#like it was just straight up not funny and they kept doing it over and over I just expect better comedy from this show than that

[bbywhitefox123]

Hiii, could you perhaps make a part two on the story where Mason asks his parents if they’ve ever done drugs before? I would love to see Rafe and Catherine talk about it now.

Summary: mason (13) smoked weed with uncle top thinking he was cool, but rafe caught on fast.

Warnings: very NSFW (smut), intoxication, unprotected piv, cum play, facials, spitting, face‑fucking, edging/denial, overstimulation, light cnc vibes, blindfolds, restraints, toys (dildo, vibrator, clamps, bottle, makeup brush), oral (m & f receiving), degradation + praise, underage drug use, family conflict, substance abuse

masterlist

The garage smelled like weed and Doritos. Mason was half–laid out on Topper’s couch, controller in hand, screaming at GTA cops, while Topper leaned back, one arm thrown over the armrest like he was still nineteen instead of a washed-up thirty-something who still thought gaming in the garage counted as a social life.

“Don’t tell your mom you saw me smoking weed,” Topper muttered, pulling a joint from beneath the couch cushion like it was treasure. “She’ll fucking kill me.”

Mason groaned, eyes glued to the flashing red-and-blue lights chasing his stolen car. “Yeah, they already gave me the drugs-are-bad talk like… eight times. Dad won’t shut up about it.”

“Not all drugs are bad,” Topper countered, lighting up like he was giving a TED Talk in his garage. He puffed. “For example, weed. Basically a painkiller.”

“Can I try?” Mason asked, pausing the game, eyes sharp with curiosity.

Topper squinted. “How old are you again?”

“Old enough.”

Topper shrugged — wrong answer, right uncle — and passed it over. Mason coughed his lungs out, then grinned when he tried again.

“See?” Topper said, triumphant. “Good drug. Your dad’s dramatic as fuck. He was less of a pain in the ass when he smoked.”

“Yeah,” Mason said, exhaling like he’d been doing it forever. “Dad acts like drugs ruined his life, but, like… he’s got the best wife, a big-ass house, four kids. Looks like he’s living good to me.”

Topper cackled. “That’s ‘cause Catherine saved his ass, not because he’s a saint. Don’t let him fool you.”

Mason smirked, half-baked already, pressing the trigger down to speed through the freeway on the screen. “What’d he even do? Like… when he was smoking?”

“Oh, fuck, where do I start.” Topper leaned back, took another drag, eyes glassy with memory. “Your dad once stole Ward’s boat at three in the morning because he got the munchies and wanted Bojangles. Drove it straight into the dock.”

Mason howled. “No way.”

“Swear to God,” Topper grinned. “We had to drag him out before the cops came. He was so stoned he kept asking if fried chicken was a food group.”

Mason was wheezing, controller slipping from his hand. Topper shoved the joint at him again. “And another time, he thought the cops were after him ‘cause he’d hotboxed the car. Really, he’d just left the trunk open with a bag of chips in it. Three hours hiding in a ditch for nothing.”

“Dad’s such a loser,” Mason laughed, coughing through the smoke.

“Oh, he was a legend,” Topper corrected, stealing the controller back when Mason crashed the car. “But listen—don’t get it twisted. Weed’s one thing. Coke?” He grew serious for a moment, eyes sharp even in the haze. “That’s the shit that chewed him up. That’s what scares your big bad dad.”

Mason raised a brow. “Dad? Scared? He yells at everyone.”

Topper nodded, pressing his lips together before passing the joint again. “Yeah, well. I watched him lose days. Weeks. He was a mean fucker on that stuff. Not funny, not cool. Just… gone. So if you’re gonna be dumb—” he waved toward the joint, “stick to this. Don’t touch the white shit. Ever.”

Mason took another drag, exhaling toward the ceiling. “Noted.”

Topper grinned, ruffling his nephew’s hair. “Good boy. Now—drive faster, you’re embarrassing me.”

Mason unpaused the game, coughing through a laugh. “You’re the worst role model.”

“Yeah,” Topper smirked. “And the best one you’ve got.”

Then he leaned forward, squinting at Mason through the smoke. “Where’s your brother, anyway? The nerd one. Brad?”

“I only have one brother,” Mason muttured.

“For now,” Topper sucked on his joint.

Mason rolled his eyes, tapping furiously at the controller. “Home. Stayed in to study for some dumb test.”

Topper barked a laugh. “Pfft. What a loser.”

Mason froze, thumb hovering over the joystick. His jaw clenched as he shot Topper a sideways glare. “Hey, not funny. Only I get to call him that.”

For a beat, they just stared at each other. Mason stone-faced, Topper half-grinning, half-serious. Then Topper cracked first, throwing his head back into the couch cushions, laughter bubbling out of him.

“Fuck, you’re just like your daddy,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Same look Rafe used to give me when I pushed too far. God, the weed’s kicking in—”

Mason snorted, unpausing the game. “Yeah, well. Brad’s a loser, you’re not, though.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Topper waved him off, still chuckling. He leaned back, head lolling to the side, and then it hit him — a memory like a lightning strike. “You know, once your dad and your mom got so high they—”

He stopped dead, the words jamming in his throat. Fuck. That was not nephew-appropriate.

Mason’s head whipped around. “What? They what?”

Topper blinked, eyes wide, suddenly very aware of the joint in his hand. He forced a laugh, coughing into his fist. “Nah, nah. Forget it. Not a story for kids.”

“I’m not a kid,” Mason shot back, suspicious.

Topper shoved the controller into his lap, grinning like an idiot.

13 years ago…

They shouldn’t have looked like that on a Tuesday night — red eyes, whiskey breath, weed-stained laughter echoing through the aisles of a half-dead sex shop. Catherine was the one who wanted it, who had been sprawled out on the sand with her bare thighs in Rafe’s lap, exhaling smoke into the ocean breeze when she’d leaned over and whispered, “Let’s buy toys.”

Now here they were, stumbling past shelves of lube and latex, Catherine giggling like she owned the place. Her nails trailed over leather cuffs, her diamond bracelet catching the dim fluorescent light.

“Dare you to steal these,” she hissed, dangling a pair of silver nipple clamps in front of him like a prize. Her pupils were blown wide, lips swollen from passing the joint back and forth, and making out.

Rafe smirked, cocky as ever. “You scared, baby? Don’t wanna get your daddy’s credit card statement flagged?”

Catherine rolled her eyes, tugging the clamps back toward the shelf. “I’m not paying, asshole. You are. Imagine the look on Rose Cameron’s face if they called Ward.”

That made Rafe grin harder. Of course he did it — slipped them into the deep pocket of his hoodie like it was second nature. He’d do anything she told him to.

But then he leaned down, voice hot against her ear, “Alright, baby. Your turn. Steal that.”

She followed his gaze — to the giant, twelve-inch pink dildo sitting on the middle shelf like it was mocking her.

Her jaw dropped. “You’re disgusting,” she gasped, but her grin was feral. “Where the fuck am I supposed to put that, huh? Up my ass?”

Rafe just shrugged, smug, eyes glittering mean. “Bet you could take it.”

Her laugh was sharp and wicked as she dragged the box off the shelf, tucking it under her arm like a purse. “You’re insane.”

They left with way more than they came for — a whole bag full of toys, whips, blindfolds, things Catherine picked just because they made Rafe twitchy when she waved them in his face. By the time they peeled out of the parking lot in his truck, smoke curling from the joint between her fingers, bass rattling the windows, they were still half-high, half-drunk, and already arguing over who got to use what first.

Catherine, feet propped on the dash, hair tangled from the salt wind, leaned over the console to bite his neck. “You’re gonna let me tie you up,” she purred.

Rafe’s knuckles tightened on the wheel, cock straining against his jeans. “Fuck no. You’re mine. Little brat can’t handle what I’ve got planned for you.”

And she really couldn’t handle it.

Thirty minutes later, Catherine was tied to the headboard, wrists red from the rope, nothing on but the thin white tank top that barely covered her tits. Blindfold snug over her eyes, hair a mess around her shoulders, thighs trying to press tight together—though it didn’t matter, Rafe had them spread open, ropes knotted around her ankles, keeping her exposed.

She hated how wet she already was. Hated how her body betrayed her just from the sound of him moving around the room, humming cockily as he rummaged through the bag of sex toys. She could hear him open drawers, the clatter of something metal from her desk, the faint crack of her dressed.

“Here’s how this is gonna work,” his voice drawled, low and smug, right by her ear. She shivered when his knuckles brushed her thigh. “I’m gonna put something inside this needy little cunt. You guess it right, you win. I’ll give you you whatever you spoiled ass wants—diamonds, cash, trips. You guess wrong…” He let out a dark laugh, dragging his thumb over her slit, smearing her slick. “I cum on you. Wherever I want. Your tits, your stomach, that pretty mouth you hate having it in.”

She squirmed, tugging against the ropes. “That’s not fair, Rafe—”

“Life’s not fair, baby. Spread those legs.”

Her pulse jumped as she felt something cold press against her folds. Smooth. Rounded. He pushed slow, just enough to slip past her entrance. She gasped at the chill.

“Fuck—oh my god—that’s freezing.”

“Guess,” Rafe taunted, voice dripping with smugness.

She bit her lip, wriggling as it slid deeper. “It’s… it’s one of those butt plugs—”

Wrong. He twisted it inside her, making her cry out. “Try again, baby.”

“Rafe—fuck—something small— fuck, I don’t know—”

He pulled it out suddenly, and she whimpered at the emptiness. “That was the nipple clamps,” he smirked, tapping the wet metal against her clit until she squirmed. “Strike one. Better get used to the idea of my cum dripping down your perfect little stomach.”

Her chest heaved under the tank top. “You’re such an asshole.”

He only chuckled, already reaching for the next item.

The next thing he pressed against her was slimmer, softer at first—then long. Catherine arched her back, blindfold tight across her eyes, mouth falling open.

“F-fuck—okay—okay, that’s the dildo—”

Rafe burst out laughing, shoving it deeper with a sharp twist of his wrist. “Smallest dildo ever, baby. Guess again.”

Her face twisted. “What—what the hell—then what is it?”

He leaned close, lips brushing her jaw. “Your makeup brush.”

Her gasp turned into a groan of outrage. “Rafe! Are you fucking stupid? That set has rhinestones on it—they fall off all the time. You want me walking into my gyno like, ‘Oh hey, yeah, Rafe jammed a Swarovski up my pussy’?”

Rafe grinned, thrusting it in harder until she whimpered. “Then stop complaining and take it. Bet you’ll cum around your little brush before the gems fall off.”

“Y-you’re the worst,” she panted, but her hips still lifted, chasing the friction as the bristles grazed deep inside. He fucked her with it until her bratty whining blurred into breathless moans, until she stopped worrying about rhinestones and started begging for more.

When he finally pulled it out, slick dripping down the rhinestone handle, she was trembling, thighs quivering against the restraints.

Rafe tossed it carelessly on her vanity, grabbing something heavier. She heard the pop of a plastic cap, the sound of him testing weight in his hand.

Cold pressed against her entrance again—broad this time, unyielding. She tensed instantly.

“W-wait—what the fuck is that? That’s huge—”

“Shh,” Rafe muttered, pushing a finger inside first, then another, stretching her until she whined. “Gotta prep you, baby. Don’t wanna break you.”

Her toes curled, hips bucking against his hand. He slid his fingers in deep, scissoring her open, curling just enough to make her choke on her own breath.

Then the blunt end pressed in again. Hard plastic. Round, flat. He pushed slow, stretching her wide, groaning at the sight of her cunt swallowing it.

“Jesus—fuck—it won’t—” she gasped, shaking her head. “What is that—what the fuck is that, Rafe—”

She writhed, blindfold slipping with sweat, tank top clinging to her chest. “It’s—oh my god—it’s a plug, right? Like—like one of the bigger ones?”

Rafe smirked, watching her pussy struggle around the bottle. “Wrong again, baby. That’s your body spray.” He shoved it deeper until her thighs shook. “Stretching you open nice and wide for me.”

She let out a half-sob, half-moan, the ropes straining as she twisted. “Ahh, fuck you.”

“Bet you’ll love that,” Rafe shot back, thumb circling her clit as he pushed the bottle another inch inside. “Spoiled little brat can’t even tell the difference between her toys and her toiletries.”

Rafe pulled the slick bottle out slow, groaning at the way her pussy stayed open around nothing, glistening and stretched. “Jesus Christ, look at you, baby. Gaping for me.” He gave her swollen cunt a light slap, watching her jolt against the restraints. “So used. So needy.”

Her chest heaved under the tank top, blindfold damp with sweat. “You’re fucking—insane,” she panted.

“Yeah?” His smirk widened as he reached into the bag. “Then let’s see how insane you really are.”

She heard the squelch of lube being pumped, the heavy weight of something shifting in his hand. Then the blunt, massive head pressed against her dripping entrance. She knew instantly.

Her breath hitched. “Rafe—no. Oh my god, no—”

He chuckled darkly, smearing the lube over the length of the toy. “What’s the matter, baby? Not so brave now?”

She twisted against the ropes, whining when he started to push it in. The stretch was immediate, overwhelming. “F-fuck—oh my god—it’s huge—”

“That’s the point.” His voice was smug, cock straining painfully in his jeans as he fed more of the twelve inches into her. “C’mon, baby. Guess.”

She cried out, back arching, the toy splitting her open. “It’s—it’s the fucking dildo—oh my god, Rafe—it’s too much—”

“Ding ding ding.” He laughed, leaning down to bite at her collarbone through the tank top. “You finally guessed right, baby.”

She let out a ragged laugh, tears pricking under the blindfold. “Then—then pull it out—”

“Pull it out?” He shoved another few inches in until she screamed, her belly tightening as if she could feel it in her stomach. “Nah. You don’t get off that easy.”

Her legs trembled against the restraints, pussy fluttering helplessly around the thick stretch. “Rafe—I can’t—I can’t—”

“You can,” he growled, twisting the toy inside her, the base bumping her clit. “Look at you—taking it so well. My spoiled little slut.”

Her lips parted, gasping, trying to form words. He smirked, voice dropping. “Now tell me, baby. What do you want for that win? Hm? Make up? A diamond bracelet? A new bag?”

She whimpered, barely able to breathe, let alone speak. “I—I can’t—fuck—”

“You can’t what? Hm?” He pressed it deeper, until her stomach ached from the intrusion. “Stretched so wide you can’t even say what you want?”

Her head thrashed on the pillow, a sob-moan slipping past her lips.

“That’s what I thought.” His voice was sharp, but threaded with praise. “My baby… can’t handle what she stole, but still takes it. So good for me. So fucking good.”

Rafe kept working the dildo in and out, watching her wriggle and cry out against the ropes. Her moans were shameless, echoing through her room. He smirked to himself, grateful her parents were never around—otherwise they’d both be fucked.

“You sound like a pornstar, Cath,” he taunted, driving the toy deeper until her thighs quivered. “Bet the whole neighborhood knows you’re getting split open.”

She only moaned louder, broken and high, head thrashing side to side.

His cock throbbed painfully, straining against his jeans. Finally, he cursed under his breath, yanking the zipper down. He shoved his jeans and boxers down just enough, stroking himself hard as he pulled the glistening dildo free. Her pussy gaped again, dripping down onto the sheets.

“Jesus,” he muttered, lining himself up. “Made for me.”

But first—he reached back into the bag. Something buzzed to life, and Catherine jolted at the sudden vibration against her clit.

“V-Vibrator,” she gasped instantly, hips jerking against the sensation.

Rafe grinned, sliding the toy across her swollen clit in slow, taunting circles. “Atta girl. Nailed it.”

He praised her with a kiss to her damp cheek before pushing his cock inside, stretching her hot and tight around him.

She let out a guttural groan, arching off the bed. “Rafe—oh my god—”

He buried himself deep, savoring the way her walls clung to him. “Guess again, baby.”

She panted. “It’s—it’s you. It’s your cock.”

“Nope,” he smirked, thrusting hard, making the headboard slam against the wall. “Try again.”

Her blindfold slipped as she shook her head frantically. “Rafe—fuck—it’s you—stop playin’—”

He only grinned wider, pounding into her mercilessly, the vibrator still buzzing against her clit. “Wrong again, baby,” Each word punctuated by a deep thrust that had her crying out.

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” she sobbed, voice breaking.

“And you’re my favourite toy,” he groaned, hips snapping hard, his cock hitting her deep. “Look at you—taking me, dripping for me, whining for more. Best fucking cunt in the world.”

Her body trembled under him, toes curling, tank top plastered to her chest with sweat. She couldn’t hold herself together—her comebacks dissolved into needy moans.

Rafe felt it build, his abs tightening as he lost control. “Fuck—fuck—” He yanked the vibrator away and pulled out at the last second, stroking himself fast. His release spilled hot across her stomach, painting her belly with thick ropes of cum.

Catherine whimpered, shaking her head as it dripped down her skin. “You’re disgusting, Rafe.”

Rafe smirked as he slipped the blindfold off her face. Catherine blinked against the light, mascara smudged into smoky rings, her eyes still glassy and red from the weed, lips swollen from biting back her own screams.

“Look at you,” he murmured, using the blindfold to wipe his cock clean of his cum. “So fucked-out.”

She gave a breathless laugh, still trying to catch herself. “Go wash. You’ll get me pregnant.”

“Aw, poor baby,” Rafe snorted, mocking her with a smirk. “Scared, huh? One day, you’re gonna beg me to fill you up. You’ll be on your knees crying for it.”

“Never,” she hissed, though she tried to squeeze her thighs together.

He pulled her tank top under her tits, exposing her chest. “Good. Then I’ll cum here instead.” He pinched her nipples through the fabric before tugging it down, her breasts bouncing free. “You lost, and I’m a man of my word, yeah?”

Her answer was another whimper as he untied her legs, only to hook her ankles over his shoulders and slam back inside her raw, sore pussy. The angle had her crying out, body arched in helpless pleasure.

He reached back into the bag, rummaging one-handed as he drove his cock into her. Frustration laced his thrusts when he couldn’t find what he was looking for, until he finally dumped the whole bag onto the bed—whips, plugs, clamps, and the small Ziploc of coke scattering across the sheets.

“There you are,” he muttered, grabbing the bag and tapping a neat line across her sternum, right between her bouncing tits. Catherine’s eyes widened as he bent forward, burying himself to the hilt inside her, making her sob. Then he leaned down, nose brushing her skin, and snorted the line off her body.

“Rafe—” she gasped, glassy-eyed, clenching down on him.

He groaned, the high hitting instantly, then kissed up her throat, her jaw and finally slanted his mouth over hers. The taste was sharp, bitter, chemical—his tongue coaxing hers into it until she whined into the kiss. When he pulled back, she chased his mouth, begging softly, “Kiss me—please—kiss me again—”

Instead, Rafe smirked and reached for the nipple clamps he’d tossed aside earlier. “No, baby. First, we’re using these the right way this time.” He clipped them on, watching her tits tighten and bounce under the weight.

Her whole body shuddered, tears slipping from her eyes, mascara smearing further. “Rafe—fuck—”

The sight made his cock throb painfully. He gritted his teeth, trying to hold back, but the combination of her whimpers, the clamps biting her nipples, her ankles tangled against his shoulders, his cum still glistening across her belly—it was too much.

“Fuck, Catherine—” he snarled, pulling out at the last second, stroking fast until he spilled hot and messy across her tits. White streaks coated her chest, dripping down to where the coke dust still clung to her skin.

He smirked down at her, chest heaving.

Catherine grimaced, tugging at the ropes. “Untie me, asshole. I need to wash this off—”

Rafe only laughed, dipping two fingers into the mess on her tits and bringing it toward her mouth. She twisted her head away, whining.

“Stop—Rafe, no—”

He followed every dodge until she had nowhere to turn, smearing it across her lips. “Taste it,” he ordered, low and rough. “You wear me so good—you can swallow me, too.”

Her lips clamped shut, glaring at him through wet lashes. He only chuckled, wiping the rest onto the sheets before sliding down between her thighs.

“You didn’t cum, did you?” he murmured, voice dark with faux sympathy. “Guess I should fix that. Be nice. Generous.”

His cock was soft against his thigh, but the sight of her swollen, puffy pussy had him twitching already. He pushed two fingers inside her, slow at first, curling them until she gasped.

“God—you’re still dripping,” he taunted, thrusting harder. “Little slut doesn’t even need me hard to get off.”

She arched off the bed, thighs trembling, the ropes creaking against the headboard. “Rafe—please—don’t tease me—”

But of course, he did. Two fingers became three, his knuckles stretching her wide. He worked her mercilessly, pulling her to the brink only to stop, sliding out and tapping her clit with lazy circles until she was shaking.

“Say it,” he demanded, smirking as she writhed. “Say you need me.”

“I need you,” she gasped instantly, voice cracking. “Please—fuck—please—”

“Thought so,” he grinned, pushing deeper. His thumb ground against her clit while his fingers pistoned in and out, faster, rougher, until he felt her fluttering around him.

Her whole body jerked, a sob tearing out of her. “I’m gonna—please, let me—”

Rafe’s grin sharpened. He stilled inside her, keeping her teetering right on the edge. “You want to cum?”

“Yes—yes—fuck—” she cried, back bowing off the bed.

“Then you’re gonna give me something first.” He leaned over her, pressing his lips to her ear, fingers still buried inside her soaked cunt. “You’re gonna let me cum on that pretty little face after. Drip down your cheeks, into your mouth. You’re gonna wear me like you should.”

Catherine’s eyes flew open under the smeared mascara, horror mixing with raw need. “Rafe—no—I told you I hate—”

He pushed deeper, curling his fingers against that perfect spot until she shrieked. “Take the deal, princess. Or I’ll stop now and leave you begging.”

She whimpered, trembling under him, thighs shaking so hard the headboard rattled.

“…Fine,” she breathed, breaking. “Just—please—make me cum—”

Rafe’s grin was wicked as he slammed his fingers back into her, fucking her hard until she shattered around his hand, crying out his name.

Her orgasm ripped through her so fast and so hard she nearly blacked out. Rafe fucked her with his fingers until she was gasping, body convulsing, slick gushing down his hand.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised, voice dark with pride, lips dragging against her jaw. “So fucking pretty when you cum for me. So tight on my fingers—you’re perfect, Catherine. My perfect little mess.”

She whimpered, chest heaving, mascara running in streaks as he finally slowed, pulling out with a wet squelch. He wiped her off on her thigh, grinning when she shivered.

“Gonna untie you now,” he muttered, voice husky. “I want you on the floor, on your knees. Gonna paint that spoiled little face like you promised.”

But the second he freed her wrists, Catherine shoved him. Rafe toppled onto his back with a surprised grunt.

“Catherine—”

Before he could recover, she hopped off the bed, giggling through her haze, bare legs stumbling across the floor. Her tank top was still hitched under her tits, her hair wild, eyes glassy and red.

“Get your ass back here!” Rafe growled, scrambling up.

She shrieked with laughter, darting down the hall. “Catch me then, asshole!”

Rafe chased, bare-chested and furious, cock swinging heavy as he sprinted after her. She was quick, but too high to be coordinated. When he finally caught her in the living room, he wrapped his arms around her waist, yanking her back against him.

“Got you, brat,” he snarled into her ear, grinding his half-hard cock against the curve of her ass.

Catherine just laughed again, breathless, eyes sparkling as she twisted in his arms to face him. Her hands pressed against his chest, light and teasing. “Mmm… don’t be mad,” she cooed, tilting her head, lips brushing his throat.

His nostrils flared, grip tightening. “You think you can just run—”

But her hands were already sliding down his abs, slow and deliberate, until she sank onto her knees before him. Looking up at him through her lashes, Catherine smiled sweetly.

“Shh,” she whispered. “I’m a lady of my word, too.”

Her fingers trailed along his hips, her breath hot against the swell of his cock. She kissed the sharp cut of his hip, then the base of him, not even giving him the satisfaction of eye contact as she traced him with her tongue, soft and lazy.

Rafe’s head fell back, a groan rumbling out of his chest. “Fuck, Catherine…”

She giggled softly, wrapping one small hand around him, stroking until he was rock hard in her palm. “Mmm. That’s better,” she teased, lips brushing the tip.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” Rafe growled, fingers sinking into her hair. “Get your mouth on me. Now.”

And with that, she opened wide, sliding him past her lips, sucking him deep until his cock hit the back of her mouth.

Catherine’s lips were red and swollen, spit and precum smeared across her chin as she worked him over. But she wasn’t playing fair—every time he groaned, every time his hips jerked forward and his cock throbbed in her throat, she’d pull back. She’d kiss the tip, lick it slow like candy, stroke him just enough to make his vision blur… and then stop.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Rafe hissed, his abs clenching as he glared down at her. “Fucking edging me, huh? Think that’s funny?”

Her lashes fluttered, her free hand rubbing her clit beneath her tank top. “Mmm,” she hummed around the head of his cock before pulling off with a wet pop. “You look so pretty when you’re needy.”

That was it—Rafe lost it. His hand fisted in her hair and he shoved her mouth back down on him, hips snapping forward. He fucked her face raw, his cock bullying down her throat until she gagged, spit bubbling down her chin, eyes watering. Catherine clawed at his hips, not to push him away but to hold herself steady as he pounded into her throat.

“Take it,” he growled, knuckles white in her hair. “Take it like the little cockslut you are. That’s it, baby, drool on me. Gag on me. You’re mine.”

Her muffled moans vibrated around him, making him twitch. The gagging noises echoed in the room.

Finally, he tore himself out of her throat, cock gleaming and slick with her spit. Catherine gasped for air, drool dripping down her tits.

“Open your mouth,” Rafe ordered, voice wrecked. “Tongue out.”

She obeyed, tongue out like an obedient little slut, eyes shining up at him. She was so turned on she forgot how much she hated the taste of cum.

“Stroke me,” he demanded, guiding her small hand around him.

She jerked him fast, messy, until with a broken groan he painted her face. Hot ropes of cum splattered across her cheeks, her lips, her tongue. She froze, cheeks puffed out, mouth filling as more coated her tongue.

Rafe’s cock twitched in her grip as he looked down at her—caked in his mess, her tongue dripping, mascara ruined.

“Swallow it,” he demanded.

She scrunched her nose, whining. “I hate it.”

“Swallow,” he snapped, shoving two fingers under her chin.

She shook her head stubbornly, mouth still full. Cum slid down her tongue and dripped over her lips, and Rafe thought he might lose it all over again.

“Fine,” he said after a beat, chest heaving. “We’ll make a deal. You swallow every drop… and I’ll eat your pretty little pussy until you’re crying.”

Her eyes widened—because Rafe never offered to go down on her. Ever.

“You swear?” she whispered, voice muffled with his cum in her mouth.

“I fucking swear. But you choke it down for me right now.”

She closed her eyes, cheeks hollowing as she swallowed hard, cum sliding down her throat. She gagged slightly but forced it down, tilting her head back to show him her empty mouth.

“Good fucking girl,” Rafe groaned, grabbing her jaw and kissing her sloppy, cum-smeared mouth. “Get on the couch. Spread those little legs. I’m gonna ruin you.”

Catherine made one step before Rafe shoved her down into the couch cushions, his broad frame caging her in as he yanked her tank top up and out of the way. Her legs were already trembling, clit slick from her teasing fingers, thighs shining. He spread them rough, kneeling between them, and when she gave him that cocky smirk—like she thought he wasn’t serious—he spit straight on her pussy and dove in.

“Rafe—” Catherine gasped, back arching instantly. Her nails clawed into his hair, holding him there, grinding her hips up against his face as his tongue lapped her clit in messy, wet circles.

He was brutal with it. Sloppy, loud, no rhythm at first—just hunger. His spit ran down her slit, mixing with her slick, his nose grinding against her clit as he sucked hard enough to make her cry out.

“F-fuck! Rafe—oh my god—” she whimpered, mascara smudged, eyes squeezing shut.

