#picking this one up from the draft hell

[fruiteggsaladit]

Realising this isn't really canon probably, I had just watched Kurama-and-Shiori episode way back when I first watched yyh and must have learned of Kuronue through the wiki while double-checking my knowledge and then combined this but

So Yoko was running away from the sdf and was dealt a fatal blow by Shunjun specifically, 1000-ish years prior to that moment he'd left Yomi to be assassinated by some other guy bc he needed to not have concrete confirmation that it was Yoko who wanted him dead, somewhere between that I headcanoned that this was the time period in which Yoko had met Kuronue and would lose Kuronue -

Anyway the misconception I had was that Shunjun/sdf had stolen the pendant which Kuronue had died turning back for, and Yoko died trying to get it back from them. Which true enough I don't think is canon, but it did hurt!

Alternatively that Yoko had sought the mirror of darkness once before he became kurama hoping to revive kuronue w it: having a vision of Shunjun taunting him that even if hed managed to steal the mirror and revived Kuronue they'd fail to ever reunite, bc Yoko would be dead... or maybe something worse, that demons can't be revived using this method?

Hence Kurama, when canonically introduced on-narrative, already having the knowledge that his own life would be the price to make a wish when he intends to use it for shioris sake.

If he'd met and lost Kuronue after betraying Yomi btw it just feels extra PAIN if that had backfired in the sense that his band of thieves were like “listen he sucked?? but you siccing an assassin on him isnt very reassuring to the rest of us”.

So a big reason why he ends up dying in that final confrontation, is that all his allies and friends have abandoned him as a result of him abandoned an ally himself; not even killing him personally, he hired an assassin when he should've been capable of doing that himself. Alternatively, that he himself grew distrustful and paranoid of his coworkers to the degree that they leave him one by one...

Finding Kuronue could have felt like a blessing to Yoko after losing his friends/allies, losing him like the heavens were laughing at him. Him entering a very poor headspace as a result of that, and not being at his best when making a last attempt to re-capture something good in his life... and then dying to a young man, eager to use his death to establish himself in his new workplace...

... and then being reborn, to someone he intended to leave, who actually does love him and will sacrifice herself for his health and well-being... and it turns out, she's fated to die if he doesn't do something.

And it turns out, the very thing he'd hoped to revive Kuronue with, is the thing he hopes to heal his mother with.

[fight-for-what-you-love]

♪ Worldwide - Big Time Rush

I'm gonna be honest- these episodes kind of fell apart while I was making this. The more I re-wrote the story for it's second draft the less this version made sense and the less interested I was to work on it. I have not much else to say except sorry this part is kinda iffy and sorry it took so long. I promise you I'll make up for this in the next episode I PROMISE

Notes on both episodes under the cut!

Sweden Sour

* (I think it’d be really funny if Cody just doesn’t talk at all this episode. Not a word. Just nods and head shakes and depressed faces.)

* Cody’s incredibly depressed after Noah’s elimination. Sierra’s over the moon, though. She sees Cody depressed and gives him a tight side hug, petting his head. She tries consoling him with “I know you’re sad, but it’s ok! At least I’m still here~.” Cody starts sobbing, head in hands. Heather is sick of this already.

* The teams get their “ibuilda” pieces and the Amazons argue on what it’s supposed to be. Cody stares at the pieces for a few seconds before the light briefly re enters his eyes. He starts building. Courtney tells him to stop but Heather tells her he’s obviously got it, so let him work. They start helping him build… something.

* Once the Amazons are done, Heather, Sierra and Courtney take a step back to see what they’ve built. It’s a giant wooden Noah head. Their faces drop. Heather is filled with murderous rage.

* We built Noah’s face (We’re gonna take first place) Cause we built Noah’s faaaace

* Tyler’s jumper would be white.

* Cody doesn’t sing in this number. Chris notices and stares at him threateningly. He reluctantly hums the chorus and Chris takes what he can get.

* (Alejandro takes off his shirt to pull the boat like a freak. Duncan is unfazed and Tyler will deny it if you ask him if he blushed.)

* Sierra hits Noah’s Head hard enough it falls over on its side and suggests sawing off the side to ride in him like a boat. Heather and Courtney agree to this. Cody has no comment.

* Duncan and Alejandro don't bother bending over backwards to please Tyler. Duncan makes himself captain and no one argues.

* When the Amazons go to pick a captain, Courtney grabs the hat and declares herself captain without input. Heather tries to argue but Courtney argues back- Cody is in no condition, no one trusts Sierra and Heather took control the last challenge so this time she’s in charge. Heather reluctantly backs down.

* Amazons catch up to team Chris in the water. Alejandro sees them approach and makes note of Cody’s face, making fun of him for being so upset about “the Noah thing”. Cody furrows his eyebrows and points furiously at Chris’s boat. Courtney agrees that yes, they should shoot their boat.

* It doesn’t matter who wins the challenge since it’s a non elimination round, but I want to say the Amazons persevere. The massage helps Cody enough that he’s not stone faced next episode at least.

Aftermath III (Aftermath Aftermayhem)

* Gwen, Owen and Noah are introduced together. Gwen walks out first and Owen, hugging Noah to the point of lifting him off the ground, walks behind her.

* Geoff asks what all that’s about and Gwen responds that Owen refused to let him go until Noah “understood just how sorry he was”. Noah insists he forgives him, but Owen still won’t let him go.

* The Owen square is replaced by the Tyler square. The prompt is survive. (The hosts throw a bunch of debris at the contestant for thirty seconds and if they dodge everything they move on.)

* (For brevity’s sake, assume all of the contestants that participated in the board game in the original episode participated here [with the exception of Tyler, who is replaced with Owen]. They all get eliminated the same way as well, Noah getting got by aliens, Owen falling down the booby trap square and Beth making it to the final question.)

* When Beth gets stumped on the last question (What was Duncan's band called) Noah yells at her, frustrated: “Oh my- It’s Der Schnitzel Kickers, Beth!!” Confetti and balloons fall from the ceiling.

* (He knows this because Cody had mentioned it in a conversation after the London challenge.)

* Noah initially complains about winning the game, but Owen reminds him that he gets to see Cody again and he shuts up immediately.

* “Noah wins!” “Wasn’t he disquali-” “NOAH WINS!! Let’s wrap it up. We’re done here.”

[leniisreallycool]

"His brown is short and but wavey and pretty and he has eyes." I'm such a good writer

[willyoubemycherryy]

TAKE 1🎬 -> + Stack. M x Reader +

Since I’ll be in the hospital for a while, I figured I’d post some my drafts for entertainment :)!

Summary: You and a troublesome man you like more than you let on…in the end it’s easy.

Contains: smut, a dash of degradation, established enough relationship, fat d!ck Stack because LOOK at him, country accents, rough s€x, manhandling, multiple ørgasms, overstimulation, he puts it zowwwwnnnn, gives you some of that “move yo hand”, mating press dirty talk, petnames, fucking filthy kissing, cuddles, and as per usual- this is for the ✋🏽 strictly for the ✊🏽

Y’all thank @dollerin <333!

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢ ﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉

“Damn baby, you always this easy?”

Stack purrs out against the bare leg that’s currently hiked over his broad shoulder, voice dripping with condescension that’s a lot sweeter than the way he’s fucking into you.

The question is mean but it has its intended effect.

Goosebumps break over the surface of your flushed skin, choking on a whiny moan, cunt pulsating so tightly around him that he can feel you in his bones. A flurry of hiccuping sobs pour from your mouth cause you’re close. Again. Ordinarily, you’d try to defend your good name since you really were in fact not easy…or at least not until you’d met Stack. You’d heard of him before but never had the pleasure of making his acquaintance until he came strolling through your moms shop one day and found you instead.

At first you were stunned just making eye contact with him. Lidded brown eyes, dimples, plump lips- the gold on his teeth glinting at you and damn he was tall. Strutting up to introduce himself to you, accent thick with charm. However, you’d already heard of him and his way of giving women the roundabout and you’d decided right then and there that you’d be damned 11 ways to Sunday before you ever caught yourself on your back or knees for him.

Unfortunately, he was as relentless as he was gorgeous. Steadily pursuing you with the devil in his eyes and a grin on those full lips. Always hanging around- then, he’d disappear. As indifferent as you tried to be, dancing around his advances with light giggles and playful hands, when he’d vanish, you’d find yourself missing his face- or rather- his way of being, more like. See, Stack had this carefree almost cavalier demeanor but he was firm too. To you, that was his most attractive quality.

And he’d picked up on it. That you liked when he was a little firm with you.

From there all it took was a kiss.

Just barely brushing your lips when he leaned down, whispering teasingly against your lips, finger underneath your chin and you couldn’t keep the want from dripping out your eyes if you tried.

“Stop playing with me.”

To your surprise but not his- you listened.

Funny how you were so determined not to fall into his gravity and now look at you; sweat out hairstyle, sheer stockings ripped to hell along with your bra and underwear, being manhandled every which way, stretched out and creaming around the fattest cock you’ve ever had in your life as you moan in bliss- loving it.

Stack’s thrusts are deliciously brutal, hips snapping into yours while your legs hang over his shoulders like some harlot and sounding just like one, mouth dropped open while you cry and whine real pretty for him. Hissing through his teeth at the sight you make, Stack wedges his hands underneath the arch at the base of your back and grips tight- using your body as leverage to fuck into you even deeper. If the heat of the room wasn’t making you delirious then the way the fat head of his was smushing rough kisses into that soft patch of nerves would definitely do the trick. If this is what playing hard to get gets you then you’re seriously considering becoming a professional.

It gets to the point where your pussy is almost as loud as you are, prompting Stack to look down. A loud whistle barely makes it through the fog in your head and you try to bring your vision to focus. Your heart is going at least 100 miles per minute and you squeak as your legs are pushed so far back that your knees are touching your ears, Stack moving directly on top of you. Where the sudden flexibility came from you had no clue- but your awe is almost immediately overtaken by how full the new position has you feeling.

“O-oooh!”

Stack bites his lip as he watches your pretty face melt in pleasure, your normally sleepy eyes pop wide open, brows drawn together like you’re about to cry, lips forming that sexy ‘o’ as he slows down his strokes- letting you feel every inch of him. You were so gorgeous. Naked curves and soft skin crashing and rolling back into him then wrapping around even though you initially wanted damn near nothing to do with him. The thought makes him smirk in satisfaction until he’s brought out of his thoughts by the feel of your trembling hand just above where your bodies are connected. He pulls out halfway nice n slow, looking down to see what the fuss is and his heart almost pounds out of his chest.

Slathered all over his dick, is milky white. It streams out generously from your hole around where he’s stuffed in and Stack feels himself start to lose his mind a little bit as he moans out,

“Yeahhh mamas, she’s real easy f’me…”

He doesn’t take his eyes off your cunt as he slams back in with a wet ‘plap’- throwing his head back with a deep groan. The sound is so primal it sends nasty shivers up your spine but you don’t move your hand and he’s folding you even deeper, lowering his upper body almost completely against yours, pelvis grinding against your clit and you gasp wetly. Stack is wild, sucking bruising kisses into your neck, tongue trailing hotly up to your mouth to claim it in a deep kiss. It’s consuming. His big tongue flattening against yours in maddening swipes, sucking the muscle sloppily into his own mouth making you lightheaded- blood rushing through your ears as he starts his hips up again, grinding away at that spot inside you but not quite as deep and he pulls away.

He watches you gasp desperately, moving not even an inch away from your face as he nips at your bottom lip, soothing the sting with his tongue before whispering inside your mouth- eyes glazed,

“Move that hand, baby.”

Your name might as well be Sunday morning cause that’s exactly how easy you are, body obeying him before you even tell it to. As soon as you do, he doesn’t waste a second, big hands hook underneath your knees- railing you stupid. He’s not even trying to think straight, caught up in in not just the heat but how tight- how creamy- you are. Letting out a string of swears, he captures your mouth in another overwhelming kiss, cock aching while he swallows your wails as you twitch and shake around him.

You can’t take anymore. Stack gives another harsh, slick roll of his pelvis into your swollen nub while battering that tender spot inside you and you’re coming. And Jesus Christ on a bike- you’re coming hard. Clawing at Stack’s beefy muscles, a swarm of stars completely eclipse your vision while you’re shocked with wave after wave of vicious pleasure. You’re so loud you struggle recognize your own voice but Stack’s is clear as the ecstasy pumping through your body. Filthy words of praise and encouragement directly in your ear, prolonging your orgasm.

“Thaaat’s it, dollface.. aalll over me…”

Tears spill from your eyes and you’re close to tapping out when Stack buries his head into your chest, taking one of your puffy nipples into his mouth, thrusts slowing as he shoots deep inside your heat with a muffled groan, stuffing your hole to the brim until he pops off your tit with a satisfied sigh.

You’re tired, your back is killing you, and your shaking like a baby deer but a grin makes its way onto your lips regardless as Stack kisses all over you, pulling out slowly, warm eyes checking over your form for any sign of discomfort while you bask in the coziness after, closing your eyes to enjoy a much needed break until he interrupts it. Kissing your cheek in that tender way he does when he’s fixing to look after you.

“You okay? Ain’t hurtin’ none?”

You shake you head, eyes closed even as he pats you dry gently with his shirt, tossing on the floor when he’s done. Less sweaty, it’s easier for you to nap but something was missing. Reaching up, your hand swipes though the air as you blindly reach for him, eventually catching his chain as you yank him down next to you with a soft pleased little hum. Yes, you’d sleep just fine now.

And when you wake up?

You’re face to face with a big rock on your finger.

Stay tuned for take 2, 3, 4 and more yall🤠🫶🏽!!!

[ms-demeanor]

Sometimes college professors like to hop on my posts lamenting the sorry state of syllabi these days and joke about how they haven't thought that far ahead in the course themselves, or talk about how they struggle to complete a schedule for their students.

With all due respect, that's your job. If you can't do your job, you should have a different job. If you need help, ask your colleagues or your department chair or *someone* because I know that professors aren't given a hell of a lot of education on how to educate, so you probably *need* help.

But every single time I make one of those posts I get anywhere from ten to thirty messages, replies, reblogs, and asks say "oh man, that's exactly why I had to drop out of school; I couldn't keep up with the assignments because I didn't know when they were due until the week they were due."

I have been a college student in three separate decades, and "not having a schedule of assignments in the syllabus" is new to my experience. That shit didn't fly in the 2000s or 2010s and I think it likely has to do with professors being overly reliant on apps.

AT A MINIMUM your syllabus should have:

Contact information (including preferred method of contact) for the professor

Office Hours

Grading Policy

Assignment schedule.

Your assignment schedule doesn't necessarily need to have the exact page numbers of every reading or a full assignment sheet for each project, but it should have things like:

December 1st - Major Project 3 second draft due December 9th - Quiz 10 December 12th - Major Project 3 final draft due December 15th - Final Exam

If you end up presenting a more thorough schedule with readings and homework later, that is acceptable to present a week or two into the semester but it is absolutely insane to me that students these days don't know what homework they're going to have to get done over Thanksgiving break during the first couple weeks of class.

If I had three professors at once who didn't give me a schedule, how on earth would I know if I was going to have to read three chapters of a novel, take a midterm and turn in two stats homework assignments, and complete a history research paper the same week that I'm planning to travel to see family? If I'm aware of this from the beginning of the semester I can make sure not to pick up extra shifts, or I can plan to leave a day later to accommodate the midterm, or I can start working on the paper early to complete it before the due date but if I don't know what's going to be due when, I'm going to have a big problem.

If you don't give your students a schedule you are communicating that you don't care about their schedule, and that you think it's their responsibility to contort their life (and their job, and their other classes) around your class, and honestly my advice to students in that situation is "drop in the first week and pick up another class". That's actually part of why I recommend signing up for one more class than you can really manage - if you get a professor whose class looks like it's going to be a disaster because they don't have a schedule, you can bail before the withdrawal period and get a refund for the class.

I'm only in one class this semester but the professor's response has fully dropped me into "Fuck it, I guess I'll fail" mode and I don't even know if I can pull myself out of my current D grade because I don't know how many assignments we have left in the semester.

This is a shitty way to run a class. If you can't do better than this, you shouldn't be running a class.

[dilf-docs]

Atta Girl

old jackson!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: joel miller discovers the world, yes, the same world that has gone (been for a while) to shit, can still have surprises. like you, his sweet naive unexperienced girlfriend, being everything but that.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (old joel miller my GILF!), smut, sighs this is pwp who am i lying to, inexperienced!reader (yet for some reason she's a pro sucker lmao i'm a virgin don't come at me besides this is a fanfic who gives af if it's realistic or not), dirty talk, fingering, breast play, pussy pronouns, oral (m. receiving) (need that geriartric cock inside my mouth), some fluff bc we gotta balance this thing or i'm going to hell (okay he's not mean i baited y'all. mean jackson joel miller piece is still in draft dungeon)

word count: 4,722 words

side note: hell-fucking-o????? 2K CITIZENSHIPS APPROVED!?! ,, ok gonna be honest when i started writing in here and my first fic (an old man logan one, do u guys see a pattern?) flopped, i never thought i'd make it this far and it's all thanks to you my lovely citizens :,) you may think this is silly but your support means a lot to me (especially comments n' rb I'M A WHORE FOR THEM). now, yapping aside, as promised, this won the poll for the celebratory piece, so here you go !!! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

Joel Miller is a man hard to surprise.

Years of weariness, trust and spirit broken by things that would kill anyone else, and overall, just surviving, you'd think that a man that was hardened by a rough past and of his age had seen it all.

Joel liked to think he was prepared for whatever life threw at him. Enter Ellie: how she had managed to break his shell, from cargo to soothing balm to heal old open wounds he refused to even speak of. But he was ready to burn the world for her, picking guns and taking lives to bring her to a home. His home. He settled, filial terms silent but felt, ready to take the second chance life had given him. Until the bond that united them turned fragile, loose ends tensing the silver string of found family.

He fell down the path of a familiar ache he hadn't felt in a long time, dormant, waiting for him to fuck up to show again with it's dull and hollow torment. He always did. So now he's spending too much time at the Tipsy Bison nursing a glass that could have his name by now, all to avoid going to a eerily quiet home where the room at the end of the hallway lies empty.

And then life decides to startle his track, albeit destructive, with a third chance: you.

Just thinking about you brings a certain tingle that an old rugged man like him should be embarrased about. One he shouldn't even feel.

But Joel loves you, he thinks. From the moment you showed up on his front door, rambling about some reparations at the school, were you volunteered.

"They were all scared of you" your sweet voice had said, some of that unreasonable fear laced within it, "so I came"

He scoffed at Jackson's ridiculous antics. Rumors spread fast in the small town, and suddenly, the hanging threat of who he was followed him everywhere like a shadow, which, given the dark nature of his now put to rest violence, seemed a proper description.

"They sent 'cha?"

You were clearly intimidated, given your shaky frame despite spring and the light tremble in your tone. But you were still here, gaze set on him as a determined child who wants to win the best prize.

"No. I chose to come"

His stomach does a flip at the stillness of your words, security etched in the statement as if you hadn't been in the verge of stuttering seconds ago.

Like you wanted to show him this is what it is, and whatever that was, you weren't running. But he testes the water, skin prickling intensely.

"And you ain't scared, kid?"

He laughed, the type of laugh that shakes your body with unease, but the one that shot across you didn't come from a place of distress, rather a more hidden one, between a pulsing press between your ribs, like it'd swallow you whole if you kept thinking about it too much.

"I am" you answered truthfully.

Something about your quiet admission made him falter the tiniest bit. Maybe it was how you had no problem voicing out loud any of your thoughts, or how you weren't afraid to be seen for what you were, the quiet of your answer out of a gentle place and not dread.

"Then why are ya' still here?"

Brows furrowed, like he, for some reason, expected you to yell at him for all the sins that colored his calloused hands red. Instead, you had looked at him as if he had all the answers in the world, big sparkling eyes staring deep into his tainted soul.

"Because I need you"

Yet, when you said it, Joel felt you weren't talking about the creaky drawers and old stairs anymore, but of the anchor you just found for yourself in the shape of Jackson's most respected and troubled resident, unknowing that, in that moment, he had chosen you too.

So, Joel may have forgotten about what feelings that feel too before world-ly feel like, but the quiet steady beat of his heart, mingling into a peaceful symphony with each soft breath past your rosy lips, head laying over his rising and falling chest, warm, feels exactly like love is.

He knew from the very first time you were his. Yeah, he loves you.

Joel just wants to give you the world, his world: the quiet afternoons, his rough limbs and aching joints, his face covered by spots and sun kisses that compliment his wrinkles, hair that gets curlier and softer and greyer, every figure he makes in his little shop and, of course, his bed.

Your Joel isn't exactly a pleaser, used of doing what he deems best without asking, yet, the moment you uttered those three words, he knew it was because he hadn't met you.

"Be my first"

He remembers the surprise on his face, how it grew red as the silence stretched on. The door bursting open, bed creaking under combined weight and your giggles. He too remembers the sweet cries past your lips, your taut muscles, the little strained breath you let out when he slipped inside of you. It all belonged to him because you let him, and that day, Joel Miller became the luckiest man in the world.

And yet, he still hadn't been as surprised as he was today.

The routine was the same from the past year: pick you up from the school after he was done at the office, taking some minutes to watch you with the toddlers, making voices as the same tender hands you used to jerk him off booped noses and carried children who made him think of getting one of your own, one with your grace and beauty, getting him painfully hard at images of filling you silly and your body changing to carry his seed. Fuck. He was a psychopath for such lewd thoughts on a place destined for education and infancy innocence, and here he was, cock uncomfortable inside his pants.

But then your mouth gets too greedy when your sickenly honeyed voice whispers his name, robbing him of air and only pulling away when his lips get swollen and his face a little flustered.

"Need help down there?"

There's always that problem and you're always the solution.

"Let's go home, sugar. Then ya' can help 'tis ol' man fix it"

Walking back home is always a hassle, hands intertwined, Jackson seeing a cute couple. But you're both aware of the throb that settles in between you like the tension, nobody noticing how hard you're trying to not just fuck on the middle of the street like two eager bunnies.

It's his fault, he thinks as you push the door of his house open, for making you like this.

The truth is, after taking your virginity, Joel's taught you things your unexperienced mind couldn't even imagine, and this past six months, you've complied with that sweet disposition that clung to you like the floral of the soap you used. And Joel loved that: how, despite having his dick stretching your tight pussy, you looked at him with those big eyes from the very first night, still round and innocent, like a doe and not a siren.

Which was surprising, because Joel, in a way, had corrupted you. Tainted the naive angel. And still, it was like he couldn't get rid of quiet shy you. Worst of it all was, instead of filling him with shame from robbing pieces and pieces of your integrity everyday, the older man felt some wicked sense of satisfaction and pride, to see how, despite his age and your soft nature, he was yours as you were his, and that he had taught you exactly how to enjoy that.

He knows you like the palm of his hand and the littered scars across his chest. The pattern you call stars, holding into a beauty only you see in the ugly marks, yet make him feel with each delicate trace, making such blunt and rough marks a galaxy; exorbitant. The same ones he thinks hide behind your adoring warm eyes. Joel just knows you, so even when things go the same way they have for a while, he's aware something is different when your fingers fiddle with his belt, trembling hands now struggling to free his aching cock.

He knows better than to think it's your arousal and impatience. No, this is something else.

"Sweetheart..." he warns. "Somethin' wrong?"

You shake your head, hands ready to take his underwear down.

"I'm fine"

He won't take that clipped sentence for an answer. Instead, his hands slowly remove yours from his hips before going to grab you by your chin, fingers pressing not enough to bruise but to make a point. His thumb presses lightly over your mouth, your bottom lip tugged down, parting your lips. You let out a little sigh, closing your eyes, eyelashes kissing your cheekbones. What a damn sight, he thinks.

"Talk to me"

"I want to suck your cock"

He almost chokes on nothing. Joel coughs a little, red painting his cheeks as a surge of lust and desire crashes through him. His eyes go wide at your bold and eager request, because one: it wasn't like you to talk like this, and two, you had never done it before.

Sure, you had jerked him off so many times he's lost count, but your lips wrapped around his length, mouth swallowing his aching cock? Just the image of it going past your pretty lips, the sensation of your spit mixed with his liquids... He already has a special place in hell, the blood rushing to his already hard member.

"Fuck, sugar. You wanna have this dick 'nside y'r mouth so bad? That eager and needy y'are?" he asked, voice reduced to a low rumble.

You nod, a little too excited as he sits in the edge of your shared bed, letting out a huff of effort. Old man sounds, you would tease. But not today, it seems, when your eyes are too busy looking at the pulsating silhouette under the grey cloth. He smirks, removing the layer, and he swears you begin to salivate like a starving dog.

"Y' think y' can take it?" his hand wrapped around his sensitive cock, giving it a few slow pumps as he watches you with a drowsy gaze. "Ain't it too much for a pretty lil' thing like y'rself?"

Wordlessly, you fall to your knees, looking up to him with those eyes of yours that drove him crazy. You caress his thigh, and despite being the one in control, Joel's eyelids feel heavy, fluttering at your soft and tender touches on his thick muscle, every hair rising at the reverence of your every move. You leave a little kiss in his inner thigh, making his heart skip a beat, breath a little ragged.

"I can" sounding so sure. Oh, his little angel.

"You gon' be a good girl then?" he whispers, voice hoarse and thick, looking down at you.

You nod, slowly.

"Let me taste it" you murmur, voice soft and breathy.

Your tongue darts out, licking a slow stripe up his shaft. You savor the salty taste of his arousal, moaning softly at the flavor. Joel's brown eyes darken in seconds.

"Quit 'da teasin'. 'M too damn old for that"

You smile a bit. "Impatient"

"Minx" he replies, voice thick.

It is indeed big, especially now that it was hard, and you do wonder for a second if you're biting more than you can chew.

"Y'asked for 'tis" like he can read your mind, "don't grow shy on me, doll"

He groans when your hand wraps around his length, stroking him slowly, teasingly as you always do. He feels the heat building in his gut as you work him over, letting out a little groan.

"F-feels so good, sugar" he voices out, strained. "But I need'a know if y'r made fo' 'tis. C'mon, princess. Show me what'a good lil' cock slut y'are"

You lean in, warm breath ghosting over the sensitive head of his big cock, making him shudder.

"Let's see what y'r pretty mouth can do" while tracing your lips, idly.

For the first time ever, the warmth of your mouth takes him. He can see it dissapear past your lips, stretching around his girth. Joel can only watch with a breath he forgets to take how every inch of his thick cock is gone past your lips. Entranced, like this was a magic trick of some sorts.

"S' that all?" he lets out a tense chuckle. You narrow your eyes, feeling a bit of a gag and spit drool past your lips. "Don't worry, princess. I can be of help on that"

He moves a bit, groin almost on your face as he's dangerously close to fucking your face. Instead, you feel how it reaches the back of your throat, making you pause at the feeling of your eyes watering slightly as you adjust to the intrusion.

"S'okay, sweet girl. I know ya' can take it deeper" he encourages, one hand coming up to tangle in your hair. "Relax, baby. You're doing so good-" his voice cuts off with a strained grunt. Then, he voices out in a more huskier tone. "Use y'r throat and take my cock like'a good girl"

You push forward, taking him deeper until Joel feels the head of his cock bump the back of your throat. He throws his head back, curls combed slicked now starting to dampen and fall disheveled, drops of sweat sliding down his forehead, muscles of his thighs taut with trepidation.

You gag slightly yet quickly recover as if to prove something.

"That's right. Why did we wait s' long to do 'tis? Fuck, baby, ya' were born for 'tis. Keep goin'. Y' mouth's drivin' me crazy"

Joel groans as you take him deep, nose pressing against his groin, his fingers tightening in your hair. Your throat constricts around him all while you fight your gag reflex. Then slowly, you pull back, lips sliding along his shaft until just the tip remained in your warm mouth.

"Don't be such'a tease" his voice reduced to a hoarse rasp. You just give him what appears to be a shrug and an apologetic smile, right before diving back in, taking him to the hilt once more. His hips rock involuntarily at the feel, your head bobbing. A guttural moan cuts through his throat, the only other sound in the room aside the wet sounds of your suckling. "S' real bad girl, hun. Wouldn't think a docile lil' doll like ya' would be s' mean"

But he watches you with such adoration in his eyes, completely captivated as you work him over, that you know his words carry no malice behind them. Without a word, he takes your hands, guiding them to pump what you couldn't fit in your mouth.

"Let's give 'em somethin' to do, don't 'cha think?"

Suddenly, the pressure ties his stomach in knots, his belly strained under his flannel shirt, slightly protruding in the middle, buttons as tense as his muscles. Joel feels his legs become shaky, chest heaving as he catches his breath. He looks down at you, taking in the sight of your sweet disposition. If he wasn't one lucky man.

"Y/n" he gasps your name in a choked breath, followed by a strangled grunt, his release building fast as he doesn't dare to . "I'm gonna..."

Joel tries to pull off, thinking having you wrapped around his shaft is enough sin for the day, but then your hands find their way to his legs, keeping him grounded. His eyes widen slightly at the insistent glaze in your determined eyes.

"God damn, doll. What're ya'-"

He doesn't get to finish, his words dissolving into a low, animalistic growl as his orgasm crashes over him. His cock jerks and pulses in your waiting mouth, spilling thick ropes of hot, salty cum down your eager throat, painting its back white.

"Baby, don't" Joel says through a worn down rasp, trying to pull out, but you, his sweet little girlfriend, grips his thighs with an unknown force, keeping him buried deep as you greedily work to milk every last bit of his cum.

"'S 'tis what ya' want, huh? You dirty dirty girl" his voice grows lower, a filthy snarl as his eyes darken a bit more. "Swallow it, then. Take all ma' fucken seed"

He holds your head in place, fingers tangled in your damp hair as he rides out the intense waves of his release. Joel's so inside of you, he can feel your throat working, gulping down every drop he had to give.

Finally, as the last spurts of his climax taper off, he releases you, his chest heaving with exertion. You pull back, a strand of saliva and cum connecting your bottom lip to the tip of his spent cock.

"Like that, dirty girl?" he grabs you by your chin, thumb wiping some of your saliva and his cum off. "Did ya' like the taste f' ma' cum?"

You lick your lips, savoring the taste of him. "I did"

"'S that right? What happened to my angel?"

You laugh, the sound tired and hoarse. "I'm still here"

He pats his thigh, so you sit in there, wrapping your arms around his neck. With a free hand, you remove some curls that have fallen over his worn face.

"Hard'a believe"

You click your tongue. "You were never a believer, Miller"

He lets out an exhausted chuckle. "I believe in you"

Joel revels in the delicate pink hues coating your cheeks. He's so weak for you.

"Now, doll. Be honest with y'r ol' man" he brushes a stray strand off your face, tucking it behind your ear with a delicacy so contrary to the roughness of his hands. "I know when ma' girl's goin' through somethin'"

You seem to grow shy all of the sudden. "You'd be right"

Needless to say, he's intrigued now.

"Care to tell?"

You hide your face on his shoulder, inhaling his sweat and natural odor, even the faint traces of soap. He combs through your hair, lazily.

"Promise you won't laugh" you say as you pull back, to face him.

He raises a hand, expression curious.

"I'd never make fun of 'cha, doll"

"I want you to cum inside me"

The room grows quiet for a minute, an by each second of silence that stretches so is the red across your face. Joel blinks slowly. Once and twice. By the third time, the crease between his brows has become prominent.

"What?"

Your face grows hot as you try to run away, but he stops you.

"Woah, hey. Where ya' goin'?"

"I told you you'd laugh" you pout your lips, flustered.

"I ain't even let out a goddam laugh" he defends himself. "'M just tryna process in here"

You huff. "What's so hard to understand?"

Joel looks at you like you've grown a second head. "Y' really gon' ask me that?"

"Maybe I want to try different things" you play with your fingers, avoiding his gaze.

He obligues you to look by taking you by your chin, gently. A small warm smile adorns his face.

"Different's good"

You reciprocate his smile. Maybe it's that or the fact he can still see his cum glistening your lips, or the thrill of his seed seeping out of your tight walls. Either way, Joel surrenders.

"Ya' know I'll give 'cha anythin' you want" he says, voice low. "Just say da' word"

You gulp. "Yes"

Joel lets out a low, animalistic growl at your breathy acceptance. It was all the permission he needed. He crashes his lips against yours in a hungry, desperate kiss, pouring every ounce of his pent-up desire as he grabs you by your hair, right at the nape of your neck, pulling you closer and tighter. His other hand roams your body greedily, slipping under your shirt to caress the smooth, warm skin beneath.

"We gotta take 'tis out"

He shoves the fabric up and off, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over your head and toss it aside.

"It's my shirt"

"It's a nuissance"

He pauses for a moment, drinking in the sight of your naked torso, the swell of your breasts rising and falling with each anticipating breath.

"Told ya'" he murmurs, voice rough with desire. "'S fuckin' perfect to be hidin' all that"

Joel leans down, capturing one rosy peak in his mouth. He swirls his tongue around the sensitive bud, suckling and teasing until it pebbles under his touch. You let out a breathy choked moan, loving the wet of his tongue against your warm skin. Then, his hot breath ghosts over as he utters a simple word that has your core clenching at nothing.

"Mine"

His hand slide down your stomach, slipping under the waistband of your jeans. Joel can feel the heat of you, the damp patch that had formed on the fabric of your panties. He groans against your breast, his fingers sliding lower, brushing against your clothed sex.

"Can tell she missed me. That ya' weren't lyin', baby. She's fucken wet" he rasps, his voice muffled against your skin.

Joel's fingers slip under the fabric of your panties, feeling the slick heat of your arousal coating his fingertips. He groans, his cock hard again, throbbing almost painfully against the confines of his jeans.

"Fuck, sugar" he mutte4red, his voice rough and low. "S' ready for me already"

He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, feeling it swell under his touch.

"Ain't she know me s' goddam well..."

Then, he dips a finger inside your tight, clutching heat, groaning at the way your walls flutter around the intrusion.

"God, you feel s' good" Joel says, voice strained. "S' fucking tight and perfect. I can't wait to feel ya' wrapped 'round my cock, doll. Can't wait any damn longer fo' y'r sweet lil' cunt"

He pumps his finger in and out, thumb still circling your clit. He can feel you getting closer, your hips starting to buck against his hand.

"That's it, baby" he encourages, his voice a low, filthy rumble. "Fuck yourself on ma' fingers. Show me how much ya' want it"

He adds a second finger, then a third, making you yelp as he stretches you open.

"Relax, doll. We've done 'tis before. 'M just preparing her to take ma' dick. You gon' be a good girl and stop fucken squirmin'?"

You nod, pliant, your body starting to tense.

"'Tis ya' reward. Come on ma' fingers like a good girl, and then I'll give 'cha what ya' really want. I'm gon' fill 'tis greedy cunt with my cum an' pump 'cha s' full of it 'til 's drippin' outta ya'"

Joel curls his fingers inside you, rubbing that all too well spot that brings you to tears. He feels you clench down hard, crying out as you come undone. Your orgasm crashes over, body convulsing as your pussy clenches rhythmically around his fingers. When he pulls his fingers out, he's bringing them to his lips, sucking off your essence from the digits, groaning at the taste of you.

"'S sweet as always"

After that, Joel is quick to shed what's left of his clothing, nearly tearing the old flannel in his haste. He lays you down on the bed, covering your body with his own, his tummy pressing lightly over your abdomen, his weight sinking you down on the mattress.

He then looks down at you, taking in the sight of your flushed cheeks, glistening parted kiss-swollen lips, and heaving chest.

"I love ya', sweet girl" Joel blurts out, eyes are dark and intense.

He settles between your thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging against your slick entrance.

"Say y'are mine" voice a low, demanding growl. "Say ya' belong to me, y/n, baby. Say it"

He pushes forward slightly, just the tip of him slipping inside your tight heat. He groans at the feel of you, at how your walls stretch to accommodate him. You let out a small whimper, yet still unable to form coherent sentences.

"I want to hear you say it, angel" Joel presses nonetheless, his voice strained.

He rocks his hips slowly, pushing a little more of his thick length inside you with each thrust. He can feel you getting wetter, core glistening as if your body yielded to his.

"Please, y/n" he begs, voice rough and desperate. "Please, baby... say it. That 'am your first an' last. The only man who ever fucks 'tis sweet cunt"

"I'm yours, Joel" you choke out. "Only yours"

With a final, hard thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head at the feel of you, letting out a long low groan.

