#well... there's a first for everything I suppose
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multi-fandom-imagine ¡ 3 days ago
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭 || 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭 ||
A/n: Annnd another one
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You’ve always said danger was relative. Clark says you’re ridiculous.
The first time he saves you, it’s from a fire escape. You were trying to get the perfect aerial shot of a Metropolis street market from above, balancing on one foot, one hand gripping your camera and the other fumbling with your lens cap. You remember tilting a little too far forward.
You also remember the warm wind rushing past your face.
Then his arms—strong and impossibly fast—looping around your waist, gently pulling you to safety. You looked up into those eyes, framed by those annoyingly attractive glasses.
“You fell again,” he said, brow furrowed.
You grinned. “Got the shot, though.”
⸝
The second time, it’s raining. You’re kneeling on the edge of a construction site, photographing the sunrise bouncing off a freshly built skyscraper, when your foot slips on wet concrete. A scream barely leaves your lips before you’re airborne.
Clark’s just there, like he always is. One arm under your knees, the other braced around your back.
“Are you actually trying to die for your art?” he mutters, voice low and dry.
You grin again. “It’s a dramatic skyline. It deserved a dramatic angle.”
He doesn’t smile, but his thumb brushes the side of your face. You feel it anyway.
⸝
Then there was the rooftop incident. Yes, that one.
You’d convinced Jimmy to help you up onto the Daily Planet’s roof so you could photograph the rally three blocks down. Clark told you explicitly not to climb anything. You told him you were “just going up for a sec...I swear."
Cue a gust of wind and a very wobbly tripod. You nearly go over the edge, heart slamming in your chest.
Except Clark catches you. Again.
This time, he’s clearly not amused.
“I’m starting to think you’re doing this on purpose.”
You just wink. “Well, if you keep catching me, how am I supposed to stop?"
There’s a pause.
And then he kisses you. Not softly, not cautiously—just like he catches you. With everything he has.
“You’re impossible,” he murmurs against your lips.
“And you’re invincible,” you reply breathlessly. “Seems fair.”
⸝
You don’t stop climbing. You don’t stop leaning a little too far. You don’t stop chasing light and color like it’s oxygen.
And Clark doesn’t stop catching you.
Because he knows you’ll never stop chasing the perfect shot.
And he’ll never stop chasing you.
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dark-night-hero ¡ 19 hours ago
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Imagine being Sylus' non-mc fiance. Hidden Child au. part2
Imagine meeting you was never part of the plan.
Imagine he walked into that club on a whim. He hadn't stepped into a place like that in years. It wasn't his kind of scene anymore. But Mephisto had been running his mouth about something in Zone N109's underbelly, about a person worth watching. So Sylus went. Not because he cared. But because something about the way Mephisto kept talking made him want to shut him up.
Imagine seeing you. He didn't catch your name. Not at first. Just a blur of tired eyes, practiced laughter, that hollow sound people wore like armor. You looked like someone who had learned how to survive not to live, just survive.
Imagine he wasn't supposed to get involved. But then you looked at him. And he stopped. Completely.
Imagine he didn't know why he brought you home. He didn't know why he stayed after the first night when it had always been just one and done. But when the sun started to rise and you stirred under the sheets, Sylus found himself watching you breathe. And before he could stop himself, he said the words. "I need a lover."
Imagine you looked half asleep, confused. Still dreaming, maybe. But you said yes. And Sylus felt something tighten in his chest.
Imagine he didn't understand it. He didn't want to understand it. But something about the way you agreed so quietly, so unflinchingly felt like the beginning of something he couldn't name.
Imagine maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was fate. But he gave you his name. Left you his black card. Told you to quit your job and wait for him. And two nights later you did.
Imagine years passed. Sylus kept you close. You were at his side at galas, exhibitions, political dinners. You smiled when you had to, played your role to perfection. Wore everything he gave you. The diamonds, the silk, the title.
Imagine you never asked for more. But he saw it. In your silences. In the way your eyes lingered when he wasn't looking. You didn't just play the part. You were waiting. For something. For him. And Sylus, heartless, calculated Sylus didn't know how to give you what you wanted. So he gave you what he could. Everything but love.
Imagine the night it changed.
Imagine you were curled up on the couch in his office, asleep again. Waiting for him to finish work. The storm outside was relentless, thunder shaking the windows. But you were still. Peaceful. And something broke inside him.
Imagine he stood there for too long, staring. Realizing. If you ever left, he wouldn't survive it. So he walked over. Pressed a kiss to your forehead. Sat beside you and, for once, stayed until morning.
Imagine he always thought he'd know when it happened that falling in love would feel like lightning, or fire, or blood. Something violent. Something impossible to ignore. But it didn't.
Imagine it felt like this. You standing in his office, biting your lip, eyes lowered in guilt because you touched that painting. The one he told you not to. The only thing in the room he had once considered untouchable. "You touched it?" You flinched. "No- well yes..." He narrowed his eyes. "What did I tell you-?" "It was an accident! I didn't mean to-" You cut yourself off, lips pressing shut. As if you were swallowing more than just words. Something about the way your hands curled into fists. Like you were protecting someone. You always did that. Even when it wasn't smart.
Imagine in that moment, Sylus knew it wasn't just the painting. It was you covering for those goddamn twins, wasn't it? He should've been mad. He was mad, in a way. But not at the painting. Not at you.
Imagine he was angry at the part of him that hesitated. The part of him that looked at you. Wide eyed, apologetic, still standing in the same room with the same warmth you always carried and couldn't bring himself to yell. He didn't want to hurt you. Not even with words. And that scared the hell out of him.
"I see." You looked up. "Look, Sylus- I'm really sorry-" "Get out." You froze. "Don't come into my office for a while." Your shoulders dropped. And for the first time in years, Sylus regretted something immediately after saying it. Because he saw how it broke you a little. And that was when it hit him.
Imagine he loved you. Not because you were perfect. Not because you played your role flawlessly. But because you touched the one thing he thought he'd never let go of and instead of rage, all he felt was fear.
Imagine the fear that you might think he loved someone else more. Fear that he might lose you over it. Fear that the past might have the power to hurt you. He sat with that fear for days. For a week, exactly. And then he removed the painting.
Imagine a week later, you walk into the office again. He barely looked up from his desk, but he saw you pause. Saw your eyes search the wall. "Where's the painting?" You blurted, and then instantly winced. Sylus leaned back in his chair. Calm. Controlled. Heart beating faster anyway. "I had it removed." You looked at him like he just confessed to murder. "What? Why?"
"It doesn't fit the style of the room." He said smoothly, voice level. "Don't you think?" You blinked. "We- well yes..." His office was all deep wood and shadow, the kind of place people whispered about. The painting never matched. He just kept it because... Because it used to matter. But not more than you. "Shall we go look for a replacement?" You blinked again. "I'm sorry- what?" "The painting. Let's find another one."
Imagine he didn't tell you it was because of you. That he couldn't stand the idea of you walking into this room and being reminded you didn't come first. He just stood, adjusting his cufflinks. "Also, Luke and Kieran said there's a new restaurant nearby." "...Sylus, are you asking me out?" There was a pause. A long one. Then. "Aren't you my fiancĂŠe?" He asked, brow raised like it was the most natural thing in the world. "There's no need to state the obvious." Your jaw dropped. Again. Sylus almost smiled.
Imagine Sylus realizing quietly, fully that he would burn his past to the ground if it meant you stayed. That this wasn't about paintings, or power, or control. It was about you. He loved you. And for the first time in his life he wasn't afraid of it.
Imagine the way the past came back. MC. They said she was alive. Impossible. Sylus remembered the grave. The cold hand. The dirt beneath his nails. The silence that came after her death. The way it hollowed him out. So who the hell was this woman claiming to be her?
Imagine he didn't tell you. He couldn’t. Things between you had just started to shift. You smiled more. Laughed around him. Touched him without flinching. You were finally letting him in. And he was finally reaching back. He couldn't risk losing that. So he investigated alone.
Imagine letting MC in. He didn't believe her.
but Imagine if pretending to care meant uncovering the truth then so be it. He let her believe. Let her call him love again. Let her think she was winning.
Imagine all while keeping you in the dark. Because you were different. You were real. And if he could just end it cleanly, silently... He could return to you. He could fix what he hadn't even realized was broken.
Imagine she asked him to kill you. Just like that. Like it was nothing. His blood went cold. She said it sweetly. Too sweetly. Like a test. Like she already knew what he'd say. Sylus laughed. Told her it was already done. That it was handled. She believed him. But in his mind, he was already planning her death.
Imagine by the time he had taken care of it, it was too late. You found out. You ran. And Sylus had tore the city apart looking for you. Sent his men. Called in every favor. Burned connections he'd spent decades building. But you were gone. Gone like smoke. Gone like vengeance.
Imagine he would've traded everything just to see you again. Just to tell you it wasn't what it looked like. That he loved you. That it had always been you.
Imagine nearly dying changed nothing. There was a hit. A trap. A bullet in the spine. And then, nothing. Four years. Four fucking years in a coma. And when he woke up, everything had moved on. Except him.
and Imagine you were still gone.
Imagine being dragged to a gala. Some formal garbage he didn't want to be part of. The suit was old. The tie loose. The glass of wine untouched. He was halfway out the door when something small collided with his leg. A child. Crying. Hood pulled low. Tiny hands over his forehead.
Imagine Sylus didn't care for kids. Never had. But something made him stop. Made him kneel. Made him look. And when the boy looked up with wide red eyes. Sylus stopped breathing.
Imagine realizing the truth. His eyes. Your hair. His blood. His son.
Imagine you appeared. Frantic. Breathless. Alive. You called to the boy. Rushed to him. Knelt beside him and checked his hands, his face. Pulled down the hood. And Sylus couldn't move. You looked at him. Really looked. And didn't recognize him.
"Sorry." You said gently. "I hope he didn't give you trouble...?" He answered, voice cracked. "Sylus." You blinked. "Right. Sylus." Like it was nothing more than a name. "Then if you'll excuse us." You added, guiding the boy by the hand. And you walked away.
Imagine the way Sylus stood there for minutes. Hours. Maybe years.
Imagine he had murdered kings. Crushed empires. Ripped the heart out of anyone who dared touch what was his. But for the first time. He didn't know what the hell to do. Because he had just seen everything he had ever loved and you looked at him like he was already dead.
[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°
: I deliver his pov.
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lijojo ¡ 2 days ago
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genshin sugar daddies: when they finally meet each other
you have seven sugar daddies: one for each day of the week. and although it can get overwhelming at times, you’ve done well to keep each and every relationship relatively separate, no matter how demanding of your attention they are. well, that all goes to shit when they’re all attending the same fucking party.  
tw: nsfw, dark content
you’re fucked. 
“is something wrong, dear?” ayato inquires. you do your best to put on your prettiest smile, smooth down your dress like nothing’s wrong, and squeeze his hand to reassure him that everything is a-okay.
“i’m fine. feeling a bit under the weather, is all.” 
everything is not a-okay. underneath your jewel-encrusted gown you are trembling. kaeya shouldn’t even be here, you think. but there he is, chatting up some local politician that ayato had introduced you to earlier. it takes everything in you not to suggest leaving the gala when you had just arrived an hour ago.
ayato smiles, pressing a chaste kiss between your brows. “alright.”
home. just a couple weeks ago, ayato has begun to change his vocabulary. he says ‘ours’ instead of ‘my’ and ‘we’ instead of ‘me.’ every time you take off your new diamond-encrusted ring, he gives you a look you can’t stomach and glides it back onto your finger whenever he gets the chance. he’ll kiss you sweetly like nothing’s wrong but from the way his hand lingers on your ring finger says otherwise. 
“i wish i could take you home right now,” ayato laments, taking your hand in his and slowly caressing the back of your knuckles like a lover would. “but you know how things are. publicity is half of the job.”
that’s why we entered this kind of relationship in the first place. you purse your lips. it was supposed to be contractual, nothing more.
ayato’s whispers of sweet-nothings into your ear contrasts your thoughts. he tells you how beautiful you look, how your cerulean gown matches his suit, about how he’ll take it off when you get back, all the while he’s navigating you through the crowds of people. his hand rests gently on the small of your back, as if it was his way of soothing you. 
you’re fine, you tell yourself. there’s too many people here. kaeya won’t see you. you dread the idea of locking eyes with him, the dark scowl that’d spread on his lips, if you had the misfortune of seeing him again tonight. he might’ve known that you had other clients, but if he met them in person, you’re sure you’d never hear the end of it. 
“are you sure you’re fine?” ayato asks softly. he brushes a stray strand of hair away form your face. he presses his lips to your cheek like it belongs there.
a frank ‘no,’ dances on the tip of your tongue. your survival instincts are screaming at you, begging you to call off this entire thing. you want to go home. you want to tell him no, you’re not fine. but if you do, ayato would most likely take you home. not your home. but home. and as much as you wanted to escape, you knew being in a room alone with this man who stared at you as if you were is one and only was even worse. 
so you don’t. you do what you practiced. you stare into this man’s eyes and smile like you mean it. you kiss him on the lips, to which he reciprocates eagerly, and tell him, “i told you, i’m okay.” 
the way ayato smiles is devious. he smoothly hooks his hand around your waist and guides you to the center of the ballroom. try as you might, you can feel the envious gazes burning into your skin. towards you or ayato, you’re not sure, but you don’t want to think about it further.
ayato, it seems, doesn’t mind. his hold on you becomes all the more tighter, confident.  
the two of you are once again talking to one of ayato’s associates. you’ve seen this man at other social events here and there, but you’ve never talked to him personally. 
you shudder at the way he eyes you up. 
“oh, you must be the rumored miss ayato seemingly can’t stop talking about,” the man surmises. he stares into his glass of wine before taking a greedy gulp. “ayato has never talked about a woman so fondly, so i figured you must’ve been really special. now that i’ve finally been introduced to you, i can see i was right.”
you open your mouth to retort, but ayato beats you to it. 
his nails are practically digging into your bodice. “yes, this is my fiance,” he hisses. you don’t appreciate how much emphasis he puts into his words. you almost want to correct him, but you don’t, because this is what you’re paid for: to ward off potential marriage proposals. so sure, you’ll let this one slide, as long as he says nothing about it in private.
the man, seemingly oblivious to ayato’s rising anger, smiles. “ah, so you’ve finally put a ring on it? what a pity.” 
“i can hardly say it’s a pity,” ayato mutters. “we’ve been together for a very long time, it was only a matter of time. if anything, it seems as if you’re trying to make a pass.” 
ayato’s associate jumps at his tone. “oh,  no, that wasn’t my intention...”
his words start to melt into the background noise, the music, the meaningless chatter. you smile awkwardly, knowing that if you tried to handle things yourself ayato would only take over for you. so instead, you stand there and look pretty, trying to not draw any more attention than you should. 
instead, you opt to observe the room. between the crowds of mingling elites, you’re desperate to find out where kaeya had gone. was he close? was he far? did he leave? did he see you? 
your stomach flips at the mere thought. at the very beginning, kaeya was fun. casual. he was friendly but not invasive. he’d flirt with you and mean it, but you knew his attraction to you didn’t extend beyond the bedroom. at least, that’s what you thought. before you knew it, kaeya had grown so attached to you it were as if you were his second heart, as if he wanted to meld you into his skin and whisper all of his thoughts and praises. 
if he discovered you here with someone else, you don’t know what would happen. 
in the midst of your discreet search, you catch a familiar glimpse of someone else in the crowd. you usually see him in his work attire when it’s designated day, but today he’s donned on an emerald suit, decorated with gold embellishments.
your heart drops to the pit of your stomach when alhaitham’s gaze sweeps across the crowd, as if he’s looking for something too. to his right, tighnari matches his pace. they seem to be in some sort of conversation, mumbling to each other over glasses of champagne as the crowd moves forward.  they live on the opposite side of the city. what are they doing here? you were so sure that this event would only be attend by those with business in the inazuma district. what went wrong? 
you’re just about to look away when it happens. 
alhaitham looks back.
it’s like a bucket of ice has been poured over you. 
his stare goes from surprise, to confusion, to realization, to absolute anger.
you don’t forget how ayato’s hand rests comfortably on your waist. alhaitham’s eyes seemed to be pinned there, like he’s undressing you with his eyes, burning holes into every pore of ayato’s hand. 
you’re caught like a deer in headlights. tightnari’s trying to talk to him, but alhaitham ignores him entirely. his entire focus, his entire being, is locked onto you. you don’t know what to do at this point.
ayato’s tight grip loosens. without even realizing it you’re being guided away from the conversation. 
“i’m so sorry about that,” ayato murmurs as he wraps both hands around your waist. he presses into you, his nose finding its way inbetween your neck and your shoulder. 
you’re entire body freezes as alhaitham’s gaze drags up your hips to your neck. for a second, his eyes catch yours and he gives you this look as if to say, i’m going to kill him. 
“ayato, we’re in public,” you say as you gently press onto his shoulders. you hope that he can’t feel the way your fingers tremble.
“let them see,” he replies with a breathy exhale. “that way, no one ever tries anything with you again. besides, is it wrong for two lovers to express their love in public? especially so soon after being engaged.”
this is wrong. the ayato you knew when you first met didn’t like drawing attention to himself. he’d rather sit in the shadows and people watch rather than become the spectacle himself. and of all things, at the worst time. 
you feel as if ayato is unknowingly digging your grave. every time ayato moves so much as a milimeter closer to you, you can see alhaitham’s jaw clench just a little tighter. 
at this point, tighnari has caught on to what alhaitham has been so distracted by. tighnari doesn’t hesitate to size you up. the both of you. for a moment, his ears pull back. he’s threatened. 
“my dear?”
you’re attention whips back to ayato. his gaze is almost intense as alhaitham’s and tighnari’s. it’s full of love, adoration, and obsession. he looks at you like you’re the one for him. that he had just discovered you two were soulmates. but you’re not. 
you smile, even though you feel like turning your stomach inside out. you have to pretend that you’re fine. and you’re good at that, right? you’re good at pretending to be what these men want, which is convenient, emotionally available, and loving. even though you’re entire world, everything you’ve worked so hard to maintain, is falling apart right this moment, you will smile. because that’s your job, isn’t it? you’re good at giving what your customers need. you’re good at your job.
so you keep your voice nice and light, even though you’re words are anything but what ayato wants to hear. “but we aren’t engaged, though.” 
he hums, nuzzling deeper into your skin. “but we are, aren’t we? my ring is on your finger.” his fingers thrum against your hips. “did you know? my name’s engraved on the inside.”
as much as ayato’s words alarm you, your entire focus is locked onto alhaitham and tighnari, who look livid. their mouths are moving. the two of them are speaking to each other, and it kills you not to know what they’re saying. 
just before you can get away from ayato, they make their way towards you. 
their pace is slow, but intentional. their gazes don’t dare pry away from you.  
and just like that, it all becomes too much. 
“i have to go to the bathroom,” you blurt out. with some kind of newfound adrenaline, you manage to push ayato off of you. he gives you a look of hurt, confusion, anger, and absolute shock. “i’ll be right back.”
ayato’s clearly confused, but as he attempts to reach out to you, you blend yourself within the throng of people. without looking back, you disappear into the crowd, leaving ayato all by his lonesome. 
you’re quick to push through the crowds, but careful to avoid the other ticking time bombs in the room. you feel as if you’re being chased. and in reality, you are. you zigzag through different conversations, hoping to miraculously become invisible. and yet, despite your absolute care, you somehow step on your own minefield. 
you hear the sound of your name first.
you see him second. 
childe’s standing there, in a suit you’ve never seen him wear before. 
is everyone at this party? 
“i thought it was you, looking so pretty. are you all dressed for me?” 
you both know what the answer is, and yet you don’t say anything. 
childe chuckles. “why do you look so scared? you look like you’ve just been caught cheating.” 
he slowly slides his hand down your arm, almost sensually. his fingers interlock with yours before he’s swinging it playfully, but you know his mood is anything but. he’s staring at your interlocking hands so intently. you look down to realize that he’s staring at the ring ayato put on your finger. 
shit. 
childe doesn’t say anything. he simply kisses your hand all prince-like, his gaze meeting yours. he’s so calm it’s disturbing. 
“whoever got this for you has bad taste. i bet he just chose whatever ring had the biggest jewel, right?” he plays with your fingers dismissively, gentlely drawing patterns around your ring finger. “you always told me i couldn’t buy you a ring, and yet this fucker can. what’s so different? i bet he just thinks whatever is biggest is the prettiest. but truth is, it’ll never be pretty. it’ll never be my special kind of pretty, isn’t that right, girlie?” 
you’re tempted to curl into yourself, but you hold your ground. 
“let go, childe.”
“and let you run away from me to some other man who doesn’t know you as well as i do? hmm? he uses his hold on your hand as leverage to pull you closer to him. his other hand wraps itself around your torso, pressing you into him. you struggle to escape, but you can’t. to anyone else, you two would’ve looked to be in a lover’s embrace. he caresses your cheek, as if appraising you. “maybe i should leave my own mark on you. maybe that’ll show everyone who you really belong to.”
you wriggle in his grasp. “childe, i’m serious. stop—”
“hmm, at least your next is exposed. yes… i think a hickey here would be nice—”
“childe! what are you up to this time?” 
childe immediately pulls away to reveal a man smiling amicably at the two of you. a pair of silver frames rest on his nose.