Her bratty mouth was gone—she was whimpering, gasping, a mess. Her thighs shook around his head, trying to clamp shut but he held them open, palms digging into her hips as his tongue fucked inside her, curling, teasing, pulling back only to suck her clit until she was seeing stars.

Catherine’s hands tightened in his hair, dragging his face harder against her cunt. “Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop,” she begged, voice breaking, “please—please, I’m—oh my god—”

Her body jolted, legs trembling as the orgasm hit her hard, pussy clenching around his tongue. She came right in his mouth, gasping, writhing, crying out his name as if she hated him and needed him all at once.

But Rafe didn’t swallow. No—he groaned low, pulled back just enough, spit and slick dripping down his chin as he grabbed a tissue off the coffee table, and spat her release into it.

Her glassy eyes blinked down at him, lips parted, chest heaving. “Rafe… what the fuck…”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking like the cocky bastard he was. “I said I’d eat you out. Nothing mentioned about swallowing it.”

He crushed her thighs open again, his face already lowering back to her pussy, tongue hot and sloppy. “But lucky for you,” he murmured, licking up her slit, “I’m nowhere near fucking done with you.”

Rafe didn’t know how many times they went that night even the day after. He was sprawled on Topper’s couch, controller in one hand, cigarette burning low in the other, eyes bloodshot but still smug as hell. He’d crashed there after barely sleeping, too wired from the night before, and now they were half‑paying attention to the video game on screen.

Topper leaned forward, side‑eyeing him. “So where the fuck did you even go last night? One second you’re at the party, then poof—you and Catherine just vanish. Kelce swore you guys were fighting, but then you never came back.”

Rafe snorted, flicking ash into the tray. “Yeah, nah. We weren’t fighting. We dipped.”

“Dipped where?”

He smirked, leaning back, letting the memory replay in his head like a highlight reel. “Beach. Smoked a joint. Then she gets this idea—” he paused for dramatic effect, watching Topper perk up. “—sex shop.”

Topper barked a laugh, almost dropping his controller. “No fucking way. You’re telling me Catherine dragged you into a sex shop high as balls— The Catherine we know?”

Rafe’s grin widened, boyish and cocky. “Not dragged. I carried that bitch in. She was daring me to steal shit—nipple clamps, twelve‑inch dildo. Bro, we left with a whole fucking bag.”

Topper slapped his knee, wheezing. “That’s insane. You actually stole that shit? You’re out of your mind.”

Rafe shrugged, smug as ever.

“Okay, but then what? You just… took it all back to hers?”

The smile that spread across Rafe’s face was filthy, feral. “Game night, man. I tied her up, blindfolded her—made her guess what I was putting inside her. She thought my hand was a dildo when it was one of her makeup brushes.” He laughed at the memory, shaking his head. “Then I shoved a fucking bottle in her. She lost her mind.”

Topper leaned back, howling. “You’re a sick fuck, bro. Cath let you do that?”

“Let me?” Rafe’s eyes darkened, the arrogance bleeding through. “She begged me for it. Brat couldn’t handle it, but she fucking loved it. Whole night—her crying, shaking, screaming my name like she hated me.”

Topper was grinning ear to ear, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s so fucking cool. You’re the man, Rafe. No one else could pull that shit with Cath and get away with it.”

Rafe’s smirk softened into something almost private, though his voice was still cocky as hell. “Yeah, well… she’s mine. Everyone knows it.”

Topper let out a whistle, bumping his shoulder into Rafe’s. “Dude, you’re living that pogue’s dream. High, drunk, tied‑up Catherine? That’s like… next level. Bet she doesn’t even let her boyfriend finish in her mouth, but the bitch let you— Woah, crazy shit.”

Rafe only grinned wider, like a man who knew he’d won the jackpot and wasn’t planning on sharing.

13 years later…

“They played… guess the item?” Mason frowned, eyebrows scrunched as he mashed buttons on the controller. “That’s it? That’s what was so cool?”

Topper grinned, eyes going glassy as the memory rolled through. “Yeah, man. Your dad was baked out of his mind. He’d just grab random shit around the house and make your mom guess it.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “She got, like, one thing right or something. He lost it.”

Mason tilted his head, unimpressed. “That’s… dumb.”

“Yeah,” Topper said, laughter bubbling in his throat for a whole different reason. “Hardcore version, though…” He trailed off, biting his tongue hard before he said too much — because the truth was that the “item” wasn’t in her hands. But Mason didn’t need that scarred into his brain.

Before Mason could cringe harder, Sarah’s voice cut sharp: “Boys! Come on, dinner! Rafe’s finally here!”

Mason quickly hit pause, Topper smashing the joint into a soda can ashtray. Mason spritzed himself with the cheap body spray Topper kept around, smirking at how smooth he thought he was. “No one’s gonna know.”

“Professional,” Topper said, coughing smoke out of his lungs.

They wandered out, Mason’s smirk in place as they made their way through the cluttered house. In the living room, Sarah was sunk into the couch, her hand resting on the heavy swell of her belly.

Rafe sat opposite, looking every bit the tired businessman finally let loose at home — tie loosened, arm hooked around Catherine. Lara perched proudly on his thigh while little Maisie leaned over Sarah’s belly, whispering to the baby like she was casting spells.

Mason caught the scene, his smirk faltering into something softer. Then Topper ruined it.

“Rafeeeee,” Topper drawled, slurring just enough to betray himself. He threw his arms wide, stumbling into the room. “Look who’s home, the man himself.”

Rafe’s eyes flicked up, sharp as ever, narrowing just a little at the sound of Topper’s voice. His gaze slid to Mason, too. “The hell’ve you two been up to?”

Mason cleared his throat, straightening his shirt like it mattered. “Just… gaming.”

Topper barked a laugh and clapped Rafe’s shoulder. “Just gaming, bro. Relax.”

Catherine’s eyes narrowed — that mom intuition like a laser. Mason quickly ducked to sit beside Sarah before she could clock the perfume smell.

Rafe squeezed Lara on his knee, eyes still fixed on Topper, suspicion already brewing.

Catherine brushed Rafe’s arm off her shoulder, standing. “Alright, I’ll call Bradley, see if he wants me to bring him a plate,” she said, already pulling her phone from her pocket.

Sarah groaned as she hauled herself up, Maisie’s little hand clutched in hers. “And I can’t wait anymore. If we don’t eat now, this baby is going to riot.”

“Follow me,” she added, and Maisie skipped beside her, still whispering to Sarah’s belly like it was a secret game.

Mason’s stomach gave an audible growl, and he darted after them, already imagining plates piled with food. The weed had him half-floating, half-starving, and he was grateful no one noticed his quick escape.

Topper was slower to move, still swaying in the living room’s haze when Rafe’s voice cut sharp.

“Hold up.”

Topper froze, turning lazily toward his friend. “What?”

Rafe leaned back on the couch, Lara snug on his lap, his gaze pinning Topper down. “You give Mason a beer or something?”

Topper snorted, forcing out a scoff as he straightened his shirt. “Pfft. What do you think I am? I’m not stupid, man. Kid’s like—what—twelve?”

“Thirteen,” Rafe corrected, voice low.

“Exactly,” Topper said, lifting his chin in mock offense. “I’m not about to corrupt your kid. You think I don’t know how to be mature?”

Rafe’s stare lingered, hard and unflinching. For a moment, Topper thought he’d cracked.

Then Rafe smirked — slow, dangerous. “No. I know you don’t.”

Topper rolled his eyes, trying to laugh it off as he finally trailed after the rest of the family toward the kitchen. But his palms were damp, and the faint smell of weed clung to his shirt like a curse.

Rafe watched him go, suspicion gnawing at the back of his mind.

“Daddy?”

Rafe turned his head, and there was Lara — perched prim and pouty on the edge of his knee, her curls bouncing as she crossed her arms. “I don’t wanna be mean to Aunt Sarah…” she started carefully, big eyes flicking toward the kitchen. “Because I really like her walk-in closet. And she promised to give me some of her bags when I’m older.”

Rafe bit back a grin. “Yeah?”

“But…” Lara wrinkled her nose, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I don’t like anyone’s food except Mommy’s. And I don’t want Sarah mad at me. She has Prada.”

Rafe laughed, head tipping back. His princess was always thinking three steps ahead. “Alright, alright. How ‘bout this—if you don’t like the food, I’ll text Brad and see if there’s any leftovers at home. Deal?”

Her little smile bloomed instantly, and she leaned into him with a nod. “Deal.”

Together, they finally followed into the kitchen.

The scene waiting for them was pure chaos. Sarah was already tearing into a plate like she hadn’t eaten in weeks, Maisie chirping questions at her between bites. Catherine was setting plates with the kind of calm only she could manage in a storm.

And Mason—Mason was hunched over his plate like a caveman, shoveling food into his mouth with both hands, eyes glazed and happy as he tore through a roll.

Rafe’s smile faltered.

Sure, his son was always hungry. Hyperactive, burning energy with football practice, growing like a weed—yeah, Mason ate a lot. And yeah, he didn’t always bother with silverware.

But something about this was off. The way Mason’s jaw worked, the way his laugh bubbled too loose, too careless as he smacked his brother’s empty chair and said, “Brad missed out, man.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed. His arm curled tighter around Lara as she reached for a breadstick.

You little shit.

And across the table, Topper caught his look, forcing a too-wide grin as he reached for a glass of water like nothing was wrong.

Rafe slid into the seat beside Catherine’s chair, pulling Lara onto his lap again. He murmured “Thank you, baby,” when Catherine placed a plate in front of him, brushing her hand with his fingers.

He watched her disappear back into the kitchen for more food, his gaze flicking across the table to where Mason was half-bent over his plate like he was competing in an eating contest.

What the hell did Top give him? Rafe thought, jaw tight. Beer? Edible? Something. He didn’t want to picture it—didn’t want to believe it—but Mason wasn’t subtle.

Catherine finally came back, setting her own plate down with a smile, brushing her hair from her face as she sat. Only when she was beside him did Rafe start.

“So, Mase,” he said casually, cutting into his food. “How was the game with Uncle Top?”

Mason looked up, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk, crumbs dusting his shirt. “Awesome,” he said around a mouthful. “We beat like—five cops. In a car chase.”

Rafe arched a brow. “Uh huh. And you didn’t… drink anything? Top didn’t sneak you something?”

Mason blinked, too long, too glassy. Then he laughed, shaking his head so hard a noodle nearly fell from his fork. “No, Dad. I’m thirteen.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed, his fork pausing midair.

“So if I asked you right now to run laps around the yard, you could?”

Mason froze, fork hovering. He blinked again, then grinned. “Bet I’d smoke you.”

Rafe’s head tilted, suspicion sharp in his eyes.

Under the table, Catherine’s foot shot out, connecting firmly with his shin.

He jerked, shooting her a look.

“Eat your dinner, Rafe.” Catherine said sweetly, smile plastered in place as she cut Maisie’s food into tiny bites.

Across from them, Topper nearly choked on his water, hiding a laugh in his sleeve. Mason just grinned wide and shoved another bite in his mouth like he’d won something.

Rafe exhaled through his nose, long and slow, before stabbing his food with a little more force than necessary.

This wasn’t over.

☁️

The night hummed warm around them. Catherine and Sarah were sunk into the patio chairs, leaning together as they tossed baby names back and forth—Sarah favoring old-money classics, Catherine smirking as she countered with softer, simpler names. Maisie was half-asleep against Sarah’s side, Lara flipping through a picture book under the porch light.

Topper, sprawled at the other end of the table, was halfway through a story about some nightmare client at work, waving his beer bottle as punctuation.

But Rafe wasn’t hearing a damn word. His eyes tracked Mason, who sat bouncing his leg a little too fast, neck craned back as he stared at the pitch-black sky like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

This was the same kid who couldn’t sit still for five minutes without whining. The same kid who never cared for stars or “loser shit,” as he put it.

Something was off.

Rafe’s voice cut through the patio chatter. “Mason. Remember those laps?”

Mason blinked, pulling his gaze down. “What?”

“You said you could smoke me earlier. Prove it. Three laps. Now.”

“Rafe,” Catherine warned, eyes flashing him a flare across the table.

But Mason just grinned, cocky as hell. “Easy.”

He hopped up and tore off across the grass. For a minute, Rafe almost doubted himself—Mason’s stride was smooth, his confidence sharp.

One lap. Two laps. On the third, though, Mason’s legs tangled, and he went down hard in the grass with a yelp.

“Too dark!” Mason called out, scrambling up and brushing himself off. “Couldn’t see!”

“The patio’s lit up like a football field,” Rafe shot back, voice edged.

Catherine immediately chimed in, voice even. “He’s right, Rafe. It’s dark out there. Stop.”

But Rafe didn’t sit back down. His eyes never left Topper.

In one motion, he reached over, fisted the back of Topper’s collar, and yanked him up from his chair.

“Hey—what the hell?” Topper sputtered, stumbling as Rafe dragged him away from the table.

“Dad to…” Rafe growled under his breath, steering him across the patio into the shadows of the yard,“future dad talk.”

Topper’s eyes went wide, darting nervously toward Catherine, who was walking to check on her son.

“You’re choking me out like I’m fifteen again, bro—what is this?” Topper hissed, batting at Rafe’s grip.

Rafe shoved him back against the porch post, nose almost to his. “What the fuck did you give my son?”

Topper’s hands went up. “Jesus, man—nothing! He’s fine!”

“Fine?” Rafe leaned in closer, his jaw tight. “That wasn’t fine. That was my kid tripping over air.”

Topper’s eyes flicked left, then right, as if the shadows might cough up an escape route. “Look, relax. It was just—just a puff, alright? One hit. Kid wanted to feel cool. It’s not coke, Rafe. I’m not that dumb.”

Rafe’s stomach dropped. He shoved him harder into the post. “You gave my twelve-year-old weed?”

Topper grimaced. “Thirteen. He said old enough!”

“That’s not old enough, Top!” Rafe hissed, shoving him again. “You don’t get to make that call. He’s my son. My kid.”

Topper lifted his hands higher in surrender, laughter bubbling nervously in his throat. “Man, don’t go all saint on me. You were worse than him at that age. Hell, you were worse than me.”

“That’s exactly why I know what it does!” Rafe snapped, his eyes hard. “You think I want Mason ending up like I did? Hiding shit from Cath, scaring her half to death every time I disappeared, wasting years of her life cleaning up my mess?”

Topper shut his mouth at that, the humor draining from his face.

Rafe let go of his collar finally, pushing him back with a grunt. He raked a hand through his hair, pacing two steps away, breath ragged.

“You ever, ever, give him something again—” Rafe’s voice cracked like thunder, “—and I’ll put you through that wall. Brother or not.”

Topper swallowed, nodding quickly. “Alright. I get it. Won’t happen again. I swear.”

For a beat, the only sound was the faint hum of crickets and Mason’s laugh carrying from the patio as he told Catherine some stupid joke.

Rafe finally turned, jaw tight, eyes still burning. “You’re lucky Cath hasn’t clocked it yet.”

Topper exhaled, shoulders sagging. “Yeah… lucky me.”

Rafe didn’t wait for Topper to catch up. He stalked back across the yard, shoulders tight, pulse still hammering. At the patio table, Catherine was crouched in front of Mason, her soft hands brushing over his scraped knee while Mason tried to play it off like it didn’t sting.

“It’s fine, Mom. Seriously. I’ve had worse in football,” Mason muttered, cheeks red.

Rafe came up behind her, his eyes hard on the boy. “I’m gonna have a word with him.”

Catherine looked up, brows pinched. “You can do it right here.”

Her tone was firm, protective. She thought she was shielding Mason from being dragged off and chewed out—but Rafe felt that same protectiveness burning in his chest. He wasn’t trying to break his son. He was trying to make sure Mason didn’t end up like him.

Rafe exhaled through his nose, then dragged a chair around and sat directly across from Mason. His presence alone made the boy shift uncomfortably, picking at a loose string on his shorts.

“Alright,” Rafe started, voice even but low, “you wanna tell me what’s really going on? ‘Cause you don’t stare at the sky like it’s a movie. And you don’t trip over your own feet.”

Mason’s jaw tightened. “Nothin’s going on.”

“Mason,” Rafe warned.

Catherine touched Rafe’s arm, murmuring, “He’s scraped up, tired, and embarrassed. Just let him—”

But Rafe shook her hand off gently, eyes still locked on his son. “No. He needs to learn to say the truth. Right here. Right now.”

Mason’s leg bounced under the table, a tell Rafe knew all too well. He’d done the same damn thing at fifteen, trying to lie to Ward.

“I…” Mason’s eyes flicked to Catherine, then back to Rafe. His throat bobbed. “Uncle Top just let me try something. It wasn’t… it wasn’t bad.”

Catherine’s head snapped toward the house, where Topper was lingering in the doorway pretending to check his phone. Her voice rose sharp. “Topper.”

Rafe held up a hand, stopping her before she could go nuclear. His gaze stayed locked on Mason. “And what do you think it makes you? Hm? Smarter? Stronger? Cooler?”

Mason looked down at the table, his ears burning. “I dunno. Normal.”

The words hung heavy in the warm night air.

From across the table, Sarah’s voice cut sharp, her hand flying to her swollen belly. “Normal?!” she snapped, glaring at Topper. “Is this the role model you plan on being for our kid too?!”

Her voice jolted Maisie awake in her chair. The little girl rubbed her eyes, whining softly before Catherine leaned over and hushed her back to calm.

Sarah shoved Topper’s arm, hard. “Inside. Now.”

“Babe—”

“Now, Topper.”

Grumbling, Top stuffed his hands in his pockets and trailed after her back into the house, the screen door banging shut behind them.

The patio fell quieter, the night hum returning. Mason sat stiff in his chair, his knee bouncing. Catherine, still seated beside him, folded her arms and fixed him with a look that was less fire than Sarah’s, but twice as heavy.

“You’re grounded,” she said flatly.

Mason’s eyes shot up. “Mom—”

“No.” Her voice brooked no argument. “I don’t care if it was just once, or if you think it makes you ‘normal.’ You don’t take things from anyone—especially not when you don’t understand what they can do to you. Not even from family. Understand?”

Mason’s lips pressed together, the sting of her words cutting sharper than the scrape on his knee. He nodded, muttering, “Yes, ma’am.”

Rafe leaned forward then, resting his forearms on the table. His voice was gentler, but his eyes carried that same intensity. “Mase… you wanna know why I knew right away something was off? Because I’ve been where you are.”

Mason risked a glance at him. “You?”

“Yeah,” Rafe nodded. “I started small. Cigarettes behind the school, then weed, then—” He stopped, jaw clenching, the unspoken word hanging heavy between them. Coke. The thing that nearly ate him alive.

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It started because I felt trapped. School breathing down my neck. My dad on me about the business, the legacy. I thought if I numbed it all, I could breathe. But it just made me lose everything that actually mattered.”

Catherine’s eyes softened at him, but she stayed quiet, letting him go on.

Rafe tilted his head, his voice low. “So I gotta ask, Mase. Is something going on at school? Football? With your friends? With me?”

Mason’s throat bobbed, but he shook his head quickly. “No, it’s not… it’s not like that.”

Rafe studied him, really studied him. His son—restless, sharp-tongued, full of fire—but still a kid. Still his kid. And for a moment, a chill crept down Rafe’s spine. What if I’ve been too hard on him? What if I’m turning into my father without realizing it?

Rafe didn’t want to embarrass him in front of Catherine by digging too deep. Mason was in high school now—he knew what peer pressure felt like, and he knew exactly what carrying the Cameron name could do to a kid’s head. Half the island wanted to be them, the other half wanted to see them fall. He wasn’t about to corner him on it.

But Catherine… Catherine wasn’t pulling punches.

“Mason Alexander Cameron,” she snapped, her voice slicing sharper than the night air. “Do you even realize how stupid that was?”

Mason flinched at his full name. His mother rarely pulled it out unless she was seething.

“You’re thirteen,” she pressed, glaring as she stood and tugged Maisie onto her hip, bouncing the little girl back into groggy calm. “Thirteen. Not twenty one, not grown. You don’t get to play with things that could screw your whole life up before it’s even started.”

Mason swallowed hard, muttering, “Mom, it was just—”

“No. Don’t ‘just’ me.” Her eyes burned, but behind them there was fear, too. Fear of losing him the way she almost lost Rafe. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? Do you even think—”

Rafe touched her arm gently, his voice steady. “Cath.”

She shot him a look, her mood already soured. “Don’t.”

He didn’t push. He understood. She was angry because she was scared. Angry because she saw too much of him in their boy—and unlike Rafe, she couldn’t compartmentalize it.

Still, he turned back to Mason, his tone softer. “Your mom’s right. You’re not ready for that shit yet. Not even close.”

Mason looked down at the table, shame burning through his ears, but didn’t argue again.

Catherine huffed, adjusting Maisie on her hip. “We’re leaving,” she announced flatly, already moving toward the house with the girls.

Rafe stayed seated for a moment, eyes lingering on Mason—his son, restless, sharp-tongued, full of fire. His kid.

And for the first time in years, a familiar chill crept down his spine.

☁️

For the next few days, Catherine was fuming. Mason was grounded—really grounded. She took every one of his electronics, locked them up in their closet, and didn’t cave even when he pulled the school card—that he needed them for homework. She picked him up right after school, brought him straight home, and that was it. No going out with friends. No football. No dinners out with the family.

And as if that wasn’t enough, Catherine made him take drug tests every single day, staring him down while he rolled his eyes and peed in a cup.

She also forbade Topper from stepping foot in their house. Sarah backed her up on that, refusing to to let him in her bed until he “cleaned his act up.”

By Thursday night, Catherine’s nerves were raw. She stood at the kitchen counter, chopping vegetables, waiting for Mason’s teacher to call so she could pick him up from detention. Her hands moved too quickly, her shoulders stiff, and when the knife slipped—catching the edge of her nail—her breath caught sharp in her chest.

“Shit—” she hissed, dropping the knife as frustration welled up.

Why couldn’t she raise him right? Why was it always a battle? Her head filled with noise—her parents’ voices telling her she wasn’t ready, that having a baby so young was reckless, that she’d fail. Rafe’s voice, too, echoing from years ago: We’re too young for this, Cath.

Her throat burned, and before she could stop herself, tears pricked at her eyes. She pressed her hand against the counter, shoulders trembling.

That’s when she heard the front door open, Lara’s happy squeal as she ran to greet her father.

And then—footsteps behind her. Rafe’s warmth, the way he always seemed to fill the kitchen just by walking into it. He came up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist, lowering his head to press a soft kiss against her cheek.

He didn’t press. Didn’t ask why her breathing was uneven, or why she wouldn’t turn toward him. Instead, his voice was low, steady. “Smells delicious.”

Catherine let out a shaky breath, shaking her head. “Mason’s in detention again,” she said bitterly.

Silence fell for a beat. Rafe’s arms stayed tight around her waist.

Finally, she turned around, her eyes still wet, and looked up at him. “You’re too soft on him, Rafe.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened slightly, his hand brushing over her hip. “And you’re too hard on him.”

Catherine’s lips trembled, her eyes narrowing at him. “Too hard? He’s thirteen, Rafe. Thirteen. Smoking weed like it’s nothing. If I don’t put my foot down now, what happens when he’s sixteen? Or eighteen? You want him to end up like—” She cut herself off, biting her tongue before she said like you.

But Rafe saw it anyway. He always saw it.

His jaw worked, and he exhaled slowly, resting his forehead against hers. “Cath…” his voice was quiet, raw. “I’m not saying you’re wrong to be mad. But if you keep squeezing him this tight, he’s gonna explode. You know it. I know it. He’s me all over again, and I…” He trailed off, his throat tightening. “I don’t want him to run from us the way I ran from my parents.”

Her shoulders softened, though her face was still stormy. “So what, I’m just supposed to let him do whatever he wants? Pretend it’s fine?”

“No,” Rafe said firmly, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes. “We ground him. We punish him. He needs consequences—he’s gotta learn that. But he also needs to know we’re not the enemy. That we’re still his safe place, no matter what. If all he sees when he looks at you is a prison warden…” His voice cracked slightly, softer now. “He won’t come to you when it gets worse. And it will get worse, Cath. High school, pressure, the Cameron name on his back…”

Her tears finally spilled, hot and unrelenting. She shoved at his chest—not hard, just a release of frustration. “Don’t put this all on me, Rafe. You think I want to be the bad guy? You think I like taking his phone or making him pee in a cup? I just—” Her breath hitched. “I don’t want him to hate me.”

Rafe caught her hands, pressing them to his chest. His heart thudded heavy against her palms. “He doesn’t hate you. He’s just pissed. But he’ll thank you one day. Just like I should’ve thanked you a long time ago.”

Catherine shook her head, dropping her gaze. “I feel like I’m failing him.”

Rafe leaned down, kissing her temple, his voice rough but steady. “You’re not failing him. You’re the only reason he’s not me at thirteen. You’re the reason this family is still standing.” He tilted her chin so she’d look at him again. “You hear me, Cath? You’re it. You’ve always been it.”

Her breath caught. Her body leaned into his, the knife, the vegetables, the whole kitchen fading away until it was just his arms around her. For the first time in days, her chest loosened.

Catherine’s phone lit up on the counter, and she swiped the call with damp eyes. “Yes, hi—this is Mason’s mom.” She pressed the phone to her shoulder, rinsing her hands in the sink. A small sigh of relief slipped out when the teacher said Mason could be picked up.

“I’ll go.”

Cath glanced at him. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” His voice was steady, but his eyes had that quiet edge. The one that told her he wasn’t just picking up Mason. He was planning something.

She narrowed her eyes. “Will you two be back for dinner?”

Rafe smirked faintly. “We’ll be back. Might stop at the dock first.”

Her heart clenched. “Rafe—”

“I’ll keep him safe,” he promised, brushing a kiss to her lips. “Don’t wait up with dessert.”

🌦️

The car ride was silent at first. Mason climbed in, backpack thudding against the seat, forcing a grin. “So… Mom on a day off from her guarding duties?” He chuckled at his own joke, but it was thin.

Rafe flicked him a side glance, lips tugging. “Don’t push your luck, Mase.”

That cracked Mason enough to laugh, real this time. Rafe asked about school, about detention, about whether Mr. Powell still smelled like mothballs. Mason shrugged, told a joke back, and soon enough they were laughing at the same dumb memory about Lara eating glue in kindergarten.

But then Mason’s eyes caught on the street signs. The road wasn’t leading home. He frowned, glancing at his dad’s hands tight on the wheel. “Uh… this isn’t the way home.”

“Nope,” Rafe said simply, eyes on the road.

Minutes later, they were at the dock. The sky was pink at the edges, the water a dark, restless mirror. Rafe parked, got out, and motioned Mason to follow.

Mason hesitated. “Dad… if this is some weird punishment—”

“C’mon.” Rafe offered his hand, steadying him as Mason climbed aboard the yacht. Mason blinked around, confused. Everything smelled like salt and memory.

“Why are we here? Mom said no fun stuff.”

Rafe leaned against the railing, staring out at the water. His voice was calm, but heavy. “This isn’t about fun.”

Mason shifted uncomfortably. “Then… what?”

“I’d crash here after nights I don’t even remember,” Rafe went on, voice rougher now. “High out of my mind, so numb I couldn’t feel my own heartbeat. Sometimes I’d just… lay there on the floor, wondering if it’d be easier to stop trying.”

The words hung in the air, too raw to breathe through. Mason’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. His father had never—never—talked to him like this.

Rafe looked down at his son, eyes sharp but wet at the corners. “Weed wasn’t the thing that ruined me, Mase. Coke was. Pills were. But the weed was where I thought I was still in control. Where I thought I was just having fun.” He swallowed. “Next thing I knew, I wasn’t driving the boat anymore. The boat was driving me.”

