#and some moments of tenderness in between

[vivimura]

CHAMPAGNE CONFETTI ─ bf!riki gives you soft head when you can't sleep! (nsfw, 1.660 k wc) i missed posting <3

moonlight poured into riki’s bedroom from the large windows across the bed in such a gentle, serene manner that it made you scoff bitterly.

sometimes you wondered to yourself— how was it so, that despite laying on a comfortable (and likely expensive) mattress, being in the arms of an amazing cuddler, having been tired from the day earlier, sleep eluded you.

it was an exhausting feeling. the crippling urge to rest denied by a sinister train of thoughts that never seemed to shut no matter how hard you tried. your eyes drifted to the side profile of your boyfriend, riki laying beside you. he was one of the few, and probably only people, whom the sight of laying so peacefully could bring a gentle smile to your lips.

not wanting to disturb him with your inner turmoil, you turned around in his arms to lay on your other side. however, the action caused his eyes to flicker open.

he stirred slightly as you moved, his arms tightening around you instinctively before he realized you weren't sleeping. he lifted his head to look at you, noticing your restlessness. his voice was low and gentle in the dark room. "can't sleep, baby?"

you mentally cursed at the sound of his voice. you back to face him quickly and sighed as you shook your head, the action barely visible through the darkness of the room. there was a look of guilt in your eyes, one of having disturbed your lover’s sleep. 

“no.. god, i had when this happens..” you mumbled and tucked your head under his arm.

he stroked your hair softly, trying to soothe you back into a relaxed state. his voice was a comforting murmur in the quiet darkness. "it's okay, i’m here." he kissed the top of your head gently. he patted your head in a steady rhythm to try and lull you to sleep, slight tiredness evident in his own voice.

in that moment, you felt the racing train of thoughts in your head pause. but it was only for a second. as if to convince riki that you were falling asleep for the sake of some sleep of his own, you stayed as still as you could and closed your eyes. but there was no fooling him.

“baby.” he called out, you remained silent. but, riki noticed the movement of your eyes moving from under your eyelids. he could only chuckle fondly and shake his head.

“wanna try something?”

you finally opened your eyes when you heard his question, a look of sheepishness yet desperation in your orbs as you looked up at riki. you had to take a moment to simply appreciate how comforting riki’s mere presence was, and then said, “try what?”

riki looked into your eyes with something you’ve labelled as intensity, determination, and passion. he didn’t reply straight away, and simply leaned forward to begin planting a pattern of soft kisses from the side of your cheek bone, down your face. “wanna eat you out..” he whispered against your skin and gripped onto your waist with one hand, the other moving lower, fingers brushing the top of your ass.

you let out an audible gasp at his words. you backed away and put a pause to riki’s affectionate kisses at the laughable speed of light, and looked at him with cheeks visibly colored even through the lack of lighting.

“..w-what?”

he laughed softly at your embarrassed yet curious expression, already knowing how affected you were by his words. "i know you heard me, baby." he shifted up on all fours and moved to position himself between your legs, his eyes darkening with desire but maintaining a tender tone.

your breath hitched as you watched him slowly come into a position of hovering over your legs. you remained silent for a few seconds and stared at him with wide eyes, as if waiting for him to burst into laughter and tell you that he was joking. at his obvious and expected awaiting, you gave him a meek, barely there nod.

"...okay."

he grinned and moved to pull your legs over his shoulders. he looked up at you with loving eyes before pressing a gentle kiss to your inner right leg, making his intention clear. "you gotta be quiet, though. the others are next door. can you do that for me?" his voice was soft but commanding.

your teeth sunk into your lower lip as you nodded. this was one of those nights you were grateful for your minimal choice in sleepwear, consisting of a measly t-shirt belonging to riki, and a pair of panties underneath. even through the dim light, you recognized that glint of intention in riki’s eyes.

he started placing gentle kisses up your inner thigh, his hands gently spreading your legs wider. he could feel how tense yet excited you were, how quiet you were trying to be. you always looked so adorable when he was about to pleasure you. "such a good girl..."

he smiled against your skin and slowly, teasingly, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and slid them down your legs. "lift your hips for me, baby."

when you did, he tossed your panties aside and gently spread your legs wider, his eyes locked onto your pussy. he blew a soft breath against you, making you shiver. "so fucking pretty," he murmured before pressing a gentle kiss to your inner thigh, deliberately avoiding the middle.

you whimpered and squirmed in place, trying your very best to keep quiet at his soft breaths and kisses that seemed to land everywhere but where you needed them the most. "riki.." you whined out quietly, extending one hand to gently dig your fingers into his hair.

riki chuckled at the desperation in your voice, but the sound of your sweet voice whining his name pushed him over the edge of control. he moved his mouth directly to your slit, giving you a long, slow lick. "shh... quiet baby," he whispered against your sensitive flesh before sucking gently on your clit. "no noise..."

you let out a surprised whimper, but when he began sucking your clit gently, you melted like butter on a pan. you grip on his hair tightened a little, your back arching off the bed and eyes rolling up from the sudden pleasure he brought. "shit.."

he hummed against you, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure through your core. he continued to suck and lick, his movements slow and deliberate, building up the intensity. one of his hands moved to your inner thigh, holding your leg open and steady as he feasted on you. "so sweet..."

"oh, my god.." you gasped and cried out softly, trying to keep your voice as low as you could. but at that point, the only thing you could think about was the warmth and wetness of riki’s tongue.

he chuckled softly against you, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you. he loved how sensitive you were, how easy it was to make you fall apart. he flattened his tongue and gave you a long, slow lick from bottom to top, collecting your wetness.

he hummed, tasting you again. he knew you were quiet because he told you to be, not because you were actually sleepy. he spread your folds with his thumbs, exposing you more to his mouth. he gave another slow lick, this time going lower to gather your wetness again.

"fuck.." you whispered out a curse and panted, unable to resist grabbing a fist of his hair and tugging it closer to you. your hips bucked erratically with no permission, your chest heaving rapidly as your breaths came in ragged gasps.

he felt your tugging on his hair and knew you were getting more into it. he loved seeing you like this, completely lost in the moment. he licked up your slit again, then focused on your clit, sucking it into his mouth gently. "quiet..." he whispered against your pussy.

you barely managed to whisper out a, "y-yeah.. sorry.." before letting out another quiet moan. his tongue gave such immense pleasure that your legs jerked, and it wasn't long before you felt a knot tighten in the pit of your stomach.

he could feel your muscles tense up, a clear sign that you were close already. he flattened his tongue again, maintaining steady pressure on your clit as he slipped two fingers inside you. "shh... almost there, baby..." he whispered against your pussy.

he felt your walls clamping down on his fingers and knew you were on the brink. maintaining the perfect rhythm with his tongue, he curled his fingers inside you, stroking that sensitive spot. his other hand reached up to cover your mouth gently, silently urging you to stay quiet as your orgasm hit.

a particularly loud moan escaped your lips, but was thankfully concealed by his hand over your mouth as your orgasm crashed. your legs trembled as a gush of liquid expelled, and you began squirting uncontrollably.

he groaned softly against your pussy as he felt your release gush out, coating his mouth and chin. he continued to lap at you gently, helping you ride out your intense orgasm. his fingers continued its steady thrusts, drawing out your intense release. once he sensed you beginning to slow down, he slowly withdrew his finger and licked his lips, savoring your taste.

the sight of riki wiping your squirt off of his lips with the back of his hand was one of the last things you remembered seeing, before you were knocked out to sleep almost immediately.

he smiled softly at how completely worn out you were from your orgasm, your breaths evening out into deep sleep. he gently wiped up any remaining wetness from between your thighs before covering your naked body with a blanket. "well, that was easier than i thought," he thought to himself and grinned, giving your forehead a goodnight kiss.

mlist comment and reblog!

[stove-top96]

Wicked Game

Ch. 03

Y Batfam x Gn Reader

Featuring Platonic: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Damian Al-Ghul Wayne

2.6k words

Ch. 02 <- Ch. 03 -> Ch. 04

Class schedule

1st period - Art

2nd period - Maths

12:00 - 1:00 Lunch

3rd period - Biology

4th period - English

3:50 Dismissal

4:00 - 6:00 - Basketball practice.

“You know they’re gonna flip when they wake up,” Dick muttered, arms crossed as he stared down at your limp body.

You looked peaceful for once. That constant tension in your shoulders had finally eased, the nervous twitch in your fingers stilled. Even that crease between your brows—the one that would show up whenever you were thinking too hard or worrying too much—had softened. Sleep smoothed over all the sharp edges life had carved into you.

“They’ll understand eventually,” Bruce said, dismissive but gentle, his voice quieter now.

He reached out, brushing a few strands of hair from your face with a touch far softer than anyone would expect from Batman. Moments like this were rare—when he could just be a father, taking care of his kid.

Without a word, he lifted you from the desk you’d passed out on, cradling you like something fragile. The rest of the family fell into step behind him as he carried you to the Batcave.

"You sure they won’t notice?" Steph asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She lingered near your side, eyes flicking from your face to your arm, then back again.

“There may be some discomfort,” Damian replied coolly, “but it’ll fade. They won’t even realize it’s there.”

His confidence was unsettling—but it worked. Steph nodded and stepped back.

You’d been running yourself ragged for weeks—missing meals, taking late night shifts, throwing yourself headfirst into practice after practice. It hadn’t gone unnoticed. They were worried. Terrified, even. Gotham was dangerous and they couldn’t protect you if they didn’t know where you were.

So they decided to make sure they always would.

In the Medbay, Bruce laid you down gently on the table. For a moment, no one moved. No one spoke. You looked so small there, so still. Alfred was the first to break the silence, rolling in a tray of neatly arranged medical instruments.

He cleaned your forearm methodically, the antiseptic smell sharp in the air. The needle was thin, almost invisible. It wouldn’t scar.

As he inserted the tracker beneath your skin, the family watched in silence. A mix of relief and guilt weighed heavy on the room.

They weren’t taking your freedom. Not really. They weren’t locking you in, or chaining you down. For now they’re making sure you were never completely out of reach.

It was the only compromise they could live with, for now.

Once the procedure was done, Bruce carried you again—this time to one of the manor’s guest rooms. He laid you in bed, pulling the covers up with surprising tenderness. He lingered for a second longer than he meant to, brushing his fingers across your temple.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispered.

—————

Jason knew life wasn’t fair.

He was born into the world already losing, already clawing just to stay above the surface.

So maybe that’s why it was almost funny—in a cosmic, messed-up kind of way—that he’s the only one you haven’t met.

Jason Todd. Bruce’s second son. The one who died.

If you’d seen him tonight, you probably would’ve screamed. Or passed out. Or just left Gotham entirely.

And yet, it still doesn’t feel fair.

He should get to meet you. Know you. Love you.

He deserves that much.

With a sigh, he rakes a hand through his hair, the strands curling under his fingers. He pulls on his jacket, straps his gear in place. The routine helps. Keeps him grounded.

The guns are loaded. The helmet’s clean.

His phone buzzes.

A message from Dick.

<Dick>

it’s done.

Jason stares at it for a moment. Then opens the app.

A single, pulsing red dot glows softly on the screen—your location.

The manor. Safe.

His lips curve into a smile.

You’ll probably never understand why they have to do this. Why it has to be this way.

But that’s okay.

Jason has a different plan—his plan. One the others don’t know about. One that won’t hurt you if you ever find out.

One that keeps you close.

—

The warehouse near the coast was cold, damp, and smelled like rust and salt. Penguin was rumored to be getting another shipment in tonight.

Another bust. Another patrol.

But for Jason, it felt different.

Worse.

There was a brightness to the team tonight. A lightness in the way they moved, spoke, even fought.

Even Bruce and Damian seemed lighter.

It wasn’t hard to figure out why.

They’d spent time with you. You all Shared dinner, talked, and spent time together.

Jason’s nails dug into his palms, teeth clenched behind his helmet. He didn’t realize how tightly he was holding his fists until a familiar voice snapped him out of it.

“Oh—they were so nervous,” Dick said with a laugh. “It was adorable.”

Jason’s jaw tensed.

“Is that so?” His modulated voice came out low, hiding his frustration.

“They appeared stressed,” Damian added casually, “but with a few more meals, they will grow comfortable.”

Jason wanted to shove Damian into the nearest crate.

Their voices were like nails on a chalkboard.

Why was he stuck on patrol with them tonight?

“You should’ve seen them, Jason,” Dick added, voice all too smug. “You’d have melted.”

That was it.

He didn’t respond.

Didn’t need to.

The roar of engines echoed through the warehouse walls—Penguin’s men were arriving.

Before Dick or Damian could say another word, Jason launched himself forward.

No plan. No warning. Just rage.

Guns disarmed. Bones broken. Metal clashed and bodies dropped.

Jason tore through them like a storm.

By the time the last thug hit the floor, his chest was heaving, breaths sharp and uneven.

He stood over Penguin, battered and unconscious, fists still clenched at his sides.

Behind him, footsteps.

“Temper much?” Damian drawled, cocky as ever. “You better get that under control before you see Y/N.”

Jason didn’t turn around.

Didn’t speak.

Just stared down at the man on the ground, eyes burning behind his helmet.

It’s not fair.

They got dinners, conversations, memories.

And him?

Nothing.

But they didn’t know everything.

Jason just remembered his plan. A way in they hadn’t seen.

Soon, he thought, as a slow smile tugged at his lips.

Soon, he’ll be closer to you than any of them.

—————

Your eyes flutter open, still fuzzy from sleep. Exhausted from your late night, you instinctively roll over to go back to sleep.

But something’s wrong.

This isn’t your room.

Your blood grows cold, then panic races through your chest.

You rip the sheets off and scramble to your feet, but white dots cloud your vision. You collapse to your knees before you can even reach the door.

Your head pounds, each beat like a hammer inside your skull.

You try to lift a hand to your temple—but you can’t. Your arm feels like it's on fire.

The door slams open, but you barely register it. Tears blur your vision as you cradle your useless arm.

Someone's hands grab your shoulders.

You flinch, looking up—

Dick. Kneeling in front of you, blue eyes full of something like concern.

Damian looms in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you.

"Y/N, are you alright?" Dick asks softly, voice laced with concern. He holds your gaze, waiting.

You look between him, Damian, and your arm. It doesn’t look broken, but the pain is unbearable.

"I—w-why am I here?" you choke out.

Dick smiles. Calm. Reassuring. Too perfect.