“ah, pantalone.” childe replies. “it’s nothing.”
you don’t hesitate to use this opportunity to escape. the moment you can, you whisk yourself away. you don’t care for niceties at this point. instead, you find refuge in the ladies’ restroom. 
you lock yourself in one of the stalls, grateful that no one else is in there. with no one around to stare, observe, or judge you, you close the toilet seat and plop onto it unceremoniously with your head in your hands. 
at this point, everything is spinning. your heart is thumping at thousands of miles per minute, and you’re trying to get a grip on reality. you think about the bills you need to pay, your overwhelming debt, and the life that rests on your hands. you think about all the things you need to do, and all the things you can’t do, not by yourself.
you need money to survive. 
once you’ve properly calmed down, you take a deep breath and open the door. you look at yourself in the mirror, taking note of all the little details in your makeup and your outfit, all of which were made by ayato, for ayato. all dressed in light blues, you look like you belong to the kamisato clan. 
you look like ayato’s wife.
“you look wonderful in blue.”
you don’t have the time to turn before he’s on you. 
if you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought that kaeya had returned to his old self. he’s kissing you like he hates the space between you. his mouth is hot and tastes of alcohol. his hands find their place on your hips like it’s natural. 
you can’t breathe, with the way he kisses you. 
underneath his heated movements, there’s a underlying desperation. like kaeya somehow needs to overdose on your every breath to survive. his hands are all over you, rumpling the dress you tried so hard to smooth out. 
he pushes the two of you into one of the open stalls, smoothly locking it behind him. you’re pressed against the bathroom door, a hardness pressing into your abdomen.
“kaeya—” 
your words are immediately swallowed up by his mouth. he can’t be bothered to speak to you. you can feel how angry he his with his fingers dig into your skin. he just wants to kiss you senseless, is that so wrong?
his tongue runs over yours. he’s exploring your mouth like it’s a treasure trove. as if this his first time ever kissing you and he wants to learn what makes you tick. 
but really, you can’t breathe. 
“kaeya—”
he pulls away from you like it’s the most painful thing he’s done. and it’s then you meet his eyes for the first time that night. his gaze is vulnerable. it’s obsessive, and needy, and desperate, and too, too much. too emotional. it’s not what you signed up for, and it’s not what he promised you. 
but he doesn’t care about that right now. he nuzzles into your neck, breathing in your scent like it’s his drug. 
“i saw you. with him.” 
“who?” comes out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. 
“i saw you the moment you got here,” kaeya replies, ignoring your question. “do you know how hurt i felt? how much i wanted to just strangle him? i could do it, you know. i could stage it like it was an accident. or make it look like he was a danger to the people. no one would know.”
you knew kaeya was a ticking time bomb, but you’ve never seen him like this. 
he wraps himself around you and pulls you close, resting your head on his chest. you can hear how fast his heart is pounding. “you’d still love me, if i did that, right? you know everything about me, everything no one else knows. only you could love me.”
there’s a crazed look to him. he’s so out of it, you’re hesitant to touch him. his embrace steals the breathe out of your lungs, quite literally. he holds onto you like if he let up for just a second you’d disappear into thin air. 
“kaeya—”
he kisses you again, a small moan leaving his lips. “say my name again, please. say it like it’s yours. i’m all yours.”
you run your hand through his hair and pull, but he only groans in response. you can feel his hard-on grinding into you. a whimper escapes you as he brushes against your clit through the dress.
if it’s not his name, kaeya’s bent on not letting you speak. his kisses keep getting more insistent, more greedy. 
you run your hand through his hair and give it a hard tug.
“aagh—just like that.”
you’re out of options at this point. kaeya won’t pull away, so eager to breathe you in. 
kaeya’s too lost in you to notice your hand blindly grabbing at the bathroom’s lock. when the door opens, it creates enough momentum to seperate the two of you. kaeya’s taken off guard, so you take the chance to bolt it out of there and escape back into the crowd.
you just want to run away from everything. from these disastrous men. from these claustrophobic parties. from this entire situation. from all your problems. your debt. from small, tiny hospital rooms and endless nights praying for a miracle—
you don’t care what you look like at this point. you don’t care that your dress is in disarray, that tears are probably streaking down your face, or that you’re so out of breath you’re gulping down air like it’s water. 
fuck this. 
fuck that.
fuck everything.
you’re so focused on escaping you bump shoulders with a stranger. quite roughly, at that. 
diluc looks surprised. he appraises you concerningly, but you can’t stomach it. his gaze is so full of love and adoration and possessiveness you think you’re going to hurl. 
you don’t even say anything. when you see kaeya chasing after you, you book it. you don’t even text ayato you’re leaving. you just…disappear.
the hospital room’s quiet. it always is. save for the occasional nurse, no one else is here, save for the patient. 
in a way, this room is your escape.
you’re still in ayato’s dress. it’s a bit dirty from tonight’s events, a bit ruffled. you look like a victim in those crime TV shows with a shock blanket. 
right now, you’re curled up on the sofa, staring into nothingness. you don’t want to think of anything right now. there’s no point in saying anything. you know she won’t say anything back. 
what would she say if she were here right now? 
she’d scold you, for sure. she’d nag you for how messy your apartment was. how you dropped out of college when you promised her you’d pursue your dream. how you haven’t once visited your parents’ grave. how you sold your mind, body, and soul just for some few bucks. 
you crumble at the thought. oh, how much money it took to keep her alive. to hide the both of you away from them. to keep sniffing dogs off your trail. you could always move away, hop from place to place. but if you did, what would you do about her? 
your sister was like a second mother to you. how could you abandon her like that? 
the door opens so abruptly, you practically jump out of your skin. 
“kazu?”
“i knew you’d be here.”
somewhere down the line, you heard that kazuha had descended from a long line of honorable samurais. seeing him like this, appearing out of thin air as if he was there all along, you thought it could be true.
kazuha enters the room like a soft gentle breeze, like it’s a suggestion. 
you’re speechless. 
he sits next to you on the couch and presses the side of your head to lean onto his shoulder. the two of you look at your comatosed sister together, as if if you stared hard enough, she’d finally wake up. 
“it’s going to be okay,” kazuha whispers.
“how did you know i was here?”
“what do you mean?” he turns to kiss the crown of your head so tenderly. “i’ll always be there for you, don’t you know that?”
your blood runs cold. you pull away to look at him. “kazuha, i never told you where i was. no one knows about this hospital.”
he looks at you earnestly, as if you don’t know any better and he adores it.
“but i do,” he says. 
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formulafanfics13 ¡ 2 days ago
Note
Could you please write how each driver would react to an unplanned/surprise pregnancy?
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Masterlist
a surprise pregnancy 🔥
⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。 ⋆⋆ ˚。 ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。 ⋆⋆ ˚。 ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。 ⋆⋆ ˚。 ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚。 ⋆⋆ ˚。 ⋆୨♡୧⋆
Current Grid
Lando Norris Goes completely silent. Like, silent-silent. The air shifts. He stares at you, blinking slowly, then mutters, “You’re joking.” You shake your head. He stands up. Walks in a tiny, panicked circle. Then stops. “Are you sure it’s mine?” You glare. “Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just-fuck.” His eyes start glazing over like he’s seeing the ghost of his former freedom. Then, without warning, he laughs. Hysterically. Collapses on the sofa like someone just told him he won’t live past 25. Ten minutes later he looks up and whispers, “We’re gonna have to tell Zak.” You have no idea why that’s his first priority. Neither does he.
OScar Piastri “…Right.” Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just processes it like he’s running fuel strategy. Then, softly: “How far along?” You tell him. He nods once. Leaves the room. You panic. But five minutes later he returns with a planner, a fresh pack of Post-it notes, and a mechanical pencil. He doesn’t say congratulations. He says, “Okay, so what’s the plan? Public or private? Australia or Monaco? Do you want me in the room?” You: “You’re taking this well.” Oscar: “I’m not. I’m dissociating at an elite level.”
Charles Leclerc Goes wide-eyed and immediately starts praying in French. “Non, non, non… oh mon Dieu.” Wanders the room like a man searching for divine intervention. Stops. Turns to you. “You’re serious?” You show him the test. He sits down like his knees gave out. Then? Tears. Not like sobbing, but slow, stunned ones. “I didn’t think I’d be… I didn’t think this would happen to me. Not now.” You try to comfort him. He takes your hand. Kisses it. “I’ll be there. I’ll do everything. I swear.” Then pauses. “But if it’s a girl… she can’t date until she’s 30.”
Lewis Hamilton Closes his eyes. Breathes in deep. Breathes out like he’s levelling his soul. “Okay. That’s okay.” He opens his eyes again and takes your hands in his. “You’re okay?” You nod. “Then we’re okay.” No panic. No spiralling. But later that night, when you think he’s asleep, he’s actually sitting on the balcony googling baby monitors, eco-friendly cribs, and how to co-parent without losing your mind. Writes an entire note in his phone titled A Promise. Won’t show it to you yet. But one line says: Whatever happens, I’ll never leave you alone in this.
Max Verstappen The second you tell him, he sits back in the chair and just stares at you. Doesn’t even blink. “Okay.” You: “…That’s it?” Max: “Okay.” You: “Max, what the fuck does ‘okay’ mean?” Max: “It means I’m processing.” Then he disappears for two hours and comes back with five printed folders: one with financial plans, one with logistics, one with citizenship and passport options (he’s already picked Dutch-Monagasque just in case), and two with pre-approved names. You: “How did you do all this already?” Max: “I have people.” He kisses your temple. Doesn’t freak out. Just handles it like it’s a pit stop on fire.
Yuki Tsunoda Screams. Like, full-body shriek. “YOU’RE WHAT?!” Starts pacing. Hair wild. Shirtless. Dramatic as hell. “WE WERE SUPPOSED TO BE CAREFUL! I TOLD YOU I’M FERTILE AS FUCK.” You: “I didn’t know you were serious.” Yuki: “I WAS DEADASS.” After the panic storm passes, he slumps to the floor. Sits cross-legged. Big brown eyes staring up at you. “...Are you okay?” You nod. He sighs. “Then… I guess I’ll learn how to change diapers.” Mutters, “I’m gonna be a dad. Me. A dad. Holy fuck.” Then immediately orders sushi and a stroller in the same breath.
Carlos Sainz “Madre mía…” He looks like you just told him you crashed his Ferrari. Rakes a hand through his hair. Sits down slowly. Then goes completely quiet for a full five minutes. Finally speaks: “I’ll do it right. I’ll do everything right. I swear.” You: “You’re not mad?” Carlos: “No. I’m scared. But not mad. This is… this is life.” Texts his sister. Then texts his mum. Then texts a friend who’s a pediatrician. Books a doctor’s appointment for you, him, the baby, and possibly the future nanny before you’ve even decided what you’re doing.
Alex Albon Goes completely blank. “…I-holy shit.” Walks around the kitchen, barefoot, mumbling, “I’m not ready. I’m literally a child. I can’t even do my taxes.” Looks at you. “But I like you. And if it’s happening, it’s happening, right?” Five minutes later he’s drawing what he thinks the baby might look like. Gives it purple hair and a nose ring. “You’d be such a hot parent,” he says, wide-eyed. Then: “We need to find a cool name. Something that screams ‘accident but iconic.’” You tell him to stop talking. He doesn’t. He’s already texting Logan for name suggestions.
George Russell Looks like his soul just left his body. Static noise. He stares for a long moment. Then says, “But I had a five-year plan.” You: “Plans change.” He stands up. Straightens his already straight shirt. “I need to call Toto.” You: “WHY?” George: “He needs to know I might have to start investing in child seats.” Over the next 24 hours he creates a Google Calendar invite called Parenthood Prep - Phase 1. Sends you spreadsheets. Budget projections. Prenatal vitamin recommendations. Signs off one email with “Love, Dad (maybe)”. You delete it immediately.
Kimi Antonelli Freezes. Like, full-blown crash-level stillness. You say it again. “I’m pregnant.” He blinks. Once. Then nods. “Okay.” You: “Okay?” Kimi: “Okay.” Doesn’t freak out. Doesn’t run. Just... accepts it. The next morning he shows you a folder he made titled Operation Baby. It has zero words. Just a checklist.
Diapers. Crib. Patience. Learn how to hold one
You add “emotional support” to the list. He nods solemnly and writes it down like it’s a fucking mission.
Lance Stroll “Wait. Wait. Like… pregnant pregnant?” You nod. He slumps onto the couch and stares at the ceiling like a rich man who just got his credit card declined. “Well... I guess I can buy a stroller now.” Sits there thinking for ten minutes. Then stands up and says, “Do you want a villa? Like… now?” You: “Lance, that’s not what I meant.” Him: “Too late. I’m calling my mum. She knows a midwife. And a chef. And someone who does astrology for babies.” You can’t tell if he’s panicking or vibing. Possibly both.
Fernando Alonso Smiles. You: “I’m serious.” Him: “So am I.” He’s either secretly thrilled or planning to fake his own death. You can’t tell. Then he walks to the window, arms folded, staring out like a dramatic soap opera character. “Maybe it’s fate.” You throw a pillow at his head. “This isn’t fate. It’s cum.” He shrugs. “Same thing.” An hour later he’s made a list of names and is calling you mamá in a tone that should be illegal. You’re not sure if you hate it or if it’s making you ovulate all over again.
Liam Lawson Eyes go huge. “You’re-wait. Seriously?” Then immediately blurts, “I’ll do whatever you want. Whatever you need. I’ll get a second job. I’ll move countries. I’ll-do I need to learn how to make formula?” You’re not even showing yet and he’s trying to carry your bags. “Do you want me to go to the store? Are you craving weird stuff? Am I allowed to touch you? Should I stop talking?” He absolutely does not stop talking. You cry once. He cries twice. Eventually you fall asleep on his chest while he mutters, “This baby’s gonna have the softest life ever, I swear.”
Isack Hadjar “…Huh.” Then: “Wait-are you serious? Like, really?” You nod. He just stares. Then starts laughing. “This is insane. This is fucking insane.” Then his hands start shaking. “I’m not ready. I’m not ready but I’ll do it. I’ll try. I promise. But I don’t know what I’m doing.” He spirals. You hug him. He cries. Later he lies next to you in the dark whispering things like, “What if it has my hair?” and “What if it hates me?” You kiss his forehead. He exhales slowly. “I’ll be better than mine. That’s the only goal.”
Ollie Bearman Full-body freeze. “…What?” You: “I’m pregnant.” His voice breaks. “You’re sure?” You nod. He sits down like his knees gave out. Hands over his face. Breathing deep. Then finally, “Okay. Okay. This is big. This is huge. I-I think I’m gonna throw up.” But five minutes later he’s rubbing your back and asking if you’re okay. Fifteen minutes after that, he’s bought every baby book on Amazon. And by the next morning, he’s learned how to say “it’s my first time being a dad” in three languages.
Esteban Ocon Stands completely still like someone just yelled "red flag" in his soul. “…Pardon?” You repeat it. “Pregnant.” He turns around, walks to the sink, washes his hands for no reason, then turns back around with wild eyes. “Okay. Okay. We’re going to handle this rationally.” Immediately pulls out his phone. Opens Notes. Types: Baby situation 2025. Starts listing questions like a psychotic secretary. “Are you keeping it? Do you want me involved? Do I get to be involved? I want to be involved. Do you need money? Are you okay? Wait-should I be crying? Why aren’t you crying?” You blink. He says, “Right. I’ll cry later. I’m too busy panicking now.”
Pierre Gasly “Prego what?” “Pregnant.” He sits back, drags a hand over his face, exhales so loud it could qualify as a storm warning. “…Okay. Alright. So, I have one important question.” You nod. He leans forward, dead serious: “Is it going to be hot?” You throw something at him. He catches it. “Hey, it’s a fair question! I’m just trying to manifest good genetics.” Then? Absolute silence. For a beat too long. Then? “I’m scared.” He admits it in a whisper. “But I’m not running. Not from you.” You say nothing. He holds your hand and mutters, “Just promise me I won’t be the only idiot crying in the delivery room.”
Franco Colapinto “Qué carajo…” You don’t even finish the sentence. He’s already pacing. Fully clothed but somehow still feels naked. “You’re pregnant? Like… with my baby?” You nod. He clutches his chest. “You’re telling me my sperm worked?” You: “What the fuck kind of question is that?” Franco: “I don’t know! I just didn’t think this would happen until I was 30 and married and living in Patagonia with a dog named Bruno.” Freaks out. Panics. Almost cries. Then goes quiet. “Shit. If you’re really doing this… I want to be the one who builds the crib. I want it to be me.” You try to hold it together. He says, “You know it’s going to have curls, right?”
Nico Hülkenberg Raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” You show him the test. He nods once. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. “Okay.” You: “Just okay?” He gets up, opens the fridge, takes out sparkling water, cracks it open. “I’m 37. This doesn’t scare me.” You: “It doesn’t?” Nico: “No. You do. But this? No.” Sits back down. Crosses his legs like you’re about to start a business meeting. “We can do this. If you want it, I want it.” You sit there speechless. He says, “We’ll name it something classic. Strong. Like Gerhard. Or Turbo.” You blink. He adds, “Okay, not Turbo.”
Gabriel Bortoletto Chokes. Like literally chokes. You say “pregnant” and he swallows air wrong. “Wait wait wait. You’re not joking? This isn’t a TikTok thing?” You shake your head. He sits down. Grabs a pillow. Screams into it. Then emerges with wild curls sticking up like a mushroom cloud. “I’m gonna die. I’m too hot to be a dad. I’m too young. I don’t even know how to drive stick properly.” You: “That’s a lie.” Him: “Yeah okay but the parenting part isn’t.” He freaks out, paces, panics, and then suddenly stops. “If we do this… the kid has to have a sick wardrobe. Like cooler than mine. Little Borto can’t be outdressed.” You: “Little Borto?” Him: “Or Big Borto. Depending on the vibe.”
Others
Toto Wolff Freezes mid-email. “What did you just say?” You: “I’m pregnant.” He sets the laptop down. Very gently. Like if he moves too fast he’ll rupture reality. Then, calmly: “We used protection.” You: “Not well enough.” He stares. Eyes cold. Calculating. Then softer. “Okay. That’s okay.” Walks away. You think he’s leaving. He returns five minutes later with an untouched bottle of 50-year-old whisky and an overnight DHL package labeled “Private Medical.” Within an hour he’s booked six appointments, hired a lawyer, emailed three CEOs for child-rearing advice, and ordered prenatal supplements from Switzerland. Also: starts touching your stomach like it’s already a tiny Austrian legacy.
James Vowels Absolutely malfunctions. You: “I’m pregnant.” James: “Right. Well. That wasn’t on the schedule.” He pulls up his phone and immediately opens his calendar. “Okay. So. Week 12 scan… week 20 anatomy… due date projection…” You: “James, breathe.” James: “No time. I have to prepare.” Spends the next six hours making a spreadsheet titled Unplanned But Brilliant: Baby Timeline. Includes tabs for stroller reviews, estimated baby growth, contingency financial scenarios, and a list of names organized by syllable count. Cries once when he realizes he has to buy a car seat. Later tells you, “If I’m going to be a father… I’m going to be the best one. So help me God.”
Paul Aron “You’re-wait. What? You’re joking. You’re fucking with me.” You shake your head. He’s suddenly white as a sheet. “Oh my god. I thought pre-cum was a myth.” He’s spiraling. Absolute baby giraffe energy. “Are we gonna keep it? Are you gonna keep it? Do I have to tell my mum? She’ll kill me. I’m too hot to die like this.” You reassure him. He looks genuinely about to vomit. Then, very softly: “Would you let me be there? For the scans? For the whole thing?” You nod. He sits on the floor, stares into space, and mumbles, “I guess I need to learn how to boil water.”
Arthur Leclerc Freezes. Blushes like he just got caught with porn. “You’re pregnant?” You nod. He runs both hands through his hair. Then covers his mouth. Then starts walking like he’s forgetting how legs work. “I… I think I need to lie down.” You: “Arthur.” Him: “No no, I’m okay, I just-OH MY GOD.” He sits on the floor. Fully. Like a cartoon character short-circuiting. Then: “Okay. Okay. Okay. I’m not ready. But I will be. If you are.” Then he holds out his hand from the floor like a sad prince and says, “Do you think it’ll have your eyes? I hope it has your eyes.”
Pato O'Ward Sits up straight. “You’re serious?” You nod. He pauses. Then breaks into a grin. “Oh shit. I did that. I did that.” You: “Pato, what the fuck.” Pato: “I’m just saying, my swimmers are elite.” Immediately spins into excited-chaos-mode. “Okay okay okay. I can do this. I just need… baby books. And a truck. And maybe like three different jobs.” You blink. He’s already on Amazon ordering a onesie that says Made In Chaos. Looks at you seriously. “If you want this, I’m all in. But just know-I’m going to be the loudest, most chaotic, most funbaby daddy this world has ever seen.”
