 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 ♥︎, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 & 𝐈’𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐠𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐦 𝐫𝐞-𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞.
____________________________________________
“You look so beautiful tonight” Paige expressed her admiration for you, her eyes roaming across your features relentlessly, it became like a second nature to her, no matter where you two were. 
As for tonight, the Washington Spirts Soccer game was one of the many side quests you two had planned together. If there was ANY women’s sporting event occurring within a 30-mile radius, you could bet money you two would be in attendance. 
“Mmm.. so what about all the other nights?” you teased, knowing you’d be amused by her reaction, you just loved to egg her on. 
She clicked her tongue at your antics, “You look beautiful every night baby, but you already knew that” her tone low and soft eyeing your facial expression.  
“Ewww! Can you guys stop being so cringey and watch the game” Drew groaned dramatically, moving over 2 seats away from the two of you. He never failed to make you laugh even though he was being so serious, he was definitely a 2.0 version of Paige. 
“Just relax and eat the popcorn you begged me for”, she side-eyed him playfully
“Now you’re just dragging it, I can’t wait until Azzi gets here” shaking his head shamelessly, fixing his pride hat in the process. 
“She’s not gonna save you Drew” you laughed, reaching over to flip the top of his hat inside out. You loved messing with him every chance you got, over the past few months, he’s become one of your greatest little sick kicks. “Eh she might, y’know she has her favorite children, too bad you’re not one of them” she shrugged. 
“Not too much on Drew!” you snapped, mushing her face into your hands. “Guys! stop you’re on the big screen, look!” 
Both of your eyes jolted upwards, only to meet eyes with the jumbotron zooming in on the two of you. The stadium erupted with loud cheers and applause that shook the seats. 
“They left out Drew” she muttered through her cinematic smile, waving at the screen. 
Without a 2nd thought, you pulled Drew back to his designated seat next to you, he cheesed at the screen with delight 
“Yeah that’s definitely getting posted on Tiktok, guess you’ll have more to add to your collection hm?” a familiar voice rang from behind you. “Azzi! finally, I was getting tourtered out here” Drew said exasperated, pulling her down into a tig hug. 
“Wow so now we’re lying for fun” her nose scrunched up in disbelief, “remember those words” 
“Gosh what did ya’ll do to him this time?, kiss??” she questioned lingering with sarcasm. 
“No! we’d never do that“ 
“THATS A LIE! I still remember that day I caught you guys outside-“ 
“Okay anyways!” you intervene, saving yourself the embarrassment of re-living the moment. “There’s a spokesperson heading our way so act like civil human beings” 
“I already talked during the Mystic game so I’m clocked out for the day” Azzi sighed, climbing over the row of seats to sit next to Drew “Paige this is all you” tilting her head to the woman who stood near the railings waiting for people to clear the path. 
“I don’t even know what to say..” she trailed off, her fingers lightly tapping your forearm trying to gather her thoughts, her social battery had to be low by this point, but she would never turn down an opportunity to speak out at events, a professional yapper in her natural habitat always thrives. 
“Come with me” she asserted standing up to her full frame as you remained planted in your seat. There is no way you were going to endure a microphone being shoved in your face for thousands of people to see, being on the big screen was good enough for you. 
“What am I supposed to say?!” you said barely above a whisper. Your brain began to rattle with scenarios 
“Just stand there and look pretty like you always do” her hands met yours as she gently peeled you from your seat.
“Don’t forget to make eye contact, it gets em everytime” Azzi winked, you chuckled at her antics, she was so effortlessly charming, although she’d never admit it. 
“Make sure you remind her to blink, sometimes she forgets” Drew laughs, popcorn spilling from the bucket he soon forgets he was supposed to be holding. 
Paige swung her arm across his lap, sending the popcorn flying across the stands. “Make sure you clean up your mess, sometimes you forget” she grits. You gasped trying your best not to bring any more attention to the scene unfolding. Pulling her away from the seats you made your way to the spokeswoman. 
What a fun way to spend your Saturday night, and to think it was only the beginning. 
344 notes · View notes
aleskie-hischier · 16 days ago
Text
A THOUSAND MILES SEEMS PRETTY FAR | Quinn Hughes x Reader SUMMARY: But they have planes and trains and cars. He'd walk to you if he had no other way. aka long distance with quinn.
Tumblr media
Word Count: 1k Warnings: none :D pure fluff. no angst, just love. ♫ Listen: Hey There Delilah by Plain White T's ♫
You and Quinn are on your bi-weekly phonecall, catching up on each other’s lives in the strange new reality of being miles apart. He talks about training and games, his neighbors and their quirky antics, the dishes he's trying to cook, and the restaurants he’s found nearby for when his cooking doesn't go as planned. There’s a lightheartedness in his voice as he tells you about getting recognized by fans, but you can hear the fatigue too, the weight of adjusting to a life where so much feels new and foreign.
“Tell me what it’s like over there,” he says, voice warm and familiar.
“Oh, honey,” you say with a laugh, “It’s been a wild few days.”
You update him on all the latest drama from home, from your mutual friends’ lives to the ridiculous gossip circulating on campus. You tell him about your classes, the endless cramming, and how you’re running on caffeine and pure determination. You mention the phone call you had with his mom, how she keeps you updated on his little brothers, Jack and Luke, and their texts to you asking for advice on how to hide things from their parents. 
Quinn chuckles sleepily, clearly entertained by their schemes. He’s already in bed, his face framed by the soft glow of his bedside lamp, while you’re still at your desk, laptop open, notes scattered around you. It’s late for both of you, and you know you’ll both pay for it with early alarms and sleepy eyes tomorrow, but the call feels worth it, like a lifeline between you. It was hard, you’ll admit, with him being in Vancouver and you still in Michigan, but it was better than not having him at all. 
