#and all you get is a proud grin and 'all done? need anything else?'

[fairy-lights-and-blobs]

You can always have her return it.

Rolls down his sleeve until it's up past the shoulder, grabs the sheath to fix the straw's positioning, and tucks the kunai back into it's place. All the while, Danny looks like one of those huge guard dogs with their human toddler. Impassive, and doesn't even react, other than a grin and rechecking the balance once the sleeve is rolled down.

Wes grabs him by the same spot later, and Danny almost freezes him in place for it :D

fast food is the best course of action after causing a scene. ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀɴʏᴀʟ ᴀʟ ɢʜᴜʟ ᴀᴜ

(First Post Here and Second Post Here

--------

Danny finds Sam easily.

She's right where she said she was over the phone: standing outside on a balcony, in Gotham, at Father's many charity functions. 

("Would you still be willing to fly over to Gotham, Danny?" She asks, her voice ringing clear through the speakers. Danny is already climbing out his window before she even finishes her sentence. He was just about to settle down for the night, his ghosts would know better by now than to disturb him at this time. The Box Ghost not included.)

("Of course." He says, sounding more confident than he feels. Sam was one of his best— closest friends, he would do anything she or Tucker asked. Even if it means stepping foot into his Father's city. He drops down silently, and walks through the house's ghost shield. "Would you like me to bring you anything?")

(Sam sighs through the phone, relief leaking through. "One of the veggie burgers from Nasty Burgers would be great, with their new ecto-fries. Extra salt. I'm sick of all this rich people food.")

(A small smile pulls across Danny's face, tilting at the corner as his living form falls away to his ghost self. "Alright," he says, and kicks himself off the ground, "I'll be there in a few minutes.")

("Thanks, Danny.")

He had the bag of food with him, stored in a container he had to run back to the house to get that would prevent the food from cooling during his flight over. Clutching it in hand, he floats down behind Sam and sheds his invisibility.

Being visible and being invisible always felt different, but in a way Danny can never describe, no matter how many times he tries to think about it. It's like a gut-feeling, a sixth sense, he always knows when he's visible and when he is not.

His ghost form burns away like steel wool being lit, and Danny drops the last foot to the ground silently. In his other hand lies his thermos, but filled with plain ectoplasm — lazarus water. "I have your food." 

(He brought the thermos for himself — his side was still healing from his last fight with Technus. The ghost impaled him with a broken pipe, and Danny returned the favor by wedging his sword into his chest. Technus had been quite offended by him ruining his favorite coat.)

Sam jumps a foot into the air, and her hand slams across her mouth to muffle the shriek she lets out as she whirls around. "Danny!" She hisses, her voice rising in pitch, and her eyes narrow at him into a glare. "Freaking-- Tucker's right, we seriously need to put a bell on you."

"You have been saying that for years," Danny grins, sharp-toothed and jack-knifed, and passes the container over to her. "And yet I've yet to see any kind of bell." He was going to start getting disappointed at this rate.

As Sam takes the container, Danny hops up onto the railing and looks around. He hadn't seen any of Father's other children lurking around the building before he revealed himself, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. He wasn't going to fool himself into thinking that their stealth skills were poor.

He wasn't that arrogant.

...Anymore.

"Oh you will." Sam threatens, unzipping the container and grabbing the takeout bag. "I'll get you a collar and everything, we can start calling you Catwoman." When she pulls out her fries, Danny snaps forward and steals one from the box, ignoring her indignant yell as he pops it into his mouth.

"I spent my own money on these fries, Sam." He sniffs, leaning away from her with a stifled huff of laughter as she swats at him. "So they are technically my fries. And also, Catwoman would be a poor thief if she wore a bell."

Sam grumbles at him, and takes a bite out of a handful of fries. "I'll venmo you money." She says past a mouthful of food, Danny would have been disgusted in the past, when he was still new. But he's gotten used to this... normality. So he makes no reaction to it. "How does three hundred bucks sound?"

Danny immediately frowns.

"Did you have a fight with your parents?" He asks, eyes glancing to the doors. Doors that are covered heavily by curtains and blurred heavily, decadent music passing through in muffled sounds. He shifts himself away from the light. "You only spend that much money when they've pissed you off."

Sam's chewing stops, and her annoyed expression falters into one Danny knows well -- hurt, furrowed brows, a small frown, disappointment -- and she turns her head away from him. She swallows. "Yeah." she says, quiet.

Oh.

Danny knows that tone too.

Guilt settles like a rock in his chest. He leans forward, "Was it about me again?" He wasn't blind to the disdain Sam's parents had for him, far from it. This wasn't the first time Sam had gotten into a fight with them over her friendship with him and Tucker. But especially him. He unsettled people, even after years of observing his age-mates and trying to mimic their behavior, and anyone who knew him in middle school knew it was an act.  

Sam's silence gives him all the confirmation he needs, and the guilt heavies itself with the weight of the sky. Danny's never much cared about others' opinions of him -- he is (was?) an Al Ghul, they never heed to mind what the weight of a simpleton's thoughts.

But.. he cares a little a lot when it hurts his friends like this. He presses his lips together into a thin line, and forces the words out through his teeth. It sounds robotic. Al Ghul's do not apologize. "I... am sorry." But this one does. It doesn’t come easy. 

Sam sighs through her nose, and turns to roll her eyes at him. "Don't apologize on their behalf when you won't even apologize for your own; their assholes." She says, and goes reaching for more fries.

It's a sign, a signal. A silent word for the conversation to move on, to change. A distraction. Danny grasps it with both hands, and makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. And like he has learned, puts a hand to his chest like a scandalized American southern lady. "I apologize! I apologize plenty."

She snorts. "Only when you think it matters." And pokes him in the ribs sharply with her fry. He withholds a wince and snatches it out of her hands. "You're about as unapologetic as they come, Danny J. Fenton. I've seen you look more sincere when you're trying to drive your sword between Vlad's ribs."

"Stabbing Masters is a very important task for me, Sam." Danny says in only partially faux-seriousness. Masters has yet to realize that Danny had no interest in becoming his son, but he had to (reluctantly) admire his persistence. "Of course I will apply myself to it as best as I can."

He grins triumphantly when Sam laughs, and she reaches over to shove him square in the chest. He barks out a laugh of his own as he grips onto the balcony railing and catches himself at an angle.

"Quit with your method actor talk," Sam retorts, grinning sharply while Danny twists himself back up elegantly. "I know you can talk like a normal person, I've literally seen you do it."

Danny sniffs, and snatches more fries from the carton as revenge. "I'm not entirely sure what you mean, Miss Sam." He says, grin-twisting when Sam rolls her eyes. "My speech has always been this way. This 'normal' you speak of, I do not know it."

She waves her hand dismissively at him. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. But if you keep talking like that, I'm pushing you off the balcony."

"Such violence, Sam."

He gets a laugh again, full of disbelief without any of the annoyance. "I'm gonna be the one that stabs you, oh my god. Pot meet kettle." She looks at him again, smiling.

Danny smiles back, and with a flick of his wrist pulls out a kunai from his sleeve. It was one of the few weapons Mother was able to pass on to him whenever she made her scarce visits. He cherishes it well, along with anything else she was capable of giving him. 

He holds the handle out to her, and watches her face shift from disbelief to shock, then back to disbelief. "Then you're gonna need a weapon to do that." 

"Of course you have a pointy object on you." She mutters, and takes the kunai and puts it in her purse. Danny makes a pleased hum, it resonates low in his core, and drops his hand. "When do you not have a pointy object on you?"

As if to make her point, Danny's hands twist near his side, and he holds his palms up to her, revealing the shobo he had also hidden on him. He gives her a shit-eating grin. "Never." He lowers his hand, and pockets the small weapon once again. 

Sam huffs, "Of course," she repeats, "thanks. I was gonna bring a knife but..."

Danny finishes the sentence for her, kicking his feet idly and knowingly. "The security at the door?" He'd seen them on his flight over the building. It wouldn't do much in the face of the Rogues, but at least they were good at keeping appearances and keeping out the smaller threats.

He rolls his eyes and turns his head away, looking up to the ugly, smog-covered skies. There was no bat signal in the air, and while that was a good thing, Danny almost wished there was. He wanted to see it. "I saw, and I would’ve called Father foolish if he hadn’t hired help. He attracts trouble almost as badly as I do."

"Maybe it's hereditary," Sam jokes, laughing under her breath. With her fries finished, she started on her veggie burger. "At least your dad isn't a vigilante like you are."

Danny smiles wryly. It felt nice to be able to talk more freely about this. That he didn't have to hide the fact that his father was Bruce Wayne, now that Sam knew it from her own accord. Maybe he could have conversations like these more often. Even if it was limited to Bruce Wayne only.

(Even if it felt a little terrifying to know that his father was so close by, close enough that Danny could reach out and touch him. To speak to him. But how would he explain that? And with an audience?)

(He’s wanted to see him since he was a kid, and he still does. It clings onto him like a cough that doesn’t go away after the cold already has, and while it has faded over the years, it clings. His mother’s words still ring in his ears however; it’s not safe. It’s not safe.)

(And isn’t that why he faked his death in the first place? So that his little brother would be safe? Why he gave up the heirship, his home, his Mother, Damian, and his chance to meet his Father? Going to see Father, even now, would be throwing that all away. He has to stay away.)

(Why is Damian with Father if staying with Father was unsafe?) 

He just needed to tell Tucker. Danny wouldn’t keep him out of the loop, he was just as much as his friend as Sam was. His eyes draw towards the door, where the golden glow of lights was still pouring through, where music was playing loudly. "Yeah, fortunately." 

They fall into a comfortable silence after that, and Danny finally cracks open his thermos. The pipe Technus impaled him with was covered in a goo that Danny didn’t recognize, but whatever it was, his injury was taking its time healing. The ectoplasm was speeding it up. 

He isn’t sure what the difference between the ectoplasm that Drs. Fenton collected and Grandfather’s Lazarus pools is, but there’s a difference. He swirls the thermos slowly, watching as the ectoplasm inside twists into a small whirlpool sluggishly. 

When left alone, it thickens into a consistency similar to egg whites, or perhaps a thick smoothie, but reverts back into a water-like substance when moved and swirled. It was strange; unexplainable. He can understand, to an extent, why the Drs. Fenton are so obsessed with studying it and the dimension it comes from. 

Sam watches him idly as he brings the thermos to his lips and drinks from it. The effect is instantaneous, a sense of relief washing over Danny as if someone had put a soothing balm onto an injury. It buzzes down to his fingertips, and when he lowers the thermos, he licks his lips and watches the tips of his fingers burn green like frostbite. 

“Your hair turned white again.” Sam comments, her hand reaching out and touching the hair on the nape of his neck. While it’s not the first time Sam’s touched his hair, it still makes him tense up with her hand so close to his throat. Instinct. dan

He ignores the urge to bat her hand away, humming thoughtfully. “I’ve noticed it does that.” He says, pulling down his bangs to see if they’ve also turned white. No, still black. He lets go. “Let me guess; my eyes are green too?” He lifts the thermos again and peers into the chrome casing. 

Sam nods, “Yep, but it’s only the, uh.” She makes a circle around her eyes with her finger. “The iris part. Everything else is fine.” 

Danny can see that. The faint reflection on the chrome casts back an intense green. He takes another sip. It chills the back of his teeth, and he can feel his canines warp and sharpen. He runs his tongue over them, and swallows. 

Sam is still watching him, her fingers drumming against the balcony railing. “What’s it taste like?” 

“Carbonated.” He says dryly, before taking a large swig. He couldn’t name a specific flavor if he tried, it changed every time he took a sip. The only thing that stayed consistent was that it tasted carbonated. And slightly sweet. When he pulls the thermos away, Danny twists his body towards her and offers it out, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Want to try?” 

Her reaction is immediate. Sam’s nose scrunches up and her mouth twists into a smile, and she makes a huffing-laugh sound. “No, thank you.” She pushes it away lightly with her fingers, “I don’t know how to explain to my parents why my hair is white.” 

Right. Danny pulls the thermos away and puts it down beside him, straining his eyes to see if the rest of his hair has changed colors. Even just his first sip would take half an hour to fade back to its normal black, and he was a halfa. He had no idea how long it’d take to fade on Sam, who was human. 

There’s movement from the corner of his eye, and Danny snaps his head towards the source. There’s a figure, small, a boy, trying to hide behind one of the curtains at the door. His form just barely peeking out from the angle Danny was sitting at. He wouldn’t have seen him if the boy hadn’t moved. 

His fingers curl tightly into the railing, and he breathes in sharp. Sam’s smile crumbles away and she turns to see what he’s looking at. “I should go.” He says, and reaches for his thermos. “There’s someone spying on us. Don’t say anything, just look at me.” 

Sam’s expression warps, twists. Her eyes widen, her jaw starts to drop before fixing itself into place, and her shoulders curl up and tense. She forces it all to smooth over, and she leans casually against the railing. There’s a tick in her jaw. “I see.” Her voice comes through teeth. “Do you think they saw you?”

“I am not sure.” Danny says. He keeps an eye on the figure as he twists himself over and grabs the Nasty Burger bag and the container. He tries not to look like he’s rushing. He is. How long has that boy been there? How much did he see? Did he hear anything? 

“Father, fortunately, has privacy films on the glass. Nobody should have seen me unless they’re specifically trying to peep through the door.” He says. The boy seems to realize that Danny was starting to leave. And, his heart beginning to sink, instead of leaving, moves to grab the door handle instead.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Danny’s breath catches in his throat, he’s hoping that isn’t who he think it is. But how else would he have not noticed an eavesdropper on their conversation unless it was someone who was capable of bypassing those skills? He told himself that he wouldn’t fool himself into thinking that his siblings’ had poor stealth. He got distracted. 

Five years, five years. He refuses to let that go down the drain. He zips up the container and throws his legs over the other side of the railing, his back facing the door. He hears the doorknob click, and without a word to Sam, slips off down the side and down to the ground below.

Just in time. The once muffled music now sounds blaring as the door presumably is thrown open and the pull of invisibility washes over him like a second skin. He doesn't stay to see who it is.

[martiniluvr]

18+ minors dni

1,000 follower celebration!! I love u all wow. thank you for all your support, truly. be warned, this is long. enjoy 💫

warnings: nsfw alphabet for dick grayson and jason todd, so there’s a variety of things under the cut. please proceed with caution 🩷

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

A | Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

jason is very different after sex. it’s a major act of trust for him, so when it’s done, all he really wants is to be close to you. in other words: he’s a big cuddler. he’ll mumble some things into your skin as you run your fingers through his hair, and after, you usually end up ordering enough food to feed a small family, because that man can eat.

dick is a loverboy at heart. once the dust has settled and you’re both down from your highs, he’s doting on you—bringing you water, a snack, cleaning you up with a damp cloth—with doe eyes and a big old grin. always invites you to have a shower with him afterwards, and you always say yes, because his shoulder rubs are divine.

B | Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

unsurprisingly, jason has some…issues with his body from all the shit it’s been through. that being said, I think he intentionally trains his back and shoulders the most. it’s what makes him look as huge as he does. as for his favourite thing about you, jason todd is an ass man, argue with the wall. he likes something he can grab. hard.

dick grayson knows his ass is fat. he’s not shy about it. but his favourite body part is actually his arms, and how muscular they’ve become over the years. as for you, he loves your hips. they trigger something primal in him; the second you put on a fitted dress, he’s thinking about giving you his children.

C | Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

jason gets nasty. he’ll cum anywhere on your body just for the obscene sight, but he especially loves to cum in your mouth when he’s feeling that extra bit dominant. he doesn’t care if you spit or swallow, it turns him on either way—but, god, he’s proud when you open your mouth to show him it’s all gone.

let’s cut to the chase. dick wants to cum inside you over and over again. he hardly even contemplates doing it anywhere else; that man wants to fill you up and watch you drip. maybe it’s his out-of-control breeding kink, maybe it’s how intimate it feels—whatever the case may be, rest assured dick grayson loves a creampie.

D | Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

voyeurism. jason likes to watch. it happened accidentally once when he walked in on you practicing some self-care, and he’s thought about it ever since. he enjoys the performance aspect of it; it’s a power play, watching you get yourself off, knowing he’s right there but refusing to help you.

this ties in with Q, but dick borders on exhibitionism sometimes. fucking you in his car, in the bathroom at a charity event, or in a changing room—anywhere you might get caught, really—god, it gets him going. it’s the daredevil in him, constantly yearning to test the limits of what he can do.

E | Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I think jason had very limited to no experience before his death, and most of what knows today he learned by being with you. ever the fast learner, though, he sure as shit knows what he’s doing now. I think he’s very in-tune with your body and his needs, and it shows in the way he fucks you.

we have to face facts here. dick definitely got around before committing to a serious relationship. despite that, I think he knows what he’s doing thanks to his impeccable observational skills; sometimes you think he knows your body better than you do (but don’t tell him that; it goes straight to his head).

F | Favorite position (this goes without saying)

jason is a sucker for good old-fashioned doggy style, of course, but fuck, does he adore the prone bone position. trapping you under his body, hitting you deep with each thrust, and he gets to watch your ass jiggle at every movement? it borders on religious ecstasy for him.

dick goes feral—feral—for the mating press position. it’s erotic, carnal, and raw, and that’s exactly what he wants when he’s fucking you. he’s also partial to cowgirl, especially when he can tell you want to take control. the view it offers him is enough to have him whining underneath you for more.

G | Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

jason is more on the serious side; sex with him, intense as it may be, is still a big act of vulnerability on his part, so he doesn’t treat it lightly. he will, however, crack a warm smile on those occasions when you make love in the small hours of the morning, when he thinks you can’t see his face clearly.

dick is a tease, and sex with him is fun. he likes to flirt with you while he bends you into compromising positions, and he gets very cocky when you cum. he can’t help but make little quips after the fact, either; “something wrong with your leg, baby?” as your limbs twitch and tremble from your orgasm. jerk.

H | Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

in keeping with his rugged exterior, jason is only doing what he needs to in order to keep things manageable and convenient. he is not dedicating hours to manscaping. much to your elation, that means he keeps his happy trail intact.

dick is a little more meticulous in his grooming, being the “pretty boy” that he is. he prefers keeping himself neatly trimmed, partly to ensure more comfort in his nightwing suit—he’s learned the hard way that the pornstar look is a one-way ticket to chafing when you’re jumping off of buildings.

I | Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

jason really restrains himself from being outwardly intimate. he finds it hard to be that vulnerable, and while he loves the passion between you when you fuck, he’s only really able to tap into the romantic aspect if he’s wholly at ease. that’s not to say it never happens! it definitely does, just give him time.

he may be cocky and unserious when he’s fucking you, but sex with dick is always very openly intimate. he sees the beauty and romance in what you do together, and it’s truly special to him that he gets to witness you like this. sex is absolutely one of the ways he expresses his love and admiration for you.

J | Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

jason only really masturbates when he’s away from you on a mission, and needs to take the edge off. it’s less interesting without you, so he wants it done quick. he imagines you touching yourself as he does it—legs wide and eyes hazy—and that gets him to his peak extremely efficiently.

dick likes to edge himself. I said what I said. he’s thinking about how he’d much rather save his load for your pretty cunt, so he’s bucking his hips and screwing his eyes shut as he forces himself to stop right before his climax, reminding himself how good it’ll feel when he gets to fill you up.

K | Kink (one or more of their kinks)

overstimulation is jason’s go-to; he gets off on dragging orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re hardly able to speak. he also loves forced eye contact, especially when you can barely keep your eyes open. oh, and he has a massive size kink. when you’re as huge as he is, everyone is small by comparison, and he likes how big you make him feel.

say it with me. dick grayson has a breeding kink. the visual aspect of cumming inside you is enough to drive him crazy, but the thought of getting you pregnant…now that makes him rabid. face-sitting is another big one; any variation of pussy-eating drives him wild, but having you sit on his face is his favourite way to do it.

L | Location (favorite places to do the do)

if you’re at home, anywhere is fair game to jason. he’s fucking you in the kitchen, in the bedroom, on the sofa, against the wall, in the office—anywhere. outside of home, he’s more restrictive, but he has thought about fucking you in the batmobile on the many occasions he’s stolen it.

the bedroom is definitely dick’s favourite place to fuck you; aside from making things feel more romantic, he wants you to be comfortable as he’s bending you into crazy positions. he also loves a shower quickie and car sex, impractical though they may be. don’t worry, he’s an acrobat. it’ll work.

M | Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

is it crazy to say that jason gets turned on when you argue? because he does. a moderate disagreement where you’re getting huffy with him is a surefire way to get bent over the sofa. oh, and if he feels even a little jealousy creeping over him, you’re in for a ride. also, if you nestle into him during the night, you’ll be contending with his hard cock pressed against your lower back until one of you caves.

dick is whipped. whatever you’re doing can get him going. cooking, reading, wearing his clothes—he loves everything you do. but, he’s particularly turned on whenever you dress up for a special occasion. it can be a little inconvenient when you’re running late for an event and he’s groping you over your gown in the limo, but how can you refuse those blue eyes?

N | No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

jason would be very resistant to anything that puts him in a submissive role (this goes for ak!jason too). this includes both sex acts and the use of props/toys that take control away from him; he’s just not into it. he’d also refuse any kind of roleplay, saying it’s unnecessary. he’s a pragmatic guy.

I think dick would really dislike the idea of hurting you. he’s not opposed to spanking, and he’ll even engage in some light breath play (ahem, headlock, anyone?), but he would never take it any further than that. if he bruised you through anything other than hickies, he’d be sick with guilt.

O | Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

it should come as no surprise that jason loves receiving head. there are few sights as enticing as watching you take his cock in your mouth while he instructs you to keep your eyes on him. he’s also very skilled in returning the favour, and his preference is eating you from the back so he can see your pretty ass move each time you squirm.

you know my stance on this. dick is a munch. he’s eating pussy like it’s his last meal before the end of the world, and he’s doing it for him. needless to say, he’s fucking good at it. receiving head is quite literally the last thing on his mind. that being said, when he does remember to let you reciprocate, all he can think about is how pretty you look while doing it.

P | Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

jason can get pretty rough, and he likes to fuck you hard, but he knows how much you can take. sex for him is partially an emotional release. but, he’s good at alternating between destroying you one day and being gentle the next; despite his tough facade, jay enjoys soft, passionate sex as much—if not more—than you do.

dick is kind of a hedonist; once he starts feeling pleasure, he doesn’t want it to end—especially when you start feeling it too. he’s happy to give you fast and rough if it’s what you want, but his preference is sloppy, erotic fucking. the messier you get, the better. although, if he’s got you in a mating press, the roughness seeps back in quickly.

Q | Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

while he’ll never say no to a quickie, jason prefers to take his time with you. once he starts, he finds it hard to stop, and he loves to see how much you can take from him before you’re spent. quickies are sporadic with him; he prefers to enjoy your body at his pace.

if he gets the chance to fuck you—hell, even just tease you—dick is going to take it. he loves the thrill and the sense of urgency that comes with quickies. whether it’s a hookup in his car or an impromptu blowjob when he’s supposed to be on patrol, his eyes are lighting up like it’s christmas.

R | Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

jason is not a risk-taker. he needs time to warm to any kind of experimentation, but he’s more likely to try things on you than on himself, like using light restraints on you or dabbling in sensory play. as long as he feels he has some control.

dick is a different story. he’s willing to try most things at least once, and he’s able to laugh it off if something goes south. he’s not opposed to switching (ha) things up and giving you the lead, either; he likes a woman in charge.

S | Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

maybe it’s his extensive training, maybe it’s just who he is; whatever the case may be, jason can go for a long time. but, it’s usually just one round that he draws out so he can really work you to your limit.

dick can handle multiple rounds if you give him time. his recovery consists of burying his face between your legs until he’s ready to go again, which doesn’t take very long once you start convulsing against his tongue.

T | Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

jason wouldn’t even think to use sex toys unless you brought it up, but he’d be open to using them on you if you asked. he’s quick to see the potential in your little pink vibrator when he holds it against your clit while he fucks you, noticing how much easier it is to overstimulate you this way.

ever the experimentalist, dick isn’t opposed to trying out toys in the bedroom. in fact, he’s the one who would show up with fuzzy blue handcuffs (“I got them in my colour!”) to restrain your hands behind your back, so he can devour your cunt without interference from you.

U | Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he’d like to tease you more, but jason doesn’t really have the restraint for it. as soon as you’re splayed out in front of him, he wants to take you. when he does tease, though, he likes to touch you everywhere but where you need him most, until you’re begging for him to make you feel good. then, he likes to make you regret it—over and over again.

dick is the world’s biggest tease, and you can look that up. he’s got you grinding on his lap, making out with you until you’re panting, only to say he needs to do some work as he stands up with a smirk. and when he finally gets you naked, he makes you tell him what you need while his fingers hover over your aching pussy, never reaching you.

V | Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

jason isn’t very loud at all, but the sounds he does make range from grunts and groans to the occasional low moan if you tug at the hair on the nape of his neck. he’s a big dirty talker, and he likes to get up in your ear to do it, so he knows you’re listening. he notices the way you shiver at his gravelly voice, and it drives him crazy.

dick is far less concerned about being quiet. he’s moaning, swearing, telling you how pretty you are, even occasionally whining, and he’s not worried about what your neighbours think—in fact, he’s making sure you’re just as vocal as he is, insisting you tell him how you feel. he’s also expressive when he cums, especially when he does it inside you.

W | Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I know this is controversial, but jason would never agree to a threesome. this man is possessive. the mere thought of seeing someone else touch you in front of him is enough to make him see red, so no—he’d end up committing murder (not that it’s a far leap for him on a good day).

dick has a thing for watching you work out, especially when you’re doing yoga in the living room in those skin-tight pants. watching the way your limbs elongate and contract as you bend and stretch does things to him, but he never interrupts; the images stay in his mind for those long missions.

X | X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

jason is a behemoth of a man all over. and I do mean all over. he’s packing. an easy 8 inches (slightly more), thick, with a slight upwards curve and a prominent vein from the base to the tip—which is a mauvy pink, by the way. you’re still shocked you’re able to take him, and he was too the first time.

‘prettiest man alive also has a pretty cock’ would be dick’s headline. just over 6 inches, with enough girth to make you feel full, and a rosy pink tip that matches his lips…you could honestly just stare at it if he’d let you (and he probably would). he fits you like a glove every single time.

