#[...but somehow knows how they would move.]

[raevpng]

all these rumours

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

masterlist

summary: times azzi was sick of subtle and quiet hints and attempts to hard launch with her longtime best friend and girlfriend. frustration and chaos ensues however, when she fails. multiple. times.

a/n: thank u for ur patience once again lovelies 🥹 im still gonna edit this but this is my longest one shot ever so i hope it’s still enjoyable 😭 tell me ur thoughts <3

azzi knew more or less that there was a hefty price to pay for the dream life she chased.

she knew that eventually, the talent she’s harnessed and worked on for years would pay off – that the world would know what she could do. who she could be.

picture perfect form, unshakable morals, a humble yet competitive spirit.

that was who azzi fudd is. the kind of basketball player kids dreamed to be.

and she got it – she has what she’s worked so hard to do all her life. she got in the basketball capital of the world, she had a team that felt more like family, friendships that grounded her, people she’d bleed for.

and somehow, in the middle of all of that—she fell in love.

people were always stunned when she told the story. the story of how she met her soulmate, her twin flame, her everything.

paige bueckers.

every bit of a great athlete azzi is. she led with a kind of love and passion for not only the game, but for the people she played with. she had the kind of faith that swayed you, and a personality that left everyone wanting more.

and really, azzi understands. she understands why the internet obsessed over every interaction they had. every glance, touch, every shared laugh. they were absolutely enamored with their dynamic.

she understands cause she was living it.

she found a lover in her best friend. and god, azzi could never forget how softly their relationship had blossomed. how gently they had crossed the line between platonic and romantic. she remembers the soft confessions, the nervous first date, the jealousy they felt as they tried to hide from each other throughout their highschool careers.

she remembers how tough it was for paige had to watch azzi go with a boy to prom, and for azzi to watch as the media spun narrative after narrative of paige’s latest rumored boyfriend.

a hundred moments they had to swallow their love and smile like it didn’t sting.

but when azzi got to uconn, everything changed.

they were no longer living parallel lives — they were living the same one. suddenly it wasn’t just about quiet stares and lingering touches. it was about navigating something real, something tangible. they had a much harder time trying to bury their affections for each other. hands lingered a little longer than necessary, stares burned in a way that friends definitely did not do.

they tried to hide it. they really did.

nonetheless, everyone caught up to it pretty quick.

including their coaches and staff.

and safe to say they had a very thorough talk about media training and deal that yes – there was no rule that they couldn’t date, but it had to be very quiet, down low.

and it was easy.

kinda.

they were surrounded by the best team mates, who supported them through thick and thin. who, sure, maybe gagged at their quick kisses and cuddles during move nights or quick embraces in locker rooms before a game. but through it all, even with the chaos, azzi was content. grateful, even.

but now?

now it was different. they weren’t teammates anymore. they weren’t under the same roof, with the same jersey, following the same rules.

and azzi, has quiet as she had been during their years in uconn, was absolutely dying to show off her girlfriend.

because why not?

she can now.

and she was so damn ready.

–

forget about ending it with a bang, they started it with a bang.

the 2025 draft was much anticipated, not only for the fates of their future rookies in the league, but for the fashion, the glitz, the glamour.

and azzi?

she made damn sure she showed up. she pops out in the glittery black dress that hugs her curves perfectly, with her hair styled in curls that cascaded down the expanse of her bare, toned back.

and she came with a statement to make.

she made sure to stay by paige’s side for photos, smiling at her in a way that no longer held back adoration. heart eyes, the fans said. she posed for pictures as paige wrapped her hand around her waist, smiling with a love-sick, dopey grin that only fueled the flutter of butterflies in her stomach.

and if that wasn’t enough, she smiled to herself victoriously as she settled down in her very own seat.

in paige’s table.

she smiled knowingly, already anticipating the craze that is their fans, knowing that some of them doubted she would be there. she was excited to stir chaos, to send the clear message that she’s been by her girlfriend’s side and she’s here to stay. that no matter where she goes, she’ll always be close to follow.

her name wasn’t being called yet, but she looked like the proudest person in the room when paige’s was.

but to her surprise, as the night settled down and they returned to paige’s hotel room, it still wasn’t enough.

she remembers being tangled up in hotel sheets, bare underneath the covers as she ran her fingers through her tussled hair. the night had been nothing but hectic, and she half expected paige to pass out by the time they entered their hotel room with the amount of media, socialisation, and tequil shots she had downed in celebration of her draft night.

safe to say, the night had in fact not gone down that road, and instead ended with paige’s hands wandering and azzi not being able to resist.

cause who was she to deny her number one pick girlfriend? she couldn’t – not when she wanted it just as much. not when paige mouthed at her neck, whispering thanks and gratitude and confessions in a way that made azzi’s heart skip a beat and ignited a warmth in her stomach. she remembers the way paige had glanced up at her from between her legs, looking up as if she was the one who had been drafted. she remembers the gentleness, the passion, and the silent promises between each kiss and each release.

“you okay there baby?” paige had said as she exited the bathroom, her loose button up long gone as she climbed into bed again, quickly wrapping azzi into a warm embrace as she breathes in her scent.

“hm.” she hummed, setting down her phone by her pillow. she was scrolling through social media while paige had gone to clean up, and much to her dismay, her message still wasn’t clear to some.

she reached up to plant a soft kiss to her girlfriend’s lips. “saw some people saying we were ‘bff goals.’” she scrunched her nose, bringing a quiet giggle from paige.

“is that a bad thing?” paige laughs softly, brushing away azzi’s hair to kiss her forehead.

azzi gasped.

“what kinda best friend sits at a draft table and gets hugged first?” azzi shook her head, as if personally offended. “i am very obviously your girlfriend, thank you.”

paige just laughs, eyes fond as azzi sinks deeper in her embrace.

“let’s try again then.”

–

she’d kept the hints going, subtle but steady, while paige threw herself into her rookie season.

likes on tiktok edits, continuously coming to her games, even helping paige settle in texas barely a day after they had been “separated.”

the big one came unexpectedly, on a regular thursday afternoon.

she’d been cleaning her room, hair pulled up and sleeves rolled to her elbows, with paige propped up on facetime. on screen, paige was standing in front of her bathroom mirror, rambling about practice and the new weight room, her voice bright as she pulled her hair into a sleek ponytail.

azzi half-listened. mostly, she stared.

her eyes were fixed on the way paige’s biceps flexed when she tightened her ponytail. the gloss of her lips as she applied balm. the arch of her brow as she talked, animated and glowing.

“ma, you good?” paige smirked when she realised azzi was no longer listening, laughing at the glossy look in azzi’s eyes. “something distracting you?”

azzi coughed and rolled her eyes, though the blush creeping up her neck gave her away. “just admiring what’s mine, that’s all.”

paige smiled, almost shy as her cheeks tint a pretty shade of pink at her girlfriend’s possessiveness. “i miss you, baby.”

azzi’s smirk faded, replaced with something heavier. her voice dropped to a murmur as she sat on the edge of her bed. “i miss you more, p. it’s not the same here without you.”

paige pouted, like she felt it in her chest too. “it’s weird seeing you more on a screen again. i’m so used to just walking downstairs when i missed you.”

“now it’s six hours and a flight just to hug you for a day,” azzi sighed.

paige pouts even harder, sighing dramatically. “i just miss my girl. you’ve been looking too damn fine in my jersey. you trying to kill me?”

and that’s when it hit her.

azzi shot up, rummaging through the clutter on her desk—books, lip gloss tubes, tangled chains – until she found it.

she held up the delicate silver necklace, triumph written all over her face. a small heart charm beside a number 5.

“baby,” paige laughed, eyes lighting up. she knew that face. “what are you planning?”

“you’ll see.” azzi smirked.

see if they can deny this now.

spoiler: they can.

–

the tiktok blew up instantly – a dancing video with suni and anna. but that wasn’t what caught people’s attention.

no, it was the subtle glint of silver that caught the light every time azzi moved, delicate, gleaming, and undeniably there.

from the second the video went live, suni and anna had teased her relentlessly, eyebrows raised, smirks smug.

“oh they’re gonna eat this up,” anna said gleefully as she posted it, watching the likes skyrocket in real time. and azzi beamed, half proud, half smug.

suni leaned over her shoulder with a knowing grin. “you really wore that necklace for this?”

azzi shrugged smugly, beaming like the mastermind she was. “they better catch on this time.”

she thought this was it. they had to get it now.

and for a while, it seemed like they had. comments poured in. likes exploded. azzi refreshed the app every few minutes, heart racing, already imagining the thinkpieces, the ship edits, the finally, we have confirmation!! tweets.

but a few hours later, when she opened her phone, her jaw dropped.

comments flooded in:

“i wear my best friend’s number too lol”

“okay but this could still be platonic?”

“my bestie gave me a necklace like that 🥰”

what the fuck.

azzi slammed her phone face-down onto her bed, letting out a long, dramatic groan.

“you’re fucking lying.” she muttered under her breath, already on her feet and storming down the hallway to kk’s dorm with one mission in mind: complain. violently.

she flung the door open without knocking, mouth open and rants waiting to spill out when she heard it.

paige’s voice, warm and amused, drifting from kk’s phone screen.

“hey, fudd,” kk grinned, turning the phone to reveal paige’s face, all soft lighting and softer smiles. her girlfriend brightens up immediately, smiling that soft smile reserved only for her.

“hey, babe,” paige greeted. but her smile faltered as soon as she took in azzi’s stormy expression.

“uh oh. what happened?”

“oh, you know,” azzi drawled dramatically, flopping down on the edge of kk’s bed like the world’s most exhausted gay. “just the fucking allegations.”

kk blinked. “azzi. they can’t be allegations if you’re actually dating.”

“nah,” paige cut in, already catching on. she chuckled, leaning closer to the camera. “by allegations, she means best friend allegations.”

a beat of silence.

and then kk howled with laughter, doubling over as azzi swatted her shoulder.

“it’s not fucking funny.” she whined, ignoring how paige smiles fondly, eyes crinkling and bright.

“how are we still getting best friend allegations?” azzi rambled, pacing now. “i sat at her draft table. i’ve been in texas more in the last two weeks than my own parents’ house. i’m literally wearing her number around my neck like a promise ring.”

kk wipes a tear that escaped her eyes as she catches her breath, “you kill me, genuinely.”

“shut the fuck up kk.”

“okay, okay,” she wheezed, holding up her hands in surrender. “just be more obvious, then. you know how the internet is. unless you’re holding up a giant neon sign that says ‘i’m in a gay relationship with paige bueckers’ they’re gonna think y’all braid each other’s hair while you watch love island .”

“should i tattoo it on my forehead?” azzi deadpanned. “i’m dating paige bueckers across my fucking hairline?”

“i’d be down,” paige chimed in helpfully.

azzi shot her a look.

paige grinned sheepishly. “sorry.”

kk just rolled her eyes for what had to be the fifth time. “no one said that. just make another tiktok. with paige this time. don’t you literally have a visit planned soon?”

azzi groaned again but nodded, slumping down into kk’s desk chair with a dramatic exhale.

“fine. i guess i’ll try again.”

“aww.” paige cooed at azzi’s jutted lip, clearly dejected at her failed attempt at yet another hard launch. “don’t worry babe, we can do that trend you’ve been wanting.”

azzi’s head snapped up, a hopeful smile dancing on her lips, “really?”

“of course, baby,” paige said, voice low and warm, and if azzi had been any closer, back in her arms where she belongs, she would’ve kissed her silly on the spot.

“ew, gross.” kk gagged, “this feels like watching my parents kiss.”

azzi flipped her off without even looking, already envisioning the tiktok that would put rumours to rest. hopefully. maybe.

they’d stop calling it platonic.

–

the restaurant was bustling with quiet noise – the clink of silverware against ceramic, the soft murmur of conversations blending with occasional bursts of laughter. dim lighting bounced off polished wood and wine glasses, casting everything in a warm glow. it was perfect, not because of the fragrant waft of food everywhere, (although that did help) but because she was here, with her again, back where she belongs.

they were sat on a spacious round table. and even though they were in the middle of the restaurant, surrounded by people and different conversations, azzi barely heard the hum of the world around her.

all she heard was paige.

“and then nai says it’s because i’m pale like casper the ghost. what does that have to do with anything?” paige sighed mid-rant, her hands animated as she recounted something that happened during shootaround, her voice trailing into another tangent about a meme she saw that morning.

and azzi would like to think she was a great girlfriend. she’d say she was attentive and ready to listen. but right now, with her girlfriend so soft and so close to her again? she couldn’t help but stare.

she was watching. warm eyes fixed on paige’s every expression. the way her nose scrunched when she laughed, the way her lashes fluttered when she looked down at her plate, the way her voice softened just slightly whenever she said azzi’s name.

god, it’s sickening how in love she was. maybe kk did have a point.

paige leaned forward suddenly, noticing the face her girlfriend had when she was in her head again. reaching across the table, she laced their fingers together. like it was the most natural thing in the world.

and it was.

her thumb brushed slow circles into the back of azzi’s hand as she watched azzi register her gentle actions.

“anyways,” paige said, a little quieter, a little gentler. “how are you doing, baby? still bothered about the rumours?”

azzi sighed before she could help it, spine straightening at the mention of the issue. paige laughed softly, lifting their hands and pressing a kiss to the smooth skin just below azzi’s knuckles.

“you have no idea.” azzi rolled her eyes, softening slightly at the affection. she fished her phone out to show her girlfriend a screenshot of the many tweets and tiktok comments. “look. best friend, former team-mate, anything but girlfriend. it’s ridiculous!”

a blur of screenshots filled the screen as paige squinted. tweet after tweet, tiktok after tiktok, each one circled or underlined in red like she was building a case. best friend. former teammate. “normal friendship between girls.” platonic. platonic. platonic.

paige cackled at a particular comment. “yall reaching. i look at my best friend the way paige does and we’re not dating.” she read aloud, biting her lip to stop a very inappropriate laugh from escaping.

“someone tell her…” paige started shakily, “if she looks at her best friend the way we look at each other…”

azzi’s hands shoot up to cover her mouth, knowing her girlfriend’s next words.

paige was near tears. “they’re probably-”

“gay.” azzi deadpanned, snickering into her hands as she tried to remain quiet.

paige didn’t even try, doubling into a loud laughter as she hid her face from curious stares.

“gay,” she repeated, muffled into her palms, before peeking back up at azzi with tear-glossed eyes and the widest grin. “god, i love you.”

azzi just huffed, still scrolling. “tell that to the internet.”

she opened tiktok on azzi’s phone, still in her hand with a sly grin. “wanna make it now?”

azzi’s eyes brightened instantly, nodding animatedly as paige leaned in to plant a soft kiss on her forehead.

—

they filmed it first try – azzi tilted her head, eyes wide with innocence. “how much was it?” she mouthed.

paige looked exasperatedly at the camera. “two hundred dollars.”

azzi let out a cute little gasp, a soft smile contrasting paige’s reaction. “that’s not bad!”

azzi could barely contain the shake of her body as she cackled at the slow motion of paige’s reaction. they both cracked up the moment the audio cut, laughter bubbling as paige nuzzled her face into the crook of the younger’s neck. they rewatched it ten times before even moving, paige pointing out how soft azzi looked in her sweater and her innocent smile.

“they gotta get it this time.” paige reassured as azzi typed up her caption.

princess treatment everytime i’m with her. 😇💗 #spoiled

then she hit post.

hard launch.

again.

they got up to stroll to paige’s car, scrolling through the initial reactions. thousands of likes, comments, even videos in response to the tikok flooded in almost initially. paige peeked over azzi’s shoulder as they sat, scrolling, her free hand still tangled with azzi’s.

“see ma?” paige murmured against her ear. “i think they really get it this time.”

azzi beamed, sliding into the passenger seat and sighing at the familiar scent of paige’s car. her favourite car freshener, her laundry detergent, the faintest whiff of her favorite perfume. Home.

“finally,” she whispered, curling into her seat with a grin.

princess treatment indeed.

but later that night, after dinner and after kisses and after laughter faded into quiet, they lay on paige’s couch. azzi was nestled between her legs, back pressed to paige’s chest, scrolling aimlessly on her phone while paige mindlessly played with the end of one of her braids.

“babe?” azzi asked quietly, tone dull.

“hm?” paige kissed her temple.

wordlessly, azzi flipped her phone around and shoved it in her face. paige stared, blinked, then winced.

“oh fuck, you were serious.”

–

“i know that look.” kk narrowed her eyes, watching azzi through the mirror as she twisted her curls into place, securing them with quiet precision.

soft music flowed from kk’s speaker, the low hum of kk’s r&b playlist mixing with the gentle clatter of makeup brushes. paige had a game in connecticut today, and they had decided to get ready together before boarding the team bus to the game.

“whatsoever do you mean, kamorea?” azzi asked, tone syrupy and suspiciously innocent. she didn’t even look up, just kept applying mascara to thick, long lashes that fluttered innocently.

kk squinted, reading between every single line. “nah, don’t play. you’re gonna do something to ruin the internet again aren’t you?”

a smile.

“maybe.”

kk shivers.

–

they had finished the game with a high. dallas took the victory as the crowd went wild – paige had once again scored the most points within the team and god she felt like floating. she exuded an electric energy, that dizzying, dazed smile stretched across her face as her eyes scanned the crowd, searching.

they land on azzi. always azzi.

always azzi, cutting through the overwhelming noise and cheer. it was cheesy to think, but it genuinely felt like those cheesy rom-com movies azzi adored, even years in their relationship. the roar of the arena faded to a hum when their eyes met, and paige’s smile softened like it always did. like she only saw her.

they were ushered out quickly once the game wrapped, fans still screaming, staff buzzing. azzi and kk lingered back in a hallway as the crowd thinned. kk had been filming a vlog the entire day, azzi giggling into the camera, cheeks hurting from smiling as they goofed around, waiting for them to be allowed back to the venue.

“hey, y'all can come back in now.” a staff member had said, halting kk’s rambling to her phone.

“thank you!” kk replied politely before turning to the vlog, tone changing in an instant. “guys, we’re about to go see paige bueckers!” she squealed dramatically like a fan, making azzi roll her eyes and laugh.

kk skipped to paige’s side the second they stepped in, faking stage fright with exaggerated gasps, wringing her hands as paige blinked at her, amused. still, a slow yet fond smile stretched across the blonde’s features at her friend’s theatrics.

she opened her arms, inviting an embrace as kk squealed and jumped into a hug, acting like she’d won a contest. azzi giggled from behind the camera, heart swelling when paige’s eyes flicked up to find hers, warm and instinctive. she opened her mouth to probably call her over for a quick peck before noticing the camera, tilting her head in a silent question.

azzi mouths “she’s vlogging.”

paige nods swiftly in understanding, wrapping her arms around kk as she rants about her first tech. azzi couldn’t help but swoon, heart softening at how paige was just glowing. she was radiant even after a tough game, so full of life as she interacted with the team. everyone adored her, loved her in a way that only pure adoration and respect could bring.

she doesn’t even wanna know how googly-eyed she looked right now, admiring her girlfriend, thinking of everything they went through. years of hiding everything, their affection, their love for each other.

and suddenly, azzi had had enough.

she was not about to sit quietly while the world missed the entire point of the most important thing in her life.

and she knew exactly what to do.

–

she rummaged around her suitcase, looking for the item paige had gifted her months ago.

the phone case.

it was a joke, really. they had been scrolling through social media when paige started giggling at her phone – a case a fan had designed.

“look at this, baby,” paige had grinned, tilting the screen as azzi took a peek. “some fan really made this.”

it was obnoxiously pink, bold letters stamped across it like a headline.

“excuse me,” azzi had scoffed, pouting dramatically. “position’s already filled, thanks.”

but paige had only laughed harder, tapping on the link to buy it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. she bit her lip to stifle her giggles as she silently ordered it, filling in her details with a mischievous smile. it didn’t take long for suspicious silence to get noticed by azzi though, gasping when she saw the screen.

“the fuck?” azzi gasped as paige snickered. “paige.”

“it’s for you,” paige said sweetly, azzi widening her eyes sassily. “you’re welcome.”

“fuck no.”

now though, azzi had never been more thankful for a phone case. “thank the lord for a weird girlfriend.” she muttered under her breath, snapping it onto her phone with a click and smirking as the lettering caught the light. bright pink. unmissable.

so, expect a lil something today.

the three bubbles appeared almost instantly, azzi smiling at how fast paige responded despite her being at practice.

should i be scared?

azzi giggled, biting back a laugh as she typed:

perhaps i’m using the phone case.

a pause.

the phone case? the one you swore you’d never touch?

maybe.

azzi typed with a smirking emoji, giggling as paige replied with a thousand shocked face emojis.

game time.

–

she was getting dolled up with her stylist when she decided to snap the picture. skin glowing from glam, hair curled to perfection by her stylist, the light hitting her skin just right. and yeah, maybe it was intentional that her legs looked perfect in the picture, almost distracting from the actual purpose.

the phone case clear as day with bright pink letters – a loud and proud declaration.

paige bueckers’ girlfriend.

“you menace,” hayley smiled, peeking over her shoulder as azzi typed out the caption.

azzi smirked, cheekbones sharp and eyes playful as she posed one last time in the mirror. “it gets to a point,” she sighed, tossing her hair dramatically, “where i’m like, maybe i do need to spell it out for them.”

hayley laughed, running her hands through curls gently, nodding in agreement. “baby, you’ve spelled it, shouted it, danced it, and now you really put it out there in bright pink letters.”

“real.” azzi nodded in agreement, looking over the story one last time.

post.

and then she waited.

the notifications came in like an avalanche: shocked emojis, screaming replies. fan edits already popping up her for you page with another taylor swift song. she tried not to let her hopes up too much, knowing the pattern from her previous attempts. still, she let herself breathe, heart thumping in her chest like she’d just sprinted across a court.

a buzz cuts through her thoughts, bringing a soft smile to her face.

paige bueckers’girlfriend huh?

azzi could already imagine the proud smirk on paige’s face, fingers dancing across the screen to reply.

you lucky woman.

paige’s reply came instantly.

god, i agree.

and just like that, azzi felt the warmth rush to her cheeks, biting her lip as she tried to calm the way her chest fluttered. she bit her lip, fighting down the stubborn blush paige still managed to coax from her, setting her phone down as she fanned her face. she glanced at hayley, who was definitely watching.

“don’t.” she warned, burying her face in her hands.

“you’re so in love.”

it was a simple sentence. one she’d heard multiple times from fans, friends, and family alike. she heard it when they posted a picture, played a game together, went to a family event together, or when a friend caught them staring at each other for too long. it was written in the way she and paige looked at each other, or in every quiet hug after a tough game, every stolen glance across a crowded room. yet, she couldn’t help but think back to everything – how it had started between them, and how this giddiness had yet to fade. she had a sneaking suspicion it never will.

because it was true. it was real, and it was theirs.

and maybe that was enough, the sure feeling she had when they made eye contact in a crowded room, the softness of paige’s touch even after a rough game, the unwavering support of the people around her and the fans.

that was enough.

she looked at the mirror, still smiling.

“yeah,” azzi whispered, almost to herself.

“i really am.”

[angrythingstarlight]

On TikTok I saw a comment where a woman said that she told her husband to pretend to be unconscious so he was dead weight to see if she could drag him out of the house in case of fire or emergency, she couldn’t even pull him off the bed and she cried so he had comfort her while dying laughing😭😭😂 reminded me of something biker Bucky and Gorgeous would do

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

A/N: Written on my phone, unbetad.

Bucky groans dramatically. "You might as well just leave me here and save yourself Gorgeous."

You keep pulling him with all your strength but he barely budges an inch. You might be able to move him if he'd stop talking.

He doesn't.

"Bury me with my bike." Bucky cracks open an eye, his lips twitching. "And a pair of your panties."

"I'm not doing that." A laugh spills past your lips before you can stop it.

You can't concentrate with him cracking jokes like this. Yeah that's the reason you're struggling to move this six foot something man. It's all his fault.

You keep laughing but the more he thinks about it, the more he likes the idea. "Matter fact, line my casket with your panties and toss in a few of those pics I have on my phone."

"Oh my god."