“God, you look beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. “Your lamp gives you this warm glow—you look like an angel.”
You laugh. “That’s probably just the homesickness talking. You’re either really sleepy or you just miss me. Or both.”
He stifles a yawn, smiling. “I always miss you,” he says, softer this time, the usual joking edge gone. “I never want to be apart from you.”
“Hey.” You lean closer, resting your chin in your hand as if it’ll somehow bring you closer to him. “Just two more years, Quinny. Then I’ll be right there with you.”
He’s silent for a moment, a question hanging in the space between you. Finally, he asks, “Do you wish I hadn’t left?”
You smile, reaching out to the screen as if you could brush his hair back. “I would never do that to you. This is your dream—you’ve wanted this as long as I’ve known you.”
He shifts in bed, tucking himself deeper into the pillows, watching you with that gaze that always made you feel seen, like you were the only one who mattered. The soft sound of your typing fills the quiet, and he’s content to just watch you, taking in the tiny changes in your expression as you work. In moments like this, he wishes he could teleport, even if just for an hour, just to see you, just to touch you. Being drafted to the NHL is everything he’s worked for, and he’d never give it up, but there’s still a quiet ache whenever he remembers you’re not there.
It isn’t the first time he’s asked if you wanted him to stay, and each time you tell him the same thing. You’d never ask that of him, wouldn’t dream of it. And every time, hearing you say those words—knowing you believe them—it reminds him just how much he loves you. It might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for him. 
“People say we’re crazy for trying to make this work,” he says, his voice softening. “But I don’t think we are. Is that weird?”
You smile, looking at him through the screen, your eyes full of warmth. “Not weird at all, bub. I feel the same way. They can joke all they want, but we know this is real.”
His gaze softens further, your reassurance the steady anchor he didn’t realize he needed. The corners of his mouth tug into a smile, one that’s vulnerable and hopeful all at once.
“I love you,” he murmurs, his words barely more than a whisper, but somehow carrying a lifetime’s worth of promises. “I promise, when you get here, I’ll take care of you. I’ll give you everything you ever wanted.” Even thick with sleep, his eyes hold a fierce certainty, one that leaves no room for doubt. Maybe it was strange to some, betting so much on a relationship that started in university, but he knows, as surely as he’s known anything, that you’re it for him. He can already see it all so clearly—planning a wedding, finding a home, starting a life together. This is it.
“You already take care of me, Quinny,” you say, the affection in your voice unmistakable. “You’re all I need.”
He chuckles, his exhaustion creeping in with a long yawn. “Flatterer,” he teases, even as his eyes droop a little, his smile growing softer with every passing second.
“Might be time to call it a night,” you say gently, tucking your notebooks away and placing your pens back in their case. “Don’t miss me too much, yeah?”
His smile grows sleepy. “Almost summer,” he mumbles, words slow and relaxed. “I’ll have you all to myself then.” There’s a long pause, one filled with unspoken dreams. “I love you,” he finally says, voice laced with sincerity, each word as warm as a goodnight kiss.
“I love you too,” you reply, feeling the words settle in your heart, grounding you. “Goodnight, Quinn. Sweet dreams.”
“Goodnight.” His voice is soft, eyes fluttering as he murmurs, “I’ll dream of you.”
You smile, your voice tender. “And I’ll dream of you. Let’s meet up again there, alright?”
A sleepy grin spreads across his face, a warmth in his gaze that transcends the screen. “Yeah,” he whispers, his voice filled with a quiet certainty, “Let’s do that.”
You both linger for a moment, unwilling to end the call, sharing a silence so comfortable it feels like being wrapped in each other’s arms. His eyes are on you, tired but happy, and yours on him, both of you letting that last connection sink in before sleep pulls you both under.
“See you soon,” you say softly, a quiet promise in your voice.
“See you in dreams, love.”
368 notes · View notes
fangirl-dot-com · 8 months ago
Text
Chapter 31 - Rookie of the Year
Last regular chapter! We have the Drive to Survive episode and then the prologue left! I'm not going to say many words because my farewell to this story will come after DTS drops which will be tomorrow night around 8:30 pm CT
The end of To Do is To Dare is scheduled for this Saturday, 11:30 am CT.
I love you all!
“Kid, are those shorts?” 
You looked up the phone in your hand up to Max, who was sitting in front of you in the limo. Your eyes flitted back down to your lap, where your dress had ridden up to reveal the basketball shorts that were supposed to be hidden. 
You shot him a sheepish grin. 
“Quite possibly.” 
Max rolled his eyes. “And why are you wearing shorts underneath a 7 thousand dollar dress?” 
“If Zendaya can do it, so can I. And besides, I’m taking them off when we get close. I just didn’t want to cross my legs in the car.” 
A snort came from Arthur, who sat to your right. To his opposite sat Charles. The four of you were all decked out in clothing that could definitely pay for a high end sports car. The Armani suits were tailored to the two Monegasques. Max’s suit and your dress were from the newest Dior line, thanks to your own ambassadorship with the luxury brand. The heels on your feet costs thousands as well. You didn’t even want to think about how much the jewelry that adorned your wrists, neck, and ears cost. 
Arthur leaned over, hand on your thigh. “Well you might want to take them off because we’re about 5 minutes away.” 
A pout grew on your lips, but you appropriately slid the basketball shorts off your smooth legs. You definitely didn’t miss the ogling eyes of your boyfriend. You gave him an innocent smile, which made him glare at you. 