Mason’s throat worked, guilt flooding him like cold water. “Dad…”

Rafe rested a hand on his shoulder, steady, grounding. “I don’t care if you’re mad at me. I don’t care if you think I’m too soft or your mom’s too hard. But I do care about this—because I’ve lived it. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you from ending up on this deck the way I did.”

Mason sat on the deck floor, knees pulled up to his chest, fingers fidgeting with the strings on his hoodie. The weight of what Rafe had just told him pressed down heavy, but so did something else—a secret twisting in his gut.

Rafe crouched in front of him, forearms resting on his knees, studying him the way only a father could. Patient. Waiting.

Finally, Mason blurted, “You can’t tell Mom.”

Rafe raised a brow. “Depends on what it is.”

“I mean it, Dad.” Mason’s voice cracked. “Don’t tell her. And especially not Brad. Or Uncle Top. They’ll never let me live it down.”

Rafe smirked faintly. “Brad’s too busy with his books to care, and Top’s an idiot. But your mom—”

Mason shook his head hard. “Promise me.” His eyes were sharp, desperate in that teenager way, like this one thing was life or death.

Rafe sighed, dragging a hand over his jaw. He hated promising what he couldn’t keep—but he also remembered what it felt like to not trust your parents with the truth. “Alright. I promise. Just you and me.”

That was enough to break the dam. Mason dropped his head, muttering, “I’ve been hanging out with the upper graders.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. The seniors.” Mason shifted, his voice picking up pace like he wanted to get it out before he lost his nerve. “They’re already doing so much—drinking, smoking, sneaking out. Like, they’ve lived a hundred lives already. And then there’s me. The baby. Always the youngest in the group.” He kicked at the deck, scowling. “I just wanted to have something to talk about. Not be the loser who never did anything.”

Rafe leaned back on his heels, staring at him. For a second, he wasn’t looking at Mason—he was looking at himself, a kid again, desperate to prove he wasn’t soft, desperate to fit the Cameron mold.

Mason rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. “I thought if I tried it, then I’d… I dunno. Fit in. Be less boring. Less… me.”

Rafe exhaled slowly, sitting down beside him on the deck, their shoulders brushing. “Mase,” he said quietly, “you don’t gotta kill yourself trying to keep up with people who won’t remember your name in ten years.”

Mason swallowed. “Easy for you to say. You were… you know. Cool.”

Rafe barked a humorless laugh. “Cool? Kid, I was a wreck. I thought lines and pills made me a man, when all it made me was a coward.” He turned, gripping Mason’s chin just enough to make his son look at him. “You’re not boring. You’re not soft. You’re not ‘the baby.’ You’re you. And I’d rather you be a kid who’s still figuring it out than some burnout trying to impress people who don’t give a damn.”

Mason’s throat burned. “But what if they stop inviting me? What if I end up with no one?”

Rafe’s voice softened. “Then you’ll still have people who matter. Your mom. Me. Your brother and sisters. Family sticks, Mase. The rest? They come and go.”

Mason leaned into him just enough to let Rafe know he was listening, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it.

After a long silence, Mason muttered, “So what do I do now?”

Rafe pulled in a breath, glancing out at the dark water. “You stop trying to live at someone else’s pace. You go back to being a kid—my kid. And if those older ones can’t handle that? Fuck ‘em.”

Mason huffed a small laugh, wiping his face quickly so Rafe wouldn’t catch it. “Mom’s still gonna ground me forever.”

Rafe chuckled, ruffling his hair. “Yeah, well… that’s the part I can’t save you from.”

For the first time all week, Mason laughed for real, leaning into his dad’s side as the waves lapped against the yacht.

They sat shoulder to shoulder, the ocean stretching out black and endless in front of them. For a while, the only sound was the water tapping gently against the yacht’s hull.

Then Mason asked quietly, “Why’d you start? Y’know… smoking. If it’s so bad.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened. For a split second, he was back there—thirteen, stomach aching from Ward’s fists, hands shaking as he lit up what someone slipped him behind school just to forget. But he pushed that memory down where Mason would never see it.

Instead, he forced a little smirk. “Same reason as you, kid. I wanted to fit in. Didn’t wanna be the lame one in the group. Thought it’d make me look tougher.”

Mason looked relieved. “So I’m not… pathetic?”

Rafe ruffled his hair. “Nah. Just human.”

The moment lingered before Rafe suddenly stood, stretching his back. “C’mon. You wanna know what those seniors definitely haven’t done?”

Mason blinked up at him. “What?”

Rafe grinned, already heading for the wheel. “Sail an eight-million-dollar yacht. Bet I could let you steer for a bit.”

Mason’s face lit up, his earlier heaviness dissolving. “For real?”

“For real.”

Minutes later, the yacht was cutting smooth lines through the dark water, wind rushing past them. Mason laughed—loud and unrestrained—as he gripped the wheel with both hands, Rafe steady at his side. The ocean swallowed their voices, leaving only the sound of father and son, finally breathing.

When they finally docked and drove back, the house lights were still on. As soon as they stepped inside, Catherine was there in the hallway, her arms crossed, her face tight.

“You didn’t call me back,” she said, her voice low but sharp. “I texted. Twice.”

Rafe opened his mouth, but Mason jumped in first, lifting a hand. “Mom—I’m okay. We’re okay.”

Her eyes darted between them, searching. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Mason said, softer this time. “Promise.”

Rafe put a steadying hand on his son’s shoulder, meeting Catherine’s gaze across the distance.

She exhaled, finally dropping some of the tension, and brushed her hair back. “The table’s still down. If you haven’t eaten yet…”

Mason’s stomach growled right on cue, and for the first time that night, Catherine’s lips twitched toward a smile.

Perfect—here’s that scene written out with the tension and the eventual soft turn from Catherine:

Catherine’s almost-smile vanished as quickly as it appeared. She spun on her heel toward the living room, her voice crisp. “Mason, clean the table. And load the dishes after.”

Rafe started to follow, but Catherine’s hand caught his wrist, pulling him into the living room. Her eyes narrowed, her voice sharp but low.

“What did you two do?”

Rafe held her stare for a long moment. Then he shrugged lightly. “Sailed the yacht.”

Her lips parted, disbelief flashing. “So what—you praised him for detention by letting him sail the damn boat? He’s supposed to feel grounded, Rafe. Not rewarded.”

“He is grounded,” Rafe said quietly. He reached forward, brushing his knuckles against her cheek, then leaned in and kissed her temple. “And you’re right.”

She stiffened. The softness of his kiss only made the fire in her chest burn hotter. Mad that he didn’t fight back, mad that he acted like everything was fine. She turned away before he could see her cheeks flush with frustration.

Rafe didn’t push. He just walked to the dining room, sat down, and joined Mason in eating what was left on the table. From the couch, Catherine sat with a book propped open in her lap, though she hadn’t turned a page in ten minutes. Her eyes flicked up again and again, fuming, wondering what the hell they had really done.

Dinner finished quietly. Rafe rose, rolled up his sleeves, and helped Mason clean the table and load the dishwasher. Mason looked almost surprised but didn’t say anything, just worked beside his dad until the last dish clicked into place.

Then Mason padded into the living room, standing awkwardly in front of his mom. “Uh… sorry, Mom. For the whole… thing.”

Her head snapped up. For a moment, she just looked at him—the sharp jaw he got from Rafe, the restless energy buzzing under his skin, but still her boy. Still a kid.

Her chest ached. The frustration melted, slow but certain. She set the book aside, pulling him into her arms. Mason stiffened, then slumped against her, hugging her back.

Catherine kissed the top of his head, whispering, “Just don’t scare me like that again, okay?”

And for the first time in days, her heart softened.

Mason mumbled something against her shoulder—half “okay,” half “I won’t”—before she let him go. She gave his cheek a pat and told him to head upstairs. He didn’t argue, just trudged up the stairs, his footsteps heavy but not defiant.

Catherine sank back on the couch, the silence of the house stretching long now that the kids were settled. Her fingers twisted in her lap, restless.

Rafe came in a few minutes later, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He tossed it onto a chair and dropped down beside her. He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling as though it could offer him answers.

Finally, Catherine’s voice broke the quiet, softer than before. “I don’t want him to turn into you.”

Rafe’s head turned. His brows pinched. “Me?”

“You know what I mean,” she said quickly, before he could take it as a joke. “The… mistakes. The drugs. The nights you disappeared, the lies. I almost lost you a dozen times before we even hit twenty. I can’t—” Her throat closed up, but she forced the words out. “I can’t go through that with Mason.”

Rafe exhaled, long and heavy. He reached over, pried her hand from her lap, and laced his fingers through hers. “You won’t. I won’t let that happen.”

Her eyes shimmered, anger and fear tangling together. “You can’t promise me that.”

“No,” he admitted. “But I can promise he’s not alone like I was. He’s got you. He’s got me. He’s got Brad, Lara, Maisie… hell, even Topper if you’d let him through the door again.” He smirked faintly, trying to lighten her mood, but it fell quick when he saw her face. He squeezed her hand tighter. “He’s got a family. I didn’t have that.”

Catherine’s shoulders sagged. A tear slipped before she could stop it. “I still feel like I’m failing him.”

Rafe shook his head, leaning in, pressing his forehead to hers. “You’re the reason he’s got a chance not to end up like me. Don’t forget that.”

Her lips trembled, but she let herself rest against him, finally letting the tears fall. Rafe held her, strong and quiet, one hand rubbing slow circles against her back. For once, he didn’t try to fix it, didn’t try to argue. He just let her break, and promised himself he’d hold the pieces together.

[n3ptoonz]

'Rock and a Hard Place'

Pairing: David McDougal/Detective!Reader

Fandom: We Own This City

Warnings/tags: Smut; Explicit, fem reader, plot, undercover work mention, jealousyyy, reader is more rigid but still has a personality (totally not self indulgent guys), dialogue heavy, kiss and make up, fuckin in de car, subtle dom/sub dynamics, confessions kinda?, half proofread, im a fucking GENIUS with the ending bro. stop playing with me.

as a baltimore native i had to write for him are you kidding😮‍💨 also finished the season while writing and hello??? the plot is so good 😭 they really executed the story well

also um this is the first time i ever used the word cock in a fic so laugh along with me ty

Word count: 3.8k+ (DAMN.)

David walked through the station's halls with ease. Casually greeting people as he walked by with a file in his hand. He had a bit of a smug expression already but his smirk only widened the second he knocked on your office door. Once he heard you tell him to come in, he walked in and closed the door behind him.

He slipped the manila folder onto your desk. "Heard you got the case." he said as you looked up from your computer at him, then to the file. He sat in front of you when you started to look through it, a raised eyebrow at the information about your cover.

"I know it's a solo cover but I'll be overseeing the first night." he added, chin in palm now. "Guess you got the clear for that ankle, huh?"

"Sure did." you responded, still skimming the page. But he just rolled his eyes with a sigh and said your name. Your eyes met his with a blank expression because you knew where this was going.

"Always the tough guy." he mused with a simple shake of his head. David had been giving you shit about it for two months. Why? Because you were restless. You were the type to come into work even if you had the suds. Still training like normal. Still walking around like normal--for the most part. It worried him, this much is true, but he liked to mask it by making comments about how you never seem to sleep.

"I take that as a compliment."

"I'm sure you do."

You narrowed your eyes and leaned forward on your forearms in suspicion. "Did you craft this cover?" you asked in an accusatory tone.

He gasped dramatically and put a hand over his heart. "What would make you say such a thing?" he says as he tries really hard not to laugh at your unamused look. You lifted the document and snapped it straight in your hand.

"'Marie. 30s. Artist. Charismatic. Carefree. Persuasive. Party girl.'" you read the info off with a deadpan tone, emphasizing the last part with enunciation to show your distaste. David was clearly holding back a laugh. "Something funny?"

"In my defense, Davis had more hands in this than I did. What’s wrong with a little adventure? A little... change?"

You just kept staring at him. He knew you didn't take change very well...which was quite reflective on what you two had going on before but! But...that still didn't mean him taking joy in having to do a case as someone who's the complete opposite of you was any less annoying.

"You mean to tell me that Davis would purposely give me a role this ridiculous? My cover as Tonya wasn’t even close to this."

"Uh, yeah, because you were tricking that architect guy that had a thing for older women."

Your brows pinched together with a head tilt to follow. "You calling me old?"

"Me? Oh, no, never. Okay maybe in this case, but-"

You cut him off and pointed to the door behind him. "Get out." He raised his hands in defense and chuckled.

"Hey, hey, I’m kidding, a little joke. Aging is a blessing. Especially in this field."

You rolled your eyes and put the file back into the folder before checking out the details on the suspect. "You are full of it."

"You know it. But hey, as long as the average person isn’t operating like you, longevity is in their future."

A beat of silence hangs between you two like a live wire. You slowly looked up at his anticipating gaze before you pinched the bridge of your nose. "I know you're prompting me to ask whatever the hell that means."

"So...ask." he proposed, watching you gesture for him to continue. "You didn't ask-"

"What does that mean, David?" you, irritably, asked with already tired eyes.

"What I was talking about earlier. I mean, you were out for a month and a half because you refused to stop training on that ankle. I think you forget you’re human sometimes."

Your hands raised in confusion at his ongoing sentiment. He refused to let this go and you never understood why. It wasn't the first time you'd keep moving like everything is fine either while injured or not doing the best.

"The sprain wasn't even that bad-"

"-Exactly my point." he interrupted. David might be a little shit sometimes but he genuinely does care. He hasn't stopped even after your little fling.

"Alright, I don’t come to work for you to play shrink. Shoo. I was sorting files before you got here."

"Ah, ah, not so fast. Boss sent me over to help you out with getting this cover right."

"...meaning...?"

"You read the file. You’re supposed to be a charismatic, carefree, party girl. The complete opposite of you now."

"I think I can handle pretending to not have a care in the world, thanks."

You flashed a quick, thin lipped smile before going back to your computer. David scoffed before scanning your desk. When his eyes landed on a pen you usually use, he simply moved it to another part of your desk. All this to watch your eyes follow the pen sharply.

"You sure about that?" he asks as you sigh and shift your eyes back to him.

"Point taken."

"Just loosen up a little. Like that time we went to Ernie’s, out In Pikesville."

"You mean when you got so drunk I had to nurse you back to health?"

He cleared his throat and folded his arms. "Before that." he couldn't help but flash those dimples a little at your silent smile of triumph. "You remember."

You shrugged and leaned back in your chair. "It's hard not to. They were playing the classics."

"Yeah, well, that was the first and last time I saw you dance like that. If even at all."

"You speak as if I am anti fun."

He gave you a look.

"What?"

"I blame our unit for giving you such rigid covers." he said with a feigned look of disappointment.

"Whatever. You want to help or are you going to keep calling me boring?"

"I'll help you stop putting words in my mouth."

"Uh huh. What's the first order of business, boss?"

"Getting rid of that sarcasm to start. How about that pub that just opened a few blocks down? After work."

"That small one out in Woodlawn?"

"Correct."

You considered his proposal with slow nod of understanding. Part of you felt like he was up to something while the other was telling you to just do it. This could be fun and maybe even actually help with preparation for the case. You hadn't gone out with him one on one in years but...hey, you're both adults. Nothing wrong with hanging out with a friend, right?

After making him wait a full ten seconds, you gave in. "Deal."

His eyes never left yours as he smiled and stood up to shake your hand.

"You're on."

-

It was a quarter after six when you pulled up to the pub. David was checking his watch and waiting outside when you walked up to him. You didn't look that different since you had on a similar leather jacket with a different shirt but you did look more relaxed. The outside of the place actually looked nice. The pretty neon signs and bumping music that could be heard right outside the door made the idea of pretending to be something you're not a little more appealing.

"Look alive, pretty boy."

His eyes met yours before shamelessly trailing down your body, doubling back at your hips. An eyebrow quirked at the nickname you haven't called him in a while. "You're late."

You hummed and leaned in closer so it was sure he didn't miss your remark. "I call it 'carefree.'" you winked and walked into the pub. This earned a tongue-in-cheek from him as he followed you inside.

Inside was exactly what you expected. A cozy, homey little bar on this side of the county. Some people were dancing and cheering on the live singers while the other half was chilling at the bar. You were getting a funny feeling of deja vu at the sight. When that was you in the middle of crowd dancing with David just because.

"Look familiar?" he came up behind you and handed you the drink of your choice. Of course he remembered. "There's always something special about lowkey places like this. Especially in Baltimore."

"Baltimore." you corrected. He was mid-drink when he glanced at you. "The T is soft."

"Baltimore." he repeated.

"Bal-d-imore." you said slowly and took a swig. "'Baldimore'."

He finally pronounced it the same way you did with a playfully mocking tone as he looked into your eyes. You gave him a little smile and raised your glass with a wink. "There you go." you said. He lingered on you for a bit with a soft chuckle as he swirled the drink in the glass.

"Don't give me that look." you added with a squint.

"What look?" he asked as he took a swig. He was doing that puppy dog longing look he did religiously years ago, admiring the view like a bad habit.

"That look you have when you want to say something but are waiting for me to ask what's up." you replied with your brow raised.

"I'm doing no such thing."

He definitely was.

You hummed and looked back out at the small crowd to avoid those kind, yet mischievous blue eyes of his. You knew what he was doing and you tried to avoid it the best you could. It was better this way, you thought. Not getting caught up in a potential workplace romance that would get in the way of actual work but he seemed to disagree. Besides the few times you've hooked up in the office. And he always knew how to get you to crack...you're not going to let it happen again.

-

The outing went great. You loosened up a little and you got the stamp of approval from your annoyingly fine ass coworker. It really did serve you well since you've been back and forth from the station in and out of disguise. It was nothing like your colleagues had seen before. Showing more skin, smiling wider, even giving yourself an accent just for the hell of it. All for the suspect you were tricking to get enough dirt on him to take in.

But it's been a little iffy lately back in the office. You'd been either coming back to work or first thing in the morning with a completely different attitude. Like, 'immediately noticeable' by everyone different. More particularly by David.

It was already a month in that he hadn't been vocal about it--which was out of character because he usually is vocal about everything--because you were taking in as much information as possible from this guy about a week in. You nailed your performance to a T, which made David perhaps...a little weary.

Albeit by the third week he was making small comments or jokes about it but left it there. There was this weird feeling in his chest every time you came back with more eagerness to get right back out on these fake dates - sorry, hangouts.

The last straw was when you thought aloud about potentially going to that pub with the guy. David didn't say anything at the time because he didn't want to sound jealous or make it abundantly obvious what he was feeling about this. About you.

He kept mentally scolding himself because he felt like a hormonal teenager who couldn't let go of something he never had. Someone he never had.

It was nearing the end of your shift, so you finished up a report, saved it, then logged out before grabbing your change of clothes. Then came a knock and you told them to come in.

David walked in without his usual energy, and to make matters worse you were already packing up to go. Makeup already done and your dress shirt half unbuttoned to reveal your cleavage. Another thing he's only ever seen on those off days without a soul to catch you two in the act. And now you were just, what, going to walk around like that?

"You heading out?" he asked while walking up to your desk, hands in his pockets to seem nonchalant about the situation. You didn't even look his way as you replied.

"Yep." you said as you checked your phone for a notification that didn't come yet. He was really trying to keep cool but your dismissal kinda hurt. Just a bit.

"Can we, uh...like, talk real quick?"

You looked at him and set your work bag down onto your chair. His change in tone didn't go unnoticed. "Sure..." you said with a hint of skepticism. "I have time before I go get more information on this guy. What's up?"

"It's about that, actually." he said. "About him."

A large part of you wanted to act like you didn't know where he might take this. And he was starting to give you that look again. "What about him?"

"I'll just be honest," he began with a sigh. "It's starting to feel like you're falling for this guy."

You gave a long blink. "Pardon?"

"It's not just me who thinks this." he added with raised his hands. "You've been very different since you took the case."

"David, you literally gave me pointers." you noted with an incredulous expression on your face. "I'm just doing what you suggested."

"Yeah, and you were going to test that at the place where I gave you said pointers."

"And?"

"And?" he repeated. "You can't just do that!"

"Why the hell not? Who are you to tell me how to run this case?"

"As many times you've gone undercover, we have never seen your entire demeanor change within a week. You like the guy. Just admit it."

"You're being ridiculous." you scoffed and slung your bag over your shoulder. "And don't say 'we' like this isn't a you problem."

He scoffed back and folded his arms. You technically weren't wrong...

"I just don't like that you're considering taking him to a place I showed you." he retorted but ended up sounding more childish than he thought.

"What difference does it make?" you started to raise your voice. His eyes widened in genuine surprise at your question and not understanding what his problem was. "If you have something to say, you should say it." you continued with a gesture. "Go on."

He just stood there and stared at you with those unintentional guilt tripping eyes. The last thing he wanted to admit was he still had feelings for you, as if he was any good at hiding that fact. Especially when it came to being around you. With a defeated sigh, he shook his head and waved it off.

"Forget it." he said softly. Your phone chimed shortly after. It was a text from the guy telling you he was on the way to a bar he mentioned during the last time you hung out. Before you allowed yourself to feel bad about leaving David hanging, you huffed in pride and headed towards the door with a mumble sarcastically under your breath.

"You seem to be doing a great job at that."

You walked out and let the door shut behind you. David stood there as he processed your words, brows furrowing while they echoed. He didn't take too kindly to that remark.

He bolted out your office with purpose. Was he supposed to give a fuck if this guy, a literal suspect, had to wait on you? Absolutely not! He was out the door walking through the parking garage when you unlocked your truck and called out behind you.

"Hey!" he said, prompting you to turn around. "The hell is that supposed to mean?"

You rolled your eyes and got into the drivers seat, setting your bag in the passenger seat. He gritted and made his way to open the door and moved it so he could sit. Your eyes flashed in annoyance and shock at him.

"Are you fucking crazy?"

"I'm not fucking crazy. You know I hate when you brush me off like I'm not talking to you!"

"I brushed you off because you're acting fucking crazy, David."

"Just say you're not feeling the guy and I'll let it go!"

"You and I both know that's not true! But if I was, what the hell were you going to do about it?"

His mouth opened and closed as he didn't have a comeback for that one.

"That's what I thought."

"Oh, give me a break."

"Get out of my car, David."

"No."

"You're acting like a child."

"I don't care. You're not going out with him."

You paused and turned to him slowly. "Are you, like... jealous right now?"

He scoffed and averted your scrutiny with his head shaking. "Now you're being ridiculous."

He absolutely was.

"If you're not jealous then get the fuck out of my car."

"I'm not getting out of your car."

"Oh my God." you rubbed your temples and slumped against the seat with a bitter laugh.

"Your guy can wait." he said, quite stubbornly too.

"You know what? Fuck you, David."

Now his eyes were on your side profile as he leaned on the door's armrest. "Fuck me?"

"Fuck you!"

"So, that's how it is?"

"Yeah. Fuck you." you repeated for the last time. The fire in your eyes burned into his gaze the second you finally looked at each other. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he clenched his jaw, eyes darting to your lips.

"You wanna make out?" he asked in a lower tone. A quiet gulp from him broke the silence subsequent to his question. It was stupid. Why would he even ask that? He really was the one being ridiculous yet he could never help himself around you. No matter how hard he tried to forget those late nights you kept to yourselves. He was frozen with nervous anticipation at what you would say or if you were deciding on how to chew him out for asking that.

However, he had you between a rock and a hard place. Were you really going to indulge in his bullshit just because he won't outwardly say how he feels about you? Miss out on this mission and potentially have to fill out more paperwork later? Keep that man waiting and have to think up a good excuse for why you flaked?

Yes. You were.

"I do." you said, tone matching his. He had it push down the stunned look he almost gave. A curt nod followed from both of you and then, alas, you met in the middle. Your bag was carefully cast aside to the backseat when your lips met. A dance you knew too well. A kiss that was only shared after hours in a vacant office. You pulled back for a moment to readjust and crawl into his lap without bumping into the horn.

His hands knew your body nearly better than yours did. He moaned when he felt you grind your hips down onto his already growing erection, fingers squeezing your ribs to make sure this was real. You whimpered into his mouth at the feeling of them unbuttoning your slacks and sliding them down your legs with ease.

"So much for rigid." he murmured softly against your lips. You shrugged off your jacket and tossed it with your bag, but kept your shirt on.

"You ever shut up for more than five seconds at a time?" you asked while reaching between your legs and undoing his jeans, eyes still boring into his. He smirked and let his finger play with the band of your panties.

"Only when occupied." he whispered and leaned in for a kiss. His breath caught when your hand found his shaft and pulled his dick out from the warm confines of his pants.

"What was that?" you also whispered while stroking him. He inhaled a quick breath and leaned back, shaky hands on your waist.

"Pleasepleaseplease-" he hissed as his jaw tightened. "Not like this."

"Not like what?"

"I don't wanna cum this early." he said between his teeth and looked at the ceiling. You hum and teased him by dragging the tip against the cloth that covered your slit. He bit back a whine and you could just laugh.

"Lower the seat for me."

He did exactly that.

"Did you miss me, David?" you asked while still dragging him against your heat. "I want you to be honest with me."

"I did." he just barely choked out. "I've missed this with you for years just- please-"

"Was I just a fling to you?" you sat up so contact was lost. His gripping hands trembling.

"No. God, no, but I knew what it was between us and we didn't want it to get in the way of work or whatever and- I dunno, but I've been thinking about you nonstop since- Fuck!"

You managed to shut him up as you enveloped him inside. He shuddered and took a deep breath while the memory of those warm, wet walls trapping him came back to him in a flash.

There was no time to think as you rode him like he owed you money. David wasn't focusing on a damn thing. Covered breasts bouncing in his face while the woman he never got over took his cock like a champ. He didn't want anybody else. Not a single woman after you has met the standard, and boy is he glad he ran after you out that office.

He was close. Real close. Damn you and your skilled hands almost milking him for all he had before he even got to fuck you. But man, he loved that shit.

He stuttered your name with his eyes closed and jerked his hips upwards in desperation. "I'm gonna- fuck, I'm gonna cum." he strained. You leaned down and tongue kissed him a few times, backing up with a spit string breaking between you.

"Me too." you said and licked your lips.

"If you don't want to be a mother in the next two seconds, you should probably- yeah-"

He pulled you off him by the hips and just let it out. An ensemble of moans leaving his lips as your climax hit a second later, leaving a mess all over the crotch of his jeans. You kissed him again while both your bodies twitched in each other's hold. A text notification flashing on your phone completely disregarded in the cup holder.

"You coming?"

[kat-rose-griffith]

Here’s hoping they’re done with that now

[wackywatchdotcom]

falls to the ground. my favorite song is one that i looked at back in early march and went oh, this works well for ragatha... and im listening to it again and i DO still think it fits ragatha a lot. but it ALSO fits gangle. but i dont wanna put the same song on two character playlists from the same series, so im just gonna keep it on ragathas. either way it mainly fits manager gangle specifically but not the entirety of her. i think it fits ragatha more generally

[confessionsandcreampies]

it took sae exactly 23 minutes to arrive at your apartment. you turned around, startled, when the door slammed open and locked eyes with him. his jaw was tight, his eyes darker than dusk, and something about the way he kicked the door shut behind him made you swallow nervously. maybe, just maybe, you went too far this time with your little game.

he didn’t speak. he didn’t have to. his expression was a storm, silent, cold, and charged with the promise of ruin. ruin meant for you.

“you think it’s funny?” he asked lowly as he walked toward you slowly, like a predator cornering prey. “leaving me on read while i’m trying not to fucking snap?”

your breath caught. “sae, i didn’t mean to—”

“shut up.”

his mouth crashed against yours before you could finish. rough, starved, claiming. his hands cupped your face, thumbs digging into your jaw like he wanted to anchor you in place, like you might disappear if he didn’t mark you. he kissed like he was punishing you for breathing without his permission.

when he finally pulled back, his voice was wrecked. “you really didn’t know, huh,” he murmured against your lips. “didn’t know how fucking far gone i am for you.”

your knees nearly gave out when his hand slid between your legs without hesitation. straight under your pants, past the soft cotton of your panties.