Y | Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

jason’s sex drive is pretty consistent; it’s always simmering a little ways below the surface. he’s able to compartmentalise it when he has to, but sex doubles as a form of stress-relief for him, so it happens…often.

dick has an incredibly high sex drive. like jason, he can reel it in when needed, but if it were up to him, you’d fuck every single day, twice even. I also truly believe that he’s regularly plagued by morning wood.

Z | Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he’s going to make sure you’re comfortable and taken care of, but the truth is jason could probably pass out in your arms about 10 minutes after you’re done. take it as a sign of how safe he feels with you as he’s snoring softly into your neck.

he’s definitely tired after sex, but dick is waiting until he notices you dozing off before he closes his eyes. once he’s out, though, good luck waking him up again without an air horn. he’s going to need his full eight hours to recharge.

[pandapetals]

sunlight & sawdust

chapter eight: carnations & chisels

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summary: For two years, Joel Miller has done nothing but scowl at you from across the room, barely tolerating your warmth, your kindness, and your ever-present sunshine. And for two years, you’ve told yourself his gruffness doesn’t bother you—that his clipped words and cold stares don’t matter.But then, out of nowhere, he offers to fix the damaged floor in your flower shop.For free.Suddenly, the man who could barely stand to look at you is showing up every day, fixing things that don’t need fixing, sharing quiet lunches, and—most shocking of all—getting along with Ellie, your daughter, who has never warmed up to anyone as quickly as she has to him.

pairing: joel miller x fem!single mom reader - no outbreak/au

content warnings: slight reader description, no y/n used, grumpy joel, grumpy x sunshine trope, ellie is reader's daughter, reader is a single mom, tommy being a meddler, reader is friends with tommy, au setting in Austin, joel is a carpenter, reader owns a flower shop, fluff, angst and eventual smut, joel is bad at feelings, sarah mentioned

a/n: divider by @saradika-graphics. soooo sorry for the long wait but originally I had only 11 chapters planned and already wrote some of them. then decided to change things and make joel grovel/like show his feelings more.

Joel deserved this.

Hell, he deserved worse. If you had screamed at him, thrown something, cursed his name until your voice broke—maybe then, the guilt wouldn’t be sitting so heavy in his chest. But you hadn’t. You just looked at him, eyes filled with something quiet and aching, before calmly asking him to leave.

That hurt the most, how you could care so much and so little at the same time.

He left like you wanted, but that didn’t mean he stopped thinking about you. In fact, he couldn’t stop. It gnawed at him, kept him awake at night, staring at the ceiling, and prevented him from eating anything more than a few bites before his stomach twisted. The memory of your face, the way your voice stayed so steady even while your eyes gave you away—it haunted him.

Joel wasn’t stupid. He knew why he had pushed you away. It was the same reason he always did.

Loving someone meant losing them.

Maybe not right away, but eventually. One way or another, life had a way of taking. Joel had learned that lesson the hard way, learned it the day he held Sarah’s lifeless body in his arms, her blood soaking into his hands, his shirt, his skin—like if he just held on tight enough, maybe he could keep her here. Perhaps she wouldn’t slip through his fingers like everything else.

But she did, and he had never really let go of her.

Sarah had been his whole damn world. The center of everything. Sure, he had Tommy. And yeah, he loved his brother—would take a bullet for him without hesitation. But Sarah? She was different. She was his little girl, his reason for waking up every morning, the best thing he’d ever done.

Until he blinked, and she wasn’t so little anymore.

Time had slipped through his fingers too fast, moving in ways he couldn’t control. One minute, he was teaching her how to ride a bike, his hands hovering just behind her shoulders, ready to catch her. The next, she was sixteen, holding her brand-new driver's license with that big, proud grin, which made her eyes crinkle at the corners.

He could still hear her voice sometimes. Dad, can I drive? C’mon, you gotta let me practice. She was terrible at first, stopping too hard at red lights, overcorrecting on turns. But she got better. He always knew she would.

Now she’d never drive again.

It hit him like a punch to the gut every time he thought about the things she never got to do. The things she’d been looking forward to. The things he’d been looking forward to.

He wondered what kind of woman she would’ve become. Would she have gone off to college like she’d always talked about? Would she have stayed close to home, still calling him every day just to check in?

Would she have liked you?

Joel exhaled sharply, pressing the heels of his hands against his tired eyes.

Sarah would’ve liked you. Hell, she probably would’ve loved you. She would’ve teased him about how soft he’d gotten, about how much he smiled when you were around.

Maybe that’s why this all hurt so much.

Because as much as he fought it, as much as he tried to keep people at arm’s length, he had started to imagine a future again. A life that wasn’t just about surviving but living. And now, thanks to his own damn stubbornness, he was watching it slip away.

Just like he had with Sarah.

The grief sat heavy in his chest, familiar and suffocating. It never really left him. He just got better at carrying it. But right now, it was pressing down on him with full force, reminding him of everything he’d lost—and everything he was about to lose again if he didn’t do something about it.

That loss had settled into his bones, making a home inside him, whispering in the back of his mind whenever something good came into his life. It told him to keep people at a distance. It told him that caring too much, letting himself get comfortable, was just asking for it to be ripped away.

But then you came along with Ellie. Suddenly, he had something to lose again.

That scared the hell out of him.

So he did what he always did: He pushed, built up walls, and chose the comfort of old habits over the terrifying unknown of letting himself be happy.

Now he was alone.

Joel had spent years surviving, convincing himself that was enough. But now he wasn’t so sure. Because as much as he wanted to believe that losing you would be easier than loving you, his empty bed, his sleepless nights, and the hollowness in his chest told him otherwise.

____________

“Jesus Christ, you’re a fucking idiot.”

Tommy’s voice carried through the dimly lit room as he leaned back against Joel’s worn-out couch, a beer resting lazily in his grip. His tone wasn’t sharp, but it was full of exasperation, like he’d finally been waiting for the right moment to say what needed to be told.

Joel didn’t argue. Didn’t snap back with some sarcastic remark like he usually would. He just sat there, staring at the bottle in his hands like it held all the answers he’d been too damn scared to find.

Tommy took a sip of his beer, watching him. When Joel still said nothing, he exhaled and shook his head. “No witty remark? Nothin’?”

Joel just gave a slight shake of his head, his shoulders slumped, his whole damn body looking tired.

And that’s when Tommy sat up a little straighter, his teasing edge fading.

“Shit, man.” He ran a hand over his beard, eyes narrowing as he studied his older brother. “I knew you liked her, but this is worse than I realized.”

Joel let out a humorless chuckle, dragging a hand down his face. “Ain’t about what I feel.”

Tommy scoffed. “Like hell it ain’t. You think I don’t see what’s goin’ on here? You think I don’t know you, Joel? You’re pushin’ her away ‘cause you’re scared.”

Joel’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t deny it.

Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Man, I know you. I know how you get. You think if you keep people at arm’s length, it’ll hurt less when they leave. But you’re wrong. It just means you end up alone.”

Joel exhaled slowly, gripping his beer tighter. He hated that Tommy was right.

“I lost Sarah.” His voice was quieter now, rough, like the words were scraping his throat on their way out. “And I—” He stopped, shaking his head like he didn’t want to finish the thought.

Tommy sighed, setting his beer down on the coffee table with a small thud. “I know you did, Joel.” His voice softened. “And I know that kinda loss—it doesn’t ever go away. But she’s not Sarah. Neither is Ellie. They ain’t replacin’ her.”

Joel swallowed hard, staring down at his hands.

Tommy sighed again, but he wasn’t as frustrated this time. “Listen, man… You think you’re protectin’ yourself. Maybe even protectin’ them. But all you’re doin’ is makin’ everyone miserable—including yourself.” He shook his head. “She likes you, Joel. And if you don’t do somethin’ about it, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your goddamn life.”

Joel closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deep, trying to keep himself together.

Tommy leaned back again, taking another sip of his beer before muttering under his breath, “Dumbass.”

Joel let out a small, bitter chuckle. “Yeah.”

Tommy glanced at him. “So what’re you gonna do about it?”

Joel didn’t have an answer. Hell, he wasn’t sure there was an answer.

It had been two days since you asked him to leave your shop—two days of silence, of walking around with a weight in his chest that wouldn’t let up. He’d thought giving you space was the right thing to do, but all it had done was leave him stewing in his own regrets.

What was there to do?

Showing up unannounced felt wrong. He didn’t want to push you if you weren’t ready to talk to him. Didn’t want to make you feel like he was forcing himself back into your life when you’d been so damn clear about needing him out of it.

But at the same time…

The thought of doing nothing was unbearable.

Joel exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “I dunno, Tommy.” His voice came out rough, tired. “She doesn’t wanna see me. Ain’t like I can just waltz in and—” He gestured vaguely. “Fix it.”

Tommy sighed, leaning back against the couch. “Joel, I know this is hard for you, but you gotta quit makin’ excuses.”

Joel shot him a glare, but Tommy wasn’t wrong.

“I ain’t makin’ excuses.” He clenched his jaw, looking away. “Just don’t wanna make it worse.”

Tommy scoffed. “Worse than sittin’ around feelin’ sorry for yourself?”

Joel didn’t answer.

Because, yeah. Maybe Tommy had a point.

Maybe he hadn’t gone to you yet because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to face you. Wasn’t sure he could handle whatever look you’d give him—whether it was anger, disappointment, or worse… indifference.

He swallowed hard, staring down at his hands.

“Look, man.” Tommy’s voice softened. “I ain’t sayin’ you gotta show up at her door with a grand speech or some shit. But you love her, don’t you?”

Joel’s grip on his beer tightened. The word made his chest ache. Love.

Like it was something he could have again. Something he deserved.

Tommy saw the hesitation in his brother’s eyes and sighed, shaking his head. “You ain’t gotta say it. I already know. But if you sit around waitin’ for the perfect moment, you’re gonna miss your chance.”

Joel stayed quiet, his thoughts a tangled mess.

Tommy sighed again, standing up and clapping a hand on Joel’s shoulder. “Think about it, man.”

____________

Three days.

Three days since you told Joel to leave.

You had needed to do it. It was the right thing.

So why did it feel so goddamn awful?

The first day, you told yourself you were fine. You pushed through work, kept your head down, and ignored how your chest ached every time the door opened, but it wasn’t him. By the second day, Ellie had noticed something was wrong. She asked why Joel hadn’t stopped by, why you kept staring at your phone like you were expecting a message you’d never actually get. You made up an excuse about him being busy with work, but she wasn’t stupid.

By day three, the ache had settled in, deep and constant, and you hated it. Hated that despite everything, part of you missed him.

Because you shouldn’t.

Joel had spent years making it clear he wanted nothing to do with you. He glowered at you from across the room, spoke in clipped, dismissive sentences, and acted like your kindness was something he had to tolerate. You didn’t owe him anything.

Yet…

You curled your fingers around the counter, gripping it like it could anchor you and prevent you from sinking into this mess of feelings you didn’t want to deal with.

The truth was, you’d always liked Joel even when he was gruff, even when every conversation felt like pulling teeth. Even when you told yourself you didn’t.

There was something about him. Something steady. He had that quiet kind of strength that made people trust him without realizing they were doing it.

Joel was a good man. A good man. Even if he’d never shown you that side of himself.

Until he did.

Suddenly, he was fixing your floor without hesitation—without complaints, without a smug told-you-so attitude—until he kept finding more things to fix, as if he wanted a reason to stick around. Until he sat with Ellie, humoring her endless questions and listening as if what she said actually mattered.

And God—Ellie.

Your daughter had never warmed up to anyone so fast.

She wasn’t shy, but she was cautious. She tested people first, observed, and waited before she trusted them. But with Joel?

It was like she knew.

Like she’d been waiting for him just as long as you had.

A lump rose in your throat, and you swallowed hard, shaking your head.

No.

You shut the thought down because this thing with Joel—whatever it was, whatever it could’ve been—was complicated. Messy.

Yet, standing there in the quiet, with the hum of the shop settling around you, you couldn’t shake the hollow ache curling deep in your chest.

Maybe it wasn’t too late.

Maybe Joel hadn’t just been fixing things to make himself feel better. Perhaps he’d been trying—really trying—to make it up to you. To make room for you.

You exhaled sharply, gripping the counter's edge like it could steady the spiral of thoughts spinning in your head.

Because the truth was, if you let yourself believe that… if you allowed yourself hope…and you were wrong? It would break something in you that might not be fixable.

But hadn’t Joel already cracked something open inside you?

You’d spent so long convincing yourself that you didn’t like him—that it didn’t matter, that he didn’t matter but then he started showing up. Not just in small ways, but significant ways.

Maybe, deep down, he’d always cared. Perhaps he just didn’t know how to show it.

You rubbed at your temple, frustration bubbling up because nothing was simple. Joel had spent years keeping you at a distance. Years convincing you that getting close to him wasn’t an option. That he didn’t want it.

So what changed?

What if this wasn’t real? What if he thought he wanted this, but deep down, it was just guilt or obligation?

God, you didn’t know what was worse—the possibility that you had let yourself get pulled into something doomed from the start, or the thought that maybe…Joel had finally figured out he wanted you too.

____________

You hadn’t planned on running into Tommy.

When you walked into the diner to grab lunch, you knew there was a chance. Knew this was his usual spot. Knew there was a slim possibility Joel could be here too.

But you pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter. You weren’t here for them.

Yet, Tommy was sitting in his usual booth with a plate of half-eaten eggs and bacon in front of him.

You tried to be subtle, to slip past before he noticed, but it was too late.

He was already sliding out of the booth, heading straight for you.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Don’t." You put up a hand before he could even open his mouth. "I don’t care what Joel told you—"

"I ain’t gonna defend him." Tommy’s voice was even, firm.

That made you blink. You had expected him to try to smooth things over, offer some kind of excuse, and “That’s just how he is” nonsense.

Instead, he sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Trust me, I ain’t here to say he handled things right. He’s an idiot. Always has been."

That… surprised you. Your arms slowly lowered as you hesitated, watching him warily.

Tommy exhaled, glancing toward the window before looking back at you. "Look… Joel’s an odd one. Always has been. He’s never been good at bein’ open with how he feels, even before—"

He stopped himself, jaw tightening. You knew what he was going to say.

Even before Sarah.

Your stomach twisted.

Tommy cleared his throat, shifting his weight. "But I know him. And I know he wouldn’t have offered to fix your shop’s floor if he didn’t want to."

That made your chest ache in a way you weren’t prepared for because, deep down, you knew that.

Joel wasn’t the type to do anything he didn’t want to. He sure as hell wouldn’t have spent all that time fixing your shop, eating lunch with you, answering Ellie’s endless questions if he hadn’t wanted to.

But then why had he said what he said?

Why had he made it sound like your kindness was the problem?

"He didn’t just shut me out, Tommy." Your voice was quiet, but the hurt bled through. "He made me feel like I was too much. Like being nice to him was some kind of…burden."

Tommy sighed again, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "I know." He hesitated before continuing, his voice lower now. "Joel’s scared of shit he can’t control. And you… you make him feel things he doesn’t know what to do with."

You swallowed hard.

"That ain’t an excuse," Tommy added quickly, shaking his head. "He messed up. But I also know my brother. And if you think he ain’t been beatin’ himself up over it the last three days, you’re dead wrong."

Your heart twisted. You didn’t want to care. Didn’t want to feel bad for Joel after what he’d said.

You inhaled deeply, staring at the floor before glancing back at Tommy. "What do you think I should do?"

Tommy just raised a brow. "Ain’t my decision to make, darlin’."

You chewed on your lip, torn, emotions warring inside you.

You could walk away. Let this go. Pretend none of it mattered.

Or—

You could find out if Joel still had anything left to say.

____________

You barely recognized yourself. You had actually done it. Asked Tommy to send Joel to the shop—had lied to get him here.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, your palms clammy as you gripped the counter, trying—and failing—to steady your breath.

Your phone buzzed—a message from Tommy.

He’s on his way. Thinks the back door fell off the hinges. Don’t be too hard on him.

Your stomach twisted. It wasn’t just a lie.

It was a trap.

The bell above the shop door chimed, and your stomach twisted.

Joel stepped inside, brow furrowed, toolbox in hand. His flannel was slightly wrinkled, sleeves rolled up, and dust lingering on his jeans like he’d been in the middle of another job. His sharp eyes swept the shop before landing on you.

"Where is it?" he asked gruffly, nodding toward the back, already moving like he didn’t want to waste time.

Your fingers curled into the edge of the counter. "Joel." Something in your voice made him pause.

His shoulders stiffened, his back straightening as he turned to face you fully. "There’s nothing wrong with the door, is there?"

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. "No."

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, setting the toolbox down with a thud. His jaw tightened like he was already bracing for whatever was coming.

"So why am I here?" His voice was low, guarded.

"Because I needed to talk to you."

Joel was still. Unreadable. Then, finally, he sighed. "Look—if this is about the other day—"

"Of course, it’s about the other day, Joel." You stepped around the counter, arms wrapping around yourself. "You hurt me."

The words hung heavy in the air between you.

Joel flinched barely, but you caught it.

"I know," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "I was an ass. Always have been."

"I don’t need an apology, Joel. I need to understand." You swallowed, your voice softer now. "You said you didn’t like that I was kind. That it bothered you." You exhaled slowly. "Why?"

Joel dragged a hand through his hair, looking away, tension bracketing his shoulders.

You waited. You wouldn’t push him, but you wouldn’t let him run either.

After a long moment, Joel sighed. "‘Cause it made me feel somethin’ I didn’t want to feel."

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t say anything.

Joel's fingers flexed at his sides like he was wrestling with the words before he forced them out.

"I spent years keepin’ people at arm’s length. Safer that way. Easier. And then you came along—" He huffed humorlessly, shaking his head. "All sunshine and patience and...just wouldn’t quit, no matter how much of a bastard I was to you."

Your throat felt tight. "And you hated that?"

"No." His voice cracked, and that did something to you.

His eyes met yours, and Joel Miller looked wrecked for the first time since you’d met him. "I was scared of it." 

The confession sat heavy between you, raw and real.

You took a slow step closer, voice barely above a whisper. "Why?"

Joel hesitated. “Sarah.”

Your heart clenched. You’d known. Tommy had told you. But Joel had never said her name before.

His voice was rough, like it scraped against something inside him. "She was sixteen. Had just gotten her license. Was drivin’ with a friend. Some asshole ran a red light." His throat bobbed, jaw clenched. "She didn’t make it."

A breath shuddered through you.

"Joel."

He shook his head like he didn’t want sympathy. Like he couldn’t take it.

"After that, I told myself I wasn’t gonna feel that kinda loss again. So I kept my distance. Didn’t let people get too close." His voice went even lower. "Then you show up. And Ellie—" He stopped short, shaking his head. "And suddenly, I got this ache in my chest I don’t know what to do with."

Tears burned in your eyes, but you blinked them away.

Slowly, cautiously, you reached for his hand.

Joel tensed at first—like the touch was foreign, like he wasn’t used to being comforted—but he didn’t pull away.

"Let me be here for you." Your voice was soft and steady. "As a friend. As someone to lean on."

Joel's gaze flickered downward, settling where your hand rested against his.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, with a quiet sigh, his fingers curled around yours—hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to hold onto anything good. But he didn’t let go.

His hand was warm and rough, with calluses, but you squeezed it anyway, offering something solid and real.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. "I don’t deserve comfort."

Your chest ached at how he said it—like it was fact, like it was something he’d told himself so many times it had become a part of him.

"That’s not true."

"It is." His voice was quiet but firm. "I failed her."

"Joel." You squeezed his hand tighter, forcing him to look at you. "It wasn’t your fault. Nothing you did or didn’t do could have changed what happened."

His jaw tensed, eyes flickering with something raw—something close to breaking.

"I was supposed to protect her." His voice was hoarse like the words were physically painful to say. "I was her damn father."

You swallowed hard, stepping closer, letting your free hand rest lightly against his forearm.

"And you loved her," you murmured. "With everything you had. And I know she knew that."

Joel let out a slow, shaky breath, his grip on your hand tightening like he was grounding himself.

You watched him carefully, giving him a moment, letting him process.

Then, barely above a whisper. "You remind me of her." Joel’s eyes stayed on yours, searching like he wasn’t sure he should’ve said that out loud.

"Not that you’re the same," he added quickly, shaking his head. "But the way you…care. How warm you are. How you make people feel safe just by bein’ around." He exhaled, running a hand over his beard. "It scared the hell outta me."

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them back.

"I never wanted to scare you, Joel."

"I know." He sighed, glancing down at your joined hands. His thumb brushed absently against your skin, and you weren’t sure he even realized he was doing it.

You gave him a small, sad smile. "I see you. And I know what it’s like to carry something heavy alone."

Joel’s throat bobbed, his grip on you steady—solid in a way that felt grounding, like he wasn’t just holding your hand but holding you there, keeping you from slipping away.

For so long, he had only seen one version of you. The warm, unwavering light, the person who always had a kind word, a soft smile, a gentle touch.

But there was more to you.

You inhaled slowly, gaze dropping for a second before you looked back at him, something fragile in your expression. "I may seem like I have it all together, but..." Your voice wavered, fingers tightening slightly around his. "I’m not always sunshine and rainbows, Joel."

His brows furrowed, something unreadable passing through his eyes.

"I have moments where I feel like I’m failing Ellie. Like I’m not enough."

Joel stilled. That was a side of you he had never seen before.

Not once had he heard you doubt yourself. Not once had he seen that uncertainty in your eyes. You were always sure, always certain about everything, about everyone.

He had spent years pushing you away, thinking you were too good, too bright, too much of something he couldn’t handle.

But you weren’t invincible, and that realization wrecked him.

"I don’t always know what I’m doing," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I try my best, but sometimes I wonder if it’s enough. If I’m enough."

Joel shook his head immediately, as if the idea alone was wrong. "You are."

You exhaled, blinking quickly. "You don’t know that."

"I do." His voice was firm, with no hesitation. "You love that girl more than anythin’. And she knows it. That’s enough."

You let out a soft, shaky laugh, looking away for a second. "You sound so sure."

"‘Cause I am."

The silence stretched thick with something unspoken and tender.

"She was like you. Strong. Always put everyone else first." His lips pressed into a thin line. "I used to tell her she worried too much about other people. She’d just smile and say, ‘Somebody has to, Dad.’"

Something inside you broke at that. 

You blinked, caught off guard. "Sarah?"

Joel nodded, exhaling slowly. "She would’ve liked you," Joel added, his voice quieter now.

Tears pricked your eyes, but you pushed through them, stepping a little closer. "I would’ve liked her too."

Joel swallowed hard, his hand still wrapped around yours. 

"Guess this makes us friends?" Your voice was light and teasing—an attempt to break the tension and bring back some of that familiar warmth between you.

Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "No."

Your heart sank. You hadn’t expected some grand declaration, but that? That hurt more than it should have. 

You started to pull back, put some space between you, and guard yourself the way he always had, but then Joel’s grip on your hand tightened.

"You’re more than that."

Your breath caught in your throat.

He didn’t look at you at first, just ran a rough thumb over the back of your hand, slow and deliberate, like he was still getting used to the feeling of holding on.

"I don’t do this. Don’t talk about things. Don’t let people get close." His voice was low, as if he was admitting something he didn’t quite have the words for. "But you…"

His gaze lifted, finally meeting yours.

"You got under my skin. Drove me crazy, always bein’ so damn warm. Always smilin’, always makin’ sure everyone else was all alright." He huffed, shaking his head. "I told myself I hated it. Hated you."

His thumb kept moving over your skin, slow and steady, as it grounded him.

"But I never hated you."

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, heavy and warm all at once.

You swallowed hard, searching his face, trying to piece together what this was, what he was saying. "What does this mean?"

Joel exhaled, his fingers tightening slightly around yours like he was afraid to let go. "It means… I wanna try. If you’ll have me."

Your breath hitched.

"I mean—" He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting slightly. "If you feel the same. I don’t wanna push you or—"

"Joel." You smiled—soft, reassuring.

His eyes flicked to yours, cautious, uncertain.

"I wouldn’t have asked you here if I didn’t feel the same."

Something shifted in him, some of the tension in his shoulders loosening, his jaw unclenching.

His gaze dropped briefly, like he needed a second before meeting your eyes again.

"Then let me take you out." His voice was quiet but steady, rough around the edges in that Joel way, but full of something real. "A real date. Nothin’ fancy, just… me and you. See where this goes."

Your chest ached in the best way.

"You’re really askin’ me on a date, Miller?" you teased lightly, but there was a tremor of genuine emotion beneath your words.

Joel huffed, shaking his head. "Damn right, I am."

Your fingers curled around his, a warmth spreading through you.

"Okay."

Joel blinked, like maybe he hadn’t let himself believe you’d actually say yes.

Then, slowly, one corner of his mouth tugged upward—not quite a full smile, but enough to make your heart stutter.

"Okay." He echoed, his voice quieter now, as if he was letting himself have this moment.

Like he was letting himself have you.

taglist: @hermionelove, @niceforcum, @ashhlsstuff, @doeeyestoji, @12thatsanumber, @cherrygirl19, @thottiewinemom, @ladynightingale, @doodlebob-mp3, @alitaar, @starwarskawaii, hduuc56, @naniiiii12, @possiblyafangirl, @alienjoel, @leesromanova, @kungfucapslock, @forpunishers, @yallgotkik, @cuteanimalmama, @worhols

[cosmicporos]

What Arcane characters would gift you for Christmas!

Jinx, Vi, Ekko, Viktor, Jayce

(Semi crack Drabble… sorry for going super long with Viktor’s and Jayce’s HCs. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH)

(Jayce is Hispanic in my hc :3)

ENJOY AND HAVE FUN LOVE YALL<3

Not proofread

JINX

Hear me out… the first thing she would plan to gift you are decorated safety googles.

As a matter of fact everything she gifts you is handmade!

She knows you love to spend time with her when she’s in her workshop and the extra spare of googles she had were pretty crappy…

“Ugh, these old things? Pfft, they look like they’ve been through a freakin’ explosion… oh wait, they probably have! We gotta get you a new pair soon toots!”

They’d be totally decked out! Lots of character as she calls it.

“Okay toots check it out! Maximum protection but most importantly! They got style!”

The googles themselves would be in her classic style, very colorful paint, cute little heart scribbles all around! And of course lots of glitter….

“"I mean, you've got to stay safe while causing mayhem, right? And hey, if we're blowing stuff up together, you'll definitely need these. Plus, I made them perfectly for you. No one else will have goggles like these... trust me!"