“You think I’ll get rookie of the year?” 
The question made the men groan. 
You gawked at them. “What? I don’t know if they’ll do it since I was the only rookie. That’s like giving a first place trophy to the only alone person in a competition. Useless.” 
Charles gave you a smile. “What previous awards have you won or records you have broken?” 
Your eyes flickered to the ceiling in thought. 
“Ok, so I was the youngest European Karting Division Champion in 2010, the youngest Italian Karting Division Champion in 2012, youngest F4 race winner and champion in 2018, youngest F3 race winner and champion in 2019, youngest F2 race winner in 2020. That year I was also Rookie of the Year and got the Jules Bianchi award. And then I was the youngest F2 champion in 2023. This year I was the youngest pole sitter in F1, I had the most points for a rookie year with 333 points, and then the most podiums for a rookie with 15 podium finishes. I equaled Lewis’s record of four wins in a rookie season. And I think that’s it…Why are you three staring at me like that?” 
A blush formed on your face as the three men just stared. Max shook his head in disbelief. 
“You’re more decorated than I am.” 
A roll of your eyes had him arguing. With the jerk of the car, the two of you silenced. Through the heavily tinted windows, you could see the flashes of cameras. You inhaled sharply which caught Arthur’s attention. 
“I’ll hold your hand the entire time ok?” 
A nod of your head let him know that you’d be fine with that. The moment the door opened, the noise was deafening. People were screaming your name, along with Max, Charles, and Arthur. You flashed the best smile you could as you walked to the building. But a certain car caught your eyes. The familiar navy was beaconing you to go over. You let your hand slip from Arthur as you got closer to your season car. 
“Hey buddy,” you whispered as you ran your hand along the carbon fiber body. You could still hear the flashes of the cameras but it didn’t matter to you anymore. You were back with your car that carried you so well during the races.
You leaned closer as if to tell a secret. “I’m still going to buy you so you can come rest with my other cars back home. I’m going to miss you Forum.” 
The name was a simple call back to the Formula cars. But, in your mind, you couldn’t just call him Formula, because that would be weird. Max only smiled when you told him the name earlier in the season. 
Apparently, the Red Bull cars were men. 
You smiled over your shoulder at Arthur who had waited for you. Internally, you were trying to waste time so you didn’t have to sit through long boring speeches. But, the look of mild panic of being late in Arthur’s eyes got you to start moving. 
Once inside, you welcomed the air conditioning. Arthur’s fingers found the open slot of your dress on your side. The comfort of the skin to skin contact was very appreciated. 
Thankfully, they had decided to put the top three at the same table. Since you and Max were on the same team, and Charles got along with the two of you quite well, they didn’t see a problem with you all sitting together. It definitely made the night less boring. 
When Max got up to say his acceptance speech, some tears rolled down your face. It was especially when he got to talking about you. 
The Dutchman smiled down at the table, or well, at you. 
“I don’t normally do this, but I also have to thank my teammate, Y/n. 
“When I heard that she was going to replace Sergio at the beginning of 2024, I was a bit hesitant. I am used to being in a comfortable spot in life, but the world decided to throw a 20-year-old at me and said ‘here you go, have fun’.” 
The crowd chuckled at his words, but you tried to laugh through the tears. Max continued.
“The first few races were great. I had to go find her after she borrowed a car, we played football on the Miami beach, and I got to really connect with drivers that I didn’t know I could be close to.” 
You saw a bigger smile grow on Charles’s face. You personally knew that the Ferrari driver was more than thankful for Max’s close friendship. It made the season go so much better than in 2022. 
“It was in Suzuka that I noticed that my teammate had become part of my family when I was so…scared to lose her. I know I wasn’t the only one that said I wouldn’t have continued to race if she had…” 
Max didn’t finish the sentence as he wiped his eyes. Arthur’s hand gripped yours a bit tightly at the reference to your DNF at Suzuka. 
The Champion inhaled before he spoke again. 
“But what matters is that she was able to finish the season with me in third place. We were able to take home the constructor’s championship with her fastest lap. 
“Y/n has meant so much more to me than a regular teammate. And I am thankful that we get to have more years of competitiveness together. I am 100 percent confident when I say that she will be a World Champion.
“Thank you.” 
Max walked off stage as the crowds roared at the completion of his speech. You were up next, so you stood from the table and walked over to meet him. He brought you into a big hug and didn’t let go for a bit. You felt him kiss the top of your head before he let you go. 
You shakily inhaled as you stood on the edge of the stage. 
“And now, please welcome the Rookie of the Year and third place winner of the Driver’s Championship, Y/n L/n!” 
Once you heard the clapping, you made your way to the middle of the stage. The man handed you two trophies that were a lot heavier than you thought. You awkwardly grinned as you stood still for pictures. 
One the man gave you the signal to start, you bent down slightly to put the trophies down. When you rose back up, you took a deep breath. You gave the crowd a smile before you started to speak. 
“First off, I’d like to thank everyone here today. It would be weird to be speaking to an empty room, so the audience is appreciated.” 
Laughter came from the crowd, which let you know that you were doing great. 
“Next, I’d like to thank my personal team. I wouldn’t be here without my physio, even if I continued to beg her to eat ice cream all the time. To my trainer, I don’t think I’d be able to even turn my steering wheel without him. And then to Vito, my manager. When I say that he is truly the only person who has stayed by myself through the years, it’s him. He didn’t have to stay, but he did. I’d be lost without him and probably driving an uber around cities to make money.” 
Your voice gave a little crack at the end, but a chuckle covered it up. You saw Vito smile at you and hold his thumb up. 