"You fell asleep at Tim’s desk," he says, voice smooth. "We tried to wake you, but you wouldn't budge. So we moved you to the guest room."

You want to believe him.

God, you want to.

But you know you would never fall asleep here. Not with them.

"...No..." you whisper. Tears stream down your face.

"No?" Damian's voice snaps like a whip. He steps forward, anger flashing in his eyes.

Dick shoots him a sharp glare, silently telling him to back off.

"I wouldn’t do that," you sniffle, meeting Dick’s gaze.

He just smiles again. That boyish smile.

"Then you must’ve been really tired," he chuckles.

Liar.

"Then why do I hurt so much?" you mutter, voice shaking with anger.

Dick freezes—only for half a second—before smoothing his expression again.

"What do you mean?" he asks, dripping with concern.

"My arm," you grit out. Tears blur your vision again. "Why can’t I move my arm?"

Dick blinks, looking almost genuinely puzzled.

"I have no idea. Maybe you hurt it during your game yesterday?"

You stand, backing toward the bed. Every instinct in you screams run.

"Why did I just pass out at Tim’s desk and wake up in agony?" you hiss.

Tim got your number without permission.

He lied to you.

They fed you and 45 minutes later you just conveniently passed out.

There’s no way any of that is a coincidence?

"How are we supposed to know?" Damian snaps, stepping up beside Dick. His glare sharpens, like he’s offended you’re questioning them.

"What did you do?" you hiss, backing up another step. Your hand fumbles on the nightstand until you find your phone, quickly shoving it into your pocket.

"We didn’t do anything," Dick insists, still with that fake calm. "You’re overthinking this."

"Then how did Tim get my number?" you shout, voice cracking.

Dick opens his mouth, but you cut him off.

"I know he didn’t get it from Brandi. He lied to me."

They freeze.

Share a glance.

You don’t miss it.

Caught.

"What was that?" you shout, pointing at them. "I know you did something!"

"I’m going home."

You shove past them, but Damian’s hand shoots out—gripping your wrist.

Pain explodes up your arm.

You scream, jerking back. Damian’s eyes widen as he instantly lets go, staring at his hand like he can't believe he hurt you.

You don’t wait. You run.

Dick calls after you:

"It’s okay, Y/N! I’m sure if you just let Tim explain—!"

You don’t care.

You don’t need an explanation.

You just need to get the hell out.

Twisting and turning through the endless halls of Wayne Manor, you pray you don’t run into anyone else.

Somehow, you make it to the front door.

You slip on your shoes with one hand, heart hammering, and bolt.

It’s still only 10:00 a.m. You’ll have the whole day to hide. To think. To breathe.

The subway ride is a paranoid blur—you keep glancing over your shoulder, half-expecting to see one of the Waynes stalking you.

But no one follows.

When you get home, you barely make it to your bed before collapsing, curling into yourself, trying to sleep off the pain and the fear.

Trying to pretend today never happened.

—————

You wake up to the screeching of your alarm. With a sigh you roll over and shut it off.

You dreaded going to school today, the thought of seeing Tim again made you sick. Your arm throbbed, your eyes stung from crying, and your stomach felt ill. but you couldn’t afford to miss a class.

You wonder if the GCPD found Tim’s attackers yet, you silently prayed they didn’t.

With a grown you got out of bed and haphazardly got ready for school.

Looking in the mirror your eyes were so puffy from crying all weekend and your hair was a mess. You splash cold water on your face hoping to ease the swelling, and run a brush through your hair to somewhat reduce your rats' nests. As you finish up the rest of your morning routine you glance at yourself in the mirror— still a mess.

You skipped breakfast today, you haven't been able to keep much food down this weekend.

The subway to school is agonizing. All you are able to think about is bio class, and what will happen when you see Tim again.

You just focus on your breathing the whole ride to school. You don’t have to see Tim tell 1 O'clock today, until then you’ll just have to manage.

Your first two classes fly by, it’s only until Mr Snyder hands you back your Math test.

See me after class. Written in bright red sharpie.

you groan and sink back into your chair.

You were so sure you nailed that test.

You spent the rest of class numb, staring at the clock until it finally rang.

Dragging your feet to Mr. Snyder’s desk, you kept your eyes glued to the floor.

“You wanted to see me?”

He gave you a look full of pity you didn’t want.

“Y/N… I know math isn’t for everyone, but after last week’s test, you’re sitting at a 53. You need at least a 65 to keep your scholarship spot.”

The words barely registered.

Basketball was everything.

Without it, you had nothing keeping you here. Nothing at all.

“You have four weeks to raise it,” he added gently. “Plenty of time.”

You nodded numbly.

Maybe Brandi could help. Maybe you could pull it off.

You had to.

”thank you” you mumble before making your way to Lunch.

Lunch with Brandi flys by, it’s clear she wanted to know all about your time at The Wayne Manor, not noticing the way you stifinined when the topic was brought up. You kept your answers short and vague, avoiding most details.

Brandi had enough stress in her life. And although you two were friends your friendship was still fresh— you’ve only known her for a few weeks, you didn’t want to scare her.

Besides, would she even believe you if you told her? Would anyone?

That’s probably what they wanted, to continue to torment you and have no one believe it.

Did they enjoy tormenting people? Making their lives miserable? Especially when there was a clear power dynamic?

The thought made you shiver.

Before you could think about it for too long the warning bell rang. You froze. Biology was next. You would have to see him.

As you slowly stumbled over to your class you grew more and more nauseous, your legs felt like led, and your bag became heavier. As you rounded the corner and stepped through the door you saw him.

Tim Drake.

He glanced up from his phone and smiled directly at you. His smile was like any other smile you’d give your friend. It was so casual, so normal, it was like Saturday never happened.

You were going to be sick.

You turned around and rushed to the bathroom as fast as you could and emptied your stomach.

After flushing the toilet and rinsing your mouth out you stared at yourself in the mirror.

What do you do?

Mrs. Young hasn’t seen you yet, you could just go home, email coach saying you're sick.

Nodding to yourself in the mirror, you grabbed your bag and left.

The ride home was much more relaxing than the one to school. You emailed coach saying you were sick and would see him tomorrow, before plugging in your headphones and listening to music the rest of the way home.

When you got to your building, you noticed cardboard boxes littering the hallway.

Someone was moving in.

You snorted to yourself. Who the hell would choose to live here?

You made it to your door just as a man lugged another box toward the unit next to yours.

He caught your eye and smiled.

“I’m Jason Smith,” he said.

Something about his smile made your skin crawl. Like he knew something you didn’t.

But you forced a polite nod. No reason to be rude.

“Cool. I’m Y/N. See you around.”

You turned to unlock your door, feeling his eyes linger on you just a little too long.

He chuckled under his breath.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Looking forward to it.”

Taglist: @jjsmeowthie @crazycaoticsimp @lilyalone @shycreatorreview @caged-birdies-blog @shrip-collector-of-fixations @wizzerreblogs @c4xcocoa @cxcilla @staarflowerr @itzpeachts @roseytheteacup @nervousalpacalady @buckturd @cat-lover-over-9000 @vampire-oc-lover @00hellohello00 @jsprien213 @endaculi @vanilliona @br0ke-b1tch @tsuniio @hearts4mica

Hey y’all I’m back. I had to get surgery from when I broke my wrist snowboarding and I applied to so many scholarships for collage, I also got diagnosed with dyslexia and dyscalculia which kinda hindered my motivation to write but than I got over it cause I love writing so much, plus i had like 3 drafts that somehow got deleted, i lost a request from an anon which sucks. But I’ve outsourced, now I’m writing on docs than just copy and pasting it. I dont wanna make promises about when I’ll be posting but it should be a lot more frequent now!! Also some of the tags dont work so y’all might have to fix that in your settings.

If y’all have any one shot ideas please lmk I need more inspo!!!

[saphiccarma]

Heya! I love love love your stories and HCs. Can you maybe do a WandaNat one where R is calling the safeword for whatever reason? How'd they all react?

I've actually been thinking about doing this so this ask is perfect! I don't mind requests for little hcs just not full fics. Will def make this into a full fic later tho-

The first time you call your safeword is just with Natasha. You were doggy style, ass up and hair pressed into the mattress.

It felt good, having her hands on your hips, but then she leans down.

Her front presses against your back, pinning you down even further. Then her hand snakes up and grabs your hair, tight, pushing your face into the mattress.

And suddenly you can't breathe, it's too much. The strap inside feels too big. You can't get enough air into your lungs.

It takes a moment, but you manage to twist your head and force out, "R- Red."

She stops nearly instantly, sitting up and staring at you in confusion for a moment before running a hand down your back.

"Alright," she says softly, her hips stilling, "Can I pull out?"

After you register her words, you nod shakily and she slides the strap out of your cunt, nice and slow.

Natasha takes it off before bundling you up in her arms, holding you close.

A soft kiss is pressed to your head, "I'm sorry," she murmurs, "What went wrong?"

You whine and shake your head, wanting to simply be held for the time being.

She holds you, arms wrapped around you, and then after you've cooled down gives you a warm bath and talks about what she did that made you call your safeword.

The second time it happens is with Wanda.

You were bent over her lap in her office, pants tugged down your legs and your ass red and sore.

You were being a brat, so this was well deserved, but tears streamed down your face.

Spanking was a soft limit, something the three of you had discussed, and you decided to let them try it.

Ten slaps in and you were mostly fine. Wanda had asked your color a moment ago and you decided on yellow. So she slowed down.

What you didn't know was that you loathed thigh slapping. You'd agreed to try it but you weren't expecting to hate it.

A sharp cry leaves your lips and you jerk away from her hand as it lands on your thigh.

Wanda pauses, glancing down at you, "Color?"

"Red," you blurt instantly, genuine tears streaming down your cheeks down.

Wanda coos softly, moving to sit you upright. Mindfull of your red bottom, she picks you up and carries you to the bedroom.

"I'm gonna go get you some goldfish and water okay? You stay here." She sets you down on the bed, brushing hair away from your face before pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

You whine and make grabby hands but let her go. She returns a moment later with a bowl of goldfish, cup of water with a sippy straw, and some lotion.

"Can I put lotion on you?" She murmurs and after you nod, has you lie on your back so she can smooth your sore bottom.

Then she makes you eat some crackers and drink some water, despite your whines, before letting you fall asleep.

The third time you call it is with both of them.

You were eating Wanda out, face buried between her thighs as her hands held you close by your hair. It wasn't new.

Meanwhile, Natasha begins to slowly slide into your with a new strap.

It was bigger than before, girthier and longer. You thought you could take it.

But it stings, sharp and painful. Maybe that was just part of it. Other dildos you thought were too big and you managed to take it.

So with a small whimper you continue to slide your tongue through Wanda's folds.

But as Natasha picks up pace, the pain doesn't fade, only growing and the stretch is no longer pleasurable.

You try and pull your face away, but Wanda's hands hold you close, not realizing you were done.

Growing slightly frantic you tap on her thigh three times, stopping in all your other movements.

Wanda releases you hair instantly, but Natasha doesn't notice. She continues to pound into you, pace fast and eyes shut.

"Natalia," Wanda snaps as tears prick your eyes. The woman freezes instantly, glancing down and reading the room.

Slowly, tenderly, she pulls out, taking off the harness.

"What happened?" She asks, as you curl up next to Wanda, "Are you alright?"

You nod and Wanda orders her to get some crackers and water, which she slips out of the room to do. While she does that you turn to Wanda and tug on her shirt.

The woman raises an eyebrow, but lets you continue as you pull the hem down and latch onto her nipple.

A soft gasp leaves her lips, but she shifts so you're cradled in her lap, a better position.

Natasha returns a few minutes later, surprised, but takes it in stride. She sets the food and drink down on the bedside table before slipping in beside you two.

While you suck on Wanda's nipple, eyes slipping shut, Natasha runs her hand down your back and you fall asleep.

[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - chapter 16

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: TREY, minor injury, language, drinking, violence, ptsd, angst, not proofread Wordcount: 7K A/C: and if i tell you i debated between this song and cruel summer by taylor swift for this chapter lmao. anyway... my apologies in advance i love y'all

Before London

Smoothing over my dark brown sheath dress I watch the elevator ascend each floor. 10, 11, 13, 14 - finally 15 and with a ding the doors open. My heels clack on the marble, echoing around the floor as I walk assertively along the hallway, holding my black leather purse on my shoulder. Finally I come to the right door. 

Linda Halford Managing Media Director Dallas Wings

Allowing myself one deep breath, I exhale to compose myself before knocking on the door. Linda had called me last night, interrupting the carefully planned moment I had prepared myself to finally read. One thing I knew for sure was that impromptu meetings with the boss rarely meant anything good.

Maybe she had seen the countless fan edits of me and Paige, the comments under posts and the clips filmed by other people - the lingering gazes and gentle touches we thought we were keeping hidden. It turns out not being able to show care and tenderness to those you love takes a lot of brain power. I wasn’t strong enough, my body pulled to her like a magnet. It wasn’t on purpose when I stood next to her and leaned my shoulder against hers. And I knew it wasn’t on purpose when Paige walked by me and her hand lingered on my lower back, brushed against my fingers. But all of this the fans had noticed. We had become their favourite subject of study. It felt as if millions of eyes were on us constantly. And I guess technically they were.

“Izara, hello, always so stylish,” Linda gives me a rare smile, letting me into her office. I had never been in there before and from what I’d heard, not many others had either. 

“Hey Linda,” I smile. It didn’t bother me anymore that she used my name. I had gotten used to it. Linda did what she wanted, she had no interest in pleasing you and in a city that was overly warm and nice all the time I appreciated it.

“Please, have a seat,” she says seriously. I follow her to the desk, carefully sitting down on the black leather and pulling out my calendar, assuming optimistically that this would be some sort of posting schedule discussion. “No, no, you won’t be needing your calendar.”

“Oh, right,” I mumble, gulping as I put it down with my bag on the ground. 

For a moment Linda merely looks at me with an impression I can not read for the life of me.

“Gosh, how will I get all my employees to dress like you,” she smiles - her attempt at a joke.

“I would rather not see Trey in a dress like this,” I joke to lighten the mood and to my surprise the older woman laughs.

“You’re correct, very much so,” she grins, opening a folder. My folder full of evaluations and content I had produced. “So, you’ve been here for a little over three months. How are you enjoying Dallas in july?”

“It’s very warm,” I immediately respond, already feeling the stickiness on my back grow. “People are very nice.”

“It’s tiring sometimes, isn’t it? The niceness.”

I’m surprised by her frankness. “Definitely.”