I totally see her adding little handmade jewelry from her gears and spare parts, would totally make you a belt or choker out of spare bullets.

Vi

She would totally panic on what to get you for Christmas. Like what if you suddenly hate the thing you’ve loved since the very beginning she’s known you???

Would end up both buying and making you something!

She’s make you something small but meaningful

“Okay Okay fine! You can open mine now. Just don’t laugh too hard Cupcake…”

You’d open the poorly wrapped gift to uncover a bright pink scarf she knitted you! The stitching is a mess.. there a hole’s through the project (no doubt a missed stitch) but in all honesty it so cute you feel like your heart might explode.

"Yeah, I know I'm not, uh, the best at this kind of thing," she mutters, scratching the back of her neck, "but I figured you could use something to keep warm... and, you know, 'cause it's winter. And... you're important to me."

Guys please tell her she did an amazing job PLEASE.

She would also totally buy you a pair of combat boots! Totally saved up for months in advance.

She loves the idea of being able to match and have a bit of her style on you!

Ekko

Just like Jinx (sobs) he’d also make something for you!

The first thing he’d give you would be a little sketch book full of drawings of you from random moments throughout your relationship he remembers oh so clearly.

"I've been working on it for a while... It's... it's just a bunch of drawings. I mean, not just anything. Stuff that made me think of you. Stuff we've done, or things I hope we do. I don't know, it just felt like the best way to show how I feel about... well, us."

Okay he would also totally make you matching jewelry (matching clock hand necklaces?)

You’d force him to take the hour hand since it’s shorter (heheheh little man)

Once you explain your reasoning as to why he should take the smaller one he sighs disappointedly…

"Okay, okay, I get it," he finally says, a little less playful now, his voice softening. "I guess if you want me to wear it, I can..."

Then, a grin creeps back onto his face as he adds, "But don't think I'm letting you off the hook with the minute hand. You're wearing that one for sure." He places the hour hand necklace around his neck, the smaller pendant resting there, and looks up at you with that mischievous gleam in his eye.

He pauses, holding up his necklace, "I'm still the one with the bigger job. You'll just have to keep up." A proud smug smirk now rests on his face.

Viktor

FUCK WHERE DO I BEGIN I LOVE THIS MAN

o k a y. He would just like Vi panic… not because he doesn’t know what to get you but because he totally is going Christmas shopping late… very very late.

As much as I would love to say he’d make some little invention to make your day easier and give it to you for Christmas I don’t see it happening.

Not because he wouldn’t do it but because he already does it all the time! A little example, you’re late for work often? A little robot that hits you with a plastic squishy hammer every morning at 7 am waking you up when he can’t!

He’d definitely want to make Christmas special, I see him buying you something and then doing something special for you too!

Christmas morning would be greeted with warm hugs and kisses along with an even warmer bowl of potato soup!

He wanted to make sure he perfected his mother’s Bramboračka recipe. It was a once a year meal him and his mother shared every Christmas day.

He’s not a good cook by any means… but this is the one dish he can make and oh boy can he make it.

"Don't expect perfection," he says with a small, self-conscious smile, as you catch him sneaking a taste of the soup. Viktor looks up, his gaze softening. "I hope you like it," he says, and despite his usual perfectionism, there's a quiet pride in his voice. You take a sip, and the rich flavors of mushrooms, potatoes, and herbs immediately comfort you, just like his mother's love must've comforted him all those years ago.

OKAY for the making gift he planned I see him commissioning something due to the fact a lot of his inventions lack aesthetics.

Specifically I see him commissioning a music box that functions as a a jewelry box as well! He would have loved to make it himself but he was worried he wouldn’t have gotten the look right.

"Do you like it?" he asks, his voice softer than usual, as if he's worried about the reception. "I had it made... I thought... it might remind you of us."

The detail was breathtaking-floral patterns etched into the surface, with tiny gears and delicate metalwork accenting the edges. The craftsmanship was stunning, and you couldn't help but run your fingers over the smooth finish.

you lifted the lid, and a gentle, lilting melody began to play. It was slow and sweet, a tune that felt timeless, and as you stared at the tiny figurines inside, your breath caught.

His fingers fidgeted with the edge of his cane, his gaze flicking between you and the music box. "I commissioned it," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "I had the craftsman use a sketch I made. It's how I see us... in my mind. How I feel when I hold you." He paused, his expression softening. "I thought... I thought you deserved something that would remind you of that. Of... how much you mean to me."

Jayce

Oh hon… Jayce would spoil you rotten.

I’m talking presents are overflowing underneath the tree.

You thought you lost your favorite piece of clothing? WRONG! He commissioned for more to be made in different colors and textures for you.

All the fragrances in the world he knew you would enjoy.

Cozy adorable pajamas we would give you Christmas morning so you could cuddle up drinking hot chocolate.

Spends Christmas Eve spoiling you and cuddling and being so tooth rottenly sweet.

It’s Christmas Eve, the scene was almost overwhelming. The living room looked like a perfectly curated holiday catalog-twinkling lights, a roaring fireplace, and, of course, an absurd number of gifts. Jayce sat cross-legged beside the tree, an excited grin lighting up his face as he handed you the first box. He had merely grinned, sheepish yet unrepentant. "What can I say? I got carried away?.”

"Open this one first," he urged, nearly vibrating with excitement. Inside was a bottle of an exquisite fragrance, the glass etched with delicate, swirling designs. It smelled divine-rich, warm, and entirely you.

"I figured you'd like that," he said eyes carefully watching everyone expression you make. You swear if he had a tail it would be swishing uncontrollably right now.

Christmas Day would be you spending Christmas day at his mother’s house!

(Listen I’m hc them as hispanic because for one HIS MOMS NAME HIS XIMENA… and two because why not :3 )

You have a great relationship with his Mother, she absolutely adores you and sees you as her daughter.

There’s lots of yummy food she’s prepared… perhaps too much for just 3 people?

Nonetheless, a pot of pozole, tamales de puerco and de dulce! And of course she made jayce’s favorite choco flan!

God she urges to to eat until you nearly pop! You have to undo your belt by the end of the night…

"Come, sit!" his mom insisted, pulling out a chair for you. "Jayce told me you've never had my tamales. That's a crime! Here, start with this." She placed one on your plate, her eyes twinkling.

Jayce sat beside you, his grin widening as you took your first bite. "Good, right?" he asked, nudging you playfully.

You could only nod, savoring the perfectly seasoned masa and tender filling.

Later in the evening, when everyone was too full to move, Jayce leaned over and slipped his hand into yours. His eyes were soft, his voice low as he said, "I'm glad you're here. This—" he gestured to the lively scene around you, "—feels perfect with you."

[cressidagrey]

I would marry you with paper rings

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary: 

May 2016

How Max Verstappen wins his first f1 race and goes home to show his girlfriend his trophy…and maybe something else too...

December 2024: 

Max brings his family home from the hospital and finally gets to give his fiancée a proper ring. 

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this!

May 2016: 

The roar of the crowd was deafening, but Max Verstappen barely noticed. His ears were ringing, his chest felt tight, and his grip on the steering wheel had turned his knuckles white. He barely registered the voice of his race engineer crackling through his headset.

“Unbelievable. Unbelievable, Max.” 

The words didn’t feel real. 

“You are a race winner!”

It felt like they belonged to someone else’s story, someone older, more experienced—someone who wasn’t an 18-year-old kid still trying to figure out the enormity of it all. He blinked hard, trying to process the magnitude of what just happened.

The pit wall erupted in cheers as he drove toward the podium, his hands trembling on the wheel. It wasn’t just any win—it was the win. At 18 years and 227 days old, Max Verstappen had become the youngest race winner in Formula 1 history.

He had done it. 

As the team crowded around him in parc fermé, he couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his face. Christian Horner was there to hug him, Helmut Marko clapped him on the back, and Daniel Ricciardo tousled his sweat-soaked hair. The cameras flashed relentlessly, capturing every angle of his historic moment.

And still…the most important person was not there. 

Colette was back in Monaco. 

Hours later, once he finally got to his phone…after he was back in his hotel room, there was a message from her waiting for him. Of course, there was. 

I am so proud of you, Maxie. Soak up every moment, enjoy it. You deserve this, so, so much. We’ll celebrate when you are back home, mon coeur. You were amazing out there today and I love you so much. 

Somehow these 5 sentences meant more to him than any other accolade ever could. 

He stared at the trophy perched on his nightstand. The weight of it—both physical and symbolic—was overwhelming.

He’d spent years working for this moment. His entire life had been shaped around the pursuit of success, of proving he belonged on the top step of the podium. But now that he’d done it? He would give anything to share this moment with the girl he loved. 

Colette had been his constant long before Formula 1 entered the picture. She’d seen him at his worst, supported him when no one else believed in him, and always reminded him of who he was outside the car. 

She was his staunchest supporter and the first person that woul dcall hi out for being an idiot. 

She grounded him, cosetted him, cared for him, cheered for every win and held him after every failure. 

She was the one thing in his life that he could trust unconditionally…that loved him for who he was and not what he could do. 

Of course he had driven this car to victory. And Colettte would never take credit for any of his wins…but Max knew the truth. 

This win wasn’t just his—it was theirs.

The idea hit him in the early hours of the morning, somewhere between the adrenaline still coursing through his veins and the exhaustion pulling at his eyelids.

He needed to show her how much she meant to him, how much he wanted her to be part of this journey—not just as a girlfriend, but as his partner in everything that came next.

But how do you capture something so big?

By 7 a.m., Max was wandering the quiet streets of Barcelona. The city felt different in the early morning light—calm, peaceful. He had no real plan, just an address for a small jewellery store he’d googled hours before.

His Spanish wasn’t great, but he figured he could manage. He needed something. Something to show her just how much she meant to him.

He had bought his sister a handbag the first time he had scored points in F1…but handbag didn’t even come close to being enough for Colette. 

So there he was…in that jewelery store. 

The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside, and a man behind the counter greeted him warmly, raising an eyebrow at the young man who looked like he hadn’t slept.

“You’re here for something important, aren’t you?” the man asked knowingly, his accent thick but his tone kind.

Max hesitated, glancing down at the glass cases filled with glittering jewellery. He’d never done anything like this before. He had never even bought Colette a pair of earrings on his own. He had bought her other stuff, of course he had. Birthday gifts and stuff for christmas but… “Yeah, uh... I need something… special. For my girlfriend.”

The man smiled knowingly and pulled out a tray of rings. “Something like this?” he asked, gesturing to a selection of delicate designs.

Max’s eyes landed on a gold band with a small, heart-shaped diamond. It wasn’t flashy or oversized—it was understated, elegant, and perfect.

Just like Colette. 

***

Hours later… Max was back in Monaco. 

The trophy tucked under his arm, bag thrown over his shoulder as he unlocked the door to their apartment. 

He wasn’t sure if Colette was already home from work…he hadn’t called ahead telling her either. 

“Max?” and there she was, already dressed in her pyjamas as she stared at him wide-eyed, coming out of the kitchen. 

“I won,” he blurted, grinning like a kid showing off a school project. 

THat was all he needed to say, before she was throwing herself in his arms. His bag hit the floor, as he hugged her and she kissed him, cupping his cheek, rapid fire french that he would never learn to understand as quickly as she spoke it, intermixed with english and her horribly accented dutch. 

And for just a moment Max got to hold his girlfriend…the best trophy he had ever won. 

“I am so proud of you, mon coeur,” Colette whispered and he leaned his forehead against hers, her words a balm to something that he didn’t even know. 

“I brought you something.”

Before she could say anything, he plopped the Pirelli cap on her head, by now dry, though it had been drenched in champagne by Kimi and Seb and he adjusted it until it sat crookedly over her brown curls. “There. Perfect,” he said, his voice raw. 

Perfect. 

Colette laughed, patting it down, and then pulled him into another kiss. “I am so proud. You were incredible this weekend,” she told him fiercely. “Shouldn’t you still be celebrating?” she teased him. 

“I am,” he said, his voice softening. “With you.”

Any celebration with her was better than any other. 

“You want to see the trophy?” he asked her, feeling like a little boy that dragged his karting trophy to Colette for her approval again. 

And just like she had suffered through every time of 12 year old Max showing his trophy off to her…18 year old Max did the same, handing it to her. 

She took it, a metal on metal clink rattling around the inside. 

“What’s...?” she started, tilting the trophy to look inside. Her breath caught, as she fished out the ring from the bottom of it. “Max...”

“It’s not an engagement ring,” he rushed to explain, his cheeks turning pink. “I mean, our fathers would probably kill us both if we got married right now. But it’s... it’s a promise.”

Colette carefully set the trophy down, her hands trembling as stared at the delicate gold ring in the palm of her hand. 

“I wanted you to know that it’s always going to be us,” Max said, his voice steady despite the nervous flutter in his chest. “Through everything. You and me. This is my promise to you.”

It was always going to be them. Always. 

“I don’t need a fancy piece of paper to tell me what I already know,” Max said softly. “I love you. And I’ll spend the rest of my life with you. In Sickness and In Health and however that whole thing goes.” 

Tears filled her eyes as she looked up at him, her lips trembling with a smile. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

He grinned. “Yeah, but you love me anyway.” 

Colette just looked at him, brown eyes warm and loving…and filled with tears. 

“I do. God, I do,” she promised him fiercely. “Go on then. Put it on me,” she teased him. 

His fingers were trembling when he picked up the ring and slid it on her finger. A perfect fit. Like he had somehow known. 

“This is going to be hard to top one day, you know,” Colette told him, wiggling her fingers, the diamond sparkling on her hand. “You do have exceptional taste in rings.”

Max chuckled, pulling her into a hug. “Challenge accepted.”

December 2024: 

The late December air was crisp as Max carefully carried the baby carrier through the front door of their apartment, his movements uncharacteristically slow. He was used to the precision of controlling a 200-mile-per-hour machine, but carrying his newborn daughter… was an entirely different level of responsibility.

Colette watched the whole thing with some amusement and a whole lot of love. Max had already driven so slowly home from the hospital that there had been multiple blaring car horns behind them, but Max hadn’t cared one bit about that. 

She was tired, her body aching from the delivery, but her heart was so full it threatened to burst.

“Welcome home, ma lutine,” she murmured softly, brushing her fingers over the baby’s tiny hand, as Max set the carrier down on the living room floor. 

Max crouched to unbuckle their daughter, who was snoozing peacefully despite the excitement of the day. “I think she’s already a Verstappen,” he said with a chuckle, glancing up at Colette. “Sleeps through the chaos, just like her dad.”

Colette laughed lightly, shaking her head. “We’ll see how long that lasts,” she teased him. “You gonna get the cats?” she asked.

Max nodded, moving towards the bedroom where he had put them just minutes before. 

Colette heard the door open and seconds later, she could feel two sets of feline eyes were already watching from the bedroom doorway —Jimmy, usually, the more laid back boy…and Sassy, the fierce girl with a name that fit her personality far too well.

“Okay, guys,” Colette murmured. “Be nice. She’s your baby sister now.”

Max crossed back over to them, crouching down beside the seat, unbuckling Charlie with ease, his movements careful and deliberate. “You think they’ll be jealous?” he asked, casting a quick glance at Jimmy and Sassy, who hadn’t moved but were clearly observing every detail.

“They’ll get over it,” Colette said with a soft laugh. “I think Sassy’s already plotting her strategy.”

Sure enough, as soon as Colette lifted Charlie into her arms, Sassy bounded down the stairs, tail high and ears forward. She paused a few feet away, her nose twitching as she sniffed the air. 

“Hi, Sassy,” Colette cooed, kneeling down to let the curious cat get a closer look. Sassy tiptoed forward, her tiny paws making no sound on the marble floor. She stopped just short of Colette’s knees and craned her neck, sniffing cautiously at the bundle in her arms.

Charlie let out a soft coo, her tiny fist waving in the air, and Sassy’s ears twitched forward in fascination. Then, in a move that made Colette’s heart melt, Sassy stretched up on her hind legs and gently tapped at the edge of the baby blanket, as if to say, What’s this?

“See? She’s already making friends,” Colette said, grinning as she stroked Sassy’s head.

Max, meanwhile, was coaxing Jimmy towards them. The cat was watching the scene with a skeptical look, his yellow eyes narrowed. “Come on, mate,” Max said, holding out his hand. “She’s not going to steal your spot. I promise.”

Jimmy hesitated for a moment before coming the last few steps. Unlike Sassy, who had no sense of personal space, Jimmy kept his distance at first, circling wide around Colette and Charlie as if evaluating whether this tiny human posed a threat to his kingdom.

“Jimmy, it’s okay,” Colette encouraged, holding out her hand toward him. “Come say hi.”

Eventually, Jimmy padded closer, his movements slow and deliberate. When he finally reached Colette, he sat down primly and stared up at Charlie, his expression one of cautious curiosity.

“She’s not so bad, right?” Max said, crouching down beside Jimmy and scratching behind his ears.

Charlie let out another soft noise, and Jimmy’s head tilted slightly, his ears swiveling to catch the sound. Then, to everyone’s surprise, he leaned forward and gave the edge of the baby blanket a tentative sniff, followed by a single, gentle nudge of his nose.

“Oh, Jimmy,” Colette said, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re such a good boy.”

Max laughed, the sound warm and full of love. “I think they’ve decided she can stay,” he said, wrapping an arm around Colette’s shoulders.

Later that evening, after Charlie had been fed and settled into the bassinet they’d placed in the living room, Colette found herself staring at the collection of trophies they kept on the shelves over the TV. Max’s career was neatly cataloged there— All the important wins, each moment of triumph immortalized in gleaming metal and glass.

Charlie stirred softly in her arms, and Colette pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead before stepping closer to the shelves. “Do you see all these trophies, Charlie?” she whispered, swaying gently. “See? these are all Papa‘s,“ Colette cooed. “He has more. These are just the ones that are the most important to him. Your tonton Cha has some too…”

Her eyes slid over the championship trophy from last year…over to the very first one. It was a little scuffed from being handled so many times, but it still gleamed in the soft light of the room. “And this one…this one is extra special. This is from when Papa won his very first race. And do you know what else?” She smiled, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “This is where he hid a ring for me eight years ago.”

She glanced back at her daughter, but Charlie had already drifted back into her newborn sleep, oblivious to her mother’s musings. 

“You didn’t check, did you?” Max’s voice broke the quiet, startling her.

She turned to find him leaning casually in the doorway, his arms crossed and a knowing smirk on his face. He was still wearing the same hoodie and sweats he’d changed into after coming home from the hospital, but somehow, he looked effortlessly handsome.

“Check what?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“The trophy,” he said, nodding toward the one in her hand. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been eyeing it ever since we came home.”

Colette raised an eyebrow. “You tell a girl you hid her engagement ring in there, what did you expect, Verstappen,” she teased him. 

“You are right,” Max agreed seriously, with a nod, plucking Charlie from her arms to put her in the Moses Basket they had put next to the couch.

And then he plucked that trophy from the shelve, only to upend it until a velvet box came tumbling down. 

Colette’s breath caught as he flipped it open to reveal a stunning ring—a delicate gold band, not unlike the one he’d given her all those years ago, but this time, the diamond was much larger, more brilliant. It sparkled in the light, catching every angle perfectly.

Her free hand flew to her mouth as her eyes welled up with tears. “Max…”

“Shush. Let me do this right,” he teased her, as he got down on one knee. “I had this for months,” he told her. “I thought about giving it to you after the Monaco Grand Prix, then after the championship celebration, but none of those moments felt right. This—bringing Charlie home—this feels right.”

Colette could only nod, too overcome with emotion to speak.

“I know we’ve been doing things our own way,” he said with a small smile. “And I wouldn’t change a single thing. But this... this is my way of saying I’m all in, for the rest of my life. With you. With Charlie. With everything that comes next.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she finally found her voice. “You didn’t have to do this. You already gave me everything I ever wanted.”

“And now I’m giving you a little bit more,” he said seriously. “So. Colette Marie Eugénie Veronique Leclerc, will you do me the incredible honour of becoming my wife?”

“Yes,” she whispered. Max reached for her left hand, his fingers brushing over hers as he carefully slipped the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly, just as she knew it would.

“You even got the order of my names right,” she teased him, as he stood up and he snorted as he pulled her into a hug. 

“Hush,” he gave back, pressing a kiss to her temple. 

They stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, the trophy forgotten on the shelf and the ring gleaming on her finger.

In the bassinet, Charlie let out a tiny squeak, and they both turned to look at her, their smiles growing.

“She approves,” Colette said with a laugh.

Max chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Of course she does. She’s a Verstappen.”

As they sat down together, Colette resting her head against Max’s shoulder, they couldn’t help but marvel at the life they’d built. 

It had been a long journey to get here, but every step had been worth it.

[pbpressure]

trust me? | p.b

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

warnings: smut, fluff, sub!paige, soft dom!reader, sex toy usage, spit, slight tribbing, fingering, overstimulation(?), i think that’s all but feel free to lmk if i missed anything!

wc: 4.4k (pwp)

summary: reader wants to try something new with paige after an impromptu trip to the sex store. based on this request!

author's note: i couldn't finish up the fic that i wanted to upload for valentine's day so we're scrapping it for now and ima leave y'all with this! it's different for me to write sub!paige but i think i like how it came out and maybe i'll get more into it for future posts! once again, thank you to the anon that sent this request, hopefully you enjoy it a little more than everyone else! (ngl i didn’t really proofread this so we’re giving it to god…and as always if you hate it idc DON’T tell me)

also that uconn vs south carolina game has given me the serotonin boost needed to carry me through this month AND march, they make me so proud😭 y’all better be tuned in for the game tonight vs seton hall :) i’m manifesting more pg paige and some beautiful uconn hoops!

okay sorry i’m done talking, enjoy! x

nervous was an understatement. how do you bring up the idea of topping your girlfriend…to her? considering you hadn’t thought about how to do so prior to this moment, the nerves seemed normal.

you took a spontaneous trip to your favorite sex shop without telling paige and you blacked out when you got inside, overwhelmed by all the options without your girlfriend by your side to give you her opinion. 

immediately once you had eyes on it you’d settled for a dual bullet vibrator, paired with a remote. the thought of paige using it on you immediately causes you to hold your breath a little. but the thought of you using it on her had you b-lining to the register and giddy and running up the stairs at home to hide it while she was asleep on the couch.

after some pondering, you’d figured it would be a little too easy to ask. it was essentially a yes or no question, and she’d honestly answer in a heartbeat, but you wanted to ensure that she’d be at your mercy.

you settled on the idea of a nice candlelit dinner for the both of you to butter her up. then you’d “pop the question”. 

you were back out of the house as soon as you’d returned, texting paige that you were heading out for some groceries, tucking the “gift” away.

by the time you were back she was wide awake and pretty tuned in to whatever she had playing on the tv. she heard you coming in the door and met you there to greet you sweetly and take any bags from your hands. she sets them down on the counter and starts to reach in, almost too fast for you to remember that she was supposed to be hands off and out of the kitchen for tonight.

“noo, wait let me do it! i wanna cook dinner for you so i’ll put things away.“

“cook for me? baby, what’s the occasion? literally we just celebrated valentine’s day.” okay, so she was already asking you questions.

“shh, no occasion. i just love you and i want to practice making some things. then i’ll be cooking for you all the time instead of…almost never” you respond in a rush, sort of frowning at the last part but still prying her hands off the bags and lightly pushing her out of the kitchen.

you can hear her muttering under her breath but nonetheless she turns on her heels to press a kiss to your lips and whisper a quick “missed you” before turning back around to leave.

your heart swells in your chest at the thought of how sweet she is to you while you put away everything and set out what you were gonna make.

you wanted to get a little fixed up, or at least out of one pair of sweatpants and into another. slipping past paige, who was once again focused on the tv, you headed upstairs. 

after putting on the smallest bit of makeup and fiddling with your hair you grin at your reflection in the mirror. the thought of getting pretty for your girlfriend enough to make your stomach jump. you throw on a pair of loose fitting pants and one of your teenier tops. you’d even saved up to buy another overpriced lingerie set and you had it on underneath, intending for p to see you in it and immediately want it off.

paige walks into the bathroom ready to shower and stops directly behind you in the mirror, letting out a small noise of shock. 

“all this for me? okay now i really need to know what’s going on.” she questions, now standing so close that you could feel her body heat on your back.

“nothing is going on! i told you i wanted to cook for you tonight, can’t i look good while doing it?” you reply, holding eye contact with her in the mirror and ending your sentence with a mini eye roll.

she lifts a hand from her side and places it right underneath your bust, slightly on your ribs, pulling you even further into her.

“you always look good for me baby, but i’ll let you have this.” she teases, kissing your temple and continuing her stride to the shower.

as soon as she was facing away from you, you were staring hard. watching the muscles in her back strain against her shirt when she reached for a towel, you trailed your eyes up and down her frame.

you wish you had her underneath you right now.

stopping yourself you huff slightly and make your way down to the kitchen to get started on dinner. you get in with the “harder” more time consuming parts first so you could focus and shortly the whole process starts to breeze by. 

everything thus far was perfect, especially for a meal that didn’t technically require a recipe.

you hear the water of the shower shut off and a few other noises upstairs. this allows you to anticipate paige emerging from your shared bedroom and getting a whiff of the home cooked meal, immediately on track to fold for you like you needed. 

when she does make her way into the kitchen you’re standing over a cutting board gathering some stuff to chop.

“it smells so good in here baby, oh my god” you hear paige from behind you. then you feel her. hands gravitating to your hips as always and she gently places her chin on your shoulder, her front molding to your back.

“i’m just making a lil something…since i was finally given some time to put some groceries in the fridge. we’re gonna eat something home cooked and actually fulfilling tonight, no fast food, no take out. made with lots of love.” you say, a smile plastered on your face at the domestic feel of this entire moment.

just you and the prettiest girl in the world, standing in your shared living space while you prepared dinner as a way to treat yourselves. 

“i don’t even know what you’re making and i’m drooling over it, guess you’ve still got your touch.” she teases, nudging your cheek with her nose and leaving a light smack on your ass.

“STILL? get out of the kitchen.” you respond, stifling a laugh of your own at how ridiculous she was. “it’s almost done and i’ve already set the table, maybe pour yourself a glass of wine and get out of my way?”