“Then there’s my found family. I’d like to thank the Leclercs for truly putting time and effort into my career. I can’t count the amount of times on my hand that Pascale sent me some extra food whenever she visited Arthur. I know she’s not here tonight, but she deserves all of my thanks. She truly treated me like her own, even if I wasn’t. She’s been the mother that I never got to have growing up.” 
“To Charlie, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to race and compete against my childhood hero. But here we are, with you looking at my backside throughout the season.” 
You heard a “hey!” from Charles that made the crowd laugh even louder. 
“But, we both know you came out on top despite some difficulties. Thank you for being so kind to me. And thank you for signing all three pairs of my Lightning McQueen Crocs.” 
Charles blew you a kiss which you pretended to catch. 
“Last and not least of my Leclerc entourage, Arthur. I cannot begin anywhere to ever tell you how thankful I was to be your teammate in Formula 2. You saw a frightened and anxiety-ridden girl, who thought that the 2023 season would be the end of her driving career. But, you took me to dinner after our first meeting, and in the process might have taken my heart as well. I’m glad that it only took me crashing my car in Japan for you to finally confess.” 
Once again, you choked a bit. But, you’re pretty sure that everyone in the room did as well. You sniffed as you wiped your eyes. 
“But I wouldn’t have it anyway.” 
At the table, there wasn’t a dry eye at all. Arthur was wiping at his eyes harshly in frustration. The tears would not stop falling. Even Max was crying and you hadn’t even said anything in his direction. The Dutchman knew that he would be a gonner the moment you said his name. 
“To the Red Bull team. Like I’ve said all night, there aren’t any words that could sum up my gratitude. I remember hearing the news that Max was signed at 17 and I only thought, gosh they had balls.” 
More laughter from the crowd. 
“Charles might be driving for Ferrari, but I have always wanted to drive for the energy drink team. Their famous saying, Red Bull gives you wings, has been entirely true for this season. You took a chance on me and gave me my wings to fly and soar. Thank you Christian for treating me like the dad I never had. I’m excited to be driving for you for many years.” 
You changed your card and looked down at the wobbly words due to tears. You looked up, and at that moment, you realized that your eye makeup must have been running. Oh well, who cares. 
“And finally, but maybe the most important person of all in this room, other than me of course.” 
Soft laughs could be heard despite the sobering moment to come. Everyone had been waiting to see what you would say about Max. 
“If there was an award for best teammate, I would give Max the trophy over and over again. I was so nervous to meet him. I didn’t want to be disrespectful, because you don’t just become a three-time world champion’s teammate without doing something right in life. But that happened to me. Almost immediately, I could tell that Max would be a good one.
“The night we met, he took me out to get ice cream and showed me pictures of his cats for hours. At Christmas, he knew that I didn’t have any family to spend it with and all but dragged me back to his home in Monaco. He made sure I knew that I was welcomed and loved. 
“Because that is what I admire about Max. Not his career, not his driving, and definitely not his cooking skills. I admire him for his ability to be kind and to love easy. I never had the best childhood, and Max knew nothing about it, but he treated me with such preciosity. He made me feel wanted for maybe the second time in my life. 
“My childhood was filled with moments of unwantedness. I was a female going against the best boys and men in the motorsport leagues. I was treated unfairly sometimes, but I was never treated like that with Max. 
“So, Maximillian, I can’t thank you enough for making a little girl’s dream come true. I might have won all of these awards tonight, but I only feel like a winner because I am walking away with a group that no family could beat. 
“So thank you from the bottom of my heart.” 
The amount of applause could not be contained in the room. Even the security guards outside the door could hear the cheers and claps coming from the different personnel in the room. It wasn’t long before everyone was standing for you as you walked down. 
However, Max seemed to stand the straightest in pride for you. If it wasn’t for the tear stains on his cheeks, you wouldn’t even know that he had been crying. There was a genuine smile on his face. His arms opened for a hug when you got to the table. You put yourself there as he wrapped his arms around you. Your head rested gently on his shoulder. You felt his lips touch your forehead.
Once the hug was over, you felt another person wrap their hands around. You knew who is was once his lips touched your own. You melted a bit before Arthur leaned back.
“I am so proud of you.”
“Thank you mon bebe.” 
A groan left his lips. 
“You know what it does when you speak my language.” 
A smirk grew on your lips. “Oh I know.” 
Arthur only rolled his eyes. 
“My rookie of the year.” 
Max’s hands landed on your shoulder and Arthur’s. To be honest, you forgot that the rest of the word even existed. Oops. 
“Not rookie anymore. Time for the sophomore year!” Max’s voice sounded above the crowd. 
You looked up at the Dutchman. 
“I’m going to win the championship this year.” 
“No you aren’t.” 
“You are both wrong. I will be the world champion.” 