“But you’ve liked working here?”

“Yes,” I reply without hesitation. And it was true. My old office job paid more, was more steady, the hours were better. But being on the road with the team, getting to be a part of a community had become much more important to me. I preferred it this way. “I love it.”

Linda smiles slightly. “It shows. I called you in because you have absolutely exceeded our expectations.”

“I have?” I ask, shocked. Was Linda praising me?

She nods proudly, scrolling through the media statistics on her computer. “Absolutely. And I will admit, I have a soft spot on you.”

I correct my posture, surprised by what I’m hearing. I didn’t think Linda would have a soft spot on anyone. In my head she didn’t even have a soft spot on her husband.

“My colleagues did not want to hire you when we were looking for a content producer. You were too young and inexperienced, but I saw something in you,” she explains, looking into my eyes. “Guts. You had a comfortable, well paying job and you wanted more. That takes courage. I appreciate that. You flipped your whole life around to come here.”

That was probably the first time anyone’s ever told me I have guts. I was always being told I was too careful, that I should take more chances, yet when I told my family I was moving to Dallas they told me I was being stupid, careless. It felt good to get that validation from someone. Izara Chopra has guts, everyone. Who would’ve thought. 

“So, what are your plans for the future? Where do you see yourself in five years?” Linda asks, leaning forward in her power suit. Quite honestly this might have been the first time in ten years where I didn’t have a five year plan which both terrified and exhilarated me.

“Let me be frank, I don’t really know,” I admit. “I love it in Dallas, I would definitely love to stay in America, perhaps even get to work in a few more places around here. On the west coast, maybe?”

Linda nods, a surprising friendliness on her face. “I see. Well, the media teams are really connected, I would be sad to see you go but I’m sure after a couple years I could get you a position for the Sparks or the Valkyries.”

My eyes widen as I listen. In a couple years? Does that mean…?

“Maybe go elsewhere for a season, see what you like, return here and we find a higher-ranking position for you. Now maybe I shouldn’t say this but I could see you taking over my position Izara,” Linda continues casually.

“S-so you’d like me back for the next season?” I ask surprised.

Linda chuckles, nodding as if it were obvious. “Oh of course! I think after next season we could be talking about a permanent move to the states? If that’s something you’d like?”

I feel dumbfounded, unable to speak, blinking at the older woman stupidly. Get a grip and say something, my gosh. 

“Yes! I would very much like that,” I gasp. Linda smiles and offers me her hand. I reach over and shake it, both our handshakes as firm as each other’s.

“That’s what I like to hear. I’ll make sure you’re part of the team next season myself.”

-

It’s like the crowd is closing in as I thread the ball between my legs. It’s okay though, because we’re leading by 12 points and Olivia Miles has that look on her face that says I’m getting under her skin. Good. 

The tension between us had quickly become a media narrative. Angel Reece and Caitlin Clark all over again. Except I shut that racist shit down real quick. I respected Liv, I did. And I know she respected me. But there was a lot unsaid between us - I felt jealous of her solid start to the season and how quickly she had adapted to the league, she on the other hand was growing resentful over the way my name had become a serious contender for ROTY. It put pressure on her, which was making her lose her composure. It was making every block personal, every foul call, every made three felt like salt in an open wound. And then the game would be over and we’d have to rewatch the clips and answer questions about our ”rivalry” over and over, just building on that underlying frustration even more.

Arike was teaching me that it was okay to get mad and frustrated. That losing my composure wasn’t always a bad thing. But it went against the UConn way, and it felt impossible to let that go. Except today, too much irritation had built inside me turning into a level of drive I hadn’t felt in a while.

Feeling cocky over our lead, I dribble the ball to the arc and merely shoot over Miles. The swat of her hand taps my wrist, alerting the shot. The ball hits the rim. Expectantly I turn to the ref who merely begins jogging the other way.

”Bro what the fuck?” I yell mostly to myself. Arike taps me on the shoulder as she jogs past me - an attempt to ground me and to let it go. But all game this one particular ref had looked the other way, allowed the players - particularly Miles, to hold onto my jersey, flicking her hand all over my face, slapping at my arms from every direction. Not a single whistle. It felt like UConn all over again. Except I didn’t have my patience, and it was starting to get on my nerves.

Groaning and throwing my head back like a petulant child, I run after Miles, guarding her to the best of my ability. Just seeing her face was enough to piss me off. I needed to get a stop. I needed to get this ball from her.

Finding an opportunity, I get the steal. I begin my race to the basket with Olivia at my feet, breathing down my neck. Speeding up, I curve to the right hoping to find someone to pass quickly when Miles bumps into me. Hard.

I don’t know what happens, feeling my body hit the floor followed by my head slamming against the hardwood. My ears ring when Olivia’s body crashes on top of mine, her elbow digging into my ribs. The pain explodes into anger. And it’s enough to make me snap.

Pushing Miles off of me, she quickly gets pulled up by her teammates. I rise just as fast, and in a haze of emotion and pain I charge at Olivia, my chest heaving as I shove her shoulder. It’s as if in slow motion when she turns to me and tries to shove back but her teammates get to her first, holding her back. 

“What the fuck’s your problem?” Liv yells, only making me angrier. The refs run to us, my team suddenly surrounding me and holding me back as I try to shake free. 

“Paige, yo,” Satou tries grounding me but it’s no use. And I hear the shrill of the whistle. And I already know it without even looking up.

“The first technical foul of her career to Paige Bueckers. Certainly won’t be the last as composed and poised of a player as she is.”

“Fucking shit,” I groan again, seeing Chris in the sidelines shaking his head and looking up disapprovingly. Someone’s holding Arike back too, who’s cussing at Miles from behind my back. I taste something metallic in my mouth. I finally notice the throbbing pain in my nose, I wipe it to notice blood that’s been dripping down my nose, to my jaw and neck.

“Bueckers,” Chris yells, waving me over. I’m trembling with anger, mixed with pain and aching all over my body and the stickiness of the sweat dripping all over me. I jog over, not even looking at him. “Get that taken care of,” he mumbles as I walk past, but doesn’t pat me on the shoulder like he usually does. It hurts. Geno being done with you happened on the daily, he was in a constant mode of always disappointed. But Chris? It was rare. And I had let him down. If it just wasn’t for those damn whistles.

I sit down at the end of the bench, watching the girls try to calm down Arike on the court. I probably would’ve found her anger amusing if I wasn’t so pissed off myself. Leaning my head back, I grab the tissues being handed to me, holding them to my nose. Fucking shit. I got a tech. Holy fuck. I got a tech. Me.

A hand reaches to give me a bottle of water from behind me, placing a towel on my shoulder. I’m near to snapping when I recognise the familiar, low but soft voice.

“Hey.”

Turning my head I see Izzie, handing me fresh tissues while collecting the bloody ones for the medical team.

“You a watergirl now?” I ask in a dry voice, though it was becoming harder and harder to maintain my anger, her soothing presence immediately calming me. Iz chuckles.

“Is it broken?” She asks. I immediately shake my head.

“We haven’t checked yet,” a lady from the medical team points out, but I just shake my head.

“It’s fine, can I go back in?”

“We’ll have to check fi-”

“It’s fine. I’ma go back in,” I mumble and stand up - or I’m about to when Izzie sits me back down sternly by my shoulder. Of course I’m stronger than her, but saying no to her was hard. Impossible, even.

“Let them check,” she leans down and whispers into my ear, sending shivers down my spine. Defiantly, I lower the tissue and allow them to check. “Good girl.”

It was all worth letting her win just to hear that.

-

“Go interview her,” Trey pokes my side, pointing at Gabby Williams talking to the press post-game. “Why not?”

I’m more concerned about Paige and her nose, that was indeed not broken but her temper was running high today nevertheless. I kept glancing over my shoulder to make sure she wasn’t getting involved in anything bad or making stupid decisions. 

“Zari,” Trey whispers, shoving me playfully. “Let’s go.”

“What do I ask?” I mumble as the man technically shoves me in her direction.

“I dunno but Linda wanted us to start getting clips of other players too.”

I sigh, searching for any type of angle in my head when we get to the woman. I line up behind the other press nervously, waiting patiently for my turn when Gabby merely turns to me with a coy smile, skipping all the men in front of her waiting to ask questions.

“Hi Gabby, Izara from the Dallas Wings media team,” I introduce myself, Trey filming behind me.

“Hey, I remember seeing you before. You wore those boots last time we played you!” She grins, gazing down at me. “I was gonna come compliment you but I couldn’t find you.”

Oh yeah, the time Paige dragged me into a storage room and fucked me.

I chuckle a little, feeling heat spread to my cheeks at her comment. “Oh, thank you. I just wanted to ask you a question regarding Paige - We all saw the moment between Olivia and Paige in the third, what was your perspective on that exchange?”

“Wow, professional,” she chuckles, looking at the ground before meeting my gaze again. Her eyes are surprisingly intense as Gabby thinks of her answer. “Um, I mean those two have been motivating each other to be better and I don’t think it’s a bad thing. Off the court they’re great friends but sometimes things just get heated in basketball.”

I nod at her answer, never moving my eyes away from her. I always knew she was beautiful but there was something truly breathtaking about her in person. 

“Paige is known for her composure and poise on the court, did it surprise you to see that shift today?” I ask. Gabby just grins and shrugs.

“Not really, I knew it would be coming and one of them would snap at some point. She does have great poise but it’s good to see her letting go of that a little bit. I hope she’s not beating herself up for it,” she answers.

I chuckle a little, thinking of my next question. “What do you think Coach Auriemma is thinking right now?”

Gabby laughs heartily at this. “Honestly, probably just shaking his head and sending Paige some carefully chosen words.”

“Thank you so much,” I smile at the woman.

“I like your accent,” she smiles with a sparkle in her eye, looking me up and down subtly but not subtly enough where I don’t notice, before jogging off. She was flirting with me? She definitely was. Great. Like I needed the day to be more eventful.

Feeling slightly flustered I look around for my girlfriend, hoping she didn’t see. With her temper today, she didn’t need the added stress. As flattering as the flirting was, I was completely Paige’s. Even after the incident.

We hadn’t talked about it, matter of fact I made sure not to bring it up. I was becoming more and more convinced that she didn’t even remember saying those three words. It was a spur of the moment thing. It didn’t mean anything, she didn’t mean what she said. I knew that much. But just in case it wasn’t a one time thing, neither of us had touched the strap ever since those words. Actually we hadn’t really had sex at all ever since. I knew it was just an accident in the heat of the moment. It had to be. Because I didn’t know what I’d do if it wasn’t.

-

“Why don’t we just stay home bro?” I whine, sitting in our cab and staring out the window in my jean shorts and black sports bra, a white button-down thrown carelessly on to cover my arms.

“Because you need to blow off some steam Paige,” Izara scoffs, her nails tapping against the screen of her phone as she edits a TikTok video for the team. “And do not call me bro.”

“But I just wanna stay in,” I continue whining, pulling my pants down just enough for my boxers to peek out, hoping it would drive the woman beside me crazy. But she doesn’t even lift up her gaze. “You haven’t given me attention all day!”

Izzie rolls her eyes, waving me off by her hand. “I’ll give you attention when I’m done with this.”

“Ugh,” I groan dramatically, crossing my arms over my chest. It wasn’t even true. She had been taking care of me for an hour after the game, cooing at my poor achy nose, kissing on it, getting me ice and tissues. But it wasn’t the kind of attention I wanted. I needed her. She wasn’t wrong - I needed to blow off steam. Just not with alcohol. I needed her sitting on my face

It doesn’t help that it’s so hot and humid I want to die, my skin already sticky even though I showered an hour ago. What’s making it worse is she looks gorgeous in a white, skin hugging dress against her golden, glowing skin, natural waves falling down her back. Worst of all it had been over a week since we had sex and it wasn’t like us at all. But I knew I had been acting off, ever since the incident. I had been more distant, scared those words might slip out again, just as naturally as they did when I was buried inside her.

I don’t think she even heard the words, it was overwhelming - the sensations, the groaning, the skin slapping against one another. She probably didn’t hear a word. I’m sure if she had we would’ve had a discussion about it. Izzie loved to talk everything through. And I loved that about her. So I was 98% certain she didn’t hear me.

Still, the fear that she might’ve heard lingered, looming over me like a storm cloud. If she had heard she clearly didn’t want to talk about it or those three words. The idea of that filled me with dread. Because it would mean she didn’t feel the same. That I had become a fool in love who’s with a girl that won’t love me back. Because I did. Love her.

“Okay,” Izzie sighs, putting her phone down and finally meeting my gaze. “Done. Hi baby.”

“Hey,” I murmur back, reaching for her hands.

“How’s your nose?” She asks gently, her thumb stroking my palm.

“Achy,” I pout and blink at Izara. “I think it needs kissies.”

The girl rolls her eyes but with a smile, leans in and places a soft kiss on the bridge of my nose. “Better?” She whispers, fluttering her lashes at me.

“Mm, not yet mama,” I murmur, pulling her back in by the back of her head, guiding the girl to my lips this time. It doesn’t take long for the kiss to turn heated as our mouths clash. My free hand falls down her side to her bare thigh, fingertips digging the skin. Izzie sighs, breathing heavy into my mouth as we pull up to the club, the car stopping.

“I miss you,” I whisper. And she knows exactly what I mean.

“I miss you too,” Iz whimpers, pulling back to look around. “Let’s take care of that when we get home, okay? Just keep it in your pants till then.”

I nod, but it’s hard. Not just because I want her, but because I need her to want me the way I want her. Exhaling heavily, I lean back and dig out my card to pay the driver. Tonight would be torture, having to pretend to be just friends, ignoring the ache between my thighs.

-

The alcohol flowing through my blood is bringing heat to my cheeks, making my cheeks even redder. The club feels sticky, humid and hot. I hold the dirty shirley against my sweaty neck, the condensation dripping down between my breasts. The bottle girls giggle in my ear as they bring in bottles of champagne and buckets of ice to our reserved table, dressed in skintight clothes and micro shorts. I barely notice though, my blue eyes locked on Izara.

She’s sparkling, laughing animatedly as she speaks to Lala on the opposite side of the large table. It was my idea to sit apart from each other, but my God was it hard to remember why right now.

“Yoo, big P!” Trey grins as he scooches to sit next to me, dapping me up. I smile out of politeness, glancing at the man. Big P? Seriously?

“Hey Trey,” I mumble, sipping on the cold drink. “It’s so damn hot,” I complain, fanning myself.