"I'll know if you disregarded my last wishes," he casually warns, like his massive body isn't splayed on the bedroom floor. Like he's still not budging despite the fact that you're putting your all into this.

"Shut. Up."

"Mourn me for the rest of your life," he sighs sadly, head lolling to the side. Bucky hasn't broken character once, he's fully committed to this bit. "Keep a shrine of me in our bedroom."

"Bucky I'm trying to focus," your breathless giggle lost under a grunt when you try to shove him to the side. Nothing. Damn it.

Eyeing his shirtless, tattooed body, you try new a new approach. Adjusting your grip, you hook your fingers under his upper arms. You can barely get your hands around half of his large, warm biceps. Bracing your feet on the floor, you pull so hard you feel your muscles tremble and ache. He slides up a centimeter.

"Don't even think about moving on."

"Be quiet," you start. Releasing his arms, you wince when they hit the floor with a thud. You'd have better luck moving a pile of bricks than your man. "What would you do if I did?"

You're teasing but Bucky takes you very seriously.

He doesn't play when it comes to you. Or his burial requests.

He slowly opens his eyes, his darkening gaze captures yours. "I will haunt you for the rest of your life," he states confidently. "No guy will even breathe in your direction by time I'm done with them. You're going to have a rep because of me."

There's no time to process that because his hands suddenly reach out, grabbing your ankles. You're tugged forward, turned and twisted—somehow he manages to squeeze your ass a couple of times—until you're flat on his chest, his pecs under your palms.

Bucky smiles, his hand cups the back of your head and he brings your face close to his. "If you think I'm a menace now, imagine what my ghost will be like. Just imagine what ghost me would do to you. I'd get rid of your little replacement and then you'd get all my attention. Remember ghost me isn't going to get tired."

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

Well maybe that could be fun. Wait.

Your eyes widen at the images his words are creating. He chuckles under his breath. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Resting your chin on his chest, you have to admit, no man would ever measure up to your bike. And if anyone could find a way to come back and haunt someone, it would be the handsome, incorrigible man under you.

"So you want all my panties or just your favorites?"

"Gorgeous. How many times do we have to go over this? All your panties are my favorite."

"Fine," you concede, failing to hold back a smile. "But you promised me a lifetime together and I'm holding you to that."

Bucky brushes his lips across yours in one sweet, sure motion. His deep voice rolls over your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. "I have no intention of leaving you anytime soon. I got too many plans for you, Gorgeous."

All of his plans revolve around loving you, protecting you, being with you, caring for you any way you'll let him.

And he's going take his time getting through every last one of them.

[fckmebarnes]

your idol

camboy!bucky x camgirl!reader

18+ smut — men and minors dni. somno. (pre established) toy use (dildo/vibrator) squirting. multiple orgasms. breeding kink if you squint a little. daddy nickname. fingering (r). bucky is insatiable. he needs u fr.

wc 2.1k

a/n — this came from a place of horny (somno is one of my top kinks), along with this request. i felt this one in my pussy when writing it. this is just the start of camboy!bucky & camgirl!reader <3

“you guys would not believe how wet she is right now…” bucky’s voice is soft; quiet. with his eyes glued to your pussy, he pulls the translucent purple dildo out of your hole slowly — watching at is sheens in the slick coming from you.

“bet it doesn’t pick up well on camera…” he mutters, still watching your cunt as he pushes it back inside you.

you were knocked out — taking a nap after going several rounds with bucky was what you and your body needed

and you gave him permission to keep playing afterwards.

of course he took it.

your leg was hiked up as you rested on your side, an arm propped under your pillow and a blue night dress adorned your body.

the fabric was riding up on your hip, your cunt exposed with how you hiked your leg up further than the other. you always claimed it was a comfortable sleeping position but he knew you better than that.

it was an easy access position — one you only did when you wanted him to take advantage of you.

and here he was. fulfilling your wish.

“fuck, baby…” his own cock twitches in his lap as he watches your cunt swallow the dildo all over again — imagining it was his own cock sinking into your wet cunt.

not yet. he has to be patient. give the viewers what they want.

even if his cock is painfully hard right now and leaking all over the sheets.

he spreads your ass with his other hand, sinking the dildo to a hilt into your cunt as he reached over and grabs a small bullet vibrator.

“gonna make this pretty pussy sing around this fake dick…” he mutters, eyeing the chat of the live stream and hearing the sound of pings incoming — signaling that he’s getting extra tipped.

he hadn’t done anything like this with you before, but it was pre-established you both wanted to make this sort of content — whether it be for your own two eyes or for your shared account — it didn’t matter.

you both just wanted to play with each other.

he goes to grip his own cock in his hands, moving ahis fist at the same pace the dildo was fucking your pussy. it made his head spin at how easy you were for him — how easy you were to open up and let him take you like this whenever he wanted.

and you both were getting paid for it?

fuck. it made his cock twitch harder in his hand.

he never thought that he would ever do cam work let alone be with someone who did cam work and collaborate. but somehow he got lucky with you.

meeting you on the first few nights of his own career launching, needing some subscribers and some exposure but being the humble man he was — he didn’t reach out or initiate first.

until he saw you one time on live.

you were fucking your pretty pussy with a clear, glass dildo — tits bouncing with each thrust as you fucked yourself with it on the floor.

you had your fingers strumming your clit and the other twisted a nipple and he swore he never saw someone more beautiful than you when he saw you squirt on camera.

“you sound so fucking good, baby…” he mutters all to himself as he stops jerking his cock, taking the vibrator and turning it on before slotting it between your swollen cunt and the blanket that was snug between your legs

involuntarily, your hips jerk — a warm sensation spreading through your body as you move your hips against the sheets. he watches your body hungrily, biting his lip as he starts moving his hand on his own cock again.

your brows furrow as you keep your speed up, dreams blending together, not knowing what you were truly dreaming about or not.

all you knew was you had an ache — one so deep only bucky would’ve been able to fix it.

and he knew that.

sly little shit.

“makin’ a mess of the sheets, doll.” he coos softly as he turns to the camera and pulls it closer, letting everyone see your cunt glistening in the low ring light setting.

he looks back over at your cunt as he swipes a metal finger through your folds — your hips backing up into him instinctively.

“so responsive…so sensitive…” he trails off as he hears your quite whimpers filter through your lips, fingers clutching the sheets gently.

he pushes the tip of his fingers slowly into your hole, easily letting him in as you settle your hips back down — nuzzling into the silk pillowcase. his eyes travel up the length of your body, settling on your face.

that was something that was kept private by the rest of the internet except him.

you didn’t mind it, either.

in fact you kinda loved it. made it feel like he has a more possessive claim over you — being the only one able to bask in your pleasure.

that’s what he loved most about doing this with you.

he draws his finger back, lips parting softly at the sight of his digit covered in your slick. he has to bring it up to his lips, moaning softly at the taste of you on his tongue.

“such a sweet sleepy pussy…” he sinks his finger back into your cunt before he’s grabbing the camera off the tripod and holding it in his free hand.

“look how well she takes me — even in her sleep.” he groans as he sinks a second one in, your hips pushing back against his touch as you whine into the pillow. he chuckles to himself, knowing you can’t help it. your body is just that needy for him.

“shh..” he coos, picking up the pace with his fingers fucking your cunt. his cock bobs in between your thighs, nudging your clit every so often with the way his arm moves to fuck you. he groans every time he feels your swollen clit bump his sensitive tip — leaking and spreading a mess all over you.

“think i can make her cum like this?” he whispers mostly to the livestream — watching your face furrow in frustration as your hips start bucking gently against his fingers, his thumb coming to rub your clit as you let out the softest moan in your sleep.

“fuck.” his moan is deep; guttural. the only kind you can possess form him like that.

and you weren’t even awake this time.

after a few more lazy strokes to your clit and curling his two thick fingers inside of you, he had you cumming around his digits in seconds — your hips stuttering against his hold as he feels his cock ache painfully.

he needs to be inside you — feel your warmth around his aching cock.

“good girl.” even if you’re knocked out, he still needs to praise you. and your body responds to it the second you clench around his fingers as they stay buried in you for a second.

you’re dripping down his wrist and arm at this point — a mess had already been on the sheets from you rutting into them before all of this and started.

you couldn’t help it, you were a needy little thing in your sleep.

he keeps the camera positioned for a second before he pulls his fingers out of your pussy, watching the way it clenches around air from the loss of being filled

you whimpered in your sleep. that made his cock twitch — slapping against your wet folds.

he puts the camera back onto the tripod, getting the best angle of his thighs, your ass presented to the camera and the short length of your back before it disappears.

your wet cunt is on display for everyone at home to see, whoever is lazily jerking off to it.

at least bucky got to feel it for real.

he takes his metal fist and wraps it around his cock giving it a few jerks before he’s pressing the tip into your wet hole.

a debauched moan leave his lips before he’s even sinking into you. he feels almost embarrassed but to be quite honest after feeling you cum and jerk around his fingers mere seconds ago — he couldn’t have given a fuck.

“shit baby… you’re so tight…” he ends up leaning over the length of you for a second as he pushes all the way in — your cunt stretching nicely around the thickness of his cock.

he peppers kisses on the exposed skin on your shoulder, his scruff of his beard scratching against you making you stir slightly.

well, it was mostly the scratching of his beard.

you let out the softest, most pathetic sleepy moan bucky had ever heard in his life, following along with his name.

“buck…?”

the sound along has him almost busting a fucking nut.

he draws his hips back before he’s slamming them back into you, making you moan again, louder.

“shh..sweetheart,” he mumbles against your shoulder as his lips travel up your shoulder to your neck, right under your earlobe. “daddy’s just gotta take care of this sleepy pussy, alright?”

you’re so fucking sleepy and out of it that you don’t even process yourself nodding your head, nor the way your hips lift up and your ass pressed firmly against his own hips — driving the tip of his cock to your sweet spot.

“mm..” is all that leaves your throat as your eyes flutter open for a split second to look down at see bucky’s metal arm holding his body weight up and over you — his hips thrusting into you at a pace that rocked you back to sleep.

“atta girl, go back to sleep. daddy’ll take care of the rest…” he murmurs against your skin as you whimper in your sleep. he lets out a satisfied grunt as he pulls his hips back and reaches for the vibrator, pushing it into your hole while his cock sinks back into you.

the vibrations has him shivering.

“oh fuck…” his whimpers are muffled by your skin as he starts fucking you deep and slow, feeling the toy inside you and snug up against his shaft makes his head dizzy.

“fuck baby…oh god…” he’s now being reduced to a whimper, whining mess as he feels you drip all over him and his balls, down onto the sheets.

he feels your cunt clench the toy and him, hips rutting back against him as he makes sure you feel every single inch of his thick cock inside you. wanting to make sure even in your sleep — you can feel how deep he is.

so he takes he metal hand and leans onto his elbow before pressing his hand against your lower tummy, chest pressed against your back at this point

he’s rocking into you helplessly

he hears you whimper into your pillow as you press against him further, his own moans falling from his lips as he feels himself getting pushed to the edge.

he reaches further below your tummy with his metal fingers to press against your clit — the added stimulation making your cunt squeeze him hard enough to trigger his orgasm. the sound of the tip jar notification going off gets drowned out by blood rushing to his ears.

“oh…fuck—! take it, doll. every last drop…mm..” whimpering against your skin he rubs your clit making sure to get you there again, addicted to the feel of your cunt squeezing his cock.

he feels your body come after him, hops convulsions against him, still in your sleepy state.

your fists bunched tightly at the sheets as you moan into them, eyes screwed shut as you squirt all over his cock and the sheets.

he groans as notices you made an entire mess of him and yourself, kissing your skin gently.

“good fuckin’ girl…takin’ all of my cum…even in your sleep your pussy can’t get enough.” he’s reached to pull the toy out first and shutting it off before pulling out himself, taking the camera to show the after math

he angles the camera to show his hot cum leaking out of your wrecked cunt, dripping onto the soaked sheets below. his thumb finds your hole and pushes some more of his cum back in — his screen lighting up with tip after tip after tip.

he grins, feeling your cunt clench around his finger.

“gotta fill this pussy up one more time. she’s begging for it. see ya sluts later.” he says before he’s turning off the camera and live, tossing the phone and pulling you into his chest before sinking right back into you.

[your-bait-and-swich]

Random Date Everything characters NSFW headcanons

Characters featured: Hector, Parker, Lux, Dunk

Ageless/minors DNI

Hector

His favorite part of sex is not actually the sex itself it's the foreplay before anything.

He loves to tease your body by gently moving his hands around your body, and soft kissing anywhere he can like it's some sort of worship. He tries his best to make you squirm and relishes it

This might be a surprise, but most times he doesn't like being a bottom yet he doesn't like to be a dominant top either. He's definitely a soft top wanting you taking the lead, and tell him how to please you

That's not to say that he minds being a bottom but he prefers to help you

Definitely not avoid to be kinky specially if his God wants it. He loves doing anything and everything he can to please you

Except for pain and degrading. He would never even let himself insult you let alone hurt you. the most he'll do is biting and very light choking. Phantom choking basically.

He's actually very silent during sex, and masturbating. The vents aren't really that private you know

Most you'll hear in sex is small panting, and whines but he'll give you more noise if you request

Probably goes without saying, but he loves when you're somewhat demanding. Don't be too cruel about it, but he does love someone that knows what they want

He also wants to know he's doing well. Please praise him for anything he does right for communication sake, and his praise kink

He love's adding temperature play anyway he can to your love making

If you were cold/hot he would make purposeful effort to make his body the opposite so when he touches you, you would feel all the more

Subtly raise the heat slowly forcing you to strip more and more

Occasionally when you're in the middle of sex he'll use the grate on his outfit to blow one thing of cold air to shock you

Aftercare is a must every time. He does not let himself rest until you are clean and taking care of

Lux

(Not sure where to put this but I did give them a dick despite them not having a confirmed sex I think so keep that in mind I guess. I'll keep from doing this in the future tho)

I hate them *proceeds to make these anyway*

When they said you guys only have sex when they wants to upload something on Fans Only they means it. It's hard to convince them when they're not in the mood especially so when they're in the middle of a stream

But if you convince them mostly by sucking up to then they'll end a stream like "I guess that's it for today's stream luxxies! Make sure to check Fans Only soon byeee!~"

Recordings, live and photos are a given.

And if you're lucky enough even outside of Fans Only "Don't count on it"

They're most definitely a grower. A absurdly nice grower bigger than you'd expect. Along with that they're very smooth not having any body hair.

They moans like a pornstar. It's unclear if it's for the recording or they're just like that

Very into exhibition. They don't mind anyone watching honestly they're into it frankly. If they're in the mood it's happening no matter what

Also slightly masochist very into hair pulling and one or two nice slap on the ass

Obviously mostly a bottom, but if they feeling particularly devilish they'll top

When they top they do it to prove a point/a punishment

Favorite "punishment" is you choking on their dick for sure

They love too cum on your face then lay their dick on your tongue. It just makes you so pretty for their Fans Only

They'll say stuff like "good girl/boy/slut" in a condescending way to you after taking these punishments

You will at least have to have a threesome once with some other person Lux choose

Parker Brandley

Good fucking luck buddy

First you got to win that love dice roll and now you need to somehow make board games sex related or it's not happening

Lucky for you strip poker does technically count. Maybe not a board game but it has clear rules and if Uno counts this can count to. He will not let you get away with using this all the time tho

Despite how stingy he can be with it he's very easy to work up. Just a little too much skin and/or touching a certain way can give him a boner instantly

He's quite nervous. Being awkward, and fidget quite a bit for your first time, but he quickly gets into the groove after a bit

When you finally get to the stage of actually doing something he's a feral animal with it

Massive switch! He doesn't really care what way it goes

Bottoming he's very noisy, and reacts very intensely. Unless you gag him the whole house is going to hear his semi screaming

Topping intense, and quick. Boy does not waste a second he acts like it's the end of the world as a plows into you speeding up.

Still a delightful mix of serious and a bit goofy during sex "Ohohoh~! Holy fucking shit!"

When he's more comfortable he'll probably confront you directly for his wants. "Whoever wins tops" he says putting a board game in front of you abruptly.

If you do cheat he will deny having sex outright tho

Nothing sexy like orgasm denial just straight up denying sex maybe for multiple days depending how pissed he is. You only get orgasm denial privileges when you play rightfully and you try to distract him in the game because it's only fair then

He's secretly not really so secretly a pervert his eyes widening cartoonously if you wear a skimpy outfit. Looking over your body secretly whenever he can (it's very obvious)

I feel in my heart of hearts that he is a thighs guy and he wants to be crushed by your thighs so badly

Dunk Shuttlecock

Let's just say it up front and right here you have to tell him if you want sex. He will not and won't catch on to hints or innuendos

His mentality on sports is similar to the mentality he has with sex. He just wants it to be enjoyable doesn't matter how fast, slow, intense, goofy, as long as your both having a great time

Tho if you ask him to give you it to you rough oh he sure will but the chance of you accidentally getting a bruise from it and him apologizing after is higher then maybe preferable(depending who you are) but it's a small risk for a unbelievably great time

However regularly he still has pretty good pace at least enough to make you a little weak after

His stamina is crazy willing to do like 3 to 4 rounds if you're up to it of course. He'll makes sure not to exhaust you too much taking decent breaks in between rounds to get yourself prepared

He's doesn't take sex not all too seriously grinning like a goof, and sometimes giggling

If you're the ticklish type he would definitely tickle you randomly during sex just to hear your laugh

He would be so into funny role play sex. Porno quality stuff as you both try to keep a straight face

Think of stuff you typical would expect like jock and cheerleader, jock and nerd, ect ect. Maybe even a pizza delivery thing too

He's not against a little exhibition. Sometimes grabbing you by the wrist to go somewhere more quiet

Something something shake weight joke

Eats pussy like a champ I know he does. That's not to say he's not good with a dick too [insert shuttlecock joke]

Naked yoga into sex. That's it

Quite a big fan of cockwarming while cuddling in between rounds or after sex

He's naturally a top and prefers being top too but if you ask him cute/sexually enough he'll gladly take the back seat

[undyingdecay]

Hiiii so I was thinking something about Bob and premature ejaculation? And he’d get so embarrassed but reader holds him and tells him that’s ok—yeah some smutty fluff 😭

- 😼

bob is the poster boy for this t sort of thing — not cocky, not smooth, just desperate and overeager and too fucking sensitive for his own good.

it’s not supposed to happen like this though.

bob had all these stupid, sweaty, daydreamed-out ideas about how tonight would go. how he was gonna take his time. be slow and good for you. mayb even make you come first — prove to himself he could handle it, that he could be the kind of man you’d wanna keep around.

but bob’s never been good at controlling himself. not when it comes to you.

becaus the second you get him between your thighs — warm and slick and looking up at him with those pretty, heavy-lidded eyes — it’s over. his brain short-circuits, his breath catches, and suddenly he’s sixteen again, fucking his fist thinking about a girl who never even knew his name.

you moan his name — just a little breathy thing, soft and sweet — and that’s it. it snaps whatever fragile thread of control he thought he had.

his stomach tightens. his hips stutter. and then he’s spilling inside you before he’s even gotten a rhythm going, face buried in your neck with a broken, mortified sound that isn’t quite a whimper and isn’t quite a sob.

“fuck—fuck, i’m sorry, baby—”

his voice cracks around it. his hands trembling where they’re braced on either side of your head, too scared to look at you, already trying to pull out like he can undo it somehow.

“i didn’t—I swear i didn’t mean to, it’s just—you’re so fuckin’ pretty, and you were makin’ those sounds, and—are you mad? i’ll hold it better next time i promise, one more chance”

he’s breathing too fast. going red from his neck to his hairline, damp with sweat, eyes wet in that glassy, embarrassed way he gets when he thinks he’s fucked up beyond fixing.

but you’re already catching his face in your hands, thumb brushing over the edge of his cheekbone. pulling him down into you, keeping him there when he tries to pull away.

“hey, hey,” you murmur, lips against his temple. “it’s okay, bobby. it’s okay.”

and it is. because the way he’s clinging to you now — small, needy, too ashamed to even meet your eyes — is the whole reason you wanted him in your bed to begin with. it was never abot how long he’d last or how many times he could make you come. it was about this. about bob letting himself fall apart in your arms, about him trusting you enough to show you the parts he’s ashamed of.

you feel him shudder against you, the hot, damp weight of his body pressing into yours, and you run your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to get him to meet your gaze.

“was it that good?”

and it’s a tease, yeah — but a soft one. gentle, more fond than mocking.

he groans, hiding his face against your neck again, and you feel his mouth move against your skin. a barely-there “m’sorry,” and you shush him, carding your fingers through his hair.

“don’t be. you’re so good for me, bob.”

you can feel him relax, just a litle. hips still pressed against yours, his softening cock twitching where it’s still nestled inside. you hum, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“c’mon,” you whisper. “we’ll go again. you’ll show me how good you can be.”

and you feel the little shiver that runs through him. because yeah — you both know he will.

[why-rock-look-tasty-if-no-eat]

Another thing to add on how and where a cat sleeps, I've noticed something so endearing about the cat that's currently stealing my pillow and purring. If I lay with my back facing the rest of the room, she'll face that way. If I'm facing the room she'll face the wall. Anytime that she's facing the room, any loud noise that happens she'll react to it, but won't be bothered for anything besides food time if she's facing the wall

Something else that warms my heart is that she knows that I move around a lot (cartilage deterioration is a bitch) to readjust the weight my shoulders take since I prefer sleeping in my side (which Ripley loves that btw, it means she gets to use her favourite and expensive body pillow that I definitely didn't get to relieve pressure on an old back injury) and she'll just sit up and wait for me to settle back down before going right to sleep

She also somehow finds the areas that ache the most during the worst days and lays down while purring up a storm, whenever she does that it almost always brings tears to my eyes. Cats are not dogs, that would be like saying that porpoises are fish (Christian history has some gems) just because they both swim and live in water

^Photo I took of Ripley using my left leg and my her body pillow right as I started writing this

I feel like the reason certain dog-lovers insist cats are evil is because they read their body language as if they were dogs. So here’s a very basic guide to common “mean” things cats do that actually aren’t mean at all if you know what they’re thinking.

Rolling and exposing belly- attacks you when touched Does not mean: Give belly rubs! - haha I tricked you!  Actually means: I’m playful! If you reach for my belly I’ll grab your arm and bite it because I think we’re playfighting! 

Lazily exposing belly - still attacks when touched Does not mean: tricked you again! Actually means: I’m showing you my belly because I trust you. Please don’t break that trust by invading my personal space. I might accept a belly rub if I’m not ticklish and I know you well. Snapping at you while being pet Does not mean: I suddenly decided I dislike you! Actually means: You’re petting me in a way that gives me too much restless energy. Please focus on petting my head and shoulders instead of stroking the full length of my back next time.

Is in the same room but makes no attempt to interact Does not mean:  I’m ignoring you Actually means: We’re hanging out! I’m being respectful by giving you space while still enjoying your company. Slapping/scratching your hand when you try to pet them Does not mean: I hate you! Actually means: You’ve failed to establish that we’re not playing, or the way you’re approaching me scares me. Be calmer, speak more gently, make eye-contact and blink slowly at me before you try again.

[dearceleste]

astro obs pt 3

hey guys! I hope you all are fine :) hope you enjoy this post

Venus in Sagittarius people are so in and out of love so very quickly. In the moment it seems that they are so in love but the colours fade away very suddenly. I assume it usually can be surprising to them as well because I think they don’t think their feelings through that well anyways. They might also love the idea of love from distance mostly! However once they have anchored themselves on someone or something, it’s their world.

Venus in Leo people like people to admire and validate their romantic partners I have seen. Almost like, see I have such a shining golden trophy.. I very much think these people admire mass appeal themselves so it may be a part of that thing. But they do love loud and proud for the most part. They like sociable people as partners is one more thing.

Venus in Libra people are other folks I have seen you’d never see with questionable or eccentric choices in partners. They usually want people that are admired or at least socially acceptable, someone they don’t have to defend or explain. Also, LOOKS ARE IMPORTANT lol.

Venus in Cancer people are the types to put their family before their partners a lot many times. They do try to be nurturing and kind in relationships, and very much are, but they need that warmth first to give it back, Also very nostalgic and don’t move on very fast, In love with memories. Also very confused and non confrontational in matters of love. I don’t know why but most people I have seen with this placement low-key like the grief that comes with love.

