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himasgod · 7 days ago

Note

can you maybe do a fic about any of the overblot characters turning to a frog and having to have true loves kiss to get back to normal please and thank you

OVERBLOTS X READER

Where they turn into frogs and you, their true love, have to kiss them.

“Unacceptable! Utterly unacceptable!!”

The tiny red frog paced back and forth across your desk, sputtering in fury, his tiny webbed feet making the smallest pat-pat-pat sounds.

You bit your lip trying not to laugh.

“Riddle, calm down—”

“Do not tell me to calm down! I’ve been turned into a frog! A frog! This is a disgrace to Heartslabyul, a violation of school policy, and I demand a formal apology from that imbecile who—!”

You reached out and gently scooped him up before he worked himself into a meltdown.

“...Put me down.”

“You’re going to pop a vessel, and I’m not dealing with frog Riddle and internal bleeding.”

He huffed, cheeks puffing out — which didn’t help his image.

“Professor Trein said the curse can only be broken by a true love’s kiss.”

Y“You… think I’m your—?”

He flushed from neck to forehead (or whatever frogs have).

“I’m not saying that! But… the spell reacted when you held me. I-it warmed slightly. It must mean something.”

“So… do you want me to try?”

“Only if you want to. It would be... appreciated.”

You pressed a soft kiss to his head — and the next moment, you were nearly bowled over by a very flustered Riddle, kneeling on the floor.

“I—I’m back?” He patted himself frantically. “My hands—my hair—! Thank the Queen!”

“Nice to see you again, Riddle.”

He glanced at you and cleared his throat.

“Ahem. This… this doesn’t excuse public displays of affection without permission, but… I suppose I’ll allow it. Just this once.”

“So I’m allowed to kiss you now?”

He turned red again.“Y-you already did. Don’t push your luck!”

“I find this form oddly peaceful,” the frog says in that same deep tone.

You look up to the roof of Ramshackle, where Frog Malleus sits like a green gargoyle (LIKE BATMAN BRO)

“You’re… surprisingly calm about this.”

“In my long life, I have transformed into many things—dragon, mist. This is merely a new shape. Though I must admit, the lack of horns is somewhat tragic.”

“Lilia says it can only be undone with a true love’s kiss.”

His bright green eyes meet yours.

“…Then allow me to make a humble request.”

“You want me to—?”

“I would entrust my form, my life, and my curse to you alone.”

Your heart flutters like a hummingbird. You reach up and kiss his head.

When it fades, Malleus stands before you—tall, regal, radiant.

“I knew it,” he says, lips curling into a soft smile. “It was you.”

You glance away, flushed.

“You’re really okay with me being your… uh… ‘true love’?”

He steps closer.

“You already were. Long before this spell.”

You open your closet and find a bright green frog sulking on a pile of hoodies.

“Idia… you’ve been hiding in here for three days.”

A croaky sigh.

“Don’t look at me. I’ve become one of the background mobs. No… worse. I’m the tutorial boss.”

You stifle a laugh.

“Ortho said only true love’s kiss will break the curse.”

“Ugh, man. Cringe. That’s such a normie mechanic. What is this, some knockoff otome game from the App Store?”

“Idia. You’re literally living in my hoodie drawer.”

“If I croak, delete my browser history. But not the bookmarks. Some of them are important.”

“Do you want to be cured or not?”

“…If it has to be anyone, I’m… okay with it being you. But don’t laugh, okay?”

You gently kiss him. Idia is human again — hair ablaze in blue flames, sitting on the floor in your hoodie.

“You… you kissed me. That was, like, a cutscene moment. Did you see that sparkle effect??”

“Maybe we got the good ending.”

“I am going to SUE whoever enchanted that bottle.”

You stare into a porcelain teacup where Frog Azul is sitting, glaring indignantly.

“You turned into a frog in the middle of the Lounge, Azul.”

“In front of customers, no less! Floyd’s been threatening to toss me in the fryer all morning.”

“Jade said the only way to undo it is with—”

“—Do not say it. I already know. And I hate it.”

“But it’s—”

“True love’s kiss, yes, yes. What a cheap fairytale mechanic. There should be an antidote. I should have an antidote. I sell antidotes!”

“So what’s stopping you?”

He goes quiet.

“…You do want it to be me, don’t you?”

He makes a tiny, deflated ribbit.

“You just had to say so.”

You lean down and kiss him gently and a moment later, Azul is back, flustered and drenched.

“Note to self,” he mutters, adjusting his glasses.

“Burn that perfume recipe. And draft a new contract with… specific kissing clauses.”

“So I am your true love?”

He blushes down to his collar.

“well—technically—yes—but let’s keep this strictly off the record!”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

You stared at the small frog sitting on your desk. The frog crossed its little arms (legs?) and let out an exasperated sigh.

“It’s not my fault! Azul's experimental potion exploded, and this is what I get for dodging it too late.”

“You’re a frog, Jamil.”

“Thank you for the observation, my savior,” he deadpanned.

“Now hurry up and kiss me so I can get back to normal before Kalim finds out and tries it himself.”

Your face twisted in horror.

“You want me to kiss a frog?!”

“Do you want me to stay like this and croak around the school forever? Besides, it’s not like you’d be kissing any frog. It’s me. I know it’s not ideal, but you’re my—”

You interrupted, cheeks warm.

“I’m your...?”

He looked away, small arms crossed.

“...My best chance at breaking this curse. Obviously.”

“…You could’ve just said ‘true love’ instead of dancing around it.”

“I’m not dancing around anything. You’re the one making this weird.”

Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, your heart thumped a little harder. You hesitated, leaned down, and—

“Do not tell anyone about this after I turn back,”

You pressed a quick kiss. A second later, a very flustered, very human Jamil stood before you — eyes wide, lips parted, face red.

“I cannot believe that worked,”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“I’m going to kill Azul…”

You looked at him smirking.

“But hey... true love’s kiss, huh?”

“Don’t make me regret this,” he mumbled—but his eyes lingered on your lips little longer.

You stared down at the most perfect frog you’d ever seen.

Velvety green, regal posture, and an expression of pure judgment in those little violet eyes.

“This is... humiliating,” the frog croaked — and yes, that was Vil Schoenheit’s voice.

You choked back a laugh.

“You actually still sound graceful. Impressive.”

“This is not the time for jokes, sweet potato. I was merely trimming a rose stem when that clumsy oaf Epel tripped into the cauldron. Now look at me. My skin is... green. Green!”

“Well, at least it’s glowing,”

“The only way to undo this is a kiss, and Rook has already tried to volunteer. I had to hop away in terror. You’re my only hope, darling.”

You knelt down beside him.

“So… ‘true love’s kiss’ actually works?”

“Rook thinks the potion was modeled after an old fable. He also said you’re the ‘fairest in Vil’s eyes.’ And honestly? I’m inclined to agree.”

“Wait… are you saying you—?”

“I don’t say anything I don’t mean,” he interrupted.

“Now. Kiss me. Preferably before I croak... in the literal sense.”

Suppressing the heat rushing to your face, you gently leaned in and gave him a quick kiss.

Vil returned — golden-haired, poised, a hand already brushing nonexistent dirt from his shoulder.

“Thank the stars. My complexion is intact.“Though I must admit... for a kiss with a frog, it was surprisingly romantic.”

“You planned this, didn’t you?”

“If I did, would you be mad?”

The frog lay sprawled out in your pencil case. You stared at him, unimpressed.

“You’ve been like this for three days and haven’t moved except to complain.”

Leona lifted a webbed foot.

“I’m royalty. I don’t do peasant things like hopping.”

“You’re literally a frog.”

“Tch. And I’d be a prince again by now if you’d just kiss me already.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s the whole ‘true love’s kiss’ cliché. Apparently I’m cursed. Just my luck. I’m not letting just anyone smooch me. So c’mon. Be a sport.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the only one I’d willingly let get that close. Don’t act surprised.”

You narrowed your eyes. “How do I know this isn’t a trick?”

“Does this look like a prank? Do you think I like being this size? I’m living in a lunchbox, herbivore.”

Despite everything, he looked ridiculously smug for a frog.

You sighed and leaned down. “If this doesn’t work, I’m feeding you to Grim.”

Leona snorted.

“Just kiss me already.”

You kissed him, and your frog vanished — replaced by a lounging Leona, now human.

He grinned lazily.

“Knew you’d go for it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself—!”

He smirked. “Too late. You already kissed me. That makes you my lover now, right?”

You threw a pillow at him.

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stargirlygirl · 1 month ago

Text

you walk out on him

zayne x fem!reader

⭑.ᐟ part one of my 500 follower special

summary: after months of neglect from your boyfriend, zayne, you walk out on him

contains: angst, hurt no comfort, swearing, 2.6k words

from this poll + pt.2

For the past month, you’ve barely seen Zayne. He’s been waking up at god awful hours and coming home late at night, only to sleep for a few and then do it again the next day. And let’s be real, you’re missing him. A lot.

His good morning kisses pressed against your forehead before the sun rises are not enough to sustain you anymore. Nor are the quick texts he sends you on his break or murmured apologies as he climbs into bed with you.

You can’t take it anymore.

Putting your day off to good use, you bake some muffins. Their yummy scent disperses throughout your apartment, making you sigh as you touch up your lip gloss. After dressing in your shortest mini skirt and fixing your hair, you place a few warm muffins in a container and head down to Akso Hospital.

Rapping on his office door, you hear a quiet “Come in” from the other side.

You push the door open, chirping, “Surprise!”

Zayne gazes up at you before returning his attention to his computer, mumbling, “Hey.” Your mood dampens as the door thunks closed, and you come over to him. Retrieving the muffins from your bag, you set them down on his cluttered desk.

“Look, I baked muffins for you,” you say sweetly. He looks at the muffins and gives you that micro smile.

“Thanks.” You pop the sides and take off the lid; the delicious scent of baked goods fills the air.

You grin, “Do you wanna try them?” You watch him click away on his mouse before typing with fervour.

He murmurs, “Maybe later.”

“Oh, okay,” you nod. Your shoulders slump as you snap the lid back on. He hasn’t invited you to sit down. You glance back and forth between the doctor and the empty chair across from him, mentally screaming at him to just notice your uneasiness.

He doesn’t.

The clacking of his keyboard permeates the silence. You’re waiting for him to ask you how your day has been or comment on how pretty you look. But he just keeps typing away, as if his girlfriend, positively radiant in the afternoon light streaming through the windows, isn’t standing there.

“So,” you start. “Busy day or?”

“Mhmm.” His mouse clicks before he returns to smashing the white keys on his keyboard. The sound it makes begins to get on your nerves. Crossing your arms beneath your chest, you slowly walk around to his side of the desk and lean against it.

Gazing down at him, you say, “Aren’t you going to ask how my day’s been?”

Zayne responds robotically, “How was your day, honey?”

Clack! Clack! Clack!

You’re about to throw his keyboard out the window in your fury.

You bite the insides of your cheeks, mouth twisting as you sigh, “Fine.”

“Good,” he replies, his hazel eyes never leaving his screen. You push off his desk, your heels clicking as you grab your handbag.

“I’ll see you at home, okay?” You huff. He curtly nods, not even glancing up as you walk toward the door and inevitably shut it behind you.

That night, you planned to confront him. But lo and behold, you didn’t see him for the next few days. And when you finally did, it was a quick peck on the cheek as he grabbed the lunch you made him last night out of the fridge and left for work.

What had been a month of barely seeing each other spiralled into months of barely any contact. A few texts here and there. “Sorry, I’m so busy. I’ll be home early so we can chat.” You go to bed at 1am after waiting up for him (he fell asleep on his desk).

You feel like you’re going insane, more angsty than the day before last, every day, as work and poor communication drive a wedge between you two. You miss talking with Zayne. You miss getting brunch together on your off days and cuddling on the couch. You miss the little snow creations he would give to you after you’ve had a hard day at work. And of course, you miss being intimate with him.

After another gruelling day at the Association, you come home to an empty apartment. As always. Frustrated, you hit send on your phone, texting your boyfriend about having a date night. Within minutes, he responds, eager to see you, too. Stripping off your uniform, you two work out the details of your date over text.

This Friday, 7pm, that nice restaurant you’ve been eyeing for a while.

That’s what you repeat to yourself as you take a soothing, hot shower. It’s like a prayer, a chant, a mantra you say to yourself daily in the lead up to your date. You let Jenna know you’re taking the day off in advance; that’s how excited you are.

And finally, it’s Friday!

To start the day off, you sleep in till 11am. You wanna be well-rested for your date, especially since you’re hoping that Zayne will keep you up all night. To pamper yourself, you cook your favourite breakfast and enjoy it while watching your comfort film. Afterwards, you paint your finger and toenails, blowing on the wet coat as Netflix auto-plays the next episode of your current show.

And then somehow, it’s already 5pm?! You have a quick snack before hopping in the shower, exfoliating and then shaving. Drying yourself off, you do your face and body care routines. Next, you get dressed and then apply your makeup, finishing off with your hair.

It’s 6:15pm and Zayne isn’t back yet. You send him a quick text, and your phone pings instantly, saying that he’ll meet you at the restaurant. After drenching yourself in jewellery, you giggle to yourself about whether he’ll still be in his doctor’s coat when you see him. With one last glance in the mirror, you snag your shoulder bag and book it to the door. You make sure to lock up and turn all the lights off before catching the elevator down to your car.

You sigh, relieved that you made it in time, as you catch your breath at the restaurant’s door. Giving the waiter your name, they inform you that you’re the first to arrive. It’s no big deal, really. You brush it off as you’re seated at a cosy little booth toward the back. Low lighting, comfy cushions, and warm jazz overhead. The waiter couldn’t have picked a better spot.

You pull out your phone. 7:05. Okay, no reason to stress.

7:10. Alright, maybe he got stuck in traffic.

7:20. Whoa, the streets must be backed up for miles. Or maybe he got held up at work. You send him a quick message, about to rest your cheek on your palm before you remember that you’re wearing makeup.

7:30. No reply. The waiter asks if you’d like to order. You haven’t even looked at the menu.

7:35. You decide on the scallions for an appetiser and request some table water. Still, nothing from Zayne.

“For fuck’s sake,” you mumble beneath your breath. You text him again. He’s not about to stand you up, is he?

You wait until 8pm, sadly munching on your scallions before ordering dessert. The waiter apologises like it’s their fault your fuck ass boyfriend didn’t show up. You thank them for their kindness.

8:30. You pay the bill (a whopping $84) and leave. Sending one last message to Zayne, you drive home, talking to yourself animatedly about what the fuck just happened and what you’re going to do about it.

Past midnight, you finally hear the jingling of Zayne’s keys as he unlocks the front door. You sit on the couch, your presence only illuminated by a nearby lamp. He pushes the door open; you don’t move. It thuds shut, and he switches on the overhead light.

Seeing the top of your head poking over the back of the couch, Zayne sighs, “There you are.” He comes over to you, setting his bag down on the edge of the couch before sitting down on the coffee table, right in front of you. He grabs your hands, but you shrug him off and avoid his tired gaze.

“Honey,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

You huff, eyes glued to the philodendron in the corner, “It was supposed to be our first date in months, Zayne.”

Turning to face him, you say sternly, “Where were you?”

He replies in that clinical tone, “I had an emergency surgery.” You scoff, shaking your head and looking away. Any other day, you’d be cuddling him and congratulating him on saving another life, but not tonight.

“Of course you did,” you mutter, rolling your eyes.

“Darling—”

“No, Zayne. I don’t wanna hear it.” You lean back, crossing your arms over your chest as you scrutinise him. Slightly dishevelled locks, like he’s been running his hands through his hair. Dark under eyes. He deserves it. Chapped lips. You hope his throat burns from dehydration.

“Four fucking months, Zayne. That’s how long it’s been since we’ve had a proper conversation. Four months?! Where have you been? “I had an emergency surgery” I don’t fucking care!” You spit out.

He pushes up his glasses, sighing, “Do we have to do this now, love?”

“Am I fuckin’ chore to you?! Is that what this is?!” You ramble. He places his cold hand on your knee, but you push it off.

“Don’t,” you say, seething with venom. You lick your lips, at a loss for words. So many things you’ve been meaning to say to him. So many times you’ve rehearsed this. But facing perfection, you forget. All of your witty comebacks and cutthroat lines dissolve into raw emotion. You can feel the tears clawing at your eyes, hounding to be released.

“Are you l-losing interest in me? Is that it?” You choke out, unable to look at him.

“No,” he remarks without hesitation. “No, I… I’ve been too ambitious, I’m afraid. And in doing so, I’ve neglected the most important person in my life.” The tears spill, streaming down your cheeks before you can stop them. Zayne’s fingers twitch, the urge to wipe your eyes and kiss your sorrows better, overpowering. But he disciplines himself.

“I-I don’t—I don’t wa-wanna do this anym-more, Zayne,” you sob, bringing your legs up to your chest and wrapping your arms around yourself. You lay your forehead against your knees, crying as the weight of these past few months crashes down on you.

“I know. And I’m sorry, darling. I should have realised how much I was hurting you much earlier. I wish you had told me sooner how you felt.” His words only make it worse.

“Told you?!” You cry out, lifting your head to gaze at him with glassy eyes.

“How-how c-could I have-have told you? Y-you didn’t ev-even look at me? In-in your office,” you explain through the shuddering sobs racking your chest. Zayne’s brow creases, unsure of what you’re referring to. You haven’t been in his office for months. Not since you dropped off those delicious muffins and—

Oh.

“How w-was I sup-supposed to t-talk to you?” You ask, trembling. Your lips curl as more tears spew from your eyes. Before he can see you crying all ugly, you dip your head back between your knees.

After a long pause, all he mutters is, “I see.” The sound of your sadness ripples throughout the quiet apartment. Once a home: wafting jasmine, gentle sunlight, and lazy mornings in bed on the weekend. Now, it’s like a cage, keeping you trapped in an unhappy relationship.

“I-I don’t wanna do-do this anymore,” you repeat.

He sighs, “I know. We’ll fix it, honey. I’ll fix this.” You shake your head, pulling back and meeting his mellow gaze once more.

“I-I wanna take a-a break,” you sniffle. His eyes widen, and his body goes rigid. Even you notice through your cloudy vision.

“A break?” He clarifies sternly. You nod, the emotions swelling in your throat becoming too much to bear.

Zayne’s pink tongue darts across his dry lips, wetting them as he sighs, “Look, I know that this has been quite hard for you—”

“For me?! Wh-what? This has-hasn’t been h-hard for you either?” You retort. His brow furrows as he leans forward, elbows on his knees.

“No. That’s not what I meant. This has been difficult for both of us. But, I don’t think taking a break will solve anything,” he explains. You shake your head as you sniffle. God, your nose is so fucking runny right now it’s embarrassing.

He goes on, “More space will not bring us closer, love.”

You choke out, “B-but I nee-need m-more space to c-come back t-t’you.”

After a moment, Zayne huffs, “Generally, partners take breaks to see other people or to compose themselves before ending the relationship. I know that I’ve hurt you, but I believe that we’re strong enough to move through this. Don’t you agree?” Your sobs intensify tenfold. You curl back into a ball, rocking gently as you grapple with his words.

Are you about to do this? Are you about to break up with your boyfriend? Akso’s most handsome, young, and successful cardiologist. The man you’ve been with for almost two years. The man you love so much it eats away at you when he’s not close.

I guess you are.

Rational thinking has gone out the window as you stand up. Wiping your snotty nose and puffy eyes on your sleeve, you grab the bag you spent the last two hours packing. The one Zayne didn’t even notice sitting close by on the couch.

You murmur, “’M going,” as you head for the door. Panicking, Zayne grabs your wrist. You whirl around, gazing up at him while traitorous tears run down your cheeks.

“Sleep on it. Please,” he mumbles. His thumb caresses your wrist, feeling your rapidly beating pulse. You shake your head and tug your wrist back, but he catches your forearm.

“I love you,” he blurts out. Little whines escape your lips as you stare at him. Oh, how soft his black locks look in the warm light. You want to reach out and mess them up even more, but you stop yourself before you even move.

Your lips tremble as you deliver the finishing blow: “It’s not enough.” Yanking your hand back, you turn around and open the front door. It slams shut behind you. And you don’t even look back until you’re in the elevator.

An empty hallway. The grey doors close.

As you cry in your car for the next half hour, quietening down to text Tara and then bursting back into tears waiting for her reply, Zayne stands there. Right where you left him. In the living room, gazing between the closed door and his hand, the hand that still feels your lingering warmth.

After getting the a-okay from Tara, you pat your eyes dry and breathe deeply before setting off for her place. When you arrive, she invites you in with a warm hug and pats your back knowingly. You two chat into the early hours of the morning, until you eventually clean up and head to bed. Exhausted, you doze off into a dreamless sleep.

Zayne, meanwhile, doesn’t sleep at all. Your words play on loop in his mind, repeating until it drives him up the wall. As he lies in his empty bed, your scent still soaking the sheets, he thinks of all the ways to mend your broken heart.

Because you didn’t officially break up with him, right? You’re just taking a break. Like you wanted to. Like he didn’t want to. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself as he cuddles your pillow.

masterlist

a/n: thank you so much for all of the love!! this fic is not exactly an original idea, but i wanted to have a crack at it. lmk if you'd like a part two.

here are a couple similar fics:

you try to break up with them (zayne/sylus) by @heartyluv you ask him for a divorce mid-argument by @kaiist

#★’s works #love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #zayne li #lads zayne #lnds zayne #zayne angst

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everand1r · 8 months ago

Text

Out of their league

Can’t help but think of some of the boys with a s/o who is so out of their league lmao

Gn reader, reader is taller than riddle and Lilia and there is a mention of their chest in riddles part.

Riddle

I’m a firm believer of riddle being attracted to a taller person

Not only is your height attractive, but the way you carry yourself leaves him in awe.

As much as I believe in riddle loving tall people, I feel he would be a bit insecure of his height. Riddle had always been a commanding presence on campus, his reputation turning his students into model citizens when he’s around.

But when he’s with you? All that dominance leaves his body. You love to lean down to tease him, or to rest your head on his, but your favorite is when you lift his chin with your fingers to meet his eyes. He pretty much blue screens on the spot, but be careful with your teasing or he’ll reprimand you.

Kinda hard to take him seriously when his face is flushed red and he can barely look you in the eyes. His height giving him a perfect view of your glorious assets. Yeah he’s not fooling anyone, everyone on campus can tell he’s wrapped around your finger.

Ace

How the hell did this happen

You’re everything he’s just ken ngl sorry ace I love you

Every time he shows you off everyone wonders how the hell did someone like you end up with someone like him.

Like he’s knows you’re hot and way out of his league but cmon! He’s not that bad!

You obviously fell for his lovable and boyish charm!

Anytime someone flirts with you Ace will swoop in and wrap his arm around your waist, telling them you’re taken and to get lost.

“You? You???” They laugh in his face.

He gets so offended

Poor Ace. Pepper his face in kisses, let him know you find him so attractive and he’s back to normal.

Leona

You immediately left an impression on him. When he snapped at you for stepping on his tail, you bared your fangs right back and went off on him for sleeping in such a walkable area.

Which isn’t a good first look but don’t worry he grows on you

You guys are in that relationship where you “argue” anytime you’re in the same room, but there’s obvious sexual tension between you guys… everyone is sick of you two like just make out already damn it! They wish they were him ;(

Your assertiveness and the way you hold your head high anytime you guys go back and forth is so attractive. Not that he’ll ever admit that mind you.

You could throw insult after insult to him, but that smirk and that fiery look in your eyes has him wanting to kiss you right then and there.

“God you’re insufferable!”

“Mhmm yeah and what else?” He’ll egg you on with that damn smirk of his.

One day you guys are gonna have to admit your feelings for each other. It’ll probably have to be you though, Leona is burying his feelings deep.

Anyways let’s just say no one on campus is surprised when one day they see you guys walking together on campus, hand in hand.

Idia

How the hell did this happen #2

The radiant, intelligent, borderline untouchable Ramshackle prefect with the housewarden of Ignihyde????

Yeah no one on campus believes this is real

Ortho is doing his best to convince others that Idia can be charming, sorry bud it’s not working, the students are placing bets on if the rumor is real or not.

As much as he loves you, going out is a real struggle

Heads turn in your direction no matter where you go. You have admirers everywhere on campus, to have that many eyes on him…. Yeah no he’ll leave his room another day… probably.

If you ever do go out anywhere together Idia will most likely hide behind you, which in turn will probably draw more attention but whatever.

Your fan club is ripping their hair out cause what do you mean you fell for him of all people?!?

He’s at a total loss if someone flirts with you. On one hand, he’d love to be your knight in shining armor. On the other hand, he’d have to directly confront someone without his tablet.

He’d be so relieved if you can handle it yourself. If not? Oh boy…. Make sure you have ortho on speed dial. Someone’s gonna have to come save y’all.

Lilia

You guys would have a pretty fun relationship. He ropes you into scaring others real quick, your reputation makes it easy to get away with a lot.

Getting scared by Lilia: (¬_¬)

Getting scared by you: ＿|￣|○

Unlike riddle, Lilia is quite secure with his height. In fact he loves the height difference between you two. He loves to wrap his arms around you as you bring up a hand to play with his hair.

The Diasomnia gang all love you so no problems there… although if you’re human sebek might be a bit iffy about it.

Maybe not for long as he greatly respects Lilia and also there isn’t much to dislike about you. Don’t worry though sebek will find a way /j

All that aside your relationship is quite cute. You could be doing literally anything and Lilia will watch you in adoration. He’ll sigh dreamily and rant about you to anyone who’ll listen.

They’re not. No one is listening to him, Everyone around him is gripping their pens in jealousy.

The same applies for you, lovingly staring at him as he goes about his day.