“Tell me ‘bout it,” he agrees, manspreading as wide as I was underneath the table. The smell of his cologne hits my nostrils, already giving me a headache. “The refs today… Man. Unbelievable.”

I chuckle to myself. This might have been the most words he’d ever said to me. Maybe it had always had more to do with me avoiding him than Trey avoiding me. Either way I had a sudden feeling he was after something.

“Yeah, at least the nose isn’t broken so,” I reply, my perfect view of Izzie momentarily disrupted as a bottle girl walks by me with a tray full of shots. The dark haired girl notices the small glasses lining the table, clapping excitedly. I can’t help but laugh, watching her face brightening up the entire club. No one else existed - only her.

“Shots y’all!” She said in a surprisingly American way, reaching over the table to hand one to everyone.

“To Trey,” she smiles, sliding one to the man. “And to Paige.” I meet her green eyes, my heart fluttering at the joyous smile spread across her lips. Our fingers linger as I grab the shot, licking my lips as she leans over the table to get closer to me.

“Thanks,” I mumble softly, causing Izara’s cheeks to redden even more than they already had.

“You’re welcome,” she grins flirtatiously before grabbing one herself.

“Cheers to, uh,” she starts, clearly unsure what she was going to say. But it didn’t freak her out as it usually did, no she was happy to mumble up her words, to mess up a little. “To basketball..?”

Everyone bursts into laughter, Izzie included. I watch as she throws her head back, face twisting as the alcohol makes its way down her throat. Everyone follows, but not me. I can only watch her, toying with the shot glass between my fingertips.

“Goddamn,” Trey mutters beside me. “She sure is fine, huh? You ever notice?” I don’t need to even look at him to know who he’s talking about. Izzie. My Izzie. The Izzie I loved.

Grinding my teeth together a sudden burst of anger sizzles in my veins, trying to take over. 

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” I murmur angrily, downing the shot to numb my nerves.

Trey keeps watching Izzie in adoration. I wanna strangle him. Instead, I opt for picking at my cuticles. Deep breaths Paige. The taste in my mouth turns metallic as I draw blood from my cheeks that I’m chewing on to calm down.

“High-maintenance for sure but for that face,” he grins, shaking his head as if in disbelief, “that body. She’s a knockout. Worth it.”

Arike, who had been listening to the conversation, grabs my arm before I get the chance to kill him and pulls me with her.

“More drinks Paige,” she doesn’t ask, but commands, making me follow after her. I inhale the cologne free air by the bar, feeling my temper easing up with each exhale.

-

“I would kill for some nic right now,” I groan mostly to myself, thinking back to the nights of being 16 and sneaking out of the house to drink cheap beer and smoke cigarettes at Parliament hill, watching over the entire view of London. Okay, I only did that once, but it was still a fond memory. Cigarettes were my vice, a single glass of wine enough to get me craving one - though I had much more alcohol in me than a glass of wine right now.

I could feel it in the ease I felt, not overthinking my behaviour, not calculating the things I said, the way I looked. But I also felt it in the way my body wanted to be close to Paige. I craved to feel her. I couldn’t wait for later, my core already aching for my girlfriend. But then a sudden dread washes over me. What if she says those words again? Or worse? What if she means them?

“I have a vape on me,” Trey, who had made his way to the seat next to me offers, nodding towards the smoking area. 

I look around the table to look for the familiar blonde, only to find her engaged in discussion with Lou and Satou. She was so weird about Trey, convinced that my friend had something more than honourable intentions. I knew she was just jealous, though.

“Okay, sure,” I smile to the man, following after him. You would think that the slight drop in temperature would’ve been a nice change but the humidity was making up for it, causing sweat droplets to form down my thighs.

“It’s so hot,” I scoff, pushing my natural waves off my sticky face. “I feel like my makeup’s melting off my face.”

“I think you look beautiful,” Trey chuckles, finding a more quiet, desolate spot on the rooftop. “Don’t need all that stuff on your face.”

I want to groan, to roll my eyes. I hated when men gave backhanded compliments like that. “Thanks Trey,” I mumble, finishing my vodka soda. The man pulls out a vape out of his pocket, handing it to my first.

“Ladies first,” he grins, his warm fingertips brushing against mine as I grab it from his hands. I notice the goosebumps forming up his arms, causing the hair to rise. Must be the breeze.

“What a gentleman,” I joke, exhaling the sweet smelling smoke. 

“Always,” Trey says, his voice more serious. “Speaking of being a gentleman, actually…”

I furrow my brows, taking a few more puffs before handing the vape back to Trey. He looks uncharacteristically nervous, downing his drink with shaky hands, looking down at the ground.

“You okay?” I ask, placing a caring hand on his forearm. The man calms down, raising his brown eyes to mine.

“Yeah, just… I mean everyone’s expecting it right?” He says. Expecting what?

Trey reads my confused expression, chuckling awkwardly. “I mean just, I dunno Izzie-”

Izzie? He never called me Izzie? He wasn’t allowed to.

“I’ve been thinking for a long time how to do this,” he mumbles nervously. “Part of me just wanted to dive in and take a chance and do something reckless-”

What the hell is he talking about? Feeling uneasy, I shift on my feet just slightly.

“So I waited for a sign. And you’ve been giving me plenty but I just needed to be a gentleman, and I have been,” he takes a deep breath and entangles his fingers with mine before I can react. “But I’m tired of waiting, Iz,” he exhales shakily.

“It’s been months and I think it’s time we take this to the next level, whatchu say baby?”

Baby? Hold on, what is going on?

“You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever met,” his large hand presses against my jaw, holding it in place. I feel frozen, still utterly, entirely, confused. “I’ve been dying to taste these lips.”

With that, the man begins to lean in. He’s trying to kiss me. Trey is trying to kiss me.

In shock, I pull my hand away and push him off by his shoulder. At the same time, with Arike and Lou at her heels, Paige charges at the man, pushing him harder. I blink stupidly, my drunken brain attempting to follow what is going on. My stomach churns, bubbles forming in my gut, the taste of vodka lingering on my tongue.

Paige is furious, Arike standing between the two. Trey’s eyes are wide, clearly confused. Oh dear God what is Paige doing? She’s causing a scene. She’s making it clear to everyone it wasn’t already clear to. Suddenly I sober up enough to panic, reaching for the blonde.

“Don’t fucking touch her. Did she ask you to touch her? Ion fucking think so,” Paige is shouting at the man over Arike. Fucking shit.

“Paige,” I murmur, pulling on her arm. She doesn’t notice. “Paige!” I yell over her voice. Finally, her blue, livid eyes turn to me. A sudden wave of fear washes over, reminiscent of Jasper. For a second I think they look the same. But Paige’s face quickly softens as she turns to me. 

“I think it’s best we head home buddy,” Arike taps the man on the shoulder, walking him away from us. The people around us have their heads turned, curious about the cause of the screaming fit. I can’t touch her. I shouldn’t. But before I think it further Paige is hugging me, pulling me into her. The others leave us alone on the rooftop.

”I’ma kill him,” Paige murmurs into my ear. ”I fucking knew it. I’m gonna kill him.”

”Paige, calm down please,” I tell the girl, feeling the heaving of her chest against me. The blonde pulls back, her nostrils flared with anger. I need to find a distraction. Now.

”C’mon baby, let’s go dance,” I say, slurring my words. The blonde shakes her head, holding me possessively. 

”C’mon be a good girl,” I coo, pulling her with me by the belt hoops on her shorts. The words work their magic, my girlfriend following behind me. We drunkenly stumble to the dancefloor, finding familiar faces - Lou, Arike and Lala and other members of the Wings staff except Trey nowhere to be found.

”Yoooo, guys c’mere!” Arike yells over the thumping music, waving us over. Finally, a smile on Paige’s face she follows me, pushing through groups of people.

”Thanks man,” Paige says to Arike, leaning in to hug her. Lala grabs my arm to get my attention.

”Everything okay?” She asks maternally, glancing at the blonde behind me.

”Yeah, everything’s okay,” I smile back just wanting to forget about everything. ”I just wanna dance.”

”Ah my baby!” Lala grins, wrapping me into a tight hug and beginning to dance with me, her arms on my waist. I giggle out loud, throwing my head back. 

”Oh keep doin’ that,” Arike chuckles, watching me and Lala dancing, our bodies moving to the beat together. Peaking over my shoulder I find Paige too staring, with that lopsided grin on her face.

”Aight enough,” Paige chuckles and grabs me by my hips harshly, pulling me to her. I could tell the day’s events had made her possessive.

I can give a fuck 'bout no hater long as my bitches love me

The group gasps at the song blasting around the club. I giggle and face Paige. Her hands find their rightful place at my waist, both of us too gone to care about our surroundings, and the entire group too drunk to remind us.

Yeah, fuck with me and get bodied, And all she eat is dick, She's on a strict diet, that's my baby

Paige and I rap the lyrics to each other, wide smiles stretched across our faces as my hands reach around her shoulders. With my inhibitions lowered, I nuzzle my nose into her sticky neck, lips brushing against the salty skin.

With no makeup she a ten, And she the best with that head

Paige’s hand grabs my hair harshly, pulling me face to face with her. No one around us seems to be surprised by the way we were on each other. I guess it had always been obvious to everyone.

She said, "I never wanna make you mad, I just wanna make you proud", I said, "Baby, just make me cum, Then don't make a sound"

I word the lyrics to my girlfriend, my normally catlike eyes round and needy. A sudden overwhelming hunger for her was coming over. It burned my skin, made my throat dry. I needed to taste her on my lips, now. 

Paige feels it too. Her lips hover over mine, low blue eyes locked onto my face. Her hand drags along my dress, from my waist to my hips, all the way down to my ass sending sparks along the way. I whimper into her open mouth, Paige’s hand kneading the skin of my ass. I move my hips with hers, grinding. I feel her everywhere, overwhelmingly so.

She wake up, eat this dick, Call that breakfast in bed, 69, 96

Paige’s lips hover over mine, her hand on my ass pulling me impossibly closer. I’m fully flush against her, the smell of alcohol everywhere and the flashing lights painting us in a rainbow of colours.

I feel her heartbeat, I chest to chest with this bitch

She mouths the words against my lips, and I swear I haven’t ever wanted anyone more. Completely unaware of my surroundings, of everything that wasn’t Paige, I’m about to kiss her when she spins me around by my hips, pulling my back into her front.

Now turn around, face down, I'm arrestin' this bitch

Paige’s hand presses me down just slightly, other hand gripping my hips and pulling me into her. It’s overwhelming, the way she’s grinding her hips into me. I know exactly what she’s thinking about - something involving me and a strap, bent over in front of her.

“Goddamn ma,” Paige hisses as I grind my ass against her. Pulling me up by my hair, I rise and feel the blonde begin to kiss my ear as if no one else exists but us. Her lips glide against my neck and I can’t take it anymore. Turning back around, pull her into a kiss by her chain, our lips colliding passionately. It lights a fire between my thighs, her lips tasting like grenadine and vodka. This is all I could ever want. Maybe that’s what love was always about.

It all happens in a flash. A stranger stumbles pass, makes a comment I don’t hear over the music pounding into my ear. I feel a harsh hand groping my hip, an unwelcome presence pressing into my back. Before I even realise what’s happening, Paige is pushing me aside and throwing a punch at a man I had never seen before in my life. 

“Paige! Bro!” Arike and Lou grab the blonde, but the man is already holding his jaw in pain.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” The man screams. “Fucking dyke.”

The group freezes, everyone looking at each other. Before we know it, Paige charges at the man again, now barely being held back by Arike who’s screaming at the man as well. 

“Stop!” I scream, grabbing the blonde’s arm but she shakes me off a little too hard in a drunken haze, making me stumble backwards.

“Paige,” Lala says sternly, grabbing hold of me. I suddenly felt much more sober, my need quickly bursting into anger, frustration and fear. I wasn’t good around angry people. I could feel my limbs turning to jello, my legs trembling. 

“I’m going home,” I simply say, turning to leave the club. Whether Paige follows me or not, I don’t care as I push through the groups of people, leaving the fight behind me. Tears burn my eyes, my hands shaking as I step into the Dallas evening, begging for any relief the evening breeze might give me. It doesn’t.

-

“Paige!” Lala grabs my arm hard, her acrylics scratching my skin. “Zari left!”

Hearing her name pulls me out of my rage. It’s still there, but subsided by the realisation of how I had behaved in front of Izzie of all people. 

“Fucking shit,” I groan, rubbing my face. “I’m so drunk.”

Lou pats my shoulder. “Let’s get you some water.”

“No,” I shake my head. “I gotta go find Iz.”

Without a word of goodbye I leave, begging to God she isn't gone. I curse at the elevator moving way too slowly, forcing me to come face to face with myself in the mirror. My face is red and sweaty, a red spill on my white button up. I pull it off, leaving me in a sports bra and jean shorts.

She’s standing there with her arms crossed, waiting for a cab to arrive. Her bloodshot eyes watch the cars driving by, the slight breeze making her waves dance. 

“Ma,” I approach her carefully. Getting closer I can tell that she’s shaking. “Hey, Iz,” I comfort, reaching to warm her up only to feel the heat on her skin. She’s not cold - she’s scared.

“Don’t,” she pushes my hand away, lower lip trembling. My heart breaks. 

The cab pulls up, the driver standing up to open the door for Izara.

“Lemme ride with you,” I plead, ignoring the funny ache in my chest. 

“No,” Izzie says sternly, sliding into her seat. I grab hold of the door, chasing the girl’s gaze.

“Please Iz. I fucked up. I dunno what’s wrong with me. Just please. I’ll be quiet the whole ride home okay?”

The dark haired girl rubs her bloodshot eyes, shrugging.

“Whatever.”

-

We ride in silence, save for the low hum of 80s music from the front seat. Suddenly, Izzie sniffles beside me. Turning my head, I notice she’s crying. I did that. I made her scared, I fucking made her cry. I loved her and I made her cry.

My eyes burn as I watch her staring out the window, facing away from me. A tear rolls down my cheek. When did everything become so hard? So complicated? Sometimes I thought to myself Izzie was just making it all more difficult than it needed to be. All these secrets and lies were eating us apart. I wanted her to be mine, I wanted to kiss her and not worry about who might be filming, I wanted to take her to events with me and not worry about what everyone might say. I just wanted her. I was sick of being a secret, of keeping us hidden away. Why was the only way I could have her to hide us from the rest of the world? It didn’t seem fair.