“yes ma’am.” she snorts, holding her hands up in fake defense and shaking her head a little.

you quickly plate everything, mentally saving yourself a pat on the back for how good it truly did look.

sneaking a peek into the dining room you see paige on her phone, eyes low and cheeks already a little rosy as a result of her now finished glasses of wine.

“hey pretty girl, dinner is ready!” you call out, assuming she’d want to carry your plates to the table as she always did.

her lips form an “o” as she locks eyes with the food on the counter and then her eyes pan over to you. if looks could talk her eyes would definitely be confessing their love to you right now. 

feeling shy under her gaze you shake your head and go in for a hug, slightly nuzzling into her chest. you pull back, tilt your head up, and she’s already looking back at you. you both pull back cheesing, not needing to say much.

“babe this is a little too much, you didn’t have to– wait, are you tryna butter me up?” paige breaks the silence.

“butter you up? mmm, maybe…but that doesn’t mean i didn’t want to cook for you. it’s like the cherry on top, please just enjoy yourself baby c’mon!” you plead, stepping back from her to hold her hands in your own.

“okay…” she mutters, before repeating the words cherry on top underneath her breath and giggling. 

she grabs your plates and walks them to the table as you follow closely behind and take your spot across from her.

you’re only two bites in before you hear her again, “okay but seriously what is it? the suspense is killing me.”

“can’t you just eat your food first?” you laugh, shaking your head and taking another bite.

“i think we both know i can multitask, answer the question.” she responds, taking a bite of her food and a sip from her wine glass.

“i promise you will find out when we finish our meal,” you dodge again.

paige smacks her lips a little, a smile fighting for its life to stay hidden.

she does let it go, or so you’d hoped. and dinner goes well. eventually you’re just poking at what’s left on your plate while paige rambles a little. she’d cleared whatever she had in front of her a bit ago but you’d managed to get her talking to avoid her disrupting your own train of thought.

she pauses between sentences and your mouth moves faster than your thoughts.

“p, you trust me right?” you genuinely ask, already nervous again.

“of course baby, what’s going on?” she asks, placing her hand over yours on the table.

“i, i got uh– well i wanna show you something, if that’s okay?” you taunt a bit, lacing your fingers together and getting up from your seat at the table.

her eyebrows furrow a little and she smirks before getting up with you. you begin leading her to your bedroom and stop a few paces from the door to face her. you place your hands on her chest, before allowing them to creep up and secure behind her neck.

“you’re so beautiful,” you whisper, a very visible glint in your eyes.

before she can respond you pull her down to your height and connect your lips. you sigh into the kiss when you feel her hands immediately on your ass and her tilting her head to deepen the kiss. you open your mouth the slightest bit and feel her tongue meet your own. if you weren’t hot before from the wine, you definitely were now. 

you pull back completely and smirk before turning around and heading directly into the bedroom, a slight sway in your hips.

you guide paige onto the bed and she plops down a little, you perched at her side.

“earlier today, i was shopping around and i found something that i wanted to see if you’re interested in.” you trail off, getting up to fetch the discreet packaging that you knew for a fact paige was familiar with.

“mhm, and what is this ‘something’?” she proceeds, holding up her own air quotes. her eyes on yours and one of her eyebrows raised the tiniest bit. almost challenging you.

you pull the toy out of the bag, seeing as you had already taken them out of their packaging earlier to prep.

paige’s expression is hard to read and you can tell she’s leaving space for you to answer her unspoken questions, her breath hitching.

you climb on top of her holding the toy at your side. you catch her eyes fell onto your lips, glossy and parted to speak.

“i just saw this and thought we could try something new? specifically me, trying it out on the both of us.” you ask, or tell her rather. voice a little low but not wavering at all.

“baby i’m all yours, i want whatever you want.” she utters, hands lightly gripping your thighs.

“i’m so happy to hear you say that,” you smile.

you lean down, your weight falling onto your hand that’s now right beside paige’s head. you hold eye contact for as long as you can before you connect your lips again in another kiss. this one less gentle, some notable urge behind it. paige moans immediately kissing back, her hands back on your ass when your tongue slips between her lips to meet her own. 

you pull back to catch your breath, also opting to shed your shirt and reveal your other surprise for her. 

“fuck, are you serious?” paige groans. immediately drawn to the teacup bralette that held your tits just right, but also left you exposed with the mesh on the front of it.

“you like?” you ask, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth to stop yourself from laughing at the expression on her face.

“baby you know i do, cmon” 

“let me show you the rest of it then?” you finish, pushing up onto your knees so you could rid yourself of your pants.

your panties are the same mesh as the bralette, but they’re lacking the smallest piece of fabric. 

they’re crotchless.

you swear you can see the girl in front of you drool a little when she realizes. paige’s eyes are blown out and her mouth is agape when she sees you kneeling in front of her, practically naked.

“do you wanna shed some layers too p? i’m getting impatient,” you tease, watching as she scoffs a little before sitting up to pull her own shirt over her head. 

you have to stop yourself from getting too distracted by her taut abdomen and the little bit of cleavage that’s exposed when she presses her arms together, tugging her sleeves off. as soon as the shirt hits the floor of your bedroom you have your hands in the waistband of her pants, locking eyes with her. she tilts her head in a small nod that signals you to continue.

when you’re both lacking a good amount of clothing you crawl over her. your panties allowing your bare clit to rest on her lap and you hiss at the contact. you grab her hand and place it over your front, hinting at her to fondle your nipples over the thin fabric of your bralette.

“you’re unreal,” you hear paige utter from underneath you, her eyes watching your puffy clit glide messily over her slightly covered bottom half. the sight causes you to swallow a mix of a chuckle and a moan.

“yeah? tell me more.” you respond, breathless as you reach for her other hand, bringing two of her fingers up to your mouth. you kiss them gently and then wrap your lips around her fingertips.

knowing that this gets her going you’re not shocked at how her eyelids flutter before she takes her bottom lip between her teeth.

“you cooked me dinner and now you’re dressed in some of the best lingerie i’ve ever seen, plus you got your pussy in my lap. that’s as good as it gets, baby.” paige answers you, pinching your nipple between two of her fingers and smirking when you sigh and lick at your already glossy lips.

“only the best for you,” you start, pulling her hand away from your lips and toying at the waistband of her underwear, ready for those to come off too.

when her bottom half is completely bare you reach for the vibrators on the bed. 

“take off your bra.” you demand, raising an eyebrow at your girlfriend whilst putting some more distance between the two.

she complies easily and now she is beneath you, completely naked. a slight sheen of sweat on her chest that’s rising and falling a little quicker than before. she’s nervous.

you down and place a hand on her hip while you tongue at her nipples, they’re already hard from being exposed to the air in your bedroom. you don’t miss how pretty she sounds when she lets out a whine, her hand securing itself on the back of your head to hold you closer if even possible. 

“for once i just want to please you baby, i think this is the perfect way to make sure that we both get what we need. just lay back for me and enjoy yourself.” you utter into the empty silence, voice breathy while you sit up again and take one end of the toy, putting it in your mouth to wet.

paige’s mouth opens and she doesn’t say anything but you can tell she’s trying hard not to.

with the remote in your hand you immediately switch the speed to 2 and place it on the nipple that your mouth was on moments ago.

paige arches her back off the bed slightly, eyes immediately squeezing shut. this is already everything you want and you’re just getting started.

“fuck, baby what are you doing–“

“ah ah, remember just enjoy yourself, let me worry about what’s going on.” you shush her, circling her nipple with the vibrating bullet.

she looks beautiful under you like this. her cheeks are red, head thrown back in pleasure as her hips start to move beneath you on instinct.

“m-more, please i want more” she moans, lifting her head up, only to drop it again when she gets sight of you. 

your hair is a little messy from tossing your head side to side and the look in your eyes is sultry. plus you’ve got a vibrator held onto her nipple and she swears she can see a wet spot on her skin from you rutting against her. if it was possible she would’ve cum just from watching you touch her.

“more? what do you want? baby you have to tell me.” you taunt, already gripping the other end of the vibrator in your free hand.

“i’m so wet, i know you can feel it. t-touch me? please? mmmh–“ she cuts herself off when she feels the vibrations on her nipple intensify. the speed was now at 3…and then it was at 4.

“you’re even prettier when you beg p, have i ever told you that?”

“n-no, fuck” she hisses.

“well, you’re usually so in control. i just have to say i love seeing you like this.”

with a light touch you trace some shapes on the outside of her thigh before spreading her legs, your eyes immediately drawn to the wet spot underneath her on her bed. 

“you weren’t lying baby, you’re already making a mess and i haven’t even done anything yet.” you don’t give her much time to say anything in response, gathering all the spit into your mouth and pushing it from your lips so that it lands on her clit in a glob. it’s nasty, just how you both like it and paige lets out another surprisingly high pitched noise. her hole clenching around nothing.

sitting back on your heels between her legs you take your hand that’s holding the vibrator to her nipple and you switch sides. when you see how puffy and red the one that was previously receiving attention is, you almost feel bad, but that feeling doesn’t last long. 

while paige is trying to catch her breath you take the other end of the vibrator and start tracing circles around her clit, before pulling it away again. she cries out, realizing that you were going to keep teasing her.

landing a smack on her hip to get her to drop them down towards the bed again you drag the bullet up and down the length of her pussy, your eyes never leaving her face as she was putting on a show.

“mmm– please just do something baby, anything. i don’t know how much more of this i can take.” paige whines, then reaches out for you. you lean away from her touch.

“you’re good with the safe word?” you ask, tone a little more serious than you intended.

“yes of course baby, just– OH FUCK!”

before she can say anything else you’re pushing the bullet into her fluttering hole, holding in a moan at how tight she is.

“how’s that?” you tease, completely inserting the toy.

“shit– it’s perfect baby,”

“i bet.”

pulling away the end of the vibrator that was on her nipple you lean down again to take it in your mouth. once more she’s cradling your head, this time a little harder. she wants you close, it’s cute.

using little force you pump the bullet into her, listening for her sounds of satisfaction. 

pulling off of her nipple with a pop you watch as she fights to pry her eyes open.

“baby, k-kiss me?” she says, or rather pleads.

your heart beats faster at how desperate she sounds. you grant her the kiss and it’s hot, sloppy, and leaves a string of spit between the two of you when you pull away while she chases after you with her lips.

“my god p, you’re such a good girl for me. who would’ve thought?” you whisper right in her face, smirking a little as she huffs in disappointment when you lean back and away from her again.

“i’ll be a good girl for you any time you want baby, just please don’t stop.” she groans, gushing around the toy inside of her.

“oh really, any time? you promise?” 

an image flashes in your head and before you can think about it too much you’re releasing paige’s leg from your grip, pulling the vibrator out of her and increasing the speed to 5. you pull your left leg up and drape it over her right, almost in a split, pulling the vibrator out of her and pressing it down on her clit with a good amount of pressure. 

her upper half jolts once again, as she raises her head just in time to watch you press your clit down on the vibrator as well, sandwiching it between the two of you.

paige almost screams when you put your entire weight down. your own jaw falls slack and you throw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut.

“p, oh my god– FUCK i can’t believe i thought of this. you’re doing so good, my messy baby. i wish you could see yourself right now.”

leaning down to smack a wet kiss in the middle of her chest you grab the remote in your free hand and turn up the speed to 6. whimpering and crying out into paige’s skin that’s beneath your lips. another loud whine leaves the back of her throat, followed by a grunt and a string of curses.

“i-i can’t”

“you can.”

you use her mouth to wet two of your fingers, she sucks on them sloppily, barely able to focus on the action due to the intense pressure on her clit from both you and the vibrator. you pull them from her lips, with a pop, before you trail them down to between her thighs, circling her hole one last time with your fingertips.

“SHIT– i’m so close baby” paige yelps, starting to huff her breaths out faster when she feels you pressing down harder, using your weight to move the shiny bullet against the both of you slightly. 

she attempts to close her legs around your hand and fails due to the position you were in.

“i know pretty girl i know, m-me too, just hold out a little more hmm?”

turning the vibrator to its highest speed of 7 you pump your middle and ring finger into paige, choking on your own breath at the feeling of her clenching around you and the bullet beneath you violating your clit at this point. 

paige lets out a sob, bringing one of her arms to cover her face. you reach up with the hand that’s not inside of her and rip her arm back. you watch her intently, tears hot and heavy on her cheeks blurring her vision.

“fuck–, paige you look so perfect when you cry.”

“it hurts so good baby, don’t stop“

“you’re close aren’t you? give it to me, cmon, i’m right there with you. i want all you’ve got.”

at this point you have no idea what’s coming out of your mouth but you don’t give a fuck, trying to hold onto your orgasm intending for the girl underneath you to finish first.

and finish she did. smacking your hand off of her arm she reaches down to hold your hips still against her own, tears falling rapidly from her eyes now. 

you don’t know if she’s just really spent or if it’s you that’s spent because you can’t register the words coming out of her mouth while she’s riding out her high. except the last three she matters as soon as you pull your fingers from her leaking cunt.

“i love you”

this sends you over the edge and you have to use every little bit of strength left in you not to collapse directly into paige. 

moaning pornography as your hole spasms around nothing you can only withstand the vibrator for another millisecond before you reach down to snatch it off of the two of you.

you do actually fall onto paige after this but she’s starting to catch her breath now so she welcomes you with open arms, still panting loudly.

you lay a mess between her legs with your head on her chest and your body trembling a little.

when you calm down enough you crane your neck to get a glimpse of your girlfriend. your hand instinctively reaching up to wipe the remainder of tears from her face.

“p, you did so well for me baby. thank you for letting me try that with you” you whisper, pecking her chest gently.

she doesn’t open her eyes, you assume she probably can’t after the amount of energy that orgasm must’ve exerted from her. but she replies nonetheless.

“i already told you, i’ll do anything for you anytime you want. all you have to do is ask.” 

“yeah yeah whatever, just kiss me and go to sleep.”

she actually does open her eyes. they’re glossed over and a little red and puffy from the crying but just as you had mentioned earlier, she looked so gorgeous. 

lifting her head just enough to meet you halfway she slots her lips against your own. the entire moment is so sweet, your entire body feels warm again. the thought of this girl being yours for the rest of your life crosses your mind.

when you pull back you’ve got a goofy grin on your face and you rest your head back on her chest before letting out a deep breath and closing your eyes again. 

paige’s body moves a little and you recognize the motion as her chuckling, before she opens her mouth one final time.

“i can’t wait to use that toy on you next. only. on you.”

[fruitjoos]

serving up suds!

parings: patrick zweig x fem!reader / art donaldson x tashi duncan

word count: 3.9k

summary: you and the rest of the girls on the tennis team need to figure out a way to earn money for new uniforms. your boyfriend suggests the best idea.

contains: SMUT 18+ with lots of cute boyfriend patrick plot, fluff, only contains art and tashi as side characters (sorry), suggestive language between art and tashi, oral (m receiving), inaccurate numbers probs, if you think anything else should be added, please let me know!

note: wrote this simply because i love and miss pookie patrick zweig so enjoy… i planned to post i choose you but wanted to post this instead! also, not edited – will be doing so shortly.

You stood in front of Coach Williams, arms crossed and brows furrowed, your frustration barely masked. “We don’t even have proper uniforms,” you said, voice tight. “They just told us to wear red tank tops and the shortest white shorts we could find. It’s ridiculous. No one takes us seriously.”

It had been a minor irritation at first, something you could almost shrug off as a small injustice. But when you found out that the boys' team, including your boyfriend Patrick, had crisp, matching uniforms—with collars and the school logo stitched on the chest—your irritation curdled into anger. They looked like a team. They looked respectable. And you? You and the other five girls on the team looked like a mismatched afterthought.

A few of you had approached Coach Williams, hoping she’d understand, hoping she’d do something. You told her how embarrassing it was to stand on the court, mismatched and disheveled, while the boys walked by in their pristine gear. She’d just sighed and said the school didn’t have the funds. “Those boys raised the money themselves,” she added, almost proud. “If you girls want uniforms that badly, you’ll have to do the same.”

You groaned. Right, like it was that simple. You had done the math in your head—the cost would be at least a thousand dollars to get anything decent, something that would make you all look polished and cohesive. You wanted sharp collars, the school name embroidered in neat white stitching over your hearts, maybe even matching skirts. But there were only six of you, and $200 each was a lot to ask from college girls already juggling tuition, textbooks, meals, and a list of other expenses that never seemed to end.

The thought gnawed at you for days, and finally, you did something you never would’ve considered before. You went to Patrick. The two of you were sprawled out on the campus quad, the grass prickling your skin, the sun warm on your back. Patrick was fiddling with a Rubik's Cube he’d picked up from god knows where, twisting it clumsily, his focus entirely absorbed. You were trying to study, your math textbook open in front of you, but the thought of those damn uniforms kept distracting you. You sighed, louder than usual, trying to get his attention. He didn’t look up.

Another sigh, this one practically a groan. Patrick smirked, eyes still fixed on the colored squares in his hands. “Something on your mind?” he asked, voice teasing, as if he was enjoying your distress.

“Actually, yeah,” you said, sitting up and crossing your legs. “The girls’ tennis team needs uniforms.” He finally glanced up, confusion flickering in his eyes. “And I was wondering…” you trailed off, giving him a mischievous grin before reaching out to tickle his side. He jerked away, laughing, and caught your wrist. “...if you could, you know, maybe donate a little to help out.”

“You’re cute,” he said, kissing your cheek. “But I’m broke. Spent my allowance for the month already.”

Your head slumped against his chest, and you whined, letting the sound drag out, like a child who didn’t want to go to bed. “C’mon, Patrick. We need this.”

He chuckled, but you could sense his patience thinning. “Why don’t you do a fundraiser or something?” he suggested. “I don’t know, a bake sale?”

It was a simple idea, but it sparked something. You sat up straight, eyes bright with sudden inspiration. “A car wash!” you said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “We could do a car wash! Who wouldn’t want to donate to a group of girls in bikinis?”

Patrick’s smile faded. “Wait, I meant like selling cookies or something, not—”

But you were already on your feet, packing your things, a plan forming in your mind. Oh you’ll be selling cookies all right. “Thanks, babe! I’ll call you later,” you said, barely looking back as you headed off to find the other girls.

Patrick’s voice trailed after you, a mix of amusement and resignation. “Great. This is going to end well, I’m sure.” But you didn’t care. For the first time in days, you felt a thrill of hope. If it took a little shamelessness to raise the money, so be it. At least the girls’ team would finally have the chance to be seen.

You stood outside Art Donaldson’s dorm room, tapping your foot impatiently, half-wishing you didn’t have to do this. You were almost certain Tashi was hooking up with him. Everyone on the courts could sense the weird tension between them, the way they eyed each other during practice. It wasn’t admiration for his technique, that was for sure. Art was talented, sure, but he played like a baby deer—deft, but awkwardly loose, stumbling into his own brilliance.

Your knuckles rapped softly against the door, and when it finally creaked open, you caught sight of Art’s glassy eyes and his half-buttoned shirt. You had to stifle a laugh. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, and not because he was taking a nap. “Uh, is Tashi around?” you asked, already guessing the answer. Art glanced over his shoulder, almost as if he was checking to see if she was still there.

“Yeah, but she’s busy,” he said, with a casual shrug that didn’t quite hide his irritation.

“I’m sure,” you replied, tilting your head with a knowing grin. You leaned past him, raising your voice. “Tashi, come out here! I’ve got an idea!” Art winced, his expression morphing into a tight-lipped smile, the kind you give when someone’s overstaying their welcome. “She’ll be out in a minute,” he muttered, stepping back to let you linger in the doorway.

You could hear the faint sounds of shuffling before Tashi appeared, her hair tousled and her expression caught somewhere between glee and annoyance. “What are you doing here?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“Patrick gave me the best idea,” you said, ignoring the way she rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. She didn’t even try to hide her skepticism—those words didn’t belong in the same sentence, and she knew it.

“No, really,” you insisted, giving her a playful shove. “We should do a fundraiser!”

Tashi’s face softened slightly, but her arms remained crossed, a single brow arching. “A fundraiser?”

“Yes! Think about it—tight bikinis, soapy cars, a bunch of frat boys with too much cash to spare. We’d make bank!” You bounced on your toes, grinning—your excitement spilling out uncontrollably.

She scoffed, but you caught the flicker of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Maybe she was amused, or maybe it was just the sheer absurdity of the situation. “I’m not selling my body to a bunch of frat boys,” she said, shaking her head firmly.

“You’re literally in there with Art Donaldson,” you shot back, your shoulders slumping with exasperation.

Tashi’s eyes narrowed, and she folded her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “So, what’s that supposed to mean?”

You let out an awkward laugh, waving your hands. “Oh, nothing. Just making an observation.” You could see her jaw tense, but you pressed on, undeterred. “Anyway, I’m telling the other girls. We’re doing this, with or without you.” You winked, trying to keep things light, but Tashi’s expression was unreadable as she watched you turn and leave.

A week later, you found yourself in your dorm room, sorting through an array of colorful bikini tops. The whole plan felt like a gamble, but you were determined to make it work. You wanted it to be fun, at least, if you were going to be out there scrubbing cars for spare change. Patrick was sprawled on the edge of your bed, watching with a bemused expression. “You’re seriously going through with this?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

“You suggested it!” you argued, as you adjusted the lettering on a handmade sign with your glitter gel pens.

“I suggested you bake cookies and sell them on campus,” he corrected, waving his hand as if to swat away the absurdity of your plan. “This is not what I meant.”

“We’re just washing cars,” you said, shaking your head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And besides, it’s for a good cause.” You added a few more swirls and hearts to the sign, mockingly repeating his earlier words in a high-pitched voice before tossing a pink towel at him.

Patrick caught the towel and laughed, shaking his head. “You’re something else.”

Grabbing your keys and the finished signs, you turned to him, flashing a grin. “Walk me over there,” you said, already halfway out the door.

He groaned, dragging himself to his feet. “I better get a free car wash out of this,” he muttered, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. The two of you headed down the hall, and as you passed by, you could almost imagine the scene—the sun beating down, water glistening, and a line of cars full of guys willing to fork over their cash just to see a group of girls make a splash. Maybe it was shameless, but you were desperate, and desperate times called for bold, glittery, bikini-clad measures.

The sun was barely up, but the day was already heating up as you and a few of the girls set up the buckets of sudsy water, sponges bobbing in the foam, and wrangled with the nearest hose. Patrick stood nearby, scanning the growing crowd like a bouncer at a club, his eyes narrowing at any guy who dared stare a little too long when you bent over to dip your sponge. He was protective like that, and maybe just a bit possessive, but you couldn’t deny it felt good having someone in your corner, even if he looked ready to body check anyone who ogled you.

You were just about to yell something smart at him when Tashi strolled up, the sound of her flip-flops soft on the concrete, and every head turned as she made her entrance. She was all long, tanned legs, glistening in the sunlight, a tiny bikini peeking out from under her daisy dukes, and she moved with a sort of effortless grace that made you want to both envy and applaud her. You let out a sharp whistle, catcalling her as she approached, unable to resist. She rolled her eyes.

“Careful, those eyes are gonna get stuck back there one day,” you said with a small smile on your lips, and you could tell she was enjoying the attention.

“You look so hot!” you squealed, bouncing on your toes. Tashi flicked her hair over her shoulder, pretending to be exasperated, but she knew she was killing it, and so did everyone else.

Hours passed, the sun climbing higher, scorching the asphalt, and the music thumped from the speakers you’d set up, loud enough to echo down the block. You and the girls took turns yelling at passersby, daring them to get their cars washed, and you couldn’t believe how fast the line grew. It felt like every guy within a five mile radius had suddenly remembered he needed a wash, and they queued up, engines idling, windows down, some leaning out just to get a better look.

Your bodies were practically spilling out of your clothes, skin glistening, slick with soap and sweat. You pressed up against car windows, sponges swirling over the glass, your laughter and chatter floating above the music. “Thank you!” you sang out, flashing bright smiles as you took crumpled bills from hands reaching out of car windows, a parade of faces you didn’t even recognize. You skipped over to where Patrick was standing, collecting the money, and tossed the latest stack of bills into the box he was holding.

The pink, glittery box which you wrote ‘Stick something in me!’ on. It was heavier than you’d expected; you were actually making bank.

Before you could turn back to the cars, Patrick caught your wrist and pulled you close, his hand warm and firm. He cupped your cheeks between his fingers, smushing them slightly, and before you could even register the movement, he kissed you hard, right there in front of everyone. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t soft. It was a claim, a brand, like he was marking his territory for all to see.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice low, but loud enough for everyone nearby to hear, a hint of a challenge in his eyes. He wanted to remind you.

You blushed, caught off guard, but then a grin spread across your face. “I’m yours,” you repeated, just as firmly, before pulling him down and planting another kiss on his lips, making sure the message was clear. As you pulled back, you saw a few guys in line avert their eyes, and you laughed to yourself, a mix of pride and relief swelling in your chest. You had Patrick, you had the girls, and if things kept going this well, you’d have those uniforms too.

"Six-fifty… seven-fifty," Patrick counted, his voice low and steady, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in soft pinks and purples. You were sprawled out across the lawn, grass tickling your bare arms, and you watched him with a warm, tired smile, the kind of smile you give when everything feels just right for once. It had been a long, sweaty day, but now the breeze was gentle, like a cool kiss against your skin, and you felt almost weightless. Your body thrumming with a sense of accomplishment.

“Okay, that’s great!” you said, grabbing his arm, a burst of giddy excitement surging through you. Around you, the girls broke into their own cheers, hugging and high-fiving each other, still buzzing from the success of the day.

“And $100 from me,” Patrick said, pulling out a crisp bill from his wallet and tossing it into the box with a casual flick. The girls swarmed him, shaking his shoulders and showering him with thank-yous, calling him sweet, generous, the best. Even Tashi, who’d been leaning coolly against Art, broke into a grin, and she nudged him with her elbow. Art, who’d been half-pretending not to care, rolled his eyes but couldn’t resist. With a reluctant sigh, he parted with another $100, mumbling under his breath as he handed it over.

“Fine,” he said, almost as if the word hurt, but he was grinning a little, too, when the girls shrieked and patted his back. Rich people, you thought, shaking your head with a smirk. They always made it seem like giving was a struggle when it barely scratched the surface of their wallets.

You took a breath, pushing yourself up to your feet and looking at the small circle of girls around you, their faces flushed and glowing under the dimming sky. "I just want to say… thank you," you started, your voice slightly hoarse from yelling all day but still earnest. "I know this wasn’t exactly easy, but we did it. And I’m really proud." You reached into your own wallet, pulling out a $50 bill, twirling it between your fingers, and held it up like a trophy. “Here’s to us. And new uniforms!”