Venus in Virgo people are super avoidant about topics of love for some reason, they usually don’t speak about it very openly and loudly. Conversely, these people don’t speak but SHOW their love. They show it, prove it, even if they may not be able to articulate it well. They should never be with a person who likes to HEAR more than SHOW. I have often seen they don’t give up until the very last straw :(

Venus in Scorpio people may have this thing of having “rebound partners”. They may or may not pursue this desire depending on how self aware they are. They may actually create a situation like that somehow knowingly or unknowingly lol. They might also like the idea of showing off their current partner to their exes, not because they still like them but as a form of a revenge almost lol

Venus in Taurus people do not like the roller coaster love I have seen. I mean if you are SUPER in your feels type of person they might not be able to understand it a lot. They’d like to understand if they are genuinely into you tho but won’t keep up with that attitude for too long I have seen.

Venus in Aries people are actually people who love bravely, someone who would STAND UP for you, but at the same time they are also quick to scapegoat, I would say they are rather unpredictable and volatile in matters of love. I have seen people with this placement can be SUPER LOYAL and fixed on their partners and also cheat on them in heat of the moment intentionally or unintentionally. Unpredictable is the right word loll

Venus in Gemini people are the realest people to not give 2 fs and move on pretty fast not Venus in Sag people lol. I have seen they like to live in the moment and enjoy stuff for what it is now, It is usually easy for them to have their foot out if something happens or just because they aren’t feeling it enough. Many people I have seen with this placement either give or like that hot/cold treatment just to have something going in the relationship lol.

Ok I don’t want to be offensive but Venus in Aquarius people DO love people who are intellectually curious and able to hold conversations with them and talk about deep things with them, but more than intellectually stimulating and being open to “wider perspectives ” they usually like someone who’s rather agreeable I have seen. Venus in Sag are far more accommodating to a partner with conflicting views because it kinda becomes disrespectful to these people if you are not agreeable to them mentally and intellectually yk.

Venus in Capricorn folks usually “delay” falling in love no matter how much they have options or how many people like them. I think they really have some “mental timing” of most things especially love and like if it falls into that bracket or it can probably give them severe doubt and anxiety (for example: finishing school, getting that job, making that money). They are very loyal and would stand through thick and thin but usually do not like to have a struggle in love.

until the next time xx

[hamilton-here]

heyyy i hope youre doing fine now :))) before i forget this (lol) can I request a reader x lewis with a comfortxangst that whenever lewis is on the track he doesnt mind if he can get injured or hurt while reader has been telling him to be careful and theyre always arguing over it and when he gets into a nasty crash reader reveals that she's pregnant and he'll be more careful now i just think this will be a reminder that f1 is a highly dangerous sportttt u can do this anytime u feel like it thank uuuu

𝒞𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒰𝓈

Authors Note: Hey everyone, I'm alive! I will be opening requests later tonight. Though I still have three to do after this one. Hopefully this meets your request. I hope you're all well. Lots of love xx

Summary: Lewis Hamilton learns to race to come home after discovering he’s going to be a father.

Warnings: angst, mentions of swearing, mentions of crash

Taglist: @piston-cup @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You had always known that loving Lewis Hamilton came with risks.

It wasn’t just the time zones or the endless race weekends. It wasn’t the relentless moving, the constant packing and unpacking, the brief kisses goodbye that always tasted like he was already half gone.

It was what he chased. The high-speed danger of Formula 1. The knowledge that every time he stepped into that cockpit, he was gambling with gravity, dancing on the edge of control.

And still, you loved him.

You loved him because he was that person. Fearless. Passionate. Relentless. A man who didn’t know how to step back from a fight, who didn’t know how to race at anything less than the limit.

But that edge, the one that had drawn you to him like a moth to flame, had started to scare you now. It used to be thrilling to watch him thread the car through gaps that didn’t exist, to see him make impossible moves look effortless. You used to sit on the pit wall with your heart racing, smiling through your adrenaline-soaked nerves.

But now?

Now the thrill had warped into dread.

Lewis was older now.

In his Ferrari era, wearing the red that somehow made him look even more untouchable. The fire still burned in him, maybe brighter than ever but it had changed. He wasn’t chasing numbers anymore. He wasn’t chasing records.

He was chasing something more personal. Legacy. Purpose. A mark that no one could ever erase.

You had admired that. You still did. But lately, you’d started to hate what it could cost.

You.

“Be careful today,” you said softly, your fingertips grazing the tattoo on his chest as he zipped up his race suit, the Ferrari crest sitting proudly over his heart.

The Maranello red suited him. Too well. Like he’d always been meant to wear it. Like he was born to be exactly here, in this era, fighting for something only he could see.

He caught your eyes in the mirror and smiled - that easy, boyish smile that always seemed to dissolve your nerves. It was infuriating. It was comforting.

It was Lewis.

“Always am.”

You shook your head, pressing your lips together to keep them from trembling. “That’s not true.”

You sat down on the edge of the hotel bed, wringing your hands in your lap as the words gathered thickly in your throat.

“You take risks you don’t need to. You push when you don’t have to.”

His back stiffened just slightly as he adjusted the collar of his suit, eyes flicking down to his gloves as if focusing on something else would make this conversation pass quicker.

“It’s what I do,” he said quietly, not looking at you. “It’s who I am.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“It’s racing.”

“And racing can kill you.”

The words came out harder than you’d intended, but they were sitting on your chest like a weight, and you couldn’t hold them in anymore.

You needed him to hear you. Really hear you.

He turned toward you slowly, his expression softening, like he’d expected this argument but still didn’t know how to solve it. “You can’t think like that, baby. If I go out there scared, I won’t be me anymore. I can’t race like that. You know that.”

Your fingernails dug into your palms, your skin pinching painfully, the only thing grounding you in this moment. “Then what am I supposed to do? Sit here every weekend waiting for the phone call that you’re not coming back?”

His face dropped just slightly, a flicker of something like guilt, maybe shadowing his eyes.

“You’ve never gotten that phone call,” he said softly, almost like he was trying to convince himself.

“But one day I could.”

The words landed like a crack of thunder, final and brutal.

You’d both been tiptoeing around this truth for too long. You couldn’t keep pretending it wasn’t clawing at you, waiting at the edge of every race weekend. The silence that stretched between you was suffocating. It thinned the air like you were both standing at the top of Eau Rouge, hearts in your throats, waiting for the drop.

Lewis finally crossed the room, crouching in front of you, his warm hands resting on your knees as he looked up at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

“Look at me,” he said gently, his thumbs stroking soft circles against your skin. “I know you’re scared. I know. But I need you to trust me. I’ve been doing this a long time. I know what I’m doing.”

You looked into his eyes, those deep, familiar eyes that had always made you feel safe.

But this wasn’t about trust. It was about probability. Followed about the brutal, unforgiving statistics of a sport that took as much as it gave.

“You’re not twenty-five anymore, Lewis,” you whispered, your voice tight and trembling. “Your body can’t bounce back the way it used to.”

He exhaled a soft, almost amused laugh, but you could see the flicker of frustration tightening his jaw. “You sound like my physio.”

“Maybe she’s right.”

His hands squeezed yours, as if he could physically press reassurance into you. “I’ve got this, love. Don’t worry so much.”

But you did. You always did.

You worried through every corner, every pit stop, every time the camera cut to his onboard view, and you saw him chasing every millimetre like it was oxygen.

You worried because you loved him.

And the worst part? You didn’t even know yet that you were worrying for two.

However, it kept happening. Race after race. Argument after argument. Like clockwork.

You told yourself it was just the pressure of the season and the weight of Ferrari’s expectations pressing against his shoulders. Or the noise of the media questioning if he could still deliver at this stage of his career, the brutal self-imposed bar that Lewis never stopped raising.

You told yourself it was temporary.

You told yourself he would slow down.

But the more you watched him, the more you realised this wasn’t new at all.

Lewis had always raced like he didn’t care what happened to him.

And the terrible consequence?

You’d fallen in love with him because of that edge.

The way he danced so close to the line no one else dared to touch. The way he made you feel like the impossible was always just within reach.

But love changes things. Love rearranges your priorities. What used to thrill you now terrified you.

It was after the Spanish Grand Prix when the next argument exploded.

You waited for him in his driver’s room, the race replay still playing on mute on the little screen in the corner, but neither of you were paying attention. You’d seen it all live.

You’d seen him fight tooth and nail into Turn 3, holding a defensive line most drivers would’ve abandoned, forcing the other car wide, balancing on the edge of disaster.

You’d seen him almost lose control.

You’d felt your lungs collapse in that split second.

You’d felt your heart stop.

“You could’ve gone into the wall!” Your voice cracked, the panic still clawing its way up your throat, your whole-body trembling with leftover adrenaline.

“But I didn’t,” he said simply, pulling off his gloves, peeling away his sweat-soaked balaclava like it was just another Sunday.

“You didn’t this time.”

He turned to you sharply, exhaustion painting his features, his patience threadbare. “What do you want me to do? Let them pass me? Sit back and wave them through?”

You swallowed hard, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. “I want you to come home.”

His jaw clenched, his mouth flattening into a hard, unreadable line. “You knew what this was when you met me.”

“I didn’t know it would kill me slowly like this.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Stifling.

His voice dropped to something low, something brittle. “You think I don’t know what’s at stake every time I get in that car? I’m not stupid.”

“Then why don’t you drive like you care whether you come back?”

His head snapped toward you like you’d slapped him. For a long, suffocating moment, neither of you moved. Neither of you blinked. You felt like you’d crossed some invisible line.

His voice cracked. “I have to race like this. I can’t back down. If I start thinking about what I could lose, I won’t be me anymore.”

You stepped closer, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “You wouldn’t lose me, Lewis. You’d keep me. That’s the point.”

His shoulders sagged like something inside him had caved in. “But I’d lose me.”

It hit you then, like a gut punch. You weren’t just fighting for his safety. You were fighting against the very thing that made him him.

The argument fizzled out, not because you’d resolved it, but because you both knew there was nothing else to say.

That night, when you finally crawled into bed. Lewis wrapped his arm tightly around your waist, pulling you so close it almost hurt, as if holding you would stop the ground from crumbling underneath him.

You pressed a soft kiss to the inside of his wrist, right over the flutter of his pulse. “I’m sorry I keep bringing it up.”

His lips brushed the bare skin of your shoulder, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry I keep making you.”

You both meant it.

But deep down, you knew you’d fight about it again. Because what else could you do? Except keep loving him and praying that one day, he’d finally want to stay.

What neither of you knew then - was that soon, he’d have more to lose than just himself. And you didn’t know it yet, but that knowledge was already beginning to grow inside you.

It started small. So small you barely noticed.

The first time it hit you, you were standing in the kitchen of your Monaco apartment, the pale morning light spilling through the open balcony doors, the breeze carrying the faint scent of saltwater and sun-soaked pavement. You were making coffee just like you always did and pouring Lewis’s favourite beans into the machine, savouring the quiet hum of routine.

But when the coffee began to brew, the bitter familiar aroma suddenly twisted your stomach into tight, unforgiving knots. The sharp nausea hit you so hard and fast you had to grip the counter to steady yourself.

It passed quickly, but it left you shaken. But you brushed it off.

Maybe you hadn’t eaten enough. Maybe you were just overtired. Maybe it was the stress of the season building to a breaking point - the endless race weekends, the airports, the arguments that seemed to linger in the air long after they’d ended.

Maybe it was the weight of loving someone like Lewis Hamilton.

But the nausea didn’t fade. It returned the next day. And the day after that. It lingered when it shouldn’t have, curling around your mornings like smoke, settling in the back of your throat.

You told yourself it was nothing. You told yourself you were being dramatic.

Until you couldn’t tell yourself that anymore.

The exhaustion crept in slowly too.

It wasn’t just tired but was bone-deep, dragging your body down like gravity had doubled its pull on you. No amount of sleep seemed to fix it. No amount of quiet seemed to refill the empty places. You found yourself lying awake long after Lewis had fallen asleep, staring at the ceiling, one hand resting absently over your stomach as though some part of you already knew before you dared to say it out loud.

You’d been keeping track in the back of your mind, but you hadn’t wanted to really look at the dates. You hadn’t wanted to connect the dots. Because what if you were wrong? And worse, what if you weren’t?

Until one quiet Wednesday morning.

Lewis had gone out cycling along the Monaco coast - a ritual, something he always did when the pressure got too loud in his head. He’d kissed your temple before he left, his curls still damp from the shower, his skin warm and real beneath your fingertips.

You’d told him to be careful, like you always did. And he’d given you that same soft, teasing smile the one that said Don’t worry about me, love. I’ve got this. The one that never really settled the panic rising in your throat.

When the door closed behind him, the apartment felt impossibly silent.

The echo of the ocean drifted in, soft and distant.

You sat on the cold marble floor of your shared bathroom, your legs folded tightly beneath you, your hands trembling violently as you clutched the little plastic test like it might burn you. Your heart hammered so hard it hurt.

You’re just being paranoid. Or you’re just late because you’re stressed.

It’s just your body playing tricks on you.

But then the lines appeared. Two of them. Bold. Bright. Unmistakable.

Pregnant.

The word slammed into you with the force of a tidal wave. Eyes widening. Pregnant.

You whispered it aloud, your voice breaking as the syllables slipped from your lips like they didn’t belong to you. Like you were watching this happen to someone else. You stared at the test, waiting for it to change, to fade, to dissolve into something deniable. But it didn’t. It stayed. Steady. Unmoving. Certain.

The seconds ticked by. Then minutes. Your knees ached from the cold tile pressing into your skin, but you couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe properly. The air felt too sharp, too thick.

You should’ve felt happy. Maybe you did, somewhere beneath all the static.

But it was buried under something bigger. Something heavier -

Fear.

Not of the baby. Not of being a parent. Not of how your life would change.

But of what if he doesn’t come back?

What if he never meets them?

The thought hollowed you out, cracking something inside you so fast the tears came before you could stop them. You sobbed into your folded knees, your body curling in on itself like you were trying to keep the whole world from falling apart inside your chest.

You weren’t afraid of becoming a mother. You were afraid of becoming one alone. Afraid of raising a child who would only know their father through old race footage and stories told in past tense. Afraid of what it would mean to love someone so fiercely and still not be able to keep them safe.

You wrapped your arms around your stomach, protective already, desperate to shield something so impossibly tiny, so fragile, from the storm you knew was coming. From the father you loved more than anything in the world, who didn’t know how to love himself enough to stay.

You should tell Lewis.

You should call him right now.

But the fear lodged in your throat, thick and unmoving. Would it make him more careful? Would it pull him back from the edge you’d watched him balance on for years?

Or would it push him harder - make him race with even more desperation, as if he needed to outrun time, to win faster, to lock in a legacy before the window slammed shut?

You didn’t know which answer terrified you more.

So you kept it to yourself. For now.

You folded the secret into the quietest places of your chest, tucked it beneath your ribs like maybe, if you just waited long enough, the right moment would come.

After the next race.

After the next fight.

After he’d shown you just once that he could choose to be careful. That he could choose to stay.

But Lewis didn’t slow down.

Not in Japan, Spain or Canada. Not when he skimmed the wall in Austria so close your knees nearly gave out watching the onboard.

You told him to be careful. Again. You begged him. You fought more than you ever had before. You screamed, sobbed and pleaded.

But nothing changed.

And the terrible, suffocating thought began to creep in, gnawing at the edges of your heart like something you couldn’t unthink -

Maybe he wouldn’t ever change.

Maybe nothing would be enough.

Not until something broke. Until the thing you feared most finally happened.

And you prayed desperately that it wouldn’t take a crash to make him finally understand what he was risking. That it wouldn’t take twisted metal and a red flag for him to see that there was more on the line now. That there was someone else on the line now.

But Formula 1 isn’t a sport that hands out second chances so easily.

You knew that. It was always going to break before he listened. The only thing you didn’t know was how much it would shatter you too.

The Spa weekend always terrified you.

There was something about it - a weight in the air, a shadow that lingered over the circuit no matter how bright the skies pretended to be. It wasn’t just the layout, the speed, the razor-thin margins. It was Spa’s reputation. Its history. The corners that swallowed cars whole. The weather that changed in minutes. The ghosts that never really left.

Lewis loved Spa. He always had. He loved it the way he loved anything that challenged him, anything that dared him to go further. And you hated it for exactly the same reason. You hated it because you could feel how alive it made him, how the danger seemed to call to him louder here than anywhere else.

And tonight, sitting in the hotel room the night before the race you hated that you were running out of ways to ask him to stay.

Your voice shook more than you wanted him to notice as you watched him pull on his compression shirt, the muscles in his back still tight from the long, gruelling practice sessions. “Lewis, please,” you whispered, standing by the edge of the bed like you could hold the whole conversation together with just the force of your desperation. “Just promise me you’ll be careful tomorrow.”

His gaze flicked toward you in the mirror, soft but distant, like he was already mentally walking the circuit. “I’m always careful, babe,” he said, pulling the shirt over his shoulders, smoothing the fabric across his chest.

You felt the words lodge in your throat, sharp and unbearable. “You’re not,” you choked out, your fists clenching at your sides. “You’re fast. You’re smart. But you’re not careful. Not when it matters. Not when you’re in the car.”

His sigh came hard, his jaw tightening, the same familiar frustration rising between you. “We’ve been through this -”

“No, you’ve dismissed this,” you cut in, stepping forward, grabbing his arm with both hands like you could physically tether him to the ground, to you. “Every time I bring it up, you act like I’m asking you to give up who you are. But I’m not. I’m not asking you to stop being Lewis Hamilton. I’m asking you to survive.”

His jaw flexed, a muscle twitching there, his body taut like a coiled spring. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Your voice cracked, the ache in your chest breaking loose. “Because the way you’ve been racing this season. It’s like you don’t care what happens to you anymore. Or like you’ve stopped believing you’re mortal.”

His eyes softened, just for a second, but when he pulled his arm away, it was gentle, final. “That’s not true.”

“It is.” You were trembling now, your heart hammering in your ribs, your throat thick with everything you hadn’t yet told him. “And I can’t watch you go out there tomorrow and race like you’ve got nothing to lose. Because you do. You have me. You have us. And -” Your breath faltered, your whole body bracing under the weight of the truth clawing its way to the surface. “You might have more than that soon.”

Lewis blinked, a frown knitting between his brows as he slowly turned to face you fully, finally hearing something in your voice that didn’t match the fight he thought you were having. “What do you mean?”

You almost told him. The words perched right there, aching to be spoken.

Almost.

But the fear twisted in your chest like barbed wire.

What if telling him changed nothing?

What if telling him made him race harder, like he was running out of time?

What if this new pressure only added fuel to the fire he’d never learned how to put out?

You swallowed hard, the moment slipping through your fingers. “Nothing. Just please.” Your voice cracked, desperate and hollow. “Please don’t make me regret tomorrow.”

His features wavered something caught between defiance and something softer, something that almost looked like he wanted to fold into you, like he wanted to end the argument right there and choose you.

But then his guard slid back into place. He reached for his cap, tugging it over his curls, angling it low to shield his eyes. “I know you’re scared. I get it. But you have to trust me.”

“I do trust you,” you whispered, your voice barely holding itself upright, “but I don’t trust the sport.”

His hand lingered on the door handle, a silent beat stretching between you like a chasm neither of you knew how to cross. “I can’t race scared,” he said quietly.

“And I can’t love you without being scared,” you whispered back, your voice splintering around the truth.

Silence again. The kind that left you hollow.

“I’ll see you after quali,” he said, soft but firm, stepping out of the room, closing the door gently behind him. The finality of that click shattered you.

You sank to the bed, your hand falling instinctively to your stomach, the tears slipping down your cheeks as you whispered to the tiny life inside you, the secret you’d been carrying like a glass heart.

“Please come back to us.”

Spa had always been cruel.

But you never thought it would be cruel to you.

The next day felt like moving through wet cement. You stood by the pit wall, the headset digging painfully into your ears, your heart pounding so loud you could barely hear the chatter of the engineers. Every breath felt borrowed.

Lewis had qualified third. He was in the fight. He was always in the fight.

But today, his driving was different - aggressive off the line, elbows out, like he was still chasing something invisible, something just out of reach. He’d found something this season with Ferrari, something that made him push like he was twenty-five again, like the weight of his body didn’t matter, like time was still bending to his will.

And you hated him for it. But at the same time you loved him for it. Therefore, it was tearing you apart.

Every lap felt like a gamble you hadn’t agreed to. Every defensive move felt like a warning you couldn’t shake.

Please, slow down. Please, don’t prove me right.

Lap 17. Raidillon.

You felt the sickness rise before it even happened.

The onboards flicked to him fighting for position, side by side with another driver, the track tightening, the line disappearing.

You knew what was coming. You felt it in your bones before the camera even caught it. No margin for error.

The car clipped the kerb. A heartbeat, desperate correction, brush of wheels. Lewis’s car was airborne. It twisted violently, flipping unnaturally, shrapnel spinning across the runoff as the Ferrari slammed into the barriers, skidded, bounced, then crumpled to a halt at a sickening angle.

The screen cut away.

“Red flag. Red flag. Session suspended.”

Your headset slipped from your ears and clattered to the ground, the sound of the paddock dissolving into static. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe.

The words hammered through your skull.

He’s not moving. He’s not moving. He’s not moving.

You bolted from the pit wall, shoving through engineers, security, the blur of people shouting at you to stop. Let me through. Let me through. Let me through.

You didn’t even realise you were crying until the salt hit your lips. Didn’t realise you were screaming until your throat burned.

By the time you reached the medical car, they were pulling him from the cockpit, his head slack against the halo, the medics stabilising his neck with clinical precision.

“He’s conscious but disoriented,” one of them said, his voice like a distant echo. “Heavy impact, possible concussion. We need scans immediately,” another called.

But you couldn’t hear anything beyond the roar in your ears. You fell to your knees beside the stretcher, your hand finding his glove still on, limp in yours and you sobbed, your body folding over like the weight of him might pull you under.

“Lewis,” you cried, clutching his fingers like they were the only thing tethering you to this earth. “Lewis, I’m here. I’m here. Please - please stay with me.”

His eyelids fluttered, unfocused, the barest hint of a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “You always…worry too much,” he slurred weakly.

“I told you -” Your voice cracked, the tears falling faster now, splashing onto his red race suit, “I told you this would happen.”

“I’m okay,” he whispered, but his voice was thin, as if even he didn’t believe it.

“You’re not.”

The medics ushered you into the ambulance, and you rode the entire way to the medical centre gripping his hand so tightly your knuckles turned white, the panic thrumming under your skin like a second heartbeat.

The scans. The blood tests. The neurological checks. You watched all of it through a haze, your body present but your soul still trapped on that corner still watching him fly.

They confirmed a mild concussion. Bruised ribs. No spinal injury. Lucky. They kept saying he was lucky.

But it didn’t feel like luck. It felt like you’d just watched the universe take a coin toss with his life. And one day, you wouldn’t win that toss.

When they finally let you sit with him alone you crumpled into the chair beside his bed, your shoulders shaking as you buried your face in your hands.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you whispered, your voice raw, each word clawing its way up your throat. “You can’t keep making me watch you destroy yourself.”

His tired brown eyes flicked to yours, soft, heavy with guilt. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You always scare me,” you sobbed, your whole-body trembling. “Every race. Every qualifying. Every lap. I can’t do this again.”

His hand found yours, weak but warm, his thumb brushing across your skin in tiny circles, as if that alone might fix all the broken pieces between you.

“I can’t lose you, Lewis,” you choked out, the truth finally too big to swallow. “Not now. Not when -”

Your voice faltered. But you couldn’t stop it now. “I’m pregnant.”

The silence that followed swallowed the room whole. His chest stilled. His lips parted but no sound came. His fingers tightened, the realisation anchoring him back to the present. “You’re serious?” he whispered, his voice cracking. “We, we’re having a baby?”

You nodded, your tears flowing freely. “I found out before this weekend. I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure if it would change anything. I thought maybe you’d still race like you didn’t care. I thought maybe nothing would be enough.”

