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comatosebunny09 · 3 months ago

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carpe noctem [ resolution ] | sylus

— summary: he tells you to take a load off—clear your head. it would be a nice gesture if the center of your torment didn’t accompany you (or the one where sylus is tired of waiting for you to want him, too). — cw: reader is not mc, femme reader, assassin reader, misunderstandings, self-deprecating thoughts, mutual pining, sexual content, more self-indulgence, alcohol, language, mentions of violence, implied naughty things done in public, sylus is probably ooc, i struggled with this but i hope someone likes it, mdni — tracklist: mystery survivor - brown eyed girls bonnie & clyde - dean heaven & back - chase atlantic pon pón - khruangbin lago azúl - jamila velazquez efecto - bad bunny lights up - harry styles

You’re halfway through a glass of something acrid when heavy leather plops on the bar counter beside you.

Its brass buckles gleam ominously beneath the foggy, red glaze of Lux. You arch a brow. Tilt your head. The ice in your glass shifts, and your jaw slackens.

You don’t have to turn around to know who the source of the commotion is. Feel him before you see him, a solid mass of shifting muscle pressed up between your shoulder blades. The heat he exudes permeates through layers of skin and flesh. His cologne surfs above that of alcohol and tobacco, curling around your senses in a steady creep.

He leans closer, and the static from his proximity prickles your skin. He perches loose fists on the counter’s edge, bracketing you between sinewy arms, just barely brushing yours. Just barely.

You smirk. Try to hide that shiver when his lip grazes the outskirts of your ear, purposeful, slow, breath disturbing the delicate baby hairs framing your face.

“Up for a joyride?” he asks, his voice gritty, steeped low between the rock of the music and your pulse wild in your throat. It pools hot in the chasm in your chest, a slow trickle to your belly.

You set your glass down. Peer over your shoulder. His face is so close, that pretty nose, those grey-fringed lashes, you can almost kiss it.

“Can I change first?”

It’s a solid question; you’re still wearing your costume. Body glitter. Makeup. Limbs still hum with the adrenaline from your show. From the attention. From his eyes sweeping over you from the second floor’s rail as you swiveled your hips in rhythm with the music.

He noses along your cheek, siphoning the breath from your lungs in a sticky gasp. That mouth again—it moves along your ear, murmuring so hot and fevered, you wonder if you’re dizzy because of it or the alcohol coloring your veins.

“Later.”

You suppress a frown as he draws back, taking that overwhelming pressure with him. You watch him retreat into the crowd of club goers, eyes burning like two feverish flames before he makes for the door.

You’re surprised by his easy command over your body, but you don’t have to be told twice. Don’t think twice.

Downing what’s left in your glass, the sting eases the ache of your nerves. You slip a fistful of crumpled-up bills onto the counter for the bartender before snatching up the leather jacket and sliding off the barstool faster than she can thank you for the tip.

“Have fun!” she calls at your back.

You miss the knowing smile kissing the bartender’s lips as you follow behind your boss’s afterimage, wending through the sea of pulsing bodies with all the purpose of the world.

—

It’s chilly out.

The night air nips at your exposed skin, salted with the scent of exhaust fumes and evergreens and fried food.

You had shrugged into his coat on your way out of Lux.

It's too big for you, the sleeves’ hems brushing past your fingertips. But it smells like him, like drive-in movies and fresh cut grass and safety. And it’s warm like him. Warm like the blissful sweep of sun rays. Like a campfire amid the first crack of winter. You’ll bear the jacket’s weight if it means being closer to him. Carrying a piece of him over your shoulders, distributing his load so he doesn’t have to bear it all himself.

He’s waiting for you. Propped all cool against his bike like the love interest of some dark romance novel, silhouetted by the winking city lights behind him. He’s a behemoth of black leather and white hair, and he smirks at you over crossed arms when he sees you. He reaches into his saddlebag to procure a helmet with cat ears mounted on its front, thrusting it towards you.

You lift a brow. Snort. Your lips crook as your heels click over asphalt. He’s so sure you’ll come with him. You’ll come to him.

But you’d follow him to the ends of the world if he asked.

You take the helmet, your skin tingling when your fingers brush over matte kevlar. For a moment, the art of breathing eludes you. You excuse it as a consequence of the air, of the alcohol bubbling beneath your skin, of your hair tickling your neck.

You mount the bike behind him after sliding the helmet onto your head. It purrs to life between your thighs, shaky like a slumbering beast, smoke crawling from the exhaust. You put as much space between your bodies as possible, hips pushed back, still wanting to maintain a modicum of decency. He peers at you over a broad shoulder, and you know he’s nothing short of amused behind the dark wash of his visor.

You gasp, your helmet fogging with condensation, when he tugs you closer by the wrist. His back is deliciously rigid pressed up against your breasts. He taps your hands crossed over his navel, ensuring they’re secure, ensuring you’re holding tight before kicking the kickstand back. You lay your cheek between his shoulder blades once the tension abates. Brush off his brazenness as him wanting to keep you safe.

You cling to him for dear life with a yip in your throat as the motorcycle peels off. And he chuckles something smoky, adrenaline spuming all hot through your veins.

The pair of you cut a sleek outline of black as you whip through the quieted streets. Your destination’s unknown, but you’re just thrilled to be out. To be at his side like the universe isn’t conspiring against you. The wind is brisk and welcoming, licking your exposed thighs and legs, prickly through your stockings.

Your lips ache with a smile, and once you’ve grown accustomed to the speed, you unwind an arm from around his middle to hold it out behind you. Lean slightly back. Wind eases through the spaces between your fingers. You feel like you’re flying. Free.

It’s a rush, whatever hair you didn’t squeeze into your helmet whipping wildly around you. As street lights glaze over your visor, you feel like you’re in a dream. And the music playing in the built-in headset is transcendental, aiding that out-of-body experience.

It’s been too long since he’s taken you out for a ride on the back of his bike. Hardly had time for it, what with the missions and deals and a pretty, infectious damsel soaking up the space between you.

She’s off in Skyhaven on leave.

You thought it strange she’d vacation there of all places, but you didn’t argue when you dropped her off at the station, shrugging her somberness off as anxiety for the trip.

Your boss has been surprisingly bold in her absence. Grew more purposeful with the brush of his fingers, with his staring, more concise with his words. You know it’s just his way of filling the crater Ms. Hunter left in his chest. You’re something of a placeholder. Someone to pass the time. But you’ve been taking advantage of it. Flirting back for old time’s sake, teasing him, manipulating him with the flutter of your lashes, knowing he could never be yours deep down.

Something pulls in your chest. A steady tug like ivy through a lattice fence. A pull on your conscience. Your smile falters the slightest bit. You shove down those gut-wrenching feelings, trying to enjoy the night. The airiness between you. The familiarity. It’s just a joyride. No harm, no foul. You’re not betraying anyone by enjoying yourself a little. Besides…

You never know when it’ll be snatched away like a rug from beneath your feet.

—

You don’t expect an airfield to slide into view, the steel grate of a barbed fence, a stretch of grass painted with dew. The familiar outline of a jet catches your sight, the sleek metal gleaming in the coppery blink of the moon. You wonder what bossman’s up to as he cuts the bike into a hangar, its rumble echoing off thick metal walls whilst you ease to a stop.

He cuts the engine. You watch the muscles in his back swim as he tugs off his helmet, shaking out those wispy tendrils of white. So cool, you think with pursed lips. You follow suit when you remember yourself, dismounting the motorcycle after him, throat thick with questions.

You wordlessly trail behind him, the click of your heels reverberating throughout the hangar, traded for that of muted clops against the asphalt on the airstrip. Crickets. Wind. Engines humming in the distance. He’s nearly twice your size, yet you’re practically his shadow. Always have been, a silent presence at his back, a viper ready to strike at his command. Loyal thing you are, through and through.

“What’s this about?” you finally ask when you near his private jet. You’ve had enough ambiguity for the night.

He’s halfway up the stairs, massive hands swallowing the rails. He studies you from his shoulder, a roguish crease around his eyes.

“Do you trust me?”

You snort. Has he ever given you a reason not to? He’s always had your back. Always a sturdy palm on your shoulder, squeezing. Antiseptic and gauze to dress your wounds. The comforting burn of whiskey in your throat. A voice to lull you into a fitful sleep when the nightmares bare themselves.

Your voice is husky, low, a smile tugging at your lips, a thrill coiling around your spine.

“Of course.”

You take the hand he offers you, guided up the steps into the jet’s cabin like something delicate.

The crew greets you, all knowing smiles and quick bows beneath the sepia-toned cabin lights. Sylus’ hand falls to the small of your back, searing through the heavy fibers of his jacket, possessive yet respectful, burning down to bone as he leads you down the aisle.

“Wait a sec,” you muse, a quizzical glance cast over your shoulder, aimed at him. “I didn’t pack anything.”

He quirks a brow. Smirks. “Well, it’s a good thing I know your measurements.”

You try not to linger on what that means. On the tight coil in your stomach, the way he looked at you as if only you exist in his world.

—

He’s as cryptic as ever. Then again, you haven’t pressured him for answers. Figure he’s keeping to himself for a reason, the blue light of the tablet in his hand ominously shadowing his face.

Another mission, perhaps? An undercover gig where you play a glittering, docile doll on his arm until he gets what he’s after? He’ll fill you in on the intricacies later, you’re sure. You trust him so much, it’s sickening.

It’s been a while since you’ve been on a night fight. You’ve long since traded the distant gleam of the city below for the dark brew of clouds outside the window. And despite the luxury flanking you, you grow antsy.

You’d slipped off your heels. Fidgeted with the buckles of his jacket in the face of his silence before tearing yourself from the seat to grab something to drink. Something to take the edge off. To dispel the slew of questions in your mind, the curl of your tongue, the gnarl in your stomach, a voice far-off telling you something was amiss.

Your hips sway something dangerous as you near your seat. Two crisp glasses of bubbly fizzle in your palms, a sly little smile on your face. He doesn’t look up when you plop down, still thoroughly engrossed in whatever’s on his screen until you thrust a champagne flute towards him. He accepts it with a quirk of lips, fingers purposeful in their excursion over yours on the stem, eyes drinking you in.

You shudder, feeling like he’s stripping you down to the marrow with that devastating gaze. Clearing your throat, you take a sip. Hide your anxiety behind the rim, opting for cool, calm, collected. It’s a good burn. A good fizz, loosening the restraints of your inhibitions. Maybe you can badger him now.

“Are you kidnapping me?” you joke, crossing your legs. Innocently drag your toes up his tibia for added effect, luring a chuckle that bleeds sin from his throat.

He sets the tablet down on the side table with his champagne flute. Leans slightly forward, fingers wrapping around your foot to drag it into his lap. “Would you like me to?”

A thrill shoots through you. Spools hot in your stomach. You’re insane, because you think being kidnapped by him wouldn’t be so bad.

His fingers are magical. Give you a glimpse of a night two months back. You still taste him. Still feel him, the texture of his shirt between your fingers burned into your mind. The sounds he poured into your mouth, the dangerous press of his body against yours…

Shifting gears, you swipe a finger over your bottom lip in contemplation. His digits knead through tension and pressure. You bite back a sound. Swallow. Don that playful mask.

“Dunno. Think I’d be fine with it if it were you holding me hostage.”

His smirk deepens, a dimple cratering his cheek, lashes dancing as he watches his hands at work. You want to ask why—why he’s being so attentive, so disarming, so god damn irresistible when he smiles like that. When he laughs like that. When he does that, that thing where he makes you feel like he could throw it all away for you.

But, you settle for letting the steady hum of the jet engines saturate the air between you. Don’t want to disrupt the moment, the spell falling like a gauzy shawl over your shoulders. The burn of his gaze on your cheek as you peer out the window.

He’s an enigma and could put back up that aloof front at the snap of your fingers. And you might just remember that you’re dropping your defenses too low. Growing too close with a man who couldn’t be farther away.

—

You land somewhere remote.

Somewhere off-grid where the sun always shines and tropical birds sing in the trees overhead. Someplace where the ocean glitters a clear blue, and sand gets stuck between your toes, gritty, trapped against the soles of your feet by your sandals.

It’s humid, the kind of damp that pastes your blouse—yes, you finally had time to change, to freshen up—to your torso like snakeskin. But you bear with the mild discomfort because you don’t think you’ve ever been somewhere so beautiful.

It’s like a best kept secret. A treasure Sylus has hoarded from you like a crow’s nest, though you can understand why.

It’s an island untainted by city life. Sleepy, save for the calming crash of waves along the shoreline. The air smells of sea salt and greenery. Of memories of a distant youth, all splotchy in your mind. You can’t recall much of your past up to a certain age—brainwashing—but it conjures something deep-rooted and nostalgic. Something that makes you all warm and fuzzy inside, and your lips ache with a smile.

You were greeted by locals upon your arrival. Men in linen shirts, skin kissed by the sun. Women with pretty freckles, wavy hair, and hugs as welcoming as a summer’s day. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Sylus so at ease—or as calm as someone like him can appear. He was boyish in a way. Infectious, gazing at you with eyes that glittered like the sun refracted off the ocean in the distance.

You pretended your voice wasn’t lodged in your throat at the sight. Like your body wasn’t humming with a pleasant sensation when he laced your fingers together, tugging you down the shore. Confusing you more than the jet lag, than the dizzying weight of the sun.

Dirt roads branch and twist through this tropical oasis. You take a Jeep to a tucked-away bungalow, sunlight dappling your bodies through the leaves as you ease out of the SUV. It’s so very him, isolated and distant. And despite how modest and unassuming it looks outside, the bungalow’s inside is something to whistle at.

It’s luxurious. Two stories. Hardwood floors, ceiling-high windows, posh furniture, beach motifs, elegant coastal decor. Of course, you don’t expect anything less from your enigma of a boss. He’s just full of surprises, isn’t he?

“I take it you’re enjoying the view,” he asks from behind as you study the beach not too far from the veranda. The lazy back and forth crawl of the waves. Seabirds pecking at the sand. Palm trees scraping a sky so blue.

“It’s gorgeous,” you say, awestruck. Not really thinking, leaning into your hands pressed against the glass. You’re childlike. It’s magical. You feel like you’re witnessing something intimate. Somewhere you have no business being, territory that’s off-limits.

You turn suspicious eyes on him, crossing your arms, drumming your fingers against your bicep. “What are we doing here?” Straight to the point. You’d been burning to get to it.

You didn’t prod him much during the jet ride. Assume that you’re here to uncover some elusive protocores. Here to take out a big baddie and end his nefarious dealings. Maybe negotiate with the local military for some state-of-the-art weaponry. Not to let your guard down like the atmosphere suggests.

Sylus grabs a peach from the fruit bowl settled on the kitchen island’s center. Tosses it up before catching it with practiced ease, and his fingers swallow the damn thing whole. You watch with bated breath as he brings it to his mouth. His eyes narrow behind it, unreadable half-moons, a sly smile stretching past it.

“House-sitting,” he replies before taking a bite. The sound is juicy, overwhelming, pristine teeth tearing through peachy pink skin. Your mouth waters. You’re hungry, stomach flipping, but you don’t think it’s food you crave.

“House-sitting,” you parrot, testing the weight of those words in your mouth, distracting yourself. You round the island to stand across from him. “For who?”

“An old colleague,” he answers as if it’s as easy as night’s transition into day.

You scoff, rolling your eyes, looking off to the side. Sylus associating himself with anyone long-term is a foreign concept. Anyone other than you, the twins, Mephisto, Ms. Hunter…

But, you’ll bite.

“Then why’d you bring me here?”

You stiffen when he moves. When he props his hands on either edge of the granite countertop after setting his peach down, and the span of his arms is so ridiculously wide. He pitches himself forward, spilling like liquid fire over the island, and the heat of his body is tangible. So close, static builds, his breath stirring the baby hairs matted to your skin by sweat.

A veil drops. Anticipation wells in your chest. His gaze flicks from between your eyes down to your lips that part and quiver with the effort of breathing. With an attempt to form words.

His jaw slackens in kind, contemplative. Like he’s at odds with himself, mulling over something deep in his mind. For a moment, you think he’ll kiss you. Selfishly hope he kisses you.

Instead, he crooks a finger beneath your chin. Tilts your head slightly back, and you’re watching his eyes gleam like gems held to the sun from down the bridge of your nose.

His fingers curl around your neck. Tangle in the fine hairs at your nape. Grip loose enough for you to pull back if you deem the pressure too intense, but firm enough to anchor you to the spot. Your pulse thrums something frenetic beneath his fingers. He swipes a worn thumb pad over the corner of your mouth, and you widen it without realizing.

You unconsciously lean into his palm. Eyes shroud with something dark and unmistakable. A quiet yearning to mirror his. An unspoken plea, your defenses slowly burying themselves beneath the wooden panels of the floor.

You’re closing both your hands around his wrist, tender. Cautious. Holding his hand to your cheek like you’ll fall if he lets go. You turn your face towards his thumb, its roughened callus easing over your bottom lip, lightly pulling it down, delightful tingles echoing through your body as you absently nuzzle into his palm.

“So you can’t run away from me this time,” he rasps, entranced by your mouth. By the suppleness of your skin, the warmth bleeding from your face into his palm.

Run away? Why would you—

Who would want to—

You’re out of your mind. So deliciously delirious. Whether from the jungle heat or the molten pressure of his presence, you’re unsure. You just want to live in this moment forever. Preserve it like a snapshot from an old, disposable film camera. Your inhibitions don’t live here, your conscience. Only you and this man who pilfers the air from your lungs, who stirs the earth beneath your feet.

You blink drunkenly, your stare dropping to his mouth. Back to those eyes leaking a mysterious shade of ruby. Pupils blown wide. “What do you mean?”

“Is it so wrong to want you all to myself?” he husks, voice abrasive. Disarming. You feel it in your toes. Feel it embedding itself into your psyche. “No distractions, no misunderstandings?”

You laugh. Swallow against the grit of your throat. Lick your lips. “What do you mean by that?”

You know what he means. The weight his words carry. Yet you play coy. It’s easier to deflect. Easier to deny than to call it what it is—a weekend getaway. A chance to pick up where things left off. An opportunity to stir whatever mess swells between you. Some time to play until his precious little hunter is back in his arms.

He draws you closer. So close, your foreheads touch. You’re standing on tippy-toe, palms flat against the granite, watching his lashes flutter as he studies your mouth. Breaths hot and dizzying against your skin. He’s massive. Could cover you like a blanket, swallow you whole like a riptide dragging you out to sea.

“Still playing oblivious.” He sounds forlorn. Voice cracks as it peters, and it simmers in your stomach. “No matter. You’ll find out soon enough,” he says, trading his despondent smile for a smirk.

His thumb cruises along your cheek. And for a moment, it looks like he’ll kiss you. Steal the taste of your lips. But he’s a conniving little shit. He releases you from his spell, hand falling from your neck, fingers grazing your shoulder. He draws back, snatching up his peach for another bite.

You blink away the bleariness. Tamp down a pout. Watch as he moves towards the door, a hand stuffed in his pocket.

“Where are you off to?” you call at his back. Chew your lip, brows knit. Only he could make you this petulant—this lovesick.

“To visit an old friend. Try to enjoy yourself while I’m away. Take a load off. Enjoy the sights.”

He disappears through the desk-speckled doorframe before you can get another word out, swallowed by the sun. Leaves you to nurse the violent thrum of your heart. To bask in the heady scent he leaves—the molten ache spooling between your legs.

You cross your arms. Huff like a bratty child. He’s doing this on purpose, you’re sure. Punishment for you leaving him hanging, much like you did him that night.

Hard to relax when you want to throw yourself against the floor. Kick and scream. When you want him to kiss you like the world will end tomorrow.

You’ll pay him back when he returns.

—

And you do.

In the form of a red, floral dress that clings to the devastation of your body.

Spaghetti straps barely cling to your shoulders. Loose knot tied against your naked back at the swell of your rear. The chiffon hem brushes your ankles, but a dangerous slit reveals enough skin to draw the attention of the bar’s other patrons. Locals. Middle-aged men with sweat beading on their temples and mustaches, drunken smiles on their faces, their tongues swiping over their lips.

You had enough Spanish in your mouth to stumble through ordering drinks.

Tequila. Not your go-to, but it’s a good burn. A burn that loosens your reservations, your arms in the air. It’s enough to make your hips sway seductively to match that smile on your face as you move through the hazy film of smoke adorning the bar, guided by the croon of the Reggaeton thumping in the floor.

The attention’s nice. The staring, the lust coloring the air—you’re good at this, remember? But you’re centered on one man in particular. Dancing just for him. Just to fuck with him. Feel his eyes drilling down to your very being as if only you exist, and it makes your body hum pleasantly alongside the sting of the alcohol.

He can’t keep his eyes off you, perched at the bar’s counter on a stool, swirling the contents of his whiskey glass. Whether he’s watching you out of a habit of concern—he’s stared down every man who came within an inch of you, trying to guide you into a dance by the hips, by your arm, or a hand at the small of your back, and if looks could kill, everyone here would’ve been burned to cinders—or genuine intrigue, you’re unsure. But you play on your delusions anyway, figuring he’s just as enamored by the swivel of your hips as much as everyone else here.

He bought this dress just for you. Had it tailored to the shape of your body, down to the cinch of your waist, the span of your shoulders. You discovered it when he left you to your own devices earlier, boredom and curiosity leading you to scavenge through the luggage he packed for you after you walked the surf.

When Sylus returned to the bungalow as the sun crested over the sky, you begged him to take you out. You wanted to dance. Wanted to explore this peaceful, tucked away island he whisked you off to, to have you all to himself. Wanted to make him pine for you as much as you yearned for him. Retribution for how he’d left you mentally reeling. Left your body burning.

Besides, you couldn’t let such a pretty dress go to waste.

Your gazes interlock every so often. His lips quirk seductively. He raises a glass to you, brows lifting slightly. He chose to hang back while you took to the dance floor. You’re enjoying yourself. He’s enjoying you, too. And the music’s nice. The atmosphere’s soothing. Sure, the bar’s a little run-down, a hole-in-the wall, half of it opening up into an impromptu patio outside. But it has its charm.

You’ve never seen your boss dance before, but you figure a man like him has some rhythm. He’s cultured. Clearly been here before if the way the natives acknowledge him is anything to go by. Like someone to be respected or feared.

You contemplate sidling over to him. Grabbing his hand, pushing your breasts up against his bicep, that pretty little beseeching smile crooking your lips. Think about dragging him out for a dance. Having that calamitous body pushing against yours, his hands at your waist, lips imprinting themselves on the hollow of your neck, voice murky in his throat.

But before you can bring the thought to life, someone plops on the barstool beside him. A man who looks like he could be Sylus’ age, though his stubble ages him. Dark hair, bushy brows, ill-fitting suit. He’s clearly inebriated by the slouch of his body. A carefree contrast to the regal set of Sylus’ shoulders. He knows him. Sylus looks annoyed when said man claps him on his back, his raucous laughter cutting through the music. His glass poised at his mouth, he leans closer to Sylus, murmuring something near his ear.

Something esoteric by the looks of it. Something that you can’t catch, but it probably concerns you. Because when you turn in the midst of your dancing, you don’t miss both sets of eyes tuned to you—one set playful and knowing and adorned with crow’s feet, the other somber and far-off beneath furrowed brows, above tight lips.

You wonder what they’re on about. You’re about to sashay over before a stoutly, older man draws you close to salsa, pulling a laugh from your throat. And you’re so pretty and carefree as you move, your eyes occasionally flitting back to your boss and his company as they talk.

—

The rain doesn’t detract from the island’s mugginess. In fact, it becomes even more humid, with bodies huddled together beneath the bar’s half-roof, trying to keep from getting wet. It’s fruitless, the rain puddling at your feet, making the concrete floors nothing short of slippery.

You don’t contest, laughing something unhindered when Sylus takes your hand, drawing out of the crowd. He flashes a smile over his shoulder before you jog after him, engulfed by the downpour and the gray haze cast by the heavy clouds overhead. You’re surprisingly fast for the towering heels you wear, strapped to your feet. And you’re both acting like two mischievous youths by the time Sylus pulls you under the awning of a nearby cafe, figuring the weather’s too tumultuous to make for your bungalow on foot.

It is there where your mirth simmers. Where you realize you’re soaked to the bone, your dress molded to you like a second skin. You’re incredibly close. So close, his overpowering warmth permeates through layers of flesh, and you’re spinning. Your nipples knot beneath the drag of the fabric. Sylus takes the opportunity to lure you closer, his back colliding with the stone wall behind him when you careen into his chest.

He’s so very handsome, white locks pasted to his sculpted face. So pleasantly solid against your palms pressed against his chest. His hands burn something fierce through your skin, fastened to your back. Time slows to a crawl, the rain an afterthought as you slowly look up, lost in the heady, love-drunk stir of his eyes. It wouldn’t take much to stand on tippy-toe to kiss him, to taste the rain intermingled with the saccharine flavor of his mouth.

So, you do.

Your fingers clasp around his biceps. And he doesn’t fight you, instead urging you forward, leaning down to meet you halfway. You come together like the moon drawn to the earth, and twin, relieved sounds leave your chests when your mouths collide.