The girls erupted, their cheers echoing across the lawn, loud and jubilant, as if they’d just won a championship. For a moment, it felt like they had. The line between a football team scoring a last minute touchdown and a group of college girls hustling for their dignity had blurred, and you all basked in the glow of it, even as the day faded into night.

Later, you stumbled back to your dorm, too exhausted to think but too exhilarated to sleep. You flopped down on your bed, sinking into the mattress, letting out a long, satisfied sigh. You barely had time to close your eyes before Patrick followed, landing on top of you with a playful thud, his chin digging uncomfortably into your stomach.

“Ow,” you laughed, swatting at his head as he tried to adjust, mumbling an absent apology. He shifted, then propped himself up, and you cradled his face in your hands, tilting it up so you could look into his eyes. They were the soft blue of summer berries, glinting with mischief and tenderness, and you felt a sudden rush of affection that made your chest ache a little.

“I have the best boyfriend in the world,” you said, the words coming out soft, almost like a secret you were finally ready to admit. Patrick’s cheeks flushed a faint pink, something he did so rarely it was almost a treat to see. He gave you a shy, crooked smile, and you could tell he was savoring the moment, letting it hang in the air between you.

Then he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, slow and careful, his mouth tasting faintly of your pomegranate chapstick. It was gentle at first, then firmer, like he was memorizing every bit of sweetness. When he pulled back, his eyes were still half-lidded, and his lips curved into a teasing smile.

“So, what’s the reward for being the best boyfriend?” he murmured, his gaze flicking over your face, taking in every detail as if he hadn’t already committed them to memory. His eyelashes fluttered, casting a silhouette across his cheeks, and you felt a shiver of warmth spread through you.

His reward for enduring the humid, sticky air all day, the sun beating down relentlessly on his already sunkissed skin, was right here, pressed against him. He had been patient, sitting there with the box of crumpled bills, sweat glistening on his forehead, eyes darting protectively every time someone lingered a little too long on you. He deserved something for putting up with the heat, the endless chatter, and the occasional, awkward guy who looked like he wanted to challenge him just for standing there. And this was it. You, warm and pliant under his hands, your fingers tangled in his hair, lips brushing his, teasing, like you were savoring every second as much as he was.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head in mock contemplation. “Hmm, I guess I’ll have to think of something…” you said, running your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer until your noses touched. “Maybe a little more of this,” you whispered, your lips brushing his as you spoke, letting the promise linger in the space.

You rolled over, his back sinking into the worn mattress. You let your lips graze his jaw, then drifted down to his neck. He shifted under your touch, laughter mingling with a nervous squirm as your breath tickled his skin. “You’re so good to me,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his earlobe. “So supportive,” another kiss at his temple. “And so, so handsome.” A faint smile broke across his face, eyes closed, lost in the moment.

You let your fingers glide over the cool, metallic buttons of his shorts, tracing each engraved design as if it were spelling out something only you knew. You helped him pull them off, giggling as you threw them across the room. Your hand dipped into the dark mouth of his boxers, rummaging past his trimmed bush of curls, until your fingers closed around the smooth, familiar shape.

His hard cock slid out, catching the light above, precum gleaming, almost tauntingly. You held it up to your mouth, breathing in the faint trace of scent that lingered, delicate but intoxicating.

You stared at it for a moment, feeling a slow, subtle warmth unfurl in your chest. It was a tiny, almost imperceptible smile that tugged at your lips, like the beginning of a secret, and you could feel the tension building under your skin, pooling low in your stomach. Something about holding it in your hand made you feel powerful, like you were in control.

The head was your favorite color—deep, cherry red and glistening like a polished gem when you pulled back his foreskin slowly. You slid it between your lips, supple and sweet. Your tongue circled over his tip, feeling the tiny slit. His sap dissolving against your taste buds. You closed your eyes, savoring the taste.

His arousal melted on your tongue, sweet and syrupy. A thin string of saliva stretched between your lips and the tip when you pulled it away, snapping when you moved it too far. It was deliciously wrong, like sneaking a piece of forbidden fruit.

"You’re so sweet," you murmured, almost to yourself, but loud enough for Patrick to hear. He glanced up, his expression lustful and high.

“Wanna taste it?” you asked, slightly lolling your head to the side. The way you said it was innocent, almost playful, but there was a glint in your eyes, a subtle edge to the offer. You leaned up to him, grazing your tongue over his lips. He moaned at the contact. You grabbed his jaw, letting the glob mixed of your saliva and himself fall onto the heart of his tongue. He groaned, letting it slide down his throat. “I love you.” he whimpered, sloppily inhaling your lips.

You furrowed your brows, mocking the desperate look in his eyes. You watched him, a slow smile curling on your lips. You hadn’t realized how much you’d loved being in control. It reminded you that, for once, you weren’t following the rules, and that felt more delicious than anything you’d tasted in a long, long time.

You pumped your hand up and down his shaft, practically begging him to release all over your pretty face. “You wanna come for me?” you asked with a sweet, honey tone. “I’m so close,” he panted, fingers tangling between your strands of hair. “Fu– please,” he cried, mouth gaping open while hips desperately bucked toward you.

Taking him in your mouth again, you slapped his stiff cock against your tongue, the familiar sensation flooding your mouth as saliva pooled in your cheeks. His fluids mixed with spit, oozing down your lips and pooling on your chin. It felt disgusting, the wetness creeping along your skin, but deep down, every drop was a small victory for making him feel good.

With each stroke, you watched the fizzy mixture drip, the mess clinging to your hand and wrist as you pumped vigorously. You squeezed him in your palms, watching him sputter. Come painting across your face. You bit your lip, trying to steady your hand, hoping you milked him empty. His slit deflating a little more with every squeeze. You could see the droplets peeking through, mocking you.

He threw his head back, catching his breath. “Feel good?” you teased, sucking your fingers. You slid your body up his, his bare cock still hard, brushing against the skin of your thigh. His body jolting at the touch.

"Thank you for your help today, baby," you murmured, letting your lips brush gently against the tip of his nose, a soft, affectionate kiss.

“Anytime,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes. “And don’t hesitate to bring me any other problems you’ve got,” he added, only half-joking, clearly savoring the reward you’d just given him. “I’m always glad to help.”

You laughed, the sound light and warm, as you slipped off the bed. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you teased, padding across the room toward the bathroom to shower. You glanced back at him once more, a smile still tugging at the corners of your mouth, “You coming?” you ask, disappearing into the bathroom.

He slid off the bed in a hurried, awkward motion, the springs letting out a sharp, staccato creak that echoed through the room. His feet barely touched the floor before he was shuffling off, making his way into the bathroom behind you.

[even-all]

God there's nothing I love more than watching my brilliant, polite, well-spoken boyfriend turn into a mindless toy for me.

I love watching him relax when he plays with himself, going from embarrassed to uncaring as his body goes limp and his cock gets hard under his hand-- under my instruction. Reminding him that he's safe with me, that he can let himself feel good without shame. You don't need to think about anything but how good it feels-- you can worry about everything else later. It's not going anywhere. Right now all that matters is being my good, obedient boy.

Seeing the hazy look in his eyes as he nods lazily, his handsome voice repeating back anything I want to hear. It feels so good to listen to me, and he is such a good boy. Nothing quite like watching an intelligent man struggle to find his words between his slurred moans.

I want to play with his cunt and cock until there's nothing in his head except my name and how badly he wants to cum for me. What an honor, to have such an obedient, adoring boy like you. Cum for me, baby.

Over and over, until I say he's done. Even when it's too much, and his poor cock is aching and sensitive and twitching. He'll keep going, because he wants to be my good boy. How terribly lucky I am.

Finally, finally letting him take the toy off when he's shaking. Watching him collapse into his bed with an exhausted grin. My darling boy.

I let him stay like that, floaty and sweet and obedient until he fell asleep to my whispered praises. My good boy. You did such a good job for me. You know I love you so much. So good for me, honey. You're okay. I'm proud of you. You're all mine, and you know I'm all yours. Relax now. It'll all be there for you tomorrow. But for right now, all you need to be is my good, sweet boy. And you are.

I can't wait to do this again but with him asleep on my chest so I can run my nails down his back and play with his hair. My good boy <3

This is about gay trans men // Cishets fuck off

[asce-of-hearts]

i feel like ace’s cock is so wildly out of proportion with his lanky-ass body its almost like a cartoon gag how big it is..

imagine yandere!ace showing you his cock for the first time and you burst out crying cause youre scared its gonna hurt and he just reassures you that he’ll do what he can to make you happy-cry from cumming for ur first time </3

Confessions

Contents: Yandere!Ace taking gn!reader virginity.

more Ace content here

TAG LIST

WARNINGS: DUB-CON, NSFW, PORN WITH A LITTLE PLOT, VIRGIN!READER, AFAB!READER, SIZE KINK, PENETRATIVE SEX, SOFT YANDERE, LITTLE TO NO PREP.

You felt a bit pressured.

But he was right, Ace was a pirate and a man. He had needs, needs that needed to be satiated fast because he was going to disappear at sea in any second, minute or hour. So there you were, in your room. Both shirtless, his freckled skin warm under your fingertips. His body was nice, comforting when it held you, like a big blanket that wrapped over you protectively.

"I've never done this before." The first confession leaves your lips as a whisper. And his honey golden eyes widen, gleaming with something akin to anticipation, something predatory hidden under an understanding smile. He takes your hands, squeezes them as he entwines your fingers together.

"That's great, sweetheart," His words are always warm, tender, melting against your skin. "Just means I get to show you how great it feels to belong to someone," A kiss is pressed against your temple, scorching hot. "I'll make you mine, in all the best ways..."

He climbs on top of you, caging you against the mattress. And he lowers your hands, allowing them to palm at his growing erection. It feels big enough under his trousers, you try and paint a mental image, but you find yourself unable to, you've never seen one after all. And then, you feel it, when he lowers them and it springs right out, palming against your leg. You curse at him internally because his shoulders prevent you from looking under and taking in whatever is going to be inside you in what feels like mere seconds, but he continues to suck hickeys and pepper wet kisses all over your neck and collarbone. Still, like it was magic, he senses your impatience, and gives you another warm smile as he pulls back, allowing you to take in the sight of his cock.

"Whatcha think?" He asks, a lazy grin on his face. He has broad shoulders, even when the rest of his body is lean, almost lanky, not too overly buff. But his dick... his dick is something else. That object seems almost comically foreign between his legs. Heavy, you felt it when it pressed against your leg. And girthy, and big, so terribly big. In your mind it's the size of your forearm, even when you know it's an exaggeration. You've never seen anything like it, the tip, a mushroomy shaped, angry red colored thing that just continues to leak pre-cum in syrupy blobs that start to soil your sheets, aching to go past the gummy walls of your cunt. "Speechless, eh?" He teases at your lack of answer, and then the waterworks open. You're full on sobbing, hiccuping. You're terrified, completely horrified at the thought of that even being close to your insides. You will die, it will puncture a lung and you will die and bleed out impaled on his cock.

"It's so big." You whimper, and continue crying. And his smile becomes sheepish, he was always certainly proud of his size, but your tears seem anything but tears of joy.

"I... I know," He murmurs, and hugs you again, letting you cry on his shoulder as he rubs soothing circles on your back. "Wanna... wanna touch it? Get to know each other, y'know." He tries to not sound as dorky and stupid as he thinks he does, the attempt, as expected, ends up futile when you end up crying harder. He takes a deep breath, and finally pulls you away from him, hands on your shoulders, looking at you in the eye.

"It'll hurt so bad." You cry again, and he tries to ease it by pressing a kiss on your forehead.

"Don't cry now. Tell you what... I'll just stick it in, yeah? You'll know that... yes, it does hurt a bit, but once you get used to it it'll feel great," The idea is stupid, even if you were wet enough sticking it in without prep will hurt like hell, but surprisingly, you agree with a nod. "Yeah? Trust me, baby. Soon those tears will be happy tears from how great you'll be feeling, you'll be begging for more."

Slowly, he lays you over the bed. Kissing you as his firey fingertips rub at your clit, getting you slick for him. Without breaking the kiss, he slowly starts to fuck past the tight entrance, the rim of muscle that refuses to let his enormous length enter without a fight. With a forceful push, and a choked scream, he manages to bottom out. You feel him in the bottom of your stomach, almost as if he was going to fuck and rearrange the rest of your organs.

"You will never have anyone love you like this, ___."

i need him so bad

hope you enjoyed this!!!!!

have a great day/night

TAGGING: @bookandyarndragon @massivepenguinunknown @anieluvs @eroscastle @aenbyveryverygayperson

@goldenglow149 @lurexin @hbk99450 @stranger00001 @delicatelycraftedbambi

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@acehasmyheart @jellystar-star @architectofsuffering

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[grandline-fics]

Immune To Your Charms

DESCRIPTION: Soulmates are incapable of harming the other in any way. Normally that would be a good thing but not when you're meant to be enemies.

WARNINGS: It's Doflamingo so he's his own warning. Don't read if he's not someone you enjoy reading fics about. Slight depictions of injury/death. Some hurt-comfort. Enemies to Lovers. Soulmate! AU

CHARACTERS: Doflamingo

WORDS: 3,984

A/N: April's a rough month for me and I haven't had much creative energy if I'm being honest. Between life, work, and personal stuff writing sadly gets set to the side more than I'd like it to be. I know I have requests and the Valentines Event to finish but I don't want to force those out just to have them done. I want to take my time and post what I'm proud to have written and thank you all for your patience with those. Needed some Doffy to try and get things going again and help me out of my slump. Thank you all for the love and support, hopefully you like this chapter. The next one will be the party. Enjoy ♥️

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen(here) | Chapter Seventeen (coming soon)

——————

Doflamingo knew Dressrosa would be in safe hands with those in his family staying behind while he was gone. Long stretches of time away were rare but he always made sure nothing was left to chance in his absence. Counting in the time to get there, attend, and return he would be gone for nearly two weeks so he needed to settle preparations with the kingdom and his many other operations and work needed before departing. His subordinates and servants knew their daily tasks and duties and the higher ranking members were all given a fair share of additional responsibilities, everyone knowing that should anything be lacking on his return, all would suffer the consequences together. Finalising the last of the necessary details, Doflamingo rose from his desk and left the office, walking straight for the dining room. As he neared the room he heard Dellinger speak up. “So what time do you set sail?”

“First thing in the morning.” You looked up at the sound of Doflamingo’s voice answering the question that had been directed at Diamanté. With his usual chuckle and a building grin he added. “So those of you attending, make sure you get a good night’s rest because if you aren’t at the ship in time we’ll leave you behind.”

“Even me?” You asked as he slid into his seat beside you. You tried your best to look as innocently concerned about the prospect of being left behind even though it was because of you Doflamingo had even entertained the notion of attending this ordeal in the first place. 

“I’ll drag you out of your bed personally.” Doflamingo answered with a grin when a challenging glint shone in your eyes.

“Hey, hey Doffy!” Trebol spoke up, leaning forward toward his King, getting as close as he possibly could and as always with with no regard for anyone’s personal space. You continued to eat, glad you were on the other side of Doflamingo and safe from Trebol’s overbearing reach. “Why are you going so far away this time?”

“Yes I was curious about that too.” Lao G added. “Is there something special out there? Are you planning something else while you’re away?”

“If something important was being planned it wouldn’t be so spontaneous and more of us would be going too.” Gladius argued, prompting more voices to join the conversation and theorise the reasoning behind this trip away to an event they knew their King tended to avoid as much as possible. 

As they spoke amongst themselves you contented yourself to just enjoying your meal while also idly wondering what this event was going to be like. Beside you, Doflamingo had also said nothing to stop or encourage the current conversation, simply letting them be. After a while some became bored of trying to work out Doflamingo’s motivations behind his actions -as they normally did- and drifted into other discussions. Suddenly Baby 5 let out a gasp and she looked to Doflamingo with widened eyes and small blush dusting her cheeks. “D-doffy! Could it be your wedding?!”

Silence fell over the table among the family immediately. Some looked to Baby 5 first in silent fury, her overly romantic mind could be the cause they lose their heads because they get caught in the crossfire of angering their young master with her wistful and disrespectful question. Then again, they were all suddenly hit with the consideration that she may have been onto something. It made more sense than anything else they could have come up with so far. So they all looked to the top of the table where you and Doflamingo sat. Together you both looked at the other and immediately burst into laughter like this was the best joke you’d heard all week. Because that was the only way the both of you would even consider Baby 5’s words. It was ridiculous. At least it was to the two of you, everyone else on the other hand silently regarded you both and began to wonder if the time away was going to lead to any further developments between the two soulmates.

————

The Numancia Flamingo was definitely a sight to behold. You hadn’t been entirely sure what you’d been expecting before finally seeing and boarding the ship but when you did it was definitely the only thing you found that would suit Doflamingo. Had you put any thought into imagining the vessel it would have paled in comparison to the real thing. Truthfully it didn’t really matter on looks, it could have been a dingy little tugboat for all you cared because all that mattered now was getting to be on a ship again for the first time in months. 

You stood leaning against the railing and let your eyes slide closed as you felt Dressrosa’s summer heat recede back and the cool sea breeze began to pick up and wash over your face. You took a long, relaxed breath and gave a small hum. Opening your eyes you turned around, casually bracing your hands on the railing and watched Doflamingo approach. You said nothing as he came to a stop beside you but you did catch Diamanté, Baby 5, and Gladius standing on the other side of the deck, watching with expressions of varied levels of curiosity. Since this was only day on of the journey you braced yourself for this being the calm, anticipating their behaviour to heighten over the days at sea. “You look peaceful. You miss being out on the water that much?”

“Can you blame me for feeling a little nostalgic?” You asked with a small smile, looking to Doflamingo as he adjusted his position to still lean by the railing but also face you. “The last time I was on a ship was when my unit docked to begin our mission on observing your little enterprise at the warehouse.”

“How long were you stationed there until I showed up?” Doflamingo asked with a grin, the memory of your dazed and pained face lit by the warehouse fire realise he was the one your unit had unknowingly been pursuing flashing in his mind. Even then on the brink of passing out and accepting of your fate you’d been stubbornly defiant. 

“Nearly two months.” You explained, your smile lessening slightly. You were used to the routine tedium of keeping a low profile, watching for all activity, obeying the orders given on jobs like those but now that you thought on it and given that it was the last mission you’d ever have you couldn’t help but feel conflicted about it all. You thought fondly of your friends while also missing them but then would be hit with guilt. Did you even deserve to miss them when you were sitting and talking so comfortably with the man who was the reason they were all dead and gone. Quickly you cleared your throat and to distract yourself you added.  “Now that I think about it, I suppose I was on a ship after that, right? To get to Dressrosa.”

“We didn’t sail. I carried you back while you were unconscious and used my strings to get back.” At Doflamingo’s words you tilted your head in slight confusion. At the time you’d never questioned how you’d gotten to Dressrosa. For one thing, you were certain you weren’t going to be alive much longer and that you’d woken to Doflamingo demanding to know how he couldn’t hurt you if didn’t give you much time to think about it beyond using logic to fill in the gaps.

“Being away from Dressrosa for so long is a bit of a hassle isn’t it?” You asked, his words now bringing a new thought to you. You couldn’t believe it but you were now beginning to share Trebol's curiosity from the night before. “Why did you pick this event to go to? You get countless invitations. I’m sure there were many a lot closer to home.”

“I don’t know why, this one seemed the most interesting.” Doflamingo shrugged casually, not making a comment on how you’d inadvertently called Dressrosa ‘home’ and also chose to ignore the feeling that it brought him. “Didn’t look at the location until you agreed to go.”

“Still I wouldn't have minded if we went somewhere closer.” You explained before smirking. “They're all the same right?”

“Right but it’ll be interesting to see you navigate this as a guest.”

“I’ll have to be careful though, won't get away with half the stuff I normally do will I?” You grinned playfully. “Also means I have to behave around you too. Guess I should practice my ‘yes King Doffy’s and ‘anything you say, young master’s on the way.” For emphasis you straightened up to give him your best attempt at an exaggerated bow fitting his title.

“As much as I loved that display, you don't need to worry about doing that in front of anyone. Just be yourself. It’s not like they can do anything to you if you annoy them anyway.”

“Not worried I could be a target of those ‘clumsy assassinations’ you told me about?”

“When they see you’re with me they’ll know to leave you alone.” Doflamingo’s voice took on a hard edge, the threat of what would happen clear, not that it needed clarifying further. You saw how furious he was when a mere servant opened a door against your face by accident. The bloodbath and Doflamingo’s ferocity that would come should someone else try to kill you when that was his goal didn’t bear thinking about. Strangely you didn’t feel fear from him when he was like this, you never did. While you wanted to avoid as much unnecessary violence or death as possible, you knew Doflamingo would do as he wished.

————

The members of the Doflamingo family on the ship had begun to become more observant when it came to you and their ruler. Most of the time back on Dressrosa you tended to keep to yourself up until recent events took place so there were things they were only noticing or getting to see now. When they had watched Doflamingo approach, you turned without him even making a noise. Whatever it had been you were discussing it seemed relaxed enough but what caught their attention the most had been how close you both stood to each other and how you and Doflamingo looked solely on the other’s face as you talked. Even more interesting was how neither of your called attention or seemed to notice that Doflamingo’s hand was over yours for the conversation and that your finger was curled around one of his. 

Now they all sat in the ship’s lounge, relaxing after their dinner. Just as they would back in Dressrosa’s palace, they all settled into their own spots and contented themselves with idle chatter, a drink, and something to occupy them until they eventually would decide to go to bed for the night. Doflamingo took up most of one of the sofas all by himself, stretched out comfortably with a drink in one hand and the other draped over the back of his seat. Lazily he would twitch and arch his finger to move the chess pieces on the board between him and Diamanté who sat opposite him. 

You were the last to come into the room, having stopped by your room to grab a book. Entering you were already reading and immediately walked to the sofa Doflamingo was sprawled out on. You wordlessly dropped down onto the seat without checking if any space had been made for you, which to the silent surprise of the rest of the family there had been. The second you’d made your move, Doflamingo remained focused on the game while lounging but had adjusted his leg in time to make room for you to comfortably settle against the cushions and his side. With your back against him, you turned the page, continuing to read while Doflamingo made his next move in his game with Diamanté, neither of you uttering a word to each other. Both of you seemed completely unaware of how effortlessly domestic and cosy it all seemed but it practically slapped the others in the face. Part of them wanted to make a comment, even a light, teasing one but held back, unsure how either of you would take it. With the other members of the family back home depending on them to bring back all the juicy details, they didn’t want to risk ruining things by pointing out the unconscious moments between two of you especially on the first day. 

————

“Your family have been staring a lot today.” You noted as you climbed into the bed you’d be sharing with Doflamingo for the duration of the trip. It had already been mentioned and while you’d both slept in each other’s presence before, you couldn't help but realise this was the first time it was happening without you being sick or sleep deprived. Still you found no issue in it deep down, it just meant another slight shift in things was happening between you and Doflamingo. “Are they expecting something to happen?”

“Like what?” Doflamingo asked with a chuckle, his family hadn’t exactly been subtle with their observations but even he couldn’t work out what was suddenly so interesting. 

“I dunno, they’re your responsibility so you tell me.” You shrugged with a yawn as Doflamingo switched off the light. 

“Sometimes they’re a mystery even to me. They’ll get bored and move on to something else, they always do.” Doflamingo explained and you nodded.

Ultimately it didn’t matter what it was that had them acting stranger than normal. Whatever their motivations they were going to continue until what they were waiting for did or didn’t happen. Anything was possible in their imaginations, Baby 5’s ridiculous suggestion that Doflamingo and you were going to marry on this trip was proof of that. As long as they didn’t get too in your face about it, you were happy to just let them continue as they were. Besides you were too tired to give them anymore thought. With another yawn, this one deeper and longer than the last you lay back more and felt yourself fall over to sleep, carried there by the sounds of waves hitting against the side of the ship. It had been so long since you’d fallen asleep to the familiar sound and given your earlier conversation with the man asleep next to you, it was no wonder that your mind conjured the images that it did for your dreams. 

It started pleasant enough. You were sat around a table with your unit sharing a meal, talking and laughing without any cares or worries. Then the laughter slowed and an almighty explosion came from the centre of the table, hurtling your body backwards through the air and plunging you into the coldest and darkest waters. You struggled and clawed with all your might to fight your way out of the depths but your limbs felt heavier and heavier with no sign of the surface in sight. Finally hands broke through the surface and hauled you from the water. You slumped onto the floor and took a few steadying breaths.

Lifting your head to thank your saviour you froze with the words lodged in your throat. Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of the young cadet that died in the warehouse explosion but it wasn’t as you knew him. Standing before you now was his burning body, the scorched remnants of his uniform melted to his skin and eyes literally ablaze as he looked down at you in fury, with laboured, crackling breaths smoke bled from his parted mouth. “Traitor.” You flinched at the low, agonising voice he now spoke with. “You’re a traitor.”

Numbly you sat cold and horrified, unable to speak. Trembling you could only stare helplessly at the cadet and shake your head. Suddenly he was behind you, charred and burning fingers clawing into your skull and forcing you to look forward. Against the fires of the destroyed warehouse debris you were faced with the bloodied and lifeless bodies of the rest of your unit. You didn’t see what had become of them personally but knew they’d died so in this nightmare, your imagination created the worst visions possible. Then they all spoke together, a chorus of haunting accusations. “Traitor.” “You forgot us.” “Dead because of you.” “Sided with the enemy.” “Our blood is on your hands.” “Your fault.” 

Their unseeing eyes blinked and their heads turned your way, their rigid, bloodied hands moving to drag themselves across the space between them and you. While the burning cadet held you firmly in place, the rest of the unit drew closer and closer chanting the chorus of “Your fault” over and over again until they were swarmed on top of you and smothered you. 

With a strangled gasp you bolted upright in the bed, kicking and pushing to try and rid the phantoms from your nightmare away from you but still their touch persistently clung to your skin. You jolted when the most determined phantom grabbed your wrists to stop your thrashing. At the sound of Doflamingo’s deep voice saying your name you blinked through your disoriented panic and swallowed the lump in your throat and tried to calm your rapid breathing. Finally you were able to remind yourself that it had all just been an awful dream and that the images weren't real but as rational as you were it all still had a vicelike grip on you. 

