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purplereina11 · 2 days ago

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Based on this request

You’ve just moved back to Barcelona with your four year old daughter, and life has been all about her since the day she was born. Your long time friend Alba thinks it’s about time you started focusing on yourself again, especially when it comes to dating. She’s always loved to meddle in your love life, and now she’s pushing harder than ever.

The problem? The person she’s nudging you toward is her sister, charming, cocky, and exactly the kind of complication you’re not sure you’re ready for. Dipping your toe back into the dating pool is one thing… diving headfirst into something with Albas sister known for casual flings is another.

The fluorescent lights hum softly overhead as you trail behind Alba, your cart already half-filled with the essentials she'd insisted you needed to survive in your new apartment. The shelves are lined with unfamiliar brands, and you're grateful for her guidance. Being new to both the city and the country has been overwhelming at times, but Alba had taken you under her wing from your first day working at the school. It had been easy to fall into a friendship her warmth and humour cutting through the strangeness of starting fresh in a foreign place.

"Okay, you have to try this," Alba says, tossing a bag of some crunchy-looking snack into your cart with a grin. "They're addictive. Trust me."

You chuckle, nudging the cart forward as she leads the way toward the refrigerated section. "If I get hooked, I'm blaming you."

"That's fair," she quips, scanning the shelves for the brand of yogurt she'd been raving about earlier. "But if you're going to live here, you might as well eat like a local."

You're about to respond when you notice her face light up with recognition. "Hey!" Alba calls, her voice lifting in surprise. You follow her gaze to see a woman standing a few feet away, a basket hanging loosely from one arm and not just any woman.

Even if you weren't new to the city, you'd still recognise her, Alexia Putellas, Barcelona's star midfielder. The face plastered across billboards and news stands, her hair is swept back in a loose ponytail, and there's an effortless confidence in the way she carries herself, even in something as mundane as a supermarket aisle.

"What are you doing here?" Alba asks, already moving in for a hug. "I thought you had training all day."

Alexia returns the embrace with a soft laugh. "I did. Just grabbing a few things before heading home." Her gaze drifts to you curiously, and for a split second, you're keenly aware of how casual you look in your tracksuit and sneakers.

Alba pulls back, turning to you with a smile. "Oh! Alexia, this is my friend. We work together at the school. She’s new to the city, so I'm helping her get settled."

You extend a hand, trying to keep your nerves at bay. "Nice to meet you."

Alexia takes your hand in a firm but warm grip, her eyes lingering on yours a beat longer than necessary. "Nice to meet you too." Her voice is smooth, self-assured.

Alba, completely unfazed, continues chatting. "I was just introducing her to the best supermarket in the area. You know, so she doesn’t end up living off instant noodles."

A soft smile tugs at the corner of Alexia's mouth. "Good call. Alba's a pretty solid tour guide."

"The best," you agree, shooting a grateful glance at your friend.

For a moment, the three of you linger there in the middle of the aisle, the hum of the store filling the brief silence. There's an ease in how Alexia stands, but you don't miss the way her attention seems to return to you, her curiosity apparent. "Well, I won't keep you," Alexia says eventually, though her expression is warm. "I'll see you around?"

"Definitely," Alba replies, already dragging you toward the next aisle. But as you follow her, you can't help but glance back to see Alexia still watching, a flicker of something unreadable in her gaze before she turns away.

The moment you're out of earshot, Alba nudges you with her elbow, a teasing grin on her face. "So... what do you think?"

You huff a laugh, shaking your head. "I think you forgot to mention your sister is Alexia Putellas."

Alba shrugs like it's no big deal. "I figured you'd find out eventually." She pauses for a beat before tilting her head toward you. "So? Do you like her?"

You blink, nearly missing a step. "What?"

"Come on," Alba presses, eyes gleaming with mischief. "I saw the way she was looking at you and don't even try to deny the way you were looking at her."

You scoff, grabbing a carton of juice off the shelf. "I just met her."

"And?" Alba grins wider. "You can still think she's hot. It's a simple question."

Heat creeps up the back of your neck, and you shake your head, trying not to give her the satisfaction. "She's your sister."

"I didn't ask if you were gonna marry her," Alba laughs. "I asked if you like her. Big difference."

You roll your eyes, though you can't help the small smile tugging at your lips. "You're ridiculous."

"I'll take that as a yes," she sing-songs, spinning the cart around the corner. "Don't worry! I fully approve."

"You're not serious," you mutter, but she just grins wider.

"I'm always serious about quality entertainment," she teases. "And watching my sister and my new favorite person dance around each other? Gold. Pure gold."

You shake your head, biting back another laugh. "You're impossible."

"But you love me for it," she fires back, her voice full of warmth. "And hey if anything happens, you owe me dinner. Deal?"

You snort, tossing another item into the cart. "You're getting ahead of yourself."

Alba just grins wider, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "We'll see."

Before you can fire back, a familiar voice cuts in. "Still talking about me?"

Your heart stutters in your chest as you both turn to find Alexia standing at the end of the aisle, one brow quirked in amusement. She's holding a bottle of olive oil, but her gaze is fixed on you, clearly having caught more of the conversation than you'd like.

Alba, completely unbothered, grins wide. "Always. You know you're the family's favourite topic."

Alexia chuckles softly, stepping closer. "Good to know." Her eyes flick to you again, the corner of her mouth twitching. "And here I thought I was just picking up groceries."

You scramble to recover, ignoring the heat rising to your face. "Apparently, you're also a source of entertainment."

"I aim to please," Alexia replies smoothly, her gaze lingering just a little too long before shifting back to her sister. "Don't let her give you too much trouble."

"No promises," Alba says, practically glowing with delight as she watches the exchange.

Alexia shakes her head fondly before glancing at you one last time. "It was nice meeting you. Maybe I'll see you again."

"Maybe," you echo, hoping your voice sounds steadier than you feel.

As she walks away, Alba leans in, whispering under her breath, "Oh, you're definitely gonna see her again."

As you unload your groceries later that evening, the encounter still lingers in your mind. You don't know Alexia, but there was something about the way she looked at you curious, a little intrigued that stuck with you. It’s ridiculous, really. She’s a world-class athlete, and you… well, you’re just figuring out how to navigate a new city without getting lost.

You set the last carton of juice into the fridge, shutting the door with a sigh. The apartment is quiet, too quiet after the whirlwind of the afternoon and yet your mind is anything but. Alexia Putellas. You’d seen her face on posters, in ads, her name popping up in conversations at school even if you didn’t yet understand the full weight of her fame. But meeting her like that in a supermarket of all places was… unexpected. You replay the moment in your head, the subtle way her gaze had lingered, like she was cataloguing you, intrigued despite how utterly unremarkable you felt in your scuffed sneakers and worn-out hoodie. It had been a look that made you self-conscious, but not uncomfortable. If anything, it had made you aware, of yourself, of her.

Your phone buzzes on the counter, snapping you from your thoughts.

Alba [18:37] Sooooo… thinking about her yet? ;)

You roll your eyes, but your fingers move to reply anyway.

You [18:38] Absolutely not. I’m far too busy being a responsible adult and putting away groceries.

Alba [18:38] Lies. You’re probably staring at a yogurt cup thinking about her ponytail.

You bite back a laugh, shaking your head as you type.

You [18:39] I hate you.

Alba [18:39] You love me. Also, no big deal, but we’re going to a match this weekend. VIP passes. My sister’s orders.

Your heart does an unhelpful little flip.

You [18:40] Wait, what? Why?

Alba [18:41] Because she wants to. And because I said you’d never been to a football game. She said that’s a crime.

You stare at the screen, pulse quickening. You weren’t naive. You knew Alba loved to meddle, to push buttons, but this felt… deliberate. Like a door being left slightly ajar, waiting for you to decide if you’d step through it.

You’re still staring at Alba’s last message, heart caught somewhere between excitement and dread, when a small, familiar voice tugs you back to earth.

“Mama, what’s for dinner?”

You turn around to find your daughter standing in the doorway, her curls a wild mess and a crayon clutched in her hand. She’s barefoot, wearing her favourite t-shirt that’s two sizes too big from being washed that many times, and looking up at you with that particular tilt of her head that always makes you want to scoop her up.

And just like that, the daydreams of lingering looks and football stadiums dissolve.

You force a smile, crouching down to her level. “What do you feel like, cariño? Pasta? Sandwiches?”

She considers this, chewing on her lip. “Can we have pancakes?”

It’s not exactly dinner, but who were you to argue? You’d had worse days. “Pancakes it is.” At least she was eating.

As you stand and move toward the pantry, the weight of reality settles back onto your shoulders. Alba’s texts, the supermarket encounter, Alexia’s knowing smile it all feels distant now, like something happening to someone else. Because the truth is, you don’t have time for, whatever that was. You’re a single mother, back to a city that feels too big, trying to make ends meet while keeping life stable for the little girl now sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor, flipping through her colouring book.

You can’t entertain dating, you can’t afford to. You don’t have room for tangled emotions or complicated dynamics, not when your focus needs to be here, with her.

As you whisk the pancake batter, your phone buzzes again.

Alba [18:45] Don’t overthink it. Just come. It’ll be fun.

You lock the screen, setting the phone face down on the counter. It’s a nice idea, in theory, but nice ideas don’t pack school lunches or pay rent. You glance down at your daughter, who’s now humming to herself, content in her little world.

This is where you need to be. This is who needs you, still, as you pour batter onto the hot pan, a stubborn little thought creeps in, uninvited, It was just a football match.

Nothing more, you flip the pancake, ignoring the quickened pace of your heartbeat, because nothing could come of this.

Right?

👧🏼

It’s Saturday afternoon, and you’ve already resigned yourself to the fact that you’re not going anywhere. The apartment’s a mess, Aurora’s toys are scattered like breadcrumbs across the floor, and you’re still in your oldest sweatpants, hair tied back in a bun that’s barely holding on.

Your phone buzzes again.

Alba [14:03] Be ready to leave in 30.

You sigh, thumbs flying over the screen as you type out the inevitable response.

You [14:04] I told you, Alba. I don’t have childcare. I can’t just drop life to swan off to a football game for a team I don’t even watch.

You barely finish setting the phone down when a loud knock rattles the door. You groan, already knowing who it is.

When you open it, Alba’s standing there, all sunshine and mischief, a duffel slung over her shoulder like she’s about to kidnap you. She doesn’t even wait for an invite before stepping inside, toeing off her shoes.

“Problem solved,” she announces, grinning as she spots Aurora sitting at the coffee table, furiously scribbling into a coloring book.

“Auroraaaa!” Alba sings, crouching down to her level.

Your daughter’s head snaps up, face lighting up like a Christmas tree. “Auntie Abba!” she squeals, launching herself into Alba’s arms. She’s the only one who calls Alba “Auntie,” and Alba’s the only one who gets away with calling her Rory. You’ve long given up trying to fight it.

Alba hoists her up effortlessly. “Hey, Rory-bug. I have a very important question for you.” She spins them both in a slow circle, making Aurora giggle. “Would you like to go watch a football match today? Big stadium, lots of people, snacks… and maybe, just maybe meet some cool players?”

Aurora gasps like she’s just been offered a trip to Disneyland. “Can we, Mama? Please?”

You rub your temples. “Alba…”

Alba grins over Aurora’s shoulder. “Childcare? Sorted. She’s coming. You’re coming. This is happening.”

You glance at your daughter, who’s now bouncing excitedly in Alba’s arms, and you feel your resolve crumble. How can you say no to that face? “I don’t even like football,” you mutter, crossing your arms in a weak attempt at resistance.

Alba just smirks. “Lucky for you, it’s not about the football.”

You narrow your eyes at her, but she’s already putting Aurora back to the floor and making a beeline for your closet. “Now come put on something cute. You’re not showing up to the VIP box looking like a sleep-deprived hermit.”

“I am a sleep-deprived hermit.”

“Not today you’re not.”

You sigh, because the truth is, you’re outnumbered and outmaneuvered. As you watch Aurora twirl in the middle of the room, already chattering about “watching the football players kick the ball super far,” you know you’re going, because of course you are.

As you shuffle off toward your bedroom to change, you mutter loud enough for Alba to hear, “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she calls after you. “But you love me for it.”

👧🏼

The stadium is overwhelming.

The sheer scale of it, the noise, the energy, the sea of blue and red it makes you feel like you’ve stepped into a different universe. You tighten your grip on Aurora’s hand, instinctively keeping her close as the crowd surges toward the entrances.

“This is insane,” you mutter under your breath.

Alba’s walking a few paces ahead, looking completely in her element. “It’s match day! This is the city,” she says, turning back with a grin. “Come on, VIP entrance is this way.”

Aurora’s eyes are huge, taking everything in as she skips to keep up with Alba’s longer strides. You catch her murmuring under her breath, “So many people…” as though trying to catalog them all.

Once inside, the chaos gives way to an air of exclusivity. The VIP area feels calmer, more contained, but the buzz of anticipation is still palpable. Alba hands you a lanyard with your pass, then crouches to clip Aurora’s around her neck. The sight of your tiny daughter in a too-big VIP pass is enough to tug a reluctant smile from you.

“You good?” Alba asks, eyes glinting with mischief as you settle into the plush seats, the pitch stretching out below you like a perfect painting.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” you reply, shaking your head. You lean down to adjust Aurora’s top, making sure she’s warm enough despite the late afternoon breeze sweeping through the open stadium.

Aurora is practically vibrating in her seat, legs swinging restlessly as she looks around. “Where’s the football players, Mama?”

“They’re in the locker room,” Alba answers before you can. “You’ll see them soon, and they’re gonna look super tiny from here.”

Aurora makes a face at that, as if the idea of tiny footballers is some kind of scam, but she’s soon distracted when the pre-match festivities kick off. Music blares through the speakers, and the crowd erupts in a wave of cheers.

When the players finally emerge from the tunnel, the roar of the stadium is deafening. You spot Alexia instantly, how could you not? She’s at the front, leading the team onto the pitch with that same effortless command she’d had even in the supermarket aisle.

You feel something stir in your chest, but you push it aside.

“Look, Rory,” Alba nudges Aurora, pointing. “See number 11? That’s my sister.”

Aurora’s eyes widen, mouth falling open as she zeroes in on Alexia. “She’s your sister?!”

Alba chuckles. “Yup. Told you she’s cool.”

Aurora is silent for a moment, watching intently as the team lines up for kickoff. Then she tugs on your sleeve. “Mama, Alba’s sister is playing football.”

“I know, cariño,” you say, brushing her curls back. “She’s really good at it isn't she?”

Aurora seems to consider this, then leans back against you, content for now, her small hand slipping into yours. You steal a glance at Alba, who’s watching you with a soft, knowing smile.

The game starts, and despite your earlier protests, you find yourself getting swept up in it. Aurora’s enthusiasm is infectious she cheers when everyone cheers, mimics Alba’s dramatic gasps, and by halftime, she’s fully invested, even if she doesn’t quite understand the rules.

You’re not immune, either. It’s hard not to get caught in the rhythm of it all, the collective heartbeat of thousands of people living the same moments. Every time Alexia touches the ball, the energy seems to shift, and though she doesn’t know you’re even here, you can’t help but feel strangely… connected.

During halftime, Aurora sits on your lap, nibbling on a snack Alba had somehow conjured from nowhere.

“She’s really good at kicking the ball,” Aurora declares between bites.

“She’s had a lot of practice, i'm sure” you reply, smoothing down her top.

Alba leans back with a satisfied grin. “So, tell me again how you don’t like football?”

You shoot her a look. “Don’t start.”

But she just laughs, clearly enjoying herself. “I’m just saying… you look pretty happy right now.”

You don’t bother replying because, annoyingly, she’s right. This wasn’t how you’d pictured your Saturday going. It certainly wasn’t how you’d pictured your life going. But here you are, in a stadium you never thought you’d step foot in, watching a match you never planned to care about, with your daughter curled up in your lap, cheering for Alba’s star sister.

The second half kicks off, and Alexia scores within the first ten minutes. The crowd explodes, and Aurora jumps to her feet, clapping wildly. Alba hoots beside her, and you just sit there for a moment, taking it all in, feeling the ripple of something shift inside you.

You weren’t supposed to be here and yet, here you are and maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

👧🏼

By the time you get home, Aurora’s barely keeping her eyes open, her earlier energy now replaced with a slow, sleepy shuffle as she trails behind you into the apartment. The buzz of the match still lingers in your ears, but the quiet of home is a welcome contrast. You kick off your shoes and drop the keys in the dish by the door with a sigh, glancing over to see Alba already making herself at home in the kitchen, unpacking takeout containers like she owns the place.

“Alright, little one,” you murmur, bending down to unlace Aurora’s trainers. “Let’s get you ready for bed.”

Aurora hums in agreement, swaying a little on her feet as you peel off her jacket. You guide her toward the bathroom, her tiny fingers curling around yours as you help her wash up, her movements sluggish and unfocused. By the time you’re back in her room, she’s half-asleep, head resting against your shoulder as you pull back the covers.

But as you’re about to tuck her in, she stirs, blinking up at you with stubborn insistence. “Mama… I wanna say goodnight to Abba.”

You smile softly. “Okay, but then straight to bed, deal?”

She nods solemnly, though you’re not entirely sure she’ll remember this conversation in the morning.

You carry her back into the kitchen, where Alba’s in the middle of setting up a little feast of noodles and dumplings. She looks up, and her face softens immediately when she sees Aurora’s sleepy pout.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite person,” Alba says, crouching to Aurora’s level. “You heading off to dreamland, Rory-bug?”

Aurora nods, leaning forward to wrap her arms around Alba’s neck. “G’night, Abba.”

Alba returns the hug with a fond squeeze. “Goodnight, pequeña. Sweet dreams, okay? Dream of scoring the winning goal.”

Aurora giggles sleepily. “Like your sister?”

Alba winks. “Exactly.”

You shake your head with a smile, gently detangling Aurora from Alba’s hold. “Alright, time for bed, kiddo.”

You carry her back to her room, the weight of her small body warm and familiar in your arms. She’s half-asleep again by the time you lay her down, eyes fluttering as you pull the blankets up to her chin.

“Love you, Mama,” she mumbles, voice soft, drowsy.

“Love you too, sweetheart,” you whisper, brushing a kiss to her forehead. You linger for a moment, watching as her breathing evens out, her grip on her stuffed bunny loosening as sleep finally claims her.

When you return to the kitchen, Alba’s already plated the food, one eyebrow arched as she passes you a set of chopsticks. “You’ve got a good one there, you know,” she says, gesturing toward the hallway where Aurora’s room is.

“I know,” you reply quietly, taking a seat. “Be lost without her.”

Alba gives you a look then one of those knowing, annoyingly perceptive glances that makes you feel like you’re being seen a little too clearly, but she doesn’t press. She just nudges a dumpling toward you with a grin.

“Good. Now eat. You’re gonna need your strength if you’re gonna survive this city… and my meddling.”

You snort, but there’s warmth beneath it. For now, at least, life feels manageable. You’ve got a full belly, a safe home, and a daughter who’s already dreaming of football fields.

👧🏼

The morning is a blur of movement, as most mornings are.

You’re crouched by Aurora’s cubby in the nursery, double-checking her things with a precision born of necessity, spare clothes, check; water bottle, check; her favourite bunny plush, check. You smooth down her curls, tucking them behind her ear as she chatters about something one of her little friends said yesterday. You nod along, only half-hearing, your mind already running through the day’s to-do list.

“You good, buggie?” you ask, crouching to meet her eyes.

She grins, nodding enthusiastically. “Yes, Mama!”

“Alright.” You press a kiss to her forehead. “Be good, okay?”

She bounds off toward the play area as you straighten up, turning to find Alba leaning against the doorframe, watching with that same infuriatingly smug expression she’s perfected.

“What?” you ask, already wary.

“Nothing,” Alba says, her tone way too casual. “Just… Alexia asked about you after the match.”

You roll your eyes and turn back to Aurora’s cubby, pretending to rearrange items that are already perfectly in place. “Alba, I don’t have time for this.”

Alba pushes off the frame, following you as you move down the hallway toward the staff room. “I’m just saying. She noticed you weren’t in the players’ lounge after the game. Asked why you didn’t come by. I might have mentioned you had other priorities.”

You huff a breath, quickening your pace. “Good. Because I do.”

“She thought that was cute.”

You stop abruptly, spinning on your heel to face her. “Alba.”

She lifts her hands in mock surrender, but the glint in her eyes gives her away. “I’m not matchmaking, I swear. I’m just passing along information. Totally harmless. Just… data sharing.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I have drop-offs, lesson planning, meetings, and a toddler who thinks every puddle is a personal invitation. I don’t have time for this.”

“I know,” Alba says, her tone softer now, though the smile hasn’t faded. “But you’re allowed to exist outside of that, you know. You don’t have to carry the world on your own every second.”

You exhale slowly, the weight of everything pressing down as it always does. “Alba…”

“I’m not asking you to do anything. Neither is she. It’s just…” She shrugs, linking her arm through yours as you start walking again. “You were seen. That’s all.”

You don’t answer. You can’t, not when the idea of being seen feels both comforting and terrifying at the same time.

“Come on,” Alba says gently. “Coffee’s on me. You’re gonna need it.”

You let her pull you along, the morning chaos momentarily dulled by her easy warmth. But somewhere in the back of your mind, Alexia’s name lingers, curling into a space you didn’t realise was waiting for it.

👧🏼

The supermarket feels quieter than usual, maybe it’s the time of day, or maybe it’s just because you’re alone this time. No small hand tugging at yours, no steady stream of questions about what’s for dinner or whether she can ride on the cart. Just you, a half-filled basket on your arm, and the steady rhythm of errands that never quite end.

You knew Aurora was fine more than fine. Monday dinners with your parents had become her favorite routine, a standing date that gave you a few precious hours to breathe, to catch up on chores, or… apparently, to restock on groceries.

You’re debating between two brands of pasta sauce when a voice cuts through the aisle, smooth and familiar.

“Do you always shop like you’re making the most important decision of your life?”

You glance up, heart doing an automatic lurch, to find Alexia standing a few feet away, leaning casually against the shelf with that insufferably charming smirk. She’s in a hoodie and joggers, hair pulled back in a loose bun, but she wears the simplicity with the kind of quiet confidence that you’re sure should be illegal.

“Depends,” you reply, managing a small smile. “Some of us take tomato sauce very seriously.”

“Clearly.” She steps closer, eyes glinting with amusement. “Should I be worried you’ll judge my choices?”

“That depends,” you say, arching a brow. “Are you about to pick up something with ‘three-cheese’ in the name?”

Alexia gasps, mock-offended, hand flying to her chest. “I’ll have you know, my taste is impeccable.”

You hum, unconvinced, turning back to the shelf as if pondering the fate of the pasta aisle rests entirely on your shoulders. But you’re aware of her presence, of the way she falls into step beside you with an ease that makes your nerves spark.

“You come here often?” she teases, bumping her shoulder lightly into yours.

You glance at her, biting back a smile. “Did you really just use a supermarket pick-up line?”

Alexia’s grin only widens, entirely unashamed. “You’re here. I’m here. Feels like fate.”

You snort, shaking your head, but you can’t deny that you’re impressed. Her charm is disarming, her cockiness somehow toeing the line between obnoxious and undeniably magnetic. You’re polite, though, controlled. You have to be. “Well, fate’s about to be disappointed,” you say, holding up your basket. “This is strictly a solo mission. Grocery run, home, dinner. Very glamorous.”

“Solo missions are overrated,” Alexia counters, leaning slightly closer. “What if I offered to be your expert sauce consultant?”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you then, shaking your head as you finally settle on a jar and drop it into your basket. “I think I’ll manage. But… thanks for the offer.”

Her eyes flick over you, curiosity sparking beneath the easy flirtation, but she doesn’t push. She just smiles, soft but still cocky, like she’s playing the long game and knows it.

“Alright. I’ll let you get back to your glamorous Monday night,” she says, stepping back with a little salute. “But I’m warning you. I’m very persuasive when it comes to convincing people to switch sauce brands.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you reply, biting back another smile as you move down the aisle.

You feel her watching you for a moment longer before she finally turns away, and it takes more focus than it should to keep walking like your heart isn’t racing a little faster.

You’re unloading the last of your items onto the checkout belt, silently cursing yourself for grabbing so much. Four bags. You hadn’t meant to pick up so much, but somehow the essentials had multiplied, and now your arms were going to pay the price on the walk home.

As the cashier scans items with mechanical efficiency, you feel a presence behind you solid, unmissable. You glance over your shoulder and, of course, there she is, Alexia. Again. “Fancy seeing you here,” she says, voice low, that teasing lilt ever-present.

You huff a quiet laugh, turning back to fish your wallet from your bag. “It’s a supermarket, not a secret club.”

“Still feels like fate,” she says, and you don’t need to look at her to know she’s smirking.

The bags pile up faster than you can keep up with, and you’re already bracing yourself for the awkward juggle ahead when Alexia steps up beside you, completely unbothered.

“I’ll help you with those,” she says, casually reaching for the bags.

“I’m fine,” you protest automatically, though the protest sounds weak even to your own ears.

“Didn’t ask if you were fine,” she replies, effortlessly lifting two of the heaviest bags in one hand, like they weigh nothing more than pillows. “I’m offering.”

You try to interject, to argue because you’re not in the habit of accepting help, but the words get tangled somewhere between your pride and the sight of her calmly slinging the remaining bags over her other arm with zero effort.

“That’s… helpful,” you admit, stepping aside as she takes control of the situation like it was always meant to be this way.

“I’m very useful,” she says, flashing a grin as she starts walking toward the exit, fully expecting you to follow and you do.

Because those bags were heavy, your back was already aching at the thought of the walk home, and, if you’re honest, a part of you is grateful that she didn’t wait for you to say yes, grateful for the quiet confidence that made it seem like no big deal. “I live just a few blocks away,” you say, quickening your steps to keep up with her.

“Perfect,” she replies easily. “I like a good walk.”

You glance at her out of the corner of your eye. There’s no smugness in her expression now, just that effortless, steady presence that seems to wrap around her like a second skin.

“I could’ve managed, you know,” you mutter, though your tone lacks conviction.

“I know,” she says simply. “But you don’t always have to.”

And just like that, she’s ahead of you again bags in hand, shoulders relaxed, like this is the most natural thing in the world and for the first time in a long time, you let someone carry the weight for you. Even if it’s just groceries.

The walk to your apartment is shorter than usual or at least, it feels that way with Alexia carrying most of the load, making light conversation that somehow isn’t awkward or forced. You unlock the front door, nudging it open with your shoulder, and gesture for her to step inside.

“Kitchen’s just on the right,” you say, stepping aside.

Alexia moves past you without hesitation, bags still in hand, as though she’s done this a hundred times. The ease of it unsettles you not in a bad way, just unfamiliar. You weren’t used to someone walking into your space and making themselves useful without asking for permission first.

You trail after her, watching as she places the bags onto the kitchen counter, effortlessly shifting into a rhythm as she starts unpacking. You’re a little too aware of how she moves in the small space, how her presence seems to fill it without being overwhelming.

“Nice place,” she comments, glancing around. “Cozy.”

“Thanks,” you reply, moving to start sorting the groceries. It’s easier to focus on the task, to ground yourself in the mundane.

Alexia pulls out a carton of juice, eyes flicking to you with a teasing smile. “Responsible adult purchase. I’m impressed.”

You chuckle under your breath, shaking your head. “What can I say? I live dangerously.”