“Isn’t he lovely?” You sigh, gazing at Lilia as he nearly blows up the kitchen with his cooking.

Everyone is begging you to please teach him how to cook before he creates nuclear waste. 🙏🏽

#I’m tired of readers being described as plain janes!#like damn give ‘em something!#twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #ace trappola x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #idia shroud x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #twisted wonderland headcanons #twst x reader #twst fluff #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland fluff #twisted wonderland x gn reader

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sailorsoons · 3 months ago

Text

Chat, is that Rizz? (j. ww)

PAIRING: Streamer!Wonwoo x Streamer! F.reader

SUMMARY: Your rivalry with Wonwoo has existed for as long as you’ve been streaming. It’s fun, and both of your communities love it. Wonwoo is happy to play along - at least until you question his rizz while live, and he feels like he should remind you just how much rizz he has.

WC: 5,366

AU: Established Relationship, Faux Rivals

GENRE: Smut, a hint of fluff

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

WARNINGS: This is so cheesy and stupid and I don’t care!! Explicit language, teasing and light antagonization, gamer and streamer speak in spots, sexually explicit content including spanking, fingering, unprotected sex, hint of overstimulation, playful banter and teasing during sex, bodily fluids, soft dom if you squint. UNEDITED.

A/N: Originally written on sailorrhansol for @daechwitatamic I'm pretty sure this came out of us doing god awful puns and this was the result.

A/N 2: This is unedited sorry!

MASTERLIST | ASK | PERMANENT TAG LIST

“YOU’RE NEVER GOING TO HIT IMMORTAL WITH THAT STRAT, WONWOO,” you tease, cringing as he gets gunned down by the enemy team’s Reyna. “Rotated too early.”

“Here they go,” Seungcheol mutters into the mic, his exasperation making you grin as you fix your eyes on the screen. Like both you and Wonwoo, Seungcheol has already died in the round, watching as Mingyu navigates the map to pick up the bomb to attempt to save the round.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you while you were dead,” Wonwoo shoots back. You scrunch your nose, knowing that it is, unfortunately, true. “I was in the land of the living. You know. Because I didn’t dry peek long and die.”

“Seungcheol told me to push site!”

“Maybe push with util, though? Or be better.”

On the right side of your screen, you can see your chat blowing up. You grin and roll your eyes - you aren’t actually bothered by Wonwoo and you know he isn’t mad either. Playing games with him always elicits teasing and a steady back and forth.

Once upon a time, his poking might bother you. Now, you’ve played enough games with Wonwoo over the last two years to know better. It’s all in good faith, and it’s part of the joke, this ongoing way the two of you bicker and go tit for tat.

“I am nothing if not an accommodating teammate,” you offer back. Mingyu manages to get to the site, swinging wildly to check for enemies. “I’m a helper. I like to help people.”

“You can help me by shutting up,” Mingyu mutters.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo echos, a smirk prominent in his voice. “Shut up.”

“No I’m talking to you too,” Mingyu assures. “And you did rotate without me and too early. So she’s right.”

That shuts Wonwoo up, a chorus of laughter echoing in the headset as your team watches Mingyu try and go for the clutch. Your laughter fades and you mute yourself on Discord in an attempt not to distract Mingyu, eyes flicking over to the comments flooding in on your stream.

It’s a rewarding feeling to see how many there are, donation notifications popping up on the top of your screen making your heart stutter a little. You can see Seokmin moderating as usual in the chat, reminding people the commands for frequently asked questions and removing anything weird.

There is a lot of weird.

“Thank you for the dono, Shaezy98. Yes, PiCheolwinning, I hit Immortal a few days ago! What do you guys think about doing a nonstop stream until I hit Radiant? Would that be fun?”

Resounding yes responses flood the comments. You grin, pulling your legs up into the chair to make small talk with the community you’ve so carefully built over the last few years. You see a suggestion in the comments that makes you laugh, leaning forward to unmute yourself in Discord.

“Hey Wonwoo,” you ask. “My chat wants us to try 1v1 where we customize each other’s settings. Thoughts?”

It’s a common question. People love the dynamic you and Wonwoo specifically have, enjoying seeing the friendly rivalry grow over the years. You can recall several streams you’ve done just playing together, hosting charity events and promoting new games as a dynamic duo.

Some wonder if you’re together. There’s no hard evidence, but there's chemistry there. A lightness to your banter that comes with a familiarity your fans try to piece together, a gentleness that sounds the edges of your insults to make sure the other knows your kidding.

Wonwoo lets out a deep hum. “You’re gonna go demon mode on my settings. Then I’d have to change them back.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. Of course he’s worried about his settings, as if he can’t export them. “Is that a no?”

“What’s in it for me? Besides my fucked up settings and the risk you change all my weapon skins.”

Clearing your throat, you put on your best telemarketer voice. “The benefits to this offer are endless. For a limited time only, you can take advantage of quality time spent with me-”

“Not a benefit.”

You ignore his interruption, a vein in your forehead ticking at the comment. “You can protect your honor and pride as a gamer, and as a special early bird offer, I’ll give all donations from that stream to a charity of your choosing. Thoughts?”

Mingyu ends up losing the round, earning a resounding sigh and curse from everyone on the team. You move your mouse around to click through weapons and set yourself up for the next round. “They’re going to force,” you say, momentarily distracted from your sales pitch by strategy. “Wonwoo I can buy you a marshall.”

“Yeah.”

You make the transaction for him and drop the weapon so he can pick it up, noting the comments coming in from viewers.

NoLo88: See, she always does stuff for him - I swear they’re together!!!

EzBoyZ: No way would she date him.

NoLo88: Are you kidding? Have you seen Wonwoo? He’s like the hottest streamer ever.

LoLPog69: Ugh I hope they’re not dating, she’s better single.

“See, I’m fun. I’m nice. I’m a team player who helps win games. What do you say?”

“Fine, it’s a date.”

The way he so casually says it makes your stomach flip. You hesitate for a moment, blinking in surprise before you realize he’s said it without really thinking about it. Biting your bottom lip to fight a smile, you ask, “Oh? A date? Chat, is that rizz?”

“Oh fuck off,” Wonwoo huffs, trying to cover up his mistake. You can’t help it - your smile spreads as he rushes to gloss over what he said. “It’s a figure of speech.”

“He’s trying to rizz me, chat!”

“In your dreams.”

“You should change your tag from WonuWizard to WonuRizzard.” Wonwoo curses as he gets killed. You cackle, killing an enemy and taking their gun. “Oo, an operator. Do you want this, Wonwoo? What about changing your tag to RizzardOfOz?”

Wonwoo groans on the other end of the mic and you can imagine the way he pushes back in his chair, sinking a little further down as he spectates the match. “Yes, save the op for me, please. Also, get your chat out of mine. I’m going to get a Rizzstraining order.”

You note the way he says for me when he asks for the weapon you’ve picked up to keep for him. It is a favor to him, intended for him. Your viewers notice.

Seungcheol swears. “You two are insufferable to play with sometimes. We’re trying to win a game.”

Mingyu huffs. “Just stop Rizzsponding, Cheol. They’ll shut up eventually.”

With a laugh, you settle in and focus on the game. Even as the teasing dies down, you and Wonwoo fall into a comfortable give and take, working together to win the next few rounds and eventually, the entire match after Wonwoo closes out the game with an ace.

“Wow.” You lean back in your chair, stretching. It’s getting late at night, and you feel a little tired. “Mad Rizzpect, Wonwoo. Up your rizz game and maybe I’ll go on a date with you.”

“Up my rizz game?” His tone has shifted as everyone starts talking over one another, Seungcheol and Mingyu getting into it over something sports related. You’re focused on the soft purr of Wonwoo’s voice, though. The raspiness of it. “If I wanted to rizz you, I would.”

Fuck. His voice. You shift a little in your seat, clicking around your secondary monitor that is off stream to pull up Wonwoo’s stream. It loads, immediately showing his dark room with slow pulsing RGB lights in the background and shelving displaying different collectible items.

Wonwoo looks like he always does: leaned back casually in his seat, the glow of his computer reflecting in the lens of his black-frame glasses. Dark bangs hang in his eyes, the rest of his hair hidden by the hood that is pulled up over his head. He’s chewing on one of the strings of his hoodie as he talks to his chat, voice gentle.

His hoodie has a little animated version of him over the left side of the chest, the character winking and giving finger hearts. You feel your lips twitch - you always loved the little cartoon version of himself. As always, he looks totally at ease. It’s the same even in an intense game, Wonwoo never feeling the need to lean closer to the screen or showing the tension in his shoulders.

Calm. Cool. Collected.

Except when you can force a rise out of him, of course.

A bunch of notifications flood in your chat. You look over to them, reading through them and grinning. You pull your mic toward you, shaking your head. “Ugh I have all the Wonwoo apologists in my chat defending your rizz.”

“Good” he shoots back. You watch in delayed time as he smirks on his end. He so rarely does a full smile, but you know it’s beautiful when he does. “You need to take Rizzponsibility for implying I have no rizz.”

“No way,” Mingyu gasps. “Two Wonwoo puns in a single night?”

“Puns and attempted rizz?” You ask, cocking your head. “Huge day for Wonwoo fans everywhere.”

“Again, that wasn’t rizz. You’ll know it when I use it.”

“Sure, sure. Or maybe you just… don’t have any.”

You watch the tick in Wonwoo’s jaw. A grin spreads across your face and you try to suppress it, knee bouncing in anticipation as you watch the minute changes in his expression. He drums his fingers on the armrest of his gaming chair, hypnotizing you for a moment. He has long, elegant fingers paired with a beautiful set of hands.

“You really think I have no rizz?” he asks, voice low and oh you know that voice. You suppress a shiver and shake your head ‘no’ before realizing that he can’t see you. Or he does - because he says, “Use your words like a big girl.”

If you weren’t on stream, your eyes might roll back in your head at the soft purr of his voice, the way in which he immediately switches gears, put out by your accusations that you already know are false.

And because you’re you, you push him a little more, interested to see where it goes. “Are you watching my stream, Jeon Wonwoo?”

“Mhmm. Trying to learn rizz, since apparently I have none. Go on, show the class. What have you got?”

Seungcheol and Mingyu both ooo and quiet down, putting you on the spot. Heat tiptoes up your neck to your ears. Being a streamer by nature is being under the spotlight, especially when you have a high follower account. This is different though, the pressure suddenly flipped to you as your friends settle in, waiting.

“It’s all about the charizzma,” you joke, voice a little raspy. You swallow, eyes flicking to your secondary monitor where you can see Wonwoo watching his screen with a growing grin. “I can’t teach you how to have that, Jeon.”

“What can you teach me, Angel?”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. You know that commanding tone anywhere, the soft shift from teasing to something a little darker, a little sharper. He doesn’t care that you’re both on the screen for live viewers, that this will be recorded, or that you have friends on the call, who have taken a backseat to watch the fencing match.

And the angel. Sure, it’s a small part of your brand and gamertag, but the way Wonwoo says it implies something intimate. Darker. A gentle caress of the word against your skin.

When you come up with nothing, Wonwoo grins on screen, devastatingly handsome. He knows he’s surprised you. “Not a problem,” he quips. “I’m an excellent teacher. I can teach you how to rizzpond to a direct question.”

He surprises you by ending the stream suddenly. You blink in surprise, both Seungcheol and Mingyu calling Wonwoo’s name, assuming his internet has gone out or has been interrupted. With shaking hands, you remove one side of your headphones, listening. Heavy footsteps sound in the hall and you squeak, hitting the hotkey to show be right back on your stream.

Wonwoo stands in the doorway. He gives you a single, lopsided smirk before waltzing toward you, a predator stalking prey. His dark eyes are focused on you, drinking you in.

“Noooo,” you yell at him, giddy and panicked all at the same time. You hold your hands out to push him away but he links your fingers instead pressing his palms against yours and pulls you toward him. He jerks your computer chair toward him, your knees crashing against his. “Hiiiii.”

“No rizz, huh?” his voice is barely a murmur.

“Ummm,” you glance over to your set up where the be right back glows. Wonwoo follows your line of sight before dropping his gaze back to you, eyes asking a question. “Do you… want to?”

Elation falls across his face. “I’m down if you are. You know that.”

Chewing your lip, you smile and nod. You’ve long been planning to reveal that the two of you have been dating for a long time, and the present feels right. Not to mention the implication of him ending the stream and you slamming the be right back on at the same time.

Wonwoo leans down and grabs the arms of your computer chair, spinning it around and pushing you back into the frame. He leans over your shoulder, the smell of sandalwood and lavender enveloping you, making your head spin. He hits the hotkey to turn your stream and mic back on.

Your eyes drop to where you’re displayed in the camera, Wonwoo leans against the back of your chair, chest pressed to your shoulder as he grins at the camera. Your thighs clench, seeing that same cocky smirk you’re used to making a brief appearance on camera.

“Sorry chat,” Wonwoo announces. “Sorry Cheol, Mingyu. I have to handle the disrizzspect going on in my own home. Say byeeee to chat, Angel.”

“Byeeee,” you squeak on instinct, watching as he waves while your comments explode. He closes out the stream and cuts off the Discord call where Seungcheol and Mingyu are screeching, shutting down your computer entirely so there’s no chance for accidents.

Stomach fluttering, you take off your headphones and look up at Wonwoo to find he’s already staring down at you, dark eyes hungry. You slide down a little in your chair, feeling your mouth go dry. You got what you wanted, but now that he’s there and you can feel the intensity crackling between you, you can’t help but balk just a little.

“What?” he asks, lips twitching at the corner. “Rizz got your tongue?”

“I guess maybe you have a little rizz.”

“Ohhh, I see.” Wonwoo pulls your seat backward, spinning your chair around so that you face the bed. He lets go of the chair and walks backward, sitting on the edge of your bed. You stare at him, heart beating, breath quickening. “Now that there’s no one here I have rizz.”

You pout. “It’s our brand.”

“Mhmm.” He leans back on your bed, the mattress dimpling under his weight. He pats his thigh with one hand. “You just love getting under my skin, don’t you?”

You climb out of your computer chair, stumbling a little as the blood starts to flow from where they were crisscrossed. He tsks at you as you regain your footing, padding over to where he sits, legs spread, thighs straining against his athletic shorts.

Carefully, you climb into his lap. Your body buzzes as you settle over him, one knee on either side of his hips. You lean your weight into him, hands resting on top of his shoulders. Even through his hoodie, you can feel how warm his skin is.

“Are you happy now?”

“Huh?”

One of his hands leaves the bed and cracks against your ass, starling you. You squeak and lean forward, the sting making your eyelids flutter. “You’re not even listening, are you?”

“I wasn’t.”

His hand kneads your ass through your shorts, soothing the sting from the slap. “I asked, are you happy now? Did you get what you wanted?” You nodded, letting your head hang down, burying your face in his neck. It’s warm and safe there, your thoughts sticky as his hand continues to explore your ass. “Remember when I said use your words like a big girl?”

“Yes. Yes, I got what I wanted.”

“And what was it you wanted?”

When you hesitate to answer, too focused on your slamming heart and stuttered breathing, his hand comes down across your ass again. You curse, melting into him, letting him bear your weight entirely. “Wanted to rile you up.”

“It worked.”

“I can tell.”

Wonwoo’s hand trails to the edge of your shorts, fingers dancing along your thighs. You’re hype aware of his touch and the way it sends fire through you, stomach in knots and cunt aching between your legs as he fingers the hem of your shorts.

“Is it okay that I interrupted your stream?”

The question is so much softer than he was a second ago. You lift your head to look at him. His face swims into focus, a momentary flicker of nervousness. Wonwoo is rarely impulsive, but the move to announce your rivalry is more romantic than most people knew was unplanned and spur of the moment.

“It’s definitely okay. Is it okay with you?”

He nods, leaning forward to run his nose up the side of your neck. He inhales, taking in your scent and humming while the hand running along your shorts pulls at the fabric. “Just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be upset.”

“No. Now the people in your chat know you’re mine.”

“Yours?” His mouth brushes against the hollow of your throat, hot and wet. Your head tilts back, lips parting as his tongue flicks against your skin. “Just wanted to claim me, is that it?”

“Your fans are horny?”

He nips your neck and a moan drips from you. “Yours aren’t?”

“Not like yours.”

“Too bad for them. There’s only one angel who can get under my skin.” Wonwoo takes you by the waist and rolls you over. Your breath leaves you in a huff as your back hits the mattress. He leans over you, knees caging you in on either side of your hips as he presses his mouth to your jawline, sucking kisses up toward your ear. “Only one drawback - she thinks I have no rizz.”

You bring your hands to the hem of his hoodie, desperate to feel him. Sliding your hands under the fabric, you press your palms against his stomach, feeling his muscle flex as his skin warms your hands. His mouth is wet against your skin, teeth nipping your earlobe teasingly, drawing a raspy sound from you.

“I think,” you gasp as he drops a hand between your legs to press against your clothed cunt, “That she might be wrong about the rizz.”

Wonwoo’s fingers apply pressure, barely circling your clit through the fabric. It worsens the ache between your legs, your thoughts getting scattered as you squirm underneath him. He brings his mouth to yours, stealing a greedy kiss.

This is the part of Wonwoo that you know only you see. Where the calm and collected gamer turns into an all consuming force, stealing the breath from your lungs as his tongue presses against yours. You kiss him back with equal want, whimpering into his mouth as he presses his fingers a little harder against you.

“Please,” you breathe against his mouth between kisses. “I know I was mean but please.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’m sorry!”

“Are you, though?” He mouths down your neck to your collarbone, the sting of his teeth soothed by the rough pass of his tongue. “You got exactly what you wanted and more.”

“I ammmm.”

His laughter is rough. The hand between your legs comes up to the top of your shorts, dipping past the waistline to sink downward. He groans when he feels the dampness of your underwear, the way he’s already worked you up.

“No rizz,” he mutters to himself. You throb when you feel his fingers pull your underwear to the side, knuckles running up your wet folds where he stops at your clit to press down. Your nails scrap against his abs, body tensing under the stimulation. “This is a wet fucking fucking pussy for someone who has no rizz.”

You can’t think of a response, mind reeling as Wonwoo plays with you properly. You writhe in his hands, melting as his fingers brush up and down your slit before coming back up to gently circle your clit. Your feet kick a little under him, unable to sit still as he works you - teases you.

Fuck you realize he might do this all night.

“You have a lot of rizz,” you breath, pressing the back of your head into the bed, gasping in surprise as he sinks a finger into your entrance. Already you’re clenching down on him, wanting more. “Fuck.”

“I don’t know… maybe I just… lack what you need.”

“No,” you answer quickly. “Just… ugh like that.”

The ease at which he knows how to touch you makes everything feel tenfold. Wonwoo knows you like the back of your hand, both intimately and mentally. What had started as two streamers annoying one another had turned into friendship at some point - you’d met him at a convention and realized he was far gentler and softer than you imagine.

That had turned into something further - something deeper. The want when you were around him was something that you hadn’t expected, but it hasn’t gone away since. Even though you get to have him like this, finger stroking your inner walls and palm pressed against your clit, you always want more. Can’t stop wanting him.

“Want,” you mutter, the only word you can think of. You feel the smile pressed against your skin, the wetness slicking his fingers as he presses in a second, stretching you. Your hips can’t off the bed but he pushes you back down, making you whine.

“Why should I?”

“Cause.”

“Not a good enough answer.”

Wonwoo starts to retract his hand and you scramble, digging your nails into his hip to claw him back toward you. “Cause I love you.”

“Closer…”

“Cause I want you.”

“So close.”

“Cause I need you.”

He hums in thought. “Good enough. Help me take these fucking shorts off.”

Wonwoo pulls his hand out of your shorts and leans upward. You rip your hands from his hoodie to slide your shorts off, peeling your underwear down as you do. He taps you on the thigh, fingers sticky from your arousal as he shifts higher. You know what he’s asking, scooting backward on the mattress to give yourself more real estate.

His mouth comes back down to yours, lips soft. You love kissing him, tongue tangling as you bring your hands up to slide your fingers through his hair. He makes an appreciative sound, one hand supporting his weight as he hovers over you while the other slots back between your legs to resume where he left off.

Unrestricted by your shorts, he’s able to thrust his fingers properly. Your gasps break his kisses, hips rolling to meet the stroke of his fingers. He’s always been skilled with his hands, able to peel you apart, pressing the pads of his fingers into that sweet spot over and over again.

His thumb presses against your clit, adding stimulation as he moves it from side to side slowly, aided by the wetness gathered there. You let yourself get lost in him, pressure tightening in your stomach as you climb toward an orgasm.

Your hands are everywhere - pulling at his hair, pulling at his shoulders, pulling at his arms. He lets you grip at him, lets you squirm beneath his ministrations, letting you have free reign. It’s a favor to you, in a way. He’s letting you get away with your earlier teasing, not drawing it out like he’s known to do, not making you beg.

Moans bracket the wet sound his fingers make in your cunt as he works you to the edge. Your breaths come out in short hisses behind clenched teeth and your thighs squeeze his hand. He’s unfettered, laughing roughly against your ear, breath hot.

“What would your chat say?” he asks. “Huh? What would they say if they knew you fell apart like this? That your cunt melts around my fingers.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, so close to your orgasm that your ears are starting to buzz.

“All this time they thought we were frenemies. Have no idea I get to have you like this whenever I want.”

“I’m gonna-”

“Yeah, you’re gonna.” His fingers press harder, the pressure mounting further. “Gonna come all over my fingers, yeah? Just like you always do?”

You do.

Everything comes together in one, cohesive snap. You arch into him, muscles squeezing, teeth clenched, eyes shut. It feels good when you unravel, coming around his fingers as they fuck you through it, determind to extend your high for as long as he can.

Your breathing is ragged by the time you start to come down, shirt sticking to your skin and neck and face flushed as you try to escape him. He laughs a little, hand slowing until his fingers are still inside you, pressed deep.

When you open your eyes, the room is spinning. It takes you a second to focus on him. His head is hanging, gaze focused where his fingers are still shoved in your pussy. You can see your arousal shining on his wrist and feel where you drip down the curve of your ass.

“A lot of cum for someone with no rizz,” he notes, lifting his head to grin at you.

“Oh shut up.”

“Oh?”

He retracts his hand and you make a pitiful sound at the loss. He stands up, suddenly leaving you cold and shivering. He brings his fingers to his mouth absently, popping them between rosy lips as he sucks your fluid off easily, making an appreciative sound.

“I mean if you want me to leave-”

“No, no! No need for that.” He smirks. “You’re already… here and stuff.”

“And stuff.”

Rolling his eyes, he peels the hoodie up and over his head. You watch, suddenly entranced by the blue tint on his tan skin and the way his muscles flex when he leans to kick off his sweats. Wonwoo is beautiful, his body made up of equal parts streamlined edges and softness.

Sleeper build, you’d joke the first time you saw him shirtless. On stream, he’s always hidden in baggy shirts and hoodies. You’d never realized he was hiding a body that was at peak athletic form, oversized clothing giving way to rippling arms and a hard chest.

Naked, he shuffles back to the bed. You let him pull you out of your top, thankful for the warmth of his hands skating over your chilled skin. Your nipples tighten in the cool air, your toes curling at the sensation as you lay back on the bed and look up at him.

Haloed by blue light, Wonwoo looks like some sort of demon or angel. You’re not sure - perhaps he’s equal parts. His hands reach behind your thighs and lift, pressing your legs upward toward your chest. The stretch feels good but it also pries you open, making you writhe when you feel the weight of his cock on your pussy.

“Hold yourself open for me,” he murmurs gently. Your hands reach behind the back of your knees, pulling. He gives you a lopsided grin, leaning over you to press his weight into the backs of your thighs, helping. “Stay just like that, fuck.”

You do as he says. You have no other choice, especially when he presses the head of his cock into your entrance, sinking in slowly. You let out a loan moan shaped in his name as he presses in, the fit tight and the pressure delirious.

Wonwoo bottoms out, holding himself to you, hips to ass for a second. He presses in all of his weight, the mattress creaking under you as he does. He drops his chin to his chest, curses as he takes a few deep breaths, chest heaving.

You fuck him up too. You know it and you love it, watching as he looks up at you, eyes glazed over with lust, but still full of love. It simmers right at the surface, so obvious that you wonder how anyone could ever not see it when it’s right there.

Slowly, he starts to move. You suck in a breath, head falling to the side. Your fingers ache where you grip your thighs, knuckles shaking. A light sheen of sweat wicks your legs, making your hold slip a little. It’s okay, though. Wonwoo leans into you, keeping you pried open as his hips fuck into you at a steady pace.

Each thrust feels like it punches the air from your lungs. You draw in deep breaths when you remember, otherwise distracted with the way he crowds you in, crushing you to the mattress. The feeling of him is insane, your thoughts cobwebbing together, the only word you can think of being his name.

He pants, his arms scooping around your shoulders to pull you into him. A curse leaves your mouth. He’s got you folded in half, no escape from the drill of his hips, the air turning to static between you. Wonwoo is pressed close and you somehow wish you were closer, wanting to drop the grip on your thighs to hold him instead.

Wonwoo reads you like a book. “Go ahead,” he hisses between thrusts.

“Thank you,” you gasp, dropping your legs in favor of sliding your hands through his sweaty hair, nails scratching his scalp. You feel him shiver and you do it again, pulling his face to you so that you can brush your mouth against his, barely a kiss. “Fuuuuuuck, Wonwoo I-”

“I know.”

“Close close close.”

He doesn’t pick up his pace but he throws his weight into you more, fucking you deep and hard. You see stars, squeezing your eyes shut as you slide against one another, muscles aching, lungs screaming. You feel like you can’t breathe but you don’t care, skating the line of your second orgasm so close.

Your heart pounds in your ears. Your breath scrapes your throat. There is a moment of absolute nothing but white noise and then you’re crashing, slamming into your orgasm with enough force to knock your head with his when you lurch forward.