His hand cupped your cheek, the weight of his touch soft, trembling. “I didn’t know I was gambling with so much more.”

“You weren’t just gambling with yourself,” you whispered, leaning into his palm. “You were gambling with me. With us. And now with them.”

His other hand moved to your stomach, resting there gently like the world was holding its breath. His eyes filled, his voice thick with something you’d never heard before a vow.

“I have to change,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “I have to be more careful. I have to come back to you. To both of you.”

Your sob broke loose, your forehead resting against his as you finally let yourself believe him. This wasn’t just his life anymore. It was all of yours. And he finally realised he had everything to lose.

Lewis spent three days in the hospital.

Three long, agonising days where time moved in molasses and every beep of the machines laced a fresh layer of panic through your chest.

You never left his side. Not once.

You slept in the stiff, narrow visitor’s chair, curled up in impossible angles, your hand always laced with his like it was your lifeline. The dull ache in your neck and spine didn’t matter. The cold fluorescent lights didn’t matter. The dry hospital air, the stale taste of coffee you could barely choke down - they didn’t matter.

The only thing that mattered was Lewis, breathing in the bed next to you.

Every time his heart monitor spiked or dipped whether from shifting in his sleep or reacting to pain you jolted awake in terror, your pulse skyrocketing as your hands shot out to steady him. The doctors assured you over and over that he was okay, that his injuries, though painful, were not life-threatening. But they didn’t understand that it wasn’t just his body you were terrified of losing, it was him.

It was the part of him that laughed. The part that loved you. The part that wanted to come home.

When he was finally discharged, you helped him into a quiet car waiting at the hospital entrance, both of you wearing hats pulled low and oversized sunglasses to shield from prying cameras. The media storm had erupted the moment the crash replayed on screens around the world with Ferrari issuing statements, journalists speculating, fans flooding social media with hashtags and heartbreak.

But you didn’t care about any of that.

You just wanted to get him home. Home to Monaco. Home to safety. Home to you.

The flight back was a blur, the low hum of the engines lulling him to sleep in the seat next to you, his head resting carefully against your shoulder while you traced slow, comforting circles on his thigh.

You didn’t let go of him once.

When you got back to your apartment, the world felt oddly still. No race noise, pit wall calls or tension threading through his body. Just soft linen sheets, gentle waves brushing the rocky coastline below the balcony, and the two of you bruised, but breathing.

The first night home, you helped him into bed like he was made of glass.

Every movement was slow, delicate, your hands ghosting over his ribs as you tucked the sheets gently around him, as if the fabric itself could offer protection. He watched you, silent, his usually strong, self-assured frame now resting heavily against the pillows.

You went to step away to grab him some water and get his medication, but his hand caught your wrist. “Baby?” His voice was raw, still cracked around the edges from the lingering pain and the adrenaline crash.

You sat back on the edge of the bed, your thumb automatically sweeping across his hand. “Yeah?”

His eyes flicked down to your stomach, a faint crease forming between his brows.

“Do you think they’re okay?” His voice was so soft, so unsure, it broke your heart open. “I mean we didn’t even get to talk about it properly.”

You guided his hand to rest over your belly, the skin still flat but warm beneath his palm. “They’re okay,” you whispered. “It’s early, but they’re here. We’re here.”

He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging as though a weight he hadn’t dared to acknowledge was finally releasing its grip on him. “I want to do this right.”

“You already are,” you said, the words instinctive, immediate.

But he shook his head, his thumb beginning to trace slow, endless circles over your skin, like he was grounding himself to you, to this new future neither of you had been prepared for.

“No,” he said firmly, his voice thick. “I’ve spent my whole career believing I had nothing to lose. That I could risk everything because it was just me on the line. That if I went out, I went out chasing what I loved. But it’s not just me anymore.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his composure finally, finally splintering. “I want to be there for this. I want to be there for you. For them. I want to come home.”

Tears gathered in your eyes, blurring the soft edges of him, but you didn’t look away. You couldn’t. “You will,” you promised, your voice barely holding steady as you leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his.

His arms, weak and aching, still managed to pull you close, as tight as his bruised ribs would allow. “I’ll race differently. I’ll be smarter. I’m not done with this sport, but I’m done pretending I don’t care what happens to me.”

You smiled through your tears, your hands cradling his face, feeling the faint stubble against your palms. “Good. Because we care.”

His lips found yours slow, lingering, tasting of salt and something unspoken, something that tasted like a vow and for the first time in what felt like months, you let yourself believe him.

Lewis wasn’t making promises to the sport anymore. He was making promises to you. To your family.

The next few weeks moved in quiet rhythms. There was no travel. No schedule. No roaring engines. Just you and him, wrapped in the stillness of recovery.

You spent lazy mornings curled up on the couch, your hand resting over his as you flipped through baby name lists that made him groan and laugh in equal measure.

You caught him absently scrolling through baby gear on his phone, pretending not to care but his favourites folder said otherwise.

He went to physiotherapy religiously, never once skipping, never once complaining not because he was in a rush to return to the car, but because he wanted to heal properly this time. He wanted to be fully here, for you, for the baby.

He skipped the next race without hesitation.

When the media demanded answers, Ferrari’s statement was simple, pointed -

Family first.

And somehow, that meant more than any podium ever could.

He told you about the team’s reaction their genuine concern, their relief that he was okay, the way Charles had immediately texted when he heard about the baby.

Papa Hamilton! Charles had written and according to Lewis, he refused to stop using the nickname, even during debriefs, even when it made Lewis roll his eyes.

Angela cried when you both told her properly, her hug tight, teary, like she’d been waiting for this moment longer than you had.

When Lewis returned to the paddock later that season, something in him had shifted. Something permanent. The fire was still there, the brilliance, the hunger but it burned differently now.

He still attacked the corners, still carved through the grid like poetry, but gone were the reckless dives, the impossible lunges. Gone was the blind refusal to back off. He chose his battles now. He picked his moments. And for the first time, you saw him racing not for the risk but for the return.

Every time he climbed out of the car, the first thing he did was find you whether it was in the garage, in the motorhome, on the pit wall. His hands would find your stomach instinctively, his forehead pressing to yours, his whispered, “We’re good. I’m okay,” easing the weight in your chest.

You still worried. Of course you did. You always would. But now you worried knowing that he was finally racing to come home.

One crisp autumn afternoon, you stood by the pit wall, your hand resting protectively over your now-visible bump, feeling the soft flutter of tiny kicks under your palm as Lewis crossed the finish line.

He finished P4 that day. He didn’t force the podium. He didn’t throw the car into a gap that wasn’t there. But pulled out of a risky move on the final lap, a move the old Lewis would have taken without thinking.

And when the checkered flag waved, and the cheers rippled through the paddock, all you could feel was pride. Not because he won, but because he chose to be careful. When he returned to you, his fireproof suit still clinging to his skin, sweat still beading at his temple, he cupped your face in both hands and kissed you softly, deeply, as if the whole world had narrowed to this moment.

“You saw that, right?” he murmured against your lips.

You smiled, tears gathering in your eyes. “Yeah. I saw.”

It was never about making him stop or making him want to stay.

And now?

He did. He wanted to stay more than anything.

The labor came fast.

Faster than anyone expected.

You were supposed to have more time - weeks, maybe. Time to pack the hospital bag properly, to finish the nursery, to slow down and breathe before life as you knew it was rewritten. Time to walk hand-in-hand with Lewis through those final, quiet moments of just the two of you.

But life doesn’t always give you time.

Your water broke just before sunrise. The early Monaco sky was painted in soft lavender and streaks of gold, the peaceful morning breeze slipping through the cracked balcony door. You’d stirred awake, your hand resting instinctively on the gentle swell of your belly when you felt the sudden, unmistakable gush.

You gasped, sharp and panicked, sitting upright in bed as adrenaline punched through your chest. Beside you, Lewis jolted awake in an instant, blinking in confusion, his fresh curls messy and sticking to his forehead. “What - what is it? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” His hands were on you immediately, frantic, searching, like he could physically catch whatever had just changed. Your wide, terrified eyes met his.

“It’s happening,” you whispered, breathless. “She’s coming.” For a man who could handle a Formula 1 start with ice in his veins, Lewis unraveled spectacularly.

“Okay. Okay. Okay right.” He launched out of bed like he was sprinting to the grid, grabbing the hospital bag, dropping it, grabbing it again. “Wait did I pack enough? Where’s the list? Where are your shoes? Babe, where are your shoes? Do we need the charger? I need -” He trailed off, spinning in circles, pure panic on his face.

You groaned through another wave of pressure, squeezing his hand so tight you felt his wedding band bite into your palm. “Lewis. Shoes later. Baby now.”

That snapped him out of it. He all but carried you to the car, his hands trembling as he buckled your seatbelt, his lips brushing your forehead in between whispered apologies and frantic reassurances. Every red light, every roundabout, he muttered under his breath. “Not too fast. Not too slow. Can’t risk anything. But shit what if we don’t make it?”

When you got to the hospital, the world around you blurred. The midwives, the beeping monitors, the sterile smell, the tidal waves of pain that crested through you none of it stuck the way his presence did. He never left your side. Not for a second or a breath.

He whispered encouragement through every contraction, his voice shaking but steady enough for you to hold onto. His thumb stroked your palm in soothing circles, and when the pain became unbearable, you clutched his hand like a lifeline, his knuckles paling from the force of your grip.

When your strength faltered, when exhaustion tugged at your edges, Lewis pressed your hand to his lips, kissing your skin like it might anchor you both. “I’m here,” he whispered fiercely. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

And when the room finally filled with the sharp, piercing cry of your daughter. When the midwife placed her, tiny and wriggling, on your chest – you watched Lewis fall apart in the most beautiful way.

Tears streamed down his face, falling freely as his breath came in shallow, overwhelmed shudders. His hands trembled when they cradled your face, his forehead pressing tightly to yours as his words tumbled out in a desperate, joyful rush. “She’s here. She’s here. Oh my God. You did it. You did it, baby. I love you. I love you so much.”

When they finally placed her in his arms, she seemed impossibly small, her whole body barely the length of his forearm. He held her like she was the most fragile thing the world had ever made, his fingers trembling as he stroked the soft down of her hair. “She’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice raw, reverent. His tears dripped onto her blanket, his thumb tracing tiny circles over her curled fist. “Look at her. Look at what we made.”

You leaned against him, exhausted but full, watching the man you loved melt entirely for this little life. “What do you want to name her?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. Lewis smiled through his tears, still staring at his daughter like she was the most precious thing he’d ever touched. “Something strong. Something beautiful.”

You spoke the name you’d both circled for months. The name that had felt right in your heart from the moment you saw those two lines. He nodded, pressing his lips to her forehead. “That’s her. That’s my girl.”

Your girl. His daughter. His reason to stay.

And from that moment, you knew there would never be a corner, a podium, or a championship that could matter more than coming home to her.

When the season resumed, Lewis returned to the paddock with something new stitched into his race suit - something that changed everything.

Her name. Embroidered in small, delicate letters, right over his heart.

It wasn’t for the cameras. It wasn’t for the media. It was for him. For you. For her.

A quiet promise stitched into the fabric of his second skin. As well as a reminder of who he was racing for now.

For the first few races, he didn’t bring her. He told you he wasn’t ready not because he didn’t want to, but because the idea of exposing her to the flashing lights, the relentless cameras, the noise. It overwhelmed him.

“I just want her to be ours for a little longer,” he’d said one night, his arms wrapped protectively around both of you, his chin resting on your shoulder as your daughter slept peacefully on your chest. “The world can wait.”

But by the nearing of the season ending, the wait became unbearable. He wanted her there. Needed her there.

And so, that morning, you stood beside him at the track a place that once felt like the enemy, now softened by the weight of your shared history and the little life you both cradled between you.

The soft hum of the Ferrari garage wrapped around you like a familiar rhythm. The buzz of air guns, the shouted calls between engineers, the smell of petrol and rubber hanging thick in the air. It used to make your heart pound with anxiety, your pulse synced to every movement Lewis made, every corner he dared to dance around.

But now? Now it felt slower. Softer. Safer. Because this time, she was here.

Your daughter was strapped snugly to Lewis’s chest, tucked into the tiny carrier you’d agonised over choosing. Her oversized baby headphones sat slightly askew on her head, her small hands occasionally batting at them with innocent curiosity.

Her big brown eyes - his eyes darted around, wide and unblinking as they followed the bright colours, the glittering cars, the rhythm of the track life she’d somehow inherited.

Lewis leaned his chin gently against the top of her head, his thumb resting protectively over the curve of her back. He swayed on instinct, rocking her softly, like she was still fragile in his arms. “First race day, huh?” he whispered, his voice tinged with awe, like he still couldn’t quite believe she was real. Like the weight of her against his chest still grounded him in a way nothing else ever had.

“She’s probably wondering why so many people are fussing over just one car,” you teased, sliding your sunglasses up into your hair, watching the way his entire body softened around her.

“She’s going to love this one day,” he murmured, brushing his hand over her soft curls, his eyes not leaving her face. “It’s in her blood.”

“She might end up wanting to drive one of those cars, you know,” you said, raising your brows, unable to hide the amusement dancing in your voice.

His head snapped toward you in mock horror. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Piano lessons. Ballet. I’m buying her a library. She’s not touching a race car.” You laughed, resting your hand over his. “She’s already got you wrapped around her little finger.”

“She had me the second I heard her heartbeat,” he said softly, his thumb brushing tiny circles over the carrier strap, his heart so open, so vulnerable.

The team fell in love with her instantly. The Ferrari crew kept their distance at first, unsure if Lewis would want the attention. But when he knelt down to show her to them with proudness beaming and his eyes shining any hesitation dissolved.

One of the mechanics gifted her a miniature Ferrari cap, the brim too big for her tiny head. Another knelt beside her, gently tickling her toes as she stared, fascinated by his bright gloves.

Even rival drivers wandered over to meet her, their usual competitive edges dulling in the presence of something so pure. Lando made faces at her until she giggled. Carlos tapped his chest and whispered, “Future Ferrari champion.” You gave him a look. Lewis gave him a harder one.

Charles, of course, grinned the second he spotted them. “Papa Hamilton looks good on you LH,” he teased, ruffling the baby’s dark curls with brotherly ease.

Lewis just grinned, bouncing her gently against his chest, his whole face softening in a way you’d never seen before. “Yeah. Feels good, too CL.”

The media kept their distance for now. Ferrari had made it clear this was private, sacred, not for headlines.

When it was time for the formation lap, Lewis lingered by your side, reluctant to pass her back to you. He kissed your temple, slow and warm, then pressed a lingering kiss to his daughter’s head, his lips brushing against the soft baby hairs that had started to curl just like his. “You gonna cheer for Daddy?” he whispered to her, his voice low, sweet, full of reverence. “You’re gonna bring me good luck, huh? I race better when you’re here. You know that?”

She babbled back at him, clutching the edge of his chain with her tiny fingers, completely unaware she’d just rewired her father’s entire universe. You watched him pull on his helmet, watched him settle into the car but this time, the weight that used to crush your ribs didn’t settle in your chest.

Because Lewis still raced fiercely. But now he raced smartly.

As he tightened his gloves, as the roar of the crowd built, his gaze flicked across the pit wall right to you and your daughter, his entire world standing just beyond the barrier.

He tapped his chest twice, right over the stitched name.

For her. For you. For all of you.

When the lights went out, you didn’t feel fear.

You felt pride and love.

Because this was the balance you’d fought for, the life you’d built together. He had everything to lose now, and finally, he raced like he knew it.

And you knew now, without a single doubt -

He was always coming back to you.

[wheatfieldsareprettycool]

1. Otherlink, otherhearted, otherkin, -soul, and i have some hearthomes

2. Link - moth, jellyfish

Heart - earthworm, my childhood doggos, bumblebees, dandelions, water, deer, paint murder towel (dont ask pls) and like a lot more i forgot

Kin - magic, wolf, red fox, silver fox, eurasian collared dove, black cat, lynx, brown bear, my oc, seawing (WoF), possibly a deer and possibly a horse

3. Yep! Most common are phantom shifts im having one rn (tail + snout + slight wings i thinkk). And no i dont think i have had any cameo shifts

4. Phantom shifts, kinda affects how i move sometimes. Doesnt rly affect me in any othet ways (help now i have phantom teeth) but when i feel like it i like to go to the park or do stuff that reminds me of my alterhumanity

5. Uhhh- on tiktok its horrible, here its pretty chill. Idrk any other sites and irl i only know 1 therian so not rly a community

6. KNOCKOFF CONVERSE SHOES I LOVE HOW THEY FEEL. I also love my yarn tails and seeing that some of my teeth kinda look sharp

7. No not rly

8. Identity can fluctate so it is possible to stop being a therian and labels arent like a strict thing theyre just made to make describing your exeprince easier to others so dont worry if u cant find one that fits ur still valid

9. Yess! Have - 2 yarn tails, 3 masks (that i camt wear, 2 dont have elastic and 1 is still a wip), clock with bears on it, converse, black cargos, black socks

Want - a collar 🙏

10. (Tw for some negative topics at wolf) Uhh well rly depends on my theriotypes but ill describe 2 only bc its 1am and i need to sleep 😭

Wolf - basically i belive this is biological but the kin gets stronger when i need it in some way, like if im feeling sad or empty or suividal or like yes usually aeound winter it becomes stronger, i also had it become like rly strong right after a full moon.

Eurasian collared dove - basicaly whem i was like 8 or 7 idk there was this dove that would always sit on top of our house and sing (plus ive heard them sing al thru my childhood) and me being the lonley kid i was in the summer (all my friends were from school and no school meant no socialistion other than my family and ocassionally the neighborhoody) i decided to try and mimick it and talk to it somehow. I got pretty good in it actually and i wrote a story abt it for a competition on how i "befriended" the dove by talking to it in its language (yes it literally replied) and ot got in the radio :DDD

11. Idrk anyone here sooo

If you are an alter/nonhuman, reblog and answer these questions!

(don't be afraid to write a lot, do what you want ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

5/ What do you think of the community?

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤᵕ̈

[hellowoolf]

something, somehow, someday

chapter 4: close to you | prev | next | series masterlist

series summary: you know you will love satoru for the rest of your life, but when you wake with his cursed energy in your navel there is no option but to flee. what future is there for a child of a god? at 18 satoru is without you, and you make off with a piece of him you hoped he'd never meet.

pairing: secret baby daddy!gojo x reader

tags: secret child trope, angst (lots), eventual fluff, eventual smut, hurt/comfort, a lot of yearning :P, chapter specific: SMUT, unprotected piv, creampie (sorry), fingering,

a/n: thank you guys for your responses on the poll! this one is more than double the average length of the other chapters (~8k) and i plan to keep that convention from here on out. i hope you enjoy this one >:)