“always this wet when you ignore me?” he asked, two fingers pressing into your soaked heat. “or are you just desperate for attention?”

“sae—”

“what?” his forehead dropped to yours, his voice gritted and sharp. “you post that selfie, wear my clothes, sit on my lap in front of my teammates like you’re mine, and then act surprised when i want to fuck you stupid?”

a shivering gasp left you when he pushed your panties to the side and slid a finger inside your quivering pussy.

“you want to know what i was doing while you didn’t text me back?” he whispered, curling it deep. “i was in my fucking car, jerking off to the thought of you. your thighs. your voice. your tongue.”

his lips brushed your jaw. his teeth dragged down your neck until he found that sensitive spot and bit hard to claim you.

“fuck—sae!”

“yeah, that’s right. say my name.” his hands gripped your hips as he lifted you onto the kitchen counter like you weighed nothing. “you’re gonna keep saying it.”

and then he dropped to his knees. the sight made your lungs seize. sae itoshi, kneeling between your legs like he was praying to a go, and you were the altar. “sae, baby—”

his mouth was on your thigh in a flash, biting and kissing as he shoved your legs apart. he hooked them over his shoulders and locked eyes with you as he leaned in and dragged one slow, torturous lick from your entrance up to your clit. his groan rumbled against your skin like thunder.

“so fucking sweet,” he muttered. “of course you are. of course i’d lose my mind over you.”

he didn’t tease. he didn’t pace himself. he devoured. his tongue dipped deep, licking and sucking like your taste was all he needed to survive. his fingers gripped your thighs to keep you spread wide, to keep you still. you tried to wriggle, to squirm, to grab at something, but sae didn’t let you. he groaned into your cunt like he was starved for it. like you’d made him this insane and now you had to pay the price.

“fuck, fuck, sae—oh my god—”

he sucked your clit into his mouth and your back arched. you sobbed his name, nails clawing through his soft hair as he ate you like he wanted to crawl inside you and stay there forever. one orgasm hit you fast, blinding and hot, but sae didn’t let up. he didn’t even slow. his mouth moved rougher, wetter, filthier. he flicked his tongue and kept circling your clit until your body twitched violently against the counter.

“you think i’m done?” he growled against your throbbing core. “stupid girl. i haven’t even fucking started.”

he stood slowly, chest rising and falling with restrained aggression, and picked you up again. your legs wrapped around him out of instinct, and he carried you to the bedroom with purpose. his mouth pressed to your neck, licking sweat from your skin.

“gonna fuck you so hard you forget your own name. only thing you’ll remember is mine.”

he did. he fucked you like a man possessed and you’d stolen something vital from him and this was how he was taking it back. rough hands. sharp thrusts. filthy praise and soft kisses tangled together until you didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

later, when you were a trembling mess in his sheets, skin painted with hickeys and filled to the brim with his cum, your body still twitching with aftershocks, you whispered, “you’re insane.”

he kissed your temple, as he whispered back, “you made me this way.”

[ellana-ravenwood]

“Batman, you need to-IS THAT A BABY ?!” - Batfam x Fem!reader

Synopsis : Bruce and Batmom bring their newborn daughter to the Watchtower, so she can meet their friends (or vice versa). Includes an overprotective Damian, League members who cannot believe the Batman is smiling, and other shenanigans.  

Oop, I’m back (?). My dudes. It’s been TWO YEARS since I last posted here. Two. Years. I posted like, two life update...don’t know if some of y’all saw it, but long story short : Everything is going so well in my life that I didn’t really need the validation I got from writing online anymore...Buuuuuuuuuuuuut, I still love writing. And so, after quite a long break, here I am :). Hope you will enjoy this, don’t hesitate to let me know if you do : 

Please, do not repost my stories anywhere else, under any other form. Do not translate and then repost them either. Thank you.

My masterlist : @ella-ravenwood-archives

________________________________________________

“You’re evil, you know that right ?” You say, raising an eyebrow.  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, my love.” He answers, a small smile on his lips. You turn to him and...Oh that smug look, that smug look you loved so much. He definitely DEFINITELY knew what he was doing. 

And that it was utterly...evil. 

“It’s going to be FUN !” 

Ah, and here’s his little devil. Damian himself. He loved this. Partly because he thought it was funny to mess with everyone, partly because he liked showing that you guys were a family. 

“They won’t believe their eyes !” His little voice kept going, followed by a big roar of laughter that sounded, by all means, more childlike than devilish. 

“That they won’t, they always seem so surprised when Bruce acts like a human.” 

Jason. Still not calling Bruce “dad” (except sometimes, by “accident”, and even him don’t realize he did), he’d only slowly been back at the manor, with all of you. And, for sure, a certain important event which happened about four months ago made it so he came back to live at home.

Dick chuckled and added : “Who would blame them ? We’re talking about a man who eats his burgers with a knife and fork !” He gestured to his father with his left thumb, his other hand shielding part of his mouth as if he was telling them all a secret, as if he was trying to be discreet, so his dad wouldn’t hear...Always quite the little clown, that eldest son of yours. With his exaggerated mannerism, and that sparkle in his eyes, in his smile. 

“I’m certain some of them thought he was genuinely a cyborg for YEARS” Tim added, quite seriously, his tone the opposite of his older brother (and that was just his way of joking...you think). And honestly ? Yeah, you were pretty sure some of your friends at the JLA thought your husband was a robot, at one point. 

Oh yes. That’s where you were going, to the JLA’s headquarters. To execute Bruce’s plan. Quite the evil plan indeed. 

“Hell, even I thought he was one before I met you guys !” Duke chimed in, and that made Cassandra smile widely, as she shook her head up and down pointing at Duke as if to say : “what he just said”. 

And in a very Bruce manner, your husband kept a straight face, ignoring his children’s teasing. Only you, saw that twinkle in his eyes, that smile that might not reach his mouth, but was definitely dancing in those bright blue eyes. 

Oh yes. Yes, your friends were in for quite the surprise. 

************

Meanwhile, in the Justice League headquarters : 

“Oh, hey ! Look, Batman’s zeta tube is turning on ! We haven’t seen him in a while right ?”  

Indeed they haven’t. Because, well, let’s put it this way : Batman’s wife just had a baby. 

A baby girl (finally, right ? You and Cass weren’t TOO outnumbered anymore). 

And Batman had been VERY busy doting over his baby girl. 

Batman had been busy being Bruce Wayne. 

Just a man, who thought he’d never be happy again, not knowing how to handle all those feelings he had for his wife (for you), for his children. 

That was happiness then, right ? 

So, yes. Batman hasn’t been much at the JLA’s headquarters lately. But your husband thought, it was finally time to go see his friends a little bit. He knew they were all up there, because it was their monthly reunion (once each month, they gathered to talk about the state of the world, the universe, what threat lingered, what lurked beyond...and to get very drunk, and see their friends, the only ones who knew what it meant to be a “hero”). 

And that what’s made him particularly evil. 

He knew, they would all be there. He knew what their reaction was going to be. After all, his memory was amazing, he definitely hadn’t forgot the way they reacted the first time they saw you, the first time they learned he had children (childrEN, plural !). 

And he knew they were a little worried about him. 

He had missed their last three reunions, and only answered : “Everything is ok” to their messages asking if he was alright (they hadn’t dared to go see if he was indeed ok, because last time they did that, they found him bed ridden with all the bones in his body broken, and he got so mad at them for butting in his business he worked twice as hard when he was fine again, and didn’t talk a WORD for months...that was, of course, years ago, before you were in his life, but the experience was still in their minds and so, they decided to respect his privacy, he would come to them when ready). And he never pushed his “red button”, him, or anyone in the family. 

They just assumed he was busy, they hoped it wasn’t anything bad. 

Yes. They were worried. For him. For you. For your kids. For Alfred. For your dogs, your cats, your cow...They. Were. Worried. 

And Bruce knew. 

You told him, when your pregnancy was confirmed, to tell his friends. That they would be happy. But after his own initial happy thought, his surge of hope and love at knowing he was going to be a dad again, he started to make his plan. 

Why tell them, when you could toy with them ? 

“They deserve it.” He told you, and you weren’t sure if they did, but you weren’t about to fight him on that. After all, you too, thought it could be amusing. Amusing to hide your pregnancy, making up excuses as to why they couldn't come see you, and you didn’t come up the headquarter. Amusing, to even hide it quite expertly from any form of news (Bruce was a MASTER of disguise, not only for himself), so it would be a real surprise. 

Amusing, to have your little girl in secret, with only your family. Amusing, but also what you wanted. For this good news to be just between you, your children, and Alfred. Your close family. Because you had too few things that just were yours. 

This had to be yours. Your thing, your secret, your own happiness. Yours, and only yours. And you found it was good, that you guys spend the first few months of your daughter’s life only between yourselves. 

It was nice, to go out “disguised” as a normal couple, and show your daughter Gotham (and how her little eyes already tried to take the entire world within them). 

It was nice, to live in total privacy for a little bit. 

So, yes, you had been a little selfish. And he had, too. You knew it wasn’t just to prank his friends, he kept it all a secret. That it was also to have some quality time with his family. To spend the first few months of his daughter’s life being the only one being utterly smitten with her. 

Though, this last thing wasn't true...You were, too. And your children ? Let’s just say your daughter had not been alone ONCE since she was born. And she seemed to love it. 

Whenever she made the slightest sound, smiled, laughed (or cried), they were there, Bruce was there, absolutely loving that little baby. 

She was almost 4 months old now, and Bruce thought that the gist had to be up. What scale did he use to measure this amount of “readiness” ? You had no idea. You thought he was just now ready to share his happiness with his friends, and not just his close family. 

And so here you were, after months of secrecy carefully crafted and orchestrated by your husband, in the JLA’s headquarters, along with your family, the little new addition to said family in your husband’s arms. 

Evil. Your husband was downright evil. 

He knew that what was about to happen would have a massive impact on his friends. He. KNEW. 

And as the zeta tube brought all your family up there, you knew that as he saw their faces, your husband was a little TOO happy with himself for his little “prank”. 

************

“Batman, are you al- IS THAT A BABY ?” Very typical, very in character : the first to react was Flash himself. 

None of the other noticed, and they seemed inclined to think Barry had lost his mind but then...

Bruce’s face didn’t move an inch, he just held that little “package”, and had his same stoic expression except...Except there was a little hand grabbing at his chin. 

Then another hand appeared out of that bundle Batman carried, with a bat plushie bunched in a tight fist, shaking it and...Cooing. 

Cute little sounds, and the way- EXCUUUuuUuuuUSE ME ?

The way Batman just softly looked at her, the way his cold expression was replaced by a tender one as he lowered his eyes to her ??

WHAT ?! 

They knew. They knew he had THE softest spot for his family. They knew his scary aura greatly dimmed when he was around his wife and children. They knew that when they weren’t there, he was only made of shadows. They were his light, his salvation. 

They knew he didn’t have the same face expression, when they were around.

Well, when they were looking at him...Barry swore that Batman loomed around his family, standing menacingly behind them, his eyes cold and calculating as if he was ready to fight any seconds to save his loved ones, and then whenever they turned to him his feature would instantly soften. He will ALWAYS remember the first time he met little Dickie, 9 years old and so full of joy and life, and how whenever he would look at Batman and talk to him, said Batman got a softer expression somewhat, but then when Dick turned around, Batman looked about to murder them whenever they came too close from him. 

Once, Tim, also 9 at the time, years after the JLA met Dick, told Barry matter of factly : “He doesn’t kill people. He could break your knee caps though” in a very Tim fashion. The kid was serious. And had noticed the aura surrounding his dad, how it changed when he was around (he noticed more than his siblings, because for a while, Bruce had been really cold and distant with him, since he met him not long after Jason’s death..understandable. So he was the only one who had this sort of behavior aimed at him, the shield Bruce put in front of him to keep everyone away so he wouldn’t be hurt, the shield that now was lowered for them and only them). 

It was his eyes. His eyes that were always hard and cold, became different when looking at you or his children. 

Not to say that his family never exasperated him, or that he never had his “mask” around them. After all, Bruce’s stoic expression was his face by default. It’s just that he was often too focused. And that he spend years practicing hiding his emotions, practicing keeping a blank face. Because Barry also remembered seeing Dick perched on his father’s shoulders, letting himself dangle in his back, his head upside down, whistling and kicking his feet, and Bruce having this stoic mask on, concentrated. 

Anyway, they knew all that. It had been years, since Bruce finally trusted them enough to bring his wife here, and his kids. But yet, yet they were still surprised sometimes.

Like today. 

The picture of Batman holding a baby was...a little weird. 

Even if he opened up to them over the years, he was still mostly very cold, distant and aloof. You know, Batman. That’s just who he was. So sometimes, to see him so devoted to his wife or kids, it was odd to say the least. 

And right now, as he walked towards them with a baby in his arms, the shock was real. Damn it, will there be a day when the Bat didn’t surprise them with something ? 

How did none of them notice you were pregnant ? Proof again Batman was a master of his craft. And that little girl...

Oh your daughter was such a beaming ray of sunshine, that in his arms it was particularly a jarring image. 

The big scary bat, tall, broad shouldered, muscular in every way, his face void of expressions, holding a tiny baby who kept smiling at everyone around, and playing with her plushy. 

Odd. 

Yet, sweet. 

Were they surprised ? Yes. 

Were they a little mad he hid something (AGAIN) this important from them ? Definitely. 

Were they shocked that his daughter was so darn cute and smiling and laughing that much ? Not really, because you were his mom too. 

Were they happy for him ? For sure. 

Were they going to adore that little girl ? Probably as much as they adored his other kids already, which meant...yes. Yes they were going to. 

Damn that bastard Bruce. Always so sneaky. 

Hal, couldn’t help but think : “First, he’s not a vampire, then, he’s married with children, and now, he has that cute baby. This guy ??!!” 

***********

The initial shocked passed, and only after your children MOCKED all of your friends (you had to give it to Dick, he knew how to imitate them so well..and when Damian joined in ? Oh, oh it was a fit of laughter impossible to fight that attacked them), did they approach your daughter. 

“Her name is Martha.” Bruce said “We named her after my mother.” and it wasn’t his usual flat tone he used as Batman. No, it was a soft voice he usually only reserved for his kids. And the reason he was using it now ? Well. He didn’t want to scare his daughter, as he still held her. 

She beamed at him when she heard her name, and babbled some baby nonsense. She then turned towards all those new faces, and you saw Bruce’s hand hold her a little tighter. 

Your beautiful, sweet soul husband. He clearly was worried she’d be scared, meeting all those new people. Especially since they all wore mask. But Martha-

Martha let go of her bat plushy (which Damian caught before it touched the floor, rolling on the ground in a way you thought was quite comedic. Oh, that boy), and lifted her arms up towards- 

“What a sweet little girl !” Diana said with a voice you NEVER heard her use. You realized it was her “voice reserved for babies and domestic animals”, and it made you smile. It was higher than her usual voice, and full of softness. 

You thought your daughter reached for her because she could feel the warmness in your friend. And after all, amongst all of those gathered here today, she was probably the one that adored babies the most. 

Diana looked at Bruce, who only inclined his head a little to give her the ok to lift her from his arms but-

Another arm stopped her, and took the baby away. 

Damian. 

Damian, the one who took his role as a big brother a little too seriously. 

He held Martha protectively against him, and literally sneered at all your friends. 

************

Damian deemed most of them unworthy to hold his baby sister, and only Clark ended up being allowed to carry her. And that was partly because Clark was the only one who knew about Martha, the only one who saw her already, and he had months to convince your son to trust him with her. 

Being an extremely close friend and all, you just couldn’t hide this from him and... no, really, you literally couldn’t hide this from him as he was the immediately noticed that second heartbeat when he listened in to make sure you and your family were safe. Bruce hated when he did that, but Clark wasn’t about to let them be in danger without moving an inch.

Anyway, Clark was allowed to hold her, but he gave her back to you rather quickly because your son’s stare made him uncomfortable. If eyes could kill, right ? 

Damian took his job as an older brother very seriously. He would protect her at all cost. And you had no doubt that he would be the kind of person to burn the entire world down if it meant saving his family. 

Damian only glared at everyone, letting them approach ONLY after they put on a surgical mask so they wouldn’t give her their “viruses or whatever”. 

You had to admit he was a bit much, and you asked him nicely to calm down a little. He relented on the face masks, but made them all wash their hands (twice). 

You ruffled his hair affectionately, what a sweet little boy. It broke your heart, how so many people judged him too fast. He really was, a nice kid. With a heart of gold. He just didn’t have much luck for the first few years of his life. 

But he chose to be like this. Chose to love, instead of hate. Chose to protect, instead of attacking. 

Although, right now, as Diana came back towards his sister, he definitely seems ready to high kick her (which definitely wouldn’t have hurt the amazon). 

************

It was a hassle, to convince Damian to let go of his sister so they could hold her. As per usual, it’s Dick who managed to convince him, saying Martha was all soft and cute, and everyone deserved to hold her at least once. Adding that if one of them dropped her, he would be allowed to do whatever he wanted to them. 

Some of the mightiest heroes of the planet were gathered hear, but the threat didn’t fall on deaf ears. Damian could be a little intense, and scary sometimes. 

They weren’t fooled by Dick’s agreeable smile either. A smile that didn’t always reach his eyes. They knew if they messed up, he would find every way to rip them to shreds. Dick was often seen as the calmest of your children, but his anger issues from when he was a child were never far. And he could be ruthless.  

Diana held her first, and your daughter babbled to her excitedly. 

Of course, being only 4 months old, she just talked gibberish. And it was so sweet, how Diana answered her : “What ? *babbles from your daughter* Noooooo. *more babbles from your daughter* I can’t believe he said that. And then what ? *babbles babbles babbles*”. 

After that, Dick took her back, and asked if someone else wanted to hold her, under yours and Bruce’s watchful eyes. 

Then again, in the room, many were also already parents and knew how to hold a baby. They weren’t too worried, except-

Except Dick, that little sh-, had found a new game in recent weeks. Whenever he gave his little sister to someone else...he pretended to drop her. 

And it made him laugh and laugh and laugh, to give mini-heart attacks to EVERYONE whenever he gave them his baby sister to them, as they always all panicked and screamed seeing her dropped (Dick always had her secure, he only pretended to drop her of course). 

“Oh no careful !” He’d scream, dropping his arms suddenly (she looooved it) while still gripping her, and they’d scramble to catch her, and he would just laugh. 

“You little-” Hal’s colorful words were...imaginative. And Damian was inclined to agree, since his brother pranked him oh, I don’t know, only about A HUNDRED TIMES since their little sister was born. 

You wouldn’t admit it, but it made you laugh a little too. Even if he got you a few times as well, pretending he was going to drop her. Then again, you trusted your eldest son. Once you and Bruce wouldn’t be around anymore, you knew he would hold this family together. 

************

Martha was a calm baby. She let people hold her, curious enough to not fuss and watch them all intently. It made Barry uncomfortable, how she held his gaze and would just stare at him. 

She would stare, and stare, and stare, and her bright blue eyes were EXACTLY like Bruce’s, it felt like being stared down by a miniature version of Batman. 

He didn’t like it. So he gave her back to whomever was closest, which happened to be Jason

Jason, who was always very delicate with his little sister. He handled her as if he’d break her. It broke your heart, to know he probably literally thought that. 

He refused to hold her at first, sure he would hurt her. But she kept reaching for him, crying when he wouldn’t take her, and she was so adorable and-

He caved, of course. After a little while. And he was oh, the fixture of a patient older brother. You knew he would ALWAYS be part of her life, and step in whenever she needed to. 

Right now, she was grabbing his hair, which were getting quite long, and pulling hard on them as babies do and- He didn’t say anything. He just let her do it. 

You really hoped she wasn’t going to take advantage of this when she’d get older, even if you already had visions of her having her brothers and father wrapped around her little finger, having her sister too, and...apparently, the entirety of the JLA. 

************

“How can such an a-hole make such a cute baby ?” Hal said, looking at the little girl he held. She was sort of dozing off, which for sure was adorable. 

Bruce only glared at him, which amused Hal greatly. He just gave him the shock of his life, he could laugh at his expense a little, right ? 

“I believe, to make a baby, you need to-”

“Um, no, Jon, please, I know how to ! It’s just-Oh, forget it.” 

Flustered, Hal Jordan was flustered. Jon J’onzz didn’t seem to get why, but then again, human sarcasms and irony were still very foreign to him. He always answered pragmatically to people. 

Talking about pragmatism. Hal handed back your daughter to Tim, who slipped her in his favorite new contraption : the baby carrier 3.0 (of his own design). Made so he could do all sort of work while having her strapped to him. Keeping an eye on her at all time. 

Tim adopted the use of a baby carrier, so he could still work while taking care of her (he stole the idea from his dad, who definitely hung around with his daughter EVERYWHERE with that thing...which was the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen, this tall broad man and this tiny baby attached to his chest). 

It was so cute to see her little feet dangling while he was working. Damian nearly lost it when he found Tim WELDING two pieces of metal together with the baby carrier on his front. Tim merely said : “I made her baby sized goggles and a fireproof pyjama, she’s fine, and she likes it” and indeed, your daughter didn’t have a scratch, and cried when Damian hauled her away from the sparks. Ooooh the smug look on Tim’s face as his brother gave her back reluctantly. Damian’s was utterly vexed. 

Vexation he forgot just a few minutes later, when Martha decided she had enough of sparkles and made little sounds of protest (not quite cries), and reached her little arms to him. 

As of now, Tim had her in this baby carrier again, and was strolling around the JLA headquarters, showing his new little sister to everyone. 

************

Cassandra didn’t say a word, as per usual. She never liked big crowds, only spoke to those she trusted the most. Her brothers, her parents. 

She only gestured to others. Remained quiet. But she monitored every little movements. 

Hawkgirl approached her sister ? Noted. Carefully studying every move. Martian Manhunter asked if he could hold her ? Noted. 

Superman made little babbling sound at her, while her dad held her ? Noted, with amusement. It was funny, to see one of Earth’s mightiest hero grimacing to a baby to make it laugh, while said baby was held by another mighty hero who was utterly stoned face. Cass’ smiled at her dad, who smiled back for a fraction of seconds before Clark shifted his head up to look at him too, and Bruce went back to his : “ -_-” face, by reflex really. 

Cassandra never spoke much, but she loved a lot. And her way of loving her little sister ? It was to always keep a watchful eye on her, so she could react to whatever she needed. And give her space when she needed to. 

She had many brothers, she often joked that if she lost one, she could just replace him (a joke you didn’t like much, because you knew it was just a self-defense from her, to shield her heartbreak at the mere idea of loosing a sibling), but only had one sister...

Yes. Your youngest child definitely held a special place in everyone’s heart. 

And you could see her slowly creep in every members’ of the Justice League’s heart too. 

Gods, you couldn’t even imagine what would happen to the person who would one day try to hurt her. You could bet, though, he wouldn’t get out of it unscathed (to say the least). 

************

Martha was particularly fond of Duke’s inuit kiss. He had the capacity to instantly calm her, and he could easily feel her inner emotions. 

As she was passed around everyone, and she started to be tired and cranky, he simply retrieved her and brought her to Bruce, because he knew that was her preferred spot to fall asleep. 

He kissed her on the forehead, and sure enough, she was asleep before he could pull away. Your husband put a warm hand on Duke’s head, a warm smile on his face. That boy could always tell what others felt. It was a gift, really, and sometimes a curse as others’ feelings could leak into him. Which is to say that sometimes, when others were sad, he would be too...

But for now, he felt content. At peace. Because his dad was, too. 

And indeed, Bruce, holding his sleeping daughter against his heart, his hand supporting her head gently, was utterly at peace. 

He loved the idea that his arms were his daughter’s favorite place to sleep, and never refused to hold her to help her sleep. You sure were a little jealous, but he told you : “They all always come to you when they need comfort, one kid out of six, you surely can give me, right ?” and though you knew he was joking, it broke your heart a little. 

So, you let go of your jealousy, and let him have this indeed. Martha was definitely a daddy’s girl. And that was good. You could see the impact on your husband, how having a baby in the house soothed him. 

He loved his kids so damn much. He often said they were his lights. And the fact Martha found comfort with him ? 

It reminded him of his own parents. How he would go to his mom, a Martha too, to find the same comfort. To fall asleep in the same way. 

You let go of that small jealousy, as you saw her falling soundly asleep, cuddled up against her dad. And it was funny, how Bruce would take his usual Batman persona, stone faced, standing straight and- 

Having one of two fingers held tightly by both of his daughter’s little hands. She grabbed them as he took her, one hand holding her (she was so tiny...and he was a big dude), the other, she used as a sort of comfort plushy. She held them with all her might, as she slept. 

And Bruce was speaking battle plans, and you had to fight the laughter in you as all your friends couldn’t help but stare at the scene, not knowing how to feel. 

Hal snickered at one point, and he made a gesture for him to zip it, and it was quite an odd scene, as he held his daughter and did that childish gesture. 

Seriously. That guy !! 

************

Batman smiling was...different. 

They all got caught staring at him, when he had his daughter in his arms. Staring because his broad smile was-

Well. Broad. 

It wasn’t his signature smirk. It wasn’t a soft smile. It wasn’t a half-smile. It wasn’t a smile that you could only see in his eyes. 

It was a full on big ass smile (as Barry would say). 

And sure, they already saw him smile like that (although he schooled his face back to “stone mode” when he noticed them looking), never that much. 

As if the birth of his daughter gave Batman another new light, and it was just impossible to yield to his old demon, to brood, when holding that ray of sunshine. 

It made them all feel...soft. And warm. 

It was nice, to know the bat wasn’t just a machine. They forgot it sometimes, that he was, in the end, “just” a man. They forgot why he became Batman. The pain and guilt he held inside. But moments like this, they were reminded of it. 

That the Batman didn’t exist because of hatred, but because of love. 

Because he loved his parents, his city, and now- 

His family. 

It was nice, to get reminded that there was a man below the mask. And though he could be an “a-hole” sometimes, there, holding his baby, he was just that. 

A loving man, who wanted to protect others. 

************

You made a note of every moments you would cherish forever of you introducing your daughters to them all : 

1. The shock on their faces as they beheld the sight of THE BATMAN holding a baby against him, and being so delicate. 

2. Your daughter being the star of the show, all of them smitten with her !

3. Your friends wanting to hold her, and how they beamed at her (and she beamed back, except with Barry, whom she only stared at for some reasons). 

4. Dick’s “game” of pretending he dropped her, and their panicked reaction. 

5. The success of Tim’s baby carrier, and how now, there was always one up in the tower. 

6. Diana and how it definitely seemed like she would move mountain for that child. 

7. How Clark’s eyes filled with tears again, as he looked at Martha. Because it made his friends so happy. You and Bruce. And especially Bruce. And Clark was an emotional man, who suffered too, and was just so happy “The Batman” was happy. 

8. How Jason seemed at peace with his little sister, and how whenever he held her, he seemed less weary than usual around everyone. Like Cass, he didn’t like much being amongst too many people. But now, it felt like he had an “emotional support baby”. Ah. 

9. Their reactions, past the shock, welcoming that new life in the world. 

10. How Bruce monitored his daughter being held by his friends, holding your hand. Even after all those years, when he acted close to you in his Batman costume, it made you...feel things. He always kept a facade as Batman. A facade that would crumble with his kids, and especially with you. PDA weren’t rare. And even after years at his side, it always made your heart beat wildly when he showed affection towards you in public, because it meant- 

Oh it meant so much. 

And you had so many more moments forever ingrained in your heart from that day spend up at the JLA’s headquarters. 

Too many to count. Some sweet, some hilarious- 

All positive feelings. 

And as you and your family stepped back in the zeta tubes, your friends saying “byyyyye” to Martha especially, with their baby voice (making Bruce roll his eyes), and as she waved at them- 

Waved for the FIRST TIME ever oh. 