She’s quiet for a moment, but not in a way that feels uncomfortable. It’s more like she’s studying the space or maybe you, but if she’s looking for signs of a chaotic life or clues to the fact that you juggle more than just a day job, she won’t find them here. The kitchen is clean, neutral, intentionally simple.

“Alright, groceries officially delivered and unpacked,” she says, wiping her hands on her hoodie as if she’s completed some grand mission. “I’m going to claim I’m a very efficient shopping partner.”

You lean against the counter, crossing your arms with a small smile. “You definitely earned MVP status.”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” she grins, stepping back toward the door. “I’ll let you get back to your glamorous Monday night.”

Her tone is light, but there’s an edge of something lingering behind her smile like she’s waiting to see if you’ll stop her, invite her to stay. You don’t, because you’re not sure what it would mean if you did.

“Thanks for the help,” you say instead, softer than you intend.

Alexia’s gaze lingers on you for a beat, her smirk easing into something gentler. “Anytime.” And with that, she slips out the door, leaving you standing in the quiet of your kitchen, wondering when exactly she’d gotten under your skin.

👧🏼

The classroom was quiet except for the faint scratch of your pen against paper, the stack of exercise books on your desk seemingly multiplying with every tick of the clock. The day had been long, your focus fraying at the edges, but the work had to get done. You barely noticed the soft knock at the door until a familiar voice followed.

“Knock knock,” Alba sing-songed, leaning casually against the doorframe.

You lifted your head, expecting her usual grin, but your eyes immediately landed on the figure beside her. Alexia.

Her hands were full takeout bags dangling from her fingers and she was eyeing you with that same cocky amusement she always seemed to carry.

“Ale has brought food,” Alba said, like this was the most normal thing in the world. “You hungry?”

Before you could answer, Alexia had already stepped into the room, all effortless confidence as she strolled across the classroom. She didn’t wait for an invitation, didn’t hesitate as she grabbed one of the tiny plastic chairs from a nearby table and dragged it to your desk with a loud scrape that made you wince.

She plopped down onto the chair knees bent awkwardly, but she looked completely at ease and started unpacking the food onto your desk, her movements unhurried and perfectly at home. As if she belonged here, in your space, sharing your dinner break like it was a routine.

“You don’t mind, right?” she asked, though the question was mostly rhetorical. She was already pulling open containers.

You leaned back in your chair, pen still in hand, watching as she opened a box of what smelled suspiciously like your favorite noodles. “I’m starting to see a pattern with you,” you said, eyeing her as she casually took the first bite.

“I like efficiency,” Alexia replied, mouth curving into a smirk. “You need to eat. I had food. Seemed like a win-win.”

You shook your head, exhaling a breath that could have been a laugh, but wasn’t quite. Alba, still leaning in the doorway, was watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled amusement. “I told you she’s a menace,” Alba said, grinning.

“A helpful menace,” Alexia corrected around another bite, eyes flicking to you. “You gonna sit there, or are you going to eat?”

You stared at her for a moment longer, thrown off by how seamlessly she’d inserted herself into your evening, but your stomach betrayed you with a soft, undeniable growl. With a resigned shake of your head, you set your pen down and reached for a pair of chopsticks.

“Fine,” you muttered, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you with a small smile. “But next time, you don’t get to steal the kid’s chair.”

Alexia only grinned wider, completely unbothered. “I make it look good, though.” And the worst part was. She really did.

You sat back in your chair, chopsticks in hand, watching as Alexia commandeered your desk like it was her personal dining table. The way she carried herself relaxed, confident, entirely unbothered would have been infuriating if it wasn’t also weirdly entertaining.

Alba perched on the edge of a nearby table, arms crossed, watching the two of you like she was waiting for the opening act of her favorite play.

“So, is this a thing with you?” you asked, gesturing vaguely at the impromptu dinner setup. “Do you just barge into people’s classrooms and take over their desks?”

Alexia didn’t miss a beat. “Only when they look like they’re drowning in paperwork and forgetting to eat.”

“That’s very altruistic of you,” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “Barcelona’s star midfielder, saving teachers one takeout box at a time.”

Her smirk deepened, the corner of her mouth twitching like she was enjoying herself far too much. “You’re welcome.”

You tilted your head, giving her a deliberately unimpressed look as you took a bite of your noodles. “You do realise not everyone’s going to swoon just because you show up with food, right?”

Alba let out a sharp laugh from the side, clearly delighted.

Alexia, however, looked completely unfazed. If anything, she seemed intrigued. Her eyes narrowed slightly, but there was a glint of challenge there, like she was testing new ground. “Good,” she said slowly, leaning back in the too small chair with an infuriating ease. “I don’t like easy.”

You couldn’t help the huff of laughter that escaped you. “Is that a line you practice often, or is this a special occasion?”

“It’s custom-made,” she replied smoothly, her grin unapologetic. “You’re a tougher audience than most.”

“Maybe you’re just rusty,” you fired back, leaning your elbows on the desk.

Alba, now fully invested, practically choked on her own laughter, but Alexia only seemed more entertained. She picked up another dumpling, holding your gaze across the desk, not flinching. “I’m not rusty. You’re just a good challenge.”

You quirked an eyebrow, meeting her stare without backing down. “You’re not used to people calling you out, are you?”

“Not really,” she admitted, her smile lazy, but her eyes sharp. “But I like it.”

The silence between you was charged, but not uncomfortable. It was like a game, a back and forth neither of you was willing to let the other win just yet. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” you said finally, sitting back with a satisfied grin of your own.

Alexia pointed her chopsticks at you in mock surrender. “You should. You’re a rarity.”

Alba, still grinning, stood up and clapped her hands together. “God, this is better than I expected. I should’ve brought popcorn.”

You shook your head, turning your attention back to your food, though the smile tugging at your lips was impossible to hide.

Alexia just kept eating, as if she’d decided this was her favourite seat in the building and somehow, you had the feeling she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

____

Nerves are real for posting this one for some reason, is this something we want to keep going with? 🤔

#alexia x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas fanfic #woso fanfics #alexia putellas #woso #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas imagine #woso imagine #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas one shot #fcb femeni

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sunflowersteves · 2 days ago

Note

ooh i saw your clark post! and absolutely no pressure if you don’t like it! but maybe reader has just a massive crush on clark to the point where no one else could sway her. maybe superman is trying to talk to her and she’s all “no i’m ok - not interested” sorta thing. idk haha but i love your work!

omg i love this idea, my love. but also,,,, i love this man

pairing || clark kent x f!reader

warnings || fluff, canonical violence, reader only has eyes for clark (if that's even a warning? bc we all do)

masterlist

Clark Kent is a clumsy, bashful man whose six-foot-five stature seemed to be more of a cuddly teddy bear than anything else. He once tripped on his own two feet and landed with a hard thud in the bullpen of the Daily Planet.

Superman is not.

Superman is a courageous and confident superhero who saves everyone and anything from the depths of darkness. Granted, those two personas are the same person. Clark is Superman, and Superman is Clark. They are one.

However, there was still a façade placed upon his shoulders by the idea of Superman. There’s still an expectation that Clark has to meet—he has to meet that, or people will die. So, there’s pressure. A lot of pressure that Clark places right on top of his own shoulders. One that he won’t let fall. That he can’t let fall.

He is strong. He is powerful. He embodies the essence of hope in a city like Metropolis. He still, in the mind of others, is an idol—a hero that should be remembered as one of the greats who saved thousands of lives. And he does.

However, sometimes, he wished that people would take Clark just as seriously. Sometimes, he wanted Clark to be Superman instead of the other way around. No one knew—not a single soul. Well, his parents. His lovely, Kansas upbringing is part of why he cares so much in the first place.

Even though Clark knew that Superman is him and Superman is Clark, sometimes he still feels like there’s a bit of a difference. It was still there—even a hint. So when you were saved by Superman and rejected his flirty advances, he was absolutely stunned.

Today was supposed to be a blissful summer evening. The night sky shone brightly with stars, and the gentle, light breeze could make anyone smile at how nice it was. It seemed almost perfect.

Almost.

You were walking home. The heels that once hugged your feet, the ones you wore to the office, were long gone, placed securely in your bag. Instead, what hugged your feet was a cushy pair of sneakers. You had just said goodbye to Lois, mummering to her that she shouldn’t stay too late. However, you both know that she will, in fact, stay way too late. The elevator down felt too long—you were almost too antsy to get out of that building and into the fresh air.

You turned the corner by the Daily Planet, doing your usual walk back home. You had your earbuds in, blissfully unaware of the situation unfolding on the block opposite yours. While you weren’t usually so unaware, especially at night, there was just something about this day that washed away all your worries. You were happily singing along to one of your favorite songs in the dead of summer. While you usually watched kids play in the fire hydrants, there wasn’t a soul in sight.

Well, it was because of the alien attack. While Superman was fighting off someone trying to attack the city, you were having a little dance party in your head. That beautiful summer breeze and fantastic night had come to a halt, though.

You let out a gasp, a reflexive reaction that enabled you to move three spaces back. The brick wall to your left had burst—easily—with Superman and his opponent entangled in a battle. You stood, absolutely stunned, trying to shake off the shock. They rolled on the ground, both out of breath, before getting back up again in another fight. Superman’s fist connected with his opponent in a fast strike, blue blood spattering on the concrete.

The opponent laughed, muttering a small, “Is that all you got, Superman?” Before immediately making a jab into the superhero’s ribs. Superman let out a grunt—the force of the hit had sprung him back a few feet, but nonetheless, it didn’t knock the wind out of him that much.

Then, you saw it—the shift.

The alien had locked eyes with you. The devilish smirk had risen onto his features. You couldn’t even gulp—you just knew.

Before you can even react to the sight in front of you, the alien is suddenly flying towards you. You let out a scream, Superman’s eyes going wide at the realization. The antagonist grabs you, holding you hostage against your arms.

You open your mouth, but nothing escapes it—your body held siege by the stranger. The pressure of his hold was going to leave bruises. The strong grip had hurt, your body aching for release. There was something familiar about the blue eyes that bore right into yours, though. “Move and I kill, Superman.”

Clark doesn’t move a muscle.

He didn’t realize it was you until he saw the flow of the summer dress that you were wearing at work this morning from the corner of his eye. The fear in your own eyes made his Kryptonian heart palpitate, something taking hold in his heart. The raw dread that’s locked between his chest almost hurts.

“Let her go.”

He demanded—no, yelled. Panic was evident across his features. Not you.

Anyone but you.

His hands started to tremble, and the mere thought of you being in danger had made his head spin. “Please.”

The opponent laughed and lifted a hand. Before he could even do anything, Superman reacted. It was pure instinct—the one to protect you. If he can’t even protect those he loves, how is he going to protect those he doesn't?

His fist knocks into the villain almost immediately—almost at the speed of light. He wasn’t even thinking, just fueling into action. His fist instantly connects with his cheek, and the super strength that occurred had made the villain fall back almost thirty feet, crashing through buildings in the wake.

Clark usually holds back—he’s generally able to hold back. But not this time. This time he couldn’t—not with the quick image in his head of your dead body splayed across the concrete. It almost brought tears to his eyes.

You could tell that Superman was ready to attack again, the way his stance seemed secure to the ground, but not before taking a quick glance at you. You were knocked to your feet, your body falling onto the concrete. You seem unscathed—so far. Just as Superman was about to fly toward the alien, his hearing catching the slight move of rubble, Green Lantern appeared.

He started attacking the alien, making gestures and putting on a little too much of an act—all while Hawkgirl and Mr. Terrific were helping out.

Clark felt himself relax a bit. He could focus on you—just for a little bit.

“Are you okay, miss?”

You looked up—body still on the concrete. He offered you a hand, and you took it graciously. His hand was large and warm, one that you would expect from a superhero. He lifted you up almost effortlessly.

“Thanks—uh, for that.” You swiped some dirt off of your dress. He couldn’t help but smile at your awkward appreciation. It was just so you. He could feel the butterflies rush through his chest, a stark contrast from the horror he felt earlier.

“No problem. A-Anytime.” He coughed out. He felt awkward, not knowing how to handle the fact that he couldn’t envelop you in a hug right now. He was still checking for any injuries, to the point where he thought he should use his X-ray vision. Just in case.

You didn’t say anything after, your heart still pounding from the adrenaline. You seemed to be still in shock, but there was also a part of you that was grateful. Had Superman not been there, had he not reacted like that—you knew you wouldn’t be here. Instead, Clark let his mouth run before his brain could catch it.

“You-you come here often?”

He wanted to kick himself, if he was being honest. That line, out of all of them? God, Clark, he thought, why don’t you hump her leg while you’re at it? He inwardly cringed—he did not plan for that to leave his mouth.

“No thanks.” You said, so nonchalantly, like it was so casual.

His eyes widened. It shocked him.

Everyone liked Superman, but you seemed unfazed. Grateful, sure, but still unfazed. It was honestly…refreshing for him. He knows he’s handsome—as Superman. He knows, but you always seem to surprise him.

“I actually like someone you know.”

That intrigued him—made him tilt his head to the side. You almost squinted because that’s precisely what Clark does when he’s confused.

“Oh? Who?” He was sweating, though. Because, what do you mean you like someone?

“Clark.” He just blinked. Then blinked once more. Huh?

He thought for sure his heart had stopped. You mistook the blinking as unfamiliarity. “You know, the guy who interviews you? Does the six-five nerd who’s impossibly handsome ring a bell?”

You liked him. Clark. The purest version of his own self. The one where he doesn’t have to fake being brave and fearless all the time. No persona—no superhero powers, or god-like features. Just him.

“So, I’m good. No need, Superman. I’m not interested.”

He just stared. You liked him—and he could hardly believe it. The guy whose favorite color is crayon red, the one who likes to garden—even has one on his patio. The guy who reads shitty mystery novels before bed and always has his tie on crooked.

Superman is him. Superman is Clark, but no one seems to be fazed by Clark or give him the time of day. Sure, he enjoys that, the simple pleasures of life. But sometimes he just wants to be recognized as himself, not the superhero.

You liked him.

His smile was bright. It was so bright that it even made your own breath hitch. He wore that smile proudly—like it could power the whole city with its glow.

That’s what caught you off guard—that smile.

You had gotten to work early. Maybe a little too early.

You just didn’t want a repeat of last night, where staying too late in the evening meant you’d run into that big hunk of muscles again. It wasn’t that you disliked the man or anything, but now you’re worried. You were worried that Superman would tell Clark that you had turned down his advances and that you’re head over heels for the journalist instead.

It was stupid—and probably irrational—but here you were. It made your heart beat a little too loudly. The pit of your stomach sank just a bit too much when the elevator dinged to the top floor.

You just needed to rip the band-aid. You just needed to tell Clark you liked him before the red and blue man did.

If only it were ever that simple, though.

You only looked up for the 130th time when the elevators dinged, but this time it made your heart skip a beat. Clark rushes in—obviously late again—and clumsily avoids people in the bullpen. All the meanwhile, you are trying to be “busy” by just typing random words into your computer.

You were definitely not watching Clark from the corner of your eye.

Clark didn’t even go to his desk. Your eyes start to widen when you realize that he’s walking over to you. He ends up tripping—somehow—and while he catches himself this time, one hand on your desk—he is still as disheveled as ever.

“Please? Can I talk to you? I really need to talk to you, uh, not here.” He rushes out the sentence so fast that you’re barely able to comprehend what he says.

“What?”

He grabs your arm, which lifts you up from your chair in the process. “Clark—” He’s dragging you a bit, lightly and not harshly, but your body follows his.

“I just, you know, really need to talk to you. Like now—like in private—Like—” And now you’re in a closet. You’re in a cramped, super tiny closet with Clark’s frame towering over you. His chest was heaving—his eyes sparkling with something that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

You were so close to touching. One move and his body would be flesh against yours. “Clark, I-”

You were interrupted by his lips on yours—the sound muffling against his lips. Your eyes widened, your head going backwards, but the closet prevented you from going anywhere. Once Clark realized what he had done, he made a noise. A cute noise.

Clark immediately tears his lips off of yours, “Oh gosh, Oh no, I should’ve asked—I mean—I should’ve said—”

Now, he was interrupted. Your lips crashed on top of his—trying to catch up by being on your tippy toes. It works, though. Now, he’s stunned.

It takes him a moment, just a small moment. But then he’s wrapping his big hands around your waist—warmth radiating off of him. The way his lips feel, on yours, feels as though they’ve always been there. The way his saliva is mixing with yours and the heat of his mouth is heavy on your skin.

It’s intoxicating. You never want to stop. He never wants to stop. He dips his head further, like he’s trying to get closer and closer to you, as if that’s even possible. Something snaps inside of you—the way he feels, the way he looks—it’s all too much.

He’s the one to pull away first. He thought that maybe you needed some air. He could go for much longer, but he has non-human lungs. “Sweetheart?”

It was timid—like he was almost afraid to speak. You were looking at him so softly, so kindly, that it struck something inside of his chest. “Did Superman tell you?”

He laughed—the chuckling sound bouncing off the closet walls, and it made you feel so warm. “Yeah, he told me. I-I just couldn’t wait.”

He knows he should probably tell you the truth. Soon, he will tell you the truth. For now, though, he’s content with your arms and his interlinked. “Good. I’m glad he did.”

“Me too, sweetheart. Me too.”

#clark kent x reader #clark kent x you #clark kent x y/n #superman x reader #superman x you #superman x y/n #dcu #dcu x reader #dcu fanfiction #superman fanfiction #clark kent fanfiction

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vzmariexy · 3 days ago

Text

If the F1 drivers were your perfect boyfriends | Headcanons

⋆｡°✩ pairing: f1 grid x f! reader

⋆｡°✩ wc: 1.2k

⋆｡°✩ summary: what it might be like to be loved by the fastest guys on the track

⋆｡°✩ a/n: ayy! my first posttt! i feel like these arent the best but i tried guys

Lando Norris

1. Always waits in the car until he sees you get inside your house safely.

2. Gets visibly annoyed when you call yourself anything less than perfect.

3. Buys snacks he doesn’t even like because he knows you do.

4. Gets extra soft-spoken when you’re upset — like his voice alone could calm you.

5. Has a playlist titled with your initials that he won’t let you see.

Oscar Piastri

1. Sits next to you during flights even when it’s not his assigned seat.

2. Prefers holding your pinky instead of your hand when you’re in public.

3. Always offers to do the dishes if you’re too tired — no matter the time.

4. Makes you tea exactly how you like it without asking.

5. Occasionally wakes you up by whispering that he’s in love with you.

Charles Leclerc

1. Always looks at you during interviews when your name is mentioned.

2. Will defend your honor over something as small as someone interrupting you.

3. Keeps a photo of you in his helmet bag for every race.

4. Traces your spine when you fall asleep on his chest.

5. Says “mon amour” with a grin when you’re being stubborn.

Lewis Hamilton

1. Buys you books he thinks you’d like and annotates them with sticky notes.

2. Has you saved in his phone as “home.”

3. Texts you poems when he can’t sleep — even if they’re unfinished.

4. Loves watching you get ready and always says “worth the wait.”

5. Puts his hand on your lower back when he walks past you, no matter what.

Max Verstappen

1. Lowkey obsessed with making sure you’re warm — blankets, jackets, always.

2. Lets you win in Mario Kart until you get cocky, then destroys you.

3. Drives a bit slower when you’re in the car, but won’t admit it.

4. Kisses your shoulder instead of your cheek when he’s being soft.

5. Gets a little clingy post-race and never wants to let go.

Liam Lawson

1. Remembers the tiniest things you say and brings them up months later.

2. Hides snacks in his bag for you during long paddock days.

3. Teases you constantly, but softens the second you look upset.

4. Always lets you wear his caps, even the limited editions.

5. Looks like he doesn’t care but literally melts when you compliment him.

George Russell

1. Genuinely thinks your laugh is the best sound he’s ever heard.

2. Reaches for your hand when he’s overwhelmed, even in public.

3. Talks about you to the engineers like you’re royalty.

4. Opens every door for you like he was trained to do it.

5. Hugs you like he hasn’t seen you in years, even if it’s been hours.

Kimi Antonelli

1. Tries to play it cool but gets red-eared whenever you compliment him.

2. Gets nervous before introducing you to anyone — even his teammates.

3. Sends you memes at 2am when he can’t sleep.

4. Always finds a way to bring you up in conversation.

5. Watches you like he’s still surprised you chose him.

Fernando Alonso

1. Calls you “mi vida” when he’s not even thinking about it.

2. Genuinely impressed by everything you do, even the smallest things.

3. Loves brushing your hair out of your face like it’s second nature.

4. Sends you old love songs with cryptic “made me think of you” texts.

5. Buys two of everything just so you’ll have one at his place.

Lance Stroll

1. Doesn’t say “I love you” a lot — but shows it constantly.

2. Always gives you the comfiest hoodie he owns, no questions asked.

3. Watches you from across the room like you’re the only person there.

4. Gets you flowers randomly and says, “they reminded me of you.”

5. Sleeps better when you’re curled into his side.

Alexander Albon

1. Steals your phone just to change your wallpaper to a goofy selfie of him.

2. Brings you your favorite drink before you even ask.

3. Makes playlists with chaotic titles just for you two.

4. Teaches you useless racing terms just to sound cool.

5. Always checks if you’re cold, even in the middle of summer.

Carlos Sainz

1. Insists on cooking for you and gets flustered when you compliment it.

2. Wraps his arm around you instinctively in crowds.

3. Says “I missed you” like he didn’t just see you that morning.

4. Lets you win arguments only when he knows you’re right.

5. Texts “tell me when you’re home” even if you’re five minutes away.

Nico Hülkenberg

1. Teases you constantly but defends you like it’s his job.

2. Sends dry, sarcastic texts that always make you laugh.

3. Loves when you steal his shirts — pretends he’s mad but secretly proud.

4. Always down to drive anywhere with you, no plan needed.

5. Acts tough but melts when you compliment his laugh.

Gabriel Bortoleto

1. Gets super touchy when he’s sleepy — always pulling you closer.

2. Sends selfies when he’s traveling and says “wish you were here.”

3. Writes your name in notebooks without realizing it.

4. Loves when you wear his racing merch, grins every time.

5. Constantly asks “are you okay?” even when nothing’s wrong.

Esteban Ocon

1. Gives the best forehead kisses, always unexpected but needed.

2. Notices when you change something — new earrings, new shoes, always.

3. Wants you at every race even if it’s not realistic.

4. Sends voice notes because “he wants you to hear it from him.”

5. Puts you as his phone background and doesn’t care who sees.

Oliver Bearman

1. Acts all cool until you kiss his cheek — then he short circuits.

2. Secretly brags about you to anyone who’ll listen.

3. Holds your hand in the car even if he’s just using one finger.

4. Tells you his race strategy like it’s a love language.

5. Loves when you steal his paddock passes just to mess with him.

Pierre Gasly

1. Smirks every time someone asks how you two met — never tells the full story.

2. Sends photos of cute things he sees and says “this is you.”

3. Sneaks kisses when no one’s looking like it’s a challenge.

4. Writes his initials on your coffee cups in Sharpie.

5. Gets all possessive when someone flirts with you — zero chill.

Jack Doohan

1. Treats your texts like gold — replies instantly, no matter what.

2. Uses your perfume as air freshener when you’re gone too long.

3. Sends “you’d love this” every time he eats somewhere new.

4. Draws hearts on your arm with his finger when you’re lying next to him.

5. Is absolutely the type to show you off in every photo dump.

Yuki Tsunoda

1. Cooks for you every time you’re upset — food is love.

2. Gets really quiet when he’s missing you but won’t admit it.

3. Surprises you with weird snacks “because it looks like something you’d like.”

4. Gets pouty if you cancel plans but forgives you immediately.

5. Always offers you the last bite, even if he wanted it.

Isack Hadjar

1. Posts pictures of you with no caption — just a little heart in the corner.

2. Makes you laugh until you can’t breathe, then acts like it’s no big deal.

3. Tries to teach you French swear words and gets smug when you say them right.

4. Likes to pretend he’s chill but gets jealous way too fast.

5. Falls asleep during calls but won’t hang up unless you do.

583 notes · View notes

moonlight-prose · 14 hours ago

Note

but also can we be obsessed with Clark's thighs for a minute---😳

somewhere meant to be

a/n: ask and you shall always ALWAYS receive being obsessed with clark's thighs. the way i've been itching to write the most insane filth imaginable, but the burn out is taking its sweet time fading. so this is perfect timing! i literally just saw it for a third time so i am ready to churn out everything and anything about his thighs. because well fuck i need to sit on them. and that's it. that's the post. enjoy babes!

summary: your favorite spot in the house wasn't the leather chair that had seen better days. it was the way he sat in it - more specifically how.

word count: 1.7k+

pairing: clark kent x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, thigh riding, not necessarily body worship but its up there, complimenting this gorgeous man, fluff, teasing, romance, he's got a dirty mouth in this one, sloppy makeouts that had my mind reeling, they're obsessed with each other.

Time moved quick in the confines of The Daily Planet. Days passing by in the blink of an eye, hours and minutes fleeting moments you could barely cling to even as the clock ticked steadily—taunting you with how much was left. And you took it in stride most days. Swam with the crashing waves, chased each story with ease, because you knew something better awaited you. Once the clock struck eight you were no longer bound to the gilded floors of your home away from home.

Time finally settled into place, giving you a chance to find yourself here. Spread across his lap as your lips and found solace along his and breath ceased to exist.

There weren’t that many things you’d give up over time for. Always a strong believer in the night owl life of a reporter always on duty. But for Clark Kent you’d wipe the slate clean, hand over your time sheet, and wave goodbye to the coworkers who had a strong inkling of the man you were desperate to see. They knew you were dating—they just never bothered to say it out loud.

“I need to put the pizza in the oven,” you mumbled, tugging at his curls for just a split second to hear him groan—his hips bucking up into yours. He was already hard, probably leaking a mess into his slacks. You fought the urge to slip down between his thick thighs and forced yourself to get up.

Much to his disappointment.

Flushed cheeks and a dimpled smile met your half lidded gaze. “I knew I should have ordered something.”

“Why? There’s perfectly good food here.”

“Not when one of us eats more than your average human,” he sighed, settling further into the leather chair—his legs falling open and head finding its usual spot on the leather back.

You sucked in a breath to avoid crawling on your knees towards the obvious bulge in his charcoal hued pants. “That’s why I bought two at the store.”

“I’ll still place an order.”

“Clark-”

“And call in to the donut shop you like for a box of sprinkled chocolates for the morning.”

Perfect.

He was utterly and absolutely perfect.

The type of man you liked to kid yourself into believing only existed in the fantastical worlds of fiction. The man who brought you lunch because you always forgot yours in the back of the fridge, saved the cherry on top of his shakes for your very own delight, and swooped in to save the day. No matter how small the catastrophe or how large the destruction.

The phone looked minuscule in his hands as he tapped the number in, his hair still disheveled from your hands tugging on it less than five minutes prior. You had to pry yourself off him to get things done most days. Entirely too addicted to the way his tongue slid against yours, the taste of his disgusting coffee that was mainly syrups and sugars still stuck on the back of your taste buds.

You struggled to breathe in his presence. Unable to focus on menial tasks around your apartment when he looked like this. Unruly and at peace and taking up far too much space while still looking like he couldn’t belong anywhere else.

You knew you loved him.

You knew he knew it too.

How could you not? When Clark Kent made loving him easier than pressing the button on your oven to set the timer; when loving him came quick and with a breathless gasp. As if he’d just taken you flying somewhere for the very first time.

The timer beeped as you punched in the numbers for thirty minutes, practically skipping on your way back to his slumped form in his favorite chair. Comfortable, warm, welcoming enough for you to slide right back into your favorite place. Perched on his thigh with his broad hands holding tight onto your hips to keep the balance—to make sure you wouldn’t fall.