"Fuck, doll" he gasps, hips starting to move, pistoning in and out of you. "She's just made f'me, ain't she? Gon' make ya' feel good. Give ya' what y'asked for. Lemme take care of it. I like to take care of's mine"

He hooks your legs over his shoulders, nearly bending you in half as he pounds into you. The bed creaks under you, headboard slamming against the wall with each thrust.

"Take it, sugar. Just like ya' wanted. 'Tis dirty mouth n' greedy pussy" Joel growls. "Take ma' cock like a good little girl. Fuck, y' were made f'r 'tis. Made't be fucked hard and deep and full of my cum"

He feels the tight coil of heat in his gut winding tighter and tighter; knows he won't last long.

"Please, Joel" you mewl, desperately clinging to him.

Joel lets out a feral growl at your plea, hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. He can feel you clenching down around him, body trembling as another orgasm builds deep inside you.

"Ya' want my cum, baby?" he snarls. "Want me t' fill her 'til it's drippin' down y'r legs?"

You nod, too eager.

"Look at that" he chuckles, pounding harder into you, forgetting for a moment he's sixty one. "Such a slut, beggin' for me to flood 'tis sweet pussy with ma' load. 'M gon' give ya' s' much you'll be leakin' for days. Gon' fill her up nicely. I know you gon' make sure not'a single drop goes to waste"

Joel reaches down, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight circles.

"Come with me, doll" he demands, growling. "Come on my cock like a good girl n' milk every last drop 'f cum. Show me just how much ya' want it"

With a final, brutal thrust, Joel buries himself balls deep inside you. He throws his head back, a guttural roar tearing from his throat as his orgasm rips through him.

"Take it, baby. Let me make ya' mine" His cock jerks and pulses inside you, spurt after spurt of hot, thick cum painting your insides. "Atta girl"

He collapses against you, hips still rocking slightly as the aftershocks of his release roll through him. He can feel you coming around him, pussy clenching and milking his spent cock, trying to pull every last drop of his seed deep inside you, just like you asked for.

Joel's chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath, heart pounding against yours as he cradles you close.

"Not so bad for an old man"

He snickers, rolling onto his side, pulling you with him until you're tucked against his chest, head pillowed on his arm.

"Brat"

He wraps his other arm around your waist, holding you close as he nuzzles into your hair, traces of lavender up his nose.

"But you love me"

Joel sighs softly, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, then temple and finally shell of your ear. In that moment, he knows he'll never let you go.

"That I do"

You softly comb his hair, his eyelids fluttering.

"I love you too, Joel"

A beat of silence goes by.

"So..."

"So?"

Joel offers a tired smile, glint of mischief laced somewhere.

"Any other ideas ya' wanna say outloud?"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @iamasaddie

[bucketbueckers]

BIGGER IN TEXAS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: filth (and some plot, as a treat)!! language, light alcohol/body shots, oral, fingering, strap, fuck ass cowboy hats, freak shit im talm bout inittttt, slight overstim, mirror, light choking (author is unoriginal we know this), reader is honestly thirsty as hell but so is paige, idk how to tag smut properly just know im losing my spot in heaven for this fic

wc: 10.5k

synopsis: A Dallas Wings rookie and a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader walk into a club together. What could possibly go wrong?

notes: i wasn't ovulating when i drafted this but i am now! maybe tmi. sinners changed my life and my main takeaway from that movie is everyone is a munch and thats a life philosophy i think everyone should have. make sure you all say "thank you kali uchis" because i actually got insane writers block after waking up this morning but her album saved me. not much to say but im actually going to hell for this so please make it worth it and hit up my inbox pls and ty 🫶 as always i hope yall enjoy!

Let the record show that you weren’t serious.

Okay. You were like, 50% serious. As in if you were presented with the opportunity, you would take it, but if any of your friends were to ask about it, you would probably deflect.

You realize now that you tend to get a little overzealous on Twitter – it’s far more unhinged than your Instagram is, where you share pictures of your everyday life and action shots as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader. You have less followers on the bird app (it is not X), you’re a little more…real, and as a bonus, your mom doesn’t follow you, so you feel like you can be a little more insane on there.

Although you’d probably apologize to her later – because one of your recent tweets is going a little crazy.

It didn’t start as anything crazy. Being a Dallas athlete, you kept up with nearly every sports team – the Mavericks, the Stars, the Cowboys, obviously, but you loved the Wings, too. You watched the WNBA draft as did countless others in the country.

When the Wings admin posted the Welcome to Dallas, Paige Bueckers! tweet, you’d giggled to yourself, mostly because you were nursing a Chili’s margarita and because she looked insanely good in the graphic.

You retweeted it, typing, welcoming you into dallas w open arms @.paigebueckers1 🤠

Then, almost like an afterthought, you commented on your own retweet, typing, and with open legs 🙏

You didn’t think much of it. Obviously. You didn’t have a huge following and if anyone asked, you’d just be kidding. The next ten minutes are peaceful as you finish off your margarita and scroll aimlessly through TikTok, keeping one ear out for the next draft pick. And then your phone starts blowing up.

A bunch of likes. A few people retweeting your second comment with various laughing or crying emojis. But what makes you pause is the notification reading Paige Bueckers has liked your tweet!

Oh. You click just to make sure, and – yeah. Definitely the one about having open legs.

Any other day, this would probably be mortifying, but today you’re a little emboldened by the margarita in your veins and you can’t help but think this is a little funny. You’ll probably regret it later when everyone remembers that you’re kind of a public figure and decides to flame you for being a little unhinged on main. For now, though, it’s not that big of a deal.

When you wake up in the morning to an unread DM from Paige – who’d followed you back, mind you – on your Instagram, you suddenly realize that it actually is a big deal.

Paige 💕: I’m flying into Dallas on the 23rd for media Paige 💕: If the offer still stands maybe you could show me around the city?

You stare blankly at your phone. Then you blink once. Twice. You power off your phone, press your pillow to your face, and you scream.

You weren’t serious, but you think you’re being presented with the opportunity – and, well, who are you to look a gift horse in the mouth?

After you finally come back to your senses, you reach for your phone again, navigating back to your DMs with Paige. You only have to contemplate for a few seconds before your fingers are flying across the keyboard.

You: i’ve been known to be a thorough tour guide You: let me know what your schedule looks like and i’ll show you the pretty parts of dallas

Her response comes quicker than you were expecting.

Paige 💕: Looking forward to it 🫶 Paige 💕: Not sure how Dallas compares to you but I can be open minded

Admittedly, you have to reread her message twice to fully grasp the cheesy pick-up line, but you hate the way it makes your cheeks flush. You’re not sure how to respond to that.

You settle for screaming into your pillow again.

The week passes by quickly. You and Paige talk — a lot — truly enjoying getting to know each other during your rare moments of free time. Paige is busy with flights and appearances while your schedule is packed with practice and learning the audition choreography for the next season of DCC. 

Despite yourself, you can’t help but think how nice it is. There’s no expectations. You’re both athletes with a combined two hours of free time. For now, you’re just content to see where this goes. You enjoy her company, and honestly, you’re really into her. Paige flirts relentlessly, but you can tell there’s an undercurrent of respect and admiration that makes you feel like that feeling is mutual, too. 

She texts you a picture of the Dallas tarmac when she lands on the 23rd, a coy reminder that you did promise to show her around. Paige has media for a good portion of the day, though, so you know you won’t be seeing her for a while. You tune in for a little bit of her rookie press conference, and no, you weren’t cheesing while listening to her speak. But if you were, that wouldn’t be anyone’s business but your own.

You don’t hear from her for the next few hours, which doesn’t bother you. You do get a call from one of your squadmates, Lielle, asking if you’d be down to hit the club before the DCC season starts – and who were you to say no to that?

You settle for a light, natural makeup look, throwing on a blue, mesh, halter corset top that sparkles in the light and a pair of cropped, white denim shorts. They’re long enough to cover what they need to, but it’s the perfect club outfit – something with the right amount of tease and will make you feel confident enough to truly let loose.

Lielle picks you up along with a few other of your friends who tease you relentlessly for your actions on Twitters – it’s no use defending yourself, although they’re nearly howling in excitement when you point out that Paige is in your DMs, so you’re probably doing something right.

You and your girls enter the club with high spirits, the atmosphere already electric, and two of your squadmates break away to find a table while you and Lielle make your way to the bar to order shots and drinks for everyone. Lielle leans over the bar, already laying it on thick for the bartender, who grins politely like he’s seen just about every variation of whatever game Lielle is playing.

On the bright side, he does end up discounting your drinks on account of being a DCC fan, which makes you think Lielle never truly had a chance, anyways – but a cheaper drink is a cheaper drink, especially in Dallas. Lielle walks away with a wink and the drinks in her hands as you remain to order something for yourself. The bartender has just slid the drink your way when you feel the heat of someone’s body next to yours. At first, you’re alarmed, but you soften when you hear their voice, followed by finally looking at their face.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” In person, Paige Bueckers is so much taller than you’d anticipated, which is probably a really stupid thing to say for a professional basketball player. She’s tall, her cologne a heady scent of warm vanilla and something distinctly floral, and she rests her arm against the bar in a way that’s devastatingly casual and dangerously alluring. Paige is wearing a black and white striped Nike sweater, the very same she’d done media in, a look not befitting of the club but you can’t help but think about how perfectly her it is.

You crack a coy smile, taking a quick sip of your drink for some liquid courage, because Paige is staring at you like she knows exactly what she wants from you and your heart thrums because if she said the word, you’d be willing to give it to her. “What, is this place too scandalous for a cheerleader like me?” you joke, and the heat of her gaze travels down your body in one quick motion.

“Nah, nothing like that,” she assures you. “Just didn’t think that out of every club in this city, I’d be lucky enough to run into you my first night out.”

“Seems we’re both feeling a little lucky tonight, huh?” you say, and she laughs gently under her breath. Paige holds out a hand to you. In lieu of a shake, you settle for hugging her instead, which she relaxes into immediately, her hands resting respectfully at the small of your back. “It’s great to finally meet you in person,” you say genuinely, pulling away at the right moment. “You enjoying Dallas so far?”

Paige shrugs a little, a smile on her face and gratitude on her tongue when the bartender slides a drink her way, too. “Haven’t got the chance to see much,” she says honestly. “Was in media all day, then I stopped by Costco so my apartment looked a little less pathetic. Now I’m here. Something about rookie initiation, according to Rike, but I think she just wanted someone to buy her drinks.”

You laugh. “Look at you already taking care of people,” you comment, your grin widening at her playful expression. “You’re here with your team, then? Where are y’all sitting?”

Paige purses her lips, her eyes squinting as she peers through the dim lighting of the club. “I think over there?” she says, pointing at the VIP section towards the back. She’s closer to you now, her chin resting just above your head, and you follow her gaze. You can’t help your smile, something she picks up on immediately. “What’s funny?”

“I think your team’s already hitting it off with mine,” you say, easily spotting Lielle handing a shot to Arike and clapping when she downs it in one go. You don’t think Lielle is drunk yet, but she has a natural excitement and zest for life that makes her the easiest person in the world to befriend.

Paige huffs a little under her breath, amusement lacing the sound, and her hand finds your waist. “Must be meant to be,” she says to you. Despite yourself, you preen, your smile widening when her hand finds your skin. “After you.”

Paige walks almost protectively behind you, the crowd of club-goers parting instinctively for the both of you. When you make it back to the VIP section, both of your teams cheer – like they know something you don’t – which causes a blush to rise on your cheeks and a nearly smug expression to take over Paige’s.

Introductions are swift, if a little unnecessary. You’d run into many of the Wings players before, having made a genuine effort your first year as a professional cheerleader to show up to many of the Dallas sports games.

Before you know it, Arike has ordered more shots for the table, and Paige slides into the booth next to you with a dangerous glint in her eye and two shots of tequila in her hands. The table is lively, raucous, with Kelsey – one of your squadmates – going shot for shot with Aziaha James and Lielle and Arike instigating.

But here, now, in this little corner you and Paige have tucked yourselves into, you’re enjoying the intimacy of the moment far too much, feeling as though you’ve been afforded far more privacy than you actually have.

Paige presses one of the shots into your hands, a loose smile on her face. “To Dallas?” she asks you, raising her glass.

You tap yours against hers, a matching smile of your own as you agree, “To Dallas.” You down your shots in one go, the liquid warming your belly pleasantly. “And to Twitter,” you add a little jokingly, but your blush deepens when Paige smirks, raising a thumb to your lip to wipe away the excess tequila beading on your mouth.

She sucks her finger into her mouth, humming a little insufferably, and you’re burning for an entirely different reason now. Your gaze hones in on her hand, flicking between her lips and her eyes. And, sure, she was constantly flirting with you over text. You knew she was feeling you as much as you were feeling her – but to watch her behave so confidently in front of you, to unravel you like it was nothing… The confirmation makes you ache. It reminds you that you’re not the only one feeling the warm buzz between the two of you.

“You always that forward?” Paige asks you, referring to your tweet. “Or am I just lucky?” Her words are punctuated with a heated grin, one that makes you shift in your seat. You hope that she didn’t notice, but you see the way her eyes darken and how she leans in a little closer to you.

“Only when I’m tipsy, apparently,” you mutter. You glance up, taking in her expression, the curiosity and desire in her eyes. Your lips quirk into an amused smile. “But I don’t think I have to tell you about the effect you have on people.”

“Good thing I don’t really care about other people,” she says, her gaze dropping down again. You can’t tell if she’s looking at your lips or your chest, but it makes warmth bloom under your skin, anyways. Paige makes eye contact as easily as she drinks you in. It’s disorienting, unwavering. It’s almost like you can see exactly what she’s thinking by the way her pupils dilate. Her fingers brush against the inside of your wrist, setting each and every one of your nerve endings on fire. “But you? Didn’t know I was affecting you like that.”

“Oh, you’re not,” you laugh, which just makes her laugh, too, something dangerous flashing in her eyes. Dangerous because you know you’ve already given in. Any other attempt at saving face or trying to look a little less down bad is just meant to make you feel a little bit better – like she hadn’t already won you hook, line, and sinker the moment you promised to show her around Dallas. 

“Lying is a sin,” Paige murmurs.

“Lust, too,” you retort.

Paige’s subsequent grin is a little too wicked. “Touche,” she agrees, and you can’t help but lean into her touch when her hand splays over the expanse of your toned waist, her thumb brushing your skin like she’s trying to memorize every shift in your muscles. Her voice drops a few decibels, only loud enough for you to hear as she presses in closer to you. Your hair raises when her lips ghost across your temple, the shell of your ear. “You’re already burning for me, though. Probably soaked through these fucking shorts, aren’t you? So why pretend you ain’t?”

“Paige,” you whisper, your heart beating a little faster, pounding against your ribcage. Your hand finds hers, linking your fingers together, and you don’t stop her when she maps out every inch of skin not hidden by your top. If anything, you arch into it slightly, enjoying the heat of her palm against your belly. She grins like she knows, like she’s already called the Uber and is thinking about how she can ruin you in the car without alerting the driver.

“Jus’ say it, mama,” she murmurs, her breath hitting your ear. You should feel some type of way for how easily your body betrays your brain, pressing further into her without your permission. “Tell me what you want and we don’t gotta play these games in front of your girls.”

Your mouth opens, the words getting caught in your throat when Paige finally grips the meat of your thigh with her hand, not hard enough to bruise, but enough to claim.

But before you can give into the feeling of it all, the bubble of peace between the two of you is broken by Lielle exclaiming, “Who wants to do body shots?!”

Breathless, you glance up at Paige, who stares back at you with mischief. She squeezes your thigh gently, whispering, “Be good,” before tugging you to your feet and towards Lielle, who holds the salt, lime, and the bottle of tequila. You sigh a little, already feeling like you could combust.

Your combined teams cheer when Paige volunteers you. Her smile, which is borderline smug and nearly possessive, makes your skin burn, but her eyes betray the ease in her features. She scans her teammates like she’s waiting for one of them to think that they could take her place.

Kelsey clears space on the table while Lielle uncaps the bottle of alcohol. One of the other Dallas rookies – JJ, you think her name is, extends a hand to help you onto the table, but all it takes is one glaring look from Paige to make her raise her hands in surrender. Paige steps up, her gaze dark, and she grips your hips, raising you onto the table with a weightless ease. Her eyes never leave yours, watching you with rapt attention as you lean back, getting comfortable.

“You good?” she asks, her hand resting over your stomach, which rises and falls steadily under the heat of the moment. You nod quickly, needing her hands on her body more than you think you need air, and she allows herself a quiet smile as she reaches for a lime wedge. Gingerly, she holds it out to you. Your teeth part at her wordless command, clamping down on the lime, trying not to wince at the taste. Her fingers linger on your lips, pupils blown wide, and it makes warmth coil low in your belly when you realize just how reciprocated this feeling is.

She reaches for the salt next, uncapping it, too, and meets your eyes with one last unspoken question. You don’t hesitate before you nod, uncaring of where she lines up the salt. You are surprised when she leans down, licking a stripe between the valley of your breasts, wetting the skin there so the salt can stick. You hardly register the wolf whistles around you, far too focused on the satisfied, focused grin on Paige’s face as she sprinkles the salt on your skin.

Finally, Lielle hands over the bottle of tequila, and you try to steady your breathing as Paige pours a generous amount in your navel. A drop slips, trailing down and soaking into the fabric of your shorts. You swear you can hear Paige’s breath hitch, but the club is too loud for you to be certain.

Lielle is probably recording. There’s no way she isn’t – she’s the life of the party, and whenever you wake up tomorrow, you’re sure you’ll find the video of Paige doing a body shot off of you on her close friends. But right now, when Paige is staring at you like you’re the only person in the room, like she can’t wait to get you alone and ruin you? You can’t think about anything but the blonde athlete and how willing you are to let her unravel you.

With one last glance to check in on you, Paige leans over you, caging you in with her arms. Her head dips down, licking the salt off of your chest with a devastating slowness. You catch the edge of her grin as she trails her lips down your torso, settling at your belly and drinking the tequila directly off your stomach.

Her tongue probes for the last drop and she presses a farewell kiss to your skin that makes your breathing stutter. Then, finally, she makes her way back up to your lips, her skin a little flushed, and she parts her lips to take the lime wedge in between her teeth.

But Paige isn’t through with you. You watch with wide eyes as she punctures the flesh with her teeth. She takes the lime wedge in between her fingers and with her free hand, she cups your jaw, her thumb brushing against your lip. You adhere to the silent demand, your lips parting again, and she presses down on the bottom row of your teeth with her thumb, keeping you open as she squeezes the juice of the lime into your mouth.

You shudder, eyes slipping shut in a non-physical pleasure – Paige hasn’t even touched you yet, but you feel like you’re ready to fall apart. The lime juice makes your face contort from the sourness, but you hardly think about it when your eyes blink open once more to take in Paige’s lazy expression. She’s already gone – her smile wide, reverent, satisfied, proud, and she discards the lime peel.

Paige removes her finger from your mouth, closing your jaw for you, her features softening with pride as you swallow the juice dutifully. You barely hear her whisper, “Good,” before she helps you off of the table, steadying you when you sway a little unsteadily, and the both of you make every effort to ignore your friends.

They don’t focus on the two of you for too long – JJ is helping Kelsey onto the table to keep going, so you take advantage of their distraction and pull Paige down to your level by her collar. She grins insufferably, like she knows she’s teased you to the point of no return. Her smile widens when you demand, “Take me home. Or we’ll cause a scandal in the middle of this club.”

Her lips brush against yours. “Uber’s already here,” she informs you, her expression far too satisfied. If you were any less pussy drunk, you’d probably hate yourself for being too easy, but all you can think about is how her skin would feel against yours.

You let her pull you through the club. You let her hands linger on your hips when she helps you into the Uber. And without so much as a noise, you part your legs for her in the car, letting her fingers trace the inside of your thighs discreetly. Paige doesn’t give you what you need – you knew she wouldn’t.

You keep your reactions tempered, even when she leans in closer to you, her nose brushing against your ear as she whispers filth that the driver is none the wiser to. And when you make it to her apartment complex, you hardly hear the driver’s farewell before she guides you out of the car, through the apartment lobby, and into the elevator.

Paige’s grip on your hips is tight, like you’re not sure if she’s trying to keep you close or trying to restrain herself from defiling you in the elevator. Either way, you don’t mind. You press your hips to her front, grinning in satisfaction when her fingers tighten and her breath hitches, a groan building in her throat. The ding of the elevator breaks you both from your stupor and you follow her to her door, watching in amusement as she fumbles with the key in her haste.

“Do you remember my tweet?” you ask a little offhandedly, sliding your fingers under the hem of her sweatshirt. She curses under her breath when your fingers find her waist, splaying across her abdomen – it’s more for your pleasure than it is hers, feeling her muscles jump under your hold. Her eyes are a little wide and blown out when they meet yours.

“S’all I’ve thought about for weeks,” she confesses, finally getting the lock to turn. Her words give you pause as she throws open the door. Catching you by surprise, she picks you up, one arm looping under your ass, and your arms slide around her neck for stability as she shuts the door behind her, making sure to turn the lock back.

It’s all speed from there. Paige kicks her shoes off in the entryway, her hands gripping the back of your thighs as she blindly walks the both of you through the hallway towards the bedroom. You silently thank her coordination as an athlete, more so when she starts mouthing at your chest like it’s been the only thing keeping her going. Her tongue darts out, wet against your skin, and she hums against your breast as she tastes the residual salt from the shot and the sweat. Paige nips at your skin and holding onto her tighter with a wordless sigh is all you can do to keep it together.

Finally, she finds the bedroom door, throwing it open without a care in the world. Paige deposits you safely on bed and then almost falls over herself following – the dichotomy makes you ache, the way she’s so desperate to get her hands and mouth on you, but the evident care she makes sure to treat you with despite her need. You want her to turn you out in every single way she’s thought about since draft night, but the respect is touching.

She clicks on the dim lamp at her bedside, her eyes returning to your figure when her vision adjusts. She shakes her head like you’re not real, her hands touching your hips, your waist, your breasts covered by the thin material of your top. You’re sure she’s burning this image into her mind forever – you’re doing the same. You may never be able to forget the image of Paige Bueckers hovering above you, eyes wild and gone, messy like you’re already five rounds deep and not just pent up from fucking around in the club.

The first press of her lips against yours makes you keen, arching into her exploring hands while yours cups her cheeks. You’ve thought about this for weeks, too, how it would feel to have her on top of you like this. She tastes like a tequila shot and something distinctly fruity from the cocktail she was sipping on. Combined with the lime juice on your breath, your kiss is intoxicating for several different reasons, and the heat coiling in your belly reminds you of how badly you want this.

She tugs your bottom lip between her teeth, pulling it back and letting it snap back before her lips find every inch of your skin. The hinge of your jaw, the tender spot on your neck that makes you thread your fingers through her hair to pull the tie loose, the dip in your throat where your moan vibrates against her lips. Paige is ravenous. Like there’s a million different things she wants to do to you before the sun comes up. You’d let her.

“Thought about this forever,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse and wrecked. Your breath stutters, back arching to help her untie your halter top and letting her pull it off you. She goes almost painfully silent when she takes in your breasts fully, your pebbled nipples. “Fuck.” Her curse sounds like a filthy prayer, one that you’d give up almost everything to respond to. One of her large hands splay over your breast while her mouth finds the other one, alternating between kneading and sucking and here – you’re sure you could fall apart completely, your hips jumping up for contact.

“You don’t know what that stupid comment did to me,” she continues, almost to herself, but she knows you’re listening. She feeds off of the way your breath hitches as she pulls back long enough to rip her sweatshirt and sports bra off in two quick motions, the chains around her neck tangling briefly before they trail cold caresses across your stomach when she leans back down to take your skin in her mouth. Your jaw falls open in pleasure, gripping onto her, the sheets, anything to stay rooted.

“Looked at your page, and those–” Her fingers find the waistband of your shorts, popping the button and pulling the denim off while she rambles. She falters when she takes in the white lace covering your body, a low, wrecked groan spilling from her lips at the sight of the wet patch at the apex of your thighs. Paige brushes her fingers against you, relishing in the way your hips jump and your whispered plea.

“Those stunts you do,” she continues finally. “That fucking uniform is sinful, you know that? Got myself off thinking about you, how good you’d be. You offered yourself up and all I could think about at the presser was how many different ways I could get you to come for me. I wonder if I could do it without my hands.”

You’re not coherent enough to tell her she could probably do it with words alone, but you reach for her and pull her back to your lips, kissing her hungrily, like you’re on death row and she’s your only chance of salvation.

Your hands explore while her kiss disorients you. Finding the waistband of her pants, you reach for the belt, undoing it. Paige helps you pull her pants off, leaving her in a dark pair of boxers. Her skin is impossibly warm against your palms as you press your fingers into the small of her back, undoubtedly leaving marks.

She pulls back to trail her lips down your body, sucking marks everywhere, her hands holding you like she’s afraid you’d float away if she didn’t keep you rooted.

Paige doesn’t make any effort to strip you out of your damp underwear – if anything, she stares at it like she’s more proud of it than getting drafted first overall, and she presses her lips to the skin just above your waistband until it blooms red and purple. She soothes it with a kiss, her expression far too smug and satisfied.

“You’re soaked,” Paige murmurs, pressing her thumb to your cunt again, her grin widening when you moan, your hands shooting down to grip her hair. She makes eye contact with you and sucks her thumb into her mouth, eyes slipping shut as she tastes you. You can’t help the curse that tumbles from your lips. “That ‘open legs’ offer must have been a cry for help, huh?” she teases, but her voice is rough, like the very taste of you is a drug and she’s addicted. “Nobody else doin’ it for you?”

“No,” you admit, cheeks burning under the weight of your confession. The truth is you’d stopped looking after a while, but now, with Paige tucked between your legs and staring at you like you’re the most beautiful girl she’s ever seen, you briefly consider the fact that she’s going to ruin you for anyone else. For yourself.

She grins again. “Shame,” she murmurs, her lips trailing down to the inside of your thighs, where she presses gentle kisses. “Someone got to you before me and they couldn’t even make it worthwhile.”

She nips at your skin, the pain blooming into pleasure instantly. Your breathing comes to you a little faster the closer she moves to your aching cunt, but she soothes you with a hand to your belly. “I got you, mama. Gonna be the best you’ve ever had. Swear.”

You don’t doubt it, your head already swimming, and she presses one last kiss to your clit through the damp material of your underwear. It makes you jolt, but she steadies your hip with her hand as she pulls the lace to the side slowly. You can’t help but gaze down at Paige, locked in on the way her eyes glaze over with desire when your cunt is finally revealed to her.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet in your life. Maybe it’s been a fire that has been slowly burning ever since she initially hinted at flying out and taking you up on your offer. Now, all you can focus on is the way her hands grip your strong thighs, holding you open as she dives in to lick a long, slow stripe up the length of your slit.

You both moan in tandem – yours of pleasure and hers in awe. You’re dripping onto her comforter, hardly able to feel much remorse about it, but something tells you that Paige is really fucking into the fact that she has you so pliant beneath her.

Her tongue is exploratory, drinking in every drop of your arousal, her brows pinched together as she focuses on building you up. Her nose brushes against your clit while her tongue finds the source, licking you clean like she’s stranded in a desert and you’re the only thing that could satiate her thirst.

She’s wild, her tongue everywhere all at once, muttering messily into your cunt about how you “taste so fucking good,” but you’re sure you fall apart completely when her lips close around your clit and she sucks.

Your brain is mush. You’re not sure if you want to keep your eyes on her or let your head fall back into her pillows, unable to process the pleasure fully.

Paige makes the decision for you when your eyes slip shut and she nips at your clit gently – not enough to hurt (even though it sends a surge of pleasure up your spine, anyhow), but enough to get your attention.

The message is clear – she wants your attention. Thinking about how she’s probably getting off from you watching her makes the heat coil in your stomach, ready to snap at any given moment.

You tangle your fingers in her messy hair, pressing her deeper into you, head tipping back in pleasure when she doubles down on her motions. Paige is ravenous, tongue circling your clit, never once stopping or slowing.

Not until your thighs are shaking from pleasure. Not until the tears bead at your waterline. Not until she encloses her lips around your clit again, her cheeks hollowing from the pressure, and releasing you to drag the arousal from your entrance to your clit, coating it completely.

You’re wholly unprepared for the first press of her fingers against your entrance. Paige doesn’t push in – not yet. She drags her fingers through your folds, soaking them, listening and looking for your reaction as she probes deeper.

The first finger sinks in until it reaches her knuckle, punching a breathless moan out of you, and she curls her finger as she pulls out. She’s a quick study – learning what you like and how much pressure she needs to unravel you completely. But she’s slow, not adding in another finger. You get the message instantly when her eyes find you, her gaze dark and imploring.

Not above begging, your voice is hoarse, rough from your moans, your lips split-slick and bitten. “Please, Paige, keep going,” you request, clenching around the single finger in you. “More, please, fuck–” The words get caught in your throat when she smiles against you, taking your clit in her mouth again just as she slides in a second finger. Too far gone, you can’t help the repeated, delirious ramble of “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” or the choked out, “So fucking good.”

The more vocal you get, the more she gives you. Her lips and her tongue speed up, flicking against your clit with a devastating intensity. Paige’s finger’s scissor inside you more firmly, sliding in deeper with every thrust, particularly timed with her mouth. It’s a Pavlonian response. The pleasure is overwhelming, and you can’t find it in yourself to be too embarrassed by how loud you are.

You chant her name, breathless little sounds that sound more like pleas than sentences. The grip on her hair must be painful but she never slows. She’s fucking you closer and closer to the peak, and when it finally arrives, warning her is all you can do.

She’s heedless, her pace somehow intensifying even more, and you come with a sob that’s a mix of her name and a string of curses as the pleasure washes over you.

Paige doesn’t stop, drinking in every drop of you like she’s parched, her fingers slowing as they work you gently through the shockwaves. You’re breathless, stuttering through the euphoria, gratitude lacing your words.

When she pulls away, the bottom half of her face is slick with your arousal, her tongue darting out to catch the edges of her lips, but it’s like drops of water in a bucket. For all intents and purposes, she’d been drowned, but her grin tells you she would have been more than happy to go out that way.

Boneless and limp in bed, she trails her lips up your body until she finds your lips, kissing you deeply and allowing you to taste yourself on your tongue. The taste is heady, something you’d probably attribute to the taste of her, too, and you can’t help but moan against her lips, your body burning under the touch again.

“Don’t think I’m letting you tap out so soon,” she murmurs, squeezing your waist and peering down at you. “We haven’t even started.”

“Greedy,” you say teasingly.

Her subsequent grin is sharp, nipping your lip gently. “And proud,” she states, already leaning over and digging through the drawer of her nightstand. When her hand comes back into view, she’s holding a strap and the harness.

The sight of it makes your brows raise – it’s modest in size, but it’s still bigger than anything you’ve ever taken, both in length and girth. “What?” she asks, a smirk appearing on her lips as she fastens the harness around her hips.

“It’s big,” you point out obviously, but the heat is already licking at your skin again as you stare at it longingly.

“Everything’s bigger in Texas,” she retorts. The strap hanging from her hips makes your mouth water, and you suppose this is what you wanted anyway – for Paige to ruin you. She glances at you curiously, able to read how your hesitation washes away. You’re safe with her. She wouldn’t hurt you. That thought alone makes you a little more hungry for it. “Trust me, you ain’t gotta worry.” She drags her fingers through your folds again, raising it to the lamplight and showing you how they shine. It makes you blush, but her smirk is a little insufferable. “But, I mean…if you wanna try something smaller–”

“No,” you disagree a little too quickly. She raises a challenging brow, one that infuriates you. She’d been mean all night – teasing you and working you up. And, sure, she delivered, but you think that she deserves to be knocked down a peg or two.

You wrap your legs around her waist, and in a quick motion, you flip the both of you over, straddling her waist with your hands on her chest. She’s a little breathless, eyes wide and pupils dilated, yet you can spot the impressed look in her gaze. “You don’t think I can handle it?”

“Didn’t say that,” she says, her eyes drinking you in, the fucked out look on your face and she bruises covering your skin. Her hands find your waist, pulling you onto her fully – onto the strap – and she guides you into a slow grind, taking back the control seamlessly as you gasp. Paige grunts, too, the strap pressing back into her clit, and the fact that she’s feeling as good as you are makes you tremble with want.

“You insinuated it,” you argue, a little miffed.

She grins like your indignance is cute. “Just tryna be in you, mama,” she says, tugging you down a little harder, and it punches a moan out of you. “You gonna let me do that or are we gonna sit here and argue all night?”

You narrow your eyes at her, but you don’t say much else, and she draws her bottom lip between her teeth as she gazes down at where your centers connect. “That’s what I thought.” Her words are mostly said to herself.

She grips the waistband of your underwear and pulls them down your legs – you adjust to help her pull them off, and she throws them to the side.

Now that you’re completely bare, she pulls you down onto the strap again, your arousal coating the silicone. The unrestricted contact makes you shiver and you loop your arms around her neck for stability while one of hers finds your waist again.

With her free hand, she reaches for the base of the strap, guiding it to your entrance and holding you steady – the tip of the strap brushes against you, but she doesn’t allow you to move.

Her eyes are zeroed in on where you’re clenching around nothing, your arousal leaking out of you. Then, finally, she pulls you down slowly, controlling each and every small movement. Your breath hitches when the head breaches inside, pressing into you, and Paige kisses all over your chest to soothe you.

“Good, that’s it,” she murmurs, lips encircling a nipple as she pulls you a little further down. The stretch is delicious, splitting you open, her hands mapping out your skin. She grips the flesh of your ass in one large hand, the other reaching around to rub featherlight circles on your clit to distract you.

The sensations are overwhelming in the best way possible. Her mouth drags wet kisses across your body while she listens for your reaction. Paige lowers you further down, drawing a drawn out moan from you, and you feel her grin against your breast as you tighten your grip around her neck, pulling her tighter against you.

“Perfect girl. Taking me so well,” she coos. Her body is impossibly warm against you and you can feel yourself relaxing into it, wanting to sink down completely, but she doesn’t let you. “Want you to feel good, baby. Don’t rush it.”

Still holding onto your annoyance from earlier, you can’t help your slight eye roll as you nip at her neck, sucking a matching hickey into her skin. She hisses, letting you fall another inch before gripping your hips tightly. “Would feel good if you just fucked me,” you state, staring at her with an expression that’s borderline pathetic. “What’d you say earlier? Just tryna be in you?”

“Think you have a patience problem,” she muses. “I’d heard so much about this southern hospitality bullshit growing up in the north, but it seems like you got a manners problem, too. I gotta teach you how to say please and thank you?”

You barely resist a sigh. Instead, you let your lips pucker out in a pout, the motion drawing Paige’s attention immediately. You press closer to her, your breasts dragging against her chest, and she sighs from the feeling. “Please, Paigey?” you beg in a near whimper, taking the hitch in her breathing as a sign that you’re doing something right. “Just want you to fuck me. Been good for you all night, haven’t I? And I promised to welcome you to Dallas. Let me make you feel good.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, but the way her throat bobs tells you she’s minutes away from flipping you over and making you forget your name. “You’re dangerous,” she whispers.

“I’m yours,” you respond, and that’s enough for her. Paige drags you down the last few inches, bottoming out. You moan into her neck, the hand at the small of your back pressing you into her. You’re sure that you’re soaking her lap, but judging by the way her hips rut up into yours, she likes knowing how fucked she has you.

Her hands settle at the bottom of your ass, pulling you up as she mouths at your chest, her tongue darting out to taste your skin. You sink down on the strap again. The sound is obscene, drawing a gasp from you, and you repeat the motion.

Up, then down. Up, then down, beginning to set the pace for yourself, but making sure you grind at the bottom of your strokes to make sure that Paige is getting off too. Her eyes are hooded, darting from your face, to your chest, to the apex of your thighs where you’re soaking the strap.

“Fuck,” she groans, her voice rough, and it sends white hot desire up your spine. She speeds up your motions, the veins on her hand protruding from the effort of keeping you upright, her jaw unhinging in awe as she stares at you. 

You allow yourself a small smirk, your right hand tilting her head back, revealing the expanse of her throat as you grind down onto her. With your ears so close to her mouth, you can hear every stutter in her breath, every jilted moan she tries to hold back, the hiss of pleasure when you bite down, sucking dark marks into her skin. 

When her motions start becoming desperate, her hips bucking up into yours in time with every drag down like she’s trying to chase her high, you reach down for her hands, tangling your fingers together and pressing them into the pillows over her head. 