You were pulled forward and Doflamingo adjusted you to settle on his lap. He wrapped his arm around you and settled his other hand on the back of your head, settling you against his chest. Hearing his strong, steady heartbeat finally helped you to relax. Following his breaths as a guide you began to ease and the small shake in your frame settled. For the longest moment you remained against him, your eyes staring at nothing and only focusing on the warmth of Doflamingo’s body against yours. 

With a tired sigh you began to pull out of his hold. Now that you’d calmed from the nightmare you decided to let him get back to sleep. Except you stopped when his grip tightened. Silently Doflamingo lay down and kept you against him. “Aren’t you going to ask?”

“I’m no stranger to nightmares.” Doflamingo told you, his fingers moving against your back in similar motions as you had with him when you proved he needed to relax more. “Only talk about it if you want. Or say nothing at all. It’s your choice.”

“Thanks Doffy.” You murmured, your voice already growing thick and in seconds you were drifting off to sleep in his arms.

————

While the nightmare hadn’t been brought up again and even though it didn’t happen again, the consequences of it were evident. For every night that followed, no matter what position you both settled into the two of you would wake fully rested and in each other’s hold; usually with your head on his chest. As always when it came to anything that could be perceived as soft or tender or actions fuelled by emotion, nothing was said about the sleeping arrangements. If anything, you both would merely convince yourselves it was for your own benefit; simply a way to have a peaceful night's rest and nothing more. For you both this was the best way to handle things, to just continue as you both were without looking deeper.

As you sipped at your morning tea you saw the outline of an island slowly come into view, a tiny dot on the horizon. Still far away but now a sign the first stretch of the trip would be over. So far the plan was to attend the party that evening, stay overnight at the host’s lavish estate and set sail in the next day. The time of your departure would depend solely on the hangovers of Doflamingo and the rest of the crew whose tasks involved sailing the ship back home to Dressrosa. You lifted the invitation again and inspected it curiously. There was no real occasion listed so it was an even greater mystery for what you’d be walking into and had no real way to prepare for it all. Still from what Doflamingo had said, it would be a gathering of people similar to him; those holding great power-most not attained morally- some nobility and even a couple royals or rulers of their own islands, others just so insanely rich they may as well have a crown on their head. Adding in the numbers of each guest’s entourage of supporters, bodyguards and fawning dates to make them look good it was most certainly going to be a large affair. Now a thought came to you that you maybe should have asked sooner. “How are you going to introduce me?”

“By your name, obviously.” Doflamingo smirked as he observed you set the invitation down and let out an unimpressed huff. “What other way am I to introduce you?”

“I meant what's my place here?” You asked with a roll of your eyes. “They’re bound to already know the members of your family and will know I’m not one of them. I don’t think you want these people to know you have a soulmate and even if they didn’t believe you to openly call me your soulmate seems…out of character.”

Doflamingo stared at you hard for a few moments. Quickly he moved passed your first remark and settled instead on the discussion of openly calling you his soulmate. You were right, most of the people who would be at this party only had their uses for what Doflamingo could exploit and manipulate out of them for his own profit or entertainment. They had no need for any private and valuable information about the depths of the connection he had with you. Plus a sinister thought crept into his mind; if it was made public knowledge some fool could try and use you to get to him in an attempt to gain the upper hand on him which was something he wouldn’t allow in any capacity. Still you had his mind spinning in another thought. “They don’t need to know you as anything other than my date, just think of it as the same situation when we dealt with our cheating pirate guests only without killing this time. Also, 'out of character’ how?”

“As far as these people know I’m your date, just some random person you’ve brought along to look nice and stop you from getting bored too easily. You don’t strike me as someone who’d remember a one-time date's name passed the next day, let alone call them something as strong as ‘soulmate’ for a pet-name at a party.”

Doflamingo’s laughter built in his chest at your observation. As to the point as your words were, they weren’t spoken to insult or offend him. They were a genuine statement, and a very clear view of him which had its drawbacks. It felt odd to be so seen by someone like this, to be known in this way. You were right, he cared very little for any previous lover or date’s feelings and their names were at best half-remembered the next morning or when he chose to kick them out of his bed when they’d served their purpose. “So what pet-name can I call you?”

“It’s only for tonight, right?” You asked with a casual shrug while lifting the paper to go back to reading it. “I’ve played the pirate’s lover before, remember? Call me whatever you want and I'll play along.” Doflamingo grinned broader and looked out the window at the island in the distance. Tonight was going to be fun. 

——————————————-

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[prettygirl-gabi]

“To the Moon and Beyond” pt.4

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd x Reader (Pazzi x Reader)

Fandom: NCAA Women’s Basketball / WNBA

Warnings: cheating, revenge cheating, eventually in later parts there will be 18+ content (smut, alcohol consumption, strong language), polyamory, public teasing/flirting (in later parts)

Summary: A tangled history of love, heartbreak, and hidden desire leads three elite players into a secret relationship—and the WNBA spotlight.

A/N: yes this is hella long… I got in a groove and couldn’t stop writing… but yeahh enjoy!! This is also one of the longest fics I’ve ever written… will be multiple parts….cause it’s too long for tumblr…

Also thank you @paige05bby for the banner/header

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @imnotkaizer , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 2025 WNBA Draft.”

The venue erupts in applause, a few camera flashes already firing off as families sit up straighter, hands tightening on the backs of their loved ones’ chairs.

I glance back toward Paige’s table — she’s seated now, nestled between Bob and Azzi. Amy’s beaming, Coach Geno leaning in to say something that makes Azzi laugh behind her hand.

It’s a beautiful picture, but even from here, I can see the weight in Paige’s shoulders. The quiet tension in her jaw as the clock ticks down.

Then—

“With the number one pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft, the Dallas Wings select… Paige Bueckers from the University of Connecticut.”

The venue explodes. Clapping, screaming, camera shutters.

Paige’s POV:

My head drops for a second. Not in disbelief—I knew this moment was coming. But it’s reverent. Like I’m praying not to fall apart under the weight of what it means.

Azzi hugs me first. It’s tight. Long. She says something low into my neck and I can’t even register it through the rush in my ears, but it keeps me grounded.

Coach Geno’s next, grinning like a proud dad. He pats my back twice, then holds my arms like he wants to say something else — but doesn’t need to. It’s in his eyes.

Then my dad, pulling me into a tight squeeze.

And my mom. Her hands cradle my face before she kisses my forehead, her eyes glossy. “I love you, Mads.”

“I love you too, Mama.”

But I’m not done.

Before I even take a step toward the stage, my feet veer right — toward the only other table that matters.

She stands the second I approach.

We don’t say anything at first. We just hug. And it’s real — real like everything that’s ever existed between us.

Her lips brush my ear.

“M’so proud of you, Madsy. I love you to the moon and beyond.”

I pull back just enough to whisper, “You’re a reason I’m number one.”

Her eyes water, and I can’t stay in that too long or I’ll lose it completely. So I let go, step back, and head toward the stage.

I pose with the commissioner, jersey held high. Smile locked in place.

But before I even make it down the steps good, I get gently pulled into an interview setup on the side of the stage — Holly Rowe waiting, mic in hand.

“Paige, what does it feel like to hear your name being called as the number one draft pick? What’s racing through your mind right now?”

I laugh, a breath of disbelief caught in my throat. “Umm… just an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Uh, it’s super surreal — just being here with the other draft invitees. My teammates are here, my family’s here. I’m just super grateful. I’ve been focusing on staying present, staying where my feet are… and to be here right now? I’m extremely blessed.”

Holly nods, eyes soft. “You fought through the hardest times to still be here, standing, against all odds.”

I blink, then nod slowly. “Uh, through my faith. Through God’s purpose. Through my teammates, my family.

The coaching staff, the strength and conditioning staff. Everybody’s invested a lot in me. It’s part of me wanting to give back to them — show that I can do better, show them that their hard work helped me get to this stage. I didn’t do it alone. It took a village. So I’m extremely grateful for them.”

“And what about your teammates who came here to support you tonight — how important has this group of women been to your journey?”

That one gets me.

I swallow, blinking hard as my voice tightens. “Uh… they’ve changed my life. Those are my sisters.”

I pause. Just for a second.

“Just extremely grateful for them. I think two teams — or one smart one — should absolutely pick up Kaitlyn Chen and Aubrey Griffin tonight. They’re ready. I believe in them. I love them. And they’re going to be my sisters for life.”

Holly smiles. “Last one. What’s it been like to be drafted the same night as your childhood best friend — someone you’ve played with since your Rec and AAU days all the way through high school? What was going through your mind when you hugged Y/n before coming up here?”

My chest tightens.

“It felt like I was letting go of a breath I didn’t know I was holding in,” I say slowly, honestly. “She’s been a part of my village since day one, basically. And I just… yeah. The distance meant nothing in our friendship — we made it work. And I just love her. To the moon and beyond.”

I smile, blinking quickly as I look over toward her again.

“And I can’t wait to play against or with her in the W.”

The interview ends, and the applause picks up again.

Y/n’s POV:

Suddenly it’s my turn now, and the cameras all pan to me.

“With the number five pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft, the Golden State Valkyries select… Y/n Y/l/n from the University of Southern California.”

Everything else blurs for a second.

I hug my grandma first — her arms trembling as she whispers prayers against my cheek. Then my grandpa, whose voice cracks as he says, “You did it, baby.”

My dad is next, pulling me in like he used to after every high school game, and then my mom — eyes full, hands cradling my face like I’m five years old again.

I soak it in. All of it. Every touch, every tear.

Then I walk toward Paige’s table.

She’s already on her feet, arms wide open.

“You did it, mama” she whispers in my ear the second I’m wrapped in her. Her voice is quiet, thick with emotion. “Go do great things, yeah?”

I nod into her shoulder, eyes squeezed shut just to stay in the moment.

Azzi’s arms come next, folding around both of us for a beat before Paige steps aside.

“One chapter ends. A new one starts,” Azzi says into my ear. “Give ’em hell, baby. You deserve it.”

And then there’s Kiki, grinning with watery eyes, pulling me in for a tight hug that makes me laugh through my tears. “You’re my favorite hooper, don’t tell nobody.”

I finally make my way up to the stage, taking my picture with the commissioner before stepping off and walking straight into Holly Rowe’s interview zone.

The lights are hot. The mic in her hand steady. She smiles warmly as the camera rolls.

“Y/n,” she begins, “first off, congratulations. How does it feel to officially be a Golden State Valkyrie?”

I let out a small laugh, still slightly breathless. “It feels insane. Surreal. Like… something I dreamed about since I was a little girl. To hear my name, to walk that stage, to know I’m repping a team like Golden State—it’s everything. I’m ready.”

Holly nods. “And right before you went up, we saw you hugging Paige Bueckers, Azzi Fudd, and your USC teammate Kiki Iriafen. Especially Paige,” she adds with a slight smile, her tone shifting, probing. “What was it like to have that moment with her?”

The second she says especially Paige, something tightens in my chest.

I blink quickly, trying not to break. But the lump is there.

“It felt like… home,” I say, voice soft, then firmer. “Like everything we’ve been through wasn’t for nothing.”

I glance over to where Paige and Azzi stand watching, arms crossed, eyes full.

“They’ve kept me up when I didn’t think I’d get up. My teammates like Kiki and Rayah, they’ve been some of my biggest pillars at USC. I couldn’t have made it without them.”

My voice starts to catch, and I steady my breath.

“And… and just to experience this moment with such an amazing friend like Paige, it’s surreal. She’s been there for me through the good, the bad, the ugly, and so much more. So to be able to share that hug with her in that moment…” I pause, eyes welling. “It just felt like I was back home.”

Holly gives a soft, yet mischievous smile that only I can pick up on after years of media training. But I can also see the glint in her eyes — the one that means she’s fishing for something.

Something I wasn’t going to give her.

And then.

She tilts her head slightly. “So, earlier tonight, Paige also said something… heartfelt during her own interview. The same phrase you just used, actually: To the moon and beyond. I’m curious — can you tell us what that means to hear those words from her? How does it pertain to the love you two clearly share? And how does it feel to have such a special phrase between the two of you?”

The air stills.

My jaw flexes just slightly. My media training kicks in, but my eyes? They cut daggers.

I smile — calm, warm, but firm. “I think what’s special between Paige and I, or Azzi and I, or really anyone who’s supported me, is just that — it’s special. Personal. Something we’ve built through years of growth, struggle, and love in every form it takes.”

I let the words settle.

“That phrase—To the moon and beyond—isn’t about spectacle. It’s about loyalty. Gratitude. Being proud of the people you’ve walked through fire with.”

And then, softer — deliberate:

“I’m proud of her. I’m proud of us. And yeah— I love her to the moon and beyond.”

The crowd around us claps quietly, moved, and Holly gives a slightly more sheepish nod as the segment wraps.

“Congratulations, Y/n,” she says. “Golden State’s lucky to have you.”

I thank her, walking down the steps.

But as I pass her, I pause just long enough to lean in for a quick, polite hug. Close enough for only her to hear.

“Respectfully,” I whisper, “what you just did was inappropriate. This is an important night, for women, not a time to be messy for a headline.”

And I keep walking — head high, heels clicking, Valkyrie-purple and black draft cap now tilted on my head like a crown.

But by now, as the third round had started most of the crowd has thinned out.

The glitz and chaos of the first two rounds faded into calmer applause, quieter conversations, softer flashes from cameras less concerned with making headlines and more about capturing heart.

I could’ve left by now. Most people in my shoes would’ve. But I stayed.

Part of it was respect — for the women still waiting to hear their names called, still gripping hope in one hand and faith in the other. But mostly? It was because Paige and Azzi hadn’t left yet. And I wasn’t going anywhere without them. Also, their teammates who I’ve became friends with over the years.

I was sitting beside Azzi, my heels long abandoned, barefoot and leaning my head on her shoulder like she’s known me forever. Technically, she kind of has.

Paige’s off doing media — bouncing between interviews and photo ops, still glowing from her number one selection. But I know she’s itching to come back. She always finds her way back.

That’s when the room shifts.

A pause. A slight hush. And then—

“With the 30th pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft, the Golden State Valkyries select… Kaitlyn Chen from the University of Connecticut.”

The reaction her teammates and I is massive. But it’s real, and raw.

Kaitlyn gasps from where she’s seated with her UConn teammates toward the back, hands flying up to cover her mouth, pure disbelief painting every line of her face. The girls erupt around her, jumping to their feet, whooping, hugging, pulling her into a pile of joy and disbelief.

I rise to my feet too, clapping, grinning, and—

“YOOOOO! LETS GOOO CHENY CHEN!”

A familiar voice echoes as Paige comes running full-speed back into the venue from the hallway, her face plastered with a proud mom smile.

“LET’S GOOOO, KAIT!” she shouts, and suddenly she’s in the pile too, lifting Kaitlyn halfway off the ground in a hug so tight it almost knocks them both over.

Azzi’s laughing from beside me, already filming it on her phone. “She sprinted in here like it was a buzzer beater.”

“She’s never moved that fast in transition,” I tease, nudging her.

The joy is infectious, like we’re all breathing in some shared miracle.

And just as the room begins to settle again, another voice fills the speakers.

“With the 37th pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft, the Minnesota Lynx select… Aubrey Griffin from the University of Connecticut.”

The girls, Azzi and I jump to our feet again. Jana was the first to pull Aubrey in a hug.

“I told you. I fuck told you.” She said as she finally let Aubrey go, within seconds, Paige is, grabbing Aubrey in the kind of hug that lifts her clean off the ground too.

More laughter. More love.

The applause hasn’t even fully faded from my ears by the time we’re slipping into the private elevator together—me, Paige, and Azzi, tucked away from the noise and flashing cameras.

Azzi’s got her arm looped around my waist, her thumb gently brushing over the exposed skin of my back. Paige is leaning against the wall, still slightly buzzed from all the emotions and champagne, a soft smirk on her lips.

“You’re really not gonna tell us what you’re wearing to your party?” Paige asks, stepping forward and boxing me in with her arms on either side of the elevator panel.

“You’re both in for a surprise,” I grin, nudging her chest gently with a finger. “You really thought I’d let Brittany dress me like that and not make y’all wait?”

“Brittany won’t even text us back,” Azzi huffs.

“Exactly,” I wink.

The elevator dings, and Paige steals a kiss—soft, sweet, pressed right against the corner of my mouth like it’s instinct.

Azzi leans in next, brushing her lips over my cheek, her voice low and warm. “We’ll see you soon, star girl.”

We split off at the lobby—Paige and Azzi headed to their car back to the hotel to change, and me toward my suite upstairs to get ready.

The private suite smells like body oil and setting spray, the air thick with glam prep and controlled chaos.

My team is already there waiting—my makeup artist starts a completely new look on my face, my nail tech adjusting new rhinestones, and Brittany? She’s holding a glass of champagne and pacing, talking like she’s coaching a championship game.

Halfway through getting changed, my phone lights up.

FaceTime: Paige

I smirk and answer, angling the camera so she only sees my face in a robe and glam half-done.

Her eyes narrow.

“Where’s the dress?”

“Hi to you too,” I laugh, adjusting the robe collar.

“Brittany’s being a vault,” she groans. “Azzi tried calling her and got nothing but ‘no spoilers.’ C’mon babe, just a hint? Straps? Color? Texture?”

I shake my head, smug. “Sorry babe, you both gotta wait and watch to see what your woman is gonna pop out in.”

“That’s so disrespectful,” she pouts. “How am I supposed to survive this?”

“I believe in you,” I wink, blowing her a kiss before hanging up.

Minutes later—

FaceTime: Azzi

I’m in my mini robe and getting a final touch-up on my lips when I answer. Azzi’s hair is slicked up in a bun and she’s in a gorgeous shimmery black dress, but the second she sees me, she squints dramatically.

“What are you wearing?! I know it’s not just a robe.”

Before I can answer, Brittany swoops in from behind, sipping from a flute and wagging her finger in front of the camera.

“Nope,” she says with her full chest. “She didn’t see y’all’s lil outfit change—y’all can’t see hers. I don’t care if she’s y’all’s girlfriend or not. There will be no spoilers.”

Azzi’s mouth falls open. “This is so not fair.”

“You’ll live,” I grin.

With that I ended the call and began getting dressed.

Brittany had helped me change into this black mini that’s doing exactly what it needs to.

Strapless, velvet up top, hugging me just right, and the skirt? Full of these little textured ruffles that bounce every time I move. It’s short—like, “you really made it to the league” short—but not too much. Just enough to feel fun, a little bold.

I’ve got on these strappy heels that make my legs look a mile long, and I’m carrying this tiny leopard-print bag that really doesn’t hold anything but makes the outfit pop. I feel like I could walk into any room and own it. Scratch that—I already did.

“Girl, Paige and Azzi not even ready for you,” Brittany says, turning toward me just as the hairstylist finishes pressing the last section of my wig.

“I already got them looking bad and boujee at Paige’s party, but you? Oh, you ‘bout to make jaws drop. Hell—mine already on the floor and you ain’t even stood up yet.”

I grin in the mirror, watching my reflection morph into something out of a dream.

The wig is immaculate—deep, rich violet with a soft wave to it, edges laid to perfection, giving main character energy and a little bit of what the fuck you gonna do about it?

My hairstylist gives me a final fluff, a nod of approval. “Purple’s your color, babe. You’re giving future MVP.”

I rise from the vanity slowly, deliberately, the velvet mini hugging me in all the right places, the ruffled skirt catching the light with every step I take.

Brittany lets out a full “Whew!” and does a slow, dramatic circle around me like she’s evaluating art. “Yeah, no, you can’t sit with us type shit. You’re giving league legend meets Vanity Fair cover meets… ‘I got your girl and your backup dancer.’”

I laugh, throwing my arms around her. “I’m not even at Paige’s yet.”

“You don’t need to be,” she says, sipping her champagne. “The minute you walk in, the whole place gonna go silent. Azzi gon’ choke on her drink. Paige? Paige is probably gon’ stutter and forget how to function. You about to put every post-game interview she ever did to shame.”

“She doesn’t even know what I’m wearing,” I murmur, smoothing the dress over my hips one more time, heart doing a little dance in my chest.

“And that’s exactly why she about to lose her mind.”

My phone pings.

🦵🏽: “Paige just made me take another shot because you’re not here yet. And we have no idea what you’re wearing. Where are you, baby?”

I smile down at it, thumbs dancing over the screen.

Me: “I be there shortly babe. Tell P to pace herself. I need her upright.”

🦵🏽: “No promises. But hurry. We need you.”

My breath hitches a little, heart fluttering under the weight of her words.

I close my clutch, give my wig one final fluff, and turn to Brittany.

“Time to go turn parties upside down.”

Brittany flashes her teeth. “Let’s go, Valkyrie.”

The bass thumps steady beneath my heels as I step further into the private lounge, lights dimmed low, champagne already bubbling in glasses, and my name etched in silver across a custom neon sign hanging above the bar.

Y/N Y/L/N — Valkyrie Made.

It’s surreal. All of it.

My after party’s buzzing—friends from USC, family from back home, even a few familiar faces from the league who’ve come to show love.

Cousins are off in the corner doing some version of a victory dance to whatever DJ is spinning. My mom’s laughing with my aunt, both holding cocktails, and my dad? He’s already found the dessert table. Classic.

Every hug, every toast, every flash of a camera feels like a quiet you made it.

I check my phone for the fifth time in ten minutes.

Paige sent a photo earlier—her in a white linen shirt left half open, a chain glinting at her collarbone, a drink in hand, Azzi leaning into the frame mid-laugh. Wish you were here, the caption said. You look like a star tonight.

I smiled so hard I had to step away from the bar.

They’re still at Paige’s official draft party—bigger venue, fancier crowd. UConn royalty everywhere. I told them I’d stop by later. I wanted this first—my people, my space, my moment.

But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t counting down until I could be in Paige’s arms again.

For now, though?

I toss my head back and laugh at something my cousin shouts over the music. Someone’s uncle tries to breakdance. High school friends and I are screaming along to Nicki lyrics.

And I just let myself exist in this joy.

Drafted. Loved. Alive in the moment.

Tonight, I celebrate everything.

And soon, I’ll go celebrate her.

And her, too.

Because lucky me?

I got both.

The driver pulls up outside the venue, for P’s party, a velvet-rope affair in downtown Brooklyn, camera flashes already popping as we step out. But the moment I walk in?

It’s like the air changes.

The bass is deep, sensual—SZA’s “Used” thumping through the walls—and heads turn instantly. My dress, my skin, this hair. My Golden State Valkyries cap from earlier is still in my clutch, and I slide it on backward as I walk through the crowd, owning it.

Azzi sees me first—nearly drops her drink, eyes bugging out as she grips Paige’s arm like she just saw Beyoncé.

“Oh my God,” she breathes.

Paige turns.

Freezes.

Then stares.

Like I just stepped off the cover of a fantasy she’s never dared say out loud.

Mouth parted, eyes locked on mine, shirt still half-open, gold chain glinting at her collarbone.

“Holy shit,” she whispers.

Then louder. “Holy. Shit.”

Azzi’s fanning herself. “Paige, are you breathing? You good?”

She leans back and really looks at me then—eyes widening like she’s seeing me for the first time tonight.

Paige blinks like she forgot how to be a functioning adult. “She’s wearing black. Her hair is purple. What the fuck. What the—who let her walk in like this?”

Her gaze dragging down my body and back up with exaggerated reverence. “I—uh. Yeah. No. You ate. Like. I’m not okay.”

“I told you,” Brittany cackles from behind me, brushing invisible lint off my shoulder. “Didn’t I say she’d go feral?”

Azzi nods, still fanning herself. “Feral. Unhinged. That’s the look.”

I grin, tugging a strand playfully. “Thought I’d give the people drama.”

Paige’s jaw is on the floor.

“You—” she tries, stepping toward me, hands already reaching. “You look—Jesus, come here.”

And suddenly I’m in her arms, being spun once, twice, her lips pressed to my jaw, her breath hot in my ear.

“I’m gonna have to fight someone tonight,” she murmurs. “You cannot look like this and expect me to act normal.”

I smirk. “Baby, you were never normal around me.”

She grins, eyes shining with that familiar softness—drunk off champagne and love and me, apparently.

“I’m so happy,” she murmurs, breath fluttering into my hair, voice breaking a little. “God, I’m so proud of you. You looked so beautiful tonight—like stupidly beautiful. And I kept thinking, that’s my girl, that’s my f—fuckin’ girl, and no one can say a thing ‘cause you’re magic, and you did it, and you stayed, and you always show up, and I just…”

Her breath stutters against my collarbone. I tighten my arms around her.

“I love you,” she says quietly, with that Paige kind of conviction that leaves no room for doubt. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Madsy,” I whisper back, barely holding the tears. “To the moon and beyond.”

She sniffles, hiding it with a laugh as she pulls Azzi into the hug too, her arms wrapping around the both of us.

“I don’t even know how I got so lucky,” she says, voice cracking again. “Y’all stayed. Through everything. You never let go. Thank you. I’m never gonna stop being thankful.”

We stay like that for a long moment, a little pile of love in the corner of the world, before Paige suddenly smirks and grabs for my hat.

“Trade with me,” she says.

So we switch—my Golden State Valkyrie SnapBack lands on her head, tilted to the side with cocky Paige energy, and her Dallas Wings cap ends up on mine, turned backward.

The perfect contrast: her softness, my fire.

Azzi cackles beside her. “She’s been speechless since you walked in. I’ve never seen Paige malfunction in real time.”

“One more word and I’m taking her to a dark corner,” Paige mutters under her breath, and I pretend not to hear the chaos in her voice.

One too many shots in, and a blur of tequila later, I’m in the middle of the dance circle, losing every last shred of chill to Get It Sexyy by Sexyy Red.

Paige’s Dallas Wings SnapBack is still turned backward on my head, and my mini dress? It’s making its case for fit of the night as I drop it low, knees bent, back arched, ass bouncing to every beat.

Slim thick, caramel skin, 5’5”, this bitch a ten (yeah)

Hair done, bills paid, catch me slidin’ in a Benz (vyoom)

The circle is hyping me up like it’s a damn arena. Azzi is losing her voice, Paige is grinning like she’s watching a miracle unfold, and Kk is literally fanning herself.

Lili is recording the entire moment on her little digital camera like it’s 2005. Somebody starts throwing dollar bills like we’re in Magic City.

And I am thriving.