He takes your breath away, sucking it into his lungs like it’s his own. Cups your cheek in his palm, greedy, greedy as he anchors you to him. Your arms intuitively snake around his shoulders, wrists cross behind his neck. It’s like kissing fire, and the sounds he pours into you make your toes tingle, your center pulse.

Without warning, his fingers mold around your thighs, the thick flesh cratering between them before he rucks you up to encircle his waist with your legs.

You’re a mess of gnashing teeth and hair and desire as he turns your body, walking you into an alcove devoid of light, hidden from the street. And as your alarm bells sound in your mind—wait, stop, no—as your spine crashes into a textured, brick wall, you allow him to ravage you. To flood your body with every bit of emotion he’s held back for God knows how long via his mouth. Via his hands bunching your dress around your hips. His teeth scrawling down your neck before seeking refuge in your shoulder.

You throw your head back, sighing hot and wanton, mouth curved into a smile. He’s hard and thick pressed to the apex of your thighs. All for you. Just for you.

This isn’t right. Isn’t how you envisioned things culminating between you, but you think, fuck it.

What happens here can stay here, the echo of your voices painting every crevice of the alleyway.

— tags: @melonssoup, @dana-nite, @allura-miss, @l1ttlebabyapple, @asakiyu, @loliesaregreat, @theloveofnagiseishiroslife, @mentaltrouble2201, @jupitersays, @animecrazy76, @wowunreal, @jaeminsbuckethat, @darkeskye, @lookingforlia, @aishasylus, @t4naiis, @everywherenothere, @unknown-ends, @blessdunrest, @lunebulous, @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake, @ceronnica, @sillyfreakfanparty, @midiplier, @abbylee0710, @hanaluxx, @nicohii, @beewilko, @viqlume, @snowfall-jess (sorry if i missed anyone).

falling action | masterlist

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus qin #lads x reader #lads x you #lads fic #carpe noctem series #inspired by mr. & mrs. smith #limerence series #love and deepspace #lads fanfic #sylus x non!mc reader

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ceesimz · 5 months ago

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Homecoming

Some more glimpses into your relationship. (autistic!reader)

Reverie fics here! Same setup as Evergreen, hope you enjoy!

One thing about autism is that things are never linear. No two situations are ever the same. One day you can handle something perfectly fine, the next day it can feel like the end of the world.

The Copa de la Reina title wasn’t your first at Barcelona, you’d won the Supercopa only a few months prior at the start of the calendar year, in which you celebrated long into the night with your team with no inhibitions. But the same couldn’t be said for your second cup. Why, you weren’t sure. It could have been a combination of things or it could have been nothing, you just couldn’t for the life of you fully immerse yourself in the locker room celebrations.

Throughout the whole post-game routine, you felt sort of spaced out. Like you were a fly on the wall, more than content to sit back and watch your family celebrate, as if they were doing it for you whilst you had to go on battery saving mode almost. It didn’t take long for the overwhelming feeling and the exhaustion to settle in, which frustrated you a little, because all you wanted to do was join in with them, you just couldn’t find the energy for that. You were still feeling the euphoria, the happiness and the relief, but it felt like they were out of your reach, like you were watching them through glass rather than experiencing them.

And with all that, it was hard to not feel disheartened, since this was just another occasion that put your struggles on a pedestal, a spotlight on the differences between you and your teammates.

Esmee had gone over to Ingrid at some point to ask the defender if you were okay, and Ingrid only needed to take one look at you to know what was wrong. But, as it turned out, it was the same case for Alexia too.

“You okay?” Alexia asked as she sat down beside you where you sat in your cubby, slowly and mindlessly untying the laces of your trainers that you were about to put on.

At this point, everyone was beginning to trail out of the locker room as they continued their celebrations from there all the way to the bus. There were only a couple people left, but they were just gathering the last of their belongings, soon to leave. Ingrid had seen Alexia come over to you with her eyebrow furrowed slightly, and decided you were in the safest hands and that the two of you could probably do with some privacy, so she left.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay. Just a little overwhelmed I think.” You kept your eyes on the shoes in your hands, a certain lack of emotion to your face that Alexia could read instantly.

“It’s alright to be overwhelmed, engel.” Her words were soft and caring, not an ounce of frustration and a prominent lack of judgement that was everything you needed. The last person left the room then, the door swinging closed behind them. It shut the noise out, finally giving you the tranquility you needed and space to breathe, with no fear of opinions and watching eyes.

“I just wish I could join in but I can’t, and now I feel embarrassed. I’m just sat here like a freak.” You dropped your shoe and put your head in your hands, letting out a sharp exhale of irritation.

“Okay, okay.” Alexia quietly said, moving to crouch in front of you. Her hands delicately took yours, her tentativeness contrasting the tension in your own, and she squeezed them whilst running her thumbs over your fingers. “Let’s not stress about that, alright? Nobody was judging you for not joining in, I think they all understood, though they didn’t show it, that there was a lot goi-”

“But I wasn't like this when we won the last trophy.”

You interrupted her with a thought that had hounded you the second you stepped off the pitch after the trophy ceremony. You slipped your hands out of hers and stood abruptly, needing to move as a release for all the feelings running through your body. Alexia stood too, turning to watch as you walked around the room, shaking your hands like you were trying to rid them of pins and needles – instead, you were trying to rid yourself of the avalanche of emotions that'd hit you at once out of nowhere. You felt trapped inside your own body, inside your mind, and you swore you could feel your soul trying to claw its way out from the confines of the impending sense of doom you had. Alexia wasn’t sure whether to step in or not, wasn’t sure what to say, until you made the decision for her a minute later.

“I think I might h-have a meltdown.”

She called into action then, stepping in front of you to stop your pacing but, crucially, not stopping the movement of your hands. She knew what it was, stimming, and she knew that stopping it would only make you feel worse. So she put her hands on your shoulders, making sure her body language and her face exuded calmness, aware that if an ounce of her worry or anxiety was evident then it'd make you feel worse, opening up feelings of guilt and regret about how you'd ruined a moment for her, when she didn't feel like that at all.

“Is having a meltdown going to help get some of these feelings out of your system? Or will it make you feel worse?” Alexia asked wisely, her face relaxed and her voice level. Your eyes were restless, darting from her face to the wall behind her, to the different cubbies and the necklace she wore that you'd gifted her.

“I-I don't know. Ale, I don't know.” You replied in a panicked tone, only to be met with quiet and gentle shushing in return. Her hands moved from your shoulders to land lightly on your cheeks, her touch not overbearing yet there to provide comfort.

“I think it might make you feel worse, engel. I think we can calm you down, okay? You're panicked and you're overthinking. Let's take these thoughts away, it's just you and me here. Don't think of anything else but me and you.” She leaned her forehead against yours and closed her eyes, wordlessly telling you to do the same, which you did.

Your breathing had gone a bit haywire, it was uneven and laboured, your chest felt like it was caving in under the weight of all that was suffocating you. People often thought it was strange when you said you felt everything in your chest, but it was the truth. In moments like this, when your mind was working overtime and you were so overwhelmed you couldn’t think straight, it felt like you were trapped in a place you couldn’t escape. You felt claustrophobic in your own body, and you needed a reprieve from the way your brain never stopped processing the environment you were in. You could hear everything, from the distant sound of voices down the corridor outside the room, to the music still blasting throughout the stadium, to the buzz of the bright lights above that were blindingly bright then, the hard thump of your own heart beat, everything. You could smell Alexia's perfume, the faint linger of damp grass, the mix of people's shower gels and hair products, champagne and beer that people had sprayed around the room. All of it combined together and gathered right in your chest, like you had the weight of the world on your heart.

Something like this had happened in the past, back in Germany. You hadn't had someone there for you then like Alexia was. Nobody even knew about this disorder that ruled your life, nobody knew that your entire neurology could not be more different than theirs, nobody even blinked an eye at your distant nature. And apparently the same went for being at Barcelona, yet the situations were completely different. They knew all about you and weren't at all put off by your behavior afterwards. Ingrid would tell you the next day that the majority of them were concerned, and you'd also see for yourself by the few messages on your phone the next morning too.

But in the changing room, you did have Alexia, and having her there changed the outcome indefinitely.

A few minutes passed by, and you were already significantly calmer. Alexia hadn't moved a muscle and neither had you, her breathing helping yours to slow and her steady presence bringing you more peace of mind than anything else could in that moment.

“You feel better?” She murmured, her thumbs running up and down your flushed cheeks. You nodded, sighing quietly, and she smiled a little, both in relief and contentment. “Abrazo?”

Your answer was in the way you dropped your head to her shoulder and wrapped your arms loosely around her waist, relishing in the comfort the pressure of her hug brought. She enveloped you tightly, wishing for nothing but for you to feel yourself again. And she knew the strength of her hug was one thing that'd help in that moment.

The embarrassment and the shame of the post-match events didn't wear off immediately, but you were able to calm down quite significantly. For a good few minutes, Alexia kept her arms tight around you, to the point you were sure that her muscles there might ache more the following day than her legs would from the game. But it was what you needed. It helped to regulate yourself, to get your nervous system back under your control.

“Thanks.” You tapped her lightly on the hip to tell her she could let go, but she didn’t. She loosened her arms yet kept them around you.

“Of course. Of course, engel. Always.” She made sure you understood that she’d be there for you in cases like this whenever you needed it. Which, though you didn’t ask for, actually brought the tiniest of smiles on your face. She dropped her arms to take your hands and leaned back in to kiss your forehead before addressing you once more. “Whatever you need to do tonight, we will do, okay? If you don’t want to go out, we can stay in at the hotel and celebrate another day. If you want to be on your own for a bit, I can leave you in the room for some time. Whatever you need. I’ll do anything.”

You nodded, staring off over her shoulder as you took a moment or two to think. You definitely wouldn’t handle going out well. And wouldn’t it be cruel keeping Alexia away from her teammates after a cup win?

“I think I’ll stay in tonight. You should go out though.” You were met with a roll of her eyes and an amused smile.

“But is that what you want? Do you want me to stay with you or do you want to be on your own?”

“I always want to be with you, but it’s not fair of me to ask you to stay. I don’t want to take you away from th-”

“Dios. You are silly, hm?” She drew you back in for another hug, a hand cradling the back of your head against her with her arm around your waist. “I always want to be with you. And when I know you are not feeling yourself right now, I would forget any other plans if I know that being with you will make you feel better. You understand?”

As you tucked your head into her neck and forewent a reply, she knew she’d said the right thing. It made her feel ever so slightly proud, that she was getting better at reading you and understanding you. She still worried from time to time, and though she didn’t want these occurrences to happen in the first place, it comforted her that you willingly opened up to her and let her in now. She liked to think she made you a little happier now that she was in your life, but she was far too humble and shy to say that aloud. Even if you’d tell her that ‘a little happier’ was just a drop in the ocean.

When you went to dinner two nights later to properly celebrate with the team, you knew you wouldn’t have made it there if she hadn’t been with you back in the locker room when you were struggling. Furthermore, as the time ticked by where you sat with a few of your closest friends, you didn’t feel uncomfortable, you didn’t cower away from their company after what happened after the game. You felt you were right where you belonged.

“Vicky, no. Don’t.” Alexia glared across the table at the young girl who had a glint in her eye that only forboded mischievous behaviour.

“No, don’t listen to her! Venga, Vick. Get it out.” Mapi grinned, leaning forward to look past Ingrid beside her to Vicky seated further down.

“Vicky, no-”

“Ale was so… what is that phrase? Ingrid, help me out.” She turned to your fellow Norwegian and mumbled quietly into her ear, smirking when she found the phrase she was looking for. Then, she turned to you. “Ale was so ‘head over heels’ for you before she asked you for a date. Right, Mapi?”

“Oh, one hundred percent. She would not stop talking and talking about you all the time.” Mapi nodded as her hands gestured emphatically.

To your left, Alexia had her face hidden behind her hands, grumbling something incoherently under her breath. You laughed at the sight of her, knowing that under her palms there was probably a certain redness to her cheeks.

“Is that true, Alexia?” You teased, nudging her under the table with your knee.

“Mapi, I think I love her! Oh Mapi, what do I do, Mapi? What if she doesn’t think the same? I don’t think I could ever tell her, she means too much to me and I don’t want to risk losing her! I think she is so beautiful and hot and s-”

“Calláte, Mapi. You just love the sound of your own voice when you say your name. Compórtate.” Alexia scolded lightly, trying hard to ignore the beaming grin she could see from you in the corner of her eye.

She was a little embarrassed and regretting the fact she decided to invite Vicky to this dinner, but she was happy. Happy to take any teasing of how she acted before she became your girlfriend because it was making you smile then, and that time of her life was one she treasured so deeply, and perhaps she did know that she acted like a frantic teenager who had never been in love before. But before you came along, now she realised that, actually, she doesn’t think she ever had loved any of her exes, because none of them were at all like you. Loving you was something she didn’t even have to think about, whereas in the past, it always had to be an active thought of hers, sometimes even a worry, just another thing on her plate. Deciding to stop off at the bakery on the way home from a meeting or picking up a bouquet of flowers on her walk home from the local shop was a habit now.

“Yeah, yeah, Ale. You wouldn’t have had the cojones to ask her out if it wasn’t for me, so I don’t think you should speak to me like that.”

Alexia stared at the shorter defender, eyes wide in warning with her nostrils flared. It was enough to silence her. For about two minutes.

“Actually, I think I have something in mind that would make Ale feel better.” Frido piped up from the end of the table.

Everybody went silent as they watched the frosty, slightly scared glance you sent Frido’s way.

“Fridolina, I trusted y-”

“After the Sevilla away game, back here, she rushed me into her car so that she could ramble about how big her crush was on Alexia. It was just after training too, I’m surprised nobody saw it.”

The Swede had no qualms revealing such a secret, and honestly neither did you.

For a second or two, the silence remained. Before everyone bar Alexia started laughing, making teasing remarks, and revelling in the secrets that had just been spilled about two of their utterly hopeless teammates. But, the blonde you sat beside, who had her hand resting comfortably on your thigh, was just gazing at you with more love in her eyes than you’d ever seen before.

This was fun, you decided. Nobody mentioned your reaction after the match, nobody thought of you any differently after it, they were there and they were happy that you were there. Seated in the corner of a low-lit, quiet restaurant, you didn’t find yourself wilting anxiously under the company of a group of people, nor did the surroundings overstimulate you at any point. That evening was everything you hoped a dinner with friends could be.

You would crash hard when you got home, that was never in doubt. Even if there were things in place to make it much more enjoyable and not quite so detrimental, by the time you got in Alexia’s car to go back to her flat, you’d most likely become non-verbal for some time and want to do nothing but get in bed to recharge for a little while. Those things would never change, no matter how enjoyable any outing was, but that wasn’t going to stop you.

There was only one person who could have planned the dinner to be so well-suited to you. It was Alexia, of course it was. Taking everything she possibly could into consideration, like the layout of the restaurant, the lighting, the table you were given, the busyness of it at the time you went. You appreciated her thoughtfulness so much more than she could ever realise.

“Alright, alright. Fine. I did do that. I guess we’re equal.” You turned to your girlfriend with a soft smile, but she seemed outraged.

“That game was a month before I asked you to go on a date with me! You did nothing for a month?”

With a grimace, you nodded, amused at how she scoffed and shook her head disapprovingly at the new discovery. However, for the first time and probably the last time, Mapi had your back in a situation where you were the butt of the joke.

“No, Ale, you have no place to talk. I distinctly remember we had a similar conversation in the hotel corridor at the Sevilla game. I think I remember you saying something along the lines of-”

“Mapi!” Alexia seethed, lightly slamming her hand down on the table and consequently causing a cacophony of rattling steel against ceramic. Not that she cared, she had more important matters to attend to. “María León, no more. Silencio.”

Crossing her arms like a petulant child, Mapi slumped back into her chair. Ingrid was there to offer her support, not without rolling her eyes at her girlfriend’s dramatics, whispering something about saving it for the wedding speech. You were pretty certain yourself and Alexia gained a new fear for the future in that moment.

“I remember another time with Ale too.” Vicky interjected with too much excitement than one required for such a simple opening statement. From the exasperated sigh that Alexia quietly let out, you were listening with great interest. “She was helping me with my school work just before Christmas. She was like a sad puppy because you had already left for Norway.”

The Barcelona captain groaned loudly, covering her face again out of embarrassment.

“Vete a la mierda, nena.” You heard her whisper under her breath, which was soon followed by a sharp inhale as you pinched her thigh.

“Anytime the topic fit, she would start talking about you. She never stopped checking her phone. One time, when you actually did text her, she dropped her phone because she was so desperate to pick it up. It was like the notification that came through had life-changing information, but no, it was just a photo of you with the snow.”

“I love that photo.” Alexia mumbled so that only you could hear it, and in that moment you were very grateful that Vicky wasn’t sitting close enough to be able to make out the blush to your cheeks in the dim light. “I remember, you had tiny things of ice in your eyebrows, and I showed my Mami when I went home after that, and she laughed for so long. She said… next year I should go with you to Norway at some point. One, so I can meet your family and see your home. Two, because she wants to see me with ice in my eyebrows because she thinks it would be the funniest thing in the world because I hate the cold so much. And she knows you would find my reaction to the snow funny too.”

As you two drifted off into your own conversation, the others lost interest and moved onto other topics, thankfully choosing to not share any more gossip about the pair of you. So you met Alexia’s eye, each with your own sheepish expressions on your faces due to the information that had just been revealed, but there was a surprised look in your eye that confused the blonde. She brought up the possibility of going to Norway with you, which was something you’d longed for since you left her behind at Christmas. But for now, you let it pass, for two reasons: one, because she never explicitly said she wanted to go, she only relayed her mother’s recommendation, so just in case she didn't want to go, you weren't about to sign yourself up for inevitable disappointment. And two, because there was something else that had captured your attention.

Alexia had her version of falling in love, and you had yours. For some reason, it never computed that her side of the story might be different from yours, but of course it was. Now, she might simply never hear the end of you begging for her to say it just one more time.

Though, it was the final story that Vicky told which stuck in your mind the most. One thing you’d worried about when you went to Norway was that as your relationship was still so new, you had no idea how ten days apart near enough straight after making it official would affect it. To hear about how much Alexia missed you from the perspective of someone she trusted, it showed you a totally new side to her devotion. And to hear she missed you just as much as you did her? Not much could compare to the feeling that gave you.

Under her piercing gaze, paired with the adoration you swore radiated off of her, you ducked your head to hide your face in her shoulder. The blonde chuckled softly as you did so, putting an arm across the back of your chair and humming to urge you to lift your head back up. You did just that, to which she leaned in to place a quick but lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“I think I remember you saying, during one of our movie nights earlier on, that you like the idea of a relationship but hate the process of getting into one.” She whispered beside your ear, her face hidden from view purposely so that the others, or rather, Vicky and Mapi, wouldn’t tease her yet again for how hopelessly gone she was for you.

“I did say that.” You winced at her when she pulled back, only for her to laugh, and the utter joy that spread through her face as she did so was one of the best sights you’d see in your life. “But… I love how we got together, I wouldn’t change any part of it. You are perfect, how could I not?”

The roles reversed then and it was Alexia who rolled her eyes at the sweet sentiment.

“That is really soppy of you.” She stated with her eyebrows raised, using a word she’d clearly picked up from you due to how funny and unnatural it sounded coming from her. She rolled her eyes again when you giggled at her for it.

“I know.” You hummed, that same beaming grin from earlier back on your face. “It’s true though. If you ever break up with me, I don’t know what I would do.”

It was meant to be an off-handed comment, even if it was a fear that troubled you far too often, but Alexia didn’t take it that way. The disapproving frown on her face said as much.

“Don’t say that.” She said, the hand that rested on the back of your chair moving to rest on your shoulder instead. Her thumb caressed your skin through the material of the shirt you wore and you looked at her, slightly confused. “I will never break up with you. Never. There is not a future for me anymore that doesn't include you too. And, you heard Ingrid, we have to at least wait until our wedding so that you can hear what Mapi has to say.”

You nodded at her, a simple reaction that felt too little for the declaration she had just made. Neither of you had spoken about the future together, too focused on the new present you'd created and enjoying that whilst remaining focused on the season as it reached its end. That didn't mean you didn't think about it — you did, all the time, actually.

Any spare moment you had, or not even then, just any time you could get away with being lost in your own thoughts, it was always Alexia that came to mind first. Initially it was just harmless, wholesome things, like what snacks you should stock up with for when she next came over, or what she was up to while you were apart, or which jumper you could take from her next time you went to her place. But then it changed, a seamless transition that went slightly under the radar: would she like Norway or would she stand by her point about hating the cold, how would she fit in with your family, which interior decoration style does she prefer, has she ever thought about the Scandinavian sleep method, would this rug suit your (non-existent) shared home, who would be the one that propos-

“Hm. I have lost you.” Alexia scowled as she lightly knocked a knuckle against your forehead, bringing you out of your own mind.

It seemed that, judging by her words beforehand, Alexia often thought about the future too. Her future that had you in it. Where, as she had said in the changing room at the stadium for the final, she’d do anything she had to do to make sure you were doing okay and feeling like yourself. You could have only ever dreamed for somebody to say those things to you in the past. Now it was your reality.

“I’m still here, you idiot.” You scoffed. Then, an idea slipped into mind that would answer one of your daydream’s questions. You turned on your chair a little to face her more, and met her with a smirk she knew meant trouble. “How long do I have to wait for this wedding anyway? I don’t like secrets.”

Alexia’s lips curved into a smile as she let out an amused breath. Her hand still on your shoulder fiddled with the collar of your shirt, her eyes drifting to look there for a second, before she returned your curious gaze and shrugged slyly.

“Not long.” She replied, not giving much away but letting slip a piece of information you’d hold onto and think back on in the future whilst disguising a cheesy grin.

—

Before the new season started, the farmer’s market incident happened. And though you went to sleep the night of it feeling so much better, there was a lingering heaviness in your chest when you woke up in the early hours of the next day that was as if every emotion had been squashed down to fit into a tiny souvenir glass bottle like sand from some kind of vacation destination. But then you rolled over and saw Alexia, the person that had been single-handedly responsible for picking you up and putting you back together, and the way your lips curved slightly into a smile helped to shoo away some of the loitering shame. Rather than focusing on all the negative things that tried to pull you down again, you focused on her, because without fail she could lighten up your mind’s train of thought without even trying.

She was still asleep, lay on her stomach like always and facing away from you, her light snores (which she vehemently denied existed) sounding through the otherwise silent room. Her mostly brunette hair was tied into a low loose bun, with blonde tendrils having slipped out, and the thin sheet covered her tanned form from the waist down, along with the cropped white vest she wore as well as her underwear. In her sleep, she was always so at peace. And for a split second, you were jealous, that whilst you were struggling to sleep and struggling with yourself, she was none the wiser without a worry on her mind. But you swiftly shunned that thought to the side, because yesterday wasn’t her fault, nor were your feelings in that moment.

You also knew that if you were to wake her up at that second, she’d comply with no complaints and do whatever you needed to feel better. Perhaps it was that which caused the tears that sprung to your eyes out of nowhere, or maybe it was just the overwhelming amount of relief you felt that you had her in your life. So you unfolded an arm from under your pillow and gently placed your hand on the back of her exposed neck, your fingers softly trailing along her skin and twirling the baby hairs there. You didn’t exactly mean to wake her up, but you didn’t feel bad either.

The midfielder was a light sleeper, so the feeling of your movements against her neck brought her round but it was a soothing feeling, a welcome wake up call. She hummed sleepily, still oblivious to emotions you were feeling. As you kept your eyes on her, you felt a softness you couldn’t quite process, or describe. You’d just… never appreciated someone like you did her.

She had no obligations to love you, to care for you, to even like you. If she up and left the next day, you wouldn’t blame her. She didn’t choose an easy life by being with you. The events of the day before proved exactly that. Yet… there she was beside you, relishing in the company of you in bed beside her as the simple drag of your fingers through her hair and across her skin lit a fire pit of warmth in her chest.

Tears fell steadily down your cheeks, wetting your pillow, and Alexia turned her head to face you, her eyes still closed as she reached an arm out to rest over your back. It wasn’t until you sniffled that she sobered from her sleepy haze and her eyes shot open in concern.

“Qué pasa?” She rasped, shuffling closer and rising to her elbows, looking down at you. She frowned when you shook your head, briefly turned to hide your face in your pillow, before deciding to face the music and rolling onto your back. Alexia took that as her sign that you wanted her close, so she shuffled closer again, resting on one elbow with her side against yours and raising her free hand to wipe your tears away. “Qué pasa, engel?”

There was so much on your mind, yet you couldn’t find the words to say it all.

“Can’t sleep.”

It was a hell of an understatement. You knew that, Alexia knew that. She stayed silent, just looking at you with far too much concern than you could handle. So you wrapped your arms around her back and dipped your head forward so that it rested against her shoulder. She smiled sadly, turning to dot kisses along your cheek, until she buried her face in your neck.