We pull up to the apartment building, and I pay in silence. Waiting for her to climb out after me, I stand still wiping the tears from my eyes. Her face is puffy and red from the crying. She’s still refusing to meet my gaze.

“Iz,” I whisper into the night. “Look at me, please.”

“I don’t want to,” she says, her voice shakier than I’d ever heard.

I sigh as we stand on the sidewalk in front of the doors of the building. She’s staring into the ground, shifting her weight on her feet.

“I’m so fucking sorry okay, I am,” I cry out, reaching for her. She flinches. “Izzie, please. I would never, ever hurt you. Please.”

Izara brings her hands to her face, hiding as she cries into her palms. I wanna grab her, to hold her, but even as drunk as I was I knew she needed her space right now. There was however a nagging feeling deep in my abdomen, telling me this wasn’t just about tonight.

“Izzie, just talk to me. You know I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I know,” Iz explodes, finally lowering her hands. Her face is wet with tears, making her skin glisten in the night. “I don’t know what to do.”

I can’t keep it in. Not anymore.

“Yeah, cause this ain’t just about the fight,” I point out. I knew she had heard me. No way she hadn’t. She knew exactly that I had told her I loved her.

“Paige, stop,” she pleads, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Tears spill from my eyes as I realise I was right. I had to phase it. I couldn’t keep it in.

“I love you. Okay? That’s it. I said it. I love you Iz. And maybe to you that’s the worst thing in the world,” I cry out. “But I love you dammit.”

Izzie freezes, her eyes finally meeting my gaze. Terror, confusion, pain.

“No,” she shakes her head. “Not now Paige.”

And I can only watch as she walks in, my heart breaking into a million pieces as I let her go.

-

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[rosierin]

tastes like sadness | suna rintarou

synopsis; (y/n) and suna have a heartfelt chat about her complicated relationship with atsumu

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

It’s past midnight, and the apartment is quiet.

Suna hears the faint click of the balcony door behind him but doesn’t turn. From the soft shuffle of her steps, the faint scent of her shampoo, to the barely-there way she moves when the world is asleep—he knows it's her.

(Y/n) joins him without a word, settling into the chair beside his. A moment later, a warm mug is nudged into his hand.

“Chamomile,” she says lightly. “Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

Her voice is soft, sweet, and as gentle as the night breeze that sweeps through the air. It’s silly, really—she’s barely said a word, and yet Suna finds himself fighting the urge to close his eyes and pretend he didn’t hear, just to give her a reason to say it again.

Part of him wonders what she'd think if she ever found out. If she knew about what she did to him—if she knew that the sound of her alone could knock the air right out of his chest.

He pushes down the thought and instead glances at the mug, then at her, but she’s already curled into her blanket like some sleepy little burrito. Her hair’s a bit messy. Her eyes still carry remnants of a dream she hasn’t quite left behind. He takes a sip, lets the bitterness settle on his tongue.

“Chamomile is such a sad flavour,” he murmurs.

She huffs a quiet laugh. “You think chamomile tastes like sadness?”

“A bit.”

She doesn’t argue. Just sips hers in silence, the steam curling up toward the stars. Somewhere below them, the city glimmers—wet streets, red tail lights, a puddle reflecting the glow of a corner store sign.

The silence between them stretches. It isn’t awkward, per se—it never is with her. Their quiets speak fluently.

It’s usually so peaceful, so familiar. But tonight, it feels... a little melancholic.

Suna tries not to think about why.

“You’re up late,” she says.

“So are you.”

He doesn’t try and read her expression—not that he needs to. He knows she didn’t come out here for tea or small talk.

He's known her for so long, has had so many years to read her—learn her. By now, he knows the shape of her silences like they're his favourite song, has memorised the weight behind her all her pauses.

There’s something on her mind tonight. Something���someone—she’s been holding in all day.

And she chose him to talk to.

Not because it’ll be easy, but because she knows he’ll listen.

That knowledge settles heavily in his chest, dull and quiet. He should go inside, finish that true crime video he was watching. Make some excuse. Pretend he's tired. Walk away before it hurts.

But he doesn’t.

Because Suna never takes more than she’s willing to give.

And if this moment, this conversation, this ache—is all she’s offering, then he’ll take it. Even if it bruises something tender inside him.

She breaks the silence first.

“Do you think he likes me?”

Her voice is still quiet, still gentle. But it cleaves through him like a blade anyway.

The question is more painful for him to hear than it is for her to say, though he'd never be bold enough to say that out loud.

He stares out at the buildings, eyes unfocused, his fingers tightening slightly around the mug.

“Who?” he asks, though he already knows. Of course he knows. It's a stupid reflex—deflecting.

Nonchalance, silence—they’re the greatest weapons in his arsenal. A double-edged sword, really—because when it came to her, maybe they had always been his downfall.

“You know who.”

And there it is.

He wonders for a second what it would be like to lie. To say no. To protect himself for once. But he’s never been that kind of selfish.

So he swallows and asks—the bitterness in his throat no longer from the tea—“Do you think he does?”

“I don’t know,” she says, and her voice is so unsure it makes something twist in his chest for so many different reasons. “Sometimes it feels like yes. Other times... I think I’m imagining it. Or maybe he’s just playing around. I can’t tell.”

This time, he finally looks at her. The blanket has slipped a little, revealing the curve of her shoulder, the way she’s curled in on herself like she’s afraid of the answer. Steam from her tea curls up and around her like magic. A streetlamp glows behind her, casting its light through the strands of her hair that cascade down her shoulders like a river of gold.

Angelic, he thinks. So sad, so afraid—and still, somehow, so unbearably beautiful.

He turns his gaze back to the skyline. Tries to steady his pulse.

He’s aware the second she goes back inside, she’ll keep wondering about Atsumu.

She’ll laugh at something he says. Maybe fall for him a little more.

But right now?

Right now, she’s here.

And god, it hurts.

“You shouldn’t have to guess,” he says.

That makes her pause. Her eyes flick to him, searching for something, but he doesn’t give it. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

“...You think I’m reading into things?”

“I think if someone wants you,” he says slowly, carefully, “they should make it obvious. Especially with you.”

Her brows furrow slightly. “Why especially me?”

He exhales through his nose, trying to gather his thoughts. The words come out before he can stop them.

“Because you overthink everything. You feel everything. You’ll blame yourself if you get hurt.”

It hangs there between them—heavy, raw, too close to the truth.

She doesn’t speak. Just holds her mug a little tighter. He hates the way their silence feels different tonight—thicker. Like maybe she’s hearing something underneath what he’s saying, has somehow managed to pick apart his brain and see through his act.

She doesn't, he realises. And he doesn't know what stings more.

“You always know what to say,” she murmurs.

Relief? Is that what he should be feeling?

He's already said so much, let words he'd only ever thought about fall from his mouth.

And still, still she doesn't know. Doesn't see it. Doesn't read between the lines of his own self-deprecating script.

Sometimes he wishes he had Atsumu's nerve. Just so he could stomp down his ugly feelings and deflect them with loud words and flirty one-liners.

But he's not that kind of person.

He's not Atsumu.

He's Suna.

And Suna... loves her so much he doesn't know what to do with himself sometimes.

So he forces it down, locks away his thoughts and feelings, and tosses away the key.

She's not his.

Might not ever be.

And he refuses to become someone else's problem.

It takes him a lot more effort than usual to play it off, forcing the smallest, faintest smirk before saying, “Yeah. I’m annoying like that.”

She smiles at that—soft, sleepy, affectionate—and rests her head against his shoulder without asking. She never does. And what makes him tense when others try, what makes him pull away without thinking, only makes him crumble when it’s her.

The thought tugs unpleasantly at his heartstrings.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just lets her stay there, warm and oblivious, while his heart folds in on itself quietly. Gently. Like paper.

Because if he shifts even a little, if he opens his mouth again—

It’ll all come pouring out.

So he takes another sip of the tea. Lets the steam blur his vision, just for a moment.

“Still tastes like sadness,” he says, voice low.

“You’re such a weirdo,” she murmurs against him.

He huffs a quiet breath that doesn’t quite qualify as a laugh.

Their shoulders bump slightly, then settle again.

And somewhere inside, where no one can see, Suna’s heart breaks—quietly, completely, and without a sound.

[mapis-putellas]

𝑴𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒆/𝑨.𝑷𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔

The flat was warm, but the heat did little to soothe the chills wracking your body. You were curled up on the couch, cocooned in a blanket, sniffling miserably as Alexia stood over you, holding a small plastic cup filled with a suspiciously thick orange liquid. Her eyes were narrowed, her expression caught somewhere between concern and exasperation.

She crouched down, placing the cup on the coffee table in front of you, and gently brushed some of your messy hair from your forehead.

“Amor,” she said softly, her Spanish accent making the word sound so tender you almost felt guilty. Almost. “You have to take it. Please.”

Your response was a muffled groan as you turned your head away from her, burying it into the couch cushion. Your throat ached, your nose was so congested that even breathing felt like a chore, and your fever had you feeling as though you were floating just above reality. Yet the thought of choking down the bitter medicine was somehow worse than enduring the flu.

“No,” you rasped, voice hoarse and thick. “Not taking it.”

Alexia sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Cariño, you can’t get better like this. It’s just one sip.

You peeked at her over the edge of the blanket, narrowing your eyes. “I don’t need it. I’ll get better on my own.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she crossed her arms, fixing you with a pointed look. “That is not how it works, and you know it.”

You turned your head away again, stubbornly burrowing deeper into the couch. Alexia groaned softly, her frustration clear, but when she spoke again, her tone was calm and measured. “I know it’s disgusting, but it’s only a moment. After, I’ll bring you tea. Okay? Con miel, like you like.”

You were tempted, but the thought of the medicine still made you shudder. “No.”

This time, her patience began to slip. “Amor, you are acting like a niña,” she muttered, switching to Spanish as she often did when she was flustered. “You need to-”

Before she could finish, you suddenly leapt off the couch, narrowly dodging her outstretched hands. Wrapped in your blanket like a cape, you dashed toward the hallway, wobbling slightly from the fever but determined to escape.

Alexia stood there for a moment, stunned, before she groaned again, louder this time. “En serio?” she muttered under her breath before following after you.

You were already halfway down the hallway, tugging the blanket off so you could move faster. Clad in one of her oversized Barça shirts that hung off one shoulder and a pair of underwear, you glanced back over your shoulder, catching sight of Alexia closing the distance with long, purposeful strides.

“Nope, nope, nope!” you mumbled to yourself, trying to pick up the pace, but your fevered state made you sluggish, and she was gaining on you quickly.

“Stop running!” she called after you, her voice exasperated but tinged with amusement. “You’re going to make yourself worse!”

“I’m fine!” you croaked, ducking into the bedroom and slamming the door behind you. You pressed your back against it, panting slightly as you tried to catch your breath.

From the other side of the door, you heard Alexia’s muffled voice. “This is ridiculous, amor. Open the door.”

“Never!” you shouted back, your voice cracking mid-word.

There was a long pause, and you could practically feel her annoyance through the wood. “You know I can just wait you out, right?”

You groaned, sliding down to sit on the floor with your back still pressed to the door. A moment later, you heard her sigh, followed by the soft sound of the doorknob turning.

Your heart sank as you realized you’d forgotten to lock it.

The door opened slowly, pushing you forward slightly as Alexia stepped into the room. She looked down at you, her arms crossed, her expression both stern and affectionate. “Do you really you can outrun me? Like this?”

You scrambled to your feet, darting around her before she could grab you. “Yes!” you said, though your hoarse voice and clumsy movements didn’t exactly scream confidence.

Alexia turned to follow you, shaking her head. “Eres imposible.”

For the next several minutes, the flat turned into a battlefield. You darted from room to room, using furniture and sheer determination to stay out of her grasp. Alexia, to her credit, remained calm, though you could see her frustration growing with every near miss.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, your luck ran out. You’d misjudged the distance between the couch and the coffee table, and Alexia took advantage of your hesitation.

Her arms wrapped around your waist from behind, and she hauled you back against her chest. “Enough,” she said firmly, her voice low in your ear.

“No!” you whined, squirming in her hold, but she was too strong.

With a sigh, Alexia sank down onto the floor, pulling you with her. She settled you between her legs, locking her arms around your waist and crossing her ankles over yours to keep you in place. “That’s it,” she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. “You’re not going anywhere.”

You struggled weakly, but you had absolutely no strength left in you. “You’re mean,” you muttered, pouting as you turned your head to glare at her.

She arched a brow, unimpressed. “I’m trying to help you.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you slumped against her. “I don’t need help.”

Alexia reached for the medicine cup, which she’d set down nearby during the chase. “Open your mouth.”

“No.”

“Cariño,” she said warningly, her tone firm.

You glared at her stubbornly, your lips pressed into a tight line.

She sighed again, shaking her head. “Do I need to hold your nose?”

Your eyes widened, and you immediately shook your head. “You wouldn’t.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Try me.”

Realizing you were out of options, you let out a dramatic groan before opening your mouth reluctantly. She quickly tipped the medicine onto your tongue, her other hand holding the back of your head to keep you steady.

You grimaced as the bitter liquid slid down your throat, shuddering in disgust as you swallowed. “Ugh,” you coughed, your voice thick with congestion. “That’s awful.”

Alexia set the cup aside, loosening her hold on you but keeping her arms around your waist. “I know,” she said softly, her hand brushing some of your hair back. “But it will help.”

You sniffled wetly, a deep cough shaking your chest as you pulled away from her. “You’re the worst,” you mumbled, though there was no real heat behind the words.

Alexia just smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Te amo también, mi amor.”

Still pouting, you climbed to your feet, wobbling slightly as you turned toward the bedroom. “I’m going to bed,” you announced, your voice still hoarse.

Alexia watched you go, her expression a mixture of fondness and exasperation. “Good,” she called after you. “And I’ll be right there to make sure you don’t get up again.”

You didn’t respond, too busy muttering to yourself as you disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Alexia shaking her head with a quiet laugh as she rises to her feet to follow you.

The bedroom was dark and silent save for the muffled sounds of your congested breathing. You’d buried yourself completely under the covers, cocooned tightly as if blocking out the world - or more specifically, Alexia. She leaned in the doorway for a moment, watching the lump of blankets that was you before she let out a quiet sigh.

“Amor,” she called softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. “You can’t hide forever.”

The lump under the blankets shifted, and she heard a muffled sniffle, followed by a grumble of protest.

“Come on,” she coaxed, crouching down beside the bed. Her fingers found the edge of the covers, and she tugged gently. “Déjame verte. Let me see you.”