Oh it felt like you would die of happiness. 

And still, Bruce’s hands held yours tightly. 

He knew. 

He knew, you were the source of this happiness he thought he could never find again. 

He knew. 

He never loved like that before. 

Yes. It felt like you could just die of happiness.

__________________________________________________

And here we are. I hope you enjoyed this. Don’t hesitate to comment and/or reblog, it’s always greatly appreciated :). 

Also, initially, the child was going to be Thomas (their son in my “main” storyline, if you already read a few works from me), but last minute, I was like : “wait no, I want to give Bruce a daughter, and the boys a sister. Also, poor Cass eh ?” and here we are. I really hope you liked this; I’m nervous for some reasons. Anyway. See you soon with another one ? 

[moondustbaby]

Mine

blue collar!Rafe x sahm!Reader

a/n: based on this request! 💌

summary: When you and Rafe are called in for parent-teacher conferences at jace’s school, you expect to talk finger paints and reading levels—not watch his overly friendly kindergarten teacher openly flirt with your husband. But lucky for her, you’re a patient woman. lucky for you, Rafe knows exactly who he belongs to.

⸻

Jace’s kindergarten classroom smells like glue sticks and apple juice, and the tiny plastic chairs dig into the backs of your knees as you shift uncomfortably in one of them. Rafe’s beside you, looking wildly out of place in his dusty jeans and a navy tee that still has faint paint streaks across the chest. He’d come straight from a job site, boots scuffed and skin golden from the sun, and when he sat down beside you, his hand naturally rested on your thigh, grounding you like always.

But the teacher hasn’t looked at you once.

“Mr. Cameron” she says for the third time, practically purring it now, “It’s just so nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from Jace.”

You blink. You’re right here.

“I’m his mom,” you offer with a polite smile, trying not to sound annoyed even though it’s starting to bubble up. “We’ve met before.”

“Oh, right, of course,” she says airily, eyes already back on Rafe. “But it’s so sweet—he talks about how his dad builds houses. That must be so rewarding.”

Rafe shifts a little in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s a lot of hours,” he says, glancing over at you like he knows. “But worth it.”

“Well, you must be so strong,” she laughs, touching her own arm like she’s imagining what his biceps feel like. “It’s just amazing what you do.”

You’re seconds away from launching yourself across the small table.

Rafe gives you a sideways look, a small twitch of his lips like he’s holding back a laugh, but you can tell by the way his hand tightens on your leg that he’s noticed it too.

You lean forward, smile sugary sweet. “He’s got strong arms and strong hands,” you say, resting your hand over his and threading your fingers through his. “Especially when he’s taking care of the kids so I can rest. You know—real husband stuff.”

The teacher’s smile wavers.

“Oh, of course,” she says. “Well—um—Jace is doing great. He’s a real sweetheart.”

“He gets that from his dad,” you say, batting your lashes at Rafe. “Except when someone crosses the line. Then he’s real protective.”

Rafe lets out a low breath that might be a laugh and finally turns his attention to the teacher. “We good with Jace, then? No issues?”

“None,” she says, flustered now, flipping through her notes. “He’s doing great. Just keep reading with him at home.”

You stand first, squeezing Rafe’s hand and helping him up, and he towers over both of you in his work boots, broad and golden and so clearly yours. You reach for his arm and give him a lingering look as he thanks the teacher, and you don’t miss the way she watches him as he walks out.

Once you’re in the hallway, Rafe leans close.

“You were gonna bite her head off,” he murmurs, clearly amused.

“I was gonna do worse,” you mutter, crossing your arms as you walk toward the front office. “She didn’t even see me.”

“She definitely saw you. Just didn’t know what she was messin’ with.”

“She was flirting with you.”

“I know.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but he’s got that smug, crooked smile that makes your heart skip even when he’s being a little shit.

“You think this is funny?” you say.

“I think it’s hot when you get jealous.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you lie, scowling now. “I was territorial.”

He laughs, then pulls you in by the waist, pressing you up against the hallway wall where no one can see. You yelp, more in shock than anything else.

“Rafe—”

“She kept starin’ at me like she wanted to take me home,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “But you’re the one who gets to take me home. You’re the one who knows what these hands feel like when I’m not buildin’ houses.”

Your breath hitches.

“She doesn’t know what I sound like when I’m beggin’ you to let me come,” he says, rough and low now. “She doesn’t know how many times I’ve come home covered in dirt and dropped to my knees for you first thing, because I missed you too much.”

You swallow, fingers fisting in the front of his shirt. His jaw brushes yours.

“She doesn’t know I make you breakfast every Sunday. Or rub your back when you fall asleep on the couch. Or that I cry every time the kids bring home their little macaroni art projects and tell me they made ‘em for me.”

Now your eyes are stinging.

“She doesn’t know,” he says again, voice soft. “But you do.”

You nod slowly, heart beating out of your chest. His words always hit you like a truck tender and feral at the same time. And maybe the teacher had looked at him like she wanted him, but she’d never have him. Not like you did.

“You’re mine,” you whisper.

“Always.”

And he kisses you there in the hallway like it’s a promise.

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: this fic is brought to you by passive aggressive eye contact, smug blue-collar husband energy, and tiny kindergarten chairs that are not meant for full-grown people. anyway. protect your man and maybe kiss him in the hallway. academic excellence starts at home. thank you for the request!! 🤩

♥️ lani

Send Me Requests! 💌

Masterlist

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[f1girliefics]

Soft Launch

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando’s secret relationship turns into the worst-kept secret and the most chaotic reveal F1 fans have ever seen.

You had always known dating Lando Norris would come with complications, but you hadn’t expected to be his "invisible girlfriend."

Not in a bad way.

He wasn’t hiding you because he was ashamed—he made that clear with every kiss to your forehead, every late-night call from a hotel room halfway across the world, and every soft smile saved just for you.

But the world was loud, and the internet was louder. He wanted to protect you for a little while longer.

Keep you his.

"Soft launch?" you teased one evening, raising an eyebrow as he snapped a photo of your joined hands over a coffee table.

"Soft as hell," he grinned.

Thus began the game.

There was the blurry photo of your legs up on the dashboard of his car ("nice legs, whose are they?" Twitter screamed).

The two glasses of wine in his story with the cryptic caption show good company tonight.

The low, unmistakable laugh in the background of his Twitch stream sent fans into a meltdown.

You found it hilarious.

It was absurd, the way they dissected everything, zooming into the reflection on his sunglasses, analysing voice frequencies, matching nail polish shades.

Your personal favourite was the side-by-side someone posted of your pinky ring and the mysterious hand in Lando's post. Sherlock Holmes would be proud.

Until it wasn’t funny anymore.

It happened on a random Thursday.

A friend posted a group photo from a private birthday dinner, tagging everyone, including you. And there you were, sitting next to Lando, shoulder pressed to his, that smile you reserved only for him lighting up your face.

The comments started immediately.

WAIT. IS THAT THE SAME GIRL FROM THE COFFEE CUP PHOTO???

SHE HAS THE SAME RING! THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

HE SOFT LAUNCHED HER, AND WE FOUND HER.

You dropped your phone. Lando, who had been walking out of the shower, hair wet and towel slung low on his hips, paused at your expression.

"Babe?"

"It happened."

He blinked. "What?"

You handed him your phone.

Thirty seconds later, he was laughing. Not the amused chuckle you expected—full-on laughter, chest-heaving, tears-in-his-eyes kind of laughter.

"Lando! This is serious. Your PR team is going to faint."

"I warned them this day would come. Honestly, I expected worse. Like, someone hacking my camera roll or something."

"They think I hacked your life."

He grinned. "You did, kind of."

He kissed you then, quick and firm. "Come on. We might as well do this properly."

He grabbed his phone.

"What are you doing?"

"Making it official."

He opened Instagram and snapped a selfie of the two of you, your face flushed from panic, his smug grin on full display.

He typed, Not so soft anymore, is it? And tagged you.

You gawked at him as he hit post.

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

His phone exploded within seconds.

Your name trended worldwide.

Someone made a fan edit of the two of you within ten minutes.

His PR team did, in fact, faint.

But through it all—all the chaos, the articles, the memes—you looked at Lando, and he looked at you, and neither of you had any regrets.

You hadn’t just been soft-launched.

You’d been launched, alright.

Straight into the spotlight. Straight into his world.

And the best part?

He never let go of your hand.

[k-hotchoisan]

active recovery

<yunho x fem!reader>

sore thighs suck after leg day. thank god Yunho is there to offer his help to ease the soreness 🤍

genre/warnings: pwp, smut, contributing to the big cock!yunho agenda, leg day aftermath (soreness), it starts from an attempted massage and… yeah, size kink, unprotected sex, overstimulation, mating press position, breeding, fingering

a/n: haven’t written Yunho in a hot minute + my attempt of distracting myself from my leg soreness from leg day 😒

wc: 1.8K / apply for taglist here 🤍

You wake up and you feel like lightning struck your legs, especially your inner thighs. You groan, feeling the soreness shoot up your muscles every time you move.

And to think you didn’t do enough squats the previous day. Your legs tremble slightly too even though you try to minimise any movement to the best of your ability.

Your hand combs through your messy bed in search of your phone. You find it and immediately scroll to your chats, tapping on the first one with Yunho’s name on it. 

[you]: I’m tapping out on gym today. My legs are fuckin toast. 

[yuyu🐶]: sounds like a skill issue. 

[yuyu🐶]: I’m joking please don’t block me. 

[yuyu🐶]: I’m coming over with food and some help ok?

You manage to muster the strength to leave your bed to wash up at least, forcing yourself to get used to the electricity running through your legs. 

The doorbell rings shortly and despite the jerks your legs were giving you on the way there, you manage to reach to the door to invite Yunho in, who has his hands busy with food like he promised. 

He sets up the table and he ensures you’ve eaten well before the both of you go to your bedroom to hear what he’s suggesting. 

“Which part of your leg is sore?” He asks, kneeling before you, giving your legs soft squeezes. You flinch and squeal when his fingers press against your thighs. Guess he’s got his answer. 

“Lie down for me. I’ll stretch you out”, Yunho instructs, and you do. 

Yunho starts with a slow massage, kneading against your sore muscles, ignoring your soft whimpers when his fingers press against a sore spot. It’s kind of working, but you still feel the sensitivity bursting through your nerves, and it makes you involuntarily twitch against Yunho’s touches. 

You groan when Yunho applies pressure on your thighs. He pushes your legs towards you, and he leans in. You try to ignore the suggestive position of Yunho’s crotch just pressing against yours while he’s stretching out your thigh, focusing on hoping to relieve any ounce of soreness at least.

Unfortunately, your soft groans aren’t helping with the situation. Try as Yunho might, ignoring you only seems to have your moans go straight to his dick. 

“Y/n, as much as I adore your voice, I’d appreciate it if you kept it to a minimum. It’s distracting.”

“I can’t help it if I’m this sensitive”, you pout, not realising you ticked something in him. “And also your reactions are cute with your ears all red like that.” 

Yunho narrows his eyes, ignoring your words , and instead focusing on trying to finish your massage. When he’s done with one side, he switches to the other, doing the same action of folding your legs against your chest, his thighs getting dangerously close to your pussy once more. Your thoughts are starting to float to a less pure space.

You know you shouldn’t be doing this. You and Yunho are just simply gym buddies—well, gym buddies who have some sort of funny tension going on recently. And now that he’s just this physically close to you—touching, pressing, stretching you, you can’t seem to get your mind out of the gutter.

It wasn’t until Yunho’s palm spread over your thighs once more, massaging against your thick flesh that you let out another sudden moan at the pressure, that Yunho seems to hit his limit. It’s enough that he’s holding back considering that his hands are getting dangerously close up further your thighs, the way he had himself pressed against you at a rather interesting position, but you, moaning at every touch he’s applying onto you? He can only hold back so much.

“Sorry Yun. It’s just… it feels so good when you do it like that.”

Then, Yunho has you under him, he towers over you on your bed. 

“They say active recovery is good for soreness. Lucky for you, I know a pretty good form of active recovery. Your thighs are gonna be doing a lot more stretching though.”

You swallow hard, wondering if you should take on what he’s trying to allude. Seems like you pressed a little too much of his buttons. Oops. Not that you wanted to complain though.

In the most twisted ways, you always wondered how Yunho would compare—his build wasn’t large, but he’s still big. His hands are big—and he makes carrying dumbbells look like toys. You always wondered where else would be big.

And now, you’re about to find out.

“Now, keep your legs open like this for me”, he instructs. Your bottoms are peeled off you in seconds, and you have your legs spread open. Yunho’s fingers pry your lips open to get his pretty fingers wet enough, then he trails down your wet cunt, circling your clit slowly.  

“You gotta relax for me, baby”, he coaxes you in a tone that’s sending you butterflies in your stomach. “If you can’t take my fingers, my cock is gonna snap in you, y’know?”

That’s all the warning he gives before his slender fingers plunge into your wet heat, and your brain completely melts at the feeling. 

“Good girl”, he comforts. His other hand is gently rubbing and massaging against your thigh once more, ramping up the sensitivity before he trails down to accompany his other hand, fully rubbing circles on your clit. 

Your back is arched from how much Yunho is pressing against your g-spot on top of stimulating your clit. It’s making your toes curl and your mind go blank. 

“Gonna cum Yun,” you mutter through heavy breaths. Yunho is kissing up your neck to your jaw before his lips are on yours, the movements of his fingers encouraging you to release all over them.

“Cum for me, baby. It’ll feel so good, I promise”,  Yunho whispers into your ear, snapping the knot in your stomach. 

He eats up your moans with his kisses, taking advantage of your mouth when your orgasm rakes through your whole body leaves your eyes rolled back and your mouth hanging open. 

Yunho’s cock is soaked and hard underneath his shorts—it’s throbbing and pushing against the fabric of his apparel. So when you’re getting off your high, he has his pants off quickly too. His cock is thick and heavy, covered in precum, looking like the perfect thing to fill you up with.

His wet cock rests on your equally wet cunt, and Yunho strokes himself against your drenched folds, making sure his tip brushes against your clit every time. 

“Yunho, please”, you mutter, your pussy fluttering against nothing, aching for Yunho to just fuck you. 

“Not too sore to take my dick right?” Yunho teases, his gaze darting between your desperate eyes and the way cream from your pussy is decorating his big cock. 

“I’m gonna be stretching you in more ways than one, babe. Be a good girl and take it for me, yeah?”, he smiles. 

For some strange reason, you don’t feel the soreness in your inner thighs, or maybe you’re just so horny that it’s not the soreness that’s your main concern now. 

You bite your lip, then your mind completely coming undone when you feel Yunho push his cockhead into your pussy, stretching your hole open as he accommodates his thick cock in you. 

“Fuck. Look at your tight pussy trying to fit all of me in. I should fill you in for size training after our next sessions. Extra stretching sessions shouldn’t be much of a problem, right baby?” 

Maybe you should take up on that offer. 

The thought of Yunho fitting his fat cock to stretch you open just so your tight pussy can mold to his cock size after your gym sessions sounded way too fucking tempting, especially in your current predicament. You’re imagining the way he would coax your pussy to take more inches of him, and the thought of doing it right after your training sessions—being pumped full of endorphins and just Yunho’s fat cock—your pussy is just dripping and taking more of his cock by the second. Way too fucking enticing.

“Mm. That’s it, baby. Fit me in like this, yeah?” Yunho sighs when his cock finally bottoms out in you, your walls hugging him like a glove. 

You gasp at the fullness. His cockhead is pressing against your g-spot but you feel it in your fucking throat, and any small twitches his cock is making in you is a contender to make you cum any second. 

Your fingers grab onto his tensed biceps to give yourself some leverage, and Yunho is kind enough to wait for you to adjust, or maybe because he feels like he’s about to cum any second from the way your pussy is just squeezing him. 

“Jeong Yunho”, you pant, trying to catch your breath. “You’re so fucking big. Fuck. Oh my fucking god, I feel so full.”

He chuckles, rubbing slow circles from your inner thighs and clit. “All the more we should train for that.”

Yunho and his fat cock are gonna be the death of you. You didn’t even need leg day to do it for you. 

“God, Yunho, just fuck me already.”

“Gladly.” 

Your head is thrown back the moment his cock pulls out of you and thrusts back into you. You’re not gonna survive this, you swear. 

The moans slipping out of you grow louder and more lewd, and Yunho is gradually losing the ability to hold back when he hears his name in your high-pitched symphony paired with the way your pussy is just creaming all over him. He watches the way his cock pushes a bulge whenever he slides into you and it’s taking him everything to not to just rearrange your guts.

The pressure soon wears off, only pleasure flooding through your veins when Yunho fucks the daylights out of you. And now you’re growing greedy. 

So is Yunho. 

“You’re driving me crazy, baby”, Yunho is growing breathless whenever he feels your cunt sucking him in. “Keep doing that and I’ll guarantee you’re not walking straight tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan, Yuyu. Then you can come over to take responsibility, right?”

Yunho groans. God he fucking loves it when you’re like this for him. 

So he responds by grabbing you by your thighs and lifting your hips slightly to make sure his cock fills you up all the way. His eyebrows are furrowed in pleasure, mouth slightly open as he listens to your voice climbing up in pitch at every thrust he gives you. 

“So good. Ah fuck. You’re so fucking thick”, you cry through your fucked out delirium. 

Yunho bites his lip, his thrusts growing more desperate and erratic with his cock just twitching for his release. 

He settles your legs down, only to fold them so that your knees are almost pressing against your chest, making sure you fucking see stars while his cock fills you up over and over in that position, hitting your g-spot so fucking easily. You’re choking on your moans at this point, your orgasm just being dangled over your head. 

“Fuck, right there! Gonna cum, Yunho. Oh god, that’s it”, you sob, your orgasm hitting you through shots of dopamine filling up your brain and flooding all over your cunt, pulsing against Yunho’s dick. 

Yunho has his eyes rolled back when you’re squeezing uncontrollably against him, deciding to fuck you through your orgasm, listening to your cries like it’s his favourite sound for the rest of the day. 

“Shit, I don’t think I could ever get enough of this pussy”, he mutters through pants. “So fucking perfect to cum in.”

Yunho squeezes your legs as he stills in you, making sure every drop of his thick cum is filling your pussy to the brim. 

He jerks slightly before pulling out, still holding your legs open for him to watch his cum seep out of your pussy and onto the towel below. You squeal when you feel his long fingers push his cum back into your pussy. Yunho is never telling you, but it’s his silent way of putting his mark on you. 

He soothes your thighs a little more even though he’s still finger fucking his cum back into you while kissing and biting the soft flesh of your thighs. ignoring your cries of overstimulation, before he closes your legs to lie them down. 

“See, this is a form of active recovery too”, Yunho says matter-of-factly, looking up at you with a pretty deceptive smile with his head on your lap. You narrow your eyes, grabbing him by his scalp. 

“I’m gonna blow your phone up tomorrow if I can’t feel my legs, Jeong Yunho.” 

Yunho continues to smile, his fingers easily removing yours from his head. 

“I guess that’s a yes to the extra training sessions then?” 

taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie  @pre1ttyies @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess  @mylovelymito @softwsan  @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee @ywtf @jeon-ify @itza-meee @miss-fallon @hwallazia @bunnyluvr25 @eggyboy5 @hourswithoutyou @iwishiwasthemoontonight @yunhogrippers @watermelon2319 @vampiregirl215 @kibs-and-bits @s-h-y-a @liyahbug05-blog @luvt0kki @httpseungmxn @vic0921 @sanhwajoong @bitejoongie @no1likevie

[st7rnioioss]

۶ৎ BUNNY!READER x SHY!MATT

when shy!matt got bunny!reader a pair of panties as a joke.. except it's not really anymore (p!link)

˚𝜗𝜚 warnings... dry jumping, groping, kissing, titty sucking, grinding, pet names (bunny, bun, baby)

it was only meant as a joke.. matt had this adorable habit of calling you ‘bunny’ rather than the usual nicknames couples came up with—babe, sweetheart, love, baby, you name it.

so when he saw those white panties with a bunny tail on the back when he was out shopping with you for halloween? he had to get them.. maybe order them online.

but today was far from halloween, it wasn’t even gonna be halloween for months, and he’d forgotten completely about them while sitting by his desk..

well, you certainly hadn’t. a couple weeks ago you stumbled across them, lying in the very back of matt’s closet when looking for a shirt. for a second, you were confused, flustered even. why would he have those? what were they for? did you forget about them?

“matt, what are these?” you’d quietly asked when you returned to him sitting by the counter in the kitchen, shyly holding the pair up in front of him while looking up at him with almost wide eyes.

oh my god. he wanted to bury himself, forgotten all about the almost naughty piece of clothing—naughty if taken in the wrong context of the silly pet name.

“o-oh i just.. those were meant for halloween last year, i-it wasn’t anything serious.. yeah, forget about it..” he mumbled awkwardly, immediately flushing a deep red at the sight of you standing there, the fabric pinched between your fingers, showing off the fluffy tail.

after that awkward interaction, you thought why not just keep them? it was a little, funny inside joke, nothing more than that.. right?

well, they were supposed to just be kept as a joke and left in the back of your drawer, kept closed and hidden away, but honestly? you thought it was a little too funny not to be used, even to be tried on.

hence why you strutted your way into your room where matt was, wearing only the pretty panties with a fluffy pom-pom looking tail on your lower back, and a white lace tank top to go along with the theme.

“ta-daaa,” you smiled, spreading your arms to show off, spinning in a circle for him to show the whole little thing off.

matt was struck when he looked up from his computer. his eyes went wide, his cheeks growing hot and warm, all blood rushing straight from his face to his dick. honestly, he was suppressing a whimper at the sight alone, his eyes tracing over your body while he felt his cock harden under his palm.

“o-oh my god,” he whispered, going completely bashful at the sight of your pretty little self, strutting and showing off for him.

your own face went a little pink. sure, you and matt were intimate, but it never really included stuff like this. it wasn’t anything that came to mind since you both were way too timid to suggest it.

“do you like it?” you asked with a soft smile, giving him another twirl, your hair bouncing while sitting perfectly and neat atop of your shoulders.

to say he liked it was an understatement. of course he liked it, his cock was obviously tenting in his pants, having to suppress a groan from your adorable little costume-like outfit.. if you could even call it that.

he swallowed his nerves, giving you an awkward but firm nod, “y-yeah.. it’s cute bunny,” his voice was small and soft, his eyes drifting back to yours, his skin prickling.

quickly, you bounced closer to him, carefully but confidently making your way into his lap, throwing a leg over his hips. he had no clue what to do, not in this situation. not when you looked that cute, his hands awkwardly flailing over your waist.

“touch me- please baby,” you whispered, slowly wrapping your arms around the back of his neck while settling in his lap, his erection poking against your inner thighs.

your words made a shiver run down his spine, brushing his fingers over the soft skin under your top, running his hands down your sides and hips. he looked up at you, watching as you took your bottom lip between your teeth, a smile still evident on your lips.

matt’s lips were halfway parted, allowing him to let out a little gasp when you unintentionally brushed your thigh over his cock, your hands reaching to cup his jaw in your hands.

he leaned in, brushing his lips over yours until he more firmly pressed against you, his hands getting a good grip on your hips. you cradled his face in your hands to pull him closer, both your eyes fluttered shut and noses occasionally brushing against the others, while he slowly started to guide your hips over his crotch.

you gasped into the kiss, the sudden control matt took making your stomach erupt wildly with butterflies. the gasp you let out allowed matt to drag his tongue across your lower lip, seeking entrance—which he was granted immediately.

he ran his tongue across yours, careful as if to savor the moment, his wet muscle entangling with yours.

matt shuddered beneath you, his head still spinning from the sight of you in those panties he’s bought as a silly joke. he’d honestly never really expect to see you in them, let alone have you in his lap like this, looking so cute.

carefully, he guided you back and forth, his slightly trembling hands slipping from your hips down the sides of your thighs, before reaching your ass.

you continued to roll your hips, your already wet pussy dragging perfectly across his the hard bulge beneath you, making you whine into the kiss. your skin was hot, your face pink and red from his fingers gripping the plush skin of your ass, kneading the skin under his hands.

“m-matt..” you whined when you pulled back from his glistening lips, looking down at him to meet his eyes, guiding you almost erratically but precisely on top of him.

he hummed in response, before attaching his lips to your jaw, pressing a soft peck that left a wet mark on your skin, before continuing down your neck, “so.. so cute,”

you let out a sigh of pleasure, your hands going to twirl his hair between your digits, pushing him closer to you.

he couldn’t stop himself from leaving a small mark on your skin, admiring the sight for just a second, before moving on to leave a couple more.. or just a few. he couldn’t wait for those red spots to turn a deeper purple tomorrow, how he would trace them in the soft morning light.

“y’look.. so pretty bun,” his words were muffled against your skin, his fingertips digging into your lush skin, leaving a red mark behind from his harsh squeezing and groping.

his lips continued sucking on your flesh, eventually reaching your collarbone, letting a breathy moan slip here and there. matt’s touching and kissing causing you to turn completely nervous and baffled almost. he was usually too shy to even touch you when making out.

“f-fuck, matt-“ you whimpered, his hands kneading your bottom repeatedly causing your needy clit to rub deliciously against the fabric of the panties, on top of his rock-hard erection.

the consistent rubbing and grinding of your wet pussy left a wet patch on his sweatpants, but neither of you cared too much about that right now to notice, too busy enveloped in each other.

it wasn’t long before his lips met the fabric of your top, letting one of his hands sneak to the strap.

“c-can i? it’s in the way,” he husked, his voice soft like lace.

you could only nod in response before his fingers dragged the strap of your top down your shoulder, the other one following. deliberately, he tugged the fabric down your front, exposing your chest to him. all while doing this, you gazed down at him, too lost in the bliss to say or do anything.

slowly, he pressed a few kisses to the side of your breast, making your breath hitch for a moment, your teeth nibbling on your lip. he then attached his lips to your hardening nipple, kissing and swirling his tongue around the bud, emitting a moan from you.

“o-oh god,” you whined, your core only aching even more from the pleasure sent straight through your body, a pool of heat forming in your lower back.

matt then slowly resumed your movements on top of him, both his hands returning to your ass to get a firm grasp, all while he tried to distribute equal kisses and lick to both of your exposed tits.

you could already feel the tension in your lower tummy increase, your clit aching and swollen, grinding almost pathetically on top of him to relieve the ache. matt was on the same page, his cock throbbing from the restraint of his boxers and sweatpants—but yet that wasn’t enough to eliminate any pleasure he was receiving.

matt was nibbling and sucking carefully but precisely on your tits, his lips leaving behind a trail of small, red marks across your sensitive skin, occasionally swirling his tongue around your nipple. your back was arched, fingers tangled in his hair to press him closer, and eyebrows knitted up in pleasure.

“i-i think i’m gonna.. gonna come,” your voice was high pitched and whiny, letting matt’s guiding take over your movements completely, allowing him to take control, while he pulled back from your chest to look up at you.

with his head out of the way, you could have a look at the marks scattered across your tits and the valley of them, your face flushing and skin heating up with need. the sight alone was enough to make you whimper.

“m-me too.. i-“ he nodded weakly in response with a whimper, his eyes squeezing shut in pleasure.

his muscles tightened when he felt himself inch closer and closer to his release, already feeling his cock twitch in his pants, yet he wanted you to be pushed over the edge first.

and to his luck, it wasn’t long before your fingers tightened their grip on his hair, an almost desperate moan of his name emitted from your parted lips, until you let go completely, the tension in your tummy snapping.

matt’s continuous guiding of your body caused your already drooling pussy to swipe across his pants, leaving a wet spot on the fabric, soaking through the thin lace of the panties.

matt groaned at the sight, accidentally jerking his hips up to meet yours, almost choking on a moan of your name. a second later, the tip of his already leaking cock spurted hot ropes of his seed into his boxers, leaving a wet mark right next to the one you left.

eventually you both looked at each other, your faces flushed and hot, eyes wide, and heart racing. matt was the first one to break a smile, chuckling lightly at the sight of your eyes, which you returned, giggling softly.