“You’re so pretty,” you sighed, cupping his cheek and pressing your thumb along the rounded cheekbone.

His lips found a home on your wrist, black long lashes fluttering as he breathed you in. “You’re prettier than me honey.”

“Doubt that.”

He smiled and your heart kicked up a notch, beating a drum solo that would put any rock star to shame. “You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen. Took my breath away that first day.”

“Clark,” you protested, yet could feel the desperate plea curling low in your gut to hear just a bit more. Maybe it was gluttonous of you, but he never held back with his compliments. Not when it came to you.

“What’s so pretty about me huh? ‘M just some guy.”

“Well you’re Superman.” He nodded, tugging you closer until his nose was against your cheek, lips dragging feather-light along your own as you spoke words that would have taken an entire bottle of liquid courage to even think about. “You’re eyes are…they’re as blue as the Aegean sea. And your lips are…”

“My lips…”

“They’re just…um…and your thighs-” His brows shot up, lips curling into a grin that gave you away. “I like them.”

“You do?” His hands guided you even as the question lingered on the tip of your tongue, pulling you to straddle his left thigh, and sucking in a breath at the sight of your skirt riding up high enough to show a peek of pink between your legs. “Gosh honey. You’re soaked.”

“Yeah,” you whined.

Even though you could barely see his face in the glow of your lights, you could feel the heat radiate off his cheeks. The crimson hued flush of a man in love—a man who wanted to spread you on the carpet near your fireplace and eat you alive. He could. He knew entirely how easy it would be to lift you, to bury his head between your soft thighs and pull sounds he could only imagine from your parted lips.

But you were beginning to move, unconsciously shifting back and forth along his thigh—your eyes glazed and breaths shallow. He could hear your heart as if it were his own, smell the thick heady arousal trapped beneath satin and lace. Clark’s mind went blank as he dragged you the final few centimeters towards the only place he belonged.

His lips sealed over yours, a sighed out moan lost to the heat of his tongue licking deep into you, memorizing the taste of the salty chips you’d been snacking on an hour ago. His cock throbbed in his slacks, the belt at his waist the perfect pressure to grind on when you did the unthinkable. You fucked yourself along his thigh with a high pitched cry, your hands curling into his hair to mess it up some more; he was pretty sure even the wind itself wouldn’t fix that mess (not that he wanted it to).

“C-Clark I need-”

“I know what you need baby,” he gasped, taking over as your muscles strained beneath soft skin his fingers pressed into. “I’ll get you there. Yeah? I’ll take care of my sweet girl.”

“Uh-huh,” you uttered and to his ears you sounded far off. Lost in an entirely different world.

You however could barely hear your own voice over the rush of blood pumping in your ears, the unsteady thud of a heart that practically screamed Clark’s name.

Sitting up slightly he pushed you down along his thigh, feeling your slick form a damp stain along the already dark fabric. He’d mouth at it later to taste the remnants of your cunt, his teeth clamping down on your bottom lip to stifle his pathetic moan. If only you could hear how his heart raced for you. The way his hands shook as he pushed his thigh up until you were bouncing on it.

“Can smell you baby,” he pushed into your mouth, one hand curling around the nape of your neck to hold you in place. “Almost there?”

You nodded, crying out as you finally found that perfect amount of pleasure, another wave of your sticky wetness leaking out through the already ruined fabric of your panties. Clark’s pupils went wide, the black cloud of need overtaking everything else. He could hear the sizzle of the pizza in the oven, smell the burning crust, but he wouldn’t take care of the mess until you came on his fucking thigh.

Until he heard you sob his name and felt you gush onto pants he’d have to throw out in the morning. But it was all okay. He could find a new pair. And he’d let you ruin those too.

“I’m gonna—fuck—Clark!”

You needed something more, one last thing to push you over the edge. But Clark could feel it forming before he even said the words—your stupefied look every time he cursed (mainly under his breath and to himself) all he needed to understand your affinity. You liked when he got dirty, when he went rough around the edges.

When he said the thing he’d never dare to say.

He mouth latched onto your throat when your head fell back. “C’mon baby. Soak on my fucking leg for me.”

It burst with a broken sob against his bruised lips, your hips moving rapidly along his muscled thigh and clit throbbing as you broke in his hold. Clark mouthed at your neck, guiding your trembling form along his limb with ease. Even when you tugged at his curls to find his lips once more and pressed a hand to his stomach to press your clit down just a bit harder. He kept you in his hold—unwilling to part with you.

“I told you,” he breathed, smiling like he was the one who just came within an inch of his life. “Prettiest person in the entire world.”

“The pizza’s burning,” you mumbled, grinning wide as he kissed you one last time and deposited you gently on the couch across from him.

“Hey Clark.” He hummed, holding the searing pan with his bare hand as if it were nothing. “I love you.”

The pan his the counter with a loud clatter, his lips pulling wide and eyes sparkling even in the shitty kitchen light. And before you could prepare yourself for it, the two hundred something pound Krytonian man had dropped himself over you, caging you in with a sloppy spit filled kiss you felt down to your toes.

“I love you too,” he panted heavily, diving down for another taste.

The pizzas—charred to their fucking core—forgotten about in the sink.

#clark kent x f!reader #clark kent x reader #clark kent x you #clark kent x y/n #clark kent smut #clark kent #superman x reader #superman smut #my writing

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0celesteisthebest0 · 1 day ago

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YEP I miss COD fics so bad

These men are dealing with stressful conditions on a daily basis like the stress of Graves and Shepard. In this circumstances I do not blame any single one of them to not get a drink or two. What they dealt today was a success and this is definitely the best way to celebrate it.

Going into a game of never have I ever sounds good compared to the shit they've been going through and having a way to release sounds like something I desperately need.

How you describe everyone to a T with their ways of kissing reader just makes me fall in love with your style of writing. Price being rough and wanting to exert his power with every facet of his life including his kisses that burn you with his thick beard.

Then soap, his eager attitude already hard and ready for what the night is going to devolve into. He kisses you so wet and messy with teeth and lack of air. He quite literally wants to eat you up and I can't help but lover ever moment of it.

OOOF THEN GAZ! Love how he slides in and the illicit sin of Gaz and his soft lips being cocky and asking you how bad you need it. Him teasing you into an already wanting state!

Oh and Alejandro and his consistent love and sensuality. Being more of a tease than anyone else, grinning as you whimper is such an Alejandro thing. Him making sure you get at least a piece of him. Then Rudy grounding you in a whirlwind of different emotions.

Him being soft and whispering into your skin, putting you together and pullng you apart. All of them wanting skin contact makes me feel so overwhelmed somehow like I really want and Gaz being the one who set it off when all of them needed a place to let off steam. oH how i want a situation like this to happen to me lol.

Those cocky motherfuckers saying that they'll break reader KILLS ME cause like... I wanna see it lol

Sure they could be bad decisions under any other circumstance but I would find these decisions so so so necessary. The overstimulation being an instant thing in this circumstance where all of them are feeling you at once! Need that!

Also I love how you write Ghost here because he would definitely want to look at every moment of the pleasure you are experiencing but putting himself in the side line just waiting.

GOD and SOAP I hate him but like he would definitely say that. I want him to fuck me stupid right now.

OH and Price's bossiness coming through wanting to fuck you as soon as possible, the hard feeling of him to putting his fingers in your pussy with such force.

Alejandro really is cocky for a good reason being thick against your mouth. MAN I NEED THIS GANGBANG I THINK IT WOULD FIX ME! HIM CUMMING INTO YOUR MOUTH TOO GOD DAMNN

God how they worship every part of you, cum all over you and tasting you with kisses of desire. THEN SOAP CUMMING ON YOUR FACE OH MY GOODNESSs

Gaz coming in to see the scene of sin and debauchery. I love his response to how Price couldn't seem to wait and need to have reader cum. Soap saying you look good like this is stroking my ego ngl.

How so many want you to get fucked in your ass but making sure they're safe about it too and everyone seeing you get devoured by Gaz.

Price the captain that he is telling you to suck his cock and telling Gaz to stop. Quite literally the room moves for him to start the next part of the night.

Then all at once everyone is getting some part of you. All of them so eager in needing to fuck you. Price fucking you like not tomorrow is getting to me too cause that man wants you so fucking bad.

All of them want you so so bad holy shit. All too much for you but the greed is telling you you want more. Lol even when Price isn't fucking you he is still calling the shots with Gaz fucking your ass.

All of it blurring is not a surprise to me cause of how much everything is and how much they desire you so much. THHE DEBAUCHERY OF EVERYTHING IS SO FREEING!!

Not being able to speak is oh so understandable honestly. OH AND THHE MAN WHO SAW YOU GET FUCKED BY FIVE MEN JOINING IN FINALLY I CAN"T

GHOST BEING FUCKING HUGE AND ASKING IF YOU COULD TAKE HIM GOOD LORD.

Everyone watching too is making me go insane. HOW HE IS SOSO GENTLE!

Him forcing an orgasm out of you is such a thing that ghost would do. Quite literally the description of him as being a storm is insanity because it's true he really is a storm that won't stop. Then he comes and he just cant help but love how you look at this state. All of them can't help it. LMAO Soap asking when's round two. I love the filth of this fic it is amazing.

body electric | everyone x f!reader

It's the burn of hindsight, that fuzzy little thing called moribund that leaks into your marrow as you all take turns showering (they let you go first, unspoken, of course), and converge around the large meeting room where everything—including Simon Riley—was exposed.

Several drinks in, Gaz turns to you and says: never have I ever… had a gangbang before, and things quickly devolved from there.

(Well. You can scratch that off your bucket list.)

Simon, Price, Gaz, Soap, Alejandro, Rudy x f!Reader

⇾warnings: unfettered filth; gendered reader, gendered terminology, female!reader; oral—m&f receiving; unsafe sex; p-in-v sex, fingering; anal, rimming, anal fingering; this is a 6 man gangbang ummmmmmmm what more can i add?

⇾notes: um. yeah. it is what it is and it is nasty.

thank you so much @moondirti for encouraging me to write this, and @sprout-fics and @guyfieriii for the juicy ideas (and full credit for the makeout sess with Rudy goes to @guyfieriii) ��

(@ tumblrstaff, please don't delete my blog for this)

also, thank u so much cod fandom. if this revokes my fandom license, just know that it's an absolute honour and privilege to go out into the way i came in—with nothing but filth.

you only have yourselves to blame. and this person in particular 😭

It starts like this:

Price, a little bruised around the edges, and worn from the helicopter, grumbles about needing a drink. Gaz, a little quieter than usual, a little subdued, nods firmly beside him.

It's a spate—Shepherd, Graves—and the cumulation of it all leaves you feeling a little lour, a little out of it. Betrayal, death. You all reek of gunpowder and ichor.

That may be why there is a palpable sense of relief when Alejandro and Rudy fish out some bottles stashed away in the kitchen. He holds two by the nozzle, hefts them in the air, and says:

Who wants some?

No one, not even Ghost, says no.

Several drinks in, Gaz turns to you and says: never have I ever…, and things quickly devolved from there.

That was then, before you knew how Price, Soap, Gaz Alejandro, and Rodolfo, liked to kiss.

Price—rough, just like everything else about him; shades of smouldering tobacco leaves in the form of an unrelenting powerplay. He batters you into docility, leaves you feeling vapid and stupid by the time his hands rubs circles on the small of your back, the other holding your chin and leading you—always a leader, always—in whichever direction he wants. He's a thinly-veiled lesson in discipline. When you stray from his command, his fingers—thick, and bruising—are immediately there to reprimand you. He tastes like leather and smells like suede. His beard grazes your face until you feel a little sunburnt, a little dazed. He smells of low-grade motor oil and charred pinyon, and the musk of it makes you feel more intoxicated than the aged tequila on your tongue.

His tongue curls over your teeth and the noises he lets out are rasping guttural growls. The kicking engine of a classic car that was left to idle for too long. An American muscle car, maybe. The whiplash bellow of a Hemi purring against your lips. A mustang, a Chevelle. Something drenched in masculinity and oozing authority.

It's controlled. Blistering. He shifts your body around until you're tucked into the warm press of his chest. His hold is ironclad. No escape.

It's Soap, then, something falling from his lips. My turn, maybe. But nothing is solid in the effervescent grey matter saturating your thoughts. You feel drunk with pink peppercorn and sweetgrass when it envelopes you from behind.

His hands pull you away from Price, murmurs of soft words, things meant for a lover spill from his full pink lips. So pretty, hen; gonna make you feel so good. His eagerness shows he slots his pelvis to yours, and the hard, firm bulge of him nearly has you seeing stars.

Soap lingers for a moment, fingers tracing the wet curve of your raw lips, chafed and irritated by the bristles of Price's beard.

It wouldn't be wrong to call the way he touches the drying amalgam of yours and Price's—captain Price, superior, boss; untouchable—saliva obscene. It's filthy the way he grazes his finger under the curve of your lip, eyes honeycomb and wanting.

"Wanna gimme a kiss, hen?"

When he asks you like that, soft and hushed, the ghost of his breath across your stinging lips, you can't say no.

His mouth is molten on yours. He kisses you like he's starving for it. It's wet, and messy. Spittle drips down your chin when he shoves his tongue in your cavern, chasing your taste. Teeth clash, and your lips are pulled softly into his mouth until they swell, bruised and numbed. He only pulls away when you gasp, begging for air, grinning wickedly in the amber glow.

You barely have a second to catch your breath before Gaz is there, hands firm on your ass, dragging you into him.

Gaz peppers you in small, full kisses. Open mouth, teeth sinking into the plush bed of your bottom lip, suckling it into his mouth. Then he pulls away, leaves you dazed, and leaning forward, chasing the thrill of him. He huffs, hands sliding around the curve of your waist. Want it bad, eh?

A tidal wave. A storm surge. They batter against you until you're drunk off the taste of them. An illicit elixir of sin. A tantalising tease of what's to come.

Alejandro kisses you with unmatched finesse. Velvet soft sensuality that tastes of spiced clove and armoise. It starts slow. Just the press of his lips on yours. They lift into a grin, teeth sealed when you whimper and try to chase the santalum on his tongue. He laughs: a low, throaty chuckle, and wedges the tip between his teeth. A small taste, but not nearly enough to satiate you. You feel a little bit like you're floating in the clouds when his tongue finally fills the gap between your teeth; roiling over every inch of space he can find.

You feel like a beached log—ruined by the gritty sand on the bottom of the seafloor, and spat back out into dry land. Covered in the taste of them all, you find yourself slipping off a steep precipice into a chasm you can't climb out of.

It's Rodolfo, then, who grounds you.

His hand is warm on your chin—a beacon of light in a dark tunnel. His lips are a balm to your irritated, bruised flesh. It's sweet. The taste of sweet Brachetto d'Acqui and hedgerow blossoms. He smells of golden copal and kisses you like he's pressing his lips to the hands of his Father; a baptism in soft skin and reverent touches that make you feel like you've been found. Its featherlight whispers of his lips across your skin: the corners of your mouth, the soft skin between your chin and lower lip.

Hands on your waist, hot and heavy. Soap sinks his face in the space between your shoulder blades with a slow drawl of your name, teeth grazing your flesh. His stubble abrades your flesh until you're trembling in their embrace. Static shocks of pleasure bloom in the pits of your stomach.

Rodolfo's head drops, murmured words spilling in hymnals as he nuzzles your neck. Soft, gentle. He puts you together again just to dissolve you into ashes from psalms.

Gaz leaks grape cigarillos, and nag champa incense when he presses flush to your side.

It's when he asks Alejandro if there's any oil, any lube, does it start to sink into your sun-warmed flesh that this is happening. It's real.

You could blame Gaz— never have I ever had a threesome or a gangbang —but the idea mushroomed inside of your head, sporous and damning, until it was all you could think about. you, of course, weren't immune to the sudden hush that fell over the group drinking near the table when you stammered out your answer:

No, I've never had a threesome or a gangbang before.

It all happened so suddenly. The atmosphere was a rich, dense cloud of feverish energy buzzing around you; a miasma of hedonism in smoke and white musk.

Price, then, behind you. Alejandro's barking laughter (no way, cariño, you're too beautiful to never have been fucked like that before). The way Soap's eyes gleamed in the light. Rudy's quiet shake of his head. Ghost's eyes liquifying: heavy, midnight oil on your skin. The sound of glass cracking when Gaz said:

Well, would you?

Would I…? Silence. Poignant. Stifling.

Would you ever have a gangbang?

It spiralled from there. Gaz's words burrowing into your skin. His hands—are hot and heavy on your body. Soap dropping to his knees as he lifted your leg up on his shoulder, breathing deeply against your clothed cunt.

Want to, hen? Wanna take all a'us?

Alejandro's sharp breath. Might break her, hermano. Don't know about you, but I'm a big man.

Yeah, Price's mouth on yours, breath ghosting over your trembling lips. The scratch of his beard rubbing your skin until it was pink and flushed. Ain't the only one, mate.

Lips searing into yours. Sensual rolls of his tongue from Alejandro, hands roaming across your back. A soft, sweet series of kisses that left you breathless from Rudy. Messy, almost hypoxia-inducing ones from Soap that made your head spin, and drool dripped down your chin, your neck, covering your chest. An intense, blistering assault by Gaz, his hand firm on the nape of your neck.

It felt a little bit like a dream. Feverish and desperate. Tinged in the surrealism of being passed around like a prized trophy kissed after a well-won match.

It feels like a cacoethes and carries the taste of Alejandro's tequila. Bad decisions made under terrible influence.

And now—

Now:

There are hands on your body—many of them, in fact: Price holding the back of your knees up to your chest as he swipes his tongue over your aching cunt, lapping at your clit; Soap's on your nipples, pinching and tugging until you're mewling at the sharp pleasure-pain that ripples down your spine. Rodolfo stroking your face, murmuring in dulcet Spanish about how good you are, how pretty you look with your captain between your thighs. Alejandro's fingers ghosting over your torso, and trailing down to your throbbing clit when Price forces the thick of his tongue inside your quivering hole.

It edges into overstimulation; you're equally aware of every single brush across your trembling flesh, and completely gone at the same time. Dissolved into liquid mush.

And they haven't even really started yet.

Gaz is gone somewhere in search of the petroleum jelly in the office upstairs. Ghost leans against the wall—not willing, you think, to partake but still here, still watching you spread out on the table where he dropped his mask for the first time as everyone touches you.

"Fuck, cariño," Alejandro rasps, his finger pressing against your clit in tandem with Price's tongue fucking into the clutch of you. It's too much—his voice is heavy with sin and the heft of it makes you quake. "Bonita. You're so pretty like this, eh? All flushed pretty carmesí and aching for it."

Rodolfo, Rudy he murmurs low in your ear when you whimper his name, chuckles. "She's stunning, eh, hermano."

"Fuckin' right," Soap breathes, his fingers drifting across your smeared lips. "You want this, aye, bonnie? Want us to fuck you silly?"

All you can do is moan brokenly around his hand, fingers rubbing across your tongue.

"Where's Gaz?" Price grumbles into your cunt, beard grazing your inner thighs. "Wanna fuck this tight pussy already, love. Need to feel you around my cock—"

He punctuates his words with the tips of his blunt fingers, pushing two of them into your dripping hole. The sting makes you keen, makes your knees shake. You want to say too much, too sudden, but you can't speak around the three fingers shoved into your throat.

The look on your face makes Alejandro groan. "I want your mouth, cariño. Can I?"

"Christ, hermano," Soap huffs, amused. Tone draped in sex. It makes your thighs quiver. "Ready to start, then?"

"I am," Price grouses, nose flushed against your clit. "I've been thinkin' about this cunt for a long time, love."

They move in tandem. Seamless weaving with one singular goal of stuffing you full of all of them.

Soap pulls his hand away, rubbing your slick over his flushed cock.

You moan against Alejandro's cock when he presses it to the seal of your quivering mouth. His hand is firm on your head, but his eyes are gentle. He waits for you, holding still until you give him your affirmation to continue. The sight of his flushed, tanned cock makes you whimper. He smells of sin: oud and myrrh; heady and thick. Your head swims with the way it clots in your lungs.

Your mouth aparts, tongue rolling out over the weeping head of his cock. It's salty. Brinny. You moan a little when it slides deeper into your mouth.

"Jesus—," Soap pants, rough and slurred. The noise jars into you.

Hands fall over you again, and you lose track of who is touching you when Price groans into your cunt, and Alejandro pushes your jaw open wider, sliding more of his cock into your mouth.

The air buzzes with something bordering on frenetic. Pent up energy from the success of the mission, the alcohol spuming in your veins. The high of the win burns through everyone.

This—a gangbang —would never have happened if it wasn't somehow the perfect storm, the coalescence of all the right emotions.

It's intense. Surreal.

And then Alejandro pitches his hips forward with a smoked groan, murmurs:

"Fuck, gonna cum, cariño. Are you gonna swallow it for me?"

A hushed silence falls around you. It's one thing to attend, but another to partake, and you wonder if they are realising that this is the point of no return.

It's met with a soft moan.

You want it. Want his cum. Want to taste more of that salty haar tang in your throat, feel it settle in the pit of your belly. Hot and syrupy thick.

He pitches his hips forward, hand sliding up the length of his cock not buried in your throat, stroking himself as you suckle on his head. It's sloppy, and wet, and fuck —

Alejandro is the first to cum. The first to spill his milky release on your tongue. It's salty, briny. Not at all dissimilar to the margaritas he handed you hours ago.

His moan is choked and hoarse, a low bellow in the depths of his belly that rumbles through you in a series of deep uh, uh, uhs.

You barely have time to swallow when Rudy is there. Hands on your cheek, eyes lidded and pleading. Can I, cariño?

Alejandro's cum spills from your tongue when he pulls away, dribbling down your chin, neck. It puddles on your chest where Soap's thumb catches the droplets, smearing them around your hard nipples.

You nod, swallowing down the mouthful of cum, brows furrowed in pleasure with each roll of Price's tongue laving at your cunt; the gentle way Soap kneads your flesh.

Rudy shuffles closer, and the flavour of cardamom spumes around you. His body burns hot, heavy cock twitching in his grip. Your mouth drops, tongue lulling out, and he grunts at the sight, eyes cresting.

"You're beautiful, mi Reina."

Rudy's cock brushes across your tongue, eyes shuddering when you wrap your lips around him, head tipping back in pleasure. "Fuck…"

Your tongue laves over his slit, tasting the salty spill of him. His breath is ragged, heavy. There is no warning—just a strangled choke of your name—and then he's cumming on your tongue, ropes spurting over your cheeks and chin.

You gasp, wet and broken, and absolutely filthy.

"That's it—," Price mumbles against you, blowing a huff of air across your slit. It makes your toes curl—the perfect mix of not enough and too much, and—

Rudy strokes your hair, eyes glazed. The angle is awkward, but his mouth slots over yours, tongue rubbing over the mess they made of you. He kisses you like he's worshipping you. Like you're the best thing he'd ever tasted, and he can't get enough.

There is a blunt pressure against your core. A delicious coil inside of you unspooling.

Price has three fingers buried to the knuckle inside of you, tongue rolling over your clit, when you cum around him, knees shaking as you moan at the tight clutch of your walls stretched taut.

"Fuck," Soap breathes, taking Rudy's place when he pulls away from you, lips red and glossy. He pushes his blunt head against your cheek. Cum spurts out, splattering across your face in thick milky ropes. "That's what you sound like when you cum? Jesus—"

You barely have time to catch your breath when Price lifts his head, beard soaked in your slick. Heat pools in your belly again at the sight. He looks like ruin. Wet and dark, and hungry. You whimper when he rubs the scuff of his damp beard over your spread pussy. Coarse hair grazes your clit, and the spark of pleasure has you seeing double. Makes liquid bliss bloom in your chest.

"Couldn't wait, eh, cap?" Gaz returns with a wink, waving the bottle of jelly in his hands when he moves into your periphery.

"Can it, and get over here."

"Impatient."

Price helps you sit up, mouth stinging, and sticky with cum and saliva. His eyes catch in the dimming light high in the rafts. Drunken desire spools in the shades of sapphire blue. His thumb brushes across the corner of your mouth.

"Might have to see you like this more often, love."

"Shooting your shot already, cap?" Gaz drawls, humour lacing in his tone.

"Not my fault you waited too long."

"You're lucky," Alejandro rumbles. Firm hands fall to your shoulders, rubbing the knots in your back until your head falls, forehead pressed to Price's chest with a moan. "Should stay here, cariño. I'll make you happy. Get you nice and fat on Mexican food, and swollen with mis hijos e hijas."

"Sí," Rudy's lips brush the shell of your ear, whispering saccharine words in Spanish. "We'll live on the farm. Drinking wine every day. I'll take you to the coast."

You shudder, belly spuming with heat. Overwhelmed, dizzy. It's a dangerous elixir. A deadly combination. It makes you want, yearn.

"No way," Soap huffs. "She's comin' home with us. Back to the UK where she can sit on my cock whenever she wants—"

"You're all wrong," Gaz scoffs. "Price called dibs the moment—"

"That's enough." His command is rough, dry.

Gaz glances at you, and the humour shifts. Darkens. "Fuck, look what they did to you already."

You feel it, thick and viscous, on your burning skin. The flush deepens. You can only imagine what you look like. Your lashes are clumped together, and heavy. Cheeks irritated from the beard burn and the saline smear of cum over your flesh. Swollen, cock-bruised lips. Messy in voluptuary pearlescent.

"You look good," Soap says, taut, and slightly breathless.

They stare at you like you're a banquet—a feast. Your heart thuds in your chest, cum-filled belly rolling. Its—

Powerful. Sensual.

Price's eyes flutter when he leans over you, hands feverish when they fall on your skin. "Gotta move you, now, love. That alright?"

You swallow and taste the ocean. The sea. "Y—yeah."

He shudders. A frisson flurries across his face. "Good."

His hands are solid on your body as they manoeuvre you until your belly is flushed to the table, panting against the damp fabric beneath you. He presses his cock against your ass, letting you feel the iron-hard, velvety soft heat of him. You push your hips back, cunt throbbing. You want it. Want his cock. Want him to fill you up until you're stuffed and fat, and—

Happy, Alejandro said. Happy.

"Soon, love," his voice is a thunderclap in a bottle. You tremble when the balmy heat of him moves away from you, leaving you spread and exposed.

"Fuck," Gaz murmurs. His hand trails down your spine, fingers slipping between the crease of your ass.

He spoke to you about it already. Five of us. Wanna—he licked his lips, eyes hooded and caramel rich—wanna let me fuck your ass?

In for a penny.

Gaz shushes you when you whimper, mouth ghosting over the soft flesh of your ass. He wastes no time. His fingers dig into your cheeks, spreading them open. You mewl. Your body is electrified: too much, too soon, too raw—too exposed; but Gaz groans deep in his throat.

"Fuck, look at you."

He doesn't give you a moment; doesn't waver even when Soap tells him to move away so they can see. There is no preamble. His tongue laves over your asshole, a filthy grunt spilling from his lips as he tastes your flesh.

"Steamin' Jesus, Gaz," Soap groans. Slick noises can be heard behind you. "Fuckin' Christ—"

It's strange. The sensation is heightened by the awareness that everyone—everyone—is watching Gaz devour your ass like it's the best meal he's had in weeks. You quiver, dropping your head into the table. Price stands by your side, cock jerking each time you moan.

His hand on your head is a comfort. A heavy weight. Your hips rock back into Gaz's tongue, keening when it slips into your hole. It doesn't hurt, but there's an insistent pressure as he stretches you open.