“Really?” you murmur, your lips ghosting the dip in her throat. “You’re this close just from helping me get off?”

She laughs a little, something that sounds like a sob mixed with a whine, and her jaw falls slack in a low groan when your lips attach to the sensitive spot below her ear. “Can’t help it,” Paige manages. Her lips are slick, bitten raw, so you kiss her deeply, swallowing the sound she makes when you grind down especially hard. “Think you like it, though.”

“Mmm,” you hum. You speed up your motions, feeling your thighs and your stomach burn with the effort, but also feeling yourself teeter on the edge of crashing down completely. Your thrusts draw out another moan from Paige, one that makes you grin – because she’d tried so hard to keep herself together, to pretend she was here to fuck you and not the other way around. “Think I just like you.”

That makes a lazy smile appear on her face. Paige pulls one of her hands out of your grip, inching towards your throat and tangling in the necklace there. “Yeah?” she goads, her tone a little insufferable. “Didn’t – fuck – didn’t think I affected you.”

You’re still rutting against her, sweat beading on your temples as you argue, “You don’t.”

But that just makes her grin turn a little more smug. She releases your necklace, her fingers pressing lightly into the sides of your throat, squeezing once in warning. It makes your hips stutter, your breath catching. “Keep lyin’, mama,” she mutters, something dark in her eyes as her fingers trail down your body. One tweaks a nipple, kneading a breast as you gasp. Then, she goes lower still, bracing her large hand over you while her thumb finds your clit, rubbing messy circles through the slick there.

You lose your rhythm again, whimpering, but you keep going despite the exhaustion. It’s less about your pleasure now. You need to get Paige off, to tear down that ego of hers, to silence her for once. Even as you stare down at her, your eyes a little hooded, you realize she enjoys receiving as much as she enjoys giving, and there’s truly no winning with her – she’s getting off either way. 

“Actin’ like I don’t know you already,” she continues, her thumb as ruinous as her hips – as ruinous as her words. “What you like. What you need.” You could fall apart like this – her words picking you apart piece by piece, her thumb reminding you that she has you right where you want her. Paige gazes up at you, her pupils blown wide, but you can make out the challenge in the blue of her eyes – she’s daring you to get smart again.

But you’re just as competitive as she is. Without faltering in your movements, you lean slightly, reaching for the cowboy hat perched on her nightstand. It has Paige stitched on the bill. Her jaw falls slack again as she watches you slide it over your head.

“You talk too much,” you retort, and then you’re doubling down again. You can tell the image of you wearing Paige’s hat is doing something to her – the way it bounces in time with your thrusts, combined with the wrecked sounds leaving your lips, the slick sound of the strap deep inside you, the fact that Paige wants you so bad it makes her stupid. 

It doesn’t take much longer after that. You and Paige were already pent up. Her thumb quickens on your clit, her free hand gripping your hips tight enough to leave a bruise as she drags you up and down relentlessly, her own hips meeting yours. You can tell she’s getting close when her breathing turns ragged and her face burns red. You’re right there with her, digging your nails into her shoulders for stability as you push yourself to your high.

Part of you expects Paige to open her mouth again, to say something slick that would leave you trembling, but you don’t give her the chance to. You pull her face to yours, silencing your cries with her lips. You shiver when she bites down on your bottom lip harshly, soothing the sting with her tongue. “‘M close,” you manage breathlessly, holding onto her tightly – feeling as though your orgasm would wreck you completely. 

“I know,” she murmurs, her voice choked. “Let go, mama, I’m right here.”

So you do, the pleasure washing over you completely as you cry out, sagging onto her body bonelessly, the cowboy hat falling off to the side of the bed. Paige drags you against the strap, riding out the high, her jaw slack in wordless pleasure while her body burns. She doesn’t still until you push her hands off of you, the overstimulation buzzing under your skin.

Your thighs are still trembling, your breathing uneven. You hardly have the energy to slide off of the strap, so you settle for holding onto Paige, tucking your head into the crook of her neck where sweat glistens and the lingering scent of her cologne remains. You shift, feeling the soaked comforter beneath both of you. It’s enough to make you groan.

But then Paige is shifting, too, the strap brushing against a spot inside you that punches a moan out of you. You don’t have to look up to know she’s smirking. “Chill,” you admonish, your body still sizzling. You don’t know how she still has the energy and the stamina to go after she just turned you inside out, but she moves her hips again, on purpose this time, and the heat coiling in your belly returns tenfold. “You’re insatiable.”

“Look who’s in my bed,” she says as if it explains everything. You just shake your head, amused by her. Paige’s fingers trail down your sides, brushing against your skin while she presses featherlight kisses to your temple, your cheeks, the hinge of your jaw. “Know you’ve got one more for me, don’t you?”

You can’t find the words, but you don’t need to. You grab onto her chain – mostly to hold her in place, and you kiss her – deep, lingering, soft despite the moment prior. She grins against you, sliding the strap out as she maneuvers you. The emptiness makes you sigh, but the shift doesn’t take long. She angles you until you can see your bodies in the mirror across her room, your breath catching at the insinuation.

You watch through the mirror as she reaches for the cowboy hat again, settling it over her messy curls. Her smile is determined – like she’s not quite satisfied, not content with the two orgasms she’d pulled from you; ravenous like she can’t wait to have you again. It shouldn’t turn you on like it does, but the flame is licking at you once more and you can’t help but succumb to the fire.

She wraps her right arm around your waist, pulling you up to a kneeling position while she settles in behind you. The strap brushes against you. The sensitivity makes you jolt, but Paige soothes you with a hushed murmur, her hand pressing against your stomach and keeping you tethered. “Want you to watch,” she whispers in your ear. Her right hand abandons your waist to hold you by the jaw, gently tilting your head up until you make eye contact through the mirror.

You’re rendered breathless by the sight – Paige’s body eclipsing yours, the hickeys adorning your skin, the slick between your thighs that shines from the lamplight. Paige isn’t much better, either. Her hair is a mess, the hat on her head skewed to the side, her neck littered with your teeth marks, skin shining from exertion. For stability, you hold onto the arm that’s wrapped tightly around you, pushing back against the strap.

“Can you do that for me?” she asks, pushing her hips forward, dragging through your folds. You nod quickly, letting out a soft whine when the tip of the strap catches your sensitive clit. “Keep your eyes on me or I’ll stop.”

“I will, Paige, promise – just…please–”

She hushes you again, kissing your neck. “I got you, baby. Relax for me, okay? Gonna give it to you. Just need you to be good for me.” You nod again, melting into her body, and with the hand not holding you upright, she guides the strap to your entrance. You moan softly as she slides inside with little resistance, bottoming out as she murmurs, “That’s it, perfect girl. You take me so well.”

You can’t muster the words to respond to that, so you lean your head on hers when she drags the strap out, then pushes back in with a devastating slowness that you feel throughout your entire body. Your body is still buzzing with oversensitivity, but the slowness of her thrusts helps to ground you.

She glances up to the mirror to ensure you’re still looking at her – which you are, enraptured and unable to look away – before she trails her lips down your neck, pressing gentle, wet kisses to your overheated skin.

She’s softer now. Soft in a way that makes you clench around the strap breathlessly, tilting your head to give her more access to your neck. She recognizes that it won’t take much to build you up again, more focused on making sure you enjoy every second – every motion, every push and pull of the strap. Paige plants a kiss on every hickey she’d left on your body, her actions borderline reverent in a way that makes you want to come for her again and again and again.

With one arm still wrapped around your chest, holding onto your jaw, the other wraps around your hips, holding you by the stomach.

Unable to look away, you tighten your grip on her arms, trying not to fall apart too soon. Your stomach coils, already close, but Paige moves slowly, her thrusts hitting deep, and you’re all too content to float along the current of pleasure. Her lips still ghost across your body, licking the salt off of your skin, pressing gentle apologies to the dark spots on your neck.

“You want more, mama?” she murmurs in your ear, a gentle check in despite the question. You hardly have to think about it before you nod. With the hand braced over hers, you drag her left hand down, her fingers finding your clit with ease.

She doesn’t apply much pressure, just enough for you to feel it without overpowering the sensations. You don’t let go either, guiding her motions, moving it further down to gather more of your slick before bringing it back up to circle your clit.

The slide makes it impossibly sweeter – she tightens her circles, pushing deeper inside you with the strap, the tip brushing against the spongy spot inside of you that makes you keen.

Paige doesn’t slow. She doesn’t speed up. She keeps her pace deliciously consistent, the strap dragging in and out of you deliberately, her fingers working you up in tandem.

Her free hand keeps your gaze locked on the mirror, watching her as she kisses your neck, the shell of your ear, listening to her breath heavily as if she’s feeling everything you are, too. That thought alone makes your hips stutter, pressing back into her.

She soothes you with gentle whispers. “So good for me, baby,” she’d say, or she’d time the circling of your clit with a deeper thrust, murmuring, “You feel me? Want you to feel good.” And the stupid hat makes you unravel a little bit more – it hangs off of her head loosely, threatening to fall at any moment, but all you can think about is how you rode her wearing her hat, how she claimed you in the club and how she made you fall apart wearing something with her name on it. You’re hers now, and honestly, you don’t hate that idea.

It doesn’t take much longer before your eyes are slipping shut, confessing, “Close, P,” in a hoarse voice. The sensations are overwhelming – her hot skin pressed against yours, the strap sliding through you and hitting spots you’d never knew existed, the maddening feeling of her thumb against your clit, her breathing against your ear, the pounding of her heartbeat against your back revealing just how close she is to falling apart, too.

“Okay, baby,” she whispers, her motions never slowing, kissing your neck again. But she presses her fingers a little more firmly to your clit, her free hand tapping against your cheek to gather your attention.

Your eyes blink open, finding the mirror again, the ruined look on her face. She looks desperate – not to get off, but desperate to watch you get off. “Want you to watch yourself.” Her voice is a little broken, almost begging, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. “You look so pretty when you come for me, you know that? Wanna watch you do it over and over and over again.”

“Paige,” you gasp, the sound coming out like a half-sob, half-whine, the pleasure building and the heat coiling.

But she hardly hears you, her eyes glazed over and pussy drunk. Her jaw hangs slack like she’s the one being fucked, her breathing uneven and heavy. “You feel so good,” she rambles. “Like you were made just for me. Can’t get enough of you. Please, mama, wanna see you fall apart for me. You’re so good, so fucking perfect–”

The coil snaps, white hot pleasure coursing through your veins, electricity down your spine, and all you can do is sag back into her one final time, moans tumbling from your lips while she works you through the aftershocks.

Her hips and her fingers slow, murmuring incoherent sentences into your ear, her words dripping in both gratitude and a satiated desire like watching you get off finally quenched a thirst she’s been harboring for years.

You don’t have to say anything, either – it’s like she knows your body by heart now. Gingerly, she slips the strap out of your soaked cunt and detaches her fingers from your sensitive clit. As much as you’d love to feel her skin against yours, her hips dragging against yours, you can barely keep your eyes open. The final aftershocks dissipate, your thighs calming, the pleasurable fog in your brain clearing.

“You still with me?” she asks softly, smoothing the hair at the crown of your head with her clean hand.

At that, all you can do is muster a laugh, your eyes opening blearily. “Yeah,” you say, “no thanks to you, though.”

“Hmm,” she scoffs, amusement in her eyes. “Coulda sworn this was exactly what you wanted. You know, open legs and all.”

“Alright,” you deadpan, attempting to roll on your side, but you can’t summon the strength. You settle for some weird half angle that’s hardly worth the drama of the moment. “Goodnight!”

“No way,” Paige laughs. “C’mon. I need you awake. Lemme run you a bath and change these sheets so you can rest, okay? You good with that?”

You meet her eyes again, your smile softening at the gentle earnestness on her face. If she hadn’t already ruined you before, you’re sure you are now. But there’s something in her eyes that promises this might not be a one night thing after all. “Yeah,” you whisper, drawing her closer to plant a chaste, affectionate kiss to her lips. You feel her grin. “You’re gonna have to carry me, though.”

“Whatever you want, baby,” she assures you, crawling off the bed and unbuckling the harness on her hips. She throws it haphazardly into the adjacent bathroom and you try not to laugh when something clatters to the floor. Paige picks you up with ease, one arm looping under your knees and the other wrapping around your back. She sets you on the edge of the tub as she heats up the water, helping you into it gingerly and tossing in a eucalyptus bath bomb for your aches. Before she leaves to swap the sheets, she plants a soft kiss onto your forehead.

You soak for a few moments until she returns, offering you a small smile before she slips in behind you. Her body is almost as warm as the water and twice as soft. She massages the shampoo and conditioner into your hair and jokingly points out her assault on your neck with a mixture of pride and concern. You tell her she’ll have to buy your concealer in bulk but when she murmurs, “As long as I get to see you again,” you find that you don’t really care about the marks on your neck as long as you get to keep this annoyingly charming, devastatingly beautiful athlete in your life.

Paige helps you out of the tub, your eyes drooping once more, dressing you in a pair of her boxers and an oversized t-shirt from her college days. She guides you back to bed gingerly, the sheets fresh and clean, and you have your head on her chest before she’s even got her head on the pillow. She grins because it doesn’t bother her at all. You smile because her heart’s pounding and you think you know why it is.

Just before you fall into a blissful, exhausted sleep, Paige’s voice cuts through the fog once more. “About that offer,” she whispers, tapping on the leg you have slung across hers. “Does it expire?”

She jokes, but you can hear the truth of her question beyond it. She’s not referring to your legs. Not literally.

Your smile is tired, but it’s no less affectionate. “For you?” you echo, drowsiness lacing your tone. “No. It’s renewable.”

“How long?”

You’re quiet for a beat, just enough to consider your words.

Is this something you want? Relationships can be hard. Tricky. But something about Paige tells you she’s in for the ride. That you can trust her – with you and your heart.

So you press a kiss to the hinge of her jaw, feeling her cheeks stretch with a smile, and you make her a promise:

“As long as you want.”

[totaly-obsessed]

Sunny - Paige Bueckers x reader

➳ Stuck in a toxic relationship reader finally realizes what love should feel like when Paige shows her what it means to feel safe, seen, and cared for.

➳ Warnings: (emotional abuse), (gaslighting), (manipulation), (financial control), (toxic relationship), (anxiety), (trauma recovery), (non-graphic threatening behavior)

➳ Word count: 11.804k

➳ Navigation Post - here!

The first meeting was… awkward, to say the least. It was a week after the draft, no one was supposed to be in the training facilities but you. The job of the day was to get B-Roll footage of the place, stuff that can be used and recycled for social media, and show the facilities to the viewers without anybody there. So with a coffee in hand, and headphones on, you made your way through the building - starting in the offices then the medical and treatment rooms before getting to the court. 

The first thing Paige saw when she entered was someone mid dance with big headphones on and a phone in a tripod pointing around the big indoor court.

“Hello?”

Nothing. Oh yeah, the headphones. 

Slowly, as if she was approaching a wounded animal, Paige made her way over to you, softly tapping your shoulder. But her careful try was useless as you let out a yelp, stumbled over the tripod before it fell over and ripped off the headphones mid fall. But like in a cheesy rom-com you never hit the ground as the pretty blonde in front of you caught you by the elbow, keeping you up.

“Uh… hi?” she tried again.

“You can’t just sneak up on people like that! I think you gave me a heart attack!” your chest moved up and down rapidly, trying to work through the initial shock.

“You’re fine,” she grinned, “didn’t even fall. Thanks to me.” The wink was too much to comprehend as you were still trying to catch your breath. “I thought this place was locked anyways.” She continued.

Finally you got a grip back on life, standing straight and picking up the tripod, “Yeah, but I work here, one of the media girls.” As if to get your point across you motioned to the phone, checking for cracks. “I’m allowed to be here. You on the other hand...” The teasing smile on your face was a stark contrast to the panic Paige saw before. 

“Guess we’re both rule-breakers.” You nod in agreement before coming to your senses and rapidly shaking your head, “Nuh uh, I’m allowed to be here!” The blonde laughed,” You know who would say that?” 

“Who?” 

“Someone that’s not supposed to be here.”

An offended gasp filled the empty court, as you crossed your arms over your chest and eyes narrowed in mock betrayal. “I’ll have you know I’m very professional. I only enter empty gyms in artistic circumstances.”

Paige hummed, a smirk on her face “Mhmm. Artistic. Sure.”

“What, you don’t think my danc-” Your personal phone buzzed in your pocket - loud, urgent. Paige notices the furrow in your brows and how your smile slips for just a second as you glance on the screen. 

[6 texts from: Jared]

➤ Where the hell are you ➤ Answer me ➤ You said you’d be back 30 mins ago ➤ I’m not playing with you rn

“Uhm. Sorry I gotta go.” Paige blinked at you, “What, already?”

“Yeah. Got what I needed.” You shoved your phone into your bag, rushing to pack up your tripod without looking at her. “Court’s all yours.”

She tilted her head, long hair swishing gently to one side, “Are you okay?”

“Oh yes, no worries!” The smile on your face seemed… off. “I’m just on a very tight schedule of mild chaos.”

You started backing away, already halfway to the tunnel exit.  “Oh, and Paige?” She perked up, still watching you carefully. “Yeah?” 

You gave a weak little grin. “Next time, bring coffee. Scaring people earns you caffeine tax.”

Then you turned and walked off, your steps a little faster than before. Paige stood frozen, her gaze trailing you until you disappeared around the corner.

She frowned.

Something didn’t add up.

And for the first time since she got to Dallas, Paige Bueckers wasn’t thinking about basketball.

–

Meeting Paige for the second time was a lot more like you had originally planned it. First day of training camp. The entire facility was buzzing like a hive, excited, nervous - especially the rookies. They already had a press conference the day before, as well as a photoshoot, so now the fun could begin. This was also your first day with the full, new team, the last few functions had been covered by your colleagues. 

Sneakers squeaked and whistles echoed through the big indoor court as coaches yelled instructions and teammates tried to communicate with each other over the music. 

It was day 1 and you were already sweating, obviously not from playing basketball but from running around the gym trying to get shots of everyone. It was way too warm to wear a hoodie, but you couldn’t change that now. 

“Sunshine!” Maddy Siegrist called out to you across the court, she was entering her third season. “You get a shot of me doing that sick reverse layup or do I have to redo it?”

The smile on her face was cheeky enough to get a laugh out of you. “Got it in burst mode, Maddy,” you said, adjusting the camera around your neck, the strap getting uncomfortable after a time, “I even got your ugly concentration face if you wanna see it again?”

“Rude,” Maddy said, grinning. “See if I let you get my good side again.”

“You have a good side?” DiJonai chimed in, drawing a laugh from the group.

Paige couldn’t stop staring, not in a creepy or weird way, she was just... Observing. She saw how you zipped around the court like you belonged there, bantering with her new teammates as they called out ‘sunshine’ to get your attention on them, hoping you’d get a good shot of them attempting something.

You were cracking jokes and all smiles, you were - on. But she couldn’t stop thinking about the way you bolted out of the gym just a couple of days ago, the way your entire demeanor had drastically changed at one look at your phone.

“Alright, grab some water, catch your breath for a second!” Chris, the head coach yelled out. Naturally the blonde drifted over to where you stood on the sidelines, two water bottles in her hands. 

Let me guess,” she said casually. “You’re gonna post the worst picture of me, huh?” You didn’t jump this time—but your eyes flicked up in surprise, not expecting anyone to come up to you as you reviewed shots on your camera.

“Well, you did come into the league with a reputation. Gotta keep expectations realistic,” you teased, your camera already swinging up toward her, getting a horrendous angle on her as you crouched down to put a lens away.

“I literally just got here,” Paige said flatly, not impressed at all at the flash that went off.

You grinned. “Exactly.”

She smirked. But then your phone buzzed — three short, sharp vibrations in your pocket. You didn’t even look at it this time. Just silenced it with a practiced thumb swipe and tucked it back into your bag like it didn’t matter.

But your shoulders had gone tense. And Paige caught it. Of course she did. "You alright?" she asked quietly, not joking anymore.

You looked at her a beat too long, then blinked and smiled. That same, slightly-too-sunny smile.

“Yup. Golden.” You gestured vaguely toward the team. “Now hydrate, Rookie. You’ve got a whole training camp to impress me.”

“Me impress you?” Paige’s eyebrows shot up as she opened one bottle and handed it to you before opening her own and taking a big gulp.

“Exactly.” You winked and took a sip. “I’ve got the camera. That means I control the legacy.”

With the back of her hand Paige wiped her mouth while chuckling. “So I gotta earn your approval and try not to look stupid on the internet?” 

Your head tilted as you shrugged. “Basically, yeah. High-stakes game. Emphasis on not looking stupid online.”

She gave you a glance as she nudged your water bottle, telling you to take another sip before closing her own. “And what do you get out of this?”

Your mouth opened for another sarcastic answer but you got interrupted by new buzzes of your phone. These seemed louder, more intense, more persistent. 

“I get to make magic,” you shrugged before lifting the camera again and pointing it at her face. “Now go stand near the hoop and look natural.”

Paige didn’t move right away. She just watched you. Watched how quickly you slipped the mask back on. Then, finally, she turned and jogged off toward the baseline, calling over her shoulder, “Don’t make me look short.”

You laughed, the sound carrying across the court. “Better grow an inch then, Bueckers!”

Before Paige could fire something back, a voice called her name from the free throw line - “P! We need a fifth!”

She lingered just long enough to catch the way your smile dropped before jogging back onto the court.

–

Game days have always been hectic, stressful and chaotic. But not the bad kind of chaos but the kind that makes your blood rush with adrenaline and the smile stay on your face for so long that it hurts. The exciting kind of chaos, where you felt your heart in your throat - you lived for days like this, camera in one hand, press badge around your neck, running on caffeine and nerves.

The first game of the season was against the Las Vegas Aces at Joyce Center Notre Dame, Indiana. The Pavillion was already buzzing with fans and students as you slipped past security and into the tunnel. Today's fit was all black, trying to be as much in the background as possible. Comfortable, invisible. You liked it that way - a photographer's uniform.

Players were warming up on the court. Media circled like sharks. Lights were blinding. Music thundered. It was all familiar.

And still—your hands were a little shaky.

“Sunshine!” NaLyssa jogged over, her warm-up jacket half on half off. “Tell me you’re getting my walkout? I want tunnel footage that looks like I’m about to drop 30.”

You grinned. “Only if you do drop 30. I have integrity, Smith.” She threw a quick ‘I gotchu’ in your direction before running off again. In her stead, Paige emerged from the locker room in full uniform, earbuds in, head low. The rookie buzz was thick around her. She was trying to look calm. She wasn’t and you knew it.

Your eyes met. And for a second, neither of you moved. She gave you a tiny nod. Not a smile. Just... acknowledgment.

You lifted your camera. Snapped one quiet photo. Caught her mid-stride, jaw set, spotlight just catching her cheekbone. It would be a great shot. Her shots always were. 

Then it happened again, your phone buzzed. No subtle ping just sharp, angry vibrations again. You checked the screen, instinctively.

[3 texts from: Jared] ➤ Where are you. ➤ I saw your story. ➤ You think I’m fucking stupid?

Your fingers clenched so tight around the phone you nearly cracked it. The heat drained from your face. You backed up into the tunnel. Just for a second. Just to breathe.

“Hey.”

Paige’s voice cut through the noisy atmosphere, shutting it all out. She must have put down her bottle, headphones and towel on the bench before following you the few steps into the darker tunnel. Her brows were furrowed, and she looked like she wanted to say something. Same look she wore at camp. Like she knew something.

“You good?” she asked. You nodded too quickly letting out the fakest laugh she had heard from you as of yet. “Yeah. Just... bright lights. Low blood sugar,” you waved it off, “You know, media girl problems.”

She didn’t laugh. She just watched you. And then, like she couldn’t help it, she leaned closer, keeping her voice low.

“Is someone messing with you?”

The question felt like a slap — not because of the words, but because it was the first time someone asked it out loud.

You blinked. Then smiled — brittle and brilliant. “Nope. Just showtime jitters.” You raised your camera again, angling the lens so she couldn’t see your face. “Now go be a star, Bueckers.”

You didn’t see her eyes stay on you. Didn’t see the way she lingered. Didn’t hear her whisper to herself as she walked back toward the court: “Liar.”

–

The hotel room was quiet, almost too quiet after the loud crowd at the game. Due to an odd number of staff you had gotten your own room while most others were paired up. It was quiet like before a storm. Your gear bag was still packed next to the door, you hadn’t even taken your shoes off or changed out of your outfit.

The game ended with a loss for the Dallas Wings but that wasn’t too bad, it was only the first of the season with an entirely different team. For you it had been a good game, the footage was clean and you can feel the energy in them. 

And yet here you were, sitting on the edge of the hotel bed like a glitch in the system.

The only light came from your laptop, halfway open and flickering with edits of the night’s media dump. You were supposed to be uploading clips. Sending previews. Drafting captions.

Instead, you were staring at a single photo - Paige mid-drive, focused, powerful. You had caught her in perfect motion, backlit by the bright lights.

Your phone buzzed again.

[5 texts from: Jared] ➤ You think I don’t know where that hotel is? ➤ I’m not an idiot. ➤ Answer me. ➤ I said ANSWER ME. ➤ You think this little game makes you better than me?

You watched the messages roll in, but didn’t answer. You sat your phone down on the nightstand, the screen down, but it kept buzzing. You could feel the angry vibrations through the cheap wood like a second heartbeat. 

Instead of checking it you stared straight ahead in the dark room, jaw locked and chest feeling way too tight. You kept swallowing. But it didn’t work. 

Then—like some dam had quietly cracked - you reached up and wiped your eye. Just once. Then again. And suddenly, tears spilled fast, like they had been waiting their turn all day or even longer.

You didn’t sob. You didn’t scream. That would require energy you didn’t have. You just leaked, silently, as your shoulders folded in and your shaking hands pressed to your face.

The kind of crying that didn’t look dramatic. Just tired. Just… done. The ugly kind. Your laptop screen timed out. Darkness flooded the room. Still, the phone kept buzzing.

Eventually, you turned it off. Not silenced. Not ignored.

Off.

You slipped on your team issued hoodie, grabbed your room-key and left the dark room. 

The stairwell was stuffy and dim, lit by one flickering bulb, but you kept climbing.

One flight. Then two. Then the heavy metal door to the roof gave way with an eerie creak, making your bones shudder.

Cool air hit your face, sharp and quiet.

Up here, the world felt a little farther away. Just lights in the distance, the hum of AC units, and a faint breeze that tugged at your sleeves. You needed a moment before pulling your phone out and dialing while leaning on the metal railing.

The line rang once—then connected.

“Finally,” Jared’s voice snapped through like a blade. “You screen me all night just to call me now?”

You didn’t say anything. Not right away. You stared out into the blur of headlights and halos. And all of a sudden the air wasn’t refreshing anymore. It was just cold, metallic and heavy. 

“Well? You gonna speak or just breathe heavy?”

“…Hi, sorry I was working,” you murmured. Your voice was so soft it barely reached your own ears.

“Working. Sure. Where the fuck is my money?” You winced and curled up in your hoodie, pulling the hood over your head trying to shield your face from the cold wind. Tears stinging in your eyes.

“It was supposed to be yesterday. You promised me yesterday.”

“I know,” you said quickly, automatically. “I tried to move it early, but-”

“I don’t want your excuses. You think I’m just sitting here waiting around while you play dress-up with basketball Barbies and your little media job and feel all important?”

You didn’t even hear the door creak behind you, as it opened further than you had left it open. You just lowered your voice even more, barely above a whisper. “Please don’t do this right now.”

Jared didn’t even hear it. Or maybe he did and didn’t care. “You made a commitment. You’re not just gonna flake because you got a new backdrop for your sad little life. You owe me.”

“I know,” you whispered. “I know.”

A pause.

“I’ll get it to you. I just… I need a little more time.”

He laughed - that hard, bitter kind of laugh that made your blood feel cold.

“You’re always saying that. You always ‘just need time.’ I should’ve known better than to count on you. You always act like you’re doing me a favor - you should be grateful I haven’t shown up and taken it myself.”

Something behind you shifted. A soft scuff of sneakers. But still, you didn’t turn, didn’t hear it or just didn’t care.

“I’ll fix it,” you said. Quiet. Small. Mechanical.

There was silence on the line for a beat. Then Jared spat, “Yeah. You better,” and the call went dead.

You stayed frozen. Just stood there, phone still in hand, like it might ring again.

From the shadows near the exit, Paige had stopped mid-step. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop - she was just looking for air, same as you. But now she stood still, watching your hunched figure against the skyline.

She didn’t interrupt. She just looked. Saw. She saw the real you.

And after a long moment, she turned and slipped quietly back down the stairs.

–

The restaurant looked warm and inviting - bright but not in the blinding way. Bright in a golden way, that made everyone look a little softer than the harsh lights on the court. The team had taken over the back of the place, pushed 2 long tables together to fit everyone semi-comfortable. After all, basketball players do need a bit more space than ‘normal sized’ humans. 

You were late, not fashionably late, but a hurried late. 

It was NaLyssa that had texted you earlier “You’re coming, no excuses. We’re family now.”

It took longer to get there than you had expected or wanted. Without a car you depended on Jared in that department. But he was already irritated that you were going out, so why would he drive you? He only accepted after you offered to pay for his gas at the nearest station. So after getting gas he had dropped you off  two blocks away. After watching his car (which was really yours but that’s a different story) drive off, you walked the last bit fast, heart pounding the whole time like it might outrun your nerves.

Slipping through the door of the restaurant you felt a bit out of place in some jeans and a hoodie, so you tried to blend in with the shadows. 

“Heyy, she made it!” Maddy shouted, lifting her glass. A small round of cheers rose up.

Bye bye shadows.

DiJonai waved you over, patting the empty seat beside her. The one opposite Paige.

You smiled tightly and offered a quick, “Sorry, sorry. Hope I didn’t miss dessert.”

“Please,” DiJonai said, sliding a menu in front of you. “You missed the world’s slowest appetizer order. Sit. Eat.” You sat. Your hoodie still smelled faintly like the car. You didn’t take it off.

The waiter came over, and when he asked what you wanted, you barely looked at the menu. “Just the… house salad, no dressing. Thanks.” There was a beat - just long enough for someone to notice. “You sure?” NaLyssa asked gently. “They’ve got good pasta here. You love pasta.”

“I’ll steal bites from all of you,” you deflected with a small smile. “Professional moocher.”

They laughed. The tension moved on. But Paige didn’t.

Her sharp eyes stayed on you as you made good on your promise, eating a fork full of someone's Carbonara and stealing a piece of garlic bread. Laughing at DiJonai’s commentary on wine snobs. Listening as Maddy tried to impersonate the head coach and nearly choked on her soda, sending the whole table into a fit of laughter. 

A laugh so good it made your stomach hurt and eyes well up with tears as you tried to get some air.

At some point, Paige leaned forward to pass you a piece of steak from her plate without saying anything. Just set it on your bread plate and kept talking to JJ beside her. Some roasted potatoes followed soon after.

You didn’t look up. Just ate it. Quietly. Gratefully.

When the others started to order dessert you had excused yourself to the bathroom, quickly freshen yourself up and opened your hoodie for once, all the laughing and good food had warmed you right up. 

The others were just finishing up their main course when you got back to eat your salad. “You’ve seriously been here for thirty minutes and haven’t checked your phone once,” Paige said across the table, a teasing edge to her voice. “You’re not even pretending to look bored. Didn’t even take it with you to the bathroom.”

Your brows shot up as you lifted your fork with some arugula on it pointing it accusingly at the blonde across from you. “What, are you timing me? It’s getting a little creepy, Bueckers.”

She shrugged, a smirk playing at her lips. “I notice things.”

That made your smile twitch into something crooked. You swallowed. “Maybe I’m just trying not to look like the chronically online media gremlin.” Maddy leaned in from two seats down. “Too late. You were posting game reels before tipoff.”

“Exactly. I earn my gremlin status.” You tapped the edge of your water glass. “But this? This is sacred. Food is sacred.”

Paige’s brow rose as she pointed at your sad little side salad. “That’s what counts as sacred now?” You gave her a flat look. “I’m taste-testing my way across the team’s orders. It's a curated sampler.”

“She’s scamming us,” DiJonai said, shaking her head. “I lost half my truffle fries five minutes ago.”

“Don’t let her near the steak,” Arike warned. “She does this thing where she’s like, ‘Oh, just a bite’, and then it’s gone.” You threw your hands up, mock-offended. “I’m being framed. You’re all just bad at food security. God forbid a girl just has a big palette.”

That earned another round of laughs from the table, loud and joyful - the kind of sound that made you forget to flinch.

Across the table, Paige was still looking at you. Chin resting on one hand, her strikingly blue eyes sharp and unreadable - until she smiled, softer this time. “Still,” she said. “No phone. Proud of you.” You tilted your head at her. “Why’s that worth a merit badge?”

She shrugged, but didn’t look away. “Just nice to see someone here. Not halfway gone.” You shifted slightly in your seat, trying to keep it light. “So what’s your excuse? You haven’t checked yours either.”

Paige tapped the screen of her phone on the table - dark. “I don’t have anyone blowing it up.” Her tone was too casual, like it didn’t matter. “Guess I’m not that interesting.”

“Or you have bad reception,” Maddy offered, ever helpful.

Everyone laughed again, and Paige finally looked down, brushing her fingers over her phone. Then she flicked her gaze back up to you.

“Okay - picture time before anyone leaves.” Quickly you got up, digital camera in hand before DiJonai pulled you back down again. “Sunshine, you’re in this one.”

Groans echoed from around the table as everyone shuffled closer together, pulling faces, leaning in. DiJonai tugged you into the shot and Paige leaned just close enough to bump shoulders over the table.

You managed to smile for the photo - a real one. And when you finally glanced at your phone after dinner?

No new messages.

–

The streets were quieter now, dark and cold. The happy buzz of the restaurant laid behind you. You’d waved everyone off with a smile, a joke, a “see you tomorrow,” and started toward the nearest bus stop like it was just routine.

But it wasn’t routine, at  least not for someone having a death grip in a camera bag and a press badge stuffed deep in your handbag. You missed your car in moments like these, but you’re getting used to it. 

You’d barely made it to the corner when a car pulled up alongside the curb. The window rolled down.

“Get in.”

You turned - a little too fast - only to see Paige in the driver’s seat of a black rental. One hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the door.

You blinked. “I’m good. I like public transport. Very... civic. You wouldn’t understand, superstar.” She gave you a flat look. “It’s 11:30. The next bus is in 20 minutes and you have your holy camera with you.”

You shifted your bag higher and just looked at her.

“Get in the car, Sunny,” she said, a touch of amusement threading through the firmness, you could see it in her eyes.

You hesitated, not because you didn’t want to, but because it was too easy. Too kind. Too close. Still, your legs betrayed you, already moving before you gave yourself permission. You slid into the passenger seat and closed the door.

You swallowed, “Well, uhm, thank you for saving me from my death march,” your voice was too dry to be funny.

“Someone’s gotta keep your freeloading ass alive,” she quipped while glancing at you but quickly going back to concentrating on the road.

You smiled, lips twitching. “You’re getting funnier. Is that part of the rookie training?”

“Only the advanced course.”

She parked when you gave directions, easing into the curb in front of your building. It looked a little smaller than usual under the yellow streetlight. You hated that. It looked… weird. With the passenger door open and one foot already on the pavement you thanked the blonde, ready to head in.

“I’ll walk you up!” Her seatbelt was already unbuckled and her hand on the door handle. “Oh no, you won’t,” you caught yourself and went a bit softer, your eyes not as wide anymore, “it’s okay, really. I got it.”

Paige turned to you, one eyebrow pulled up “Why wouldn’t I walk you up?”

You exhaled, trying to convince yourself of your reasoning. “Because it’s a six-flight walk-up with a buzzer that doesn’t work and a neighbor who thinks I’m growing weed because I own succulents. Trust me, it’s not a vibe.”

She didn’t laugh this time. Just looked. A beat passed.

“You sure?”

You nodded. “Thanks for the ride.”

Paige leaned back slightly. “You always like this when someone’s nice to you?”

You glanced over. “I’m fine with nice.”

“Are you?” You paused, hand still on the door. Another silence. Then, finally, she said, “Text me when you’re inside.”

That stopped you. “I don’t have your number.”

“It’s in your DMs.” You turned to look at her. She gave you a small, unreadable smile. “Good night, Sunshine.”