“No,” you rasped, your voice muffled by the layers of fabric and congestion.

Alexia rolled her eyes, her lips quirking in affectionate amusement. “You’re so dramatic.” She tugged at the blankets again, but you held them tightly around you, refusing to budge.

“Cariño,” she tried again, her tone firmer now. “Let me in.”

When you didn’t respond, she sighed, her hands pausing on the covers. “Está bien,” she said, almost to herself. “If you won’t let me in, I’ll have to come in myself.”

Before you could protest, Alexia wriggled her way beneath the covers. The space was stiflingly warm, the air thick and heavy from both your fever and the cocoon of blankets. You were curled up tightly on your side, facing away from her, your shoulders tense as you stubbornly ignored her presence.

“Dios mío,” Alexia muttered under her breath, wiping at her forehead dramatically. “Hace calor aquí.”

“Then leave,” you grumbled, your voice hoarse.

She ignored your petulant tone, scooting closer until her chest was pressed against your back. Her arms wrapped around you, tugging you gently into her embrace. You didn’t resist, but you didn’t relax either, your body still stiff in her hold.

“You’re sweaty,” she teased, her voice low and teasing near your ear.

You huffed but didn’t reply, shifting slightly as if trying to create distance between you. Alexia tightened her hold, her lips brushing against the back of your head in a fleeting kiss.

“Cariño,” she murmured, her tone softening. “Stop pouting.”

“I’m not pouting,” you mumbled, though the petulant edge in your voice said otherwise.

“Sí, you are,” she replied, her hand slipping under the hem of your oversized shirt. Her palm was warm against your bare, clammy skin as she rested it on your side.

You stilled at her touch, your breath hitching slightly when her fingers began to move. They trailed lightly across your side, her nails grazing your skin just enough to tickle.

“Alexia,” you warned, squirming slightly.

“What?” she asked, her voice full of mock innocence. Her fingers continued their playful assault, trailing over the sensitive skin just below your ribs.

“Stop,” you said, trying to twist away from her.

“Hmm… no,” she replied, a small laugh escaping her. “You deserve this por hacerme correr detrás de ti.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, though you quickly tried to hide it. “You’re evil,” you muttered, your voice still tinged with congestion.

“Maybe,” she admitted, her fingers pausing their tickling to rest gently on your side. “But you still love me.”

You didn’t respond, your head ducking slightly as you tried to bury your face in the pillow. Alexia chuckled softly, her hand sliding up to rest just beneath your ribs.

“Say it,” she teased, pressing another kiss to the back of your head.

“No,” you replied stubbornly.

“Cariño,” she said, her voice dipping into that low, affectionate tone that always made your resolve crumble.

You sighed, your shoulders finally relaxing as you melted into her embrace. “I love you,” you murmured, your voice soft and muffled.

“Te quiero también,” she replied, her lips brushing against the back of your neck.

You didn’t say anything else, your pout finally dissipating as Alexia’s fingers traced soothing patterns on your side. The warmth of her body against yours and the steady rhythm of her breathing began to lull you into a hazy state of comfort.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

[angelgoeslewd]

Dr Ratio has to be in love with you to sleep with you

because he’s a crier.

soft nsfw below. ⬇️ 18+ only, minors DNI

He gives off an air of nonchalance, of arrogance to some, aloof to others. It’s his own sort of candy-coated shell, sour and bitter, to keep away the pleasant thoughts and emotions that come with those thoughts. But you… you are the chip in his armor, his bared jugular, his undoing, unraveling. He comes home to you and nearly collapses in your arms, so many expectations, so much work, so many idiots. But then you’re there, holding back the world with your smile, fighting off every single thought he tries to form so he can’t even speak, all he can do is look at you, you looking back, neither of you speaking in such a tender, fleeting moment he wishes he could relive forever,

(He’d pay a fortune to the Garden of Recollection to retrieve it, later. He keeps in a locket, a pin he wears directly over his heart.)

Veritas would try to keep that act up with you if it just wasn’t so damn hard to soften in your arms, to press kisses around your face and to feel the pressure from the unwelcoming galaxy seep out with every one. Your laugh twinkles in his ears like the sweetest melody he’s ever heard, sweeter that that Halovian girl, Robin, could ever sing, a perfect cultivated symptom just for him.

And he would keep you at an arm’s length if you didn’t somehow manage to create doors out of all the walls he’s built around himself, waltzing in like they never were an issue, like they created no resistance between you and him, letting your presence flow through his life, unabated, taking over his space, his mannerism, his routine, like they were made to be there, like they were always there.

Ratio feels so, so incredibly delicate, being loved like this. It gives him pause, many times. He’s unsure how he can reciprocate, because he knows he can’t, emotionally. He’s not that type of person. But you never ask him for anything he can’t give. Time, attention, love. These things he would gladly devote all to you, if you asked, but you never ask for more than a moment, never anything that would burden him greatly, even though he’s nearly asking you to.

So when the two of you lay together… The cumulation of physical sense meeting Veritas’ repressed emotional ones completely overwhelms him.

He doesn’t mean to, doesn’t even feel the tears overflowing his eyes as he thrusts into you, head rested on your soft shoulder, pressed into your neck to be completely overwhelmed by you, his hands pressing your hips down onto his cock, as your moans flow into his ears. But he sees it, tastes the wet traces of it when he lifts his head to meet your eyes and croak out, “I’m close.”

He sees the way your gaze softens when you look at him as carefully as you can, following the stains down his cheeks, bringing your hand up to cup his face. He presses into it. “I love you,” he whispers, eyes closing as he reaches ataraxia.

For once, he hopes to be apart of something far beyond the Genius Society’s reach.

[girl-lostconnection]

Thinking very hard about Kyle and period sex too. Kyle with his long fingers, kneading your thighs until cramping goes away, bringing you warmed up heating pad and murmuring “know it hurts, doll. It’s okay, just breathe, you doing good”.

Kyle who notices when you breathing changes, when you get restless with need you can’t sate, not on your own — his lips trailing down to your knees, cheek rubbing on your thigh when he asks “can I, baby?”.

You grumble, cheeks heating up because you are going to be messy and you are bloody and it will ruin the bed and he will be messy too and—

Kyle hums, nodding along and drags your shorts off, tapping your hip so you’d raise them for him to spread the towel under you. He kisses your thighs, teeth grazing meat of them, pressing harder the closer he gets to your pussy.

Aching, sensitive and slick. Poor you, got so needy and thought it to be an inconvenience?

Kyle, whose long beautiful fingers spread you open so he can drag his tongue up, taking a long lick, so he’d greet your clit already warm and slick. Lips of his pressing into you gently as he holds you open. Just like that, baby, be good for him, be still, okay?

He will take care of everything.

Kyle who is leaving kisses all over your pussy, sucking the folds of yours in his mouth, giving love to every soft tender bit of yours. Can’t have his favourite girl getting cold, can’t he?

And Kyle can keep you warm alright.

He sucks on your clit, tongue trailing up and down until you are whining “Kyle-Kyle-Kyle”, like it’s all that you know, like it’s all you can remember. Your hand pushing his head lower, forgetting about the blood and the mess and any embarrassment.

Because Kyle groans in you pussy, sucking it clean and laving it with attention, his hips moving when you whimper “Kyle” again, his hips grinding into the mattress so he can get some relief too.

Because Kyle is so hard it’s enough to make him dizzy, drunk on you, his head so empty he feels it ringing and cracking like a white noise of faulty telly.

Because Kyle looks up at you, bloodied, eyes half lidded and fingers holding you open when he presses another kiss to your clit.

He licks another stripe up your pussy, breathes out “wanna cum, baby?”, like you weren’t rocking your hips in his face a moment ago. Cheeky bugger.

Kyle’s thumb finds your clit, rubbing it in slow perfect circles, making you whimper, blood and slick dribbling down on the towel when he taps it, toying.

“Say please, doll.”, he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh again, his pupils blown wide, his other hand tugging his sweatpants down so he can hump the bed in peace. “Say ‘please, Kyle’.”, he sucks a mark in your thigh and taps your clit again. Impatient. Hungry. Greedy for your attention.

Kyle is the best there is and it’s not up for a debate. Kyle wants to know you think so too. Kyle wants you to plead for him because one needy whimper from you and his cock leaks so much it’s embarrassing.

“Please, Kyle, wanna cum”, you choke out, hips twitching to roll into his touch, his thumb feather light on you. Infuriatingly so. Giving you just enough to keep going and not nearly enough to push you over the edge.

“Need me so bad, baby? Need your Kyle so fucking bad, don’t you?”, he breathes out, diving back between your thighs, grinding into bed, sucking on your clit until you are trembling and gripping his hair, trying to pull him closer. So hungry for him, so needy, he groans, his own hips twitching, heat dripping to the base of his spine, pooling in his abdomen.

Until he is blind with want, until he is drooling all over your pussy, eating you out like there is no tomorrow.

Kyle, who pushes you over the brink and laps up every drop of pleasure, drunk on you, hazy with want, his thighs trembling, stomach sticky with his own release. Can’t help it, doll. Not when you squeeze his head and moan his name and cum on his tongue.

Not when you are being so good to him, chanting his name, letting him eat his fill — spoiling him really with all that, baby. Being so sweet, that he’d gladly spend the rest of his life between your legs.

If you promise that he is going to be your Kyle through it all, baby. Deal?

[floodflameschosen]

noah + "You're mine now. Say it." PLEASE

CW: unprotected sex, p in v, possessiveness, jealousy, spanking (literally two slaps only), insecurity (if you squint)

🔞 nsfw below the cut, minors please dni.

You and Noah had rules:

No labels. No feelings. No fights.

Just fun.

At least, that’s how it started. That's how it was supposed to be. You kept telling yourselves that things were still uncomplicated, but the night's events would only make it clear the lines were already way past blurred.

It started at a bar downtown.

You and Noah were standing shoulder to shoulder, close to the bar. His hand casually resting on your lower back, a soft pressure that always made your body sing. Everything was great—you were laughing, brushing against each other more than necessary as you talked, the tension between you a pleasant, buzzing wire.

Then some guy—some cocky, stupid guy—was suddenly inserting himself into your space. Bold. Smirking. Flirty. Eyeing you like you were something to be taken.

Noah immediately went still beside you.

You felt it before you even turned your head, the way his body shifted, tense like a predator ready to pounce. His hand dropped away from you, and the loss of his warmth finally made you turn to glance at him.

What you saw made your stomach flip—his jaw locked tight, his eyes dark and dangerous as he stared the guy down.

You tried to quickly brush the other man off with a polite smile, but Noah didn’t give you the chance to do much. In a matter of seconds, he was taking your drink out of your hand and placing it down on the bar none too gently.

His fingers then closed around your wrist—the grip tight, possessive. Confusion washed over you as you looked at him when he started to walk, but the moment your eyes met, no words were needed—the silent demand clear in his eyes: come with me.

When he started moving towards the exit, you followed without protest, heart already picking up speed inside your chest. God, you loved it when he got like this. You fucking loved possessive, scary Noah—because you knew exactly where it would lead.

He all but dragged you outside, back into the cool night air, not stopping until you were standing by his car. He moved like a man on a mission as he opened the passenger’s door, waiting for you to get inside before slamming it closed and circling to the driver’s side with murder still in his eyes.

The drive back to his apartment was silent, something heavy and electric buzzing in the air between you. You didn't try to speak, mostly because you knew him well enough to know he didn't like talking things out when pissed off, but also because you didn't really wanna break this particular kind of tension. It was too promising.

It comes as no surprise that, the second the door to his apartment slams shut, Noah’s on you—kissing you like he’s starving, like he’s been holding back for way too long.

“Could fucking kill him,” Noah mutters against your lips, biting down on the bottom one just hard enough to make you gasp. His hands are everywhere, grabbing, squeezing, claiming. “Standing there, looking at you like you were his to take.”

You fumble for the waistband of his jeans, quickly turning desperate yourself, but Noah pushes your hands away, rough, irritated.

“Don’t,” he grits out. “I didn't say you could touch.”

“Noah—” you try to protest, but he cuts you off with another bruising kiss, his long fingers sliding up the back of your neck until they tangle with your hair. Noah pulls on the soft strands, yanking your head back in order to expose your neck.

“You like it, don't you?” He growls, teeth and tongue working the tender, sensitive skin of your throat. He's obviously trying to leave marks, and the feeling almost makes your knees buckle as you hold on to his biceps, gripping them like a lifeline. “You like it when they give you all that attention, when they think they have a chance.”

Before you can argue that you couldn't give less of a shit about any other guy that's not the possessive one manhandling you right now, he grabs you by the waist and pulls you off the wall, walking backwards into his living room as his lips go back to yours—the kiss just as bruising as the one before.

Noah gives no warnings before he spins you and shoves you over the armrest of his couch, making you gasp as your chest presses into the cushions, your ass now high in the air.

You’re wearing that stupidly tight black dress you know he likes, the one that clings to every curve. You could tell Noah’s been eyeing you all night with barely restrained hunger, and the second he hauls you against the couch, he doesn’t even bother taking it off—just shoves the hem up, baring your ass to him.

“No chance,” he grits out, yanking your panties down to your knees. His voice is like gravel, and it makes something burn deep inside you. “They have no fucking chance.”

You look back over your shoulder when you hear the metal rattling of his belt being unbuckled, not wanting to miss the show—watching Noah’s long, tattooed fingers working his pants off always manages to make you just that much wetter.

He catches you watching, a smug smirk blooming on his lips as he throws the belt to the floor, making quick work of popping the button open and unzipping his pants. Impatient, Noah shoves his jeans and briefs down just enough to free himself, his already heavy, hard and leaking cock springing free.

The sight of him makes you moan, arching your back to raise your ass higher, silently begging for it. You’re aching, wet and throbbing for him, as needy and desperate as you always are when he gets like this.

He must be as hungry for this as you are right now, because before you can even suck in a breath to plead out loud, he grabs your hips, yanks you into position, and quickly lines himself up before he thrusts into you in one hard, devastating stroke.

You cry out, clutching at the cushions, the rough fabric biting into your palms as Noah splits you open, filling you so deep and so good it’s almost too much.

“Fuck—that’s it, baby. So fucking tight,” Noah growls low in his throat, his voice tight, broken, already wrecked. He drags his cock out slowly and slams back in, harder, making the couch shake under you. “You’re mine now. Say it.”

You gasp, cry out, but no real words come out—only broken sounds, helpless whimpers—your body too overwhelmed by the brutal, perfect rhythm of his hips pushing against you.