A cold, slick finger joins soon after, and the ache makes you choke.

"S'alright, love," Price murmurs, and your lachrymose eyes blink open, gritty and sticky, and dart to him. His hand tightens around the base of his cock. Your cunt throbs at the sight. "Focus on me, yeah?"

"C—captain—"

The rawness in your voice makes him groan. Makes them groan. You can hear Alejandro swear. Soap grunt. More slick noises reverberate around you, and you flush. Cheeks burning. They're getting themselves off to this. To Gaz fingering your tight asshole open for their cocks. Another hole for them to slip inside.

Fuck, fuck fuck—

"That's it," Price coos, low and smoky, and filled with rough tobacco.

His hand threads through your hair as Soap's roam your body, slipping beneath your chest and the table, punching your nipples, stroking your belly. Rudy, or maybe Alejandro—you can't see, can't tell—tap on your clit as two fingers are pushed back into your throbbing cunt.

You want them. Want it.

"P—please—"

Price groans, his cock spitting out prespend that dribbles down the length of him. "I want you to suck my cock, love. Will you do that for me?"

You nod, core quivering as a rush of heat flutters down to the base of your spine. You still taste Alejandro, Rudy, on your tongue.

You wonder if Price tastes just as good.

Price helps you move, and angles his cock toward you, grunting when your wet, sloppy mouth seals over the head.

He tastes even better. Salty and bitter. Tobacco ash and smoke. You want to drown in it.

Gaz stretches your ass as you swallow your captain's cock, and your head still spins with that notion, not quite able to believe you're on your knees for them, spread open, and being readied for all of them that take.

It cudgels into your stomach: a gnarling frisson that makes throb, makes you push back onto Gaz's fingers, his tongue, and moan around Price's cock.

"That enough, Gaz?" He sounds wrecked when he speaks. Ashes and gasoline; it's saturated in want. The air crackles with impatience.

His tongue slides across your fluttering hole in a long, wet stripe, as if savouring the taste of you before he pulls back.

"Yeah—," it's wet when it slurs out of him. His fingers press against your loose hole, moaning a little when you greedily take the tips inside. "Fuck, she's more than ready, cap."

Price wastes no time. He pulls you off of him, and the others—all communicating in a series of strange commands you can't decipher through the rush in your head—all make room for him.

He turns you around, and lifts you onto the table, legs spread around the thick of him. His cock throbs against your pussy when you wiggle back, trying to get comfortable on the bed of masks—Ghost's masks—and it hits you, now, that you're going to get fucked. That your pussy and your ass have been stretched, prepped, and are ready for them. All of them.

He stares down at you, nostrils flaring, and the dark look in his molten sapphire gaze makes you wonder if he feels it, too. If it's hitting him with just as much of a punch as it is you.

His cock nudges against your hole. He pauses, eyes flickering up from the seal of your cunt around his flushed, engorged head, to confirm, one last time, if you want this. If you're sure.

It's debauched and absolutely filthy, but—your hand reaches out when Soap steps up, cock bobbing with each step, and you grasp his shaft. Alejandro's fingers ghost over your bruised, swollen mouth, and you let him lead your head to his throbbing cock, lips sealing over the leaking head.

Rudy's hands are reverent when he takes your other hand, bringing it to his length.

It's all the confirmation he needs, but still. Price waits. Your heart thunders in your chest. Your captain—always so—

The thought is nipped when you nod around Alejandro, and he pushes inside of your pussy. Stretching your cunt with his girth. You moan, legs falling open wider as he splits you apart.

It's good. It's too much. It's—

He feeds it into you, lips curled up in a snarl as you split around him. He grunts—rasping growls that spool inside of your core until you're white-hot, and whimpering.

"Come on, love," is rucked from his throat. A battering ram against your chest swinging hard, and ferocious until you see stars. "You can take me."

It makes you tremble. Makes the world around you grind together; tectonic plates shifting, crashing. Earthquake tremors along the base of your spine, rattling your bones. It cracks them open, and leaks Nirvana through your bloodstream.

Price's cock wrenches you open. Each inch jarring the soporific slurry of sex and smoke congealing heavy in your veins until you're mewling around Alejandro's cock.

His groans of pleasure as resin thick; smouldering sandalwood. Cracking sap. He works himself inside of you, gruff praises falling from his still-damp lips. You feel good. This pretty cunt was made to get ruined, wasn't it? Take me, love. That's it. They slide over your skin, oud oil and syrup thick, until your flesh prickles with goosebumps.

Alejandro's cock hits the gummy walls of your throat, his grunt curls over you. Clove and amber. You burn. There is a give, and then—

His hips slide against yours, cunt stuffed to the brim with his cock. Tears leak down your cheeks at the feeling of him sitting so heavy inside of you, at the blunt press of Alejandro's cock choking you in shallow thrusts.

"Bloody hell—," he groans, head tipping back as he stares at the seal of your pussy taut around the base. "Look'it you. So full of cock. You look like you were made for this, pretty thing."

"Our little slut, eh?" Alejandro huffs, pushing his hips closer to your face as you lap at him. "If her pussy feels as good as her mouth, hermano, I won't last too long."

"Fuck, can't wait to fuck you next," Soap grunts, his hand wrapping around yours as he guides you along, showing you what he likes. "Cannae fuckin—"

Rudy's hand falls to your swaying chest, rubbing your aching nipples as Price begins to fuck you, filling you up over and over again with his fat cock.

It's good. It's so fucking good. You whine around Alejandro, and feel molten pleasure bloom in your belly as they use you, revere you; eyes fixed on your body as you take them all in.

"I'm gonna cum soon," Price grunts, his hips pistoning into you hard enough to jar the table. The metal legs grind against the cement floor. The room filled with the scent of sex and the lewd noises that spill from the wet squelch of your cunt greedily swallowing down your captain's cock. The suckling sound of Alejandro fucking your throat. "Look at you, look at this pretty fucking cunt taking me—"

Soap's fingers fall to your clit as Price hits the plug of your womb with the blunt head of his cock, sending pleasure ricocheting down your spine until you're arching off the table. Muscles coil, tightening together as he knocks into the soft walls of your pussy, sending you reeling.

"Ah, fuck—," Alejandro grunts. "I'm gonna cum, cariño. You'll swallow it for me, eh? Swallow it all—fuck—"

He cums down your throat for the second time, hands stroking your face as he feeds it to you with muttered words in slurred Spanish too fast for you to pick up.

You can't focus. Can't think—

The taste of cum on your tongue, the blissed noses that spill around you, and the way Price fucks you deep, battering against your fluttering walls have you seeing stars.

You moan, nearly choking on the thick cum that drenches you. Soap leans down, spits on your clit, and rubs the mess in with his fingers. It's feral. It's disgusting—

Your cunt spasms as you're shoved over the precipice, squeezing and throbbing like a heartbeat around the thick plug of Price's cock as he spears it against your womb; a battering ram into your flesh.

"Jesus, captain," Soap sounds awed, voice pitched low and slurred. "Just givin' it to her, aye?"

"Fuckin' hell—"

He cums inside of you with a grunt of your name draped in liquid sin. Cock twitching deep inside of you, pressed taut to your womb. He holds it there and makes you take it. Drowns your cunt in his thick cum.

It's wet between your thighs. Your throat clicks when you swallow, nose burning from the flood of briny cum Alejandro poured down your throat.

Price pulls out slowly, taps the head of his sticky cock against your clit, and you flush at the feeling of him leaking out of you.

There is no respite. Gaz's hands are on your body, head numb and fuzzy, as they speak about the intricacies of fucking you, of filling you up.

"Think she's ready for two?"

"Are you?" Soap's fingers fall to your aching cunt, spreading the thick cum around your clit. "Can you take us both?"

"No. Not yet." It's Ghost who speaks, and your belly rolls at the low husk of his voice.

"Yeah, give her one more."

Soap's fingers slip into your cunt, and curl against your sensitive walls. "Fuck, captain. You filled her up good."

Rudy's thumb presses against the seam of your mouth, eyes pleading when he stares down at you. His thick cock grasped in his hand.

You're little more than a ragdoll. An offering between the gods. Soap parts your thighs, head tapping against your throbbing cunt.

Price leans against a beam close by, eyes burning into you in search of any glimmer of distress. Having him close by calms you. Makes you relax. You settle, mouth popping open for Rudy as Soap pushes himself into your pussy.

"Fuck, your pussy feels incredible—"

He lets out a string of curses in rapid-fire Scots, burying the full length of himself into your cunt.

He fucks you like he's aching for it. A madman. His hips bludgeon into you until you're seeing stars, until you're choking around Rudy's cock. It's too much. Too much—

You want more.

Rudy's hands are gentle on your face, brushing your hair away as he cants his hips. His cock slides over your tongue, and you try to hollow your cheeks, to make it good for him, but the blistering pleasure makes your mouth fall open.

"It's okay, bonita." He murmurs, resting his head on your tongue as he fists the length of himself. "Just like this, okay? Just like this. Let me—," he fucks into his palm, eyes rolling back as he rubs his weeping slit over your tongue.

Gaz's hand grabs your swaying breasts in his hand. "I'm gonna fuck your ass next, yeah? Gonna split your little hole open on my cock. You don't want, don't you? Wanna be fucked in all holes, like a little whore."

Fuck. Fuck—

Rudy pushes his cock into your mouth, groaning as molten cum sputters out, drenching your tongue and cheeks.

"Oh, fuck—," Soap pants, hips slamming into you. His eyes are fixed on your messy face. "You look so fuckin' pretty with cum all over you, so fuckin' good for us, aye?"

His eyes snap shut, brow furrowed in pleasure as he buries the full length of himself inside of your spasming pussy, filling you with another load of cum.

It's good. It's so good. The sensation of hands on your body isn't foreign anymore. Alejandro moves when Rudy finishes, stroking your hair, and leaning down to kiss your forehead. You go to him eagerly, mouth parting as he slips his softened cock into your mouth.

Words are murmured around you, grunts and groans of pleasure so robust and full that you clench, aching at the sound of their bliss.

Fingers on your nipples, your clit, makes you see white. Makes your back arch as liquid pleasure blooms inside your core again.

Soap pulls out, and you barely have time to mourn the loss of him when Gaz slots between your legs, fingers falling to your ass, and slipping inside with a groan.

"Nice and loose, now," he purrs, spreading his fingers inside your tight channel. "Gonna fuck this pretty asshole. Gonna fucking ruin you. Alejandro's gonna fuck your pussy after, eh? Maybe me and Price can fill you up at the same time, huh?"

"Gaz," his name is drenched in smoke, a shuddering rumble that stabs tight into your core when Price speaks. Your cunt throbs at the thought. "If you don't hurry up—"

"Alright, alright, cap."

Rudy's behind you at the head of the table, hands roaming over your skin, smearing cum all over your flesh. He murmurs low, sweet words in Spanish you can't hear over the roaring in your ears when Gaz spreads your legs, cock nudging against your virgin hole. It's comforting, though. His presence is solid. Your hands grip his forearms, whining at the sting, the blunt pressure pushing into you.

Soap groans. You can hear his voice to your left along with slick sounds of him touching his spent cock.

"That's so fuckin' hot. Steamin' fucking Jesus—"

You're relaxed enough that Gaz slips inside without much of a burn. It feels strange: a heavy pressure, a slight sting. You're prepared enough that it's more foreign, and uncomfortable than it is painful. But it's—

Full.

You moan when his hips buck shallowly, pushing more of him into your asshole. It's weird. It's strange. It's—

"How does it feel, love?"

Price's fingers fall on your throbbing clit. Alejandro's—you think, maybe; you can't see through the blurred tears in your eyes—push into your sopping cunt, groaning wetly at the lewd squelch of the cum inside of you.

"It's—"

Belly full. A pressure unlike anything you'd felt before. Snug, and tight, and—

"Good," you whimper, arching your back. Your nipples are tugged. Pussy stuffed with three of Alejandro's fingers. Ass full of Gaz when he finally, finally, bottoms out with a moan. "It's so good—"

He fucks you slow, steady. Savouring the tight clench of you around him.

Price works your clit, murmuring about how good you are. How pretty you look, full of cum and getting your ass stuffed with cock.

"You were made for this, weren't you? Little cockslut."

It punches the air from your lungs when he hisses it into your ear.

Gaz pushes the length of himself inside your ass, moaning about how tight you are. How he can't wait to fill you up. His hands fall, sliding over your ass cheeks until he brushes over the rim of your stretched hole, hips stuttering.

"God," he chokes. "Fuck, you look good."

"Yeah, she does," Soap breathes, hands palming at your body, rough and hot and tacky with his release. They glide up the length of your body, pressing into your swollen mouth. "Open up for me."

His fingers taste of pennies when he pushes them against your tongue, stroking over your flesh. He thrusts them in tandem to the rolls of Gaz's cock splitting you deeply. It's a filthy crescendo of moans, grunts, the sloppy wet sound of your gummy mouth being fucked by three of Soap's fingers, and the lewd, fleshy snap of Gaz's pelvis and thighs slapping against yours.

Rudy strokes your hair, pushing the tangled mess of it out of your eyes, and murmurs about how good you're being. The soft praise prickles over you like the warm glow from an altar candle. The heat makes your eyes burn, stinging with tears, and you take what they give you, and try not to get lost in the rapture of their flesh staining your skin.

Price's finger pushes against your sensitive clit. Rudy's soft voice permeates around like burning incense. The heavy weight, the foreign slide, of Gaz stretching your channel makes you keen low in your throat, muffled by the messy drag of Soap's knuckles on the roof of your mouth.

You cum again, shuddering from the billowing pleasure blanketing you from all sides, and fall into the embrace of Rudy's arms. Price's hands are a plinth on your hips, keeping you up, keeping you grounded, and Gaz works himself to completion, scorched words of bliss spilling from gritted teeth.

Soap leans down, tongue catching the mess spilling from your gaping mouth. Alejandro rubs your fluttering walls. It's intense. Overwhelming. You're surrounded by a dense smog of pleasure and musk: clove cigarettes, bayberry, oakmoss, and the thick tang of a wet, loam and humus forest.

The drawling moan Gaz lets out makes your core ache. He buries himself deep, hips glued to the plush seam of your ass, and he spills deep inside of you.

"Joder, cariño, you look good with your ass stuffed, eh?"

You can't speak around Soap's fingers. The only noise that spills is a sloppy, wet moan.

Gaz presses kisses into your spine, slowly, slowly, pulling out of your ass.

"Yeah, she does." He slurs, rubbing his chin over the small of your back. "Who's next?"

Everything blurs into a fever dream of hands and tongues, and the delicious stretch of your cunt, your ass, as they stuff you full of them. Filthy words are whispered into your temple as they grow bolder with your body.

Price gets you off just by slapping his palm over your clit until you clench around Rudy's cock. Soap licks up your tears, fingers pressed as far down your throat as he can get them, and murmurs how sexy you look full of cum. How he can't get enough of your tight cunt and pretty little hole.

You were made for them, Alejandro whispers, and pulls your hips down until you're seated on his cock. The blunt head of Rudy's cock soon presses to your wet asshole, bottoming out with a deep groan. His hands are reverent as they run across your flesh, choked whimpers falling out about how fucking stunning you look when you're stuffed to the brim.

You sob between them as they share a messy kiss over your shoulder, grunting into each other's mouths as they ruin you.

Gaz and Price drag you away soon after they finish, petting your messy hair away from your sticky, sweaty forehead, and splitting you apart between them. You scream into Price's chest as he holds the fat of your ass cheeks open for Gaz to rut into like a man starved for it. Possessed. He coos in your ear when Soap shoves his cock into your gaping mouth, choking you on the thick of him. So fucking good, love. Meant for this. After we'll run you a bath and you sit on my cock while I clean you up, hmm?

You feel a little stripped down to the marrow, pulverised under their wanting hands; when Price presses into your womb, and cums again. The molten spume inside soothes the throbbing ache of your core. A debauched balm to a raw wound.

It would be a lie to say you hate the way it feels to be so full of them. To have their taste in your tongue, sticking to the back of your throat, pooling in your belly, your pussy, your guts. You're full and sore and you feel like one massive contusion—broken and battered and barely clinging to sentience—when his cock slips free with a wet squelch.

It's a little surreal, but—

Comfortable. It shouldn't be. It should be weird, and awkward, and—

Fuck. You had sex with five men in the span of several hours. Your teammates, your captain, no less. And yet.

Yet:

You feel full in a way you'd never been before. Satiated and stupidly fucking happy.

Price snorts when you lay back on the floor, a blissed-out smile tugging on the corners of your mouth.

"Liked it, did you?"

You don't have the capacity for speech. Words escape you. They can't seep through the salty mess in your throat.

Instead, you moan—low and needy—and feel your belly quiver when Price's eyes flash. Smoke and embers. And when Alejandro groans aloud. When Rudy's hand trembles on your skin. When Soap's hand falls to his spent, softened cock, unable to stop the thrum of desire when you sound like you had the best meal in years. When Gaz shivers, and says please tell me we can play this game more often.

It's good. It's—

Footsteps. A hush. A shadow falls over you.

Then: "decide to join in, after all, Lt?"

Ghost's hands are hot on your sensitive flesh.

He says nothing as he crouches down on the floor where Gaz and Price dragged you, but his eyes are liquid when he stares at the mess of you. Drenched, you're sure, in cum; it leaks down your chin, out of your sensitive, raw pussy, and your aching hole. Doused in their pleasure, and burning from the sting of their ardour.

"Fuck, Lt," Soap murmurs, dazed. He'd spent himself on your face only moments ago, and when your glassy eyes fall to him, you find him staring fixed at the apex of your thighs where Ghost slots himself between. "You're gonna ruin her—"

You don't know what he means until you look back. The air in your lungs catches, eyes widening. He's huge. Fat and throbbing, prespend leaks down the absurd length of himself. It twitches when he catches you staring at him, sticky, numbed mouth dropping open.

"S—sir—"

His hand slides, fists the base of himself. He taps the head of his cock against your quivering, sloppy cunt. "Can you take me, pet?"

Shit. Shit—

You don't think you can, not at all, but—

Slick noises around you. Grunts of pleasure. Murmured words. They want to see you split apart on his cock. Stuffed full. Your belly lurches. Heat simmers inside of you once again.

Your trembling eyes find his, and you lay back against the floor, knees parting. Inviting. Your tongue rolls over your bottom lip.

"Fill me up, sir—"

He snarls.

Ghost doesn't wait. Doesn't touch you with softness, or reverence. His hands are branding, white-hot, when they fall to your thighs, pushing your knees to your chest. His eyes are glued to the messy seam of your cunt, spilling viscous cum down your ass until it pools below you in a puddle.

You're wrecked. Ruined. You'd had all of them inside of you—your mouth, your pussy, your ass—except him, and your belly flips, head a muddled slurry of want, want, want as the fat head of his cock slips over the milky mess, catching on your ruined, red hole.

"Thought you got lost, Ghost," Alejandro says, words carrying secrets you can't make sense of.

"Never."

He pushes the mushroomed head into your cunt, rumbling at the give of your body as you part for him, sucking him in deep. Ghost fills you up until your belly bulges with the length of him.

Soap moans at the sight. At the way you take the massive cock burrowing deep inside of you.

They all seem to be enjoying the way he ruins you. Over the heft of his shoulder, the thick bracket of his arms, you see them all staring at the way he wrecks you. Batters your body with wet, sloppy noises spilling out.

He fucks you slow: long, deep plunges into your core, gaze sliding in increments to your face, slack and tacky with lashes clumped together with an amalgamation of spittle and cum, and the stretch of your cunt swallowing him to the root. It's intense. Dizzying.

You feel pushed past your breaking point: overarching beyond the mettle until you're a raw nerve exposed to the corrosive chemicals in the air. Split apart and reassembled into something new and vulnerable. You're chafed and aching, and it edges on painful, and blistering like a third-degree burn being rubbed against rough wool. But despite the sting, the graze still feels good when it itches over your inflamed skin. A balm that burns before it soothes.

Ghost—Simon, now, you suppose since he's currently eight inches deep inside of your sore cunt—seems to somehow know. Maybe it's the hoarse crackle in your throat when he hits you deeply, or the exhausted droop of your eyes when he presses his weight against you, filling you up until he sits heavy in your chest, but he takes pity on your poor, battered body bursting with the molasses thick heft of euphoria that congeals inside of your marrow. His thrusts are punctured by the soft way he gazes at you. A physical weight to his stare slams into your chest with each roll of his hips, nudging you back to that steep precipice you'd dropped from so many times you'd lost count.

The dance is familiar.

But the gentle, almost possessive, way he touches you isn't.

"Fuck, Lt. Can see you bulging through her belly."

Soaps words are met with a rasping snarl, a brutal piston of his cock into your gummy, wrung-out walls. A hand falls to your belly, feeling the swell, and the pressure has phosphenes burning your eyelids when they snap shut at the heavy mist of pleasure that falls on you.

You don't think you can cum again. Your head is a slurry of intense pleasure: gummy and stupid on the way they fucked the sense out of you. Synopses misfire. You feel like you're barely cognisant anymore.

It's not good enough, though.

His fingers find your clit, pressing against the tender nub until you're bucking against him, trying to get away from the agonising euphoria pounding through your core.

"I want to feel you cum on my cock, pet."

You can't—

You really can't. But he doesn't relent. He shoves himself into your quivering cunt until you see stars flash across your eyes, and the scent of nirvana permeates in the air.

If you won't go willingly to the vertiginous edge, he'll drag you there instead.

A sharp thrust has your mind whiting out; the overstuffed feeling of being stretched to the brim sits heavy in your core. Your nails press into his shoulders, desperate to hang on to something tangible, real. They dig deeper until the moons flood with blood. It makes him groan—deep, low; rucked coals over open flames—and the noise has you reaching for Orion with your bare hands, mouth dropped low to catch the cosmic dust that permeates in the air between you.

"Fuck—" a sharp whimper has him huffing into your neck, a satisfied noise he can't bite off, can't stifle.

He likes it. Likes spreading you open, and watching you squirm. Likes the flash of pain that flickers across your face when he first kisses your drenched core with the fat head of his cock. Eyes wide, fixed on the scrunch of your brow, the wrinkles in your nose, the deep, punctured gasps that spill from your gaping mouth—he misses nothing, stare branding you.

It's the thick of him when it splits you apart, breaks you in half, that really captures his full attention. Stuffed to the brim, and clawing at him for respite from the way he fits inside of you; he takes it all in. Eyes never wavering. Liquid want flooding the bottom ring of his lower eyelids, a molten pool half hidden behind his lash line. He gazes down at you, fans of ash cresting over.

And then when he bottoms out, when his cock is fully seated inside of your body that struggles to make room to fit him, he lifts his gaze. A perfect polynya. He stares at you, then, watching—almost placidly, impassively—as you grit your teeth from the burn of taking him to the root. A slow roll of his hips to test your mettle; a harsh grind of his cock nestled taut against the plug of your womb. It has you singing.

A test of the water. A battering of the futile clutch you have over your sangfroid. He won't start until it breaks. Until it shatters.

His hands are hot when they grasp the soft skin behind your knees, pointing them down toward your swaying chest as he fucks you open in deep, almost languid cants of his hips until you're grabbing at the ground, and mewling his name. Broken, now, by his cock.

Simon is a storm.

A gale. He ravages you until you're dizzy with the brutal way he takes you—and takes, takes, takes —and begging for mercy.

None comes.

You can't barter with a typhoon. Can't make deals with a hurricane.

It hits. Breaching your shores with enough force to ruin.

"Simon," it is whispered low, constricted. The air in your lungs is liquifying; condensation builds until you're choking.

Another huff. He thrusts harder, head notching into something that has you lurching forward, forehead pressing into his shoulder. You spasm around him until he growls in your ear.

His thighs widen, pitching his hips low as fucks into you, a touch savage. Your leg slips from his hold, the back pressed against the muscles of his beneath you. The coarse hair of his legs tickles your flesh. Goosebumps erupt. You shiver.

The breath you gasp in is wispy, and thin. It isn't enough to quench the ache in your chest, but nor is it enough to truly let you slip into the throes of hypoxia. He brings you to the brink, lets you gaze over the edge of that unknown abyss, but refuses to let you any further. His grip is unyielding. It burrows into you.

Like this, with black moulting over your vision and phosphenes glimmering in the cosmic yonder that stretches out in front of you, you can feel everything. There is a startling clarity that rocks through you. You can feel each ridge and vein of his cock as he slams it into you, prying your walls open as he steals all the air from your lungs.

"Shit—"

He cums with a grunt that sounds like it was dragged through barbed wire. Liquid pleasure blooms when you feel him twitch inside of you, and all you can do is cling to his massive shoulders as he rides you through the throes of bliss battering into your core.

Eyes drink you in: wide in the pale moonlight that spills from the window, cut at the bridge of his nose by the mask, jowls snapping at you. He's bathed entirely in black; drenched in tenebrose. A Stygian being looming over you, taking its wares from the tight clutch of your body, and forcing the air from your lungs until it's filled with the scent of him, and nothing more.

"You look good like this," he murmurs, eyes fever red and cosmic black. "Fuckin' hell, pet. You were made to be fucked, weren't you?"

Your eyes roll back into your head at the gruff sin leaking from behind his mask.

"Yes," you whimper, voice shredded and wrecked. He's not the only one who groans at the sound of you, ruined and aching. "Fuck, I love your cocks—"

It feels like the end. Like you'd been spat out on the wrong side of a tornado, and thrust into a battle you weren't, entirely, prepared for.

But you won. There is victory in the ache that thunders through your joints. A hard-fought war that left you a victor in the middle of a burning no man's land.

You can hear them around you. Price stroking your hair, and whispering about how good you were. Gaz and Soap huffing with exhausted laughter that sounds a touch delirious, as if they still couldn't quite wrap their heads around the act they were buried balls deep inside of you mere moments ago.

Alejandro and Rudy mutter to each other in blistered Spanish. You hear the clink of bottles as they toast each other over a victory, and a fucking gangbang.

They take turns touching you. Caring for you. Rudy makes you drink water, eyes melted chocolate—glossy and sleek with the remnants of pleasure. Aqui. He says, pressing the cool bottle to your sweat-slicked forehead. Aquas. Drink up, mi corazón.

Alejandro supports your shoulders when you struggle to sit up and take a sip. Gaz has a towel pressed to your cheeks, cleaning up the flaking mess of dried cum and sweat. Soap's hands clench yours tight when the bottle shakes in your grasp. Price is there to hold it steady.

Ghost hasn't taken his eyes off of you once since this started. You meet his stare, gloaming light shading everything in gold. He tips his chin. A promise in the obsidian cut of his eyes.

Thought you got lost, Ghost—

Gaz huffs. Gems shatter. Crushed into shards that sit in the palm of your hand, waiting to be reassembled.

(Someday, you think.)

"Best game of never have I ever, ever."

"So….," Soap slurs, cheeks pink and eyes swimming with incipient desire. "Round two?"

#fic rec #call of duty x reader

8K notes · View notes

azzishands · 12 hours ago

Text

My brother's girlfriend - Chapter eight

Paige x Azzi

WC: 9.3k

Warnings: mature content (18+)

A/N: This chapter made me kinda wanna fall in love again

Masterlist

---

The morning rolled in with a peaceful stillness to it.

Their limbs were tangled into a mess, but their hearts were in order.

Paige looked down at the sleeping woman on her chest and couldn’t help but smile.

It was the first morning she woke up with the very woman that was always the first and last thing on her mind every day. And now she was here, in her arms.