You both stayed like that for some time, all the whilst the tears never slowed. It wasn’t until you loosened your arms that Alexia leaned back, a frown on her face when she noticed you were still crying. She could tell there was something you wanted to say, so as you gathered yourself together and wiped your tears, again, she lay there patiently for you, at one point leaning forward to leave a reassuring kiss on your chin.

A minute or so later, you took a deep breath in and covered your face as you spoke.

“I always worried that I…” You began, hesitating for a second whilst a gentle hand fell to your hip, Alexia tracing circles with her thumb on your skin. “...I wouldn’t make a very good partner.”

You mumbled the words insecurely, your voice cracking and punctuated with infrequent sniffling as you attempted to keep the tears at bay. Alexia let out something like a disbelieved huff, shaking her head down at you as a small smile crept onto her face. The reaction confused you; though you weren’t sure what you had expected in the first place, it wasn’t quite that.

Still resting on one elbow, she moved her hand from your hip to carefully pry your own away from your face. She dipped down again, this time to kiss your nose. Then the side of your mouth, before shaking her head again, her smile wider.

“You are the perfect partner for me and I mean that.” Her voice was no louder than a whisper when she spoke, the softness to her tone matching the softness in her eyes as she gazed at you where she hovered above. She sounded so… sure. So certain.

“H…how?” You questioned fearfully, because you simply didn’t believe her.

The midfielder raised her eyebrows and shrugged, which wasn’t very reassuring at first, before she smiled somewhat smugly.

“Well, it would take me decades to say everything I love about you. So let me spend that time showing you, okay? I love you more than I can say and there isn’t a thing I would change about you. Nothing.”

You blushed then and there was nothing you could do about it. Alexia had a habit of catching you by surprise almost daily with how much she cherished you, but her last words might have just topped all past instances.

There was a certain glint to the hazel of her eyes, a mixture of honesty, confidence, and, the one that struck you the most, desperation– desperation for you to believe her. For you to overcome this momentary and all-too-frequent lapse of self-worth and recognise that your neurology has nothing to do with your lovability. If anything, she loves you more because of it. You wouldn’t be who you were without it, and though she didn’t love you because of it explicitly, every ‘miswire’, every ‘fault’, every ‘flaw’ you believed you had, she only saw it as things to add to your individuality. There was no one like you, she believed that wholeheartedly. So to have you in her life, to be your girlfriend, to be the only person in the world on the receiving end of all the love you had to give? Well, she didn’t know what she’d done in her lifetime to deserve it, but she was sure she was the luckiest person alive to be able to love such a kaleidoscoped human and see every side to them. Loving you was the least she could do.

“Not even the parts that make me unhappy?”

And what a time it was to voice all those thoughts she had. She pretended to think for a moment, even if she knew the answer from the minute she first kissed you. Or rather, when you kissed her, back in that walled garden which, many months on, she'd take the long route home for any chance she could, just so she could drive past the place and reminisce on the memories you shared there.

“No. I wouldn’t. Because if you took them away, the things that made you happy wouldn’t be the same either. You wouldn’t be you.” She explained, grinning at the confusion on your face. She took the opportunity to wipe away the last lingering tear on your cheek, because you’d stopped crying at that point thanks to her and how unabashed she was in her adoration, and made sure you were paying full attention to her next words. “I take all of you, knowing that when you struggle with yourself, I have enough love for the both of us to get you through it.”

For someone that loved to talk and did so with anyone close to you, you had nothing to say after that. Giving the time of day to the doubts that ate away at you before you woke her up felt like it’d be an injustice to Alexia and all that she said. And as you looked up at her whilst the words set in, you didn’t quite know what to do with yourself, other than to pull her down so that she rested her rested her full body weight on top of you, where you could wrap your arms around her and hope she felt an ounce of the gratitude that flooded your heart and mind. As it turned out, she made a pretty good weighted blanket.

Nothing more needed to be said by either of you. Sure, there were things you wanted to say, but you had no idea where to begin with any of the things, all positive things, that ran laps around your head. You did notice that some time had passed since you first woke up, and the sky had a little colour to it then. You weren’t sure what you wanted to say but you were sure that you didn’t want to live a life without waking up and being able to experience her in your arms every morning. You had an idea, and the best part was that you knew Alexia would agree, despite it being so early the birds hadn’t even begun to sing yet.

Alexia knew the conversation you’d just had might have overwhelmed you, so the seemingly random request you made next didn’t surprise her much, if at all. You’d take your time to process all that was said, and in an hour or a week or a month when you will have thought about it endlessly, then you’d land on the right words you wanted to say. These things she knew like the back of her hand.

“Can we go watch the sunrise at the beach?” You felt her smile into your neck where her face was pressed once more, until she raised her head. Her eyes were still puffy from sleep, you could see she was still tired, and her voice was still raspy from being abruptly awoken. Yet, she didn’t hesitate for a second before she nodded easily.

The two of you got out of bed, dressed yourselves in comfy clothes which would keep you warm against the summer morning chill and the sea breeze that’d meet you at the beach, and walked there in comfortable silence, hand in hand. No theatrics, no expectations, and no responsibilities apart from putting one foot in front of the other. The ease it was done with was a small scale example of how easy your relationship felt. Alexia made everything easy.

Perhaps it was that thought, as you sat with her behind you, back to chest, on the sand with the sun rising over the horizon, that brought a topic to mind you hadn’t had the bravery to question for years. However, the day had hardly begun at that point and it’d already been a lot. So you stored it away for another day.

—

Over time in your relationship, as the two of you spent more time together and consequently grew more comfortable with each other, your true selves came out in full. One thing you’d come to learn about Alexia was that there were some days where she was just… perpetually grumpy. No matter how well she slept, whether it be two hours or ten, she just wakes up in a certain mood that you can't shake her out of.

You can handle it normally. She's still the same woman you fell in love with, her attitude towards you doesn't change. In fact, she gets clingy when she gets like she does, and if she can avoid it then she doesn't leave your side, you've come to realise. It’s during this time she seeks you out for comfort and affection the most. She's just… quiet, and withdrawn. And there's that stupid frown on her face the whole time with a scowl that makes her look like she’s got an agenda against anyone that dared to be in the same room as her. When it's a one off situation, it's easy to deal with. But when it happened three days in a row, you'd had enough. You didn't like seeing her like that.

Most of the time, there wasn't any rhyme or reason as to why she woke up in such a funk, and on that occasion you knew there was nothing in particular on her mind. It was just the standard stuff– media commitments, sponsorship meetings and events, game after game, the sorts. They all began to pile up, too much on her mind at once, and it killed her mood completely. The start of a new season was always especially hectic, sometimes more so than the end of the season. At the end, it's just the football she has to worry about and she can handle that with ease. But when everything else is just as intense, if not more, that's when it gets to her most. Sometimes she can find it hard to get her groove, to land on her feet and figure out a good balance, but this time around with the new season, she has you.

That meant there was two ways you could go about with your mission: you could be cheery, light-hearted and teasing in the hopes of forcing enough laughter out of her that it uplifts her spirit, or you could shower her with enough love that she has no choice but to crack and give one of those smiles that you love so much, the one that brightens her eyes and causes creases in the corners of them.

But the perfect approach was to combine the two options.

So, on that third day, when she got out of bed with a heavy sigh and headed straight to the shower the moment her alarm rang out, you figured out part one of your plan. You weren't offended by how abruptly she left the comfort of the bed, it was typical for her to shower first so she could get started on breakfast. In fact, that time, it worked in your favour.

You grabbed the first jumper you saw from the wardrobe and pulled on a pair of joggers, then slipped on your trainers and rushed out the door with your phone in hand. Just around the corner of Alexia's apartment was her favourite breakfast place, where they did her favourite pastries and coffee that she only treated herself to once in a blue moon. You knew it'd be a bit of a struggle to convince her to eat them on a training day, but you were almost certain you could do it. Alexia could hardly ever say no to you, and even if she tried, she always gave in eventually.

It didn't take long at all to run your little errand, and just as you got back, stood at the front door fiddling with the key, your phone vibrated in what could only be a concerned phone call from Alexia. When you eventually muddled your way into the apartment, juggling keys and the food and whatnot, the first thing you heard was Alexia’s signature huff coming from the kitchen area. The noise sounded out through the otherwise silent flat, another thing indicative of her distaste for the world.

“A dónde fuiste?” She rounded the corner with her infamous frown, her face turning into one of confusion when she spotted the coffee cup and paper bag in your hands. To anyone else, she might have seemed somewhat angry at you for leaving. However, you knew she wasn’t, she just hadn’t expected to find the house empty when she got out the shower and, though she wouldn’t verbally admit it, she walked around her flat like a child that’d had a nightmare looking for a hug from you.

“Desayuno.” You smiled sheepishly, coming to stand in front of her.

“Oh.” She hummed, not really giving much away emotion-wise. And yet, the frown stayed. “But it is training today.”

“You can have a one-off, Ale. You need a pick-me-up, something to cheer you up.” You told her, holding both things out to her. She took the takeaway cup with no second thoughts, but she stared at the paper bag like it had offended her.

“What is a pick-me-up?” Alexia grumbled, sipping the coffee and giving a tiny nod of approval that made you smile.

“It's just something to cheer you up. A treat.” Still, she looked sceptical. But, you could see it clear as day, the tiny ounce of appreciation she felt towards you that was evident in the way her eyes had softened just a tad.

“Did you get any?” You knew that if she knew she wasn’t the only one having a cheat-breakfast (though a couple pastries could hardly class as that at all) then she’d be more likely to eat. Also, as if you would miss out on the chance of pastries either.

“Of course I did. So I’m going to go shower and you have whichever ones you want, alright?” You placed the paper bag down on the kitchen counter and left a kiss on her frowning face before heading to her ensuite.

Lo and behold, some time later, to your amusement (but not your surprise) you walked in to see the pastries untouched in the spot you left them as Alexia unloaded the dishwasher, eyes flicking back and forth between that very offensive brown bag and the cutlery holder in her hand. You shook your head and fought off a smile, padding over to stand in front of her with an eyebrow raised.

“You are honestly not going to eat them?” You asked accusingly. As a matter of fact, you knew she was. Because you had to leave in twenty minutes and she hadn’t started any breakfast preparations, she was just really dragging this whole thing on. She had quite the flare for dramatics when she wanted.

“No sé.” She shrugged a moment later, turning away from you to resume her chores. All you could do was laugh.

“Eat the fucking pastries, gruñonita.” You told her, cupping her cheeks and leaning in to kiss her softly. Afterwards, you leaned back and looked at her, a serious but affectionate look. “Today is a good day, okay? We have training and nothing else on, so we can come back here and just laze around together. Cheer up, Ale. It’s not nice seeing you like this.”

There was a smile on her face after that. Though it did look somewhat forced, you could tell by her eyes that under the surface she did mean it. Then she sheepishly raised her arms for a hug, to which you grinned and walked into them, wrapping an arm around her waist as the hand of your other cradled the back of her head, urging her to rest her forehead against your shoulder, which she did with ease. She settled into the embrace, letting out a deep exhale and allowing herself a few minutes to try to relax. It was futile, of course. There was still so much on her mind that she just couldn’t shake.

“Which ones do you want?” She asked with another sigh as she pulled back far sooner than you expected. However, she did finally pick up the damn bag, so one thing at a time you supposed.

Soon as she saw the selection you chose, she seemed a lot less reluctant about her breakfast options that day. The two of you chose which ones you wanted, splitting the ones you argued over in half to share, Alexia watching with a soft smile when you nodded and hummed in delight at each bite you took from them. As you ate, you both got lost in conversation– or rather, you rambled and she listened– until you were rushing down to the car with your bags in your hands and crumbs around your mouths. When you sat in the passenger seat of the midfielder’s car, you couldn’t help but giggle at the chocolate on Alexia’s cheek when she turned to look out the back window to reverse. Of course, her stupid frown came flying back, but it didn’t last long when you gently wiped away the remnants of breakfast before kissing the corner of her mouth. Just as quick as it came, the frown left, replaced by pink cheeks and a bashful smile.

From when she woke up compared to how she felt driving to training, she already noticed a distinct difference in her mood. And that was completely down to you. She stole glances at you from the driver’s seat any chance she could as she drove, a warm fuzzy feeling in her chest at the sight of you gazing at the window, as you often did. She felt significantly lighter than she had in days, though she wanted nothing more than to turn the car around and go back home with you.

Which… never happened to her.

Everybody knew she loved training, not only was it fun but it was a chance to get better, to grow the team more colossal than it already was, to bond with the people she considered her second family. Alexia Putellas loved training. But on this occasion? God, she just couldn’t be bothered.

That wasn’t the attitude of a beast, however, so she kept schtum about it. Though the displeased expression on her face was noticed by everybody on the pitch, teammate or staff member. Her eyes were on you more than they were the ball, as if just looking at you made her feel better. If anybody asked, she’d say it did, because you were the sun in her life and when she was feeling especially cloudy, being in close proximity to you was almost enough to lighten her mood. Almost, because as she had established in the car, she’d much rather there be absolutely zero distance between you.

Ingrid had to stop Mapi, Esmee, and Vicky from commenting about the way the captain mindlessly followed you around and stuck to your side throughout the session in between drills, ever the wise one of the group realising there must be something bothering Alexia if she was acting this disjointed and disconnected whilst playing football. The other three grumbled about it until Pere called the end of training, and they quickly lost interest in their hopeless capi, instead racing off to lunch together.

Like you expected, she immediately came to your side, not saying a word as she did so. You glanced over at her only to find she appeared more tired and done with the world than she did before. It made you frown, and you put an arm around her shoulders to draw her closer, resting your head against hers. Her hand came up to hold yours and she trudged inside with you like Eeyore, your mind reeling on what you could do for her once you got home. All you could land on was letting her relax, whether that be with you or not.

When you finally got back to her apartment, she changed into one of her Nike tracksuits and beelined for the sofa, her hood up with a face like thunder. You stood in the middle of the lounge area, not sure what to do with yourself and too afraid to ask considering she didn’t seem like talking.

Alexia huffed. She got up off the sofa, grabbed your hand, and pulled you down onto it. She draped herself on top of you, head on your chest, and her eyes quickly fell shut as she finally got what she had wanted from the second she woke up. You smiled and slipped your hands under her hoodie, lightly trailing your fingers up and down her back. The blonde was smiling and laughing and joking around by the time the sun set, back to her normal self, thanks to you.

—

“Wake up. Ale, wake up.”

The blonde vaguely heard whispering in her ear, but she was still far, far away from reality as she slept soundly.

“Wake up, Alexia. Come on.”

Then there was a push against her shoulder that rolled her onto her back, and she huffed in irritation and covered her eyes with her forearm, not at all pleased with the disruption.

“For helvete. Wake UP!”

A weight landed on her waist, two hands on her shoulders too that shook her awake, finally. She groaned, letting out a curse word or two in her own mother tongue, before she removed her arm and cracked one eye open.

“There we go. Good morning!” You beamed at her from where you straddled her torso, sitting back and crossing your arms over your chest as she came to. “Thought you’d never wake up again.”

“Why you wake me? My alarm… not heard it yet.” Her hands rubbed at her eyes as she spoke, and your grin turned into a slight wince at the… early hour you’d awoken her. It wasn’t early early, it’s just that the sun hadn’t quite made an appearance yet.

“It’s new boot day today.” You hummed, frowning when she didn’t meet your excitement.

“N…new boot day?” Alexia rasped, still coming to grips with the world. Her hands landed on your thighs, still squinting at you out of tiredness and confusion. “Qué?”

“We get new boots today. I love it when we get sent new ones. You know that.” You mumbled, and your dejected demeanour seemed to sober up the woman below you.

“I know that. I love it too. Creo… the new ones I get today, they are cool. You will like them.” She wasn’t entirely sure if she was making sense, she didn’t really know what she was saying still, but you perked up again when she finished which she took as a good sign.

“I can’t remember which ones I’m getting. It’s like Christmas. Last time, they gave me the-”

You went off into a ramble at that, and Alexia simply laid there and listened to every word. However, if you asked her to recite every word, then… she’d be a bit lost. There was one thing on her mind, at the mention of Christmas. Something she’d thought about for a long while. And the sight of you on top of her, talking endlessly about something as small as fresh football boots yet being so excited about it that you couldn’t help but wake her up, it only exacerbated the thought she had. Well, two actually. The first being that she loved you. The second being–

“I want to come to Norway with you.”

At first you were annoyed at her interruption, thrown off your train of thought as you tried to remember which boots you were getting through the process of elimination. But then you paused, and you processed her words, and you pursed your lips to prevent your excitement coming out too soon.

“You want to come to Norway with me?” You repeated in a shy, quiet voice. You really didn’t want to get ahead of yourself, because this was something you had wanted since you saw her in the airport after your trip last Christmas. The poor woman had just woken up, she probably didn’t even think before she spoke. Or maybe she was trying to cheer you up, or shut you up, or-

“Sí. Contigo. If you will have me.”

Alexia seemed as equally shy as you did, worried that you’d reject her and shut her down, or freak out and feel like she’d crossed a line you weren’t ready for her to cross yet. You sat there, still on top of her, slightly in awe at the sudden statement she had made. You stayed frozen until you saw her gulp nervously, gazing up at you with wide eyes as she chewed on her lower lip. All her anxiety disappeared the moment you surged forwards and buried your face into her neck with a grin that could have left an imprint on her skin, wrapping yourself around her tightly, the blonde laughing into your ear.

And that was that. So, on the 27th of December, just before evening turned to night, you were waiting at the airport for her this time, in your home country, the city you grew up in.

It was agreed you’d spend Christmas apart with your respective families, before Alexia would fly out two days later where you’d pick her up. Only a few days had passed since you last saw each other, but it somehow felt even longer than the ten days did the Christmas before. So, it was safe to say, you could hardly stand still while you waited at the arrivals door where she’d walk through.

When she came into view, you couldn’t help but laugh. She’d been in the country for barely two minutes and she already looked ice cold; coat zipped up to her chin, the hoods of her coat and her hoodie both up, her sleeve pulled over the hand that dragged her suitcase as the other couldn’t have been deeper in her pocket if she tried, even the tip of her nose and her cheeks were red.

For a second, she paused in place a few steps away from the door, head on a swivel trying to find you before she spotted you, and her whole demeanour lit up. She maneuvered between the holiday crowds with a coy smile as you watched, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet while she made her way over.

“You’re here.” You stated softly, unable to stop the beaming smile when she nodded and wrapped you up in her arms. Your cheeks had already begun to ache, even though she’d only just arrived.

“Qué frío hace.” She mumbled into your jacket, letting out a content sigh when she heard you laugh in response. “I’m serious.”

“You knew what you were getting yourself into.” You pulled back and gave her a pointed look, to which she rolled her eyes jokingly. “You’re okay though?”

“Sí, I just can’t feel my fingers anymore.” She huffed before smirking at how you rolled your eyes too. “I’m happy to be here. Muy feliz.”

“You’re coming back home with me.” The blonde puffed her cheeks out as she half-exhaled, half-scoffed at your slightly teasing words. She shook you off and hugged you again, trying to disguise her anxiety at the obstacle she had to soon get over. “Are you shaking because you’re cold or because you’re nervous?”

Of course, you knew her better than almost everyone.

“How did you know I was nervous?” She grumbled into the collar of your jacket, subtly trying to warm her frost-bitten nose. You chuckled at her slight embarrassment at being caught out and turned to kiss her cheek.

“You don’t need to be nervous. My family have been singing your praises since the day you helped me when I almost fainted in training. They’re your biggest fans, you don’t even know half of it.” You thought saying that might put her somewhat at ease, but she lifted her head up abruptly and fixed you with a terrified expression.

“Vale, so big expectations then, no?” She fretted, attempting to come across as if she was kidding, when the fear in her eyes spoke for her.

“Ale, you will be fine. I swear my life on it.” Alexia took a deep breath in and nodded, forcing an awkward smile that made you laugh quietly. “Actually, if you smile like that, they might send you away.”

“I hate you.”

You grinned smugly and took her suitcase from her, then linked your arm with hers and headed towards the exit. Once you left the building, Alexia’s eyes widened in intimidation at the setting that waited before her. The surrounding area was white. Completely white. She hadn’t ever seen such snow in her life.

The poor Spaniard trailed impossibly slowly behind you, walking like bambi on ice to keep her life intact. It baffled her completely how you strode ahead so confidently, as if the ground wasn’t a death trap below your feet. When she finally made it in the car, she almost threw herself into the passenger seat out of relief, much to your amusement. She heard the laugh you tried to suppress and shot you an unimpressed stare as she put her seatbelt on, mumbling a prayer under her breath at the thought of you driving in this weather. Her grumpy face didn’t change much even after you reassured her you had winter tyres on, because she didn’t even know they existed.

But, obviously, you two made it to your parent’s house with both yourselves and the car in one piece, though the same couldn’t be said for the mentally fragile passenger beside you whose nervous system was probably in tatters at that point. Nobody was home when you arrived, a purposeful plan to ease yours and Alexia’s nerves – your family hadn’t ever met anybody you’d dated before – so you went to unlock the door as she got her luggage out the back of the car. However, even from afar, you could see the tension in her posture and how her hands trembled ever so slightly.

An idea popped into your head; perhaps it was cruel, but it’d take her mind off of the whole thing.

“Oye! I just got here, I nearly fell!” Alexia exclaimed, snow scattered across the right shoulder of her coat due to the snowball you’d launched at her. You preened under the glare she gave, until she slowly crouched down to the powder under her feet.

Being back with the snow after a year without it, it was only right to indulge in a twenty minute long snowball fight. Alexia didn’t care much for balance or for meeting your parents when the option of pelting you with snow was offered on a silver platter.

—

Alexia fit in with your family better than you ever expected, she really did have nothing to worry about. Not only that, she seemed to settle into life in Norway seamlessly; the cold she still loathed, and in turn you loathed how she always put her icy hands on your skin, but… she belonged. And she enjoyed the simplicity of it a hundred more times than she thought.

Mornings were slow and lazy, afternoons were spent exploring the place you grew up, evenings were filled with anecdotes from your family and friends over drinks and incredible meals, and nights were just the two of you in perhaps the comfiest, warmest bed Alexia had ever slept in.

She liked her hectic life back in Spain, that was without a doubt. But the peaceful life you had and your family provided during her stay was something she could definitely get used to. She was already waiting for the right moment to ask when you both could come back again. Your lives back in Spain felt like a million miles away, they were two worlds apart. It was just quality time together with the welcome company of your other favourite people in the world– it was bliss.

And your family hadn’t ever seen you quite so… content and carefree. That revelation reached its peak only three days into Alexia’s stay.

You’d dragged her out on a day of sightseeing, though it was especially cold and that much was evident in the way she wore two pairs of gloves and four layers underneath her coat, which she’d been given for the time being after getting caught shivering in the car by your mother the day before. You pulled her from place to place, animatedly rambling about memories or weird little facts you had about each location you went to. Not once did she complain. Even despite the weather, she listened to every word, happily following you around and taking in everything you had to say.

The only way to thank her for entertaining you was by running the hottest bath you could for her in the hopes it might defrost her enough that her hands returned from their lobster-red shade, but apparently that wasn’t even enough. So you loosely plaited her hair for her, gave her the comfiest pajamas you owned, and led her downstairs to relax together in front of the log burner.

She watched from her place on the sofa under a mountain of blankets whilst you quickly and precisely lit a roaring fire, its crackles sounding through the room as you made your way over to join her, the orange flames reflecting in her eyes when she smiled up at you. You willed her to sit up momentarily, which she did, before sliding onto the couch so that when she lay down again, her head was on your chest.

A year had passed since you first got together, a year since you kissed her, a year since you got a girlfriend that treated you better than any stranger ever had. Never in your life could you have pictured you’d end up like this; in your family home with the love of your life in your arms.

Your first anniversary wasn’t anything big, it just entirely summarised how the two of you fit together. A breakfast date at the cafe you’d gone to way back when, a walk around the city you fell in love in. It was decided that a quick nap would be very welcome once you got back to your flat. Alexia cooked dinner, you helped when she let you (which unfortunately wasn’t very often), you exchanged two presents each, before Alexia helped you to pack since your flight home was the day after. Then you went to bed together, watching a few episodes of the show you were into, until you both fell asleep. Perfect.

Your family hadn’t seen this side of you ever before, because it didn’t exist. Not until Alexia came into your life.

As you lay in front of the fire, you simply just enjoyed each other’s company without any interruptions. It wasn’t often you had this much free time together, so you made the most of it. There was some light conversation, talking about anything and everything whilst laughing quietly, both of you feeling it more than hearing it. Until there was an interruption, but you just didn’t care.

“Engel, your family.” Alexia whispered when she heard footsteps heading towards the room, going to move out of your hold when you tightened your arms around her. Usually you weren’t a fan of PDA, but something about that moment made that habit of yours seem so unimportant and useless.

When she realised you weren’t budging, Alexia settled back down with a slightly proud smile on her face, though honestly she was just relieved she didn’t have to move because she was quite comfortable, and finally warm.

Your mother knocked on twice, before quietly opening the door so that she didn’t interrupt the serene setting. You beamed up at her, a surprised look on her face.

