#and my friends walked me to and from my car | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

norrisainz33 · 1 day ago

Text

itll be ok || ln4

summary: the aftermath of jeddah when you weren't able to be there

pairing: lando norris x famous!reader (well established relationship)

warnings: hurt/comfort vibes. sad lando. bad language. also pls ignore time zones

a/n: the triple header hurt my feelings so here we are. this is def self indulgent but ln4 nation we rise again in miami

word count: 2,264

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ⠀

you hurriedly threw your purse onto the couch of your new york city hotel room, barely noticing it bounce off the cushions and hit the floor with a dull thud. you turned on the tv with a quick press of the button, eyes immediately scanning for the familiar graphics of the f1tv broadcast.

it was saturday. quali day. and you were supposed to be soaking in the high of your final press tour stop, wrapping up interviews, meeting fans, attending industry dinners but your mind was thousands of miles away on a brightly lit street circuit in jeddah where lando was gearing up to push his car to the limits.

you had regretfully missed q1 and q2 due to back-to-back press obligations and a delayed ride from the studio which meant you’d only just now had a chance to sit down. but your heart leapt the moment you saw his name still on the leaderboard.

“ok,” you mumbled, kicking off your heels and letting them clatter to the floor. you crawled onto the bed, still in your dress, makeup smudged and hair sticking to your temples from the whirlwind of the day. the moment your head hit the pillow, your eyes didn’t left the screen.

q3 was underway. the camera panned across the glittering circuit, engines roared and you held your breath every time the papaya blur of lando’s car flashed by. he was on a flying lap, the screen showing purple sectors and strong exits.

then everything changed.

"lando norris into the wall!” one of the commentators cried, his voice rising sharply in alarm.

your heart stopped. “no, no, no, no -- NO!” you gasped, your voice cracking as you lurched upright in bed.

the screen cut to replay footage - dust and sparks, the slow-motion horror of carbon fiber shattering and his car spinning. you didn’t even register the gasp that tore from your throat. your hands flew to your mouth, eyes wide, breath shallow.

the camera zoomed in on the wreckage of the car and time completely froze.

every second stretched unbearably long, each one twisting your stomach into tighter knots. panic rose like bile in your throat, your chest aching from how hard it was to breathe. your mind spiraled with worst-case scenarios — what if he was hurt? what if something broke? what if?

then finally, mercifully, the shot changed. a figure moving and a radio message letting you know he was ok.

you let out a sob of relief, half-laugh, half-cry, as tears pricked your eyes. you clutched a pillow to your chest, body trembling from the adrenaline.

“ok” you whispered to no one, tears running down your cheeks. “ok. he’s ok.”

you repeated the words to yourself like a mantra as if saying them enough times would calm the tremble in your fingers or the ache in your chest. but the truth was, you only knew he was physically ok - walking, standing, uninjured but mentally was a whole different story.

lando was his own harshest critic. he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders all the expectations, the pressure, the comparisons and this triple header had been relentless and unforgiving. you’d heard it in his voice on every late night call, seen it in the way his texts had grown shorter, more tired, less like him. he hadn’t said it out loud but you could feel it: he wasn’t in a good place and it pained you to not be there for him.

you looked down at your phone which lit up with a flurry of notifications. texts from family, from friends, from people on your team, all asking the same question in different ways.

is lando ok? just saw quali. jesus. is he alright? are YOU alright? let me know if you need anything.

but your eyes only searched for one message and found it. it was from the ln4 admin who was one of the few people you trusted who was with him this weekend.

they’re taking him to the med tent. he is ok, y/n/n. i promise.

you clutched your phone to your chest for a beat, exhaling shakily. you wanted to be there. more than anything, you wanted to be there to hold him, to brush his curls off his forehead, to tell him that it was ok to not be ok. that he didn’t have to be strong for everyone all the time.

but instead, you were stuck in a hotel suite with tear-stained cheeks and a breaking heart in a place that felt a million miles away, waiting for the one person you wanted to comfort to call and let you do just that.

minutes passed. then hours. and you were still curled up on the edge of the bed when your phone finally rang.

lando. you answered before the second ring.

“lando?” you breathed out, trying to keep your voice steady. “baby, are you-"

his voice cracked before you even heard words. “hi.”

it was barely a whisper, strained and small and so far from the confident, easy tone he usually had. he sounded like he’d been holding back tears and had finally stopped trying.

“oh, lan,” you whispered, your heart breaking all over again. “talk to me.”