The pace he sets is punishing, fucking you like he's trying to make a point.

“Say it,” Noah snaps again when don’t answer, and surprising you, he lifts one hand and smacks your ass hard, the sound sharp and filthy in the room.

You whimper loudly, clenching down around him—and Noah groans, long fingers fisting your hair, yanking your head back until you have no choice but to look over your shoulder at him.

“You’re gonna fucking say it,” he pants, voice dark, desperate. His hand comes down on your ass again, rougher, a hard slap that makes you jolt forward—but he yanks you back, keeping you pinned to his cock.

“I’m yours!” You cry out, as good as sobbing the words as tears start to build. You shake pathetically as you squeeze around his cock again, as if your body is trying to suck him in deeper, and keep him there. “I’m yours, I’m yours, Noah—please—”

The pleasure builds impossibly fast—your whole body coiling tighter and tighter, leaving you dizzy. Noah feels perfect inside you, stretching you just right, every thick inch of him dragging and grinding against all the right places, pace relentless.

“Please, what? You’re gonna come for me?” He pants against your ear, fingers still gripping your hair tightly as his chest drapes over your back. “Gonna make a mess on my cock? Show me what a needy little thing you are?”

The words are already enough to wreck you, but when he thrusts particularly hard and hits that perfect spot deep inside you again—that's when you're done for. You come hard, sobbing out his name, your body locking up, squeezing him so tight it tears a strangled moan from his throat.

It only takes two more rough snaps of his hips for Noah to follow with a hoarse, broken noise, driving deep one last time as he spills inside you—cock twitching and throbbing, grinding against you as if he can’t bear to pull away.

As you come down from your high, you both stay there slumped over the couch, trembling, wrecked. Noah leans over you, panting against the back of your neck, arms locking tight around your waist as he holds you tight to his heaving chest.

He begins pressing soft, lingering kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your temple, your hair—like he’s terrified you’ll slip away if he stops touching you even for a second.

“Nobody else gets to have you like this,” he mutters hoarsely, so quiet you almost miss it. “Not ever.”

You turn your head just enough to meet his eyes—and the look there, raw and wild and aching, makes your heart stutter hard in your chest.

This isn't just lust. This isn't just a fuck buddy getting overly possessive. No—this feels like something deeper. Something stronger, more permanent.

Your body moves before you make a conscious decision, hand reaching back and threading your fingers into his messy hair. With him still nestled inside you, you pull him down into a kiss—slow this time.

Deep. Sealing.

Yours.

[littlefreakrry13]

✮ pushing it down and praying ✮

masterlist

A/n: I’ve been obsessed with this song for forever and I HAD to make a one shot abt it, anyways enjoy 🧚🏼‍♀️🧚🏼‍♀️✨✨

Lando Norris x fem! reader

Word count: 709

You weren’t supposed to see him tonight.

You had plans — ones you made on purpose to avoid him.

But fate, cruel and persistent, had other ideas.

You spotted Lando across the crowded room first.

Head thrown back in laughter, drink in his hand, surrounded by people you didn’t recognize anymore.

Maybe you never really had.

Your stomach twisted. You tried to swallow it down, like you had been for months — the words, the hurt, the hollowed-out love that used to live so easily between you.

Pushing it down. Pushing it down. Always pushing it down.

You turned away, but it was too late.

His eyes had already found you.

He crossed the room with that stupid boyish smile, the one that used to make your heart skip and now just made it hurt worse.

"Hey, stranger," he said, a little too casual, a little too careful.

You hated how your heart still leapt at the sound of his voice.

You hated that he could still look at you like that — like you were the only thing that ever made sense.

He shouldn’t get to do that, not anymore.

"Hi," you managed, voice dry. You didn’t trust yourself to say anything more.

For a moment, it was just the two of you, like there was no one else in the world.

The music faded, the chatter blurred. It was just you and Lando and a million things unsaid between you.

"I’ve been meaning to call," he said after a long beat.

You forced a smile. "Yeah, me too."

Lie.

You hadn’t been meaning to call.

You’d been meaning to forget.

He shifted closer, hands stuffed into his pockets, nervous the way he used to get when he was trying to say something important.

"I miss you," he said, almost a whisper. "I miss... us."

You closed your eyes.

Because that was the thing about Lando — he always knew the right words too late.

"I’m not the same person anymore," you said, voice breaking before you could catch it. "And you’re... you’re still the same."

Always running. Always chasing. Always putting you second to everything else.

He looked wounded, but you couldn’t let yourself care.

You had cared enough for both of you, for too long.

"I prayed," you said quietly, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes. "I prayed you’d figure it out. That one day you’d wake up and realize what you were losing."

He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but no sound came out.

"But you didn’t," you finished.

And maybe he would, one day. Maybe years from now he would look back and realize tonight was the night he lost you for good.

But it wouldn’t change anything.

You gave him a sad, almost tender smile — the kind you give someone you once loved more than yourself.

"Goodbye, Lando."

You turned and left, the weight of it all crashing down once you were out of his sight.

You didn’t look back.

You didn’t need to.

Some things, once broken, stay that way.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ ☆ ★ ✮ ★

You barely made it outside before the cold air hit your face — sharp, cutting, real.

You told yourself you wouldn’t cry. You promised yourself you were stronger than this.

But then you heard it —

Your name.

Soft. Frantic. His voice.

You froze.

Footsteps.

Then Lando was there, breathless, the door swinging shut behind him.

He wasn’t smiling now. He just looked... lost.

"Wait," he said, voice cracking like he was breaking open in front of you.

You hated how much it almost broke you too.

"I should’ve fought harder," he said. "I should’ve been better."

The words tumbled out of him, messy and desperate.

You believed him.

You always believed him.

"I’m sorry," he whispered. "I’m so sorry."

For a moment — just a moment — the world went still.

You could almost see it: the version of you two that could've made it, if life had been kinder. If he had been ready.

If love had been enough.

But it wasn’t.

"I know," you said, voice thick. "But sometimes... sorry isn’t enough."

You stepped back.

You saw the panic flash in his eyes, like he finally understood this wasn’t just a fight you could make up from.

This was the end.

"I love you," he said, raw and broken.

You smiled, heart shattering all over again.

"I love you too."

And maybe that was the saddest part

You could love someone with your whole soul and still have to let them go.

You turned.

This time, he didn’t chase you.

And maybe that was love too

Knowing when to stop fighting.

Knowing when to say goodbye.

[thirteenheavens]

If you are comfortable with it, can you please write something about dad Wonwoo (fluff and smut if possible)?🥹

maybe something like telling him you are pregnant, deciding to start a family, or taking care of your baby together?

I really enjoyed reading the baby interruptions ones so something similar to that with Wonwoo would be amazing 🫶🫶

Shirtless Husband|| Jeon Wonwoo

Notes: this was so cute to write I actually love writing fics like this

You wake up in the middle of the night to find Wonwoo sitting up in bed, gently rocking your newborn baby in his arms. The soft moonlight streaming through the window highlights his toned chest and arms as he cradles the tiny bundle against him.

"Hey, you're awake," he whispers, noticing you stirring. "She was crying, and I didn't want to wake you." You sit up and scoot closer to him, admiring the sight of your husband shirtless and holding your baby. "You're doing such a good job," you say softly, reaching out to stroke your daughter's tiny cheek.

Wonwoo smiles and leans into your touch, still rocking the baby. "She's finally calmed down," he says, his deep voice gentle. "I guess she just wanted some cuddles from her daddy." You rest your head on his shoulder and watch as your baby snuggles against his bare chest, her tiny fingers curled into a fist. "She's so lucky to have you," you murmur, feeling a wave of love and gratitude wash over you.

Wonwoo presses a kiss to your forehead and continues to hold the baby close, his skin warm against yours. "We're all lucky," he says softly. "This is everything I've ever wanted." As you sit there together, watching the baby drift back to sleep on Wonwoo's chest, you feel a sense of peace and contentment wash over you.

"You look so natural with her," you say, admiring the way he handles the baby with such tenderness. "I can't believe we made such a perfect little person.” Wonwoo chuckles quietly, careful not to disturb the baby. "She's definitely got your eyes," he says, tracing a finger over her delicate eyelids. "And your nose, thankfully."

You smile and snuggle closer to him, enjoying the warmth of his skin and the quiet moment of family bliss. "I love you," you whisper, looking up at him. He looks down at you with soft eyes and kisses your forehead again. "I love you too," he whispers back. "Both of you."

Wonwoo kisses you softly, his lips warm and gentle against yours. The baby stirs slightly between you, making a tiny noise of protest. He pulls back and chuckles, glancing down at the baby. "Looks like she's not happy we're interrupting her sleep," he whispers, grinning.

You laugh softly and reach out to stroke the baby's hair. "Let's put her back in her crib," you suggest, reluctantly pulling away from Wonwoo's embrace. Wonwoo nods and carefully stands up, still cradling the baby against his chest. He walks over to the crib and gently lays her down, tucking a soft blanket around her tiny body.

You watch as he leans down to kiss her forehead, his eyes full of love and devotion. "Goodnight, little one," he whispers. As Wonwoo returns to the bedroom, he stretches his arms above his head, his muscles flexing enticingly in the dim light. He notices your gaze and gives you a knowing smile.

"Like what you see?" he teases, crawling back into bed beside you. You blush and slide closer to him, running your fingers along his bare chest. "Very much," you say, your voice a bit huskier than before.

Wonwoo grins and wraps his arms around you, pulling you onto his lap. "You're making it hard for me to be a responsible parent right now," he says, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. You straddle him, feeling his body heat and the warmth of his skin against yours. "Who said anything about being responsible?" you tease back, leaning in to kiss him again.

Wonwoo groans against your lips and deepens the kiss, his hands roaming over your body as he pulls you closer. "You're trouble," he murmurs between kisses. "But I love it." You rock your hips against his, feeling his growing arousal through his sweatpants. Wonwoo breaks the kiss and buries his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"Baby..." he groans, his hands gripping your thighs tightly. "We can't... not while the baby's in the next room." You nibble on his ear and whisper, "Then we'll have to be extra quiet." Wonwoo lets out a shaky breath and nods, his fingers sliding under the waistband of your shorts. "You're going to be the death of me," he says, before capturing your lips in another heated kiss.

"Then let's make the most of our time," you whisper, pushing him back against the pillows and reaching for the hem of his sweatpants. Wonwoo lifts his hips to help you, his eyes dark with desire as he watches you undress him. "You're so beautiful," he says, his voice rough with need. You slide your shorts off as well, leaving you both completely naked under the sheets. Wonwoo pulls you back on top of him, his hands roaming over your body as he kisses your neck and collarbone.

"I love you," he whispers against your skin, his fingers finding their way between your legs. "So much."

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Death is Quiet When You Hold Me (Crowley SPN)

Summary: Crowley comforts you in your last moments

Warnings: angst, heartbreaking angst

WC: 505

A/N: title used as a prompt from this Challenge of mine

thanks to my beta reader @mermaidxatxheart ilysm <3

Read on ao3!

--

It always rained where you met him.

Maybe it was just coincidence. Or maybe the sky knew that something about Crowley—the King of Hell, the dealmaker, the devil in a sharp suit—softened when he was near you. And rain… rain was soft, in its own way. Rain felt like home.

You sat at the edge of an old motel bed, legs swinging off the side, eyes fixed on the streaked window. The storm outside matched the one in your chest.

You were dying. Not in the poetic way people say when they’re heartbroken. No—your body was failing. Slowly. Quietly. And no spell, no sigil, no deal had worked.

Not even his.

“I could rip apart Heaven and Hell for you,” he had said, voice barely above a growl. “But apparently… some things are still off the bloody table.”

And now he stood at the door, watching you like he always did when he thought you were asleep. Like looking too long might curse him. Or save him.

You turned, reaching out a hand.

“Don’t just stand there like a ghost,” you whispered. “Come here.”

He crossed the room in three strides. Always dramatic. Always fast when it was you. Everything mattered when it came to you.

Crowley knelt before you, hands cradling your knees like you were something breakable—like maybe you already had. He was always gentle with you.

“I thought I had time,” he murmured, voice tight, rough around the edges. “Should’ve known better. Time is a vicious thing. It's so cruel that humans are so vulnerable.”

“So are you,” you said, brushing your fingers through his hair. “But not with me.”

He smiled. It was crooked. Sad. “No. Never with you.”

You slid off the bed, curling into his lap. The floor was cold. His arms were colder. But somehow, it was the warmest place in the world.

You buried your face in his neck, breath shallow now, barely there. “Do you think… when it happens… I’ll see you again?”

Crowley exhaled like the words carved into him. “If there’s any justice in this world, you won’t.”

You looked up, eyes shining with something softer than fear.

“I want to.”

That broke him.

He held you tighter, like he could barter your life back just by keeping you close. Like death wouldn’t dare take you from his arms.

“Then I’ll find you,” he whispered. “Wherever you go, whatever form you take—I’ll find you, love. I swear by it.”

Silence fell between you, thick and tender. Outside, thunder rolled in the distance. But inside?

There was only the sound of rain.

And the soft, steady breath of a demon holding onto a heartbeat that was almost gone.

Death is quiet when you hold me, you wanted to say.

But by then, your eyes had already closed.

And Crowley, for the first time in centuries, prayed.

--

Tag List

[typingdyslexiaisathing]

Imagine an MC who isn't very well versed in the whole 'sex and intimacy' thing. They haven't really dated anyone or explored what it means to be in a serious relationship.

But when MC has questions, they go and talk to Solomon. Since they are very aware that Solomon had wives and tons of experience in sexual intimacy. Which leaves Asmodeus pouting until he gets added to the discussion table. MC admits they do get 'horny' sometimes. But it always feels wrong and not okay to make them feel bad.

So Solomon and Asmodeus sit and talk with MC about many things. At some point, Satan joins in to talk about what he has read in books. Barbatos also ends up joining in the conversation. They help MC with their questions and feelings of frustration. Encouraging MC to just 'do what feels right and to only act if such is for the right reasons.'

Weeks later, MC ends up realizing they want to try being intimate with (insert whatever wonderful character here) and they go all in. Full scale date with a thoughtful gift and a meal at the favorite place. Like a cozy picnic for two or a quaint cat cafe. When the two get back to the House of Lamentation, MC sneaks them away to a private spot. MC tells their date they want to try making love. Which leads to a long conversation between the two.