“What?” You wondered curiously, puzzled at her confusion.

“I am just surprised.” She said, a hopeful smile on her face. “You know, Alexia, she doesn’t share a blanket with just anybody. She never does. Only with you.”

Alexia laughed gently, lifting her head up to look at you and spotting the light blush on your face. You shrugged, an action that said ‘what can I say, I’m in love’, and that was more than enough for the both of them.

—

One day, you found yourselves in a cable car, heading up to the top of one of the mountains near your hometown. You had suggested that you hike up it, but the look of fear on Alexia’s face at the thought of going up a mountain in the snow was enough for that plan to fly out the window in seconds.

Alexia sat across from you, bundled up in her outdoor gear, looking like the estranged twin of the Michelin man. Her attention was solely on you, whilst you gawked at the 360 view around that still blew your mind despite the hundreds of times you’d done this little journey. You were in awe, you exuded peacefulness, and Alexia couldn't stop herself from speaking.

“You… you light up here. You love it here.” She started, out of nowhere. You turned away from the window and tilted your head in confusion at both her words and the rather morose expression she wore.

“I do. But I also love Barcelona, so you can get that forlorn look off your face, reina del drama.” Your teasing words hardly even reached her.

“But… how? This is your home.” She continued. You rolled your eyes.

“My god. You’re such an idiot. Did you know that you live in Barcelona? And that’s one really big reason why I love it so much?” Somehow, that rendered the captain speechless. Her cheeks were pink, though you couldn’t tell if it was from the chilly weather or your heartfelt words. She smiled shyly and shrugged a shoulder. “Don’t get too big headed, it’s not just you. It’s the club, the environment, my friends that are like family at this point. It’s the feeling of belonging I finally have after… after basically searching for it my whole life. The weather is also nice when it’s not life-threateningly hot. I like the beach and the greenery. And you. So get over yourself.”

You had no idea where this sudden onslaught of doubt came from for her, but you didn’t like the slightly anxious demeanour she had. You moved to sit beside her, resting your head on her shoulder and taking her hand in yours. Though you knew it was natural, and that Alexia was no stranger to falling victim to her mind, it never failed to make your heart clench that your favourite person in the world could really believe there was ever a possibility that you’d jump at the chance to leave her.

No matter where football took you both, or just the world in general, you would do anything to keep her in your life, so that you could see her grumpy face in the morning and hear her soft snores at night that helped to soothe you when sleep escaped you. There was so much that she added to your life, you simply wouldn’t survive if she weren’t in it permanently for the rest of it. She had to know that.

“I love you, Ale. And whether our future is in Barcelona or here or halfway across the world, I’m not doing any of it without you.” You told her honestly. And she appreciated it more than she could express.

Of course she knew how much she meant to you, it was just nice to be reminded just how much from time to time. Sometimes, she caught herself feeling guilty that you were the one in her city, at her club, surrounded by her family. She wondered how you coped without all those things when she didn’t think she could do it, but you were you. You were stronger than the average person, stronger than anyone she’d ever come across. Sure, you got homesick from time to time, but you took on the challenge of moving to a hot country, with people you didn’t know, with a language you didn’t speak, and took the whole thing in your stride. Alexia wasn’t sure she could do that, and she was in awe of you for it.

She herself didn’t know where that worrisome blip came from, and she didn’t exactly mean to voice it so suddenly. Yet, like always, you took each and every anxiety of hers and took it away from her in such a subtle way, she almost forgot what she worried about in the first place. Alexia simply wouldn’t survive if you weren’t in her life either.

A period of silence fell after that. There was one thing along this short journey that always caught your eye; the small, local football stadium. God knows how many hours you spent in it growing up, transitioning from being a fan in the stands to a player on the pitch. It also happened to be a place you’d been to countless times with the national team.

The possibility that you had been considering for some time, on your own, hit especially hard at that moment, so much so that it almost took your breath away. Though it filled you with fear, it was something that, as time went on, you longed for more and more. And after the short but especially meaningful conversation you just had, you knew the women to the left of you made it seem much more appealing than it ever had before. There’s no chance it would have happened without her, so now that you did have her, you were going to take full advantage of the confidence and self-belief she’d instilled in you.

“Do you think I could ever fit back into the national team?” You said it.

Alexia didn’t seem even half as shocked at the question than you thought she would. And you realised, as she debated her next words carefully, that she’d probably known for a while that there was something on your mind, she was just waiting for you to come to her about it.

“Of course. You would be one of the best players there.” She chose a lighter direction to start with, and the sheepish gaze you gave her told her it was the right decision. You stayed silent for a little longer, somewhat afraid of turning what used to be nothing more than a daydream into a reality. One that could end amazingly, or terribly. The unknown was terrifying.

“What if… I tried, but I couldn’t handle it again?” Your voice could hardly be classed as a whisper, almost unintelligible and drowned out by the wind and the whirring of the cable car. “I miss playing for Norway. They still check in every six months to see if I want to go back. I just… don’t know what to think.”

An arm slid around your shoulders and a reassuring kiss was pressed to your temple. You sighed and leaned into the comfort she offered as she gathered her thoughts once more.

“You have been thinking about this for a while, engel. I know that because I have seen it in your face. You are in a very different place than you were when you chose to leave, all those years ago.” She began, pausing for a second for you to process what she was saying. “You are so different. You know yourself better, you know what works for you and what doesn’t. You are older, more mature, more experienced both in football and your life. I believe you could handle it.”

You closed your eyes when she uttered that last sentence, the weight of it winding you. You’d waited years to hear that. Your heart beated a little faster, your eyes burned with the sting of tears that formed, your mouth went dry. Nothing could have prepared you to hear that. Alexia let it sit for some time, her hand moving down so that she could slowly run it up and down your back. However, she felt compelled to continue, so she did.

“It would be an adjustment, of course it would. But I know you, and I know you could do it. I want you to do it because I know it will go well, and I think that it being a success would prove to you and let you see for yourself how far you have come. I see it, Ingrid sees it, we all see it. I feel like you don’t let yourself see it sometimes and I want you to. I want you to be proud of yourself.”

That was exactly why you decided to speak up about the topic when you did.

However, in your overloaded mind in that moment, there was one aspect of how she worded things that made your stomach drop.

“Would you think differently of me if I didn’t do it? As a player, if I didn’t represent my country?”

As if she would ever.

“Of course I wouldn’t.” She said, grimacing afterwards at how defensive it sounded. She regretted it instantly when you apologised, to which she shook her head in response and hugged you closer. “I don’t judge Mapi for not wanting to play on the national team, I never could. And I never could judge you for it either.”

“But Mapi has different reasons.” You argued feebly.

“Different reasons on paper, yes. But you both do it because you have values important to you and that is the only thing that matters.” You nodded, because you couldn’t argue with that one.

The conversation wasn’t over, but it went a million times better than you thought it would. So as you both let the words and the weight of it to settle, you found yourself… smiling. Because it seemed much more likely and possible than it had in years.

“Would you be disappointed if I didn’t end up going back?” After all, that’d mean the conversation was totally pointless. You didn’t want to get her hopes up just to fail miserably and make a laughing stock of yourself.

“No. I know that you will really think hard about this and if you decide that it isn’t good for you, then I stand by you with that because you don’t shy away from new things. If you choose not to, I know it’s because you have genuine reasons. So, no, I would not be disappointed with you and I never could be.”

How she always knew what to say, you didn’t know. Or, rather, you hadn’t ever had someone say all the right things, someone that understood you on such a level like Alexia did, who knew what you were truly capable of and what you weren’t. Most importantly, someone that told you it was okay if you weren’t capable of doing something.

“You always ask me what first made me fall in love with you. Well, one reason was your determination and your strength. You have had more setbacks than most, you have to tackle obstacles in your way almost everyday, yet you still wake up every morning and don’t let anything stop you. You still do new things, come across new challenges, and you thrive so well after them. You are… there’s nobody like you.”

Well, you would be a fool not to give it a go at least.

—

there is a small chance this could be my last fic before uni starts, buuut i have ended this fic this way so that whenever i feel like writing it i can get started asap for the next reverie fic which will be about the national team. however idk how these next few weeks will look but i think i should probably get it done since i leave my full time job on friday and will be free as a birddd for a few weeks til uni. but i hope you enjoyed this, ty ty ty for reading <3

#alexia putellas x reader #woso x reader #fcb femení x reader #fcb femeni x reader #woso #woso community #woso fic #alexia putellas

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goldsainz · 6 months ago

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# MV33 — DE WARMTE VAN KERSTMIS !

MASTERLIST !

SERIES MASTERLIST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ as christmas gift you give max the greatest news of all time.

002. WARNINGS !

✯ talks about pregnancy.

003. NOTE !

✯ last part of the christmas sries! i hope that you all had a wonderful christmas if you celebrate and if not that yiu had a lovely holiday season.

word count : 2,1k

The cabin was exactly what you had pictured when Max had suggested spending Christmas in the countryside—a perfect blend of rustic charm and homely warmth. The logs that made up its walls bore the weathered marks of many winters, and the large windows offered a picturesque view of the snow-covered landscape outside. Fluffy white flakes clung to the branches of towering evergreens, and a small wooden fence encircled the property, dusted in a glittering layer of snow that shimmered in the moonlight.

Inside, the warmth from the crackling fireplace wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, and soft candlelight flickered against the wooden beams above, casting gentle shadows that danced in the cozy room. The scent of traditional Dutch dishes such as the rich, hearty erwtensoep and the faint sweetness of freshly baked kerststol—wafted through the air, blending perfectly with the woodsy aroma of the fire. The table was set simply but beautifully, with rustic wooden plates and a centerpiece of evergreen sprigs and bright red berries.

As you and Max sat down to dinner, the quietness of the setting seemed to work its magic on him. His usually intense features, so accustomed to the pressures of his fast-paced life, softened under the golden glow of the firelight. His broad shoulders, so often tense from the weight of expectations, appeared to relax as he leaned back slightly in his chair.

“Is this what Christmas feels like for you?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence as you picked at a piece of the kerststol on your plate.

Max paused, glancing toward the fire as if gathering his thoughts. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a subtle but genuine expression that made your chest feel a little warmer. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low but certain. “Just simple. No noise, no chaos. Just... calm.”

He reached for his glass, taking a sip of the wine you had brought along, and you couldn’t help but study his face in the firelight. There was something unguarded about him in this moment, something rare and precious. It wasn’t often that he let himself slow down enough to simply be. Here, in this cabin away from the spotlight, you saw a version of Max that felt like a secret, shared only with you.

“You like that, don’t you?” you teased softly, a playful smile on your lips. “The calm.”

He gave a small shrug, though his smile lingered. “I don’t get it often,” he admitted, his tone carrying a weight of honesty that made your heart ache a little. “But, yeah. I like it.”

After dinner, you both settled by the fire, the flames casting a golden light over the room. Max handed you a steaming mug of hot chocolate, his fingers lingering against yours for a moment. You couldn’t help but notice how his usual seriousness seemed to melt away in this setting. He leaned back, one arm resting along the couch behind you, the other cradling his own mug.

As you chatted about everything from childhood Christmases to his latest racing season, you couldn’t help but marvel at how different Max seemed tonight. There was a quiet ease about him, a softness that emerged only when the weight of his fast-paced world was left behind. His laughter came more freely, a warm, low sound that resonated in the cozy space. His blue eyes glimmered with a rare kind of light, a mix of amusement and contentment that made your heart swell.

“You’re different tonight,” you teased, leaning into his side and nudging him gently.

“Different how?” he asked, one eyebrow arching slightly as he turned his head to look at you.

“Less grumpy,” you said with a cheeky grin.

That earned you a soft chuckle, his lips curving into a smirk. “Don’t get used to it,” he shot back, though the humor in his voice betrayed the truth—he liked this, too.

The fire crackled softly in the background, the warmth of it wrapping around both of you like a blanket. It felt like the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving only the two of you in this perfect little bubble. You could feel your heart beating a little faster, a mix of nervousness and excitement coursing through you as you thought about what you’d been holding onto all evening.

The moment felt perfect, and you decided it was time. Taking a steadying breath, you reached into your bag and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box. The sight of it in your hands caught Max’s attention, and his gaze shifted from your face to the gift with a spark of curiosity.

“For you,” you said softly, holding it out to him.

He hesitated for a moment, his brows knitting together in mild confusion, before he reached out to take it. “What’s this?” he asked, his voice a little wary but touched with genuine interest.

“You’ll see,” you replied, your heart thudding against your ribs as he began unwrapping the gift with careful fingers.

The paper fell away, revealing a small, folded baby shirt in soft white cotton. Across the front, in delicate letters, were the words: Future Verstappen Racer.

Max froze, his hands still holding the shirt as he stared at it. His eyes flickered with a mix of emotions—shock, realization, and something deep and unspoken that made his expression soften. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at the tiny shirt as though trying to fully grasp what it meant.

“You’re going to be a dad,” you whispered, breaking the silence. Your voice wavered slightly, the weight of the moment catching up to you.

Max finally looked up at you, his face still a mixture of awe and tenderness. “I... I don’t even know what to say,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual. His fingers brushed over the fabric of the shirt as though it were the most fragile thing in the world.

A small, almost shy smile began to form on his lips. Setting the shirt gently on the table beside him, Max reached for your hands, pulling you closer. His thumbs brushed over your knuckles as he met your gaze with an intensity that made your breath catch. “You’ve just given me the best Christmas I could have ever imagined,” he murmured.

His hands moved to your face, cradling it gently as he leaned in. His lips brushed against yours in a kiss that was soft yet filled with the weight of everything he was feeling. The warmth of the fire seemed to pale in comparison to the warmth between the two of you in that moment.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested gently against yours, and you could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with your own. Max stayed close, his eyes searching yours as though trying to memorize every detail of this moment. The firelight cast a soft glow across his face, accentuating the tenderness in his expression. Slowly, he reached out to set the baby shirt down carefully on the table beside him, handling it with the same reverence one might give a priceless treasure.

His hands found yours again, his fingers threading through yours as he looked at you with a rare vulnerability that made your heart ache. “I know I’m not good with words,” he began, his voice steady but soft, each syllable laced with sincerity. “But I wanted to give you something that reminds me of you. Something to show you how much you mean to me.”

You watched as he reached into his pocket, your curiosity piqued by the small object he pulled out. He opened his hand to reveal a delicate silver pendant, shaped like a racing helmet. Its surface gleamed in the firelight, and as he turned it slightly, you noticed the engraving on its side—the date you first met.

“I had it made for you,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. He placed the pendant in your hand, his fingers lingering against your palm. “So you always know you’re with me, no matter where I go. No matter how far.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as you stared down at the charm. The simplicity of it, paired with the thoughtfulness behind the gesture, struck a chord deep within you. It wasn’t just a gift; it was a piece of him, a reminder of the bond you shared and the love that had brought you both to this moment.

“You’re incredible,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire.

Max smiled—a small, soft smile that lit up his entire face. Without another word, he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours in a kiss that spoke of promises, love, and the unshakable connection between you. The warmth of the fire seemed to pale in comparison to the heat of his kiss, the way it melted away every worry and left only the two of you in the cocoon of the cabin.

When the kiss ended, Max rested his forehead against yours again, his hands cupping your face as though he never wanted to let go. His thumb brushed away a stray tear on your cheek, and he let out a soft laugh, almost as if he couldn’t believe how perfect this moment was.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice filled with emotion. “For this. For... everything. I didn’t think I could ever feel this happy.”

You smiled through your tears, leaning into his touch. “You make me happy too, Max. More than I can put into words.”

As the fire crackled softly, wrapping the room in its golden glow, you and Max stayed close, lost in the intimacy of the moment. His hands remained on your face, his thumbs gently brushing your cheeks, as though he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.

Outside, the snow fell steadily, blanketing the world in a serene hush, but inside, the warmth was almost tangible. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a sound that felt as comforting as the cozy cabin around you. Max’s arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer, his chin resting lightly on top of your head.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with emotion, “this is all I’ve ever wanted. A quiet moment like this, with you, where nothing else matters.”

Your lips curled into a smile as you tilted your head to look up at him. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted too.”

Max’s eyes softened, his gaze filled with a depth of emotion that left you breathless. “I used to think Christmas didn’t mean much,” he admitted. “It was just another day, really. But now, with you, it’s different. It feels... special.”

You reached up to cup his cheek, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “That’s because you are special, Max. To me, to us.” Your other hand moved instinctively to your belly, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed.

He placed his hand gently over yours, his thumb brushing over your fingers in a way that made your heart swell. “I’m going to do everything I can to be a good dad,” he said quietly, his tone full of determination. “And an even better partner to you.”

You leaned up to kiss him again, your lips meeting his in a tender, lingering embrace. The world outside seemed to fade away entirely, leaving only the warmth of the fire, the love in his eyes, and the quiet promise of the life you were building together.

Eventually, you both settled back on the couch, your legs tangled together as you curled up beneath a thick, knit blanket. The baby shirt and silver pendant sat on the table nearby, tiny symbols of the future you were so excited to share.

Max’s hand found yours once more, his fingers threading through yours as he held you close. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple.

“Merry Christmas, Max,” you replied, your voice filled with love.

The cabin grew quieter as the fire began to die down, leaving the room bathed in a soft, amber glow. Outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in a peaceful silence. And in that moment, nestled together in the warmth of each other’s arms, you knew you’d never felt more at home.

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dilftaroooo · 2 years ago

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Being perverted strikes naturally within Gojo, so when the idea of being a step brother comes to mind during sex he can’t help but act upon the roleplay. You think he’s gross for it, but his questionable passion for it keeps you engaged (oddly enough).

☆word count: 6.3k+

★tags/tw(18+): dark content + stepc*st roleplay + foot f*tish + toe sucking (f!recieving) + dubcon (because reader is unsure at first) + reader is college-aged/gojo is 28 + squirting + age gap + vanilla sex + pubic hairs + scent kink + implied ass eating + hesitancy + reader is afab using she/her pronouns + mentioned latex kink + use of 'satoru-nii' + established relationship + gojo is a lil' mean + and sassy + lots of kissing + nipple play + creampie + getting caught having s*x + exploring kinks + praise kink + pet names + skull fucking + gag reflex + snot + we're talkin' 'big beefy whore with black compression shirt' gojo here + reader is a bit inexperienced + questions of certain kinks.

☆a/n: hey alexa, play 'poundtown by sexyy red' ayyye come suck a bitch's toooes. enjoy y'all, this shit nasty af.

You’re not a kink shamer.

You understand the sexual thrills of getting off to something that turns one on to the point of fulfilled ecstasy–weighted breaths and skin coated with a sheen of sweat from the unorthodox fantasies that provoke the human mind and manipulate the human body, keeping them bound to the shackles of pleasure as their perversion engulfs them whole. It feels beautiful–ethereal, dare you say, and you get that. Who wouldn’t want to feel blissfully satisfied just by mere thought alone?

Now, exclusive of the deranged fetishes involving children, scat, or whatever fucked up shit out there that's befitting for a lowlife, you would say that you're a pretty open-minded individual. Always tolerating the naughty anecdotes told by your friends’ concerning their past hookups, distinctively remembering the giggles you all shared when reciting one of the stories from a particular friend that had them clad in a latex suit, lips decorated with ruby red, and three-inched heels coming into contact with the cheek of their previous partner as they squirmed in shameless arousal.

‘It was pathetic to see, but I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t get me going…’ And that mutuality between both parties is what makes it even more fun. They both get a kick out of something they enjoyed, so what’s to hate about it?

You’re not a kink shamer–not at all.

You and your boyfriend of a year and four months, Satoru Gojo, always carried the qualities of a couple depicted in unrealistic romance movies: the nuzzle of the nose that tickled your cheek before delving in for a peck, the surprise hugs he’d startle you with as you prepared an early morning breakfast, as well as the intertwined fingers while you both make your way to his favorite bakery (his kisses are even more sugared after scarfing down the kikufuku he’d order no more than a minute ago).

You always felt like the princess to his prince, stumbling over your gown to keep up with his hurried footsteps as you both venture through the gracious evergreen of a mythical forest. You have no time to remove the pastel violet and pink petals slotting themselves in your locks since your hand remains occupied with Satoru’s, moving exquisitely to the melodic song of the nightingales. It was a dream from a childhood storybook.

Moreover, what was revealed in public was, undoubtedly, the same in the comfort of your bedroom, living at your university’s on-campus apartment that you shared with two indifferent roommates. He would frequently stop by after work to spoil you with his affection. Always asking how your day was and whether or not you finished your assignments.

He was a tad bit older than you–twenty-eight and going, but you didn’t mind the age gap, it gives you all the more reason to tease him for his ‘old’ age, to which he responds with a pout and furrowed eyebrows, ‘Oh, how mean! Who would’ve ever thought that my darling angel could be such a devil…?!’ He’d say with faux anguish. He knows you’re only playing around–such the jokester.

Though, he couldn’t say the same for you in bed. Protected by the warmth of your sheets, you relished at how accustomed your body and soul were to his heartfelt transactions, vanilla-flavored sex, so sweet and tasteful on your tongue as he kissed you with want. Tongues twirling a sensual dance as your lips combine in rhythmic harmony. You also loved it when he coos in your ear, reminding you of how you’re so good to him before wrapping his lips around puffy areolas in a way that makes you writhe.

He’s so gentle with you. Handling a fine china cabinet with the utmost care, he makes sure he touches you in ways that wouldn’t break your fragile body. And when your nude skin presses against his as a result of his thrusts to your core, he reminds himself to get you moaning in his ear and get your hands gripping against the muscular curvature of his back.

It feels good. It always feels good. So, why does a part of you feel…bored?

The love is there, you won’t question that. When you come, you feel as though you’re one with the stars. And above all, he praises you. It’s nothing new, but in this context, you like to be his ‘pretty girl’ whenever the tip of his nose pushes against your wet clit. So, why do you feel like something is missing? You don’t know.

You haven’t been in many relationships. The last one you remember was in high school, dating a boy who only loved you out of teenage fever, and you shamefully admit that you reciprocated his confession. You were both young and unknowing of what the aspects of ‘love’ really meant. You never went past the boundary of hand-holding and cheek-kissing, so it remained stagnant until the moment you both broke up.

None of it was mutual, however. You can recall how distraught you were as you bawled in your mother’s arms, asking her what you did wrong while she soothed you with maternal pets to the crown of your head. That being said, it’s safe to say that you really don’t know what’s missing from you and your boyfriend’s intercourse–like, really.

But, thankfully, Satoru makes up for what you lack, telling you not to fret since he knows a lot and letting you know how much he’s been wanting to get to this point of intimacy with you–wanting to whisk his girlfriend away from the comfort zone that you’ve grown so attached to.

Satoru is without exception, enthusiastic to portray more during times of intercourse, yearning to teach you more than just the fluffy, domestic sex you both indulge in. It’s lovely and all, bleh bleh, whatever, Satoru gets it, but, man, what he wouldn’t do to see you on your knees, between his sinewy thighs parted for your form as he hovers above you, your head tilted upwards to take in his thick shaft through wet lips.

He’d make sure his red, throbbing tip hits the back of your throat so he can hear that sickening gag scurry out your mouth paired with the sloppy froth of your saliva slapping against his heavy balls with each quick thrust. He’d be too occupied to find the snot dribbling from your nose revolting because you’d be taking him in so deep.

That’s forever been his little fantasy–that amongst the vast amount of others. And to try each and every one of them with you would be a delight.

After you confessed to Satoru, you couldn’t help but notice how peculiar his ministrations started to get. It was gradual–starting with spanks on your ass to eating said ass. You’ll even bring up the time he used your feet to get off. It caught you off guard, you’d admit.

That day he had you pliable–on your knees with the left apple of your cheek flushed in the pillow beneath you and arms resting idly on your sides as you allowed your enthralled boyfriend to take the lead.

You assumed he was just gonna spit on your already-soaked pussy before massaging your puffy clit in the teasing, clockwise motions he likes to test you with, cock oozing with leakage before languidly gliding upwards to push in-between your cunt lips, but what you didn’t assume he’d do was trace his slimy precum against the soft skin of your toes to then rub his tip across your soles.

You tried to retract your feet away from him (toes wiggling in the process which had them accidentally graze across his balls. You could’ve sworn you heard him hiss) and protest his weird behavior but Satoru was already three steps ahead, firmly gripping both feet and nearly squishing them together if it wasn’t for the thick base of his cock preventing them from touching.

Each thrust he made ached with raw fervor and fuck him from being incapable of suppressing his passion because he couldn’t help but look down and see your cute pussy pucker and asshole twitch. What a sight for sore, cerulean eyes. Just as sore as your ass after he slapped it with an ever-so-firm hand, silently thanking his calluses for the rough impact.

He found it adorable how your shimmering entrance craved for insertion, winking rhythmically at him as though it’s saying, ‘Please fill me up, ‘toru! ‘M so lonely without you…’ (he chuckles to himself at the personification when done in a high-pitched tone).