Sebastian Vettel You: “I’m pregnant.” Him: slow inhale. Then he starts talking. Calmly. Carefully. Like someone explaining composting to a toddler. “This is a surprise. But not a disaster. Life is unpredictable. Like qualifying in Canada.” You: “What the fuck kind of metaphor is that?” Him: “A useful one.” He gets thoughtful. Gets emotional. Touches your cheek gently. “We didn’t plan this. But maybe it’s not the worst thing to happen. Maybe it’s the beginning of something beautiful.” You: “Are you crying?” Seb: “No. Yes. Shut up.”
Kimi Räikkönen You: “I’m pregnant.” Kimi: “Okay.” You: “That’s it?” He lights a cigarette. Doesn’t blink. “What do you want me to say?” You: “I don’t know… react?” He takes a drag. “I don’t hate kids.” Later that day he shows up with a box of diapers and a case of vodka. Says, “One’s for you. One’s for me. We’ll both need it.” You still don’t know if he’s happy. You may never know. But he books you a doctor's appointment, tells his team he’s "on personal leave," and starts researching Finnish baby names that mean “unstoppable.”
Jack Doohan His jaw literally drops. Like cartoon-level shock. “You’re WHAT?” You repeat it. He runs his hands down his face. “Shit. Shitshitshit.” Then he pauses. “Wait… are you okay? Like, seriously. Are you okay?” You nod. He exhales so hard his whole chest deflates. “Okay. Okay. We can figure this out. We’ll be fine.” Pulls out his phone. Googles: how to be a good dad when you’re hot, young, and terrified. Sends a text to Fernando that just says “help.” Starts practicing lullabies under his breath. They’re awful. But he means it.
David Coulthard Raises an eyebrow. “Are you fucking with me?” You: “No.” DC leans back, arms crossed, sighs like a man remembering Vietnam. “Alright. Well. I always assumed I’d knock someone up eventually.” You: “Excuse me?” DC: “I mean it in a sexy way.” Later hands you a glass of wine, forgets you’re pregnant, panics, takes it back, and gives you sparkling water like it’s a gift from the gods. Sits beside you, legs spread, balls out, and goes: “You know, I actually do want to be good at this. For once.” You: “At parenting?” Him: “At not fucking it up.”
Jenson Button Smiles like you just told him it’s Christmas. Then freezes. “Oh… wait. Pregnant. Like… with child?” You nod. He spins around and starts laughing nervously. “I’m sorry. I laugh when I’m about to have a heart attack.” Paces the room. Opens a window. Closes it. Opens it again. Then turns to you, face soft: “Listen. I’m scared. But I’m also… kind of excited? Terrified. But excited.” Pulls you into his arms and whispers, “Fuck it. Let’s raise a little legend.” You whisper back, “If it has your hair, I’m naming it Shampoo.” He laughs. Then cries.
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cherrygirlfriend ¡ 1 day ago
Text
THE ART OF SABOTAGE ♡
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♡ pairing: nerd bsf!rafe x girl next door!reader
♡ summary: your best friend has been in love with you for as long as he could remember, and he'll do anything to make sure you're not taken away from him; including ruin your relationship.
♡ warnings / tags: manipulation. jealousy. sabotage. suggestive. MDNI!
♡ author's note: combining two of my favorite things to write... bsf!rafe and nerd!rafe... hehe. should i make this a permanent AU?
RAFE MASTERLIST ♡
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rafe knows that he should be ashamed of the kind of thoughts he has about you, the kind of thoughts he's had about you for as long as you've known each other, and he is, he really is. you were the only one who had always been nice to him; he'd never quite fit in with the others when he was a kid, meanwhile it seemed that everyone adored you, but you had a rule; if the kids who wanted to play with you didn't include him, you refused to be friends with them.
that's one thing that never changed between you two. no matter how old you got, if the people you hung around with didn't accept rafe, you had no interest in being their friend.
but something did change. the way he felt about you.
sure he'd always thought you were pretty, but the older the two you got... for some reason, it got deeper. your hair, your eyes, your lips, your body, the softness of your skin, the way your perfume smelled of a mixture of honey and flowers... you were the only thing he could think about, to the point that rafe felt guilty whenever he got hard, because he knew he couldn't get himself to come if he tried to fist his cock to something other than you.
when you got your first boyfriend. the first time you told rafe about 'jason', rafe felt... betrayed. he was supposed to be your favorite. he was supposed to be your boy.
it all came to a head the first time you cancelled plans with rafe to hang out with jason, around six months of dating him.
"hiii, rafe." you'd started the call with, like nothing was wrong, "hi. is everything alright? i was about to head there. i'll pick up snacks on the way." "about that, rafe..." he could already make out an apologetic tone in your voice, "i actually promised to my mom that i'd watch my sister." "well, that's fine. it's been a long time since i saw her, we can watch a child-friendly movie instead of horror. maybe coraline, i feel like that still fits the theme."
"i'm sorry, but my mom said i shouldn't have anyone over because of the stomach flu that's been going around." "but we always have a horror movie night on fridays..." "i'm sorry, i feel terrible. but we'll do it next week, okay?" "okay... bye..." "bye, rafe! you're the best."
later on, it was two in the morning, rafe was only slightly bummed over being ditched now, and requiem for the phantom was reflected on his glasses when rafe got an instagram notification on his phone.
JASONTHEMAN01 posted a story.
rafe didn't want to seem interested in the comings and goings of someone so intellectually inferior to him as jason and the group of idiots that were your other friends, but he still wanted to know what they were up to, just so he could look out for you. so maybe he had created a burner instagram, just to keep an eye on them.
but when rafe saw what jason had posted, it felt like someone had carved rafe's heart right out of his chest.
it was a picture taken of you and jason, the boy's arms around your waist while your arms were around his neck, the two of you locked in a heated kiss while something that looked llike a houseparty was going on behind you two.
that wouldn't work. jason was clearly isolating you from your only real friend. he probably manipulated and guilted you into ditching your plans with rafe for the party. yes, that was it. jason had to go. he was no good for you, didn't deserve you. he was taking you away from rafe.
luckily, rafe had made his burner account look like any average girl, using the pictures of some wannabe-influencer with less than twenty thousand followers to make sure it was more authentic.
rafe didn't even need to do anything complicated to get jason's instagram password; he decided to try different common password combinations; password123, password2001, jason123, jason2001, even your name and birthday (his own password) until rafe finally struck gold with the password 'lucky2001', the name of the golden retriever jason owned that you'd told rafe about.
remotely, he logged jason out of his own account, before getting to work. rafe created a lengthy text exchange between jason and 'jenna', his burner account. the messages start off as innocent, becoming flirty (initiated by jason) until it turns into 'jenna' sending jason nudes rafe had gotten from twitter and reddit, jason encouraging it.
the final blow? rafe wrote a long message as jason confessing his love for jenna. it wasn't difficult for rafe to change the dates of the messages. now he had a loaded gun, just waiting for the right time for him to set it off.
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the day came sooner than he could've hoped for.
when rafe had asked you to go to the movies, you'd let him know in that you'd be going over to jason's, promising to go to the movies with rafe tomorrow.
you'd been at jason's house for thirty minutes, the two of you cuddling on his bed until jason needed to go to the bathroom, pausing clueless. your phone pinged with a notification, and you thought it was a message from your best friend at first, but it said that you'd gotten an instagram DM from someone named 'jennaabaker'.
'hi girly, i know you don't know me, but i think we've been having a thing with the same guy :/ i had no idea that jason had a gf, if i had i would've blocked him immediately. i'm so sorry, i never meant for this to happen.'
it felt like your heart shattered in your chest when you saw the screenshots; multiple conversations between jason and this jenna girl, flirting, all sent while he played the doting boyfriend to your oblivious face.
you clenched your jaw when you heard the toilet flush, putting your phone away.
"hey, baby." jason grinned as he returned to the room, pressing a quick kiss on your lips, "you wanna continue the movie?"
"let me see your phone."
"huh?"
"i wanna see your instagram. show it to me."
"alright, alright. geez, woman." jason cleared his throat, unlocking his phone and going on instagram. after logging on, he handed it over to you like he had nothing to hide.
there it was, clear as day. jason's conversation with jenna. and as you scrolled up, you could see it went back months. you scoffed and shook your head, "you fucking asshole. who's jenna, huh?" "what? jason furrowed his brows, "i don't know." "oh, yeah? then what's this?"
you handed your phone back to your boyfriend, jason starting to go through the messages with increasing confusion, "babe, i swear, i have no idea what this is, i've never even talked to this chick."
"i should've believed my friend when he said you were nothing but a fuckboy." you shook your head. "babe, i swear, i don't know who this is!" "do you think i'm an idiot?!"
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rafe was laying in his bed reading the eighth volume of jujutsu kaisen when the constant ringing of the doorbell started echoing across tannyhill. the boy furrowed his brows, it was almost ten in the evening. abandoning the manga on his bed, rafe got up and left his room.
"who is it?" wheezie peeked her head out of her room, "do you think someone's breaking in?" "if someone's breaking in, they wouldn't ring the doorbell." rafe rolled his eyes, the younger girl still unconvinced as she closed the door.
rafe was halfway down the stairs when whoever was behind the door started banging on the door. the boy rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated breath, but when he pulled the door open, you were standing there, mascara running down your cheeks, sobs leaving your lips.
"wh-"
before rafe could even get a word out, you'd thrown your arms around rafe. he was surprised at first, but he closed you into his embrace as you squeezed him.
"jason... sniff... cheated on me..."
"oh, fuck." rafe sighed, glad that you couldn't see the smile on his lips, his large hand going to stroke your head. "he's an asshole."
that night, rafe listened as you'd cried in his arms, telling him all about jason and jenna, about how you two had fought for hours with jason trying to tell you how he didn't know the girl.
after a while, though, you finally fell asleep in rafe's bed with your head in rafe's lap, wearing one of rafe's hoodies, nuzzling into the fabric as the boy stroked your hair. it had broken his heart to see you cry, to see you that sad over some dickhead who didn't deserve you, but not even a single part of his body regretted what he had done. jason didn't deserve you, and it was just a matter of time before he'd hurt you. the sooner, the better. him being your favorite, him being your boy, was just an added bonus.
"i'll do whatever it takes to protect you." rafe whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.
TAGLIST: @raahosh @nemesyaaa @purpleplumpudding @esotericcangel @mattyskies @bakugouswaif @nonietosay @my-name-is-baby @tinythebunni @fratbrochrisgf @ariieeesworld @silkylovey @izumis-salty-penis @flow33didontsmoke @cameronsbabydoll @love-ella333 @haylorbestie @k4yr14 @harringtonsbowgirl @lacelottie @st8rkey @lunaleah @cicicavill7 @lillied31 @doremimosasol @lerclec @deeninadream @finnickodairslut @constantsadness @drewsephrry @rafemeow cont. in com.
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elleaitch22 ¡ 2 days ago
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Love on Fire
Chapter 11: Through Smoke and Frosting
Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd
A/N: The last scene may make you cry, but I’m hoping it doesn’t. This is my favorite chapter so far! Hope you love it!! xx Elle
Warnings: Character death, anxiety
Word Count: 5.6k words
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Week 14:
“Az?” Paige called as she walked in the house. It was 7:30 in the morning, and she was just getting off her shift at the fire station.
She didn’t get a reply, only heard the shower running. She put her shoes on the rack and padded into the kitchen, smiling at the lemon-poppyseed muffins on the counter.
Everything had gone back to normal in the past couple of weeks. Instead of buying desserts that correlated with the size of the twins, Azzi was baking them. Which meant one thing.
Azzi was happy.
She had made it through her first trimester. She didn’t have to get injections in her hip every night. She wasn’t throwing up or feeling nauseous all day. Her energy levels had gone back up. The genetic testing came back clear. Everything was going the way it was supposed to.
She was comfortable enough to let herself get fully attached to her babies.
When Paige would come back from picking up Azzi’s late-night craving, she would stand by the door and listen to Azzi whispering things to her bump.
This morning, she walked in to see Azzi in pink sweats and a sports bra. She was turned to the side, hands running over her bump slowly. Paige smiled at the soft expression on her face.
“Good morning, Mama.”
Brown eyes met hers in the mirror and the smile on Azzi’s face stretched. “Good morning, Paigey.” Her hand rubbed her stomach. “I missed you this morning. Made some muffins.”
She crossed the room, eyes dropping to the small, tanned bump. It was almost weird seeing her newly popped belly. “Can I say good morning?” Paige questioned.
Azzi turned to her fully and poked her stomach out. Paige lowered herself down. “Good morning, Bear.” She said with a kiss on the mound. “Good morning, Bean.” Another kiss pushed into the skin. “You guys are the sizes of lemons now. You’re probably sucking your thumb, but you have to stop if you want a smile as pretty as your mom’s.”
Azzi inhaled as blue eyes peered up at her through her lashes.
“I hope you look just like her. You’ll be just as pretty, just as kind, just as smart. You’ll be just as perfect. Make sure you’re nice to her today. She’s the best.”
The rest of Paige’s talk with the babies was too quiet for Azzi to hear, so she just stood there watching the woman she loved having a one-sided conversation with her belly. She brushed her hands through blonde hair, still damp from her shower at the firehouse.
She didn’t know how Paige did it. Always made her feel safe, seen, wanted, and cherished without making her feel like she owed her anything in return. Letting Azzi stay with her. Every whisper to Bean and Bear. Each treat she brought Azzi in the middle of the night. Everything she did took up a bigger space in Azzi’s heart.
Paige whispered a prayer into her skin, asking for health and protection for the coming months.
The blonde let her hands rest on the swell of Azzi’s stomach. It was moments like this that stung the most – a teaser of the life she wanted. Azzi was becoming a mom. And she was doing it without Paige. She got to touch her belly, talk to the twins whenever she wanted. She wished she could press kisses all over her stomach, fall asleep with her head resting over belly. She wished she could tell Azzi how much she loved her. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
But in all of her envy, she was also eternally grateful for moments like these that filled her chest with warmth and love and a little ache.
-----------------------------------
Week 15:
The night before Father’s Day, Paige and Azzi played around in the kitchen.
Well, Paige played, and Azzi was putting a cake together.
“Paige,” She warned, piping bag in hand.
Paige’s grin was soft and warm as she watched Azzi lean toward the countertop. Exhaustion was all over her face, but she still glowed. She didn’t know how Azzi managed to look so tired but still so flawless.
Azzi’s belly was out in her crop top and sweat shorts. And it bounced every time she laughed, which Paige found hilarious. So, she continued to poke her best friend, trying to make her giggle.
“Paige, seriously. I’m tired and in pain. I just wanna finish putting this cake together so we can go to bed.” She pouted; frustration clear in her voice.
The woman took two steps back quickly. “What hurts, Az?” All the playfulness in her actions gone. Her hands hovered. She wished she could take every ache from her – help smooth those lines on her forehead.
Azzi sighed, slowly straightening. “Just round ligament pain. Can’t do anything about it.” She mumbled.
She rolled her shoulders back and focused on the cake again.. All she had to do was place the burn layer and add a shell border around it. Then, she could put the cake in the fridge and finally go to sleep.
It was Market Saturday, so Azzi had spent Thursday and Friday making extra desserts. And her entire Saturday was spent on her feet, selling cakes to new customers. All she wanted to do was bury herself in the blankets that smelled like Paige and sleep.
Right after she placed the “Happy Father’s Day, Papa!” wafer paper, large hands wrapped around the bottom of her belly.
“Blondie…” She said, sternly.
“Wait, just let me.” Paige started, hands cupping the bottom of her belly. “I read about it. They said I could help relieve some of the pain if you lean back into me,” Azzi absentmindedly did so. “And let me hold the weight for you.” And she lifted.
Azzi didn’t expect the embrace to feel that good. All the tension trapped in her pelvis just disappeared at once.
“Oh.” And Azzi blushed deeply at the sound that had just come out of her mouth – a little bit of a moan, a little bit of a groan, entirely embarrassing. Her knees nearly buckled. Paige tightened her arms instinctively. “Oh my God. That feels amazing.”
Paige tucked her head of Azzi’s shoulder, kissing her cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurting, Mama?”
“The blogs say it’s normal, and rest is one of the only things that will help. But with Market this week, I knew I’d be on my feet more, and that it’d just hurt until I could chill.” She leaned almost all of her bodyweight onto Paige, and it felt wonderful.
The firefighter hummed. “Well, we can start doing this every day before bed, as long as I’m home.” She didn’t move. “I’d carry all of it for you, Az. Forever, if you’d let me.”
Azzi lifted her head quickly, “Really?”  She grinned when she felt Paige nod into her neck. “You’re the best person I know, Madison.”
They stayed like that. For a few minutes that felt like hours. Just two people in the soft light of the kitchen, the scent of frosting, in the cloud of love that neither could speak aloud.
Azzi wanted to say it. Wanted to tell her that she was so in love with her. But she couldn’t. Instead, she just let Paige hold her. And for now, that would have to be enough.
-----------------------------------
Father’s Day was uncharacteristically hot. And Azzi was already moody in the heat before she got pregnant. Today was even worse.
All week, she’d been loving the fact that she looked visibly pregnant. But she didn’t realize it was because she only went places where people already knew she was pregnant. The ladies at the bakery gushed over the roundness of her bump, and Azzi was happy about it.
But today, she was going to the Bueckers’s home, and if she didn’t pick the right outfit, everyone would know before they could even see the pregnancy reveal cake she had worked so hard on.
She was overjoyed with the outfit she had picked. She was matching with Paige, which was low key one of her favorite things to do. She wore a thin chambray shirt over a cream bodysuit, while Paige wore the same top and loose cream shorts.
Which was great, but then she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the way out.
“I can’t go there like this!” She exclaimed, looking to her best friend incredulously.
Paige hadn’t really been paying attention to how obvious the bump looked. Mainly because she was mildly obsessed with staring at it, but also because she’d spent four hours clearing up a major car accident. She got off shift two and a half hours after she was supposed to, so instead of taking a three-hour nap when she got home, she slept for thirty minutes.
“What’s wrong with your fit? You look cute, Az.” She mumbled tiredly.
Azzi looked down at her outfit, then back up to her best friend. “They’re gonna know before I tell them if I show up like this.” She controlled the pout that desperately wanted to spread across her lips. “Just gimme ten minutes so I can find something else.”
She rushed back into Paige’s room, stepping into the closet. In hindsight, the bodysuit would be annoying because she was peeing every twenty minutes it took. Her five minutes to roll the tight fabric over her body.
She landed on an outfit just as casual and just as matchy – light-washed, baggy overall shorts and a cream tank top. Azzi decided to leave one strap down to loosen the stretch across her belly. Now instead of looking pregnant, she just looked full.
Paige was dozing on the bench by the door when Azzi came back out.
“P, why don’t you let me drive today?” She questioned lowly.
Blue eyes popped open, sparkling like always, but a veil of exhaustion dulling the shine a bit. “You’ve been the passenger princess since junior year, Az.” She stood and stretched.
“Yeah, except when you tore your ACL senior year. Or when you got that concussion from that one fire.” Azzi said, brushing her fingers over blonde strands. She smiled softly as Paige unconsciously relaxed into her hand. “You’re exhausted, Paige. Let me drive, just for today.”
Azzi flashed her puppy dog face, and Paige didn’t stand a chance. The next second, the cake was on the floor in the back seat, and Paige was already reclined and dozing off.
Thirty minutes later, Azzi pulled in behind Drew’s Camaro. She reached over and cupped one cheek. “Wake up, Paigey. We’re here.” She said lowly, brushing her thumb over the skin.
Paige groaned, eyes blinking open slowly. “I can’t wait to go to bed.” She grumbled.
“We can leave whenever you’re ready.” Azzi muttered.
Paige huffed, climbing out of the truck, walking to the other side to help Azzi out. She held the cake box in front of her belly as an added layer of protection.
When they walked in, Azzi made sure to lean forward as she hugged everyone so nobody could feel the press of her stomach against their abdomen.
Bob had requested a barbecue for his holiday, and Azzi was grateful. One of her biggest cravings had been burgers. And watermelon. And corn. And mac and cheese. She almost cried at the spread on the patio table.
The dinner was filled with conversations about the WNBA season, the upcoming NBA draft, and everything Drew would be doing to prepare for his last season of college hoops.
“Wherever you go this summer, just make sure you got a place to train.” Paige around a sausage dog.
“I will,” he started. “You gotta do runs with me at least twice though.” He negotiated.
Paige nodded with a smirk. “Alright, but I’m only playing the 1 or the 2; my knee’s been bothering me.”
“Gotchu.” Drew said, moving closer. He lowered his voice before speaking again. “You know what’s been bothering me? The heart eyes you and Azzi have been giving each other since high school.”
Paige scoffed, but moved closer to hear her brother better. “Drew, c’mon bro.”
He rolled his eyes, “No, you come on. You’ve been in love with her forever, and you have to know she loves you too.”
“She’s trying to have a baby, Drew. Her hormones are all over the place, man. I don’t want her to get with me out of pity or because her emotions are crazy.” She gritted out through clenched teeth. “After she has her kid, then I’ll tell her. I’ve already waiting this long. A little while longer won’t hurt.”
Before Drew could enlighten her with more advice, Azzi called out for her.
“Can you help me get the dessert?” She asked, smug smile on her face.