18+! minors dni <3

~~~~~~~

it is a funny feeling, YOU find, making your life new with a thing so familiar. to open your door so often and find satoru standing there, letting him bring food and splaying himself on your couch, walking with him in the heavy mist at dusk, it fills your lungs like smoke, the nostalgia thick and cloying. you remember all of it, it comes back to you embalmed.  

but the differences between now and your time together in high school demand your attention in equal measure. your son, for one: though it’s impossible to find the sight of him with his father unnatural given how obvious their relation is. with their backs turned they move the same, too, something between them irrevocably tied. you had forgotten the way satoru wrought blades of grass between his fingers when he laid in it until you had to clean both their palms of chlorophyll.

nonetheless your affection for satoru is much more hulking a thing than it ever was, supplanted by the tangible aftermath of the ways you used to love him. when takara lets him pick him up, grips to his collar as satoru balances him on his hip, you are defenseless. the softest parts of you win out. 

still, neither you nor satoru make any attempt to name the arrangement you’ve come upon. he is resolutely your child’s father and has stepped into that role with grace, and there are artifacts of your intimacy—his hand on your lower back, brushing your hair from your shoulder blades, an almost kiss, once—but mostly you let the joy of your child consume your time. 

and it shouldn’t bother you. you remember feeling so certain in high school that letting him fuck you was enough, that to love him quietly was a privilege. you suppose you still mostly believe that. but there are moments when takara is asleep and satoru lingers in your kitchen, and the want flares bright then. you are at a loss watching him leave with that look on his face, like he’s afraid you’ll ask him to stay and terrified you’ll let him leave. you sometimes wait a moment before locking the door behind him.

jujutsu tech stands like a graveyard around you, so full of memory the buildings almost sag. you haven’t been back here since the night takara came to you.

“oi!” satoru bellows from across the courtyard, hand high and wagging. 

takara holds a grip on your pant leg, one blue eye peeking out. you feel him loosen a little when he sees his dad, and then refasten when megumi and tsumiki emerge behind him. 

when satoru first suggested you both come to meet them you had hesitated. you were honest; there was something final about this last introduction. there would be nothing else left for each of you to keep separate from the other, your lives entirely reconnected. satoru had laughed at you in that way that makes your heart turn, and that sound was all it took for you—weak to him—to agree.

satoru comes rushing to takara, scooping him from behind you and holding him to his side. takara screeches, half afraid and half delighted. tsumiki walks to you without hesitation, little hand held out for you to shake. 

“it’s nice to meet you,” she says. her smile is soft, a little secret, but you can tell she is pleased with herself for her manners. you smile back.

“it’s nice to meet you, too.” 

she looks up at takara in satoru’s arms and waves. takara is frozen, too shy to move, so satoru takes his chubby wrist and waves it a little. tsumiki giggles. “they’re like twins.”

you lean in a little conspiratorially. “i know. i carried him for nine months and have nothing to show for it.”

she giggles behind her hand before turning to her brother. “don’t be rude,” she admonishes.

megumi cannot hear her, it seems. he’s watching takara paw at satoru’s shirt, turning in his hold as gojo points to the various buildings to explain what they are. to himself, or maybe to you, megumi whispers: “it’s so freaky.”

tsumiki scoffs lightly and goes to elbow him but you can only laugh again, louder this time. he may not be related to satoru but he was certainly raised by him. “you are exactly as satoru described,” you admit.

megumi furrows his brows and crosses his arms. yes, so furious, satoru had said once. “how exactly did he describe me?”

“as a little shit,” satoru offers, one palm now cupped over takara’s ear. megumi’s mouth falls open a moment before making a fist with each hand and bringing them in front of him. satoru only rolls his eyes and uses his knee to knock his arms out of place. megumi practically growls something about i’m really gonna do it someday and tsumiki taunts back at him: you’re such a liar!

oh, but that look on satoru’s face, he is so pleased. his eyes squint with it, you can almost see the satisfied breathing of his cursed energy, satoru is happy. it makes you beam at him and his breath catches when he sees it. 

takara wriggles out of his grip and stations himself at your legs again, but doesn’t hide this time. tsumiki is completely enamored, cooing again, “hi, takara!”

takara sucks in a little breath. “hello.”

tsumiki claps her hands together and looks up at you and gojo. “can we show him around? please?”

“what is there to show?” satoru asks.

“the training room, our old bedrooms, the koi fish—”

your eyes widen. satoru’s gaze flits to you, frantic, and you smirk, the tiniest thing. the koi fish? you mouth. satoru’s cheeks flush pink as he shakes his head slightly, but the damage is done, he knows. tsumiki is still listing menial places across campus.

you squeeze takara’s shoulder. “what do you think, bubba?” he looks at you, owlish, and then at tsumiki, before nodding. she takes his hand with a pleased squeal and the three putter off together.

satoru stands boyish before you as you straighten again. he tends to keep his blindfold off around takara—whether to keep from frightening him or for a more profound reason you don’t know—but he is bared to you without it. he knows exactly what you’ll say, lifting a hand as he turns and starts towards his office: “don’t.”

you skip to catch up with him. “oh, no, i think i have to.”

“i’m just a friend to nature.”

you howl. “you’re just as dishonest as you always were.”

he doesn’t dignify that with a response, pushing into his office and letting you inside. the walls are a dark wood, mostly bare save for the few bookshelves bloated with old novels and records and manila folders. a handful of pens scatter across the desk, like he’d needed to finish a sentence urgently before standing. there’s a record player on the windowsill, fuzzy with dust but clean in places around the arm. it looks like he’d used it recently for the first time in years. most of all it smells like him, mint and cedar and sugar, and you almost double over sick with it. 

satoru settles into his chair as you trace a finger along the spines of his books, his eyes igniting your back but you refuse to turn, you want him to watch. “you’ve done a great job with them,” you admit.

“you think so?”

you just barely twist your head over your shoulder to show him the sincerity on your face. “of course i do.”

he runs a hand through his hair. “they seem to like takara.”

you turn fully now to lean your back on the shelf. “everyone likes takara.”

he chuckles, fond. “yeah, i guess so.”

the sounds of this place are so startlingly the same, you think. the serenity is strange and charged, but nonetheless campus was always quiet enough to hear the wind through the leaves. you hear it now as you flip through mission files and reports: special grade, special grade, grade one, special grade, suguru geto. you put them down.

“is it weird to be back?”

you nod, gesturing around the room. “i’ll admit i was hoping for more of a welcome. is nobody else here?”

“yeah, i asked them to give us the afternoon so takara wouldn’t be overwhelmed for his first time.”

you pout, mainly to bare your lip to him but there is truth in it, too. “nobody wanted to see me?”

satoru shakes his head. “i wanted you all to myself,” he admits. and it’s teasing, easy, he says it like it doesn’t cost him anything, but you know he is like you: he almost never says something he doesn’t mean.

“how did they react when you told them?”

“that i have a son? kept a secret by his villainous mother?”

your eyes narrow but you’re grinning as you respond: “yeah.”

he cocks his head and kisses his teeth. “yaga said he was disappointed in you.”

“for leaving?”

“no, for letting me…” he smiles, wolfish for a second before it fades into something friendlier, “for giving me the opportunity.” you laugh, a bark of a sound, halfway humiliated. you nod him on. “and shoko was the one who found you, so, there wasn’t anyone else to tell.”

your hand finds your arm and you squeeze your bicep once, twice, swallowing around the tragedy in his confession: that all the people you used to know here are gone somehow. you hadn’t visited haibara’s grave since you left; nanami helped you lug a stone out by the stream and you grew flowers around the base, yellow pansies and red carnations. you remember kento pointing to them in a flower language book so you could conjure them properly, remember the promise you made not to tell a soul what they meant. 

the memory must show on your face, because satoru says then, “i still water those flowers you made by haibara’s grave.”

you smile at him, watery and real. you add on, “and feed my fish,” and he laughs like a surrender. 

you move to the record player just behind him and he swivels his chair to follow you. something seizes in your belly at the feeling of him scrutinizing you, the weight of his looking a leaden thing against your skin. you thumb through the few vinyls resting in the window before stopping on one. the words stick to your teeth like honey but you spit them as best you can: “this is mine.”

you hear satoru stand and look over your shoulder. frank sinatra’s close to you: the sleeve is long stained and yellowed, waterlogged in one corner, but the record inside is pristine. 

you remember the first time your grandmother taught you how to play her gramophone. her hands guided your smaller ones across the pavilion, down to the plateau; it was old and rusted, even then, something she’d bought second hand as a girl. but she had collected hundreds of records, they made piles throughout her home, and every afternoon you selected one to play. close to you was her gift to you when you entered jujutsu tech.

of course, you never had a record player. all three years it sat unused on your desk, a remembrance, still smelling like the tatami from her living room. she had told you once that sinatra taught her how to speak english, which you mostly believed; her english vowels opened with the syrup of the american east-coast, and she held each word a moment too long, like it took a great deal of effort not to sing them. 

you run your knuckles along the sleeve, feeling the still-familiar places where the gloss has faded and the paper catches. you hardly notice how close to your back satoru has drifted until he reaches around you to remove the record and situate it on the player. you freeze, his looming figure warm around you, his arms brushing your shoulders as he fiddles with the tone arm. you hope he can’t feel your heartbeat through your spine, but it rushes so deafening in your ears you cannot discern either way.

it could happen to you crackles to life from the speaker and you feel like you’ve been swallowed by space, on the cusp of a wrinkle. you wonder whether time has really suspended around you or if it’s only this, this song and this man at your back. your breathing is uneven and satoru does not step back, head craned a little to bring his chin closer to your shoulder. 

slowly, almost self-consciously, he braces each hand on the sides of the windowsill, keeping you surrounded. 

“it’s been so long since i’ve heard this song,” you whisper. the melody chimes and swings around the violin and you cannot help but tilt your head back a little into satoru’s chest, overcome with the ghost of the music as it hangs above you. satoru lets your weight lean slightly into him, unmoving.

“i hope it’s okay that i took it.” his voice rumbles through your bones before you hear it. you nod and it scrapes against his sternum. the friction stirs something in him, you think, because then he’s bringing a hand to your stomach, fingers long and splayed across your entire torso, and he rests his cheek fully on the back of your head. it would almost look like you were dancing if you began to move, but neither of you seem willing to risk it.

“do you ever wonder what it would have been like?”

you don’t need him to clarify. “all the time,” you confess. the sun moves behind the clouds outside, and you catch a moment of the both of you in the reflection. 

his hand tightens around your middle, holding you against him. the song threatens to end but he keeps his arm banded around you. “are we friends now?”

you laugh softly. “i honestly don’t know.”

he nods before bringing his other hand to your chin. he spreads the pads of his fingers, feeling the shape of your jaw, looking for something, for you. “would you let me kiss you, if i asked?”

“yes,” you say, but it comes out more breathless than you intend. your thighs press together and you’re sure he notices with how his hips cage you in, but he only hums, removing the hand around your chin. 

“it’s a bad idea,” he breathes, but still his nose brushes at the juncture of your neck and your shoulder. you shudder and nod. it is. 

and despite how badly you want him, you do not turn and demand it. it’s so precarious now, and with satoru in takara’s orbit you cannot run again, a chain fastened from your rib to his. you know fucking him would be a reckless idea now, but god, he presses one, slow kiss to the bared skin of your shoulder and your body remembers him. his hips press just slightly further into your ass as he sighs onto the same spot, his breath cooling the heat of his lips where they branded you, his cock alive and right there. but the both of you know it: you are cowards. he untangles himself, and you let him sit back in his chair before moving.

~~~~~~~

SATORU is certain now; you are going to kill him. his grave will be beautiful, he thinks, flowery and green and alive with your energy, but his autopsy will have your name all over it, your lipstick.

he supposes, for his part, that much of your proximity is his fault. a stronger man wouldn’t have stayed in your apartment past takara’s waking hours, used his hands to guide you on the sidewalk, held your hips to his cock in his office windowsill earlier today. and satoru has lived a life of self restraint, has been a shackled man to his own whipping post, but he has found himself helpless to the feeling of your body on his skin.

he had been so irreparably hurt when he saw you in the park that day, or at least it had felt that way at the time. something grew in him then, a tumor with teeth, and he was certain it could never feel the same with you as it once had, that he would withhold something precious from you forever in some lasting spiteful act of defiance. and nevermind the fact that even hours later he moved to hold you, could barely restrain the instinct to kiss you again, was never even angry: for about 24 hours, satoru was sure that he would never be in love with you again.

but even the sharp canines of that wound have dulled with weeks of your presence. the smell of you on your couch when he lays on it, the afternoon scenery of you playing with takara in the park curtained by your vines, your laugh in his office, by your door, in his head. you are an apparition haunting him, one he can touch, and it’s killing him. 

and he knows he should not pursue anything with you. he knows you know this, too. your nebulous reconnection is unsteady at best—a strange amalgam of your old intimacy and the people you’ve become—and access to takara is too important to him to risk. and neither of you would say this, but the fact of your leaving in high school remains a reminder that at any moment you are capable of disappearing again. it’s something satoru always loved about you, actually. you make your own life wherever you step. what a beautiful thing you are. 

he feels ridiculous for thinking of you as often as he does. but how could he not? he visits at least daily to spend time with his son and you are always there, a vision. he sees you in takara, too, his little love. when he tries to explain how to use limitless, takara bears down into himself, thinking to the point of exhaustion. he has gotten that from you, satoru knows.

but it wasn’t a conscious thought that satoru has begun falling back into love with you—or, really, that he has plummeted into the well of it—until today, seeing you laugh with megumi . tsumiki had pointed at you from behind your back: she’s so pretty! and he had nodded without thought, proud as if you were his to boast for. and then, your teasing voice nipping at his heels as he brought you to his office, he realized that he was yours. he should have known some time in the thousand minutes he’s spent feeding your koi.

the smell of your cooking wafts into your living room as he reads to takara on his lap. you’re humming that song from earlier, it could happen to you, and the domesticity makes him beam like an idiot. yes, he thinks, that’s about the most succinct way to put it; he is an idiot for you. takara points to the page and reads a sentence himself.

“yes!” satoru encourages.

“don’t yell,” takara says, patting satoru’s leg as though he’d worked himself up.

“yessir.”

“come in to eat!” you call from the kitchen. takara scrambles to the sound of your voice and satoru is no better. the three of you settle to the table, takara’s legs dangling in his chair, and satoru knows he shouldn’t but he presses his foot to yours under the table. you give him a look, fleeting and knowing, but you don’t move. takara eats exactly the way you do, and satoru wonders whether you’ve noticed.

“what time do you go into work tomorrow?”

“i’m opening, actually, so i’ll head to the cafe early,” you grumble. “i’ll take my lunch break at 8 to take takara to preschool.” 

satoru shakes his head. “i don’t have any missions until the afternoon. why don’t i take him?”

“i don’t have an extra key for you.”

“he could sleep over,” takara offers, barely looking up from his food. you look startled by the suggestion, at first, and satoru is sure he looks much the same, but when the shock subsides he cannot help the little grin that tugs his lips up. you cock your head minutely, but he’s known you long enough to know you mean: don’t push it. 

“bubba, there isn’t enough space,” you explain. 

you had told satoru early on that you started in a one bedroom, fixed a nursery in most of it and fit yourself on a twin bed in the corner. when the owner of the cafe retired, though, she had let you have the place. you made enough now to scrape by with two bedrooms; satoru remembers how dignified you were to recount the whole thing, how hard it was not to kiss you when you smiled in your own self-satisfaction. 

“why can’t he sleep in your room?” takara asks. satoru smiles bigger, nudges your foot under the table. 

“because he…can’t.” you’re becoming flustered now and it only thrills him more.

“i really would like to take him,” he offers, though the sincerity is cut with the sound of his smirk.

you run your hands over your face, mumble out a little groan that softens into a hum at the end, but still your foot doesn’t move away from the press of satoru’s under the shadow of the kitchen table. 

“don’t you need to get home to megumi and tsumiki?”

satoru is beaming like he’s already won. he has. “they have a sitter.”

your head tips back as you say, mostly to the ceiling, “fine. but you’re sleeping on the couch.”

and truthfully he doesn’t mind much at all. he is voracious for more time with takara, for more time in your space, for benign moments you might take for granted. he wants to brush his son’s teeth at night and fix his hair in the morning. he taps your foot one more time: thank you. and you nod, almost imperceptibly: you’re welcome. 

~~~~~~~

as much as YOU might have resisted it, there really was about an hour or so when letting satoru sleep on your couch seemed like a good idea. it felt, if you can admit it, easy, the both of you moving around one another as the evening twilight overtook the windows. and it was so plain to see on takara’s face that he was pleased, too, to have you both here. sitting on the edge of his bed together as you tucked him in, watching his first few moments of sleep, made space for a new sort of intimacy. when satoru reached for your hand in the dark you did not pull away.

of course, you regret it now. maybe you’ll regret it forever. by the time you’re brushing your teeth you know you have made an error of cosmic proportions. some time between settling blankets on the couch and joining you in the bathroom satoru had unbuttoned most of his shirt and removed his belt, sidling next to you at the sink with the spare toothbrush you gave him like you weren’t a moment from dropping dead on the counter. you’re too afraid to look at yourself in the mirror; you already know your cheeks are red, that he can feel the rush of your blood in your jugular from inches away. 

“you seem uptight,” he says, though it comes out foamy around the toothpaste in his mouth.

“i’m not used to having people over.” you can’t look anywhere but the porcelain of the sink, too petrified of what you’d say if you looked at him in full. you remember this afternoon in his office and shift on your weight a little.

“you don’t have a lot of sleepovers?” he asks through a grin.

you’re so focused on not making eye contact with him in the mirror that you answer him honestly. “i don’t have any.”

you hear his toothbrush stop. he spits in the sink before leaning on it to face you. “what do you mean you don’t have any?”

you take a deep breath before turning. god he’s so pretty, even more stunning like this, a little unspooled. “what do you want me to say? i’ve never had anyone else to take care of takara. it’s not like i can…” you don’t even know how to end that sentence.

the teasing look leaks from satoru’s face slowly. he asks you with more earnestness than you think you can stand: “have you not had sex since high school?”

it’s not even fully out of his mouth before you’re pushing past him and out of the bathroom but he is relentless behind you—he always was—and you feel him an inch from your back as you walk towards your bedroom door.

“wait a second—”

“satoru, i’m not talking about this with you.”

“no, but i’m being serious.”

“so am i!” you turn at your door and try not to shudder at how close he is. his eyes glow in the low light, a man made of comets.

“i just,” he huffs a little, “i feel bad, i guess.”

“what?”

“well you—you’ve been taking care of takara alone all this time and you haven’t gotten…you haven’t gotten to do—”

“satoru, i don’t need your pity about my sex life, okay?”

“but that’s my point! it’s not just about your sex life, it’s—it’s everything.” he ruffles the back of his head, almost embarrassed, you think. “i feel bad that you’ve been alone all this time.”

you kick your heel against the door behind you to ground yourself. “it’s my fault, isn’t it?” and it comes out a little small, more pathetic than you’ve ever heard yourself. satoru buckles with it.

“baby,” he starts, and you think his hand flexes to reach for you, but you put your palm on his chest to keep him in place. he hasn’t meant to call you that, you know, the endearment from years ago clawing back, finding purchase on his tongue. his heart murmurs like a bird behind his shirt.

“listen, i—i don’t need you to pity me for a decision i made. especially because i don’t regret any of it.”

he breathes out quick, almost angry, but you know not at you. before either of you can stop him, he holds your wrist to keep your hand on him, thumbs your pulse on one side. he does this a lot, you think. you wonder if he knows that you can feel his heartbeat, too, through the pads of his fingers. and there’s a moment, among the sounds of your breathing and the creak of the floorboards under his feet, when you think it is all over, that you’ll let him kiss you against your door. earlier today you felt like a coward for denying him, but that self-flagellation has waned. no, it takes a great deal of courage now to press your hand more firmly into him, to not rise onto your toes and suck at the skin under his jaw.

“goodnight, satoru,” you whisper, and shut yourself into your bedroom before you lose your resolve.

the night is cruel to you. it feels very much like sleeping with a black hole in your living room; you cannot ignore the thought of him draped over your sofa, body too long to fit comfortably. even with your eyes closed you can feel him from a room away. 

you toss under the covers, try to at least become entangled enough in your sheets that you cannot rise from your bed to check on him. you hope he’s fallen asleep by now, that you’re the only one left in this apartment awake.

being alone in the dark gives you more time to think, more time to resolve a decision you cannot yet name. you have been so insistent that to become ensnared again by satoru’s pull would be a mistake, let him leave you at the windowsill, stiff armed him at your door. you wonder whether any of it matters in light of the fact that you are utterly in love with him. of how much consequence could the physical distinction be now? in truth, you can’t tell whether you are freeing yourself from an obsolete stipulation or looking for any reason to abandon it.

in the blue midnight streaking through your curtains you can admit to yourself that a part of you, the fleshy part that wants for things, is simply too afraid that you need satoru more than he needs you, and to reconcile that is a task too treacherous to ask of yourself. what of the moment when, slick with sweat and the smell of sex, you move to kiss him again and he turns away? it’s all hypothetical, of course, but still it plagues you like a memory. and you suppose you have no reason to fear it at all; he has made clear enough that he wants you. 

it almost feels ridiculous to pine so excruciatingly over the father of your child. you’ve already done all of this before, no less as a teenager, and somehow now, a self-actualized adult, you hesitate and turn your knees in. you flip onto your other side with a huff. you’re only in a tanktop and shorts but you feel like you’re suffocating, or worse: something from inside of you is threatening to come loose.

you wonder whether he’s waiting for you in your living room. what a horrific thing to wonder. 

you creak open your door slowly and pad out.

it looks like satoru has given up on sleeping already. he’s sat upright, head tipped over the back of the couch and legs spread, an arm hanging over his eyes. you know he can hear you—you think he might have heard the moment you decided to come out—but he waits for you to address him.

“satoru,” you whisper. at last, he lifts his head, eyes sleepy but undeniably pleased to see you. he pats the spot next to him on the couch as he assesses your mild state of undress and you settle there, facing him. “i can’t sleep.”

he shakes his head. “i can’t either.” though he doesn’t look all that displeased, certainly not as he bends over to collect your legs and drape them over his lap. you let him. you let him drag one enormous hand up your bare leg, too, and he stops just below the knee but still you watch as goosebumps follow his fingers. your body is traitorous but you can’t find it in you to mind.

“when did we get so weird, huh?” he asks you.

“how do you mean?” “sometimes it feels like it used to feel,” he thinks about how you may take that a moment longer, “when we used to be friends.” you nod slowly. “sometimes it feels like i don’t know you at all.” 

honesty looks so pretty on his face. his eyes are slightly narrowed but they’re no less auroral, his lips slightly swollen on the bottom as he bites them between breaths. he points at your nose. “and sometimes, you make that face at me, and i—fuck i mean what am i supposed to do with that?”

you scrunch your nose. “what face am i making?”

“i mean you look—jesus, i don’t know.” he runs a hand through his hair, mussing it further, before continuing, “i just wish you wouldn’t keep thinking in your head.”

you can’t help but laugh softly, bumping your foot into his stomach. “where else am i supposed to think?”

he flails at the sound of your giggle but his lips turn up. “i don’t know! i just spend so much more time now wondering what’s going on in your head. i want to know.” and then, to devastate you further, you imagine, he adds: “you used to tell me.”

you slide a little further into the couch, lay more of your legs’ weight on his lap. he lets his hands drift up to your kneecaps now. “okay, satoru,” you relent. “what do you want to know?”

“you’ll tell me anything?”

“i suppose that’s what i’m offering, yeah.”

he grins. “okay…” he taps his finger on his chin and you snort. “are you still afraid of me being in takara’s life?”

“a little. i’m afraid for both of you. but he…he loves you now, i think. ultimately i’m glad he can know you.”

“what about in your life?”

“what about it?”

“are you glad i’m in your life again?”

you smile, wry. “i think so. even though you torment me and make me spill my secrets.”

he puffs his chest and tugs your legs further into him. you’re almost in his lap, a few inches from it, but whether you notice is a question he decides not to ask. “do you still trust me the way you used to?”

“yes.” you do.

“do you still like me as much?”

“in what way?”

“all of them.”

“you’re greedy,” you whisper.

something punches from satoru’s lungs but you cannot discern what comes out. he says only: “yes, i am. answer me.” 

with a defeated breath you shrug. “yes.” 

his hands have both stalled on your knees, each thumb an omen breaching the threshold of your thigh. your skin twitches, you think, but you can’t look away from his face. he looks like he’s released one foot over the edge of some decision, you can see one teetering moment in the air, and then the resolve sets in.

“do you know how much i still want you?”

your heart kicks. “no,” you confess.

his hands remember themselves again, gripping up your legs higher, higher, now with purpose as they swing around his hips and move you to his lap. straddling him you can feel how hard he is already and you’re certain he can feel your wetness through your shorts, the slick is humiliating and so much. you whine a little and it comes out through your nose. his cock twitches.

“not today in my office?” his right hand cups the back of your neck. “not an hour ago?” your chest rises and falls, stumbling over itself. “you don’t know?”

and you have no faith in your voice now so you only shake your head as much as his hold will allow. he presses his hips into you just once, a fleeting indulgence you’re unsure if he even intended, but you whine again and it looks like it hurts him. 

“let me show you, baby,” he coos, but it’s desperate, too, a prayer into your lips as he brushes his nose against yours. “just one more time.”

you haven’t even finished nodding before you’re kissing him, both of you groaning into the other at the sheer relief of the feeling, his hands grabbing for anything he can reach: around your back, your tit, the globes of your ass to grind you down against him. the fabric of your shorts catches on your clit as it swells and you moan something awful in the back of your throat.

he kisses you like all six years apart demand it, like he can feel how long it’s been in the truest sense, like all at once the wanting has frayed his nerves and your lips cauterize the veins. he bites your lip to make you gasp, taking the opportunity to lick into your mouth as it opens.

you grind your clit onto him again, rubbing little circles on his tip through your clothes and he pants with the pressure. 

“satoru,” you whine, and he ruts up, harder.

“oh, say my name like that again,” he pleads, lips trailing down from your lips to your neck. his tongue streaks hot against your skin, sucking and biting and grinding you onto him like his cock is inside you already.

“satoru,” you repeat, and it comes out clearer without his tongue on yours but just barely. 

“fuck.” he rips your tank top off before attaching to you again, leaving hickies in the hollow of your throat, down over each breast, before taking a nipple into his mouth and laving his tongue there.

your moans almost come out like hums, all strung together, and he preens at the sound of them. you can feel the damp spot on his pants growing as you spread your slick, each wet kiss on your chest demanding a new wave from you. 

“i don’t even need to prep you, do i? you’re already so f–fucking wet,” and he punctuates it with a gyration of his hips that would have made you scream had he not clamped a palm over your mouth. 

you’re almost deaf with the rushing sound of blood in your ears but still you crane to hear him, each filthy utterance a precious thing you covet as he ruts up into you. if you were in your right mind you might find it funny that the experience of dry humping him feels so profound but as it is you can think only of the feeling of his veins through two layers of fabric.

despite how he may have goaded at you he brings one hand down your navel and under your shorts, feeling through your folds and spreading the honey of you further. your mouth is fully dropped open but his hand is large enough to cover it.

“oh, baby—yeah, that’s it, grind on it—you’re dripping for me.” he says it in that pleased way that makes him sound like an animal. you roll your hips onto the pads of his fingers and pleasure shoots up your spine at the rub of them on your clit, around your entrance. he circles his middle finger once before sinking it in and you keen. he holds you still with his other arm, nose pressed to your ear now as he whispers in it.

“f—fuck this pussy is so fucking tight.”

your hole flutters and sucks his digit in and he revels in the grip as he fucks you on it slowly. you try to bounce yourself faster but he squeezes your middle again, bites your pulse as it bumps in your neck. he murmurs there: “let it last,” using his hold to swivel your hips on his hand. your nails grip to his shoulders, surely making marks through his shirt but he lets you, frenetic and buzzing like he gains as much from touching you as you do.

the heel of his palm presses up onto your nub and you bow into him further, and he takes the movement to press another finger alongside the first. something searing and hungry licks up your spine, you’re close already, but there’s no indignity in it. you tug on his hair to bring his face to yours again, pulling back from the hand clamped over your mouth to lick behind his teeth, moaning into his mouth. “cum for me baby, come on,” he encourages.

your eyes squeeze shut as you come undone, heat spasming around his fingers as you soak him to the wrist. “fuck, f–fuck, that’s it,” he curses, mainly to himself, you think. you’re only half-lucid as you come down but you feel him pull his fingers from you and lick them clean, groaning softly around them.

“fuck me, satoru, please.”

his hair doesn’t move as he nods, stuck now to his forehead damp with sweat. neither of you have the patience to remove anything else, simply tugging your shorts to the side and his cock from his pants before you’re dripping right over it. his tip catches on your entrance and you both go half-boneless with the feeling.

when you sink onto him you feel a little like you did in his office earlier in the day. like time has stopped, or maybe like it has all arrived at your fingertips, like you’re everywhere. you remember this feeling, a little bit, but it’s also undeniably new. the stretch burns but you hardly feel it, taking no time before sitting on him to the hilt. your head drops to his shoulder, little pants into his neck, and he lets out a shaky breath.

“fuck you’re so fucking tight, baby, this pussy was made for me,” he chokes into your ear. you each have a handful of the other between your fingers, the lines of your palms tattooing him even through his uniform he still has mostly on. you hope his brand you the same.

all it takes is one, slow pull of your hips before he’s rutting up into you again, not so much ruthless as intense, deep and pregnant with meaning and so precise you wonder whether he’s using his six eyes to assess the inside of you. with one hand he holds your face to his ear to consume your moaning that way. you whine and when he shudders, bucking harder, you whine again.

“o–oh, these sounds are mine, this pussy is mine,” he stutters. the squelch of your cunt sucking him in seems to only encourage him, and you make yourself wetter just hearing it.

“it’s so good, satoru,” you whine.

he laughs softly, manic, “yeah?”

and you only wail quietly again. with each snap of his hips you thrust yourself down, clit throbbing and catching on the little white scratch of his pubic hair, and his other hand, still handled on the plush of your ass, rubs you harder as you move. you vaguely hear your little ah! ah! ah! but mostly you can feel the pleasure building again, can feel the vein down the underside of his cock as you wring him harder.

“hah–i won’t–fuck–i won’t last if you keep squeezing me, baby.”

you only feel encouraged, sliding deeper, revelling more in the slip of your slick as it floods out of you.

“ah–-i’m close, i’m close,” you breathe.

“fuck yeah, i wanna feel you cum on my cock, let go for me.”

and you do. have you ever really denied him? your mouth drops open in a silent scream as your hips buck wildly, the pleasure seizing you from the inside out. satoru moans feeling you ride your high, panting into your ear, “tell me to pull out.”

you shake your head, little smile creeping over your face as he fucks you through your high. “isn’t the damage already done?” you ask breathlessly.

and he can only laugh for a second before his hips stutter and still, pulling you into him like he wants to crawl inside of you and live in your stomach

“fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.”

his cum is so hot as it fills you, and so much, your own orgasm jolting you again, exulting in the feeling. 

he drops his forehead to your shoulder now, sweat of your collarbone meeting the beads on his hairline. the sounds of your breathing mix, too; your cum and your hands and your warmth, all of it intertwined with his, maybe forever. he kisses you one more time, sated now, along a hickey he’d left on your neck before. you return one to the corner of his mouth.

he doesn’t say anything when he sits up straight again, supporting the wings of your shoulders with his hands. there is only that look on his face, a cousin to the one you saw the first day he found you and takara, but so recognizably relieved this time: everything is different now.