But your pussy always gets his attention. You have another hole too, ya’ know–one that sits right above it, unused and virginal. Just imagine his excitement as he leans forward, cock still buried at the innermost part of your feet, to take a closer look. He’d smile at your coyness when you felt his hot breath blow on your skin, unsure of his next move.

In this new position, he can trace the faint smell of sweat emerging from you, and God, does that turn him on. More than it already does. So of course he had to steal a taste, trailing a fat strip of saliva against the rim, you squeal at the warm and wet feel of his tongue touching a place it had never been before,

“S-Satoru…what the fuck!” You jolted before moving from your position, migrating to any spot as long as it's far from your lover. You’ll never forget the sleazy look on Satoru’s face as both corners of his rosy lips tilt upwards for a cocky grin–yuck.

It grossed you the fuck out.

Not in a way that antagonizes your boyfriend, you love him too dearly to feel as such, but in a way that questions his morals. Why on earth would someone like Satoru want to be minimized to using the bottom of your soles for pleasure or savor the briny taste of sweat that builds up around the tight ring of your ass? I-I mean, you excrete from there, for God’s sake! That’s gross, especially in a place where the sun doesn’t shine.

You understand that he likes doing it, but why? How could something so perverse and dirty get him hard so quickly? Where’s his shame? His humiliation? His guilt? Were they not present whenever he sneaks a lick at your toes?

Perhaps you are trying to understand–who wouldn’t want to indulge in their lover’s feet, to caress the tough surface of their heels, and lead up their toes, to draw soft lines against them with plush lips as their medium before dipping them inside the wet cavern of their mouth and sucking the small digits before swirling their tongue and–ugh!–no! No, no, no, that’s sick! How can one do such a thing with ease? You can’t possibly imagine that.

But you’re not a kink shamer…right?

Your question remains unanswered, though, as you’re interrupted by Satoru’s moistened kisses trailing down the curve of your neck. You must’ve been in your daze for quite some time considering that the camisole top and loose shorts you lounge in took their positions on your bedroom floor.

“Come back to me, baby.” You hear your boyfriend murmur and you deliberately oblige by running your digits through the white sea of his mane, wild and free as your fingers feather against his roots. He hums with love before leaving a kiss that's sloppier than the previous one. It starts with your usual routine, with soft and tenderhearted sex.

He pecks at your clavicle and you whimper in return as silvery lashes tickle the most sensitive areas of your skin. The passionate atmosphere continues to flow within the four walls of your room–containing your moans and your kisses and your touches, reverberating them in your heated figures while filling you both with distinct pleasure. It was good so far.

“Have any ideas in mind for tonight, sweetheart?” His voice is muffled as he joyfully sucks at the skin between the valley of your breasts, teeth clasping over the hot flesh to induce a mark darker than what your skin tone provides. You hold onto the fabric of his black shirt, soundlessly wondering why he is still garbed in unbreathable polyester while you remain bare save from your panties.

Lolling your head to the side in thought, you dwell on his question. Should you have something in mind? This isn’t the same as getting asked where to eat for dinner, per se. And owning to your inexperience with sex and fetishes, you’re incapable of bringing anything to the table in this sense.

You open your jaw, mouth filled with saliva due to the raunchy actions performed by your boyfriend onto your supple body, ready to speak your retort as you lick your chapped lips in preparation, but, Satoru knows you better than you know yourself.

“Yeah, I know you don’t,” It’s like he was born to study you. Your eyes travel to his person again, orbs resting upon Satoru’s scalp as you wait for him to finish. “Nothing in that gorgeous head of yours. It’s okay, though. I don’t blame you. I know an amateur like you wouldn’t have anything planned.”

As might be expected, your brow raises at his comments slightly glazed with a patronizing drip, it’s gotten your attention, all right, as you turn your head to glare down at him. He’s sucking on your nipples this time and you forge a jerk but don’t falter, perked up by this newfound attitude from your loving partner.

“Oh?” You start and it carries the same uppity weight as his tone. “And I suppose you have it all figured out?”

He nods right after gazing up at you with arctic globes saturated with a heavy rush of sincerity and you can already feel the dreamy sigh materializing in your throat but never emerging. Satoru immediately sniffed out the indignance behind your words like a trained bloodhound. He rises from his spot upon your heaving chest to travel his way to the swoll of your chin, apologizing with a quaint kiss.

“I do,” His smile is affectionate. “You know I always do, sunshine.” You gasp once something hard nudges against your squishy thighs before poking the outermost part of your panties.

“-Always think of something for that little cunt.” It isn’t long before it's cast to the side for clear access to your glimmering slit, doused in slick because your boyfriend had a remarkable way of handling you. He didn’t miss the embarrassed mewl of his name when he used filthy words.

He also didn’t miss the pull of air you took in as his thick finger swept up your bodily remnants, coating the fingertips of his middle and ring finger. You voluntarily buck your feeble hips in desire for him to push through your entrance but you know he wasn’t going to give it to you that easily. “You know, it gets me going when we do stuff like this when others aren’t around–when we do something so forbidden.”

What–?

“Forbidden…?” Each syllable muddles your tongue as you ponder on its meaning: something that typically isn’t allowed or accepted–you’re not unaware, it’s a simple word, but is that the word he meant to say? “Why would it be forbidden? You’re my boyfriend, are you not?” Unless there’s something you’re unknowing of.

Perhaps he has a wife that he kept hidden in the shadows of his past. What if one wife turned into several wives? Maybe he’s a bloodthirsty murderer, ready to indulge in his next killing after getting you to trust his charming blue eyes and pink-liped smile. You don’t exactly know what the forbidden aspect of it all that he’s keeping from telling you-

You hear him ‘tsk’ and you assume it was meant to be taken seriously but it seems covered in mockery.

“Hah, Boyfriend? Have you no shame?” And he chuckles deep and grimy. “Don’t act like don’t know, dear.” You honestly don’t. “What would our parents think if they saw you, my sweet, little sister, grinding her greedy pussy against her older brother’s fingers?”

Oh.

Oh God.

Gritting your teeth for an evident cringe, you hurriedly toss your head to the side to break eye contact (how did he even manage to hold it for that long despite what he just said?!). There’s no way he’s doing this. Out of all kinks…

“For the love- Satoru. Stop, that’s fucking-” A sharp whine halts your sentence, stressed to the point of exaggeration. You don’t bother looking back up at him, already imagining his brows creasing with complaint at your disgusted remark.

“Ehh, what happened to ‘Satoru-nii’?” You almost would’ve forgotten the fingers sketching light circles on your sensitive button, going in for a pinch before tapping it aimlessly due to its slippery surface.

You clench your thighs together but Satoru’s heaping form prevents you from doing so. He’s a big mass of muscle reminiscent of a bull–broad shoulders along with thickened veins peeking through tough skin in the forms of streams, carrying the pulsing blood flow of adrenaline and transporting through each significant section of the body to energize his raging carnality.

“Are my fingers dwindling your vocabulary already? I just started using this pussy, sugar plum.”

A part of you wanted to believe he was joking–trolling like he usually does on literally every occasion. He knows how acquiescent you were in situations like these. So easily obedient to follow his golden rule when clinging to his hip, taking full advantage of your attributes to get you to do the perverted shit that spoiled his brain to corruption.

Of course, there’d be times when you’d retaliate, shouting out a brief ‘no’ before leaving the conversation unfinished, but it’s okay because he can butter you up to your good side. Use his words and his hands to do the convincing. Satoru has attributes of his own too.

But gazing into his eyes and seeing how aquatic blue dissolves into crimson red, only driven by lust, tells you he’s serious.

You look off to the side once more because staring at your nightstand is more soothing than staring at your deviant boyfriend. Out of all kinks, why this one?

“I don’t,” You close your eyes in an attempt to rid yourself free from his piercing glare. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” You weren’t about to do this. You weren’t about to play into his wicked fantasies of being a relative of any sort. That doesn’t sound appealing at all.

“Don’t be like that, babe.” He mutters softly as if other people were in the room, prying with open ears to catch whatever dialogue is being transmitted between the two of you. A fingertip taunts at your sloppy entrance, just barely shoving past its tight grip. Sexual anticipation surged through your core at his ministration (his giggles at your hopelessness didn’t help you any). “You won’t know unless you try. Come on, do it for me?”

He’s too cute to refuse when your peripherals pick up his bottom lip raising upwards for a pout and feather-like lashes fluttering over glossy, blue orbs. Practically, begging you to follow through with this look alone–if only he wasn’t so handsome and used his charm against you in every way possible. God damn it-

“You’re sick, you know that?”

“Then you’re my antidote.”

You exhale in defeat since you unfortunately realize there’s no way out of this. Satoru’s too adamant to get you to play along with him, it’s insane. Turning your head to fully face him, which feels like the one-millionth time you’ve done so, you look him in the eye before aiming at the button of his nose, upturned and perky. Mentally getting ready to produce the God-forsaken words you are about to utter.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” You start and the way Satoru’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas irks you.

You still feel mortification swirl in your skull like second nature. Your cheeks feel hot and it hurts–were you really about to do this?

Satoru was still teasing you to no end. Teasing that doubtlessly wet pussy with expertise. He was killing you by not giving you what you craved, only remaining on the surface as he waited for your verdict. Just one more push, one more shove and you’ll get there.

“And why is that?” He inquires.

Your bottom lip quivers with hesitation before an erotic groan escapes you. He’s so close to putting them inside. “Because you’re-” You pause to wait for a sliver of courage to finish your sentence. You’re not sure if you can-

“...I’m?” He continues.

You both catch on to the shaky breaths you’re letting out, two separate bodies feeling two separate emotions, one agitated and the other electrified.

“You’re my,” You tense but Satoru loosens. “-my b-brother.” He’s the Cheshire cat as of now. You wail once two fingers invade your thirsty hole, entering with a mushy squelch.

“And what is it that we’re doing, huh? What is it that we’re doing that would be so revolting to the public eye, hm? Tell me.” Can he stop pushing you already, for crying out loud?

“You fingering my, my,”

“You got it, keep going.”

“...fingering my p-pussy.”

Satoru cherishes your hesitance and rewards you, his obedient puppy.

Digits curl upwards in search of that sensitive g-spot resting amongst your gushy insides. If applied enough pleasure, he’d be able to see how your back arches off your cotton sheets. Your mouth opens for a silent scream as the force of his fingers supports the buildup of liquid passion, pounding the area in addition to his palm rubbing your stiff clit the deeper he goes.

“There you go, my sweet girl, my gorgeous, little sister.” He fingers you harder and sucks at your erect nipples–when did they get so hard? As a matter of fact, when did your body feel so hot and needy? As though you’re deprived of something.

Your boyfriend sucks at your tit before biting the small nub, grazing his teeth along sensitive skin for a chomp, causing your hands to fly to his head and grip the fur of his undercut, all while wincing in pain. He retracts his head with your nipple still in his mouth, giving it a stern tug like an elastic rubber band. You would have cursed him out if it wasn’t for the fingers still beating at your nether regions.

“Ah, S-Satoru!” He bites harder and you remember his request from earlier. “Satoru-nii.”

As if you hear a winner's buzzer, he hums in approval and releases before gorging his lips around the other one, gently guzzling it this time, skillfully whirling his wet appendage around the nub in combination with hungry sucks. He unloosens with an obnoxious, wet pop!

“M’so glad your mom married my dad. If it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t be able to take care of my little sister’s pussy like how I’m doing now. Wouldn’t that be so sad?!” He inquires gleefully. “I’d be so miserable–jerking myself off to meaningless porn when I could be stuffing my big dick deep inside your aching cunt. Hearing you moan out how much you love your older brother for making you squirt your sticky juices all over me. You even got your hairs trimmed in the way you know I love.”

The sound of fabric grinding against fabric fills your ears as he maneuvers his head to reach down to your pelvis, stuffing his nose on top of the shortened pubes, his mouth hangs dangerously over your clitoris.

He takes in a deep breath like he’s smelling the fresh air of healthy trees and freshly cut grass, basking in your heady scent while feeling his cock go rigid in the plush of your mattress.

Too aroused to feel embarrassed, you buck your hips so you can finally get his mouth on your itching button and he finally compels, switching between sucking in your clitoral hood and tonguing your labia. Satoru moves his fingers faster in hopes of provoking your climax. He knows your proximity by noting the way your thighs tremble and toes spread across your sheets.

You finally get to the stage you’ve been craving since the beginning of this session. Releasing your fluids onto your awaiting boyfriend, the grip at the nape of his neck more powerful than before, you squeal a brief ‘Satoru-nii!’ as he proceeds to lap at your overstimulated pussy. He’s now sparkling with your juices. Satoru sits up on his knees after wrapping his buff arm around the width of your shoulders to hoist you up and get you closer to his thighs, your figure remains seated as you process what he wants you to do–he wants you to suck him off.

So you lean your sweat-stained face over his clothed member and unwrap it like a Christmas present you’d save for last because it's so big. His cock springs up rudely and smacks at his now naked abdomen (when did he take off his shirt?) with a loud clap. His abs are so detailed and his pecks puff out in pride while he looks down on you, like his little servant.

He controls the length of his cock with a stern hand and traces ivory white lipstick over the plump of your mouth, a hazy web of precum connecting to your upper lip.

“Wrap those beautiful lips over my cock, darling angel. You know it makes me happy to see you stuffed full with my dick, no matter the hole.” He cheeses when he hears a quick scoff come out of you.

You listen anyhow, swallowing the tip of your big brother’s rod, hallowing your cheeks like a skeleton to circling your tongue around its rosy circumference. You feel your remaining cum dribble onto your bed when you hear him make a guttural moan from above. Clenching his ass cheeks as fingers place themselves on top of your head like an armrest, laying idly as of now.

“Oh shit, baby, yeah, just like that. Keep sucking me off juuust like that.” He bucks his hips impatiently once you decide to devour him up to the mid-base, continuing the actions of sucking in your cheeks to tighten around his cock. “Fuck!” He mewls before chuckling humorlessly.

He stares down and you look up. Your eyelids roll back til they’re just below your brow ridge to catch sight of azure undertones. You were just about to wonder why he was tittering until pressure made its way to both sides of your head. When his pearly white smirk twinkled under dim lighting, that's when you knew-

“Hmphh,” The noise was pitiful when subdued by the heavy weight of Satoru’s cock.

“Hold still, pretty girl.” He coos before pushing his hips back and applying the same manner to your head as he controlled you effortlessly and then thrusting forward and forcing your head to do the same. His balls slap on impact with your chin when he buries himself deep into the hot cavern of your throat, you have your nostrils planted on the silvery wisps of his pubes, reeking of potent masculinity. He leaves you in that position, powerless as he ignores the smacks to his meaty thighs.

“Hold it,” He warns. His voice is pitched below the Earth’s surface. “Gotta teach you how to please big bro properly.” You fight hard as his tip keeps irritating the thing that hangs at the back of your throat, trying to oppose your body from naturally activating your gag reflex but it ends up being fruitless. Your throat convulses as it bulges with his cock print and you cough out an ugly sound. Your vision blurs once you feel your eyes start to water up. You want him to move back already!

“Good.” It’s like he heard your thoughts because he finally retracts from his perfect spot lodged in your gullet. His swollen tip tickles the surface of your lips as you gasp several breaths of air. Just what was he thinking? You could’ve puked!

“What the hell was- mmph!” Halted by another intrusion of his cock burying itself in the pits of your throat, you muffle out a sound of surprise. You couldn’t believe it.

Satoru starts, “Less talking from you, sunshine. I wanna hear you slobber on my dick. Think you can do that for me?” He quickens up the pace of his thrust, going at the speed of someone walking. You gag disgustingly at each thrust and you can feel snot starting to leisurely slip from your nose (just what he wanted to see).

“That’s a messy girl, my messy sister. Got you, hah, so worked up you even got snot dripping from your nose and your spit running down my balls. Oh, you don’t know how much I longed for this.” He resumes his praises and tips back his head for a howl, feeling himself approaching his end as he hears you glurg, glurg, glurg on his veiny member.

“Oh shit, shiiit…!” Suddenly, you’re abruptly pushed off of him, freeing your esophagus from the restraint. Your back lands on the bed with a thud, your landing protected by your doughy comforter. Satoru stands motionless as he recovers from edging himself to oblivion. Biting his lip, his cock twitches up and down before it gradually remains unmoving.

You don’t even remember it happening, but you’re already restricted underneath Satoru’s panting body, thighs folded backward for a mating press, squeezing your squishy tits together, and feet perched on top of his shoulders. He takes his infamous spot between your legs, his overworked hands, decorated in calluses and scars, cuff around the underside of your knees.

He gifts you a heated kiss on your lips. “‘Toru-nii-” You say while struggling to keep up with his tongue. He breaks away from you and the string of saliva snaps into two.

“I hear you, baby, want me inside you already, I know, hear you loud ‘n’ clear.” His tip finds your entrance and it's sopping wet tenfold. He’s never seen you so needy in his life. He pushes in slowly and smoothly. Relishing your moans as he delves within you inch by inch, his thick cock stretching you out deliciously. You squirm in lascivious desire each time he enters you.

“I know, sugar, I know…” He soothes you upon hearing your sobs go up an octave. His head rests at the empty spot next to your neck and his hair tickles the crevice. “Almost there.”

As soon as he sinks deep in your warm cunt, he pecks your cheek with a softness that resembles duck feathers in a pillow before plummeting into you. A pornographic squelch resounds through your room.

“Hnn, T-Toru-nii is, so deep, ah, in my pussy!” You yelp. He’s so glad you’re still following his gross footsteps. So dazed by his cock hitting every ridge nestled within you.

“Yes, that’s right, little sis. And you’re gonna be a good girl and take it for me, right?”

You give a nod, “Yes, I will. I always will. Just f-for you.”

“Mmm, that’s right. That’s what I like to hear.”

He inclines his torso backward, finding his attention on the feet placed at each side of his shoulders, more specifically, the one to his left as he grabs your ankle with ease, stroking the bone and putting your pedicured toe between wanting lips, your french tips hitting the roof of his mouth while lapping at your salty skin.

His pelvis hammers into you at a steady rate in combination with the gushes emerging from both sexes, it's so damn loud, you’re quite sure your Resident Assistant will come banging at your door frantically, telling you to lower it down because of the noise complaints that lead to your room.

You giggle, not just at the thought but at how much it tickles to feel Satoru’s tongue swirl around each toe.

“Satoru, that tickles.” You quip and the aforementioned man stares at you with knowing lids, purposely tasting your soles which have you trying to take your foot away, but the position you’re in makes it impossible.

You feel as though hours go by as your older brother pushes on with fucking you silly and having a makeout session with your foot. His v-line collides with your poor pussy on every steady beat and you can’t help but let your earlier accusations fall from your mind like slippery soap.

The revulsion, the distaste, the discomfort–all of which were confined in a silk-woven case, trapped and compacted hitherto its evolution of approval. Although tentativeness plagues its cycle, the result remains beauteous as a cherry red butterfly protrudes through the rotten surface of the cocoon. The successful escapee finally swarms the sky with a setting sun.

It feels good. You feel good. Your pussy feels good as your step brother pounds it with intent–with purpose. You wiggle like a fearful worm ready to be eaten once the need to release creeps up slowly.

“My little sister always manages to feel so good. This pussy is just gripping me so fucking tightly and-” He stops abruptly and so do your moans as you hear your front door creak open.

The sound of jiggling keys and the chaotic trembling of plastic bags alert both your ears as you hear the door slam shut accompanied by a relieved sigh. You glance at the digital clock on your nightstand–‘10:35 PM’. One of your roommates is back from work. Coming home to rest easy from their enervating shift, she wants nothing more than to take a scalding hot shower, laze in her bed, and listen to nothing but silence as she drifts off to sleep.

But before those temptations come into play, she first wants to check up on you to see if you’re still in your room. Walking up sluggishly to your door, she raises a hand to prepare a few knocks while you and Satoru both stare wide-eyed at the shadow that occupies the crevice beneath your bedroom door–still like Michelangelo's statues.

“Hey, (Name), you in there?” The pause is long as you look up to Satoru and see his gaping mouth transform into a smirk before turning your attention to the door.

“Uh, yeah, I’m here. What’s up?” You ask, slightly hoping that your answer will satisfy her queries on your safety before retreating to her room.

“After work, I took a quick trip to the store for some wings and frozen pizza if you’d like some. Even got honey-barbeque-” You smile at her gentle antics. She remembered your favorite flavor.

“Oh, thanks, I really appreciate th-oh!” You’re stopped once Satoru resumes pounding your sloppy pussy. You cover your mouth in an attempt to conceal your yap but a strong hand grabs both wrists to cuff them above your head.

“Keep talkin', sis. Can’t leave mom pondering, now can we?” He whispered with precaution. That devious little-

“H-Hey? Are you okay?” The squishy slaps of both Satoru’s precum and your wet fluids compose a cacophonic symphony. Shit, if he keeps going, you’ll-

“Yeah, m-mhm. I-I’m, fuuuck, fine.” Satoru grins maniacally above you his hot breath pasts your cheek and into your ear. The tip of his cock abuses your cervix as he compacts you tightly under giant muscle, arms littered with bulging purple and blue veins as he keeps you steady. His pubes tickle your clit whenever his hips kissed yours. Both breaths were getting heavy.

“Are you sure, you sound…sick.” Her words were laced with worry as she stood there, unmoving. “Do you need for me to come in?”

Satoru finds her naivety hilarious but decides it's time to break the barrier. He does so by raising his hips to an exaggerated extent before hammering back into you, the sound much louder than before as clapping fills the atmosphere. He guarantees your roommate will pick it up. Which she does.

“Wait, are you-” She gasps when she hears your sobbing moans echo in her ears. “Oh my God.” You’re too fucked stupid to give a reply when she blurts out an embarrassed ‘sorry!’ before taking hurried footsteps away from your door.

“Guess we scared her off, huh?” Knowing damn well he was the one who only made the effort to let your roommate know you were being pounded to oblivion. “Think she’s gonna tell everyone about this? Tell everyone how her son and daughter ruin the family name because we were caught fucking each other in your room?” He’s quick to pick up in your roleplay.

“Hnngh, I don’t know, ‘Toru.”

“I’m quite sure she will. What do you say, sweet girl, how about we both give a real reason to soil the family name and let me come in this pussy?” His thrusts start to stutter with each filthy word–cream drips from your cunt and down to the tight rim of your ass. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you groan quietly.

“Answer me now, sweetheart, or Satoru-nii is gonna-”

“Yes, Satoru, fuck. Please come inside me, please, ‘don’t care about anyone in this family but you! Come inside me, Satoru-nii!”

With that being said, he fulfills your wish by giving you one, big thrust and stilling his cock deep in his little sister’s pussy to pump his hot seed in increments. Whimpering loudly as he does so. His face contorts in the cutest grimace that you wish you could smooch. You heavily breathe in unison until he pulls out of you (fingering his remaining cum back into your fluttering hole).

He kisses your cheek, then your forehead, and lastly your lips before saying, “You did so well for me.”

And it’s after this session that have you thinking–‘perhaps you do get it’.

#gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader #satoru smut #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk smut #jjk x reader #tw:stepcest #tw:foot/fetish #tw:dubcon

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crescenthistory · 18 days ago

Note

May I please request ‘Whispering "Oh you are going to be very embarrassed when you wake up."’ with Regulus?

for the journeys & journals mini-event <3

prompt: "oh you are going to be very embarrassed when you wake up"

wc: 0.7k

cw: gn!reader, alcohol, being drunk, vague allusions to regulus' childhood, very fluffy, platonic!bartylus and regdorcas

It’s rare for Regulus to get this pissed.

Tipsy, sure. He was adamant to disprove the prude allegations, not to mention that he enjoyed holding something in his hands during social gatherings to ground him. Eventually that something became your hand, but to begin with he wanted to avoid public displays of affection.

He had an extensive past of drinking with Barty during their teenage years – to drown our merriful sorrows, Barty would always say – but he only really got proper drunk when in the company of the select few he trusted most. For years, that had been Evan, Barty, Pandora and Dorcas, no others.

Then, you happened. That's how he put it.

Thus, he was currently leaning on the very person he trusted the most. All around you, though, were far many more witnesses than he ever preferred.

Dorcas’ birthday bash was always a grand event, something to look forward to. Once Marlene with her fratboy-esque party games and whoops joined in on the planning of it, it quickly became the greatest party of the year. Not only that, but it was a party Regulus actually saw the point in, as Dorcas remained one of the people he would put himself out of his comfort zone for.

After a few years outside Grimmauld’s Place and an evergreen found family blooming around you, it was perhaps also a bit easier to let go. At least that’s how you rationalised it as you tried to draw the connections between the red-nosed, giggling boy with his head on your chest.

Regulus was always very beautiful, his whole family was. Yet, there were moments like these where he still managed to surprise you with the pure depths of his beauty. Rosey cheeks, tousled hair and fond hands. Eyes that sparkled with both rosé and love.

His cheek against your chest, his arms around your waist where he had more or less tackled you down onto the sofa opposite your other friends. Your legs were a mess and his eyes were scrunched up with laughter at Barty and Evan’s running bit.

“Baby Black, are you quite alright?” Marlene interrupted from where she leaned her hip against the armrest beside Dorcas, who was wearing the most gorgeous tiara. Sirius behind her looked torn between horror and amusement.