Paige grinned, following her into the air conditioning. “It’s hot as shit out there. How you feeling?” She questioned.
“I’m excited to tell them!” She slid the cake out of the box, as Paige searched the drawers for a lighter. “So I’m going to bring him the cake and light the wafer paper on fire, and you’ll record, right?” She asked.
“Yeah. And I’ll make sure to get pops and Katie’s reactions.” She pulled her into a side hug, pushing a kiss into her temple. “You ready for everyone to know?”
Azzi smiled softly at her bump. “Yeah. I’ve been waiting to tell them forever.”
They walked out together, Azzi holding the lighter under the cake board.
“Happy Father’s Day, Pops!” Paige hugged him tightly before moving to the other side of the table. She pulled her phone out as Azzi placed the cake in front of him.
He glanced at the cake, reading the words before looking at her, eyes wide.
“I saw this TikTok trend where you use edible paper as a cake topper and burn it to show something under it.” She swallowed her nerves down. “I wanted to try it out, so I hope you don’t mind being the guinea pig.”
He chuckled, eyes already misty. “Of course not, Azzi.”
Her hand trembled slightly as she struck the lighter. Just seven months ago, she hadn’t been given the chance to tell Bob and Katie about the life growing inside of her. And now she would finally get to share with the people she loved.
“Happy Father’s Day, Papa.” She grinned, touching the flame to the wafer paper.
Paige and Azzi held their breath as each millimeter of paper burned away.
“YOU’RE PREGNANT?!” Katie screeched, pulling Azzi into a tight hug.
Bob gasped, looking from the cake to the women. “Twins?” He breathed, tears flowing.
At her nod, the backyard erupted into cheers.
Paige’s smile grew, never wavered. But a small part of her wished she was allowed to cry too. Not for the babies; she was over the moon about them. But for the woman she loved, standing just out of reach.
While her parents fussed over Azzi and the babies, Drew came to wrap Paige in an embrace. “You better tell her soon, so your name goes on the birth certificates.” He whispered in her ear.
“Bro,” Paige punched him in the side. “Shut up.”
“Nah for real though,” He started. “I’m excited for y’all. Hopefully this will give you the final push to get together.”
Mari came over next, “So does this mean you’re going to tell her how much you love her?” She nudged Paige playfully.
“Why’s it always on me?” Paige sucked her teeth. “Why can’t Azzi tell me.”
Drew’s girlfriend shot her a look. “She’s growing two humans, Paige. She doesn’t have to do anything else.”
“Hey! Be nice to her!” Azzi called across the table. “Paige is the only reason I’ve survived the last four months.”
Drew cackled. “You better stand up for your woman, Azzi!”
Everyone was buzzing with joy. Making gender reveal, baby shower, and holiday plans. Mari and Drew took turns making baby jokes. Bob cried every time he looked at Azzi. Katie went through nursery themes.
In all the joy and chaos, Paige and Azzi’s eyes still found each other – love, elation, and relief shining in their eyes.
-----------------------------------
Week 17:
Azzi’s family had purchased cruise tickets for Tim’s Christmas present, and the crew was in the Bahamas when Father’s Day rolled around.
So, she caught up with them after they got back. She hosted a dinner at her (Paige’s) house with all of her dad’s favorites.
While Paige entertained Jon and Jose in the living room, Azzi pulled her parents to the dining room to talk.
“I just wanted to apologize to you both.” She said, tears already welling in her eyes.
Katie reached out, grabbing one of Azzi’s hands. “No, baby, we’re sorry. I should’ve trusted you. Supported you.” Azzi shook her head, “No, I should’ve.” She sniffed.
“We know how much thought you put into everything.” Tim started, “You’re the most indecisive person I know, so I know you didn’t make that decision lightly.” He chuckled.
“Yes, and you’ll be a wonderful mother, Az.” Katie squeezed her hand. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t be alone like me. You have us in the same city.”
Tim nodded, “And Paige, Katie, and Bob. Drew and his girl.”
“Thank you for understanding – apologizing.” Azzi smiled. “I shouldn’t have told you about the miscarriage like that.”
“Oh honey, you were grieving.” Katie whimpered. “No one can tell you how to feel when you’re grieving like that.”
Tim pulled her into a tight hug. “I’m sorry we weren’t there. Sorry you didn’t feel safe enough to come to us for support.” He paused. “We’ve missed you, baby girl.”
“We love you, and we respect you in however you would like to move forward.” Katie cam behind Azzi and wrapped her arms around the pair. She pressed a kiss into Azzi’s curls.
“Of course I forgive you!” She mumbled into her father’s chest. She pulled back a bit. “I love you.”
When the trio walked back into the living room, Paige could see the weight lifted off Azzi’s shoulders.
She looked back to Jon and Jose. “Come on, so we can eat.”
This time, dinner wasn’t tense at all. Everyone was laughing, telling jokes, catching each other up on the last few months.
“We’re thinking about going on another cruise in December, Azzi. Christmas on a beach sounds amazing.” Katie beamed.
Azzi straightened, she was planning on telling them about the babies later. “I’ll have to see – if I’m pregnant, I don’t think I’ll be able to go.” She was tense, like she was waiting for bad news.
“That’s fine, just let us know. We’d be more than happy to stay in Virginia if that’s what you need.” Time shrugged, shoving more shrimp lo mein into his mouth.
Azzi exhaled, happy that it didn’t turn into a big deal. “Oh, definitely!” She smiled.
For dessert, Azzi had prepared homemade fortune cookies. She even wrote little messages on tiny slips of paper before she made them.
Katie gasped, “Noni and Poppy?” She pressed the paper to her chest, eyes darting to Azzi’s abdomen. “How far along are you? When are you due?” Her blue eyes shined.
“Times two?” Tim shouted, standing quickly.
He rounded the table and scooped Azzi into a hug in three steps.
“Twins!” Jon and Jose exclaimed simultaneously.
She laughed loudly, overjoyed that everyone she loved knew.
“Yes. Twins!” She grinned. “I’m seventeen weeks and five days. I’m due in early December.”
Katie blinked fast, tears falling, hand still clutching the fortune. “You’re going to be an amazing mom.”
Azzi sat down slowly, one hand resting on her stomach without thinking. Paige caught her eye from across the table, and for a long second, the rest of the world faded. Just the two of them smiley softly at each other.
For the first time, the warmth and peace in Azzi’s heart felt like it might last.
She blinked quickly and smiled widely. “Okay, who wants seconds?”
-----------------------------------
Week 18:
Paige had been reading the parenting blogs again. There was a certain way her body locked up when she read about something she and Azzi hadn’t considered yet.
“What is it?” Azzi didn’t even look up from her book, just sighed, content to let Paige keep rubbing the tension out of her calves.
“You ever thought about getting a new place?” She asked.
Azzi’s brows furrowed and she sat up straighter. “Why?” She asked, voice serious now.
“Not like that, Az.” Paige responded, tightening her grip on her legs. “It’s just that there are only two spare bedrooms, and I wanted to keep one as the guest room.”
The brunette exhaled deeply. “I just assumed they’d share for a while.” She shrugged. “They won’t need their own rooms until they’re like five.” She settled back into the couch.
“But what about schools?” Paige continued. “You know the ones nearby are shitty.”
Azzi giggled. “Relax, Blondie. They won’t have to go to school for years. We got time.”
It was quiet for a few minutes. Paige had gone back to tapping on her phone, probably finding more things to worry about.
“But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll put my place up for rent and start saving for a down payment.” Azzi sighed. She hated making Paige feel like her concerns weren’t valid or appreciated. “That you for making sure we’re taken care of.”
The blonde smiled softly, eyes still on her screen. “I’m just letting you know, if I find something with a big yard and good schools, I’m putting this place on the market.”
Her comment sent Azzi into a fit of giggles. “Where are you gonna live though?”
“Excuse me?” Paige questioned, offended. “I’m gonna live with you, Az. We already discussed this. I’m with you for all of it.”
There was a softer, more serious air in the room.
“But what about when some girl comes along and you fall head over heels for her. I’m gonna be left with a mortgage that’s too high and a mountain of bills.” Azzi tried to smile, but it was something she’d always dreaded.
Eventually, Paige was going to fall for someone else, like really fall for them, and their friendship would be pushed to the back burner.
Paige put her phone down and pulled the book from Azzi’s grip.
“I need you to listen to me and believe me when I say that no one could ever make me leave you. You and those babies are the most important things in this world. I promise I’ll never leave you, Az.”
Her blue eyes were sharp as she spoke. Azzi knew she was serious, but she also knew love could hit you when you least expected it. That sometimes, people left, even when they meant to stay.
Paige must have seen the hesitation in her face, because those blue orbs softened. She reached for Azzi’s hand, head bowed to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist.
“You’re not a responsibility to me. I’m not doing this because you’re just my best friend.” Paige said quietly. “You’re my home.”
Azzi exhaled slowly, chest still tight. She couldn’t tell Paige she believed her, not yet.
But she still let Paige pull her into her side. Let her pull a blanket over both of them. Let Paige show her how she felt.
And even though it wasn’t everything she wanted, it was enough for now.
-----------------------------------
Week 20:
The day of the gender reveal was chaotic. Paige was supposed to be home by 8 to help her and their moms set up their backyard for the party.
Azzi had initially planned a simple reveal at the bakery where everyone would come by after closing. They would all bite into a cupcake at the same time and then go home.
But the two Katies refused to let that happened. They made invitations and told everyone to come in pajamas to go with the theme of “twinkle, twinkle little stars, who we wonder what you are”, which annoyed the pregnant woman. Pajamas weren’t made to be worn outside, but she couldn’t go against the two older women.
When Paige hadn’t shown up at 8, Azzi assumed she stopped to get breakfast before coming home.
When Paige hadn’t shown up at 9, Azzi assumed she was on a call that was running over.
When Paige hadn’t shown up at 10, Azzi checked her location. And when it showed she was at the fire station, she knew she was on a call.
When Paige hadn’t shown up at 11, Azzi called Station 22 to try to get information. There was a structure fire, but the firefighter who stayed at the station had no updates.
When Paige hadn’t shown up at 12, Katie and Katie took over to occupy the guests while they waited for Paige to come home.
It was 2:00 when the food had been eaten and everyone had been waiting for the big reveal. Everyone had tried to encourage Azzi to do the reveal without Paige, but she refused.
“Paige has been here for everything. I’m not doing this without her.” She said sternly.
Around three, everyone started the leave, and Azzi was finally able to turn the news on.
Apparently, a warehouse fire started at 6:30, right before Azzi was supposed to be able to come home. When the firefighters arrived on scene, they tried to contain the flames, but their spread. Part of the building collapsed, and some firefighters were trapped. The fire was finally contained at two, but flames were still burning.
Paige turned the tv off, deciding to take a shower and wait for Paige at the station.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Azzi didn’t know how long she spent at the station. She paced in front of the building, too much nervous energy to sit down. The butterflies in her stomach would come and go, never really settling down.
She knew how dangerous structure fires were. During fire school, Paige would quiz herself about the different kinds of structure fires. Warehouses that had plastics and fuels could burn much longer than other structures. It would take even longer with hot spots or flare-ups.
The sidewalk cooled and the sky turned to cotton candy. And Azzi still waited outside.
When the last light finally dipped below the horizon, Azzi went inside to wait by the door. Paige would kill her if she was outside at in the dark.
She was counting herself down from another panic attack when the dingy white tiles on the firehouse floor were bathed in red light.
Her head popped up.
She didn’t hear any sirens.
She knew what that meant.
Lights with no sirens meant someone wasn’t making it home.
Azzi couldn’t breathe. It was almost like she was outside of her own body.
She knew her hands were shaking, but she couldn’t feel it. Somehow, she’d managed to make it back outside without tripping over her feet.
The butterflies in her belly had come back, full force.
She watched the trucks pull into the lot, hands trembling on her belly.
As soon as they came to a stop, one of the squad engine doors opened.
And Azzi sobbed in relief.
“Paige!” She cried. She floated over to her, arms opening wide.
But Paige took a step back, wincing at the wounded sound that fell from Azzi’s lips.
“You can’t touch me yet, Mama. Tons of chemicals from the smoke. It’s not safe for the babies.” She said, voice kind, but tired.
Azzi’s lip wobbled. “Just wanna hug you. I was so scared.” She wimpered.
“I’m know, Az.” She said. All she wanted to do what hold Azzi, ask her how the party went, and sleep. “Lemme take off my gear, get you a mask, and we can go home. Does that sound okay?”
Azzi nodded sadly, walking over to Paige’s truck.
The other firefighters get Azzi head nods and silent greetings, fatigue obvious.
Only a couple of minutes passed before she saw Paige coming out with her duffel and a white mask in her hands.
“I know you hate these, but I won’t get in the car with you if you don’t have it on the right way.” Paige mumbled, handing her the mask and opening the passenger door.
The ride home was quiet, SZA playing lowly in the background. Azzi just looked at Paige. There was soot on her face and flakes in her hair, but she was still just as beautiful as she always was.
Those butterflies were back in her abdomen again.
“Lost a trainee tonight.” Paige muttered as they entered their neighborhood. “She never fucking listened, and we lost her tonight because of it.” She huffed. “I told her to stay on my six, and she walked off instead.” She threw the truck in park and sighed. “By the time I turned to check, she was on the other side of the room we were sweeping. Couple seconds later, the ceiling came down.”
Azzi wanted to reach out, to hold her. But her hand paused before she could touch her.
“Come on, Paigey. Let’s get you a shower, some food, and some sleep. Yeah?” She asked softly.
Paige trailed after her slowly. Azzi pulled out the comfiest boxers and hoodie she could find and went to start the shower.
Those damn butterflies were back, and she hadn’t even been thinking about Paige this time.
A couple minute later, Paige’s voice called out. “Az, can you come in with me?”
She climbed in behind Paige, rounded belly making it a tight squeeze.
“We need a bigger tub.” She muttered, tipping Paige’s head for the water to soak her hair.
Paige hummed. “You planning on being in here with me a lot, huh?”
Azzi smacked her in the stomach, ignoring her question and the way she wanted to shout and beg to shower with her every night.
She was gentle as she washed the taller woman’s hair. She gentle cleaned the soot from her face and tension for her body while the conditioner sat in her hair.
After suds and conditioner drained, Azzi stepped closer, wrapping her arms around the woman tightly.
Both women could feel every part of their bodies pressing into each other. But it wasn’t sexual, it was comfort – the comfort of being seen by someone who loved you.
“I was so scared when you didn’t come home – when you didn’t call.” Azzi said, eyes filling with tears. “I learned about the fire on the news. Remembered what you said about those kinds of fires.” Her tears mixed with the water flowing down their bodies.
Paige pressed a kiss into her forehead. “Didn’t mean to scare you, Mama.”
“Then the truck came back without the sirens.” She sobbed. “I thought it was you, Paige.”
“I’m sorry. I’m right here, Az.” One hand held Azzi’s head close, while the other rubbed big circles into her back.
Azzi just gripped her tighter. “I love you so much Paige, please don’t ever leave me. I was so scared.” She cried.
“I love you too, Azzi. I’ll never leave you, I promise.”
They stood under the stream of water until it ran cold.
After they were toweled off and heading to bed, Paige was preparing to talk to the twins like she did every night. Then, she remembered something.
“So, what are Bean and Bear? Boys, girls, or both?” She looked up at Azzi.
The butterflies started again, hadn’t really stopped since Paige had been around.
“Oh, we didn’t find out. Couldn’t do it without you.” She muttered.
Paige sat on her knees quickly. “What?” All exhaustion evaporated from her voice. “Where’s the cake?”
“The kitchen.” Azzi said with a giggle. She already started sitting up, knowing that Paige wasn’t going to sleep without knowing.
The cake was on the island, exactly where their moms left it. Two wine glasses sat next to the cake, ready to reveal the biggest secret of the day.
Azzi set the camera up, choosing the film the moment for everyone who came to support this afternoon.
She spoke first. “I’m your mom, and I think you’re both boys.” She grinned.
Paige nudged her with her hip. “And I’m your Paigey. Excuse our appearances, we just got out of the shower. I had a really big fire today. But we had these cute outfits planned to figure out what you guys are.” She laughed. “Anyway, I’m your Paigey, and I think your Mama’s wrong. I think you’re one of each.”
“Whatever.” Azzi rolled her eyes, grabbing her glass and passing one to Paige.
“Okay, look at me, Mama. We push down and look on three, yeah?” Paige said.
Brown eyes locked on blue.
Flutters erupted in Azzi’s belly.
 “These butterflies have been coming and going all day. And I’m not even nervous.” She giggled.
“You sure they’re not kicking?” Paige quirked an eyebrow up. “You’re 20 weeks, Az.”
“Hmm.” Azzi hummed quietly. “You’re probably right. It’s happened a lot today, but now, it’s every time you talk.”
Paige’s eyes softened and shined, “They know my voice.” The apples of her cheeks were pink with the realization.
“Of course they do. You’re their Paigey.” Azzi smiled softly.
The blonde shook her head. “C’mon, let’s do this before I start crying.”
“Okay. Push.”
The glass clinks against the cake board.
“One,” Azzi counted.
“Two,” Paige breathed.
Then together, “Three.”
Azzi gasped, holding her glass to Paige’s face. “Purple!” She breathed.
“One of each,” Paige smiled. “Just like I said,” She finished cockily.
They forgot to stop the video.
They just stood there, breathless, wine glasses sticky with frosting. Eyes going from the purple smeared in the glasses and each other’s eyes, wet with tears.
“They’re really coming.” Azzi said, voice thick with awe. “A son and a daughter.”
Paige reached up, brushing a thumb across Azzi’s cheek, swiping at a tear. “Bean and Bear.” She murmured.
She knelt silently, palm warm against Azzi’s belly. Paige lowered her voice, just for the twins. “Your mom is the bravest person I know. You picked the best one.”
Neither said anything more. The camera kept rolling. The cake sat between them, split neatly in half.
Outside, the sky darkened to velvet. Inside, they stood in bare feet and boxers, hearts racing. Not saying it yet. But feeling it.
And even though they weren’t saying it yet, the love was already louder than words.
343 notes ¡ View notes
harmonysanreads ¡ 3 days ago
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First of all congratulations for your achievement! 🩵🌸
I would like to request Al Shawq — Longing x Phainon x Reader if that is possible 🩵
Have a nice day/night in whatever you do 😊
Al Shawq — Longing
ᯓᡣ𐭩 Phainon x Reader
But is it okay to yearn access to every breath and blink of yours? They question and reflect, drench themselves in guilt and yet, at the end of the day, return to you.
𓆩♡𓆪 A look through the eyes of a seasoned treasure appraiser. Said appraiser's gaze may teeter on Soft Yandere Themes.
Note : Thank you so much for the request and wishes <3 I was working on multiple of these at once and this prompt ended up being the first to be finished ;—; I suppose I love writing for yearning men a bit too much ^^;
「 Words : 1.4k 」 「 Spectrum Of Love Masterlist 」
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1. For the way crimson flows through your veins, and keeps your heart pulsing.
It is mesmerizing.
To be able to spectate upon the very essence of life so closely, so intimately — he cannot find any better word in his lexicon to describe it. The way that crimson warms your cheeks upon the whisper of a tease and intenerates your skin, sights so often taken for granted.
But the Hero must never let them prance away from his attention, and if he does, he must press his lips upon the beat of your existence in apology ; over the arch of your wrist and in that sanctuary of your neck.
Tracing his fingertips over the way your veins bend and twist along your body has become a treasured pastime of his. Or at least, when you feel gracious enough to let him burrow in your arms, hold him close and allow him to press his ear to your heart.
Do all hearts beat in one, universal tune? The hero doesn't know. But he's certain, if it ever came to such a case where he’d have no other clue to rely on, he'd be able to find you by the march of your heart alone.
But there's always a catch, an effect that must take place to balance the positives of everything. Phainon feels conflicted whenever blood smears across your skin, an insistent red hue.
He vacillates between curiosity and concern, perhaps rage if the cause happens to be deliberate. The hero himself bleeds a shimmering gold, the titillating glimmer giving it an image of less alarm, though his pain is not different from yours.
The red that escapes the confines of your skin, on the other hand, carries with it a warning, almost. A sense of danger. As if unrestrained loss of it will put you at risk and it is exactly like that. Which is why, Phainon must fuss over even the faintest paper-cut, tend to it with a care he’s never even allowed himself to have.
Even eliminate the cause to avoid further harm, if required.
2. Condemn not the tears that form and fall from your eyes, because they're proof that you feel.
However, Phainon only ever looked, truly looked and assessed the ‘soul’ of the matter through you.
The intricacies of human emotions are fascinating, every blend, mix and dilemma is a field of study. Not that Phainon is ever above them, in fact, thoughts about these layers in betwixt which emotions reside often pass through his head.
The Hero has always been a little more focused on the feelings of those surrounding him instead of himself, a portion of his attention is always naturally spent on catching the cues of the person next to him, in this way.
Joy may entice tears as well, an overload of the reward system. After all, rain can emerge on even a bright, sunny day.
Tears were connected to a lot of these things, he discovered.
When morose clouds gather, or bubble with unpleasant bolts of frustration, the skies break in tears. Sometimes, howls of agony accompany the torrents. Other times, their fall is eerily silent.