Example if the lucky dateable is Beelzebub. He was worried for weeks why MC was acting odd and looked very unhappy. So he's glad they ask him to go out on a date together. They end up at Hell's Kitchen to sit side by side and have MC side hug him a lot. Which he does so back to talk about the current day to day things. But then they back to the HOL, and MC admits they want to try making love with him. Beelzebub has a moment of pure confusion. Only to ask if this was why MC has been out of sorts lately. MC nods to walk with Beelzebub to their bedroom and just talk. How they haven't really wanted to try getting so close and vulnerable with anyone. Since sex is a big deal and has to be for the right reasons.

MC admits to Beelzebub that he is the embodiment of safety and comfort. That Beelzebub is the most loving and protective person they have ever met. They feel safe and assured with Beelzebub, unlike with everyone else. So they sniffle to ask if Beelzebub wants to be with them in that way. Beelzebub smiles to nod and take MC into his arms to tell them he adores them. That he wants to give them the three realms and everything in them. So Beelzebub and MC begin snuggling and nuzzling cheek to cheek. Like two cats cuddling together in a basket. That warm and simple physical contact melting into kisses and sighs. Beelzebub is very tender and careful as he takes the lead to give MC gentle touches and slow rubs. Until they are both completely love drunk on each other and spend hours making love together. The morning after having them both all bed tossed but grinning like idiots. Asmodeus and Belphegor are smiling to look happy for them. So they help the two get straightened out for the day and to breakfast on time. With Lucifer only raising an eyebrow to ask MC if they are feeling better. MC nods and looks elated to say they have never felt this good in their entire life.

[beskars]

Could you please, if this doesn't bother you a small silco x reader, where they are just taking a shower together, just soft kinda thing yk

sanctuary

Steam rises around you both, cocooning you in warmth as water cascades from above. You’ve come to understand what this means to him—this sanctuary of clean water, so rare in the Lanes. For Silco, it’s a ritual, a brief reprieve from the constant vigilance his position demands.

Water streams over the sharp angles of his face, tracing paths along the scarring on his left side before continuing its journey downward. You reach for the shampoo, pouring a measured amount into your palm.

“Can I?” you ask softly.

“Yes,” he replies simply, that almost-smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

Your fingers work the lather through his silver-threaded dark hair, taking care to massage his scalp with gentle pressure. His posture remains immaculate even here, though you notice the subtle relaxation of his shoulders as you continue. 

“You’re quite skilled at that,” he murmurs, voice carrying that distinctive lilt that emerges when he's content.

You press a kiss between his sharp shoulder blades, reveling in the warmth of his skin and the clean, comforting scent that clings to it.

When it’s his turn, his movements are methodical yet tender, long fingers working through your hair in gentle patterns. He tilts your head back slightly, one hand shielding your eyes as he rinses the suds away.

“There,” he says, satisfaction evident in his tone. “Quite thorough.”

You step closer, arms encircling his lean frame, feeling the water envelop you both. He reciprocates, holding you securely against him. Neither of you speak; the constant patter of water says enough.

After some time, you lift your face to his, pressing your lips to his temple, then each cheek in turn. When you kiss the tip of his nose, that rare, genuine smile emerges—the one reserved for private moments such as this.

“What have I done to deserve such affection, angel?” he asks, the endearment slipping out without his usual reserve.

You answer by pressing your lips to his. When you part, you rest your forehead against his as you whisper, “You deserve it all, my love.”

[sylusjinxedpaw]

One coin, two faces

tags: young!Caleb love and deepspace, angst with no comfort, mentions of trauma, slight mentions of bullying, young!mc love and deepspace, mentions of mental health struggles, mention of C-PTSD symptoms on an early age.

notes: this is my first fic, so pleasee don't be harsh on me, my anxiety does it for me don't worry. It's funny how the first one ended up being around Caleb when he's my least favorite, maybe is because I did a Spotify playlist about him because I kept bumping around songs that made me think "this is so Caleb coded..." lol. Anyways, my first language isn't english, so if you see mistakes that's why. Also I apologize if I made Caleb ooc, I tried to keep it as close as the game as I could, but also diving into how I imagine he would act as a kid being taken care of from his abuser. Constructive criticism is appreciated.

Edit: This is now on ao3, if someone prefers to read it there.

word count: 1,775

—🍎—

Caleb always knew how a two-faced person looked like. After all, he was one of those. In order to survive and maintain peace for their household — and for mc, mostly — he had learned how to facade a mask of endearment and politeness around their "grandma" . He didn't really like it, but for the sake of the love and protection he held for his "pip-squeak" he would do anything it takes to see her happy.

But for some reason, his mind and brain didn't quite comprehend that their caretaker was also a two-faced kind of person. For Caleb, the person who took his beloved's life without thinking it twice many times in a cold-blooded manner, just to see her come back to be exploited again on their shared tests of their experiments wasn't the same as the person in his life.

How could someone do that to them since they have memory — since he had memory, because mc didn't remember anything that happened in their early ages, for better or for worse — treat them now as if they were part of a warm, kind-hearted family without a dark past? That torned him inside, almost making him feel like his organs twisted between each other in a nauseating way.

What made it even worse was the moments of tenderness started by Josephine herself. That was the most surprising thing that he has experienced from her; the warmest meals that she prepared for lunch, the hugs she gave both of them before sending them to school, the adoration in her eyes when she brushed mc's hair every day. Even how she tidied up their beds.

A bold contrast compared with the cold environment that they lived in that old laboratory, surrounded by researchers that gave them the cold shoulder even when they were distressed after the rough examinations they received, or when his love cried, pained and tired after long scheduled researches — more like torture, but they never named the practice as such, despite its gruesome practices and procedures.

Because for them, it was for the sake of mankind. Something that was worth crossing the lines of morality, even with kids — or laboratory rats, there was no difference and they were no different from them in terms of life expectancy and quality.

Until the non-expected consecuenses caught their tormentors, and everything went downhill for them, leading to the events of today's doubts.

Even if he remembered everything, Josephine didn't act on it like he expected her to do. At least not in front of mc. When she was around there were no difference between them and how she cared for every single one. When for some reason mc wasn't around but Caleb was, things changed in a weird way.

She started to act like she was walking on eggshells around him, her act was more distant but she still tried to care — on a certain way — for the oldest kid on her care.

When he wasn't really around her on those moments of uncertainty, he could feel her gaze over him, when she passed through the hallway and the door of his bedroom was slightly open. She would watch him through the gap between the doorframe and the door, with a look of caution and a serious expression, like she was expecting something from him.

Caleb thought, in one of those days, that she saw him as a tickling bomb that could explode at any moment and destroy everything. He wondered if she saw him as a threat to the stability she was trying to build around their lives after everything she did in the past. After all, he still held the memories, as opposite of the girl that wasn't around at that moment. He knew and remembered the real face that hid behind that tender and caring old lady that had put a roof above their heads, and tried to act like nothing has happened.

He also felt like he was about to explode at any moment; his body was always tense, jaw clenched, and he was always keeping an eye over her when she was spending time with mc. Part of him wanted to rest and leave the memories behind, and wanted to feel hope around having a stable life with his beloved, but another part, sometimes a voice in his head — aggressive, resentful and insecure, like a harmed dog on a defensive pose — told him that those were foolish thoughts, and that he should be alert of any changes around mc. He was the only one that still carried the heavy burden of what Josephine did to them, so he had the role of protecting her no matter what.

Even if that meant sacrificing any type of peace or slight happiness for him.

It was like that before, in that cruel and nightmare fuel place, and it wasn't going to change any time soon. That's a vow that he made to himself, and to that voice that kept him alert when he dared to daydream of a simple life with no worries. When for a single second he made the mistake of lowering his guard around them, and started seeing her in a different light, thinking she had changed.

Truth is that old habits die hard, and he could feel that she hadn't changed when she had half her mask on when it was just both of them present on that house.

Josephine couldn't maintain her full disguise when it was just the two of them — not that she didn't try — but she stopped trying soon enough she saw that her treatment wasn't well received or reciprocated.

How stupid of her thinking that he would do the same, acting like nothing happened and that it didn't mark his mind, body and soul for the rest of his life.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Caleb approached mc, watching his surroundings to verify that they were alone.

"Uh, sure? What's wrong? You kinda have a long face..." said the girl with the two ponytails on both sides of her head, looking at him with those big eyes full of worry.

"Do you sometimes feel... Like all of this, our lives and peace, will crumble down at any second?" Caleb fidgeted with his own hands, nervous about daring to say those words aloud instead of keep it to himself like he always did.

Mc looked at him with confusion on her face, not knowing where those fears came from. Everything was alright, and even if she had difficulties at school because of some bullies, he always took care of it without difficulty. But even then, that kind of problems didn't mean that the world would fall apart at any second, therefore she couldn't understand the source of his fears.

"What do you mean? Caleb... Have you been having those nightmares that you won't tell me about again?"

"No. It's nothing. Forget what I said." Caleb ended the conversation there. She didn't try to budge for more context, when Caleb didn't want to talk or share some of his thoughts with her, there was nothing that could make him do it. It was like trying to open a safe without knowing the combination of it.

She was right in one part: It was half related to his nightmares. He used to have recurring ones with different scenarios but every single one shared one similarity, that he was abandoned, left behind. Either in a crowded place, when he let go of mc's hand and got lost, and they didn't come back to look for him; or Josephine left him on an unknown place on purpose, to get rid of him.

Sometimes it was just him trying to find them both by walking long distances in what he thought was the path they took before they disappeared of his sight, or just him on distress, trying to navigate on a obscured laboratory after he woke up with no one around.

And that made him fear that one day he would be left behind, that for some reason Josephine would snap out of fear and would manage to get rid of him just like she tried when they had to leave in a hurry from that place, but couldn't do it because of his efforts of not letting go of mc's unconscious body. The fear that he felt at that moment never left him.

But it also had something to do with a creeping anxiousness that came of out nowhere, when everything was nice and quiet. Peace never felt like it should have been enjoyed. His body was even more rigid and alert on those moments than when he was under pressure, he preferred to have to fix mc's problems, deal with her bullies and keep an eye on Josephine than do nothing. Doing and resting felt like a forbidden thing to do, and he always expected to be punished for it eventually.

And Josephine existence in the present — and her contradictory behavior — didn't make it any easy. Caleb felt like he needed to keep an eye on her at all times, just to prevent a catastrophe of her going to her old ways, dragging mc back. In case some of the cables in her head that made her run away disappeared and she decided that what she was doing wasn't worth the time.

But then the interactions with mc happened, and she reciprocated them back with so much eagerness...

And she looked so happy, almost like she have had a change of heart or was replaced with someone who looked like her, but was so different than the old laboratory researcher that did almost took their lives for good many times...

Caleb knew how a two-faced person looked like very well. And there was nothing that he abhorred more than having to deal with one, who tried to amend what she did by trying to act like a caring parent now.

But what he hated the most was himself, and his two faces, how they fought with each other. One being disgustingly hopeful that let him believe that act, and the other, who had so much resentment that he couldn't let go of the past and couldn't rest, working non stop on looking for any kind of signal that meant he had to flee away with his most precious person.

And he hated so much how he was just a kid, oh how much he did hate to have to depend on his past — and present, if he had to be honest — martyr.

Caleb always dreamed of being and adult finally, fulfilling his duty of becoming a pilot, and taking mc out of that place to never to come back and for once, being safe and sound.

Because in his world, it could only exist one two-faced person, even if being one made him even more disgusted with himself.

—🍎—

ay dioh so with this, I did a big jump into doing something that I was postponing for a long time haha. Might write more in the future, but it might past a long time until I publish something again and have the inspiration that possessed me yesterday. Be kind to me please and my chicken heart. I know it's not the usual Caleb x mc everyone does, but I had to put it out of my chest since I started to feel so bad for this man recently and everything he went through.

It makes me laugh how I did end up writing angst with no comfort when I avoid reading about it.

[solyxa]

Tender-Hearted

a/n: reader n caleb are childhood best friends in this rather than the lore accurate living/growing up together bc to be totally honest i dont pay enough attention to the lore to do it justice ;-; oh and reader is black :D

Growing up, Caleb was perpetually in awe of the versatility of your hair. He'd seen you with puffs, twists, braids... and yet he never got used to how gorgeous you looked each time. He loved telling you as much, seeing how you lit up with every compliment. Especially since he'd seen the utter chaos that was the process of you getting your hair done.

Screaming, crying, squirming... Whether it was at the salon or by your mom, from the moment hands first touched your hair to the very end, it was pure havoc. Hearing you cry and seeing you so upset was always tough for Caleb, who would sit nearby the whole time hoping to provide some support. Eventually, he got the idea that if he could just learn to do your hair himself, maybe he could make it less insufferable for you.

So began his learning phase. Caleb started watching YouTube videos, researching, even hovering over your mom's shoulder as she did your hair (at least until she'd tell him he was crowding her and shoo him away). Once he felt ready to try it, and after a bit of begging your mom, he sat you down and nervously began. The idea was to just detangle, blow dry, and brush it up into a puff. Simple... At least it was supposed to be.

He wasn't sure how he thought things would be so different, maybe getting used to being able to help and protect you since he was a bit older had gotten to his head. However, soon after starting on your hair, he got a reality check.

He'd barely began and Caleb was already panicking, trying to keep a hold on your head as you kept dodging the blow dryer. No matter how much he tried to bargain with you, offering snacks or straight up begging "Pipsqueak, c'mon... Stay still just a bit longer?" Every minute was a struggle, and when you started crying... It broke his heart too much to continue, even if it'd mean he had to explain to your mom later why you looked like one of those troll dolls.

Years later, a combination of Caleb learning and doing your hair more and you growing more agreeable over the years led to him practically being your personal hairdresser in adulthood. Though being older did mean having you sat between his legs as he helped take out your braids was much more nerve-wracking and distracting...

Not even half an hour in, you drop your arms with a tired sigh. "Caleb, I'm tired..." He chuckles and shakes his head, like he completely expected this. Your petulant behavior had never disappeared, just changed. "Y'know, Pipsqueak... Doing your hair over the years has really made you spoiled." You just look back at him, pouting and giving your best sad eyes. "But Calebbb, you do it so much better, Pretty please?" He feels his ears burning from you looking at him that way, so he gently turns your head back to facing forward. "Ugh, fine... You're lucky you're my Pipsqueak." Suddenly you can't stop smiling, especially when you nudge his thigh playfully and swear you hear his breath hitch. Some things never change.

"Wha- Pipsqueak, you only took out like two!"