~~~~~~~

sss taglist:

@emochosoluvr @por0u @vraiao @voidfulcrumdilemma @vaniyeiszero @missingnozw @crowroakchi @seikamuzu @anonymous-3846 @asahinasstuff @kunisnaomi @bl6o6dy @meanderingwistera @lilac-heartz @acowboykisser @miiikooooooo @missingnozw @heiranni @sadmonke @alicebleu @sanchann @splinx04real @lolllllllllllllliiiiiii @eggrollforyou @updated-version @yaurss @khaleesihavilliard @mizzowizzo @mierins @eolivy @spencerreidisagorgman @dahliadaenerys @cantchooseanctbias @fallenfromgrxce @theclassbookworm @liestel @jiasdream @maddy24207 @valoriya @19catspiledontopofeachother @hbhbhbhbhby @bijuu-naginata @jv5t4g1rl @bobagang @thraxpatty @muscovitechick

[alanisstonedd]

busted | singledad!ony x teacher!reader

an: so cute! i love themmmm. i’ve had this one in the drafts for a while now yall, please enjoy! send me ya nasty asks

cw: fluff, suggestive themes, black!reader, cussing, single dad

you hear a soft knock, blinking up from your laptop a little confused. it’s 1:30 and your kids are in science, currently grading with the little free time you do have today - you certainly were not expecting any meetings.

but when you focus your eyes on the figure at the door, you don’t even know why you didn’t expect that shit. amira’s father is once again standing in your classroom doorway, shoulders broad as hell in a white tee and grey sweats, clutching a little pink jacket in one thick hand. go figure.

you squint, not only at his unplanned appearance at 1:30 on a wednesday, but more so at the jacket “it’s… 85 degrees.” you can already smell the con he came in here tryna fool you with

he shrugs, biting his lip like he don’t even care about the excuse anymore. but he locks eyes with you and steps in slowly like he hasn’t been here a million times already. “mm — yeah, she said she was cold earlier. y’know kids. gotta be on go.”

you fold your arms, smiling despite yourself. he really is relentless — this is like the fourth time he’s been in here this week and you’re only three days in. “they in the art room right now, ony.” you sing-song, standing up and rounding your desk to give him your full attention. i mean he’s already here, smelling like you wanna climb him until your legs are around his head… it would be rude to not give him at least a second of your time.

“oh, word?” he steps farther in, looking around like he’s seeing it for the first time or something. “well… I could just leave it.” he mumbles, licking his lips at you, and it feels like he just turned the heat on in here.

this is precisely why you hate him coming in here like this — because as soon as you see that big ass frame tryna bust out of that white tee, that sweet smile that also somehow says “i’ll man-handle you and wear yo ass out”, and what maybe or may not be a bulge inbetween two huge thighs that you’re unsuccessfully trying to avoid… you fold like a damn chair. your will power is never strong enough to withstand this man and his apparently unyielding desire to see you.

but he doesn’t “just leave it”, of course, the man always has another plan.

instead, he sets it on amira’s desk and plops into the nearest tiny chair. you almost bust out laughing at how ridiculous he looks — this ass big man, all thick thighs and grown-man muscle, folded into a desk built for 7-year-olds.

you lean against your own desk, raising an eyebrow. you can’t help but smile at him grinning up at you like he’s so happy with himself. but he knows you already folded.

“you good, mr. ony?”

“mhmm.” he tilts his head, eyes trailing over your frame. drinking you in. wishing you’d move a little closer so he could reach for those hips. “you look real good today miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧. real professional. definitely too fine to be up in this school single…”

you roll your eyes, biting back a grin. “you here to flirt with me or to bring your child’s unnecessary outerwear?”

“it can’t be both? you know i need my miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ time…” he says, full grin, unabashedly and very obviously undressing you in his head.

“mhm, you a piece of work ony.” you’re trying to keep it together — you really are. hut this man’s sitting there all big and broad, sweats straining against his big ass legs in that tiny chair, hand stroking his sexy ass beard while he watches you like you’re art — eyes shining like the things he’s imagining doing to you right now have no place in this classroom

“so how’s your day been, miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧?” he asks, and all the sudden you’re hot with just those simple words, his voice all low and seductive. “you eat somethin’ today? drink your water? anybody holla at you yet or i’m the first lucky man?”

you tilt your head, snickering. “is that how you talk to every teacher?”. you sass back, fronting like you don’t want his flirting but you can’t deny the fanny flutters you get when he comes in thirsty for you.

he leans forward, tryna reel you in even closer than you already are, resting his arms on the tiny desk like it’s the most natural thing in the world. little does he know, you wanna lock that damn door and show him off-the-clock you.

“nah,” he says, eyes glinting with that mischief that makes your clit throb. he knows he got you — or at least got your attention. “just the one i’m tryna take out for dinner… then dessert… and then breakfast.”

your breath catches, and he immediately sees that shit because he’s been watching you like a hawk since he came in here. watching you every move, your beautiful face and all your expressions like he wants to know every single one you have, jealous of the way your hands get to hold your juicy hips and thighs.

he stands up realllll slow, walking toward you, caging you in — close enough that the desk’s edge is flush against your booty, that the heat from his big frame is making your face hot. making all of you hot. you try to stay calm. professional. but his voice drops to that dangerous whisper.

“y’know how hard it is not to grab yo fine ass and kiss you every time I see you?”

you blink up at him, heat crawling up your neck and down into your pussy. his hands on the desk behind you, boxing you in, his hips dangerously close to your hips.

“ony, this is not—”

his hand slides up your thigh slow like he wants you to feel it, hiking your leg up just slightly against his body. he leans in slow enough to show you he’s not scared, lips barely brushing yours, eyes flicking between your mouth and your eyes like he’s starving. he wants you in his bed already. the holding-back is not for him, but if he keeps this up, he might do something regrettable in this elementary school classroom.

then, suddenly, just as you’re about to lean in and suck his tongue like yall are alone, his hands gripping you up and pressing you against him like he craves to do every damn day —

SLAM.

the classroom door swings open.

you jump against your desk. he steps back lightning fast, not ashamed but… you could loose your job right? ‘course he wants to have you, but ideally without that possibility.

amira skips in like she owns the place, completely oblivious to the little situation happening in there just moments before.

“hi miss ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧! miss smith said i could come get my water bottle!”

she grabs it off her desk, “oh, hi daddy…” and gives you both a sweet little wave before skipping back the way she came in…

but she pauses mid-skip and turns around…she squints at you both like she knows something, then smiles like the devil. she lets out a little “mhm..” before continuing on her way back to science class.

but not before blurting “quit kissin’ on the mouth with the door unlocked!” you hear a sneaky giggle and then she’s skipping right out the door before yall can even speak.

you and ony are still frozen in shock — then BURSTING out laughing. he collapses forward into you, head on your shoulder, muffling a full-body laugh into your shirt while you wheeze with one hand over your heart. she too smart for her age.

you shake your head, smirking. “you ain’t right, mr. ony. almost got our asses busted.”

he grins into your shoulder, like he doesn’t even care. “she really said on the mouth… we wasn’t even…”

© 2025 alanisstonedd. all rights reserved — do not steal, plagiarize, or modify my content.

hope yall liked this! likes, comments, reblogs and all the rest are much appreciated!!

xoxo, lani 💋💋💋

[azzinator3000]

Locked Doors

Word count: 2K 

Content: Friends-to-lovers, secret relationship, intense sexual tension, college basketball AU.

Warnings: None

Pairing: Pazzi

CHAPTER 2: The Ten-Minute Rule

It had been a week. One whole, weird, awkward, spiraling week since she accidentally stayed over at Paige’s. Since she freaked out.

The girls were acting normal. Maybe too normal.

And Paige was… well, Paige. Smiling at her in that way that made Azzi’s stomach knot up, poking at her during practice, trying to be cute after they got into that stupid fight about the game last night.

Paige always thought she was right about everything, especially when it came to reading the court. And Azzi, stubborn as she was, hated being told she’d missed a pass or a screen, even when Paige was usually right.

And Azzi hated being mad at her. She really did. It felt wrong, like a fundamental part of her day was missing when she wasn’t completely in sync with Paige.

But also? She had a paper due. A real, actual, grade-defining, future-threatening paper for Dr. Miller’s Advanced Psychology seminar, and she could not afford to waste another second thinking about Paige’s stupid, perfect face, or the way her blonde hair fell just so, or the infuriatingly confident glint in her light eyes. 

She needed to focus, to claw her way back to academic sanity.

So she was sitting in her room, headphones in, laptop open, trying to focus. Trying to be a serious, responsible person who could just move on and get things done.

Except then there was this knocking.

Bang, bang, bang.

Azzi sighed. Ignored it. Paige could wait.

Azzi stared harder at the textbook, willing the words to sink in, even as her mind kept drifting to the heavy silence of the dorm room this morning, the way Paige had watched her, that intense, unreadable look in her eyes.

Bang, bang, bang.

She didn’t stop. Paige Bueckers, of course, was the most annoyingly persistent person on earth.

It was infuriating. And endearing. Which was the problem. Everything about Paige was infuriating and endearing.

Azzi yanked out one headphone. “I’m studying!” Her voice was tight with forced exasperation.

She knew she was being childish, holding onto this petty anger from the game, but a part of her needed the distance, needed the excuse to not engage with Paige’s relentless charm.

“I know you are,” Paige’s voice came through the door, muffled but still somehow smug. Azzi could almost see the smirk, even through solid wood.

Bang, bang, bang. The rhythmic thudding was almost hypnotic, a physical manifestation of Paige’s stubbornness.

It was ridiculous. They were college athletes, not five-year-olds on a playground.

“Seriously, I need to finish this. I told you I was busy, Paige.” Azzi’s voice cracked slightly, betraying the crack in her resolve.

She just wanted to be left alone, to pretend her heart wasn't doing gymnastics every time Paige breathed within ten feet of her.

“I don’t like it when you’re mad.” The words, even muffled, held a hint of vulnerability that snagged at Azzi’s chest.

Damn it. Paige always knew how to hit her soft spots.

Azzi groaned, burying her face in her hands. She loved Paige, but she hated her sometimes. She grabbed her phone and texted quickly:

I’ll be out in 10 minutes.

The banging didn’t stop. Paige was literally ignoring her text.

The annoyance flared again, hot and sharp. This was Paige, always pushing, always testing boundaries. Always getting her way.

She glared at the door. “PAIGE. GO AWAY.”

From the other room, KK shouted, her voice carrying clear as a bell, “Please let her in! I can’t listen to this anymore!”

Azzi rolled her eyes. Part of her was genuinely annoyed — the part that knew she needed to be a good, responsible student and not let herself get sidetracked by the human hurricane that was Paige Bueckers. But a much bigger part was… what? Touched? Warm?

Whatever. Stupid.

It was just… friendship. Intense, flirty, occasionally-making-out-in-bar-bathrooms friendship.

Nothing that would shatter her carefully constructed reality or ruin her reputation, or worse, Paige’s.

God, this was getting out of hand.

She finally got up and opened the door, arms crossed, trying to look stern even though Paige was already grinning at her like she’d just won something major, like she’d just sunk a game-winning three-pointer.

She leaned against the doorframe, all casual grace and golden blonde hair, those light eyes sparkling with mischief.

“What?” Azzi asked, pretending she wasn’t softening immediately. Pretending her heart wasn’t doing a stupid little flip.

Paige stepped in, closing the door behind her with a soft click, leaning in like she was about to say something deeply important, her breath warm on Azzi’s cheek.

Azzi braced herself for another playful jab about the game. But then—

“Just wanted to say I miss you, baby,” Paige said, stupidly sweet, absolutely unserious, dragging out the “baby” like a fuckboy.

She pulled back just enough to watch Azzi’s reaction, that smug, knowing look on her face.

Baby. It was so casual, so flippant, so Paige. Paige always flirted like this. Always. With everyone, sometimes, but something about this time, this word, made Azzi’s stomach twist.

It felt like a direct hit, straight to that vulnerable, desperate part of her she kept buried deep. She felt a flush creep up her neck.

“You’re so annoying,” Azzi mumbled, turning away, pretending to rearrange books on her desk because she didn’t trust her face not to betray her. Not to show how much that word, carelessly tossed, had actually affected her.

How much she actually did miss Paige, even after a stupid argument.

“But you missed me too,” Paige teased, following her, bumping their shoulders together, her warmth seeping through Azzi’s shirt. “Admit it. You were bored without me.”

“You’re the worst.” Azzi tried for scathing, but it came out more fond than anything.

“You love me Fudd” Paige’s voice was a low hum, confident, absolutely sure. And that was the problem, wasn't it? Paige was always so damn sure.

Azzi sat back on her bed, trying to focus on her laptop screen even though her brain had clearly left the building, flying somewhere over the horizon with Paige’s carefree laughter.

Paige plopped down next to her, way too close, stealing a piece of gum off her desk like she owned the place, unwrapping it with a loud crinkle.

They bantered, like they always did.

Soft teasing, playful shoves, stupid arguments about which movie to watch.

Azzi tried to push for something serious, a documentary, anything to distract herself from the buzzing awareness of Paige’s thigh pressed against hers.

Paige, of course, insisted on a cheesy rom-com, something with explosions and a predictable happily ever after. They settled on something dumb, something easy, and somehow Paige ended up with her head half on Azzi’s shoulder, both of them crammed on the small bed, watching a movie neither of them were really paying attention to.

Paige’s arm was draped casually over Azzi’s waist, her fingers lightly tapping a rhythm on Azzi’s hip.

And Azzi hated that this felt perfect.

She just wanted to finish her paper. She wanted to focus on nationals. She wanted to not be utterly consumed by Paige Bueckers.

Azzi shifted slightly, trying to push those thoughts down, to create a microscopic space between their bodies, but Paige just snuggled closer, like it was the most natural thing in the world, her breath warm against Azzi’s neck.

Paige's fingers tightened ever so slightly on Azzi's hip, a subtle reassurance, a silent claim.

And from the other room, KK’s voice echoed faintly, muffled but clear enough to make Azzi’s stomach clench. “Oh, you ain’t mad now, huh? You went soft Azzi”

The casualness of KK’s comment, the lack of real surprise, sent a fresh wave of panic through her. She glanced at Paige, whose smirk only deepened, completely unbothered, as if KK’s comment was just another laugh line in their shared comedy.

Paige just smirked. “Told you you missed me.”

Azzi shook her head, fighting a smile she was definitely losing control over. “Shut up.”

But she didn’t move away.

“You know, for someone who put a ‘ten-minute rule’ on me,” Paige murmured, her voice a low rumble against Azzi’s ear, her lips just brushing the sensitive skin there, “you’re not very good at enforcing it.”

Azzi shivered, a response she desperately tried to suppress. 

The “ten-minute rule.” It had started as a joke, a desperate attempt by Azzi to carve out some solo study time, a boundary against Paige’s omnipresent energy. 

Just ten minutes, Paige, then you can come in. It was supposed to be her shield, her protection. But Paige had weaponized it, turning it into a countdown to intimacy, a game she always won. She’d bang on the door, text ridiculous memes, send pictures of herself making sad puppy dog eyes until Azzi finally caved. 

It was never ten minutes. It was ten minutes until Azzi remembered how much she loved having Paige around.

“It’s a work in progress,” Azzi mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant, even as her pulse hammered against her ribs.

Paige’s fingers, still on her hip, started drawing lazy circles, sending tingles through the fabric of her sweats. It was an innocent touch, a friendly touch, but it was Paige, and nothing about Paige was ever truly innocent for Azzi.

“Mmm-hmm,” Paige hummed, skepticism thick in her tone. “Or maybe you just like having me around too much to really want me to go.” She leaned her head back, shifting slightly so her blonde hair tickled Azzi’s jaw. 

The scent of Paige—clean and faintly sweet, like the campus laundry detergent mixed with her own unique, intoxicating smell—filled Azzi’s senses, distracting her from everything. 

Her paper, the team, the impending national championship, the entire world outside this small, cluttered dorm room.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Bueckers,” Azzi countered, but her voice was weak, wavering. She could feel the smile tugging at her own lips. It was a losing battle, trying to resist Paige when she was like this – soft and playful.

Paige chuckled, a soft, warm sound. “Oh, Princess, I’m not flattering myself. I’m just stating facts.” Her free hand, which had been resting on the bed between them, slowly stretched out, her fingers just brushing the edge of Azzi’s open laptop. 

Azzi instinctively tensed, watching her. Paige’s eyes, still fixed on the movie screen, seemed to hold a mischievous glint. “You know, you could always just admit it.”

“Admit what?” Azzi asked, trying to sound bored, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

Paige finally turned her head, her gaze locking with Azzi’s.

Her light eyes were intense. “That you like me. Like, really really like me.” Her voice was a low murmur, just for Azzi, soft and dangerous.

Azzi’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat. She wanted to deny it, to laugh it off

She didn’t 

The movie played on, a distant, irrelevant soundtrack to the silent war raging within Azzi. She could hear the faint sounds of the dorm hallway, a door opening, laughter, the mundane backdrop to their intensely private moment. 

Someone could walk in at any second. The fear was still there.

She shifted again, this time not to create distance, but to subtly lean in. Paige’s gaze dropped to Azzi’s lips, then back to her eyes, a silent question passing between them.

“Paige,” Azzi whispered, her voice barely audible. It wasn’t a denial. It wasn’t an admission. It was a plea. A plea for understanding, for patience, for a moment to breathe.

Paige’s smirk faded, replaced by something softer, more tender, but no less intense. 

Her fingers on Azzi’s hip tightened almost imperceptibly, a silent reassurance, a promise. “It’s okay,” she whispered back, her voice a soothing balm against Azzi’s panicked heart.

And then, without another word, Paige leaned in, just a fraction of an inch, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to Azzi’s temple. 

Azzi closed her eyes, biting down on the inside of her cheek. And Azzi knew, with a terrifying certainty, that she was falling. Hard.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Keep You Company

steddie x fem!reader

Your best friends Steve and Eddie decide to make your night worthwhile when they see that you seem lonely at a party

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap before you tap it) fingering, oral (m receiving) choking, spanking

word count: 5,003

This idea was brought you by the lovely @n0t-even-try1ng-2 who was a winner of the 5k word fic contest! This one was so much fun to write and I really hope you enjoy it!

The party isn’t exactly what you’re expecting as you sit alone on the couch in the dingy basement. Everyone around you seems to be coupled up while you’re by yourself. You sip from the solo cup of the screwdriver Eddie made for you before leaving to make a deal. Now you have no idea where he is nor Steve. This is the first party you’ve been to as a newly single woman and now you’re debating on going home because this isn’t nearly as fun as you were promised that it would be. 

You’ve come to realize that you don’t really know anyone at this party besides Steve and Eddie. And you’re not exactly looking to meet anyone new even though that was the whole reason why you even came tonight. The whole idea intimidates you. And even though you told yourself you were going to move on from Steve and Eddie, you somehow can’t seem to get yourself to. 

Ever since your breakup with your boyfriend, you’ve felt isolated from your friends. They all took his side and when Steve and Eddie assured that they were going to be there for you, you knew you made the right choice in being friends with them. They’ve been there for you through all the tears and they both held you in your bed while the three of you watched your comfort movies. You’ve felt bad for hogging them the past few weeks so you demanded that they hang out with their other friends tonight. As you sit here alone, you’re starting to regret it. 

That is, when Steve drops onto the cushion to your left, Eddie to your right. Their thighs are pressed to yours and you can feel the heat emanating off their bodies. There’s something about this that feels so right but you’re too embarrassed to tell them that you’ve been feeling attraction for weeks. You’re sure it’s just you anyway. 

You have no idea that they know exactly how you feel. It’s obvious with the way you look at them, like they hung the moon. It’s sweet actually. You constantly bring them gifts and baked goods. Sure, you are just that sweet, but there’s clearly something romantic behind the whole thing.

You just can’t understand how either of them are single. It just doesn’t make any sense to you. Steve used to be “King Steve” who had all the women wanting him and you don’t know when it stopped, but now you never see him with anyone on his arm anymore. He’s so sweet and kind and you wonder when everyone stopped fawning all over him. And Eddie..that’s the biggest mystery of all. He’s such a sweetheart and you know people only dislike because he’s nerdy. And because he plays D&D, of course he’s the devil incarnate. But you guess that means there’s more for you, not that they’d be interested in you like that. You’re all just friends…right? 

You have no idea how badly they want you and they think it’s cute. They’ve talked about it on multiple occasions and decided that tonight is going to be the night where everything gets laid on the table. They know how badly you want them-it’s obvious. And they want to show you how much they like you. They want to make you feel special. They want to show you that you can be appreciated and that sex is supposed to feel good. You told them all about how your ex wasn’t able to please you in the bedroom and they fully intend on showing you how it’s done. 

Steve sees how you’re looking at the couple who’s at the fireplace. They’re making out and you’re looking at them longingly, like that’s what you want. He scoots close to you, his lips right by your ear as his arm rests on top of the back of the couch. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asks, his voice nothing but seductive so there’s not room for confusion. When he pulls back, you’re biting your bottom lip, nodding furiously. 

“Please,” you whine and he swears he feels himself getting hard at that. He takes your hand and helps you up from the couch while you grab hold of Eddie’s hand. The three of you make a beeline for the stairs, giggling as you head to Eddie’s van. 

You have an idea of where this is headed and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous. You’ve had a few sexual partners, but never two at the same time. It’s intimidating for sure, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited about the whole thing. 

You’re just glad you’re wearing the lacy set you just bought just in case you decided to take someone home. You’re not usually like this, but tonight, you want to do something impulsive. And you think that maybe fucking your two best friends is exactly what you need in order to finally get over your ex. And maybe you want to see if what the three of you have is more than just physical attraction. 

You all squeeze into the bench and the drive to your apartment seems like the longest ride of your life even though it’s only ten minutes. You can’t believe this is happening. After wanting both of them for so long, you finally get to have them. And they seem to really want you too. 