Not that these are entirely new discoveries for the Deliverer. But in touch with your presence, everything in this world might as well be new breakthroughs.
Breakthroughs beget celebration, but these realizations in particular make his heart flutter in pain.
So please, allow him to kiss your tears in coronation. Do not push his hands away from cradling them, unwilling to let them be wasted away by melting into the earth.
If you must cry, let it be from happiness and pleasure. Or better yet, permit him to carve that path himself.
3. And every crease, curve and dip upon your skin tells him a different story.
Regardless of how many times his eyes have traced them and his hands have chased their footprints, he cannot get enough.
He's observed the brush strokes of past pains upon your skin, has run his fingers along the way they sit upon that canvas. Would you tell him the tales behind what caused them, if he asked?
You must forgive him, forgive his curiosity and ever increasing greed. What were the Titans thinking of when they moulded you to life? The way his hands find such an easy purchase on your waist, your fingers fitting so well between the gaps of his, or how the image that flickers by his mind whenever you accept his embrace — like two pieces of a puzzle designed specifically to complement one another.
A regret interrupts his train of thought, the regret of not being there for you, the regret that his entrance in your life had been a little too late for his liking.
If he had been a part of your childhood, would he have the knowledge to bridge these present hollows? Or is Fate’s design so meticulous that he must simmer in these regrets as a small compensation of having gotten to know you at all?
He supposes that being jealous of a lost time wouldn't really aid him, not that he can stop himself from feeling it at command.
What he can do is reassure you, whenever his inspection becomes a bit too thorough for comfort and douse every inch of your skin in his reverence — you would not mind, would you?
“One, two, three…” your voice dances in the wind, brushing past his ear and teasing a shiver out of him.
“I think I'm jealous of the wind.” he at last confesses, breaking the illusion. You don't open your eyes to look at him, but the anticipation of when they’ll fall upon him parches his mouth.
He grips your hand a little more firmly, twirling you in the rhythm you commanded of him. A gust of zephyr prances past, ruffling your hair and feeling your skin with a flighty hand, for a moment.
Phainon cannot find it in himself to blink out of his stupor, the sounds of your steps upon the ground seemingly a muffled melody.
You hum, he would've begged you to continue that tune had it not been for what he started. He realizes that that is your nudge for him to elaborate.
“The wind gets to touch you so intimately,” his left arm wraps around your back, slyly sliding down to haul you up at last. “— So brazenly, whenever it wants. It feels as though it can reach parts of you I’ll never be able to.”
“The wind can only caress, not hold.” you speak, thumbing at the pout on his lips.
His other hand joins to hold you more comfortably, his chest presses against yours.
Close, but not close enough.
Never enough.
His frown deepens, that petty jealousy bleeds into his eyes even more, as if to say, but it's unfair that the wind gets to caress you!
For a moment, he simply stares into your eyes, his thoughts convoluting more and more. A not so subtle pull, his gloved fingers dig into the skin of your hips.
“Well, there's not much consolation I can offer you about this. Unless you plan to wrestle the winds somehow?” you pinch his cheek, your laugh is short and sweet. He feels an urge to capture it in a glass bottle and keep it tucked away from the world.
“But without the winds, you’ll feel too hot and disturbed. I won't be able to stand your discomfort.” he concedes, pushing his thoughts far away with great strength for now.
You appear a smidgen taken aback at this comment and he cannot guess why, much too captivated by the way your breaths intertwine in the proximity.
Even at this short a distance, where even the winds may not sneak past and only you two remain — there's an ache in his chest, in the very construct of his soul.
It makes his breaths stutter in his chest, a choke forming in his throat and lingering there until you’ve soothed it away. That threatens to render him immobile, followed by a flood of desperation. Desperation that has his grip digging into your skin, grounding him from the torrents of this pain.
He does not wish to be whisked away, from you, that is. Strange as it may be, he chases relief in the very thing causing him agony.
Thus Phainon has appraised — the Hero’s hamartia and the panacea to this unending ache, immeasurable is its value.
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salmonmakiii ¡ 13 hours ago
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i know you said god!phainon fic has come to a close so feel free to ignore this ask if you dont want to answer!! but im really curious how it would go down if reader ever wanted to run off with phainon and how he'd respond to it? i know he expresses worry about reader falling for phainon instead of khaslana, so how would he react if he's actually faced with that situation?
HI!! Hi!!! Sorry, this took long, busy with my thesis ߹𖥦߹ but here you are!! Also, I'm referring to this fic right here Wc: 1.1k+ cw: Yandere!Phainon lol
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If y'all choose to run away with Phainon and not Khaslana. He won't take it very well. Your words would shatter him.
He would vanish. No footsteps, no goodbye, no trace of the quiet and gentle man who used to sit by your side to laugh at your jokes. Phainon simply disappears, leaving the wind eerily still in his absence.
You were worried at first, wondering if your question had pushed him away. Maybe you'd frightened him, maybe he was overwhelmed by the weight of your words.
But he, Khaslana, was still very much there. Watching, listening, breaking.
What you didn't know was that far above you, beyond the reach of a prayer and reason, a god was unraveling, almost going mad.
Your confession to run away with Phainon, the mortal, had echoed his mind like a parasite. Even if it was him in disguise, it still burned him.
You chose the man, not the god.
And if you could be swayed by that fragment of him, what would stop you from being swayed by another? What if someone else had met you first? Would you have run into their arms too? The idea devoured him. The thoughts came faster than he could silence them. It was the kind of fear that gods weren't supposed to feel.
insecurity and rejection.
The weather in Okhema turned unnatural.
Blizzards swept in from the mountains. Then, as if repenting, the skies would break open into violent, dry heat. Crops wilted, and people were getting sick and injured. Winds howled without warning. The stars themselves seemed dimmer, as if even the sky was grieving.
You looked up at the sky in fear. Did Khaslana hear what you said to Phainon? Had you offended your husband? Had your betrayal angered a god? You prayed. You knelt until your knees bruised. You whispered apologies until your voice cracked. You brought offerings, sleepless nights, bitter tears. Anything and everything to make the madness in the skies stop.
But the silence was unrelenting. And Phainon? he was still missing.
The loneliness gnawed at you. There was no one to confide in. You missed his laughter and his warmth.
Until one day, after too many nights and bad weather of unanswered prayers, you couldn't take it anymore.
You left the temple, walked into the wilds, and on top of the hill alone. The wind bit at your skin, and the air smelled like distant lightning. You screamed his name, Khaslana, into the sky. Calling him a coward for not answering your pleas.
But then, he appeared. The air turned heavy. It was too still, too quiet. From behind the trees, you saw him.
Phainon.
But something was clearly wrong.
He didn't smile. His usual warm face was unreadable. His eyes, the ones that would remind you of the blue sky, were now blazing gold. It was sharp, filled with divine judgment.
You stepped forward, heart stammering.
"Phainon?" you called softly. Questions filled your mind, but your mouth stayed shut.
He didn't move. Just stared.
Then, his voice filled the air. It was layered, echoing across the wind and stone, reverberating like the sound of a mountain crumbling to pieces.
"You wanted to run away with Phainon." He started, "You'd leave your husband."
Your breath caught.
Why was he speaking like that?
Why did his voice echo like thunder caught in the temple prayer room? Why was the air so heavy now, pressing against your lungs like a storm that hadn't broken? How had he found you on this desolate hill after disappearing for days?
And why... why did he come when you called your husband's name?
Your heart pounded.
"Who... are you?" You asked with trembling lips.
He stepped forward to you. From his back, wings appeared. One glowed gold, radiant and warm, while the other was as dark as a dying star. Flames crawled across his shoulders and down his arms, licking at his skin. It wasn't burning, it was revealing him.
His snow-white hair ignited into strands of living sunlight. His skin turned pale, statue-like, and fractured with glowing molten gold cracks.
You stumbled backward, eyes wide.
He was beautiful and terrifying at the same time. He was not the man you thought you knew.
And yet... his eyes were the same. Aching with unbearable longing.
"Phainon," you whispered,
“No,” he said. “Khaslana.”
His voice was soft now. Gentle. But it rumbled beneath your ribs like a god speaking through a dream. He took another step, his golden clawed hand reaching out—not to strike, but to touch.
His fingers then brushed your cheek. The sharpness of his claws grazed your skin, but the touch was careful, his fingers almost trembling.
“I met you in the market,” he said, voice thick with memory. “I laughed with you. I walked beside you as Phainon. As the man you trusted. The man you chose.”
He looked down at you with a cracked smile, pain gleaming in his golden eyes.
“But when I heard you reject Khaslana… the god—me… it broke something inside me.”
You tried to speak. To explain. That you didn’t know. That if you had, you might have—you might have—
“I’ve come to learn,” he continued, interrupting your panic, “that you can be easily swayed.”
His hand dropped to his side, claws curling slowly into a fist. The earth quivered beneath you. His voice darkened.
“If it had been someone else… someone kind, mortal, and warm. Would you have followed them too?" He stepped closer. “If I hadn’t worn that face, if I hadn’t played the fool in the market, would you ever have loved me?”
You opened your mouth. “I—I didn’t know. I didn’t mean—”
He tilted his head slightly, as if observing a fragile creature he loved too much to break—but might still cage.
“I would destroy this city if someone took you from me.”
His words weren’t shouted; they were whispered. But somehow, that made them worse.
You reached out, hands trembling. “Please… I didn’t know. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t know you were the same. I’ll stay. I’ll be obedient. I won't ask for anything else—just please, leave Okhema alone…”
His gaze softened—just a fraction.
“You say that now,” he murmured, almost sweetly, “but mortals change. They wander. They forget.”
His wings stretched wide behind him, a divine eclipse folding in on itself. He stepped close enough for you to feel the heat rolling off his skin, the scent of lightning and smoke and myrrh. His arms came around you—not to harm, but to hide you.
“To keep Okhema safe…” he whispered, voice brushing your ear like a lover’s promise, “I must keep you where no one else can reach you.”
His wings closed around you like a cage made of light and shadow.
And in a breathless flash, you were gone.
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Šsalmonmakiii, do not steal my work or feed it to AI.
184 notes ¡ View notes
mylovesstuffs ¡ 2 days ago
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“i lost the baby” 🩶 choi seungcheol × fem!reader
part of my milestone event
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Sent by anonymous ❤️‍🩹 angst prompt 8 + scoups please
congratulations on 1k!! that’s amazing! may you gain many more!
✩ ! includes :: angst to comfort. husband!seungcheol × fem!reader. established relationship, pregnancy loss, mentions of sex being off the table. 1166 words. notes :: thank you so much for celebrating with me!! I hope this brings you the ache and healing you were looking for. may we all be loved like this someday. unbeta’d
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You hadn’t planned on crying over a plastic stick at 7 a.m., but here you were; laughing through tears, heart pounding with disbelief and joy. Already, your mind was racing ahead, imagining tiny socks, lullabies, and baby names you could barely keep to yourself.
When Seungcheol walked in rubbing sleep from his eyes with his hair a mess and shirt half-rumpled, you barely managed to get the words out before pulling him into a shaky, ecstatic hug.
“I’m pregnant,” you whispered, your voice trembling.
He stilled for just one heartbeat, and then the warmth of his arms came crashing around you like safety itself. He buried his face in your hair, kissing the crown of your head once, then again, and again, like a man who couldn’t quite believe his luck but wasn’t about to question it either. “I love you,” he breathed, again and again.
You laughed, tears catching in your throat, because if this wasn’t the start of everything—then what was?
For a while, everything felt perfect. You planned around it quietly and securely like a secret you wanted to hold close. It wasn't on social media; there were no announcements yet. You didn't want to jinx it. He joked about baby-proofing the apartment; you snorted and told him, as if that ever worked for anyone.
The cramps started two weeks later. It was small and bearable at first, a twinge here, a pinch there; easily brushed off as part of the package. But one morning you woke with a sticky, terrifying warmth between your legs. You stumbled to the bathroom, and the blood on your thighs was so red, it might be said that it was painted in warning signs; your heart knew before your brain could catch up.
You sat on the floor of the shower and let the water rinse it away like it was something you could undo.
By the time you made it to the hospital, Seungcheol was already waiting, sweatpants hanging low, worry etched deep into the furrow of his brow. He reached for your hand like it grounded him—like if he didn’t hold on, you might fall right through the floor.
They told you in softened voices of clinical sympathy, those cruel, well-practiced apologies that never really touched the wound. You didn’t cry right away, as you just blinked at the sterile walls, nodding as if comprehension might somehow reverse what had already been done, as if agreeing to the terms might rewrite them. You kept thinking about how it wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were careful; you did everything right by the book. You didn’t drink; you didn’t lift anything heavy. You whispered to your stomach like it could hear, and still—
“I lost the baby,” your voice flat against Seungcheol’s chest as he held you like a vice. “Just like that. Gone.”
He didn’t say it would be okay; maybe he knew that wouldn’t help. Instead, he just kissed your temple and whispered, “I love you. I’m right here.”
So be it, you thought. Call it what you want: grief, bad luck, failure. At the end of the day, it still felt like something was taken from you.
You recoiled from conversation, shrinking from the well-meaning voices that came bearing platitudes in nice tones. You can try again, they said, as though repetition could undo loss, as though the future might somehow compensate for what was already taken. Their optimism, however offered, made you want to scream. It was easier said than done, wasn’t it always? You didn’t need another pep talk or a ‘silver lining.’ You wanted your baby. That heartbeat you never got to hear was all you wanted.
There were days you couldn’t even look at flowers without thinking of the word petals—how something so soft and full of life could just wilt overnight.
You do you, your best friend texted once when you stopped replying. You do you, it sounded like permission to break. Maybe that was what you needed.
You stayed in bed for days. The ceiling became your companion. Seungcheol moved around you like clockwork, which was gentle, patient, steady, all along with you. He cooked, he cleaned, he held you without asking for anything in return. Sometimes, you wondered if the silence between you was better than words could ever be.
Once you snapped at him for putting away the prenatal vitamins. “Don’t,” you bit out. “Leave them.”
He nodded. “Okay,” and never touched them again.
Sex was no longer part of the conversation—not forbidden, just absent for now. You would rather not, and he, without asking or persuading, simply accepted that truth as if it were self-evident. There was no withdrawal or wounded pride, because he simply understood that love, real love, does not insist on itself.
-
You asked him if he still wanted kids, one night, voice hoarse in the dark. “Because if you don’t anymore, or if you do but not with me… I’ll understand.”
He turned to face you, brushing a tear off your cheek like it offended him. “Don’t hold your breath for a goodbye I’m never going to give,” he said. “You’re it for me. You, not just… not just the idea of a family.”
You tried to believe him. Could’ve fooled me, some days. Other days, he’d bring you soup and whisper I love you against the shell of your ear, like it was a solid fact.
You’d break down in the middle of folding laundry or watching reruns, and he’d hold you until your breathing steadied. When you said, it’s no big deal, he’d answer, it is to you. So it is to me.
One afternoon weeks later, you found yourself looking at the old onesie you’d bought in a haze of excitement. It still had the tag; it was pale yellow with a tiny duck print. You put it away gently; not everything had to be a wound.
“I want to try again,” you told him that night, heart in your throat. “Not now, but someday.”
He kissed your forehead, “okay, someday.”
Make of it what you will, but you clung to those words with desperation of someone who needed a future to imagine even if it was blurred and far away. The days didn't return to brightness all at once. There were still moments when sorrow would rise unbidden, and you would find yourself crying without reason or warning.
Grief, you learned, didn’t vanish; it didn’t dissolve with time, nor obey the promises of those who said it should. It lingered, settled in the corners of a life, growing quieter, perhaps, but no less real. It no longer screamed, but it hummed beneath everything. And still, Seungcheol stayed through everything, held you without asking for explanations, made you laugh when laughter felt like trespassing.
And for what it's worth—for all the things you lost and all the things you feared to hope for—perhaps that was enough. Or if not enough, then at least something true.
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⌦ 🩶 © mylovesstuffs | est. 2025. thank you for reading—your reblog means everything. until we meet again, stay cozy and keep dreaming! ◜ᴗ◝
189 notes ¡ View notes
theobservatory ¡ 1 day ago
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I wanna just say, David did a wonderful job of himbo Clark Kent, multiple times I wanted to kiss that boys face he was so precious. Could i request Clark acting “cute” in the office (pushing his glasses up when they slip down, nearly tripping over his own feet while walking with coffee and almost spilled it on jimmy’s shirt, doing that stupid turn around when he’s trying to find where he’s going next (even tho he’s worked at daily planet for a few years already??) doing that little head duck and half wave at a coworker when they call him “smallville” as a greeting, dropping a stack of papers when he bumps into one of the new interns, basically he’s just doing his typical himbo Clark stuff) and reader is having a really hard time not dragging him down to her level by his tie to kiss him, bonus, they are good friends with both having crushes on each other but to oblivious to realize, much to Lois and jimmy’s amusement.
Youuuu got it anon. Bless that man.
Please don't hassle me if my characterizations are bad. It's literally my first time writing any of these characters, I'll get better as I learn (⁠ب⁠_⁠ب⁠)
。⁠.゚✧ ˎˊ˗
Helpless as a Kitten。⁠.゚★ ˎˊ˗
。⁠☆Synopsis: a few snapshots of you and Clark fumbling around each other
。⁠☆Cw: himbo behavior, no pronouns, no use of y/n
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"Don't you just wanna put him out of his misery?"
"Excuse me?" Lois turns from her chair.
You gesture over to Clark Kent, and she rolls her eyes. The man is hunched over a large potted plant, having caught it before it crashed to the ground, but now dirt is splayed all over the floor. He's frowning, bottom lip out and shoulders all hunched.
"He's like a sad shelter dog."
"Well he's got the eyes for it."
True, you think. They're big, and glossy, and a bright sky blue.
"I know. They're like giant pools of sky, aren't they?"
"I was going for pathetic and teary, but a lovey-dovey answer works too."
You groan, throwing your head back with your hands over your face. "Lois, I don't like him like that, stop pushing your agenda on me."
"If that's what helps you sleep at night." She shrugs.
Both of you turn back to Clark, his blue eyes are turned directly on you now. His stare is piercing, deep. Even if he is still holding a giant potted plant half sideways, causing more dirt to fall out.
You wave at him.
He drops it, and the lip of the pot shatters onto the floor, creating an even bigger mess. He turns away when you laugh, red faced and rapidly whipping his head back and forth. He's probably trying to find a broom or something before someone gets ceramic stuck in their opened-toed shoe.
"Wow." Lois says flatly.
You sigh unknowingly dreamy sounding.
"Wow." She says again, this time looking at you like you're the pathetic one. "This is really just sad for both of you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
You both turn back to your work, while Clark frantically sweeps up the dirt and chipped pottery off the floor.
。⁠.゚✧ ˎˊ˗
Currently, Clark is standing next to your desk. It's next to the wall, but not close enough to be touching. In fact, it's right next to the obnoxiously loud printer, where Clark is. The thing is jammed, as usual, so it's just making this annoying BZZRT-T-T sound as it tries to spit out more paper than it can handle. Meanwhile, Clark is muttering a little frantically under his breath.
"Darn printer, c'mon work you damn mule, you were just fine yesterday."
You mask a snort under your hand, pausing your own writing to watch Clark suffer. He still hears it- the man seems to hear everything around here- and his ears redden a little. Adorable.
"Having trouble?"
"Nah, I just- y'know-" BZZRT-T-T BZZRT-T-T BZZRT-T-T. "Just a difficult day."
"I see that."
He clears his throat awkwardly. "Right. Well I-"
BZZRT-T-T BZZRT-T-T BZZ- "Out of ink, please replace ink cartridge to print." The printer says.
"You wouldn't happen to have some ink, would you?"
"I think there's some in the back."
The man is so bashful it hurts a little. He has his shoulders hunched in like it will mitigate how large he actually is, he's avoiding eye contact so heavily he's basically turned the opposite way, even his fingers are whirring between each other like a little school girl talking to her crush. It's so sweet it could make your teeth rot.
"I can go grab some if you want-"
"NO! No, that's okay I can get it myself. I was the one who disturbed your work, anyway. I'll be right back."
He rushes away before you can get another word out, slamming his toe on the leg of your desk on the way out.
"Are you okay?" You call, huffing a laugh.
"I'm fine, don't worry about it!" He calls back.
。⁠.゚✧
"You invited Clark, right?"
"Yeah, of course I did. Does it matter?" You raise an eyebrow at Jimmy.
"Yes! If you didn't invite him he'd get all sad, and mopey."
"I know." You neglect to say out loud how cute you find it. He cares so much, and just wants to be included, he's so sweet.
"I know you know, which is why I had to ask if you invited him, because if you didn't i'd have to start taking sides, and you can't put me through that."
"I really don't think it's that deep, but whatever you say."
You, Jimmy, and Lois are all crowded in your small apartment. It's not tiny or a shoebox or anything, just a little small. It's not cramped now, but it will be when Clark's massive form arrives.
Honestly, it was only supposed to be you and Lois, but then Jimmy invited himself, and if Jimmy's coming then you might as well invite Clark too. It's a little exciting, it's the first time you're seeing Clark outside of work on purpose. You've run into each other on the street a bunch of times, and went out for coffee together on your breaks a few times as well.