But before you could finally leave you starting digging in the pockets of your hoodie and came up with a small wad of bills, hastily smoothed out in your palm, desperately trying to ignore the blonde's confused face.

“Here,” you mumbled, trying to press it into her hand. “Gas money.” Paige blinked, looking at the crumpled twenties like you’d handed her a live bird. “What?” she said, equal parts amused and confused.

“For the drive,” you insisted, pushing it toward her. “It’s a rental. And gas is, like, criminal now.” She leaned back in her seat, both hands up. “You’re not paying me to drive you home. I’m not an Uber.”

“Still,” you said, your voice a little too sharp, “just take it.” She shook her head, a soft, incredulous laugh escaping her. “You really hate owing people, huh?”

You didn’t answer.

She didn’t push. Just gently closed her hand around yours and pushed it back toward your lap.

“You can pay me back by not acting like I'm doing you a favor.”

You hesitated. Then, reluctantly, stuffed the money back into your hoodie. Sort of.

And once you were out of the car and inside the building, she waited until you had unlocked the very front door and entered the building, then drove off.

The building door barely hit the lock before you pulled out your phone. She hadn’t been lying. The message was already there.

[3 texts from: @paigebueckers] ➤ Just in case the bus ghosts you again (xxx) xxx-xxxx. ➤ Or you need someone who doesn’t talk loud on rooftops. ➤ 🕶️☀️

You stared at it for a moment. Then hit “Save Contact.”

Back at her place Paige went to grab her water bottle and get out of the car when she saw it - the money.

Still crumpled, still soft from your hand. Shoved into her center console cup holder. She stared at it for a long second, then sighed. “Jesus,” she murmured to herself. 

She didn’t move it right away. Didn’t throw it out.

Just… left it there.

Like it meant something.

—

The gym was emptying out fast, and it wasn’t long before the only thing you could hear only the hum of the lights and the bounce of a stray ball. You’d already packed all your gear together and carried it over your shoulder. Jelly, was the best way to describe the way your body felt.

You hadn’t even planned on joining the girls in the locker room, just ducked your head in to ask Maddy what shot she wanted sent to her phone - but next thing you know you got dragged in, the camera bag nearly slipping from your shoulder. 

“Come on, Sunshine,” she said with that mischievous grin, “you’re basically one of us now.”

You gave a weak protest, laughing quietly. “Pretty sure staff isn't supposed to be in here.”

“Guess you’ll have to report yourself, then.”

That’s how it started. A two-minute question turned into sitting on an overturned crate near someone’s cubby, camera bag still on, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes heavy. No one bat an eye at you being in there, letting you relax a tad, until your stomach grumbled - loud enough for Maddy to raise an eyebrow.

“Damn. Did you eat today?”

You hesitated. Big mistake.

“Hey!” Maddy called out to the room, turning in her seat. “She didn’t eat today.”

“What?! Are you serious?” That was Nai, halfway through braiding her hair. “Girl, it’s like 4PM.”

“I had a bar earlier- ”

“Was it a real bar or one of those pressed sadness bricks you always pull outta your bag?” The team mobilized like a tactical unit, or at least something close to it. In seconds, there were protein bars, drink bottles, and packets of fruit snacks being thrown your way like offerings to a minor deity. You blinked at the pile forming in your lap and the mess around you.

“You guys don’t have to- ”

“You work for us,” DiJonai said, tossing you a chocolate peanut butter bar. “You’re part of the machine now. The machine stays fed.”

You gave a grateful smile. Small, but real as you didn’t fight it further, just too damn tired. Cheeks warm with quiet gratitude as you tore open the first wrapper. 

Across the room from you in her cubby was Paige, towel thrown around her neck as she took off her knee pads, she looked busy but her eyes never escaped you. You looked so small.

You didn’t see her clock, how your hands shook slightly when you tried to open a bottle. You didn’t notice her chewing her lip when you blinked a little too long between bites.

But she noticed.

Eventually, she walked over, lightly brushing a loose bottle cap off the bench beside you. She nudged an open water bottle your way. “That one’s mine. Cold.”

You took it with a grateful nod and looked up at her, “I’m good, I swear.”

She raised a brow. “You look like you’re about to fold like a lawn chair. Drink it.”

You did.

“So,” Arike drawled. “Your boyfriend let you starve all day, huh?”

The room went still. A beat too long.

Your face snapped up, but your mouth stayed shut. You let out a breathy chuckle, like it was funny. “He’s not- It’s fine. He’s just… busy.” You didn’t make eye contact with anyone.

The older players shared a look. Maddy opened her mouth to shift the mood, but Paige cut in first, casually. “Her boyfriend doesn’t work for a W team. We win. We feed people.”

The others whooped. Just enough distraction to deflect the heat, letting the girls hype each other up one last time for the day. You smiled, forced but functional. You took a bite of the bar Paige gave you. It tasted like cardboard and warmth.

She sat beside you on the edge of the bench, just close enough that your elbows brushed.

She didn’t tease you, just handed you another wrapper, already peeled slightly open.

—

A week later the weight room was buzzing a day before the next game - clanks of plates, low grunts, and the dull thud of medicine balls against the far wall. Lights buzzed overhead, bright but not clinical. Music thumped from a corner speaker, rhythmic and bass-heavy, but muffled by the girls chatting.

You were framing a shot, trying something different seeing as the weight room gave you different possibilities than the practice court, crouching to capture JJ’s silhouette as she lifted. None of you heard the door creak open, no one paid him any mind as he made his way through the room.

“Hey Babe.”

Jared. He was too close, you could feel his breath in your ear, uncomfortably warm as it sent shivers down your spine.

When did he get here?

Once you could finally move you were able to turn around and face him. Jared stood just behind you, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets like he belonged there, like this was a casual drop-in. He even smiled, that crooked, boyish grin that used to make your knees weak and now just made your stomach turn.

The room had gone quiet. Not silent, the music was still going but the girls stopped chatting and subtly tried watching the interaction out of the corner of their eyes. Except Paige, who was full on staring at the train wreck directly in front of her.

“Jared! Uh, hi! What are you doing here?” Your voice was tight, but quiet.

He looked around the room, ignoring the curious looks he got, “This is where you’ve been hiding all day?” He nodded towards your camera equipment in the corner, “Saw your little video earlier. On their Insta? Real artsy, baby.” What was supposed to be a petty compliment just sounded sarcastic instead.

“I, uh, thanks. But, uhm, you can’t just walk into the team areas like this.” You had pulled him in closer by his arm, so close that your bodies nearly touched as you quietly tried to suggest that he should get lost.

“I tried calling.” He shrugged, stepping closer before he continued, voice sweet again, soft. “Look, I get it. You’re busy. I just...” He scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t want to make a scene. I just... kinda needed to talk for a sec.”

Your throat tightened as Paige watched you like a hawk.

“Can’t it wait? I’m working?” Your voices had gotten really quiet now, neither Jared or you noticed how one of the girls had stopped the music, now silencing the room to listen in as they pretended to workout, most of the other staff had already left.

“I wouldn’t be here if it could.” His voice had turned quiet. Sharp. “I, uh… I just left my doctor’s office. They wouldn’t run the test without the co-pay.”

Your stomach dropped. “What test?”

He shrugged like it didn’t matter. “It’s probably nothing. Just chest stuff again. Tightness. They said I should’ve come in sooner, but you know how it is…”

Your face went cold.

“I didn’t want to freak you out,” he added quickly. “I almost didn’t say anything at all. But now I’m sitting outside Walgreens trying to figure out how to cover the lab work, and I thought... if you could spot me, just one more time…”

You nodded, and when your hands didn’t move fast enough, he reached for your purse like he always did. “I’ll pay you back Friday,” he said, a little softer as he took out all the bills that were left. “You know I always do.”

You didn’t notice Paige until she was a few steps closer, towel slung over one shoulder, a water bottle in her hands. “Everything good?” she asked casually, but her eyes flicked between the two of you.

“All good,” you said too fast, taking your purse back from his hands. “He was just, just on his way out.” Jared offered a smile. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Sorry about that.”

He lingered a second longer than he needed to, brushing a hand over your shoulder. “You’re still the best, you know that?”

Then he turned and left. You didn’t even breathe until the door clicked behind him and he was finally, really gone from the space you had once felt safe in.

Paige was still watching you. “Lab work?”

You looked down at your camera, fiddling with the lens cap. “He’s been feeling off for a while now. Chest problems are scary, he’s been to a lot of Doctors for it.”

“And they don’t take insurance?” You swallowed, your eyes desperately trying to avoid making eye contact with the blonde. “He said they wouldn’t run it without him paying up front.”

A long silence passed.

Then Paige said, without looking at you, “You always pay when he says it’s urgent?” You didn’t answer. Not really.

Just said, “It’s easier.”

—

The place wasn’t even on google maps, one of those bars that looked like it might have once been a gas station or a tire shop. Squat brick, single red neon sign humming a half-lit “OPEN,” and windows so fogged over they might as well be painted black. Inside, the floor was sticky and the music was classic rock on shuffle.

It was perfect.

Maddy pushed the door open with her hip, DiJonai following close behind. “I swear to God,” she muttered, “if I get tetanus from the pool table, I’m blaming you.”

“You can’t get tetanus from felt,” Arike deadpanned.

“That sounds like a challenge," Maddy said.

Paige was the last to walk in of the small group that had decided to grab some cheap drinks and greasy food after a gruelling late film session. She hadn’t even looked up until Maddy elbowed her in the ribs and nodded toward the bar.

And there you were.

Behind the counter. In a low cut black T-shirt and jeans, hair pulled into a messy ponytail. Your forehead was a little sweaty from the heat, or the pace, or both. You moved like someone who had done this a thousand times - pouring, swiping, dodging elbows and flirting with drunks just enough to earn better tips.

That top certainly helped for the tips as well.

For a while none of the girls said anything. Just stood there in stunned silence as they watched you shake off an uncomfortable customer.

“Wait,” DiJonai blinked. “Is that sunshine? Like, our sunshine?”

“Yup,” Paige said quietly as her eyes locked with yours. You didn’t freeze, didn’t drop anything, didn’t run, but the smile you gave was practiced. Not fake, exactly. Just... careful.

“Hey,” you said over the bar as they approached. “Didn’t know you guys knew this place!” Your voice was loud over the loud music.

“We’re versatile,” Lyss grinned. “Athletes by day, dive bar connoisseurs by night.”

You laughed, and it was real enough. “What can I get my favourite girls?” They placed their orders, teased you a little, tipped heavy despite your protests.

You stayed in motion, but Paige watched you closely. The way you rubbed your eyes between orders. The slight limp in your left leg. The silence between your words when you thought no one noticed. At one point, you ducked under the bar to grab a case of beer and came up too fast, smacking your shoulder on the counter. You didn’t even wince. Just kept moving.

The team stayed for maybe an hour. They didn’t push. Didn’t ask why you were working a second job, or why you never mentioned it, or why you looked like you hadn’t slept in days. They just let it be.

But Paige didn’t leave. Of course she didn’t. 

The other girls had eventually paid (and tipped even more, ignoring your refusal) and left, laughing about their sore stomachs and how they would regret the bad pizza tomorrow. Paige stayed, told them she’d uber home in a bit and no one questioned it - because they all knew.

DiJonai patted her arm with a smirk whispering a “Get our girl home in one piece, will you?” in the rookie's ear before filling out.

At first you didn’t notice her lingering gaze, too focused on the new barback who stocked the cooler wrong, and a regular who tried to play Journey for the 3rd time on the jukebox. But when you glanced up from drying a pint glass, she was still there, alone at the end of the bar, half-finished drink in hand, eyes on you like she’d never really stopped watching.

The crowd started thinning out now, just a few stragglers playing darts and a couple on their third round of something brown and bitter while staring into each others souls. It was the kind of hour where everything slowed down, the volume dropped just enough to hear your own thoughts. Which was worse most days.

You walked over and leaned on the bar. “Still here, huh?”

She raised a brow, her eyes challenging you. “You’re surprised?” All you did was shrug. “Most people don’t find this place worth staying.” Paige tilted her head with that annoying, cocky smirk. “I’m not most people.”

You huffed a tired laugh. “So I’ve heard.”

It was quiet between the two of you for a second as she watched you fiddle with your hair, annoyed by the loose strands. “Your eyes were too sharp for someone that tired. This wasn’t new.”

Then, quietly she asked, “How often are you here?”

You leaned back, wiped your hands on a rag that had long lost its purpose, way too stained to really be any use. “Depends. Weekends are the worst. But I fill in when someone flakes.”

“And after media days? Practices?”

You gave her a smile, soft and vaguely apologetic. “Turns out passion projects don’t cover rent.” Paige didn’t laugh at your weak attempt at a joke. She just looked down at her drink, then back up at you.

“You could’ve said something.”

Before you could answer, your manager called from the back office, saving you (because really, what were you supposed to say?). “Closing time! You’re good to clock out.”

You gave Paige a quiet look and gestured toward the front door. “Wait by the door? It’s quieter there. I’ll walk with you.”

-

Ten minutes later you came out with a hoodie pulled on. Paige’s hoodie. Backpack on one shoulder, your camera bag slung over the other. The rookie had to grin, you really didn’t go anywhere without that bag, huh?

Paige stood near the dumpster, hands in her pockets. When you reached her, she noticed the envelope in your hand: plain white, thick.

You didn’t try to hide it.

Instead, you peeled it open, quickly counting bills with practised ease. You shoved a few twenties into your worn wallet, then glanced around before lifting the false bottom of your camera bag and slipping the rest inside.

When you looked up again, Paige wasn’t staring. She was just... waiting.

Patient. Steady. Like she always was.

“It’s not what it looks like,” you said, even though you both knew it was. She let you grasp at your excuses before she gave a small nod. “Is it enough?”

That caught you off guard.“What?”

“The cash. The extra hours. All of it. Is it enough?”

You paused, still stunned by the question. “It has to be. I’m getting there.”

She let the silence settle between you, “You always take care of everyone else.”

You tried to make it a joke. “Bad habit.”

“Yeah,” Paige said softly. “But who takes care of you?”

You didn’t hesitate to say “I do” but your voice was shaky. Sometimes yourself just wasn’t enough. But that’s all you had.

You just looked at her, like really looked at the blonde, and for the first time in a while, you felt the weight of someone holding your gaze, not demanding anything from you, not draining you.

Just... being there and seeing you. 

“Come on. I’m getting us an uber.” There was no room to protest, so you accepted with a small smile and thankful nod.

—

The Laundry room was brightly lit by those annoying buzzing tube lights that keep flickering like in a bad horror movie. A window was cracked near the ceiling and let in stale air and the sound of distant traffic, but not much else.

Your back already started hurting after the first load of laundry, now at the third it was even worse. Why is this damn table so low?? Your hoodie sleeves were pushed to your elbows, fingers numb and stiff from folding the third load of team jerseys on that way too low table. Your camera bag sat nearby on a stool, always close. Your phone buzzed again. 

You didn’t check it.

Well not on purpose but you still saw the messages pop up.

[3 texts from: Jared] ➤ Just remember who helped you get in. ➤ You’d be nowhere without me. ➤ You’re welcome, by the way.

The screen dimmed. You exhaled slowly through your nose and turned back to the pile of laundry. Towels. Practice shirts. Warmups. More to do. Always more, just like at home the laundry was never ending.

“Jesus, Sunshine.” You hadn’t heard her come in, so to no one's surprise you flinched so hard that the stack of freshly folded towels was knocked over again.

Once your head snapped up you could see the blonde leaning in the doorway, still in sweats and damp hair from a post-practice shower. A protein shake in one hand, towel slung over her shoulder. Her expression shifted the moment she saw you: confusion, then concern.

“It’s so late already, what are you still doing here?”

You tried for a joke. It barely made it to your lips. “Look who’s talking. You’re still here too.”

She didn’t laugh. Or react at all, except for a raised brow that you knew meant she wasn’t in the mood, so you gave your real reason up. “Couldn’t sleep.”

That made Paige smirk, much to your enjoyment. “So you decided to cosplay as laundry staff?”

You laughed softly. “Someone’s gotta do it. Lord knows how many towels you guys go through in a single practice day.”

She looked around at the mess of fabric and unfolded towels. Then back to you as she stepped into the room.

“Sit somewhere real.”

“What is that even..? I’m sitting-” With an eye roll she ignored your protest before she pulled you up, “Not on a crate like a goblin. Come on,” and unzipped her jacket, shook it out, and spread it carefully across the folding table like a blanket, then patted it once.

“Sit here.”

“You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

No. No she didn’t.

Realizing you wouldn’t move on your own she dragged you down to her chosen place by your shoulders. The second your legs dangled off the table, Paige was already grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. She handed it over (already opened of course) with a raised brow. “Drink.”

“I’m fine, I really don’t need-”

“Not what I asked. Drink.”

You took the water. Drank. Because something in her voice and something in her eyes made it impossible not to.

She picked up your fallen stacks of towels and sorted them into the shelf where they belonged, before picking up the next basket and sitting it down on the floor next to the table and started folding. No comment. No lecture. Just calm, methodical movements. She made neat stacks. You watched, still clutching the water bottle with both hands like it was keeping you upright. And maybe it was.

She didn’t ask questions. Just moved around you, efficient and silent.

It was strange. Not in a bad way. Just unfamiliar. Like watching someone speak a language you used to know but forgot to speak after not hearing it for so many years.

Eventually, she dug out a protein bar from her pocket and tossed it toward you without looking. You didn’t catch it. Nope. It hit you straight in the face before falling in your lap - and even though Paige tried really hard not to laugh, she failed miserably as she giggled into her fist. 

“Stop pouting and eat. You didn’t today.”

You looked at her, brows furrowed. “That’s a bold assumption.”

“Not an assumption, I know it’s a fact. I notice things.”

Your chest tightened, painfully. You looked down at the bar in your lap, thumb running over the wrapper. You didn’t move as your traitorous brain wandered. 

To Jared.

To his messages. To his tired voice on the phone the other night, telling you his chest was tight again. That the doctors still didn’t know what it was. That the stress was making him worse. That you working too much didn’t help. That he needed rest, not drama. That he was doing his best, even without a job, even when you made it ‘so hard.’

He was always tired. Always hurting. Always needing you. Needing your money.

So you stayed. Paid the bills. Covered his medications. Told yourself it was temporary. That when he got better, things would change.

He wasn’t cruel. Just sick.

And sick people lash out sometimes.

Right?

You hadn’t even noticed Paige sit beside you until her voice broke your cruel thoughts, “You still in there?”

“Mhmm, where else would I be?”, you hummed and nudged her shoulder with yours. 

“Somewhere happier, maybe?”

It was silent as you fiddled with the protein bar in your lap, before the blonde took it, opened it and held it to your mouth - refusing to take it away until you took a bite. The silence returned.

Your throat burned.

You looked down. “He said I should be grateful.”

A pause.

“That I’d be nothing without him. That he puts up with a lot.”

The words were quiet. Flat. Like you were repeating something you’d memorized a long time ago.Paige didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt. Just listening, her eyes focused solely on you. “He’s not well,” you added quickly, like it was a valid reason to be hurting all the time. “Always at doctors. Can’t work. He’s just… dealing with a lot.”

Paige stared ahead for a long beat.Then: “That’s not love.”

You exhaled, shaky. “He’s honest. He says I make things hard.”

“No,” she said. “I’m being honest. He’s being cruel.”

You looked at her, startled by the bluntness, not harsh, just firm. Anchoring and honest, not cruel.

“Someone who loves you doesn’t make you earn kindness,” she said. “They don’t twist things so you feel lucky to be hurt.”

You looked away.

“I didn’t think I was allowed to expect more.”

“You are.”

Silence. Heavy.

Then, barely above a whisper:

“How do you know?”

Paige’s smile was soft and sure, not smug. Just true.

“Because I’ve seen the way you take care of people. The way you show up. That’s what love looks like. And you deserve to be treated at least the same way.”

You blinked hard, eyes burning. Your shoulders curled slightly, not to hide, just to stay upright. Paige didn’t touch you. She didn’t need to.

She just kept folding.

—

You came home from a late night editing session at the Dallas Wings Staff rooms. It had been a good night, truly. Someone had ordered pizza and the whole evening was spent gossiping while trying to work. But something was off when you came home.

The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.

There was no music, and no TV that played some dumb show Jared was melting his brain with. The only thing you could hear was the buzz of hallway lights even through the shut door. 

You shut the door behind you, softly, mindful of the other residents and the late hour. At the hallway bench you shrugged off the camera bags and clawed your way out of the damp hoodie from the walk home. 

You were late. Not by much, maybe an hour, and you didn’t have plans for the evening, but you were late nonetheless.  It was just too fun, and the editing crew had lost the feeling of time.

Stepping into the cold living room, you froze in place. The lights were off, the only thing giving light was the dull blue glow of a laptop on Jared's lap, casting shadows across his face as he sat on the couch.

Wait.

That was your laptop. Open on his lap.

And that… that was your journal doc he was reading.

The heart in your chest stopped, at least you were pretty sure of it. 

“Hey,” he greeted, voice too calm. Not even on good days he was this calm. Jared didn’t look up right away, he just kept scrolling through the document. Reading more and more of your thoughts.

Your legs turned to concrete, or fused with the ground. Either way, something rooted you in place. “What.. uhm, what are you doing?”

Now he looked at you.

Smiled.

The blue light from the laptop illuminated him from below. Making him look even scarier than he usually does. 

“You’ve been real busy in here, huh?”

His voice was even as he tapped the side of his temple. You knew he meant busy in your head and the document he was reading. His voice was measured. No heat. That was worse.

“Didn’t know I was such a fucking villain in your head.”

You opened your mouth. No sound came out.

He stood and you were still rooted in that same damn place.

“I’ve marked some quotes I really liked,” held the laptop with one hand, and with the other, gestured like he was reading aloud on a stage “You don’t mind, do you? I’ll read them out to you.”

“I keep telling myself it’s not that bad, but I don’t know what ‘bad enough’ even looks like anymore.”

“I miss who I was before him, but I don’t remember what she looked like.”

“He doesn’t hit me. That’s the bar I’ve been setting my worth to.. he doesn’t hit me.”

After every sentence he read out loud he sent a pointed glance in your direction before finally snapping the laptop shut, the sound echoing through the dark living room.

“So that’s what we’re doing now?” he said, voice sharp, finally cracking. “You run off and play house with those girls, and then come home and write about how abused you are? Is that it?”

“I.. I didn’t mean..”

“No, say it. Come on. Say it to my face. You think I’m the fucking monster in your sad little Netflix drama?”

You shook your head quickly. Too quickly. “No. No, Jared, it’s not like that. I was just, just writing. I didn’t think you’d see it.”

“Of course not,” he spat. “Because I’m just the idiot you unload on when you’re not getting your ego stroked by Paige-fucking-Bueckers.”

Your breath caught.

He laughed.

“You think she gives a shit about you? You’re her project. Her pet. You think she’s not saying the same shit about you behind your back?”

“Stop.” Your voice cracked as tears started building in your eyes.

“Or what?” he said, stepping forward. “You gonna run away? Call Paige? Have her come rescue you like a good little golden retriever?”

He was close now.

Too close.

And suddenly your body remembered every red flag you’d buried under guilt and excuses. Every apology that felt like pressure. Every “you owe me” that bled into your spine. 

Your knees shook but you still managed to turn and walk out the door. Leaving him in the dark living room.

—

You couldn’t remember much of the run there, not how you grabbed the keys or how you got into the rehab room of the Dallas Wings training facility. The lights were dim, just barely peeking in through the window of the hallway.

The phone barely had any battery left as you sat on the padded table, hands still shaking. 

You already had opened her contact card. Paige. And you stared at it too long.

Not once had you called her first, never. Not even after those really hard days you just wanna cry about. Not even after Jared’s last big blow-up. But now? It was different.

You were shivering, scared and there was no one else you could call that would just.. show up. So finally you pressed call.

It only took two rings for her to pick up, even at 1a.m. 

“Sunny?”

You didn’t mean to start crying, you really didn’t want to but it just happened. Her voice was calm, steady and a little tired.

“Can you come get me?”

You could hear rustling on the other side, a blanket being tossed aside, “Where are you?”

“Training facilities, like in the, uh, the rehab area.”

“I’m on my way. Don’t move.”

She didn’t ask anything else.

Didn’t need to hearing your sniffles through the phone was enough to tell the blonde everything she needed. You sat there in the silence, breathing in short bursts, knuckles white around your phone.

And for the first time, you didn’t feel ashamed of needing someone.

So you waited.

Curled into yourself on the therapy table, shaking like a leaf. Running through rain in only a shirt might not have been a good idea… Your phone vibrated once. Just a soft, meaningless hum, but you didn’t check it, just stared at the ground and waited.

Until the door creaked open and then somehow, the room got even colder.

Jared.

“There you are.”

You slid off the table, heart in your throat, feet stumbling backwards before you even realized you were moving.

“How did you...”

“Come on, babe. This is your hideout? Thought you’d at least pick somewhere I hadn’t seen before.”

“Jared, leave.”

“No. You don’t get to run and then make me the villain I get to defend myself.”

He stepped forward. You stepped back.

“You’ve been whining in your journal about how sick I am. Poor you. Poor little girl carrying her broken man.”

He laughed. Cold and sharp like he always did. But this time it was even scarier.

“You ever wonder why none of those doctors ever called you back? Why you never saw a single goddamn bill?”

You froze mid motion, arms up trying to build distance between you both.

“I’m not sick,” he said simply, smiling now. “Never was.”

The world slowed and time stopped.

“Then… what, uh, what..” You were speechless. It couldn’t be.. Right? Surely this was just another really bad joke.

“You were useful. You paid for shit. Got me stuff I couldn’t get on my own. Covered rent while I took care of other things.”

Your throat closed. “What things?”

He tilted his head, cruel and casual. “Couple girls I was seeing needed help. You’re not the only one who likes to take care of people. I’m a real generous guy.”

That landed like a punch to the chest.

“You- you used me,” you whispered, tears stinging in your eyes.

“Call it sponsorship,” he said. “Me and the girls like to call you my ‘scholarship fund’.”

Just silence.

And then another voice. Low, flat, furious.

“Get. Out.”

It was Paige. You couldn’t say for sure, but the look on her face made you think that she’d been waiting outside the door for a bit, listening to what Jared had to say. Her voice was like stone as when she stepped into the room. Taking up the space between you and Jared.

You could see her body still trying to catch her breath, and she was a little sweaty. She ran here. For you.

“You don’t talk to her again. You don’t come near her again.”

Jared gave her a look like he was bored already. “You think she’s gonna stay with you? You don’t know her. She needs someone to fall apart on.”

“No,” Paige said. “She needs someone who won’t break her.” She took another step forward. “And you already did.”

For the first time (maybe ever), Jared didn’t have a comeback.

He looked at you. Maybe expecting you to flinch. To cry. To chase him. But you only looked right back at him and said, “I don’t feel sorry for you anymore.”

He left after that. Just turned and walked out. No apology. No second look.

And you stood there shaking, tired, cold, but breathing.

Then Paige was beside you.

She didn’t speak right away. She just stood close, quiet, until you could bring yourself to look up and meet her eyes. She didn’t look at you with pity, no this was admiration.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered, cupping your face in her warm hands. “None of it.”

You didn’t know what to say.

“You don’t ever have to go back.”

This might have been the first time that you realized that she was right. You didn’t have to go back. Not to him. Never.

—

The car ride was silent, not the uncomfortable ‘I don’t know what to say’ silence, just quiet. Tired. Paige hadn’t asked questions, Just dragged you out to her car, pushed you down into the passenger seat and gave you a blanket from the back of her car.

When she finally pulled over into her apartment lot she glanced over at you. “You good to come in?”

“You sped there.”

You didn’t really reply to her question but the blonde took you opening the door as answer enough. “I wouldn’t say ‘sped’ just, in a slight hurry,” she winked at you, your camera bag in hand.

Paige led the way inside, everything was low-lit and calm. There were no overhead lights that blinded you, and the hallway didn’t echo in that creepy way it did at your apartment complex. As she opened her own door a citrus-y smell wafted towards you, she must have let a candle on before she came.

She locked the door behind her and set your camera bag gently down on a chair by the door, and then asked, “Hungry?”

You could only nod, too busy looking around.

“Good,” she said, already heading toward the kitchen. “Sit. Shoes off. You’re home now. For as long as you need.”

That last part hit harder than you expected. Home.

You sat at the edge of the couch while she pulled out pots and ingredients like she did this all the time. Not just for herself, but for people she wanted to keep warm and full and okay, friends and family.

“Fair warning though, I am no master chef, but we won’t starve!”

Your phone buzzed again, even though you thought the battery had died when you were still at the training facility.

Your stomach dropped.

You didn’t even have to look. You knew it was him. No one else messaged you, especially not at this time. Not after Jared convinced you to cut contact with your family over a year ago.

Paige glanced over from the stove.

“That him?”

You nodded once, throat too tight. She walked over, hand out. “Can I?”

You didn’t hesitate to hand it over. Jared asked for your phone all the time, to look through it. But the basketballer didn’t read it. Didn’t scold. Just silenced it, powered it down, and set it face-down on her kitchen counter before plugging it in.

“You don’t need to hear from him tonight. Or ever again, if you don’t want to.”

You blinked quickly, looking away. “He’s going to be so angry.”

“He already is,” she said softly. “And it’s not your fault, and it’s also not your job to soothe that.”

You didn’t reply. Just pulled your knees to your chest and let your eyes roam around her apartment.

It was warm, and well lit.. cozy. Shoes were stacked by the front door, sweaters thrown over the couch, shelves filled with random books, picture frames and trophies. A photo on the fridge, next to a note with a date on it ‘pasta night - 06/28 :)’. That was a team night.

“Okay, uhm, water is cooking, might still take a while. Bathroom’s down the hall, if you wanna shower. The door locks and I set out fresh towels and some clothes. We need to get you out of the wet ones.”

You were halfway to tears again, and she hadn’t even done anything dramatic. Just kept giving you space. Kept choosing not to demand anything. And she kept being so incredibly nice.

You stood under the hot water until your skin went pink and you smelled like her body wash and expensive shampoo.

When you came back out she was sitting on the couch, two plates of food in front of her. She had also changed into a different hoodie, a dry one.

“Food’s still warm, there’s more in the kitchen if you want.”

You sat beside her, plate balanced on your lap, and took a bite.

It was the best thing you’d eaten in weeks. Not because of the recipe, because of the way it made your shoulders drop. She didn’t say anything further, just started to dig in. Not a single comment about how you should watch your portion size, or if you really wanted to eat ‘all that’.

You glanced over at her.

Paige, who had taken your phone without making you feel helpless. Paige, who gave you clothes, a bathroom, her bedroom if you wanted it. Paige, who never made you beg.

Jared would’ve sulked. Would’ve asked why you weren’t grateful. Would’ve asked for something back and even more in return.

You looked down at your plate, swallowed hard, and whispered: “Thank you.”

She didn’t make it a thing. She just said, “You’re safe now.”

—

Warm sunrays made their way through the window, gently waking you up in warmth. Gone was the grey sky and rainy clouds from the last couple of days. The bed was so comfortably and warm that you didn’t even want to get up, but ultimately the small of eggs, bacon and toast managed to get you out of the bed.

You’d slept.

Not fitfully. Not half-alert. Not with one ear trained for footsteps.

Just... slept.

When you finally sat up and stretched, the couch groaned softly beneath you. Your muscles ached in that gentle way that meant you’d actually rested. No buzzing phone. No tension in your neck or jaw.

Just peace.

You padded toward the kitchen, the hoodie sleeves dragging past your fingertips, hair a mess, mouth dry and eyes still sticky with sleep.

Paige was already at the stove, moving around in socks and some old basketball shorts, humming something low and tuneless. She glanced over her shoulder when you appeared in the doorway.

“Morning.” Her voice came out rough, low and a bit gravely, still laced with sleep. 

“I think I died.”

That made her grin. “Was it peaceful?”

You rubbed your face with both hands, then dropped into the nearest chair. “Mhmm.”

A minute later, she slid a plate in front of you: eggs, toast, something sweet on the side. Real food. A proper breakfast, not just a hurried protein bar like you usually had. She poured coffee into a second mug and set it gently in front of you.

You stared at the food for a beat before saying, “I thought you didn’t like coffee.”

“I don’t, but I know you love it.”

You snorted, but you could feel the heat rise to your cheeks, and just desperately hoped that the blonde didn’t notice.

After a few bites, you glanced at her. “I’m not used to this,” you admitted. “Being taken care of like this.”

She didn’t flinch.

“Well,” she said, “get used to it. ‘Cus I’m not going anywhere.”

You ate in silence, just a couple of giggles at how much she disliked coffee at every grimace.

Eventually, your voice dropped to a whisper. “I had enough saved to leave for a long time. I could’ve moved out, gotten my own place, months ago.”

Paige didn’t push. She just looked at you, steady and open. “Why didn’t you?”

Your gaze dropped to your plate. “Because I was scared. Not of him... not really. Just of what it would mean if I left and he didn’t even try to stop me. If he just let me go.”

You paused, shoulders curling in.

“I was scared of what that would say about me. That I gave so much to someone who never gave a damn back.”

Paige’s voice was low, certain. Her eyes told you she was being honest and not just trying to comfort you.

“It wouldn’t say anything about you. It would say everything about him.”

You looked up.

She hadn’t moved. Still steady. Still soft. Still here.

“You stayed because you cared,” she continued. “Because you loved him the way you wished he would love you back. That doesn’t make you weak.”

Your chest tightened.

“It made me feel stupid.”

“It makes you human.”

Your eyes burned. You blinked fast and stared hard at your coffee.

“I don’t know how to do this alone.”

She reached across the table. Not to take your hand, just to set hers down, palm up, close enough if you wanted it. “You’re not alone,” she said. “Not anymore.”

You hesitated. Then slid your hand into hers.

Her fingers closed around yours. She was warm, steady, grounding. She always had been. And that’s when it felt real. Like maybe you could actually begin again.

But this time not alone.

This was... something. Let me know what you think of this fic, it's a lot heavier then I usually write but I quite liked doing it.

Also, I have ideas for a fluffier part 2, where paige and reader like actually get together and shit

[silkythewriter]

Vox and alastor with an undeserving to be in hell reader!

Warnings!:non!

Fandom!: Hazbin hotel!

Author note!;I THINK TUMBLER ACTUALLY HATES ME (ﾒ﹏ﾒ)(｡•́︿•̀｡)it keeps not letting me edit my drafts, it’s happened like 3 times already this week alone!,…BUT ANYWAY I LOVE THIS IDEA I REALLY HOPE YOY ENJOY!!!!♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Summary!: alastor and Vox x reader WHOs I. Hell for a minor sin/crime

❤️Written by silkythewriter do not steal or repost any other platform please! <3❤️

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

“Each time I find myself

Flat on my face

I pick myself up and get back in the race!”

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

!📺✨Vox✨📺!

When you first admitted what you did that counted as a “sin” he was flabbergasted! He thought they must’ve made a mistake. All be it one that was in favor since he got to be damned with you. But still!

Out of every monster known to man kind one who’ve committed acts that are despicable. You, one who can barely hurt a damn fly get sent with them?

At first he thought you were genuinely just joking. And he actually laughed! Like audible chuckled before waiting for the actual reason, which never came, and he soon realized you were being serious!

He always questioned why you use to refuse to kill, or at least scare people into respect. But then you explained how you refused to be like the rest of the sinners.

He utterly dumb founded you made it this far without spilling a bit of blood, at least for survival!

He becomes more overprotective as if he wasn’t before, good luck with that!

Cause now he knows your rules, he knows you won’t budge. Nothing would get you to change your mind. So he made sure to keep eyes on you 24/7, you may be nice, but the other sinners in this damned place definitely aren’t. And he knows that from experience

Would neither confirm or deny he put a small tracker in an item you carry every where.

This man has enemy’s as you’ve seen, demons, overlords, rival company’s, it’s a headache an a half for him. Not that he hates protecting you and your values! No never!, but the nerve of the people who think they even have a chance to lay a hand on you.

Gives you the lastest phone from his series, and yes he will text you and blow up ur phone up if he can see you through cameras around the city.

Even if you put it on silent he wouldn’t put behind himself to over load it and just show up on your phone screen.

Sometimes he’s just so confused how you can be so nice, or at worst passive to those who are poking at you. He thinks your a saint, even if you aren’t, an maybe you have a short temper still the way you hold yourself form blowing up is astonishing!