It doesn’t even hurt, the electric pleasure outweighing the knock to your head as his fingers dig into your shoulders, cradling you harder as he pistons faster, getting himself to peak. You go limp, held tilted back as he growls your name and loses a rhythm, breath hissing between his teeth.

For a moment everything is disjointed until he slows to a stop, letting you unfold but pressing his body down onto yours. His weight is comforting, grounding you as your thoughts wander, a little confused and without navigation as your system reboots from the orgasm, tired and staticky.

Wonwoo kisses your jaw lightly, a gentle contrast to seconds ago when he folded you in half.

Slowly, he slides to the side, giving you room to breathe. Your body is slick all over - especially between your legs - and the room cools your overwarm skin. You crane your neck to face him, eyes fluttering open as you come back to, a little more lucid.

His dark eyes find yours and he grins before tossing an arm over your waist just to keep you connected. You place your hand on his arm, returning the gesture, just wanting to touch him.

“I think I died,” you joke, voice rough. “God.”

“Yeah? Hey chat,” Wonwoo hums, a grin splitting his face. “How about that for rizz?”

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777heavengirl · 10 months ago

Text

Jolene

James Potter x Reader One-shot ! warnings: childhood friends to lovers, jealousy, fluff, slight sirius x reader for the plot, raw dogging posting bc it has not been looked over by my beta reader whoops! word count: 5,311 masterlist notes: sorry i disappeared for like a week, i started classes— anyway this was born out of me listening to Jolene by Dolly Parton on repeat and realizing it is describing lily enjoy!

Lily Evans was a gorgeous woman. Her emerald green eyes and the milky skin clad in freckles were incomparable. Lily Evans was like the sun, her flaming auburn hair and the mere fact that she was one of the brightest witches in the castle. You knew this quite well, the shine of her hair, the glow of her smile, the softness of her skin. James would never let you forget it. How no one could compete with her. How her beauty was beyond compare.

Yet you couldn't hate her, not how she seemed to know the answer to every question, not how she stood up from the bed neighboring yours looking as radiant as ever, every morning. No, Lily Evans was sweet as honey and the best dormmate you could ask for. You couldn't bring to dislike her even when the man you were sickly in love with raved about her.

James Potter was a beautiful man. His hazel eyes shined big and bright, the strong curves of his face, the curly black hair that bounced as he laughed, and his warm brown skin. James was the definition of sun-kissed. Your families had always been stuck together like glue, you spent your entire life attached at the hip, growing up next to him was a blessing and a curse. His never-ending joy at life, and the jokes that bounced off of his lips, were enough to turn anyone's day around. His smile was so bright you felt like you were staring at the sun itself. James was like the sun, you could never look at him directly, not for too long. As he grew girls threw themselves at his feet, he became a bit of an arrogant brat, but he always made it clear he only had eyes for one girl.

James Potter was in love with Lily Evans— the most perfect woman in the world.

You were such a fool.

"Come off it," Lily laughed as she pushed James his body rocking to the side as he also giggled to himself. They had gotten closer the last couple of months, seemingly out of nowhere. You couldn't help but watch pathetically from the couch on the other side of the common room. You wondered what he was saying to her, his hand covering his mouth as he whispered in her ear. Her eyes shone with humor and joy, and so did his although a bit more mischievous, but that was just James. You couldn't help but clench your hands together, nails digging into your flesh.

"You should stop doing that dollface" Your eyes flickered back to Sirius, who leaned over from the back of the couch, his face awfully close to yours. You couldn't help but hold your breath. His nimble fingers took your hand, loosening your grip on it and massaging the half-moon marks on your hand. You went to turn away, Lily's laugh breaking the silence again and calling for your attention but Sirius turned your head towards him with a single finger, his eyes flickering back and forth between yours and something you couldn't see. "Just keep looking at me don't question it-" You could barely hear what he said, but his lips broke into a shit-eating grin, shiny teeth bared at you. And you couldn't help but laugh, slightly out of nervousness, but mostly because Sirius's antics were always ridiculous. Your laughter made his smile widen.

He placed a small kiss on your temple and said thanks doll, as he let go of your hand and disappeared again.

"He's ridiculous," Remus barely glanced from his parchment, his feather still grinding his essay away. The slight suspicion of what Sirius was up to crawled its way into Remus’s head as he watched the two of you interact, as he watched James's giggles stop from across the room, distracted.

”You’re not wrong there,” you frowned as you turned back to balancing your book and the essay you had been working on, on your lap. “I wonder what’s gotten into him”

Remus just chuckled without looking up. You didn’t hear Lily’s or James’s giggles again.

Sirius had started sitting next to you in every class, often replacing James, waving him off with a sit next to Moony, more often than not. This seemed to push James further into Lily's arms, as he sat next to her, she didn't seem to complain. You weren't loving it. Not that you disliked sitting with Sirius, he was more than competent, against all odds. But still.

"May I ask what you're playing at Black?" your words were low as your charms professor droned on and on about something you hadn't really been paying attention to.

"Whatever do you mean sweetheart?" He gave you his familiar toothy grin, eyes dancing with devilishness "Can I not sit next to my dear Y/N? One of the smartest, most beautiful witches our age?" you scrunched your nose, lips suppressing a smile at his antics. "Not to mention one of my best mates?"

"You know what I mean Sirius, you've been awfully touchy lately" His smile widened, and moved his face slightly closer to yours "Not to mention awfully close," this last part came out as a whisper. He really had been close, always a breath away, always pushing his face close to yours. Two nights ago he had smushed himself to read your book along with you, you had been practically cheek to cheek.

Sirius had always been touchy, he was always resting on someone, sprawled on James’s bed, his legs across Peter’s on the couch, asleep on Remus’s shoulder. But this was a little out of character.

Sirius opened his mouth to speak but the large bell signaling you guys were done echoed through the castle. He broke into a grin again, and grabbed his stuff quickly, shoving papers and quills inside his bag unceremoniously.

“hurry up doll,” he muttered as moved to shove your stuff equally as clumsily into your bag and took a hold of your wrist, dragging you. You pushed by your friends, shooting a look of confusion toward Remus. He smiled at you with a wink, as he walked.

Sirius finally stopped and you ran into him.

"For Godric's sake, what is up with you?" You finally got him to let go of your wrist and he closed the door to the empty classroom he had shoved you in. "If this is you trying to seduce me— it definitely isn't working I think we gotta send you to a workshop,"

He snorted as he shook his head, "If anyone is going to a workshop on seducing it's you doll," you crossed your arms and huffed "I'm trying to help you out here-"

"With what Sirius?"

"Making Prongs jealous duh" he looked at you like you were stupid, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. A small twinkle in his eye caught your eye, it was the type you saw when he was about to make something detonate. Maybe this time he wanted to explode your life.

"You're absolutely bonkers" You couldn't believe what he was saying, as if James would ever be jealous of anyone in respect to you.

"You fancy him no?" He twirled his wand around, his grey eyes analyzing your facial expressions. You tried your hardest to keep a poker face, trying and failing to not let him see. Sirius had always been a very observant man.

"It's a lost cause, Sirius," you laughed dryly as you thought of it, "she has me beat"

He frowned, "who?"

"Lily, obviously, are you stupid?" he pulled at a piece of your hair at the insult "You've lived with James since we were 11, he's been utterly smitten with her ever since he met her what do you mean who?"

"I think you're the stupid one, they're just friends" You shook your head, a hand going to massage the bridge of your nose as you thought about what he was saying. "yuh huh, Prongs told me so himself"

"And you believed him?" you scoffed "he says he's over her every four months Sirius I didn't peg you as gullible"

He pulled your hair again and you swatted his hand away. You thought about it, James has said the same thing before, how he's over her once and for all, I, James Potter will be over Lily Evans by the end of the week. It had never worked. Their whispers and their giggles, their closeness over the past couple of months were definitely not friendly. Maybe it was for her but for him? Not a chance.

"I really do think you have a chance with him," his tone was lower now, "I reckon he just needs the right push"

"Sirius even if she isn't into him, even if he didn't like Lily, the most perfect woman on the planet" he frowned "he would still never see me as anything more than what I already am to him," you stared straight into his eyes.

You had thought about it many times of course. You prayed and pleaded to the universe every year that Lily would never reciprocate James's feelings. The second you saw their newfound closeness you felt like dropping to your knees and begging her. Begging her to please Lily don't take him. Lily was a captivating woman, she could easily have her choice in men, and she did, but you felt like you could never love again. You knew it was a lost cause, you had heard her name muttered in his sleep, even when he was napping with his head on your lap. The first time it happened, you hadn't even noticed the tears on your cheeks, nor the ones welled up in your eyes. It had always been clear to you, how easily it would be for her to take him, he wasn't your man. She just had to say yes.

So you cried, time and time again, away from prying or worrying eyes. This was your secret to bear.

You looked at Sirius again, shaking your head. Sirius could feel droplets of regret settle in his stomach as he saw the tears well up in your eyes. He had never seen you cry.

“Fat chance Black”

James Potter thought the world of you. He knew he could not live without the curve of your face, the way you smiled at him as if you knew something he didn't. He felt like you could see his soul. You always said he smiled that way too. He wondered if this overlapping trait was a byproduct of a childhood spent together. A childhood spent glued at the hip, one of him being your knight in shining armor when you played, a childhood of sticks and stones that he never let your knees touch. His knees were covered in scrapes and scars that would never fade, but something deep within him never allowed him to let the same happen to you. James Potter could not live without you. He couldn't help but watch how Sirius draped himself over you, and how he hurried to sit next to you. He couldn't help but notice the whispers and the giggles. He couldn't, for everything that was sacred, ignore the closeness. And the fact that you let Sirius press his cheek to yours and whisper merely a breath apart. That part had made his stomach turn.

It wasn't that the two of you weren't close. It was just that James had never seen you be close like that with anybody else. He had spent almost every day of his life by your side. Asleep with your cheeks pressed together, childish limbs all tangled up, you always woke up first and shoved him off the couch. He remembers when you used to hold his hand, his was always dirty with mud and grass, you never cared. You asked him to marry you when you were seven.

He promised you he would.

As you grew up, you continued with this closeness. You had slept in his bed more times than he could count, even at Hogwarts sometimes you'd climb into a corner of his bed. You'd always end up pressed against one another. You would still accidentally nap together on the couches at Potter Manor, or his head on your lap in the common room. And he could admit that Lily Evans had caught his attention, it had been an ongoing thin, and after certain revelations... Deep down he knew.

It had always been you.

James could only stare after you as you set down the hallway with the black-haired boy. A pat on the shoulder from Remus was enough to ground him again. James thought of Sirius's hand around yours.

"Where are they going-"

"Probably to snog in some empty classroom until they undoubtedly get caught," Peter spoke mindlessly as he struggled to untangle his sweater from his messenger bag. James stopped dead in his tracks. He hadn't thought about it. The possibility that the nearness between you and Sirius was something else, that you could be involved more intimately.

He thought of your lips, the soft plump lips that kissed his forehead. The ones that stretched into a smile every time you saw him, the ones that curled involuntarily when he said something stupid. The same ones that had kissed him in spin the bottle merely a year ago. He thought of those same lips kissing Sirius.

He might throw up.

James stared at Peter wide-eyed

"What? I thought we all assumed they had something going on" he shrugged as he finally separated the two items. "They're all close and disgusting everywhere— just like you and Lily-"

"There's nothing between me and Evans," Remus and Peter raised their eyebrows at the confession.

"You're always together so I just assumed" Peter's words might as well have been a mumble to James, as he continued to think of you and his best friend. How long had this been going on?

“Well there’s nothing”

You couldn’t help but think about what Sirius had said. He convinced you to let him do his thing, you don’t even have to do anything. But you couldn’t help but run laps around the thought of James being jealous. He didn’t seem upset with you having to kiss Remus during spin the bottle two months ago.

You thought back to the time you kissed. Your first, and most likely only, kiss with James Potter had been by the graces of an empty bottle of firewhiskey last year. You never failed to remember how he laughed after you kissed, a warm full-chested laugh, the kind he gets when he’s all riled up after outrunning Filch. The kind he gets when you set muggle fireworks in the forbidden forest and have to run away after lighting. You pushed him and he simply smiled widely, as if nothing had happened. It was a sharp contrast to the way he seemed to go all shy after Lily had to kiss him. His face seemed to go red and a small smile pulled at the corner of his lips.

Yes, not at all alike.

You wondered if Lily thought about that kiss as much as James probably did. You couldn’t get the image out of your head, his lips on hers. The lips that pouted at you every time you told him no, the same lips that kissed the top of your head when he passed by behind you and you were too engrossed in your work or broke into a smile every time you saw him. The lips that in childhood had kissed your hand and called you princess. You thought of those lips, kissing Lily.

Probably right now, it was 10 pm and she wasn’t in your dorm, her bed vacant next to yours.

“Why do you look so worried, sweets?” Marlene couldn’t help but notice the way you curled in your bed, the deep frown that had taken hold of your brows. She kneeled next to your bed and pushed the center of your eyebrows, “You’re bound to get wrinkles Y/N stop that”

”I don’t care Marls,” you unclenched your eyebrows nevertheless.

”What’s got you so down?” She leaned her head across her forearms on your bed, her short blonde hair looked windswept, her bottom lip jutting out into a pout. “is it Sirius?”

You moaned in frustration. Marlene Mckinnon was one of your closest friends. She was the first person you got close with at Hogwarts, her bed sat left to yours, she was your closest confidant.

“There’s nothing between me and Sirius-“

”Potter seemed to disagree he wouldn’t stop bombarding Sirius with questions during dinner,” you had decided to hide out in your room instead of going down for dinner, Marlene had set a muffin on your nightstand when she entered.

”What did Sirius say?” you bit your lip

”He just told him it was none of his business— I thought Potter was going to burst a blood vessel right then and there” she laughed as she pushed her finger on your forehead again, smoothing out the frown lines.

”Sirius thinks I have a chance with James,” her mouth did an o “he wants to make him jealous but I think he’s full of rubbish” Marlene had known for a very long time about your futile crush on the boy, it was hard to be as close to someone like Marlene, someone so in tune with people’s feelings without her finding out. She always shot you sorry looks when you'd see him with Lily. You pretended to ignore them.

”I can’t believe I’m saying this but Black finally had a good idea”

You groaned into your pillow, your hands pulling slightly at your hair. “What sort of friends are you guys?” Your words were muffled by your pillow and she laughed again but patted your hair,

”Friends that want you to be happy-“

”Yea well this isn’t the way” your voice got louder and higher pitched, you felt like you'd suffocate on the pillow “I’ll be happy being her bridesmaid when they get married and have three kids and live in a cute little house, and I'll be godmother to their children and be happy that at least I didn’t explode one of my closest friendships because the two of you have lost a couple of screws!” you tried your best to push some humor through your voice, you might've been grasping at straws.

”Who’s getting married?” Lily shot you a playful look from the doorway, you hadn’t heard her come in. You wanted to disappear into your sheets, you couldn’t even look at her right now. She groaned as she dropped her pile of books onto her bed.“Is Sirius giving you trouble? He seems so taken with you-“

You groaned as you buried your face into the pillow again, wanting nothing more than for the ground to swallow you. Marlene found the whole thing more than hilarious, her whole body shook as she laughed and she wiped her eyes of the wetness that had formed at the corners.

“I’m going to kill him-“

”What? You guys have been so smitten lately I just thought-“ Lily’s face twisted in thought, nevertheless the edges of her lip curled upwards

”Nothing is going on between me and anybody,” You got up swiftly, a bad mood settling in your stomach like a pile of rocks. “I’ll just see you later-" You grabbed a sweater, that you were pretty sure was one of the boys, it would not help you hide in the darkness of the castle but hopefully it would provide some warmth. You bent down to take your shoes from beside the door and walked out without further comment.

“Was it me?”

“I fear it might’ve been Lils”

“Hush-“

”Don’t tell me to hush Moony— you’re stepping on my toes” Sirius whined in a whisper

”Prongs you need a bigger cloak”

Sirius peered over James’s shoulder as the speckled boy opened the map, the footsteps at the end of the hall seemed to get nearer

“oh” James felt a swirl of emotions in his chest,

”Who is it Prongs-“ Peter barely managed to squeak out before James answered

”It’s just Y/N” the marauders huddled around the map now, watching the banner with your name circle the corner and float down the hall they were hiding in. “What d’you reckon she’s doing up-“

”Shhhh she’s getting close-“ They could see you now, James's brown sweater covering you, one of your shoes untying as you padded down the hall. Tears were in free flow now, they could see even through the darkness, the splotches on your face, and the tracks of tears down the curve of your face. You wiped them furiously with the edge of the jumper.

Something inside James warmed, all he wanted to do was close the distance. He looked briefly at Sirius, whose eyebrows were furrowed in worry. Sirius always hated seeing people he cared about cry. James wondered if he had done something to you. If there truly was something between you and Sirius.

You had well passed them now, but the marauders could still hear your sniffles from down the hall.

”Merlin-"

"hold the bag Moons" Sirius pushed the small bag of dung bombs onto Remus's arms and slipped out from under the cloak. Sirius couldn't help but smirk as James protested, whispering furiously to get back here.

Sirius started running then, to catch up with you, his light jogs and tall legs allowing him to catch up with you quickly. Your heart shot up as he got closer and you could hear him near you, quickly dying down when you turned to see the dark-haired boy behind you. Sirius hoped James could hear from here.

"Whatcha up to doll?"

"Godric Sirius what is wrong with you-" you placed your hand on your chest, feeling like your heart might fall out of it at any moment. You decided not to question where he came from, you just hoped the rest of his group, and James were far away.

James couldn't help himself, he was desperate to know what the two of you were talking about. So he herded the other two down the hallway, enough of a distance that you wouldn't notice the shuffling, Sirius definitely did, but close enough that he could see you clearly. The soft, homely mess of your hair, the tired curve of your eyes. He knew you were nervous, the way you played with your fingers and rocked your body, your leg. He could hear your honeyed voice, your tone close enough to the one you'd mumble to him with when you were about to pass out in his bed.

"Many things actually, I fear it all boils down to my mother-"

"You're so utterly insufferable"

"Yet you love me,"

"Sadly, I guess I love you" James felt the knot tie in his throat at your words, he tried to recall when you had said those words to him. Sirius smiled at your words, his fingers pulling at a strand of your hair. "oi watch it—"

He hoped James was ready to blow a fuse. Actually, he knew he was.

"Marlene agrees with you by the way," You softly swung your foot, hitting his own rather softly "I suspect you've both lost it"

"Nah, great minds think alike doll, you just gotta believe in me" he got closer now, pulling you into a hug. "Will you tell me why tears were falling down your pretty face?" He slightly rocked you, his cheek smushed against the top of your head. Sirius naturally would've comforted you regardless, he hated nothing more than seeing his friends cry. But the thought of James watching and stewing in his unexplored jealousy made him giggle in his head.

James's face was twisting in a way that was unfamiliar even to him. Bitter and negative feelings weren't exactly part of his repertoire. Remus tried his best to stifle a laugh.

"Lily just came in, while I was talking to Marls about the whole thing and I guess," you sighed loudly, looking up trying to make the newly formed tears that gathered in your eyes absorb back. James always thought you and Lily were pretty close, what could you possibly tell Marlene that you didn't feel well telling Lily? Why hadn't you told him? "I don't know Sirius I just lost it, she started talking about you and me and I lost it, I wanted to scream at her" James could feel his blood boil, Sirius had done something. He knew Sirius had. You buried your face in his chest again "My frustrations aren't her fault,"

"I know sweetheart, I'm sorry" Sirius continued patting your hair, he worried now, about what James could hear. He felt bad now, that he knew they were invading your privacy. "I feel guilty-"

"No Sirius it isn't your fault"

"I feel like I'm just opening up the wound, I don't want to give you false hope-" James felt like a teapot ready to explode with pressure.

He pulled the coat from over the three boys, revealing their presence in the hallway. You felt like you were going to drown in your shame.

"Sirius Black you're a bastard-" James closed the distance quickly, going straight for a tackle rather dramatically. Sirius pushed you away just in time. As the two boys wrestled on the floor, James continued to call him names, the idiot's and how dare you's flew unceremoniously. All Sirius could do was laugh

"I knew you'd do something to'er you good for nothing-" James was shaking him now, ignoring the fact that Sirius kept laughing, "I knew you'd make her cry-"

"James he didn't make me cry," your tears flowed down your cheeks again, you felt shame and embarrassment swim in your chest. You cried because you knew you had to come clean, Sirius wouldn't do it for you. There weren't many excuses he could come up with right now. You could feel yourself sweating cold, like the morning dew on leaves, embarrassment stuck to you.

You couldn't help but take a good hard look at him now. At James, who looked at you with his stupid hazel eyes the size of the sun, who clutched at his best friend's shirt collar. At his brother's, for you. How brashly he had swooped, sweet James who always came to your rescue, even when you didn't need it. When you were barely 7 and ran around his large yard, the rows of flowers and bushes his mother grew were gorgeous and they seemed the height of buildings, the thorns will cut you, I'll get you a flower Y/N. He had always been your knight, the shield of comfort where you hid from the rest of the world, the gentle solace to return to when life got too hard or people teased too intensely. Those people often woke up with apple-green hair thanks to him.

James was the noblest man you knew, with a heart twice his height.

You had fallen in love with him for this exact reason.

"It's you James" James felt like someone dropped him in the middle of the black lake. You shook your head, a sad smile carving your expression.

"I made you cry?" he sounded 7 again, innocent and afraid that you'd be hurt. His voice was soft and traveled faintly through the otherwise quiet hallway. Remus and Peter seemed to be holding their breath.

"I love you," James dropped his grip on Sirius now, who hit his back painfully against the stone floor with a groan. All he could manage was to look at you, his weight still resting between Sirius and his knee on the floor. "but I know I can't compete with Lily and that's alright, I reckon one day it'll pass."

You took his silence to heart, Remus couldn't help but shoot you a worried look, his brows furrowed the way they always did when he could tell your heart hurt like he could hear it clenching. You gave them one last smile, trying to wipe the sticky fingers of embarrassment from your being as you began to walk away, praying that nothing stood between you and the common room.

"You're an idiot Prongs-" Sirius pushed James off, and the brown-haired boy rolled to the floor, his back against the cool stone as he thought of you.

”She loves me-“

”We all heard her,”

“Shut up Moony-“

”Well she doesn’t know does she-“ The boys looked at Peter like he had grown a second head. “That you love her.”

James groaned from the ground the skin of his cheeks feeling hot.

“I reckon you oughta go after her” Peter said as he put the map in his back pocket, the three boys stood around to James looking at him from at ground.

James buried his face in his hands. You seemed so defeated, so sad that you loved him. How could that ever be a sad thing?

“In a surprising turn of events Wormtail’s right, move it Prongs-“ Sirius kicked James in the thigh, causing the boy on the floor to jump into action. He stumbled up, looking comically disheveled. He opened his mouth to speak to which Remus told him to Just go!

So James ran, he ran through the hallways so fast he thought he’d start levitating. It wasn’t hard for him, to catch up, not with the length of his legs or the pace he had set, in fact, he found you fairly quickly, yelling your name down the hall. You yelped as he skirted to a stop right into your arms, colliding with you with little force.

”You’re going to get us caught it’s after hours already-“

“I don’t care-“ he pulled you closer to his chest, his arms completely around you now “I had to tell you, and truly that’s just the thing I don’t care whether it’s morning or the middle night or truly any other time of day hell it could be in the middle of Charms-“

“you’re not making sense James-“

”Oh, right” He took a deep breath, but the silence lingered, his hand now skirting around the hair that framed your face, almost touching but not quite. His face was so close to yours that you could see the flecks of a light brown in the underlayers of his irises. “I just meant to say— to tell you that, well I love you too”

”I thought you and Lily-“ He got closer, if it was even possible, his lips ghosting over yours now, waiting for you. His hand remained steady at the edge of your jaw.

“Enough about Evans yea?” you closed the distance, his lips had felt like a magnet pulling you in.

Kissing James felt different than kissing any other boy. It even felt different than the first time you kissed. This was sweeter, this wasn't under the scrutinizing gaze of your friends or the excuse of an empty bottle. This was intimate and filled with want, his soft plump lips seemed to fit perfectly with yours. The grip of your waist tightened and brought you closer to him as his kiss turned hungrier, and your hands traveled from his chest to his unruly locks of hair.

You finally parted with a sigh, a happy one you felt like. Satisfied.

He pressed his forehead against you humming in content.

"I'm confused-"

"Lily and I are just friends now, she's not exactly into me, is she? Or men in general I reckon but regardless" He looked into your eyes, his hands now cupping your face and adoration pouring from his gaze. "It's always been you, I love you"

"I love you too, you twat-"

this took me to long to cook up @prongsprincessworld :D

hope u all like it!!

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #marauders #the marauders #the marauders era #marauders era #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #james potter x reader #james potter #james x reader #james fleamont potter #platonic james x lily #jealousy #fluff #james potter fluff #james potter childhood friends to lovers #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction

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stsgooo · 2 years ago

Text

Look at Him.

✩࿐ summary: your attempts at reentering the dating scene is foiled by your ex-husband.

warning(s): past relationship, clingy!gojo, ex-husband!gojo, co-parenting situation, crack fic. wc; 1.6k

pairing(s): gojo satoru x fem!reader

a/n: this is purely just a goof fic because i've put nothing but angst out there so far sooo have a laugh. hope yall enjoy :3

“So, what do you do for a living?”

"A teacher."

"Oh, wow! What grade, subject?"

"Uh, highschoolers and the subject kinda varies on the day."

"Like a substitute teacher?"

"Um....sure, yeah! Substitute teacher."

"That's awesome. Mad respect, kids can be demons."