This feels different, more intimate. Even with Lois and Jimmy 3rd wheeling. Not that you and Clark are together of course, you're just using that as a turn of phrase. They're not actually 3rd wheeling, you're happy to see all your friends an equal amount like any normal person.
Don't think too hard about it. Anyway.
"With how late it is, I kinda doubt he's coming," you say. Clark has always been pretty punctual for as long as you've known him.
Lois and Jimmy look at each other, and then look at you.
"He's coming."
"He'll be here."
They say in sync. Well, that's not creepy at all.
"Ooookay..."
As if summoned by his name, there's a knock on your door. You can tell by the hushed clack clack on your door that it's Clark. Somehow, the respective noise just sounds like him. It's quiet, not attention grabbing, considerate even- just like him.
You're quick to open the door. There's a giddiness in your bones that you've never quite experienced before, like a dog waiting for its favorite treat or something. Gosh, maybe Clark isn't the sad dog in your relation- friend, you meant friend- friendship, maybe it's you. But that is a thought for a mind vault, you are hosting right now, much more important than... Whatever your brain has going on.
"Hey, Clark!"
Clark's hair is unkempt, black strands twist every which way, a fat cowlick stands proudly at the center of his head. There's a little smear of dirt on his cheek bone, like he was trying to wash it off and ended up making it worse.
"Hi," He grins, slow and wide. "I brought peach cobbler."
"You didn't have to do that. No one else brought food."
"Well maybe they should've." He shrugs.
You laugh. "Maybe."
The cobbler in your hands has clearly been tossed around a bit. There's an air tight lid on the container, so all that's happened is the lids smeared with peach juice now. Clark is a little embarrassed about it if the way he places a sun kissed hand on top of it is any indication.
"Did you trip on your way here? There's dirt on your face."
He winces, flushing. "Yeah, you can say that."
The night progresses quickly after that. Lois and Jimmy steal the cobbler before you can even try a bite, and Clark tries to interject but only gets steamrolled by the two grabbing forks and ignoring him. He pouts, and you rub his back and try to comfort him, but the action leaves him tripping over his words. You have no clue if you succeeded in making him feel better or not.
After the peach cobbler debacle you end up pulling out your decade old boardgames. Jimmy was the one who suggested it, proclaiming that Clue was the best boardgame, which is wrong of course because the best boardgame is actually Monopoly, but Lois thinks it's Scrabble. Clark proclaims Candyland, but is swiftly shot down when everyone agrees that one sucks the most.
You end up playing Monopoly, because it's your house and you make the rules, but poor Clark has a hard time. He continuously knocks pieces off the board, and money is continuously scattered next to his feet and under your couch. He gets that bashful look again, hot in the ears and face, pulling at his collar.
"I-I guess my hands are a bit too big for the pieces," he says.
Which is so true, so very true. His hands are giant. They dwarf yours completely, consuming your fingers in his like a turtle shell. They're so gentle though. So kind. No matter how many pieces he drops, he's so delicate with it all. Honestly, watching him is filling your head with thoughts that make you squirm in your seat.
You try to think about the game instead. You try to fill your head with safer less friendship ruining thoughts. It's not your fault he's so hot huge.
The night ends with just you and Clark- and about a third left of peach cobbler. He's just thankful there was any left, really. You're standing in your kitchen with him, he's holding the tray, you have a fork in hand ready to finally taste the cobbler.
"I just wanted to thank you for inviting me tonight. It was fun."
"It was no problem, really."
"No, seriously. Thank you." He says almost sternly, with a rare forcefulness you've never seen before.
"Of course, Clark, seriously. I'm glad to have you, I don't know if you know this, but I like spending time with you, it makes me happy to spend time with you."
A few things happen in quick succession.
Clark flushes again, a deeper red than you've ever seen on him. Your fork goes down to try the cobbler. Clark trips on his own feet by shuffling nervously. He falls. The cobbler falls. It hits the floor upside down, and the lid is on the counter.
"Clark."
"Oh my gosh, I-I'll clean it up, and make another one. I'm so sorry."
He does. That man cleans your floor so good it looks brand new. He gets on his hands and knees, and scrubs until your kitchen floor shines. Then has the nerve to sit back on his knees and look up at you with sad, blue puppy eyes.
You've never had a man get on his knees for you before. You think you'd like it in any other circumstance. Maybe you like it a little in this one, too.
"I'm sorry." He repeats. "I should go."
"Clark, I'm not mad."
"I know. I'm still sorry."
"I know." You sigh. You hold out a hand to help Clark up, but he's far outside your weight class. It's more of a formality than it is helpful. "See you at work tomorrow?"
"Of course. Spend break together?"
You smile. "Of course."
Clark smiles back, and trips over his shoes.
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Got a little burnt out at the end bc this was supposed to be short and it got waaay fucking longer than it was supposed to
Clark is so fucking embarrassed at the end of this. He goes outside your door and puts his face in his hands and tries to hold back screams from how cringe he's being. Love him to death fr
Headcanon that Clark gets more flustered at sweet heartfelt comments than sexual or lusty ones !!!!
If this is ass I'll take care of it later, it's 1am. I'm tired.
。⁠☆Requests Open
321 notes ¡ View notes
nazberry-icecream ¡ 2 days ago
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unfinished deity!phainon x reader wip
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contains: ~600 words, deity!phainon or god!phainon, gender-neutral reader, immortality, reincarnation, character death, kidnapping
notes: this ends very abruptly just bc i wasnt happy with the direction it was going in and i lost interest in writing it </3
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Of the Three Deities of Creation, Phainon is the most in touch with his humanity. But this was thousands of years ago, when he cradled the first humans in his palms and was overwhelmed with adoration. 
Phainon’s humanity is still what sets him apart from the other Gods, despite how it wanes after years.
And then he meets you. And the faded light within him flicked to life once more.
Your wedding was grand. Your life together idyllic. It is not until decades later you realize that you have not aged a day.
You run to your husband in a flurry of emotions, and he seems bewildered by your worries. Wasn’t it obvious? When you feasted on the fruits of the divine orchards and drank the golden nectar of the Gods, you became one yourself. You promised eternity to him. With him. 
You devoted yourself to him because of his humanity. His down-to-earth nature that was so unlike the other Gods that demanded reverence and worship. You see now that he is just as out of touch, as otherworldly as the rest of them. You strike him before running off. Hurt as he is, he decides to give you space. That is until he hears word that you had seeked out the Hand of Shadow herself, begging her to end your eternal existence.
But it is not so easy to kill a God, even one that went running into the arms of death themself. 
You are reborn. And Phainon barely gets to mourn you before he realizes he has another chance. 
You find your way back to him once more. With no memory of your past life, you still cannot help but be charmed by Phainon. It’s easier this time, he knows you well. This time he tells you upfront what it means to be his bride. His assumptions last time led you to feel betrayed. This time, he will do better.
It should not surprise him when you refuse, but it does.
You treasure your humanity. The beauty of your life is that it gets to end. You will become his bride, but you will not become a God. So, desperate to keep you at his side, he accepts. And he witnesses parts of you he did not get to see last time. He is endeared by how your soft skin deepens with laugh lines, how your hair curls and turns grey, how your steps become softer and stilted.
And then you leave him once more. A gentle, aged smile on your face as you take your last breath. 
You are reborn. This time, he steals you away.
You are raised in his temples, you devote yourself to him entirely. You are closer to your humanity than ever before, but even you cannot resist the God that seems to endlessly adore you, your guiding light in life. His honesty and insistence must get through to you this time. After hemming and hawing over his eventual proposal, you agree to becoming his eternal bride.
But just as your short-lived divinity binds your to this world, your inherent humanity longs for you to bid it farewell. Your mind and memory are not marred with flaws, yet you still cannot withstand the weight of a hundred lifetimes. Humans cannot remember every detail of their life while awaiting death, but you have cheated death over and over again. You remember everything, but you are not supposed to. You clutch your head, thrash in your bed and whimper as you succumb to madness.
Phainon cannot bear to watch. He takes you to Thanatos himself this time.
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all-my-love-for-harry ¡ 1 day ago
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Surprise Berries
pairing; jake seresin x pregnant!reader
summary; You want to bake a cake to reveal jake the gender of your baby. One small detail, you're colorblind.
word count; 1.1k
warnings; none!!! a few tears but it's a fluff fest
a/n; a palette cleanser after the fic full of smut i just posted lol
masterlist
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You had imagined every detail.
The kitchen bathed in golden light just before sunset.
Jake walking through the door in his flight suit, smelling like the wind and the sea and jet fuel — sun-kissed and grinning, asking where his surprise was. You’d hand him the knife. He’d lean in, both of you shoulder to shoulder, slicing into the cake together. A clean cut through soft sponge, revealing the perfect color inside. Then: laughter, tears, arms around each other. A kiss, a name already whispered. A moment worthy of retelling a hundred times.
You had practiced for weeks. You’d baked half a dozen trial cakes, perfected your frosting skills with the help of YouTube tutorials and too much buttercream, spent an entire morning balancing strawberries and blueberries in a ring like tiny flags of hope. The final version stood proudly on the counter now — three white tiers, delicately stacked, shimmering under the amber glow of the kitchen lights.
But it wasn’t about the fruit.
It was about what was inside.
You’d used just the right amount of dye. Measured it out with trembling fingers. Stirred it carefully. Pictured his face — that crooked grin, those bright eyes — the second he saw it.
The knife sat waiting beside the cake, its silver edge glinting beside your shaking hand.
You were ready.
Until you heard the key turn in the front door.
Your breath caught.
You smoothed your hands over your dress, heart pounding, just as his boots hit the hardwood.
“Sweetheart?” Jake’s voice called, deep and warm, echoing through the quiet hallway. “Something smells like heaven in here.”
You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and stepped forward. “Hi. You’re just in time.”
He appeared in the kitchen doorway a second later, the last of the sunlight hitting his shoulders like it knew where to find beauty. Flight suit unzipped halfway, T-shirt clinging to him, hair tousled from the helmet — he looked like something out of a dream. Your dream.
Jake grinned when he saw the cake. “Well, would you look at that?” His eyes lit with surprise, admiration, affection. “You went all out.”
“I wanted it to be special,” you murmured, heart fluttering.
He leaned in and kissed your cheek, his palm resting firmly on the small of your back — a touch so familiar, so grounding, that your knees nearly gave. “It already is. What are we doing — cutting into it?”
You nodded. “Just us. Like we said.”
He picked up the knife, offering it to you first. “Ready?”
You weren’t. Not really. You were a bundle of nerves and high hopes, your throat tight and your hands clammy. But you nodded anyway.
Jake steadied your hand over the handle. You sliced together — slowly, carefully — the blade gliding clean through sponge and buttercream.
Then he cut another slice. Lifted it.
And time stopped.
You stared at the center.
Jake tilted his head, confused. “Huh. Is it… pistachio or something?”
Inside the cake was green.
Not blue.
Not pink.
Green.
You blinked once. Twice. The color didn’t change.
You stared, stunned. Your throat closed.
And just like that — it hit.
“I messed it up,” you whispered, stepping back from the island. “Oh my God, I messed it up—”
Jake looked up sharply, smile fading. “What? Hey, what’s wrong?”
“I ruined it,” you choked, waving helplessly toward the cake. “It was supposed to be—I don’t know what I did wrong. I followed everything exactly, I tested it, I practiced—”
You pressed a hand to your mouth as the first tear slipped free.
He was by your side in an instant.
Jake pulled you in, his arms wrapping tight around you, one hand cradling the back of your head like he could physically shield you from the disappointment crashing down around you.
“Shh,” he whispered, rocking you gently. “It’s okay. Look at me. Baby, it’s okay.”
“I wanted it to be perfect,” you mumbled into his chest. “I wanted to surprise you. I had this whole plan—”
He leaned back just enough to look at you, brushing your tears away with the pads of his thumbs. “You did surprise me. You made a whole damn cake. You set this up, just for us. That’s already more than perfect.”
“But it’s green, Jake.”
He smiled, a soft laugh catching in his throat. “So maybe we’re having a forest goblin. I’ll take it.”
You let out a teary laugh.
Jake glanced toward the bowl of berries on the counter. His eyes sparked with mischief. “Okay, plan B.”
You blinked. “What?”
He grabbed the bowl, holding it out between you like a sacred object. “Strawberries and blueberries, right? Red or blue. Just like the cake was supposed to be.”
You stared, still half-sniffling. “Jake, what are you talking about?”
He smirked. “I close my eyes. You pick the one that gives me the answer. Easy. We make a memory. You still get your surprise.”
“Seriously?”
“Dead serious. C’mon. I’m giving you a moment here.”
You hesitated.
Then you reached down, heart in your throat, and picked the berry you’d planned for all along.
Jake shut his eyes, playful but patient.
You raised your hand slowly.
Pressed the berry to his lips.
He took it, bit gently, chewed.
His eyes popped open.
“No way.”
You smiled, nervous and hopeful and wide-eyed.
“A boy?” he said, stunned. And then — “We’re having a boy?!”
You nodded, and he whooped, actually whooped, lifting you off the floor in one strong swoop, arms banded around your waist, spinning you once like a man who had no idea what else to do with all the joy in his chest.
He kissed you, breathless and smiling, then looked at you like you’d just handed him the whole world.
“A son,” he whispered in awe. “I’m gonna teach him how to throw a spiral. And how to land a clean punch. And how to make pancakes without setting the kitchen on fire.”
You laughed against his chest. “He’ll definitely need that last one.”
Jake leaned in and kissed you again — soft and deep, reverent.
“I love you,” he said. “More than I know how to say. Green cake and all.”
You tucked your face into his neck, letting yourself be held.
The cake hadn’t been what you imagined.
The moment hadn’t gone to plan.
But it was real. It was yours.
And it was perfect.
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wh0rephobic ¡ 1 day ago
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HOUSE RULES.
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PAIRING: bartender!anakin skywalker x fem!reader
SUMMARY: you get friendly with the bartender at your tennis club’s annual summer social.
WARNINGS: SMUT, fingering, intercourse, some choking, multiple orgasms, squirting, praise, overstimulation, cream-pie, hook-up/non-established relationship, NSFW, MDNI
COUNT: 3.0k
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The courts had been cleared, the nets rolled back, and the clay swept clean. But it wasn’t for play this time, it was for dancing. Fairy lights shimmered like stars where they were strung between the fences, and chatter buzzed through the warm summer-evening air like champagne bubbles. ’50s jazz spilled from a speaker hidden somewhere in the rocks, playing soft and lazy in the background as penny loafers and wedges clicked across the court, drinks in hand.
Anakin was working the outdoor bar beneath the club’s pale blue awning, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows and pouring rosé like it came cheap. It didn’t, but no one is paying for it anyway; everything is free tonight for the club’s annual mid-summer “Sunset Social”. It wasn’t anything extravagant, really; just a casual excuse for the rich to unwind while the club staff stepped softly, nearly part of the ambiance as they put all of their efforts into perfecting their nights.
Except Anakin had a habit of noticing things he knew he wasn’t supposed to.
Like you.
Right now, you’re sharing excited whispers of club gossip with your friends, people-watching with a spark in your eye as you discuss secret rumors about the fellow guests. Anakin couldn’t help the way his wandering eyes chased after you all night, you look so gorgeous in your floral maxi dress, A-line cut halfway down your chest to show off the right amount of cleavage so that it’s not trashy, but classy. You raise your champagne flute to your lips, sipping gingerly on your drink as your tan knee pokes out of the thigh-slit of your dress. You’re not here to play tonight, you’re here to be seen.
And Anakin sees you.
More than he should.
He’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t hurt that you hadn’t once come to the bar, hadn’t even looked in its direction. But Anakin is stubborn, and somehow, every fifteen minutes, he finds himself striding toward you and your little group with a new pitcher of some fancy drink that you had never even requested.
“Another lavender gin fizz?” he offered—or really announced—before refilling your glass.
The wine bubbled warm in your stomach, giving you the extra confidence boost you needed to finally break the ice with this boy who’s been after you.
“That’s my second.”
“Third, technically.” A cocky grin appears on his face, “but who’s counting?”
With a brief wave of giggles from the club girls, you tilt your head with a newfound curiosity, pursing your lips. “And how do you know I like gin?”
Anakin leans in slightly, still gripping the mauve pitcher in his hand. “You made a face at the tequila punch, and you didn’t touch the Aperol spritz I brought you earlier. So, either you hate sugar, or you’re finally starting to trust my taste.”
Your fingers smudge the condensation on your glass as you take a silent second to study his character. “You’ve been watching me?”
“I’m a bartender,” he shrugs playfully, “it’s my job to keep the guests happy.”
You sip slowly on your ice-cold drink, slipping your tongue gently over your bottom lip, collecting the lingering taste.
“You’ve refilled me more than anyone else here,” you call him out, it’s not like you haven’t noticed.
Even your friends have noticed, Bri was the first to say anything about it after she was anticipating Anakin coming over to refill her empty glass, only to refill your half-empty glass. You try not to show too much joy when the apples of his cheeks flush a dusty rose-pink, but you quickly find out that teasing him is so fun.
“Well… you’re the only one who starts to look pretty miserable whenever your drink gets low,” he bounces back, leaning in closer when he lowers his voice. “So, I thought I’d give you a little extra attention.”
His words are laced with a kind of intoxicating tone that makes you falter for a second, and your heart skips a beat when his icy blue eyes suddenly begin staring straight through you… his confidence sends heat right through your core. A spark.
“What’s your name, bartender?”
His gaze darkens at your title, “Anakin.”
“Well, Anakin,” you start, lips curling, “you might want to slow down before you drown me in gin.”
“Just tell me when to stop, and I will.” He says before shifting on his heels and walking back to his place where he’s needed behind the bar, throwing you a subtle wink over his shoulder when your friends finally turn away from him.
But you never tell him when, and Anakin doesn’t stop.
Hours pass, and as the dusk precipitates the deep night sky, the low music becomes overpowered by the cicadas chittering in the woods offside the tennis club.
You’re certainly tipsy now, humid summer hair having dismantled the delicate hairstyle you spent hours on for tonight’s function, yet you’re still stuck with a happy smile between your cherry cheeks. This type of natural look on you was ten times as gorgeous to Anakin as when you arrived at this party.
You’ve done your mingling amongst the other club members, but between every conversation, you found yourself searching out Anakin for more of his witty banter. You couldn’t help it, the chatter with him just flowed so effortlessly, an easy push and pull that couldn’t keep either of you away for long. He makes you feel light on your feet, confident, and above all, he’s attractive… you might have a crush.
Nearly half of the guests were gone by 11 PM, but Anakin was still working hard behind the bar for those who remained. You’re sitting on the corner of a wooden barstool; your warm chin rested on your palm while Anakin mixes drinks mindlessly.
“Hey, bartender!” You call, awaiting your cheeky smile as he makes his way back down to your end of the bar. “Another mint lemonade prosecco?”
But to your disappointment, he licks his teeth while shaking his head. “Sorry, sweetheart. Last call was five minutes ago.”
You pout playfully. Last call? Where did the time go?
“You’re busy,” you comment, watching as the sweat glistens over his forehead.
Anakin nods, “my shift ends in 10 minutes, I’m trying to make as many tips as I can before I clock out.”
You joke, “were the other tips not enough?”
“Well, I might’ve been a little distracted tonight,” he smirks.
You had never stayed this late at the Sunset Social; it was almost midnight, for God’s sake, but time just passes differently with him.
“You look bored,” he notes your dissatisfied expression.
“I am bored,” you emphasize, “all my friends left already!”
Truth be told, you’re not really bored, just missing that extra attention he promised you earlier.
“Well, if you’re still bored in 10 minutes…” he shrugs suggestively, and your lost smile suddenly reclaims its place.
Twenty minutes later, you’re being pushed back through Anakin’s bedroom doorway, lips locked like you need each other to breathe. Anakin’s fingers dig into the plush of your ass through your chiffon dress, and when he roughly pulls your hips into his own, hard-on pressing into your thigh, you card your hands through honey curls. His jaw moves with skillful motion as he licks into your mouth, letting your tongues dance against each other as he walks you to his bed. When you feel the mattress hit your calves, you manage to spin Anakin around and push him to the bed instead.
You hike the long skirt of your dress up as you crawl onto his lap, and he attacks the silver buttons on his work shirt, desperately trying to free his hot chest as quickly as possible. Once you’re settled, straddling his lap, your arms cross in front of you and lift your dress over your head, tits bouncing free in front of his face. His fingers reach right for your pointed nipples after finally freeing himself of his button-up. You gasp at the new sensation; Anakin somehow knows every way to twitch and tweak his hands to drive you crazy. His lips collide with yours again, desperately swallowing every sigh and whimper that he pulls from you.
You stabilize yourself on the hard muscle of his chest, fingers roaming to learn every dip and groove of his torso. He bites your lip, and it swells to a pout where he gently suckles on it to soothe the nip. Your wet hole clenches on nothing when he carefully parts his knees, spreading your thighs wider by the way they’re hooked over his. Anakin’s fingers slip beneath you to study the wet spot soaking through your panties, pressing into you to feel how hot your needy pussy feels, yearning for his contact through the lace. You whine, and Anakin can’t help but let the amusement tug at the corners of his lips.