Sometimes he jokes about how if you were to go to Charlie you would be redeemed in a day. And at night sometimes he thinks about it and it scares him to know there’s a possibility for you to go where he will probably never be able to follow you too

He loves you to the depths and the crooks of hell, and he’ll be damned again if he lets anyone hurt you. He sees you as a small soft light in the red cover world, and he will do anything before anyone can put out that light.

He makes sure to keep a good distance between you and Val, a BIG distance.

He’s always on the edge about people around you, how can’t he? He can’t trust all these “disgusting and repulsive” sinners in hell around you. The thought alone cringes him out and stresses him.

He knows to some degree he isn’t exactly better then them sin wise, but he makes sure to do his best for you while infornt of you, he cares about his image, and wouldn’t be afraid to scare someone into discipline. BUT he will tone it down, just for you ♥(⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)♥

He has you under wraps, from the public eye in this case. As much as he’s one to show off his earnings, he loves you a little to much and knows well people will use you as a advantage. He loves to show off but you something just for him behind close doors for now before he can work something out

NOW if the public were to already know, he show off by showing how untouchable you were, demons knew better to approach you seeing as how fast he is to get rid of those stupid enough to try something.

Overall he respects your morals of not wanting to stoop as low as other sinners. But it dose make him more protective of you, your like a rare gem. There’s only a handful of people like you, and even then the numbers decrees daily, so he dose his most to make sure you safe and happy <3

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

!🎙️✨Alastor✨🎙️!

Like Vix he humors it at first! Playing around with it before Laughing with his usual staticky voice as he stared at you with his unnerving smile. You guys quite literally stared at each other for a hot minute waiting for the other to say something.

It took you clearing your throat for him to realize you weren’t just trying to get a chuckle outta him.

And for the first time since you met him you caught a hint of confusion, making you explain that it was genuinely what you did.

He quite literally burst out laughing, you, someone who probably did something everyone did once is in this horrid place stuck with the horrid monsters ever! Just for that single act alone.

He will admit he found it a bit amusing how you refused to kill or lay a hand on anyone. Refusing to stoop to other people’s levels. Now that for him is pure gold of entreatment! He’s seen people like you, say the same exact thing then crumble when backed I to a Corner.

But for the first time, for all the decades he’s been damned here, he’s seen you stick to what you’ve stated. You were very much quite a spectacle!

Now finding new amusement, he decided to protect you, cause someone like you were sure to be a one time experience. Aside from loving you of course

Now with your name being accosted with him alone is a shield in if its self. Barely any one approached you, aside from those playing with their afterlives of course.

If you ever feel a looming shadow or presence it’s most likely one of his shadows. Like Vox he is gonna have his eyes on you almost always

Although he loves you he will play around to get a reaction out of you. All for the fun of it!, he knows you cringe when he talks about his cannibalism tendencies he just loves seeing your cute little face scrunch up!

Even though with all of that he is a gentleman and will make sure no one is to bother you.

He’s quite impressed you made it this far without getting killed, I mean of course you have him but if you arrived to hell and didn’t met him immediately he’d be quite impressed and surprised one you both do meet

He indulges himself in the horrible aspects of hell, with no remorse or shame what so ever either. So although he dose respect your wishes he won’t stop or calm down his tendencies.. （；へ：）but on the bright side he’ll make sure your far away or he goes off to other part of the city and do whatever he wishes. But your likely to see on the news either way… (￣▽￣💧

He dose enjoy the more civil and nice talks he has with you though! He finds it nice to take a break from all the crude talk on the street from other sinners and have a nice conversation!

Great listener let me tell you, he’ll happily sit there as you explain your day away! He honestly enjoys hearing you genuinely happy!, although his a chatter box himself but he enjoys listening to you more then anyone or anything else!

Watches you be nice to the most repulsive, and rude demon like it’s nothing. Even when disrespected you find a way to calm down the situation and nicely at that. Of course the demon doesn’t live long once their out of your sight, but still! He’s pleasantly surprised.

He finds it rather weird that your nice just for the sake of being nice but still it’s definitely a nice refresher from all the horrible people down in hell!

You catch his eye rather quickly with how you stick out from others (in a good way! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ) and his eyes end up on you, you mainly have all his attention almost always if he isn’t off doing something!, your his light just live Vox he’ll make sure you’ll shine bright as ever and won’t go out.

Not everyone can catch it but in some rare moments he’ll be seen just staring at you as you happily talk away to Charlie. And for the smallest second you can see his unnerving smile turn into a soft smirk, eyes only on you and his mind filled with only you. This happens on the regular, it’s just he’s quick to cover up so no one sees!

Overall he loves you, even with some differences between your views he’ll still do his best to make you comfortable. Aside from teasing you here and there! But other then that he’ll protect you, your one of kind. And he loves having things no one else can.

ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ

AHHHH HELLOOOOO OH GORSH I MADE IT JUST IN TIME THIS TOOK SO LOBG TO DO CAUSE I KEPT HAVING TO DELETE AND REWRITE ON A NEW DRAFT AUGHHH I HOPE TUMBLR FIXES THIS BUG, BUT ANYWAY TYSM FOR REQUESTING PLEASE COME AGAIN!!!\(^ヮ^)/’

[moonflowergirlsworld]

A dear anon Requested; Yandere Rover with unlucky reader.

While thinking about how to write it, I remembered a request in my Wattpad; Yandere Male Rover with an Isekai'd simp reader.

The ideas opened the flood gates and I combined the two to write it, But accidentally I posted the half written Oneshot instead of saving in drafts, in a panic I deleted the whole thing and then lost the anon Ask.

(⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠) ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

After having a meltdown, I got back the motivation and wrote it from scratch.

Yandere M! Rover x unlucky simp isekai'd F!Reader

This was the blueprint / reference sheet for this oneshot.

Slowburn

12k words (was having so much fun writing this I didn't even notice the word count.)

Wuwa Version 2.0 Rinascita spoilers

Rinascita was never ready for your thirst.

You were losing your mind. Not in a metaphorical, “haha I love this game” way—no, actually losing it. Right there on your bed, wrapped in a blanket burrito, your phone inches from your face, you screamed at a pixelated man who had no idea the chokehold he had on your soul.

“YESSSSS! 100K DAMAGE! GO OFF, KING!”

Your screen was a whirlwind of Havoc energy—your Rover dodging as your fingers maneuvered with precision on your phone screen. With a flick of his fingers, the Umbra bar pulsed to max, you clicked the resonance Liberation.

His voice came:

“You will Obey!”

“AHHHH I SWEAR TO GOD YOU COULD MURDER ME AND I’D THANK YOU—”

Dark Surge erupted. His scythe formed from a pulse of void-black resonance, and in a single sweep, the TD was gone. Like, deleted. A 100K crit damage number splashed across the screen and you collapsed backward like it had personally hit you.

You clutched your phone above your head, grinning like a madman, heart pounding like you'd just been proposed to. “This is it. This is peak gaming.”

Then gravity remembered you existed. The phone slipped from your fingers and smacked you right on the nose. You yelped, hands flailing, dignity nowhere in sight.

Peak gaming? More like peak misfortune.

After picking up your phone, you started to do your dailies. The dailies were easy. With him by your side, you finished off everything with a grin. You tried to act normal—keyword tried. But you still found yourself whispering, “Look at my man gooo~” every time he did that spinning blade combo.

"Now, I just need to finish the Rinascita quest and Aero Rover is mine!" you declared dramatically, just as your phone clung to life at a tragic 5%. You stared at it like it had personally betrayed you. With the sigh of someone who's been wronged by fate itself, you slapped it onto the charger.

When you finally logged out, you sighed long and hard, rolling onto your stomach.

“God, I wish I was there,” you muttered. “Like, not even in a weird way.” You rolled around on the bed, talking to yourself like any sane person would. “Okay, maybe a little weird, but I just wanna meet him. I’d totally be chill, right? I’d be cool. He wouldn't know I'm mentally married to him. I can fake normal.” You stared up at the ceiling.

“Just one chance, universe. One chance.”

Like the protagonist of every isekai anime ever, you fell asleep like that, mind filled with daydreams about him. Blanket half on the floor. Still mumbling about scythe physics and “how hot it is when he says anything in that voice of his.”

You woke up mid-scream.

Not because you were in danger. You were falling. Your body was currently plummeting through the air like a sack of potatoes. A flash of green, a swirl of clouds, and now—face-first into a patch of moss.

“Mmfh—ow—oof—my back…” you groaned, rolling over with all the grace of a flipped turtle. Leaves stuck to your cheek. Something—probably a bug—buzzed suspiciously near your ear. You slapped it away with a shriek and scrambled up, wobbling like a newborn deer.

What the hell?

You looked around, eyes wide. The trees swayed gently above you. As you looked up, a breathtaking sight unfolded—towering trees and jagged mountains pierced through the clouds. Ancient ruins peeked through the foliage, whispering tales of a bygone era. The air was thick with the scent of moss and hummed with strange frequencies.

Everything shimmered faintly, like the game’s graphics got injected with magic steroids. Except... this wasn’t your screen. This was real.

You smacked your own cheek once. Twice. “Ow—okay. Okay. This is happening.”

Your heart thundered. You spun in a circle, awe and panic slamming into each other like bumper cars. “This is Rinascita. This is actually Rinascita—holy SHIT I’m IN the GAME.”

You shrieked and tripped over a tree root you definitely should’ve seen, collapsing into a bush. It scratched the hell out of your arm, but the pain was just proof: real, not a dream.

And then you heard footsteps. You froze, your butt still plopped on the bush.

Crunch. Crunch.

Shadows danced across the moss. A low hum of resonance energy vibrated through the air, in a way that sent goosebumps down your spine.

As he came into view, your lungs forgot how to function for a second as your gaze collided with his. Broad shoulders, lean waist. Black belts/straps wrapped around his hips and chest—he looked very dreamy up front.

And those eyes, so magnetic. “I love you,” you blurted out without even letting the thought cook in your brain.

The silence was loud, as he paused, shocked by the abruptness and genuineness of your tone. Even the wind paused like, girl.

You clamped your hands over your mouth, eyes wide in horror. “I—I mean—not like that—I mean yes like that but not in a weird way—well, okay, maybe a little weird, but—oh god, I just—I swear I’m normal. Sometimes... Fuck.”

Rover tilted his head, stepping closer, his eyes zoning in on the cut on your arm. “Are you injured?”

“Yes—no—I mean emotionally, yes. Physically... just my ego,” you mumbled the last part, still embarrassed.

You tried to stand, but your foot caught the same cursed root and you fell again, this time right at his feet. Like a peasant paying tribute.

You groaned into the dirt. “This is why I can’t have nice things. My unlucky streak is at it again...”

He didn’t laugh. Of course not. He is a gentleman through and through. Instead, he crouched down beside you.

You stared up at him from the ground, limbs tangled and expression fully dead inside. “You’re even hotter in person. That’s not helping.”

Pause, try not to be so obvious. you scold yourself, reminding yourself to keep the fangirling to a minimum.

He held his hand in front of you to help you get up, voice low and calm. “You seem... disoriented. Are you actually alright?”

You shook your head, took his offer with the kind of reverence usually reserved for divine intervention, allowing him to pull you up. He didn’t comment on the way you tripped again immediately after and used his jacket to steady yourself.

“I am sorry,” you whispered, gripping the fabric like a lifeline. “I’m not usually like this...”

He helped you be steady on your feet. His eyes didn’t leave your face. “That’s difficult to believe,” he said softly.

You couldn’t tell if he meant it as sarcasm or observation—but either way, damn, it did things to you, and he was so close.

You feel the lingering warmth of his hand on yours.

Not metaphorical warmth, Not the “he touched me, oh my God I’m swooning” kind. Actual heat, like a campfire still flickering in your veins. You glance down at your fingers You’d clung to him like he was the last thread tethering you to sanity—because maybe, he is.

He hasn’t stepped away, still hovering near. You guess he’s staying close so you don’t trip again. aw, how nice of him!

You’re still staring at that hand of yours. It’s shaking, combined with the sting of the scratch on your arm.

You blink down at your fingers. Curl them. Uncurl. You press your thumb into your palm like you’re trying to wake up—you already know the answer but you are still in denial. Nothing happens. The world doesn’t blur. There’s no logout button hovering over your peripheral vision.

Your throat tightens.

“I’m in Wuthering Waves,” you whisper, voice barely carried by the air. “The game. This is the game.”

You blink up at the sky—those shattered clouds, the hazy blue, the orange-tinged light that never feels quite right. It’s too beautiful to be real, and that’s the problem.

“I’m in the fucking game.” Your legs go stiff. You can’t look at Rover. Not yet. You can feel him beside you though. “Wait, wasn’t Truck-kun in charge of Isekai?! I mean, I love this game and I’m in it… I was happy a moment ago, but now I suddenly feel anxious!”

“I can’t even run two miles without gasping like a dying fish,” you mumble, voice catching on a breath. “I sprain my ankle walking too fast in socks. And now I’m here… in a post-apocalyptic monster hellscape…”

A breath escapes your lips. It sounds like a laugh, but it’s broken. It doesn’t make it past your teeth.

“I’m going to die here,” you whisper, almost stunned by your own words. “Of course this happened to me. Of course, knowing my luck. My life is just a string of bad RNG. And now in a game that would have me killed in less than a second!”

Your knees feel unsteady. The nausea creeps in like a slow wave, curling into your gut. Rover silently stands beside you, So completely unaware that you are currently having a mental breakdown in HD 4K resolution.

Maybe he knows but doesn't want to interrupt, ah, you are too far gone to think about that. You inhale shakily, Try to joke it off. “Haha, yeah, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you whisper but Your voice cracks.

Cool. Cool. Everything is fine.

You stare at him, Then you ask, “Have you met Cartethyia yet?”

He tilts his head. “...Who?”

You laugh. It’s the kind that sounds like it’s trying to crawl its way out of your throat, a panicky exhale.

You start mumbling.

“Montelli family… yeah, you’re supposed to team up with Carlotta. There’s this whole bit where you join the Troupe of Fools? Fight against Phrolova but make it look like a carnival performance. And then you receive the Laurel from Cartethyia, the Maiden. You meet her when she is dancing on water.”

You rub your temple, your brain short-circuiting, You crouch on the ground, slowly curling in on yourself, arms tightening around your knees.

“I don’t want to die,” you whisper, too soft. “I don’t even know how to hold a sword. I can’t fight monsters. I can’t run.”

Seeing someone fall, Rover quickly ran to help the said person. He had noticed you long before you realized he was watching.

Not just the way you stood awkwardly in this world—your posture not matching the other inhabitants, not aligning with the rhythm of this reality—but the way your eyes followed him. That slow trail of longing, like your gaze held a history no one had written yet.

He sees people look at him all the time. Wanting something. Needing something. Dressing up desperation in flattery.

But you blinked at him like someone seeing a memory in flesh. Like someone who couldn’t quite believe he existed. And then—“I love you.”

The words landed with a sincerity so bare, so vulnerable, it made his breath still for half a second.

Not lust. Not seduction. No angled smile or slanted voice. Just a truth, trembling at the base of your tongue, so unfiltered it didn’t even wait for permission.

His mind locked onto you like a puzzle piece with edges that didn’t match anything else in the box.

Flirting—he’d seen it all. It was currency here, like pain or adrenaline. Everyone tried it. A hand brushed too long, a compliment too smooth, a feigned stumble into his chest. It was the unspoken agreement of survivors: flatter the strong, and they might protect you.

He’d grown immune to it. So when you said you loved him?

He waited for the follow-up. The manipulation. The ask. The trade. But it never came.

You just stood there, awkward and pink in the cheeks, with eyes darting like you regretted speaking too loudly in church.

He noted the way you bit your lip, then tried to backtrack. The fumble of your fingers, the way you kept glancing away like maybe if you looked somewhere else long enough, time would rewind itself and un-say what you’d said.

Cute. He found you cute.

He’d catalogued emotions a thousand times. Studied expressions for lies, eyes for betrayal, postures for threat.

But yours didn't fit any category.

And then came the dump.

The babble of a girl who knew too much. Who said names like passwords, dropped references like prophecy.

At first, he assumed you were delirious. Shell shock, maybe. Madness. The kind that comes after a concussion, you did appear out of nowhere from the sky.

But the more you spoke, the more specific it all became.

You told him he was a character. That you had played through this world, and he was at the center of it.

He didn’t believe it.

But the clarity of your voice, the ache in it, the precision with which you whispered names—it didn’t match a lie. It matched conviction.

He stored it. Like a tracker tagging something rare. Slid the information into a mental folder and filed it next to things he wasn’t supposed to understand yet.

Later. He’d circle back to it later.

He watched as your body began to tremble. As you sank into yourself, shoulders hunched, head bowed like the weight of this world and the other one you came from had finally crashed together.

“You’re still alive, see,” Rover finally spoke, making you look up at him from your knees. He crouched down beside you again.

“Let me help you. We should definitely go somewhere safer. The forest is filled with TDs.”

Offering you his hand again, he watched as you stared at him like a deer in headlights.

“I’ll ask Zani to accommodate a place for you to stay. It seems you’ve lost your way.”

You blink rapidly. Rover watched you with a calm, unreadable gaze, waiting for you to take his hand. It seemed you had finally calmed down—or perhaps he’d distracted you—because the last trembles of your meltdown were fading.

“So,” he said, voice smooth like worn velvet, giving you a small smile. “What is your name?”

You, still high off panic and full simp-mode, blurted, “You can call me your wife.”

Instant regret. Your eyes went wide. “Wait, I didn’t mean—I mean—I don’t mind if you do, but I didn’t mean to—oh god, I’m making this worse—sorry—ah, I’ll stop!”

You buried your face in your hands, wanting the ground to open up and swallow your simp soul. “Forget I said anything. Please.”

Rover couldn’t help the amused glint in his eyes. He wanted to test something. The edge of his voice dipped, smooth and amused, just enough to tilt the world sideways.

“...Would you tell me your name, or should I start calling you ‘my wife’ ?”

You squealed internally. Your soul left your body. Your mind short-circuited. “That would be nice,” you said in a dazed whisper.

Rover chuckled softly. You were quite fun to tease.

Your eyes flew open. “Ah! No! I mean—sorry! My name is [Name]!”

You finally took his hand as he helped you stand. You let go quickly, already embarrassed and internally cringing at your slip-ups. You wanted to keep your fangirling side locked up, so you took a step away from him.

“I’ll guide you back to Ragunna City and help you settle,” Rover said, already walking ahead.

You stayed frozen in place.

Noticing you weren’t following, Rover glanced back. “Stay close,” he said calmly.

Startled, stumbling a bit before quickly jogging to catch up, falling into step beside him.

Oh god. You are so fucked.

You and Rover have been walking for… you don’t even know how long. Not to mention, as you two were walking out of the forest, there were so many TDs that attacked. Thank god Rover took care of all of them, and you were happily cheering him on from the back.

The misfortunate situation is not lost on you, knowing how your luck is, you were kinda expecting to run into more trouble after that. But this journey so far has been peaceful, and now you really don’t want to jinx it.

Oh, thinking about how peaceful it is might jinx it. I should stop. You shake your head to dispel the thought.

The weather’s nice too. Sunny, but not too much. The clouds, thick, cottony ones, hide the sun occasionally. Just the right kind of sky to take a walk and touch some grass.

Reaching a set of stone stairs, you notice a Resonance Nexus nearby. Rinascita Nexuses are shaped like the lower part of a fish’s tail, it’s unique. And on your left side… is a cave. A very dark one.

“Do you know this place?” Rover’s smooth voice comes from just beside you, making you snap out of your daze.

“Umm… I don’t know much of the map of Rinascita since I just started playing and then got dumped here. Well, I already know about the port part, where Brant and his crew leave you and then you meet Zani. I think… My memory’s a little fuzzy. Wait, no! You meet Phoebe first… now that I think more about it, you meet an NPC called Cristopopo. No, um… what was his name?”

You ramble on, words slipping faster than your common sense.

“Cristoforo…” Rover answers, his eyes narrowing as he watches you with a sharpened gaze. “How did you know all this?”

At first, he chalked off your ramblings as a possible concussion response. But now? You know how he arrived here. Who he met. Too much, actually. All of this is starting to feel very suspicious.

“Because I was the one behind the screen, Rover!” you chuckle, then pause.

Wait…Your brain stutters. Shouldn’t I be hiding the fact that I know too much? I’ve seen enough isekai anime to know this is a red flag move.

“Oh shit…” You slowly meet Rover’s gaze and smile as innocently as possible. “I am a normal human… who’s a little crazy. Yep! I think I actually got a concussion by falling from the sky! Weird… hahaha…”

You laugh nervously, trying to lighten the mood, where was your common sense when you needed it the most?!

But those golden eyes, glint with something unreadable. The air suddenly feels thick with tension.

Rover nods slowly, and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “This is the way to the city square.” he says, pointing toward the cave.

…?No way. If you remember correctly, this actually leads to the Cathedral—the Order’s base.

Still, you follow him into the cave. He walks a few steps ahead while you lag behind. It’s dim, lit only by candles on either side, on the ground, shadows licking the stone walls. The air is cold and damp.

It’s so dark that if someone were to murder anyone in here… no one would know.

You chuckle to yourself.

Imagine if Rover brought you here to murder you because you’re suspicious. Hahaha… funny.

Rover pauses mid-step as if he heard that thought.

You freeze.

He turns to look at you and you swear his eyes are glowing.

“There are stone stairs up ahead. I think I should guide you from here, knowing how you can trip unprompted.” he says, offering his hand.

Aw, how nice! But wait, did he just make fun of you?

Eh, whatever. You can’t focus on that when Rover just remembered something so trivial about you! Your heart does a little flip as you take his hand without hesitation.

He helps you walk down the stairs, and the cave opens into a half-balcony area. From here, you can see the structure of the place more clearly.

There’s an opening to your left where the stairs lead down to a wide area with a fountain in the center. Another balcony lies to the right, and what looks like an elevator structure stands to the left.

Oh! you know this place.

“Rover! This is the Cathedral area, not the city square. The elevator leads down to the entrance of the Cathedral and…”

You walk to the balcony that overlooks the Cathedral’s massive dome.

“And I remember doing an Echo Challenge: Flight VI here!”

You turn to face Rover. “So why did you—” Your voice dies inside your throat as you see the look on his face.

He’s smiling, The I-just-confirmed-my-suspicion kind of smile.

And he looks so hot.

“…you know a lot more than you let on,” he says, casually.

You raise both your hands in surrender. “Look, I’m from another universe who got dropped into this one out of nowhere! And then I met my future husb—”

Rover raises an eyebrow. You panic and pivot mid-sentence.

“I mean, I told you everything I know! I’m no threat! I can’t even fight or anything!”

You’re really selling this like a bad NPC, and the delivery is getting desperate. A true Oscar performance.

Rover nods again, as if still processing your info. Then he lifts his chin toward the landscape. “That’s Ragunna City. But you already know that, don’t you?”

You look out across the scenery. In the game, it’s beautiful but in real life? It’s stunning.

“Are we gonna take the elevator, then a boat to the city?” you ask, excited.

“No,” Rover says. And suddenly, he’s standing right in front of you.

You gulp.

His eyelashes are so long. His lips look kissable as hell

Focus!

“—Ready?”

“Huh?”

Before you can even process it, Rover’s hand wraps around your waist and pulls you close as he jumps off the balcony.

His Flight wings appear just in time, catching the wind, and the two of you are soaring through the air. The wind rushes past you, your heart threatening to beat right out of your chest.

Down below, the city opens up in all its glory. It’s breathtaking.

Rover lands gracefully on the city square, letting go of you immediately. You wobble, regaining your footing, eyes wide.

“You should’ve warned me first!” you exclaim. “But that was awesome! It’s such a bummer you can only use this utility in Rinascita and not in Huanglong.”

Rover frowns slightly, but then smirks. “I did tell you we were about to fly down to the city square.” He leans closer to your eye level. “Seems like, you were lost in that head of yours.”

Ugh. This man. Why is he so……illegally attractive?

Ragunna City in all its glory, where the architecture immediately captivates with its harmonious blend of form and function. Buildings rise in warm hues of beige, ivory, and terracotta, their facades adorned with intricate carvings and ornate balconies that seem like something straight out of a dream.

Canals weave through the city like veins, crossed by arched stone bridges that connect various districts. Along these waterways, colonnaded walkways provide shaded paths, their columns supporting overhanging terraces lush with greenery.

"Wow!" You’re blown away by how breathtaking the city is. “It’s about time Zani called…” Rover murmurs just as his terminal rings.

“Unfortunately, bad news, I did connect with the places around, but there aren’t any rooms available in any of the hotels in the city,” Zani says over the call. Rover had asked her if she could arrange a room for you.

What surprises you more is that Rover didn’t mention a single thing about how he found you, where you're from, or any of your wildly suspicious ramblings. He simply stated you were someone important to him and that Zani should treat you like she treats him.

Weird… but you don’t dwell on it.

“I’ve told some of my people to keep searching. This is uncanny to say the least,” Zani continues, and Rover hums in response.

“If we can’t find anything,” Rover says, turning his gaze to you and calling your name, “you can stay with me.”

You blink. Spending a night with Rover? In a room? Alone?! Count me in.

After the call ends, you’re busy ogling the streets—your eyes wide as you try to soak everything in.

“Would you like to look around the city?” Rover asks, voice smooth as silk.

“Can we?! Don’t you have to, like… go meet the head of the Montelli family? Maybe a certain troop of fools to plan the Carnival performance?”

There you go again, digging your own grave with the shovel. Might as well throw in a few flowers while you’re at it, because Rover is clearly locked onto you again.

“…”

“Ah—I would love to! Let’s look around the city!” you shout, immediately speed-walking toward the Tub Tacet Discord to distract him.

“Hey Rover, she is very suspicious…”

“Shh…Abby, now is not a good time.”

Rover simply follows, letting you lead the way, subtly steering you through the city like he’s indulging you… or observing. Either way, you're too thrilled to care.

The shops are narrow but deep, with arched doorways and canvas shades overhead. The lighting is dim but golden, bouncing off copper lanterns and polished wood counters. Markets are open-air, scattered through the city like hidden gems.

You’re definitely enjoying yourself. Doesn’t this feel like...a date?

And to think—your mother luck has finally shown up for you, because nothing bad has happened so far. This whole exploration? Solid 10/10.

“I won’t be coming back to the hotel tonight, so the room’s all yours. I have some things to take care of. We might see each other in the morning.” Rover says as the two of you finally arrive at the hotel he’s staying at.

Might…? You blink. Right, it’s probably the quest time. Maybe he’s off to meet the Troop of Fools or something. It is nighttime, after all.

“We won’t see each other in the morning?” you ask, the disappointment slipping out before you can stop it.

“Maybe, maybe not. It Depends.” Rover gives you a smile and with that, Rover walks off after handing you the room key.

You enter the room and plop onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. So tired. Your legs are aching like you walked across the entire map. Rolling back and forth on the mattress, you try to find a comfortable position.

“I wonder… why didn’t Abby appear when I met Rover? In the Rinascita quest, Abby was always out and about…”

With that final thought, sleep takes you, deep and heavy, completely unaware that, somewhere out there, you had already slipped beneath their skin, settled into their thoughts.

The next morning, you're already up and about, practically skipping through the sun-dappled streets of Ragunna City. How could you not? You're in the world of Wuthering Waves! The most logical thing to do? Soak in every glorious detail.

Well, after that nervous breakdown yesterday, you’ve come up with a brilliant idea—you're going to settle in Ragunna City, find a job, and live a comfortable life, far away from the wild and hostile Tacet Discords.

You gasp, the memory of the Phrolova fight and its breathtaking cutscene flooding back. Oh. My. God. You're so ready.

You race toward the gathering crowd, the air buzzing with anticipation. Brant sits atop a high platform. But where's Rover? Maybe he's with Carlotta, preparing for the performance.

Suddenly, red petals begin to drift from above, catching the sunlight as they fall. You look up, and there she is.

Phrolova.

Your heart skips a beat. The sky parts like a curtain, revealing a scene that's both eerie and mesmerizing. The atmosphere is tinged with an otherworldly aura, sending a thrill down your spine.

The crowd's cheers swell as Phrolova begins to speak, her voice resonating through the square. She gracefully settles onto a circular hoop suspended in the air, exuding an ethereal elegance.

It's about to begin!!!

You watch, enraptured, as Carlotta and Rover take the stage, battling wave after wave of Tacet Discords. Brant narrates the scene like a grand play, his words weaving the action into a captivating story.

The climax arrives with a burst of fireworks as Rover slices through Phrolova's wand with his scythe. He lands on the stage, the remnants of Phrolova's domain dissipating around him. A laurel materializes, crowning his head.

You're practically bouncing with joy. Witnessing this in real life is beyond anything you could have imagined. It's absolutely magnificent.

Suddenly, a feeling wraps around you like a hug, it's suffocating.

You feel Eyes on you.

You glance around and find Rover staring directly at you, his golden eyes burning with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. There's something in his gaze, so unnerving.

Instinctively, you feel an urge to hide, to escape those hauntingly beautiful eyes.

Without thinking, you turn and weave through the crowd, slipping into the narrow alleys of Ragunna City, your heart pounding in your chest.

After the Carnival, Rover walks into the hotel, footsteps soft on the polished floors. He’s greeted instantly.

“Mister Rover, another room has been prepared for you. Here’s the key,” the receptionist says with a practiced smile.

He smiles back, taking it without a word, fingers curling around the cool metal. Once inside his suite, the door clicks shut behind him.

Not a single thought passed through his head, just the static buzz of your voice echoing in some unreachable corner of his mind.

With a heavy exhale, he dropped down onto the edge of the bed. he sat with both feet planted wide on the ground, knees spread, forearms resting atop them.

One hand slid through his hair, slow, rough, pulling at the strands like he could rake the thoughts from his skull.

“I’m in the fucking game.”

“Have you met Cartethyia yet?”

“Montelli family… yeah, you’re supposed to team up with Carlotta. There’s this whole bit where you join the Troupe of Fools? Fight against Phrolova but make it look like a carnival performance. And then you receive the Laurel from Cartethyia, the Maiden. You meet her when she is dancing on water.”

“Umm… I don’t know much of the map of Rinascita since I just started playing and then got dumped here. Well, I already know about the port part, where Brant and his crew leave you and then you meet Zani. I think… My memory’s a little fuzzy. Wait, no! You meet Phoebe first… now that I think more about it, you meet an NPC called Cristopopo. No, um… what was his name?”

“But that was awesome! It’s such a bummer you can only use this utility in Rinascita and not in Huanglong.”

“Because I am the one behind the screen, Rover.”

Your previous conversations loop around in that big brain of Rover's. He rests his chin on his clasped hands, elbows propped on his knees, eyes glued to the wall.

The pulse in his temple beats a little too hard.

“She said I’m a character,” he whispered, eyes narrowing. “This world isn’t real.”

A sharp breath rattled into his lungs as he closed his eyes, tilting his head slightly, as if listening to some whisper only he could hear.

“She knows Huanglong. She knows Rinascita. She talks like she has known me since the beginning of my journey...”

“I love you.”

The moment it replayed in his mind, something fractured beneath the surface.

Abby burst from the Tacet mark, crackling into the air with a spark of gold light. “What if all she’s saying is nonsense?”

It pouted when Rover didn't say anything. “Rover, don’t we have to meet Carlotta, Brant and Roccia for the celebration tomorrow? Let's just sleep!”

He didn’t move. His eyes were still on the wall, still seeing the shape of your smile in the cracks of the paint.

“Abby… what’s her frequency like?”

Abby blinked, startled by the question. “Eh? I mean—it’s normal. Kind of weirdly low, actually. But it’s got this… this vibe to it. Hard to explain.”

Abby floated in slow, thoughtful circles, frowning in concentration. “It just feels…”

Rover’s gaze finally broke from the wall, softening when turning to Abby.

“Out of this world!” Abby said suddenly, snapping its little paw-fingers. “That’s it!”

He nodded. “Otherworldly,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then his voice dropped. “Can you absorb her?”

Abby jerked in mid-air, appalled. “Ew! No! She’s sweet! Like aggressively sweet! I’d get indigestion.”

A slow exhale left Rover’s mouth. He stood without another word, walking to the door, movement fluid, like the weight of his thoughts no longer held him down.

“Will we go to the party tomorrow?” Abby zipped after him, in an excited spiral. “Umm..where are we going?”

Rover nods, smiling softly at Abby. “Yes we will. For now I just need some fresh air.” Abby floats beside his shoulder. “What about the strange girl?”

He pauses at the threshold, a shadow stretching long behind him from the hallway lights.

“I must keep her close.”

You weave through the streets, your steps slowing to a casual stroll despite the frantic beat of your heart.

It felt like… no, you don’t want to finish that thought.

There’s no reason to. Rover would never—he’s gentle, thoughtful, the kind of man who's Carring and always waits for your answer. He’s your Rover.

The sun has long dipped below the skyline, shadows stretching like claws across the cobblestones. The streets are lit by eerie blue lamps, that give off that weird hypnotic sound.

The occasional flutter of a curtain from open windows, or the low creak of Ragunna City's buildings, the distinct sound of people are the only thing keeping you company, You have walked towards the empty part of the city.

You’re not walking with any direction, just letting your feet take you through the winding alleys, marveling at how this place feels so much like Rome. So beautiful, so rich with history and yet, so easy to get lost in.

The wind howls through the upper levels, curling around the rooftops like a predator circling in silence.

And then it hits you, that feeling. That dreadful, skin-prickling, breath-snatching feeling. Something is watching you.

You lift your gaze, heartbeat stalling.

Two glowing purple orbs, blink into existence atop a rooftop. They shift, jump, moving roof to roof, always staying just far enough to make you doubt…

but close enough that you know they’re watching. And they’re getting closer.

No. No, no, no.

One single word cuts through every thought Run.

And so you do.

You bolt through the city, panic clawing at your throat, your shoes skidding on the stone paths as you turn corner after corner, blindly sprinting down alleyways and corners that all look the same.

The wind behind you screams. You don’t dare look back. You don’t need to. The orbs are above you now, gliding overhead like phantoms. They’re keeping up, very easily.

Your lungs are burning. Your legs ache. But still, you run.

You make a sharp turn, too sharp and slam headfirst into something solid. You stagger back, the impact jarring your senses.

And in your dazed panic you hear the person in front of you whisper your name softly, Spoken like a question, and yet it cuts through your fear like a blade. You’d know that voice anywhere.

“Rover!” you gasp, your voice a ragged mess of relief and exhaustion. “Oh thank god, Rover, I think I was being chased! There were these orbs, like, ghost things, jumping over rooftops!” You point up, frantic, your breath hitching.

But there’s nothing. Your outstretched finger trembles. You blink up at the empty rooftops.

Rover steps closer, brows furrowed with visible concern. “You didn’t return to the hotel,” he says, voice soft but serious. “I got a little worried…”

The way he says it, that makes guilt wrap tightly around your chest. You hadn’t thought about that. You’d gotten so swept up in the fear of getting away from him, but he was the only one who came to your rescue.

Before you can respond, a sharp, slightly indignant voice cuts in.

"Meh! She better have a good explanation! You wasted my precious time!"

Your heart leaps with recognition.

“Abby!!” you squeal, spotting the tiny, cat-like Echo floating indignantly beside Rover’s shoulder.

You lunge forward and scoop it into your arms before it can float away, smothering it in your excitement. “Oh my god, you're so fluffy in real life! You’re adorable! So cute!!”

“Let. Me. Go!” Abby grumbles, squirming and kicking its little limbs in protest. It floats upward with an angry wobble as soon as you loosen your grip, glaring at you with narrowed eyes.

You pout. “Ok, ok sorry! I know I didn’t ask before hugging you but I got hit with cuteness aggression! You can’t hold that against me.”

The little Echo huffs and sticks its tongue out at you without missing a beat, you stick yours right back.

Rover watches the interaction in silence, noticing how easy it is to distract you.… but that earlier intensity still lingers at the very edges of his expression.

After that long, nightmare-like night, you returned to the hotel with Rover. Morning came too soon, walking out of your room you catch a glimpse of familiar dark fabric moving past you, Your heart jumps.

Quickly, You follow him along the hallway, Rover is already walking ahead, his silhouette framed by golden light from the lobby windows.

“Rover!” you call out, voice echoing softly across the corridor.

He pauses mid-step, turning just slightly. That warm, boyish smile spreads across his face—“Good Morning.” and that breathy softness of his tone. The kind that makes your chest squeeze painfully and your legs feel weak.