You were quickly discovering that the dating field had changed in the five years that you had been married. An endless back and forth about what someone did, what's their favorite color, what's their hobbies. Boring questions that you would ask your students on the first day was used in over the table date conversation. Until, until, they got to that question they so desperately wanted to ask.

Would you want to take this back to my—

There was a vibration against your thigh as your date started to go onto a monologue about how much he disliked kids. In all honesty, you couldn't really remember his name. The introductions had been awkward and a little nerve wracking— you were almost sure he had no idea who you were either.

You tugged your phone out of your pocket and resisted the audible sigh that threatened to leave you when you saw the notification.

Satoru please tell me why my beautiful, radiant, amazing, intelligent daughter just said her mommy is on a date. feeling sick to my stomach, don't tell me this is true.

You rolled your eyes. Your ex-husband had always been so overdramatic. His main focus was always on the bit that could come from a situation. However, this was a quality you do used to admire about him. His ability to make any situation seem like it was a funny happenstance that you'd never encounter again.

Now, it was nothing more than a nuisance.

Satoru oh my god, you left me on read. it's true. it's true. i hope you know i just threw up. i threw up everywhere. i might die. at least, tell me he's ugly. please god let him to be ugly.

A sigh, you typed out the quickest message you could without your date asking what's wrong.

You I hope you're not ignoring said daughter to ask me about some date. I'll be home later, please refrain from texting me.

You were about to set your phone down when another text came through. This one appeared to more distraught than the last.

Satoru o h your tone. it's over. it's really over. i might just kill myself this is the worst night of my life. y/n, i'm genuinely feeling sick. please, is he ugly? he must be boring because you're texting back.

You were almost inclined to remind Satoru you both had been divorced for a year already. That this was bound to happen and you two had, in fact, spoken about it months into the divorce. You had played with some 'what if's and there was a mutual agreement that the other wouldn't get jealous and be dramatic about the other getting in a relationship whenever the time comes. It was a surprisingly adult conversation.

You should've known better when Satoru proudly proclaimed he didn't care who you got involved with.

You Satoru, we talked about this. We're adults and we're divorced. Please bother someone else, like Suguru.

Satoru i don't wanna talk to suguru. i wanna talk to youuu (;﹏;) i can't believe you've done this. ten years. ten years of loyalty. im sick to my stomach.

You You asked for the divorce.

"Is everything okay?"

You eyes snapped up from your phone and towards your date. He had the good grace to be wearing a relatively concerned expression, eyeing you wearily.

You quickly tucked your phone back into your pocket, ignoring the insistent vibrations it gave to smile apologetically. "I'm sorry, my daughter had an accident and I had to, you know, send a quick text to her babysitter." It was easier to explain away a daughter than it was a clingy ex-husband who was well in his dissent into insanity. Really, you were doing this guy a favor keeping him in the dark.

However, his face still paled and he straightened. "You have a kidI'm so, so sorry. I just went on a two minute rant about how much kids are equivalent to demons." He seemed to spiral as he pressed his hands against his face, uttering curses to himself. "I get so nervous with these dates. I truly meant nothing by it."

You smiled in amusement, "It's no problem, really. I'm not exactly disagreeing." He peeked from between his fingers and blinked at you dumbly. "Just because I'm a parent doesn't mean I don't agree. I mean, my kid can be a bit much sometimes. I love her, but she's a lot like her dad in that way."

It always made your chest blossom. The way Saori was a carbon copy of Satoru. From the rambunctious personality, to the piercing blue eyes, and white hair. Your genes hadn't won in the battle, but you were almost grateful. Satoru tried to tell you that she had your smile and your wit, but you weren't entirely convinced. She was Satoru and Satoru was her.

You were extremely lucky that he was a good dad.

"Oh? Do you mind me asking if her dad's still around?" His tone was indication enough: a daughter and an ex of some kind was pushing it for him.

You tensed up, feeling deep regret already. "Uh, yeah." His eyes shifted away and you reached forward, taking his hand. "But, he's not, like, crazy or anything! He's just a good dad."

Your date chuckled nervously. "I-I just don't want to get involved in some, um, some family dynamic."

You thought it was a little presumptuous of him to think this would go that far, or he'd get in the way. But you were too focused on defusing the situation.

"Oh, no, it's not like that! We've got a healthy balance, y'know? He does his piece, I do mine— that's it!"

He scrunched his face. "So... an open relationship?"

"No!" You press your hands against your face with a huff. "No, we're not together anymore. We just co-parent."

He opened his mouth to further question you when your phone vibrated very audibly. His eyebrows raising. "Your daughter?"

You sighed. "Please give me one moment."

With jerky movements, you pull your phone from your pocket. The assortment of messages that came where spread over the ten minutes you decided to ignore him.

Satoru okay, you've got me there. but my big heart is breaking. i hope he's ugly and he smells. okay, i spoke with suguru and he said i'm an idiot who should apologize. in my defense, i'm a little itty bitty drunk. and no, saori is not awake. papa put her to bed before bringing out the whiskey. im so sorry my beautiful deity. that not ugly, not smelly man is so lucky to be in your presence and i hope you have a good date. also i hope he gets hit my a car. (＾▽＾)

You I'm going to kill you with my bare hands. Genuinely, count your days, Gojo Satoru.

Satoru hot, hot, hot!!! (●´□`)♡ did he actually get hit by a car?

You Is there something you want?

Satoru him dead. and you home :((((

You You don't want me home. I swear to god, if you're on my couch, drinking when I get home, I will ruin your life.

Satoru promise??? ╰(✿´⌣`✿)╯♡ but, actually, i wanted to ask your opinion on something

You For real?

Satoru for realsies. [Image Attachment]

Completely blinded by your irritation, you don't even hesitate to open the picture as it loads. Although you regret it the moment it does.

It's a picture of Satoru. He's at what seems to be the beach (must've been the fun activity him and Saori were going to join Suguru for), his sunglasses were on the top of his head, and he was grinning at the picture. One hand was resting against his pectoral and the veins in his hand was prominent. An obvious attempt at being charming and flirtatious. It was working too.

If it weren't for the fact that you knew him and were his ex, you might've just swooned.

"Oh, my god, is that him?" Your date was staring at your phone with wide eyes. His face even more pale than before. He started to shake his head as he stood, snatching his jacket from the back of his chair. "No way. I am not getting involved! I'm sorry, you're a nice woman, but I know when I'm not winning. And I'm definitely not winning against that."

Your eyes widened considerably, "What? No! Please don't leave. He's an idiot, I swear there's nothing—"

"He is... a hunk. I am not. In no shape or form am I at all comparable to that. Look—" He reached forward, grabbing your phone and holding the picture up to be beside his face. "Look at the difference! Model who has won Japan's hottest man at least eight times before he's 30 to me— Look at him!"

"It's not even like that!" You snatched your phone back and stared at him in frustration. "He's my ex, I do not want him!"

He waved his hands in front of your face. "I know how this will go. You think you like me and then your super hot and super sexy ex-whatever makes you realize the familiarity is good. Then I get dumped." He straightened, latching his hands onto the lapels of his jacket. "I just realized I am a side character. In my own life. Goddammit."

He barely glanced at you as he paid for the dinner, then left as quickly as he could. Still, you didn't even know his name.

Satoru oooo taking you awhile to respondddd still in love with me? (人◕ω◕)

#♡ oneshot #✩࿐ t writes #gojo satoru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fic

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cupofteatoyou2 · 2 months ago

Text

Told you I’d survive the wolves.

Jana had been pacing since she got out of the shower. Back and forth across the room, muttering to herself, tugging at the hem of her shirt like she’d forgotten how clothes worked.

You were stretched out on her bed, watching her. One arm folded behind your head, the other resting across your stomach, calm as ever.

“Babe,” she said, whirling around. “Can you at least pretend to be nervous?”

You blinked slowly. “Why?”

“Because I’m bringing you to meet my entire team,” she groaned, collapsing at the edge of the bed dramatically. “They’re loud. Nosy. Half of them are obsessed with me. And Irene and Alexia are going to destroy you if they sense even a crack in your armor.”

You shrugged. “Let them try.”

She groaned again, flopping fully onto her back next to you. “This is a bad idea. You’re too quiet. You don’t do people. You don’t do dinners.”

“I do you,” you said easily, letting the tease hang in the air.

Jana rolled her eyes, cheeks flushing despite herself. “You know what I mean.”

You turned your head toward her, gaze softening. “You want me there?”

“More than anything.”

“Then I’ll be there.”

That shut her up. For a second. Until she muttered, “They’re gonna think you’re, like, my bodyguard or something. The silent type in a suit who probably knows five different ways to kill a man.”

You smirked. “Six, actually.”

“Not helping!”

The restaurant was already packed when you arrived — not with strangers, but with noise, energy, heat from a recent match win that was still vibrating off every player at the table.

Laughter echoed, someone was retelling a foul in way too much detail, a waiter was trying to squeeze past with another round of drinks. It was chaos. Pure, glorious, post-game chaos.

You adjusted your jacket before you stepped inside. Fitted black, open over a plain tee. The rest of you was clean — well-fitted pants, boots, watch. Minimal. Purposeful. You weren’t flashy, but you did turn heads.

And the moment Jana stepped in behind you, slipping her hand into yours, the entire table went silent.

Like, comically so.

You could hear a fork clatter against a plate. Someone coughed. A glass hit the wood with a loud clink.

Twelve world-class footballers froze mid-bite, all eyes on you. You scanned the group once, slow and level. You weren’t being intimidating on purpose — it was just the way you were. Calm. Controlled. Still.

You looked like you were about to audit the restaurant. Or pull Jana away from danger. Definitely not like someone showing up for a date night with her giggly, golden girlfriend.

Mapi’s jaw dropped first. “No way.”

Ona, halfway through sipping her water, choked.

Patri, always the mouthiest, squinted like she was trying to decode a riddle. “She’s real.”

“Wait—this is her?” Pina leaned in.

“She looks like she should be head of security,” vicky added from the middle of the table, half-grinning.

Jana just beamed. Radiant. Unbothered. Proud. “Everyone, this is my girlfriend.”

There was a beat of dead silence again, and then-

Mapi, hand raised like she was pointing out a glitch in the simulation “She looks like she could break my ribs just by looking at me.”

Patri nodded solemnly. “Honestly? Same.”

You didn’t react. Just gave a nod. Calm. Unfazed. You were used to people trying to figure you out in the first five seconds.

No one ever got it right.

You guided Jana to her seat like it was second nature — a hand on her lower back, holding out the chair, waiting until she was settled before taking the one beside her. Your arm brushed hers. You didn’t move away.

Across the table, Alexia sat with her arms crossed, face unreadable. She hadn’t said a word yet.

You noticed. You noticed everything.

“So,” Mapi said slowly, tilting her head toward you. “You don’t talk much, huh?”

You gave a small shrug. “Not unless I need to.”

“Great,” Patri muttered, slapping the table. “We got the strong, silent type. Mystery girlfriend unlocked.”

Jana nudged you gently, like she was trying to remind everyone you were human.

“She’s just quiet around new people,” she said. “She’s actually really sweet. Once you get past the—uh—‘silent and maybe lethal’ vibe.”

You raised a brow. “Maybe?”

That earned a couple chuckles — tentative, curious ones.

“So,” Ona leaned in, chin on her palm, “what do you do, anyway?”

Jana immediately stiffened.

You glanced at her, then back at the group. “Something a little untraditional.”

“Like what? Tech? Security? Mercenary?” Patri was definitely not kidding.

“Something like that.”

“Okay what does that mean,” Mapi asked. “Now I’m invested. You can’t just say you’re a mystery woman and not elaborate.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Still. You look like someone who’s used to saying no comment.”

You took a sip of your drink. “Only when necessary.”

There was a short silence as they all stared at you like you were the main character in a mystery novel.

Jana, clearly trying to save you from further questions and possibly herself from exploding, leaned forward with a quick, “Let’s talk about the game instead!”

But across the table, Alexia finally spoke.

“Huh.”

That was it. One syllable. Loaded.

Jana looked over, instantly on guard. “What?”

Alexia didn’t break eye contact with you. “Nothing. Just didn’t expect this.”

“This?” Jana echoed.

She shrugged. “She’s not what I pictured.”

You didn’t flinch. “Most people don’t picture right.”

Alexia smiled, tight-lipped. “Apparently.”

Jana was fuming now, opening her mouth—but you brushed your fingers lightly over her knee under the table.

Not here. Not yet.

They didn’t know who you were. They didn’t know what you could do.

And that? That was the fun part.

You’d barely made it through the starters when the questions started rolling in.

It began innocently enough—soft curiosity hidden behind polite smiles and wine glasses. You could feel it coming before it even started, the shift in atmosphere, the rising energy across the table as everyone began to relax. Not at you, though. About you.

It was a look you’d gotten before—like someone trying to read a novel without the cover. You looked too composed. Too guarded. Too not what they expected.

Jana had kept her body angled toward you the entire time, her knee brushing yours beneath the table, hand occasionally resting on your thigh like a quiet reassurance. But you knew she was waiting for it too—for someone to break the silence, to ask what they were all clearly thinking.

So when Irene set her fork down and leaned over the table with a sly grin, you didn’t even blink.

“Okay,” she said. “I need to ask. Who are you, really?”

Jana groaned softly beside you. “Irene—”

“No, no, I mean it,” Irene continued, gesturing toward you. “You walk in here like a damn bodyguard, you haven’t said more than five words, and you’ve been scowling at the bread basket like it owes you money. I need context.”

The girls laughed, a few of them chiming in with agreement.

You met Iren’s eyes, calm. “You want my résumé?”

“Absolutely.”

You leaned back a little in your chair, finally speaking with a slow, even tone. “Name’s Y/N. I’m twenty-two. Born and raised in Madrid. I play professionally—different sport. Moved to Barcelona last year.”

“Oh no,” Patri said. “A rival athlete. This is getting spicy.”

“What sport?” Vicky asked.

You paused just long enough to keep them curious, then answered simply, “We’ll get there.”

A wave of mock outrage passed through the table. Kika fake gasped. Ona raised her brows in silent challenge. Jana just buried her face in her hands.

“You’re enjoying this,” she muttered under her breath.

“A little,” you whispered back, the corner of your mouth twitching.

“So how did you two meet, then?” Ona asked, chin propped on her hand as she studied you.

“Friend’s birthday,” you said. “Jana knocked over a tray of drinks. I caught one.”

“I caught two!” Jana corrected indignantly.

“You did,” you agreed, smiling softly. “But mine was tequila, and I hate wasting tequila.”

“Love at first spill,” Mapi nodded dramatically. “Classic.”

“She was so smug about it too,” Jana said, sitting up straighter now. “Didn’t even blink. Just handed it back to me and said I owed her a drink.”

You shrugged. “You did.”

The group collectively cooed and groaned, depending on their wine intake.

“But wait,” Patri said, leaning in now. “How long has this been going on?”

“Almost a six month ,” Jana answered quickly.

Cue another round of chaos.

“A six month ?!” Kika exclaimed.

“You’ve had a secret girlfriend for a whole half year and didn’t say anything?” Vicky gasped.

“She didn’t hide me,” you said calmly. “We just… didn’t want to make things complicated.”

“She wanted to keep you all to herself,” Mapi said, pretending to wipe a tear. “Selfish.”

“You’re all chaos,” Jana muttered.

“True,” said Ona, sipping from her glass. “But chaos knows how to interrogate.”

“Which brings us back to the question,” Patri added. “What do you do?”

You exchanged a glance with Jana. She hesitated. So you answered for her.

“I fight.”

Dead silence.

“I’m sorry, what?” Mapi blinked.

You didn’t raise your voice. Didn’t make a scene. You said it the way someone else might say teacher or accountant.

“I’m an MMA fighter.”

For half a second, the table didn’t register it. Then—

“Like… real fighting?” Kika asked.

“Cage matches,” you confirmed. “Amateur when I was younger. Turned pro two years ago.”

Vicky’s jaw dropped.

Mapi blinked at you like she’d seen a ghost. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Nope.”

Ona put her fork down. “Oh my god. That explains so much.”

“Wait—so much?” Jana asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Have you seen the way she walks?” Kika said. “Like someone who knows they can win a fight they haven’t even been challenged to yet.”

“And the arms,” Ona added casually. “She looks like she could lift a car.”

You gave a soft chuckle. “Only the small ones.”

Then came Alexia.

She hadn’t said much all night, but the second you said fighter, something behind her eyes sharpened. She set her knife down with purpose, posture stiff, voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

“Of course you’re a fighter.”

You turned to her slowly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Alexia leaned back in her seat, arms folded. “Nothing. Just… explains the serious face. The whole silent and brooding thing.”

Jana sat straighter, protective now. “Lex—”

“It’s alright,” you said softly, still looking at Alexia. “I get it. I don’t look like the kind of person you pictured her dating.”

“You look like someone who could snap a neck if provoked,” she said bluntly.

A few nervous laughs around the table.

You didn’t blink “I’ve been in cages, rings, and fights with people twice my size,” you said, voice calm, controlled. “None of that scares me. But the idea of hurting Jana? That would.”

It was quiet after that. Even Mapi didn’t know what to say.

Jana reached under the table and slid her hand into yours, threading her fingers between yours without looking.

You didn’t let go for the rest of the night.

You could feel it before you even saw her.

Alexia’s eyes on you. The pressure of her gaze—calculated, cool, and unrelenting. She hadn’t smiled once all night. And every time you so much as shifted in your seat, it was like she was clocking your movements, cataloguing you like a threat in disguise.

The rest of the team had started warming up to you after the “fighter” reveal. Mapi had made at least six jokes about needing you on the defensive line. Vicky had asked how many ribs you’d broken in your life you said "two—mine". Ingrid had tilted her head thoughtfully and gone, “Hmm, I can see it now. The jawline. The silence. The slightly scary aura. You’re her type.”

Even salma—who barely said a word when you walked in—was now animatedly asking about how long you had trained and whether you could flip someone over a table if needed. You said, “Depends on the table.”

Jana, meanwhile, hadn’t stopped beaming. She sat close—hip brushing yours, her hand occasionally resting on your knee under the table. Whenever someone got too loud or made a comment that toed the line, she’d glance up at you, as if checking you were okay. You always were. You were used to scrutiny. What you weren’t used to was someone like her watching your face like it mattered to her what she saw.

But Alexia?

Still cold. Still skeptical. Still looking at you like she couldn’t figure out what the hell her sweet, gentle, starry-eyed teammate was doing with someone like you.

The tension crackled quietly as dessert was cleared. Then, the wine started flowing again, and with it came the pokes—the questions dressed up as jokes, the little digs that weren’t quite playful.

“So…” Alexia spoke up again, swirling her glass slowly. “What happens when you get mad?”

You were in mid-conversation with Mapi, but the whole table turned to you.

You met her gaze evenly. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Who I’m mad at.”

There was a pause. Mapi stifled a smirk. Patri widened her eyes at the table, clearly enjoying the tension. Jana stiffened beside you.

Alexia took another sip. “Right. But say someone pisses you off. What then?”

You blinked, patient. “I don’t lash out. I’ve trained to control myself.”

“That’s good,” she said, deceptively calm. “Because someone with your… background losing control? That could be dangerous.”

You leaned back slightly, voice still even. “I’ve fought people twice my size. I’ve been thrown against cages, taken elbows to the face, trained until my lungs burned. You think I’d lose control in a restaurant because someone made a comment?”

That silenced the table.

Alexia shrugged. “Just saying. People like you are… intense.”

You let the silence settle. Then, voice low and deliberate

“I’ve spent years learning how to be intense without being destructive. That’s the difference between being dangerous and being disciplined. I know exactly how strong I am. And I know what I’m capable of. Which is why I’d never raise my voice, let alone my hand, to someone like Jana.”

Another pause. This one heavier.

You could feel Jana’s fingers sliding over yours under the table. She didn’t speak—but her grip said everything.

“She calms me,” you added. “In ways no one else ever has.”

It wasn’t a speech. It wasn’t some planned defense. Just quiet truth. Your voice wasn’t soft—but it was sure.

And Alexia heard it.

For the first time all evening, something in her shifted. Not trust. Not yet. But a tiny falter in her wall.

“So,” Mapi said quickly, breaking the silence, “who wants to see if she can choke out Patri with a napkin?”

Laughter rippled around the table, easy and warm. Tension diffused.

Patri elbowed Mapi and rolled her eyes. “You’re such a drama queen.”

You leaned toward Jana, voice low: “You okay?”

She smiled up at you, warm and bright. “Yeah. Are you?”

You gave the slightest nod. “Always.”

By the time dessert hit the table, your shirt collar was rumpled from where Jana had tugged you close to whisper jokes. Her laughter had only grown brighter the longer the night went on. Around you, the team had settled into a post-meal chaos—spoons scraping the last of chocolate mousse, wine glasses refilled too generously, someone ,you were 90% sure it was Mapi, yelling about arm wrestling.

But even in all the noise, you felt the weight of one gaze.

Alexia was still watching.

Not with the sharpness she’d had earlier, but something more patient now. Like she was waiting for a moment. And when the team got distracted again—Mapi daring Patri to chug a glass of water upside down—Alexia tapped Jana’s shoulder.

“Can I borrow her for a sec?” she asked, nodding at you.

Jana froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Why?”

“I just want to talk.”

“She’s not really the talking type,” Jana said quickly.

You set your hand over hers on the table. “It’s okay.”

“You sure?”

You nodded. “Go defend Mapi’s honor.”

Jana gave Alexia a narrowed look, but let you go.

Outside, the night had cooled, crisp air kissing your cheeks as you stepped onto the quiet street beside her. You tucked your hands in your coat pockets. Alexia stood a few feet away, arms crossed, jaw working.

The silence stretched.

Then finally, “So. You fight.”

You blinked slowly. “Didn’t realize that was still breaking news.”

“I mean… you fight. Cages. Rings. Actual paid violence.”

“I call it controlled discipline, but sure. That too.”

Alexia exhaled like she’d been holding it for hours. “Jana has always been… soft. In a good way. She’s light. She’s—”

“Sunshine,” you offered. “I know.”

“And you…” she trailed off, looking at you from the corner of her eye. “You walk like you expect a bullet.”

You huffed something that might’ve been a laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

She leaned back against the brick wall of the restaurant, arms still folded. “You terrify them, you know.”

“I know.”

“But that’s not why I had a problem.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I wasn’t scared of you,” she clarified. “I was scared of what you represented. People like you—people with hard eyes and locked jaws and bruised knuckles—they don’t stay. They burn. And people like Jana?” She tilted her head toward the restaurant. “They get caught in the fire.”

That one… stung.

You stared at her for a long beat. The light above flickered slightly.

“I’ve spent most of my life in places where I couldn’t afford softness,” you said finally, quietly. “But I’ve never once looked at Jana and thought about breaking anything. She’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to protect.”

Alexia didn’t answer, but something in her face shifted.

“You think I’m intense?” you went on. “I’ve seen that girl care so loudly it knocks the wind out of people. She’s a force. Don’t confuse soft with weak.”

Alexia glanced down. “No one who keeps up with me on the pitch is weak. I know that.”

The silence this time felt less strained. Like a storm starting to clear.

“I didn’t want to like you,” Alexia admitted. “And I’m still not sure I do.”

“That’s fair,” you replied.

“But…” She hesitated, watching you. “I believe you love her. That part I see clear.”

You nodded. “With everything I’ve got.”

Another pause. Longer. Quieter.

“If you ever hurt her,” she said softly, not a threat but a promise, “I won’t need a cage.”

You looked her right in the eye. “If I ever hurt her, I’ll let you swing first.”

That was the moment something in her cracked. Not completely, not all the way—but enough.

Alexia straightened. “Come on. You’ve survived dinner. Mapi’s asking questions about who would win in a fight: you or patri.”

You smirked. “Would she be watching or participating?”

Alexia actually laughed, low and reluctant. “She might be proposing.”

Back inside, the mood had only gotten messier. Patri had her face buried in her hands as Mapi tried to demonstrate some sort of “ninja duck roll” using an empty wine bottle. Jana saw you immediately—her eyes lit up, scanning your face like she was looking for signs of damage.

You sat beside her and pulled her close without a word. She pressed a kiss to your jaw.

“She still hates you?” Jana whispered, teasing.

“No,” you murmured back. “She’s just scared I might steal you away for good.”

“You already did.”

Mapi clinked a glass. “Alright! Verdict time!”

Everyone turned to her.

“Our dear silent mystery fighter has survived the wolves. Barely. But she passed. I say she stays.”

Jana cheered softly, pulling your hand onto her lap.

You leaned close, brushed a kiss to the top of her head, and whispered only for her

“Told you I’d survive.”

She smiled at you like you’d just handed her the sun.

And for the first time that night, Alexia watched you—not with judgment, not with challenge.

With respect.

(This is probably shit 😅 )

#woso fanfics #woso x reader #jana fernandez #woso #woso imagine #barca femeni #barca femini x reader #barca women #fcb femeni #mapi leon #alexia putellas #patri guijarro #jana fernandez x reader #woso one shot #woso fic

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gladiatorcunt · 6 months ago

Text

- MOTHERBOARD BIRDCAGE | XVI.

the machine masturbated and we had to take it or die

cw: kinktober prompt (dubcon) fem reader, takes place at the beginning of dune 1, fem reader, dark!paul, misogyny, allusions to collaring and bondage, implied mind control orgasms, cunnilingus, arranged marriage (reader and paul are the same age), slight degradation/dumbification, reader has an implied attraction to leto, implied overstimulation, teasing, paul talks about reader like she’s a literal meal, dead dove do not eat, unedited

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

The winter sun hangs heavy on Paul Atreides' head like a pale crown.

“You look radiant, my love.”

An exhalation, “Thank you, I am happy it pleases you.”