You knew Regulus was completely gone when he didn’t scowl at the nickname. “Never better,” he hiccuped, making Evan fall into Barty with laughter.

You just smiled. There was a nice buzz flowing through your own veins, and you considered drinking some more to increase it and match your boyfriend’s. But as you looked down at him in all his drunk glory, you decided you wanted to make sure you remembered this clearly.

“Are you alright, amour?” you murmured into his hair, fingers dancing over his back.

He turned his face to beam at you, reaching out to pinch your lips shut with his cold fingers. “That’s my name for you, don’t steal it,” he admonished, words slurred.

“I’m terribly sorry,” you managed to push out despite him silencing you. It sounded choked and it made him break into more giggles, which again pushed Barty, equally pissed, into further giggles.

Regulus tried to kiss you, but missed twice, disorientation taking over. You wound up grabbing his cheeks and kissing him soundly yourself, eliminating the incoming frown.

“Mm, you’re warm,” Regulus murmured.

“So are you, baby.” He merely shook his head at this fact, ducking his head down to peck you all over your neck.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, scraping carefully at his scalp as you noticed his kisses slow, almost like he was forgetting what he was supposed to be doing. Around the same time, his breaths began to slow and a content smile spread on your face as you connected the dots.

You leaned down to kiss the top of his head and whisper to him, while looking out at all your closest friends having a great time. “I love you, Regulus.”

When he didn’t reply, you knew he was drifting off. Another kiss to his head, and then you added, “Oh, you’re going to be so embarrassed when you wake up.”

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unboundprompts · 2 years ago

Text

Different Ways to Describe Blue Eyes

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

She had eyes like the sky on a warm, sunny day.

His eyes were of the darkest blue, like the ocean that threatened to drown sailors on a stormy night.

Their eyes glowed with anger, resembling the blue flames of an unforgiving fire.

His eyes were like ice: cold and relentless.

She had bright blue eyes that seized all the sadness in his heart when she looked at him.

His eyes were fire in the water.

Their eyes were the exact same shade of blue as the bucket he used to take with him down to the pond as a kid.

Her eyes reminded him of watercolors, blues and greens and purple mixing together like paint on a canvas.

He had eyes like sapphires: big beautiful gems that watched her every move.

She had never seen eyes like theirs— the lightest blue color that they were nearly silver— and she couldn’t help but to stare.

Their eyes were like deep blue pools, and he felt that he would get lost in them if given the chance.

His eyes were the same as the blue-green mountain lakes, reflecting the hue of evergreen trees and the sparkling sun.

With just a glance at her blue eyes, he could see a lifetime a struggle that she had never spoken aloud before.

In their blue eyes, she saw rings of gold like a new sun.

He had eyes like the midwinter sky.

Her blue eyes fixed him in the best ways.

They had never realized that blue eyes could look like such hot fire until now.

His eyes were the blue of the dark sky, lit with dancing northern lights and bright stars.

Her blue eyes had the sweetest traces of caramel.

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

#writing prompts #dialogue prompt #otp prompts #soft prompts #prompt list #rp prompts #romance prompts #dialogue ideas #writing ideas #love prompts #character description

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bucketgetter535 · 2 months ago

Text

No Margin for Error: Chapter Seven

CW: Mild/moderate sexual content

WC: 9.3k

Notes: if Azzi fudd shoved me I’d fold. Not that that’s relevant to the chapter or anything…

The cabin Paige had picked out was halfway up a mountain, surrounded by thick evergreens and wide open stretches of sky. The air was thin and cool even in July, sharp and clean enough that every breath made her feel lighter. It wasn’t some drafty old shack either — Paige had put her twelve million dollar Ferrari contract to good use, renting a sprawling modern place with big glass windows, a stone fireplace, and an outdoor patio that practically poured into the forest.

Right now, though, she wasn’t thinking about any of that.

She and Azzi were slouched together on the wide leather couch, a WNBA game playing low on the huge flatscreen in front of them. A bowl of popcorn sat forgotten between them. Paige had one socked foot kicked up against the coffee table, her hair loose and messy, a sweatshirt hanging too big off her frame. Azzi wasn’t much neater — sweats, a tank top, her hair braided back to keep it out of her face. They looked more like college roommates than two of the most talked-about drivers in the world.

Paige tossed a piece of popcorn into her mouth and chewed slowly, pretending she wasn’t thinking too hard before asking,

“So… what’s going on with your contract?”

Azzi blinked, glancing away from the TV to look at her. “What do you mean?”

“You’re in the last year, right? Eighteen million?” Paige asked casually, like she hadn’t looked that up weeks ago.

Azzi shrugged, totally relaxed. “Yeah. It’s up after this season.”

Paige sat up a little. “So what are you gonna ask for next year?”

Azzi leaned her head back against the couch, looking thoughtful. “I dunno. Probably twenty-three.”

Paige immediately made a face, wrinkling her nose. “What? Why?”

Azzi laughed a little at her expression. “Because that’s a lot of money?”

Paige shook her head, scoffing. “You’re a two-time world champion, Azzi. Red Bull’s paying their number one guy sixty-five. Sixty-five. You can ask for thirty. Easy.”

Azzi gave her a skeptical look, smiling faintly. “Oh yeah? And what about you, moneybags?”

Paige kicked her lightly with her foot. “If I win the championship this year,” she said confidently, “I’ll ask for twenty-seven.”

“And if you don’t?”

Paige shrugged. “Nineteen, maybe twenty.”

Azzi snorted, amused. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous for asking for less than you’re worth,” Paige shot back, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully for a second, then added, “How much are you making this year?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow at her. “Eighteen, like we just said?”

“Yeah, but with bonuses,” Paige said, grinning now. “You obviously hit your performance bonuses. You’ve got, like, what? Three wins?”

Azzi tilted her head, considering. “Four, actually.”

Paige grinned wider. “Exactly. So how much are you really pulling?”

Azzi smirked. “You first.”

Paige leaned back, folding her arms across her chest. “Fine. Twelve million base salary this year. Plus performance bonuses for podiums, wins, points finishes…” She trailed off, doing rough mental math. “Probably around eighteen right now? Nineteen, maybe?”

Azzi let out a low whistle. “Not bad for a rookie.”

Paige grinned proudly. “Not a rookie.”

Azzi smiled at her — a small, real smile that Paige felt all the way in her chest. She didn’t always show it, but Azzi was proud of her. Not just as a teammate, but as… whatever they were outside the track.

Paige picked up the remote and muted the TV, letting the background noise drop away. The sun was sinking lower outside, turning the sky pale gold. The forest outside the wide windows seemed to glow.

Paige looked at Azzi again, a little more serious this time.

“You should ask for thirty,” she said quietly. “You’re worth it. Don’t let them lowball you.”

Azzi studied her for a moment, then leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

“You really think I can get that much?”

Paige snorted. “I think if they don’t pay you that much, someone else will.”

Azzi smiled again, slow and thoughtful. “Maybe I’ll have you negotiate for me.”

Paige grinned back, a little proud, a little shy. “Maybe you should.”

They sat there for a moment, the game forgotten, the popcorn cold, the whole world narrowing down to the warm little bubble they’d built between them in that cabin in the woods.

It wasn’t much. Just a conversation about money. But for once, it wasn’t about pressure or contracts or media stories. It was just them. Paige and Azzi.

And for the first time in a long time, Paige let herself believe that maybe — just maybe — that was enough.

–

They didn’t share a bed that night.

Neither of them said anything about it — it just sort of happened. The cabin had four bedrooms, and while most of them sat untouched, it still felt easier to retreat to separate spaces. Maybe it was because the season had been so long already, and Belgium had only made it longer. Or maybe it was because some things still felt undefined between them, unspoken in the cracks of their closeness.

Paige didn’t mind. Or at least she told herself she didn’t.

Her bed was soft and warm, sheets tucked military-tight, and for the first time in months she didn’t fall asleep to the sound of hotel traffic, airplanes, or the mechanical whir of an engineering debrief. Instead, it was pine trees and wind. No engines, no PR. Just high-altitude silence.

She woke the next morning to the bright slice of sun cutting through the blinds and the dull ache blooming behind her eyes — that familiar post-crash headache still pulsing through her temples like a lazy metronome. She sat up slowly, pressing a palm to her forehead, and grabbed the half-empty bottle of ibuprofen from the nightstand. Two pills, a quick swallow, and she let herself breathe through the sting.

When she padded into the kitchen, Azzi was already there — hair still damp from a shower, wearing a hoodie over leggings, barefoot and scrolling something on her phone while leaning against the counter. She looked up when she heard Paige move and saw the bottle still in her hand.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Still?”

Paige shrugged like it was nothing and opened the fridge. “Comes and goes.”

Azzi didn’t push, but the way her eyes narrowed said she clocked it. Said she knew. Paige grabbed a bottle of water and shut the fridge with her hip.

“I was thinking,” Azzi said casually, “we should go get breakfast somewhere. You hungry?”

Paige twisted the cap off and took a drink. “Yeah. Sure.”

She didn’t even ask where — she just followed Azzi out of the cabin, down the gravel drive, and into the rental SUV parked in front. Azzi drove (despite Paige’s argument) with one hand on the wheel, window cracked just enough to let in the mountain air. They went down winding forest roads until they hit a little town about fifteen minutes from the cabin — the kind of place with a population under a thousand and a diner that looked like it hadn’t been redecorated since the 60s.

The waitress seated them near a window that overlooked the tree line, handed them thick laminated menus, and filled their mugs with burnt coffee that somehow still tasted perfect up here.

Azzi stretched out in the booth, long legs tucked under the table, reading the menu like it was a race strategy brief. Paige leaned into the corner of the booth, her hoodie sleeves pushed up, chin resting in her hand as she watched the waitress refill the coffee at the next table.

“You’re weirdly relaxed right now,” Azzi said, not looking up.

Paige blinked. “What?”

“You. This.” Azzi waved a hand around vaguely. “You’ve said maybe ten words since we left the house. And you’re just… chill.”

Paige smiled slightly, eyes flicking out the window. “It’s nice knowing I don’t have to do anything real for a while.”

Azzi nodded slowly, like she understood that all too well.

When their food came — some gross omelete for Azzi, eggs and toast for Paige — they ate in a kind of easy silence, broken up only by the occasional clink of cutlery and the slow hum of conversation from the rest of the diner.

After a while, Azzi spoke again. “We should go out to Denver today.”

Paige looked up. “Denver?”

“Yeah. I dunno. Just go do something. A museum, a movie, maybe dinner. Not talk about cars for once.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the edge of her mouth. “And how exactly are we getting to Denver and back?”

Azzi shrugged, totally unfazed. “I’ve got a guy. We’ll get a driver.”

Paige blinked. “You’ve got a guy?”

Azzi gave her a pointed look. “You’re so new to being a millionaire.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have an entire concierge of guys yet,” Paige said, mock-offended.

“You will,” Azzi said, sipping her coffee. “You’re gonna start flying private next. You’ll see.”

Paige laughed, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Right. Because nothing screams grounded like flying private to go see the Denver Art Museum.”

Azzi grinned. “Grounded is overrated.”

“Oh, is it now? Says the woman who’s lived in Monaco and a penthouse in New York and owns three watches more expensive than my car.”

“I only own two,” Azzi corrected. “The third one was a gift.”

Paige tilted her head. “From a sponsor or a girlfriend?”

Azzi raised a brow. “I’d really hope I didn’t have a girlfriend right now.”

Paige just smirked, biting into her toast.

The banter came easy. That was the thing about Azzi — for all her intensity behind the wheel, she had a lightness to her when she wanted to. When it was just them, away from cameras, sponsors, race engineers… she was sharp and funny and dry, but never mean. And Paige could relax around that.

They lingered at the table long after they were done eating, refilling their coffee a few times, watching the town wake up around them. It was easy in a way that most things in Paige’s life weren’t. She liked that.

She liked this.

When the bill came, Paige snatched it up before Azzi could even reach for it.

“You drove. I’m paying,” she said.

“Oh, that’s the rule now?” Azzi grinned.

“It is in my world.”

And just like that, breakfast was over. But the ease of it lingered, carrying them out the door and into the rest of the day, into Denver, into something that wasn’t quite work but wasn’t quite just friendship either.

And Paige — headache or not — felt a little more like herself than she had in weeks.

–

Denver was better than she expected.

It started light — wandering through streets dotted with summer crowds, grabbing overpriced iced coffees from a place Azzi had seen on some list, dipping into a museum exhibit that Paige only half cared about but still liked, because Azzi was so into it. There was something nice about seeing her like that — interested, curious, less like a world champion and more like a normal person who actually knew what to do on a day off.

They ended up at Coors Field almost on accident. Azzi saw the crowd in Rockies hats on the street, checked the schedule, and turned to Paige like it was already decided. “We’re going.”

Paige hadn’t been to a baseball game since high school. She forgot how much she liked the atmosphere — the smell of food, the rhythm of the innings, the way everyone cheered for something simple. It wasn’t like Formula 1. No political storm behind every strategy call, no media fire waiting in the paddock. Just home runs and foam fingers.

They ate nachos out of a helmet-shaped bowl and split a soda. Azzi refused to wear team merch, claiming she wasn’t loyal to anyone in the MLB, but still stood up and clapped for a double in the sixth inning like she’d been a Rockies fan her whole life. Paige just laughed and went along with it. She liked seeing Azzi like that — not serious, not calculating. Just happy.

By the time they made it back to the cabin, the sky had long faded to dusk. The pines outside the windows had gone dark, shadows stretching out into the night. Paige kicked off her shoes at the door and sank into the couch without really thinking. She was tired, but not in the usual way. This was a good tired. A full day, nothing on her calendar, and the altitude giving everything a slow, comfortable haze.

Azzi turned on the TV — something dumb, one of those shows with too much color and nothing to follow. She curled up on the other end of the couch, remote in hand, barefoot and quiet.

Paige’s head was starting to throb again.

It wasn’t sharp. Just that dull, pulsing reminder that something still wasn’t right. She winced and touched her temple, like that might help. It didn’t.

Azzi glanced over and saw the motion. Said nothing at first. Then she opened her arms slightly and tilted her head.

“Come here.”

Paige looked over, brow furrowed.

“Seriously,” Azzi said softly. “Just — head in my lap. C’mon.”

Paige hesitated, then slowly shifted across the couch and lay down, cheek resting against the softness of Azzi’s thigh. The world quieted a little. Azzi’s fingers found her hair without ceremony, combing through it gently, and Paige let her eyes fall shut.

They sat like that for a while, saying nothing. The TV babbled on, ignored. Azzi’s touch stayed light, never too much.

Then, without being asked, Paige said, “Spa didn’t even look that bad, right? From the outside?”

Azzi paused her motion. “You mean the crash?”

“Yeah.”

Her voice was quiet. The kind of voice she didn’t use in media rooms or team meetings. She didn’t sound like the girl who’d taken pole at Hungary, or the kid whose name was all over every motorsport podcast now. She just sounded twenty-two.

“It didn’t look small either,” Azzi said gently.

Paige nodded. “I’ve never… I never wrecked before. Not once. Not in F3. Not in F2. Not with Sauber. Not even in the sim that often.”

Azzi didn’t say anything. Her fingers kept moving, slow and steady.

“I saw it coming,” Paige said. “And I couldn’t do anything. I hit the brakes and I knew I was too late, and it just — the wall came up fast. I thought I’d bounced, but apparently the car spun after. I… I don’t remember it too well honestly..”

She swallowed. Her voice didn’t shake, but something else was trembling. Something inside her that she hadn’t let out before now.

“I wasn’t scared until after. Like, once I knew I was okay. Once the medics were there and I could breathe again. Then it hit me. How easy it could’ve been worse. If the angle was different. If the car rolled. If someone was behind me and didn’t slow down in time.”

Azzi’s hand stilled for just a moment, then resumed.

“Spa’s fast,” she said softly. “You go off there and it’s never small.”

Paige nodded, not opening her eyes.

“I haven’t said that out loud,” she added, more to herself than anything. “Not even to Liao.”

“You don’t have to talk to anyone you don’t want to,” Azzi said. “But if you ever do… this is fine too.”

There was a pause. Then Azzi added, “The headaches go away eventually. At least until you crash again.”

Paige smiled faintly at that. “Great. Super comforting.”

Azzi chuckled, low and dry. “I’ve crashed three times. I still get twitchy in the wet.”

“You?”

Azzi shrugged, her fingers never stopping. “Austria ’22, Monza last year, Suzuka my rookie year in the rain. You don’t forget the ones that hurt.”

Another long silence stretched between them, but it didn’t feel heavy. It felt… honest. Like they were both holding something in the air, careful not to drop it.

“Is it dumb,” Paige murmured, “that I didn’t feel like a real driver until it happened?”

Azzi looked down at her. “No. That’s real.”

Paige shifted a little, eyes still closed, pressing her forehead against Azzi’s leg like it made her feel steadier. It did.

“Thanks,” she said, barely audible.

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Just brushed a thumb lightly against Paige’s temple.

“You’re gonna be fine,” she said. “You already are.”

And somehow — headache still humming low, mind still sorting through the wreckage of Spa — Paige believed her.

–

Paige didn’t want to move.

The couch was warm. Azzi’s lap was warm. Her headache, dull and low-grade now, made everything feel slower, heavier, like she was underwater but didn’t really mind. She might’ve fallen asleep right there if Azzi hadn’t shifted slightly and tapped her shoulder.

“Come on,” Azzi said, voice soft but leaving no room for debate.

Paige blinked up at her. “What?”

Azzi was already standing, stretching a little, offering her hand. Paige took it out of instinct — she always did — and let herself get pulled to her feet. She wobbled slightly with how fast she was upright, but Azzi caught her with a steadying grip on her hip.

“You should shower,” Azzi said simply. “It’ll help your headache.”

Paige yawned, already half convinced. “Yeah, okay, whatever.”

But Azzi didn’t let go of her. She just started steering her through the cabin, up the stairs, like this was something that had been decided hours ago. Paige stumbled along, still heavy-limbed and slow to catch on.

It wasn’t until they crossed into Azzi’s room that Paige hesitated.

“Uh,” Paige said, glancing around, realizing. “This is your room.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “Good job, P.”

Paige opened her mouth, unsure what she was supposed to say to that, but Azzi just kept tugging her gently toward the en suite bathroom.

And then, when they reached the door, Azzi turned, gave her a look — one of those looks, the kind that always short-circuited Paige’s brain — and said, “P.”

Paige blinked at her, caught off guard. “What?”

Azzi smiled — slow, a little dangerous — and dropped her voice. “I didn’t bring you in here to use my shower by yourself.”

Paige’s brain stalled so hard she actually felt it happen.

She opened her mouth again — to say what, she had no idea — but no sound came out. Instead she just kind of stood there, floundering, as Azzi shook her head fondly like she always did. With a hand firm on the back of Paige’s neck, Azzi guided her into the bathroom.

The lights were low, the big walk-in shower already misty from earlier. The room smelled like Azzi — clean, expensive, just a little bit sharp like something citrusy in her shampoo. Paige’s heart was suddenly hammering behind her ribs, not in a bad way, just in a very aware way.

It wasn’t like Paige had never seen Azzi naked. They changed in front of each other every race weekend — motorhomes, locker rooms, ice baths. It wasn’t new.

But it was new. Here, now, outside of the context of work. Outside of the frantic schedules and sports bras and ice packs. There was no rush. No excuses. No barriers.

Azzi reached for the hem of her t-shirt, pulling it up over her head in one smooth motion. Her sports bra followed — casual, like she was shedding armor — and she dropped them both into a hamper by the wall.

Paige stared, because what else was she supposed to do, because Azzi looked — well. She looked like Azzi. Strong and soft all at once, angles and curves and that effortless kind of beauty that Paige had always noticed and never, ever said out loud.

She realized she was staring too long when Azzi cocked her head and said, amused, “Eyes up here, babe.”

Paige snapped her gaze up so fast her neck twinged.

“Sorry,” she blurted, mortified, like she was thirteen again.

Azzi just laughed, low and affectionate. She stepped closer, letting her fingertips trail lightly along Paige’s arm, nothing pushy, just enough to make every nerve ending on Paige’s skin light up.

“You’re cute.,” Azzi murmured, like it was a private joke.

Paige opened her mouth again — again, no words. Just a hot rush of blood to her face.

Azzi shook her head and reached for the band of Paige’s hoodie. “Come on. Headache’s not gonna fix itself.”

Paige lifted her arms in a daze, letting Azzi pull the hoodie off. She shivered a little at the loss of warmth, but Azzi’s hands were already sliding lower, tugging gently at the hem of her t-shirt next.

It was slow, almost reverent. Not like earlier that year where the alcohol made everything a blur. Not like the locker rooms where nobody cared because it was all just routine. This was… different.

Intimate.

Paige let her head tip forward a little, letting Azzi work. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror across the room — flushed cheeks, wide eyes, the nervous way her hands twisted together at her stomach.

Azzi caught that too, apparently, because she kissed Paige’s forehead, gentle and grounding.

“It’s just me, P.”

Paige exhaled shakily, trying to steady herself.

Yeah. It was just Azzi.

Azzi who looked at her like she was someone worth taking care of. Azzi who had pulled her through more days than she could count this year. Azzi who was now guiding her, quietly and confidently, into the steam of the shower.

It was just Azzi.

And somehow, that made it all a little less terrifying — and a whole lot more inevitable.

The steam filled the bathroom quickly, making the edges of the mirror blur out until it was just soft light and warm, damp air. Paige stepped into the shower first, blinking through the mist, feeling the instant prick of heat against her skin. She leaned into it instinctively, letting the water cascade over her shoulders, washing away some of the tension that had been coiled there for months.

Azzi stepped in after her — confident, unhurried, like this wasn’t even a thing to be nervous about. Like they took showers together every day.

Paige snorted quietly under her breath.

Yeah. Definitely not normal.

She leaned against the cool tile wall and closed her eyes for a second, just letting the water drum against her scalp, against her back. It felt good — better than she wanted to admit. Her headache was still there, a low simmer, but it had eased just a little, like the water was massaging it away.

Still, after a moment, she cracked one eye open and glanced over at Azzi.

“I don’t really know how this is supposed to fix my headache,” Paige said, voice roughened by the humidity.

Azzi just hummed under her breath — that maddening little noise she always made when she was thinking something she wasn’t going to share. She didn’t answer, just moved closer, standing so close now that Paige could see the rivulets of water sliding down her skin.

Paige dragged her gaze upward sharply, catching herself before she got caught again staring at the wrong things.

Azzi noticed anyway. She always noticed.

The smirk that bloomed across her face was infuriatingly smug.

Paige squinted at her. “Bruh,” she said, deadpan. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Azzi tilted her head, like she was considering whether or not to be merciful.

She wasn’t.

“Why not, P?” she said, low and amused, stepping in even closer. “You don’t like it?”

Paige’s jaw tensed, trying to hold onto her cool, but it was crumbling by the second.

Because the truth was, she did like it. She liked it way too much. Her body was betraying her entirely — heart thudding under her ribs, stomach flipping, hands itching to touch but frozen in place like if she moved first, she’d lose whatever fake control she had left.

Paige straightened a little, forcing herself into the role she knew how to play — cool, unbothered, in charge. It was fake, but it was the only thing she had right now.

“You’re lucky I’m nice,” Paige said, managing to get the words out steady even if her heart was doing somersaults.

Azzi just smiled again, slow and knowing. Like she knew exactly how much Paige was lying to herself.

Water beaded on Azzi’s eyelashes, made her look almost unreal. Paige hated how pretty she was — hated how much it scrambled her brain.

“You’re lucky I’m patient,” Azzi murmured back.

The water roared around them, filling up the silence, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the electric crackle of tension in the tiny space between their bodies.

Azzi’s hands — slow, unthreatening — came up to Paige’s waist, fingertips featherlight at first. Like she was giving Paige every chance to pull away.

Paige didn’t move.

Couldn’t have moved even if she wanted to.

Her breath hitched, caught painfully in her throat, but she stayed right there — leaning back against the wall, letting Azzi crowd into her space, pretending she wasn’t losing her entire mind.

Azzi leaned up, close enough to brush her mouth lightly along the line of Paige’s jaw — not quite a kiss, just a promise — and Paige had to shut her eyes again, had to tilt her head back to keep from just grabbing her right there.

It was funny, in a terrible kind of way.

On the track, Paige could hold her nerve through anything — rain, crashes, restarts, side-by-sides at 200 miles an hour.

But here, under the hot pounding water, under Azzi’s steady gaze, she was unraveling at the seams.

And Azzi — Azzi knew it.

“You’re shaking,” Azzi whispered, mouth still at her jaw.

“I’m fine,” Paige said automatically, because she was stubborn, because she had an image to protect even if nobody but Azzi was there to see it.

Azzi pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, searching, serious now in a way that made Paige’s stomach twist even harder.

“You don’t have to be,” Azzi said, soft but firm. “Not with me.”

Paige bit the inside of her cheek, trying to hold it together.