Azzi’s mouth was slightly parted, letting out soft breaths at a steady pace.

Paige didn’t know whether to call it giving up or fighting for it, but something had shifted last night for her.

She was prepared to figure things out with Azzi, even if it scared the shit out of her in regards to what they had done behind her brother’s back.

Maybe choosing Azzi wouldn’t have to mean losing Josh. And maybe choosing Josh wouldn’t mean losing Azzi.

There was just something undeniable about the younger woman.

Azzi was the unstoppable force.

And Paige refused to believe that Josh was the immovable object.

Because maybe Azzi had been right before. From experience, Josh had a knack for dating people and breaking up at an unusually high rate. Maybe he would find someone else when Paige and Azzi would break the news, and he would be alright. After all, he had gotten over every woman he had ever met so far, why would Azzi be any different?

But Paige knew better than that. Azzi was different.

Azzi slightly stirred in Paige’s arms, and Paige could feel her heartbeat start to pick up simply from the possibility of the younger one waking up.

Big brown eyes peeked up at her like they wanted to make sure they were seeing right. Paige swallowed with a nervous smile. God, why was she so nervous? It was only morning and she felt completely helpless already, just by seeing her eyes.

“So it wasn’t a dream,” Azzi whispered relieved, barely a breath.

Paige cracked a smile and shook her head.

She brushed Azzi’s hair out of her face and let it rest on her cheek, caressing her soft skin with her thumb.

Azzi sighed contentedly and her eyes drifted shut again.

She remembered the last time she had woken up in Paige’s arms. Paige had been fast asleep and Azzi had to sneak out to get to work.

It hadn’t been as peaceful as this time. It had been more regretful, charged with guilt and utterly confusing.

But this time, it only felt safe.

This time, she wasn’t cheating.

Azzi felt like she had known Paige her whole life. It was far from true, but there was something in Paige that felt so familiar.

Or maybe she just felt like a home. The home she had always fantasized about - a safe haven for Azzi to be Azzi without having to always be alert. A place where she could let go of all obligations and relax.

A safe, trustworthy and responsible place.

It was funny, how a whole house didn’t have the space for those qualities, but a small human heart inside of Paige was overflowing with them.

And more than that, there was a fire in Paige that Azzi was completely defenseless against. It was ruthless, unforgiving and altogether devastating.

Just thinking about the blonde woman made her heart flutter in emotions, and she opened her eyes to look at her once more.

Paige was already looking at her.

Azzi turned around and propped herself up on her elbows, chest against chest with Paige.

God, she was just so breathtakingly beautiful.

“Can you feel my heartbeat?” Azzi whispered.

Paige nodded and a big smile grew on her face.

“Do you feel mine?” Paige asked back.

Azzi bit her lip and nodded. “It feels like I have two,” she mused out loud.

“I think they’re racing each other,” Paige spoke softly.

Azzi giggled.

“My heart is definitely winning the race,” Azzi said with a cocky smile.

“No way, do you feel mine?” Paige protested. “You feel that speed? Your heart is standing still compared to it.”

Azzi snorted with a toothy grin and dove down with her face into the crook of Paige’s neck.

Paige’s hands flew to the back of her neck, letting her fingertips draw circles and giving Azzi goosebumps all over her skin.

“Don’t be a sore loser, I think it’s just trying to impress you anyway,” Paige whispered into her curls.

“Consider me impressed,” Azzi mumbled amused against her neck.

Despite the comforting fact that Azzi wasn’t cheating anymore, and Paige wasn’t homewrecking anymore, the circumstances were still not completely innocent.

They both knew it.

And yet they both seemed to just bask in the victory of not being a cheater and a homewrecker instead of focusing on the little detail of their still questionable morale.

At least for a little while longer.

“Hey,” Paige breathed.

Azzi lifted her head from Paige’s shoulder and looked at her.

“Would you want to go on a little getaway with me next weekend? Just us?” Paige asked timidly.

Azzi’s face lit up in a big smile and nodded eagerly.

“Yeah, I’d love to,” she said.

Paige hummed happily and Azzi leaned forward to gently press her lips on hers.

“You’re so beautiful,” Azzi mumbled against her lips.

Paige felt the butterflies in her stomach.

“You’re the most beautiful,” she whispered back. “I can’t believe I get to have you in my arms.”

God, it felt good to just be able to say it. To not have to hold back on telling Azzi every little thing about her that made Paige’s heart skip a beat.

Azzi peppered Paige’s face in kisses.

As if they both had waited a lifetime to have each other.

The shackles had fallen. Broken, rotten and completely powerless now.

Azzi’s heart thundered inside her chest. Paige was snickering underneath her, squinting her eyes with a big joyous grin from being attacked with kisses all over her face. Azzi had never seen anything more adorable.

She briefly glanced over to Paige’s nightstand and looked at the picture of the Buecker’s family. ‘There she is’, she smiled to herself as she saw the younger Paige and then looked back at the Paige underneath her, their toothy grins looking exactly the same.

Paige’s heart was overflowing with emotions. Her eyes were starting to water out of nowhere, and she quickly blinked it away.

Azzi just looked down at her, observing quietly. And it made Paige’s eyes water again instantly, making Azzi crack into a soft smile. She gently buried her head in the crook of Paige’s neck again, knowing that the older one wasn’t that comfortable crying and didn’t want her to feel like Azzi thought it was weird.

She kissed her neck softly, reassuring her that she didn’t care. Paige’s hands moved to her curls, burying her fingers into them, massaging her scalp softly. Her chest was heaving slowly, clearly trying to control it.

Paige didn’t know why she was so close to tears. She wasn’t sad. She was everything but sad.

But having the younger woman on top of her, kissing her face like she was precious, made her feel everything all at once. It was overwhelming how strong her feelings were now that she had finally allowed herself to feel it all.

Azzi rubbed her nose against Paige’s neck, constantly giving soft kisses and reassuring caresses with her fingertips on Paige’s shoulders.

Suddenly, she felt her cheek being hit with something wet, and she slowly leaned back and looked at Paige.

Her blue eyes shimmered with emotions as a glistening trail down her cheek was visible. Paige nervously swallowed and offered an awkward apologetic smile that made Azzi’s heart ache from the cuteness she was seeing.

Azzi didn’t say anything. She just brought her hand to Paige’s face and gently wiped away her tears. Paige could feel her throat tightening, threatening to release more tears just as a reaction to Azzi’s gentle touch and the way she was looking at her.

But Azzi just looked into her eyes, and took a deep long inhale through her nose while still caressing Paige’s cheeks. Paige followed her lead and took a deep breath in. Azzi smiled and slightly nodded, encouraging her.

Azzi held her breath for a few seconds before exhaling slowly through her mouth, blowing air on Paige’s face. Paige did the same and felt her whole body tremble from the release.

They repeated the deep inhales and exhales a couple times until Paige hummed contentedly and placed a soft kiss on Azzi’s lips.

“Thank you,” she murmured and bashfully hid her face in Azzi’s curls, no longer feeling like she would burst out in tears.

“Don’t thank me for breathing,” Azzi smiled.

“I’ll always thank you for breathing,” Paige replied all serious.

Azzi hummed, amused and touched.

The morning felt neverending. They existed in a vacuum.

And their feelings were slowly intertwining into something only they would share, just like their bodies.

----

“Josh,” Paige leaned on his bedroom door frame and looked at her brother who was sitting at his bed, putting on some socks to start the day.

“I’m going on a trip this weekend,” Paige told him. “I’m leaving today after work.”

Josh looked up at her. “Oh today? Where you going?”

“Just…”

Shit, she should’ve thought about that before she told him.

“I don’t know, Sam’s surprising me,” she lied.

“Oh fun,” he smiled. “I’ll see you on Monday then.”

“Yeah,” she swallowed and left him alone.

The truth was that she was the one surprising Azzi. She hadn’t told her where she was gonna take her, just that she had to pack comfortable clothes and be ready at 4 pm this Friday.

And when Paige ended her shift at the bar, she drove her car to Azzi’s house and stepped outside to get her girl.

But when she stood outside the front door after having knocked, Azzi’s dad was the one to open the door.

“Oh, hi,” Paige said, surprised. It was the first time she had seen him since she had helped Azzi get him home, and that time, he had been completely unconscious. He looked different when he was awake and somewhat well.

“Hello,” the dad said and blocked the entire entrance.

“I’m Paige, nice to meet you” the blonde extended her hand politely, which the dad slowly shook with a tight grip.

“You’re Josh’s sister,” the dad stated sternly.

“Uh, that’s right,” Paige confirmed.

“You’re taking Azzi on a trip?”

“That’s the plan, sir,” she swallowed nervously.

“Does Josh know?” he asked, and Paige had a feeling that he was implying something beyond Josh’s knowledge about their trip.

Paige swallowed again, feeling like her mouth suddenly was overflowing with saliva. She had to think fast. What did Azzi’s dad want her to answer, and what did he already know?

“No, sir,” she decided to be honest.

Azzi’s dad was just about to say something when Azzi suddenly came running down the stairs with her bag in her hands, interrupting the weird interrogation.

“Hey,” she gently moved her dad out of the way and smiled at Paige.

“Hey,” Paige felt relieved by her presence.

“Sorry, I just had to pack one last thing, but now I’m ready,” Azzi explained and walked out the door. Her dad was just watching them quietly.

“Bye dad,” Azzi said without looking back and followed Paige to her car.

Paige turned around and gave him one last apologetic smile with a small wave and entered her car, wanting to escape whatever that was.

“I’m so excited, I can’t wait to see where you’re taking me,” Azzi said and squealed, overjoyed in the passenger seat as Paige started to drive away.

Paige chuckled and bit her lip from not bursting from the cuteness beside her.

“Don’t have too high expectations now,” Paige said.

“I won’t be disappointed either way,” Azzi smiled.

“Hey,” Paige said, she couldn’t shake the conversation she just had with Azzi’s dad. “Does your dad know about us?”

Azzi turned to look at her.

“Yeah,” she pursed her lips together. “I kinda told him.”

“Oh,” Paige said.

“Was that alright?”

“Uh yeah, I just wasn’t prepared for him to question me at the door whether Josh knew about this or not,” Paige admitted.

“He did?” Azzi asked, puzzled.

“Yeah,” Paige nodded. “And I told him that Josh doesn’t, and then he was about to say something but that’s when you came down. I feel like he kind of judged me.”

“I’m sorry,” Azzi said quietly. “He’s… Well, I wouldn’t care too much about his opinion anyway, so don’t let it get to you.”

“You don’t think he’ll tell Josh?” Paige asked.

“No,” Azzi said quickly. “He doesn’t even know Josh. He only knows of him.”

“Okay.” Paige took a deep breath.

“Are you okay?” Azzi asked carefully.

Paige nodded and offered a small smile. Azzi reached over and put her hands on Paige’s neck, playing with her fingertips against her skin, sending reassuring goosebumps throughout her whole body.

Two hours later, Azzi woke up to the sight of fields of goldenrods flashing by the window. They had long ago left the city and had entered the still countryside.

“Where are we?” she asked groggily.

“We’re almost there, princess,” Paige replied. “You can go back to sleep, I’ll wake you when we’re closer.”

Azzi hummed and fluttered her eyes shut again, leaning against the window with her head. It didn’t take long before she slumbered back to sleep.

Next time she woke up, it was by Paige’s gentle nudge on her arm.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Paige said softly. “We’re there in ten minutes.”

Azzi blinked rapidly, trying to blink away the sleep. She stretched her body as much as the confined space Paige’s car allowed her with a big yawn.

Soon enough, a big farmhouse came into view when the trees around them parted. Azzi straightened in her seat and looked out the window with curiosity. Where had Paige taken her?

Once they parked the car outside the house, Azzi exited and looked out the view. The house was on a hill with fields around it that seemed neverending with a lake just half a mile away. There was a big barn close by and she spotted two horses in a pasture, and another pasture with cows in the distance.

It was beautiful. The sun was about to go down and the whole place looked so serene.

The air smelled like fresh rain and dirt.

Before she could ask Paige any questions, she suddenly heard loud barking that approached them at rapid speed.

A golden retriever ran straight to Paige and jumped up at her. Paige looked just as excited as the dog and bent down to receive all the love - licks and a wildly wagging tail in her face.

“Paigey!” a voice exclaimed and a woman walked towards them from the barn.

She looked just like Josh. She had brown wavy hair and soft features that made her look very kind.

Azzi stood there, dumbfounded. Where was she?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the golden retriever who had seemed to have noticed Azzi at last. It roamed around her legs, waiting for her to pet. Azzi bent down as well and drew her hands on his soft coat.

“That’s Allan,” Paige said and pointed at the dog. “He’s my cousin.”

“Cousin?” Azzi asked and looked confused once again.

“Hey, you made it,” the older woman version of Josh finally had made it up to them and embraced Paige in a tight hug. She then approached Azzi with a kind smile, and Azzi stood up immediately.

“Hello, I’m Olivia, but you can call me Liv,” she extended her hand and Azzi shook it.

“Hi, I’m Azzi.”

“I’m Paige’s aunt,” she said and looked at Paige with a proud smile. “And my husband, Mike, is out with the tractor somewhere. But I have dinner ready inside. You must be starving.”

Liv walked inside the big farmhouse and Paige grabbed their bags out of her car and looked at Azzi expectantly.

“You took me to your aunt?” Azzi asked, shocked.

Paige chuckled at her facial expression.

“Are you disappointed?”

“No no,” Azzi quickly replied. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“You have nothing to worry about. Auntie Liv is super chill,” Paige reassured her.

Allan barked at them all excited, as if he was getting impatient waiting for them to come inside. Paige just looked at Allan and laughed.

“Alright, alright, we’re coming,” she murmured and carried both their bags while Azzi followed behind her.

The inside of the house was just as big as it looked like on the outside.

Auntie Liv had set the kitchen table for four people, and Azzi took a seat next to Paige while Liv sat across from them.

“I made some soup, I hope you like that,” auntie Liv said and started to serve them.

“It smells amazing,” Azzi smiled timidly. Paige discreetly put her hand on Azzi’s thigh and rubbed her softly, telling her that she doesn’t have to be shy.

Auntie Liv smiled at Azzi and gave her a bowl full of soup. Azzi briefly studied her face. It was almost scary how Josh looked just like his aunt. She didn’t seem to be that old either, maybe around forty years old or something. Definitely too young to have children in Paige and Josh’s age at least.

“I changed the sheets and made the beds in the guest room and in your old room,” auntie Liv told Paige. “I didn’t know if you girls wanted to stay in the same room or not.”

There was no ill-intended curiosity behind the remark, just innocent option giving.

“We’ll be in my room,” Paige answered, completely relaxed.

“So Azzi, what do you do?” Auntie Liv asked the younger one.

“Well, I just graduated from the university, so now I’m working at a cafe until I find a job that suits my degree,” Azzi told her.

“Oh, maybe you are the one to inspire Miss I-just-wanna-bartend-forever over here to graduate as well,” Liv teased Paige.

“She’s kidding, she doesn’t care,” Paige told Azzi to then turn to her aunt. “Auntie Liv, you literally ask me to make you cocktails every time I’m here.”

“Shush, I’m trying to talk to Azzi,” auntie Liv dismissed Paige completely.

Azzi felt very welcomed by auntie Liv by the way she was trying to get to know her. And she always felt supported by Paige’s hand on her leg, reminding her that she’s right there with her.

Auntie Liv was calm and bubbly at the same time. There was something very secure in the way Liv presented herself. It really felt like she was a woman who had both her feet on the ground at all times.

The sun had gone down and it was dark out the windows.

Right when the three women had eaten the last of their soup in their bowls, a man entered the front door. Allan who had been calmly laying down beside Paige’s chair was now jogging up to the man with a wagging tail.

“Paigey!” the man peeked into the kitchen and smiled brightly. He was big and tall with brown hair and a brown beard. He looked like a big teddy bear.

“Hey Mikey,” Paige waved to him.

“Come here,” he waved her over and she rose from the chair and waddled over to him.

Even though Paige was pretty tall, she was nothing compared to Mike. He hugged her and picked her up from the floor, spinning her around in a circle.

“Okay enough,” Paige laughed and Mike let her down. “Mike, this is Azzi.”

Azzi stood up and shook his hand with a polite smile.

“Azzi, that’s a beautiful name,” Mike said and smiled as well.

“Thank you,” Azzi said timidly.

“Honey, there’s some soup for you in the pot,” Liv told him and then looked at Paige and Azzi. “You two must be tired. You don’t have to sit here and wait for Mike to eat, I’ll keep him company.”

“Yeah, I think we’re gonna go to bed,” Paige said and looked at Azzi with a small smile.

“We’ll be here if you need anything. Good night now, and we’ll see you girls in the morning,” auntie Liv said and waved them off.

“Thank you for dinner, it was delicious,” Azzi expressed before they left the table. Liv and Mike smiled kindly at her.

Paige grabbed their bags once again and led them up the stairs. There was a corridor full of rooms on the upper floor, and Paige walked into one of them with a window out over the lake.

Azzi looked around the room and saw the pictures on the wall. It was Paige’s family.

“This is my old room,” Paige told her and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“You used to live here?” Azzi asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” Paige nodded. “It was actually my grandma and grandpa's farm, but once they got too old, we took over. And then when I was eighteen I moved to the city. One year later, mom and dad passed away and Josh moved in with me while auntie Liv and Mike took over.”

“I didn’t know you guys grew up on a farm,” Azzi said. “I would’ve never guessed.”

“You don’t think I look like a farmer?” Paige chuckled.

“On this picture you do,” Azzi said and pointed at one of the pictures on the wall. It was Paige with a cowboy hat, denim overalls and a flannel shirt when she was in her early teenage years. “Or really, really gay.”

Paige chuckled and stood up to stand beside Azzi and look at the picture.

“Well I was, am, so,” Paige said.

“I love it,” Azzi smiled. “You were really cute when you were younger.”

She had to admit that it was a little bit strange to see all the family photos of Paige and her family, and having to see Josh in them too. A part of her still felt like she had to acknowledge him as well, like it was her obligation to notice him.

“Josh looks just like auntie Liv,” Azzi mused out loud and looked at another family photo.

“Yeah he’s a copy of her.”

“Is she your mom or your dad’s sister?”

“My mom’s. Me and Josh got our appearances from a sister each,” Paige told her.

“That’s adorable,” Azzi said.

“Auntie Liv and Mike have kind of been our extra parents,” Paige told her.

Azzi swallowed. There was something so deeply beautiful about the fact that Paige had taken her home to her family for their first trip together. She didn’t know if that was normal or if she should feel special. Nevertheless, she felt kinda special.

“How come Josh didn’t stay with them when your parents passed?” Azzi asked carefully, treading lightly when it came to the subject of their parents' death.

“Well mostly for practical reasons,” Paige said. “It wasn’t a smooth transition. We were grieving, and so did Liv and Mike. None of us could really stand being here at first. It took a couple months for them to feel okay with living here. So if Josh would’ve stayed with them, he would’ve had to live in another state for the first couple of months to then move back to the farm.”

Azzi listened intently and nodded with a somber face.

“It was kinda messy. I mean, none of us thought it would happen, and then when it did, none of us knew how to handle it. I became Josh’s legal guardian at nineteen because we thought it would be for the best since we lived together, and the court approved. I don’t regret it, but I think we would’ve done differently today,” Paige elaborated. “I know Auntie Liv regrets not taking us in immediately. But I don’t hold it against her. We were all just trying to navigate being without them. We lost our parents, she lost her big sister, the ones who always looked out for us.”

Azzi sat down on the bed and Paige sat down next to her.

“Josh never told me about all this,” Azzi said quietly.

“He doesn’t like talking about it,” Paige told her.

Azzi turned towards Paige and gently put her forehead on her shoulder. Paige’s hands instinctively flew to Azzi’s back and caressed her. Azzi inhaled the scent of her and nestled her face into Paige’s neck, trying to get as close as possible.

“You’re just like a cat,” Paige laughed.

“I just wanna be close to you,” Azzi murmured. “Just thinking about what you’ve gone through makes me ache.”

“It’s okay,” Paige said softly and stroked Azzi’s hair. “It was years ago.”

“Still,” Azzi said and leaned back to look at her. “You’re really admirable. And strong. And resilient. And so caring. And loving. And calm. And supportive.”

Paige just let out a small laugh. “That’s what I think of you,” she said and pinched Azzi’s cheeks between her fingers.

Something was growing uncontrollably in Azzi. She felt it in her whole body. Being with Paige had never been casual, but now more than ever she prayed that Paige would be her whole future.

Azzi grabbed Paige’s face and kissed every inch of it. “You. Are. So. Damn. Perfect,” she said in between the kisses.

Paige’s face lit up in a bright smile. “I feel so spoiled when you do that,” she admitted with a blush. Spoiled with love, she wanted to say, but didn’t.

Azzi bit her lip and raised her eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Paige nodded.

“Good thing I love to spoil you then,” Azzi said and pushed Paige down on the bed. “I wanna kiss you everywhere.”

She sat beside Paige’s torso and leaned down kissed her lips softly, before kissing down her jaw down to her neck.

“Take off your shirt,” Azzi murmured and Paige hurriedly did what she was told and flung her sports bra off in the process as well.

She laid down again and Azzi let her hands roam around her exposed skin.

Azzi licked her lips and leaned down once again and continued moving her lips all over. She grazed Paige’s collarbones and gently bit down, making Paige hiss. She kissed down to her chest, down to her nipples and gave them a quick flick with her tongue.

Paige groaned softly. Azzi took one of her nipples into her mouth and lightly sucked, while she let her hand play with her other nipple. She just wanted to worship every part of Paige’s body.

Azzi kissed down Paige’s stomach and tugged on her pants. Paige lifted her butt from the mattress and Azzi swiftly pulled them off, leaving her in nothing but her boxers.

“These gotta go too,” Azzi mumbled and grabbed to remove them as well.

Paige was laying bare in front of her.

Azzi let her eyes travel from her face, down to her defined throat that drove her crazy, to her pink nipples that Azzi just wanted to pinch, down to her perfect stomach and then to her long legs and strong thighs that Azzi just wanted to ride.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, I can’t get enough of you,” Azzi marveled and leaned down to kiss her hipbones.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” Paige exhaled, chest heaving.

Azzi brushed her lips against her skin down to her thighs, placing soft openmouthed kisses, taking her time. She backed up and kissed Paige’s knees, first the left then the right. Then her shins, and then finally down to her feet.

She spread Paige’s legs and sat down on her knees right in between, letting her hands rest on her strong thighs.

“I think I missed a spot,” Azzi said sweetly and pushed Paige’s legs back a little, giving herself more access to the part of Paige that was very visibly ready for her touch.

Azzi bowed down and very lightly touched Paige’s clit with her lips, barely even pressing them against her.

“Azzi,” Paige sighed out of bliss and impatience.

Azzi almost wanted to moan at the sound of her name rolling off of Paige’s tongue like that. She loved hearing her say her name.

“Let me take care of you, baby,” Azzi mumbled before she kissed her clit again, but this time more firmly.

Paige’s hips twitched.

Azzi let her tongue take a firm swipe through Paige’s folds, earning a moan.

“Shh, you can’t be too loud,” Azzi reminded her. Paige just looked down at her with a small nod and bit her lip.

Azzi let her tongue glide from her wet entrance up to her clit in one long stroke, and Paige squirmed. Azzi hooked her arms under Paige’s legs and held the sides of her torso in a steady grip, trying to hold her down while she started to lick her clit in a steady rhythm.

Paige was focusing on being quiet. She panted loudly, but held back on the noises she really wanted to make. She only let out a few whimpers, but that was mostly involuntarily, and she immediately felt embarrassed afterwards for not having the discipline to hold it in.

Azzi’s tongue was inexhaustible. She licked Paige up and down in long, hard and slippery strokes, just the way she liked it.

Paige looked down at her and grabbed the back of her head for support. The way Azzi looked up at her from her pussy almost made her tip over the edge in a second.

“Azzi, Azzi,” she breathed out desperately like a prayer, communicating everything she couldn’t moan loudly.

Azzi hummed at the sound, making her lips vibrate against Paige’s slit. Paige started to grind herself against Azzi’s tongue, her body moving on its own now, chasing the high it was so close to.

Paige’s legs shut around Azz’s head and her body was tensing up from wave after wave crashing down on her.

Soft and quiet whimpers escaped her lips and it was driving Azzi insane. Nothing made her want to just put on a strap and fuck Paige hard more than those noises. God, Paige made her so fucking horny.

Paige held her breath, and then collapsed with a limp body and a loud charged exhale at last. She breathed heavily, trying to catch her breath as Azzi crawled on top of her.

Azzi finished her act of spoiling the same way she had started it - by kissing Paige all over her face, kissing her lips softly at last.

She curled into Paige’s side and let her nose touch her shoulder, waiting for her to catch her breath.

“Hey,” Paige turned to look at Azzi. “Sit on my face.”

Azzi chuckled. “No, it’s okay,” she smiled, amused.

“You don’t want to?” Paige asked.

“I do, but I literally don’t think I can be quiet,” Azzi admitted.

“Yeah I heard that the first night you slept at the apartment,” Paige blurted out.

“You heard that!?” Azzi quickly sat up and looked at Paige with wide eyes.

Paige burst out laughing, and Azzi just stared at her, speechless.

“Don’t worry, you sounded pretty,” Paige said with a smirk. “And you weren’t even that loud. I mean, I’ve made you scream louder, but whatever.”

Azzi lightly hit her shoulder with her palm and blushed. “This is fucking messed up.”

Paige slowly stopped laughing and looked at her, knowing what she was referring to. “Yeah, I know.”

Azzi looked at Paige and hesitantly spoke.

“Was it true what you said about me being number four this year?” she asked. There was no sense of jealousy or sadness from it, just plain curiosity.

“Yeah,” Paige pursed her lips together. “Josh is kind of a fast dater, or whatever. None of his former girlfriends have ever lasted more than like a month. That’s why I genuinely believed I wouldn’t have to get to know you at first.”

Azzi chuckled happily, and Paige just frowned at her.

“Why are you smiling?” Paige asked, puzzled.

“I hope he finds number five soon, so he will be too occupied with her to care about us,” Azzi smiled.

“You’re unbelievable,” Paige laughed as well. “But, I don’t know about that. You stood out. I’ve never seen him as sad over a girl as he was the day you broke up with him,” Paige told her, seriously.

“That doesn’t make any sense to me,” Azzi frowned. “I’m literally nothing special.”

“Yes you are,” Paige protested.

“Not enough for him to put me on a piedestal like that?” Azzi said.

“I’m not judging him for being heartbroken over you, I mean I was too,” Paige said, and Azzi’s face softened.

“I was pretty heartbroken over you too,” Azzi said quietly and met Paige’s blue eyes with her own.

Paige rested her forehead against Azzi’s and sighed.

“I’m not anymore,” she whispered.

“Me neither,” Azzi smiled and wrapped her arms around her favorite person.

How much luck could one person have? To have the person you absolutely adore, adore you right back?

Unless you’re Josh, of course.

----

Paige woke up the next day to an empty bed.

Maybe Azzi was in the bathroom.

She rolled over to Azzi’s side of the bed and inhaled the scent of her. Nothing made her feel more at ease than the clues of Azzi’s presence.

Paige laid in bed and waited for Azzi to enter her bedroom for at least half an hour.

“Where is she?” she mumbled to herself and grabbed her phone. No messages from her either.

The sun was peeking through the blinds and Paige could tell that it was about to be a beautiful day.