Steve has to admit that he’s a little nervous. He’s never had a threesome before and he’s about to have one with his best friends. It feels sort of weird but his excitement outweighs that. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t been crushing on both of you for a while now. He’s only recently come out as bisexual so this whole thing is so new to him. 

Eddie, though, he’s been out for a while. He’s made his attraction to you very clear, but he reeled it in with Steve because he didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. When Steve came out a few months ago, he wanted to be honest with him, but decided he’d wait until he felt like the time was right. He’s thinking that maybe he should say something tonight.

He can’t stop thinking about the things he wants to do to the both of you. He’d never tell either of you that he’s gotten off to the idea more than once. It’s always the same with Steve fucking you while Eddie’s cock is in your mouth. And then they swap places and both have their way with you until you get tired and insist that they have some fun with each other. And he always comes just as the imaginary version of him gets on his knees for Steve. 

God, what he would give to be able to suck Steve’s cock. He can practically hear the whines that would fall from his lips. He can feel Steve’s hands in his hair, tugging on it as the breathiest moans leave his mouth. It would be so sloppy and needy and he can’t help but imagine what you’d do as you watched. 

He’s trying really hard to act normal, like he’s not about to cream his pants right now. He’s trying to think of something, anything to make him not think of those panties he got a glimpse of as he followed you up the stairs. 

Steve’s fantasies haven’t been hesy as filthy, but they’re still dirty enough for him to not want to tell either of you what they are. He imagines himself and Eddie on either side of you, both kissing your neck as they make a mess of your cunt. 

He can practically hear your moans as the fantasy plays in your head and he tries so hard not to let out a moan of his own. He doesn’t know if he really needs you that bad or if he just hasn’t been with anyone in a while. He’s pretty sure it’s the first one. 

You’re also doing your own fantasizing. But yours is probably the dirtiest of them all. You imagine them both hovering over you as they both fuck into you side by side, rough and hard. You can hear them calling you filthiest things. You want them to go so hard that you can’t walk for a week. 

Tension is high as the three of you walk up to your apartment. Steve is in front, you’re in the middle, and Eddie is behind. And he’s got a great view of your ass that he just wants to get his hands on. He’d spank you again and again as he pounded into you over and over, telling you just how much of a whore you are. 

If he wasn’t so scared of disrespecting you, he’d give your ass a hard slap just to see how you’d react. He wants to hear your little squeal and ask him to spank you again and again until your ass is numb. 

You turn to see him staring at your ass as you give it a little shake to tease him as you make your way down the hall. He stands behind you as you reach for your keys and gives your ass a little slap, unable to hold himself back anymore. You let out a little squeal like he expected and you turn around, your eyes lighting up with lut-almost if you want him to do it again. 

The three of you crowd around the door as you unlock it.

Well, try. It’s like everything is moving much slower as you unlock the door. You’re all just eager to get inside and have your way with each other. But the door lock seems to be stuck and you can’t seem to get it to unlock. 

Eddie has you step aside and you do so as he works on it, moving the key this way and that, doing things you wouldn’t even think of. It makes sense with his history of breaking in to places and hot wiring cars like his dad taught him. 

The lock finally clicks and you pull them both inside by their shirts as soon as it's open. You’re so nonchalant about the whole thing while they’re both nervous. You toss your purse onto the island in the kitchen as you kick off the shoes you’ve wanted to take off the whole night. 

Your feet are hurting and now you’re more desperate to get out of your clothes just because of how uncomfortable your bra and panties are. They look hot but that doesn’t make up for the fact that they’re both super itchy. The lace rubs you in all the wrong places and you’re just eager to get out of it for more reasons than one. 

You stand in front of them, letting them decide who makes the first move, but they just stare at you, eyes wide, like neither of them can believe what’s happening. Because they can’t. After waiting for what you think is too long, you move to stand in front of Eddie. You turn your back to him and make sure he’s able to see the zippedr of your dress. 

“Unzip me?” You ask, unable to see the blush creeping up on Eddie’s cheeks as he reaches up to grab hold of the zipper. He doesn’t know why doing this always makes him feel like a shy, awkward teenager again. He pulls it all the way down and pushes the press off your shoulders before pressing a kiss to one of them as your dress pools at your feet. 

You stand there, giving them a good look at your ass before you turn around to face Steve and Eddie and you can see lust filling their eyes as they take in your bra and panties. They’re thin and lacy, almost like you expected to get laid tonight. Well, your wish is their command. 

The three of you stand there awkwardly, waiting for something to happen. The three of you are entering uncharted territory and none of you are quite sure how to approach this next step. You’re all friends, but this is different. After tonight, you can never go back to the way you were. 

They wait for you to make the first move, not wanting to cross any boundaries. You make your way over to Steve, grabbing his face in your hands and pressing your lips to his. It starts out slow but quickly progresses to messy and sloppy, moans falling from both of your mouths. 

Eddie watches the whole thing without a single ounce of jealousy. In fact, he’s actually more turned on than he thought he’d be by watching his best friends make out. When your tongue slides into Steve’s mouth and you both moan again, Eddie feels himself getting hard just by seeing it. 

You break away when Steve’s really getting into it before heading over to Eddie, feeling bad for leaving him out. You’re more rough with him, knowing that he can take it. It’s much more heated than the one with Steve and he groans into your mouth as you palm him through his jeans. He’s straining, desperate for something. 

He backs you up to your couch, pieces of clothing dropping to the floor as they’re discarded. You’re pushed down onto the couch and Eddie drops to his knees in front of you as he pulls Steve down with him. 

“Let us worship you,” he says, more like a command and who are you to say no? This is everything you’ve wanted, right? The kind of thing you’d never admit you fantasized about even when your ex was inside you. It was the only thing that would get you through it and even then, you’d only be able to come when you imagined that he was either Steve or Eddie doing the work. 

“Please,” Steve begs and you nod as you watch Eddie pull down your panties. Once they’re off, he stuffs them into Steve’s pocket as they both spread your legs wide. 

You’re wet beyond belief, dripping onto the couch and even though they’re both eager to dig in, they decide to take their time. Whispering the most sweet words against your skin as they kiss up your legs and you suddenly feel like the luckiest woman in the world. 

Then it’s not so sweet as they absolutely devour you. Eddie goes for your clit while Steve is at your slit, both of them working you with their mouths as fingers slide inside. They’re curved and you already feel close to exploding as they hit just the right spot. You’re holding onto the couch cushion beneath you for dear life as they make an absolute feast out of you. 

When they start to bite down, your swear you see stars. You feel like you’re going to come any second by the sheer pleasure that’s coursing through you. People have eaten you out before, but never like this. This is greedy as they take and take, but you don’t mind. This is easily the best head you’ve ever received. 

When they swap places, your heels dig into their backs as you feel an orgasm approaching. They’re biting down harder as they get you there, fingers pumping harder, faster. You moan so loudly and they both swear it feels like a cry. 

As your orgasm courses through you, you think they’re done, but they don’t let up, Eddie’s tongue plunging deep inside you as he tries to get one last taste. It’s pushing in and out and you mewl again and again, another orgasm on the way as they both finally pull away from you. 

You’re a sweaty mess as they look at you, seeing how blissed out you already look and neither of them have even gotten inside you. They remove your legs from their shoulders and Eddie heads to the bathroom to retrieve a washcloth to clean up the mess as Steve is nothing but encouraging. 

“Did so good, honey,” he says, giving your thigh a squeeze as he speaks softly. You see that his free hand it’s still covered in your mess and now you’re wondering what it tastes like. Your mouth is watering as you begin to crave it, feeling his fingers in your mouth. 

Steve seems to sense what you’re wanting because he’s leaning up now, fully between your knees as he leans over you. His wet fingers hover over your mouth and there’s a drop that lands on your bottom lip. You’re quick to swipe your tongue slowly over your lip then part both of them as he slides his fingers inside. 

You watch him as you lick and suck, purposely making the most filthy sounds as you do so. Steve watches, lips parted as he watches you, knowing that this exact scene will replay in his head constantly for the rest of his life. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” 

Your cheeks heat at the compliment. At the way you’ve got this man literally on his knees for you. You’re convinced he’d do whatever you asked without question and he’d do it with that adorable, dopey grin on his face. 

Eddie comes back from the bathroom just as you release Steve’s fingers with a loud pop. Eddie cleans you up despite knowing that they’re just going to make more of a mess of you as the night goes on. 

You stand from the couch and Steve moves out of the way as you make a beeline for Eddie. You drop to your knees in front of him and he’s sure that this is the prettiest you’ve ever looked. You’re quick to unbuckle his belt, and before he knows it, you’re pulling his jeans down, his boxers quick to follow. 

He’s already hard beyond belief and you spit into your hand before grabbing him at the base. He knows this night was supposed to be about you, but he feels like it would be wrong of him to deny you the opportunity to return him the favor. 

You’re pumping hard and fast and he’s losing his mind as he watches you work. He’s been given many handjobs, but not like this. It always seems like they’re doing it because they feel like they have to. But you? You definitely want this. He can see it in your lust-filled eyes. 

You take the tip into your mouth and run your tongue over the slit before giving him a hard suck. He whines as his hands wind into your hair as Steve ties it back for you. You take Eddie deeper, inch by inch until your nose is pressed to his bush. 

Your tongue flattens against the underside stroking it as you get him fully into your mouth. You feel it hitting the back of your throat and gag, but you keep going, still determined to make him come. He’s so close you can feel it. 

“Just like that,” Steve encourages. “Look at how crazy you’re making him.” 

You look up and his head is thrown back, his eyes shut tight as he lets out moan after delicious moan. This might be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. You give him a few more sucks and peek up at him through your lashes. Watching him come, feeling him leak out into your mouth feels so rewarding because you were the one to do it. 

You stand to your feet and force him to look you in the eye so he can watch you swallow. His eyes darken as he sees your throat bob, pushing your mouth open to see that you really did swallow. 

“So fucking hot,” he rasps as his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in for another heated kiss. It’s just as hot and messy as the other one and his tongue slides into your mouth. You moan as it roams your mouth, his rock hard, wet cock pressing against your stomach, showing you just how badly he wants you. 

“Please let me fuck you,” he whines and it’s the most pathetic you’ve ever seen anyone. You feel bad for letting Eddie have all the fun but you swear that you’ll make it up to Steve after. 

You pull both of them into your room and push Eddie down onto your bed. Watching him sprawled out like that, begging for you to use him in any way you want-you don’t think you’ve ever been more turned on in your life. 

Steve helps you take off your bra and you both join Eddie on the bed. Steve is quickly stripping down as you straddle Eddie’s waist, taking no time to top him. You don’t move yet, leaning down and kissing him first, wanting to warm him up before you completely ruin him. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair and he has no idea how he’s going to move on from him-from tonight. He doesn’t think he ever will. This is going to replace the scenario he’s cooked up in his mind. Seeing you here and now, straddling him as you kiss him as your life depends on currently tops the fake version of you he sees every night. 

Not only are you real, but you actually respond to him. You make him feel good. You make him feel alive. You pull away and rest your hands on his shoulders as you begin to ride him. It’s fast and hard and you’re both moaning loudly as you work together, his hips bucking against yours. 

Steve thought he would feel left out, but he doesn’t at all. He knows he’ll get his turn and there’s just something about watching his best friends fuck that makes him feel something. The way you’re both moving, the delicious sounds falling from each of your mouths. It’s all just so hot. 

He’s fisting his cock as he gets even harder, needing some release. He pumps and pumps, trying to match the pace that you’re going, imagining it’s your hand that’s doing all the work. 

The bed starts to shake and squeak underneath Eddie as you’re both moving fast and hard. So loud that you’re sure that the police will be knocking on your door with a noise complaint at any second. 

“Fuck,” is all he’s able to say, so fucked out already even though you’ve barely done anything. His nails scratch down your back and the way you moan only makes him and Steve need you even more. Eddie’s close, you can feel and Steve’s not that far behind. But you’re far from done. 

Your hand grabs hold of Eddie’s neck, unsure of what you’re doing, but it just feels right. You’ve never choked anyone, especially not in a sexual context, but Eddie seems very into it. So you squeeze and squeeze, watching his eyes widen. You continue to fuck him senseless as you squeeze harder and harder until he can’t even speak. Even then, it’s almost like he wants more. 

But as his face turns bright red, you decide to let up, but still keep your hand on his neck. He’s close and you watch him cum and you still continue to ride him, trying to reach your own orgasm. He’s still thrusting as he leaks inside of you, trying his best to get you there. 

“Shit, sweetheart,” he breathes as he lies back on the bed, watching you come not long after he does. His name falls from your lips and he’s sure that it’s the prettiest sound you’ve ever made. 

You climb off him and collapse onto the bed next to him as Steve reaches his own climax, leaking out all over himself and the bed before hurrying to the bathroom to clean himself up. 

You feel bad that he’s been pushed to the side and are not determined to make this the best fuck of his life. It’s what he deserves for being such a good boy. For being so patient. 

Steve takes a little longer in the bathroom, fixing his hair as well as cleaning himself up. He doesn’t know why he’s so focused on his hair when you’re just going to mess it up. Truthfully, he’s just nervous. More so that he thought he’d be. You’re his best friend so this feels weird for him even though he’s dreamed about this very thing for so long. He’s just worried he’s going to screw it up. 

He opens the bathroom door and steps out into the room, his eyes widening as he sees you on your knees at the end of the bed. You’re moaning loudly as you play with your nipples and god, does he want that to be him. 

You reach out for his hand and he lets you pull him forward. You guide it your chest and he hesitantly lets his hand rest on your tit. He seems nervous and you want to do what you can to help make him feel more comfortable. 

“You can touch me, Stevie,” you whisper and look around the room before spotting Eddie smoking a joint. He offers it to you before taking a drag and you take it from him. 

“Open your mouth,” you tell him and you take a drag from the joint before pressing your lips to his, blowing the smoke into his mouth. You pull away far too soon but he chases your lips, capturing them between his. It’s slow and sloppy and he seems to be much more confident. 

He licks into your mouth as his fingers tweak your nipples, turning them this way and that and you whine into his mouth in response. He leans you back, kissing his way down to your neck, giving it a suck. You’re so overstimulated but you don’t dare ask him to stop because it just feels so good. 

He bites down on your neck and you gasp, feeling even more wet, more needy for him. He bites again and again, making you moan even louder. He kisses his way down your body as he lays you down on your bed. 

He’s hovering over you with the joint in his mouth and Eddie is quick to take it from him, giving it one more drag before stubbing it out. He’s at your side just like Steve was, just in time to watch Steve pound into you again and again. 

His hands grab yours as he watches you come undone underneath him. The bed is squeaking once again and all that can be heard besides the sounds you’re both making is the sounds of slapping skin. He’s fucking you so hard, so deep inside you that you can practically feel him in your stomach. 

He’s moving fast and hard, which is so unlike him but he’s so eager to please that he’ll do whatever he thinks you want. This isn’t about him anyway. He just wants to make you feel good. 

“Fuck, this is so good,” Eddie whines. “So hot. Harder, Steve. I want to see her come undone.” Steve listens, somehow going even harder and you’re struggling to keep up, clenching around him as you cry on his cock. 

You never imagined sex with Steve to be like this. You always pictured soft and sweet but you’re definitely not hating this. He’s just so good at it, always somehow knowing exactly what you want without even having to ask. But you’re pretty sure that’s only because you’ve been friends for so long. 

His hands tighten their grip on yours as he fucks into you even faster, seeing that you’re starting to slur, your hips slowing their pace. But you snap yourself out of it, trying to keep up with him despite being so tired. Your hips buck against his over and over until you feel another orgasm rising. 

This is the biggest one yet and Steve’s not that far after you, still fucking into you to see if he can get one more out of you, but he can tell that you don’t have any more left in you. So he pulls out once he comes down and the three of you lie there on the bed, all thinking about what’s just happened. 

You can’t believe you just fucked both of your best friends and are already craving more. You even sucked one of them off and let them both eat you out. You know that this is just going to be a one-time thing but now you’re craving more. You want this to be a regular thing even though you’re terrified to ask. You know they were just doing it to be nice and you’re just willing to take whatever you can get. 

Steve can’t believe he just did that. He’s never fucked anyone in that way before. It’s always so gentle but he felt like trying something different. And he liked it. So much so that he almost wants to ask if you want to go for another round. But when he turns to his right, he sees that you’re fast asleep. 

Eddie and Steve watch you in admiration, both still wondering how they should approach telling you that they want you. Even after tonight, they’re sure that they could do this every night for the rest of their lives and be happy. 

Eddie watches your lips part and still thinks about how good that blow job was. Definitely the best he’s ever had and how is he supposed to let anyone else suck him off knowing that none of them will ever compare to you? 

In fact, he’s not sure he wants to have a sexual partner that’s not you nor Steve but that seems to be a conversation for another day. You’re all clearly fucked out and just need some sleep. 

So Eddie and Steve pull the covers over you before climbing into bed on either side. They both drape an arm over you before you all drift into the best sleep you’ve ever had.  

[idyllwave]

what you lack is a future

yandere!phainon x reader , angst , loss , death , 30 million cycles , etc.

Out of thirty million cycles, you only existed in one.

You were like a blip. A tiny scratch mark of erasable pencil lead on a large canvas. Someone, somehow, somewhere accidentally written you into existence. How that was possible, Phainon wasn’t sure. But you existed. He knew because he remembered.

It was the 3141592nd cycle. And when he was just about to be at his lowest point, you had walked up to him. He expected you to ask for his help like many others had, but instead you had sat with him silently and rested a gentle hand onto his shoulder. He didn’t know how long he sat with you, but it was long enough that it waned to late evening.

“Thank you,” he hated how weak his voice sounded, how tired he seemed.

“Anytime.”

He looked at you then, memorized your features, noted the way your smile curved. He didn’t know that he was asking your name before the words left his lips.

You laughed and gave him your name. Your eyes crinkling at the corners as you let your hand fall from his shoulder.

He learned a lot about you after that. It wasn’t until night had fallen that you two parted ways. Though, you did get him to promise to come to you if he ever had that terrible feeling well up inside him again.

However, like clockwork, no matter how many days and weeks he spent with you laughing and having fun – the cycle had went on and you had died in his arms. He didn’t know if your death was peaceful, or quiet, or if you had called out to him. All that he did know was that you were already dead by the time he pulled you into his arms and pressed you close to his chest.

He promised to find you in the next cycle.

But even as the cycles marched on you were no where in sight. You didn’t exist anywhere or to anyone. The moment your name would fall from his lips no one would know who he was talking about. Not even Aglaea or Tribbie could place your name.

Thirty million cycles and you only existed in one. Were you a saving grace to make sure he stayed sane and didn’t lose hope? A mistake? An accident? Was he doing something differently that was stopping you from coming to existence?

“Stop pushing Stelle! I know we landed in different places, but I’m here now, aren’t I?”

He sighed and plastered on a smile. Both Dan Heng and Stelle had mentioned that they were missing a third.

“Phainon,” Stelle called out, “we found them!”

When he turned, he was fully prepared to introduce himself, shake their hand, give soft pleasantries, but … the moment he saw you – everything just sort of stopped.

“Hello… Phainon, right? I’m sorry we couldn’t meet earlier, the train car we came in broke apart and I ended up landing elsewhere… Though, I do want to thank you for looking after Stelle and Dan Heng. I wouldn’t know what to do if they got into even more trouble.”

You laughed to yourself as you held out your hand for him to take, and it was starting to get silent and awkward fast when Phainon didn’t make a move to take your hand. Instead, he was eerily quiet. His eyes widened and his lips parted in a smile.

“Phainon?”

“Sorry,” he breathed out, “I got lost in thought,” he took your hand with both of his. His palms pressing hard and his grip a little too tight, “it’s wonderful to meet you. And since you just got here, why don’t I show you around?”

You looked to your friends and neither seemed to mind (well, except for Dan Heng who still seemed weary).

“Sure! Sounds like fun.”

Phainon couldn’t wait to get to know you all over again, and this time, he will make sure you don’t disappear even if another cycle were to begin.

[pinkpurplesunrises]

When the Darkness Felt Endless (You Were the Light I Found)

4500 words - I guess this is a middle long story - Alexia Putellas x Reader - Maybe this will heal the anxiety - Angst and Fluff - Happy ending - Mentions of depression and prostetics - Please read with care.

Writer's note: wow, wow, wow, you are all so kind! Keeps me going when the creative brain hits. Enjoy this piece while I finally get to work work. See you next week.

The headlines had stopped screaming her name. The lights had dimmed. The cheers faded like echoes in a cold, hollow tunnel.

Alexia Putellas sat in the back of her apartment, hood up, body curled into the corner of a couch she barely remembered buying. The only sound was the ticking of a clock she wished she could rip off the wall. Time was still moving. Everything was moving. Except her.

Her knee still ached, even though the doctors said it was healing. But they didn’t see the part that didn’t show up on scans. They didn’t hear the static that buzzed in her head every time she looked at her boots. Or saw the photos she’d flipped face-down.

Everything inside her was sharp edges and shame. And that voice… her own voice, somehow sounding like someone else. It told her this was who she really was: not the leader, not the fighter, not the hero. Just broken.

She hadn’t been outside in days.

And then the knock came.

It wasn’t loud. Just three soft, almost tentative knocks. Like the person on the other side wasn’t sure if anyone would answer. Or wanted to.

She didn’t move.

The knock came again.

“Alexia.” Your voice was gentle, but it carried something heavier underneath. Like you knew. Like you’d been here, too.

She hated that. That you might see her like this.

Why did you see her like this? You are just one of the neighbors.

“I’m not…” she croaked, but her voice cracked like dry wood. “Just go.”

But you didn’t.

“I brought food,” you said. “You can ignore me if you want. I’ll just leave it here.”

Silence.

“I’m coming back tomorrow.”

That night, Alexia sat with the food untouched on the kitchen counter. Staring at the note you left beside it.

You’re not alone.

She hated how much she wanted to believe it.

You kept coming back.

Every day.

Sometimes with food. Sometimes with nothing but silence and that look. The one that said you see her. Not the athlete. Not the legend. Just her. And she couldn’t stand it.

The third day, she opened the door. Only a crack. Just enough for you to see the bruises under her eyes. Not from fists, but from insomnia and tears.

"You don’t have to…" she started.

"I know," you said. No hesitation. "I want to."

She hated that answer.

Because it didn’t make sense.

People only stay when they want something. That’s what her mind told her. That twisted, looping thought she couldn’t shut up.

What did you want?

Whatever it was, she didn’t buy it.

Fame by proximity? A favor? A story to tell your friends. ‘Oh, I saw Alexia Putellas fall apart once. Up close.’

Or maybe you were just like her… sick with guilt and pretending not to be.

Still, she let you inside that night.

You didn’t ask questions. Didn’t push. Just sat on the floor while she stared at the ceiling. And somehow, in the silence, she cracked.

“They keep saying I’ll come back stronger,” she muttered.

You turned to look at her, eyes soft but honest. "And what do you say?"

She laughed. Bitter, low. "That I’m tired of lying.”

There it was.

The truth spilled from her lips like poison. "I don’t even know who I am without football. Without winning. Without people chanting my name. When it’s quiet like this…" she gestured around the dim apartment, “I can’t hear anything except how much I hate myself.”

Your voice didn’t break, but it trembled with understanding. “I know that feeling.”

She studied you for the first time. Really studied you. There was a weight behind your eyes. Not pity, she would’ve shut down if it were pity, but recognition.

You’d been there, too.

“I used to think if I could just do enough, be enough… maybe I’d stop feeling like a burden,” you said. “Turns out you can accomplish everything and still feel like you’re rotting inside.”

A beat passed. She almost stopped breathing.

Because it felt like you were inside her head.

“Why are you here?” she whispered.

“I don’t know. Maybe because when I look at you, I see someone worth saving.” You paused. “And I wish someone had done that for me.”

She turned her face away so you wouldn’t see the tear fall. But she felt your presence, warm and still. Not trying to fix her. Not telling her to “get back up.” Just… there.

The silence between you was heavy, but not suffocating. For the first time in weeks, she didn't feel like she was falling alone.

Later that night, as you left, she murmured it… half asleep, half broken, but clear:

“Luna.”

You turned back. “What?”

“That’s what I’m gonna call you,” she said, voice hoarse. “You’re quiet. But you show up when it’s dark.”