“I think it will always please me to drink in the sight of you for the rest of our lives, a crucial part of my every meal.”

His father smiles, pleased and amused, a saying that is learned behavior then. Leto Atreides studies your gait, dragging his weighing stare back to your neutral face as they yearn to drift lower, lower, lower.

The dawn marking your second decade of life flies in on wedding bells, the night sleeps restlessly on the Atreides’s ship to Arrakis.

You pace back and forth, now kept in a room in your in-laws stronghold on the sand planet. Your marriage bed is practically all that exists in the beige space, unassuming built in shelves on either side. What is a wife to do but drape herself over the golden sheets and sigh the days away, after all.

Paul has been very polite with you, smiling charmingly against your mouth during your chaste first kiss, keeping his touches brief and only from his fingertips to the small of your back. You would take a step away and you could practically feel his fingers splay out, yearning, the air crackling, but he always let his hands fall to his sides.

You smile at him when you can, in your own way, tense and barely there. You haven’t been married for 24 hours, and your husband is already off doing his duty. You try not to think about it, the reason for the Atreides to stay on Arrakis and your loneliness. Paul is someone you’ve known for as long you’ve been his wife, but you have no one else.

His mother is deeply complicated and his father… Paul told you it’s just better for you to stay away. So you have, wasting the hours away pacing, going over your outfit options with the new handmaids you selected, the rejects from the ones sent to be picked over by your mother in law. The loneliness has become unbearable, Paul visits when he has the time, brief kisses and barely there grasps of your elbow.

You can hardly be blamed for being at your wits end one night, huffing as you roll over in bed after your afternoon nap and sliding one of the pillows between your supple thighs. It’s where Paul rests his head for the few hours you share a bed as most married couples are meant to do, you can still smell the traces of sea vapor and cold tree bark that he left behind.

“Hah….” You softly moan, languidly rocking your hips, missing your clit entirely but you have been on the brink for so long that there is no need for direct stimulation.

Your cunt quickly wets the expensive golden fabric through your undergarments, and you allow yourself to imagine it’s a man’s thigh you’re grinding on. Your husband’s, pale but flushed pink and thickened with sinewy muscle, used to tensing up. You can’t say if you feel a great desire to turn these visions into reality, but the imaginary is safe, and safe is good. You cannot mess up smooshing an ordinary pillow against your weeping cunt.

You are used to arousal being shameful, everyone stuffs their fingers up their holes and goes through trial and error until they hurtle over the edge, and they’ll don their gowns to tell their juniors the horrors of sexual proclivity. You’ve never even fingered yourself, the most you’ve done is shyly slip a digit in and then yanked it out when you felt a dull burn.

If only your teachers and staff of your castle could see you now, dry humping your distant new husband’s pillow with no orgasm in sight. You sigh and sink your head into the remaining nest of pillows, lounging in the lazy pleasure that’s barely pleasure at all. Your eyes flutter shut, which turns out to be the pivotal moment of your marriage.

You feel him before you see him, a lanky hand gingerly slides over your wide hip into the dip, not halting your movements or guiding you, merely touching to touch.

Your eyes shoot open and you try to flinch but Paul hisses something quietly, a wave of calm washes over you but you still look over your shoulder to hesitantly meet his eyes. Paul grants you a small warm smile, rubbing circles into your hip with his thumb.

“I was planning to discuss this with you, but apparently you’ve taken matters into your own hands, my love.” He softly chuckles, bending down to peck the swell of your warm cheek.

His next words are whispered into your pores, his mouth so close that you feel the stitches sewing his skin to yours, “I know this has been a new experience for you, and you barely had time to get used to Caladan before you were whisked away here, but you have to know that I promise to be a loving husband.”

How can you be assured of that? If there is anyone to be wary of in this universe, you’ve been taught that it is one’s husband.

“Yes, well, can you at least…” You awkwardly trail off, pointedly gesturing to the pillow wedged between your thighs, he had not let you move since he had returned.

Paul's face transforms in genuine confusion, brow furrowing and eyes narrowing ever so slightly, then his eyes drift down to the pillow and he exhales an ‘ah’.

His grip tightens, the tips of his fingers form mini half craters in your flesh. “I don’t see the point in that, unless the way you’re clutching onto the thing for dear life causes you pain then it can remain where it is.”

You get swept up in the undercurrent warning. He’s right unfortunately, the pillow is too silken to bring you any discomfort, you are just too prideful and prone to embarrassment. From the glint in his eyes, this will be something he will help you work on until it’s a trait of a past you. You shyly meet his stoney gaze head on as you let your thighs relax, they slide down the pillow and settle on the plush bedding.

Paul leans over with interest, sliding his hands from your hip dips to caress your inner thighs. You automatically tense up and he tuts, fixing you with a cajoling look.

“Come on.” He coos, his fingers travel up your thighs to play with the tufts of hair peeking out from your underclothes. “How are a husband and wife meant to get to know each other if their bodies are uncharted territories? You don’t even speak to me.”

You sigh, relaxing your body so your husband can peruse it as he pleases. Paul leans down to get closer and gets a hold on your underwear, in an instant they’re torn away. You react with an aggravated exclamation, Paul smiles as he leans down to press a kiss to the center of the hair on your mound. Your breath hitches but you say nothing, frozen by the shock of what is supposed to be a perfectly natural moment between a married couple.

Paul drags his nose through your pubic hair, his tongue darts out for small licks every so often. You ball your hands into fists as he moves his mouth towards your swollen bud. When he finds it, he latches on and starts to suckle, smoothing his hands up and down your legs as if you’re nothing more than a frightened bull, a beastly thing that he tames and conquers.

“Refreshing.” He murmurs into your folds, his tongue leaves your clit to lick broad stripes before fucking inside your sloppy hole. “I could do this forever if my wife would let me.”

He would do it even if you kicked and screamed, but that’s neither here nor there. You don’t even need his powers to be open and willing this time, well, open enough. He has an acquired taste, little wives who ultimately bend to their husband’s will but act as if a spiked chain is around their neck.

The cool metal will become as warm as Arrakis’ sun in the blink of an eye.

You dig your nails into your palms, convinced you can barricade yourself against the pleasure through sheer will. Paul Atreides has never been one to succumb to your grievances, you’ll crumble to pieces under his influence, it could be a soft and slow thing if you act properly. He wants hearts to bloom in your irises, sparks of light forming a ring around your pupils, miniature collars.

You flail about for a moment and carve into the sheets with your heels, your skin so smooth you slip and lose your footing. Paul keeps watch from his vantage point between your thighs, lapping up the wetness pushed out by your body in the same way you’ve seen him sip his drinks. Slow, but purposeful, an act of seduction under the disguise of something truly mundane. He curls his tongue and it reminds you of a dance, you’re caught up in the whirlwind.

“I think…” He pants, nearly out of breath and he has not even been in your cunt for five minutes, “Your sweat should be bottled, I would spray it on my pillow and have the sweetest dreams.”

You don’t know what to say to that, Paul’s knack for muttering words that steal the breath from your lungs is another thing you’ve not grown used to.

“You fill me-” lick “-to the depths of my stomach.” lick

“Paul.” gasp, on the cusp of a nip to your inner thigh. “Husband.” gasp, this one is softer, your thigh gets a kiss now. “Let me- I can tend to you instead, you don’t have to do this.”

He laughs into your curls, and the tip of his nose glistens with you. His eyes are half lidded, more animal in heat than man. You’re truly too sweet for words, for the looming threat that is Paul Atreides. Desperate to perform your wifely duties, it’s much more bearable for you to degrade yourself by pleasing your husband than it is to imagine that what would truly please him would be burying his face in your beautiful cunt.

He doesn’t say any of this to you, however, because there are times when Paul prefers you just as on edge as you like to keep yourself. Your fingers twitch and slowly unfurl, but your growing hope that this strange torture will stop is dashed as Paul dives down to suck on your swollen bud. You’re surprised by how sensitive it is, how it twitches and throbs under his tongue’s attention.

Your fingers seek out the bed beneath you, begging for its help, trying to claw through the mattress itself. Paul’s fingers are digging into the meat of your thighs now, like you’re a piece of bread he can tear through to devour your innards. Your inexperience rears its head in a terribly embarrassing way, you don’t know where to look or how to push him away or how to fight against your body’s response. Your mind whispers that you want to card your shaky fingers through his hair, but you don’t, you do not.

If not because you’re determined to maintain the distance you share with Paul, then because he would enjoy it too much. He’s terrible, in a subtly sinister way, but he would drink up your every touch and scrap of affection like a parched tree.

“This cunt, it makes me sick. This hole… you’re so wet, my flower.” The syllables drip from his pink mouth like the drool that pools in your entrance. “You send me over the cliff into madness, ever since the first moment I saw you. My wife in everything but name, the missing vessel of my soul.”

Paul kitten licks your clit, tenderly raking his nails up and down your squirming legs. You act as if you can buck off your incoming orgasm like a wild horse, like your husband eating you out is a serpent wrapped around your sternum. Luckily, it’s in his DNA to tame unruly creatures, bring them to heel under his stern outstretched hand.

You mewl, a soft hearted creature at heart, practically purring, “Please.”

“Please, what? You know I’d be more than happy to give my wife whatever her heart desires. Have you forgotten my vows already? Maybe your brain is leaking out your cunt.” Paul inquires suggestively, he flattens his tongue over your hole and stills, the corners of his mouth hike up when you inevitably rock your hips against his face.

“I… why did you stop?” You don’t say that if he’s so desperate to meld your skin together then why is he ceasing his overbearing actions, but that might come across as disrespect, and Paul seems to enjoy disrespect because he can make you wish you had never been anything but the pet cleaning his feet.

A wife is not disrespectful, especially one that will soon become an even greater royal. You are blessed to have this life, as unwanted as it is, you could be a concubine, one of his father’s perhaps. Time will tell if you wish to belong to a different Atreides, but you are anchored to the present with every useless thrust your hips do.

“That’s alright, if you’ll only let me make you come by wearing yourself out, then I don’t mind. Be my quest, my love.” Paul chuckles, though it’s muffled in your folds.

You make him forget what time it is, what his next schedule will be and who he will have to navigate interacting with. History must be looking kindly on House Atreides once again, because you seem to be heading for a day wasted in bed after he’s done with you. It will be a great help to have a wife whose head is too high up in the clouds to place another cinder block on your already strenuous load.

He guesses Gurney and Duncan are right, being “pussy whipped” does exist. He can’t wait to come to meetings with his wife’s pleasure hanging off his body like the finest jewelry.

You speak again, your tone is irritated and breathless with anticipation, “D-dear. Please, husband, I feel strange, I know I’m doing it wrong. I’m sorry.”

That usually works, right? Husband’s like it when their Wife’s apologize when they believe they’re solely in the wrong. Paul seems to join them in that, nevermind that the only thing wrong you could ever do is place yourself as a separate being from him. Marriage is not for people who are content with being untethered to their lover, it’s for the howling monsters who imbed it at the center of their selves.

“Hm, that’s what I thought. This doesn’t have to be something you force yourself to endure, I can make you feel so good if you allow me.” He whispers and tightens his hold on your thighs, spreading them farther and diving back in for thirds, fourths, fifths, sixths, sevenths.

You moan louder than you thought yourself capable of, and Paul matches you with a deep one of his own that comes from the back of his throat. He slips his tongue back in your hole, his dark eyes keep watch so he can catalog every miniscule change in your expression to comb over like one of his precious digital logs. You are fire made into a humanoid being, searing curves climbing over the golden sheets like a flood of flame, your limbs searching out any reprieve from how irrevocably your lust penetrated your body.

Paul’s eyes flit towards the bundle of restraints in the corner of the room, not hidden from your line of sight, you’ve just stupidly never noticed them. You don’t notice the thought slithering around in your subconscious until it’s brought to the forefront. He opens his jaw as wide as he possibly can and does everything in his power to swallow you whole, thrusting his tongue in you until your previous self pools below your ass and wets his chin.

He would play with your clit like he’d rather take it and fidget with it when political matters get too stressful, but you arch your back as he goes to take his hands away from your thighs and his mind is made up for him. See? You really are shaping up to be an outstanding wife.

He curls his palms around the thickest part of them, pushing them apart until you whine at the slightest hint of a burn. Paul wants to show you that you can be split on more than just his cock.

You hear his voice in your head now, reverberating throughout the halls of your skill. It seems so hollow, like a bird’s, the whooshing sounds of his suggestions rattle your foundation.

A faint bundle of heat flutters in your cunt, from your clit to the precise tongue pistoning in and out of your loosening hole. Paul’s dark stare impales you into place, leaning on your elbows in this once cold marriage bed, all the trappings of luxury.

My beloved wife.

The wind fanning my flames just by existing.

You are so very dear to me, when you slump in defeat, when you laugh, when you think I’m not looking. I always am.

Gorgeous girl with a cunt most of my men would fall on their weapons to weep at your feet in hopes for a taste.

You’re so sleepy, so lax. Oh, I know. You can drift, my flower, I’ll be here, I’ll keep you anchored.

Your maids have been bored, I’ve noticed. They should be happy to change these sheets when I summon them tomorrow, life itself clutched in their hands.

Let go, my love, drench my tongue and my face, I want you to spray it so far your come coats the back of my throat. You never did give me a suitable wedding gift.

Your body assumes its own battle stance, locked up tight right before your spine feels like it’s been snapped by an invisible force. Your orgasm burns its way out of you, but you choke on how cooling it is at the same time. You’re lost to him, too out of it to be able to tell how you adorned your husband. You feel drying wet skin nuzzling between your thighs, you hear sheets being rustled in your mind as Paul blows steady air onto your clit.

Your fingers find their way through his brown almost-tresses as the small licks start again, rekindling.

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thechurchoftheatom · 3 days ago

Text

A Sermon for June 18th: Archives for the Ages

Brothers and Sisters in the Atom, we are not only builders of shelter and seekers of safety. We are keepers of memory.

To walk the path of the Atom is to understand that knowledge is fragile—and sacred. It must be preserved, protected, and made legible for the future. A shelter protects a body. An archive protects a civilization.

The stories of who we are, the warnings we issue, the science we carry—they cannot live only in the cloud, in fleeting links, or in the minds of a few. If the future is to endure, our knowledge must endure with it.

Why We Archive

When I was studying archaeology, one of my professors explained why so little of the ancient world survives. It is not that we lost the worst or the least important. It is that we lost what was singular.

The ancient literature we still have today—be it poetry, science, myth, or law—survives not because it was exceptional, but because it was copied again and again. If one version was lost to fire or time, another survived elsewhere. And then another. And another. Until, across centuries, even as dozens were destroyed, a few fragments made it to us.

This is the lesson: redundancy is survival.

And this is the Atomite’s burden: We must copy. We must spread. We must embed knowledge in multiple places, in multiple forms, across multiple lifetimes.

Methods of Preservation

Each Atomite may choose their own methods, based on resources, environment, and calling. But no single record should be trusted alone.

1. Paper

Archival-quality paper, laser-printed or handwritten, stored away from moisture and sunlight. Keep copies of:

Radiation safety procedures

Maps of nuclear waste sites

Sermons and teachings

Basic first aid, water purification, and shelter guidance

Store in fireproof boxes or layered with desiccants.

2. Durable Materials

Metal etchings and ceramic tablets may last for thousands of years

Microfilm is compact and stable

Stone or fired clay is heavy, but survives all else

If a flood washes away one, may another remain buried and waiting.

3. Offline Digital Archives

USB drives, external hard drives, even simple e-readers loaded with PDFs. Pair every digital archive with a printed guide:

What is this device?

How do you power it?

What does it contain?

Remember: a file not understood is no better than a stone.

Planning for the Long Term

The Church of the Atom dreams not only of private archives, but of public knowledge infrastructure—sites meant to outlast any one generation.

We envision:

Information kiosks in safe zones—engraved with radiation safety, location warnings, and emergency survival guides

Redundant libraries in underground shelters, with instructions printed in simple language and diagrams

Beacon archives: layered capsules buried near nuclear sites to warn the future in multiple languages and symbols

We may not yet have the numbers or resources to build these—but we build their foundation with every printed sermon, every stored PDF, every hand-copied guide.

Archive as Devotion

Archiving is not clerical work. It is sacred labor.

It says, I believe someone will come after me. It says, Their safety is worth my time. It says, Truth must outlast me, even if my name is forgotten.

To preserve knowledge is to take a vow against forgetting. To make many copies is to resist silence. To archive clearly is to show love to those who cannot yet speak our language.

Call to Reflect and Act

This week, ask yourself:

What knowledge do I carry that must survive me?

What would I wish someone had saved for me?

If the world went silent tomorrow, what would I want to leave behind?

Choose one thing—just one. Write it. Save it. Copy it.

Start your archive. Let it grow.

And remember: it does not need to be perfect. It needs only to persist.

Closing Words

Brothers and Sisters, archives are not relics. They are seeds. They wait quietly for someone in need. Let us be the ones who plant them.

Let our warnings be read, not rediscovered. Let our knowledge be remembered, not reinvented. Let our voices carry forward—not as whispers, but as structure.

Go forth, and be radiant.

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amirasainz · 8 months ago

Note

Can you write where Yn Alonso is the first time in the paddock and all the drivers meet her. Maybe Fernando is overprotectiv, because Yn is so small?

Please 🙏 🙏 🙏

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 💕

Little bear 🐻

Fernando’s hands were a little sweaty as he held the tiny, warm bundle to his chest, stepping out into the bustling, echoing Formula 1 paddock. Today was a big day. His 12-month-old daughter, Yn, was joining him at the track for the first time ever. He had always been hesitant to bring her—concerned about the noise, the cold, the chaos. But today, he felt… ready. Or at least, he hoped so.

Yn, nestled in his arms, was dressed in the most adorable bear onesie, complete with tiny, fuzzy ears on the hood. He had made sure she was extra warm, her cheeks rosy and round beneath the layers. Fernando had even checked her temperature about five times before leaving the hotel, adjusting her hood, pulling up her mittens, and tugging the onesie down to make sure no tiny toes could feel the chill. But as he walked, the little murmurs of other drivers starting to notice her brought a wave of protectiveness over him.

The moment they stepped into the vibrant world of Formula 1, he spotted Carlos approaching. Carlos's face lit up when he saw Yn, and he immediately knelt down to her level.

“¡Hola, pequeña!” Carlos greeted warmly in Spanish, his voice softening to a coo. “You’re so cute! Look at that little bear suit!” Yn giggled, mesmerized by Carlos's animated expressions. He reached out a hand, and she instinctively grabbed it, her tiny fingers wrapping around his finger.

“¡Eres un encanto!” he chuckled, his heart melting at her innocent gaze. “Do you like it here? Your dad’s going to show you all the fast cars soon!”

Fernando watched, a protective eye on Yn as she babbled happily to Carlos. “She likes you,” he admitted with a small smile, though his instinct to be cautious never wavered.

Just then, Charles approached, his own smile broadening when he saw Yn. “Hey, Fernando! Is this your little princess?” he asked, kneeling down next to Carlos.

“Yes, Charles. This is Yn,” Fernando introduced proudly but still a little hesitant.

“Bonjour, Yn!” Charles said, his voice cheerful and melodic. He reached out and gently took her from Fernando’s arms, cradling her securely. “Do you want to take a nap? You look a bit sleepy.”

Yn yawned adorably, and before Fernando could intervene, Charles gently rocked her back and forth, humming a soft tune. Within moments, Yn’s eyelids grew heavy, and she nestled against Charles, who looked at Fernando with a grin.

“She really is precious, Fernando,” he said, his voice low to avoid waking her. “You’re doing great.”

“Thanks, Charles,” Fernando replied, feeling his heart growe ten times for the love he held for his daughter. He watched as the other drivers began to gather, curious about the little girl.

Lewis stepped forward, his trademark smile making an appearance. “Look at that little one! Isn’t she the sweetest?” he said, kneeling down and waving at Yn, who stirred slightly but didn’t wake up.

“Lewis, be careful. She’s still sleeping,” Fernando warned, his protective instincts kicking in again.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” Lewis replied, his voice soothing. He reached out and gently stroked Yn cheek, making her eyes flutter open, a radiant smile spreading across her face as she took in the sight of Lewis.

“Dada?” she mumbled sleepily, her little hands reaching out for him, mistaking Lewis for her father.

Fernando chuckled, a warm feeling spreading through him as he saw Yn's delight. “Close enough,” he teased, and Lewis laughed along, his heart warming at the sight of the baby’s big smile.

“Hey there, honey! Want to come play?” Lewis asked, tickling her chin gently. Yn erupted into giggles, her laughter infectious.

Just then, George sauntered over, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the adorable little girl. “Is she trying to eat your hand?” he joked, watching as Yn brought his hand to her mouth, attempting to nibble on George’s fingers like they were the most delicious thing in the world.

“She thinks it’s food!” Fernando laughed, though he quickly moved closer, ensuring George didn’t mind. “Just be careful, George. You might lose a finger.”

“Oh, she’s gentle!” George replied, clearly charmed. “I’d let her eat my hand any day. Right, Yn? You’re my favorite little monster!” he said, making a playful growl that sent Yn into another fit of giggles.

“Don’t encourage her,” Fernando said, shaking his head with a smile. The scene was heartwarming, a perfect moment of joy in the usually intense paddock.

Lando joined the group, his energy palpable. “What’s all this laughter about? I need to be part of it!” he exclaimed, kneeling beside Yn, who immediately beamed at him.

“Hey, little bear! Do you want to see something really funny?” Lando asked, making a silly face and flapping his arms like a bird. Yn laughed uncontrollably, her giggles echoing through the paddock, and Lando kept up his antics, pulling faces that made her laugh even harder.

Fernando couldn’t help but chuckle along, his heart swelling with love and pride as he watched the other drivers showering Yn with affection. Yet, as the sun rose higher in the sky, he felt a pang of worry for her well-being.

“Okay, everyone, as much as she loves this, I think it’s time to head inside,” he said, gently taking Yn from Charles's arms. She whimpered slightly, her face scrunching in disappointment, but he quickly pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Just for a little while, Yn. You can’t be out here all day. Let’s go warm up,” he reassured her, feeling a bit of guilt for cutting short the fun. The drivers all nodded in understanding, their faces still glowing with joy from Yn’s infectious laughter.

“Alright, but we’ll need to have another playdate later!” Carlos promised, ruffling Yn’s head as Fernando carefully walked toward the team building.

“Definitely,” Fernando replied, feeling a sense of relief wash over him as he entered the warm interior. “I’ll make sure to bring her back. Thank you, guys, for being so wonderful with her.”

As he stepped inside, Yn’s eyes grew heavy again, and she snuggled closer to Fernando. He sighed contentedly, his worries easing a little. Being a father was a new adventure, and today had been a special chapter in their lives — one filled with laughter, joy, and a glimpse into the world of Formula 1, which he hoped Yn would grow to love just as much as he did.

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #xoxo babygirl 💋#fernando alonso x reader #alonso!reader #dad!fernando alonso #carlos sainz x reader #charles leclerc x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #george russell x reader #lando norris x reader

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thewulf · 1 year ago

Text

Through the Years || Aaron Hotchner

Summary: Request - Aaron Hotchner x reader, It will be like 2 moments in different years... like the first time little Jack is comfortable enough around reader to call her mom... and the other one teen Jack not taking her grounding while Aaron is away and screamimg at her something like "You are not my mom"... Read Rest Here

A/N: This was tough to write. But overall very sweet. We love a good teenage melton.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader, Jack Hotchner x Stepmom Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

TW: Yelling, intentional hurt, Jack being mean lol

Year Six: Jack’s Question

The gentle hum of the air conditioner filled the cozy living room as you and Jack sat together on the couch, surrounded by an array of colorful crafting supplies scattered across the coffee table. Glue sticks, markers, and construction paper formed a creative mess as the two of you worked on a project together, a rare moment of tranquility in the chaotic life of an FBI agent's family.

As you guided Jack through the steps of creating a handmade card for his grandmother's birthday, you couldn't help but notice the way he looked up at you with a mixture of admiration and affection. His small hands moved with determination, mirroring your own movements as you carefully cut out paper hearts and glued them onto the card letting him guide how he wanted the card to turn out.

"Y/N?" Jack's voice broke through the soft hum of conversation, tentative and uncertain. He shifted back and forth on the couch letting whatever was on his mind eat away at him for the time being.

As Jack's voice broke through the soft hum of the television on, you turned your attention back to him. He looked so nervous that you could only put the supplies down and focus solely on him. "Yeah, Jack?" you replied, your voice soft and encouraging.

Jack shifted nervously beside you, his brow furrowing as he wrestled with his words. You could see the uncertainty flickering in his eyes, the weight of his question heavy on his young shoulders.

"Can I... can I call you Mom?" His voice was barely above a whisper, filled with hesitation and longing.

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, your heart soaring with joy and disbelief. It was a moment you had dreamed of, hoped for, but never dared to expect. Not so soon anyway. You and Aaron had been seeing each other for just over a year. And yet, here it was, unfolding before you in the most unexpected of moments.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you gazed at Jack, overwhelmed by the depth of emotion welling up inside you. You wanted to gather him into your arms, to hold him close and never let him go, to shower him with all the love and affection he deserved. But you also knew that this moment was about him, about his courage in voicing his feelings, his desire to forge a deeper connection with you. And so, you swallowed past the lump in your throat, your smile widening with genuine warmth and love.

"Of course, you can, sweetheart," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. "I would be honored."

As the words left your lips, a weight seemed to lift from Jack's shoulders, his face breaking into a radiant smile that mirrored your own. In that moment, surrounded by the remnants of your crafting adventure, you felt a profound connection form between you, one that transcended blood ties and was forged by love and mutual respect.