“Sure Charles, sure.” 
y/n.89 has posted
Tumblr media
y/n.89 wow, I didn't expect to be walking home with three trophies tonight 😚 all jokes aside, thank you to the FIA for naming me Rookie of the Year (even if I was the only one) and then for granting me the first ever Woman of the Year in Motorsports. I'm hoping that in the next few years, others will be able to be bestowed this award like I have been. Thank you everyone! See you in a few months for testing 💙 - rookie out
liked by arthur_leclerc, maxverstappen1, y/n.nation, and 6,204,957 others
y/n.nation if you look in the back of the fourth picture, you can see me drowning on my tears
arthur_leclerc I am totally fine being the trophy husband
y/n.89 awwww I'm glad that I can have you as the trophy husband
y/nxarthur HUSBAND?
maxverstappen1 HUSBAND??
charles_leclerc HUSBAND?????
y/n.89 I said what I said - haters gonna hate 🤭
box_box_express I cannot WAIT for preseason testing, why do I miss this already?
y/n&co I'm just waiting for the DTS episode, it's going to be so good
y/n4ever her speech tonight, I'm kind of worried for the episode...
lestappenlove oh gosh, Charles and Max looked like such proud older brothers (I don't think I've ever seen either of them cry before)
maxverstappen1 couldn't have done anything without you kid! even if you continue to call me Maximilian in front of thousands and thousands of people
y/n.89 I don't care - you'll always be my maximillian 😆
sophomore_y/n the trophies are so pretty 🥹
formula1_edits I can see all the videos and edits on tik tok forming now - maybe something Harry Styles 🤔
author everything is going to be all right - just like it always is
y/n.89 thank you for making this happen!
author anything for you kid...anything
charles_leclerc CAN I BE WORLD CHAMPION PLEASE?????
formulala_delulu WHY IS IT ENDING??? 😭
TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @glitterquadricorn @laura-naruto-fan1998 @treehouse-mouse @sam-is-lost @kagatinkita @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @myxticmoon @angsthology @cmleitora @fly-me-away @graciewrote @ashy-kit @slutofmultifandom @aexitizen-ln4 @sugarvibez @vellicora @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @33-81 @hoetel-manager @xcharlottemikaelsonx @jayda12 @ilove-tswizzle @justme2042 @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @stopeatread @cha-hot @sadg3 @iloveyou3000morgan @s4turnsl0ver @alessioayla @torchbearerkyle @leptitlu @awekbachira @shreks-sugar-daddy @v1naco @stan-josie @mellowarcadefun @badassturtle13 @beskardroids @callisposts @poppyalice2001 @juniper-july19 @lizzypiastri
695 notes · View notes
pedge-page · 8 months ago
Note
I really love and laugh over your Joel and Preggo. I was wondering about Joel and his mother-in-law. How does Preggo get along with her mother? Maybe mother-in-law who lives out of town comes for a quick visit ? I leave to you what the dynamics or what directions “the mother-in-law” could be!
Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: Mother-in-Law
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
^some inspo photos of Pedro with friend or his family. Momma is touchy but it's nonsexual. He's just eating it up.
Warnings: angry sex turns soft, brief oral F receiving, getting caught (not sexy), favoritism war
18+ ONLY
- - - -
You remember when your parents used to hate Joel. From the moment you announced your engagement, they frowned. Why not someone who has a more stable job? Went to college? Doesn't have white in his beard already in his 30s?
But when you refused to back down, they begrudgingly put up with him. And he went above and beyond to impress them. Gifts, kind gestures, helping around their house and treating them to nice dinners. 
But oh boy, the SECOND your Facebook friends let it slip that you were expecting, your parents flipped on a dime.
Joel was now their favorite child. 
And your mom was—
“I hope she makes that famous apple pie of-hers,” Joel says, a bounce in his voice as the two of you drive to your Mom’s house for the weekend. 
Your upper lip gets caught on your teeth as you scowl at his more-than-she-deserves giddy smile. “What about my apple pie?”
“You don’t make apple pie.”
True. "Well. If I did..."
“—Then it would be the best.”
“You’re just saying that because I expect you to. You probably would hate it.”
Joel opens his mouth but hesitates for a moment. “I don’t know how you want me to respond here. We’re talking about a fictional pie you’ve never made.”
Grrr fuck this man and his logic.
He tries to alleviate the subject—maybe you wanted to give baking HIM an apple pie a go? ”She did buy me that Kitchen-aide mixer..."
You shake your head. Not this again… “No, she bought it for me!"
"It was my Christmas gift she gave me.”
"Why would she get you a NICE kitchen aide thousand dollar mixer, when you don't even BAKE??? PLUS I'm her actual DAUGHTER??"
Joel just shrugs. It pains you but you will never admit it's most likely true. Your mom bought it for HIM and you got breast pumps and a barf blanket. She used to get you the over the top nice things, and Joel would get socks. But now…
Your mom always loved you, probably a bit more than most. Sometimes it was overbearing, but that’s how she is. She’s nurturing, caring, always cooking and taking care of everyone, running a million miles a minute yet still having time to tell you everything is going to be ok after you stubbed your toe and cried about a broken nail. 
Though, she also expected to be treated like royalty by Dad. Momma knew her worth, knew her value to the family and Dad would grovel if he didn’t give her exactly what she wanted the moment she wanted it.
You’re glad that Joel doesn’t have to deal with a nagging wife who needs to tend to her ridiculous wants and emotional turmoil whenever it falls over less he be beheaded for his insolence.
You narrow your eyes at your bopping himbo Joel now, completely unaware of your thoughts as he jams to the radio. 
What a lucky guy he is.
When you pull up outside the old ranch home, Joel hops out and smells the air like it’s the Bahamas.
He helps you down from the passenger side of the truck before you both jump at the sound of your Mom screeching from the porch.
“JOOOOOEEEELLLYYYYYYYY!!!!!!”
His eyes crinkle in a warm smile as the little yet fiery woman you call Mom comes rushing towards you two like a marathon speed walker, pumping her arms at a whopping 1 mile per hour.
He opens his arms and as your mother wraps herself in his embrace. “Hey you!”
“Oooooh! Ohhh you’re so thin!” 
You raise your eyebrow. Joel’s no heavy weight champion, but he’s got a dad bod ready to rival any of the neighbors—a body that you LOVE more than anything else as it is.
Finally seeing you behind him, she shoves Joel aside and wraps you up in his warm hug. “MY BABYGIRL!!!!”