He pushes the material aside and introduces his hand to your cunt, calloused fingers slipping through dripping folds before pushing his two middle digits inside. You reach for his shoulders, moaning lowly into his mouth; he hums in response.
He gently thrusts in and out of you, feeling the way your tight walls throb around him. He has a steady rhythm that allows you to subtly rock back and forth on his fingers. He’s not slow, just not moving fast enough to actually get you off. But he’s doing that on purpose, he doesn’t want this to be over before it’s even started, he just wants to prepare you for his cock.
However, he does have an interest in your pleasure when he plunges deep inside you, up to his knuckles, and curls them forward, rubbing right against your soft spot in such a perfect way that it makes you gasp for air, eyes flutter shut when your head falls back with a silent moan. Anakin trails kisses down your jaw and throat.
“You’re so wet,” he rasps against your skin, “is all that for me?”
He curls his fingers again, making you whimper in his lap as you nod. Your composure helplessly melts in his lap, and his agonizingly perfect touches don’t stop until you start to palm at his khakis. It’s bigger than you thought. Anakin pulls away from your neck, looking down at where you’re rubbing the growing bulge in his pants, then he looks at you with fire in his eyes.
His hands move for the zipper on his khakis, shuffling them off from underneath you and pushing his boxers down along with them. You kick your own underwear off before crawling over him and positioning yourself above him, where he’s lying calm and collected on the bed, hands tucked behind his head.
He bites his lip, giving you a nod. “You gonna ride me?”
You chuckle, “gonna try,”
You reach behind yourself to deliver a few pumps to his cock before aiming it forward and letting the tip catch on your eager hole when you sit back on him. His grasp on your hips is hard enough to leave wine-red impressions, and you can’t help but clench down on him when he slides in. Your eyes screw shut with a gasp, thin nails scratching crescents into his abs. He groans into the hot air of his bedroom, sounds echoing off the walls.
“That’s it, yeah… that’s it…” he coos as you slowly sink down.
The stretch burns deep inside you, and you only make it halfway before a shiver shakes your body.
“F-Fuck…” you hiss, “oh, God—“
You soon forfeit and have to lift yourself back up, then sink down again to only halfway down his shaft. Anakin stares up at you with awe, eyes glossed over and pupils blown out with lust as small gasps come and go through his ajar mouth.
His eyes flick down to watch you take his length, pussy sucking him in with every withdrawal, reluctant to let go, and leaving behind a trail of glossy wetness that drools down to his balls. You’re mesmerizing.
And sure, he’s enjoying the show, but he knows you can take more.
Without warning, Anakin plants his feet on the bed and thrusts up into you until your hips meet flush. Such an unforgivable action rips a yelp from your throat when you feel his cockhead kiss your cervix, and Anakin swears he can see your eyes cross for a brief moment before you drop your head down, body almost going limp on his cock as you quiver from the shock of his thrust. You whimper, and he rubs his thumb in comforting circles on the plush of your hip; he almost feels a little guilty.
He pouts. “Come on, angel… just roll over and let me fuck you right,”
It only takes one more failed bounce for Anakin to successfully get you onto your back, and he wastes no time once he’s on top.
His thrusts are aggressive and punishing as he slides in and out of your swollen hole, the room fills with the clap of his hips against your ass that harmonize with your helpless cries. Your jaw has fallen slack; vision blurred with tears as he fucks you into oblivion.
“Ohh God— Anakin, oh Anakin-!” You chant his name like a prayer you knew in a past life.
He’s got both hands planted underneath each of your thighs, pushing your soft legs apart to give himself more access to your greedy cunt. Your back is arched, dainty fingers gripping at the sheets as you tighten around him. Every pound into you can be felt in your lungs, ripping the oxygen from you. You quickly disassemble into a drooling mess beneath him, abused pussy swelling around him more and more with every stroke he delivers inside you.
When you pulsate around him with the perfect grip, his rhythm falters, and he readjusts his positioning before doubling down and fucking you mean and dirty, somehow with more fervor than before. When Anakin frees a wandering hand that quickly finds your slick pink folds, you can’t breathe. His calloused fingertips dance over your sensitive pearl with such elegance it forces your walls to clamp shut around his hard dick… Anakin’s eyes squeeze shut momentarily, getting lost in the feeling before he continues circling around your clit, forcing the coil in your core to get tighter and tighter before you’re even able to process it.
His free hand comes up to your throat to stabilize himself, using his grip to move you up and down on his length to meet his pelvis. You gasp, a shaky hand reaching for his wrist, begging for mercy. It’s too much.
“Come on, pretty girl,” his fingers tighten ever so slightly, “you can take it.”
But you’ve completely fallen apart now, rapidly unraveling as you moan out for him. “Wait— Oh-! Please, A-Anakin, slow down-! Ah, Ah, I-I’m gonna—!”
The warm coil quivers inside of you, shooting sparks out to your fingertips as you teeter on the edge of release. Every circle of his digits on your core, every sharp push into your bruised cervix, every squeeze to your raw throat…
“I know, baby, come on, I’ve got you—“ he grunts.
You flutter around him with a sharp gasp, “Ani-Anakin—! I-I’m… I-I can’t—“
Your whole body tenses right before your climax crashes over you. He watches carefully as your entire figure crests over, starting with your head when your eyes roll back, and rumbling down through your torso, leaving your legs shaking around his waist… and his thrusts don’t stop for a second. You just lay there, body completely spent, but still welcoming everything he’s willing to give you. You twitch beneath him, breathless moans straining from your chest as he watches your tits bounce with every push and pull. Anakin’s eyes squeeze shut, freeing your throat and cunt to plant both of his hands on the mattress beside you and turn all of his focus to chasing his release. Quiet moans are slipping from between his lips, so soft you can barely hear them…
But then, with a sudden jolt, the coil is twisting again. But it’s different this time, it’s hot. Red-hot, and you’re falling into it so fast you don’t even have time to process the unusual feeling before something instantly tears through you with an audible splash, and you open your eyes wide to see Anakin’s stomach glistening with your rush of wetness squirting all over him.
“F-Fuck, oh, shit—!”
He empties inside of you with a final thrust and a deep growl as he claws his nails into your love handles, holding on for dear life as he paints your pussy white.
But then, he softens, delivering a couple more gentle ruts into your throbbing hole as he finishes riding out his high. The grip on your hips loosens, and he rubs his thumb back and forth over the new scratches he left imprinted into your sides. The two of you work hard to catch your breath after coming down, and your pussy flutters when he finally pulls out of it, already missing the full feeling.
Anakin drapes his body over yours, wrapping big arms around your waist to hold you tight to him as he buries his face into your neck. Your fingers come up around his hot body and trace gentle shapes over his back. You stare up at his spinning ceiling with dreamy eyes, just taking your time enjoying the afterglow. His big hand comes up to stroke your hair gently, soothing you as he pants. Your eyes fall shut while you hug him, both of you slowly drifting off to sleep after your eventful night.
“Good girl… you did so good for me…”
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hyacinth-in-a-haze ¡ 1 day ago
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I absolutely LOVED your yan concubine! I would love to hear more about him! Anything you’re interested in sharing or maybe his relationship with reader after he disfigured her? Maybe his relationship/ how he acts with the emperor and how he plans to over throw the palace? Only if you’re interested ! I love your stories and can’t wait to read more
I am so very much torn between saying everything now or showing it later, anon, so here's a little drabble for your sake xxx
Interlude- Yandere Concubine x Fem reader
Contains- threats of violence, self destructive behaviour, forced dependency, possessive and obsessive behaviour
Other servants who had the misfortune of being disfigured or disabled by their masters were sent far away from any public jobs, relegated to where their appearance would not put off any noble from their dinner. You wouldn't be so lucky, rather it seems now he is much more willing to parade you about. Knowing that everyone else only looks at you with pity or disgust reflecting in their eyes, unable to stop staring at the cruel and puckered crescent that lays across your cheek. You tried to wear a veil outside, for everyone else's comfort if not yours, a cumbersome swatch of silk that did nothing to obscure your face from anyone who looked too close. Eventually you found it burnt to bits in the fireplace, and you made no move to replace it.
He made it almost a point at first to hide your appearance from you, covering up any large mirrors with heavy cloth, confiscating his multiple handheld ones and locking them away. The only idea you had around your appearance was when you'd unbind the bandages to feel around your face, trying to figure out where the creator begins and ends. Picking at it until the blood would flow again and he would roll over in bed to grab your arms and hush you. That he of all people found you to be perfect and good and kind, so why isn't that enough for you to understand why he did this. He lost patience when he found you one night with shattered glass before you and the bandage torn to pieces, when you flinched as he approached you. Anger overtaking him as he grabbed you by the hair forcing you to meet his eyes properly as he snarls.
“Did you want me to let him take you? To tear you in two over and over, because he likes to break pretty things down between his teeth!” He yanks harder until you feel hair separate from your scalp and you howl, but he just continues,“I don't understand you! This is to protect you! If he did anything I'd kill the bastard do you understand? I can take it but you can't even take my protection!” He screams at you, his pupils dilated with frantic mania, slowly he settles as he lets go of your head to see the strands still wrapped around his fingers.
“I thought I could protect you by making you be known as mine,” his hands shake as he wraps them over your shoulders “but that isn't enough to keep you safe, so I ruined you before someone else could. I will not apologise for that.” He brings you closer against his chest, kneeling amongst the mirror shards scattered about on the floor catching the glint of your tears in the low light of the lanterns. You just say nothing, what is there to even say? He is right, you would never survive if the emperor took a fancy to you. Now you would never be able to survive without him, because who would ever want you when your appearance is so marred by his supposed protection. So you just slump, motionless as he rubs the apothecary's balm in slow circular motions. Affixing the bandages carefully in place.
“If you remove this once more and pick at your poor face I'll have to bind your hands until you allow this to heal.” The admonishment is gentle but you know full well he means those words seriously as he kisses your face with all the tenderness you've never had. In truth you don't understand his affections, why he would go to such lengths to protect you and keep you by his side. Perhaps it is because in this palace where everything he has is dependent on the emperor's pleasure, you are the one thing he can call his. A servant girl snatched from her village and sold to the palace, you're loyal to him yes. Because loyalty keeps you alive,keeps you clothed and fed. You're not so much a fool to bite the only hand that has chosen to feed you when all others won't hesitate to beat.
So you let him preen over you, he's much more willing to beautify you now that no one will spare you a second glance. When you first came to the palace you had a hope, most serving girls are let go once they have reached the end of their contracts. You couldn't read the numbers but you thought if you kept your head down and saved your pay, in a couple years you would be back home like nothing happened. What hope is able to be left when you're sat in the prized concubines lap as he pours his prized oils onto your hair, a silent apology for the strands he ripped out earlier. It seems as though now he guards what's left of your beauty just as much as his. In truth, while he may look at you with a flicker of guilt there is no remorse in his heart, he would do it again if he felt he must. The real question would be how far would he go before he'd be secure in your supposed safety?
He hasn't touched you yet, you know it's a matter of time or a strong bottle of wine before he makes the choice to deflower you and ruin you more for any other hands but his to hold. But until then, you will wake sometimes in the night, wondering where his familiar warmth went and wandering barefoot on the cold floor . Finding him deliberating amongst letters and scrolls scattered around him. Since that night, when he took the knife to your face, he's had a fervour with his plans, pulling the net tight around the emperor before you become threatened again. When he sees you in the shadow of the doorway, he only just sighs and gathers everything together before storing it underneath the floor tiles. There's no fear you would discover anything. You don't even know the characters that make up your own name. He merely takes you back to bed with him, holding you so firmly as though you'd be ripped away should he sleep too deeply.
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sunsetmade ¡ 1 day ago
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Hii again!!! told you I would be bask lol. So I have a request for a Rafe Cameron fic where reader and him are childhood best friends. He loves her but she doesnt see it even though she has loved him since third grade or something. Well now she is dating Topper or Kelce (up to you) Rafe nows they cheat on her and maybe at a party she finds out and finds out Rafe knew and didnt tell her and ending up to you but I vote fluff lol
Truth Within the Lies
Bsf! Rafe Cameron x Bsf! Reader
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Rafe Cameron had always been a little rough around the edges—sharp-tongued, hot-tempered, reckless to the point of self-destruction—but never with her. Not once. With her, he was soft in the way sunlight filters through curtains in the morning. Gentle in the way his voice lowered when he said her name. Careful, even when the rest of the world made him feel like he had to swing first and ask questions later.
She’d known him since they were eight. Since the first week of third grade when he slid his unopened apple juice across the table during recess because she’d forgotten her lunch. He didn’t say anything about it, just watched her with those too-blue eyes and gave her a little shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he hadn’t just carved a permanent place in her memory.
She remembered how he bloodied his knuckles on a fifth grader’s nose the next week just for calling her weird. Rafe got detention. She got butterflies.
That was the moment—right there in the hallway outside Mrs. Callahan’s class, with his scraped-up fists and crooked smirk—that she decided her heart would never fully belong to anyone else. And over the years, that quiet truth never changed. Not when he grew taller than her, not when he got moody and restless and started pushing the world away. She held onto it like it was stitched into her.
But he didn’t know that.
At least she didn’t think he did.
Because if he did—if he’d felt even a fraction of what she did—he never would’ve stood by and watched her fall into something with Kelce.
And if she had any self-preservation at all, she never would’ve agreed to date Kelce in the first place.
It wasn’t about Kelce, not really. It wasn’t about his stupid charm or the way he said all the right things when people were looking. It was about distraction—about burying feelings too big to name. She thought maybe, if she kissed someone else enough times, she could stop aching every time Rafe showed up shirtless after surfing, towel slung low on his hips and hair curling from saltwater. She thought if she let someone hold her hand long enough, maybe it would stop hurting when Rafe climbed into the passenger seat of her car with a sleepy smile, barefoot and golden and entirely unaware of what he was doing to her.
Kelce was supposed to be a placeholder. Something loud and obvious to drown out the quiet way she loved Rafe.
But all it did was make her miss him more.
And worse, Kelce had turned out to be a jackass.
Not just thoughtless or immature—though he was both of those things. But cruel in a careless sort of way. The kind of guy who flirted with other girls right in front of her and laughed it off like she was being dramatic. The kind who only held her hand when other people were watching, and who never, not once, made her feel safe the way Rafe did just by sitting beside her in silence.
She hadn’t told Rafe about the way Kelce made her feel. About the cold pit in her stomach every time he brushed her off. She didn’t want to seem fragile. She didn’t want to give herself away.
But Rafe saw everything—he always had.
And he looked at Kelce lately like he was one bad decision away from ruining him.
Rafe found out at the gas station.
He hadn’t been looking for anything—wasn’t snooping, wasn’t suspicious. He’d just pulled in to grab a Red Bull and fill up his tank, same as always. But the universe had a twisted sense of humor, and sometimes the truth didn’t wait for the right moment. Sometimes it slammed into you without warning, sharp and unavoidable.
He saw them as he rounded the corner of the convenience store—a flash of Kelce’s too-familiar grin and a girl who very clearly wasn’t his best friend.
She was tall. Tan. Redhead. Laughing at something Kelce said like she’d known him longer than a few minutes. And then Kelce’s hand slid down her back, slow and deliberate, fingers grazing too low before settling on her ass like he owned her.
Like this was normal.
Like this wasn’t the fourth time.
Rafe stopped mid-step, the air knocking out of his lungs like he’d taken a punch to the ribs. For a second, he just stood there, trying to convince himself that maybe he was seeing it wrong. That it wasn’t what it looked like.
But no amount of denial could cover the fact that Kelce had sworn—just last week, with that same bullshit sincerity in his eyes—that he was “serious about her.” That he was “trying this time.” That he’d “never do that again.”
And now here he was, fingers digging into another girl’s ass like promises meant nothing.
Rafe felt something snap.
The next thing he knew, his car door was slamming behind him, hard enough to make the metal vibrate. His boots hit the pavement fast and furious, cutting across the lot like a storm. Heat rushed up his neck, fury burning behind his eyes.
“Yo!” he snapped, voice cutting through the humid silence like a knife. Heads turned—people looked up from their pumps, their drinks, their phones. But Rafe didn’t give a damn. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Kelce flinched and spun around like a kid caught stealing. The smug grin he’d been wearing slipped right off his face, fast. His hand, which had been tracing the curve of some girl’s waist—a girl Rafe didn’t recognize—dropped like he’d been burned.
“Rafe—shit, hey, it’s not what it looks like—”
“Don’t even start.” Rafe didn’t spare a glance at the girl clinging awkwardly to Kelce’s side. All his rage was zeroed in on him. “She’s your girlfriend, you piece of shit. Or did you forget that?”
Kelce’s face paled, mouth opening and closing like he was searching for the right lie and not finding one fast enough.
“She trusts you,” Rafe hissed, voice low and dangerous now. “She defends you. God knows why. And you’re out here, what—just hoping she won’t find out? Hoping you can keep getting away with this?”
He took a step closer, fists balled at his sides, breathing hard enough to fog glass. “And this is what you do behind her back? This? Hoping she won’t find out? Or just not giving a fuck anymore?”
Kelce raised his hands like he could physically block the guilt closing in. “Okay, okay—chill. Look, I was gonna tell her.”
“Bullshit.” The word landed like a strike. “You were never gonna tell her. You were gonna keep sneaking around, thinking you’re untouchable. Thinking she’s too sweet, too soft to ever find out.”
He watched Kelce’s throat bob with a swallow. His eyes kept darting toward the car—like he was planning an escape. Rafe dared him to run. God, he wanted a reason to put his fist through something.
“You’re gonna tell her,” Rafe snapped. “Tonight. At the party. Or I will.”
Kelce blinked. “What? Rafe, come on—”
“I’m not asking,” Rafe said coldly. “I’m telling you. You confess, or I swear to God, I’ll knock your teeth down your fucking throat and then tell her myself. Loud enough that the entire island hears every dirty fucking detail.”
Silence stretched between them like a tightrope. The gas station buzzed faintly in the background, one flickering neon tube casting a cold stutter of light over Kelce’s drained face. A motorcycle growled in the distance, tires screeching faintly before fading away.
Then Kelce swallowed hard and nodded, barely. “Fine. I’ll tell her.”
But Rafe didn’t move. He didn’t nod. Didn’t blink. Just stared, every muscle in his body locked tight like a trigger pulled halfway back.
“You better.” His voice was low now, barely more than a whisper. But it held more weight than any shout could. “Because she deserves better than you. She always has. And if I ever see you touch another girl while you’re still with her—” His voice broke off, sharp with restrained rage. “—you’re gonna wish the only thing I did was knock your teeth in.”
Then he turned on his heel and walked away, every part of him coiled tight, like violence was still simmering just under the surface. His hand shook as he yanked open the car door, his jaw twitching, heart pounding like a war drum in his ears.
But it wasn’t just about the cheating.
It wasn’t just about loyalty. Or betrayal. Or catching Kelce in another lie.
It was her.
It had always been her.
Since they were kids. Since scraped knees and sidewalk chalk and sleepovers where he’d sworn to protect her from ghosts under the bed. And now? She wasn’t scared of ghosts. She was trusting monsters in human skin—like Kelce.
And Rafe Cameron?
He would never let her be someone’s afterthought.
Not while he was still breathing.
⸝
She was wearing that sundress again—the soft yellow one with the tiny white flowers, the one that always made Rafe’s chest ache in ways he couldn’t explain. He used to tease her about it, calling her “Little Miss Daisy” with that crooked smirk of his, just to keep things light, just to keep her laughing. But the truth was, he loved that damn dress. Loved the way it flowed around her knees when she walked, loved the way the sunlight used to catch on her shoulders when they were younger and less tangled in complicated feelings.
But tonight, her smile didn’t match the dress.
She walked into the Boneyard like she was trying to pretend—chin up, lips painted with gloss she rarely wore, that fake little smile playing on her mouth like a mask. But her eyes gave her away. They didn’t light up. Not the way they used to. Not the way they did when she saw him, even when she pretended not to notice.
Rafe saw it all. The way she held herself a little too straight. The stiffness in her shoulders. The way she laughed at things that weren’t funny, like she was trying to convince herself she was fine.
She wasn’t. Not even close.
And Rafe felt it like a punch to the chest—because she was with Kelce, and Kelce had been playing her for a fool. Rafe knew it. Hell, everyone probably knew it. But she didn’t. Or maybe she didn’t want to believe it yet.
He leaned against the side of the keg, beer warm in his hand, and watched her.
Not like a creep. Not like some jealous freak. Just… watched. Quietly. Carefully. The way he always did when she was near and didn’t realize how much of him she carried in her orbit.
She laughed again—too loud this time—and Rafe’s jaw clenched when he saw Kelce whisper something in her ear, his hand dropping to her lower back like he had a right to touch her. Like he hadn’t been seen last week at the gas station with some redhead, fingers tracing lines where they didn’t belong.
Rafe could’ve said something then. He should have. But it wasn’t his place.
Not yet.
Still, he stayed close that night. Hovered in the background, pretending to drink, pretending not to watch her every time she passed. His fingers twitched every time her dress swayed too close, every time she looked at him and then looked away.