I shake, drop, twerk to the floor—turn around and give them the look over my shoulder that makes Paige’s jaw damn near hit the ground.

Azzi hands me a shot, and I take it like a pro, licking the salt off her hand and winking at her before tossing it back.

Then Paige disappears.

A moment later, she’s at the DJ booth. I know that energy. I know what she’s asking for.

Then the beat drops.

Practice by Drake.

I spin, eyes wild. Paige’s doing this on purpose. She knows what that song does to me.

I grind into the beat like the track was written for my hips, my body pulsing with the rhythm. I see Paige watching—biting her lip, shirt halfway undone now—and Azzi? She’s behind her, laughing, whispering something in her ear that makes Paige tilt her head back.

And then—

Paige walks over, holding a shot.

She grins. “You’re not drinking this unless it’s from my mouth.”

Gasps. Cheers. Screams. The whole party goes feral.

I raise an eyebrow. “Only if you do one with Z. And then Z does one with me.”

The circle erupts.

Challenge accepted.

Paige pours the tequila into her mouth, steps up to me, and kisses me—slow, hot, deep—letting the shot flow into mine. I swallow, lips lingering on hers, breath caught in my throat.

Next, Paige does it again, but with Azzi this time. Azzi giggles into it, a little shaky, a little buzzed, her fingers curling into Paige’s shirt as the liquor passes between them.

And then Azzi turns to me, eyeing me up and down as she takes a shot glass from Paige.

Her hands are on my hips as she leans in. She pours the shot in her own mouth, and next thing we’re mouth to mouth. The tequila burns but her kiss softens it.

When we pull apart, we glance toward the circle—

Paige is standing there in absolute shock, jaw slack, blinking like she just witnessed her first lesbian porn in real life.

Ayanna and Aubrey are fanning themselves, literally fanning, shouting over each other:

“WOW—”

“Did that really just happen?!”

“Play that back—I need an instant replay.”

I throw my head back laughing as Paige runs both hands over her face like she needs divine intervention.

“Jesus,” she mutters, “I am so going to hell.”

Before anyone can make it worse, Azzi claps once. “Alright, lovebirds. Time to slide.”

“To where?” I ask, breathless from laughing.

Paige grabs my hand. “Upstairs. We reserved the rooftop. And there’s a jacuzzi with our names on it.”

Azzi hooks her arm around mine on the other side. “And there’s dessert. And more tequila. And vibes.”

We make our way to the elevator as a trio, laughter trailing behind us like confetti, Paige still occasionally glancing at me with that same stunned look.

Right before the doors close, she nudges me softly and whispers, “I wasn’t kidding about the corner thing.”

I smirk. Raising my eyebrow. “Mm really.”

Azzi sighs. “I swear, if y’all start making out in the pool again, I’m bringing a Super Soaker.”

“Do it,” I tease. “We’ll only make it worse.”

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[steddieas-shegoes]

hit the showers

for @steddiesportsau prompt 'locker room'

rated e | 2,042 words | cw: public sex but they don't get caught | tags: established relationship, modern au, hockey au, college hockey players, soft dom eddie munson, sub steve harrington, praise kink, blowjobs, coming untouched

🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒🏒

There is a certain kind of silence that only happens after a tough loss.

The championship game should’ve been theirs. They put it all on the line, sometimes more than they really had to give.

The refs were missing calls left and right, but calling every possible penalty on them. Biased may not even be the word to describe the way they so clearly worked for the other team to win.

Steve is definitely the most upset, staring down at the floor still fully dressed except for his helmet. Everyone else is undressing, packing their equipment bags, leaving the locker room quietly.

Eddie keeps his eyes on Steve the entire time he gets changed.

He knows what Steve’s doing.

He’s replaying every moment of the game, every shift, every pass, every shot on net, every whistle. He’s thinking about what he could’ve done differently, wondering if one small change could’ve led to a win.

Eddie knows it wouldn’t have mattered. They were meant to lose this game.

He knows what Steve needs.

He waits for the room to clear out, telling their equipment manager he’ll make sure to lock up when he can get Steve out. It’s not the first time he’s done this, so Robin doesn’t think much of it.

She’s seen it all already; Nothing he says or does would give her pause.

He counts to 60 just to be sure they’re alone. He doesn’t hear anything in the hall. There’s some music in the distance, but it’s probably the other team celebrating. They won’t come in here.

He sinks to his knees in front of Steve, placing his hands on his thighs. He’s stripped to just his underwear, can still smell the sweat layering his skin and Steve’s.

“You did good, Steve,” he says slowly, carefully. Sometimes it’s hard to read how quickly he needs to hear it, even when he knows Steve better than he knows himself. “You made us proud. Made me proud.”

Steve whimpers, shakes his head.

Eddie’s grip tightens. “Look at me.”

He does.

“See? Always good for me.” Eddie knows he’s about to push, maybe a little too hard. But that’s why they have rules, safewords. “You’re gonna repeat after me.”

Steve nods, but he knows this is hard for him. They’ve only done it a few times, and he had to use his safeword once. He’s gonna take it easy, though.

“I did the best I could,” Eddie starts.

Steve swallows. “I did the best I could.”

“I was a great teammate and captain.”

Steve shakes his head and closes his eyes. Eddie reaches under the pants and pinches at a small patch of skin. He whines.

“I was a great teammate and captain.”

“Good boy,” Eddie praises. Steve thrives off of praise, even outside of this. “This next part might be harder, but I know you can do it.”

Steve’s eyes are glassy, but less like he’s going to cry and more like he’s sinking, falling into Eddie’s protection despite the fight he usually puts up when he’s so upset.

“I am better than any player on that team.”

As expected, Steve hesitates with this one. Eddie reaches down to unlace his skates slowly, waiting patiently. He knows Steve will repeat it eventually.

He’s removing the tape from his socks when Steve’s breath catches. He looks up.

“I’m better than any player on that team.”

Eddie grins. “That’s my boy,” he leans up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “One more.”

Eddie stands up and helps Steve stand from his bench. He unties his pants and starts to push them down his legs, helping him step out of them.

“I deserved to win that game.”

Steve doesn’t repeat it. Eddie waits. He pulls Steve’s jersey over his head and gets his chest pads off. They’re both standing there mostly naked, sweaty, disappointed in their night.

Eddie cups his face in his hands. “C’mon, sweet love. You can say it.”

“We deserved to win that game,” he finally says, barely more than a whisper.

“That’s not what I said, is it?” He asks. Steve bites his lip. “Tell me exactly what I said, baby.”

“I deserved to win that game.”

Eddie can feel him shivering, can see how flush his neck and chest is. He’s beautiful, even when he’s struggling.

“We all did deserve to win. But you understand why you specifically deserved it?” Eddie continues before Steve can answer. “You kept pushing yourself and all of us even when we lost hope in the second period. You never showed any doubt that we would win, not even in the last minute when we were still down three goals. This whole team would follow you into war if you asked. Losing the game today says nothing about your leadership except that we’ll be able to come back better next year.”

A tear falls down Steve’s cheek. Eddie doesn’t usually let himself get emotional when he’s trying to be strong for Steve, but he can’t help letting the tears well up in his own eyes. He rubs his thumb across Steve’s cheek.

“I love you and I’m proud of you,” he finishes with.

Steve sobs and falls forward, his forehead hitting Eddie’s shoulder, almost painfully. If Eddie wasn’t used to Steve’s weight already, the force might have knocked him over.

He holds him as he cries, waits for him to calm a bit on his own before he does anything else. Sometimes he has to take it slow, sometimes it’s more of a help to let Steve lead. They’re in no real rush. The rink will be open for another few hours and they’re sharing a room at the hotel. If Steve wants to cry for the next hour, Eddie will let him, will hold him through it all, will cry with him.

“It’s not fair,” Steve finally says, minutes later when his breathing has mostly returned to normal and his voice sounds a bit more stable. “We were the better team.”

“Yeah, we were,” Eddie agrees. “But you and I both know sometimes the better team loses.”

“Why did it have to be now?” Steve turns his face into Eddie’s neck, sighing as his shoulders relax. “Why us?”

“I wish I knew, sweetheart. We did our best.”

Steve is quiet for another few minutes, and Eddie almost thinks he’s somehow managed to fall asleep standing up. Just when he considers trying to pick Steve up and set him on the bench, he kisses his neck and pulls back.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“For what?”

“Always knowing what I need.”

Eddie kisses his lips softly, barely more than a peck. Steve tries to deepen it, but Eddie holds him away.

“Are you sure you wanna do that here? Now?” Eddie wants him to focus on where they are, and how he’s actually feeling. He may think he wants the distraction, but Eddie won’t let him make a decision he normally wouldn’t just because he’s feeling upset about the loss.

“Can I make you feel good? Please? I can be quick,” Steve begs. He always sounds so good when he begs. Eddie can’t resist it, can’t resist giving him everything he wants.

“If you can make me come in five minutes, then you can do whatever you want,” Eddie allows.

Steve drops to his knees with a moan. He’s gotta be a little sore from the game, especially after a pretty rough check in the third. He loves being on his knees though. Eddie once kept him there for a few hours, his cock in Steve’s mouth for most of it. He was meant to be there, between Eddie’s legs, licking and sucking him until he couldn’t help but fuck into his mouth.

He’s quick to pull Eddie’s underwear down, wrapping a hand around his half-hard cock and leaning forward to lick the tip.

Eddie knows it won’t take long; He’s already getting harder from his breath hot against his length and his tongue swirling around the head. They’ve never cared much about lasting long. What feels good, is good.

Steve swallows most of his cock and he knows he’s done for. Steve looks up at him with wide eyes, knows exactly what he’s doing by blinking slowly and moaning around his length.

“Fuck, such a good boy. Should always be on your knees,” Eddie groans out. “You’d love that, huh?”

Steve moans again, the vibrations sending shockwaves through Eddie’s entire body. He can’t tell if Steve’s hard, but he’s sure he’s enjoying this even if not. Steve really does love being on his knees.

“Know you would. You love being down there, love when I use your mouth, too,” Eddie rambles on. Sometimes even his impressive self-control loses a filter. “Want me to fuck your mouth now?”

Steve nods, forcing himself to take all of Eddie’s cock. He chokes for a second, but Eddie knows he’s fine. He blinks up at him, tears in his eyes for a different reason now.

“You’re so beautiful,” Eddie gasps as Steve pulls off of him for air. “Gonna use your mouth, fuck you until I come, okay?”

Steve opens his mouth and tilts his head back enough for Eddie to feed his cock back inside, slowly at first so Steve doesn’t choke again. He laces his fingers through Steve’s hair, pushing further until he hits the back of his throat.

Steve whines. Eddie groans.

“Ready?” He asks, even though he knows Steve’s ready.

Steve taps his thigh once as a yes and Eddie pulls out and fucks forward a few times slowly, maddeningly slowly. It drives him crazy to take his time, but he knows it drives Steve crazier.

He moves faster, making Steve take his entire length with every thrust. It’s loud and wet, and Steve’s spit is getting everywhere. He looks beautiful like this. He looks like Eddie’s.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come already,” Eddie pants. “In your mouth or on your face?”

He tugs Steve off of his cock, wincing at the cold air hitting him. He tightens his grip in his hair to make Steve focus.

“Mouth, please,” he finally says.

Eddie gives him what he wants.

It only takes a few more thrusts for him to come down Steve’s throat, his legs shaking as he tries to hold himself up as Steve swallows it all. He feels lightheaded, though it’s probably also a bit from dehydration.

“Thank you,” Steve sighs, resting his head against Eddie’s thigh.

“Thank you,” Eddie says with a laugh. He sits on the bench and pulls Steve into his lap. Steve’s dick is soft, but sticky. “You came from making me feel good? Fuck, you’re so good.”

They kiss lazily for a couple minutes, both knowing they aren’t going to do anything but rinse off in the shower and head out after. They can take a longer shower at the hotel, grab dinner with the team, and get some much needed sleep.

Eddie’s sure Steve’s parents have already called and left a message on his phone, something about how they wish he could have scored more, they’re proud of his accomplishments but hope he can do more next year, whatever other bullshit they like to spout that leaves Steve stressed for days. He knows his Uncle Wayne probably called and left messages for them both, telling them how proud he is of them and how he can’t wait to see them win it next year.

The rest of the team will be cooled off by the time dinner rolls around, everyone back to relaxing and joking around, getting excited for next season for those who aren’t graduating. Steve and Eddie will be seniors next year, both getting their degrees in teaching, though Eddie’s has a music focus.

Hockey is what brought them together, both rookies on a shitty college club team for their Freshman year. They both helped the team move up a division, and won the championship their sophomore year before they moved a division again. They were the favorites to win this year, but sometimes that’s not enough.

What is enough is knowing that they’ve got each other, and another shot next year, and a future they’re both looking forward to regardless of losing this game.

[maxwhathappened]

price tag

Lando Norris x reader

warnings: none!

summary: Lando buys you an expensive gift, but you struggle to let him spoil you.

word count: 1.5k

You were going to the FIA awards and Lando was set to win. You were beyond proud of him. You had given Lando a gift before you left Monaco. It was a painting of him kissing his trophy after his first win. You had it commissioned from an artist you found on instagram and framed it for him. It wasn’t much, but it was the best you could do. You, unfortunately, didn’t have a job that paid you millions. 

You just finished getting ready for the evening when Lando walked up behind you. He wrapped his arms around your waist while you looked yourself over in the mirror. Your hands went to cover his, holding them in place. Lando leaned down and pressed a kiss to your jaw before he spoke in the soft tone he reserved for you. 

“Come sit with me. I have a present for you.”

“A present for me?” You asked. “Lan, this is your night.” 

“Yeah, and I like to do things for you,” he replied. You chuckled and followed him out to the couch where a velvet box was sitting on the coffee table. The hotel room was big. They always were when you stayed with Lando. He got the penthouses and suites. There were usually more beds than you needed, but Lando didn’t care. He always wanted to provide you with the best.

You sat down on the couch. Lando picked up the velvet box and held it out to you. He was looking at you with a bright smile across his face. You glanced up at him with panic rising in your chest. The size and velvet on the box alone told you its contents weren’t cheap. 

“Open it,” he requested. You took the box from him. It was heavy. He grinned as you opened it. When you lifted the lid you revealed a necklace. The whole chain was covered in diamonds and three large sapphires were hanging off the diamond chain. You gasped. 

“You like it?” He asked. You were staring down at it with your mouth hanging open. You looked up at him with wide eyes. 

“Lando, I can’t take this,” you told him. 

“I want you to have it,” he responded. 

“It’s too much.” 

“It’s not,” he started to assure you. 

“Lan, look at this,” you said and gestured to the necklace. “It must have cost a fortune.” 

“It doesn’t matter what it cost,” Lando said simply. He knew you struggled to let him spoil you the way he was able to. He never really understood it. He did his best to keep things modest for you most of the time. He knew it was what you preferred. He couldn’t help it this time though. He’d walked into the jewelry store to daydream about the engagement rings he could get for you, but when he saw the necklace behind the counter he couldn’t leave it behind. 

“Lando…” You whispered. “This is—” You started to protest. Lando sat down beside you. 

“It’s not too much, and you can take it, love,” Lando said. “Please. Wear it tonight,” he practically begged. A tear fell from your eye. He noticed and quickly wiped it away with his thumb. “Baby?” He called to you softly. “What’s this about?”

“Lando, you can’t give this to me,” you told him. 

“Why?” He asked. “You know I’m good with my money. I wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t reasonable,” he said. 

“Reasonable?” You chuckled. “This has to cost more than some houses.” 

“It doesn’t matter how much it was, love. And I’m not going to return it.” 

“I feel bad, Lan,” you started to protest. 

“You don’t need to feel bad when I spend money on you, baby,” he told you. “It’s not the same for me.” 

“That’s exactly the problem, Lan!” You told him. “You buy me all these beautiful things. You take me all around the world and pay for everything and I—” You paused. “I can’t do anything like that for you.” Lando was quiet for a moment.

“That’s what it’s been about this whole time?” He asked. 

“Lando, I barely have anything. The only reason I can get you any decent gifts is because you pay for everything else” 

“I’ve loved everything you’ve ever given me,” he assured you. “I don’t care how much the things you buy me cost you, and you shouldn’t care how much the things I buy you cost me,” he said. 

“That’s not fair, Lan,” you tried. “It’s not the same.”

“Baby, you are the only person I’ve ever dated that doesn’t want me to buy them expensive things,” Lando said. “And it’s nice. It made me feel good the first few times because I knew you weren’t with me for my money.” He took your hand. “But we’ve been together for years now,” he said. “I want to give you things like this.” 

“I just feel bad that I can’t do things like this for you,” you said. Lando put the necklace on the coffee table. He pulled at your hands and made you look him in the eye. 

“Don’t feel bad. I’m with you because I love you,” he said. “Not because of anything you’ll ever buy me.” You started to open your mouth to protest. “And,” he continued. “You’ve given me better gifts than anyone ever has,” he said. 

“Lan, you used to date that millionaire supermodel,” you said. 

“Yeah, and she just bought me a Rolex whenever she got me something.” 

“Just a Rolex,” you said. “One is more than everything I’ve ever given you.” 

“I don’t care. That painting was beautiful. I’d rather have that than a Rolex any day,” he said. “How is that a bad gift?” 

“It barely cost $100,” you said forlornly. 

“I’ll see it everyday and it’ll make me smile every time,” he said. “You’ll only be able to wear the necklace a few times a year.” Lando saw that you were still struggling with it. “Darling,” he called. “Look at me.” You met his eyes.

“Lando, I can’t,” you protested. 

“You can,” he said. “You deserve it,” he said. He sighed when you didn’t respond. “I’m gonna tell you something, but you need to know it’s because I want you to take this.”

“What?” You asked quietly. 

“I never bought anyone a gift half as nice as this,” he said. He saw the mortified expression beginning to spread over your face. “When I got them things they always wanted more from me,” he said. “Nothing I ever got them was enough, because they knew how much I have.” He pushed your hair behind your ear. “You have been terrified every time I spend any money on you. You try to pay for dinners. The people I dated before didn’t even pay for the gifts they bought me.” You screwed your eyebrows together, confused at the concept of buying someone a gift with their money. “You have put thought into everything you have ever given me. My parents barely even do that anymore,” he said. 

“I just—I’ll never be able to get you anything even close to this,” you said.

“When we get married we’ll have one bank account. You won’t be able to tell anymore,” he said. You were quiet. 

“When we get married?” You asked with a smile. Lando chuckled. 

“I suppose I’ve still got to convince you into it.” It was quiet for a moment–a pleasant silence. “Take the necklace, please,” he begged. You looked into his eyes and saw just how bad he wanted you to do this. 

“No more fancy gifts for a year,” you instructed him. Lando smiled softly. “Normal things. Things I could buy you.” 

“If that’s what you want,” he answered. 

“Cross your heart,” you ordered him. He chuckled before raising his hand and drawing an X over his heart. 

“No more fancy gifts for a year,” Lando promised. “Now let me help you put it on.” He took the necklace from the box. You turned so that he could wrap the necklace around your neck, clasping it together. You turned back to face him once he’d gotten it locked. He smiled brightly. He nodded towards the mirror. 

“Go take a look,” Lando told you. You went towards the mirror. You looked at yourself, gasping at the sight of something so grand around your neck. You raised your hand, gently running a finger over the center gem. Lando stepped up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “It looks pretty on you.” 

“It looks pretty in the box,” you said with a laugh. 

“You like it then?” He asked. 

“Lando, anyone would like it,” you told him. 

“You’re not just anyone,” he said. 

“I like it,” you assured him. “It’s beautiful, Lan. Look at it.” 

“It’s hard to look at it when I can look at you instead,” he flirted. 

“Nobody else is going to have that problem,” you replied. 

“I don’t think that’s true but it’s alright with me,” he said. “Don’t really want anyone looking at what’s mine anyway.”

divider @sweetmelodygraphics

[p0orbaby]

can u do r and lessi being in the gym together and less won’t stop teasing and annoying reader

i switched this around because it fit what i was going for better. hope you don’t mind !

-

The gym is air-conditioned within an inch of its life, but Alessia is still sweating. Proper athlete sweating, the kind where her cheeks are flushed and her hair’s falling out of its ponytail in damp little wisps. She’s in a matching navy-blue set that makes her look like she’s about to film an Adidas advert, and you’re doing absolutely nothing to help.

You’re sitting cross-legged on a yoga mat in the corner, sipping from a water bottle you don’t need because you’re not the one working out. You’re on holiday, after all. Alessia’s the lunatic who insisted she needed “just an hour” in the gym, despite the private beach literally shimmering outside.

“What exactly are you training for?” you ask, watching as she bends forward into some sort of stretch that’s objectively impressive but mostly just funny.

“Pre-season,” she says through gritted teeth, reaching for her toes. “Fitness doesn’t take a holiday”

“Oh, that’s inspiring.” You take another sip of water, just to make a point. “Maybe Adidas should use that. Fitness doesn’t take a holiday, but your girlfriend will”

“Don’t you have something better to do?” she asks, glaring at you from under her sweaty fringe.

“Not really. This is pretty entertaining”

She ignores you and moves to the weights section, picking up two dumbbells that look unnecessarily heavy. You watch as she starts a set of bicep curls, her form perfect, of course, because she’s Alessia Russo and nothing she does is ever less than perfect.

“Nice guns,” you say, resting your chin in your hand. “Bet you could carry all the shopping in one trip”

“Do you want me to throw this at you?” she asks, but there’s a flicker of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

“You wouldn’t. You’d miss me too much when I’m unconscious”

She rolls her eyes and moves to the resistance bands. She hooks one around her foot, stretches it, and starts some sort of kickback movement that you can’t take seriously because it looks absurd.

“Are you trying to win a world title or auditioning for the Rockettes?”

That one gets a laugh, though she tries to cover it with a cough.

“Seriously, Less, you’re on holiday,” you continue, leaning back on your hands. “Why are you torturing yourself in here when we could be doing literally anything else?”

“Because I don’t want to lose momentum,” she says, switching legs.

You tilt your head. “Is that what you call it? I call it masochism”

“Shut up”

“You know, I’m proud of you, babe. Really. But if you fall over in those squats, I’m recording it”

She pauses mid-rep to glare at you, and you grin innocently.

When she finally finishes her workout, she’s glistening like a Greek statue come to life. She tosses the resistance band onto a bench and strides over to you, towering above where you’re still sitting like a particularly lazy house cat.

“You done?” you ask sweetly, looking up at her.

“Yep,” she says, and without warning, she reaches down, grabs your hands, and hauls you to your feet in one swift motion.

“Alessia!” you yelp, stumbling into her chest.

She smirks, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Thought you could use a break , seeing as you’ve been sitting there running your mouth for the last hour.”

“I am pretty tired,” you quip, though your heart is pounding slightly from the sudden closeness. “Do you know how much effort it takes to keep up with you?”

She laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Come on, lazy. Let’s hit the beach”

“Finally,” you say, though you secretly think she looks ridiculously good in that gym kit and you might not mind her dragging you back here tomorrow.

[thehothcast]

just a game

pairing: gregory house x reader

synopsis: with wilson as an older brother, he can be protective over who you date, so naturally you pretend to date his best friend. the only problem? his best friend is gregory house, who's never taken anything seriously in his life... until now.

word count: 4.6k

warnings: none hopefully!!

message from the authors: thank u for all the love on our last house one shot! we hope we've done the house girlies proud <3

--

You stormed down the hospital corridor, heels clicking sharply against the floor, your jaw clenched so tightly you thought your teeth might crack.

Wilson had done it again.

Another lecture. Another guilt trip. Another “I’m just trying to protect you” speech about how you deserved better than House.

You didn’t even want House, your brother picking up a strange epiphany that you did. After years of living under his well-meaning but suffocating “advice,” something inside you snapped.

You didn’t need nor want his permission to live your life.

“Trouble in paradise?” House’s voice drawled lazily from behind you. You didn’t have to turn around to know he was smirking like the smug bastard he was.

You whirled around, eyes flashing. “Go to hell, House.”

His smile widened. “Touchy. What did big brother do now? Refuse to tuck you into bed?”

You glared at him, chest heaving. Normally, you’d give as good as you got but today, House’s insufferable needling sparked an idea.

You stepped closer, so close he had to tilt his head slightly to look down at you.

“Actually,” you said sweetly, “he told me I’m not allowed to date you.”

House blinked. And then grinned, slow and sharp, like a wolf who’d just spotted a wounded deer.

“Well, well, well.” he murmured. 

You exploded. “It’s ridiculous. He acts like I’m still fifteen.”

House leaned heavily on his cane, tilting his head thoughtfully. “So… date me.”

You let out a laugh. “In what universe would I ever voluntarily date you?”

He smirked. “Not really date me. Fake date me. Think about it. You get to stick it to Wilson.”

You stared at him, stunned by the audacity, before asking “What’s in it for you?” your voice low.

“I get to make Cuddy jealous.” House said smugly, “She sees me with someone else, in this case with you, and she realises she wants me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And what makes you think I’d even consider this ridiculous plan?”

House leaned in just a fraction closer. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial murmur and his eyes gleamed with mischief. “Because you want to make a stance, show your brother that Wilson junior doesn’t want to be bossed around by him.”

You folded your arms, heart thudding harder than it should have. This was insane.

Petty. Dangerous. Stupid.

And yet… the idea of watching Wilson squirm by proving you could make your own damn choices was too tempting to resist.

You studied him. His face was open, or as open as House ever got. Smug, but also serious. He wasn’t joking.

“Ground rules,” you said finally. “No real feelings. No getting weird.”

House pressed a hand to his heart in mock solemnity. “Scout’s honour.”

You hesitated for one more breathless second, knowing full well you were about to make the worst decision of your life.

And then you stuck out your hand.

“Deal.”

House grinned before clasping your hand, his grip warm and firm.

“Deal.”

Somewhere deep down, a voice whispered that this wasn’t going to end the way either of you expected. But it was already too late.

–

You tugged at the hem of your dress, nerves buzzing under your skin as you stood outside the hospital’s charity gala.

You couldn’t believe you’d agreed to this.

You spotted him before he spotted you.

House was leaning against the wall by the entrance, cane resting against his thigh, arms crossed. His navy suit was rumpled like he hadn’t bothered to have it pressed, tie half-assedly knotted. Somehow he still managed to look maddeningly good.

Your stomach flipped. You blamed the champagne.