She waddled out of her room and looked in every room upstairs to see if she could find Azzi, but to no avail.

“Hey, have you seen Azzi?” Paige walked out on the big porch where auntie Liv sat and drank her coffee, looking out over the beautiful view. The sun was up and warm, and Allan came running up to her with a fast tail.

“She’s out fishing with Mike,” she said and pointed towards the lake that glittered from the sunshine.

Paige could see a small boat in the distance in the middle of the lake, and two small shapes on it. She huffed in amusement to herself. The fact that Azzi was out on the lake with Mike in the morning to fish stirred something in her. It was both funny and sweet.

“How long have they been out there?”

“Oh, just about an hour,” Liv replied. “She sure seems like one fearless woman. Didn’t even hesitate on saying yes when Mike asked her if she wanted to follow him out fishing, even though she had never fished before.”

“Yeah, she is,” Paige murmured in awe and sat down on a chair next to her aunt, admiring the view as well. Allan sat down next to her and Paige patted his head.

“You know, it’s funny,” Liv suddenly said. “If I remember correctly, Josh called me about two months ago, telling me he has a new girlfriend named Azzi.”

Paige felt her eyes on her, but didn’t turn to meet them. She just took a deep breath and swallowed. Before she could even say anything, Liv spoke up again.

“Paige, when were you gonna tell me you’re in love with your brother’s girlfriend?”

“Wha-”

Paige snapped her head towards her aunt now, mouth hanging open from her sudden bluntness.

“I’m not,” she protested defensively. “She- Josh- I mean, they-”

“Paigey,” Liv said calmly. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I saw the way you looked at her. And it also didn’t go unnoticed the way she looked at you. Like you had hung the moon just for her. Besides, you’re sleeping in the same bed.”

Paige sighed a deep sigh.

“First of all, they’re not together anymore,” she told her.

Liv waited for her to continue, but she didn’t.

“And second of all?”

Paige hesitated. “There’s no second of all…”

She hadn’t even admitted it to herself, but hearing that her aunt had figured it out with just one dinner spent together with them felt like proof enough that Paige really was head over heels for the girl, and everyone could see it.

“Josh is okay with all this?” Auntie Liv asked, no judgemental tone in her words at all.

“He doesn’t know,” Paige mumbled ashamedly.

Liv hummed, deep in thoughts.

“Well, the heart wants what the heart wants,” she said at last.

“Auntie Liv…” Paige said quietly. She had to talk to someone about it. “We hooked up before they broke up. I know it’s bad, and I don’t blame you if you get mad at me, but I just… I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh Paige,” she frowned at her niece.

“I know,” Paige looked down at the surface of the porch in shame.

“You guys really couldn’t wait until they had broken up to do that?” she asked.

“I don’t even think we understood what was happening inside of us until we crossed the line,” Paige said quietly. “I didn’t even know I was attracted to her at first.”

“I don’t think that’s an excuse,” Liv said, not harshly, but just very objectively.

“I’m not trying to excuse it, I’m just explaining how it happened,” Paige said.

Auntie Liv hummed again, thoughtfully. Allan looked up at Paige and whimpered, as if he understood the complicated pain Paige had been put through for the last couple of weeks. Paige stroked his soft coat and said a quiet “It’s okay, Allan.”

“I just-” Paige’s eyes were starting to water. “I have never felt like this for anyone before, and I tried so hard not to act on it, to keep her away. I obviously failed miserably, but my point is that I can’t stay away. She’s- I mean I- I don’t know what-”

“Paige,” Liv tried to interrupt her, seeing that her niece was about to start crying. But Paige just kept going, staring into nothingness as her eyes soon were filled with tears anyway.

“And Josh, God, I can’t even think about how hurt he’s gonna be when he finds out. I’m the worst sister ever, and I hate myself every time I think about it. But when I’m with her, it’s like all that gets thrown out the window, and then when she leaves, I hate myself even more because-”

“Paigey,” Auntie Liv got up from her chair and crouched in front of Paige, placing her hands on her wet cheeks to make her look at her. “Look at me.”

Paige went quiet and looked at her aunt with tears falling down her cheeks, her eyesight blurry.

“I’m not gonna lie to you,” Liv started. “I can’t defend what you guys did. But I can also still think that you are a wonderful girl who would never intentionally hurt her brother. I know that. Josh knows that. And with that being said, you messed up big time. But we all do. What sets good people apart from bad people is how we own up to it, and take responsibility for the consequences.”

Paige swallowed hard and listened to Liv’s words as if she was giving her the resolution to it all.

“If you really wanna be with Azzi, you’re gonna have to come clean to Josh,” Liv said softly and wiped away Paige’s tears.

“He’s gonna hate me,” Paige said quietly, barely over a breath.

Liv looked down for a millisecond, and Paige knew in that moment that she was right. Josh was going to hate her, even auntie Liv knew that.

“Yeah, he is,” Liv exhaled at last. “But maybe that’s what’s needed for you guys to solve it in the end.”

“Hate?”

“Maybe,” Liv shrugged. “Allow any emotions to exist, and then when they are felt, they will eventually blow over. He won’t hate you forever. I know you guys. You love each other too much for that.”

“That’s what scares me. None of us have ever messed up this badly before, I don’t know what to expect,” Paige sighed.

“Not knowing is the worst part,” Liv nodded. “And you’re not gonna find out until you do.”

“I know,” Paige sniffled quietly. “You’re right.”

“Chin up,” Liv said and ruffled Paige’s hair. “On the bright side, Azzi seems like a wonderful girl to be in love with.”

Paige let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, that’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?”

Auntie Liv cracked a smile and sat down in her chair again.

Allan took Liv’s recent place right in front of Paige and looked up at her with his tongue out.

“At least Allan won’t hate me,” Paige said and bent down to kiss his head.

Out on the lake, Azzi was having the time of her life with Mike on the boat. She had managed to catch four fishes already, and she couldn’t wait to catch her fifth.

“This is so exciting, I love this,” she smiled happily to herself as she cast her line into the water again. She started to slowly reel the line back in, not wanting to rush it and scare away all the fishes.

“You have to come out here again and fish with me. Liv doesn’t like it, and Josh and Paige never really cared for it either, but I love it. It’s peaceful, isn’t it?” Mike told her.

“It is,” Azzi nodded. She hesitated before she asked: “Um, so what does Paige like to do when she’s here?”

Mike turned to look at her and gave her a knowing smile. “She loves to ride the horses. And she usually just hangs out with Allan a lot. They’re basically twins.”

“Allan the dog?” Azzi asked for clarification.

“Yeah,” Mike chuckled. “He might be a dog, and Paige might be a human, but sometimes their resemblance is uncanny. It’s kinda funny.”

Azzi softly laughed at his words and shook her head to herself. Of course Paige’s twin was a golden retriever.

The air was warm and humid, it felt heavy. The sky was clear blue at the moment, but Azzi could tell that it wasn’t a normal heat. And Mike seemed to share that thought.

“It might thunder tonight,” he mumbled to himself and looked up at the sky.

They decided that they had been out long enough and started to head back to the shore. Once they had walked back with their catch, a total of ten fishes, they were welcomed by Allan and Paige sitting on the stairs up to the porch, watching them.

“Hey you big fisher,” Paige smiled brightly at Azzi.

“Morning,” Azzi smiled and bit her lip, approaching the older one.

Paige stood up and greeted her with a quick kiss on her lips, taking Azzi completely by surprise. Her eyes widened and she leaned back out of reflex.

They had never shared a kiss in the open like that before.

Mike just hummed as he walked past them with a small smile playing on his lips. He brought the fishes inside to his wife and left the two women alone out on the porch.

“How was fishing?” Paige asked and sat down on the stairs to the porch again, patting the seat next to her for Azzi to sit.

“It was fun,” Azzi said and sat down. “I caught four fishes, and Mike caught six. He said we could cook them for lunch. I’ve never eaten anything that I’ve caught myself before, so that would be kinda cool.”

“Okay citygirl,” Paige chuckled. “I’m happy you enjoyed yourself.”

“I’m sorry I left you alone in bed this morning,” Azzi said.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to wait for me to start your day,” Paige said.

“Liv and Mike are really nice people,” Azzi mused. “I’m happy you have them.”

“Me too,” Paige smiled.

The morning stretched out, and it felt like time didn’t matter out on the farm. Azzi enjoyed being with Paige, Liv and Mike - and Allan of course. It was easy to be with them. Azzi felt like she could be herself and that there was room for mistakes and disagreements in this family.

Half of the day was spent preparing the fish and cooking it together with everybody in the kitchen and then eating it together while getting to hear how Azzi and Mike had caught every single fish. Azzi told them how her grip on the rod almost slipped when she tried to reel in her first fish, and how she probably would’ve fallen overboard on her second catch if Mike hadn’t rushed to help her. Paige laughed at all her stories and Liv and Mike looked at the two women with big smiles throughout the whole meal.

After lunch, Paige and Azzi followed Mike on the ATV to fix some fence around the cow pasture. Paige led Azzi inside the pasture and let her greet the white and brown spotted cows.

Paige looked at Azzi with stars in her eyes while Azzi crouched down next to a cow that was laying down, and gently let her hand stroke behind the ears. Azzi looked up at Paige with sparkling eyes and a mouth wide open out of excitement from petting the cow. It was such a simple thing that excited her, and Paige felt her heartstrings being pulled.

Paige wondered to herself how much Azzi must’ve missed out on from having to take care of herself and her dad since her mom had left. If she hadn’t ever had the chance to fish in twenty-two years, how much else had she never gotten the chance to experience?

The sun was finally starting to stop glaring with heat when a big cloud got in the way after dinner. Paige suggested they would take a little ride with the horses before the sun would completely set. Azzi agreed, but only if Paige would help her, as she had never ridden a horse before.

“Of course, I’ll be sitting right behind you,” Paige said reassuringly. “Unless you want me to lead from the ground instead?”

“I’d rather have you close to me,” Azzi said and earned a smile from the blonde.

“Come on,” Paige said and led them out to the stable. Allan followed them.

They walked up to one of the stables where the biggest horse was. Azzi saw a sign that said Idris and looked at the big stallion.

“Idris can carry us both,” Paige explained and entered his stall to lead him out. She saddled him with practiced ease and tightened the cinch. “Good boy,” she cooed and stroked his neck affectionately.

Paige helped Azzi up to sit on the saddle and was almost immediately right behind Azzi herself. She reached her arms around Azzi and held the reins in her hands. She then used her legs to signal Idris to move forward.

Azzi didn’t even realize she was smiling, she just caught herself doing it. Feeling Paige’s body right behind her felt so safe, and she loved trying new things together with her and her family.

“Allan,” Paige called out the dog and he obediently strided right beside them out the stable.

Azzi tensed up as Idris started to walk slightly faster outside and felt her heart beat a little quicker. She was a fair bit up from the ground, and falling off of Idris would probably hurt.

“Baby, you can relax your body a bit, you don’t have to sit like a stick,” Paige said softly into Azzi’s ear. “Let your body feel Idris' movements and move with him.”

Azzi nodded and tried to relax.

Paige took them out to a small forest trail. The trees on each side of them made it feel like they were the only people in the whole world - with Idris and Allan of course.

The rhythmic thudding of Idris’ hooves started to feel like music to Azzi’s ears, and she found herself more at ease for every minute on the horse. There was something special about being alone in the woods with Paige and the animals. She totally understood why Paige loved riding with the horses as she somehow felt closer to nature up on the horse than she had ever felt in her life down on the ground.

They hadn’t gone too far when a small raindrop fell on Paige’s hand. She looked up and hummed displeased, pulling on the reins for Idris to stop. Allan stopped and whined.

“We have to turn back, it’s gonna rain,” Paige said and gently signaled with her leg to Idris to turn around.

Before Paige could even signal for Idris to move forward, Allan started to sprint back towards the house.

“Oh, shit,” Paige mumbled and drew in a sharp breath.

“What?” Azzi asked and turned her head around as much as she could.

“It’s gonna pour,” Paige said and signaled Idris to start walking.

Once they were back to the stable, all three of them were drenched from head to toe, tail to nose. Allan had already managed to run back inside before the rain had hit them like someone had thrown a bucket of water on them.

“Mike said it might thunder,” Azzi said as they were getting off of Idris.

Paige gave an unhappy grunt and loosened the cinch.

Once she was done with taking care of Idris and the saddle, the two women sprinted into the house.

“Did you bring the whole lake with you?” Liv asked with an amused look on her face as they stood in the hall, dripping with water on the floor.

“We couldn’t gallop with the both of us on Idris,” Paige said and shook her head like a dog shook off their coats.

“Paige!” Azzi shrieked as she was hit with wet drops in her face from Paige’s hair whipped back and forth.

“Go dry yourselves,” Liv laughed and walked back into the living room.

They did as they were told and got into some dry, warm clothes. Azzi wore some of Paige’s old sweats and an old T-shirt. They were a bit small, but not too small. They smelled just like Paige, and that was the whole point.

They went downstairs and sat down next to each other on the free couch in the living room. Liv and Mike were sitting on the other one across from them.

“Okay so, Azzi, you have to join us in our family tradition,” Liv said and held out a game in front of her, setting it down on the living room table that stood between the two couches. “We always play monopoly together.”

It started out well. At least for everyone except Paige. After several impulsive buys and missed trades, she quickly found herself behind.

“I swear to God, I’m gonna flip this table if I lose,” she mumbled irritably and threw the dice. Two ones. “Fucking hell!” she exclaimed and angrily waved her fists in the air.

Azzi stifled a laugh while Liv and Mike just looked at each other and shook their heads. They were used to Paige’s bad temper when it came to boardgames.

It was pitch black outside by now and the rain was still pouring down. It didn’t come as a surprise when the thunder started to rumble in the distance, but Paige still lightly flinched by the sound of it.

The wind was starting to catch on, and the tree outside began to hit the window with its branches as if it was aggressively asking to come inside as well.

Before they knew it, the windows lit up for a second and the thunder followed instantly. The lightning was close, and the thunderstorm was right above them now.

“Shit,” Paige jumped in her seat, and Allan whined.

Without even thinking, Paige had grabbed Azzi’s hand in the process, and held it tightly.

“It’s really-”

Another crack of lightning lit up the sky once again, and the roar of the thunder was deafening, making the whole house shake.

Allan ran straight under Liv’s legs, trying to hide from the thunder while Paige practically threw herself on Azzi, grabbing everything of Azzi she could reach.

“You’re okay, it’s okay,” Azzi comforted her, rubbing Paige’s back. She had never been scared of the thunder, but she could understand that others were. Especially when it was as close as this thunderstorm.

It was a bit entertaining how Paige and Allan really were alike in a lot of ways. Both had golden hair and both were terrified of the thunder.

Azzi thought back to when they watched horror movies together, and how it’s not that surprising that Paige was scared of the thunder as well.

The lights inside the house went out with a loaded silence, and both Liv and Mike hummed as the darkness surrounded them.

“Well, that’s enough monopoly for tonight I guess,” Liv said. “I’m gonna get us some flashlights.”

“Baby,” Azzi whispered to Paige who still clung onto her. “I’m right here.”

Paige’s breathing was erratic against Azzi’s neck, and she constantly rubbed her back for reassurance of her presence.

“Here you go,” Liv handed Azzi a flashlight. “We might as well go to bed now. There’s not much to do when it storms like this.”

Liv gave Paige’s back a soft pat as she and Mike were gonna go to their bedroom.

“You gonna be okay with all… this?” Liv asked Azzi and gestured at Paige.

“Yeah, we’ll be fine,” Azzi smiled and nodded.

“Alright. You know where we are if you need anything,” she said. “Good night, Azzi.”

“Good night,” Azzi said and was left alone in the living room with Paige who was still hiding from the thunder in her neck.

“Paige,” Azzi whispered and stroked her hair.

“I hate that sound,” Paige said quietly, and Azzi felt like she could melt. Her little baby was so cute.

“I know,” Azzi said with a gentle voice. “You wanna go upstairs and hide under the covers with me?”

Paige nodded and got up from Azzi, but she immediately grabbed her hand instead. Azzi lit up the flashlight and led them upstairs into their bedroom and slipped under the covers together with Paige.

The thunder kept on rumbling, but you could tell that the worst was over. It wasn’t as near now, and the pouring rain wasn’t pattering on the roof anymore, it fell more softly like a lullaby. Azzi could tell it was about to end.

Paige laid on Azzi’s arm and on her chest. Azzi held her tightly and stroked her hair affectionately.

“It’s almost over,” she whispered and placed a soft kiss on Paige’s forehead. “I promise baby.”

At that moment, Azzi realized that she would never let anything happen to the blonde woman in her arms. She couldn’t.

If there was one person worth protecting, it was Paige.

The four letter word danced on the edge of Azzi’s tongue, but she barely had the guts to think about it. She steered her thoughts away and inhaled the scent of Paige’s shampoo instead.

She understood that their circumstances were complicated. But she was ready to fight those circumstances for it to work. Because this wasn’t something casual to just toss aside.

And Paige was laying in her arms, trying to calm herself down but failing miserably. Because she was thinking the exact same thing.

This was something worth fighting for. And maybe auntie Liv was right. Maybe Josh would hate her, but maybe that was what had to happen for them to solve the complicated circumstances.

All Paige knew was that she couldn’t let Azzi slip away from her.

Even if it meant risking to hurt her brother.

After all, she had already hurt him, he just didn’t know it yet.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi #pazzi fics

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prettycalla · 1 day ago

Text

|| love, i can't pretend ||

Pairing: Johnny Storm/Reader

Summary: You and Johnny tentatively broach the subject of children. Babysitting Franklin for an evening seems like a good place to start.

Word count: 5k

Tags and warnings: Fluff, broody Johnny, established relationship, babysitting, brief mention of Johnny’s childhood and parents, reader is she/her, no use of Y/N.

(I am the least maternal person on the planet, and yet here I am, writing this. I don't think I've written anything here that the trailers didn't already show, so hopefully there are no spoilers! A massive thank you as always to fellow Johnny sufferer, @getaapologist, for letting me waffle on so much about this idea! Title is from Can't Pretend by Tom Odell.)

Johnny Masterlist || Fic Masterlist || Taglist

“I want one.”

It's late one Sunday evening. Ben had truly outdone himself with dinner, and now you're desperately fighting the urge to fall asleep on the couch. Johnny's voice, close to your ear as it is, rouses you a little.

You turn to look at him. He's resting his head against your shoulder, half-asleep himself.

"Want one of what?" you ask, trying and failing to stifle a yawn.

Johnny lifts his hand, pointing across the room, to where Franklin is currently turning his poor father into his own personal jungle gym.

Your eyes widen. Oh, you’re definitely awake now.

"You know anyone who's giving one away?" you joke, desperately trying to sound casual.

Johnny looks up at you then, his eyes meeting yours.

"I'm serious," he replies.

His voice is quiet, sincere. You narrow your eyes, hoping to spot even the faintest hint of a smirk. A tell-tale sign that this is one of his jokes.

Nothing.

Oh God, he is serious.

You push yourself upright.

"Johnny," you say carefully, trying to find the right words as quickly as possible.

When Johnny gets an idea into his head, Hell freezing over is a more likely possibility than him dropping it. He's persistent. Stubborn. You love him for it.

But this is a different matter entirely.

“You know it’s not all fun and cute little outfits, right? Babies are a lot of work. A lot of work.”

Johnny hasn't said a word. He's really worrying you now.

“It’s sleepless nights and teething and dirty diapers, so many dirty diapers, and-“

You trail off, distracted, as Franklin's happy laughter carries across the room. You and Johnny sit there, unmoving, quiet. Transfixed.

Reed lifts Franklin up, blowing raspberries onto his belly. The sound of his delighted shrieks tugs at something in you.

Something you didn't even know was there before.

You feel Johnny reach for your hand, giving it a squeeze. You don't pull away.

“Tell me you don’t want that,” he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear.

Before this, you would have. Told him no, and that would have been it. End of discussion. You've never really seen yourself as maternal. If anything, the thought of having children has always scared you.

It still does. But now...

"I can't," you reply softly. "I can't tell you that."

The couch shifts underneath you suddenly as Johnny sits up. You can already feel the excitement coming off him in waves, and you know you have to rein him in, and fast.

"Before you say anything else, we need to talk about this," you tell him.

He opens his mouth, and you shake your head, holding a finger up for him to let you finish.

"I'm serious. This isn't just something we can rush into."

Johnny gently takes your hand in his, holding it tight.

"I know," he replies.

He still sounds serious, which is reassuring, at least.

You nod, taking a breath to calm yourself. Your gaze wanders back to Franklin.

"Let's start small," you say. "And we'll take things from there."

Small, you both decide, is babysitting Franklin for an evening.

You pick a night when Ben will be out visiting friends. You need to know if you can do this together, without any help from anyone else.

After that, you need to suggest the idea to Sue and Reed.

Sue is more than happy to let you look after Franklin. She trusts the both of you, and you know that as much as she adores her son, she's been wanting to spend some time with her husband - just the two of them.

Reed, on the other hand, takes a little more convincing. Even on the night itself, he's still making a fuss.

"I've left the number for Franklin's doctor, and three of the closest pharmacies nearby," he tells you.

You catch Johnny pulling a face out of the corner of your eye, and do your best not to laugh. Reed's too busy worrying to notice.

"Actually, you should just contact me directly, I have all of Franklin's records to hand. Let me just-"

Sue tugs on his arm before he has the chance to go looking for a pen.

"They have the restaurant's number, they can call us there if they need to."

She places her hands on the lapels of Reed's suit jacket, her eyes soft as she speaks.

"But they won't need to, okay? They're adults, we trust them, and Franklin will be fine," she says, her tone calm and reassuring.

It takes Reed a moment before he nods, finally admitting defeat. He fishes a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, handing it to you.

"My pager number, just in case," he mutters, as Sue takes his arm and drags him towards the door, blowing kisses to Franklin as they go.

Johnny takes Franklin's wrist in his hand, making him wave to his parents.

"Don't worry, Reed, he'll be fine," he says.

He looks at Franklin, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"We're not gonna party too hard, are we, buddy?" he asks. "Just a couple of beers, right?"

Reed's about to open his mouth to argue when Sue pushes him towards the door. She shoots Johnny a glare, but she's clearly trying not to laugh.

"Bye, sweetheart," she calls, "Be good while we're gone."

The door closes behind them, and then that's when it hits you. You're doing this. You exhale a tiny, nervous sigh.

It's not like you haven't been left with Franklin before. But this is different, and it's not because there isn't anyone else here. You know Johnny is more than capable of looking after his nephew.

It's the implication. It's what all of this could maybe lead to someday, and that's the part that scares you.

Johnny's clearly none the wiser, his hands under Franklin's arms as he gently swings him around. Franklin shrieks happily, kicking his legs as Johnny makes faces at him.

There it is again, that little tug. Slowly, the fear starts to settle back down.

"Let's see what boring night your dad has planned for you," Johnny says.

He holds Franklin out to you.

"You're in charge of taking care of your auntie for me while I'm gone, okay?" he says, with a wink aimed at you.

He heads to the kitchen, finding the pad of paper Reed had been meticulously writing on earlier. He blows out a breath as he holds it up to show you.

"Have you seen this?" he asks incredulously. "How does she put up with him?"

The page is a mess, of both Reed's instructions and Sue's little notes.

Have fun! : ) is written at the bottom in Sue's writing, under a list of emergency contact numbers in Reed's.

Johnny holds the page closer to his face, muttering to himself as he tries to decipher what he's looking at.

"First up is...dinnertime," he says. "Great, off to an easy start."

He gestures towards the dining table with the pad of paper.

"You guys get yourselves comfortable, I'm all over this."

You raise your eyebrows, but say nothing as you make your way across the room. It's not that you don't trust Johnny, but there's a reason why Ben is usually shooing him out of the kitchen when he's cooking. And it's not just because he's always getting in the way and stealing bites before anything's done.

"Don't worry," he calls, as if he can hear you thinking. "Sue left food for Franklin, and Ben left food for us. I'm not gonna burn the house down, I swear."

You set Franklin in his high chair, sitting down next to him.

"We'll believe it when we see it," you reply, talking to Franklin. "Won't we, honey?"

Franklin's too busy trying to pull your necklace into his mouth, and you gently pry his fingers from the chain.

"Can't hear you, baby, you'll have to speak up!" Johnny says, far too loudly, as he deliberately makes as much noise as possible.

He's an idiot, you think to yourself. It's been a long time since you've thought that about him and meant it with anything other than love.

You concede defeat just this once, letting Johnny make a mess of the kitchen, while Franklin coos and babbles at you. You nod along intently, pretending to agree, as if you have any idea what he's saying.

"Hey, buddy, if you're gonna tell the lady all your problems, at least buy her a drink, huh?" Johnny says, as he goes back and forth with cutlery and glasses.

"You need some help?" you ask.

"Nope, I got this."

And in his defence, he actually does. Dinner isn't undercooked or burnt right through, and the fire alarm is mercifully quiet. He did somehow manage to turn the kitchen into an absolute disaster zone, but you'll worry about that later.

"Why do you look so surprised?" Johnny asks, as he sets the dinner plates down on the table.

"Surprised? Why would I be surprised?" you reply in mock-offence. "That you didn't destroy dinner because you think you can do a better job than the oven?"

Johnny points an accusing finger at you, as he goes back for Franklin's dinner. This is not the first time you've had this conversation.

"Hey, I can do a better job than the oven," he insists. "I just...didn't feel like it tonight."

You roll your eyes, saying nothing as you take a bite of casserole.

It's perfect. As if you would expect anything less from Ben.

Johnny returns with a plastic bowl and spoon in hand. A tea towel is neatly folded over his arm. He stands perfectly straight next to Franklin, setting the bowl down in front of him with a dramatic flourish.

“Good evening, sir,” he says, putting on an approximation of a posh English accent. “Our special tonight is some sort of green slop with carrots.”

You hold your hand over your mouth, trying to hold back a snort of laughter.

“Would you prefer it airplaned into your mouth or would you like to throw it all over the floor instead?”

Franklin reaches for the spoon in Johnny's hand, babbling at him.

“Excellent choice, sir,” Johnny says, as he sits down.

He spoons a small mouthful out of the bowl, and makes a big show of flying it around the air - with all the noises included, of course. As soon as it goes into Franklin's mouth, it comes straight back out, landing all over his bib.

"Come on, buddy, this is the good stuff," Johnny mutters, carefully wiping Franklin's mouth.

He tries again, and the next mouthful goes in easily - before coming straight back out again.

He lets out a huff, giving his nephew an offended look.

"I spent ten whole minutes preparing this for you, and this is the thanks I get?"

He dips the tip of his finger into the bowl, trying it himself. He grimaces slightly.

"You know what? Can't blame you, kid. That's, uh...Yeah, that sure is something."

He turns to you then, holding the spoon out.

"You wanna give it a shot?" he asks.

“What, eating it or feeding him?” you reply with a laugh.

Johnny just waves the spoon back and forth. You take it from him, moving your chair a little more to face Franklin.

“Maybe you’re not a fan of airplanes, huh?” you ask.

You move the spoon through the air, making train engine noises. Franklin watches you, fascinated. He opens his mouth, and the food stays in this time.

You look at Johnny smugly. He rolls his eyes, folding his arms with an exaggerated sigh.

"First point goes to Mom," he says, a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

That stops you in your tracks. Whatever joke you were about to make is gone, and you just stare at him.

“What?” he asks with a quiet chuckle.

You shake your head, turning your attention back to Franklin.

“Nothing,” you reply, trying to sound light.

But it's not nothing, and you know it.