It’s stupid how fast he can do that to you.

You greet him back with enthusiasm, falling into step beside him, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. It's too early to be simping again, gotta make your brain think of something else.

“You know, I was thinking... I’m going to stay in Ragunna City. Maybe get a job, settle in a bit. That way I don’t have to run into any Tacet Discords...and honestly...I really don’t want to learn how to fight.”

Rover’s eyes flick toward you as he opens the front entrance of the hotel. The door glides smoothly, and he holds it open without a word, letting you step through first.

“That’s smart thinking,” he murmurs, and for a second, you swear there’s something weightier behind his tone.

Your heart does a flip. Rover just called me smart. He thinks I’m smart! Heh!

You glance up at him, beaming, but the smile on his face has vanished. He’s watching you now. A stillness in him, like the air before lightning strikes.

“But,” he says slowly, and starts walking again, now the two of you are walking down the streets. “You told me about what happened last night… and it sounds like Ragunna City might not be as safe as you think.”

You blink at him. “Wait… you believe me?” The shock is real, raw. You hadn’t expected him to take your words seriously.

He stops walking and Turns. His golden eyes meet yours, catching the sunlight just right, there’s a glimmer in them that feels too sharp to be soft, too intense to be gentle.

“Yes, I do,” he says, voice smooth, measured. “Every single word since we met… I’ve believed you.” He leans in slightly, lowering his tone to something quieter, something softer that curls beneath your skin. “You wouldn’t have a reason to lie to me. Right?”

There’s no threat in his voice. None at all. Only kindness. Too much kindness. It floods over you, sweet and heavy. You gulp.

But then you see it. That unwavering focus in his eyes. Like he’s not just hearing you but memorizing every syllable, and every feature of yours.

Still, your smile returns, hesitant but hopeful. He believed you, About the ghost. You weren’t crazy, and somehow that felt like everything.

“Yep! I was serious about that.” you say, a little breathless. “Thank you.”

Right then, his terminal buzzes.

But Rover doesn’t reach for it immediately, His eyes linger on you, longer than necessary, longer than what should be polite. like the interruption has offended him somehow.

Only when the buzzing repeats does he finally pick it up.

“Were you awake, Rover? I trust you had a restful sleep?” a woman’s voice purrs from the other end.

You slap a hand over your mouth to stifle the squeal building in your throat, eyes going wide. Oh my god. It's Carlotta! This is it! This is where he goes to meet with Brant, Roccia. You're practically vibrating with excitement, quietly giggling into your hand like a lovesick person.

“Psst! What are you giggling about!?” a tiny voice snaps beside you.

You blink, turn your head and flinch. “Abby!? When did you get out of Rover’s Tacet mark? You’re still weak, you shouldn’t be out!”

Abby floats right into your face, squinting suspiciously. “You’re weird. You know things only me and Rover should know. I’m watching you.” It squints harder, doing the two fingers motion from its eyes to yours, then promptly zips back into Rover’s Tacet mark like a gremlin vanishing into shadow.

The call ends with a soft beep.

Rover turns back to you, but there’s something unreadable in his gaze, like he’s thinking too much. Or not thinking at all. “Don’t mind Abby,” he says. “Would you like to come with me?”

You blink. “Where?”

He raises an eyebrow, as his lips quirk up slightly. “You already know the answer. So why ask?”

You huff, flustered, watching as Rover turns his back to you, walking ahead with a casual confidence. Like he already knows you’ll follow.

The space you arrive in is open and tastefully decorated, big plush couches arranged around a low table, soft lighting casting warm glows over the area.

And your breath catches.

Because there they are—Brant, Carlotta, and Roccia. In the flesh. Living, breathing, talking. Not just pixels or dialogue boxes. You practically light up, your eyes going wide and sparkling like you’ve stepped into a dream made real.

You barely register the soft click of Rover’s boots behind you.

He watches you. Watches the way your mouth parts just a little in awe, the way your body angles forward in excitement.

He drinks in every detail like he’s parched...

but it’s not enough. Because for the first time since you met… you’re not looking at him.

You’re looking at them.

And he doesn’t like it.

Not one bit.

There’s a weight in his chest, something sharp and unfamiliar. A prickling tightness blooming behind his ribs like thorns.

He clears his throat softly, a warning disguised in civility.

You blink, glancing back at him. He’s smiling But something in his eyes is off.

Rover gestures toward the trio and some other people from the troop of fools with a tilt of his head, silently urging you forward. You step ahead with a nervous bounce, and he trails just behind you.

His eyes never leave you.

Not even for a second.

“Raise your glasses! Shout it loud, friends! To us! To the carneval! And to our very own Laureate!” Brant cheered, his voice a bit too loud and his steps more than a little wobbly. He looked absolutely wasted, swaying on his feet as he raised his drink high into the air with a proud grin.

You paused, standing just a few feet away from him, trying not to let your expression reveal the internal screeching happening inside your head. Rover stepped forward slightly, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed yours. “Please, stop,” he murmured. “You’re making me feel embarrassed.”

Brant gave Rover a sloppy, closed-eyed smile, completely unbothered by the scolding. Then his gaze shifted and landed on you and he lit up like a firework. “Oh! The Laureate's Maiden!” he exclaimed, voice cracking with excitement as he stumbled a little. “You were the one Rover left so early for, aren't you?”

He extended his drink toward you in a cheerful toast, and you froze. Your heart practically stuttered at the title, ‘Laureate’s Maiden.’ The words echoed in your mind like a prophecy.

Rover said nothing. He only lifted a hand to his forehead while shaking his head.

Carlotta’s sharp, observant eyes flicked toward you in curiosity. Meanwhile, Roccia leaned in toward her and whispered, “He’s drunk again,” before offering you a small, apologetic smile, in her shy demeanor.

You were losing your goddamn mind.

You stood there, barely holding it together, silently screaming. You were watching Brant be an absolute mess, Roccia being adorable, and Carlotta giving you the “I see you” stare. And then it hit you again how real everything is.

Your inner fangirl was one step away from combusting.

You felt it building up—your excitement almost boiling over your lips.

A hand wrapped around your wrist.

Your head snapped up, eyes locking with Rover’s. His face didn’t betray much, but the look in his golden eyes was enough—sharp, steady, and entirely too aware of what was happening inside you.

Somehow, he knew.

That you were about to slip, about to fangirl out loud and shatter the whole illusion. You didn’t even get how, but he caught it. As if he was tuned to your every breath.

You swallowed your squeal and took a deep, steadying breath. Then gave him a small, sheepish nod.

But he didn’t let go of your wrist and you could feel it in the pressure of his touch, the way he refused to release you.

Carlotta’s gaze softened, her attention drifting from Rover’s hand on you to your expression.

She smiled, and looked down for a moment, then patted the empty space beside her on the couch. It wasn’t direct, no announcement or fanfare, but the invitation was clear in her casual, elegant way. Just a subtle gesture, as if saying; Come sit. Let’s talk. You’re welcome here.

Carlotta rose gracefully, lifting her glass with a quiet confidence that commanded attention. “A toast, everyone!” she called, her voice ringing clear across the space. “drink freely and celebrate without restraint—everything’s on me.”

A ripple of cheers followed, glasses raised, laughter blooming in the air like fireworks.

You giggled to yourself, heart warm, eyes sparkling as the atmosphere buzzed around you. Slipping from Rover’s grasp—fingers parting with a reluctant drag—you moved to sit beside Carlotta on the plush sofa, feeling a soft thrill.

Carlotta turned to you, her expression calm but kind. “Welcome,” she said smoothly, folding one leg over the other. “You’re Rover’s special person. You’ll be treated as such.”

Your chest gave a small, involuntary flutter. You blinked at her, caught off guard by her directness. “Ah—Thank you! Um… but I don’t know about being special…” Your voice trailed into a mumble as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, cheeks heating. “I want to be, though…”

Carlotta tilted her head, repeating your words with an airy lilt, “You’re not?” a flicker of relief, so subtle it almost slipped past you.

Before you could open your mouth and spill something mortifying —your unfiltered thoughts like, ‘Rover's fingers felt like silk ropes and I think I stopped breathing for three seconds’—a sudden shift interrupted.

Rover moved, Just strode forward and sat himself directly between you and Carlotta, his body sliding into the space. His shoulder pressed lightly against yours, and you had no choice but to scoot slightly to the side—caught off guard by the smoothness of the maneuver.

Carlotta blinked in mild surprise, eyebrows raising ever so slightly. Your own eyes widened too. The tension was brief but palpable, like the quiet before a lightning strike.

Carlotta adjusted her posture with ease and offered no protest. She simply redirected the flow of conversation, her tone shifting into something professional as she began discussing details about the event.

Rover and Carlotta kept talking, their tones low and deliberate as Roccia chimed in now and then. You stayed quiet, content to observe. but the heat at your side was impossible to ignore.

Rover’s leg brushed against yours, now settled there, beside yours. His hand settled near his knee, close enough that you felt the weight of it, even without touch. There was less to no distance between you two.

Whatever that gesture meant, it was received. Even the Order’s acolyte, who was spying from afar noticed it.

No one would approach you. Not now. Not with him right there.

It would be reported to Primus, an unexpected detail they’d soon turn into a calculated advantage.

You’re alone again.

The wind cuts soft against your skin as you stand on the balcony—that balcony. The one Rover brought you to the cave opened up into a place, Order's Cathedral.

He got summoned by the Primus. Some urgent request, diplomatic bullshit. You didn’t want to go inside. So you told him you’d wait here—where it all began. Where you both first touched Regunna’s sky.

The elevator hums behind you.

Ding.

“Excuse me, Miss. Are you with Rover?”

You blink, caught mid-thought. When you turn, you find an acolyte standing just a few feet away, the fountain splashing steadily behind him.

“Yes?” you say slowly, confused. Why the hell is one of them talking to you?

“With the Primus’ request, we’d like to give you a tour of the Order’s wildlife.”

Huuuh!?

You stare at him, deadpan. “Does Rover know about this?”

He doesn’t answer, Instead, his hand appears from behind his back, holding out a bouquet. A beautiful one. Flowers in shades that don’t exist in Regunna’s natural palette, arranged like a bribe wrapped in silk.

“For you, my lady,” he says with a thin smile. “A gift from the Primus. As a welcome.”

Huuuuuuuhhhhh?!

You feel your social anxiety flare like a damn solar flare. You grab the bouquet on instinct just to make this weirdo stop looking at you. The scent hits you immediately—sweet, heady, with something underneath, Faint and Strange.

Rot?

No. It’s not bad. Just…

“Would you please follow me?”

You don’t want to.

You don’t want to.

You want to ask more questions. Call Rover. Push this guy into the railing and run. But your body… it’s moving. Feet light, legs slow, floating forward.

The bouquet trembles in your hands.

Your throat tightens. “Ro...ver…” you try, but your mouth opens soundlessly. Not a whisper, not a wheeze. Nothing.

Inside, you’re screaming. You are begging for your voice. For control of your body.

Help me.

But all you can do is follow.

You’re in a field now.

Wide, open, The sky is dimmer here. Or maybe you’re imagining it. You blink—your vision sharpens. The man’s walking away, saying nothing. His silhouette fades into the distant treeline like he was never there.

And just like that, you drop the bouquet.

It hits the ground with a soft thump, and suddenly—it’s like you can breathe again. Like some part of your soul just clawed its way back into your chest.

Your hands shake.

“That bastard,” you hiss, furious. You want to run back, grab someone—anyone—by the collar and scream at them, What the fuck was that?!

But… who would believe you?

Then a voice, warm and steady, echoes in your memory.

“Every single word since we met… I’ve believed you.”

Rover.

Your breath hitches. Yeah. He would believe you.

But first, you need to get the hell out of here.

You spin around, scanning the field. You don’t even know where you are. There’s grass. Rocks. A distant shimmer of trees. You have no idea which way is back to the city. And of course, the second you realize how alone you are, The air shifts.

It gets cold. And then you hear it. Skittering. Growling. Clicking. Then, like stars in a nightmare sky, they appear—one by one. Tacet Discords...At least twenty of them.

All shapes. All sizes. Some teddy bear like. Some Grotesque silhouettes against the horizon—elongated limbs, blinking eyes, wet jaws, razor-wings.

The air hums with primal danger.

Your heart drops straight into your gut.

“Nonononono! fuck me sideways...” you breathe, taking a shaky step back.

Then they move, Fast. All at once. You run.

There’s no plan. No direction. Just sheer, animal panic. You dodge a spiked tail that slams into the ground where you stood a second ago. The impact makes the earth tremble, and you scream—loud, raw.

Your luck is absolute shit—no, scratch that, it's cosmically cursed. You were having such a good time.

And now? Thrown into this mess.

Funny how things go to hell the moment Rover isn’t by your side. When he’s around, your luck feels blessed, like the universe has your back. The second he’s gone? Boom—chaos and now apparently a welcoming bouquet laced with “fuck-you” energy.

Branches whip at your arms as you dive into whatever passes for cover here—rocks, shallow dips, ruins of something ancient and forgotten. You keep going, because stopping means dying.

You trip once. Twice. A claw nearly catches your ankle. You don’t look back.

Your legs burn. Your lungs are begging for mercy.

Your brain is just screaming: You’re going to die here.

You’re not built for this. You never trained. You’re not a Resonator. You don’t belong in the middle of a Tacet Discord bloodbath.

All you have is your decent sense of sarcasm, and what you hope is enough spite to fuel your survival.

���Great!” you shout breathlessly. “This is fantastic! You guys didn't even ask me on a date and now I’m on the fucking menu?!”

A Tacet Discord shrieks behind you in response. You scream back, middle finger raised in pure survival-mode insanity.

They’re everywhere. Every direction you turn..You can't outrun them. You know that.

But you’ll damn well try.

Because dying like this—alone, devoured in the dirt like trash?

Not on your list of acceptable Tuesday activities, wait is it Tuesday here? Nevermind.

And if you’re going down... at least one of these freaks is gonna have indigestion afterward.

The air is thick with dread.

Your legs are jelly, lungs burning, and the cacophony of Tacet Discords closing in is deafening. Each breath feels like a countdown to oblivion.

Suddenly, a blinding light pierces the gloom.

A shockwave erupts, sending Tacet Discords flying like ragdolls. The ground trembles beneath you, and for a moment, the world holds its breath.

From the epicenter of the blast, a figure emerges—Rover.

But this isn't the Rover you know. His eyes blaze with an otherworldly light, and an aura of raw power radiates from him. The very air around him seems to bend, acknowledging his dominance.

He moves with lethal grace, each step purposeful. With a mere gesture, he summons ethereal weapons, dispatching Tacet Discords with surgical precision. The creatures, once so terrifying, have become his playthings.

His eyes glow—brighter than the stars, colder than space.

The frequency thickens around him like a cloak of shadows alive and hungry. His Spectro resonance still hums at the core, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat like a ticking bomb.

In a blur of movement, Rover twists—hand slicing the TDs clean and efficiently, like a surgeon cutting through rotten flesh.

More surround him. A pulse of Havoc ignites—Dark Surge expanding. He warps forward, vanishing for a half second—then reappears behind them mid-spin, hurling his scythe from both hands. The Tacet Discords shudder before collapsing, torsos sliced clean.

You blink—and two more Tacet Discords have already fallen. You can’t even see how he did it.

You sigh in relief but damn it, he looks terrifyingly hot. That dark gleam in his eyes, the effortless precision, the sheer dominance in every move…

Yeah, you’re shaken, but a part of you? Still hopelessly down bad.

The adrenaline drains from your body like a snapped string. You can finally let go, but your limbs tremble uncontrollably. Now that the fear has passed, your body finally realizes just how close you came to dying.

A sharp crunch pulls your attention up.

Rover steps forward, walking toward your crouched form with slow, steady steps. The ground doesn’t quake beneath him anymore, and that unbearable frequency that had screamed around him moments ago has vanished. The pressure lifts.

Your Rover is back.

You wrap your arms tightly around yourself, heart pounding like a war drum as you watch him approach. He crouches in front of you, and for a moment, it’s like déjà vu—just like when you first met. That same soft smile curves his lips, like the battlefield around you doesn’t exist.

He extends a hand.

That’s it. You can’t hold it in anymore.

Tears spill over your cheeks—hot, heavy, unstoppable. The sob rips from your throat before you can even stop it. You were going to die. You were so close to being torn apart and—

You don’t even register him moving until his arms are around you, pulling you into a firm, grounding hug.

You bury your face in his chest, fists clutching the undershirt beneath his jacket like it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality.

One of his hands moves slowly over your back, tracing calming circles. The other cradles the back of your head gently, like you’re fragile glass and he’s terrified of cracking you.

And in that moment, you feel safe. Safe like never before. Not because the danger is gone.

But because he is here.

Your sobs have finally faded to sniffles. You rub your puffy eyes, shifting just a little away from his chest but still firmly in his embrace.

“I actually thought I was going to die,” you mutter, voice scratchy. “Like! I know I broke my personal record of staying alive for a week, which is amazing, but I still didn’t wanna die, you know?”

Rover hums softly, his gloved fingers gently threading through your hair. The motion is rhythmic, soothing. “You’re still alive,” he says, voice calm and warm. “See?” And there it is, that smile. Soft. Sweet. Heart-melting.

You’d fight twenty more Tacet Discords for that smile. Urm… hide behind him while he fights.

“Yeah… thanks to you,” you reply, trying to gently pry yourself from his hold.

Keyword: try.

His arms don’t budge.

“Rover… I think I’m okay now,” you laugh awkwardly. “We can head back to the city?”

You’re not sure why it came out as a question but somehow, when it comes to him, you feel like you need permission to even breathe.

Rover finally nods and lets go, though his eyes linger on you, scanning, calculating, checking every tiny tremble in your limbs.

You stand beside him, brushing dust off yourself as he steps ahead, leading the way. The silence is easy… until he speaks, like it’s casual small talk.

“I met with Primus. Can you guess what happened?”

He’s smiling, but... something’s off. You glance down and see his fists clenched so tight.

“Oh yeah!” you perk up, totally missing the tension. “I remember that quest—kind of. Doesn’t he like, talk in riddles about ‘The Maiden’ or whatever?”

You ramble, voice light and airy now, blissfully unaware that your words aren’t answering his question so much as distracting yourself.

“Mostly accurate, but he mentioned you as well. And threatened me, indirectly.”

You don’t notice how Rover’s gentle tone shifts—how frustration slips into the spaces between his words, how tightly he’s reining it in.

“Wait! Wait! Wait, what?! Am I ruining the plot?!” you blurt, wide-eyed. “No way! I don’t wanna get involved, nope. Rover, can you like—send me to Jinzhou? That place is super peaceful right now and it’d be perfect for me to start a new life in. Like then I won't have acolytes luring me into a place filled with Tds...”

Rover stops walking. There’s so much in your words that bugs him. The way you talk about leaving like it’s that simple...like he could ever let you go.

“So,” he mutters, as if confirming something to himself, “that’s what happened…”

Then louder, firm enough to cut through your spiral. “It’s okay. Nothing will happen to you.”

And he says it with such unshakable certainty, it doesn’t feel like reassurance, it feels like a threat to the universe itself. this is his vow to you.

You exhale. “Thank you…” The walk continues, and there’s a light brush of Rover’s hand against yours.

You hesitate, then test it, fingers creeping toward his, shy and slow. Like you’re asking a question without words.

And rather quickly, Rover answers.

He intertwines his fingers with yours, firm and grounding. No hesitation. Just his hand, holding yours, like he’s always meant to.

You grin to yourself, giggling inwardly like a little gremlin. Heheh, holding hands before marriage. How scandalous.

Well, you muse dramatically, we’ve held hands before… but this is different. This is sacred. Because I initiated it.

You beam with inner pride, your silly little heart puffing. Because yes, this moment matters. Because yes, you’re holding your husband’s hand.

Husband as in: you married him in your daydreams. Details, details.

As you and Rover entered Ragunna City again, you were immediately met with Carlotta. it seemed like she had been waiting for the two of you.

“Rover!” she called out, striding toward you both. Her expression brightened, then faltered the moment her gaze landed on you. Concern twisted across her face like a storm cloud. “Are you okay?! My goodness...”

“It was the Order,” Rover replied, his tone calm but clipped. Then, turning to Carlotta, he made a quiet request—asking for her help. His eyes found yours again. “I need to take care of something. Carlotta can be trusted, don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Your hands were still interlocked—his grip firm, grounding. Then, with a final squeeze, he let go and walked away, his figure disappearing like a tether snapping loose.

You turned to Carlotta, awkwardly brushing back your disheveled hair. “Um… sorry for how I look? I feel like I offended you somehow.”

Carlotta blinked, clearly startled. “No, no! Please, be at ease. As I said before—Rover’s special person will be treated with the utmost care and respect. Please, follow me.”

She led you to her estate and provided a guest room stocked with fresh clothes. After a soothing shower and a change into soft, clean fabric, you collapsed into the bed like a soul exorcised of fatigue.

It wasn’t long before a gentle knock on the door pulled you from your nap. “Come in!”

Carlotta entered, a composed smile on her face, followed by a butler carrying a silver tray. Your mouth practically watered on reflex. The far end of the room revealed a small table and chairs. The butler wordlessly placed the tray down and exited with the elegance of a ghost. Carlotta gestured for you to sit with her, settling into one of the chairs with regal ease.

You took the seat across from her, and she offered you a genuine smile. “Don’t mind me. Please, dig in.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. The food was warm and familiar, like a safety blanket in edible form.

Finally relaxed, your guard temporarily down, you decided to bring up the thought that had been gnawing at your mind.

“So, I was thinking of going to Jinzhou. You know, that city in Huanglong...”

Carlotta tilted her head with interest, eyes glinting. “May I ask why?”

“I don’t feel safe in Ragunna City after the...” you hesitated, poking at your food, “You know... and Jinzhou is, like, very peaceful right now. A perfect place to not get attacked by anything!”

Carlotta nodded, leaning back and folding one leg over the other with the poise of a queen. “I can help you with that. Arrange transportation. I’ll make sure you arrive safely and are well taken care of once you’re inside the city.”

You gasped, hand pressed to your chest dramatically. “Omg! You would do that? Thank you so much!”

Carlotta nodded, her smile never faltering but her eyes held something calculating beneath the warmth. Of course, she had her own reasons. She was a woman of business, after all. And every investment had its return.

Carlotta had escorted you back to the hotel after receiving a message from Rover—he wouldn't be able to pick you up himself. You didn’t think much of it. Maybe he got caught up in something.

You made small talk with Carlotta.

Once you reached the hotel entrance, you turned to her with a small smile.

“Thanks... for walking with me. And for, well, everything,” you murmured, scratching your cheek awkwardly.

Carlotta smiled, her gaze softening. “Of course. Take care of yourself.”

You waved her goodbye, entering the building and making your way up the stairs, shoes clicking softly against the polished floor. As you reached your floor, something odd caught your eye. You noticed a door, just beside yours, was slightly ajar.

Curiosity won over common sense, and like the nosy little gremlin you were, you peeked.

And immediately regretted it. Who are you lying to? You didn't regret it a slightest bit.

Rover stood inside, his back to you, just as he was taking off his jacket. Then came the gloves, tossed onto a nearby chair. The strap across his chest followed, sliding off in one smooth motion. Then he reached for the hem of his shirt. That clingy, perfectly-fitted grey undershirt. He was halfway through tugging it off when your soul panicked.

You panicked, raising your fist and knocking loudly. Your eyes widened. Your cheeks caught fire.

Rover turned his head slightly, catching you in the corner of his eye, shirt now caught at his ribs, he lets go of it.

Your face flushed immediately.

He looked unfairly good like this—hair slightly tousled, collarbone peeking out, that necklace glinting against his skin like a silent warning.

“Oh, you’re back... safe and sound.” he said, voice dipped in honeyed relief. His eyes roamed over you, then lingered just a second too long. “Good.”

You cleared your throat and stepped inside like a guilty cat caught knocking over a vase. “I—uh—y-yeah, I just—sorry, I didn’t mean to peek or anything, I just—your door—it was open and—uh—” You were absolutely malfunctioning. “Your shirt is committing war crimes.”

Rover chuckled softly and didn’t press it. His smile was warm, and yet something about it felt strained, like there was static just under the surface. As he turned fully, the soft lighting dancing across his face, the shirt clinging to his muscles.

You cleared your throat, You sat down on the arm of a chair, legs swinging slightly. You figured now was a good time to talk. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you... about something.”

He tilted his head, eyebrows lifting as he leaned against the table. “I’m listening.”

“So… I kinda had a conversation with Carlotta while I was stuffing my face with food. And, well…” you paused, watching his hands still, You smiled awkwardly. “So... I talked to Carlotta. And she said she could help me get to Jinzhou. You know, because Ragunna’s not exactly ‘let’s settle down and bake cookies’ levels of safe.”

Rover’s smile didn’t vanish—it simply froze, like a painted expression.

“Oh?” he said, with an almost imperceptible pause.

His tone stayed even. “And why would you want to go there?”

“Like I told you before..” You shrugged. “I don’t feel safe here. I mean, what happened in the field? That’s not something I want a round two of. And Jinzhou's got, like… zen energy. I can heal a bit. And I think... I need that. I think I’d feel better there. You could come visit too, of course.” You grinned at him, clearly trying to keep the conversation light, because the strange, tense atmosphere is becoming suffocating.

“I see,” Rover said softly. He took a step closer. “Leaving is the right choice?”

“I mean… yeah?” you answered with a sheepish grin. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d miss you. A lot. You’re like the world’s best emotional support. Like—seriously. Who gave you permission to look that good covered in dust?”

That got a small laugh out of him but the tension didn’t fade. His fingers flexed slightly at his side.

Then your eyes caught something, on the edge of his undershirt sleeve, just beneath the fabric...

Your heart jumped, Blood. A faint, dark smear near the hem of his shirt.

Your lightheartedness fizzled. “Wait… are you hurt?” You stood, frowning. “Did something happen?”

Rover tilted his head, then looked down like he’d forgotten the evidence on him. “No,” he said quickly. “Not my blood.”

That did not make it better. Not his? You blinked. “Then whose—?”

“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” he said with a gentle smile, the kind that felt... wrong now. “You’re safe. That’s what matters.”

That strange calm in his voice made your skin crawl in the oddest way. You tried to shake it off. Your body stiffened instinctively.

After a pause, he looked at you again—this time softer, almost vulnerable.

“Will you stay?”

You hesitated. He waited. You shook your head slowly. “No. I mean, I care about you, and I have made that clear, I guess very clear… but I just don’t want to stay here anymore. It doesn’t feel right. I need space. Maybe you can come visit me in Jinzhou when you get a break or something?”

You smiled gently and stepped toward the door.

But it shut before you could touch the handle.

A hand pressed flat against the wood in front of you, and heat rushed down your spine. Rover was behind you now, close enough that you felt the weight of his presence in your bones.

“That,” he whispered, voice no longer gentle but absolute, “is not an option.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

You turned your head slightly, only to find his face right there, cheek against your hair, mouth near your ear.

“I didn’t believe you at first,” he began, voice barely above a whisper. “When you said all those things. About me. About this world. I thought you were just being poetic. But I listened. Every word. Every little slip. You’ve known me since the beginning, haven’t you?”

You slowly turned to face him. His eyes weren’t wide with madness. No. They were too calm. Too lucid. And that was so much worse. You backed up slightly but there was nowhere to go, Your back pressing against the door.

“You talk like you’ve always known me. From the beginning of my journey. Every choice I’ve made...you understand it before I even speak…”

He exhaled a laugh—short, humorless. “I started noticing things after I met you. Things I shouldn’t notice. The way the world shifts around us. The way time bends. The way... none of it feels real anymore.”

You blinked. “What are you talking about—?”

“I see it now,” he breathed. “The repetition. The scripted kindness. The way people pause just long enough for you to speak. I am in a story. I wholeheartedly believe you now...And you…”

He leans closer, his elbow bending, caging you gently between him and the door.

“You are the only unpredictable thing in this world. The only one who looks at me like I’m more than lines of code. The only one that feels real. Because you are the only one anchoring me to the real world.”

You could hear the tremble building under his voice, like a crack in the earth before the quake.

“I started wondering—what am I? A character in a story? A game? Made for people’s amusement?”

His voice broke, briefly. “Am I real, or just code wrapped in skin?”

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat.

“You’re the only thing that makes sense now,” he continued. “You’re the only one who doesn’t glitch. The only one who talks like she’s seen me.”

“Rover—”

“No. Listen. Do you understand what that means?” His hand cupped your cheek—soft, reverent, yet trembling with obsession barely restrained. “You are my anchor. Without you, this world dissolves. Without you, I become... just another piece of fiction.”

His forehead pressed against yours.

“I don’t want to forget how your voice sounds. I don’t want to wake up and realize I imagined you. I don't want to go back to a loop where you never existed.”

You felt his breath tremble against your lips.

“I need to know that I’m not just a story you’ll get tired of.”

Your heart thundered in your chest—part fear, part something far too complicated to name.

“I fucked up...” you whisper to yourself, barely audible.

Rover smiles.

That soft, puppy-like smile. The kind that used to melt your heart, the kind that once made you believe he could never hurt you. The kind that now feels like a mask.

He steps away for a moment—only to hook his fingers around your wrist with a gentle tug, pulling you back. You stumble, breath catching, and the back of your knees meets the edge of the bed with a muted thud.

“I notice everything about you,” he murmurs. “The way you dote on me... those little moments? They don’t go unnoticed.”

He extends his hand—like he always has. From the moment you met until now, it has always been there, waiting. Waiting for you to take it.

And you always did. With no hesitation. Sometimes even with joy.

But now...

Now you hesitate.

His hair is slightly disheveled, a few strands falling into his eyes. There’s a faint smear of blood at the hem of his grey shirt—crimson staining cotton like paint across canvas. When he tilts his head, the necklace he always wears catches the light, swinging like a pendulum.

Even now, in this moment, he looks so...Beautiful. Unreal.

“Don’t you want to be my wife?” His voice is low, coaxing. “Why hesitate now...?”

He says your name like a lover's prayer. Or a spell. Like the idea of you slipping away is unbearable. And it makes you ache to take his hand again.

“You said you loved me. Remember?”

His eyes widen. The desperation in them is stark, unhidden, raw. Wild. Like a man teetering on the edge of a cliff and calling it faith. Like falling is a choice... and dragging you down with him is a promise.

Then, in a voice so quiet it makes your stomach twist.

“So prove it.”

Your breath stutters. He was patient. He gave you your space, didn’t he? Gave you time to think. To breathe. He waited...

But patience is fragile.

And even if you run, it won’t matter. he’s the main character of this world. He knows that. he knows this world bends to him.

You can’t escape.

Everyone loves him, adores him. They always will. He’ll use that love, twist it into a cage so soft you won’t even know you’re inside it.

He sees it now, your fear. Sees the way your body tenses like a trembling leaf. He exhales, slow and measured, and steps into your space until there’s nothing left between you.

“Jinzhou,” he repeats, like he’s tasting the word. “You want to go there?”

You nod quickly, reflexively. Any wrong move could shift the moment. Could turn gentleness into something else entirely.

His hands lift, hovering in the air, waiting, Would you flinch? He would never do something that would push him away from you.

But you don’t flinch. You don’t move.

So he cups your cheeks with such tenderness it makes your skin crawl.

“There,” he whispers. “Relax. You can go to Jinzhou. I won’t stop you.”

You shiver. His voice is calm, but his eyes... those eyes aren’t the ones you fell in love with. They’re deeper now, darker, bottomless pits that don’t reflect light, only swallow it.

Because this world already belongs to me. I don’t need to lock you up to keep you.

“Don’t worry,” he soothes, fingers brushing along your jaw. “You’re safe. I’ll make sure of that.”

And you nod.

You lean into his touch because, in this world—whether you like it or not—he’s the only one who can protect you. The only one who won’t let you go.

Because This isn't pure love.

This is love born from obsession.

[taegimood]

— nudes?! (k.th) ♡

pairing: kang taehyun x fem!reader genre: best friends to ?, non-idol au, suggestive rating: nsfw, mdni wc: 1.4k warnings: mention/description of reader's nudes, mention of reader in lingerie, implication of sexy time at the end, tyun gets hard and is v clear abt what he wants, they’re both horny asf synopsis: what happens when your best friend who secretly has the hots for you accidentally sees your nudes?

requested forever ago by @mapofthemazeinthemirror <3 [blog status: semi-hiatus, requests closed]

| yeonjun ver. | soobin ver. | beomgyu ver. | kai ver. |

masterlist

──────────────────────

taehyun considers you one of the bros.

right up there along with his 4 other crazy best friends, you fit right in, no sideways feelings to worry about and endless wingman opportunities to gain — hell, he even forgets sometimes that you've got a pair of boobs under there somewhere.

and all of this, of course, is completely and absolutely:

not true.

it's exactly what you seem to think in that pretty little head of yours, though, as taehyun often observes; it's quite cute actually, he thinks.

"out of all the guys i could like, why does it have to be the one guy in my life who would draft me onto his football team if he had one?" he'd overheard you complaining to yeonjun one day.

(sorry, but trust me, sweetheart - you wouldn't even make it past tryouts, he'd thought afterwards upon fighting back a laugh and an endeared little grin.)

oh, if only you knew.

if only you knew the steady breaths he has to take whenever you stand so temptingly close to him; or how many filthy images he has to shake out of his mind when he's helping you with your workouts; or that annoying little shadow called jealousy that he has to push down when you smile so sweetly at a man that isn't him.

taehyun is a man of self control, and a man who would do anything for the people that he loves — which means that no matter how much he'd enjoy changing your mind about what exactly you assume he perceives you as, he knows for the sake of your friendship that he can't.

and so he doesn't.

but oh, you wish that he would.

taehyun is quite good at keeping his feelings in check, to the point where you're convinced at this point that if you were to strut naked across the room in front of him, he wouldn't even pay you any mind;

pft, you scoff at your own silly thought, as if something so ridiculous would ever happen. (…well....)

today you've decided that you're getting real tired of your own pining and yearning and eyes that shoot hearts like confetti every time your best friend walks into the room —

you pout at the sight of yourself reflected on the open camera screen of your phone as the self-timer counts down yet again. this has become quite the routine of yours.

body bare save for the lacy lingerie that doesn’t cover much of anything as you perch at the edge of your bed, posing so prettily, so sensually, just the way you imagine taehyun would like; just more photos to add to the naughty little album in your camera roll that you wish you could send to him but know that you never will.

there was a time where you used to try testing the waters a bit, some flirting here, a fleeting touch or two there. but you'd quickly learned how pointless it was. after all, a brick wall is never gonna flirt back.

you sigh. it's time to get going anyway; speak of the devil, he'll be here to pick you up in 20 minutes.

~

taehyun can see in his peripheral the way you keep glancing at him from the passenger seat of his car.

as usual, he maintains an even expression. "excited to see me or something?"

his lips quirk as you jump in your seat a little, quickly looking forwards and crossing your arms as you grumble, "you wish. i just saw you like two days ago."

he merely hums in acknowledgment, which gets you even more grumbly — ("no fair that i can never get a reaction out of you! why is it always me?!" you'd wailed in defeat one time after a failed attempt to get him back, your cheeks flushed pink and pretty).

taehyun smiles.

when he soon pulls up outside your friend's apartment building that you’d needed to drop something off at first on the way to yeonjun’s, he decides to be nice as he asks,

"where was that new cat café you wanted to go to? we can stop there before meeting the guys."

bingo. the smile that lights up your face is exactly what he was looking for as your previous pout melts away and you gasp, "really?! okay wait, i took a screenshot of their instagram page the other day, you can check and put the address in! i'll be super super quick!"

he bites back a laugh as you shove your phone into his hands and excitedly rush out of the car.

"5 minutes tops or i'm going without you!" he calls out the window, to which you shriek and scurry away even faster.

he grins to himself, shaking his head as you disappear into the building and he turns to click open your camera roll.