That’s right, let’s remember the pregnant one here please!
Your mom is the same height as you, but that doesn’t stop her from getting on her tip toes to kiss your forehead like she always did since the day you were born. She marvels at the size of your belly, filled with excitement and wonder and familiarity. “Oh my gosh look how much you’ve grown already, are you sure it’s not twins??? I have twins on my uncle’s side so its entirely possible—oh my gosh you’re so—“
Please don’t say fat please don’t say fat…
“SKINNY! JOEL! Have you not been feeding her????”
You snicker and throw your arm around her shoulders. “That’s what I’VE been saying. Momma, he’s been limiting snack time.”
Joel rolls his eyes. The two of you ganging up on him wasn’t in the cards just 5 seconds ago when he was sweet Joely.
 “My poor starving baby starving my baby’s baby!” she muses, forces Joel to bend at the knee for her fat wet kiss on his scruffy cheek before rubbing her kisses into your head on the other side.
“Come, come in! I’ve made—“
“Pie?” Joel pipes up, his eyes tilted eagerly towards the overly touchy woman suffocating you both.
You roll your eyes, already smelling the apple and cinnamon in the air. Of COURSE she would make his favorite pie. She runs inside to set the table.
Joel starts unpacking the truck but you cross your arms and tap your foot.
“What?”
He towers over you with a duffel slumped over his shoulder. “—Not that shit."
“I'm just saying, she’s nice to you all the sudden. It’s weird—“
“Don’t start.” He interrupts, slamming the trunk with a startling bang. Those biceps look fucking delicious rippling under his tight tight shirt— "Just want her to think I'm good for ya. Not tryin' to replace you."
You scoff him, as if anyone else could pull a man like that except you. 
But Joel can still feel that tension radiating off you, knowing you won’t truly acknowledge what’s bothering you until it blows into something ridiculous.
“Jooeellyyyy?” your mother shouts from the kitchen window.
“JoElLeY” you mimic with annoyance. “I used to be the only one with cute nicknames, ya know. You used to just be ‘J guy-my-daughter-is-dating’. And that even AFTER we got married.”
He chuckles before giving you a peck on the lips and guiding your waddling self inside. Joel doesn’t want you thinking that he would ever choose your mom over you, of course not! 
Just, for the now, being on her favorable side was something he had been working towards for years. You would just have to put up with her lipstick stains on his cheek and endless praise from his mouth of her fabulous cooking for this the weekend.
Your mom zips around the kitchen, going off about the new nail salon down the road, the garden beds that can’t keep the chipmunks away, and how your old ultrasounds to compare baby sizes.
Joel watches the way she waddles. It’s EXACTLY as you do, and he starts to think maybe it’s not the pregnancy that is giving you such a signature walk. You both sit down at the table together and sigh, biting into a cookie and making a nasty face before putting it back on the tray.
Oh.
Oh wow.
Joel has to hide his smirk. You claimed so often how you were NOTHING like your mom. Your mom was pushy, demanding, filled to the brim with extra energy that would come out of no where—ironically all the things that defined you but obviously was not obvious to his wife yet. 
Maybe it’s the slight difference between you two is exactly how Joel can relate to Momma—showing love through acts service. Your mom is constantly working around the kitchen, cleaning, cooking, and it has nothing to do with expectations. He can see the little smile on her face, the skip in her step—she loves taking care of her people. She likes that you whine because only she can make your favorite coffee cake the exact way you like it. That you credit your own excellent laundry folding skills thanks to her methods that prevent wrinkles without ironing. How she always had the BEST soups for when you’re sick as if they cured like medicine itself, even if its just poured from a can—its done so with love.
There’s a unique bond between mother and daughter that Joel gets to witness. It’s not self serving either. There’s a sense of personal gratitude in being able to care for someone that makes their world worth living in.
Other times you can be a total bitch but honestly? That’s just pregnancy talk.
“It’s a girl, isn’t it? Grandmother’s just know these things—“
“Mom, I called you a few weeks ago and told you it was a girl. You didn’t just guess—“
“Just as you had predicted!” Joel jumps in. “Grandmother’s intuition is a real thing, and this sweet }Cookie’s got it.” He winks towards her and sips the lovely tea she had made him.
Your mom begins to favor his conversation over yours. “And names…?” She asks expectedly.
“We’re—“
“Yours is definitely in the mix!” Joel boasts.
She clasps her hands together, not seeing the deathstare you were giving him. Momma’s name was only in the mix for MIDDLE names, not firsts. You both had agreed you wanted your baby to have her own unique first that belonged to just her. 
He ignores you for now, hoping you can see the ‘please forgive me’, in his pupils as your mom goes to hug and kiss his messy hair like a bird feeding its young in the nest.
You clear your throat, eager to get her hands off your man and back on to the one actually giving her the grandbaby. “I think it’s time we settle down in our room. Right Momma?”
“Oh, you know your way up, I wanted to show Joel some of my new kitchenware—I just couldn’t decide what to buy so I got everything, knowing you’d be by this weekend! Come on, you can pick the ones you like.”
She grasps his hand and guides him, side to side with her piddled feet, into the next room and leaving you alone.
-
The blunt edges of your chewed up nails dig into Joel’s meaty chest. there are wrinkles in your forehead from how tightly concentrated you are at riding back and forth on his cock, your belly dragging along his and hips slamming down aggressively as you ride him with the pent up fury of the day.