Dinner is a success - no crying, no tantrums, and most of it is actually eaten. Johnny makes a big deal out of checking it off the list, putting a massive tick next to it.

"Step one of 'We can keep a baby alive', done," he says, with a look that's bordering on triumphant.

You shake your head at him.

"What?" he asks, oblivious.

"Don't call it that," you scold. "I need you to take this seriously."

"I am taking it seriously," he replies, right as he sticks his tongue out at Franklin. "When have you ever known me to not be serious?"

It's bait and you know it, but it doesn't stop you from opening your mouth to argue anyway.

"Okay, point taken," he says, before you even say anything. "But I am serious about this."

He looks at you, and God help you, you know he's telling you the truth.

"I promise," he murmurs. "And to prove to you that I'm serious..."

He lifts Franklin into his arms, blowing a raspberry onto his rosy cheek. Franklin squeals, his little hands slapping at Johnny's arms.

"...I am going to take diaper duty. Because someone in this room - not naming names - is getting a little stinky."

Johnny tilts his head, giving Franklin a serious look.

"Can't have your auntie thinking I'm only onboard for all the "cute little outfits", can we?" he says.

He gives you a smirk, leaving before you can say anything. For a moment, all you can do is watch them go, and that feeling from before starts gnawing at you again. You place your hand over your heart, trying to soothe yourself, as you sit down on the couch.

You feel so overwhelmed, and the fear is still there, but it's not just that. You can't explain it, but underneath that layer of anxiety, something else is blooming. Something...nice. It's the only word you can think of to describe it, whatever it is.

Johnny's far less smug when he returns. In a different shirt, you notice. Franklin, on the other hand, looks very pleased with himself. He's now dressed in his pyjamas. You can't help but wonder why.

"I don't wanna talk about it," Johnny mutters.

It takes every ounce of your willpower to stop yourself from laughing. You bite your lip, focusing your attention on Franklin, who's insistently trying to wriggle out of Johnny's hold to sit with you.

"What's next on the itinerary?" you ask.

Johnny checks the notepad again, trying to figure out what he's even looking at.

"Uh...Story time," he reads, with some difficulty.

He scans through Franklin's shelf on the bookcase, tracing a finger along the spines of the books. They vary wildly, from children's bedtime stories to medical journals and encyclopaedias.

Part of you wants to believe that some of them were put there by accident, but knowing Reed, it's intentional.

"I'm all for giving the kid a head start in life, but come on, Reed," Johnny gripes, pulling one of the books out and flipping through it. "Some of these encyclopaedias don't even have pictures in them."

Franklin looks up at you intently, making little noises as if he's trying to tell you something important.

"You're right, honey," you say in a stage-whisper, glancing slyly at Johnny. "We should pick something a bit more your uncle's speed, shouldn't we?"

Johnny glares at you. "Wow, you're ganging up on me now, is that it? Not cool."

He chooses a book - a very colourful, very unacademic-looking one - and plops himself down next to you.

"Is this what's gonna happen when we have our own kid?" he asks, pretending to sulk.

"If, Johnny," you correct.

"Right. If," he replies, with the faintest smile on his face.

He pulls Franklin into his lap, making sure he's comfortable before opening the book.

You prop your head up with your hand, leaning your elbow against the back of the couch, watching him as he begins reading.

You've never really pictured Johnny as a father. It's not so much that you don't think he's cut out for it, it's more that so much of who he is has never quite fit the role, in your eyes. He's impulsive, and downright reckless at times. You can't count how many nights you've stayed up into the early hours, glued to the news with your stomach in anxious knots. He cares, of course he does, but sometimes you think he cares too much. You know how quickly he'd throw his own life away to save someone else's.

You know who he is, you know what you signed up for when the two of you got together, but it still scares you. It's one thing if he doesn't come back to you, but what about your child? How is that fair on them?

You can't change who Johnny is, you know that. You would never try to. Okay, maybe the little things, like his annoying habit of leaving his shoes at the top of the stairs.

But this? This is who he is.

Even if the accident had never happened, you know Johnny would still be out there, risking his life to help other people. It's the kind of man he is. It's what makes you love and admire him as much as you do.

You feel a hand on yours, and you jolt, as if you've just been woken out of a sleep.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Johnny asks softly, with a concerned expression.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, of course," you reply hastily. "I'm just listening to you read, that's all."

You both heard it - the tremor in your voice. Johnny looks at you for a moment longer, before he lets it go, turning back to the book.

That's one thing you've always loved about him - he never pushes you. He knows you'll always tell him what's wrong when you're ready.

"I've never liked when people push me like that," he'd told you once. "I'm not always ready to talk when other people are. So, if you need that space...it's there."

It's hard not to worry. Sometimes it feels like that's all you do. But watching Johnny as he is now, with Franklin in his lap, shifts your perspective a little more.

It's too soon to tell. Far too soon. But maybe...

Maybe things will be okay.

"I think someone's getting a little sleepy," Johnny whispers to you, doing his best not to move.

You look down. Franklin's chin is pressed into his chest, his eyelids fluttering as he tries to stay awake. Both of you sit completely still, watching him as he slowly nods off.

You press your lips together, trying not to laugh at how cute he looks right now. Johnny carefully passes the book to you, as he gently lifts Franklin into his arms and stands up. You follow after him, neither of you saying a word.

Johnny carefully lays him down in his crib, giving you space to pull his blanket around him. He's the very picture of innocence, his hands clenched loosely into fists as his chest rises and falls. Johnny wraps an arm around your shoulders, giving you a little squeeze, and you stand there for a while, basking in the peace and quiet.

It feels like a perfect end to a lovely evening.

And then Franklin's eyes open again.

The two of you look at each other, unsure as to what to do. Maybe if you just stay quiet, he'll settle down again. After a few minutes, Johnny points to the door. He moves no more than an inch before Franklin's face starts to screw up.

Johnny's over by the crib again like a shot, gently shushing him.

"Hey, buddy, it's okay. It's okay. I'm right here," he murmurs softly.

That seems to work, but only so far as to stop him from crying.

"I know you're tired," Johnny says, as Franklin stares up at him with wide eyes. "Your mom and dad will be back soon, and it'd make me look real good if you were fast asleep before then."

He turns to you sheepishly.

"Sorry, it would make us look good," he corrects.

He leans his arms on the side of the crib.

"Come on, little man, you gotta close those big eyes for me. Please? It's so easy, you just gotta..."

Johnny lets his eyelids slowly drop, before closing them completely. He waits for a few seconds. Franklin's still staring at him.

"Man, I'm so tired," Johnny says, through a loud, exaggerated yawn. "Sure would be nice to just...drift off right now..."

He closes his eyes again, placing his hands under his cheek as he pretends to snore, like something out of a cartoon.

He peeks an eye open. Nothing.

Franklin blows a big raspberry, clapping his hands together. He kicks his legs, and his blanket falls away from him.

"Now he's mocking me," Johnny mutters. "Did your dad teach you that?"

He leans over the railing to tuck him back in.

Big mistake.

Franklin's face starts to screw up again. Neither of you are quick enough to stop the tears this time.

"Oh, no, no, c'mon, buddy," Johnny says, scooping Franklin up. "You win, okay? You can stay up as long as you like."

He holds him close, slowly rocking from one foot to the other. His hand gently runs up and down Franklin's back, as he softly shushes him with little murmurs of "it's okay". Eventually, Franklin starts to settle, his fingers digging in the fabric of Johnny's shirt as he sniffles. His red-rimmed eyes meet yours, and you wave and coo at him until you finally manage to coax a smile onto his face.

"There we go," Johnny says quietly.

He turns to you with a wry smile. "Guess someone wants to keep partying, huh?"

You nod. "Guess so."

You head back to the living room, getting yourselves comfortable on the couch again. Franklin sits safely between the two of you, now as alert and happy as ever. Johnny, on the other hand, is starting to look as though he could doze off any minute now.

You lightly poke him in the arm.

"When you said someone was getting sleepy earlier, I think you meant you," you tease.

Johnny clutches at his arm like he's been badly injured. "Watch yourself, Franklin. You don't wanna get on your auntie's bad side. She's vicious."

You glare at him. He sticks his tongue out at you.

"For your information, I am not falling asleep. I'm just...conserving energy, that's all," he insists.

You snort. "I never said you were falling asleep. But thank you for admitting it."

The two of you fall silent, and those thoughts that have been following you around for the better part of the evening start to creep in again. You don't want to talk, if you're honest with yourself, but you know that you need to.

Because this isn't just some throwaway thing.

Having a baby will change everything. You need to be honest with each other.

"How long have you been thinking about it?" you ask.

"Having a baby?" Johnny prompts, running a hand through his hair. "Um...A while now, if I'm honest."

He looks down, to where Franklin's amusing himself by pulling at the feet of his pyjamas.

"I hadn't really considered it before, you know? It didn't really feel like something I was meant for. But then I never thought I was meant for saving the world, and look how that turned out."

He laughs to himself.

"And then I met you. And this little guy came along, and I...God, I dunno. It wasn't until I told you that it clicked. Before that, I hadn't been able to put it into words, how I was feeling. But it's been there."

Johnny's gaze meets yours.

"I wasn't trying to keep it a secret from you. I didn't even know what it was."

"I know," you tell him. "And it's okay, I'm not worried about that. I'm just..."

You pluck at the sleeve of your sweater worriedly.

"I'm scared," you admit.

There. You've finally said it. There's no taking it back now.

"Things will change. A lot of things. And it's not just how my body's gonna change, it's..."

"You're worried something's gonna happen to me," Johnny murmurs.

You nod, blinking hard to stop the tears that are suddenly welling in your eyes. Johnny rests his hand on your knee.

"I wanna be able to promise you that nothing bad will ever happen. I wanna be able to promise you that I'll stop, hang up my suit and call it quits. But I can't."

"I don't expect you to," you reply in a trembling voice. "I just need you to promise me that you'll be more careful. Because if we make this decision, there's no going back on it. It's not just you and me we have to think about anymore."

"I know. Believe me, I know. I've been thinking about it a lot lately. All the bad things that could happen. But I also keep thinking about all the good things too. Deciding on names, putting together the nursery - and yes, I will build the crib myself, unlike some people I could name."

You can't help the laugh that escapes you at that. Franklin laughs too, none the wiser.

"Can I tell you something?" Johnny asks.

"Sure," you reply.

Franklin tries to lean forward to start crawling, and Johnny grabs him, pulling him into his lap and pretending to eat him. Franklin slaps at him, his chubby cheeks turning red with his giggles.

Whatever it is must be serious. You know from experience that Johnny's usually at his most disruptive when he has something important on his mind.

He huffs out a breath, as if psyching himself up. "You know my story. I think everyone does at this point. But you've never really heard it from me, have you? Properly, I mean."

You shake your head. Johnny's not really one for hiding things, but when he gets upset, he tends to distract from it. He's told you things, but he always stops at a point.

"You know what happened to my mom. My dad, he...he did his best, but even though I was only a kid, I could see he was struggling. So Sue stepped up. Y'know, it's funny, there's not that much of a age difference between us, but she practically raised me. And yes, I'm still kind of a big kid, you don't have to remind me, but..."

He falters, pressing a kiss to the top of Franklin's head. You stay quiet, giving him the time he needs. It's hard for him to be this vulnerable.

"I know in my heart that this is what I want. Am I ready for it? Honestly? I don't know. And I don't know if I'll ever know. But I'm willing to try. I'm willing to learn, and make mistakes, and put the work in. Because I know it's not gonna be easy. But when I think about it, I mean really think about it, God, it...It makes me so happy. You know why?"

He reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently. His eyes are watering. You aren't faring much better.

"Because I know I'm not alone in this. I've got you. There's no one on this planet that grounds me like you do. And at my worst? You keep me together. You keep me sane. And I...I don't know what I'd do without you."

You can't trust yourself to speak right now. You pull at your sleeve, wiping around your waterline.

"I upset you," Johnny says. "Sorry, wasn't my intention."

"No, it's not that, it's just..."

Franklin's starting to doze off again, his head resting against Johnny's chest. You smile, in spite of the tears still threatening to fall.

"It's like you knew exactly what I needed to hear," you tell him.

"I've never been the best at this sort of thing," he admits. "But I think I know my girl pretty well."

You laugh then, shaking your head. He's impossible, but you wouldn't have him any other way.

By the time Sue and Reed get home, you’re both exhausted. Franklin, on the other hand, is having the time of his life, after his nap of fifteen whole minutes. He’s lying on Johnny’s stomach, pulling at his poor uncle’s worn-out face.

“Hey,” Sue calls softly.

She reaches for Franklin, who’s more than happy to be back in her arms.

“What are you still doing awake, hm?” she coos.

“He won’t let me sleep,” Johnny mumbles, half-sunk into his chin. “Is this punishment for all the nights I woke you up? Because if it is, I’m sorry.”

Sue laughs, balancing Franklin on her hip.

“That’s babies for you, Johnny,” she says. “They’re hard work.”

She leaves to put Franklin to bed, Reed following close behind her. They look so lovely together like that, you think to yourself. A little family.

Johnny tucks himself closer to you, letting out a self-pitying groan. You smile to yourself, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“You still want one?” you ask, your tone teasing.

He looks up at you, eyes bright with sincerity. Just like that Sunday evening that started all of this in the first place.

"Yeah," he murmurs, his hand tracing tiny patterns along your knee. "I do."

You let out a little breath, to steady yourself for what you're about to say.

"But maybe...Maybe not right now," Johnny says quietly. "We've still got a lot of talking to do, and I wanna make sure this is right. For both of us."

How does he always know?

He moves his hand to rest on your stomach, and you can’t help but smile as you place yours over his.

“But someday, right?”

You nod, looking down at your hands, fingers entwined against your stomach.

Someday.

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#i can't believe THIS is the man who's making me want a baby #oh i'm really in it now huh #johnny storm x reader #angie writes #prettycalla writes

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riveredmoon · 2 days ago

Text

her stage, their ruin ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Toji is a simple man. All he needs is a place to lay his head and his woman by his side.

toji’s track: but your love ain’t free no more, baby

synopsis: he let her go when he couldn’t give her the life she deserved; now he swears he can pull her out of the one she chose.

warnings: mdni, modern au, non curse au, stripper au (might’ve gotten some things wrong), fem!reader, smut, angst (apparently), established relationship, relationship tension, toxic masculinity, flashback and time jump, lap dances, unprotected piv, roughish, desperation, unresolved ending. standalone — apart of a mini series!

word count: 4.1k

Orange hues leak in from the paper thin curtains the motel room offered. The colors dance along the purplish bruises that litter down your legs — some darker than others, as if they have deeper stories to tell. Fingers pressed into the supple skin of your skin — pointing at Toji every time you move.

Your body, the touches, and the eyes that fell upon you all these nights before, laugh at him.

Toji leans against the cold slab of wood that the motel calls a headboard, his eyes following you as you strut around the small room. Your hands picking things up from the floor, legs brushing against his calf whenever you step past the bed. His arm almost reaches out for you every time.

Red ruby underwear is the only thing adorning your body — and the bruises, he can’t forget those. A sunset happening right in the shabby room — one not leading with good night kisses but of rushed pecks as you pack a bag to flourish in the grasp of other men. Leaving him to sleep alone, again.

He bites the inside of his cheek as he continues to study you — that’s all he could really do these days. Watch you pretend everything is okay. Watch you pretend that you’re fine that you two are here, in a motel room with sticky sheets and a cracked bathroom mirror. Watch you pretend that you enjoy nights away, other men being the ones you keep your eyes peeled open for. Watch you pretend that you’re happy with the fact that you have to provide for them.

Your back is to him as you stand in front of said cracked mirror, eyes bags heavy, the mirror emphasizing the dark marks on your body. Your fingers rake through your hair, slight tugs as you comb out tangles he wishes he could run his fingers through.

You’re beautiful. He always thought that, always will. But you look new, not his. Also not yours either.

Toji doesn’t realize the words tumbling out of his mouth, not until you’re glancing at him.

“You should stop dancing,” his voice is firm, a bite to it. The voice he uses when you argue and he’s trying to get under your skin.

“What?” You’re staring at him. Your face is soft, the orange glow kissing your cheeks. You look tired.

He swallows what he thinks is his pride down. “Don’t think I stuttered.”

You squint at him, as if you’re trying to see if it’s really him laying on the bed in front of you — almost as if he looks new too.

“Well,” you shrug, the act causing his eyes to fall to your bare chest. Your perky breasts falling with the way your chest heaves when you breathe. “You don’t have a job.”

It almost sounds like you’re questioning the obvious and anger blossoms in his chest because of it.

He doesn’t think he needs to be reminded of his misgivings, especially by you.

“I fucking know that,” he spits and you just stare. No reaction to his anger, or the shame that courses through his words — it’s so quiet, he almost mistaken it for something else.

You sigh, wistfully. Your eyes falling to his chest, as if you’re watching the emotions course through his body.

“So, what do you want me to do?” You roll your eyes, shuffling around the room. The lights coming from the blinds casting pretty shadows of just you. The dust in the room floating just above your head — everything lining up for your show. He hates it.

“Become a teacher?”

The motel’s air conditioner hums and rattles in between you. He can hear the argument coming from the couple right below — their yells are shrill and chilling. He knows they’d make up by tomorrow, they always do.

“Not this,” his voice is lower, a little rougher. Everything he can’t do for you flashing in front of him as if it’s doing a strip tease for him. “You deserve better.”

You laugh, it’s not mean or teasing but it feels like it is. He thinks you, the bruises, and the men waiting to see you are all laughing at him again. A joke he’d never get the punchline of.

“Sorry I don’t think you should be getting naked for fucking money.”

“Sorry that I’m bringing money in while you don’t have a fucking job?” You snap. Your hands balled up into fists on the side of your thighs as you stand your ground. Toji is almost proud of you. “Get off my back.”

He gets up from the bed, stalking over to you. His steps are heavy and he’s trying his hardest to walk as slow as he could — taking in how your eyes follow him too.

He crouches a bit, his nose brushing yours from how close he is to you. He can swallow every breath you shudder out. “I think you deserve more than having to strip for men who mean nothing to you.” The air conditioner rattles hard against the windowpane, almost drowning out his words.

“You’re more than that.” His fingers come up to twirl the tips of your hair falling down your shoulder.

His tone is so patronizing, he almost doesn’t realize it’s him speaking. In his mind he believes getting you riled up will make you see his point, hear him out. Possibly erase the feelings of inadequacy that seems to grow in the spaces between you whenever he steps back for even a second.

“Fuck you,” you huff, smacking his hand away from your hair. He welcomes the sting from it. It means you’re still within reach.

You walk backwards into the bathroom, your eyes not leaving his. The space is widening with anger and shame, it’s almost too hot. “How about you be better?”

Regret gleams in your eyes as you stare at him. Your bottom lip quivering just a bit — no tears though. He has long told you to never show tears.

It must be the tic in Toji’s jaw and his narrowed eyes that gives you the pressure to keep going. Your finger comes up to point towards his chest.

“You’re sitting here with this ‘you deserve more’ bullshit spiel, as if I’m not doing this for US.”

“Calm down,” he runs his hands through his hair. His eyes flicker to your pebbled nipples as goosebumps climb up your arms.

“No, fuck off,” your voice is a little louder than before. The anger swimming from him to you. “You could at least say fucking thank you or something.”

He furrows his eyebrows at that. His tongue clicking, as the blinds flutter a little more erratically. “It’s not that I’m not grateful.” He’s not. He knows he isn’t. How can he be grateful for something he hates?

“Oh no it’s just that you think I should want more, wah wah,” you roll your eyes so hard, he can almost hear the action.

“You’re acting like someone’s putting a damn gun to my head.”

He pauses. He could say sorry. Grab you in for a hug but, he won’t. He can’t. His eyes are fixed on your hand around the doorknob, knuckles stretched and angry. “So you’re telling me you like this?”

“I mean what else is going to pay for us to live in this beautiful room, Toji?” Sarcasm drips from your voice with so much venom, he’s sure the couple below heard it.

“Do I have much of a fucking choice right now?”

And you slam the door to the bathroom.

He watches the bathroom door. Listens for the lock. It never clicks.

He hears a soft curse and the sound of the sink running, instead.

He doesn’t stay.

You. You keep dancing.

The music is slow, and slightly too loud. The bass thrums through the soles of your six inch heels and the metal of the pole that’s cold against your palm. The feeling of the music snakes around you, settling on your hips like the warm hands of a distant lover.

You usually do a sweep of the room before letting the music usher your body. Lights, just faceless bodies half the time, and the shell of smoke above the stage like little clouds of pleasure, press their way into your routine.

Tonight though, you don’t have too.

Not when the heat of his stare burns brighter than the overhead lights. No squinting of your eyes against the harsh purplish lights and ignoring the hungry stares to see him. His presence alone is felt — something warm, but also too unstable to hold on to.

You dance for you, but tonight you could dance for him.

You spin around the pole, shutting your eyes and listening to the music. Listening to the broken groans and heavy exhales that lift up to the clouds of smoke. Your knees drag across the stage when your drop low, your hands grabbing your bare tits and pushing them up.

You part your glossed lips — like a secret just for him is about to spill out, before you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth. One of your hands slide between your thighs, slick with sheen — a little tease that you know would bother him.

The whole room being teased at the expense of his own ego.

You drag your eyes up slowly, ignoring the bills, the whistles, the puppy dog eyes from the men watching you — letting your gaze meet his, just for a second.

He sits in the shadows near the bar. Big arms draped over the back of the booth. Casual, as if he owns you, the booth, and everything else within his vicinity. However, you don’t miss the tic in his jaw as his eyes gleam with sweet desperation.

You also ignore just how much you missed his stare on you.

Toji is out of place. He knows it, the bartender knows it, the notes coming from the speaker knows it, the business man with his wrinkled printed tie knows it. And you, you know it.

You're to busy using your body — swaying your hips slowly and purposefully — to care. Hands holding this month’s rent gather near your clenched thighs as you dip lower to the stage — arching your back and feeling the air slip between your pussy.

You do not have to stare or even talk to him to know he isn’t supposed to be here. He does not want to be here — at least not in the same the men you're taking money from want to.

And he will tell you that you aren’t either. A conversation that still doesn’t sit right with you all this time later.

You know he tells himself he’s here to check up on you. To pretend that he isn’t bothered. As if you need a savior. You almost laugh at the thought.

The song is ending and you feel the tempo of the music trying to calm your beating heart. Your palms are sweaty as you stay arched back, legs spread just enough to have him see what he misses, one hand threading into your hair.

You still don’t look at him fully.

You’re not surprised he followed you. You would’ve been surprised if he didn’t. The private room is dim, slightly cold — you don't know if it's because Toji's stare or the the air conditioner working harder than usual. You bring your white silk robe closer to your bare body, your pebbled nipples poking through the thin material.

Toji sits on the leather couch — legs wide spread, arms lazily thrown over the sides of it. You would say he almost looks bored, but the way his eyes track every breath you make, you know that assumption isn't even close.

You keep your eyes from glancing at him for too long. Walking closer to the couch, your fingers dancing along the armrest. "Your regular?”

He chuckles, sending you a sideways glance. You straighten your back at the sound. “Well, hello to you too, baby.”

Yours eyes meet his and just for a second, you're transported back to the motel — sheets with questionable stains that stick to your body as his mouth places wet kisses down your spine. His usual rough hands placed softly on your body, making sure to dodge those bruises he stared at.

Then in a blink of eye, you're met with a vision of an empty motel room. Toji's loving roughness replaced with a cold loneliness.

A shiver runes down your spine as you just stare back, taking in the scar near his lip, his broad shoulders… him.

You swallow down whatever emotion that's trying to merge with your words. “Hi, Toji."

“How much is my regular?” Voice rough, his thighs spreading open a little further. You don't realize that you're inching closer to him — one of your knees pressed into his as you stand looking down at him.

“You can’t afford it," you joke, a short gasp of laugh slipping from your lips. A tight smile lifts the corners of his lips, his narrowed eyes falling to your robe that's becoming slightly undone. "It’s on me.”

There is a beat of silence — you hear heels clicking as other girls run to the stage for their nightly dance. Soft, sultry music slipping from under the oak door and falling in between the heat of Toji's body and yours.

He tilts his head as he continues to watch you, the tight smile still imprints on his lips. He watches you hungrily, like a predator with its prey — you're almost forgetting that you have the power.

Nothing else is said as you make your way in between his legs, your back to this hooded eyes. The robe falling from your shoulders with as much grace you can muster.

You place your hand on his thick thighs, feeling him twitch at the contact — slowly settling on to his lap. Your plush ass donned in a pink thong presses against his covered, twitching cock — just slightly. Like he's holding on to all the restraint he thinks he has.

He doesn't move, but you hear the heavy breath he's exhaling through his nose — like your body touching his after all this time set something off in him.

You roll your hips, your nails digging into his jean clad thighs and a quiet moan escaping out of you. From the corner of your eye, you see Toji's arms dropping from their lazy perch on the couch to the side of his body — fingers inching towards your hips.

You can feel just how hard he is already — thick and twitching through the zipper of his jeans, almost perfectly placed between the thin material of your already wet thong.

Another roll of your hips forward, letting your panties catch in the bulge in his pants once more. Both of his hands grips on to your waist as you continue to slowly (torturously) grind your hips down on him.

He quietly groans, and you grind down a little more firmly. “I should be mad at you,” you look down in between your bodies, seeing how your slick is bleeding through the thin lace and on to his dark jeans.

His hands flex, adding a little more pressure to your hips — basically guiding you along the shape of his cock as you rock your hips. “And why is that?” His voice is steady, but you know him. You catch the shuddery breath he let out after speaking.

One of your hands leaves his thigh to rub against your nipples, your head falling back as you let a moan out. Your hips slightly picking up speed. “You left,” you whisper. Your voice soft, almost wistful.

“I’m here now,” he juts his hips up, meeting your grinding the best way he can. You know he wants to take control, he always did when you did this for him.

One of his hands leaves its place on your grinding hips, trailing down the side of your thigh. You bring your head down just to watch how soft his fingers are against your skin. "Just to check up, huh?”

You drag your hips forward again, slower than when you first started — letting his fingers push the thin lace of your panties to the side. He drags his fingers along your slit, rough and slow. Your slick ruining his jeans. “Didn’t think you’d still be doing this."

The gasp that leaves your mouth is mixed with hurt and the pleasure of his finger finding its way into your clenched pussy. Your back falling against his chest as you shy away from the statement. You shouldn't give a fuck what he thought you'd still be doing.

He's the one who left.

His finger, long and thick pumps into your cunt slowly. The sound of your slick gathering where he enters swarms the room. With his heart beating against your back, you continue to clumsily roll your hips — his other hand still gripping your hip.“Was hoping you wouldn’t,” he hums. He slips his finger out of you, letting it run along your folds, before entering again, but this time with another.

Two fingers pump into your pussy and if he wasn't holding on to you so tightly, you would've kneeled over from the feeling. The stretch being so nostalgic, you want to tell him that you looked for this feeling from other men — never being able to find it.

"That's why I didn’t stay."

You slow your hips down, feeling his cock twitch through his jeans as it pokes against your ass. “Welcome back, I guess,” you turn your head to catch a look at his face. His eyes are focused on his fingers fucking into you.

“Not a warm welcome when there’s a bunch of men watching what’s mine,” he growls against your ear. His fingers still pumping in and out of you, slowly. His thumb finds your clit and you clench around his digits.