"alright, cat café, where are............ you."

taehyun feels as if a lightning rod has just shot straight through his entire body.

his muscles tense. all his breath escapes him in a rush.

you...

the sight of you is what greets him through the screen...

you,

completely naked.

it's like his skin is consumed by fire as his eyes roam across the rows of pictures in the album you'd left open; most taken on your bed, some in the shower at the gym that you both go to together, some where you’re donned in sets of delicious lingerie — his eyes widening and pants tightening when he even spots one from his own room, your skirt hiked up in the reflection of his full-length mirror as your panties dangle cheekily from one finger, leaving the delicious curve of your ass on full display.

when did she even take that??

he scrolls, and he's barely hanging on by a thread as his best friend who's supposed to stay his best friend poses so irresistibly pretty from the screen; his cock is so hard that it's painful as your big innocent eyes look up at him in complete contrast to the lewd position that you'd put yourself in.

god, the positions he wants to put you in...

alright, reel it in, kang taehyun. this can't go anywhere. you have to take it to the grave. you’ve gotta think about the friendship. you’ll just pretend you didn't see it. you’ll act aloof like you always do.

but every single ounce of self control that taehyun has spent so long holding together finally crashes down around him like a breaking dam when his gaze lands on the name of the album at the top of the screen.

— t ♡

his cock jumps.

fucking hell, these are for me.

when you skip your way back to the car minutes later, you don't notice at first how firmly he's gripping the steering wheel or the fact that he isn’t even looking at you, remaining staring straight ahead as you climb back into the passenger side.

you don't notice — that is, until your phone catches your eye, set neatly on the middle console with your worst nightmare staring right back up at you from the screen.

it feels as though a bucket of ice water has crash landed down on your head (both the water and the bucket) as you realize what happened.

but you barely even have the time to panic or react or beg for mercy, or perhaps for a lobotomy on you both, before taehyun is asking you:

"back seat or my place?"

his voice is so calm that you almost don't process his words. your thoughts buffer as you pause.

"wh... what?" you breathe.

that's when he finally turns his head to look at you, and the intensity of the hunger swimming in his stare is enough to leave you even more winded than you already were before as a familiar feeling stirs between your legs and your thighs clamp together of their own accord.

"back seat," he repeats slowly, "or my place?"

you swallow hard.

this.. t-this is... he means.…

your head is reeling, and dumbly you stammer back, "w-what about the guys..?" as if the plans with your friends really matter anymore in a moment like this.

fuck the guys. fuck the cat café. taehyun has already decided: he’s done holding back from what he wants, and what he wants is to make you his.

you blink at him wide-eyed as he leans towards you slightly in his seat, his voice low and assertive as he replies,

"we're not going."

he taps your phone as if to draw your attention back to it. as if it should be obvious.

"so, you choose." your eyes fly back up to his —

"where do you want me to fuck you?"

your lower belly explodes with heat as an electric shiver rolls down your spine, and you swear that this is the best day of your entire fucking life as you see the promise that flickers in his eyes.

maybe you won't be finding yourself on the football team after all.

──────────────────────

— taglist: @razsberrie, @saejinniestar, @hyukalyptus, @florestalio, @beomiracles, @kiss4baku, @kejingken, @hyukascampfire, @cherr4es, @stawmerry, @choikanghuening, @dawngyu, @soo-blue, @paradigms13

if you want to be added to my taglist and get notified whenever i post any writing, drop a comment or an ask and let me know! ♡

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

HIM & I

rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: rafe confronts the pogues after they try to get his girl to turn on him—big mistake.

based on this ask !! sorry it took a while anon, but i hope you enjoy it and it’s what you asked for :) got a couple request in the drafts stm, just editing them and i’m gonna’ start posting them one after the other <3

(check out my other drew starkey & rafe cameron works here !!)

WARNINGS: cursing, rafe threatening the pogues, mentions of murder, maybe a sliiightly toxic relationship (?), alcohol consumption. (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

THIRD PERSON +

The summer heat hung heavy in the air, thick with salt and gasoline, the scent of the Outer Banks. The island was split in two—the Kooks, who had everything, and the Pogues, who had nothing. And in the middle of it all stood Y/N, Rafe Cameron’s girl.

Not just his girlfriend. His obsession.

Rafe wasn’t known for being soft. Not with his father breathing down his neck, not with his so-called friends who only stuck around for the drugs and money, and certainly not with the Pogues, who were a thorn in his side. But Y/N—she was different. She was the only thing in this world that could make Rafe pause, the only thing he couldn’t bring himself to destroy.

He was still reckless, still dangerous, still a ticking time bomb—but with Y/N, he was something else too. Soft, almost. Not in the way that made him weak, but in the way that made him even more dangerous. Because if anything ever happened to her, he would burn this island to the ground.

They were inseparable, always tangled up in each other, whether it was his arm slung over her shoulders at a party, his lips trailing down her neck when no one was looking, or the way she fit perfectly against him when he finally let himself rest.

Y/N would do anything for Rafe. And he’d do anything for her.

So when the Pogues pulled her aside one afternoon, she already knew there was no world in which she would betray Rafe Cameron.

They had found her alone near The Wreck, waiting for Rafe to pick her up. Pope was the first to speak. “Y/N, listen, we need your help.”

She raised an eyebrow, already uninterested. “With what?”

“Proving John B’s innocence,” Kie said.

Y/N scoffed, crossing her arms. “You’re joking, right?”

They weren’t.

“Rafe killed Peterkin,” Pope said, low and serious. “We know it. And we know you know it too.”

“Sarah saw him,” Kie added. “We just need something—anything—that proves it wasn’t John B.”

“You don’t have to protect him,” JJ said, his tone a little different from the others. He wasn’t pleading with her, wasn’t trying to reason. He was taunting. “I mean, come on, Y/N, you think Rafe would do the same for you?”

That made her blood boil.

“You don’t know anything about me and Rafe,” she snapped.

“Then prove it,” JJ challenged. “Help us, and I’ll believe it.”

Y/N let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “You actually think I’d turn on him? That I’d betray my Rafe for you?” She took a step closer, her voice venomous. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not afraid of Rafe. I love him. And if you think for a second that I’d help you take him down, you’re out of your goddamn minds.”

She left them standing there, stunned, and walked away without looking back.

Rafe was waiting for her in his truck, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other tapping against his knee impatiently. He relaxed the second he saw her, his sharp features softening, his whole body exhaling in relief.

“Where the hell were you?” he asked as she climbed in.

“Talking to the Pogues,” she said, her voice laced with irritation.

Instantly, Rafe’s expression darkened. “What?”

“They tried to get me to help them prove John B’s innocent.”

Rafe went still.

It was a terrifying kind of stillness, the kind that came before a storm. His grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles turned white.

“They what?” His voice was calm, but she knew him too well to be fooled.

“They think I’d turn on you,” she said, shaking her head, almost laughing at the absurdity of it. “That I’d help them prove you killed Peterkin.”

That was all it took.

Rafe let out a sharp, bitter laugh, one that sent chills down her spine. “That’s fucking hilarious,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “They actually thought you’d betray me?”

His laugh faded just as quickly as it came. His jaw clenched, his nostrils flared, and that familiar rage flickered to life behind his blue eyes.

“They think they can talk to my girl,” he said, his voice dark and dangerous. “That they can turn you against me?”

She could see the storm brewing inside him, the way his fingers twitched like he was itching to grab something—someone. His knee bounced violently, and his breathing was slow, controlled, like he was trying not to explode.

Y/N reached over, placing her hand over his. “I shut them down,” she murmured. “They’re idiots if they ever thought I’d turn on you.”

Rafe exhaled through his nose, his knee stopping its frantic movement. He grabbed her hand, gripping it tightly.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice low and possessive. “They don’t get to talk to you. They don’t get to look at you. They don’t even get to fucking think about you.”

Y/N leaned in, her lips brushing against his jaw. “Then make sure they don’t,” she whispered.

Rafe turned his head, his lips crashing against hers in a bruising, desperate kiss. He kissed her like he was staking his claim, like he needed to feel her, taste her, to remind himself that she was here, that she wasn’t going anywhere.

When he pulled away, his eyes were still burning with fury.

“They’re gonna regret ever coming near you,” he muttered.

Y/N didn’t doubt it for a second.

—

The Boneyard was alive with the pulse of heavy bass and the crash of waves against the shore. Fires burned bright, illuminating the faces of Kooks and Pogues alike, their rivalries momentarily drowned in the haze of alcohol and summer heat. But that peace wouldn’t last.

Not tonight.

Because Rafe Cameron had a score to settle.

He stood at the top of the dunes, looking down at the crowd like a king surveying his kingdom. His jaw was clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides. Y/N stood beside him, her lips curled into a smirk, arms crossed casually over her chest. She knew what was about to happen—hell, she’d been waiting for it just as much as he had.

“You ready?” Rafe asked, voice low, eyes burning.

She turned to him, expression playful. “Always.”

Rafe smirked, but there was no humor behind it. Just something dark and volatile, barely contained. Then he was moving, striding down the dunes with the confidence of someone who owned this entire island.

Heads turned as he passed. Kooks raised their cups, cheering for their golden boy, oblivious to the rage simmering just beneath the surface. But the Pogues? They stiffened the second they saw him.

John B, JJ, Pope, and Kie were gathered near the fire, deep in conversation, but the second Rafe and Y/N approached, they all fell silent.

JJ was the first to react, straightening up and rolling his shoulders back like he was ready for a fight. “Oh, look,” he drawled, taking a swig from his beer. “Kook Prince and his loyal queen.”

Y/N scoffed, but Rafe barely acknowledged the remark. His eyes were locked on them, sharp and unrelenting.

“Which one of you dumbasses thought it was a good idea to talk to my girl?” he asked, voice deceptively calm.

John B tensed. Kie shifted uncomfortably. Pope kept his mouth shut.

JJ, of course, grinned. “You mean about you, uh, murdering someone?”

Rafe laughed—a sharp, humorless sound. “That’s funny,” he said, tilting his head. “You know what else is funny? Thinking Y/N would ever betray me.”

JJ’s smirk faltered for just a second before he masked it with bravado. “I don’t know, man. She seems smart enough to know when she’s on the losing side.”

Y/N let out a laugh, stepping closer, brushing against Rafe’s side. “You’re delusional if you think there’s any world in which I’d choose you over Rafe,” she said. “I mean, come on, JJ. Are you really that desperate?”

JJ’s jaw clenched, but before he could say anything, Rafe took another step forward, closing the distance.

“You don’t talk to my girl,” he said, voice dropping to something low and dangerous. “You don’t look at my girl. You don’t even fucking think about her. Understand?”

JJ, never one to back down, scoffed. “Or what?”

Rafe’s eyes darkened, his smirk returning, but this time it was cold, calculated. “You don’t ‘wanna find out.”

There was a pause, thick with tension.

JJ met Rafe’s stare head-on, but for the first time, there was something hesitant in his gaze.

Rafe had always been unhinged. Dangerous. But this? This wasn’t just some Kook/Pogue rivalry. This was personal.

And when it came to Y/N, there was no line Rafe wouldn’t cross.

John B finally spoke, stepping between them. “We don’t want any trouble.”

Rafe let out a short, mocking laugh. “Yeah? Then you should’ve kept your mouths shut.”

The Kooks were starting to notice now, whispers spreading, eyes darting toward the confrontation. It wouldn’t be long before the whole party knew.

“You think you’re untouchable,” JJ muttered, shaking his head.

Rafe smirked. “No. I know I am.”

Y/N chuckled beside him, slipping her hand into his. “You should’ve known better,” she said, her voice dripping with amusement. “Rafe isn’t someone you fuck with. And neither am I.”

JJ’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t say anything. Not when it was so obvious that they had lost whatever game they thought they were playing.

Rafe leaned in, voice just loud enough for the Pogues to hear. “This was your one warning. Next time? I won’t be so nice.”

And with that, he turned, dragging Y/N with him as they walked away, leaving the Pogues standing there, seething.

The night continued around them, the music blaring, the drinks flowing—but everyone knew.

Rafe Cameron had made his point.

Loud and fucking clear.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

i loved this request sm, thank you anon and i hope it’s what you asked for !! <3 i’ve had this a couple request in the drafts, just editing them so i can start posting them, so there might be a couple more posts tonight :)

as always, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated :) i’m gonna try my best to keep replying to reblogs and comments, because genuinely i am SO insanely grateful for all the love you’ve all given me :’) i’ve gone up by 400 followers since december and i’m so insanely grateful for the love on my page and my works <3

pls keep requesting my loves !! request are still open and i’m working through them until i go away on wednesday <3

[luludeluluramblings]

Okay, I'm so sorry but I'm laughing at an alternate timeline for pregnant Reader in my head.

Cause imagine if Jason had won the pole and the story had continued as it's been written thus far? If Jason found out he got Reader pregnant after she beat the shit out of him for eating the gender reveal cake? Finding out he's having a son because he ruined the surprise for Reader would be a hell of a rollercoaster. The guilt would be even worse.

And because he wouldn't know that Reader doesn't remember it was him she slept with? He's going to assume he's been such an ass that she wasn't going to let him be in the kid's life. That she was hoping he'd be a deadbeat or was planning on moving out before having the baby so he'd never get the chance to be near them.

He's making up scenarios that keep getting worse, but Reader literally doesn't know he's the dad.

Hey, this isn't what you had in mind. But, it's been sitting in my drafts for a good long while. So enjoy.

Jason's POV on THAT night if he had won the Poll for the Pregnant!Reader Fic.

Warning: Technical Pseudo-Incest (Reader DID NOT grow up with the BatFamily), Fem!Reader, NSFW themes, Yandere themes

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

In Jason’s defense, he was an idiot. He never claimed to be the smartest Robin. Never claimed to have it all figured out. He had street knowledge, but that didn’t mean shit if you couldn’t pick up the context clues of a delicate situation.

He’d been in a foul mood for nearly three months. Since that night you didn’t remember. The night were you drunk and giggling after coming home from a party. Gave him an adorable glare before climbing in his lab and demanding he explain why he hated you.

Oh, he didn’t hate you, Princess. Himself? Yes. But, you? Not one single bit.

Now, he wasn’t stupid enough to have a rough fuck right there in the middle of Bruce’s living room. He had more self control and more willpower than that.

So, he did his duty as Bruce’s ward and hauled your ass to your room over his shoulder. Listening to you squeak and squawk with a smirk on his face.

And, then you started giggling. Fuck, he loved your giggling. So fucking cute. He may have accidentally squeezed your legs to fight himself for wanting to choke you in a hug.

He could feel himself slipping into hell as soon as he heard that little moan you let out from his grip.

He couldn’t just drop you and runaway either like a saint would. No, he had to see this through.

And, he did. Passing through your door like they were the gates of Heaven and gently setting you on your bed like it was your personal cloud. Because he couldn’t let himself be rough with you. Just couldn’t.

But, it was over the moment you kissed his cheek so fast your teeth grazed his skin.

Completely over for him.

The next morning he snuck out as soon as he felt you stir. Wanting to hold you as long as possible. Leaving you to wonder where those loving bruises had come from.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I'll be going in a different direction when I write the AU Pregnant!Reader where one of the Bat Boys is the baby daddy, so as I said enjoy. This mostly just to play around with Jason's character.

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-Six

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, Silverstone 2022 accident

Notes — Do I hear wedding bells......? I am aware, btw, that their wedding song was not actually released yet in 2022. I don’t care. It’s perfect.

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

June 2022 

It was nearly 1am in Monaco, and the apartment was dark except for the soft glow of the TV, which had finished playing the movie they’d put on and was now cycling through the Netflix screensaver. Lando was lying upside down on the couch, legs thrown over the backrest, a blanket over his face. Amelia sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a sea of envelopes, glossy samples, test prints, and a very snuggly cat curled around the printer.

They were cat sitting for Max for a few days. Jimmy was hiding somewhere, probably. But Sassy had imprinted on Amelia and wouldn’t leave her side. 

The dining table was lost beneath swatches of card stock, wax seal stamps, and an alarming number of silver and papaya gel pens.

Lando peeked out from under the blanket. “Have I died? Is this the afterlife? Is this hell?”

“Shh,” Amelia said, clutching a save-the-date draft in both hands. “This one’s almost perfect.”

“You said that about the last four.”

“This one feels better.”

“I am literally having to be upside down to stay engaged in this conversation.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” she muttered, flipping the card-stock over and running her fingers along the raised print. “Do you think it’s too formal?”

Lando rolled off the couch dramatically and landed on his knees beside her with a quiet oof. “Let me see.” He took the card and read aloud, in an overly posh British accent: “‘Save the date for the wedding of Amelia Brown and Lando Norris. July 5th, 2022. Surrey, England.’” He looked up. “Shouldn’t we also mention that there’ll be a bouncy castle?”

“There is not going to be a bouncy castle.” She told him. 

“We don’t know that.” 

“We absolutely do.” She glared at him. 

Lando grinned, pleased to have poked the right nerve. “Fine. But I want there to be a chocolate fountain at the reception.”

“You’re twelve years old.” She muttered. 

“I am your fiancé.” He shot back. 

She snorted, and Lando leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose before glancing back down at the card in his hand. “I like this one,” he said sincerely this time. “It’s very you.”

“I designed it to be us.” She sighed. 

“I know. That’s why it’s good.” He looked up, tilting his head. “When do you want to get them sent out?”

“Soon.” She paused. “I wanted to be sure. I wanted you to be sure.”

Lando’s smile softened. He reached over and pulled her into his lap. “Baby, I’m so sure. Never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was gentle, hidden against his shoulder. “Okay,” she murmured. “Let’s send them.”

Lando pulled out his phone and held it up. “I’m going to start a group chat with every driver on the grid. Call it ‘Wedding of the Year.’”

“Lando, do not—”

But it was too late. He was already typing.

And laughing.

And she was completely, undeniably in love with him.

—

The video call connected with a soft ping, and Amelia barely waited for her mother’s face to load before launching into her current crisis.

“—and I just don’t think the eucalyptus runners will work with the shade of green we’ve picked for the table linens, even if we go with silver flatware, which I’m still not convinced about because it feels cold, and I want something warmer, but gold doesn’t work with the papaya theme, and—”

“Hi, darling,” her mother said, voice gentle and amused. “It’s nice to see your face.”

Amelia blinked. “Sorry. Hi.”

“Are you a bit stressed?” Her mum offered, smiling.

Amelia huffed. “According to Lando? Yes.”

“Well, I don’t think he’s wrong.”

They were both quiet for a moment. Amelia’s mum sat at her kitchen table in England, tea in hand. The late afternoon sun filtered through the windows behind her. On Amelia’s end, the walls were covered in colour swatches, seating charts, spreadsheets open on her laptop. A candle burned on the windowsill — scentless, for her sake.

“I made a new schedule,” Amelia said. “I reordered the to-do list based on dependency flow and deadlines. I think we can shave off six days from what the planner estimated.”

Her mum nodded patiently. “That sounds very efficient.”

“And I found a new calligrapher for the place cards, because the first one had spacing inconsistencies and I couldn’t— I just couldn’t look at it.”

“Of course.”

Amelia didn’t notice the concern in her mother’s eyes until she looked up from her notebook. “What?”

Her mum’s smile didn’t fade. “Nothing. Just… making sure you’re taking care of yourself too.”

“I am,” Amelia said quickly, automatically. Then, after a beat, “This is just… how I take care of things. Planning helps. Lists help.”

“I know.” Her mother’s voice was warm. “I remember the schedule you made for your fifth birthday.”

Amelia smiled faintly. “The magician was late.”

“But you handled it. You always do.”

Silence fell again, this one comfortable.

“I’m not trying to be difficult,” Amelia said quietly, more to the air than anything.

“I know you’re not. You’re trying to make it perfect. Because you love him. And because this is important to you.”

Amelia’s eyes prickled a little. “It is. I don’t want anything to go wrong.”

“And even if something does,” her mum said softly, “you’ll be married to a man who adores you. That’s the part that matters.”

Amelia nodded slowly, eyes dropping to the table. “I don’t mean to be… hard work.”

“You’re not hard work,” her mum said. “You’re you. You’re focused, and you’re thoughtful, and sometimes you hyper-fixate and forget to eat breakfast.”

“I ate lunch.”

“Was it a coffee?”

“...Yes.”

Her mum laughed. “That doesn’t count, honey.”

Amelia leaned back in her chair, a little calmer. “I know.”

“And if you need help, ask.”

“I am asking.”

“I know.” Her mum’s eyes softened. “Now, let’s talk about flatware, shall we?”

—

The boutique in Monaco was a study in elegance. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and white tea, filtered through softly humming vents above. Soft jazz played through the walls. Everything gleamed — mirrored walls, crystal chandeliers, gold accents on ivory hangers.

Amelia and Pietra looked wildly out of place.

Their matching oversized sweatpants and hoodies, Amelia’s in a washed lavender, Pietra’s in charcoal grey, were rumpled and cozy. Amelia was also wearing a pair of trainers, whereas Pietra had opted for a pair of flip-flops. No makeup, no handbags.

The woman behind the counter clocked them in an instant. Her name tag said Dominique. She was perfectly coiffed, with a tight bun and blood-red lipstick that hadn’t smudged in hours. Her eyes flicked down and back up. Smile professional, but frosty — which only Pietra noticed.

“Bonjour,” she said crisply. “How may I assist you today?”

Amelia stepped forward with a wide smile. “Hi. I called ahead. I’m looking for a wedding dress. I’ve been looking at your website all week, but my magazines say that sizing can be tricky with wedding dresses, so I thought I’d come in and try a few on in person.”

Dominique blinked. “Yes, of course,” she replied.. “We do recommend a fitting with one of our stylists to ensure your silhouette is… appropriately showcased.” Her voice, just barely, trailed off into doubt.

Pietra’s gaze sharpened instantly. She crossed her arms and took a step closer to Amelia, her protective instincts flaring like a sixth sense. “She likes princess cuts. Sleeveless. Soft fabrics only—anything itchy is a no. Think comfort and sparkle, not scratchy couture.”

Dominique offered a tight-lipped smile and gestured vaguely toward a collection toward the left. “We just received the latest gowns from Milan. I’ll begin pulling some pieces.”

But Amelia was already halfway into the racks. The world of high-end bridal fashion had completely absorbed her. The rich fabrics, the layers, the delicate embroidery—it was a sensory feast. 

Until it wasn’t.

Her fingers brushed over a pale blue chiffon and her entire body jolted. She let out a high-pitched, unhappy squeak and yanked her hand back like she'd been burned. “Awful,” she muttered, stepping well away from the offending texture. “Like sandpaper.”

Pietra snorted and shot Dominique a glance that said, ‘Do not laugh, bitch. Don’t even try it.’

Dominique’s lips parted, perhaps to comment, but then closed again. Wisely.

Amelia drifted across the boutique, her gaze landing on a soft ivory gown with delicate pearl beading along the neckline. “Oh. I like this one.”

She pulled it from the rack, fingers brushing the satin bodice, examining the full skirt with genuine curiosity and care.

Pietra followed her across the floor, glancing at the gown. “It’s beautiful. I—” She reached out and felt the hem between two fingers. Her brows drew together slightly. “Maybe not this one, ‘Melia. Feel here.”

Amelia frowned and mirrored her, pressing the lining between her fingertips. “Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s a bit... sticky.”

Dominique hovered nearby, clearly itching to say something. Eventually, she broke. “That gown is more of a display piece. Very few clients choose to actually wear it for their ceremony.” Her emphasis was subtle but pointed.

Pietra opened her mouth, but Amelia beat her to it. “Oh, that makes sense,” she said cheerfully, still carefully inspecting the neckline. “It’s really beautiful to look at, though. I like how the beadwork isn’t symmetrical. Feels a little bit like a constellation. Not literal, just... deliberate chaos.”

Dominique blinked. She stared. And something shifted. Her fingers twitched slightly as if resisting the urge to take notes. “Would you be interested in our ‘Altair’ line?” she asked, voice softer, less clipped. “We have a few dresses from that collection still in stock. More tactile-friendly, very unique silhouettes.”

Amelia lit up. “Yes, please!”

Pietra raised a brow but said nothing. She was still watching Dominique carefully. Measuring. 

Within minutes, Dominique returned with a handful of dresses draped over her arms, the fabrics a softer mix of silk and organza, more fluid, less rigid. She handed the first gown over with a tentative sort of reverence.

In the dressing room, Amelia giggled, her voice floating through the velvet curtain. “This one feels like clouds. Actual clouds.”

Dominique even smiled. “That one was worn by a princess in Monaco—though we never reveal which.”

Pietra rolled her eyes but grinned. “Of course.”

The next hour passed in a blur of dresses and giggles. Amelia asked a million questions about seam placements, lining, and how much modification they allowed for — she was short, and she’d want to have some kind of double-lining gin certain areas. 

Dominique became quieter and more attentive with each passing minute, her posture loosening, her voice softening.

Amelia, for all her blunt honesty, was unfailingly kind. She wasn’t fussy or entitled. She didn’t throw her wealth around, didn’t boast about her fiancé, didn’t flinch when told something didn’t quite work on her figure. But she was also specific. Clear. Confident in her own language.

Eventually, Dominique excused herself for a moment. When she returned, she offered them champagne and almond biscuits—“here, we will need some energy.”

Pietra side-eyed her, amused. “Changed your mind about us, have you?”

Dominique gave a small, slightly embarrassed smile. “She’s a very discerning bride. We don’t get many who actually know what they want, much less why. It’s… refreshing.”

Amelia stepped out of the dressing room in the sixth dress, barefoot, the satin scarf trailing behind her like a whisper. It had a delicate, modern silhouette with embroidered thread-work along the spine. Strapless. Soft, pleasant fabric that she could brush her hands back and forth over without any kind of unpleasantness. 

Pietra exhaled. “That’s the one.”

Amelia looked at herself in the mirror, tilting her head. “It feels like me,” she said softly. “It’s perfect.” 

— 

It was nearly midnight, but the windows were still open to the balmy night air and the pleasant smell of the sea. Their living room was a comforting mess—seating charts spread out on the coffee table, empty mugs of tea on coasters, a crumpled note with “NO GRAVEL TRAPS ON THE AISLE” scribbled in Amelia’s handwriting.

Lando sat cross-legged on the rug, wearing grey sweatpants and a hoodie that might’ve once been Fewtrell’s. Amelia was curled up on the sofa in an old oversized Red Bull factory t-shirt with a hole at the collar, laptop on her knees.

“So,” she said, tapping the screen, “we’ve got your family on the left side, mine on the right, McLaren crew grouped here so they can escape to the bar easily, and I put the drivers who don’t get on in opposite corners. Mostly for fun.”

Lando leaned forward to peer at the digital seating chart. “You put Fernando next to Toto.”

“Yeah.” She giggled. 

He reached for the paper menu mock-up next to him. “So… food. Thoughts?”

Amelia stretched her legs out and yawned. “I still think barbecue. Like a proper British summer day. Chicken skewers, burgers, hotdogs, ribs, corn, chips, beers in ice buckets. Strawberry shortcake for dessert. Simple. Good.”

Lando tapped the page thoughtfully. “No little towers of food with sauce painted like abstract art?”

“No. We are not having foamed asparagus or edible air. I’m going to be stressed enough, I need safe foods.”

He laughed. “Alright, baby. Barbecue it is.”

“Good. And it makes sense since it’s an outdoor reception. And I’ve sorted out the fairy lights, where I want the paper lanterns. I want long wooden tables with runners and candles and the candles are all going to be lemon scented to help the people who drink or eat too much.” She bit her lip. “I’ll carry some nose plugs in-case all of the smells get overwhelming.” 

“My future wife. So specific.”

“Your future wife. Incredibly autistic,” she returned flatly, flipping a tab on her browser. 

Lando crawled off the rug and onto the sofa beside her. She adjusted her laptop without looking and let him tuck himself under her arm. His curls smelled faintly like his shampoo. It was a mild scent. She liked it. 

“So,” he murmured against her shoulder. “It’s all going to be a bit crazy, isn’t it? Getting married two days after Silverstone?”

Amelia nodded. “Yeah. But it gives you one full day to recover, which I’m sure you’re going to need since you tend to drive like your life depends on it there.”

He gave her a gentle nudge. “You okay with that timing?”

Amelia shrugged. “I think it’s fine. It’ll feel like a season high, no matter what your finishing position says. So, you’ll make it through without crashing, and then two days later, we get married.”

Lando was quiet for a moment, fingers tracing patterns over the blanket. “You make everything sound so easy.”

“That’s because I overthink everything to the point of perfection.”

He laughed into her shoulder, wrapping an arm around her waist. “And you’re sure about the marquee?”

“Yes. Big white tent, strung with lights. It’s British summer. It’ll rain at some point, and I want everyone dry and happy. Also I want it to smell like cut grass and sunscreen and citronella candles.”

Lando exhaled slowly, his voice low. “It’s going to be good, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said, her tone certain, her thumb stroking the corner of his hand. 

He leaned in and kissed her jaw. “I love you.”

“I know,” she said, grinning as she reached to close her laptop. “Now go and brush your teeth. And remember to floss. You’ve got a dentist appointment tomorrow morning.”

—

July 2022

The Red Bull garage buzzed with activity, a constant undercurrent of shouting, laughter, and hydraulic whines. Engineers wove around each other like ants, methodical and focused. The air smelled like hot metal, tire rubber, and gentle anticipation — it was only Thursday. 

Amelia’s clipboard rested loosely against her hip, dog-eared pages bristling with colour-coded sticky tabs and annotated margins. She was reading something intently when Max appeared beside her, a water bottle dangling from his hand.

“You look tan,” he said without preamble, eyes fixed on the front wing being slotted into place across the garage.

Amelia blinked, not looking up. “I had a spray tan. Hated it. Washed it off after an hour, so the colour didn’t develop as much as it should have.”

Max gave a small nod, considering. “It’s subtle, but noticeable. Looks nice.”

She looked up at him. “Thanks, Max.”

He shrugged. They both watched as a mechanic began fitting a sensor onto the nose cone. Behind them, someone called for torque settings.

“You nervous?” Max asked.

“For the race?” She scrunched her nose slightly. “No, Max.”

He cracked a grin. “I meant the wedding.”

Amelia blinked, then her expression softened immediately. Her entire face changed—lighter, brighter. “We’re finalising the reception seating chart tonight. It’s so much fun. It makes me feel so powerful.”

Max chuckled, low and warm. “I’ve never heard someone say that about a seating chart.”

“It’s like a puzzle.” She told him. “It’s strategic warfare. There’s certain people who can’t share a table, and then other people who’d be upset if they weren’t sharing. It’s like herding Jimmy and Sassy around when they just want to sleep.”

“Awful, then,” Max said dryly. “Celeste bought a new dress,” he offered after a beat, half-distracted as he watched an engineer lift one of the rear suspension arms.

“Oh. Cool. Me too,” Amelia said brightly.

Max turned his head to look at her, deadpan. “…You’re the bride.”

Amelia blinked. “So?”

“So of course you bought a dress. You’re not going to show up in a hoodie and pretend it’s avant-garde.” His tone was flat, but he couldn’t hide the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I did try on a satin jumpsuit with a cape,” she said, unfazed.

Max stared at her like she was deranged. “Of course you did.”

“It was incredibly itchy,” she admitted, pulling a face. “I couldn’t move my arms properly either. I looked like a Bram Stocker vampire.”

“Sounds like a missed opportunity.” He teased. 

She glanced at him. “I don’t want to look like a vampire at my wedding, Max. That’s why I got a spray tan. Lando offered to take me to St. Tropez for a few days to get some natural colour, but we’ve just been too busy to find the time.” She sighed sadly. 

Max made a soft noise of amusement, shaking his head. “Celeste’s worried about the weather. She said if it rains, her hair’s going to be ruined and it’ll be flat in every photo.”

“Oh. That’s fine,” Amelia said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “There’s going to be a marquee. One with fairy lights and wood panel flooring. It’s weatherproofed and temperature controlled.”

“She’ll be glad to hear that,” Max said with a little smile. “I think she’s more very excited.” 

Someone across the bay swore in Dutch. A helmet clinked onto a workbench behind them. Amelia glanced at her clipboard again and made a quick note, then looked back up at Max.

“What did you think of the save-the-dates?”

“Very classy,” he said without hesitation. “Celeste put it up on the fridge.”

Amelia lit up. “She did?”

Max nodded. “Yep. Right next to a magnet shaped like a cat. She made me RSVP twice just to be sure.”

Amelia laughed, soft and full-bodied. “That’s good. I was a bit worried that she might not be impressed by the food options. She’s much fancier than me.”

“Nah,” Max waved it off. “She gets it. Barbecue food is safe. Comforting. No truffle foam bullshit.”

Amelia leaned in conspiratorially. “I hired Lando a bouncy castle. Don’t tell him. It’s a surprise.”

Max arched an eyebrow. “He’s going to cry.”

“Happy tears only,” she agreed. 

Max finished his water and tossed the empty bottle into the bin. Then he looked at her with something a little softer in his eyes. “You’re going to be a very cool wife.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Max shrugged. “You hired him a bouncy castle, meisje.”

She made a face. “He wanted one. I said no, and he got this sad look on his face.”

“Like I said — good wife.”

She stared at him for a moment, and then smiled, just a little. “Thanks, Max.”

He gave her a casual bump with his shoulder. “Anytime, smarty pants.”

—

Amelia stood just outside the engineers' station, back to the wall, tapping notes onto her tablet with her thumb while sipping from a bottle of water that had long since lost its chill — she wished Lando was around. He would’ve already switched it out for fresh, iced. 

Her headset was slung around her neck. She was overstimulated but functioning — hyper-focused in that Amelia-way, where adrenaline and structure outweighed the noise.

Zak found her during a set-up lull, and approached with something oddly hesitant in his step. He wasn’t in CEO mode — not in the crisp way he carried himself during sponsor walks or team debriefs. He just looked like her dad.

“Got a minute?” He asked, voice quieter than usual.

She blinked up, adjusted her grip on the tablet, and nodded. “Sure. I’m just waiting on the new diff adjustment numbers.”

Zak nodded once and leaned against the wall beside her. For a second, they just watched. Engines turned over. Radios crackled.

Then, “So, your mom tells me you’re about done with all the planning?”

“More or less,” she replied, flipping the tablet shut. “The reception layout’s finalised, catering’s booked. Lando hired a live band — it’s that one he likes from TikTok.”

“Right,” Zak said. He knew the one. “And… it’s still two days after Silverstone?”

“Yes. Lando is driving us up the morning after the race.” She paused. “We hired private transportation for the guests flying into Heathrow.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. She glanced at him sideways. He was fidgeting with the rim of his paper coffee cup, lips pressed together in a line of restrained emotion. Finally, he said, “I was wondering… if you wanted me to walk you down the aisle.”

She blinked. Her brain flicked through five reactions before her mouth caught up. “Oh.”

“You don’t have to say yes,” he added quickly. “Or at all. I know that might feel… too performative for you. And if that’s not what you want—”

“I do want it,” she interrupted, then paused. “But I hadn’t even thought about that. I’m sorry.” 

“That’s okay,” he said. “There’s a lot to think about.”

She looked down, scuffed the toe of her trainer against the concrete. “I haven’t even decided if I want music for the aisle walk yet. It might be too much. Too loud.”

Zak’s voice dropped low. “Have you made other provisions?”

“What type?”

 “Quiet room? Down time? Emergency hoodie and sweatpants?”

She gave a surprised little laugh. “I’m working on that, yeah. Pietra helped me put together a little survival kit. And I’ve already warned the florist; no strong smells. I gave them a list.”

He smiled, but there was still something cautious in his eyes. “Amelia… I want you to really love your wedding day.”

She tilted her head at him curiously.

“You’re brilliant at putting your head down and getting through hard things,” he said. “But this isn’t something to get through. You’re supposed to enjoy it. So just…. Remember that you’re allowed to take breaks. You’re allowed to need silence, or space. It’s your day, nobody else’s. The only person you should be thinking about is yourself, yeah?”

A long pause. Then her voice, quieter, “I want everyone to have a good time.”

Zak exhaled, moved so he was fully facing her. “Bug,” he said — an old nickname, rarely ever used beyond her pre-teen years. “You’re not a burden. You’re my daughter. And you’re marrying someone who knows exactly what you need and loves you for it. This wedding doesn’t have to look like everyone else’s. It just has to feel like you.”

She nodded, once. Then twice more, just to be sure.

“I’d really like it,” she said at last, “if you walked me down the aisle.”

Zak’s smile turned warm and wide. “Then that’s settled.”

There was a call for radio checks across the paddock. Amelia checked her watch.

“I have to get back to Max,” she said, already reaching for her headset. “We’re trialling a new steering calibration.”

Zak stepped back, letting her pass. “Save me a dance,” he called after her.

She turned just long enough to shoot him a look over her shoulder. “Only if they play ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine.’”

He laughed because he knew that she wasn’t joking. “Okay, sweetheart.”

—

Two Weeks Earlier

The floor of the living room was a minefield of tote bags and half-open Amazon parcels.