He caught sight of you and froze, just for a second. His eyes raked over you. Slow, assessing, lingering just a second too long at your legs.

You smirked. “Pick your jaw up off the floor, House.”

He recovered instantly, grin sliding into place. “You clean up alright. Almost convincing.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the heat blooming under your skin. “Let’s just get this over with.”

House pushed off the wall and limped toward you, he leaned in, voice low, “Remember, sweetheart, if we’re going to sell this, you have to look like you want me.”

You shot him a withering glare. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He smirked wider. “Flattered? I’m terrified.”

Before you could fire back, he grabbed your hand and just like that, you were tangled together, stepping into the glittering ballroom like a couple drunk on love instead of spite.

The moment you entered, heads turned.

You could feel Wilson’s gaze snapping toward you from across the room, his eyes narrowing in pure disbelief.

Cuddy froze mid-sentence, her eyes darting between the both of you.

It was working.

House squeezed your hand gently, a signal to play it up.

You plastered on your sweetest smile and leaned into him, your hand resting lightly on his chest. His heart thudded under your palm, too fast.

Was he nervous too?

“If you keep looking at me like that, we won’t last an hour here.” he said, just loud enough for Wilson and Cuddy to hear.

“You’re a menace,” you murmured.

He bent down, lips brushing the shell of your ear. He bit back a grin, “So are you.”

The rest of the evening passed in a haze of too-long glances, lingering touches, and whispered insults disguised as flirting.

You danced once, badly. House’s limp made it awkward, but neither of you let go.

Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was the way House’s fingers splayed at the small of your back like he didn’t want to let you go.

Whatever it was, by the time Wilson cornered you both near the end of the night, you almost forgot you were faking.

“You’re kidding me,” Wilson said, looking between you, his voice low and furious.

You blinked innocently. “Problem, Jimmy?”

House slung an arm lazily around your shoulders. “We’re together,” he said with a straight face. “Deal with it.”

Wilson’s jaw worked like he was physically restraining himself from throttling House on the spot.

“I’m serious,” he said, pinning you with a look. “This, whatever this is, it’s a mistake.”

Something twisted in your chest. You opened your mouth, but House beat you to it.

“She’s an adult, Wilson,” he said, voice suddenly harder. “Maybe it’s time you let her live her own damn life.”

For a second, pure shock flashed across Wilson’s face. Then he turned and stalked away, fists clenched at his sides.

The second he disappeared, House’s arm dropped from your shoulders. The air between you shifted; charged, uncomfortable, intimate.

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

“That went well,” you said lightly, trying to keep your voice steady.

House didn’t answer right away. When you finally risked a glance, his blue eyes were fixed on you not mocking, not smug. Serious. Searching.

Your breath caught.

Then he smirked again, the mask sliding back into place.

“You owe me a drink for putting up with that,” he said.

You laughed, relieved and disappointed all at once. “Fine. But only if you buy the first round.”

He lifted his hand in a mock salute.

“Deal.”

You walked side by side out of the ballroom, the distance between you too small, your hearts hammering a little too hard.

–

The gala was over and the champagne buzz had faded.

But the heat of House’s hand against your back still burned through your dress long after you climbed into the passenger seat of his car.

The drive back to his apartment was quiet and heavy with unspoken things. You should have gone home. This wasn’t part of the plan.

But when he raised an eyebrow and muttered, “You coming in, or what?”

You found yourself following him inside without a word. The door clicked shut behind you and for a second, neither of you moved.

The apartment was dim, lit only by the streetlight spilling through the window. It smelled like coffee, old leather and him.

House limped over to the couch and collapsed into it with a long groan, tossing his cane to the side. He rubbed his thigh absently. You recognised the signs: the wince, the tight jaw, the way he shifted like he couldn’t find a comfortable position.

The pain was worse tonight. Maybe he’d overdone it dancing with you. Guilt prickled under your skin.

You took off your heels and walked over, perching cautiously on the edge of the couch beside him.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

House snorted. “Peachy.”

You didn’t buy it. You never had.

Before he could deflect with another sarcastic remark, you reached out, hesitantly, and rested your hand on his knee.

He tensed immediately, like you’d burned him.

“Don’t,” he muttered, voice rougher than usual. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

He looked away, jaw tight.

Without thinking, you slid closer, your hand moving up to his hair. You threaded your fingers through the soft strands at the back of his head and began stroking gently, a slow, comforting motion.

House froze. You half-expected him to shove you away, to make a crude joke, to ruin the moment like he always did.

But he didn’t.

He sat there, silent, breathing raggedly, as you stroked his hair.

His head tipped forward slightly, just enough that his forehead rested against your shoulder.

The world shrank to the steady rise and fall of his chest, the heat of him against your side, the way his hand came up, almost reluctantly, to rest against your thigh.

You stayed like that for a long time.

When his breathing finally evened out, you realised he’d fallen asleep against you, vulnerable in a way you weren’t sure he’d ever allowed himself to be before.

Your heart ached in your chest.

Because you weren’t faking anymore.

And you were pretty sure he wasn’t either.

–

The next morning, you walked into the hospital with the distinct feeling that something had shifted, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

Last night had been a blur of emotions and unspoken words. You’d left House’s apartment in a daze. There was that undeniable closeness that you couldn’t quite shake. But you had left with no words, no explanation. Just a quiet exit, and a part of you wished you could forget how it felt to be so close to him. But you couldn’t.

And now, you were back at work, as if nothing had happened. As if you didn’t both know that the lines had been blurred in a way neither of you had prepared for.

You weren’t sure what had happened between you two. But whatever it was, it was hard to ignore. You’d tried to push it down, bury it beneath your professional exterior, but it wasn’t working.

Walking through the hospital, you could feel his presence before you saw him. It was like he was always a step ahead, like he always knew exactly where you were, even in a sea of people.

And then you saw him.

House was standing by the nurses’ station, hands casually shoved into his pockets, a half-smirk playing at the corners of his lips. His eyes found yours almost immediately, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to stop.

You stopped too, swallowing back a rush of nerves you hadn’t been expecting. 

“Good morning,” you said, forcing your voice to stay steady.

“Morning.” he replied with his usual nonchalance.

“Looks like you’re not late for once,” you quipped.

House raised an eyebrow, giving a mock gasp of shock. “Oh, please. Don’t tell me you missed me.”

“Not even a little,” you said, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to walk past him with as much confidence as you could muster.

But he wasn’t letting you go that easily.

“Well, you didn’t miss me last night, that’s for sure.” His words were quieter now, laced with a bit of that familiar edge that always seemed to catch you off guard.

You froze. What did he mean by that?

The tension was palpable, and before you could respond, you heard a voice behind you.

“Well, well, well. Look at the happy couple,” Wilson said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. You turned to see him standing with Cuddy, both of them watching you and House with knowing smirks.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice cool but your pulse racing.

Cuddy crossed her arms, looking between you and House. “You two,” she said with a shake of her head, “We know you’re just playing a game.”

Wilson stepped forward. “Cuddy’s right. You’re acting like you’re together to prove a point, okay we get it, I shouldn’t meddle like I do-”

You cut him off, “We’re not-”

But before you could finish, House cut you off with a grin, one that sent a strange rush of warmth through you.

“This isn’t a prank, we’ll show them,” he said, walking over to you with surprising confidence.

Before you had a chance to react, he grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you into him with surprising force, his lips crashing against yours in front of everyone.

It was fast, messy, and unexpected, but it wasn’t a mistake. It was deliberate. And you kissed him back, because you couldn’t help it. The world around you disappeared, and for those few seconds, all you could feel was him.

When he finally pulled away, both of you were left breathless. The silence that followed was deafening, and you found yourself at a loss for words. House’s eyes were on you, intense and almost vulnerable?

Wilson and Cuddy were staring at the two of you, their expressions a mix of surprise and amusement.

“Okay,” Wilson said, a little too sarcastically, “I guess you two are officially together now.”

You didn’t look at him. Instead, you kept your gaze on House, and for a brief moment, the air between the two of you seemed to hum with unspoken words.

–

The next few hours passed in a blur. Your interactions with House were carefully guarded, and you both acted like nothing had changed. But you both knew. The kiss had meant something more than either of you were willing to admit.

And when the day ended, and you found yourself alone in your office, the reality of what had just happened hit you all at once.

You wanted him. There was no denying that now. And the kiss had only confirmed it.

But now, you both had to figure out what to do with all the feelings you were pretending weren’t there.

It had been a few days since the gala, and you and House were still playing the “pretend” game. At work, there were the usual fake smiles, subtle hand brushes, and the occasional fleeting gaze that seemed to carry more weight than it should. You’d catch yourself laughing a little too loudly at House’s dry humour, or finding your gaze lingering longer than you intended when he wasn’t looking. Every time, you’d remind yourself: It’s just a game. It’s just a game.

But the problem with that was neither of you really believed it anymore.

–

Later that day, House was in the hallway of the hospital, walking toward Wilson’s office. He knocked on the door, and Wilson, who had clearly been expecting him, waved him in.

“Sit,” Wilson said casually, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk. House took the seat, immediately slouching back and crossing his arms.

“What is it, Wilson?” House asked, his voice guarded.

Wilson raised an eyebrow. “I need to ask you something, and I want you to be honest.” He leaned forward, looking at House with intensity. “You and her, this thing you’ve got going on, you know it’s not just some game anymore, right?”

House stiffened, trying to mask the sudden tension in his body. “What are you talking about?” His voice was sharp, defensive.

Wilson sighed, exhaling loudly as if to emphasise how obvious it all was. “I’ve seen it, House. I’ve seen how you two interact. I know why she did it, she was teaching me a lesson. And rightfully so. I’m still unsure of what was in it for you, knowing you, I actually don’t want to know. But you’re not fooling anyone. And you’re not fooling her either.”

House tried to laugh it off, but there was a slight tremor in his voice. “It’s just a game, Wilson. You know I don’t do relationships.”

Wilson smirked, but there was no amusement in it. “Yeah, but you’re doing something. I can see it. Hell, I think she can see it too.” His gaze softened for a second. “You’re not pretending anymore, House. It’s not just for show. So stop lying to yourself.”

House ran a hand through his hair, visibly uncomfortable. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. He knew Wilson was right. He did care. But he wasn’t ready to admit that to himself.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” House muttered, looking away. 

Wilson’s expression softened. “Just don’t mess it up.”

House didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The truth was sinking in, but he wasn’t ready to face it.

After the conversation with Wilson, House left the office, feeling like the walls were closing in. He walked to the labs, lost in thought. The words Wilson had said kept echoing in his mind.

He reached the door to the lab and paused. Taking a deep breath, he pushed it open.

You were sitting at the desk, absorbed in your work, not expecting him. When you looked up and saw him standing in the doorway, confusion flickered across your face. You opened your mouth to say something, but House didn’t give you the chance.

Without a word, he stepped in, closing the door behind him. You barely had time to register what was happening before he was right in front of you. His hand cupped your face gently, his eyes searching yours for a moment, as if trying to read something that wasn’t there.

And then, without warning, he kissed you. It was sudden, intense, as if everything he’d been holding back was finally crashing down. For a moment, you forgot to breathe, your body stiffening with surprise. 

And then, as quickly as it had started, House pulled back, leaving you breathless and confused. His gaze softened, just a fraction, before he stepped away.

And with that, he walked out of the lab, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, trying to make sense of what had just happened. 

–

The days following the kiss were some of the most confusing of your life. House had kissed you, but since then, he’d barely acknowledged your presence. You tried to let it go, he was probably regretting it, and you couldn’t blame him for it. So, you stayed quiet. You didn’t push him. But every time your eyes met, you could see it, the cold distance that was now between you. It stung more than you cared to admit, but you weren’t going to chase him. Not this time.

A few days later, when you were expecting to head home after a long day, House was nowhere to be found. You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal, but the empty feeling didn’t quite go away.

House was sitting on his couch, staring blankly at the TV. The room felt empty, almost like a reflection of his thoughts. He'd been doing a great job of avoiding you, but every second alone, every moment without distraction, was like a reminder of what he'd done, and what he didn’t want to face.

The doorbell rang, pulling him from his thoughts. When he opened the door to find Cuddy standing there, he didn’t even have the energy to send her away.

“What do you want, Cuddy?” His voice was flat, but she didn’t give him a chance to get the words out fully before stepping past him, entering the apartment uninvited.

“I think you know why I’m here,” she said, her eyes scanning the room before landing on him again.

Before he could say anything, Cuddy closed the distance, pressing her lips to his with an urgency that took him by surprise. For a moment, House was too stunned to pull away. But then something inside him snapped, a realisation hit him like a train. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t what he wanted.

He broke away, standing up quickly, his hands trembling as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I don’t want this.”

Cuddy didn’t pull away at first, her expression unreadable. “What? I assumed your little stunt was aimed at me.” she asked, her voice softer now, but still firm.

“I know, I'm sorry, I wanted this, but now I’m not so sure,” House said, his words raw and unfiltered, though he wasn’t sure how to explain it to her.

–

The next day at work, House was still reeling from the mess of emotions that Cuddy’s kiss had stirred up. He didn’t want to think about it, but as soon as he entered the clinic, he saw you again and this time, you were talking to someone new.

The new doctor, about House’s age, was leaning over the desk with you, smiling a little too widely, saying something that made you laugh. He was way too familiar, way too comfortable.

House slowed his steps, watching the scene unfold with growing irritation.

“You know,” the new doctor said, flashing a grin toward you, and toward the rest of the team as if he wanted to make sure everyone heard, “Dr Wilson’s a real catch.”

House, without missing a beat, raised an eyebrow and shot back dryly, “Head of oncology and a catch. Yeah, been trying to get on that for years.”

A couple of nurses nearby chuckled awkwardly, used to House’s relentless sarcasm.

The new doctor laughed too, but then nodded directly at you. “No, that Dr Wilson.”

House’s smirk faltered. For a second, he just stood there, blinking, as if trying to process what he’d just heard. The new doctor didn’t seem to notice; he was too busy leaning closer to you, his voice dropping to a low, flirtatious tone.

“She’s the whole package,” he added, loud enough for the whole room to hear. “Smart, beautiful, intimidating, honestly, you’re making it hard for the rest of us to concentrate.”

You looked back at him, amused but still professional, not rising to the bait. But House could feel the surge of annoyance tightening in his chest. His jaw tensed, but he said nothing, just turned and stalked off before he could say something truly reckless.

But one thing was crystal clear: he didn’t want anyone else anywhere near you. Not anymore.

–

You were curled up on your sofa when the knock came at your door.

Frowning, you pushed yourself up and padded over. It was late, too late for visitors, but when you opened the door, there he was.

Gregory House.

Looking awkward. Looking almost uncertain.

He stood there for a second, one hand shoved deep into the pocket of his jeans, the other gripping his cane tightly, shifting slightly on his bad leg.

You leaned against the frame, folding your arms. “…So is there a reason you’re here? Or are you just planning to lurk on my doorstep all night?”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, with zero preamble, he blurted out,

“I kissed Cuddy.”

The words hung there in the air, heavy and stupid. You blinked at him, expression unreadable.

A beat of silence.

Finally, you said, voice cool and tight, “Am I meant to congratulate you? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

House opened his mouth, closed it, then scrubbed a hand through his hair in frustration.

“No,” he said finally. “I thought it was. I thought if I kissed her, everything would click into place.”

He let out a rough laugh. “Instead… I kissed her and all I could think about was you.”

You stared at him. The world tilted slightly.

He shook his head like he hated himself. “I don’t want her,” he said, voice low. “I don’t want the idea of her. I want you.”

You swallowed hard, heart pounding so loudly you could barely hear yourself think.

Without a word, you stepped back and opened the door wider.

An invitation.

House hesitated only a second longer before limping inside. You shut the door behind him, your fingers lingering on the handle to steady yourself.

He stood in the middle of your living room, looking utterly wrecked, like he was waiting for you to yell at him or tell him he was too late.

But you crossed the space to him slowly, deliberately.

“You really think this was ever just a game to me?” you said softly, voice trembling. “Because it wasn’t.”

His breath caught. His hands hovered awkwardly like he didn’t know whether to touch you.

You didn’t give him the chance to second-guess it. You kissed him.

It was messy and desperate and so charged with everything you’d both been too scared to say. He stumbled a little into you, grabbing your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear. When you finally pulled back, both of you breathing hard, House pressed his forehead against yours.

“No more deals,” he murmured. “No more pretending.”

You nodded, smiling a little through the emotion clogging your chest. “No more pretending.”

This was real. It had been real for a long time.

–

It wasn’t like you and House made some big, dramatic announcement at work.

You didn’t need to. It just changed. Subtle at first, the way he lingered when he handed you a file, the way your eyes softened when he made some ridiculous, sarcastic comment.

The team caught on pretty fast. Foreman smirked knowingly. Chase placed bets with Cameron about how long it had been going on. Cuddy pretended she didn’t notice, but you caught her smiling once when House stole a pen from your pocket and didn’t immediately give it back. But Wilson, he was the one you were really worried about.

You were halfway through reviewing a case when he knocked gently on your office door and slipped inside.

You looked up, heart pounding slightly. House was somewhere causing chaos as usual.

Wilson closed the door behind him. He didn’t look angry. Or even surprised.

Instead, he just gave you a small, tired smile.

“I’m happy for you,” he said simply.

You blinked, caught off guard. “You are?”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

“I should have known it was inevitable. You two… you make sense in a weird, terrifying kind of way.”

He hesitated, then added, “Just, promise me you’ll be careful with each other, okay?”

Before you could respond, there was a loud knock, and House sauntered in like he owned the place.

Wilson turned to him, expression sharpening just slightly.

“And you,” Wilson said, crossing his arms. “If you hurt her, I swear to God-”

“Oh, please,” House interrupted, rolling his eyes. “You’re, what, gonna saw through my cane again?”

Wilson just raised an eyebrow.

House’s smirk twitched but then he glanced at you, and the smartass bravado slipped for a moment, just long enough to let the real feelings show.

“I’m not going to hurt her,” he said quietly.

Wilson nodded once, apparently satisfied. Then he clapped House on the shoulder, hard, and left, muttering something about needing coffee.

House turned to you once the door closed. “Think he’s gonna make us get matching T-shirts? ‘Wilson’s Favourite Couple’?”

You laughed, getting up from your chair and crossing the room to him.

“No shirts,” you said, poking him lightly in the chest.

He grinned before kissing you, pulling you into his arms like he never wanted to let go.

And for once, for the first time in a long time, Gregory House was exactly where he wanted to be.

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ [COME UNBOUND HERE] ❞ — NSFW ; MDNI!

pairing: hotch x fem!bau!reader. summary: “completely self-reliant, you really don’t need me at all, do you?” in which hotch gets completely pussy whipped after seeing you taking down an unsub. content warnings: making out, foul language, sex, unprotected p in v with no mentions of birth control (no breeding kink just lazy writing), sub!hotch if you squint, switch!reader, nipple play, scratching, lip biting, THEY FUCK ALRIGHT. MDNI, this is a 18+ fic. word count: 1.7k a/n: requested by @mischiefmoons and her godsent filthy mind. i donnnt prooof read shiiiit.

      Aaron wasn’t one to admit to having a type, sure, he knows it’s human nature to look for similar traits when choosing partners throughout life, but he was a romantic at heart  (and a sweet talker at that!), he secretly enjoyed keeping the magic of just love alive, and more than that, he simply adored the way you would roll your eyes and laugh cruelly at him, your palm hitting his arm in a light slap each time he told you his type is you. 

      Truthfully though, most of that was all talk from his sweet soft spot for you, everyone knew exactly his type. 

      He couldn’t help but fall for confidence, every time someone confident and beautiful laughed at his terribly dry jokes he would feel his lungs tighten up, that was definitely one of the first things that made him so drawn to you, the fact you were so funny and incredibly gorgeous resulting in his everlasting love and downright depraved lust for you. 

      Today though, Aaron found out another trait of his ideal type: Could easily overpower an unsub before himself could even get to his ankle holster for his gun, before he could even try to protect you. 

      Your competence was never a question, an SSA like the rest of the team, twice a year having no problem at all in your evaluations. But you were a liaison, you stayed put unless extremely necessary to have the whole team out, your experience level wasn’t the same. 

      He did all he could to have your back, even before you started sharing hotel room beds, but hearing the man in front of him whine in pain after you twisted his arm, the sound of at least one of his fingers cracking at your strength as you pushed him to the floor… You definitely didn’t need him to have your back, you did it yourself pretty well. 

      He’s surely proud, but what floods his mind really, what is now burnt to his brain, what has probably changed his whole body chemistry at this point is the way your body moved to do it, your pants clinging more to your thighs, your breasts moving with your fast heart rate, your open cleavage blouse doing nothing to help his train of thought, nor did the hint of a grin in your lips as the unsub succumbed to your grip, complaining about the pain you were so easily causing. 

      Focus on the job, focus on the case, he tried hard to while he passed his handcuffs to you, but fuck, how could he when you looked so unbelievably sexy doing something he has seen so many people do before?

      How many times has he licked his lips in the past 20 minutes? He has lost count, but it's the only way he has to ignore the way his mouth is drying at how aroused he was about to be if he didn’t control himself. If he didn’t focus on anything else. 

      A few meditating breaths and unpleasant thoughts did the work for him, getting his priority back on track: The case was still going as far as he was concerned. It wasn’t done until the BAU got back to the hotel. 

      His avoidance to you at the precinct, not even catching him glancing as you worked didn’t strike you as odd, you were used to him needing his space and completely unaware of his conscious effort not to think of you. 

      It’s a happy surprise when you hear his well known knock on your door not even half an hour after arriving at the hotel, his lips gluing to yours immediately, his hands strong in their hold of your face as he kicks the door closed.

      You grin into the kiss, not at all opposed to how famished he seems for you, even though you don’t understand where it came from you more than willingly follow his lead, reaching for his waist under his clothing. The cold of your fingers causes him to whine and you can’t help but take advantage of that to sink your teeth to his lower lip just the way you knew he liked it. 

      Aaron guides you to the bed, but unlike many times before where he would lay you down, his weight deliciously on top of you, he sits on the edge, the back of his knees touching the mattress, shoes kicked off just before. He pulls you to straddle him, his lips only leaving yours to touch the skin you had exposed: Your neck, your cleavage. His hands making sure to sink you harsher on this lap anytime you stopped moving against him even if for a second, his fingers sinking on the flash of your waist. 

      You have to ask, you have to know what’s gotten into him (so you might do it more in the future) and he stops his actions to stare at you, eyes dazed with lust, lips swollen from the way your mouth worked his, cheeks flushed pink like it always got when he was hot.

      “Do you not have any idea of how… Alluring you looked today doing all that?” He’s breathless as he speaks, his tongue is back to your neck before you can reply or tease his choice of words. Your head falls lightly behind as you try to contain at least some of your whimpers. Hotch does no such effort, lucky his mouth is busy as you wet both of your pants with arousal, the feeling of his cock swelling up under you as addictive as ever. 

      You pull him closer by his tie, your mouth brushing against his ear before you spoke just so you could feel the way your warm breath made him shiver. 

      “All that what?” He doesn’t respond, busy taking your blouse along with your bra off, his sheer force able to break off the clasp without much effort. You force your body onto him, half for the so needed friction your nipples begged for, but mostly to get him to lay down on the bed. “All that what?” You repeat yourself, needing to hear him say it. Your hands strongly keeping his on your waist and not an inch up. The sight of your bare tits alone enough to make him try to get more friction from you, unconsciously rutting up. 

      “Confidently taking a man down with your bare hands, maybe?” Aaron’s reply pleases you and you let go of his hands, helping him take his dress shirt, his tie and the annoying white tank top keeping you away from scratching his stomach, “Completely self-reliant, you really don’t need me at all, do you?” He says teasingly just as you gasp to the touch of his calloused fingers to your nipples, working both at the same time. 

      You could honestly come just from that (and you have before, noticing how sensitive your nipples are has been a gift to him that kept on giving), but you wanted more. You palm him through his slacks, wet from his precum and your own fluids. “Wouldn’t say that, I do need you to help me with these,” you point to the bothersome remnants of clothes in the way and he has the audacity to chuckle, as if he wasn’t as desperate as you. “Because as soon as we are free of them, I can ride you the way you’re just begging me to.” Aaron can’t keep his groans contained, your crude words going straight to his dick in a way only you were able to. It was a mess of fingers unbuttoning, unzipping and hands quickly working to get rid of the slacks and underwear restricting you both. 

      He helps lining his cock to your entrance, but not before teasing pressing his tip to your clit, causing you both to moan, you’re as wet as you always are for him, sinking him into you all at once and the whimper leaving Aaron’s mouth is just sinful, completely at your mercy. 

      You set the pace and he lets you, one hand on your thigh, the other gripping one of your tits in a way he would leave not just marks, but a whole handprint. You loved it, your nails giving his chest crescent moon shaped marks and scratches all around his torso. 

      “Aaron–ple–put your fingers to work.” You skip the begging, the please, knowing that’s not what he wants today, you’re busy moaning his name as your pace goes to a faster rhythm to say much else, but he obeys, deliciously using one of his thumbs to draw circles over your clit, following your lead, moaning as you clenched around his cock, your wetness loud against his finger and his pelvis. 

      You were about to come, the imminence of your orgasm making your toes curl, “Fuck me, Aaron, hard… And fast.” You manage to say, not wanting to slow down and knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep up. 

      It’s like he’s been waiting for it, for your orders, and he turns you around, his weight over you as he follows your words. Hard and fast. His own pleasure building up as you helped him prop one of your legs up on his shoulder, you felt like you were melting under him, going between grabbing the sheets and his flesh as you squirmed for him. 

      The noises are relentless at this point, and if the walls of the hotel are cheap everyone will be able to hear his name leaving your lips like a prayer, his whimpers getting stuck in his throat and the skin to skin slapping as Aaron brought you both to orgasm, his cum going inside of you without a question, his forehead touching yours as he drops your leg and fucks deep and slow into you a few more times so you both enjoy the climax as long as possible. 

      “Fuck, I definitely need you for these as well.” Your tone is full of tease, referring to the orgasms he gave you seemingly effortlessly. 

      Aaron hums, his eyes already closed the minute his body reaches the bed, pulling you to his chest. “Then, I shall pretend you like me for more than my body and sleep here tonight.” He’s joking and would sleep cuddling you either way, so you don’t bother replying. 

      But god, you love him. You love him.