Joel’s got a mix of emotions: your tight pussy sucking him in, kissing your cervix with each swallow, deep and delicious in that tight heat, plus the sheer feel and sight of you so pregnant yet fucking him so furiously while he lies back and takes it all in, trying not to cum too soon—but also knowing you’re more angry than you are thinking about the sex you’re having, and you’re going to injure yourself by all this energy not driving you anywhere closer to an orgasm, and he knows  he has to works out the knot in your brain before you can let the knot in your tummy snap.
“Why are you so upset?” He asks as his head rubs up along the pillow from each bounce of your body atop him.
“M—m not—upset,” you stammer, your fingers gripping his flesh even harder and slamming yourself down on his cock like you want to hurt it.
You’re sweating, visibly aggravated and probably in pain but refuse to quit.
Maybe you need this, but as he glances down at your bulging pregnant belly that is also being shaken up like a martini, he decides that his unborn baby doesn’t need brain damage too from your furious fucking.
Joel’s hands glide up along your flexed arms until he’s cupping your cheeks gently, wiping the tear that is building along your eyelashes. You slow your pace until you’re just sitting on top, impaled on his cock and letting out an exhausted huff.
“So why are you upset?” He asks calmly.
“You’re MY husband,” you say, and though your voice is full of confidence at the statement, it quivers just a bit at the end. 
Joel knew you would be pent up. That your mom was too touchy with him, and in his good faith to keep her good favor, he leaned in and let her butter him up, gave her the attention and kisses and hugs she asked for, and now its getting to you, and you’re jealous of your own mother—
“--and I’m HER daughter. But now she’s acting like you’re her favorite child too, even though I’m the one giving the grandbaby here, I used to be her favorite kid! Just me! I used to be the one BEGGGING her to give ya a chance but now suddenly she’s also loving you, out of the fucking BLUE,  like you’re all special when IT SHOULD JUST BE ME—.”
He blinks for a second, and you squeeze your walls around him as if signaling you’ll cut it off if he dare try to act confused. 
“Wait, are you jealous… of me?” 
Your eyes drift away, just in time for Joel to have the worst fucking reaction by chuckling so hard that the two of you are rolling over to your side.
He wipes his reddened face and calms his breathing so he can talk.
“That why you’re fuckin’ me like you wanna break me?” 
Maybe you did want to make a point to anyone who might be in the house about the hierarchy over who’s got right’s to loving Joel…specifically, to make that clear TO Joel himself. 
He scootches as close as he can, despite the big baby between your middles, and rubs his nose along yours, his palm brushing your cheek and centering your focus entirely on him.
“I’d shoot myself if I had to spend more than just this weekend with your mom. She’s nice, but I couldn’t EVER stand around bein’ pinched in the cheeks like that. Always doting on my ass all day, tryin’ to service me and make me feel like a spoiled porcelain doll that needed nurturin’ like a baby 24/7. I’d feel like a useless fuck. I think she n’ I are kinda alike in that. Wantin’ to take care of what’s ours.”
You snort in the boogers pooling in your nostrils. 
“Look, It’s nice gettin’ praise, THAT you could give me more of.”
“I don’t wanna talk about my mom when you’re inside me.”
“Then lets talk about you being a momma while I’m inside you.”
“Yeah… but I liked being the only one she adored. Now I gotta share?? With you????”
You nod shyly but agree. “I do appreciate you. I’ll try better to show it.”
“Nah, don’t want you to change. N’ I need you to listen to this because I know you’re gonna leave some details out intentionally when you go tattlin’ to Maria—but being pregnant with you has been the best adventure we’ve been on so far. You keep me on my toes and keep life interesting. I like the smile on your face when I give ya something only I can give. The dance you do when you get your little cookie dough milkshake thing, and the pout you make when I tell ya no, and you get all cute on me and do some ridiculous shit that I can’t deny you anymore cuz fuck, I want you happy sooo bad, and I wanna be the one that does it. YOU make me feel special.”
He smiles, stroking the hair away from your eyes. “Think of it this way: when did she suddenly start showin’ me some special treatment? When I put a baby in your belly. That’s it. She’s happy to be getting a grand kid, and she knows I’m officially stuck with you so might as well get used to it. I’m here to stay. “Ya spent so long tryin’ to get her to like me. She does now. Job well done! You don’t have to stress anymore. No need to get all greedy, baby though I know that’s just your thing,” he teases, rubbing his knee along your thighs to part them again.
You furl your lower lip out in a childish pout. “I think the baby is making me possessive over my belongings.”
“Oh? I’m a belonging now?” He wiggles his eyes brows. Slightly more relaxed, he takes advantage and smoothes his palm down your arm, behind your waist to squeeze your ass.
He’s about to pull you in for a victory kiss when your eyes shoot open.
“Wait… am I… the useless spoiled porcelain doll that needs nurturing 24/7 that you have to dote on all day??????”
“No! No you’re not useless!”
He’s offering a sweet smile, rubbing your shoulder with encouragement as a pregnant pause fills the air.
“…you got anything else you wanna deny in that or just that one part.”
He licks his lips before flipping you on your back and sliding down between your legs.
“You know what the BEST pie is?”
T h e o n e  b e t w e e n  m y l  e g s, you mouth out into the air, your belly conveniently keeping your lips out of frame as Joel spread your pussy and blows cool air on your nub.
“S’the one between your legs,” he whispers sensually against your thigh, nipping it and growling before dragging the tip of his nose through your slit, inhaling your scent.
You smile and cover your face with both hands. He’s cheesy, but he’s a keeper. 
and maybe, just maybe, worth sharing the love with.
The love that is quickly about to be snuffed out for the both of you as your mom opens the door and begins asking "Joel did you want the red one or the blue--AH!"