“i just -” his breath caught, and you could hear the tremble in it. “i’m so tired, y/n/n and i know the season just started but i don’t know what’s wrong with me. i don’t feel good in the car. i don’t feel like me right now.”

“you’re just burnt out my love. this season started off so quickly and you've been going nonstop for weeks. you’ve had so much thrown at you. it’s okay to feel off. that doesn’t mean something’s wrong with you.”

he let out a shaky breath. “i hit the wall like a rookie. like a fucking rookie. and everyone’s watching, waiting for me to mess up. i can feel it. and I keep trying! god, I’m trying so hard! but nothing feels right right now.”

the silence on the line stretched, heavy with the weight of all he wasn’t saying. you knew this part of him. the part that hated letting people down even when he hadn’t. the part that pushed and pushed until he had nothing left to give.

“lando,” you said softly, tears falling again. “you don’t have to be perfect. you never had to be perfect to be loved. not by me. not by your team. not by anyone who really matters.”

he sniffled on the other end of the line. “i wish you were here.”

“i know. me too baby.” you sighed. “i’d give anything to be there, to hold you and remind you how proud I am of you. not because of a quali or race result but because of the man you are, on your worst day and your best one.”

he didn’t say anything for a moment but you could hear his breathing which was slower now, steadier.

“i love you,” you whispered. “no matter what. no matter how fast the car is. no matter what the headlines say. I love you.”

there was a pause and then a soft, broken laugh. “you always say the right thing.”

“i'm just telling the truth baby.”

A long silence followed and you could hear him getting himself into bed. eventually lando spoke again, his voice still raw but quieter now.

“can you stay on the phone? just until I fall asleep?”

you laid back down on the bed, curling up with the phone pressed to your ear like a lifeline. “of course baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

and you didn’t. not even when the line fell silent and his breathing evened out. you stayed right there, whispering sweet nothings into the dark, tethering him to peace. because even if you weren’t in jeddah, you’d always be right there when he needed you.

after the race the next day, where lando had an incredible recovery drive going from p10 to p4, you had finally made it back to your shared apartment in monaco. you checked the time on your watch and let out a sigh. lando should be home in a few hours too but lando didn’t text when his flight landed. he didn’t call when the car dropped him off either. you only knew he was home when you heard the familiar rattle of keys in the bowl by the door and the soft thunk of his suitcase being set down in the hallway.

you were curled up on the couch where you had fallen asleep waiting for him in one of his quadrant hoodies. you sat yourself up and kicked the blanket you had been wrapped up in off. and when he finally stepped into the living room, you could see it all written across his face - the exhaustion, the weight, the sadness still lingering behind his eyes.

he didn’t say anything. he just looked at you.

you were on your feet, crossing the living room in a heartbeat, arms wrapping around his shoulders as he buried his head in your neck. no hesitation. no pretending. just him, finally home and finally letting go.

“i'm sorry for not texting” he mumbled into your neck, voice cracking.

“you don’t have to be,” you whispered, hugging him tighter. “you’re here. that’s all that matters.”

you felt him nod against you but he didn’t move. just stood there clinging to you like you were the only thing holding him together. eventually, you guided him to the couch letting him lay across your lap as your fingers gently combing through his curls as the silence stretched.

he stared at the ceiling for a while before finally speaking. “i'm scared,” he admitted softly, like saying it out loud might break him. “Iim scared I’m not good enough. that something’s changed. i keep doing everything right but… it still doesn’t feel like enough. i don’t feel like me in that stupid car.”

“you’re allowed to feel that way,” you murmured. “you’re not a robot, lando. you’re human and humans get tired. they get overwhelmed and make mistakes. they crash but they also get back up.”

he swallowed hard as he looked up at you. “everyone keeps telling me I’m doing great. that I should be proud but all I can see are the mistakes. the podium and top steps I've missed. the pressure I’m putting on everyone else.”

you leaned down and pressed your lips to his forehead. “you are doing great but it’s okay if it doesn’t feel like it right now. you don’t have to be proud today. i’ll be proud enough for the both of us.”

lando’s hand found yours, threading your fingers together, grounding himself in the way your thumb traced lazy circles on his skin.

“i don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispered.

you smiled, “good thing you don’t have to find out.”

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ⠀

a/n: thanks for reading! likes and reblogs are always appreciated.