“i- well..” he mumbled shyly, almost nervous while the icky feeling of his cum smearing against the fabric of his boxers, making him grimace.

you did the same, the feeling of your slick panties making you wince, giggling along with the look of matt’s face.

his fingers then reached for the fabric of your tank top, helping you get the straps back up to sit on your shoulders like before, but not without giving your bruised and marked tits a final glance.

“we should- we should probably clean up..” matt muttered, back to running his flat palms over the skin of your ass, now red and bruised, his touch much more gentle than it was a moment ago.

you blinked, staring at him with a gaze full of love, nodding along with his quiet words. “do.. do you wanna shower with me?” you suggested, taking his fingers between yours.

matt nodded slowly before he got to think, watching as you went to stand up with an almost proud smile, the little tail of your panties wiggling when you turned around to head for the bathroom.

“you don’t.. think we should keep those?” he smiled while following right behind you, hand in hand, all while giving the tail a gentle tug, causing you to yelp when the elastic band snapped back onto your skin.

more shy!matt x bunny!reader here

𝜗𝜚˚࿔notes: imagine they FUCKED in the shower🔥

۶ৎ taglist: @jetaimevous @missmimii @mattscoquette @pearlzier @witchofthehour @elizasturn @loveparqdise @delilahsturniolo @phone4pills @sturnsmia @hearts4werka @cayleeuhithinknott @strnilolover @sturnvxz @lovergirl4gracieabrams @ifwdominicfike @toftomgmf @emely9274 @sturnioloangell @blushsturns @sierrraaaaxz @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @sophand4n4 @sturnihoelooo @unknvhx @chrisslut04 @sturniolossss @slvtf0rchr1s @blahbel668 @starkeysturniolo @miolos @user1smvtysturniolo @lizzyzzn @sturnslutz @decimatedxdreams @chrissturnioloswife88 @sturn777 @sturniolonationsblog @frankoceanfanpage @priscillaog @courta13 @sweetrelieef @loverboysturn @sturns-mermaid @cutseylady @sofieeeeex @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @mattsturnii @conspiracy-ash

© 𝐒𝐓𝟕𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑

[cece693]

UNKILLABLE

pairing: michael myers x male reader synopsis: You were unique—not in the quirky sense because that was just cringe—but you were unkillable. Ask the boogeyman himself if you don't believe it. After multiple attempts at ending your life, you came back and continued 'haunting' his ass. You found the whole situation amusing and not so secretly flirted with the boogeyman himself.

He’s stabbed you. Shot you. Set you on fire once, just to see if your scream would be real this time. It wasn’t. You just laughed—sprawled in the ashes, face blackened with soot, and gave him a wink through scorched lashes.

“Still no dice, Mikey. Getting warmer, though.”

Michael Myers doesn’t speak. Everyone knows that. But if he did, you’re pretty sure by now, he’d be screaming. You’ve been following him for years—immortal, untouchable, and, according to Laurie Strode, “insane in an entirely new way.” But how could you not be intrigued? The man was death itself: silent, brutal, unyielding.

And you were the one thing he couldn’t end.

That pissed him off. You could tell.

Tonight was no different.

He slammed you against a blood-slicked wall in an abandoned farmhouse, the glint of his butcher knife flashing in the broken moonlight. You didn’t resist. You never did. His hand gripped your throat like a vice. You smiled.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

He drove the blade straight into your chest—your sternum cracked like dry wood, lungs collapsing. You coughed, giggled, then licked the corner of your mouth.

“God, you’re strong. That almost felt like something.”

He yanked the knife free. Blood painted your shirt. You kept smiling and reached up—slow, languid—and brushed your fingers along his coverall sleeve. He didn’t flinch. He never flinched. But you felt it: a shift in tension, a pause that stretched into something curious.

You leaned closer and pressed a kiss to the cool rubber cheek of his mask. It didn’t feel like much—but the act did. “I think you like me,” you whispered into his silence.

The next second, you were on the floor, knife back in your gut, boot pressing on your neck. “Okay, okay, mixed signals. I get it.” You grinned through your teeth. “But you know what’s funny, Michael?”

He didn’t respond. Of course not. “I’m the only one who doesn’t scream when you come near. I don’t run. And no matter what you do, I’m still here.”

Your body convulsed once. He waited. You went limp. And then—pop—your eyes opened. “Boo.” You stood up with a dramatic groan, plucked the knife from your ribs with a squelch, and handed it back hilt-first. “Here. You dropped this.”

His fingers curled around it.

You leaned in again, your lips brushing the edge of the mask near where his ear would be. “You’re obsessed with killing. I’m obsessed with you. That makes us soulmates, right?”

Michael raised the blade and hesitated. You didn’t. You touched his chest this time, palm flat. Right over his heart.

It was beating.

Slow.

Steady.

And just a little too fast.

You smirked. “Admit it, Mikey. You’ve tried to kill me every way you can think of, and I still make it back in time for dessert. Maybe deep down, you like having someone you can’t break.”

No response. Just breathing. Slow, audible. Heavy through the mask. Then—his gloved hand snapped out. But it didn’t wrap around your throat this time. It curled behind your neck.

And pulled you forward.

Your lips grazed the cold cheek of his mask again—closer, firmer. Almost a kiss.

Almost.

Then he shoved you away, turned, and vanished into the dark like he always did. But you were laughing. You wiped blood off your chin, face split in a grin as wide as a crescent moon. “See you soon, sweetheart.”

[coldestduointhenation]

Pressure - Chapter 1

wnba!Paige x wnba!Azzi

Themes: exes-to-lovers, angst

Warnings: language (I think that's it)

Synopsis: Four years after a messy fallout, Azzi gets traded to the Dallas Wings. On the same team for the first time after four years of no contact, they have to navigate what it's like to exist in the same space again. One of them is more willing to reconcile than the other.

A/N: Been working on this for a while. Chapter 2 is already in the works. I promise it's gonna get really good. Let me know what you thinkkk

Word count: 8.6k

Present Day – 2029 Dallas, Texas

Paige

Paige thought it was a prank.

Not a funny one. She sure as hell wasn’t laughing. But still, it had to be a sick joke. Because what twisted fate of the universe could possibly lead to her being on the same team as Azzi Fudd? The ex-love-of-her-life/ex-best-friend who left a hole in her a long time ago.

“You’re joking, right?” Paige said flatly, staring holes through Curt, the Wings’ GM, from across his desk.

Curt just grinned like this was the best thing that had happened to him all year. “I know, right? I’m still trying to believe it myself. I can’t believe they went for it. I mean, how stupid could you be to reunite the best backcourt in the nation?” Curt cackled.

Paige dropped her head into her hands. When she looked back up, he was furrowing his brows.

“What’s wrong? I thought you’d be excited about this.” Curt pushed his chair back a little bit to get a better look at Paige and folded his arms across his chest.

Still dazed, Paige nodded the best she could. “Yeah, yeah. This is really great for the team.”

Curt hummed. “I thought you two used to be best friends or something.”

Or something, Paige thought to herself. She nodded her head slowly. Like it hurt to admit. “Yeah… used to be,” she mumbled.

“Well,” Curt said, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his desk. “There’s no bad blood or anything, right?”

“No,” she said flatly.

Only a half-lie. Azzi Fudd destroyed Paige in a way she didn’t know was possible all those years ago, yet somewhere inside, Paige knew that Azzi was still that gravitational pull she’d never be able to escape. A flame that burned too pretty but burned her every time she tried to touch it. Part of her hated Azzi for that. The rest of her knew she didn’t actually hate Azzi. She never could. 

She excused herself from Curt’s office at the first opportunity she got and headed straight for the practice court, where it was empty and quiet and hers. To shoot. And think.

One shot at a time. Release. Swish. Reset.

Again. Again. Again.

Paige tried to think forward. About how she was well on her way to her third MVP title in a row. About how Dallas was about to go back-to-back for the first time ever. About how she was getting older and needed to make these last seasons of her prime count.

But no matter how hard Paige tried to stay present, her brain kept dragging her back.

Back to the dorms. Back to late-night film sessions. Back to hotel rooms with one bed, one secret, and one pair of hands that always knew where to touch her.

Back to Azzi.

Azzi, who was her everything, could match her fire and feed it at the same time, but never let Paige in all the way.

And now, somehow, Azzi was coming to Dallas. 

Paige could hardly wrap her head around it. The thought made her chest ache in a way that felt old and familiar and fresh all at once. In a way that reminded Paige of what’s hers.

But Azzi wasn’t hers. She kept forgetting that. 

Someone else was now. Zoey.

Zoey wasn’t the first since Azzi, but she was the first to actually make Paige slow down. Not just some pretty face for headlines and good lighting. Zoey had a mind of her own, a mouth that didn’t take shit, and a kind of patience Paige didn’t realize she needed until it was offered.

Paige didn’t do girlfriends in the traditional sense. She was too busy, and they were too suffocating. Instead, she hooked up with pretty women until the high wore off and routine took over. And if Paige liked them enough, they’d go on dates, let themselves get caught by a fan, maybe go on vacation.

But locking it down? Making it official? Paige never got that far. Never wanted to.

With Zoey… she was getting there. Not all the way, but closer than she’d been with anyone since Azzi.

And now Azzi was moving to the same city. Joining the same team. Living on the same block. Paige didn’t know that part yet.

Not until the next day, when she was on her morning run.

The sun was still low enough for the buildings to cover the street with their shadows. It was too early for most of the city. But not for Paige. For her, it was the only time when things were quiet. Slow.

She was rounding the corner near her building when she saw someone standing by the glass doors of the leasing office. From behind, the figure looked familiar enough to slow her steps.

Thick, curly hair pulled back in a loose, low bun. Oversized sweatshirt. Gray leggings. That specific posture. Too casual to be calculated, but somehow always looking like it was.

Paige’s stomach dipped. Her pace faltered.

No fucking way.

The girl turned slightly, shifting her weight onto one hip as she glanced down at her phone. Paige’s heart climbed into her throat.

It was her.

Azzi.

Just… standing there outside her building. Like it was normal. Like it hadn’t been years. Like she hadn’t left Paige stuck in some loop she could never fully escape.

-----------------------------------

12 years ago – 2017 USA U16 Basketball Camp, Colorado Springs

Paige wasn’t scared. Just aware. Of all the talent in the room. Of who the coaches were paying attention to. Of the sheer intensity of it all. 

She had a great morning. Her shots fell, her footwork was there, her timing on defense was close to perfect. There was no reason to stress. She played her game and played it well.

Paige sat on the bench, one leg pulled up, Gatorade bottle balanced on her knee, sweat still drying on her neck. She’d just finished scrimmaging and was catching her breath while the next group rotated in.

Next to her, Aliyah Boston leaned back on her hands, eyes scanning the floor. “Damn. It’s a tight race this year.”

Paige looked around. She was still riding the edge of that post-game high. Loose muscles, steady heart, confidence simmering under her skin. She was about to agree with Aliyah when something caught her eye.

Someone.

Far end of the court. Red jersey, black shorts. Braided bun. The youngest one on the floor by at least a year. Moving like she didn’t know it. Or didn’t care.

Then she caught a pass. And everything else just… dropped out. Paige didn’t even blink. Couldn’t. Because the girl didn’t hesitate. Didn’t gather. Just rose and released like muscle memory. Like it wasn’t even a choice.

Net.

Paige straightened. Just a little. “Who is that?” she asked without looking away.

Aaliyah followed her gaze. “That’s Azzi Fudd.”

Paige blinked once. “That’s Azzi Fudd?”

“Yeah. You heard of her?”

She had. The name was familiar. The highlights, the chatter, the headlines. Something about a phenom. A prodigy. One of those kids who had a clear trajectory. Paige had seen a clip or two. Nothing like this.

Because this? This was fucking art. 

Azzi didn’t just play basketball. She moved through it. Like the game bent around her, not the other way around. There was something impossibly smooth about the way she played. Like she already knew what was going to happen three steps ahead. Like the ball just listened to her.

Paige watched her catch another pass. Watched her pivot, fake, draw two defenders, slip it to the post for the easiest bucket of the day. She didn’t even celebrate. Just turned and jogged back like it was routine.

Paige’s throat went dry. Because it wasn’t just the skill. It was everything else. The way Azzi’s face barely changed, calm like a storm with nowhere to go. The way her shoulders stayed relaxed even when the pressure was high. The way she didn’t seem interested in being liked, or noticed. She just was. Steady. Composed. Sharp. She carried herself like someone who already knew what kind of problem she was about to be.

Something nagged at the corner of Paige’s mind. Like Azzi was about to be her problem. Not the kind of problem that would beat her out for a spot on the roster. The kind that would weave itself into her brain like a parasite and sit there like a rock. 

Paige couldn’t stop watching. She leaned forward. Both feet on the ground now, Gatorade bottle forgotten, eyes wide.

Azzi turned on her heel and jogged back. Her eyes scanned the sideline just once. Just briefly. And Paige swore, for half a second, those eyes landed on her.

She looked away too fast. Heat rising in her cheeks. Something flickering in her chest. She wasn’t sure what to call it yet. All she knew was that she���d never seen anything—anyone—like that.

And she was already in trouble.

**************************

The party wasn’t really for them. Technically, it was for the adults. Coaches, scouts, sponsors, the kind of people who wore suits and passed around business cards like it was currency. But the girls who made the team were invited too. Well, told to come. Told to be on their best behavior, smile if someone important started talking to them, and not to touch the champagne.

Paige stuck close to Aliyah. It was less intimidating that way. Aliyah always had something to say and never looked like she was trying too hard, even in a room full of people who would probably own half the league one day.

The ballroom lights were low and gold, the kind that made everything feel fancier than it was. There were high-top tables and white linen napkins and a string quartet playing a pop song Paige couldn’t quite place.

“Tell me again why we’re here?” Paige asked, swirling her lemonade around in the glass.

Aliyah grinned. “So they can smile at us and say they knew us before the shoe deals.”

Paige snorted. “Right.”

Her eyes drifted, naturally, toward the far side of the room. Toward her.

Azzi was talking to a group of adults. Two women in blazers and a man holding a clipboard. She stood with her hands folded neatly in front of her, posture straight, nodding along as someone spoke. Her eyes flicked up occasionally, steady, unreadable.

Paige watched the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. The way she tilted her head when she was listening. The small smile she gave when someone cracked a joke. Polite, but detached.

She looked… grown. Too composed for someone her age. Too calculated. Like she’d been doing this for years already and wasn’t even breaking a sweat.

“God,” Paige muttered, almost to herself.

Aliyah followed her gaze. “You’re still staring at her?”

“I’m not—” Paige sighed. “I just think she’s… interesting.”

Aliyah smirked. “Sure.”

Azzi’s group started to split up, one of the women checking her watch and moving toward the bar. The man peeled off in another direction. Azzi stayed where she was, alone now, adjusting the strap of her dress like it had been bothering her all night.

This was her chance. Paige set her glass down and took a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Be right back.”

She crossed the room like she was walking out on a wire, every step just a little more careful than the one before it.

Azzi didn’t look up until Paige was already in front of her.

“It’s Azzi, right?” Paige said like she wasn’t sure. As if she wasn’t the surest she’d ever been. 

Azzi let out a soft chuckle. “You already knew that.”

Paige couldn’t stop the blood rushing to her cheeks. “Well, I’m Paige—“

“I know who you are, Paige,” Azzi cut her off. 

Paige blinked. “You do?”

Azzi looked her over. Not just her face. All of her. Eyes, posture, the way she was standing too straight like she’d rehearsed the approach.

“I know everyone,” Azzi said, voice even.

“Oh. Right.” Paige fumbled for a second. “You played really well today. You were incredible.”

Azzi shrugged, calm as ever. “Not my best performance.”

Paige shook her head. “Coulda fooled me. I mean, you’re perfect.” The word landed heavier than she meant it to. She felt it the second it hung there.

Azzi cocked an eyebrow.

“I mean—your game is perfect,” Paige corrected quickly. “You’re like the perfect basketball player.”

Azzi didn’t let her off the hook. Her lips curled into a slow, amused smirk. “I make you nervous or something, Bueckers?”

“What? No, I just—I guess I’m just awkward.”

Azzi took a slow sip from her water. Shook her head slightly. “No, you’re not. Not on the court. Not talking to any of these other people.”

Paige met her eyes. “Then I guess you’re different.”

Azzi’s smile widened, just a little. “I know.”

There was a beat. One of those in-between silences that wasn’t awkward, but felt charged. Paige shifted her weight, looking around like she needed somewhere to ground herself.

Azzi tilted her head. “So. What’d you come over here to say?”

Paige blinked. “What?”

Azzi shrugged. “I assume you didn’t cross the room just to tell me I’m a good player.”

Paige felt her throat tighten. “No. I mean—yeah. You know, we’re gonna have to play together, so I wanted to say hi and…” Her voice trailed off like she didn’t plan on saying the last part out loud. 

Azzi was still watching her. Eyes a little harder now. Like she wasn’t going to let Paige off the hook. “And?”

Paige had to mean it. So she did. She felt her pulse in her ears. “And… I don’t know. I think you’re…” Paige hesitated, then pushed it out. “Kind of impossible to ignore.”

Azzi studied her. Really studied her. Like she was trying to decide what to do with what she’d just been handed. Her lips pulled into a smirk. “How so?”

Paige swallowed. Thought about giving her some canned answer. Something light. Surface-level. But the look Azzi was giving her—calm and curious, like she already knew—made that impossible.

So Paige just… said it.

“It’s like,” she started, then paused, eyes flicking down for half a second before finding Azzi’s again, “you already know how everything ends.”

Azzi didn’t react right away.

Paige tried not to shrink under her own words. “You move like you have everyone where you want them. Like you’re just waiting for them to catch up.”

Her voice was softer now. Not shy. Just real. “It’s not about your game. I mean—it is. But it’s also not. It’s… you. The way you carry yourself. Honestly… I can’t stop staring.” 

The way Azzi was staring at her made something burn inside Paige. 

“You just met me,” Azzi said, voice curious. “Why would you say that?”

Paige swallowed. Shrugged. “Because I wanted you to know.”

That was the only answer she could come up with. Because she didn’t know why she would say that. Azzi was right. She had just met her. So, why be so bold? Paige chalked it up to the fact that it wasn’t like she saw this girl every day.

Azzi tilted her head and softened her gaze. Like she was considering something. Then a smirk. A real one this time. Like Azzi had just figured something out and was keeping it for later. She stepped back slowly, eyes never leaving Paige’s. Then she turned.

Paige called after her. “Guess I’ll see you around?”

Azzi didn’t look back. Just kept walking.

“You will,” she said over her shoulder.

And she did. God, she saw Azzi everywhere. 

--------------------------------------------

Present Day

Azzi didn’t notice Paige right away, too focused on the screen in her hand. But then her head lifted, and those eyes–sharp, unreadable, familiar in a way that made Paige's chest pull tight—landed on her.

For a beat, they just stared at each other.

Azzi’s expression shifted first, mouth tugging into the smallest smile. Like this was funny. Like she knew exactly what kind of chaos she was walking back into.

Paige cursed quietly under her breath. It was her building. It wasn’t like she could turn around and go somewhere else.

“Paige,” Azzi said softly.

Paige swallowed as she came to a stop a few feet away. “You lost?”

Azzi pointed up at the building. “Touring apartments.”

Paige raised a brow, wiping sweat from her forehead with the hem of her shirt. “In this building?”

Azzi shrugged, like it was no big deal. “Yeah, I’ve got a few planned today before… practice.”

It was weird. The word practice. Because all of a sudden, that meant the same thing to both of them.

Paige didn’t say anything. She just kept looking at her. Trying to take her in and shut her out all at once.

Azzi’s eyes flicked over her, then back up. “You look good,” she said, like she wasn’t ripping Paige open with three simple words.

Paige nodded once. “You, too.”

The air between them thickened. Paige popped her knuckles to distract herself from the fact that even after all these years, Azzi could still make something coil tightly in her chest.

Paige cleared her throat. “You know this is my building, right?”

Azzi smirked. “The possibility crossed my mind that one of these buildings was yours. I just didn’t think I’d get it right on the first try.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “So what? You gonna move in down the hall from me?”

Azzi stepped forward, holding her grin. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Paige looked away and scoffed. “Don’t start,” she said, shaking her head without looking at Azzi. 

Azzi's smirk softened into something of innocence. She always played that so well. Paige remembered. “I’m not starting anything.”

“So what are you doing?” Paige said with no hesitation, a little snappier than she intended.

Azzi flinched a little bit like she wasn’t expecting Paige to react like that, but never dropped her smile. “I’m here to play ball.”

Paige sighed. “You could do that anywhere.”

“I just got here. Why are you so pressed already?” Azzi asked, sounding a little annoyed.

“I am not pressed,” Paige said firmly as she took a step forward. They were close enough to reach out and touch each other now. 

“Right, because you just look at everyone like that.”

Azzi stepped forward slightly, like she was testing the air. Not close enough to be inappropriate, but close enough that Paige’s breath caught anyway. Their eyes were locked. Like neither of them could look away.

“I meant what I said,” Azzi murmured, tone dipping lower now. “You really do look good.” Her eyes traced back down Paige’s body and back up.

Paige broke their gaze. “I’ll see you later,” she said as she turned and headed for the doors of her building.

By the time Paige got back upstairs, her shirt was clinging to her skin with sweat that had nothing to do with the run. Her hands were still shaking as she fumbled her key into the lock. 

Okay, so maybe there was a problem.

Paige wanted to believe she was over it. She wanted to be mature enough and grown enough to say that was a different time with a different Paige. And a week ago, maybe she was. But as soon as Azzi said her name, something in her shifted. She felt the creep of that Paige. 

Azzi’s Paige.

And dear God, she was not coming out without a fight. 

This Paige stepped into her apartment quietly and pressed her forehead against the door.

She told Curt this wasn’t going to be a problem. She prayed that this wasn’t going to be, but somewhere inside, she knew Azzi could never be something to sweep under the rug.

No one gave her any warning. No one gave her the chance to prepare herself for the love of her life to come barrelling through everything she built without her. Everything she built to spite her. 

“P?”

Paige jumped. She forgot that Zoey was sleeping in her bed during all this. 

She hadn’t told Zoey about the trade yesterday. Didn’t want to. Didn’t know how. She knew Zoey knew who Azzi was. Everyone did. Best friends in college, according to the internet, minus a handful of particularly observant fans who no one paid any mind to. Paige never filled in the gaps. Never wanted to open that door. 

With all of the energy Paige had left, she pushed off the door and made her way to her bedroom. Zoey was propped up on one arm, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes with the other.

“How was your run?” Zoey asked groggily. 

Paige didn’t meet her eye. Couldn’t. “Uh, it was good. Yeah, it was good.”

Zoey looked at her like she could tell there was more. But she didn’t press. Never did. Paige always appreciated that.

Paige stepped forward to the edge of the bed. Zoey sat up on her knees and shuffled to her. She grabbed Paige’s shirt and pulled her closer. “Did you use up all your energy, or are you gonna come back to bed and get another workout in?”

Before Paige could answer, Zoey placed a kiss right under her earlobe. 

Paige tried to lean into it. Give Zoey what she wanted. What she deserved. But when she closed her eyes, all she saw was her dorm room. And a random hotel room. And the training room that one time. Azzi’s skin under her hands and her name in Azzi’s mouth like honey.

“Zo,” Paige said, gently removing her hands and taking a step back. 

Zoey searched her face. “What’s wrong?”

Paige ran a hand over her hair. “Nothing,” she said a little too quick. “I’m just not feeling it right now. I want a shower.”

Zoey nodded like she didn’t understand, but that was okay. “You go do that, and I’ll make your breakfast before I have to get to the studio.” She planted a kiss on Paige’s cheek like an apology Paige hadn’t earned. 

Paige flashed her a smile back, even though she could tell it was too forced. She turned and headed for the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

In the mirror, her reflection stared back. Eyes red, lips parted like she’d just been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Maybe she had.

She stripped and stepped into a shower so hot it stung. Pressed her forehead to the tile and squeezed her eyes shut until she saw stars. She let the scalding water fall over her face, her back, her hair. Like if she scrubbed and rinsed hard enough, the unsettling feeling that clinged to her skin might go away.

It shouldn’t hurt anymore. Azzi shouldn’t get this close, not after everything Paige did to scrape her out like rot.

But Paige knew herself better than anyone. She knew exactly how breakable she still was when it came to Azzi Fudd. How she’d spent four years pretending there was no part of her that would always belong to someone who never asked permission to take it.

The water couldn’t wash that part away. She pressed her palms harder to the wall, chest heaving, every muscle locked tight so she wouldn’t say it out loud.

Don’t let her ruin you again.

It sounded pathetic, even in her head. But she said it anyway. Again. Again. Again.

Azzi

Azzi hadn’t really come to terms with it until she saw her. 

Not when her agent called to tell her about a deal in the works. Not when the Mystics’ GM pulled her in to confirm it. Not even when she stepped off the plane. 

It was only when her heart stopped beating at eight in the morning. There was only one person who could ever have that effect on her. And there she was.

Paige. Drenched with sweat and stunning. She almost looked like nothing had changed. She looked just like how she did when they were still everything to each other. But there was something in her face. Azzi couldn’t quite place it. She just seemed… colder. More guarded. As if she weren’t interested in jumping right back into old times. 

Azzi didn’t go to Dallas for Paige. It’s not like she orchestrated the trade herself. She didn’t have a choice. But she would be lying if she said Paige wasn’t the first thing her mind went to when she heard about the move.

Azzi didn’t care that she was about to be on the same side as the best player in the league. Nor did she care that she had just upended her life and moved halfway across the country. All she really cared about was if Paige would still look at her like she used to. 

She didn’t.

It wasn’t a look of hate. That, Azzi could’ve handled. Hate meant passion. It meant there were still feelings there. Good or bad.

But the look Paige gave her was worse. Empty. Distant. Cordial. Like she wasn’t going to let Azzi back through that door.

Azzi would be damned if she didn’t make sure it was locked for good.

So, she kept it light. Made a couple of jokes. Flirted a little bit. Nothing crazy. Just enough to stir the air between them. 

Azzi didn’t expect it to work. Not really. But after Paige looked away when she made that comment about moving in down the hall, she caught it. 

Paige’s face flickered. It was fast. The tiniest tug at the corner of her lips. The faintest glint in her eyes. 

But Azzi saw it. She always did. She knew that expression like the back of her hand. And it was all she needed to know that the door wasn’t locked like Paige would want her to believe. And that was dangerous. 

Because Azzi wasn’t here to pick a fight or to stir up old drama or try to win someone back who didn’t want to be. But if the wall Paige built had a crack big enough for Azzi to slip through, Azzi was going to find it.

She didn’t care how cold Paige wanted to act. She didn’t care how much distance she tried to put between them. Because Paige still felt something. Azzi saw it.

And if Paige thought she could stare her down with those flat eyes and polite words to make Azzi forget what they were?

She had another thing coming.

Azzi tried to pay attention to her tour. She tried to listen to the building manager, who was rambling about new carpeting and granite countertops. But all Azzi could think about was Paige. On those new carpets. On that countertop. Sweaty and breathless and unashamed.

Out of respect and out of fear of taking it too far too soon, Azzi didn’t sign the lease for Paige’s building. Instead, she went with one just as nice, less than a block away. Maybe down the hall was too much, but down the street was excusable. Dallas is only so big. 

As soon as she got her key, she hurried outside to her Uber, stressing about getting to practice on time. She was staring out the window when her phone buzzed in her lap. 