She didn’t trust herself to speak, so instead she finally, finally reached out — sliding her hands up Azzi’s sides, slow and tentative at first, then firmer when she felt Azzi lean into her touch. Azzi let out a small sound, something between a sigh and a hum, and it went straight through Paige’s chest like a spark to dry wood.

She was supposed to be the top here — that was their silent dynamic, their unspoken understanding — but God, Azzi made it so hard. She made Paige want in a way that was dangerous, consuming.

Still — Paige tightened her grip a little, pushed Azzi back a step so she was the one leading, reclaiming some illusion of control.

Azzi smiled against her mouth as Paige finally kissed her — not messy, not desperate yet, but deep enough that Paige could feel herself start to slip into it.

And for once, she let herself.

Because yeah, maybe her head was pounding and her heart was sprinting and she had no idea how she was supposed to survive this night —but it was Azzi.

And that meant she was safe, even if she wasn’t anywhere close to calm.

–

The bedroom was mostly dark except for the soft blue glow of the television screen across from the bed — some late-night sitcom rerun playing on mute, the laugh track flickering silently behind them. The Colorado night pressed cool and crisp against the windows, but under the heavy blankets, it was warm. Comfortable. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel heavy or awkward, but earned — like an exhale after too many months of holding her breath.

Paige was stretched out flat on her back, one arm behind her head, staring up at the wood-paneled ceiling. Her hair was still damp from the shower, curling a little at the ends against the pillow. Her body felt loose in a way it hadn’t in a long time — not since before Belgium, if she was being honest with herself.

Next to her, Azzi was curled up under the blankets, wearing one of Paige’s hoodies that was about three sizes too big on her, sleeves swallowed up past her hands. Paige wasn’t even sure when Azzi had snagged it — she just looked over at some point and there she was, wearing it like it was hers.

Paige didn’t mind.

She liked the way it looked on her.

Azzi turned her head, resting her cheek against the pillow to look at Paige more easily. Her eyes were soft in the dark, less sharp than usual, the tough edges worn down by the same heavy exhaustion that Paige felt in her own bones.

“You feel better now?” Azzi asked, voice low and a little rough from sleep creeping up on them.

Paige let her mouth tug into a small, lazy smile. “Mhm.”

She meant it, too. The headache that had been gnawing at her for days was dulled to a distant ache, like a bruise more than a wound. Manageable. Something she could finally breathe around.

They lapsed into a loose conversation, the kind that spilled out easy when your bodies were warm and tired and there wasn’t anything else demanding your attention.

They talked about their early days — about F3, when every race felt like life and death, when nobody knew their names yet except for the real freaks who memorized junior circuit stats. They laughed about the miserable little hotels they used to stay in, the 3 a.m. flights, the terrible track food that made you sick if you so much as looked at it wrong.

“You remember Hungary?” Azzi said, grinning against the pillow. “You ate that gas station sushi like a complete dumbass and then qualified second anyway.”

Paige groaned. “Oh my God. I forgot about that. I thought I was gonna die.”

“You looked green in the paddock,” Azzi teased, poking her gently in the side.

Paige swatted at her hand, smiling despite herself. “Still beat your ass that weekend though.”

Azzi rolled her eyes dramatically. “By like half a second.”

“A win’s a win,” Paige said, smirking.

They laughed again, the kind of laughter that loosened the last stubborn knots inside Paige’s chest.

Eventually, the conversation drifted to more recent things. They talked about how absolutely terrible the Canadian Grand Prix had been earlier that season — how they’d both finished out of the points, how everything that could go wrong had gone wrong.

“I think that was the first time I’ve genuinely thought about just walking off the track and disappearing into the woods,” Paige admitted, stretching a little under the covers.

“Same,” Azzi said. “If I never see Montreal again, it’ll be too soon.”

Paige smiled faintly. “We were due for a bad one.”

“Yeah,” Azzi agreed, voice softening. “Still sucked though.”

Another silence, but not uncomfortable. Just full — heavy with memories, with things unsaid but understood.

Paige closed her eyes for a second, letting herself drift a little. She was so tired she could feel it pulling at her like a current. But she didn’t want to fall asleep yet. Not while this was happening. Not while Azzi was here, warm and real next to her, talking to her like this was just… normal.

Eventually, Azzi shifted again, propping herself up slightly on one elbow, looking down at Paige with a thoughtful expression.

“Hey,” she said, nudging Paige gently. “Can I ask you something?”

Paige cracked one eye open. “You’re gonna ask even if I say no.”

Azzi grinned a little. “True.”

Paige made a lazy ‘go ahead’ gesture with her free hand.

Azzi traced a light line across Paige’s side, just brushing over the curve of her ribcage where the ink peeked out from under the hem of her sleep shirt. It was a small tattoo — easy to miss unless you were looking. Thin black lines, elegant and understated.

“I’ve seen it a hundred times, but I’ve never asked,” Azzi said. “What’s the tattoo for?”

Paige glanced down at it, at the delicate script running along the cage of her ribs.

It read: “Be you. Be great.”

For a second, she thought about brushing it off — making some dumb joke. She was good at that. She was a professional at that.

But the look in Azzi’s eyes wasn’t teasing. It was open. Real.

Paige took a breath, turning her head to look back up at the ceiling.

“It’s something my dad would text me before every race.,” she said quietly. “I got it my first year in F3. After everything.”

Azzi didn’t say anything, just waited.

Paige swallowed, feeling the old ghosts stir a little in her chest.

“I didn’t know if I could do it back then,” she said. “Like… really didn’t know. I thought about quitting. A lot. More than I told anyone.”

Azzi’s hand was still resting lightly against her side, not pushing, not asking for more — just there.

“I felt like I was getting my ass kicked every weekend,” Paige admitted. “And not even just on track. Everything around it, too. The pressure. The travel. The expectations. It was… a lot. And I didn’t think I was built for it.”

Azzi’s thumb brushed gently against her skin, slow and grounding.

“But you didn’t quit,” Azzi said, soft.

Paige shook her head. “No. I didn’t.”

She smiled a little, wry and tired and proud all at once.

“Got the tattoo the day after the season ended.,” she said. “Just… to remind myself of what’s important.”

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. She just looked at her, something deep and fierce flickering in her eyes.

Then, quietly, she said, “I’m glad you stayed.”

The words hit Paige harder than she expected — sinking into some soft, unguarded part of her she didn’t even realize she’d left open tonight.

She blinked up at the ceiling for a second, trying to find something funny or cool to say back — but nothing came.

So instead, she just rolled onto her side, facing Azzi properly, and bumped their foreheads together lightly, a silent thank you.

Azzi smiled against her.

The television flickered in the background. The world outside the cabin kept turning.

But inside this tiny slice of it, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, everything felt still. Safe.

For the first time in a long time, Paige let herself believe that maybe she wasn’t just surviving anymore.

Maybe — finally — she was living.

–

It was rare — almost unheard of — but Paige woke up first.

For a second she just lay there, confused, expecting Azzi to be the one already half-dressed and smirking down at her. But no — the other side of the bed was warm, the blankets still tangled around a deeply asleep Azzi, her dark hair a mess against the pillow.

Paige smiled a little to herself, slipped out of bed as quietly as she could, and headed downstairs.

The kitchen was still heavy with early morning quiet, the kind of silence Paige never got to enjoy during race weeks. She found a pan, cracked a few eggs into a bowl, whisked them lazily. The stove clicked to life with a small burst of blue flame. She wasn’t a world-class chef or anything — and God knew she’d had her fair share of microwave dinners — but living alone had taught her the basics. Eggs were easy enough.

She was plating them up when Azzi finally appeared, padding into the kitchen like something half-awake and mildly suspicious. She leaned against the counter, blinking at Paige.

“I’m shocked you can cook,” Azzi said, voice still hoarse with sleep.

Paige grinned and slid a plate across the counter toward her. “Yeah, well. I do live by myself,” she said. “Kinda had to figure it out.”

Azzi yawned and sat down on one of the barstools, eyeing the food suspiciously before taking a cautious bite. Then another. “Not bad,” she admitted, mouth half-full.

“High praise,” Paige said, deadpan.

They ate in companionable quiet for a little while, the sun rising higher over the trees outside. Paige leaned back in her chair, stretching her legs out under the table.

“So,” Azzi said, pushing her plate away once she was finished, “what should we do today? You know. If anything.”

Paige shrugged, thinking. “I don’t know. Kinda nice not having anything I have to do.”

Azzi tilted her head, studying her. “Your head feel okay?”

Paige thought about it, gave a small nod. “Yeah. Better this morning.”

Azzi didn’t look completely convinced, but she let it go. For now.

“You got any weird pre-race rituals I don’t know about?” Azzi asked, grinning, propping her chin on her hand.

Paige snorted. “Define weird.”

“Like… I don’t know. Lucky socks? Some weird handshake with your engineer? Secretly listening to Celine Dion to hype yourself up?”

Paige laughed, shaking her head. “Nah. I’m pretty normal, I think. I always put my left glove on before my right one. And I always tap the outside of the car with my hand before I get in. Just… a habit.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Cute.”

“What about you?” Paige asked, elbowing her playfully. “I bet you have a whole list.”

Azzi leaned back in her seat, smirking. “Mm. You’ll have to guess.”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “You definitely have something dumb, like wearing the same sports bra every race weekend.”

Azzi shrugged, unbothered. “Superstition’s part of the sport, babe. You’d be surprised how many world champions have a lucky sock or something even dumber.”

Paige grinned, finishing off her coffee. “Fair enough.”

There was a pause, easy and loose, before Azzi leaned forward again. “We should go shopping today.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Shopping?”

Azzi nodded seriously. “Yeah. It’ll be fun.”

“Why,” Paige said, deadpan. “What do you even want to buy?”

Azzi shrugged, unbothered. “I don’t know. Stuff. Maybe a new hoodie since you’re clearly trying to steal all of mine.”

Paige laughed, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Azzi grinned lazily across the table, sunlight catching the messy curls falling into her face. “You love it.”

Paige rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth tugged up in a smile she couldn’t quite hide. “Fine. Shopping. But if you make me carry your bags, I’m charging you a personal assistant fee.”

“Deal,” Azzi said, already pushing her chair back like it was settled. “You take cash, card, or direct wire transfer?”

Paige just laughed again, standing up and gathering the dishes. It was stupid how easy it was with Azzi sometimes — how the world could be loud and overwhelming and everything at once, but right now, here in this cabin kitchen with eggs and dumb plans, it felt like nothing outside mattered at all.

And maybe, for once, that was exactly the point.

–

The drive into Denver was easy enough, a slow crawl through the green, rising hills until the city started to fold open in front of them. Paige had the windows down, one hand draped over the door, sunglasses sliding a little down her nose. It was warm — the kind of sticky Colorado summer day where you regretted even thinking about jeans — so she’d thrown on a long-sleeve T-shirt and a pair of black athletic shorts.

Azzi, naturally, looked like a damn model. Crop top, tiny shorts, sneakers laced up like she might sprint away at any second. She was chewing a piece of gum lazily, scrolling through something on her phone as they cruised into the city.

It was sort of a miracle they hadn’t been recognized yet. Then again, two young women dressed like that in Denver? They just looked like half the college kids wandering around on summer break. No one was expecting two Ferrari drivers — let alone a two-time world champion and the Rookie of the Year — to be shopping for dumb stuff downtown.

Paige tugged the sleeves of her shirt down as they found parking, feeling the sun hot on the backs of her legs. She didn’t complain though — it felt good to be out, to be, instead of having to constantly do.

They wandered through a few shops, Azzi clearly on a mission even if Paige couldn’t tell what it was. Paige mostly followed, hands stuffed into her pockets, trailing Azzi like some reluctant little shadow.

And yeah, maybe — maybe — she let her eyes wander once or twice. Maybe Azzi’s shorts were riding real high up her thighs. Maybe she had a strut that was just naturally infuriating. Paige caught herself looking and looked away just as fast, but not fast enough.

Azzi glanced over her shoulder with a smirk that could’ve melted concrete. “Careful, P. You’re gonna burn a hole through my ass if you keep staring like that.”

Paige made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a cough, pretending to examine a nearby rack of overpriced sunglasses. “I was not.”

“You so were,” Azzi said, laughing. She bumped her shoulder against Paige’s as she passed. “It’s okay. I’d look too if I were you.”

Paige shook her head, cheeks warming behind her sunglasses. “You’re a menace.”

Azzi just grinned like she’d won a prize.

By the time they were two hours in, Paige had somehow become Azzi’s personal shopping assistant, carrying three different branded bags looped over her arms. Not that she minded. It was almost funny, really — world-class athlete, trained to handle G-forces and hundred-degree cockpits, now hauling around luxury bags like an unpaid intern.

“Man,” Paige said, adjusting the weight of the bags, “I’m probably scaring all your hoes away.”

Azzi snorted. “Please. They probably aren’t even as good in bed as you are anyway.”

Paige froze, mid-step, mid-breath, like her brain blue-screened for a full second. She turned, wide-eyed behind her shades, and stared at Azzi like she couldn’t possibly have just said that out loud in the middle of a crowded sidewalk.

Azzi just smiled sweetly, like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

“You—” Paige started.

“What? You were good last night,” Azzi said, bumping her hip against Paige’s again before sauntering ahead toward the next store like nothing had happened.

Paige dragged a hand down her face, muttering under her breath. “Menace.”

She caught up a second later, because she didn’t really have a choice, but every so often Azzi would glance back at her with this glint in her eye — this dangerous, deliberate glint — and Paige would feel her brain short-circuit all over again.

Azzi was on one today. Full-blown menace mode, flipping through racks of clothes, holding up random things to Paige’s chest and pretending to seriously debate whether she could “pull it off.”

Paige took it like a champ. Mostly. She kept a running tally in her head of all the times she was going to make Azzi pay for this later, and the list was getting long.

By the time they finally wandered into a little café for a break, Paige was carrying so many bags that the barista actually laughed when he saw her struggling through the door. Azzi just winked at him and ordered them iced coffees like she hadn’t just been emotionally terrorizing her afternoon.

Paige sat down heavily, dropping the bags with a dramatic thud.

“You owe me so bad for this,” Paige said, stretching her legs out under the table.

Azzi took a slow, smug sip of her coffee. “Oh, babe. I plan to.”

And the worst — or maybe the best — part was Paige absolutely believed her.

–

The sun was starting to slip down behind the city skyline when they finally called it a day. Paige was stretched out on a bench outside the little boutique Azzi had insisted on hitting last, sipping the last of her iced coffee and trying not to feel like her legs were about to fall off.

She was about two seconds from asking if they could just Uber back to the cabin when Azzi appeared out of nowhere, flipping her sunglasses onto her head and grinning.

“So what do you want for the drive back?” Azzi asked casually. “Snacks? Water?”

Paige rubbed her thumb over her temple, pretending to think hard. “Milkshake.”

Azzi blinked. For a second — a real second — she looked genuinely surprised.

“You?” she said, like Paige had just announced she wanted to rob a bank. “A milkshake?”

Paige shrugged. “Yeah. Problem?”

“No, no,” Azzi said, hands up. “I’m just… shocked. You’re usually the ‘water and sadness’ type.”

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “I’m allowed to want a milkshake sometimes.”

“You are,” Azzi said, still looking at her like she was witnessing some rare animal in the wild. “It’s just… cute.”

Paige pointed a stern finger at her. “Don’t make it weird.”

Azzi only grinned wider.

They hit a drive-thru a few minutes later — Paige ordered a vanilla milkshake, simple and classic, while Azzi predictably went for some monstrosity involving peanut butter, chocolate, and possibly diabetes in a cup.

Paige had just taken her first blissful sip when she noticed the car waiting for them. Sleek, black, windows tinted almost opaque. And when they climbed inside, Paige realized with mild horror — it was nice.

Partition between them and the driver, soundproofed, plush leather seats that you could probably take a nap on if you weren’t so busy feeling vaguely intimidated.

Azzi caught the look on Paige’s face and laughed under her breath. “Told you I had a guy.”

Paige shook her head, settling back against the seat, letting her head tip back against the headrest. Her cheeks felt warm — and not just from the sun she’d soaked up all afternoon. She could see the faint pink across the bridge of her nose and the tops of her shoulders, and she knew Azzi could too.

They hadn’t even been on the highway for five minutes when Paige felt it.

A hand. Sliding lazy and slow onto her thigh.

She cracked one eye open, turning her head slightly to glance down — and yep, there it was. Azzi’s hand, warm and casual like it belonged there.

Paige shifted a little, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t.”

Azzi hummed innocently, barely glancing at her. “I’m not even doing anything. Relax.”

Paige narrowed her eyes, suspicious.

Azzi gave her this look — the look — the one that made it very, very clear that if anyone needed to relax, it wasn’t her. She took another slow sip of her milkshake like she had no idea what kind of chaos she was causing, and Paige wanted to throttle her and kiss her all at once.

“This is payback,” Azzi said sweetly, “for last night.”

Paige groaned under her breath, slouching lower in her seat. “You’re so annoying.”

Azzi only smiled wider.

They sat like that for a few minutes — Paige determinedly focusing on her milkshake and the blurred highway sliding by outside the window, Azzi being a quiet little menace with her hand resting just so on Paige’s thigh, thumb brushing tiny, mindless patterns against her skin.

And then — then Azzi got bold.

She let her fingers drift higher. Barely an inch. Just enough for Paige to stiffen slightly, her breath catching in her throat before she could stop it.

“Azzi,” Paige said, voice low, a warning that didn’t sound nearly as firm as she wanted it to.

Azzi turned her head lazily, all fake innocence. “What? I’m just sitting here.”

Her fingers crept higher again, slow and deliberate, and Paige felt her whole body tighten — like a live wire strung too tight.

She squeezed her thighs together instinctively, trapping Azzi’s hand for a second, but Azzi only grinned, smug and unbothered, letting Paige feel every inch of her palm pressed against her.

Paige closed her eyes for a second, willing herself not to react.

“You’re evil,” she muttered, voice raspier than she intended.

Azzi just leaned in a little closer, her breath ghosting across Paige’s ear. “You love it.”

And — god help her — Paige did.

She cracked her eyes open again, shooting a sharp look at Azzi, but her glare lacked any real heat. Azzi knew it. Smirking, she shifted her hand just a fraction higher, fingertips skating dangerously close to the hem of Paige’s shorts.

Paige sucked in a shallow breath, jaw locking tight.

“You’re such a brat,” she said under her breath.

Azzi’s smile turned lazy. “You gonna do something about it, P?”

Paige gritted her teeth, trying to focus on anything else — the road, the mountains in the distance, the milkshake rapidly melting in her hand — but Azzi’s hand was all she could feel.

A gentle pressure. A teasing touch. Like she wasn’t even trying but still had Paige unraveling inch by inch.

Every shift of Azzi’s fingers was torture. Deliberate, patient, maddening.

Paige pressed her head back harder against the seat, swallowing thickly. She wanted to shove Azzi’s hand away — or maybe she just wanted to grab it and drag her closer and kiss her until they both forgot where they were.

The partition felt too thin. The car too quiet. Her heartbeat too loud.

“You’re so annoying,” Paige said, voice low and rough.

Azzi only hummed, pretending to be fascinated by the passing scenery. “Just evening the score, babe.”

Her hand slipped higher again, fingertips dancing over the edge of Paige’s shorts — feather-light, maddening, and so careful, never crossing the line but coming close enough that Paige was practically vibrating with tension.

Paige tightened her hand around her milkshake, using it as a lifeline.

“You’re lucky I like you,” Paige muttered.

Azzi finally looked at her, tilting her head slightly, a wicked glint in her eyes. “I know.”

They sat like that the rest of the drive — Paige trying not to combust, Azzi pretending she was the picture of innocence, her hand burning a slow, deliberate imprint into Paige’s skin.

By the time they pulled up to the cabin, Paige wasn’t sure whether she wanted to kiss Azzi or kill her.

Maybe both.

Probably both.

–

By the time they got back to the cabin, Paige had a plan.

Simple. Effective. She was going to flip the script right back on Azzi — pay her back for every second of torture in that car, for every smug little smirk and the way her hand had crept just a little too high on Paige’s thigh, knowing exactly what it was doing.

Paige was more than ready. She was practically itching for it.

But when they stumbled through the front door, shopping bags slung over their arms, laughing a little too loud from some dumb inside joke, Azzi just tossed her keys on the counter, glanced at Paige, and said, with a slow smile, “Nah.”

Paige blinked. “Nah?” she echoed, incredulous.

Azzi shrugged, already peeling off her sneakers like she hadn’t just shattered every expectation Paige had for the evening. “You had your fun last night. Let a girl breathe.”

Paige narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “What, you scared?”

Azzi shot her a look over her shoulder — something amused and dark. “Hardly.”

Paige crossed her arms, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “What are you gonna do, then?”

Azzi let the question hang between them for a beat, long enough that Paige almost thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then, with a little huff of a laugh, Azzi stalked forward, grabbed Paige by the wrist, and started dragging her down the hall.

“You’re so fucking cocky,” Azzi muttered as they went.

Paige grinned, letting herself be pulled along easily. “Nah,” she said, all faux-casual. “Just confident.”

Azzi didn’t say anything else, just hauled her all the way into Paige’s room and kicked the door closed behind them.

Paige leaned back against it, arms crossed, watching Azzi with a lazy smirk. “Come on, Az. What you gonna do?”

Azzi stared at her for a second — and then something shifted.

It was subtle, the way her posture straightened, the way her mouth twitched into a grin that was a little meaner, a little more sure. Like she’d finally decided something.

Paige’s stomach flipped.

Without warning, Azzi stepped in, crowding her against the door, hands landing on either side of Paige’s head. She didn’t touch — not really — but she was close enough that Paige felt the heat of her body, the tension radiating off her in waves.

Paige’s smirk faltered slightly.

Azzi noticed. Of course she did.

“Funny,” Azzi murmured, tilting her head. “You talk all that shit, but now you’re real quiet.”

Paige huffed a laugh, forcing herself to keep it light. “Please. You’re not scaring me.”

Azzi smiled — slow, dangerous. “Not yet.”

And then she moved. One hand slid down, fingers curling around the front of Paige’s shirt, yanking her away from the door and pushing her backward toward the bed with easy force.

Paige stumbled but caught herself, grinning again despite the way her heart was hammering.

She let herself fall back onto the mattress, propped up on her elbows, watching Azzi stalk closer like she owned the whole damn room.

“You really think you’re still in control?” Azzi asked, voice low.

Paige opened her mouth to fire back something smart — but then Azzi was on her, straddling her hips, pinning her in place without even trying.

And maybe it was because Paige was still a little pink from the sun, maybe it was the long day, the way she was still loose and a little tired from everything — but it took shockingly little for Azzi to take the upper hand.

Paige realized it the second Azzi leaned down, her weight pressing Paige into the mattress just enough, her breath warm against Paige’s throat.

Yeah. She wasn’t fooling anyone anymore.

Azzi leaned in closer, lips brushing Paige’s ear. “God,” she murmured, almost laughing. “It took, like, nothing to get you to fold.”

Paige scowled, cheeks flushing despite herself. “Shut up.”

Azzi pulled back just enough to look at her, grinning wickedly. “Seriously. One little shove and you’re all soft.”

Paige groaned and covered her face with one hand. “Azzi.”

Azzi laughed, low and pleased. “It’s cute.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“And you’re so easy.”

Paige peeked out from between her fingers, half-glowering, half-embarrassed. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

Azzi leaned down again, nipping at the side of Paige’s jaw in response. “You already said that, P.”

Paige grumbled under her breath, but she didn’t exactly push her off.

Azzi stayed there for a second, just looking at her — that kind of long, lingering look that made Paige feel seen in a way she didn’t always like.

Then, almost casually, Azzi asked, “Do you like it?”

Paige froze.

“Like what?” she asked, too quickly.

Azzi smiled knowingly. “When I push you around.”

Paige opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked away, suddenly very interested in the ceiling.

Azzi laughed softly, tucking a piece of hair behind Paige’s ear. “Come on, P. I’m not gonna make fun of you.”

Paige shifted under her, awkward. She hated talking about shit like this — hated giving it words. But something about the way Azzi was looking at her — patient, steady, waiting — made her want to try.

“No…Yes…I don’t know,” Paige muttered finally. “It’s… easier sometimes. Not having to think. Just… letting you.”

Azzi’s face softened instantly. The teasing vanished, replaced with something quieter, more serious.

“Yeah?” she said, almost gently.

Paige nodded, staring at the ceiling.

Azzi leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “That’s not weird, P.”

Paige let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“I mean,” Azzi said, grinning again, “it is a little funny how fast you gave up. But it’s not weird.”

Paige groaned and dragged a pillow over her face. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Paige grumbled something incoherent, but she didn’t move away when Azzi pulled the pillow off her face and kissed her properly this time — slow and easy, no pressure, no games.

They stayed like that for a while, tangled up on the bed, Azzi’s weight warm and solid over her, the afternoon sun slanting through the windows and painting everything gold.

For once, Paige didn’t feel the need to be anything but what she was — a little messy, a little unguarded, totally in love with the girl pinning her down.

And maybe — just maybe — that was the real reason she let Azzi win sometimes.