Joel and you both frantically cover your lower half, his head accidetanlly bumping into your belly at the same you to strain your back trying to sit up.
"MOM, SERIOUSLY!?"
she slams the door closed but calls out through the wood: "Oh that is NOT appropriate for the baby!" before stammering away.
Joel just chuckles into your breasts. "How does she think I got the baby in you?"
You shake your head and smack him, trying to feel more ashamed then amused right now.
- - - -
More Momma in Law and Sarah
Taglist:
@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrs-oharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-dinero @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee
530 notes · View notes
shybluebirdninja · 1 month ago
Text
Control Room
Summary: Bucky’s voice is in your ear, instructing you while the camera rolls; every move is his to command.
Pairings           : Bucky Barnes (The Winter Soldier) x Female Reader
Note                 : sex tape, masturbation, domination
Tumblr media
The low hum of the camera filled the dimly lit room, casting a soft glow over the tangled sheets that lay beneath you. Bucky's voice came through the earpiece, smooth and commanding, wrapping around you like a warm blanket, igniting a fire deep within.
“Alright, doll, you ready for this?” His tone was low, a dangerous mix of anticipation and raw lust that sent shivers down your spine.
You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. There was something about the way he said doll that made your heart race. Bucky had that effect on you—like he could light you up from across the room, making every nerve sing with desire. “Let’s do it.”
“Good.” He chuckled softly, the sound like a rumble of thunder in the distance. “Now, let’s start slow. I want you to tease the camera for me. Show me what you’ve got.”
You shifted, letting the soft sheets slide against your skin, exposing your body to the lens. The way Bucky watched you felt like a thousand eyes on you at once, but it was only his. You could feel the heat radiating from him, even through the earpiece, and you could practically see the way his dark blue eyes would be glimmering with desire.
“Show me that pretty face of yours, babe,” he urged, the gravel in his voice sending another wave of heat through your core. You bit your lip, trying to suppress a moan as you arched your back slightly, lifting your chest for the camera.
“That’s it, just like that. You look so good when you’re trying to please me,” he growled, and you could hear the slight hitch in his breath. It was music to your ears, knowing that you could bring him to the edge with just a look.
“Now, touch yourself for me,” he commanded, and it was less of a request and more of a demand. You couldn’t help but obey, feeling every bit the submissive under his watchful gaze. Your fingers trailed slowly down your body, teasingly lingering at your thighs before moving to your center, where the heat pooled, begging for release.
“Fuck, just like that. Keep going, don’t stop,” he said, his voice thick with lust, each word dripping with need. You let out a soft moan, closing your eyes for a moment, reveling in the sensation and the sound of his voice.
As your fingers moved with purpose, you could feel his eyes on you—every touch was amplified, every moment stretched out, suffocating with anticipation. “Bucky…” you breathed, not sure if you were begging or pleading.
“Keep it up, baby. I want you to feel every second of this. I’m right here, watching you, and I won’t take my eyes off you.”
You could hear the way his breath quickened, matching the rhythm of your fingers. It pushed you further, igniting something primal inside you, fueling the fire that was building. You knew he was waiting, just a heartbeat away from the edge, ready to take you where he wanted.
“Now, get on your knees,” he ordered, the authority in his voice sending a thrill down your spine. You obeyed without hesitation, moving smoothly to position yourself, the cool air brushing against your heated skin. “Good girl. Now, look up at the camera while you play.”
Your heart raced as you complied, the sight of your flushed cheeks reflected in the lens pushing you to the brink. You could hear the low growl from him, and it sent electric shocks of pleasure coursing through your body. “Damn, you’re fucking beautiful.”
“Bucky…” you whined, desperate for more, for him. “I need you.”
“I know, babe. Just hang tight for me. We’re just getting started.”
With that, he instructed you to switch positions, wanting to take full advantage of the two hours you had set aside for this. “Let’s see you ride that pillow. I want to watch you grind.”
As you shifted again, a wave of confidence surged through you. You positioned yourself over the pillow, feeling the plushness beneath you, imagining it was Bucky’s body instead. You moved slowly at first, teasingly, just like he liked it, but the growing need inside you pushed you to pick up the pace.
“Yeah, just like that. Feel that pressure building? I want you to let go when I tell you to.”
His voice was a tether, holding you close while pulling you deeper into that spiral of desire. You could almost feel his hands gripping your hips, guiding you along, but all you had was the pillow and the sweet promise of his words.
“Now, faster,” he commanded, and you obeyed, the sounds of skin against fabric filling the room. You felt your body respond, heat pooling and building as you chased that sweet release, and Bucky’s breath quickened in your ear.
“Almost there, babe. I can feel you getting close. Just a little more, don’t stop.”
The tension in the air thickened, coiling tighter around you as you desperately chased the edge. “Bucky! I can’t hold on much longer!”
“Then don’t. Let go for me. Now.”
You obeyed, crashing over the precipice he’d crafted with his words and that commanding presence of his. Pleasure shot through you like fireworks, your body quaking in delight as Bucky’s voice drummed in your ear, urging you on, coaxing every ounce of ecstasy from you.
“Good girl,” he praised, and you could hear the satisfaction in his tone. “That’s it. You did so well.”
As your body calmed, you leaned back against the pillows, panting, heart racing. Bucky’s next command was already on the horizon, and you could feel your anticipation building once more.
“Alright, baby, let’s switch it up. Now, I want you to lay back, and I’m going to take control.”
With that, the room filled with a new wave of heat, and you knew the next hour would be even more intense, just as he wanted. The camera rolled, capturing every second of Bucky's relentless hunger for you.
211 notes · View notes