Kelce, on the other hand, was unraveling.
The guy couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t keep eye contact. He laughed too hard, talked too fast, kept knocking back drinks like he was trying to drown something.
Guilt, maybe.
Cowardice, probably.
Rafe saw the moment it hit—the second Kelce finally cracked. Just past midnight, when the fire pit was low and half the crowd had gone hazy with beer and smoke. Kelce touched her elbow, pulled her aside, out of the glow of the flames and into the shadows near the treeline.
Rafe straightened.
His beer hit the ground, forgotten, as he took a step forward without even realizing it.
He couldn’t hear the words from where he stood, but he didn’t need to.
He saw her face. Watched it shift from confusion to disbelief to heartbreak, all in the span of seconds. Her head tilted, brows knit, mouth parted slightly like she was about to ask a question—and then nothing. Just silence. Just stillness. Her arms folded across her chest like she was holding herself together, but her hands were shaking.
Rafe moved before her knees could buckle.
She turned from Kelce with a look in her eyes that Rafe would never forget. Not as long as he lived.
Like someone had shattered something inside her and left her standing in the wreckage.
He didn’t ask what happened.
Didn’t need to.
“Hey,” he said, voice low and soft as he stepped in front of her. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
She didn’t argue. Didn’t blink. Just nodded like she was underwater, like the air had gone too heavy to breathe. Her fingers curled into the hem of her dress like she was grounding herself, and Rafe reached for her—one arm slipping around her shoulders as gently as he could.
Leaned into his chest like she belonged there, and maybe she did. Maybe she always had.
He guided her toward his truck with slow, steady steps, shielding her from the curious glances and whispers already circling behind them. Her breath hitched, and he felt the tremble of her body against his side. She was trying not to cry, trying to hold it in.
But the second he opened the passenger door, she broke.
A soft sob escaped her lips as she climbed in, and Rafe’s heart damn near shattered. He rounded the truck, slid into the driver’s seat, and didn’t start the engine right away. Just sat there, listening to her try and fail to steady her breathing.
And then, without saying a word, he reached over and took her hand.
Warm. Steady. Safe.
She looked at him through tear-glossed lashes, and for the first time that night, she really saw him.
“I’m here,” he said quietly. “I got you.”
And he meant it.
Even if she didn’t realize it yet, she’d always had him.
And he always had her.
Rafe drove her straight home—his home—not even bothering to ask where she wanted to go. He already knew. The moment she climbed into his truck, silent and broken, there was only one place that made sense.
Tannyhill sat in quiet darkness when they pulled in, the grand house looking softer under the moonlight. The family was out on ‘vacation’ which was more than likely a business trip, the Range Rover gone from the driveway, and for once, the place felt still. Safe. Like maybe, just for tonight, the weight of the world could wait outside.
She hadn’t spoken a single word the entire ride.
Rafe didn’t push her. He just drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting between them, inches from hers. Close enough that if she needed him, she wouldn’t even have to speak.
Once inside, she moved like her limbs didn’t quite belong to her. Like she wasn’t really here. Rafe went into the kitchen and grabbed a few snacks— her favorite.
He found her upstairs a few minutes later, curled on his bed like she was trying to disappear into it. Her knees were tucked to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them. One of his old sweatshirts hung off her frame—oversized, worn soft at the sleeves—the kind of thing she’d pulled from his dresser a hundred times before, but tonight, it clung to her like armor.
Her hair was a mess, strands clinging to tear-damp cheeks. Mascara streaked beneath her eyes like war paint, and her lips were parted slightly, as if she’d been holding back sobs for too long. Glassy eyes stared at nothing in particular.
But to Rafe, she had never looked more heartbreakingly beautiful. More real. Like a painting cracked at the corners but still whole.
He paused in the doorway, not saying anything at first. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the hallway behind him. The ceiling fan spun lazily above her, casting slow-moving shadows that danced over her like whispers. The world outside was distant and muffled—crickets, wind in the trees, the occasional echo of laughter from the street—but in here, it was quiet. Still. Just the two of them.
Then her voice came—quiet, thin, like the last breath before a cry.
“He cheated on me.”
It split the silence like glass underfoot.
Rafe crossed the room without a word, sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, the springs groaning softly. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t rush her. He just sat—close enough for her to feel him, steady and solid beside her, like he was meant to anchor her in that exact moment.
“I know,” he said, his voice low and rough around the edges.
She turned her head slowly, red-rimmed eyes locking onto his. Confusion. Hurt. Betrayal. It was all there, tangled up in the delicate lines of her face.
“You knew?”
He hesitated—just for a second—then gave a short nod. “I found out yesterday. I saw him at the gas station. Laughing. With some girl. His hands weren’t where they should’ve been.”
Her breath caught, like it hurt just to inhale.
“I confronted him,” Rafe continued. “Told him he had two choices—tell you himself, or I’d put him through a wall.”
A choked sound slipped from her throat. “Rafe…”
“I didn’t want it to be like this,” he murmured, voice thick. “Not tonight. Not at some party where everyone could see your heart break. You didn’t deserve that.” He swallowed hard, jaw clenching. “But I also couldn’t keep lying to you. You deserved the truth… even if it hurt.”
She looked away, blinking fast as fresh tears welled. “Why didn’t you tell me the second you found out?”
His answer came without hesitation.
“Because you wouldn’t have believed me,” he said honestly. “Not right away. Not if it came from me.”
Her brows knit, voice breaking. “Why not?”
“Because you always see the good in people,” he said softly, eyes dropping to the floor. “Even when they don’t deserve it. You give second chances like candy. You believe in everyone… even when they’ve done nothing to earn it.” He let out a bitter laugh under his breath. “Especially him.”
She was quiet for a moment. Then she whispered, almost inaudibly, “I would’ve believed you.”
That made him look at her.
“I always listen to you,” she said, voice barely holding together. “Even when I shouldn’t.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was full of everything they weren’t saying. The air between them felt thick with it, heavy and unspoken. Rafe could feel her eyes on him, searching for something. For truth. For comfort. For him.
The fan hummed steadily above, pushing soft waves of air through the room. Somewhere downstairs, the old clock in the hallway ticked on, indifferent to the way time felt frozen up here.
Rafe didn’t move. Didn’t breathe too loud. He didn’t want to scare her away from whatever edge she was teetering on.
“You didn’t deserve any of this,” he said finally, his voice rough with something he couldn’t quite name. “Not the lies. Not the way he treated you. You deserve someone who worships the ground you walk on.”
She let out a shaky breath, her head dropping slightly.
“I was stupid,” she murmured. “I should’ve seen it. I should’ve known—”
“No,” Rafe cut in, voice firm. “You weren’t stupid. You were trusting. You were kind. That’s not a flaw.”
Her eyes flicked to his again, and this time there was something else there. Something fragile and warm and terrifying.
“You always protect me,” she said.
“I always will.”
She smiled softly through the remnants of her tears and shifted closer, inching across the bed until her head found the familiar curve of his shoulder. It was a quiet movement, but it said everything. She trusted him—still. Even now.
Rafe stilled, eyes flickering down to where her hair brushed his collarbone. He didn’t dare move. Didn’t even breathe too deeply.
Then her voice broke the silence again, soft and uncertain, but laced with something vulnerable.
“Did you know I liked you?”
His head snapped toward her so fast, it made her laugh—just a little, just enough to ease the tension in the air.
“What?”
“In third grade,” she said with a wistful smile, her eyes distant like she was watching the memory unfold behind them. “I had the biggest, dumbest crush on you. You used to throw your jacket down over every mud puddle on the playground so I wouldn’t mess up my new shoes.”
Rafe blinked. His expression flickered between stunned disbelief and something almost boyish. “That was my only jacket.”
“I know.” She looked down at their hands, her voice dipping quieter. “That’s how I knew it was real.”
He stared at her like she’d just rewritten the past. Like everything he remembered had suddenly taken on new meaning.
“I’ve been in love with you since we were thirteen,” he said finally, the words slipping out rough and unfiltered.
She froze against him.
Her breath hitched—but not from pain this time. From something else. Something fragile and blooming.
“I was gonna tell you last summer,” Rafe said, eyes falling to his lap. His voice had that low rasp it only carried when he was being honest. Unarmored. “At that bonfire at the south end of the beach. You remember? It was warm, the music was loud, people were dancing barefoot in the sand…”
She nodded slowly, eyes fixed on him.
“I had this whole speech in my head. Every word rehearsed. But then… Kelce showed up. And you were with him. Holding his hand.” Rafe exhaled, shaking his head with a hollow laugh. “I figured I was too late.”
The room went still. Her gaze never left his face—like she was finally hearing everything she’s always dreamed of hearing. That she didn’t misread every look he’d ever given her, every late-night call, every protective glance when she wasn’t paying attention.
“You weren’t too late,” she whispered, voice trembling.
He lifted his head slowly, eyes meeting hers.
“I only dated Kelce to try and forget you,” she said, a thread of shame laced through her tone. “It was stupid. I was stupid. I thought I needed to move on. I didn’t think you’d ever…” Her voice faltered. “I didn’t think you’d want me like that.”
Rafe looked at her like she’d just broken his heart all over again.
“I’ve only ever looked at you like that,” he said, voice almost a whisper. “You’ve always been it for me. Even if I couldn’t have you.”
Her lips parted, and she stared at him—soft, stunned, like puzzle pieces were finally snapping into place. All the moments she’d brushed off. All the times he’d stayed when everyone else left. The way he saw her, always, without her needing to ask.
“Rafe…”
Before she could say more, he reached for her—gentle, careful—as if he didn’t want to scare her off. His fingers brushed her knee through the soft cotton of the hoodie she wore, grounding her. Just enough to let her know he was real. That this was real.
“I’m not perfect,” he said quietly. “You know that better than anyone. I’ve screwed up a hundred different ways. But I’d never hurt you. Not like he did.”
Her eyes filled again, but this time with something warmer. Something whole.
“I know,” she breathed.
And she did. Deep down, in the marrow of her bones, she had always known. Even when she pretended not to.
So when she leaned into him—fully, finally—it wasn’t impulsive. It wasn’t rushed or dramatic. It was soft. Earnest. Like slipping into a place that had been waiting for her all along.
Rafe wrapped his arms around her like he’d been waiting for this moment his entire life. Her head rested against his chest, tucked under his chin, and his hand found the small of her back like muscle memory. She could feel the steady beat of his heart under her ear, could feel his breath slow as hers began to match it.
And for the first time that night—maybe the first time in a long, long time—she let herself breathe.
She was quiet for a long moment, resting in the circle of his arms. Her cheek was pressed to his chest, where his heartbeat thudded slow and steady beneath her ear—like a lullaby only she could hear.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, and when she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
“Can I stay here tonight?” she asked. “I just… I don’t want to go home. Not yet.”
Rafe didn’t even hesitate. “You can always stay here.”
He was already pulling back the covers, his touch gentle, movements instinctive. “Come here.”
She slid down beneath the blankets, the sheets cool against her skin until his arms wrapped around her again, pulling her close. Her body melted into his like it was the only place she’d ever meant to be. She buried her face in his chest, her breath catching faintly as she inhaled the scent of him—salt from the sea, cedar from his soap, and something softer, something that had always felt like home.
His hand found her back, rubbing slow circles. Then he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, lips lingering in her hair like a promise.
“You didn’t deserve that,” he murmured. “What he did to you.”
She was silent for a moment. Then: “I just feel stupid.”
Rafe pulled her in tighter, his voice warm but firm. “You’re not stupid. You’re trusting. There’s a difference. You give people the benefit of the doubt. That’s not a weakness, it’s… it’s one of the best things about you.”
Her head tilted back slightly, eyes searching his in the soft light filtering through the window. “You really think so?”
“I do,” he said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You love with your whole heart. That’s rare.”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “So do you.”
That stopped him.
Rafe’s throat went dry, his heart thudding a little harder against her cheek.
“Only with you,” he said quietly.
The air between them shifted—tender and electric, all at once. A hush fell over the room, like even the walls were holding their breath.
And then, she leaned in.
Her lips brushed his—soft and careful. A whisper of a kiss. A question asked not with words, but with hope.
Rafe answered with the kind of kiss he’d been holding back for years. Slow. Certain. Like the answer had always been yes. Like his soul had been waiting for hers to meet him halfway.
She sighed into him, her hand curling into the front of his shirt as their bodies moved closer, instinctively drawn. There was no rush. No desperation. Just warmth. Familiarity. The unspoken ache of love finally finding its place.
Their kisses were slow and tender, stitched with years of quiet longing and hidden glances. Her fingers traced the edge of his jaw, his hand cradled the back of her head like something precious.
When they eventually broke apart, breathless and close, she nestled against him once more, her head returning to the steady rhythm of his chest.
Rafe’s lips brushed softly against the crown of her head, his voice low and warm as he whispered, “You’re mine, you know that, right?”
His words weren’t possessive—they were protective, full of quiet conviction and years of unspoken feelings. The kind of truth that had lived between them for far too long.
She smiled against the heat of his skin, her cheek pressed to his chest, where his heart beat steady beneath her. Sleep tugged at the edges of her, but her voice came out steady, sure, wrapped in affection. “I’ve always been yours.”
Rafe let out a breath—part laugh, part relief—and tightened his arms around her, drawing her closer like he was afraid the moment might slip through his fingers. “Even when you were dating that jackass?”
A groan vibrated in her throat, and she smacked his chest lightly with a sleepy grin. “Don’t remind me,” she muttered. “Seriously. I was delusional.”
“You were bored,” he said with a smirk, clearly enjoying himself now. “And blind. Completely blind to how obsessed I was with you.”
Her heart tugged painfully in her chest, guilt and affection tangling in her ribs. She reached up to touch his face, thumb brushing over the edge of his cheekbone. “You shouldn’t have waited. I always loved you.”
Rafe caught her hand, pressing a kiss into her palm. “I would’ve waited forever if I had to.”
Her breath caught, shaky and small, before she let out a soft laugh, her lashes fluttering shut again. “Well, you don’t have to anymore.”
“Damn right,” he said, voice lower now, kissed with something heavier. He leaned in, lips pressing once more to her hair. “I’ll forgive you,” he whispered, teasing but tender, “if you promise me one thing.”
She hummed, half-yawning into his chest. “What’s that?”
“Don’t ever do that again,” he rasped, but there was no sharpness to the words—just the lingering echo of all the time he spent aching quietly for her. “No more running. No more pretending we’re just friends.”
She gave a sleepy laugh, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “I won’t,” she promised. “Never again.”
“Good,” Rafe whispered, burying his face in her hair like he was finally home. “Because I’m not gonna let you go this time.”
She didn’t answer—not with words, anyway. Just curled deeper into him, letting the weight of everything else fall away.
And Rafe?
Rafe held her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he’d been waiting forever to do it.
Because he had.
And now, in the quiet safety of his room—with her breath soft against his skin and her heartbeat finally steady—he knew without a doubt…
She’d been waiting for him too.
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bitchinbarzal ¡ 2 days ago
Text
Almost Got Away — J Burrow
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The last time you saw Joe in person, he was at 22, barefoot in a college apartment, and telling you that he loved you.
The next morning, you broke up.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t messy. You just knew you wouldn’t survive the version of life that came next: draft nights and distance and an ever-spinning world of cameras and press conferences. You wanted him to chase his dreams without holding back.
You didn’t want to be the reason he stayed safe.
So you let him go.
And now, three and a half years later, you’re standing in Paycor Stadium with your fiancé’s arm around your shoulders, trying not to look at the man in orange and black with a “9” stretched across his back.
The same man whose name used to be in your phone with three hearts and no last name.
The same man who once memorised your coffee order and your hometown and the exact kind of silence you needed when you were about to cry.
The same man you haven’t stopped dreaming about even after you said yes to someone else.
It was your fiancé’s idea to come to the game. His boss had season tickets and was out of town offered them as “best seats in the house”
He’s a casual fan, just enough to have a jersey, not enough to know the roster by heart. You told him you’d been to a few college games with your friends. You didn’t tell him those friends included Joe. You didn’t tell him those college games were where your heart got made and broken and stitched back together by the same hands now wearing black gloves and throwing spiral passes down the field like nothing ever hurt him.
You sit through the first quarter quietly. You laugh when you’re supposed to. You sip your drink. You cheer when everyone else cheers.
But every time you blink, your eyes find him.
Joe.
Hair longer now. Face a little older. Shoulders broader. You try to find the version of him you remember, the one who played Madden on mute while you studied, who whispered “stay” into your neck after long nights. But he’s not there anymore.
At least, you think he’s not.
Until the third quarter.
Until he sees you.
It’s not obvious.
You can tell the exact second it happens: he’s on the bench and his eyes scan the crowd, a routine flick, nothing new, until they land on you.
You freeze.
He doesn’t react, not really. Doesn’t flinch.
But he doesn’t look away.
Not for a long, aching moment.
After the game, your fiancĂŠ is all adrenaline. He talks about stats and key moments and how much better the view was than he expected. You nod. You hum. You smile when he pulls you close.
But you don’t speak.
Not really.
Your chest is tight. Your head full of everything unsaid. You keep picturing Joe’s face when he saw you, blank but soft, like he couldn’t believe you were real.
You think of all the things you could’ve said, if there had been time.
You look good.
I kept the hoodie.
Do you still hate sushi?
Do you still hate that I let you go?
You don’t say any of them.
You don’t say anything at all.
He finds you before you leave the stadium, luckily.
You’re walking down the corridor toward the exit when you hear your name, soft but sure.
You turn, and there he is.
Joe.
Hair still damp from the postgame shower. Jacket over his jersey. A towel hanging from his neck.
You freeze.
So does your fiancĂŠ.
“Hey,” Joe says, voice low.
You take a step toward him before you can stop yourself.
Then you remember who you’re standing next to.
“Joe,” you say, and it tastes like ash and honey all at once.
His eyes flicker to the man beside you. Then back to you.
“I saw you during the game.”
You nod. “I know.”
There’s a beat. A silence so thick it could choke you.
Your fiancé offers a hand. “Hey. Good game, man.”
Joe takes it automatically, eyes never leaving yours. “Thanks.”
The small talk fades fast. You’re left in a moment too big for words.
Joe’s jaw tightens just slightly. “Didn’t know you were in town.”
You shrug. “Just visiting.”
He nods slowly. “Looks like life’s treating you well.”
“It is.”
You don’t ask him the same.
You already know. You’ve always known.
But he says it anyway.
“Not as well as it would’ve if you’d stayed.”
Your breath catches.
Your fiancé shifts beside you. “You ready to go?”
You nod, lips parted, heart about to split open.
Joe doesn’t say anything else.
Your fiancé doesn’t bring it up right away.
Back at the hotel, he’s still talking about the game. Still trying to ignore what you both know is lingering in the air.
But eventually, in the low glow of a bedside lamp, he asks “That guy. The one from the stadium. Joe. Who is he? Who is he to you?”
You freeze.
Then, quietly you whisper “Someone I used to love.”
There’s a long silence. He stares at the ceiling.
And then he asks “Do you still?”
You don’t answer.
Not out loud.
Joe ends up on Ja’Marr’s couch, staring blankly at a muted replay of the game.
“She was there,” he says, voice hoarse.
“I saw,” Ja’Marr says. “She was with someone.”
Joe doesn’t reply. Just nods once, eyes dull.
“You ever tell her why you didn’t call?”
“I told myself I was giving her space.” Joe leans forward, elbows on knees. “But really, I just didn’t want to hear her tell me she was fine without me.”
That night, your phone buzzes.
Not from Joe.
From Ja’Marr.
JC:
He’s not okay.
I don’t mean to get in the middle, but… if you’re still hurting too, maybe don’t let this go.
You stare at the screen for a long time.
Then you do something you swore you wouldn’t.
You text Joe.
Are you up?
He replies instantly.
JB:
Always. Want to talk?
You meet at a diner two blocks from the hotel. It’s nearly empty. Just you and him.
Neither of you speaks at first.
Then he says, “You didn’t have to come.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“You could’ve called.”
“You didn’t.”
He looks down at the table. “I didn’t want to hear you say you’d moved on.”
You pause. Then “I didn’t.”
Joe’s voice cracks. “Why did you leave?”
“Because I thought letting you go meant loving you well.”
A silence stretches between you.
“I thought I was protecting you,” he says. “But I was protecting myself.”
“You said life would’ve been better if I stayed.”
He looks at you like it’s still true.
“It would’ve.”
Your voice is just a breath “I’m getting married.”
He doesn’t flinch. Just asks, “Do you love him?”
You’re silent for too long.
“I want to.”
When you stand to leave, he walks you to the door.
And there, in the quiet of a diner that’s never seen anything sacred, Joe says:
“You were never the one that got away.
I was the one who let you go.”
You don’t say goodbye.
You don’t need to.
Six months later you’re back in Cincinnati.
Coffee shop. Rainy afternoon. You’re in line, scrolling your phone.
A voice behind you:
“Oat milk. One sugar.”
You turn.
Joe.
In a hoodie. No cameras. Just him and a smile that still sees you.
“I saw you were back,” he says. “Didn’t think I’d run into you like this.”
“You remembered.”
“I never forgot.”
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