Because it wasn’t losing. Not really. Not when it was her.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #pazzi #uconn wbb #uconnwbb #pazzi fics #dallas wings

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

Text

Meet the Family 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: I love writing toxic people.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

“Mr. Hansen--” You begin, choking on your error, “Lloyd, my flight--”

“Christ, I told you, cancel it. I’ll add the difference to your next check,” he grits under his breath.

You plant your feet, shifting despite your effort as he keeps his grip on your hand. He turns back with a grunt.

“What’re you doing?” He asks.

“No, what are you doing?” You throw back. “What the hell is going on?”

“First, watch that sweet mouth of yours. Second, we’ve been through this, Pixie pie. You just need to play along,” he keeps his voice low and peeks over his shoulder. “Loosen up a bit.” He loosens his hold on you and runs his hand up your sleeve. “Hm, I guess I shoulda told you to dress up a bit.”

“What?” You look down at your black cotton tea-length dress. You chose it for comfort but it’s not entirely frumpy. The ribbed stockings might not add much to the attire however.

“Just...” He grabs your shoulders and nudges them back, “push the chest out a bit.”

“Ugh,” you clasp onto his wrists, “stop. Okay. I’ll stay for dinner but I can’t miss my flight--”

“You have to,” he argues.

“You realise this is wildly inappropriate,” you say.

“Do you really expect anything different?” He tweaks a brow. “You’re staying. I’m not doing this alone. I put it off for a decade already--”

“Jesus--”

“No blasphemy either,” he lets go of you and presses his finger to your lips. You growl and shove his hand away.

“I want a bonus, a big bonus--”

He hushes you and waves his hands. He leans back and once more looks over his shoulders. “Later. We’ll deal with numbers in private. Right now, you need to come meet your in-laws.”

You squint at him. It’s an act, you remind yourself, but something about his commitment to it makes you uneasy. You know better than to believe a word that comes out of his mouth but there’s a degree of earnestness in him that’s unsettling.

“Baby, please, don’t look at me like that,” he steps closer, “I need you to look at me like I’m the second coming, okay? We’re madly in love, you and I.” Your eyes widen and he sighs, “okay, you’re not scared of me.”

You neutralise your expression and blow out a long breath. You shake away the tension and shrug. It’s as good as you can do.

“Here,” he grabs your wrist and turns, guiding your arm through his, “just smile pretty for me.”

He hooks your elbow with his and urges you onward. You steel yourself for the room of strangers as their voices drift through the archway.

You enter the front room and quickly scan the space; there’s a large-mouthed hearth, lit and draped in evergreen and berries; a long cream sectional, a matching duo of armchairs, and a chaise in the same shade; a low glass coffee table with a golden perch and a console table in a similar style along the wall crowded with bottles and crystal; an area rug in a smooth white with patterns in dulcet beige and rich butterscotch; and the low din is cast by tea lights daintily set around the space in glass holders and candelabra.

More pressing than the decor are the bodies that fill the room. You recognise Ransom as he speaks with an older woman with short white hair and thick-framed glasses. She wears a red pantsuit with a gold blouse. Very festive.

You glance over at Lloyd and take him in fully. You hadn’t paid much attention for the whirlwind all around. He wears a pair of evergreen slacks and a sweater with a reindeer's face on the front. He wouldn’t even let you put tinsel on your desk but now he’s dressed like a kid in a holiday parade.

“Looks like someone didn’t get the memo,” a tall blonde woman approaches with a glass of pale wine in hand. You try not to look with concern at her rounded middle; it sticks out starkly as her long limbs are thin and lithe. “A very grim Christmas indeed.”

“Lillian,” Lloyd faces the woman about his own height. She has his eyes and his lips. You assume their relation before he declares it. “My sister, Pixie,” he gestures to her carelessly.

“Older sister,” she preens and rests her hand on her swollen stomach. Your eyes flick away from the crystal in her hand.

“By about thirty-one seconds,” Lloyd scoffs.

“Oh, sweetie, it’s non-alcoholic,” she swirls the wine in her glass, “she’s so tiny and quiet.”

“Ahem,” you clear your throat, “it’s nice to meet you.”

She laughs, “oh, so polite. Entirely not his type.”

You try not to react. You agree. You know the women that Lloyd really likes. You’ve screened their calls until they just give up on getting a second date.

“Believe it or not, Lil, you’re not everyone’s type,” Lloyd retorts. “I think your ex-husband would agree. The second one too.” Lloyd lifts his chin and looks around, “is the third here or are we on number four?”

“Lovely,” she spits. “Love you too, brother.”

He shakes his head and draws you away from her. She raises her brows and her glass and sips. You let him take you away. You already despise most of these people. The room radiates with derision. Your family might have some grudges but there’s a general air of good will.

“I need a drink,” he mutters.

You gladly follow him to the table. He pours himself a tumbler from the boxy decanter. He sighs as he picks it up but stops himself from drinking.

“Well, help yourself,” he says.

You hesitate but not for long. You need something if you’re going to get through this. You pour yourself some chardonnay and sidle away from the table. You check your watch as you raise your glass.

“Don’t fucking worry about your flight,” he hisses under his breath. “If I’m not getting out of this, you aren’t either.”

“But why?” You ask behind the glass.

“Not right now,” he warns and nods at another figure as they approach. “Uncle Benson.”

“Junior,” the man returns. You drink your wine and don’t comment on the epithet. “Where’s the old man?”

“Where he always is,” Lloyd replies.

“Mm, and this is...” the older man looks at you pointedly, dipping his chin to do so.

“Pixie. My fiancee,” Lloyd answers dully, almost deflating.

“Benson,” the man offers his hand, “but a pretty girl like you can call me Benny.”

“Benny,” Lloyd repeats to himself in confusion.

You shake Benson’s hand, “um, thanks, nice to meet you.”

“Mm, very nice to meet you,” he lifts your hand and smushes his lips to your knuckles. He clings to you, petting your hand. “You’re gorgeous, what’re you doing with this lump?”

“Uncle,” Lloyd drones.

“Adorable,” Benson inches closer, “my inheritance is bigger than his, among other things.”

“Alright,” Lloyd snatches your hand away from him, “go have some water, Benson,” he growls, “think you’ve been into the brandy.”

“I’d like to get into something else,” Benson snickers.

You almost laugh, despite your disgust. You’ve heard that line before. Lloyd puts himself between you and the older man. “I think that’s why Carolyn filed the papers, huh.”

“Oh, you little twat,” Benson snarls. “Fine, fine, I’ll leave you to disappoint her on your own.”

Lloyd tuts and shakes his head as the man lumbers off. He turns around and drains his glass. It’s strange, seeing him in his natural habitat; he’s not so ‘alpha’ here.

“Let’s get the rounds over with.” He grumbles.

Your wine lasts you through the introductions. Two more uncles; Carter and Linus, along with their wives, Andrea and Angela. Then the full-blooded aunts; four of them, Raquel, Shanna, Beatrice, and Lana. All of them tall, blonde, and bold in their own way. Then a batch of cousins you can’t keep sorted; Ransom and his mother Linda, among them, with no explanation as to the rest of their tribe.

Lloyd pours himself more whiskey. You abstain from a refill and stand near the wall, observing the wilderness of entitled trust-funders. It explains so much yet inspires so many more questions. You never expected Lloyd to be the dark horse.

“Lonely?” The timbre startles you along with the twisting pinch on your ass.

You yipe and snag the attention of several sets of eyes around the room, not least of all Benson, drooling over another snifter of dark alcohol. You swat Ransom’s hand away and face him amid the row of laughter. Despite the airs they put on, your audience is more amused than appalled.

“Where’s your prince, huh?” Ransom asks. “All that whiskey and...” He holds up his index then lets it go limp, “don’t think it’ll be a very peppy after party, sweetheart.”

You sniff and cross your arms. These people are at least consistent, grossly so. It makes you wonder why Lloyd was so insistent that you watch your mouth, especially when you’ve never stooped to his level before.

“Is it much of a party if there’s only one attendee?” You counter.

He narrows his eyes and tilts his head, “what?”

“Nothing,” you shake our head. You don’t need to explain the joke. Besides, this is all fake. Don’t let it get to you.

“So, how long did he wait to put that ugly thing on your finger?” Ransom asks.

You shrug, “long enough.”

“Did he do the whole schtick? Get down on one knee? Put the ring in your wine glass?” He prods.

“I’ll let him tell the story,” you say.

“Hm, never knew a woman so unexcited about a wedding,” he snorts.

“Maybe I’m just unexcited by my company,” you back away as his hand jiggles at his side. You eye his fingers, wary of another pinch.

“Fine, marriage is boring anyways. What’s his favourite position? I always figured he lets the ladies do all the work,” he snickers.

You stare at him. Not quite as offended as annoyed. You could ask him which hand he uses but you are not letting Lloyd drag you that low. Why are you even letting him put your through this?

“Hugh,” Lloyd appears and slides his arm over your shoulders.

“Little L,” Ransom retorts dryly.

“Shut up,” Lloyd sneers as you resist the urge to shrug him off of you.

“Where were you then? Leaving your woman all on her lonesome,” Ransom rubs his fingers together subtly and you scowl at him.

“Broke the seal,” Lloyd deflects. “What do you care? You wanna hold it next time?

“Hands are too big,” Ransom cackles.

“Speaking of,” you pipe up. “The bathroom, where would that be?”

Lloyd clucks and looks down at you, “down the hall, opposite the kitchen.”

“Thanks,” you carefully slip away from him, “I’ll be back.”

“Wait,” Lloyd catches your arm and pulls you back. “Not without this.”

He leans in before you can react. He bends to press his lips to yours and you can’t repress a surprised squeak. He purrs and the vibration makes your skin crawl. What on earth?!

You part and ignore the stares you can feel all around. Not just from Ransom but the rest of the room. What is he doing? That’s so embarrassing.

You force a smile, “uh, be back.”

You spin and scurry away. That room, those people, are suffocating, and Lloyd, not least of all. You hide in the bathroom, locking the door, and you take the moment of stillness to think. Big mistake as it all starts to set in.

You drove all the way here under false pretenses. It’s believable that Lloyd would forget to bring the gifts. That tracks but this? The whole pretending to be engaged? What is his game? Is he really trying to impress anyone or is he torturing you? Why?

You can’t figure any of it out. You gave up trying to understand your boss ages ago, you suppose you should do the same with these people and just get through this. For all your trouble, the food better be fucking delicious.

You let yourself out of the bathroom and flatten against the door as you nearly collide with another person. Lillian nearly stomps right over you as she holds her stomach and rushes down the hallway. She lets out a sigh.

“Oh, are you done in there? I’m splitting at the seams,” she trills.

“Um, yeah, all done,” you sidle away from the door.

“Could I trouble you for some help?” She asks. “This thing,” she pats her stomach, “I can get down but I can’t get up.”

“Hm?” You furrow your brow in confusion, “help?”

“We’re both girls,” she giggles. “And we’ll be sisters soon enough, won’t we?”

“Um.”

“You know, a pregnancy at my age, I really can’t strain myself,” she explains.

“Oh, er, I guess--”

“Thanks, sweetie,” she nudges you back into the bathroom. You have no choice as she heard you through.

You stare at the wall as she slams the door and hustles over to the toilet. She pulls up her white dress and turns to sit, her silhouette a blur in your peripheral. You flick your eyes to the ceiling and bounce on your heels.

Her stream flows out and fills the tense silence. She sighs.

“Thank the lord,” she groans. “I swear, the little twerp is right on my bladder right now.”

“Mm,” you nod and glance at the door.

“I knew we should’ve gone with a surrogate,” she sniffs. “A piece of advice, when he puts one in you, make him suffer.”

“Puts one...” you blink. “Um, I don’t...”

“I mean, he’ll have to start trying as soon as the wedding night,” she laughs. “He’s getting up there. His swimmers won’t be as fast, will they? And the way he drinks, they’ll be too groggy to know which way is which.”

“Um, we’ll worry about the wedding first--”

“Enjoy it. Once you’re tied down, it’s not very much fun,” she says as she tears of tissue. “Alright then, darling, I need you.”

You do your best not to see all of her. She reaches for you and you get close. You pull her up to her feet and she squeezes past you to the sink. You look at the toilet and shut the lid, flushing it with a push of the button. She washes her hands with a hum.

“You’ll be so adorable when you’re big. Like an overstuffed teddy bear,” she chimes. “He’ll love that. He always did hate feeling small.” She twists off the faucet and dries her hands. “You must make him feel like the man he wishes he was.”

You just look at her. You have no true reason to defend Lloyd, but because she’s so smug it irks you. You look her in the face, even if you feel ridiculous having to look up.

“Well, he can piss on his own, so I think he’s just fine,” you step around her and swing open the door. The silence that follows you is the only satisfying thing about that night.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #series #fic #meet the family #the gray man

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ink-stainedkiss · 4 months ago

Text

Intertwined

Pain in the Ass —> next chap

Sukuna has been a pest to you since for as long as you have known, but his hateful cover always seemed to crack around you.

Word Count: 2.7k

Contents: Bullying, childhood bully/friend, sorta confession (not really), cute Sukuna,

Summer was in full swing. The sun shined brightly above you, showing off the ultraviolet colors of nature. From the blooming flower or the evergreen trees, it seemed to be at its prettiest state. It was also a perfect time to spend your childhood days outside and you showed no hesitation with taking a box of chalk to the park. Your mother sat on a bench shaded by a tree, flipping through her book and taking short glances at you. While your hands worked hard on the concrete, constructing a large pink flower and many more daisies to accompany it.

Were they the best drawings? Definitely not, but you were only six, so no one was expecting perfection. Humming a soft tune, you set your stick down, hovering your hand over the other colors. Despite the happy day, someone always had to be the terrible guy. It only took a second of you looking away when a small foot stomped on your pink chalk and crushed it to bits, all over the center of your flower. You gasped, watching as their foot dragged against your drawing, ruining it inch by inch. A mischievous giggle sounded from above you and instantly, you knew who was trying to rain on your day.

“That drawing was ugly anyway,” A spiteful voice called. Sukuna. God, how you hated him and hating at six years old is pretty unnatural, but he deserved it. Even from the day your mothers introduced you two, Sukuna made it his life’s mission to destroy any happy or joyful feelings you expressed. You never knew why, since you never gave him a reason to be so terrible. In the end you guessed he was just full of hatred. An angered growl forced its way through your gritted teeth,”Why would you do that!?”

Sukuna stood there, arms crossed, a smug expression resting on his face,”It was gonna ruin the sidewalk, I did the town a favor.” Maybe it was because he was a year older than you and he had some sort of superiority complex, but it still gave him no right to bully you. So with all the strength you could muster, you shoved him back, wishing he would just disappear,”You are so rude!”

Because of his shock, the boy stumbled back a bit, but quickly regained his balance, a vengeful sneer on his face,”Yeah? And you’re a brat!” You were about to tackle the boy again, but then you caught a glimpse of your smudged drawing. Sadness overtook your anger and you slowly walked away from Sukuna, sitting down in front of your ‘art’. What you didn’t see was the twinkle of guilt zip past Sukuna’s eyes. He stared down at your somber face, staring sadly out at the mess he created, but no amount of guilt would ever make him apologize to you.

To Sukuna, you were odd. He didn’t like being around you, hearing your name, or even seeing someone with the same hair color as you because you were so infuriating. Everything about you. Your personality, how stubborn you were, your dumb face, your kindness, how bright your smile was—Nevermind. You just wrap yourself around Sukuna’s brain like an obnoxious parasite. Sukuna would never apologize to you…but he would grab a blue chalk stick and start drawing over your failed attempt at a flower,”Watch how I draw. I’m a lot better at it than you.”

And no, Sukuna didn’t like how you got all surprised and impressed at his shark drawing. Nor did he like the fact you bugged him into teaching you how to draw one. He just wanted you to stop pouting like a baby, it made his chest feel weird, but that happens to everyone. Right?

✮⋆˙

Middle school is when Sukuna grew more annoying and more confident. For some reason, people liked Sukuna, and it led to him being able to bully you with group approval. You kept your head up, no matter what dumb insult he threw your way.

“You’re such a moron.”

“Who would ever want to be friends with you?”

“Don’t talk to me. I don’t want people thinking I actually interact with someone like you.”

Sukuna also grew more mean in the years that passed. It wasn’t a great feeling when he would spit something out then a chorus of laughter followed after from his loyal followers. His quick popularity was like a persistent bug flying around you and no matter where you went, the constant buzzing of his greatness swarmed you. The harassment made it hard for you to find a good companion, because who would want to sit next to the girl who is getting bullied?

The realization that you didn’t have a friend came when it was your birthday. You wore the nicest outfit you owned, let your mother place a pretty bow in your hair for the occasion, but when you arrived at school, there wasn’t a singular ‘happy birthday’. As the day progressed, your happiness drained, everyone was talking and acting normally, because they thought it was a regular day. It was your last class and at this point you just wanted to run to your mother and cry. It seemed that no one was going to give you the joy of saying two simple words.

A rough nudge to your side had you shooting up at your desk. You must have been thinking pretty hard because you didn’t even realize the bell had rung. Your classmates were picking up their stuff, already existing,”Hey,” Ugh, what did he want? You let out a sigh, facing your tormentor, and expected him to do his usual bit. However, there was something softer in his features, Though it was hard to tell since he was barely making eye contact with you. Sukuna mumbled something under his breath, something inaudible,”What?”

The boy groaned as if it was your fault you couldn’t hear the words he said just under his breath,”I said, happy birthday, or whatever.” Your eyes blew open, shock hitting you like a freight train. Was Sukuna the first to say happy birthday to you? He glared at you harshly, mumbling another quick sentence,”My mom forced me to give this to you.”

It felt like a fever dream, like you had to be imagining it, but it was indeed real from the way he shoved a small box into your hand. It was aggressive and short, his gesture, and you didn’t have time to thank him before he was racing out of the classroom. You were stunned in place, hands frozen on the present. You were the only one left in the classroom and you were a bit scared to open the box. Knowing Sukuna, you hoped that it wouldn’t be a dead insect or a rock, but wouldn’t he wait around and want to see your reaction if it was that?

Throwing caution to the wind, you lifted the lid, jaw dropping at the sight before you. Inside the container was an adjustable ring, one with a heart charm etched on the smooth metal. It was simple, but it meant the world to you. Racing home, you eagerly busted through your door, darting to your mother to see the piece of jewelry. She bent down, examining it with a cute pout on her lips,”Well that was nice of him,”

You blew raspberries at her,”Yeah right, it was his mom who got it, or at least that’s what he said before he ran off.” What you weren’t expecting was for your mother to pause, mid cut through vegetables, and give you a confused look,”Ryomen’s mother? She didn’t say anything about getting you a gift.” Your face dropped and you stared at the ring in horror. If what she was saying was correct, then Sukuna had gifted you the ring just because he wanted to.

No. That was insane to even think. You denied, denied, denied the notion, but you mother only had a knowing look on her face,”You know, he may have a crush-“ “I gotta go upstairs! and do homework!” There were a lot of things Sukuna did; bully you, ruin the things you liked, belittle your accomplishments,but to say he would ever like someone was enough to make you laugh. Your mother was just being a cliche mother. There is no way, not in a million years, that Ryomen Sukuna would fall for you.

✮⋆˙

Your first years of high school was a rocky journey. Being completely new to the school and system entirely, it was anybody’s ground to find their clique. Of course Sukuna immediately grouped with the unstandable jocks, fitting perfectly with their gross personalities. Sadly, you were still trying to put yourself out in the middle of the chaos and find yourself, but Sukuna was always there to make you stumble.

“It’s kinda sad watching you fail to make friends,” Sukuna hummed next to you on the bleachers. He was your ride home and was already able to drive, so you had to play nice or it meant walking. Unfortunately, he was the captain of the male volleyball team, so you had to sit in on their after school practice,”Can you shut the hell up?”

He chuckled deeply, always finding your anger amusing. You would like to say your ‘friendship’ with Sukuna got better after middle school. It’s probably because he was too busy with his team to worry about you and it felt pretty nice. That’s not to say he stopped all together being a pain in your ass, but it just dialed down—for now. The squeaking of soft leather pounding the ground echoed in the large gym, the team’s warm up session coming to an end. Sukuna hopped off the bleachers, jogging to his teammates and yelled out for them to create two teams.

You got comfortable against the plastic seats, scrolling on your phone to pass the time. Even past your headphones, you could hear the gruff voice of Sukuna, barking orders and compliments to his team. There wasn’t just a change in his demeanor, but it was clear Sukuna was going to the gym. He had grown bigger, more bulky, and his voice was a huge shift. Going from crackly and high pitched, to a gravely baritone. His face was growing sleeker, his jawline more sharp, and you hated to admit, but he was good looking. All the girls in the school had already decided this, doing whatever it takes to grab a sliver of his attention.

God, it sucked having to sit in for these boring practices. It also sucked having to see Sukuna play in a mock game, racing around the court and spiking the ball with a vicious smack. He always grew sweaty and would wander over to the water fountain. Somehow, your eyes had fallen off your screen and over to where he was lifting his shirt to wipe the droplets off his forehead. It felt like a sin to stare at his abs, but you just liked to call it window browsing. If he was putting them on display, then who were you to turn away?

“Alright, practice is over, Go home. You all stink.” That definitely wasn’t an overstatement. You sighed, going back to your phone as they all skittered into the locker room. Only a few more minutes and i’m out of here, You reminded yourself. Five minutes turned into ten and you curiously stared at the opening door, hoping it would be Sukuna that exits, but it never was. Ten turned into fifteen minutes and at this point no amount of social media was saving you from your level of boredom. As the timer struck twenty minutes, you were fed up. The entire team had to be gone already, but for some reason Sukuna was just taking his sweet time.

You’ve yelled at Sukuna in front of his team before and vice versa. Since you were always there for the dumb meetups and what not, there was a small friendship you grew with them. Not enough to just walk up and start a conversation with, but enough that they would sit next to you if they weren’t playing. So when you opened the locker door, you were about to call out in the middle of the doorway, but then you heard their voices.

“Not trying to be noisy, but who’s that chick you always leave with?” A voice questioned, earning a few agreeing sounds.

“None of your business.” Sukuna’s gruff tone answered back.

“What, is she your girlfriend?” The boy raised his pitch and mocked his captain, a few chuckles following his words

“No. Don’t be stupid.” Sukuna huffed,”If you couldn’t tell, she hates my guts, and I'm perfectly okay with that.”

Another voice spoke up,”Aw, captain’s having girl problems.”

“Tch, she’s not my damn girlfriend. She never will be.” His response was so stern and clear, but it was truthful. Still, why did your chest feel so painful?

“Too bad. She’s gorgeous,” Another player said,”Maybe I'll try and get her number.” A few wolf whistles and chuckles sounded from the room.

“Are you sure you don’t want her to be your girlfriend?” One of them pushed

You were just about to close the door, in hopes to block out the inevitable answer, but you were surprised to hear a sudden softness in Sukuna’s voice.

“Can’t say I haven’t thought about it, but I'm sure she would laugh in my face if I asked her.”

You inhaled sharply. Did you hear correctly? Before you could listen more, collective footsteps wandered around the corner, about to exit the locker room. You scrambled back, landing in your original spot and just in time for the door to swing open. It wasn’t Sukuna, thankfully, and you had to pretend you weren’t in a crisis as they walked past.

‘if I asked her.’

‘Can’t say I haven’t thought about it.’

What did this mean? Was there a genuine possibility that Sukuna thought of you more than a nuisance? It was crazy to even think. You were so focused, that you didn’t even notice Sukuna standing next to you until he flicked your forehead.

“Don’t think too hard, your brain might light a fuse.” He teased, but instead of your usual irate response, you just stood quickly. Muttering something for only yourself to hear, Sukuna stared at you with confused eyes,”Why are you acting so weird?” Again, you just skittered toward the doors, already exiting the gym. Sukuna didn’t think he made you wait that long.

The drive to your house was eerily quiet. There was no banter or petty back and forth, it made Sukuna shift uncomfortably in the driver's seat, but he tried to make you go back to normal,”Man, it’s kinda peaceful, this silence.” He heard a vague scoff from beside him and it was enough for him to poke you again,”It should stay like this.”

“It would be better if you shut your fat mouth.” A cocky grin fell onto Sukuna’s mouth,”Now you wanna talk.” Your fight to remain silent ultimately failed and you relaxed into your seat. A comfortable conversation started up,consisting of you just judging Sukuna’s music taste and him threatening to swerve you both off of the road.

However, you couldn’t help but notice how happy you felt. Maybe you were just cocky since he basically admitted to not hate the idea of dating you, but you swore something was different. You stared at the man beside you, realizing how pretty he looked with the setting sun casted over his face. The thought made you blink harshly, facing the front again and trying not to freak out. Was there truly something between the two of you? You had been around Sukuna all his life and same goes for you, but you swore he hates your entire being. Was it all an act?

The true question was why weren’t you disgusted? Appalled? And more importantly, why didn’t you just go up to him and ask? Maybe if he had told you, he wouldn’t have watched as you slipped from his fingers.

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