Jack let out a sigh of relief, his smile widening as he leaned into your embrace. "Good, Daddy said I could," he explained, his voice filled with a mix of excitement and validation.

Your heart swelled with warmth at his words, grateful for Aaron's support and understanding. It meant the world to you that he had encouraged Jack to express his feelings, to embrace the bond that had grown between you. "Your daddy is a smart man," you replied, your voice tinged with affection as you ruffled Jack's hair affectionately. "And he's right. You can call me mom whenever you want. You can also call me Y/N. Whatever you want kiddo."

Jack beamed up at you, his eyes sparkling with happiness as he settled back into his seat, a sense of contentment settling over him like a comforting blanket. In that moment, it felt as though the world had shifted, the connection between you and Jack deepening with each passing second. And as you returned to your crafting project, your hearts overflowing with love and gratitude, you knew that this was just the beginning of a beautiful journey together.

Year Fifteen: Teenage Turmoil

The soft glow of the lamp illuminated Aaron Hotchner's cluttered desk as he typed away on his laptop, the faint clicking of keys the only sound in the otherwise quiet house. It was Friday night, the end of a long week, but for Aaron, the work was far from over. His eyes flickered to the clock, noting the late hour. Jack should have been home by now, safely tucked into bed. Anxiety gnawed at him as he tried Jack's number once more, only to be met with the unwelcome sound of voicemail. He would give it until 12:30 then he was going to be calling Penelope to locate his young son. He didn’t want to be overbearing but he couldn’t help it. Not with what he’s seen, what he’s had to deal with.

In the living room, you paced back and forth, your heart pounding with worry. Each passing minute felt like an eternity. With every unanswered call, your concern grew tenfold. The clock on the wall mocked you, its hands moving relentlessly towards midnight. You too knew how dangerous it was out there. But you couldn’t lock the kid in. He’d resent the both of you for the rest of his days if you did that.

Finally, the creak of the front door announced Jack's return. Relief flooded through you, quickly replaced by a surge of frustration as you caught sight of his nonchalant expression. "Jack, do you have any idea what time it is?" you exclaimed, unable to keep the edge from your voice.

Jack's eyes flickered to you, irritation flashing in their depths before he masked it with a careless shrug. "Relax, I lost track of time," he retorted, tossing his jacket aside without any regard for how stressed both you and his father were.

Your temper flared. "You were supposed to be home over an hour ago! Do you have any idea how worried we were?" As Aaron remained in his office, you and Jack were left to confront each other alone, the tension between you palpable.

He shrugged again before attempting to make a break for his room.

"Jack, please," you implored, your voice trembling with concern. "We need to talk about what happened tonight. It's not just about breaking curfew; it's about communication and respect."

Jack's eyes narrowed, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. "I don't need a lecture, Y/N. I'm not a kid anymore."

Your heart sank at his dismissive tone, but you refused to back down. "I know you're growing up, but that doesn't mean you can disregard the rules we've set. They're there for a reason, Jack. We worry about you when you're out late, especially when we can't reach you."

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You worry too much. I can take care of myself."

Your frustration bubbled to the surface. Your voice tinged with emotion. "It's not just about taking care of yourself, Jack. There are awful people out there and…”

Jack's demeanor shifted, his expression hardening with defiance. "You're not my mom, Y/N. You don't get to tell me what to do."

His words cut deep, a pang of hurt flashing across your features. "I know I'm not your biological mother, but I love you like you're my own," you admitted, your voice wavering with emotion certainly not expecting the conversation to take such a turn so quickly.

Jack's jaw clenched, his anger simmering beneath the surface. "Yeah, right. You're just trying to control me like everyone else. Well, news flash, it's not gonna work."

Your heart shattered at his harsh words, the weight of his rejection crushing you. "I'm not trying to control you, Jack. I just want what's best for you," you pleaded, tears welling in your eyes despite your best efforts to push them away.

But Jack's frustration boiled over, his voice rising with each word. "Stop pretending like you know what's best for me! You're not my freaking mom! You can't tell me what to do!"

As Jack's explosive words hung in the air, a heavy silence descended upon the room, filling the space with tension and uncertainty. Your heart felt as though it had been squeezed tight in your chest, the sting of Jack's rejection still raw.

A gasp came from your mouth as you tried to form any sort of coherent sentence. "Oh, I'm... I..." you began, your voice faltering as you struggled to find the right words. But your mind was a whirlwind of emotions, and you found yourself at a loss.

Jack's eyes widened, a flicker of realization crossing his features as he took in the impact of his own words. For a moment, he seemed unsure, caught between his anger and the weight of what he had just said. And then, as if sensing the weight of the moment, Aaron appeared in the doorway. His expression a mix of concern and disappointment. His presence seemed to ground the room, his steady gaze sweeping over you and Jack.

"What's going on here?" Aaron's voice was calm but firm, his eyes never leaving yours. He saw the watery tears that threatened to spill over at any second. He heard the tail end of the conversation and knew exactly why you were so devastated. You saw Jack as your own child and for him to say something so deeply hurtful left you reeling.

You struggled to compose yourself, the turmoil of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "Jack... he... I don’t… I need to go," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, you turned and fled towards the kitchen, unable to even look at your stepson or Aaron in that moment. You felt utterly embarrassed. Like you hadn’t been loving that child for the last ten years of his life. Did he really feel like that or was he just lashing out?

In the living room, Aaron's expression darkened, his jaw clenched with restrained anger as he watched you leave. The weight of Jack's hurtful words hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over their father-son relationship.

Jack shifted uncomfortably; his eyes fixed on the ground as guilt gnawed at him. "Dad, I didn't mean..."

But Aaron's patience had worn thin with his moody son. "Not now, Jack," he interrupted, his tone stern. "Right now, I need you to think about what you said and why it was completely unacceptable."

Jack swallowed hard, the gravity of his actions sinking in as he met his father's unwavering gaze. "I know, Dad. I messed up," he admitted, his voice tinged with remorse.

Aaron's frustration boiled over, his voice taking on the commanding tone he used when interrogating suspects. "You think you can just say whatever you want and there won't be consequences? You hurt her, Jack. You hurt someone who cares about you deeply, and I won't stand for it."

Jack's eyes widened, the full weight of his actions crashing down on him as he met his father's intense gaze. "I-I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to..."

But Aaron cut him off with a sharp gesture. "Apologies won't cut it this time, Jack. You need to understand the gravity of your words and the impact they have on people." As Aaron continued to reprimand his son, he couldn't shake the worry gnawing at him. He knew he had to find you, to make sure you were alright. With a final stern look at Jack, he turned on his heel and headed towards the kitchen, his footsteps heavy with concern.

As he entered the kitchen, his heart sank at the sight before him. There you were, hunched over on the floor, your shoulders shaking with sobs. Without hesitation, Aaron crossed the room and knelt beside you, gathering you into his arms.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he murmured softly, his voice a soothing balm against the storm raging within you. "You're alright, I've got you." Aaron felt a pang of anguish as he held you, his heart breaking at the depth of your pain. Gently, he lifted your chin, guiding your tear-filled eyes to meet his own.

"Honey," he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness. "Listen to me. You may not be Jack's biological mother, but you are his mom in every sense of the word."

You shook your head weakly, unable to comprehend his words through the haze of your despair. "But I-I..."

"No buts," Aaron interrupted, his tone firm but gentle. "Every day, in every action, every moment of love and care you've shown him, you've proven yourself to be his mother. You've been there for him, supported him, loved him unconditionally. That's what a mom does. That’s what you are, sweetheart.”

Tears welled in your eyes as his words washed over you, a glimmer of hope piercing through the darkness of your despair. "But Jack said..."

Aaron's expression softened, his thumb gently wiping away your tears. "Jack was angry and confused. He didn't mean what he said. And even if he did, it doesn't change the truth. You are his mother, my love, in every way that matters."

As his words sank in, a sense of warmth enveloped you, the weight of your anguish easing with each beat of your heart. In Aaron's arms, you found solace, reassurance, and a renewed sense of purpose. You leaned against Aaron's chest, letting the last of your tears fall, a sense of peace washed over you. His comforting presence wrapped you up in his warm embrace, grounding you in the certainty that together you’d be just fine. “Thank you.” You whispered as he held you in his embrace.

Aaron held you close, his hold on you a silent promise of unwavering support and love. "Anytime, honey," he murmured, his voice a soothing melody in the midst of chaos. "We'll get through this together."

Just then, the sound of footsteps echoed in the kitchen, and you looked up to see Jack standing in the doorway, tears glistening in his eyes. His expression was wrought with guilt and remorse as he hesitated, unsure of how to approach you.

"Y/N," he began, his voice choked with emotion. "I-I'm so sorry. I didn't mean what I said. I just wanted to hurt you, but I didn't mean it. I didn’t mean it at all, I promise. I need you! You are my mom! Please don't leave me." His words came out quickly as he wiped away his own tears.

Your heart shattered at Jack's raw confession, the depth of his pain washing over you like a tidal wave. Without hesitation, you opened your arms, inviting him into the embrace. Aaron backed off letting the situation between the two most important people in his life play out.

Jack rushed over and threw his larger frame right into your arms You wrapped him up tightly as he let his own cries out. The weight of his own words crashing down on him in the instant he saw how much he had hurt you. He was just a kid, of course you could forgive him. "It's okay, Jack," you whispered, your voice breaking with emotion. "I know you didn't mean it. I love you so much. I'm not going anywhere."

“I can’t lose you too.” He let out a whimpered cry breaking your heart even further.

Tears streamed down your own cheeks as you held Jack close, the weight of his words settling over you. "You’ll never lose me, Jackie," you reassured him, using his old nickname, a sign of the deep love you two shared for each other. "I'm here for you, always. Always and forever kiddo."

Jack's sobs began to subside as he clung to you, finding exactly what he needed in your embrace. "I love you. I’m so sorry." he whispered again. His voice filled with sincerity.

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you gently pulled away to look into his eyes. "I love you too, Jack. It’s okay. I forgive you." You said again, reassuring him.

He nodded, relief flooding his features as he buried his face in your arms once more, the weight of guilt slowly lifting from his shoulders. "You are one of the best things that's ever happened to me," you continued, your voice filled with warmth and affection. "Other than your father," you added with a playful grin, feeling Jack's chuckle rumble against your side. He gave you one more squeeze before pulling away. The remorse still heavy on his face. Carefully, you brushed the stray tears away from his face showing him the love that the both of you needed.

As Aaron joined you both in the kitchen, his presence a reassuring anchor, you shared a smile, knowing that no matter what life threw your way, you would be okay. For truly these two were the best things that had ever happened to you.

Aaron Hotchner/Criminal Minds: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: (Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @daily-evanstan @hardballoonlove @14buddy22 @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @mrs-ssa-hotch @panandinpain0 @viscade @kreepja @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @kajjaka @guacam011y

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alchemistc · 3 months ago

Text

I decided to write it. Thank you all for enabling encouraging me. MCD implied even though I'm still team Not Gonna Happen

read on ao3

grief in two parts

Grief is in two parts. The first is loss. The second is the remaking of life. - Anne Roiphe

Eddie's snores drift in from the hallway.

Tommy's used to the noise of a firehouse full of exhausted men, the noise of a full barracks, he's lived an entire life in close proximity to a minimum of six to ten other people. It's just -

He's not used to it in this context: Evan wrapped carefully around him, still sniffling like he can pretend Tommy hasn't seen him a sobbing, sloppy mess multiple times in the past week alone. Tommy doesn't know why he bothers, except -

Except he's been hiding his delicate underbelly for decades. He's just not used to seeing Evan do it.

He hasn't paid attention to Evan doing it.

God. They'd been so certain they knew each other. And then so sure they didn't.

And now they're in this limbo where they're trying: to learn, to understand, to know, to not fall into those bad habits and the patterns that become a glaringly obvious tell.

Eddie might have a deviated septum, Tommy thinks to himself - wonders if anyone has ever pointed out to him that his snores are kind of concerning - and Evan snorts against Tommy's chest, his lips curving up right under Tommy's nipple, and it's been a week and a half, and there's been so much going on, and Tommy hasn't brought it up because they're mourning, they're figuring things out, they're sleeping in Eddie's old bedroom while Eddie snores on the couch even though Tommy has a perfectly serviceable bed of his own thirty minutes away.

Evan shifts against his leg, and Tommy raises a brow when he repeats the motion, hips circling, pelvis rucking back and forth, the quiet moment of grief switching gears as Evan ruts against Tommy's thigh.

"Evan," Tommy hisses, blinking rapidly when, a moment later, Evan tilts his head to latch on to a nipple. "Jesus Ch-."

"Shh," Evan hums, and tilts his face up to meet Tommy's gaze. Mischievous, devilish, radiant as the sun.

Eddie's snore stutters, volume increasing until the sound stops altogether, and in the dead silence Evan hitches his leg up, rolls his hips, curls his fingers into the bare skin beneath the hem of Tommy's sleep shirt.

"He's still asleep," Evan assures him, and Tommy can't help the tingly feeling along his spine when Evan smirks back at him.

There are a thousand reasons not to. Starting with "sex is always a great distraction for us when we have bigger issues", meandering into "the man you consider a father just sacrificed his life to save mine and we haven't talked about it", landing somewhere around "your relationship with the man snoring down the hall makes the green monster residing in the pit of my stomach loud and angry".

"Evan," he hums again, and watches the furrow between Evan's brow deepen. This, he's learned, is a sign. A sign that Evan Buckley is working his way towards anger, annoyance, outright desperation.

Evan pulls himself loose. Shifts his weight. Turns over to his back, knocks his head against the pillow a few times. "Fine. Whatever."

Tommy feels cold without the weight of Evan against him. Feels cold when confronted with the chill in Evan's gaze before he closes his eyes.

Eddie's snore breaks the silence, and Evan twists to face Tommy again. "Do you just not want to have sex with me?"

It's a stage whisper, at best, and they hadn't bothered to close the bedroom door so there's every chance Eddie could wake up and hear a whole conversation, instead of murmurs behind a door.

They're in Eddie's bedroom. Former bedroom. Whatever.

He wants to believe Evan when he says there isn't anything there, but the problem is even if it's completely platonic from both ends of the equation Tommy still feels like second fiddle. Still feels like he'll never stack up to almost eight years of a friendship forged in blood and sweat. Still feels like the man down the hall could snap his fingers and steal away this tiny sliver of happiness Tommy is trying to allow himself to have.

It doesn't matter if Eddie would. Just that he could.

Tommy opens his mouth. Closes it. Rolls his jaw and fights the urge to bolt.

"Tommy."

Snappish isn't a word Tommy would have used to describe Evan, before. Bratty, maybe, and fully aware of it, but Tommy has always enjoyed that, indulged it, fed into it because oftentimes it ended with one or both of them panting and sated. The tone has changed. He's not playing games, this time around, not dancing around the issue the way both of them had before.

Tommy shifts to face Evan. Thinks about the way his stomach had twisted, earlier tonight, watching Evan and Eddie slide around each other in the kitchen, working as a unit while they recalled fond, bittersweet memories. The annoyance in Evan's eyes snaps, at whatever he sees in Tommy's gaze, the brows furrowing a different way now as he slips a hand across the sheets to slide over Tommy's neck.

"I'm...overwhelmed," Tommy admits, as the space between their faces gets smaller, Evan sliding closer to gap the distance. "You just spent an hour crying, Evan, my mind wasn't really -." He pauses. Forces his hands to unclench, tries not to let the tremor in them be too noticeable as he grabs for a fistful of Evan's basketball shorts to tug him close. "Of course I want to have sex with you," he murmurs, and ignores the way Evans breath hitches, the way his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. "I'm almost never not interested in having sex with you."

Evan's tired, he can tell. Crying about your dead dad for an hour really takes it out of you. He's tired enough that he has to mull the sentence over for a minute, and Tommy considers rewording without any double negatives in the mix. They're not great at communicating.

Sex was always easier.

He doesn't know how to bring that up without pissing Evan off.

"So this is... one of those rare times you don't." It's not quite a question, and there's a bit of a huff to the end of it, like Evan is also badly attempting to keep the peace.

He's in his own head, is what it is. Eddie'd gotten the fun, fond reminiscences, the tearful laughter, and Tommy had been there too, had even told them some stories they'd never heard before.

But Tommy had gotten fried, sad, heartbroken Evan, clutching at Tommy like he was afraid he'd disappear. He'd gotten the full scope of Evan's hurt, anger, loss, and he doesn't quite know what to make of the difference. If there is one. If it even matters who gets which parts of Evan. Not when Tommy wants it all.

(You got both, he reminds himself, and tries to convince himself that was always the case.)

"Feels like I'm taking advantage of the circumstances," Tommy whispers, now that the space between them has dwindled enough to know he'll still be heard that way.

Eddie's snores pick up volume. Maybe it's the couch? That thing isn't exactly the most comfortable to sleep on.

Tommy remembers the Boils debacle, and takes a moment to remind himself how fucking grateful he'd been to see Eddie in the aftermath, when Evan was so stone-cold with grief Tommy hadn't known where to even find a fissure to break him loose.

That's the worst of it. How grateful he feels, knowing Evan's people are here for him. How he can't sort the gratitude from the envy.

Evan sits up, jostling Tommy's arm free, his own hands retreating from Tommy's skin, and Tommy's ninety-three percent certain he's about to leave, but instead he takes two strides to the door. It swings silently on its hinges, snicks closed.

Evan settles back onto the bed in a sitting position, criss cross applesauce with a hand held over his ankle, and Tommy feels exposed, lying in repose.

Which is how he's supposed to feel, he reminds himself. If they want this to work - if Tommy wants this to work - they're both going to have to say and do things that make them feel cracked open and vulnerable.

Closing the door on Eddie was Evan's concession. Tommy should return the favor.

"Everything is - is so messed up," Evan starts. "I don't know how long Eddie is staying, and I don't know what I'm gonna do the first time I walk through the bay doors and Bobby isn't -." His words catch in his throat. More tears well at the corners of his eyes and Tommy wants to reach out, wipe them away, comfort him. "And I don't know where we stand because you're - you're here, and you said some words, and you hold me when I'm sad but you won't - you're not -." He trails off, frustrated. "I can't just drown in grief, Tommy. I need to - I have to -" The noise he makes is so self deprecating Tommy wants to soothe it away. Smash it with a hammer once it's back is turned. "I want to have a life, Tommy. And, yeah, maybe not the most appropriate time to be feeling so freaking horny, but I'm not exactly the picture of mental health on a good day."

The laugh escapes his throat before he can help it. A snort follows, and then a peel of something closer to a giggle, and before Tommy knows it he's in fucking stitches, leaning his weight on his knees in a desperate attempt to calm down, except now Evan is laughing, too, infectious, boisterous, the laugh that had pulled Tommy in, hook line and sinker, over a year ago now.

"It's not -." Evan presses fingers to his eyes, tries to look serious, fails miserably. "It's not like Bobby would expect me to grieve any other way."

That sobers Tommy up in a hurry, because he hasn't found the right time to tell Evan exactly what happened there at the end. And Evan hasn't asked.

Also. He has no fucking clue what Evan means.

"What?"

Evan blinks. Purses his lips. Raises a hand, waits for Tommy to do the same so they can press their palms together. It's new, and Tommy isn't feeling particularly great about its origin, but it's worked to settle them on even ground for a few of the rougher conversations they've had since... Since.

"In the interest of full disclosure, I'm a reformed slut."

Tommy hates the word, hates the joking way the words tip from Evans lips. But. They'd said they wanted to get to know each other, and then spent six months not doing that. He can work on the language later.

"Bobby fired me once," he says, and it's soft, quiet, tinged with a kind of bittersweet amusement that Tommy would spend years trying to understand. "For stealing the ladder to hook up with a girl from a call on a roof."

Tommy blinks. Tommy swallows. Tommy's brow furrows in when he bites his lip.

"I'm - I use sex. I know I do. As a distraction, as a crappy way of trying to communicate my feelings, as a desperate attempt to feel, like... important. It's - I'm better, now, but I know it's still..." He sighs, fingers drifting, sliding to wrap around Tommy's wrist. "I want to be close to you right now, and I'm also sad, and I also really, really want you to put your dick in me."

"You have such a way with words," Tommy jokes, and then pauses when the expression on Evan's face plummets. Honesty. Openness. Vulnerability.

Shit.

"Full disclosure? I'm gonna try everything I can to make you loud. And I have a funny feeling that's gonna piss you off."

It takes him half as long as the last time to figure out what Tommy isn't saying. The head tilt is unexpected. So is the smirk tucked behind his wagging tongue. "Seriously?" he asks, and one hand twists into the fabric at Tommy's knee before it slides up, up.

"I never claimed to be a rational man."

He hasn't claimed to be an insane one, either, but the evidence sure is stacking up.

"But you're still here," Evan points out, and Tommy doesn't have many rational thoughts left - not with Evan's hand still travelling, or the thought of waking Eddie up percolating in Tommy's hindbrain.

Tommy realizes for maybe the first time in a week that he has his own house. That Eddie could have stayed here, and he and Evan could have made it work for a few days somewhere else. Had he ever even thought to suggest it?

"I'm still here," Tommy murmurs, and presses in to catch Evan's bottom lip between his teeth.

---

"Ow."

The banana bounces off the side of his head, wobbles in the air, hits the corner of the counter at an angle and makes an unappealing squished noise as it finds the floor.

Eddie gives him the bitchiest look Tommy's seen a straight man make in years.

(Has to remind himself he's feeding into stereotypes he's been trying to shed his entire fucking life.)

"Seriously?" Eddie asks, and Tommy has the decency to scrounge up a blush at the tips of his ears. Once they'd really gotten into it, Tommy'd sort of forgotten his threat, but clearly he'd made it happen anyway, if the stink eye he's receiving is anything to go by. Tommy shouldn't feel so smug. Maybe one day he'll get over it.

He's trying to decide between contrition he doesn't feel, and a snide comment that will definitely go over Eddie's head, when Evan stomps his way into the kitchen holding the stray sock he's been complaining about no one picking up from behind the bathroom door for four days now. He's got it pinched between forefinger and thumb, held out and away like they're fifteen and he knows exactly what that sock has been used for, when in reality one of them definitely gathered up dirty clothes and just missed it in the dash to get out and allow someone else the lone shower in the place.

Tommy makes a mental note to remind Evan that if they wanted free reign of a bathroom, his is more than serviceable.

"Three days," Evan says, and waves the sock in Eddie's face. If his expression is anything to go by, it doesn't smell like roses. "Three days I've been asking -."

Tommy interrupts, "Four, actually, but babe, that's definitely your sock."

Eddie manages to mouth a teasing 'Babe' back at Tommy while Evan turns a thunderous look on him. "It is not."

He says "not" like there are three syllables in the word, and Tommy has to choke down the urge to smack the hand holding the sock away and press him against the kitchen table for a kiss.

This he knows. This he's familiar with - the argumentative banter that usually led to them being late somewhere. He's glad they haven't lost it entirely. He's glad Evan isn't drowning, like he's been worried he might.

"How would you know, anyway? You been peeking in Eddie's sock drawer?" It's - oh, it's a challenge, a tease, just a slight nudge of a reminder that Evan had been jealous, too. Maybe not for the same reasons, but they've both been there.

"Technically it's a sock section of a duffle bag," Eddie points out, and Tommy would love to throw all caution to the wind and lift Evan up on that fucking counter right now, maybe resolve the jealousy issues with an audience. Eddie seems to realize he's lost both of their focuses. "Yeah, I'm gonna just. Go be somewhere not here."

"Without rinsing your dirty dishes?" Evan asks, and just like that, they're off again.

Christ.

The two of them living together would be a goddamn nightmare.

Tommy settles in to watch them squabble, and wonders if Bobby would consider his promise to take care of Evan satisfied.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #happy tevanniversary

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ermmdoitforfun · 2 months ago

Text

𝑯𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚 𝑷𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒕 𝑷𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒌

— 𝑪𝒐𝒍𝒃𝒚 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒀/𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈.

⋆☆　 colby brock x fem!reader

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆　warning : 18+ , p in v , dirty talk , make out session , Colby being possessive , dominant Colby , a lil bit of angst if u take a peek , and etc. ( loll let me know if I miss anything! )

•❣•୨୧　wc : 3.1k

-ˋˏ authors note : my first smut story, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !!! if you're a minor I'll block you! Anyways enjoy!

"What's up guys, it's Colby Brock!" The familiar greeting burst forth from the screen, filled with the kind of energy that only a Friday evening could inspire. It was pizza night at Sam's apartment, a cherished tradition among friends, where laughter and a bunch of catch ups with one another were shared. Among the invitees were Colby and Y/n, though the gathering was small, it was brimming with camaraderie. But that morning, a spark of mischief ignited in Colby’s mind. Why not spice up the evening with a prank on his unsuspecting girlfriend? With a cheeky grin, he leaned closer to the camera, the glint in his eyes revealing his playful intentions. "So, as you can tell from the title, I'm going to be pranking my beautiful girlfriend, Y/n." His voice was laced with excitement, "Currently, she's in Sam's apartment with our friends, completely unaware of my prank." Colby’s fingers danced over the small packets he had procured from the pharmacy earlier that day, "The plan is simple: pour this into her drink and watch the magic happen. We have no idea how she’ll react, but the package claims it’ll take about 30 minutes to 2 hours to kick in." A chuckle escaped him. "Anyways, I should get going before she starts to get suspicious." With that, he wrapped up the recording, weaving the perfect facade of a casual vlog.