A call from Caroline, who Azzi still talked to regularly. She “kept her in the divorce” according to Carol. Unlike KK and Ice, who Azzi also still talked to here and there, but it was never the same. She answered Caroline without hesitating, pressing the phone to her ear, bracing for what she knew Carol was going to say.

“Hey, Azzi,” she said gently, like she was trying to feel out how this conversation was going to go.

“Hey, Car,” Azzi said.

Caroline paused. “So… did you… are you… in Dallas?”

Azzi could tell Caroline didn’t want to say it. She sighed. “Yes, I’m here.”

“Oh,” Caroline said, stunned. “And when do you see… she who shall not be named?”

Azzi paused and considered how much she should share. “I kind of already did.”

“What?” Caroline exclaimed. “So let me get this straight. Your flight got in at 11 last night, it’s like 10 AM now, you haven’t been to the facilities yet… but you still managed to see Paige?”

Azzi tilted her head. “Well, when you put it like that, it almost sounds like I stalked her.”

“Did you?” Caroline asked.

Azzi rolled her eyes, knowing the thought crossed her mind at least a few times over the last couple of days. “No, I did not stalk her. I ran into her a couple of hours ago while I was touring apartments.”

The line went quiet for a moment. “Azzi, please tell me you are not moving into the same building as Paige.”

Azzi scoffed at the lack of trust her friend had in her. “Car, I’m not stupid. I didn’t even end up touring that one.”

She could hear Caroline breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

“I went with one right down the street instead,” Azzi said casually.

Caroline groaned. “Jesus Christ, Az. Now that might be a little stalkery. Do I need to be worried about you?”

Azzi sighed. “I mean… no. I swear I don’t have an agenda.”

Caroline was quick to call her out. “Bullshit. Azzi Fudd always has an agenda.”

Azzi bit her lip. “Okay, maybe when I saw her earlier, she wasn’t very friendly, so maybe I tried to get under her skin a little bit.”

There’s a deep breath on the other end. “What do you mean ‘get under her skin’?”

“I flirted. Just a little bit.”

Caroline sighed. The kind disappointed parents do when their kid does something stupid. “This is not going to end well. For either of you.”

“You should’ve seen her. All jaded and closed off. She was acting like I was a stranger,” Azzi said with a little more passion than she intended. 

Caroline paused. “Can you blame her?” she asked gently. “I’m not saying the fallout was either of y’all’s fault, but I know it was heavy. For both of you.”

“Still is,” Azzi added.

“I know.”

“I just wanted to know where we stood,” Azzi said honestly.

“And where do you stand?” Caroline asked.

Azzi took her time to think. “Right where we left it.”

As the Uber pulled up to the front of the gym, Azzi thanked Caroline for calling and hung up. She stepped out of the car and took a second. Just long enough to gather herself before walking into the storm that only she and Paige could feel.

Azzi didn’t get nervous about basketball. She never had. But walking into that gym? Paige’s gym? It was a different kind of nerves. The kind that have nothing to do with performance and everything to do with emotions. 

She took a deep breath, adjusted her face to hide the buzzing under her skin, and pushed open the doors.

Azzi got her key card and directions to the locker room from the lady at the front desk, and started the walk of shame. That’s what it felt like at least. Like crawling back to something she swore off so long ago. Walking right back into her own imminent destruction. If she had anything to say about it, it would be Paige’s too. 

And maybe that was selfish of her. To do everything in her power to reel Paige back in, knowing how it ended the first time around. But somewhere inside, Azzi didn’t care. Because she knew Paige was missing it. Missing her. And if she wasn’t, if Paige had really sealed up that part of herself… Azzi didn’t really want to think about that. 

The locker room was already loud and boisterous. There were two TikToks being filmed on opposite sides of the room, three different conversations being had in the same group, and one silent, stoic blonde point guard lacing up her shoes on the bench at her locker. 

Paige didn’t look up. Didn’t acknowledge Azzi in any way. Not that Azzi should be surprised. She made it clear she wasn’t interested in falling back into anything resembling what they were before. 

“Oh my god, look who it is!” a familiar voice called out in an annoyingly high-pitched tone.

Azzi’s gaze shifted from Paige to right next to her. It was KK Arnold with the biggest grin on her face.

“It’s Azzi Fudd!” KK said. 

Azzi smiled. “Hey, KK.” They pulled each other into a deep hug. The kind that says I missed you. 

KK pulled away first. “Okay, so boom. This is the locker room,” KK said, gesturing to the whole room. “I’m sure you know of all your teammates already, but just in case, that’s Dijonai, Lyss, Maddy…”

She tried to pay attention to KK going around the room listing off her new teammates, but Azzi’s mind drifted with her gaze. Back to Paige. There’s that same damn pull.

“... Cameron, Sydney, and–” She stopped herself when she landed on Paige. Almost said her name like she was just another teammate. Her tone dropped. “Well, you know her.” 

Understatement of the year. Because Azzi didn’t just know Paige. She memorized her. Every expression. Every mood. Every scar, visible and not. She could pick Paige’s laugh out of a crowded gym. Could still hear it when she wasn’t trying not to.

“Look,” KK said in a more serious tone. “I don’t know whose idea it was, but that’s your locker right there.” She pointed at the empty space right next to Paige’s.

Azzi laughed to herself. Of course. She looked at KK. “It’s really good to see you, KK. I’ve missed you,” she said with all sincerity.

KK returned the smile and put a hand on Azzi’s shoulder. “It’s good to have my parents back together.”

Azzi raised her eyebrows.

“I mean–” KK stumbled. “Not like back together together. But like, back together in the same place. You know what I mean. Let me just shut up.” She jogged back to her own locker and left Azzi alone. 

She took her time settling in. Dropped her bag a little too loud. Peeled off her hoodie like she didn’t know Paige could see every motion in her periphery. Unlaced her sneakers slower than necessary. She wasn’t trying to be dramatic. Not really. But if Paige was going to act like she wasn’t there, Azzi was going to make damn sure she felt her.

She didn’t say anything at first. Neither did Paige.

The silence between them wasn’t quiet. It was the loudest thing in the room. The kind of silence that’s not absence, but pressure. Weight. Azzi could feel it in her jaw, in her hands, in her chest. It itched at her skin.

She leaned forward to tie her shoes, catching Paige’s posture from the corner of her eye. Tight, shoulders high, back rigid. Tense. Good.

“Not gonna say hi?” Azzi asked without looking at her.

Paige exhaled sharply through her nostrils. “Hi,” she said dryly. 

Azzi sat up, rolled her neck out once, then tilted her head toward her. “It’s that bad, huh?”

Nothing.

Azzi smirked, even though it kind of hurt. “You’re really doing that?”

Paige kept her gaze fixed across the locker room, voice low and even. “Doing what?”

Azzi raised both brows. “This thing where you act like we’ve never met.”

“We haven’t,” Paige said plainly. “Not this version of us.”

Azzi blinked. Okay. That one kind of stung. She laughed under her breath. “Damn. You always this welcoming to new teammates?”

Paige finally turned, just a little. Just enough to meet her eye. “Only the ones who know better.”

Azzi’s chest tightened, but she didn’t let it show. She refused to. “So, what? We’re just gonna be civil and awkward for the rest of the season?”

“I’m gonna hoop,” Paige said. “You do whatever you want.”

Azzi scoffed. “You know, you could be nice. Make this easy for both of us.”

“I don’t owe you easy.”

That one hit. Hard. Paige didn’t even say it with heat. It was calm, too calm. But it landed like a punch. Azzi looked at her for a second, just watched her, like maybe she could still find the Paige she used to know under all that armor.

Then the coach called for them to head to the court. Azzi grabbed her water bottle and stood. Paige moved like she didn’t care if Azzi followed or not. Like she didn’t care, period.

Azzi did. Badly. And that scared her more than anything. 

-------------------------------------

12 years ago – 2017 USA U16 Basketball Camp, Colorado Springs

Azzi didn’t think about much but basketball. Not in the way people expected her to. Not the eat, sleep, breathe type of way. For Azzi, it was much simpler. Show up, put in the work, let your game speak for itself.

And it worked for her. She made the team. Not that she was ever worried. Sure, all of the other girls were talented, but none of them got it. Except for that one girl.

Azzi had heard the name Paige Bueckers a couple of times. Some blonde girl from the Midwest with nasty handles and a mouth that never stopped running. Nothing to write home about. Until she saw her play.

It was day five of camp. Final cut day. It had been drills all week. Now, they were scrimmaging. A final test to see who could handle the pressure and who would choke. Paige seemed to handle the pressure better than anyone.

Azzi didn’t mean to watch the scrimmage before hers. She didn’t want it to get in her head. But when the gym erupted with a collective “Ooooooo,” Azzi had to look up.

Paige had just crossed two defenders at once, snapped the ball behind her back, and pulled up like she didn’t even need to think about it. Net. Then she turned and jogged back on defense with a grin like she already knew what she was about to do the next play.

Azzi sat down slowly, towel still around her neck. She told herself it was to rest. But really, she just... wanted to see what happened next.

And what happened was Paige scored. Again. And again. Five straight possessions. Midrange jumper. Steal and finish. Corner three. Stepback. Hesitation drive with the left.

She wasn’t just good. She took over. Like it was her game and everyone else was lucky to be in it.

Azzi didn’t react. Didn’t flinch. But she watched every move. She could tell a lot from the way someone played ball. It was the easiest way to read someone if you knew what to look for. Paige played loudly. She said something slick after every possession. She celebrated dramatically after every bucket. She was good, and she wanted everyone to know it. 

Azzi could see right through her. Decided it was probably best to stay away. She didn’t want to get involved with that kind of cocky.

But then the party happened.

And Paige walked across the ballroom like she’d been dared to. Said things that didn’t make any sense. Things Azzi couldn’t stop turning over in her head.

Kind of impossible to ignore. You move like you have everyone where you want them. I can’t stop staring. And the one that stuck the most: Because I wanted you to know.

Who says that? 

It was such a strange, unfiltered thing to say. Like Paige wasn’t trying to win points or look cool. Like she didn’t even care how it sounded. She just wanted the words out of her mouth and into Azzi’s hands.

It was audacious. And weird. And… fascinating. Because it wasn’t what Azzi expected. 

She found herself replaying it later, in between exhausting conversations that didn’t feel like they mattered. Just that one sentence, over and over. That look on Paige’s face when she said it. The calm in her voice. The way she wasn’t asking for anything in return.

It wasn’t a pickup line. It wasn’t a play. It was a breadcrumb. And Azzi—against her better judgment—wanted to follow it.

Azzi stood at the bar, eyes fixed on the lineup of sodas and garnishes like she was thinking hard about her options. Really, she was just stalling.

Too many conversations. Too many handshakes. Too many people asking her the same five questions with the same polite smiles, and she was starting to feel like a cardboard cutout of herself.

“Shirley Temple,” she said, finally catching the bartender’s eye.

He gave her a nod and turned to make it.

That’s when Paige slid in beside her.

“Not having fun?” Paige asked, like she already knew the answer.

Azzi didn’t look at her right away. Just exhaled through her nose. “I don’t think we’re supposed to.”

Paige smiled. “Wanna go for a walk?”

Azzi glanced over, finally, and caught the glint in her eye. The same look she had when she called for an iso. That I’ve already decided kind of look.

Azzi didn’t hesitate. “Sure.”

They left through the side doors, where the night air was cool and quiet and smelled like the Colorado pines. Neither of them spoke for a minute, the hum of the party fading behind them. Paige walked a little ahead at first, then slowed until their shoulders matched.

“So,” Paige said eventually. “What do you do for fun?”

Azzi gave her a sideways look. “Basketball.”

Paige snorted. “No, I mean outside of basketball.”

“Then… nothing.”

“What? No way. You have to do something. Basketball’s just a game. It can’t be your whole life.”

Azzi’s eyes flicked up toward the sky. “Can’t it?”

Paige was quiet.

Azzi kept going. “Basketball’s the one thing that always tells the truth.”

“What truth is there to tell?”

Azzi shrugged. “You can fake a lot of things. Fake being nice. Fake being confident. Fake like you belong. But on the court? You either show up or get exposed. You either have it or you don’t.”

Paige looked over at her. “You definitely have it.”

Azzi smirked. “So do you.” She let a beat pass. “If you could ever learn how to stop running your mouth.”

Paige smiled. “What’s wrong with a little commentary?”

“Nothing,” Azzi said. “It’s just distracting. All that noise. People start listening to you talk instead of watching your game.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “But maybe I want them to hear me.”

Azzi stopped walking. Turned slightly toward her. “That’s your problem.”

“My problem?”

“You’re good,” she said, and it came out steady, like fact. “For our age group? You’re great. But if you want to be one of the greats? I think you need a little ego check.”

Paige gave her a slow blink, like she wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or annoyed. “Ouch. You figured all that out after a week?”

Azzi smiled, but there was a bite to it. “Like I said. On the court, everything shows.”

They walked a little farther, past a row of benches where the trees started to thin. The silence this time was different—less empty, more loaded.

“You think I’m dramatic, don’t you?” Azzi asked, not entirely teasing.

Paige tilted her head. “No. I think you’re…” She paused, like she was actually trying to find the word. “Everything.”

Azzi blinked. That one sat in her chest weird.

She turned to face her. “You’re weird, you know that?”

Paige grinned. “Why? ‘Cause I say what I think?”

“No,” Azzi said, “because you keep saying things like that. Things that don’t make sense. Things you’re not supposed to say out loud.”

“I don’t think it’s weird,” Paige said with a shrug. “I just call things as I see them.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “Is that your thing or something?”

Paige’s grin widened. “It’s like a little game.”

Azzi’s voice dropped slightly. “Well be careful, Bueckers. I don’t play games off the court.”

Paige stopped. Something flickered in her face. Not fear. Something else. Like she’d just lost a round she didn’t even know she was playing.

Azzi smirked and kept walking. It was quiet for a few seconds.

“You know,” Paige called from behind her. “I think we’re gonna be something one day. You and me.”

Azzi slowed her steps. Came to a stop. Turned her head just enough to see Paige in the corner of her eye. “Something?” she echoed.

“Yeah,” Paige nodded. “I don’t know what yet, but… one day, you’ll play my game.”

Paige’s words made Azzi pause. Not in her step, not in her face. But somewhere sharper. Somewhere quieter.

It made her curious. And curiosity was dangerous.

Somewhere inside, Azzi knew that she would play Paige’s game. Somewhere inside, she knew that she wanted to win. 

----------------------------------------------

Present Day

Azzi’s first practice with the wings was awkward. Not knowing how her new teammates played, having to learn the staff’s names, trying to ignore the way her ex-everything was on the other side of the court already in it. 

Azzi watched her. Not obviously, but constantly. Paige barked plays with that familiar clipped authority in her voice, pointed teammates to the right spots, called switches before they even developed. She was reading the floor like a language only she understood. It was a painful reminder of who this team belonged to.

Paige had always been a natural leader. Loud. Commanding. But this was different. Paige didn’t play with the energy of a toddler and a slick comment waiting on the tip of her tongue. She wasn’t just leading now. She was in full control. Grounded. Sharp.

Azzi had watched her run the floor at least a thousand times before. Never with this level of composure. There was a poise to her now. A maturity Azzi couldn’t quite pin. She had grown up. Grown into this. Traded in the cockiness for confidence. 

It made something twist in Azzi’s chest. Because this version of Paige was dangerous. Not just for their opponents, not just for the league, but for her. Because that composure didn’t make Paige any easier to read. It made her harder to stay away from. 

TWEEEEEET. Coach Leslie blew the whistle to regroup and separated guards from the forwards. She started rattling off pairings for 1-on-1 finishing drills. “Bueckers, Fudd. Over there.”

Azzi couldn’t help but smirk quietly to herself. She turned toward their assigned basket where Paige was already standing at the top of the key, ready to play defense. 

“Bet you’re glad to see me,” Azzi offered sarcastically.

Paige hardly looked at her. “Just check up.”

They didn’t speak for a few reps. Paige was calm. Stoic. It drove Azzi insane the way she had shut down beyond the point of letting Azzi see what was going on inside her head.

Paige finished strong off a spin move and didn’t say a word. 

Azzi caught the rebound, reset at the top. “You’re real quiet,” she said, voice soft now, almost a whisper. Her lips pulled into a smirk. “Is it because I know what you sound like in bed?”

That got her.

Paige’s eyes snapped up. “You’re sick.”

Azzi took a step closer, grinning. “You love it.”

“I really don’t.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, well… you were always too gentle to appreciate it.”

Before Paige could respond, Azzi went. Drove hard. But Paige was ready this time. She stepped in, planted, and blocked the shot clean.

Their bodies collided.

Azzi lost her balance. She would’ve gone down if Paige hadn’t caught her. One strong arm around her waist, hand gripping her side, steadying her with ridiculous ease.

They froze.

Paige’s breath was warm against her cheek.

Her voice was low. Controlled. Dangerous.

“For the record,” she said, letting Azzi down slowly. “I’m not that gentle anymore.” She let her eyes wander down and back up. “Too bad you’ll never get to learn exactly what that means.”

And then she turned. Walked off like she hadn’t just rearranged Azzi’s entire heart.

Azzi stood there for a beat, still reeling, still catching up. Then she smiled. Because oh yeah.

Now Paige was playing the game. 

After practice, Azzi showered and changed in the locker room. She took her time like she was just soaking it all in, but she was actually just stalling. Waiting for Paige. Because she wanted to see her again. Because she didn’t want to go home without getting some stuff off her chest. 

She had finished getting her things together, and still no Paige. So, Azzi went back to the court. Because of course she stayed later to put up extra free throws. 

Other than the quiet bounce of Paige’s ball, the gym was silent. Paige was alone. She had her back to the door, and didn’t turn around when Azzi walked in. But Azzi could tell she knew she was there. She heard it in Paige’s breath.

Azzi stopped at halfcourt. Close enough to use a normal speaking voice, but not close enough to feel the pull. She thought about saying Hi or You played well today to break the ice. It didn’t exactly go well the first two times she tried, so she got straight to the point. 

“Do you remember when we met?” she asked.

Paige didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop shooting. Didn’t turn.

Azzi continued. “At camp. You came up to me at that party, and you told me that I had everyone right where I wanted them. That you couldn’t stop staring–”

“I remember,” Paige snapped, placing the ball on her hip. Like the memory was bitter. Then softer, “I remember everything.” She still didn’t turn around. 

Something inside Azzi ached at that. Because she could tell Paige was hurting. Probably worse than she was. She wanted to stop right there. Run away and leave well enough alone to spare them both the heartache, but she had to see this through.

“Then, you remember when you said that one day, I’d play your game,” Azzi said, matching Paige’s soft tone.

Paige didn’t offer a reaction. Not one that Azzi could see, at least. Just a sharp exhale through her nose.

Azzi swallowed. “I know I don’t have the right to ask for anything. Not how we left things. Not how I left you. But… it’s all I ever think about. How you were right that night. I did play your game.”

Still nothing.

“And, maybe I don’t have the right to say this either, but… baby, I’m still playing.”

Paige flinched at the word baby. Azzi knew she probably shouldn’t have said that, but she probably shouldn’t have said any of the other stuff either. 

Azzi shrugged. “I don’t even want to win anymore. I just want you to play, too,” she said quietly.

The air remained still. Not a sound or a movement in the entire gym. Azzi turned to leave.

“It’s been four fucking years,” Paige said, finally turning halfway around. Her voice was rough and fiery.

Azzi stopped, turning her head over her shoulder, looking at the ground. “I know.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Paige turned around fully. “It’s been four years, two months, eight days, and 16 hours.”

Azzi felt all the air leave her body. She felt the ache. She was frozen. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Just stuck staring back at those beautiful blue eyes. Eyes that looked soft and hard all at once. Like the way Paige used to look at her and the way she looked at her now were colliding.

Paige bit her bottom lip. “So, why? Why would you tell me that now?”

Azzi sat with the question for a moment. Let it hang in the air. Looked up to meet Paige’s eyes. Then, she realized she only had one answer.

“Because I wanted you to know.”

[7-wonders]

Workplace Injuries (and other hazards of working with Johanna Constantine)

Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x gender-neutral!reader

Summary: When you're concussed by a demon while on a job with Johanna Constantine, Morpheus takes it upon himself to care for you. The only problem? Concussion protocol dictates that the King of Dreams can't let you fall asleep right away.

Word count: 3.5k

A note from the author: I know that concussion protocols have been updated in the past few years and that best practice isn't to keep people awake for a certain time anymore, but the plot was just too fun to not write. Please forgive me for the inaccuracy!

(There's technically a work related to this that goes into a bit more of reader and Jo's dynamic but the reader in that is explicitly female, so it's really not required reading but it's here if you want it!)

It feels so good to be inspired to write for Morpheus once more, and to have the dramatic fics as well as the funny/goofy ones. I sincerely hope you enjoy; likes, comments, reblogs, and asks make me smile and are much appreciated!

“Right, here we go, easy does it.” Johanna Constantine shuts the car door behind you and slings one of your arms over her shoulders.

“Please slow down, Jo,” you beg as she starts to drag you along. “I’m going to throw up again.”

“We’re moving at a snail’s pace, babe. I physically can’t go any slower!”

Relying on people does not come easily to you. It’s hard to relinquish control, to admit that you need somebody to help you. Unfortunately, there’s no denying that today, you need help. You just wish it wasn’t so embarrassing as needing somebody to help you walk from the car to your front door.

While it certainly wasn’t a career path you had ever envisioned for yourself, you like to think that you’ve gotten pretty good at the whole “part-time occultist assistant” thing lately! After having first been put into contact with one Johanna Constantine due to her needing someone with your abilities as a medium, you found out that you worked very well together. So well, in fact, that she had started calling you every time she ran across trouble summoning or speaking to spirits (which was frequently, since she was not gifted in that particular area). Not that you minded. No, the work was honestly fun, and you enjoyed Jo’s presence—she joked now that you had forced her to be your friend against her will; a claim that you wouldn’t deny.

Today, you were meeting in an abandoned pub that was at least 600 years old, if not older (you had your reservations about doing this kind of stuff during the day, but it was kind of astounding how little people paid attention to their surroundings and to the things they didn’t believe to be real). There was a grassroots campaign to restore the pub and reopen it, but something kept thwarting even the most basic start of restoration efforts. The man leading the crusade contacted Jo to try to figure out what was haunting the pub, and to remove it if possible. Since it was unknown what entity it was, she brought you along in case it was the spirit of some long-dead patron who hadn’t figured out how to move on to whatever their afterlife was supposed to be.

It was decidedly not a spirit, as you found out when it broke the containment circle, morphed into some nasty horror of a demon, and threw you into a pile of crates like you were a ragdoll. 

Being that Johanna’s an accomplished occultist, there are a few healing spells and charms that can be used to patch up bruises and minor injuries. She absolutely will not fuck around with anything bigger than that, though, trusting doctors, medicine, and science over any of the magic that she possesses. So when you came to (you had been out for five minutes, apparently), she decided it was straight to A&E for you.

You attempted to plead your case almost immediately after Jo had made up her mind. Hospitals are not your favorite place in the world—you might even say it’s one of your least favorite—and you would love to stay out of them at all costs. Plus, it was just a bump on the head. Everyone deals with those!

“I’m fine!” you insisted as Johanna hauled your limp body out of the pub with strength reminiscent of those mothers who were able to lift cars off of their babies.

“It’s nothing to worry about!” you assured her when the harsh light of day made your head throb in an agony that had you dizzy and falling to your knees.

“Seriously, I just need to sleep it off,” you claimed after ordering resident getaway driver Chas to pull over and barely leaning far enough out of the car before throwing up from too much happening at once.

Okay, so perhaps the trip was warranted.

Two hours of waiting and tests and one concussion diagnosis later, you were set free from the dreaded hospital and finally on your way home (with Chas taking turns much slower this time, thankfully). Just getting from point A to point B, though, was proving to be an odyssey. You’re still little more than dead weight, leaning heavily on Jo to keep you upright while you stumble through the insurmountable task of putting one foot in front of the other. It’s extremely slow-going, and you’re really glad the only witness to this is Chas, for whom this is a completely normal day.

When you finally make it to the front door, Johanna starts feeling her coat with her free hand. “Keys, where did I put your keys?”

“Saw you slip them into your inside jacket pocket,” you mumble, forcing yourself to breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth in an attempt to ward off nausea.

Reaching into said pocket, she grins at you upon seeing that you’re correct. “Ah, look at you! No memory loss or anything. You’re golden.”

“I don’t feel golden.”

Indeed, you’re pretty sure you don’t look golden either. You’re wearing a massive pair of sunglasses that Jo had hidden in her purse (you can only guess what type of undercover work she’s done wearing these) to keep out any of the brutal sun. There are probably still wood chips on your clothes from being thrown into crates, and, if it weren’t for being held up, you’re almost certain you’d be sideways on the ground.

Some people compare having a concussion to being drunk. At this point, you think you’d rather take feeling shitty after too many drinks over the hit that’s sent your body haywire.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you into bed, and in a couple of days you’ll be back to normal.” She pauses. “Well, your particular brand of normal.”

Johanna unlocks your front door and ushers you inside—

—right into the arms of Morpheus, who has, it seems, been waiting in your entryway for who knows how long. You stumble into his chest, and his grip around you tightens possessively as Johanna curses under her breath.

“What happened?” He’s absolutely furious, but your brain is still too foggy to clock things that aren’t obvious. Instead, you take off the sunglasses to stare at him in disbelief before turning to Johanna.

“How did you call him?” you ask. “He doesn’t have a phone.”

Morpheus looks visibly confused and on the verge of having a conniption. The air is charged with tension, and there’s only one person in the room level enough to diffuse it. To you, Jo says, “Don’t need a phone when you know how to summon his magic raven.” 

She then turns to Morpheus with an explanation. “You, Dreamlord, are looking at a concussion, courtesy of a very sneaky, very annoying demon who has already been banished back to Hell.”

“You should see the other guy,” you joke.

Jo rolls her eyes. “Happy to see your sense of humor’s still intact.”

“A…concussion,” Morpheus says slowly, as though testing the word out. It makes sense that he’s unfamiliar with this, both because he doesn’t ever deal with normal, human injuries and because he was trapped in a giant glass ball before brain injuries were really understood and studied.

“Aye,” Johanna confirms. “A hard bump on the head that jolts your brain a wee bit.”

Morpheus goes silent instead of beginning an expected volley of questioning, his form going slightly fuzzy and transparent around the edges as he stares ahead.

“Why am I watching him dissociate right now?” Johanna stage-whispers. “It’s creepy as hell.”

You’ve seen this before, and thus share none of her discomfort. “He’s back in the Dreaming, using the collective human unconsciousness to figure out what a concussion is. Give him a second.”

As expected, it only takes him a couple more moments to come back to himself in the Waking, eyes that were once filled with rage now concerned as he holds you at arms’ length as though to study you.

“You suffered a traumatic brain injury?” he asks.

“A mild traumatic brain injury, thank you very much,” you point out. Though you had stopped seeing double shortly after leaving the hospital, the minor physical exertion has brought that symptom back in force. Morpheus doubles in front of you, and you blink furiously in the hopes that he goes back to being one person-shaped being.

“Debatable,” Johanna murmurs, having had a front-row seat to see that it was definitely verging closer to moderate than it was mild.

“That does not make me feel better in the slightest,” Morpheus says.

The painkillers that the nurse gave you at the hospital (over-the-counter meds, just administered by a professional instead of your own hand) are quickly beginning to wear off and make the full brunt of your injury known. Through gritted teeth, you say, “While I’d love to stand in my living room and chat all day, it feels like somebody is hammering my skull from the inside out, and I’d like to go lie down.” 

Indeed, you can barely keep your eyes open right now, the pain so intense that you have to work to remember a language that normally comes so naturally to you. The ground under you has also started to betray you once more, swaying dangerously as though you’re on a boat. Your grip tightens on Morpheus’s coat and his bicep, actions that do not go unnoticed by the Endless.