Your grinding has halted, just your heaving body leaning on to his brad chest. His thumb lazily rubbing circles around your throbbing clit as you moan and throw your head back against his shoulder. “W-what use to be yours." You stutter as fingers starts to curve along your walls, picking up pace and hitting that spot that maks you see stars.

The hand on his thigh squeezes, his body jerking at your nails digging into him. You catch the little scoff he lets out. Your hand that was gripping your tits falls to his forearm, feeling the tension of the pumping of his fingers — the movements becoming a little more faster, more hungry.

Your eyes roll back as you try to pathetically grind on his cock, trying to get even more friction. “But,” he slips out of you again, you whine at the loss of contact. He brings his fingers closer to your face, they shine with the sheen from your cunt. “Still wet for me.” Then his wet fingers tap at your glossy lips, pushing through to lay flat on your tongue. Your tongue swirls around them, tasting yourself on his skin. From your peripheral, you watch his jaw clench as he stares at your lips. Pupils dilated, breathing heavy.

“Tell me you missed me."

You don't respond — you can't with his fingers in your mouth. You hollow your cheeks around his fingers, your grip on his forearm tightening. Your eyes not leaving his.

You pull his fingers out your mouth slowly, tongue still tracing along his knuckles when you do so. They leave your mouth with a slick of spit and your juices stringing from your lips to him. "I don't know how you want me to answer that." You whisper.

You can't place the moment that switched the power scale. You can really only pay attention to the leather couch underneath you, Toji's knee nudging your thighs wider apart, and the air in the room. Its thick and heavy, and known — it feels as if he never left you.

Your thighs shake, barely stable on your heels and you lean forward — arching your back, letting him getting the perfect view of your soaked cunt.

“Toji-“ your pussy clenches around nothing, as you try to look over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him. You hear the rustle of him lining up with your heat, the drag of his zipper, breaking the moan in you voice.

"What a beautiful fucking pussy," he grits through his teeth, you hear just how gone he is. His hands roughly grab your ass, pulling you a little closer to him. The head of his cock is pressed against your folds, the warmth of your cunt leaking down your thighs. You slightly push your hips back, his tip stretching your hole.

Then, he slides in, slowly at first, forcing you to take all of him at once. Your head falls forward, deepening your arch as you let out a broken moan. The stretch burns, but its familiar — despite it not having a home within you anymore. His hips meets yours as he bottoms out. He exhales through his nose, you feel it hit your back.

His grip on your hips is tight and bruising — like if he lets go, he'll slip away again. And with out warning, he pulls completely out. You jerk your hips back but not before he slams back into you.

He fucks into you hard — greedily pumping into your pussy. Your thighs wobble from the force of his meeting yours. His hips buck forward, rough and fast — like he's trying to fuck this career choice out of you.

plap. plap. plap.

Is all you hear as your arch your back against his thrusts. He groans over you, one of his hands wrapping your hair into a fist, pulling you up, your bare back flushed against his clothed chest. His other hand sliding up your stomach, and kneading your perky tits.

The new position allowing his cock to glide along your gummy walls, the feeling burning jn your stomach growing as you try to meet his thrusts. Watery curses spill out of your mouth as you bring your fingers in between your bodies — feeling the rhythm of his cock as he fucks up into you. Your fingers shakily circling your clit as you squeeze your eyes shut, clenching around his cock.

His lips brush your shoulder as he slows down, your pussy fluttering around him, clinging desperately. He pulls you back a little more, the arch deepening and allowing his throbbing cock to press against that gummy spot. You don't pay attention to his lips until he bites down on you shoulder — earning a yelp from you. It is not a tender love bite, its hard. Possessive. “Leaving a parting gift,” he grunts, as he pulls all the way out again. "So that they know you belong to someone." He slams back into you.

The couch creaks below you, your thighs hurt, and you could hear your managers just outside the door — probably wondering who booked the private room without telling them.

You can't say much but short pants of his name as your pussy grips on to him like a vice. His breath fans against your neck as his cock continues to piston out of you. One of his fingers twist at your nipple, meanly, and you can't help but push back against him. Your slick running from between your legs and fingers as you continue to rub your clit.

"Leave with me," he growls against your neck, your pussy gushing from the tone of his voice. “You don’t belong here." You clench around him, his hips starting lose pace — becoming sloppy and desperate. You arch your back, pushing back into him harder. The sounds of your bodies meeting bringing you closer to a climax you know you won't get.

Toji's hand weaves out of your hair, grabbing your jaw — the hold is tight, but not hurtful. He tilts your head to the side, your stares catching the other. His hips still, pressing into yours as you slowly grind your yourself on his dick. The heavy silence from his last statements, and the sound of your sloshing cunt fluttering around his cock, fight with the words that tumble out of your mouth next.

“Neither do you."

🏷️: @juliarchiv3s, @poopooindamouf, @seellove, @bxnfire, @grignardsreagent, @fayerie, @binmeister, @strawberrychita, @letteremi, @satorupi, @bistrocatxx

a/n: didn’t want to chat away at the top — but thank you!!!!!!!! i am truly so shocked that there are over 1k of you guys here! thank you for reading words that i type in my bed and have to triple edit before posting (because i always find spelling mistakes LOL). from the bottom of my heart, thank you so much <3

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demigodwithoutthegodpart · 2 days ago

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This is one of the reasons I love my job. I know the ins and outs of it and I've gotten it down to a science. I'm a closer at a cafe, and I'm probably the best one our store has (not to brag). I learned how to close when we were running skeleton crew and didn't have a second to spare during the morning rush which made me keep an eye out for any and every detail. When anyone asks, I say I close like I'm preparing for the apocalypse because it means one of 2 things: We were prepared or less work for tomorrow.

I've been told I know how to pace a close regardless of what time we close at. What I actually know is what I can get done early, and I can anticipate what will need to be done before we all leave for the day. I can look at a drink base and know we will need another 2 gallons at the end of the night. Boom, one less task. I can stock things that are sorta low so that they are good by the time we close up. I can make extra containers of things that will last a week because I know we will use it.

I can also anticipate what will need to be done during future shifts. On a Thursday, I'll make enough cream cheese cups to get us until Sunday because we will have the most time to make them Sunday. I make blended-drink base based on the temperatures throughout the week and based on which day will be best for making more. I'll make backup bins of toppings when one runs out but I wont open the bag so the next person doesn't have to get a new bin. I stock milk better than the grocery store because nobody wants to run out of 2% while in the middle of a Friday morning rush.

When I taught people how to pull product to thaw, they asked me how much of each thing to pull. I'd rattle some numbers off the top of my head and write them down. They would ask me how I know that. I'm not sure entirely how; the numbers sort of just come to me. But, by keeping an eye on what we have and whats selling, I can get a rough idea of whats going and how much we will need to replenish it.

I've been at this job on and off for 5 years now. What I first learned isn't a part of my job anymore as the place has changed and I've moved locations. But, similar to @weaselle above, I had to learn to manage a machine with specific time constraints which gave me a very important set of skills I took with me as I took on other positions.

We had an egg machine that made 6 egg patties at a time. It took 2 minutes if it had been idle for a while and 2 minutes 30 seconds if egg batches were done back to back. Eggs could be prepped ahead of time, but they were only good for 30 minutes. We were a drive thru with the expectation that you get everything out in under 3 minutes. Time Was Everything. One had to learn to balance eggs on hand and eggs in the process of cooking with ebbs and flows of cars in the drive thru. Keeping your eggs stash stocked during the morning rush was a must, you didn't want to fall behind. You had to time egg-making with drink-only orders and you had to put together the middle of the sandwich while the bread was toasting. But, you wanted to make sure you didn't overstock and have eggs go to waste later on.

I learned to watch the driver thru order taker and which buttons they pressed. Id be over at the bagel wall by the time the order popped up on my screen when I saw them hit one of the buttons. My goal was to get everything out before the car even pulled up to the window so that I wouldn't slow anything down. I obtained the super useless skill of being able to put cream cheese on a bagel really fast without any coming out of the hole in the middle.

A lot of times I get asked if I get bored of closing; most people at my store hate closing and can't understand why I haven't gone insane doing the same thing 5 days a week for the past year. I'm passionate about the little details and I like setting people up for success. There comes a lot of joy in figuring out that if I stack the dishes in a certain way then they won't slide out and fall on my head. There's joy in coming in and hearing my mid-shift manager thanking me for refilling a certain powder because it was low and I *knew* that they were going to run out during that morning's rush. For me there's joy in the little things, the small details, and the seemingly unimportant.

Anyway, I think I got a little lost in the sauce while writing is but point is I love my job. If it paid a living wage, I might stay here forever. I love knowing every little detail like how to submit a ticket when food has gone off, how to fix the espresso machines when they get stuck, or where my boss hid that one box of product we need. My coworkers come to me when they have questions because they know I will have an answer whether it's stashed in my brain or not, and I hope to continue being a beacon of learning for them for many years to come.

#coffee #food service #joy in the little things #food

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swearimnevergivingup · 1 day ago

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you’ve been riling satoru up all night, so now he’s fucking you until “sorry” is the only thing you can say

you’ve been teasing him all evening — touching his thigh under the table, leaning in a little too close when you whisper in his ear, brushing your lips over his jaw when nobody’s looking. and the worst of all? when you pretended to “accidentally” drop your lipgloss, then bent over and gave him a good look up your short skirt.

no panties.

satoru isn’t really angry — can’t ever be angry with you — not when you look at him with those eyes, and a cute pout to top it all off. but this is all a fun little game you play together, so he lets his darker fantasies take over and indulges in the whimpers and whines that fall from your lips as he fucks you face down into the couch like this.

your legs are spread wide and apart, ass hoisted up as he thrusts into you with a steady, hard rhythm. he isn’t angry — if anything, it’s cute how you struggle to keep your position, even as your legs tremble and your cunt clenches around him, impossibly tight and wet. you mewl a little every time he jolts you forward with a harsh thrust, your hands dripping the cushions for purchase as you fight to keep yourself up.

“s-suh—” you’re mumbling something into the cushion, voice a wet, ruined sound.

“what was that baby?”

“s-sorry, sorry—” you sob, lifting your head so he can hear you clearer. “sorry, s-satoru—”

he laughs, low and wicked, leaning forward until his chest presses against your back. “sorry?” he coos. “you don’t sound very sorry, baby,” another perfect thrust has you biting back a loud moan that confirms exactly what he was saying. “you sound like you’re loving this.”

“n-no, i am, i am—” you choke out, arms giving out as his thrusts grow even harder, deeper, dragging along your sensitive walls, until all you can do is brokenly sob his name into the fabric. “satoru, f-fuck—”

“good girl,” he purrs, one big hand splayed across your lower back, pinning you in place as if you could ever run. as if you ever wanted to run. “take it for me. be sweet and say it again.”

“s-sorry, satoru,” you rasp, voice cracking. “s-sorry—”

“mhm,” he hums, smug and satisfied, hips slamming into yours with a pace that leaves you trembling. “that’s it, baby. you’ll be real sorry when i’m done with you.”

#gojo smut #jjk smut #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #satoru x reader #satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #mel writes

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lunescore · 3 days ago

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I was hoping you could maybe do a Vi x Fem reader head cannons of how Vi would fuck reader in each era like Vi in prison, S1 act 2-3 Vi, Enforcer Vi, pitfighter Vi, and S1 act 3 Vi. It could kinda be like if she’s a soft dom, mean dom, what kinks she likes and would do to reader, certain pet names, certain positions, etc, or whatever you think would go with each of these eras. Idk if any of this makes since but this was just a random though that came to me 😭

𝐋𝐔𝐍𝐄’𝐒 𝐕𝐈 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄—

Violet (ARCANE) x Prisoner Girlfriend!Reader ⋆.˚

★ SYNOPSIS: Vi meets you as a fellow prisoner at Stillwater and you both bond over your hate for… well, everyone. Unexpectedly, you both keep hooking up and start openly developing feelings for each other. Much to your dismay, Vi gets released and becomes an Enforcer for the Topside— you're anxious she will cheat. Vi, although telling you she will never, does so in the end and breaks your heart. Vi tells you and breaks down, regretting everything but you tell her it's okay and perhaps you both should break up. A long while later, you're out of prison and meet Vi again— she's changed so much but she cherishes you like she should have from the start.

★ CONTENT: thigh grinding, daddy kink, fingering, praise kink, no aftercare, GENTLE!VI, oral, eye contact, slightly angsty and sad, prison sex, strap sex, reader referred as a masochist, cheating themes, breakup scene ahead, slight mention of self harm, slight bulging, sex at the pitfight ring prep room

★ AUTHOR: I love this idea!! Thank you anon baby!!

Prisoner Vi

Thigh grinding, daddy kink, fingering, praise kink, no aftercare, gentle!Vi, oral, eye contact

── .✦ Vi knew you'd become her prison bitch the moment she laid eyes on you. And you didn't even deny it. She was so hot, so gentle whenever you asked for it. Most of the time, her pent-up anger made her rough when it came to sex though. But you never complained. Maybe you liked it when she was like that. Sometimes though, she found you in your cell and left you a horny little mess by teasing you with her fingers. She knew you'd come crawling back to her cell at night after lights are out. You're just a needy little thing after all.

── .✦ “Vi,” you gasped when her thigh slotted between yours, she had you backed up and pinned against the wall.

“Yeah? You like it like this, don't you?” Her hands slid under your shirt and palmed your tits, she leaned in, “so beautiful…”

Your mouth hung open and Vi took the chance, her lips crashing into yours. Her lips were chapped as they moved against yours, her tongue slipped in your mouth and explored— heated. Loving.

Vi squeezed your tits, fingers toying with your nipples. “Baby,” you gasped, “don't twist them!”

Vi chuckled and tugged, twisting the right one. She smirked, “Want daddy's fingers inside?”

“Y-yes,” you ground against her thigh.

That's how Vi’s slender yet strangely expert fingers found their way inside your sopping mess of a cunt. She thrusted hard and curled them in all the right places as you melted down in her arms. Your hole twitched, clit pulsed in need. Your arms circled around Vi’s neck to just hold her there as you moaned in her ear.

“Daddy, please, fuck, you're— you feel so good, you're fucking me so good,” your moans came in meek little whispers, tickling Vi’s ear.

“There you go, dollface, fall apart in my arms, yeah?”

She held you through your climax like you were made of glass and you wouldn't have it any other way. Vi’s fingers slipped outside after a while, your liquids coming down to her knuckles in a drip, she licked it clean. Like a woman starved.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” she kissed you right after making you taste yourself.

She turned to leave later that time. No aftercare. No nothing. You grabbed her wrist, she turned.

Your eyes bleared with unshed tears, “Will you be back?”

Vi reached forward, hand behind your head and pulled your head down just a little so she could kiss the crown of your head. “Y'know where to find me.”

── .✦ You stepped out, legs shaky but deliberate as you walked the stony steps to Vi’s cell. Your footsteps padded softly, almost soundless as you approached the cell room. Vi looked up.

“Knew you'd be back, princess,” she walked closer to the cell bars, a smirk on her face.

You grinned. The moment you were inside, Vi was handsy. Her calloused palms caressed and squeezed your body all over as she laid you down on the weather uncomfortable cot at the corner, she smiled taking in your flushed form.

“You look so good under me, I might as well just keep you when we get outta here,” Vi gave you a wink.

Your breath hitched, you hit her arm playfully, “Don't say things you don't mean.”

Vi didn't say anything, instead she silently leaned down between your thighs and let your legs frame her head, her nose grazed your clit— still covered by the thin cotton of your underwear. She brought them down with her teeth, undeterred eye contact the entire time.

“Look at me while I eat you,” her tongue touched your entrance and your tummy fluttered with butterflies. Or maybe just that urge to orgasm.

Vi’s muscular biceps locked around your thighs so you could squirm away even if you tried to, her mouth working on you in slow, messy laps. She ate you as if you were the only decent meal in prison. Her tongue never stopped, her eyes still open and staring right into yours.

Your eyes squeezed shut, head tilting back, ‘Oh, Janna, fuck— you're too good to me, daddy…”

“Look at me.” Vi whispered as if it were a plea, she waited until you looked into her powder blue eyes until she proceeded again— making you finish over and over on her tongue, in her cot, in her cell.

Enforcer Vi

Slightly angsty and sad, prison sex, strap sex, reader referred as a masochist, cheating themes, breakup scene ahead (so get your tissues), again no aftercare, slight mention of self harm, daddy kink, slight bulging

── .✦ “I told you I'd be back here for you,” Vi pushed you against the wall of your cell.

“But you've joined them,” you muttered, your eyes pitiful when you looked at her, Vi squeezed your waist.

Her voice broke, “I know.”

You didn't want an explanation, you just wanted Vi safe. And she knew that. She didn't fuck you that night, no. She kissed you deeply, her hand holding your jaw to guide you through the kiss. Vi didn't know what to say and that was okay. You just wanted to be held that night.

“I’ve missed you,” your hand moved to bundle in her uniform, “Blue looks good on you.”

Vi laughed. “Thanks, babe, you look good in everything,” she kissed you again— slower this time. She let herself enjoy it even though she felt like she didn't deserve it.

“Vi, when will I get out?” You asked, longing.

“Soon, love, soon,” she held your head against her chest for a little, just so you could hear the way her heart raced.

“Not soon,” you thought, you knew you'd be here a while.

── .✦ Vi pulled strings even though there was only so much she could do as a Piltie enforcer. You never asked for it, but you sure as hell were grateful. The meal change was a drastic improvement and you were sleeping better in your new, cleaner cell.

It was past two in the morning and you tried to sleep on the new cot— tossing and turning. But you couldn't sleep. Where was Vi? It had been a full week. You then heard footsteps, heavy footsteps. Ones that sounded like Vi’s. You rushed to the bars, peering out into the darkness and squinting.

“Violet?”

The air shifted and Vi appeared with a small smile, “I'm here,” she unlocked the cell and slipped inside, closing the door behind herself, “I missed you.” She picked you up, your legs crossing around her waist as she pinned you to the wall.

“What took you so long?” You pouted.

“Had to make sure the idiots were outta the way so I could come meet my pri—”

“—Prisoner.” you deadpanned.

“Princess. I was going to say princess.” Vi tucked back a loose strand of your matted hair.

“Sure you were,” you rolled your eyes.

“Hey,” Vi held your face, having you look at her properly. “We are in this together, and I'm never gonna forget about you.”

“What if one day you meet some hot Enforcer and decide to bail on me?” Your eyes glimmered with tears under the dim light of the cell.

Vi’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, “Baby,” she moved closer, nose to nose with you, “That is never going to happen, alright? I'm yours. Forever.”

Vi stayed back that night although you didn't fully trust her commitment. You let her hands wander, she pressed the bulge of her pants against your front and you giggled, wiping your tears. “Did you grow a dick when you became an Enforcer?”

“Did I?” Vi gave you a lopsided smile.

You grinned and palmed her bulge, “That's a strap.”

Vi feigned offense. “That's my dick.” a beat of silence. “Undo my zipper.”

That you did and that's how you both ended up with your legs folded against your chest and Vi’s strap pushing up against your entrance, the bulbous head stretching your entrance only slightly.

“This may hurt,” Vi whispered.

“Y'know I love pain,” you whispered back and kissed her nose.

Vi gave you a little smirk before she rammed inside, all at once. Your breath seized when you felt the thick shaft dragging against your tight virgin walls, your hole clenched and your lips parted in a soft moan.

“Baby, your dick’s so big…” you whimpered as she pounded you.

Your breath came in small huffs as Vi’s strap disappeared in you completely, “Feel that, baby?” Vi rubbed your tummy, “I'm right here,” she pressed down just a little so you could feel the bulge.

“M-mmm… you're so big, daddy,” your toes curled as she hit that one sweet spot inside you.

“Yeah? Fuck,” Vi grunted as she moved harder, “your pretty self is gonna become the death of me.”

Vi thrusted again, this time biting down on the sensitive skin around your nipple, you moaned so loud that she had to muffle it out with her hand.

“Shhh, princess,” she kissed your temple, “Someone could hear.”

Vi’s thrusts after that were downright brutal, you thought the cot would break due to its squeaky protests under the weight of the pair of you two. Your hands scratched at Vi’s clothed back restlessly as you felt her silicone dick stretching your needy pussy out. Your juices were slick, glistening and forming a white ring around her cock before eventually— you came undone all over her shaft.

“B-baby, can you stay a bit?” You were trembling.

“Not too long, ‘m sorry, princess,” Vi kissed you, briefly. “But I promise you, it'll get better.”

Your eyes flickered with something akin to sadness but you tried to smile, “Mhm, I know.”

Vi pulled out, cleaning her strap out hastily before she zipped herself up. “Goodnight, princess.”

“Good…—” she was already out the cell. “—night… I guess.” Your eyes fell to your own messed form before you sighed.

── .✦ Vi didn't come around for the next few weeks. The days passed in a blur. And you barely ate. It wasn't because the food was horrible. You just didn't have an appetite. When she did come along, she smelled like somebody else.

“Vi,” you tried to touch her but she flinched away like it burned her.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I don't deserve you.”

“Why would you say that?” your eyebrows curled up in sadness.

“I did it,” Vi admitted vaguely, “I did it with someone else. It was an accident, and I wanted to keep it from you. And I— I—...” Vi’s voice died down. “I wish I could skin myself alive. I didn't want to hurt you.”

She collapsed to her knees in front of you. You'd comfort her if you weren't so shocked. “Oh.”

“I'm sorry,” Vi’s arms wrapped around your waist, head against your knee. “I'm sorry,” she sobbed pathetically.

You knelt down too, “It's okay,” you tried to smile despite it all, “Is she nice?”

That made Vi cry harder. So you just held her there in silence for a while before you asked in a slow measured voice.

“Who is she?”

“Caitlyn.” Vi croaked out.

“Caitlyn Kiramman?” you asked just to confirm and Vi gave you the tiniest nod.

“It's okay,” you held her face, making her look at her, “It was never meant to be. You're an enforcer now and I'm just…”

“You're my princess,” Vi’s voice broke.

“I'm a prisoner, Violet.” You corrected, “And that's okay, I hope things work out with you and Kiramman.” you got up, helping her up too, “And thanks for stopping by,” you paused. “—and for not lying to me.”

Pitfighter Vi

Aftercare implied but not shown, fingering at the pitfight ring prep room, gentle talk through sex

── .✦ “Free finally,” you mumbled to yourself, feeling sticky and gross as you left the confines of Stillwater.

Your chest ached dully, remembering everything that went down with Vi. You'd always imagined her on this very day, beaming at you and twirling with you in her arms. With a heavy heart, you walked back to Zaun, eyes focused on the street ahead of you as you turned the knob for your apartment door.

Your sister, Hailey, groaned from the couch, toppling out of it. “Hey, sis, you're finally out,” she smiled at you, drunk.

“Hey,” you closed the door behind yourself, “How's everything?”

“Could be better,” she shrugged, “I heard what happened.”

“Huh?” your eyebrows furrowed.

“Everything with that Enforcer? Well, ex-Enforcer,” Hailey grumbled, reaching for a glass of lemon water, “Entirety of Zaun pities you.”

“Great,” you slumped onto the couch beside her.

“She's gotten hotter.”

“Shut up.”

A moment of silence passed between the both of you before you leaned and rested your head on your older sister’s shoulder. “How is she?” You asked in a small murmur.

“Vi went ahead and became a pitfighter,” Hailey put her glass down, “She broke up with Caitlyn, it was real messy and now she's all emo and whatnot.”

You snorted, leaning back against the couch, “I need a shower.”

“Do you wanna go say ‘hi’ to her?” Hailey asked, “I know you guys were close.”

“I don't want to overstep.” You looked away.

“I'm sure Vi would love for you to be there while she punches out big dudes.” Hailey grinned and you threw a cushion at her.

“Drink your damn lemon water.”

── .✦ You took a shower and dressed up a little nice that day, checking yourself in the mirror at least a hundred times before leaving the apartment with your sister giggling after you.

“Don't come home before 2!” Hailey giggled, “Better yet don't come home at all!”

You rolled your eyes and ignored her as you walked out, Hailey had scribbled the address down on a piece of paper that crumpled in your jacket pocket.

The pit was loud and people were cheering, some tearing their clothes off and spit flying in the air. You paused there and grimaced, looking around. You didn't like the place. You just wanted Vi. You saw the curtained backstage door and despite your better judgement, you worked straight in. The door creaked open and you saw Vi in front of the mirror, some sort of ink-like black stuff running down her eyes.

She did get hotter.

Her chest was binded tightly as were her forearms and she didn't look all that well mentally. Vi saw your reflection in the mirror as you stood at the threshold nervously shifting weight from one leg to another— unsure if you belonged there.

“Vi—” you began but your brain blanked when she turned around. “... You look different.”

“I look hideous.” Vi said bitterly, crossing the room in two quick strides, standing right in front of you. Fuck, she had got even more muscular than before.

“You don't,” you denied, your mouth suddenly feeling so dry. “I heard what happened with Kiramman.”

“Don't,” Vi snapped.

You flinched. Guilt flickered in Vi’s eyes.

“I'm sorry,” she sat down at the bench, “too soon.”

You stood there for a little while before walking to her side and sitting down next to her, “I couldn't stop thinking of you.”

“You're not mad at me?” Vi looked up through her lashes.

“Don't get me wrong,” you turned to face her, “I am very mad at you. But I also love you so very much, Violet, I just wished things worked out between us and—”

Vi kissed you. That's all she had needed to hear. Her lips moved against yours, and your eyes were wide from shock before you melted into the kiss. Vi’s hands were instantly in your hair, kissing you like she meant it this time. Kissing you as if promising you she'd never leave again.

“I love you,” she gasped between the kisses, she went in again— this time strong and purposeful as she pulled you closer by the waist.

“Mmm, baby, your spit tastes like blood,” you mumbled against her lips.

“Sorry,” she breathed, “Took a few to the jaw last round,” she pushed you against the bench, her hand sliding under your top and squeezing your left breast, “Mm, I missed these.”

You giggled, wrapping your legs around her before your hands grabbed at her waist, “Look at you, your abs got more defined.”

“Is that so?” Vi replied, her voice husky. Her other hand slipped under your dress, knuckles grazing your crotch, “Do you want me here, baby?”

You nodded, “I missed you so much,” your legs parted, “Make it up to me?”

“Fuck yeah.”

── .✦ Vi was in it before you even knew it, her hand desperately pushed your panties aside before pumping two digits in your tight wet heat. The moans you let out were vulgar.

Your eyes rolled back and you stammered, “V-Vi, how did you get s-so— fuck!— much better at this?”

Vi only gave you a grin before her two fingers became three, she curled them and you gasped— breathless. Your pussy squeezed her fingers as if wanting to keep them inside forever.

“Oh, baby,” Vi left hickeys on your neck, “Everyone’s gonna know you're mine, and I'm gonna treat you like the princess that you are. Baby, I promise.”

“V-Vi, oh my goodness!” Your eyes squeezed shut when you felt her other hand’s fingers circling your clit.

“I want you to cum on my hand, and then I'm walking right out of this fuckin’ pit and giving you the princess treatment that you deserve.” Vi growled before she kissed you again, swallowing your moans.

Your body tensed and you came undone in her arms, she always knew how to make you break.

“I was impetuous,” Vi kissed your corner of your mouth, “And I'm sorry, but I promise you, baby, if you give me the chance now— I'll make you the happiest girl ever.”

Your eyes were glossy with tears but you wiped them before they could fall, “I love you so much, Vi.” your arms wrapped around her broad shoulders and Vi picked you with one arm— easy.

Vi walked out of the pit that day with a promise to keep and a girl to treasure and she didn't look back. Not really. Because now, she was complete.

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