Colby walked into Sam's apartment, the lively chatter of friends filling the air like music. He greeted the newcomers with a warm smile, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on Y/n. She was laughing, her head thrown back in delight at something Tara had said, and for a moment, the world around him faded away. Their eyes met, and in that instant, Y/n set her drink down, her movements fluid as she made her way to him, a radiant smile lighting up her face. "Hi," she greeted, her voice soft yet inviting. "Hello," Colby replied, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss on her temple, savoring the warmth of her presence. "Where were you?" Y/n asked, standing before him, a playful glint in her eyes. "I went to change; I was feeling a bit overheated," Colby replied, his tone casual as he tried to keep his prank under wraps. Y/n chuckled, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she reached for a slice of pizza, her favorite way to show she cared. "I made sure Sam ordered stuffed crust for you," she said, handing him the paper plate with a proud smile. "Thank you," Colby responded, leaning in to give her a small peck on the lips, which made her smile widen even more. He made his way to the couch in the corner, patting his thigh invitingly for Y/n to join him. Without hesitation, she took the offer, settling comfortably as she watched their friends talk and laugh.

As time flew by, Colby finished eating, nudging Y/n to toss the paper plate into the trashcan. While they were busy chatting with their friends, he discreetly pulled out his phone to film behind Y/n, who was animatedly talking with Kat and Tara. "I know, cause yesterday Colby and I went to the store and tried looking for those chips, but they ran out," Y/n said, laughter bubbling in her voice. "It was devastating for Colby. He was sulking the whole way back home." Tara and Kat burst into laughter. "Sounds like he spent too much time with Sam. Sam is like that, I swear on my life. We came home like a week ago from Vegas, and tell me why Sam got so mad 'cause CVS didn't have the chips he wanted," Kat chimed in, her eyes sparkling with amusement as Tara and Y/n joined in the laughter. "Baby, can you grab me more fruit punch?" Y/n turned around and asked Colby, her smile brightening the room. "Of course," he replied, mirroring her smile as he leaned in to give her a soft peck on the lips. Gently tapping her waist to signal he was getting up, he made his way to the drink table, Setting his phone down, Colby grinned mischievously. "Okay, Y/n is busy talking to Kat and Tara, so I'm going to hurry up and pour these two packs of honey into her drink." He chuckled softly just as Jake strolled by. "Brotherr, what are you doing?" Jake dragged the words out, a smirk creeping onto his face. "Shhh, I'm pranking Y/n," Colby whispered, laughter bubbling up as Jake joined in. "Kevin!" Jake called out, and Kevin quickly approached, his eyes wide with surprise. "Oh my god... Oh my god!" he exclaimed, laughter spilling from him as he took in the scene. "Shhh, he's pranking his girlfriend," Jake hushed Kevin, but the two couldn't contain their giggles. With all the commotion, Sam made his way over, glancing at what Colby was holding before stepping back in mock horror. "Brother, you're doing her so dirty." Colby couldn't help but laugh at Sam's reaction. "Is it really that bad?" Colby questioned, Sam shook his head, a disgusted look on his face. "I'm going to be hearing it all night now!" he joked, dramatically faking a cry. "Oh shut up, we're not that loud," Colby rolled his eyes, stirring Y/n's drink with a hint of mischief. The sweet aroma of honey wafted through the air as he finished up the prank. "I'm gonna go give this to her and let's just hope she doesn't taste the sweetness of it," he replied, a smirk spreading across his face as he made his way back to the couch. As he approached, he tapped Y/n's knee gently, handing her the drink as he settled down beside her. "Did you put more sugar in here?" Y/n questioned, her brow slightly furrowed with curiosity. "Maybe a little since you told me this morning that your blood sugar was running low," Colby replied, a warmth spreading through him as her eyes lit up with affection. She leaned in, giving him a few pecks on the lips, her gratitude evident. "Thank you!" she exclaimed, her smile brightening the room before she took a big sip of the drink. Colby watched in surprise, not expecting her to gulp down the entire cup in one go. His phone was already in hand, ready to capture the moment. "She drank it all, guys," he said, eyes wide with disbelief as he turned the camera to show off the empty cup. "Now, let's just wait and see how she is."

A few hours went by, and it was currently 8:30. Colby started to notice how Y/n had grown increasingly silent, not uttering a single word. She was twitching slightly, rubbing his arms absentmindedly and showering him with small pecks on his shoulder, his jaw, cheek, and finally, his lips. Colby couldn’t help but laugh at her actions, realizing just how quickly the drink was affecting her small body. "Baby, can we go home?" Y/n questioned, her tone more pleading than he expected. "Are you tired?" Colby asked, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, I have work tomorrow," she replied, though he knew she didn’t actually have any obligations. "Okay, let's get going," he said, standing up and making his way toward Sam and the other guys. He said his goodbyes, explaining that Y/n was tired and had work the next day. Y/n waved goodbye to everyone, her hand slipping into Colby's as they walked out together, heading toward their apartment. "Ima go shower, and I'll be with you in the room," Y/n spoke as she entered the apartment with him, her voice light but filled with a hint of excitement. She made her way into the shared bathroom, the door clicking softly behind her as she quickly turned on the water, steam beginning to fill the small space. Meanwhile, Colby began setting up the cameras, one in the living room and the other in their shared bedroom. He meticulously adjusted the angles, ensuring everything was just right. Once satisfied, he stepped back and addressed the camera. "Okay, so Y/n is taking a shower right now. I'm going to be in the living room watching TV, waiting for her to come out and hang out with me," he said, a playful grin on his face. "Wish me good luck!" With that, he retreated to the couch, slipping into only his grey sweats, feeling relaxed yet eager for Y/n's return. As 15 minutes flew by, Colby found himself scrolling through Instagram, the TV playing a familiar episode of Stitch in the background. Just then, the bathroom door creaked open, and Y/n emerged, clad only in her underwear with his oversized shirt draped over her. The sight made his heart skip a beat as she made her way to sit next to him. "Hi beautiful," he says as he opens his arms wide, pulling her into his lap with a warm embrace. "Hi, handsome," Y/n whispers, her voice soft and sweet, before pressing a gentle peck on his lips. The atmosphere between them is charged, and the couple continues exchanging light kisses, each one lingering a bit longer than the last. Suddenly, Colby smashes his lips onto hers, igniting a spark that sends waves of tension soaring between them. Y/n, lost in the moment, doesn’t quite realize the subtle way her body begins to grind against him, but Colby notices every little movement. A chuckle escapes him as he lifts her shirt slightly, his fingers grazing her sides, the warmth of her skin igniting a fire within him as they delve deeper into their make-out session. "I need you," she whines, her voice filled with a mix of desire and urgency. Colby grunts in response, but the playful side of him takes over. "Mmmm, maybe not today," he teases, pulling back just enough to make her stop her gentle movements against his pelvis, leaving a tantalizing pause in the air.

Y/n's eyes, brimming with a desperate plea, locked onto Colby's. "Pleaseeee, I need you so bad," she whined, the word stretching out with a palpable longing. The air crackled with unspoken tension, a desire hanging heavy between them. Colby met her gaze, his expression softening slightly before hardening into a resolute seriousness. "Baby, I know, but not today," he responded, the firmness in his voice a clear indication that his decision was final, at least for now. The weight of his words settled in the space, leaving Y/n to grapple with disappointment and the unspoken reasons behind his refusal. Y/n, feeling frustrated and helpless, hopped off of Colby's lap, and took a seat next to him on the couch. She let out a sigh of irritation, her mood souring as she tried to get some assistance from her boyfriend. "Can you at least help me? It's like biting my fucking pussy lips!" she exclaimed, her patience wearing thin. Colby, however, seemed unphased by Y/n's pleas for help. "You can do it yourself, doll," he said, attempting to brush her off. But Y/n was determined. "But it's not as good as how you do it," she replied, pouting. She couldn't help but feel disappointed—Colby always seemed to make even the simplest tasks seem effortless, and she just couldn't seem to catch a break. "Please, can you help me get this heat out," Y/n begged, her voice trembling with sadness and pain. "I need you badly."

Colby couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt as he looked at Y/n's pleading eyes. He knew she was struggling, and he wanted to help her, but he had to go along with his plan. "Baby. I'm sorry, I can't. My jaw hurts." His silence stretched, each second amplifying the tension in the room. He replied with hesitation, the words catching in his throat, "No, it's... it's not like that." Her question hung in the air, laced with hurt and disbelief. "Is it because you're fucking another girl?" she asked, her voice cracking, the accusation barely a whisper. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision as she looked at him, a silent plea for reassurance. Seeing her pain, Colby's immediate reaction was to deflect, a nervous instinct to grab the camera. "Baby, baby, it's just a prank, it's just a prank," he repeated, the words ringing hollow against the backdrop of her distress. But Y/n just stared at him, the tears continuing to stream down her face, a mixture of hurt and annoyance in her gaze. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, the apology sounding inadequate even to his own ears. Colby held Y/n close, whispering soothing words into her ear as he tried to comfort her after her jealousy and insecurities had been stirred up. He could feel her heart racing against his chest and her body trembling in his arms. He knew how much she struggled with trust issues, and he hated that he had unintentionally caused her pain.

As they stood there, Y/n's body pressed against his, Colby couldn't help but notice the way her wet clothes clung to her skin. He could feel the heat radiating off of her and the dampness of her clothing against his own. "Can you help me now?" Y/n asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Colby looked down at her, seeing the blush creeping up her cheeks and the longing in her eyes. He knew what she was asking for, and he was more than happy to oblige. Colby leaned down and captured Y/n's lips in a deep, passionate kiss. His hands roamed over her body, feeling the curves and contours of her form through the wet fabric of her clothes. Y/n responded eagerly, her own hands reaching up to tangle in his hair. As they kissed, Colby's fingers found the waistband of Y/n's undergarment. He slipped his hand inside, feeling the heat and wetness of her arousal through the thin material of her underwear. Y/n gasped at the contact, her body trembling even more. Colby broke the kiss, his lips trailing down Y/n's neck as his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her underwear. He could feel the slickness of her arousal coating his fingers as he explored her most intimate of places. Y/n moaned softly, her head falling back as she gave herself over to the pleasure. Colby continued to touch and explore Y/n's body, his fingers slipping and sliding through her wetness as he brought her closer and closer to the edge. She writhed and moaned in his arms, her body trembling with need. Finally, with one last thrust of Colby's fingers, Y/n cried out as she reached her peak. Colby held her close, whispering words of love and devotion as she came down from her high. He knew that he would never tire of this, of the way Y/n responded to his touch, of the way she gave herself to him so completely.

Colby, with a mischievous glint in his eye, pulled his boxers down, revealing his growing arousal. He began to stroke himself gently, building up anticipation for what was to come. With a sly smile, he positioned himself at Y/n's entrance, teasing her with small little pushes. Once he felt ready, Colby plunged himself inside of her, causing both of them to let out a moan of pleasure. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the living room, accompanied by the grunts and moans of their passionate lovemaking. Colby began to thrust harder and faster, causing Y/n to cry out in ecstasy. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside of her. "Oh fuck! C-Colby! Oh yes right there ughhh right there!" She screamed, unable to contain her pleasure any longer. Colby reached down to play with Y/n's swollen clit, causing her to scream out even louder. "Oh fuckkkkk." She dragged out the word, lost in the sudden amount of pleasure she was feeling. Her body trembled beneath him, on the verge of an explosive orgasm. The room is filled with the sounds of pleasure and ecstasy as Colby and his partner reach the pinnacle of their lovemaking. She cries out in orgasmic bliss, unable to contain her excitement as she finally reaches her climax. Her body shudders and trembles with the intensity of her release, and Colby can't help but watch in awe as she experiences the height of her pleasure. Colby isn't far behind, his own body tensing and releasing as he reaches his own orgasm. With a few final thrusts, he pulls out and releases on top of her stomach, groaning in pleasure as he does so. He tries to catch his breath, his body spent and satisfied from their lovemaking. The two of them lay there, basking in the afterglow of their passion. Their bodies are slick with sweat, and their hearts race as they come down from their high.

"What did you prank me with?" Y/n asked, still catching her breath. "I poured, uh, two packs of honey packets into your fruit punch." Colby replied, a chuckle escaping his lips as he observed Y/n's bewildered expression. "You didn't! No wonder I was feeling all...weird!" Y/n scoffed, trying to regain her composure. Colby winked, "Hey, at least I ensured you had a good time tonight." Y/n rolled her eyes playfully, shoving him lightly. "I'm exhausted. Let's just sleep," she mumbled, attempting to stand, but immediately collapsing back onto the couch. A surprised look crossed her face as Colby burst into laughter. "Guess I wore you out a little too much," he smirked, rising to gather their clothes. He then carefully scooped Y/n into his arms, carrying her to the bedroom. After a quick clean-up, he gently laid her down on the bed, snuggling close. "Goodnight. I love you," Y/n murmured sleepily. Colby smiled, kissing her forehead. "I love you too, princess." He closed his eyes, soon drifting into a peaceful slumber alongside her.

#colby brock gif #fanart #fandom #fanfic #fluff #wattpad #writing #colby brock x you #colby brock x reader #colby brock #sam and colby #colby brock smut #x reader #female reader #sncf #sam and colby smut

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honeydippedfiction · 1 month ago

Note

Angel and Joe with 'Eagerly watching you hold a little fashion show after coming home from shopping.' but then it turns spicy with Toying with a piece of clothing, whether that be the collar of your shirt, slowly undoing your belt, sliding a finger under the waistband of your underwear before letting it snap back against your skin. and 'don't just stand there, you tease. come here and let me taste'

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#26. Eagerly watching you hold a little fashion show after coming home from shopping. 'Toying with a piece of clothing, whether that be the collar of your shirt, slowly undoing your belt, sliding a finger under the waistband of your underwear before letting it snap back against your skin. and 'don't just stand there, you tease. come here and let me taste'

Joe Burrow x Angel

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

The sun had barely crested the horizon when Angel Burrow cracked open one sleepy eye, hearing the soft coos of her six-month-old daughter, Zariyah, on the baby monitor. She smiled to herself—those little morning babbles were her favorite soundtrack these days.

Joe was still asleep, sprawled across the bed with one arm slung lazily over where Angel had been. For a moment, she lingered there, watching her quarterback husband sleep, his curls mussed and his face at peace. A soft warmth filled her chest, but today was her day.

Her girls day.

She hadn’t had one since Zariyah was born, and she could feel it in her bones—she needed this. Needed to step back into the version of herself that existed before spit-up stained sweaters and three-hour naps on the nursery floor.

After six months of adjusting to the beautiful chaos that came with being a new mother to baby Zariyah, Angel was finally carving out a few hours for herself. A long-overdue girls day with her best friend Monica was exactly what the doctor ordered—and frankly, her soul had been begging for it.

“Z is fed, dressed, and in a great mood,” she said aloud, more to herself than anyone, as she packed the diaper bag for Joe.

Downstairs, Joe bounced their daughter gently in his arms, pacing back and forth near the front door. Zariyah’s soft curls had a mind of their own, much like her spirit. She giggled and squealed every time Joe made a silly face or kissed her cheeks.

When Angel descended the stairs, radiant in an effortless two-piece set and sneakers so clean they practically sparkled, Joe paused and looked her over with open admiration. “Damn,” he said, blinking slowly. “Girls day, huh?”

Angel chuckled, grabbing her bag. “Don’t act surprised. I told you I was getting cute today.”

“You’re always cute,” he replied with a smirk, handing over the baby with a little spin. “But today? You’re trouble.”

Zariyah babbled in agreement.

Angel kissed Joe on the cheek and then Zariyah’s forehead. “Try not to let her drive you crazy,” she teased.

Joe gave her a mock salute. “Ten-hut, Captain Mom. We’ll hold down the fort.”

Outside, Monica was already waiting in her sleek black SUV, music pulsing faintly through the closed windows. She rolled it down as soon as Angel approached, oversized sunglasses perched on her nose.

“Ohhh, yes ma’am!” Monica called out. “You better walk down that driveway like it’s a runway.”

Angel tossed her bag into the car and slid into the passenger seat. “Let’s go before I remember I left two loads of laundry in the dryer.”

Monica laughed, throwing the car into drive. “Don’t worry, babe. Today is about vibes, not responsibilities.”

Their first stop was brunch downtown. They sat on the patio, warm sun on their skin and mimosas in hand. The conversation flowed as easily as the citrusy drinks—catching up on everything from Monica’s new situationship to Angel’s sleepless nights and all the messy beauty in between.

“You’re glowing,” Monica said between bites of avocado toast. “Motherhood looks real good on you.”

Angel grinned, swirling her drink. “Thanks, but I’ve been looking like a raccoon for the past six months. I needed this detox from diapers.”

After brunch, they hit the nail salon—chrome gel sets with detailed accents, because as Monica said, “It’s all in the details, babe.” From there, they swung by their favorite hair salon for scalp massages and blowouts, each of them emerging with fresh styles and new energy.

It was late afternoon when they reached the mall. The air conditioning offered sweet relief from the heat as they strolled from one store to the next, arms slowly accumulating shopping bags like medals of honor. Sephora. Zara. A Black-owned boutique tucked in the corner where Angel snagged a sleek jumpsuit and Monica talked her into matching gold hoops.

While browsing in one store, they were stopped by a group of young women, one of whom gasped when she recognized Angel.

“Oh my God, you’re Joe Burrow’s wife, right?”

Angel paused, a bit startled but gracious. “I am.”

“We love you guys!” the woman gushed. “And your baby is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Can we get a picture?”

Angel smiled, nodding. “Of course!”

As Monica snapped the photos, one of the girls whispered, “She’s even prettier in real life.”

Back in motion, Monica nudged her. “You really are the people’s princess.”

Angel rolled her eyes playfully. “Nah, I’m just the woman who married the golden boy.”

Monica scoffed. “Please. You’re the Angel Burrow. Don’t play yourself.”

Their final stop was an upscale lingerie boutique nestled near the mall’s exit. The lighting was soft, the music low and sultry, and the air smelled faintly of jasmine and vanilla.

“Alright,” Monica said, already eyeing a sheer emerald green set. “Time to shop for a surprise. My little boo has no idea what’s coming.”

Angel chuckled, trailing behind her. “You’re such a menace.”

“I try,” Monica said, flicking a hanger with flair.

As Monica hunted down sizes and styles, Angel meandered through the displays, half-interested—until her hands brushed over a deep red satin teddy. She stopped. It was bold, romantic… and exactly the kind of thing she hadn’t worn in months.

Before she knew it, she had gathered a small pile: the red teddy, a black lace bodysuit with strategic cutouts, and a blush-toned bralette and panty set with delicate gold embroidery.

When Monica returned, her arms full of hangers, she glanced at Angel’s haul and smirked.

“Well, well, well,” she teased, setting her own pieces down. “About time you brought that fire back, momma. You’re trying those and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Angel raised a skeptical brow. “Says the woman who once convinced me to buy thigh-high boots I never wore.”

“And you still looked bomb in them. Now go.”

Monica took the lead in the changing rooms, emerging in a rotating lineup of sultry and sleek. Each time, she struck a pose for Angel.

“This one says ‘I’m a snack.’ This one says ‘full-course meal.’ This one says ‘dessert at midnight.’”

Angel laughed so hard her stomach hurt. “That one definitely says ‘booty is a privilege.’”

Once Monica narrowed down her final picks, she gave Angel a pointed look. “Alright. Your turn.”

Angel hesitated. “It’s been a minute.”

“And yet,” Monica said, taking a seat outside the fitting rooms, “you’re still that girl. Let’s go.”

Angel emerged a few minutes later in the red teddy, smoothing the straps. The moment she stepped into the soft light, Monica gasped.

“Angel. Oh, this is it. That color on your skin? You’re dangerous.”

Each outfit brought more cheers—or the occasional “Nah, that one’s not a winner,” because Monica kept it real. By the end, Angel stood in front of the mirror in the black lace bodysuit, feeling more like herself than she had in months.

She turned. “Too much?”

“Girl,” Monica said, wide-eyed, “Joe is going to keep you locked up in that house once he sees you in these.”

They laughed their way to checkout, arms full of delicate lace and silk. As the cashier rang them up, Angel raised an eyebrow at her total and winced. “My bank account is crying.”

“But your man’s gonna be praising the heavens,” Monica replied, tossing a wink. “Worth every penny.”

The sun had started its slow descent, stretching golden fingers across the freeway as Angel and Monica sped along with the windows cracked just enough to let the early evening breeze sweep through the SUV. The playlist—curated expertly by Monica, of course—shifted from upbeat girl anthems to smooth R&B, blending laughter with bass.

Angel’s curls danced in the wind, and her lips moved to every lyric like muscle memory. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, bags rustling quietly in the back seat with every turn.

Monica leaned back with a satisfied sigh, legs crossed on the dash like the day hadn’t drained her at all. “We needed today. Like, spiritually.”

Angel nodded. “My soul’s been on life support. I forgot how good it feels to just... exist. Outside of diapers and bottles.”

“You’re still that girl, and don’t let motherhood make you forget it,” Monica replied, pointing with her fresh chrome nails. “Joe’s about to be a problem once he sees what you bought.”

Angel smirked, eyes still on the road. “He might faint. I may have gone a little overboard.”

Monica let out a delighted cackle. “You? Overboard? Sis, your man is an NFL quarterback who worships the ground you walk on. He’ll build an altar when he sees you in that red lace.”

By the time they pulled up in front of Monica’s apartment, the car was full of new energy—sisterhood, shared secrets, the hum of restoration.

Angel parked at the curb and turned down the music. “Thanks for today. Really.”

Monica squeezed her hand. “Anytime. And I expect a full report on Burrow’s reaction.”

“Oh, you’ll get a play-by-play,” Angel teased.

They hugged, said their goodbyes, and Monica slipped out with a wink before Angel merged back into traffic. The drive home was quieter now, the adrenaline of the day settling into a comfortable afterglow.

And with that, Angel pulled away, the sky darkening gently around her as she made her way home—bags in the trunk, music humming low, and her heart full.

She didn’t know it yet, but the fire she’d rediscovered that day wasn’t just about lingerie or a little glam.

It was about coming back to herself. And she was just getting started.

By the time she reached the house, twilight had painted the sky in streaks of lavender and peach. As the garage door slowly lifted, Angel spotted them immediately—Joe standing in the doorway to the house, barefoot and in sweatpants, holding baby Zariyah like she was the crown jewel of his world. And she was.

The soft light caught them just right: Joe with his curls slightly tousled and a boyish smile tugging at his lips, and Zariyah cooing in his arms, one tiny fist tangled in his hoodie strings. It was the kind of image that made Angel’s chest swell.

She parked and climbed out slowly, a smile blooming on her lips before she even reached them.

“There’s my baby girl!” Angel sang, her voice lifting as she rushed to the steps, arms already outstretched.

Zariyah let out a squeal of delight and bounced in Joe’s arms, her little legs kicking with excitement. Angel kissed her soft cheeks over and over, inhaling the sweet scent of baby lotion and formula.

Then, as naturally as breathing, Angel leaned up and pressed her lips to Joe’s. A slow, tender kiss. Nothing dramatic—just long enough to say, I missed you. I’m home.

Joe’s eyes fluttered shut for a second, completely undone by the softness of her mouth and the warmth of her energy.

When they broke apart, he smiled like a man who had just glimpsed heaven.

“I see girls day was a success,” he murmured, voice thick with admiration.

Angel gave him a knowing hum and took Zariyah from his arms, bouncing the baby gently on her hip. “My bank is going to hate me, Joe.”

He laughed, following her toward the car. “How bad are we talking?”

Angel opened the trunk, and Joe’s eyes widened at the sheer number of bags stacked like mini shopping trophies.

“Oh, it’s bad,” she said with mock seriousness.

Joe reached for a couple of them, but Angel stepped in front of him with a playful finger wag. “Uh uh. No peeking, mister. I’ll take them upstairs. You can see everything... later, once Z’s asleep.”

Joe groaned like a man who had just been denied the final play in the red zone. “You’re torturing me.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “And yet you love it.”

He chuckled and relented, stepping back and scooping Zariyah into his arms again. “Alright. But I’m holding you to that promise.”

Angel gave him a sly look as she started her first trip into the house, bags swinging from her arms. “Oh, you’ll get your reward.”

The next twenty minutes turned into a mini workout. Three full trips—first the clothes and accessories, then the new shoes, and finally the very important, very secret lingerie bag, which she tucked discreetly into the corner of the walk-in closet beneath a few jackets.

Joe offered to help again, but she shooed him away each time.

“Consider it part of the suspense,” she teased on her last return to the garage, wiping a sheen of sweat from her brow.

After the final bag had been tucked away—lingerie discreetly hidden beneath a tangle of soft sweaters in the walk-in closet—Angel took a breath and rolled her shoulders. The long day of pampering, laughter, and low-key mischief with Monica had been exactly what she needed. But nothing, not even a girls day full of shopping and spa stops, compared to the warmth that filled her chest the moment she stepped back into the kitchen and saw Joe there, sleeves rolled up, baby monitor on the counter, soft music playing in the background.

The lights above the island cast a cozy glow, and the faint scent of garlic and olive oil mingled in the air as he stirred a sauté pan. Angel padded barefoot across the tile and leaned her hip against the counter, watching her husband in his comfort zone. There was something endlessly attractive about a man who knew his way around fatherhood and a skillet.

When she joined him in the kitchen, Zariyah was back in her bouncer, playing with her soft teething ring, and Joe was pulling out ingredients for dinner.

Angel peeked at the cutting board. “Chef Burrow in the building?”

“I figured you’d be tired,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Thought I’d get started.”

She came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “And this is why I married you.”

He turned and kissed her forehead. “It’s one of the reasons, right?”

Angel laughed. “Top five. Right after ‘makes good babies’ and ‘puts the toilet seat down.’”

He grinned and handed her a knife. “You can chop the garlic then. Teamwork.”

They worked side-by-side, Zariyah babbling nearby, the scent of sautéed onions and herbs filling the air. It was peaceful in a way that grounded Angel after such a fast-paced day—an anchor back into the safe haven of her little family.

She reached out and plucked a carrot stick from the prep bowl, crunching thoughtfully.