You didn’t reply. But you smiled. And somehow, that smile stayed with her long after the door closed.

One evening, she was distant, colder than before. You noticed it the moment you stepped in. Her eyes avoiding yours. Her body taut like a wire ready to snap.

You became her Luna, the quiet light in her darkest nights.

But even the moon disappears behind clouds.

“Alexia?” you asked softly.

She shook her head, voice sharp and brittle. “I don’t need anyone.”

That cracked something inside you. A fissure that had been growing since you met her. But you held your ground. Refusing to let her slip away.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you said.

She laughed but there was no humor. “You don’t understand. Nobody does.”

Her voice broke, just for a second, but that was enough.

“I hate who I’ve become,” she confessed. “The injury, the silence, the empty space where my future used to be. Every time I look in the mirror, I hate her. Hate myself.”

The raw pain in her words stabbed you. You reached out, trembling, to touch her arm.

But she flinched.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “I’m broken.”

You wanted to scream, to shout that she wasn’t. That no one was broken beyond repair. But your voice caught in your throat.

Because you knew this was a battle she had to fight inside herself.

Days passed, and the distance grew. Texts left unread. Calls unanswered.

You tried to respect her space, but the silence swallowed you whole.

One night, your phone lit up, a message from her.

“Go away.”

It was simple. Cold.

You stared at the screen. Heart shattering.

But you didn’t reply.

Instead, you showed up at her door the next morning. No words. Just presence.

After a long moment, she opened the door, eyes red and swollen.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

You shook your head. “You don’t have to apologize for pain.”

Her lips trembled, tears spilling down. “I’m scared you’ll leave. Like everyone else.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised. “Luna stays through the storms.”

And in that fragile moment, between fear and hope, she let you in again.

She never understood why you kept knocking. Why, out of all the faces in the building, it was yours.

The truth was, you’d never spoken more than a handful of words. Maybe five in total. Mostly just glances through half-open doors or hurried nods in the hallway.

Neighbors, not friends. But something kept pulling you to her door.

Tonight was no different.

Another knock. Three soft taps.

Alexia stared at the door like it was a stranger’s, heart pounding unevenly. She had so many questions, none of which she dared voice.

Why her? Why now? Why someone she barely knew. Someone she’d barely looked at?

She wanted to slam the door. Yo shut out the unknown. But her body betrayed her. The door cracked open.

There you stood. No food. No note. Just that steady, quiet presence.

You said nothing, just offered a small, almost hesitant smile.

She wanted to ask, Why? Why do you care?

But words wouldn’t come.

Instead, she looked away.

“It’s ridiculous,” she finally muttered. “You don’t even know me.”

You nodded slowly. “I don’t.”

“But you keep coming back.”

“Yes.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Why?”

You looked down at your hands, then back up… eyes steady.

“Because sometimes, when someone’s breaking in silence, the right thing to do is just... show up. Even if you don’t understand.”

Alexia’s chest tightened.

She hated feeling like a charity case. A project. Someone to be saved. She was a fighter, or she used to be. But now… now she felt like nothing.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she said, voice trembling. “You don’t have to be here.”

You stepped a little closer. Still cautious. Still respectful.

“I’m not here because I owe you. I’m here because I see you. And you deserve more than being invisible.”

Her eyes flicked to yours, searching for something. Hope, maybe, or just the truth.

She didn’t know what to say.

So she said nothing.

And in that silence, a fragile understanding settled.

But the walls were still up.

And the healing… if it ever came… was still far away.

You started staying longer.

Never asked to. Never assumed. Just waited. Always waited for her to open the door first.

The first time she left it unlocked, you stood there for a moment. Unsure whether it was an invitation or an accident. But when you knocked softly and she didn’t flinch, you stepped inside.

She was on the floor, back against the couch, legs drawn in. A hoodie swallowed her frame.

No words. Just your breath in the quiet.

You sat down across from her, not too close. The space between you wasn’t distance. It was permission. She needed that.

The silence stretched until it didn’t feel like silence anymore.

Finally, she spoke.

“You live across from me, right?”

You nodded. “End of the hall.”

Her eyes flickered over you, cautious. “How long?”

“About a year.”

She blinked. That long?

“You ever hear me cry?” she asked bluntly.

You didn’t lie. “Sometimes.”

Her jaw tightened. She looked away. “Bet that was pathetic.”

“No,” you said simply.

She didn’t respond, but something in her posture shifted.

You looked down at your hands. “I used to cry like that, too.”

She glanced up. “Used to?”

You hesitated. “Sometimes still do. Just quieter.”

That earned a dry, bitter huff. Not quite a laugh. But not silence either.

Alexia rubbed at her face. Her fingers trembling. “You know... I thought if I lost football, I’d lose everything. Turns out I did.”

“You didn’t lose everything,” you said.

She met your eyes. Sharp, tired, guarded. “What’s left?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. You didn’t want to say me. Not yet. Not when she barely let you touch her shadow.

So instead, you said, “Maybe something you haven’t noticed yet.”

Another silence. Heavier this time.

Then she asked, voice low, “What’s your name?”

You gave it to her.

She repeated it quietly, testing the sound. And then... without quite meaning to... she said, “Doesn’t suit you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “No?”

She shook her head. “You’re still Luna.”

Your chest ached, but in a good way.

She was letting you in. A little. Enough.

Enough for now.

You didn’t knock.

For the first time in weeks, your knock never came.

The hallway was quiet.

Alexia sat in the dark. Blanket wrapped around her like armor. Phone on the table. Screen blank. No texts. No sounds. Just the ticking again. That clock she still hadn’t taken off the wall.

Her apartment had never felt so empty.

She waited an hour. Then two.

Then three.

Maybe you were busy. Maybe you finally realized she wasn’t worth the effort. She told herself that. Repeated it like a mantra.

This is what people do. They leave. She should be used to it.

But something about your silence was off. Not cruel, not distant. Just… wrong.

So she stood. Pulled on a sweatshirt. Crossed the hallway.

Your door was closed. No sound from inside.

She hesitated.

Then knocked. Once. Twice. Three times.

No answer.

Her gut tightened. She knocked again, firmer. “Luna?”

Still nothing.

She didn’t mean to open the door. But it was unlocked, just like hers had been the night she let you in.

She stepped inside.

And stopped.

Your place was dim. Quiet. Lived-in but tidy. And in the far room... she saw the silhouette of you curled up in bed, facing the wall.

“Luna?” Her voice was barely a whisper now.

You didn’t turn.

She walked closer. Slowly. And then she saw it. The empty socket beside the bed. A sleek black prosthetic leg propped against the wall. The skin of your thigh raw and irritated. Like it had fought a battle all day and lost.

You still didn’t turn. But you spoke, voice low and flat. “Didn’t feel like being a person today.”

Alexia blinked. The words were a mirror of everything she’d ever said. Everything she thought only applied to her.

And suddenly, she felt like a thief.

You’d been showing up for her. Over and over. And she’d never once asked if you were hurting too. She never noticed your limp, never questioned your quiet exits. Never even saw the piece of you that was missing. Not really.

She’d been drowning so deeply in herself, she never realized you might be wading through your own hell.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

You turned your head slightly, eyes tired but calm. “Would it have mattered?”

That answer gutted her.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “It would’ve.”

A long silence.

You gave a tired shrug. “It happened years ago. Car accident. I was in the backseat. Some nights I still dream I’m trapped there.”

She sat down beside your bed, not touching you. Just there.

“I used to think I’d never walk again,” you continued. “Then I thought I’d never be loved. Now I just try to get through the day without wanting to disappear.”

Alexia pressed a fist to her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be.”

“No. I am.” Her voice cracked. “You were always there for me. And I never asked about you. I never even looked.”

You glanced at her, lips curling just slightly. “That’s okay. You weren’t supposed to. You were drowning.”

She blinked fast, but tears slipped through anyway.

“I’m tired of drowning,” she said, voice almost inaudible.

Then, softer still: “Do you want me to stay?”

You nodded, just once.

And for the first time, she lay beside you.

No walls. No armor.

Just two broken people, side by side, in the quiet dark.

The morning sunlight filtered softly through your window, painting your room with pale gold.

Today was different.

Today you were getting a new prosthetic leg.

Your first in months.

The one designed to move. To run. To jump. To feel alive again.

You turned to Alexia, heart pounding with something close to hope.

“I have an appointment,” you said quietly. “Physio and the new leg fitting.”

Her eyes flickered, hesitation written in every line of her face.

“I don’t know if...”

You smiled gently. “I want you to come.”

For weeks, she’d barely left her apartment. The shadows clung too tight. The pain was too loud.

But something about your invitation felt different. Not a demand, but a promise.

She nodded slowly, pulling on a jacket she hadn’t touched in days.

Outside, the air was cool and sharp. A fresh contrast to the stale loneliness of her rooms.

You walked side by side. Tentative but steady.

The clinic was bright, bustling with life and the sharp scent of antiseptic.

You tried on the new prosthetic. Lighter, more flexible. And for the first time in months, you felt the thrill of movement.

Alexia watched, eyes wide, a small smile playing at her lips.

On the way back, you both walked a little taller.

And then, unexpectedly, you saw her.

Eli.

Alexia’s mother.

Her face softened at the sight of her daughter stepping out into the sunlight. Not alone but with you. the stranger who had quietly become her lifeline.

“Alexia,” Eli’s voice was gentle but firm, full of the unspoken worry and love only a mother carries. “I’ve been waiting for this day.”

Alexia’s lips trembled as she gave a nod.

Eli turned to you, eyes bright with gratitude. “Thank you for bringing her out.”

You exchanged a glance. Warm and quiet.

For the first time in a long time, hope didn’t feel fragile.

It felt possible.

The days after the clinic visit were quieter but not empty.

Alexia noticed it first in the mornings.

She woke without the usual weight pressing on her chest, the dark thoughts that tangled her mind overnight still there, but softer... distant echoes instead of a roaring storm.

You were part of that change.

Not because you said anything profound.

Not because you tried to fix her.

But because you simply were... a steady presence in a wrld that had felt fractured and cold.

One afternoon, Eli stopped by. She lingered in the doorway. Her eyes warm and kind.

“I see a change,” she said softly.

Alexia shrugged, unsure if she wanted to believe it.

Eli smiled gently. “Sometimes the right person doesn’t just walk into your life. They carry a light you forgot you had.”

That night, you two sat on her small balcony, wrapped in blankets, watching the city lights flicker.

She turned to you, voice quiet.

“You make this... lighter. Like the weight is still there but I can breathe underneath it.”

You reached out, fingers brushing hers briefly.

“That’s enough,” you said.

Alexia smiled, fragile but real.

In the dark, with you beside her, she let herself hope. For the first time in a long time. That maybe. Just maybe. She wasn’t alone.

The knock was soft but deliberate.

You opened the door to find Alexia standing there. A carefully balanced container in her hands.

“I made lunch,” she said, voice a little shy. “Thought you might want some company.”

You stepped aside, letting her in.

The apartment smelled faintly of warmth and effort. Something she hadn’t done in a while.

You ate together, the quiet between bites feeling less like an abyss and more like a space where something new might grow.

After the last forkful, Alexia looked at you, eyes steady.

“I’m going to the training grounds tomorrow,” she said.

Your heart skipped.

“Rehab,” she added quickly. “I’ve decided I can’t stay stuck. And they have staff there of course. Professionals who can help. Maybe even help you, too. With your new leg.”

You blinked, surprised.

“Would you like to come? Start yours together?”

You blinked, surprised.

“I… don’t really have any training clothes,” you admitted shyly, voice small.

Alexia’s lips curved into a proud, teasing smile. “You can wear mine.”

Your heart fluttered in a weird, warm way.

She caught your glance and laughed softly. “I’m serious. You’re going to need something comfortable. Besides, it’s about time I share more than just my pain.”

The morning sun spilled through the windows as you both prepared for the day ahead.

Alexia handed you a loose-fitting sweatshirt and sweatpants. Her training clothes, worn but clean.

You hesitated, fingers brushing the fabric. Feeling a strange flutter in your chest.

“You sure?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled, a mixture of pride and encouragement in her eyes. “Absolutely. It’s a start. We start together.”

The walk to the training grounds was quiet at first. Neither of you knew exactly what to say, or how to act.

You noticed the way Alexia kept glancing at you. Maybe nervous. Maybe hopeful.

When you arrived, the clinic staff greeted you warmly. Ushering you both into the rehab area.

The room was filled with equipment: parallel bars, treadmills, balance boards. A physical world of challenge and possibility.

You fumbled with the new prosthetic leg, its unfamiliar weight strange against your skin.

Alexia stood beside you, silently offering support.

“Ready?” she asked, voice soft but steady.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Your first steps were awkward and uneven. The prosthetic didn’t quite feel like part of you yet, and your muscles screamed with unfamiliar effort.

Alexia’s own movements were cautious. Shadows of hesitation flickering in her eyes.

But neither of you gave up.

The physiotherapist guided you gently. Adjusting your posture. Encouraging you.

Between attempts, Alexia reached out, squeezing your hand briefly. A small anchor in the uncertainty.

You caught her gaze, and in that moment, words weren’t necessary.

Hours passed in a blur of effort and quiet triumphs.

By the end, you were both exhausted but smiling. The first genuine smiles in a long time.

On the walk home, Alexia slipped her hand into yours.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?” you asked.

“For coming. For staying.”

Your heart swelled.

When you stopped outside her building. The world seemed to pause.

Alexia looked up at you. Eyes searching. Vulnerable.

Slowly, she leaned in and your lips met in a soft, trembling kiss.

It was hesitant. A question and an answer all at once.

The kind of kiss that promises more than words ever could.

When you finally pulled apart, neither of you spoke.

But the quiet between you now held something new.

Hope.

And the beginning of something real.

A few weeks had passed since that day at the training grounds.

You and Alexia were officially together now. Girlfriends, as she’d said once. Shy but sure.

Most days, you found yourself spending hours in her apartment. The place that had once felt like a prison but was slowly becoming home.

Today, you two tackled the chaos of her room. Clothes piled on the floor. Unopened letters. And the shadows that still lingered in the corners.

You laughed quietly as you worked side by side. The easy comfort between you growing.

Later, she mentioned dinner at her mother’s.

“You’ll finally meet my mamá properly,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“And my sister,” she added with a smile.

Your heart fluttered, nerves bubbling up. Meeting family felt like a big step. But one you were ready for.

Before you left, you needed to freshen up.

Alexia’s shower was small, built before your accident, not quite made for someone like you.

You hesitated at the bathroom door, voice trembling. “I… might need some help.”

She looked up. Surprise flickering in her eyes.

You’d never seen each other quite like this. Vulnerable, exposed.

But Alexia didn’t hesitate.

She stepped inside, gentle hands steadying you as the warm water glided over your skin. Her arms wrapped around you, holding you close in the tight, steamy space.

“Thank you,” she whispered softly against your ear, her voice trembling with something raw and real. “Thank you for pulling me out of the dark.”

You leaned into her, heart pounding, feeling the weight of those words settle between you like a promise.

When you finally emerged, clean and steady, Alexia smiled softly.

“You’re beautiful,” she said simply.

You blushed, heart full.

Tonight, you’d meet her family.

But for now, wrapped in the warmth of each other, you felt ready for anything.

It still felt surreal. This place was yours and Alexia’s now.

A modest one-floor home nestled in a peaceful neighborhood, spacious enough for dreams and laughter and the quiet moments you both craved.

Boxes sat unpacked in the corners, a testament to new beginnings, but the walls already hummed with the promise of life unfolding.

Today was special.

Alexia had a match.

Her first game back after months of grueling rehab, of rebuilding not just her body but her spirit.

You could see the nervous energy radiating off her as she laced up her boots. Her eyes sharp but filled with a fragile hope.

Her mother was coming with you to watch. Her presence a steady, loving force that somehow made the day feel lighter.

The stadium buzzed with anticipation as you found your seats.

The whistle blew, and she was off.

Watching her move with fierce determination. The joy of the game shining through the sweat and effort, made your heart swell.

Each pass, each sprint, each goal attempt was a testament to her fight. Not just to return, but to reclaim.

Eli beside you smiled softly, whispering, “She’s stronger than ever.”

After the final whistle, you met Alexia outside the locker room, her face flushed. Breathless. Radiant.

“You did it,” you said, pulling her close.

She laughed, a sound of pure relief and triumph.

“We did it,” she corrected, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

----------------------------------------------------------

Writer's note: your thoughts about this one?

[xo-adeline]

"To Change For You..." - Twisted Wonderland

⋆°• ☁︎ - Things they do after picking it up from you!

Feat. Pan Nikos, Peyn Algos, Idia Shroud, and Leona Kingscholar

AN: The wonderful Pan Nikos and Peyn Algos belong to @kokii-omii ! (I’m so tempted to write for a bunch of the their other oc’s as well-) ☁︎ - Gn!Reader - Reader is described as Yuu (Leona’s Part and Peyn’s Part)

Pan Nikos - Gets (a little) better at not yelling at/threatening people during multiplier games If you had asked anybody in the Ignihyde dorm, or really anybody who had come in contact with him while playing video games, they would tell you the same thing: He’s scary. Whether they explained about the time that he had tried to leak the dorm's browser history, or just any time that they had been playing a co-op game, and they got a loud earful from the vice-housewarden. But everything was still the same, other times, though he could definitely mellow out, especially not in super stressful instances.

The first time that it had even been talked about was the night after a 5-hour co-op game between Idia and Pan. Of course, at the time, it was a little confusing, but even when Idia had stumbled into Pan later, he still seemed much more chill, even with all the hectic stuff that had been throwing the dorm members for a loop. And at every new problem that was brought up, there was a sense of tension in the air, and every time, there was a deeper scowl on Pan’s face. But before he could actually blow up and threaten anybody else, there was a deep breath, and he just let it go? Not only did it confuse the hell out of everybody who had seen it, but also Peyn and Idia, who were just standing there.

The second time this had ever shown up was when he was mid-boss battle, and one of his characters, which he had spent months building and perfecting, didn’t crit. Even with the lineup being perfect and every artifact in place, signature weapon, even 10-10-10 talents. And still it didn’t work, so in anybody's situation, they would have been pretty upset, and Pan, of course, was, but yet this time… There was just a little bit of some under his breath words, a pained noise, and then that same sigh, and instead he moved onto building one of his other characters. This was the time that they finally started to question it. And lo and behold, the only thing that was in common between both occasions. The fact that you, of all people, had made mention of the fact that it wasn’t the nicest to yell at everybody and that they were just trying to do their best, and yet somehow, even when Idia had mentioned the same thing, he only applied it when you had said it. And this had only added to the fact that he definitely played favorites, but hey, at least he was getting better at it?

Peyn Algos - Being (a little) less spiteful If there was one thing that anybody close to Peyn knew, it was the fact that he would only go out of his way to do things that would piss people off, case in point the many times that he would get into arguments with Riddle due to the abserdity of the Queen of Hearts rules. So, the first time that at a clear opportunity to make some sort of snide comment, he didn’t, people started to question everything. Was the world finally ending? No, or at least not yet. But the more times it happened, the more people started questioning it. Riddle was probably the first person to notice it, knowing how the Ignihyde student was one to jump at any moment to call him out on something, especially when it came to one of the 810 rules. Even the next time that he didn’t argue with Sebek about anything across the sun was the tell sign that something else was happening. And with their game on an update, Pan and Idia were about to find out why. Pan had the upper hand here when it came to understanding the majority of Peyn’s attitudes towards things; they were really good friends after all. But, it wasn’t long before they finally started to notice that this was an ongoing thing. Even if at some moments he didn’t end up making more comments, and the times that he didn’t, there were definitely unspoken words, and the way that he was really trying to bite his tongue was also supporting that fact. Now, after a few more minutes, there was only one person who really stuck out against everybody else. You. The one person who already stood out enough at the lack of magic, but even more so at the fact that you could get Peyn through a scolding without him back-talking whatsoever.

But that was the main thing that Pan and Idia noticed, the way he didn’t even seem like he wanted to. There was no sense of malice, no matter what you had said; it was like he really didn’t care what you were saying, just that you were around him and talking to him. And the more that the two of you talked, the more they had noticed that even at chances were there could have been a comment made, he didn’t even look like he was thinking about it. Or more often, when there was a chance that either he or you could leave the conversation, he never took it. Peyn had even when the extra mile to walk you back to Ramshackle, even knowing that Ignihyde was almost the exact opposite direction. Now it all made sense; it was only because you were the one who had mentioned it to him that he would have even considered it.

Both Pan and Idia were definitely making note of this for later dates…

Leona Kingscholar - Showing up to classes more often Safe to say that the first time in months that the Savanaclaw housewarden had actually shown up to class, there was a bit of a shock to everybody else. Most people had even forgotten that he was at the school, let alone even in their class. That’s how bad it was… Even the teacher had a confused look on his face when he saw Leona sitting in his assigned seat, when class was set to start. Of course, the initial reaction was just thinking that it was only because he knew that he had to get a certain number of days in to graduate, and it must have only gone towards that. But that idea was quickly shut down when the lion showed up 3 days in a row, was he on the verge of falling asleep every time? Hell yeah. But was he at least there? Also yeah.

This is also why a few of the students had launched a full-fledged undercover plan to figure out why he was coming so much. It didn’t take long or very much following around of Leona before they had found out the true reason behind his return. You. The magicless prefect that resided in Ramshackle. The very one that over anything else, had at least showed up to class and tried to keep their grades as high as they could, even without the use of magic. The group that had looked on this from afar was confused when they realized that one person could break him down and actually make him show up to class, but the more they started investigating, the more they found out about why that was.

The subtle glance from the housewarden when he watched as you spent your hangout time studying, the talks about some of the material that you were working on at the time - and more about asking him if he remembered anything about it and could help you, and last but certainly not least, the repetitive questions about how he could do nothing during the day and not get bored? Wasn’t there anything that he wanted to do other than just being part of the royal family? Wasn’t there anything that he wanted to learn about, or even just learn more about?

And maybe it was the way that you often asked these questions, that he finally started to do as you, offhandedly, suggested, and showed up to class. Now, there was no way that he was showing up with nothing in return. And what was he getting in return? For everything he was doing in class, he was also able to help you more and more, which meant less time for you to be constantly studying, and more time that you could be spending with him. It was a subtle difference, but to him, it meant everything in the world.

Idia Shroud - Leaving his room once in a while Before you, it was safe to say that he almost never left his room, and if he did? It was a beeline almost anywhere he actually needed to go. And being the good partner that you were, there was a constant trying to get him to at least see the sun before the end of the day. And yet, every day, there would always be some reason that he wouldn’t be able to leave. Whether it was some new event, online grinding for an upcoming event, or even some rereads of manga that you know he read, but says he didn’t, just so he didn’t have to go outside. Even Ortho had tried his hardest to get him up and out of the dorm, but there was only once in a few months that he would end up leaving the room, and for no longer than 15 minutes, max.

So there definitely was some gasps and onlookers the first time that you had actually dragged him on a walk around the campus, and for longer then the time he would normally be seen outside. Many of the people who had known about the ignihyde housewarden's tendencies were shocked to say the least. Luckily for Idia, nobody really interfered with the two of you at all, just choosing to stay away and instead pass the news on to friends through text message. Even if you were oblivious or not to the onlookers, there was a slight firmer grasp on the hand that he was holding, even if it did turn the ends of his hair slightly pink in the process. Good thing he had his hoodie that was pulled up ever so slightly.

From that day most people had just assumed it was a one time thing, they knew that both you and the housewarden were close so of course you would be trying to look out for him a little bit, but that was quickly shut down when a week later, around the same time, the two of you were back out and walking through the same area. And how long did this continue for? Months. Once a week, around the same time every week, and through some times the same area, other times different ones. But for some reason, it was only around you that he would ever even make the chance to leave the room he loved oh so much.

And little did anybody else know, that the whole reason was because he knew how much you hated that he never left his room. It was bad health after all! So, he was the person who proposed the idea of maybe taking small walks here and there, until it became a weekly trend that the two of you would partake in. It was a win-win in his eyes, he was able to spend more time with you and you got to see that he was actually leaving his room and getting some of the fresh air and vitamin D that he oh so desperately needed.