Alanis Pereira.

A crescent Earth sets behind the Moon.

On April 6, 2026, the Artemis II astronauts flew around the Moon, observing the far side – which we never see on Earth thanks to tidal locking – with their own eyes and with cameras.

See more of the Moon:

Me listening to the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack, age 30:

ultimate ships challenge - [1/5] we could have had it all ships

Jake/Peyton  »  One Tree Hill

Warnings: smut, third person

Conrad hadn’t planned on anything more than taking care of her today. He really hadn’t. He’d spent the last twelve hours making sure she was eating and had water, holding her hair back, rubbing her back while she cried through cramps, and keeping her from stubbornly pushing him away when she wanted to be alone. That was enough for him—just being there.

But now, with her suddenly straddling his lap, warm thighs shifting against his hips, the shirt she’d stolen from him hanging loose over her bare skin, he’s not sure what’s happening to his self-control.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he whispers, even as his hands slide up the back of her thighs, fingers tracing little circles there.

“I am,” she teases, dipping down to kiss him. “Resting on you.”

It’s a lazy, sweet kiss at first, until she shifts her hips just slightly, pressing down against him in a way that makes his whole body stiffen. A ragged breath escapes his throat before he can stop it.

“Baby…” He tries again, eyes squeezing shut when she rocks against him once more, deliberately slow. “You just—hours ago you were so sick.”

“And now I’m not.” She presses another kiss to the corner of his mouth, her hands tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Take this off.”

He can’t help it, he lets her pull it over his head, the fabric hitting the floor in a careless heap. The second it’s gone, she leans back to take him in, lips parted, eyes flickering down his chest and stomach like she’s memorizing him all over again.

Conrad feels himself flush under the way she looks at him, but God, it lights something deep in his chest too. He cups her face, forcing her eyes back to his.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along her bottom lip.

But then she kisses him again,hungry this time, her tongue sliding against his, her body pressing harder to his, and all the careful restraint he was clinging to disintegrates.

His hands grip her waist, sliding under the fabric of her shorts, tugging her closer until there isn’t a breath of space left between them. She starts moving with intent now, slow circles of her hips that drag soft, desperate sounds from his throat.

“You feel so good,” she whispers against his mouth, breathless, and that’s it. He’s gone.

He lets his head fall back against the pillows, letting her take control, his eyes dark and glassy as he watches her move above him. His hands are everywhere—her waist, her thighs, her back, like he can’t get enough, like he’s terrified she’ll vanish if he stops touching her.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he groans, voice breaking as she sinks down harder. “Been in love with you since we were kids, and now—fuck—look at you.”

She smiles through her own shiver, leaning down to kiss him again, slow and deep, while her body moves with steady rhythm. And every time she whispers his name, every time she bites her lip and looks down at him like he’s the only boy in the world, he swears he could die right there and be happy.

By the time she’s really riding him—messy, breathless, absolutely his, Conrad’s hands are gripping her like a lifeline, his voice cracking on her name, telling her over and over how much he loves her.

And when she finally falls against him, trembling and laughing softly into his neck, he wraps his arms tight around her, still gasping for breath but whispering the same thing he’d drunkenly confessed the night before:

“I’m gonna marry you. I swear to God, baby, I’m gonna marry you.”

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