“Was she any trouble?” Angel asked, her tone casual, though her smirk betrayed her.

Joe didn’t even turn around at first, just gave a soft chuckle and shook his head. “She was perfect.”

Angel raised a brow, arms folding as she narrowed her eyes in mock disbelief. “Our daughter? Zariyah Jasmine Burrow? The mini menace didn’t cause a ruckus today?”

Joe finally looked over his shoulder, grinning like a man who’d been caught mid-lie. “No ruckus. I swear.”

“Mmhmm,” Angel said, inching closer, leaning into the doubt like a well-worn inside joke. “So she didn’t scream like a banshee when her pacifier fell out?”

“She… voiced her displeasure a little,” Joe admitted with a laugh.

“And you didn’t have to play ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ on repeat while holding her like Simba to calm her down?”

“She just likes when I freestyle. I may or may not have invented a remix,” Joe replied, lifting a wooden spoon like a microphone. “Zariyah's got taste.”

Angel rolled her eyes and walked over to the other side of the counter, grabbing a cutting board and a knife. “So what I’m hearing is, chaos did in fact occur, but you handled it like a champ.”

He reached out and bumped her hip affectionately. “You trained me well.”

Together, they fell into the kind of rhythm only two people who truly knew each other could share—chopping, stirring, moving around each other like a pair of dancers in slow motion. There were soft touches and whispered jokes, a low hum of domestic ease layered beneath the music.

Angel sliced zucchini while Joe grilled seasoned chicken breasts. Occasionally, one of them would glance toward the monitor where Zariyah slept peacefully, tiny fists curled near her cheeks.

“Did she at least nap for you?” Angel asked, turning to place the chopped vegetables into a bowl.

“Twice,” Joe said proudly. “One long one after lunch and a shorter one while I watched film.”

Angel gave him a sidelong glance. “Did you hold her the whole time?”

Joe shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “She naps longer when I do.”

Angel paused, her heart giving a little tug at the sweetness of it all. Joe was many things on the field—strategic, composed, precise—but at home, he was just Zariyah’s dad. Soft, silly, patient. It was the version of him she’d fallen in love with long before Super Bowls and media days.

“Sometimes I think she’s just pretending to be difficult with me,” Angel muttered as she sprinkled sea salt over the salad.

Joe looked up. “She’s playing the long game. You’re the boss. She’s trying to stage a slow coup.”

Angel laughed so loudly it startled the monitor for a second. She walked over and leaned against his back, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Thanks for today, seriously. I didn’t realize how much I needed it.”

Joe placed his hand over hers and kissed her knuckles. “You give everything to her. You deserve time for yourself, too. I got it handled. Mostly.”

“Mostly,” Angel echoed, pressing her forehead to his back. “I can live with that.”

The oven timer dinged and they broke apart, plating their meal in comfortable silence. Angel poured them both glasses of sparkling lemonade and took a seat at the island while Joe served dinner.

They ate side by side, shoulders touching occasionally, laughter flowing just as easily as the conversation. It was a simple dinner—grilled lemon chicken, roasted vegetables, quinoa—but it felt luxurious in the way quiet, uninterrupted time often does.

Angel speared a piece of zucchini. “You know, after all that shopping, I didn’t even show you what I got.”

Joe raised a brow. “Not even a sneak peek?”

“Later,” Angel said with a grin. “Once Zariyah’s officially down for the night.”

Joe exhaled like the anticipation was a physical weight. “You’re killing me.”

Angel sipped her drink, eyes sparkling. “That’s the plan.”

They cleared the dishes together, trading jokes about whose turn it was to do the drying (“You’re taller, you reach the top cabinets faster,” Angel insisted) before heading upstairs for bedtime duty.

The last light of day had long faded, replaced by the hush of night blanketing the Burrow home. Down the hall, a soft lullaby played faintly through the baby monitor, and the comforting scent of lavender from Zariyah’s nighttime bath still lingered in the air.

Angel stood quietly beside the crib, gazing down at their daughter. Zariyah was deep in slumber now, arms stretched above her head in that carefree way only babies seemed to sleep. Her long lashes fluttered occasionally, lips gently parted around the edge of her pacifier.

Joe stood a step behind Angel, hands in his pockets, watching them both with quiet reverence.

“She looks like you when she sleeps,” he murmured, voice low to keep from disturbing the peace.

Angel smiled but kept her eyes on their baby. “You say that every night.”

“And I’ll keep saying it,” he replied, gently placing a hand on the small of her back.

She finally turned to face him, the corners of her mouth curving up as she slipped her hand into his. “Come on, Burrow,” she said, her tone lighter now, teasing. “Your personal show awaits.”

Joe let out a breath of a laugh, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Well, when you put it like that...”

Angel led him out of the nursery and down the hall, their footsteps soft against the hallway runner. The house had gone still around them, quiet and dim, the kind of intimate silence that only settled in when the baby was finally down for the night and the grown-ups could reclaim just a little of their own world.

When they reached their bedroom, Angel pushed the door open gently and flicked on the low amber lights from the bedside sconces. The room glowed warmly—cozy, familiar, and tinged with anticipation.

Joe was already tugging at the collar of his sweatshirt when she turned to him with a raised brow. “Ah ah—no moving yet. Sit,” she said with mock authority, pointing to the edge of the bed.

With a soft chuckle and a playful salute, Joe obeyed, sitting down and resting his elbows on his knees, eyes never leaving her.

Angel crossed the room and disappeared into their walk-in closet. “No peeking,” she called behind her.

“Not even a little?” Joe teased, leaning to the side like he could catch a glimpse past the door frame.

“Be patient,” she said, her voice floating out with a light laugh.

Inside the closet, Angel took a steadying breath. The shopping bags were exactly where she’d left them earlier—lined up by brand, carefully tucked away like little secrets. She pulled them out one by one, gathering the first few items: a structured blazer in crisp cream with gold buttons, a silky olive green wrap dress that hugged in all the right places, and a pair of wide-leg pants in soft mocha. Then came the shoes: nude stilettos, snakeskin booties, and a pair of strappy black sandals she’d fallen in love with at first sight.

The first look was sleek and sophisticated—a cream-colored blazer that hugged her waist and accentuated the gentle curve of her hips. Underneath, she wore nothing but a delicate satin camisole in soft beige, tucked into wide-leg mocha trousers that draped effortlessly to her ankles. On her feet were the snakeskin booties she’d fallen in love with earlier at the mall.

“Okay, businesswoman vibes,” Joe said, nodding in appreciation. “Are you about to fire me or promote me?”

Angel smirked, giving him a slow twirl. “Depends on how well you behave.”

“You look like a whole CEO,” he said, leaning back with a grin. “CEO of taking my breath away.”

Angel rolled her eyes playfully and disappeared into the closet again.

The next time she came out, the vibe had completely changed.

Gone was the structured look—now she was soft and sultry in a silky olive-green wrap dress that clung to her like it was tailored just for her. The thigh slit danced with every step she took, and she paired it with black strappy heels that gave her walk a subtle sway.

Joe’s eyes darkened slightly, his jaw ticking as he watched her cross the room.

“Okay, now that’s date night,” he murmured. “No way you’re wearing that in public.”

Angel cocked a brow. “Possessive already?”

He shrugged, unapologetic. “Have you seen you?”

She paused just in front of him, hands on her hips. “Well, I did buy it with you in mind.”

Joe’s lips twitched. “I knew I married a genius.”

She gave him a quick wink, then retreated once more into the closet. Each outfit that followed painted a new mood—elegant, playful, bold. A slinky black jumpsuit with a deep neckline. A ruched burgundy midi dress that made Joe audibly groan. A cozy off-shoulder sweater dress paired with suede boots that made him smile in a different way, like he could already picture her curled up on the couch with Zariyah on her lap.

When she finally stepped out again, it wasn’t just clothes in her arms—it was a tiny shoebox and a smaller gift bag.

“Alright, now for the really important things,” Angel said.

“These,” she said, walking over to the bed, “are for my favorite humans.”

Joe perked up. “We’re getting to the good stuff now?”

She opened the box first and pulled out a pair of baby pink sneakers, no bigger than the palm of her hand and held them up. Joe’s face softened instantly.

“For Z,” she said. “You know... so she can start her sneakerhead journey early.”

Joe’s face lit up. “No way. Little Z got new kicks?”

“She had to,” Angel said, shaking her head like it was obvious. “The child has my face and your feet. She deserves good shoes.”

“And what about me?” Joe asked, trying to peek into another bag. “Did I get anything, or is this just ladies’ day all the way?”

Angel fished out a box and tossed it to him gently. “Try not to cry.”

Joe opened it and pulled out a navy blue hoodie embroidered with “#GirlDad” in cursive across the chest. He blinked, clearly touched.

“You like it?” Angel asked, suddenly a little shy.

“Babe... this is perfect.”

“I figured you earned it. You survived a full day with the mini menace.”

“I love it,” he said, voice low. “You have no idea. Thank you.”

He reached for her hand, tugging her gently toward him. “I’d survive anything for you two.”

Angel let him pull her closer, her knee pressing lightly into the bed between his legs. He kissed the back of her hand slowly, deliberately, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

She smiled, brushing her free hand through his hair. “You’re sweet.”

She melted against his chest, letting herself linger there for a few quiet seconds. His scent, the low thrum of his voice, the steadiness of his arms—it all wrapped around her like safety.

Joe leaned back just slightly, head tilted. “So... I noticed you’ve been dancing around one particular bag.”

Angel raised a brow, feigning innocence. “What bag?”

He gestured toward the closet. “There’s one left, I counted how many you had. The one you won’t let me touch.”

“Oh,” she said casually. “That’s for later.”

Joe groaned dramatically, falling back onto the bed. “You’re killing me, Angel.”

She leaned over him, placing a quick kiss on his lips. “It’s called suspense. Builds character.”

As she stood again, Joe reached up and wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her there for a moment.

“I don’t care what’s in the bag,” he murmured against her stomach. “You showing up in this room, smiling like that... that’s already everything.”

Angel ran her fingers gently through his curls, heart swelling at the quiet affection in his voice. She knew Joe was a man of precision on the field, but off it, he loved with the kind of depth that left her breathless. He made her feel like she was the center of his gravity—even after months of late-night feeds and spit-up and sleep deprivation.

But then she pulled back with a sly grin.

She stepped back slowly, a twinkle in her eye. “Well, just wait until you do see what’s in the bag.” Now walking backward toward the closet like a woman with a plan.

Joe sat up, raising a brow. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

Angel winked. “Why not both? But I’m gonna need five minutes and zero interruptions.”

“I will sit here and suffer in silence,” he promised, already adjusting the pillows behind him.

Angel laughed as she vanished into the closet again, the door clicking softly behind her.

Inside the closet, Angel closed the door softly behind her and exhaled slowly. Her heart pounded—not from nerves, exactly, but from a bubbling excitement that she hadn’t felt in a while. Not since before Zariyah. Before round-the-clock feedings, sleepless nights, and the wonderful chaos of new motherhood.

This was for her just as much as it was for him.

She pulled the first set from the sleek black bag—the deep ruby red lace that Monica had all but demanded she try on. It was delicate but daring, the sheer bodice cut high on the hips, leaving very little to the imagination. She adjusted the straps, ran a hand down her hip, and glanced at herself in the mirror.

Angel’s reflection stared back—a woman who was still learning to feel at home in her post-baby body, but tonight? Tonight she looked like herself again.

And she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Ready?” she called out.

Joe’s voice came back low and eager. “Always.”

She cracked the closet door and stepped out, slowly, deliberately—one hand resting on the frame, the other on her hip.

Joe looked up. And blinked.

He didn’t move at first. Just stared, eyes locked on her like she’d frozen time.

The deep red popped against her smooth skin, the soft lighting catching the intricate lace as she stepped forward with quiet confidence.

“Oh... my God,” Joe breathed, sitting up straighter. “Angel.”

She stopped in front of him, one brow raised. “Too much?”

“Too perfect,” he said instantly. His eyes swept over her with reverence, not hunger—though that simmered just beneath the surface. “You’re unreal.”

She gave him a slow turn, the curve of her back on full display, and heard the breath he sucked in through his teeth.

“You’re trying to kill me tonight, huh?” he said, voice lower now.

Angel gave a playful shrug. “Maybe a little.”

She disappeared back into the closet before he could reach for her, laughing under her breath as she leaned against the door to catch her breath. That reaction? That was exactly what Monica had meant by “bringing the fire back.”

The next set was softer—blush pink mesh with satin cups and tiny floral embroidery, delicate and ethereal. She paired it with a silk robe, barely tied.

When she stepped out again, Joe’s mouth opened slightly—but no words came out at first.

“Okay,” he said finally, blinking twice. “This one’s... dangerous in a different way.”

Angel tilted her head. “Different how?”

“You look like you’re about to climb into my lap and steal my soul,” he replied, utterly serious.

She laughed—a warm, full sound that made his chest ache.

“Maybe I will,” she said, brushing past him so closely he could smell the faint sweetness of her perfume.

Joe groaned, flopping back on the bed with his arm over his face. “I’m in so much trouble.”

When she returned a few minutes later, he heard the soft click of heels before he saw her. This time, the look was bolder—jet black lace, sheer panels, crisscross straps across her midsection, and thigh-highs with garters. The kind of ensemble that made Angel feel like a superwoman in her own skin.

Joe sat up before she even reached the foot of the bed, his gaze sharp but reverent.

“Okay, stop,” he said, running both hands through his curls. “That one? That one should be illegal.”

Angel smirked, hands on her hips again. “You’re just saying that because I saved it for last.”

“I’m saying it because if I blink, I’m going to miss the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” His voice was sincere now—deeper. Slower.

She walked up to him, and this time, she let him reach for her.

He sat there on the edge of the bed, hands out, but unsure of where he wanted to touch her first. This woman? This beautiful heart-stopping and smart woman was his wife. Joe began thanking every God he could think of for even letting him be in her presence.

Angel smiled up at him, stepping between his knees. “Still think I’m trying to kill you?”

Then Joe traced his hand along her side—slow, deliberate. He began toying with one of the crisscrossing straps, letting his fingers dance along the top edge of her stockings before sliding a finger under the delicate lace edge of her underwear. He let it snap back against her skin with a soft thwack.

If she could tease him and get him so fired up like this… he could do the same thing too.

“Maybe you’re not trying to kill me,” Joe murmured, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of both her underwear and those black thigh-highs, slowly pulling them down, “but if I have to keep watching you like this and not touching you? It just might.”

Angel stepped out of the fabric pool at her feet, still in the lace bralette, the matching garter still holding up her stockings. She leaned down until they were eye to eye. “Touching me is the whole point,” she whispered against his lips. “Just say the word, and I’m yours.”

He swallowed thickly, pulling her into his lap. She could feel just how much he wanted this through his sweatpants. Angel smirked, but he was quicker, stealing another kiss before she could speak.

“Mine, huh?” Joe said, pulling back just enough to make sure she was looking at him. In his eyes, dark with need. “Then I want it all.”

His hands found their way under the garters, around the back of her thighs until he gripped her bare ass. She gasped, and he kissed her again—harder this time, his teeth catching her bottom lip.

Angel pulled back, breathless. “All of what?”

Joe smiled—a slow, wicked smile that made her stomach flutter. “All of you. I want every inch. I want to be everywhere you are. I want you so far gone that you can’t remember your own name, Angel.” His lips brushed hers with each word. “I want you to forget your own name so you can remember mine.”

Angel bit her lip, pulling herself up from his hold. She stood over him, a sly smile on her face at what she saw—his eyes a darker shade of indigo blue, his face flushed, his entire body taut with restraint, the unmistakable outline of his cock straining against his sweats.

He watched her every move—his eyes trailed over her body from bottom to top, the heat in his gaze a palpable thing. Angel could feel the hunger in every deliberate breath he took, in the way his fingers curled and uncurled at his sides. As if he were still deciding exactly where he wanted to put them.

She gave a little spin, letting him see the rest of the ensemble, the way the lace cradled her backside, the delicate straps that cut across the small of her back and the top of her ass.

Joe groaned before reaching out for her, only for Angel to take another step back. He looked up at her, eyes burning.

“Don’t just stand there,” Joe said, his voice a low rasp. “Come here and let me taste.”

Angel smirked again, stepping closer until she was between his knees again, and leaned down to kiss him. “What exactly do you want to taste?”

Joe smirked back against her lips. “You.”

“Hmm. You’ll have to show me what you mean,” she said, and she felt him smile against her lips.

“With pleasure,” he murmured.

He kissed her again, hard and deep, and Angel could feel herself getting wet from the way he moved, the way he took what he wanted. His lips were firm, insistent, his tongue tangling with hers as his hands found the hooks on her bra.

He broke the kiss, eyes dark and burning when he looked up at her again.

“I’m gonna take this off,” Joe said, already working at the hooks. “And then I’m gonna kiss every inch of you, starting here—” His lips brushed the space between her breasts. “And working my way down.”

Angel shivered. “Yeah? What happens when you get down to the bottom?”

“I’m gonna make you come apart on my tongue,” he whispered, lips brushing hers again.

She moaned against him, and Joe smiled against her lips. “And I’m not going to stop until you’re begging me to fuck you.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” Angel said, breathless.

“It’s worth it,” Joe replied, “to see you like this. To remind you who you are.”

Angel swallowed, eyes searching his face.

“Who am I?” she asked, voice soft. Uncertain.

Joe reached up, cupped her face in his hands. “You’re mine.” He kissed her. “You’re my wife.”

Another kiss. “You’re a mother.”

Another kiss. “But right now? Right now, you’re just Angel.”

She kissed him this time, pulling him closer, her fingers curling in his hair, her entire body surging forward to meet his.

“And I want all of you,” Joe continued, pulling back just long enough to speak against her lips. “The good, the bad, the messy, the beautiful.”

Angel could feel tears welling up in her eyes—tears of relief, of need. “I want all of you, too.”

He kissed her hard again, and this time there was no restraint. His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over the delicate lace before he reached for the hooks again.

He broke the kiss only long enough to pull the bralette off—and then he was pulling her down to him again, his mouth on her breast, tongue swirling over one peak and then the other, the wet heat of his mouth making her ache with want. His fingers found her other breast, rolling the peak between his thumb and forefinger until Angel was breathless and gasping.

He pulled her into his lap again, the thin fabric of his sweatpants doing little to mask the heat of his cock as she straddled him. Angel rocked against him, slowly at first, but Joe’s hands were everywhere all at once—her breasts, her back, her ass, the lace straps of her garters, the wetness between her thighs.

“Joe,” she breathed, the ache building. “God, Joe.”

He sat up abruptly, lifting her with him. Angel wrapped her legs around him, her arms around his neck as he carried her the few steps to the wall.

Joe pressed her against it, pinning her hips there with his own, and his mouth found hers again. Angel pulled at his sweatshirt, yanking it over his head before her hands found his shoulders, his chest, her nails digging into his skin.

He groaned against her, his fingers dipping into the wetness between her legs, finding her clit with unerring accuracy.

Angel gasped, her back arching against the wall. His fingers worked in slow circles at first, his tongue following the same rhythm against her own, until she was gasping his name, her hips moving to meet him.

Joe pulled back just enough to speak, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts against her lips. “Is this what you want?” He pressed his fingers against her again, this time letting two slide inside of her. She was so wet, so ready.

“Yes,” Angel breathed. “Yes—God, yes—”

Joe’s fingers curled, pressing against that spot that made her vision blur, made her see stars. Angel whimpered, her entire body tightening. She was close. So close.

Then his fingers were gone.

Angel gasped, blinked down at him in confusion. “Joe—”

“Not yet,” he murmured against her neck, pressing kisses against her skin. “Not until I taste you.”

Before she could say anything else, he lifted her again, carrying her to the bed. She lay back against the sheets as he hooked his fingers in the sides of her stockings, pulling them down slowly.

His fingers traced the path the stockings had taken until they reached her center again. She was still wet—still ready for him.

He kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other. His tongue traced the outline of her, slowly, carefully—learning every curve, every dip, every fold. Angel’s fingers curled into the sheets when his tongue finally, finally met her clit.

“Joe—” she gasped.

He hummed against her, the vibration sending shockwaves through her entire body.

“Joe—yes, please—”

His tongue moved in slow, deliberate circles, never breaking contact as Angel’s breath came in sharp gasps. He could feel her shaking beneath him, the muscles in her thighs trembling with restraint.

“Shit, I’m so close—”

He hummed against her again, slid one finger and then another inside of her, curling them forward until she cried out. Angel’s entire body tightened, her back arching off the bed as she came on his tongue.

Joe didn’t stop.

His tongue kept moving, his fingers curled inside of her until he felt her start to shake again, her voice breathy and urgent now.

“Joe—I can’t—oh my God—”

He pulled back, his voice low. “You can. And you will.”

And before she could answer, his mouth found her clit again, his fingers working in time. Angel couldn’t form a single thought—just felt the slow, steady climb toward that edge again.

“Joe, Joe, JOE—” she cried out, her entire body shuddering with the force of her release.

She lay back against the pillows, boneless and breathless, watching through half-lidded eyes as Joe stood and pushed his sweats down.

Angel bit her lip at the sight of him—hard and thick and ready for her.

She reached for him, but he shook his head, kneeling on the bed again.

“Not yet,” Joe said, pressing a kiss to her lips, letting her taste herself on him. “I’m not done with you.”

Angel groaned. “Joe, please—”

He kissed her again. “Please what? You have to use your words, Angel.”

“I need you,” she said, reaching for him again. This time, he let her—let her fingers wrap around him, let her pump him slowly until his hips were moving with her.

He pulled her hand away with a growl.

“Need me to do what?” Joe asked, reaching down to trace her lips, Angel's mouth opening and sucking around Joe's fingers. He pulled them away slowly before he could lose control, before he gave her what they both wanted. “Tell me what you want.”

Her voice was a whisper, a low, needy sound that made him ache. “I need you to fuck me.”

He shuddered, his restraint slipping. “How do you want it?”

She pulled him down to her, kissing him deeply. When she spoke again, it was a breathless whisper against his lips.

“I want you on top of me. I want to feel you everywhere. I want you to remind me how much you love me.”

Joe groaned and captured her mouth with his again, kissing her deeply as he positioned himself between her legs.

He pushed into her in one smooth motion, and they both gasped—Angel at the feeling of fullness, of completion, and Joe at the feel of her tight, wet heat around him.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. Joe’s hips moved in slow, deep thrusts at first, savoring every second, every shiver that ran through Angel’s body beneath him. He wanted to make this last, wanted to make it good for her.

But the way she felt around him—the way her back arched, her body opened for him—he couldn’t hold back. Not when he was already on the edge, not when he could feel his own release building.

Joe’s thrusts grew harder, faster, his lips finding hers again in a searing kiss. Angel met him with the same urgency, her hips rising to meet his, her voice a steady stream of breathless pleas.

Her nails dug into his back, his shoulders, the pain and pleasure merging into one overwhelming wave.

“Angel—” Joe breathed. “Angel, I—”

She pulled back just long enough to look at him, her eyes locked on his.

“Don’t stop,” she said. “Don’t stop.”

“I can’t,” he ground out. “I can’t stop.”

His hips were moving of their own accord now, driven by a need he couldn’t control. “Angel—”

“Yes,” she breathed, her own release building again. “Yes, Joe—”

"Fuck baby, squeezing me so good." Joe groaned. Angel could feel him getting closer, could feel him thickening inside of her.

Joe grabbed her leg pulling it to his shoulder. Angel moaned louder, feeling Joe go deeper. Her hands gripped his arms, her nails dug deeper into his skin as he pounded into her.

“I love you,” he managed, his voice strained. “Angel—I love you—”

“I love you, too,” she cried out, her voice breaking. “Joe—Joe, please—”

"Come on baby, let me feel you." Joe said as he brought his hand down to rub tight circles on her clit. "Cum for me baby, you can do it. Give it to me." He thrust harder.

Angel's entire body tensed, every muscle straining toward that release. Joe could feel it building inside of her—the heat, the pressure, the need.

“Please, please—Joe—”

Then suddenly, she was falling over that edge, her body shaking with the force of it. Angel cried out his name again and again as her body spasmed around him, pulling him over the edge with her. Joe groaned, his hips losing their rhythm as he pulsed inside of her, filling her completely. He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath hot and ragged against her lips, his body trembling with the intensity of his release. Angel wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as they both rode out the last waves of pleasure.

She kissed him again, slowly this time, her lips moving gently against his. Joe sighed against her mouth, his own lips responding lazily as he came down from his high.

They lay there for a moment, breathless, Joe’s face buried in the curve of her neck.

Angel was the first to move, pressing soft kisses along his jaw, his cheek, until he looked up at her. She brushed his curls back, smiling softly.

“Hi,” she said.

Joe smiled back, kissing her softly. “Hi.”

“Thank you,” she said.

He shook his head, still trying to catch his breath. “Don’t thank me. I should be thanking you.”

“I know you did this for me,” he murmured, “but I hope you felt it, too.”

Angel’s breath caught.

“I did,” she whispered, her fingers threading through his curls. “I needed to remember that I can still feel like... me. Like a woman. Not just ‘mommy.’”

Joe pulled her closer, resting his forehead against her chest. “You’ve never stopped being you, Angel. You’ve only added more layers of amazing.”

She smiled gently, carding her fingers through his hair as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her like she was the most precious thing in his world—which, to him, she was.

After a long beat, he looked up, eyes twinkling.

“So… which one are you wearing when we don’t have a sleeping baby down the hall?”

Angel laughed, low and warm. “That depends. Are you planning to behave?”

Joe stood and swept her effortlessly off her feet, cradling her against his chest as she gasped and looped her arms around his neck.

“No,” he said without hesitation, carrying her to the shower. “Not even a little.”

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