Amelia sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, surrounded by boxes of earplugs, tinted glasses, noise-cancelling headphones, a fan shaped like a rabbit, and what appeared to be five different brands of lavender-scented balm. She was in a hoodie four sizes too big, sleeves tucked over her hands, brow furrowed with precise concentration.

Pietra lay sprawled on the sofa above her, holding up a checklist written in Amelia’s neatly printed block capitals.

“Okay,” Pietra said, tapping her pen against her lips. “We’ve got the fidget ring, compression vest, emergency gum, chewing straws, and a travel-size tinted moisturiser because we don’t want you to have stress rashes in the photos because you’re overwhelmed.”

Amelia nodded without looking up, stuffing the vest and a weighted scarf into a small ivory backpack. It had her initials embroidered discreetly on the strap, next to the cursive letting of the word bride. Her mom had given it to her as an early wedding-present. 

“We still need your sunglasses,” Pietra said. “And your mint-spray. Where is the mint-spray?”

“Bathroom cabinet,” Amelia replied. “Behind the cough syrup.”

Pietra hopped up to fetch it.

The evening light poured in warm and golden through the windows. The sea sparkled in the distance. There was an open bottle of wine on the coffee table, Pietra’s glass mostly empty. Amelia’s glass was full — untouched. 

From the bathroom, “Do you want to add tissues to the bag or keep those in your purse?”

“Both,” Amelia called. “In case I cry and then get a nosebleed. You know, logically.”

“Obviously.” Pietra reappeared with the mint-spray and handed it over. She sat back down on the couch, legs curled beneath her, watching as Amelia began methodically tucking things into place — familiar, practiced movements. Like muscle memory. “You doing okay?” Pietra asked, not pushing, not heavy.

Amelia didn’t answer right away. She zipped the backpack closed, patted it once for certainty, and then leaned back against the sofa with a sigh. “I just want to be prepared for all eventualities,” she said quietly.

“You are.”

“But what if it’s too much? All those people. The photos. The weather. What if I need to leave and I can’t, because it’s my wedding?” Her eyes were comically wide.

Pietra slid off the couch to sit next to her, shoulder to shoulder on the floor.

“I’ll be there,” she said. “And I’ll try my best to notice before anyone else does. And I’ll say I need help with my lipstick or something and we’ll sneak away to the quiet room for five minutes and whenever you’re ready we can reappear like nothing even happened.”

Amelia swallowed. “You’re really good at this.”

“I love you,” Pietra replied simply. “And I know you quite well. That helps.”

There was a long pause. Then, “Lando tried to convince me to let him DJ our own wedding.”

Pietra rolled her eyes. “Of course he did.” Then she nudged her. “Although, you have hired him a surprise bouncy castle.”

Amelia made a face. “You weren’t supposed to know about the bouncy castle.”

“I didn’t,” Pietra said cheerfully. “Until now.”

Amelia let herself laugh, quiet and real.

The survival kit sat neatly between them. 

“So,” Pietra said. “You want to rehearse putting the kit together again tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Amelia said instantly. “At the time we’d expect to do it on the day. Just in case.”

Pietra smiled. “Perfect.”

— 

Back To Present

Amelia stood just beside the Red Bull hospitality unit, half in the shade, a bottle of electrolyte water in her hand. She had a new colour system for this weekend — blue for weather conditions, red for setup adjustments, green for wedding reminders.

She was scanning a new data report on her iPad when someone stepped into her periphery.

“Amelia,” came a familiar voice, bright but deliberate.

She looked up, blinking against the glare of the sun. “Hi, Susie.”

Susie Wolff was dressed as sharply as always, white blouse tucked into navy trousers, sunglasses perched on her head. “I’ve been meaning to find you this weekend,” She said. “You’ve been impossible to pin down.”

Amelia tilted her head slightly. “Sorry. I’ve been... everywhere.”

Susie laughed. “That’s the word around here.” There was a brief pause before Susie tucked her hands into her pockets. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something — unofficially, for now.”

Amelia adjusted her grip on the iPad, curious. “Go on.”

“You’ve heard about the new series I’m launching next year? The F1 Academy?” Susie asked. “All-women, junior feeder series. The aim is to give young female drivers the platform.”

Amelia nodded slowly. “I read about it. Five teams, three drivers each.”

Susie smiled. “That’s right. We’re doing it properly. Structured development, real brand support. Not just a PR stunt.”

“Is there a technical side you’re looking to build out?” Amelia asked, already moving into that headspace. “Because if it’s a full series, they’ll need engineering support, performance strategists, aero consultants…”

“Exactly,” Susie replied. “And I want the best people. People who actually understand development from the ground up — and people who want to make the system better, not just replicate it.”

Amelia’s eyes narrowed, not in suspicion but focus. “Will the cars be spec-built or adjustable? Because if there’s room for development, I’d want to know the homologation structure. And the tyre compounds—”

Susie held up a hand, laughing lightly. “This is why I wanted to talk to you.”

Amelia flushed slightly. “Sorry. I just… like the details.”

“I know. That’s why you’re good at what you do,” Susie said. “You’re not just talented. You care about doing things the right way.” A quiet pause followed. “I’d like you to consider being part of the technical advisory group. Or even coming onboard in a more embedded role later down the line,” Susie said. “It doesn’t have to happen right away. But when the wedding’s over, and things settle a bit — I’d love to sit down and have a proper conversation with you.”

Amelia blinked. “Okay. Yes. I’d be interested in learning more. A lot more. I’ll want to know about track selection, vehicle specs, budget caps if there are any, team operations, logistics—”

“Send me a list,” Susie grinned. “I’ll send you mine.”

Amelia looked almost shy for a second, then nodded. “It’s nice. Being asked.”

Susie softened. “You’re more than worthy of the ask.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching a flock of engineers move a tyre rack across the tarmac.

“You’re getting married… next week, right?” Susie added, glancing over.

Amelia perked up instantly. “Yes. Two days after the race. Marquee. Barbecue. Fairy lights.” She sighed. “Bouncy castle.” 

Susie laughed. “Sounds like heaven.”

“It will be,” Amelia said simply, and Susie believed her.

—

The energy in the air was unmistakable — British flags, cheers echoing through the grandstands, the buzz of engines winding up to full roar. Amelia stood at the back of the Red Bull pit wall, headphones snug over her ears, clipboard clutched loosely to her chest.

The engines screamed through the first straight. Amelia's fingers clenched tight around her golf ball as the pack charged through the opening corners.

And then it happened.

A thundering impact. A wall of smoke. Screeching. Carbon shattering. Zhou’s Alfa flipped violently, spinning out of control and vanishing between the barriers.

From the pit wall, Amelia couldn’t see the full crash — just flashes of sparks and a puff of sand and tyre smoke. But she heard it. Felt it in her chest. The noise had weight to it. Finality. Silence followed, sharp and sudden, broken only by panicked radio static.

“Red flag, red flag, red flag—”

No immediate updates. Nothing from Zhou’s radio. They couldn’t replay the footage yet: the roll, the fence, the skid on the halo. No camera showed the car afterward. 

It was silent. Then it was loud.

Amelia stood frozen. Then she turned. Walked quickly through the back of Max’s garage, slipping past confused engineers, down the narrow hallway of the Red Bull motorhome. The lights were bright and wrong. Someone tried to talk to her — she didn’t process what they said.

She found a utility room, small and quiet, and closed the door.

She sat on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, breathing shallow. Her fingers twitched. Her chest buzzed. She could still hear the sound of the car skidding, see the halo dragging against the ground. It was all replaying on a loop behind her eyes. She couldn’t stop picturing it — the impossible physics of a car upside down, skidding toward a fence at that speed.

Minutes passed.

And passed.

Nobody came for her. No updates on Zhou’s condition came through her headset.

Nothing.

She pressed her forehead to her knees and tried to focus on the floor. On the cold concrete through her trousers. On anything that was now. But her body wouldn’t settle. Her brain was flying, looping through “what if?” in sharp, screaming bursts.

She didn’t hear the first knock. Or the second.

The third came with a gentle push of the door.

Max.

He stepped inside quietly, closed the door behind him, and crouched. His hands stayed visible. His voice was calm.

“I thought you might be here.”

She didn’t lift her head.

“No news yet,” he said. “But they’ve got people with him.”

Still nothing.

Max sat down slowly, cross-legged on the floor, a few feet away. He didn't touch her. He knew better. He just waited.

A few more minutes passed in silence.

Then the door opened again.

Lando.

He looked rumpled and pale, still in his race suit, balaclava pushed down around his neck. His eyes locked onto her immediately. He crossed the room in three long strides and dropped to his knees in front of her.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She flinched when he touched her arm, but didn’t pull away.

“Can I…?” he asked, and when she gave the barest nod, he wrapped an arm carefully around her shoulders, pulling her close against his chest.

She finally exhaled. A shaky, exhausted sound.

“He hasn’t said anything on the radio,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“I keep seeing it. Over and over.”

“I know, baby.”

Max leaned forward slightly, phone in his hand. “He’s conscious.”

Amelia looked up sharply. “He is?”

Lando glanced at Max’s phone, reading. “Still in the car, but awake. They’re trying to work out how to get him out safely.”

Her eyes flooded. Relief hit her like a brick. “I thought—”

“I know,” Lando said again, holding her tighter. “Me too.”

Her voice cracked. “I didn’t know where to go. I couldn’t—everything was too much.”

“You found a safe space,” Max said. “That’s all that matters.”

The tension finally broke, like a string pulled too tight. She rested her head against Lando’s shoulder and let her breathing slow, her body uncoiling one inch at a time.

“We’re okay,” he said. “He’s okay. And you’re okay.”

“I hate this part,” she murmured.

“I know,” Max said. “We do too.”

They stayed there until her hands stopped shaking. Until the paddock noise calmed. Until the update came through confirming Zhou was being extracted carefully and would be taken to the medical centre — alert, responsive, talking.

Only then did Amelia allow herself to uncurl and nod.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay. I can go back now.”

Lando helped her up gently. Max didn’t say anything — just stood and offered her her clipboard, which he must’ve carried with him.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Lando kissed her temple.

—

The light had shifted by the time Amelia saw him again — Zhou, stepping carefully down the short steps outside the medical centre, surrounded by Alfa staff. His suit had been peeled off hours ago, replaced with team-issue soft-wear, and his gait was still cautious. The bruises were already starting to visibly bloom on his skin.

She didn’t rush to him. Didn’t want to overwhelm him — but she stood nearby, waiting until his eyes found hers. When they did, she offered a small, respectful wave.

He blinked in brief surprise, then shifted course to meet her.

“Hey,” he said first, voice hoarse but clear. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I wanted to,” she said, holding her clipboard tight to her chest. “I just—I was worried.”

He gave her a small, tired smile. “I’m okay. Bit sore. Bit rattled.”

“I’m really glad. That was…” She paused, adjusting her weight from one foot to the other. “That was a bad one.”

He nodded. “Yeah. It felt worse from inside.”

She let out a breath. “I couldn’t find a video feed that showed you after,” she said. “Just the flip, and the gravel. Then nothing. It was…” She trailed off. “Too quiet. Too long. Sorry. I needed to see you for myself, you know?”

Zhou’s expression softened. 

“I hid in a storage room,” she added. 

Zhou raised an eyebrow. “You okay now?”

“I’m fine,” she said. Then corrected, “Better. Now that I have seen you.” There was a pause. “You don’t need to say anything,” she told him. “I just wanted you to know I’m glad you’re still here.”

His smile this time reached his eyes. “Me too.”

Amelia gave a small nod, then looked away. “I won’t keep you. You should go and rest.”

Zhou turned to go, then hesitated. “Hey—Amelia?”

She looked back at him.

“Thanks,” he said, quiet and honest.

She didn’t answer — just nodded once, firmly, and walked back toward the Red Bull garage.

—

The windows were down, letting in the warm July air that smelled faintly of dry grass and dust. Amelia had kicked off her shoes hours ago, legs tucked up on the passenger seat, sunglasses slipping down her nose. Lando drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on her thigh — not possessive, not even really conscious, just there. Like it always was. Like he didn’t need to think about it anymore.

Their wedding playlist played softly through the speakers — a curated collection of songs they’d agonised over for weeks, now serving as the soundtrack to this quiet little interlude between race day chaos and wedding week magic.

“Skip,” Amelia murmured as a twangy country ballad came on. “Too sad.”

Lando tapped the skip button without looking. “Agreed. Save that for the divorce.”

She frowned. “Not funny.”

He smirked, glancing at her. “Kidding.”

“Good.” She said, rolling her eyes. 

He hummed, switching lanes smoothly. A new song started — bright, summery, with the kind of beat you could slow dance to barefoot on the lawn.

Amelia smiled. “This one’s nice.”

Lando glanced sideways. “Reception dance?”

She nodded. “Fairy lights. Warm night. People a little drunk.”

“And us,” he said, squeezing her thigh gently, “a little married.”

She turned to look at him, and he was already smiling.

“I love you,” she said. No preamble, no big swell of emotion. Just a quiet, concrete fact.

He rubbed his thumb against her skin, eyes back on the road but voice soft. “I know, baby. I love you too.”

They drove in silence for a while, letting the song fill the space between them. Outside, the British countryside passed in soft blurs of green and gold.

Amelia reached forward and added a little star emoji to the song title in the playlist. “For the record,” she said. “I think this one’s my favourite.”

“Better than the one we picked for our first dance?” Lando asked, mock scandalised.

“Oh, no. That one’s sacred,” she said quickly. “But this one’s… sunshine.”

He nodded once, firm. “Good. We always need more sunshine.”

They were still holding hands when the song changed again.

—

The gravel crunched under the tires as Lando pulled the car onto the driveway. Amelia reached for the car door, her fingers slow from the comfortable stillness of the journey, and then turned back to look at him.

“This is real,” she said softly.

Lando just smiled, the tired kind that came after a long weekend. “Yeah. We’re here.”

The cottage wasn’t grand. That was the point. It was warm and tucked into the countryside like it had always been there — white roses climbing the gate, ivy twisting up the stone walls, windows that looked out across soft hills.

Inside, the air was cool and smelled faintly of lavender and old wood. Amelia wandered through slowly, running her fingers along the edges of the kitchen table, the old fireplace, the soft cushions stacked high on the window seat. Lando dropped their bags by the door, kicked off his shoes, and followed after her.

“This okay?” He asked, quietly.

She nodded. “It’s perfect. It’s exactly what I wanted.”

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his chin gently to the top of her head. She leaned back into him, eyes closed, breathing in the quiet.

“We’re getting married,” she said, softly.

“In less than forty-eight hours,” he replied. “I’m going to be your husband.”

She hummed. “You’re going to cry.”

“No, you’re going to cry.”

“I don’t cry,” she whispered, turning in his arms. “Not very often. But I might. When you say ‘I do’.” 

He laughed, forehead against hers. “Yeah. Me too.”

The kettle clicked on in the background. A sheep bleated somewhere in the distance. 

They sat out on the back porch with mugs of tea, wrapped in jumpers and blankets, watching the last bit of sun disappear behind the trees.

Tomorrow, family would start arriving. The cottage would be full of voices and laughter and questions. But for tonight, it was just them. 

“I don’t want to forget this part,” Amelia said, her voice quiet. “The before.”

“You won’t,” Lando promised, turning toward her. “This is the part we’ll tell people about one day.”

She leaned into his shoulder. “Yeah. I hope so.”

—

The morning drifted in soft and slow.

Amelia lay in bed with the window open. The countryside smelled of warm grass and honeysuckle, the faint sound of birdsong filtering in. Somewhere downstairs, the kettle clicked on, and she could hear someone, probably her mom, padding softly across the kitchen tiles.

They hadn’t unpacked much. They hadn’t needed to. Just slipped off their clothes, curled up under the covers, and slept dreamlessly until sunlight nudged them awake.

Now, she pressed her cheek to his shoulder, warm and freckled under her palm.“You awake?” she whispered.

He hummed. “Not yet.”

She grinned. “Well, we’re getting married in tomorrow.”

That earned her a low groan and an arm wrapped lazily around her waist. “Good. Don’t wanna to live another day without being your husband.”

Downstairs, their parents were getting acquainted over mugs of Earl Grey and slices of toast. Lando’s mum had brought fresh jam. Amelia’s dad was already halfway through a crossword. It was quiet and easy—no wedding talk yet, no to-do lists. Just two families sharing a calm summer morning in a little stone cottage tucked into a sleepy field.

By mid-morning, everyone had wandered outside. The sun was gentle, filtered through clouds, and the garden was filled with the scent of wildflowers and just-cut grass. Folding chairs were scattered across the lawn, and lemonade clinked in glasses. Pietra and Max hadn’t arrived yet, but they soon would.

Best man. 

Maid of honour. 

Amelia and Lando sat together under an old pear tree, her bare feet in his lap, his thumb tracing absentminded circles along her ankle. They were listening to Lando’s dad’s playlist. The music washed over them gently, familiar and warm. 

“Still happy with our first dance song?” Lando asked, eyes closed, tipping his head back to the breeze.

“Of course,” she murmured. “Listened to it almost fifty times to make sure.”

He smiled. “And the reception playlist?”

She nodded, then paused. “Actually… maybe we bump that Arctic Monkeys song to earlier in the night. People will be drunker later, and I don’t want anyone butchering the lyrics.”

Lando laughed, light and free. “Good thinking, baby.”

They spent the early afternoon touring the venue with their parents, pointing out where the fairy lights would go, where the marquee would sit. Amelia’s dad was already asking where the power cables were going to run, and Lando’s mum wanted to know if it might be chilly enough in the evening to need shawls.

“There’ll be blankets,” Amelia promised, thoughtful. “Soft ones. I’ve already washed them with lavender laundry detergent.”

Later, they sprawled in the shade, Amelia with her head in Lando’s lap, her fingers skimming the grass. The light filtered through the trees like dappled gold, and everything smelled like home. Her mum brought out a plate of biscuits. Her dad had made a weak attempt at swatting a bee away from his lemonade and muttered something about never having a day off.

“Do you think it’ll stay like this?” Amelia asked quietly.

Lando looked down at her. “The weather?”

“The feeling.”

He stroked her hair gently, smiling with something steady and private. “Yeah,” he said. “I think it might.”

She let herself close her eyes.

Almost married.

—

The world was just beginning to wake-up. 

So was Amelia.

She stirred slowly, wrapped in a cocoon of linen and warmth, blinking into the blur of morning. Lando’s hand was already curled over her hip, grounding. She turned her head. His eyes were closed, lashes fanned across his cheek, breath even and deep.

“Lando,” she whispered, not wanting to say it too loud. “It’s today.”

He didn’t open his eyes, just smiled, the kind that made her stomach flip like it was 2018 all over again. “Mmm,” he hummed. “I know. I dreamt it.”

She inhaled softly. “Was it good?”

“Yeah baby,” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep. “Except when Max interrupted the ceremony to ask you about his DRS strategy.”

She hummed. “Sounds like Max.”

Lando tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his thumb tracing gently along her cheekbone.

Amelia considered the question carefully. She could feel the usual thrum of her thoughts beneath the surface — a thousand logistical notes, backup plans, sensory considerations. But none of it felt too heavy. Not today.

“I feel ready,” she said. “Really ready.”

Lando kissed her forehead. “Me too.”

They lay there a little longer, curled into each other as the light grew warmer. Eventually, someone knocked gently at the bedroom door.

“Amelia?” Pietra’s voice, soft but excited. “Time to start glam time, babe.”

Lando groaned dramatically. “Oh no. I’m losing you.”

Amelia smiled and kissed him once, brief and sure, before slipping out from under the duvet. “You’ll get me back in a few hours,” she promised, already halfway to the ensuite.

“I should hope so,” he called after her. “Don’t ghost me at the altar, wifey.”

—

Two hours later, Pietra was kneeling on the floor beside Amelia, gently fastening a thin silver anklet around her left ankle. Amelia sat in a chair by the window, her robe tied in a precise knot, the lace sleeves brushing her wrists. Her hair was half done—soft waves pinned back with little pearlescent clips—and the morning light painted everything a warm yellow.

“You’re very quiet,” Pietra said gently, adjusting the clasp.

“I’m concentrating,” Amelia murmured. “And I’m… regulating. A lot of people are going to be looking at me soon.”

“You’re doing really well,” Pietra said, sitting back on her heels to look up at her best friend. “And you look… holy shit, Amelia.”

Amelia blinked. “Do I look okay? I haven’t seen it yet.”

“You look like the exact midpoint between goddess and fairy queen,” Pietra said, voice thick. “Honestly.”

That made Amelia smile; a little bashfully, her eyes dropping to her hands in her lap. “I think I thought I’d be scared today,” she admitted softly. “Or overwhelmed. But it’s just… calm.”

Pietra nodded. “Because it’s meant to be.”

Amelia exhaled. “Yeah. Maybe.”

They sat like that for a few more minutes, sunlight warming their skin, the soft sound of distant birds and shuffling feet below. Then Pietra stood and held out her hand.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get the dress on. We need to leave in twenty minutes — Max texted me, said everything at the venue is perfect.”

Amelia took her hand without hesitation.

“I’m getting married,” she whispered, almost like she needed to hear it aloud again.

“You really are,” Pietra grinned. 

—

Zak was pacing in front of the reception marquee, holding the tie he hadn’t yet figured out how to knot. When he saw Amelia approaching, dress flowing, expression soft, he stopped mid-step.

“Hi, Dad.”

Zak stared at her for a second too long. “You look beautiful,” he said thickly.

She smiled, coming to stand in front of him. “Thank you. Do you need help with that?”

He handed her the tie wordlessly. She stepped close and began looping the fabric around his collar. Her fingers were steady. He swallowed once.

“You sure about all this?” he asked, gently. “Really sure?”

Amelia paused. “You mean the wedding?”

“I mean everything,” Zak clarified. “You’re so good at looking after other people. I just want to be sure someone’s making sure you’re okay.”

“I am okay,” she said simply. “I’m in love. And I’m safe.”

He nodded slowly, eyes shining. “I’m really proud of you.”

“I know,” she said.

He blinked hard. “You want me to walk you down there now?”

She made a face at him. “I want to walk beside you. I’ll hold onto your arm.” She lifted her dress to show him her shoes. Flat, no heels, comfortable. “I’m not a trip hazard.”

Zak pursed his lips to hide a smile at her deadpan words before he offered his arm. “Then let’s go do this, honey.”

—

Mitski’s ‘My Love Mine All Mine’ was the song that was playing, echoing and ethereal. 

The guests were sat beneath the fairy lights and butter yellow bunting. Matching yellow satin drapes sat on every chair, lined the aisle, and decorated Lando’s pocket and neck. 

A yellow tie. A yellow handkerchief. 

When Amelia stepped onto the grass, everything fell silent.

Her dress shimmered faintly with movement, the delicate beading catching the light. The neck train draped behind her. Pietra was waiting at the right of the alter with Max Fewtrell standing opposite her, both beaming.

And at the far end, in front of the white wooden arch draped in green and yellow florals, Lando was already crying.

Not loud, not messy—just tears slipping down his cheeks in silent, reverent awe. Like she was something holy. Like he couldn’t believe she was real.

Amelia didn’t look away from him. Her fingers tightened gently on her dads arm, and then loosened again. 

When she reached him, Lando let out a laugh that broke into a breathless, teary smile. “You came,” he whispered, almost stunned.

“Of course I came,” Amelia whispered back, brushing a tear from his cheek. “You cried.” She smiled. 

“I love you,” he leaned in, forehead against hers.

She got up on her tiptoes, brushed her lips against his in a teasing brush. “I know. Prove it by marrying me.”

—

Their guests, family and a few friends, most of the drivers who’s been available, were hushed, reverent. Somewhere in the background, a bee buzzed near a flower. Lando’s hands were shaking.

Pietra handed Amelia her bouquet. Her fingers brushed Amelia’s for a moment, grounding her. Max gave Lando a nod from his place at his side, full of quiet reassurance.

The celebrant, a family friend with a calm, steady voice, began to speak, but Amelia barely heard her. Her eyes were fixed on Lando, his on her. Everything else dulled to a blur.

When the moment for vows came, the officiant stepped back slightly.

“Lando?” She prompted.

He took a breath, folded the note he’d brought, and looked at Amelia instead.

“I wrote something down,” he admitted, “but it doesn’t cover it. So I’m just going to say it.”

Amelia’s hands were steady, clasped around her bouquet. Her eyes never left his.

“You are the most brilliant person I’ve ever met,” Lando said. “You make me laugh even when I’m miserable. You know every single version of me, even the ones I don’t like, and you stay. You stay and you care and you see me.” He smiled, a little watery. “I thought that love had to be complicated. Dramatic. Loud. But loving you isn’t like that. It’s quiet and constant and safe. And it makes sense all the time.” 

A few sniffles rippled from the front row. 

“I promise to make space for you,” Lando continued, his voice cracking just slightly. “I promise to honour what you need, even when it’s different from what I need. I promise to soundproof every room if I have to—”

Amelia laughed through her tears.

“—and I promise to never stop choosing you. Not for a day. Not for a second.”

The officiant turned to Amelia. “And you, Amelia?”

She nodded, cleared her throat once, and began. Her voice was quiet, but sure.

“I love you, Lando Norris. You see me in a way that nobody else ever has,” she said. “You never try to fix me, and you always know when to listen. You let me be exactly who I am, even when it’s hard.”

Lando was crying again.

“You love me in a way I didn’t know was possible,” Amelia said. “Not despite the parts of me that are different—but because of them. You’ve never made me feel like I had to be smaller, or easier, or quieter.” She smiled, her hands tight around the bouquet. “I promise to always tell you the truth, even when it’s inconvenient. I promise to make spreadsheets for our holidays and set reminders for the laundry. I promise to protect your peace as fiercely as you protect mine. And I promise to be your home. Always.”

Lando made a small, helpless noise. Max gave his shoulder a hard pat.

The rings were passed forward by Max and Pietra, both watery eyed and sniffly. The metal was matte gold—simple, unflashy, chosen after hours of quiet discussion and Amelia’s very specific pros and cons list.

They slid the bands onto each other’s fingers with shaking hands.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiant said warmly. “You may kiss—”

But Lando didn’t wait.

He leaned in and kissed Amelia like it was the only thing in the world that made sense. She kissed him back, anchoring him, grounding him. Their hands remained linked between them.

Applause rose up around them, soft and full of joy.

But Amelia didn’t really hear it.

All of her attention was on him. 

Her Lando. 

Her husband. 

NEXT CHAPTER

[willyoubemycherryy]

TAKE2🎬-> + Bo Chow x Reader

More drafts🫠

Summary: A harmless search for not just a dress but the dress.

Contains: Flirting, fluff, established relationship, cursing, everyone has a country accent, dressing room shenanigans, petnames, suggestive af <3

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢ ﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉

“Ooookay baby, whatcha think of this one?”

You step out from behind the mirror, smiling as you wait for his thoughts. This was the 8th dress you’d tried on, determined to find the winner.

Bo tilts his head as he drags his eyes over your body, watching with a fond smile as you pose cutely, hands on your hips, tossing your hair then blowing him a sweet kiss. He laughs, lifting his chin so his mouth’s up to the air, catching your kiss and it makes you giggle but you quickly refocus. You were on a mission- to find the dress of the summer and so naturally your man’s opinion played a part.

However, Bo thought every dress you’d tried on was thee dress. It didn’t have all that much to do with the dress but everything to do with you being the one inside it. Didn’t matter the color, didn’t matter the length, you were perfect in every dimension. He hums, looking you over again and the heat of his stare is enough to warm your own skin. Raising a hand, he points his index downwards, swirling in slow circular motions.

“G’me a lil twirl, pretty”.

You almost choke at how effortlessly attractive he is, deep southern drawl making you a bit fuzzy as you feel yourself teeter in your heels before spinning nice and slow. It’s tight at the top, pushing your breasts up but not ridiculously, the bottom is a bit looser but it still falls in the right places. The soft fabric moving seamlessly with your silhouette- plus- the color was a thing of beauty. Making you glow and look even softer than you already were.

Such a pretty little thing. His pretty little thing and hell he didn’t even mind the line of buttons down the back even though they’d for sure make it harder for him to get it off you and if you were fond of it he wouldn’t risk upsetting you by ripping it off you while he-

“BO!”

You watch him physically shake himself out of it before fixing you with a charming grin as you look at him skeptically.

“I’ve been calling you. S’wrong? You…tired?” You say that last word like you’ve been onto him the whole day of dress trying with that secret suspicion you’re positive is actually true. Only…it’s not.

He isn’t tired in the slightest. In fact the only thing he could even think to be tired of was coming up with different words that all meant ‘you look great in anything’. But tired of you? Never.

“Sorry darlin’- m’not tired; just a lil…distracted.”

Oh?

“Distracted?” You sound so sweet and innocent that he huffs out a laugh at the confusion on your face. He knows how you get when you’re fixated on something so it’s no surprise that you don’t pick up what he’s putting down immediately. Putting his palm out, you place your hand in his, letting out a little yelp as you’re pulled down onto his lap. The dress pools around where you’re connected but you can’t be bothered with that as Bo’s soft lips just barely brush against yours, voice a low whisper.

“Yeah, baby. Like how I’m ‘posed to be helpin’ you find thee dress but watching you flit around the whole day all dolled up- m’not just thinking ‘bout which dress looks best but what looks good underneath it too.”

Oh.

Big hands slowly drag up your legs and even though his hands are warm, you shiver. Watching them mover further and further up with lidded eyes until the tips of his fingers are playing with the straps holding your sheers up. You pant breathily into the air, eyes slipping shut as his head falls into the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking at your pulse point and you forget you’re in a dressing stall.

The slow up and down caress of his hands on your thighs are maddening and you swallow a whine, shifting uncomfortably as you feel that familiar heat stirring in your belly.

“B-Bo? S’that mean this is t-the dress?”

He smiles against your neck and the tremor in your voice and how hard you’re trying to stay on track, it’s cute. Leaning in, his brown eyes are almost black before kissing you softly on the mouth. Lips smacking together briefly until he pulls away, licking your rouge off his lips. The sight almost blacks you out.

“Mmhm. This dress is perfect.”

“Thank god.”

You hurry off him and change in record time, dress in hand as you all but drag him to the register to purchase it, suddenly so eager to leave when it seemed like you had all day before. The cheeky smirk won’t leave his face even as he pays and you rushedly thank the sales lady, taking the bag with thee dress inside it and pulling him with you.

Like a dog on a leash, he’s all too happy to follow.

“What’s s’matter? Why the rush? Got somethin’ you need to do?” The mellow drawl is heavy with suggestion and you feel like you’ll explode as you huff.

“Yup. Now that we have the dress, we gotta find thee shoes fast so we can go home and you can show me a good time.” You say, giving him a look over your shoulder as you wink.

His grin is so big by now that almost all 32 are showing, practically skipping after you.

“A real good time?”

“Yessir. Put your money where you mouth is.”

You get to the door of the boutique you wanted your heels from, stopping in front as Bo comes to open it for you. As you walk through there’s a harsh sting on your ass, the sound of the slap reaching your ears a little late as you spin around to face him, mouth dropped in a scandalized gasp.

He nods at you with a flick of his brow, smirking lazily,

“Shit, I will.”

You’ve never picked something faster in your life.

[nerdyjaw]

crybaby. | l. ackerman

content warnings (please read before continuing): smut, squirting, reader is strong, degradation, babbling, bottom reader, fem reader, overstimulation, levi makes reader count. mdni.

summary: youre the strongest in the room— until you’re under him, babbling his name like it’s the only thing you know.

age in bio or you will be blocked.

creator notes: hihi its jaww!! gonna hop back on my grind and fill up my drafts with posts so i can have them on standby. so sorry for inactivity 😭😭. this might seem ooc for some people (cause we all know levis a HUGE virgin haha) but just ignore whats canon rn and live in a world where he’s experienced in these fields 😭. highkey had to take inspo from other writers’ styles because i cannot write smut in my own style to save my life. holy fentballs. this one is kinda slowburn but not rlly, its just not straight to the point ifykwim. as always, constructive criticism and feedback is always welcomed and appreciated!!!

you, who has the strength of two blue collared men.

doesn’t cry. doesn’t flinch. doesn’t wince when you hit the ground. does not back down for shit. got slammed during training once and bit through your tongue— yet didn’t even blink.

you don’t even look that strong. to literally everyone, you have the build of someone who minds their business. you look tired. maybe a little mean. people assume they can take you on in a spar and have an easy victory— until they’re thrown over your shoulder with one hand. you lift what needs lifting, does what needs doing, and keeps it pushing.

you and levi met during squad reshuffling. you got assigned to his unit because you had a track record for handling fieldwork solo and keeping a calm head. levi didnt speak much to you at first. just gave orders. short, dry acknowledgements when you executed them well.

but the way you picked up full grown soldiers like paper? the way you carried two jugs of water in one hand, and a gear pack in the other? the way you held formation like a wall?

thats enough to get anyone wrapped, even levi.

one day, during a particularly messy clean - up, he noticed blood running down your leg. you were limping slightly, still hauling equipment. and you looked bored. like it wasn’t even worth stopping over.

“sit down.” he told you bluntly.

“i’m fine.” you attempted to argue.

“i didn’t ask.” he retorted.

so you sat. but you laughed a little.

and that was the start.

after that, he’d call on you more often. partnered you with him during scouting runs. paired you up for drills. you didn’t speak much, but when you did, it was always dry, smart, sharp. simple, just how he liked it.

and then one night, after hours, when the barracks were quiet and your hands were bruised from the day’s work, you ran into him. told a joke that got a small smile out of him. told him goodnight— and actually got a response.

and that was how it began.

levi’s quiet, and you are too. the kind of quiet that has its own rhythm. over time, he learned that you like your tea strong and your bathwater hotter than hell. you learned that he stares too hard when he’s tired, and that he can’t sleep unless something’s covering his hands.

and now he knows you.

he knows how you fold under praise.

how you melt before he even puts anything in.

how your voice gets thin and your breathing starts to skip when he whispers in your ear.

how your legs always twitch when all is said and done.

you’re strong. that’s still true.

but now?

now you’re on the bed, back against his chest, gushing.

“p-please—levi—levi— fuck, —i—i’m gonna— i’m gonna—“

hes fingering you quickly, hitting that spot just right. his other hand’s around your throat— barely pressing. just enough to keep you in place. keep your back arched. keep you open for him.

he watches your face closely. watches your lip tremble. watches your eyes start to roll. and he just tilts his head.

“gonna what?” he asks.

you sob. actually sob.

he pushes in again.

“one.”

your eyes roll. your pussy clenches and squirts, warm and sudden and so loud against his palm it echoes.

he hums.

“there she is.”

you’re crying now. deadass crying, drool on your lips and your hips bucking against his hand, your moans becoming hiccups as your eyes start to flutter.

“levi—levi, please—“

“what?” his voice is low. mean. but calm.

“you wanted more.”

“you wanted to be good.”

“so count.”

you shake your head, whimpering.

“i-i c-cant— levi, i need—i need to—“

he grabs your chin— firm, fingers digging just a little.

“you need to shut the fuck up.” his tone is sharp, slicing clean through the haze fogging up your brain. “youre taking it, that’s what youre doing.”

your breath catches. your body violently twitches. the second orgasm hits before the first even fully fades, and you let out a moan that could genuinely just pass as a scream. you can’t even stop it.

and when you come down, you don’t even really come down.

you crash.

“levi— levi i— hahh— fuhhh— i can’t— please—hahh— fuck, fuckfuckfuck— no more—i—s’too—s’too much—i c-can’t— please—“

you’re slurring every other word, drool clinging to your lips, whole body shaking as he curls his fingers just right and presses down harder with his palm, putting pressure directly on your clit. every time you try to breathe, another moan slips out. it’s like your brain is fried and stuck on a loop.

he just watches it all. listens to you babble and squeal like youve never been touched before.

“then stop running your mouth.”

you let out a high pitched, broken whimper— and it just spurs him on. he doesn’t slow down. definitely doesn’t stop.

you’re twitching, thighs trembling around his wrist, voice climbing up into glassy, desperate moans that barely sound like words anymore. it’s just noise now. messy, choked, wet sounds and the obscene slap of his fingers pumping into you, over and over and over—

“cmon,” he whispers directly in your ear, letting his chin rest on your shoulder. “be good. give me another.”

your eyes roll back, and you squirt for the upteenth time. though, the sound of it is barely coherent through the scream you let out.

oh, and you lose count again.