Jo makes a small noise of sympathy. “Of course, love, let’s get you to—” 

Morpheus stops her. “Thank you for your help, but I will assume care now.”

“Will you now? Since you’re so experienced at caring for mortal injuries.” She sounds entirely unimpressed and instead asks you, “You remember what the doctor said?”

You shake your head before grimacing at the sharp reminder of why moving your head at all is not a good idea currently. “Was too busy trying to think something beyond ‘ow,’ so I left the listening to you.”

“Smart. You need to stay awake for the first eight hours after your concussion to make sure you don’t get a brain bleed or anything else that can make you slip into a coma. Right now, you have about,” Johanna checks her watch, “four hours before you can sleep. After that? Rest, rest, and more rest. Don’t look at your electronics, don’t do any reading, nothing that requires too much brain power. Here’s the list that A&E gave us. Doc wrote down a pain med schedule, too.” 

She hands Morpheus the paper she’s been holding, and he takes it as though it’s a foreign object.

“Look at me,” she commands, probably the only person on Earth who could speak to a being such as Morpheus like this without any noticeable fear. “I am mainly talking to you here, because this one is concussed and therefore unable to follow care directions. You need to follow these to the letter, do you hear me?”

Morpheus glowers, and you can hear the lights beginning to flicker as his anger surges the electricity. “Yes, Johanna Constantine, contrary to your belief, I am more than able to provide aid.”

She stops, realizing that she’s come off a little too harshly. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s just…it’s my fault. I’m the one who thought I was dealing with a spirit, and if I had just done some more research, I—”

“You know better than almost anyone that demons are crafty and cunning. No matter how much and how often you train, you are still mortal,” Morpheus reminds her. “It would be impossible for you to see through the tricks of every single demon. So no, it is not your fault.”

Johanna looks…oddly touched at Morpheus’s assurance. “Not what I was expecting from you, but I appreciate it all the same.”

“That was really nice of you, Morpheus.” You smile at him even though the action causes you pain. “Now, can somebody please help me to my bedroom? I’m not sure I could find it in my current condition.”

Morpheus is flustered by your and Johanna’s reactions to his unexpected kindness and quickly puts one of your arms around him in the hopes that everybody will forget and move past it. Johanna takes your other side, and together the two get you to your bedroom without you passing out or throwing up.

“Sorry, it’s kind of messy in here,” you apologize as you’re settled onto your bed, Jo arranging the pillows until she deems you comfortable. Morpheus seems poised to just stand by your bed and watch you, so you pull on him until he gets the message and sits next to you.

She laughs. “Pssh, you’ve seen my place. You look like a neat freak compared to me.” 

Jo searches in the pockets of her coat again until she finds the bottle of painkillers the hospital had given her, sets them down on your nightstand, and then disappears into the hallway. When she reappears, she holds yet another bottle of painkillers and a glass of water, presumably procured from your kitchen.

“Here, the drugs you have are different from the ones A&E gave you, so you can have a dose now.” Jo shakes out two of the pills into your waiting hand and hands you the water so that you can take them. 

“Thank you for all your help,” you say to her, settling into Morpheus’s hold now that he’s magicked his coat and boots away so that he can fully lie with you.

“Eh, what are friends for?” She turns her eyes to Morpheus. “Do you know how to use a phone?”

“Enough to get by.” The way he says it, though, makes it sound like he’s simply seen a phone a couple of times and thus thinks that he would be able to figure out if needed.

Still, Johanna is appeased with that answer. “Good. Text me if you need my help with anything.”

“We shall manage.”

She smiles at you and waves. “Ta, darling. Get to feeling better.”

Then she’s gone, leaving you in Morpheus’s care. While you’re happy to close your eyes finally in blissful silence, your beloved quickly realizes that he has no clue what caring for somebody with a concussion is like.

“Have the…drugs had any effect on you yet?” he asks, using the term that Jo gave them.

You hum. “Not yet, but I only just took them. Give it a few minutes, and then my headache should hopefully go from ‘agonizing’ to just plain ‘painful.’”

“Did you—”

“Sweetheart,” you cut him off, “I love you so much, but I need you to be quiet right now. Agonizing headache, remember?”

“Ah.” Peeling your eyes open is worth it when you see his embarrassed flush. “My apologies, dearest.”

Finally, quiet. Sometimes (often), when you find yourself trying to rest, it’s nearly impossible to shut your brain off. Especially since you started solving supernatural cases with a renowned occultist and dating a billions-of-years-old anthropomorphic personification, you’ve had a lot on your mind. Now that it hurts too much to even think, you find that, for once, there are no pressing questions or problems on your mind to keep you from resting. Huh, maybe you should get concussed more often.

As the adrenaline of the afternoon begins to wear off, you feel fatigued down to your bones. Not only did you get blindsided by a demon, but you also had to swallow your fear and sit in a hospital for hours. Even without the injury, that would constitute a very busy day. But in your current predicament, and resting in the arms of your love, it’s easy simply to let yourself drift off.

Above you, Morpheus straightens in alarm as he feels you begin to slip into unconsciousness. Johanna said that you were not to sleep, but does he really go against his function and keep someone from reaching his realm? He would never forgive himself if something terrible were to happen to you as a result of his inaction, though, so he begrudgingly shakes your shoulder and uses a touch of his power to turn you away from the Dreaming.

“Mmm,” you grumble, eyes landing on Morpheus and glaring at him. “Why do you hate me?”

“You must not fall asleep, beloved, not for a few hours.”

“But, like, what are the odds of something actually happening to me if I sleep before I’m supposed to?”

“Whatever they are, they are odds that I am not willing to take. I would not be able to live with myself if something were to happen to you.”

It’s sweet, of course, that he’s so worried about you. But right now, the only thing keeping you from snapping at him and demanding he leave so you can sleep is the fact. “Ugh, fine, I won’t sleep. I’m never letting a demon throw me into a wall again.”

“Which demon did this to you?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t conscious when Jo banished it back to Hell.” You don’t need to look at him to know that there surely must be storm clouds gathering in the Dreaming, so you decide to keep talking in the hopes that it calms him. “We were called in on a job for an old pub that hasn’t been able to be restored due to repeated instances of paranormal activity. After doing some research, I truly thought that it was a spirit. So did Jo.”

“As I said earlier, demons can fool even the most experienced of occultists. The line of work that you have found yourself in can be dangerous, though you are lucky to have not experienced such danger until now.”

“I know it’s dangerous. But knowing that there are spirits out there who are lost, spirits that can cross over if I can just find them? I’m happy to risk getting injured.”

“You do what you can to help those my sister cannot. I find that quite admirable.” Smiling slightly at Morpheus doesn’t hurt like it did earlier, and he picks up on it easily. “Are you feeling less pain?”

“Yes, the meds finally kicked in. Still hurts, but I can handle having a small conversation. Now, I just have to wait until I can finally sleep.” 

“Shall I read to you to keep you awake?” Morpheus asks, hand already in the air as he prepares to summon a book from the Dreaming.

“No. Your voice is very soothing, so I would definitely fall asleep.”

After thinking for a moment of what might help you stay awake while also being enough of a non-activity that you’re not at risk of aggravating your concussion more, you voice-activate your phone and ask it to turn on your newest podcast obsession. Morpheus startles upon hearing your phone answer back to you before starting to play, and you snicker under your breath. Oh, the joys of dating a being so woefully behind on learning about modern technology. 

Even with the podcast being a topic you’re interested in, you still find yourself dozing off multiple times, Morpheus waking you when you get too close to his realm every time. When you’re not injured, you’ll have to thank him for doing what must feel entirely wrong and keeping you from dreaming. Just when you’re starting to wonder if you need to break the electronics ban and check the clock on your phone, it begins vibrating and playing an alarm. Johanna, bless her, must have set an alarm on your phone without you knowing.

“Can you turn that off, please?” you ask Morpheus, who studies your phone screen intently before hesitantly hitting the ‘stop’ button. “Thank you.”

“What does that mean?” he asks.

“That I can finally go to sleep.” You’re so tired at this point that you doubt you’ll need Morpheus’s help finding sleep, though you wouldn’t be surprised if he still tries. “Am I still going to have a concussion in the Dreaming?” you wonder.

Morpheus thinks for a moment. “I must confess that I am not sure. You are one of the only mortals who has ever visited the Dreaming proper, and probably the only one who has spent a significant amount of time there. Even if you are, I shall ensure that you are as comfortable as possible.”

“Y’know, you’re a pretty good nurse,” you whisper, leaning back against him and already feeling consciousness slip from you.

“That is a relief, considering I do not know what I am doing,” he admits.

A puff of air leaves you, the most laugh-like sound you can manage at present. “You know enough to have made sure I wouldn’t die in my sleep, so thank you.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Today is not the day that my sister takes your hand, nor is that any day soon. Rest now, and I shall see you soon.”

You think that you manage to mutter something that sounds close to ‘I love you’ before you pass out, but the only person who knows for certain is Morpheus. 

(Morpheus, who remains frustratingly tight-lipped when it turns out that you don’t still have a concussion in the Dreaming and thus immediately try to figure out if anything you said or did would be considered embarrassing by your non-addled self.)

[maxinehufflepuffprincess]

Because it's them

Lee Felix x fem! reader. 9th member.

Taglist. Masterlist. Progress Update. Princess Treatment Collection.

Summary: You and Felix get away with more than you should.

The members of Stray Kids were weak when it came to you. You were Chan and Minho's baby. The two were always ready to buy you whatever you wanted, even when you said they didn’t have to. They do it because they want to. Being one of the youngest members, all the boys kind of treated you like a baby. Like a true Princess, you even had a tiara collection to prove it. Which was something you never really minded. 

With you and Felix dating, you had been deemed the ‘Royal Couple’ by everyone. The team called you that because every duet the two of you had together were very fairytale based. Stay had clung to the title as you were the group's Princess. Making Felix your Prince. The two of you were an adorable couple who could do no wrong. Bou sometimes you cause mischief together. Whilst Felix was the Angel of the group, you were the sweetheart. Both cute and innocent looking. You both tended to get away with stuff that the others may not.

—----------

Chan couldn't help but smile as he watched you both from his seat.

You were suppose to be recording your lines. You and Felix were recording for the new duet song you were making together, based on Sleeping Beauty. The two of seemed to enjoy making very fairytale and fantasy esc music together. 

There were a few parts that you needed to sing together and Chan had suggested you record them together. So there you and Felix stood. Side by side with your headphones on. 

You had been recording you lines, and you had both been doing so well. However, you were both now getting distracted. Felix kept hugging you and poking you on your ticklish spot. You kept peppering his cheeks with kisses and simping over his voice.

Chan turned in his seat to look at Changbin who was beside him, and then at the rest of the group who were watching with smiles on their faces. 

No one said anything. They just let you both enjoy yourselves. Because why wouldn't they? You both were smiling brightly and your giggles and laughs were music themselves. So much so that they found their way into the actual song.

—----------

All the way through the concert, you and Felix have stuck side by side. The two of you had so far attacked Hyunjin with hugs, felt up Chan's abs, pulled funny faces at Jisung and somehow roped both I.N and Seungmin into helping you both with a water fight with your Hyungs.

Now your target was Minho. You both made your way toward the male who was stood beside Jisung, before waving at Stay. You and Felix nodded at each other as you both focused on Minho. 

Once you were close enough, Felix mouthed a count down for you.

‘3…2…1…Now.’

You both lifted a hand and slapped Minho's ass in perfect sync. Each slapped a cheek. You both then turned, latching onto each other's hands and running. 

Minho slowly turned in time to see you both running straight to Hyunjin. The male seemed shocked to suddenly have you both latching onto him. 

However rather than following you both, he chuckled. However, he stared at Hyunjin, enough to make the taller male question if protecting you two was worth risking his life.

Minho technically did get you both back later on during the concert, patting you both on the ass. However, Hyunjin had been the one to receive a powerful smack on the butt that made him yelp. All he did was let you cling to him, and he was getting punished for it. 

—----------

You and Felix stood side by side watching Changbin. The two of you were admiring his muscles. You were on stage at a fanmeet. All the others were having fun whilst you two were looking at muscles.

“I wanna bite his bicep.” You said nonchalantly. 

“Honestly, Baby, same.” He held his hands out and without looking at the two of you high fived.

“We could. His arms are out since he took his hoodie off. We could just go over, pick an arm and bite.” You suggested as you turned your head to look at your boyfriend. 

He looked at you, a smirk on his lips. “I love that idea. And then we just run. You go straight to Minho, it doesn't matter what you do, Minho will defend you to the end of the earth. I'll go to Chan. If he doesn't save me, Hyunjin will.” 

“And if all else fails, we'll throw Seungmin at him. He loves it when Binnie manhandles him.” You added with a cheeky grin.

You both nodded and began to walk toward Changbin. The man was already flexing for Stay.

You and Felix shared a look before you both grabbed onto Changbin and bit his biceps. 

“Ahhhh!” The male's eyes went wide as he felt you both bite him. 

You and Felix then ran. Felix ran straight at Chan and jumped into his arms. Thankfully, Chan caught him. You, on the other hand, went straight to Minho. You quickly hid behind him. Minho gave you a raised eyebrow. However he shrugged and let you cling onto his jacket.

You watched as Changbin looked between the two of you. Almost like he was trying to decide who would be easier to go after. You? And your Minho shield that was glaring at him. Or Felix? Who was clinging onto Chan like a baby koala. The male let out a chuckle and turned back to face Stay. 

You and Felix looked at each other and smiled. You were safe. You had gotten away with it.

“If I had done that, he would have hit me.” Jisung pouted as he came to join you and Minho.

“That's because you're not part of the Royal Couple.” Minho said, giving Han a pointed look, causing him to pout. 

“I could be a royal. I'm just as royal as those two.” Jisung crossed his arms over his chest.

“Sure you are.” Minho said before walking away. You let out a loud laugh.

—----------

You had been trying to do something nice. Minho always cooked for you all. So you and Felix had the brilliant idea to cook something for the rest of the group together. Hyunjin had joined you both to help out where he could.

It was going fine. The food itself actually turned out really good. It smelt and looked delicious. However, the kitchen was an absolute mess. You weren't even sure how it got this messy. But you and Felix planned to clean up soon. 

Hyunjin had taken the ramen and chicken to the table already. Felix got the brownies out of the oven. The plan was to have them with ice cream for dessert. You bit your bottom lip.

“This is a lot of food. Should we get someone to help us bring it to the table?” You asked as Felix put the brownies into a tub and then into the fridge.

“That's a good idea.” He said with a happy smile.

“MOTHER!” You shouted loudly, your voice being heard through the whole dorm. 

Minho walked into the kitchen with a puzzled look on his face. “Yah! Why are you shouting?” He asked you, hands on his hips.

“I'm sorry. We just need some help bringing the food in.” You told him with a pout on your lips. 

Hyunjin walked back into the kitchen just in time for Minho to notice the mess. You gave Felix the veg and sent him on his way. You put the drinks on a tray and followed Felix. 

Minho picked up two of the dishes and handed them to Hyunjin. Minho then picked up the plate of pork and the big bowl of rice. 

“You better clean this up.” Minho said as he passed Hyunjin.

Hyunjin frowned. “They made the mess too. Minho? Yah! Minho. You can't make me clean it alone.” He froze as Minho looked at him. Hyunjin bowed and went to the table.

Safe to say Hyunjin cleaned the kitchen after everyone ate. You and Felix did help, though. 

—----------

The group was on holiday together. You had gotten a nice place by the beach for the week. It was nice. Everyone was doing their own thing. 

Jisung had simply been at the wrong place at the wrong time. You and Felix had been having a water fight when you spotted Han. You were both already drenched. You both sneaked over to Han, water pistols in hand. 

Then you sprayed him. He let out a scream as the cold water hit his back and his neck. He almost dropped his phone. He spun around to face the both of you. He let out a small laugh after the shock wore off.

You gave him a water pistol and the three of you ran around trying to drench each other. You were out there for an hour at the very least. 

“Yah! Food will be ready in ten minutes!” Chan's voice came from the back door. He then went back to the kitchen. 

You pouted but the three of you put your water pistols in their usual spot before stepping inside. You and Felix made it to the stairs before hearing Changbin's voice.

“Jisung! Don't tread water in the house!” You and Felix's eyes went wide as you scurried upstairs, ready to shower and get changed in time for food.

All the while, Han was confused at how you two had disappeared so quickly. You had been right there. 

—----------

Seungmin sensed it was going to happen. It was like he had a sixth sense when it came to you and Felix. Maybe it was because he lived with you both. Maybe he was just used to your antics over the years.

So he braced himself. Soon enough he felt two pears of arms wrap themselves around him. You and Felix had emerged from your shared room, just to cuddle with Seungmin on the couch. You both made sure not to bother him too much as he watched the movie on the screen. He didn't push you both away. He had made a face for a moment, but still he allowed you both to stay.

The same could not be said when Chan chased him the following day, just trying to get at least one hug from Seungmin. 

—----------

Jeongin stood between you and Felix during dance practice. At the moment, everyone was just goofing around. The three of you were pulling faces at each other through the mirror, because why not?

You and Felix locked eyes in the mirror. You both had that twinkle. You both turned to Jeongin and kissed him on the cheek. The male froze for a moment.

I.N. looked between you both before kissing your temple and Felix's cheek. You both grinned proudly. You didn't make a big deal of it.

Hyunjin and Han did though.

“Did he just kiss them?” Han asked as if it was a slight against him.

“He doesn't let me kiss him. He doesn't kiss me. I wanna kiss.” Hyunjin whined as he ran over to the three of you.

I.N. let out a scream and ran away from Hyunjin who continued to chase him. Han eventually joined in on the chase. All the while Seungmin was laughing his ass off from the couch.

—----------

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[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #48

Grandpa

Imagine dis…

This inspired my fridge being full again, here’s a flash back

Me: Thanks for treating me at my favorite restaurant, Grandpa, but you really don't have to do this every time I visit your house.

Grandpa: Don't worry about it, kid.

Me: I'm *realage*, definitely not a kid, Grandpa...

Grandpa: As long as you're not in your 30s yet, you're still a kid. Come on, pick whatever dessert you want, it's on me.

Me: No thanks, I'm saving up for a special treat.

Grandpa: Didn't you hear me, brat? (fondly) I said it's on me. And what treat are you saving up for? Did my daughter didn’t gave you enough pocket money again?

Me: No, it's not like that, Grandpa. You and Mom give me plenty. It's just that there's this *brand* I've been dying to get ever since I first tried it, so I'm saving up to buy it.

*a few months later*

Me: MAAAAAA!

Mom: What's wrong, honey?

Me: Why is there a bunch of *brand* in the fridgeeee? These are expensive!

*I said as I look at the prices on my phone, fearing I missed some sort of discount for buying in bulk.*

Mom: Dad apparently wanted to try some ever since he saw it in a commercial and bought too many. He sent some extras here...

Me: *Takes a long inhale* AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

….…..

We all have that grandfather. The one who insists he doesn’t play favorites but then turns around and gives one grandchild a thousand dollars for Christmas, claiming it’s because, “Well, I can’t take it with me when I’m dead, might as well spend it on something cute now.” It’s a universal experience. And apparently, not even death—or undeath—exempts you from it.

For the past month, Danny's friends had been roasting him relentlessly over one singular fact: Clockwork spoils him rotten.

Danny, of course, denies it. Danny, ever the tired, oblivious little disaster of a ghost prince, insists Clockwork treats him like any other unfortunate intern-slash-trainee. If anything, he argues, Clockwork enjoys his suffering. After all, no spoiled child would be forced to sit through two-hour lectures on the political structure of the Realm of Screeching Mirrors or solve time-based equations that make mortal physics cry. And yet, somehow, every time he finishes school and is already dead tired—pun intended—he gets yeeted straight into another lesson about interdimensional algebra that makes even Jazz’s nerdy heart weep.

Sam, Tucker, and Jazz just sit there and stare at him like he’s trying to convince them the sky isn’t blue. Even Dan, actual chaotic/ genocidal menace of the Ghost Zone, released on royal bail with a community service contract (a.k.a. babysitting duty), had the gall to grimace at the blatant favoritism. Ellie just nodded and made snide bets on how long it would take before Danny noticed Clockwork had been rigging his ghost-life like a doting stage mom.

It didn’t stop there either. Apparently, somewhere along the line, Pandora decided to become the wine aunt—but instead of wine and passive-aggressive casserole recipes, she sent weaponized care packages. Need a broadsword that sings show tunes when swung? Pandora’s got it. She once gave Danny a dagger made from the crystallized screams of vanquished tyrants. When asked why, she simply said, “To keep your mortals on their toes.”

Then there was Frostbite. Calm, collected, soothing Frostbite… who also happened to be the kind of uncle who would knit you a blanket and throw a car at anyone who made you cry. He’d once paused a global summit in the Far Frozen to deliver Danny a scarf because he “looked a bit chilly” during said meeting. The scarf was bulletproof. And sentient.

Everyone saw it. Everyone. The entire inner circle of Danny's life treated it like the worst-kept secret in all of ghostdom. Sam tried reasoning with him. Tucker built a PowerPoint. Jazz made pie charts, actual pie charts, trying to explain the psychological indicators of excessive grandparental attachment. Danny? Still blissfully in denial.

Which was funny, considering Clockwork literally paused time every night so Danny could get his eight hours. And occasionally twelve. Or fourteen. There were also the little notes left in Danny’s backpack: “Don’t forget your lunch, also destroy that wraith behind locker 307, it’s giving off bad vibes. Love, C.W.” Or, you know, when certain bullies AHEM GIW agents that are more on the violent and competent side AHEM mysteriously disappeared from time itself. Not dead, not missing, just never existed in the first place. Suspiciously convenient.

Still, Danny remained oblivious. Ranting about how Clockwork just gave him more work while his friends sat in the background, watching the temporal equivalent of a dad saying “I’m not mad, just disappointed” and rewriting history to give his grandson fewer childhood traumas.

Things only got worse when Phantom officially joined the Justice League Dark. The invitation had been pending for months. After all, there was only so long the League could ignore the literal child-shaped ghost who kept single-handedly neutralizing League-level threats in a small Midwest town like it was his weekend hobby. The Dark team, especially Constantine and Zatanna, had begrudgingly accepted him after witnessing him pull obscure banishment spells from memory, casually referencing ancient ghost kings as if he had lunch with them last week. (He probably did.)

Thanks to Phantom, the League Dark's solved-case rate skyrocketed. Not that Danny bragged about it. No, he just muttered quiet “thank-yous” to Clockwork for teaching him spells like “Ecto-Spatial Reversal via Reverse-Entropy” and “Don’t Touch That You Idiot, It Bites.”

Things were going smoothly—until a group of Green Lanterns arrived with bad news: a planet eater had been spotted in their quadrant. Immediate panic, of course. Superman went into overdrive, Batman did his usual dramatic scowl, and Phantom… winced.

Hard.

He doubled over slightly, one hand pressed to his core, face pale and wide-eyed. The room turned quiet as Danny muttered something garbled, a soft, vibrating cry that made Constantine drop his cigarette and Doctor Fate slowly turn his helmeted head.

What most of the League didn’t know—what even Danny barely acknowledged—was that as a newly ascended Ancient of Space (thanks, Ghost Zone promotions), he could feel his creations. And he had just started experimenting with creating baby planets for fun. Tiny, floating ball worlds full of pink sand, purple skies, and slow-beeping space whales. He’d named one of them “Steve.”

And now? Steve was gone.

That warbled noise he let out? Not pain. Not warning.

It was a cosmic tantrum.

And the moment he wailed, the pen sitting at the edge of the conference table froze in mid-air. Time literally stuttered. The League stood frozen. Until a massive, glowing portal sliced open behind Danny with the sound of a very irritated and blood thirsty grandfather clock chiming, who knew a grandfather clock can make such ominous chime.

Out came a giant ghost cloaked in deep violet robes, staff glowing ominously, red eyes glaring holes through the League. Every hero present snapped into defense mode—Superman rose into the air, Wonder Woman readied her lasso, Batman reached for seventeen gadgets at once.

And Phantom?

Phantom flung himself at the terrifying ghost like a toddler reunited with their favorite plushie after a week of laundry day. The tears started flowing as he began incoherently babbling about Steve and planet goo and how he worked really hard on making the gravity work this time, and now it’s gone, Grandpa, it’s gone!

Clockwork, for his part, gently patted Danny on the head and offered a soft “There, there. Let’s go home. I have cookies. And cocoa. With extra marshmallows.”

Danny nodded miserably, clutching his mentor like the universe had wronged him personally—which, in fairness, it kind of had. The two vanished into the portal, and just like that, time resumed. The pen hit the floor with a sharp clack.

The Justice League stared in stunned silence.

And then, just a beat too late, the Flash burst in with a stack of nachos, four Slurpees, and a hot dog sticking out of his hair.

Flash blinked at the scattered papers, frazzled League members, and the faint, lingering smell of cinnamon cookies. Batman said nothing. Constantine just lit another cigarette.

…..

 PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

[cosmicalily]

ʚɞ "can't take my clothes off!" a 𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒎𝒊𝒏 oneshot by @cosmicalily ★ view 𝓵𝓲𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓻𝔂 ʚɞ

୨ৎ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: anxiety around intimacy and unconditional love from best friend!kim seungmin ♡ 400w | "i just wanna touch you babe but i can't take my clothes off, guess it’s kinda funny, if i think too long, i’ll cry about it." - ‘𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇𝒇’ by aleksiah

ʚɞ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: this little drabble is pretty personal to me, something i haven't explored on tumblr before. i have a lot of anxiety around sexual intimacy, which i feel like isn't discussed that much in mainstream media. when the song 'clothes off' by aleksiah was released, i literally cried. i'd never found a song that just summed up all my feelings so perfectly. wanting it but not. feeling guilty. feeling needy. i hope you understand what i'm trying to convey, i love you all xx ʚɞ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: insecurities (around sex and sexual intimacy)

You didn’t quite know how you’d ended up making out with your best friend, Seungmin.

Maybe it had been the cup of tea he’d made you, humming softly to himself as he boiled the water, adding exactly a spoonful and a half of honey, just the way he knew you liked it.

Maybe it had been the fact that just yesterday, he’d silently restocked the second drawer in your vanity where you kept your stash of period products that he’d noticed were running low.

Maybe it had been the lyrics that you’d found when you were vacuuming the house, stashed under his bed with your name written in the title.

But you knew it wasn’t a singular event. You’d fallen for him ages ago.

The tea was now cold, sitting to the side of the coffee table, half drunken. You didn’t really feel the need to drink it anymore, not when you could spend hours, hours that you’d longed for since forever, kissing the plump lips that had whispered so many sweet secrets into your ears mere minutes ago.

“I love you.”

“You’re perfect.”

“Do you know how much I’ve wanted this?”

“You’re the prettiest girl, you know that, yeah?”

“Wait,” you blurted, pulling your face away from Seungmin’s, out of breath. “I don’t . . . I don’t think I can. I don’t think I want to.”

Seungmin looked at you worriedly, moving his hands from your waist and sitting up straight. “Did I do something?”

“No, it’s not you. I just . . .”

“It’s okay.”

He reached out for your hand, and you reluctantly gave it to him. He didn’t say anything for a bit, just rubbed soft circles into the back of your palm. Your breathing slowed. So did your heart rate.

“I don’t want you for sex,” he said eventually, staring out the window. The curtains were closed, but the moonlight melted through a little, casting a soft glow across his face. He was like the moon. Permanent and dependable and always there to watch over you.

Especially at night, when your thoughts became too much.

“Of course, if you wanted to have it, I wouldn’t be opposed,” he continued, turning to look at you. His hand shifted to gently brush a tear from your cheek. “But I want you because I want you. And if that means kissing and falling asleep, that’s what I want.”

“You’re not bored?” you mumbled, not quite meeting his eye.

“I could never be.”

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