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ⠀

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

420 notes · View notes

asxgard · 2 days ago

Note

I absolutely loved your In the Wreckage, but I can’t help but wonder what your thoughts about roles being switched and it were Robby instead of Jack. Logically, I know they’re different people who’d be in the same situation, but I wonder what his reaction would be. (Like I’m thinking they hooked up a couple times after PittFest, and Robby completely dismisses her after he starts to catch feelings.)

This doesn’t have to be a fic (unless you want to do one…), but I’d love to just catch your thoughts on the subject.

Thank you!! So in the wreckage actually inspired a short multi I’m planning for Robby! Currently planning on calling it casual, based on my current vague outline lol.

My thoughts are:

A Fresh Start | one shot

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!nurse!reader

[ Masterlist ]

Note: I intended for this to be a quick drabble lol whoops

Word Count: 1.3k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content.

Warnings: afab!reader, ex-situationship, implied age gap, foul language, hurt/comfort, mild references to smut, unplanned/surprise pregnancy, not telling robby about said pregnancy (reader being in the wrong oof), single mom!reader, hospital settings, medical inaccuracies, mild injury to a friend, angst with a happy ending, fluff

not beta read

You had not intended to show up in the ER of your previous employer, but there you sat in the waiting room while your friend was escorted into the back. Beth had tripped and taken a nasty fall while you two were out to lunch, ripping a gash open on her arm.

Your toddler fussed in your lap, having been dropped off by your babysitter who had been unable to stay home with him. You thought about leaving briefly, if it hadn’t been for the fact that you had used your friend's car to get you both to the Pitt. You resigned yourself to wait a bit longer.

McKay’s friendly face greeted you when she called for the family or friends of Beth’s. You stood to greet her with a small smile. You hushed your son while he gurgled, grasping onto the necklace that hung low on your neck.

“Hi, Cassie, how are you?”

She smiled warmly, “I’ve been okay. It’s been forever! I didn’t know you had a son.”

Your eyes moved to your son and you smiled, “Relatively new thing, he’s about to be ten months old.”

“Well, congrats.”

Beth sat on the edge of her bed, hand stitched up. She was waiting for discharge paperwork.

Your luck seemed to sour as Robby walked by, catching sight of you and stopping short. You had left quite some time ago, crushed under the pressure of a situationship that didn’t seem to be going anywhere. Robby had buried his feelings in the warmth of you and you had tried to believe it was enough.

His eyes settled on the child in your lap, then back to you. Shame flushed through your system.

You had never told Robby you had gotten pregnant after you had fled. Part of you was hurt that it never really worked out, ashamed you hadn’t been more careful, and overall panicked when the test results had come back positive. After Pittfest, Robby seemed in no place to truly care for himself, let alone a baby.

So you kept it to yourself.

One glance at his son, and it was like he knew. Those brown eyes could only be his.

You set your son onto the gurney next to your friend, whispering a quick, “Gotta go to the bathroom!” before rushing to meet Robby in the hall. You held each other’s gaze for a long moment.

“Please tell me that’s not—that you didn’t—“

“Robby, let me explain.”

His wide eyes met yours, mixed with a terrible panic and a painful, reserved sadness. He grabbed your arm and pulled you into an empty room a few paces from where Beth’s had been.

“Is he mine?”

You swallowed, “Yes.”

His face scrunched up like you had slapped him.

“Robby, I was leaving this job anyways. You were—fuck—you were bad. I couldn’t throw a baby into that mix with you.” You said in a whisper, then almost as an excuse, “It wasn’t like we were serious.”

He winced, “Don’t you think that was my decision to make?”

You clenched your teeth and tried to swallow your tears.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

Guilt stewed in your stomach, and your face scrunched up as you began to cry.

“I—I don’t know.” You were able to get out. “I kept putting it off…and then the longer I did, the harder it became.”

He stepped away from you, running a hand down his face, blinking away his own tears. He took a few deep breaths before looking back at you.

“I’m so sorry, Michael.” You told him, taking a hesitant step forward. “I didn’t really think about how my decision might make you feel, and I’m really sorry. I clearly made the wrong choice.”

“What’s his name?”

“Matthew.”

“Matthew.” He repeated, like he was testing it on his tongue. “I—I—”

“Do you want to come by after your shift? Meet him properly?”

“Yes, please.”

—

Robby’s anger came in bursts, flared whenever you referenced something from before he had known, like he was always ready to accuse you of the time he lost out on. You could hardly blame him, though you still felt like your choice to leave him had merit.

When you learned he was now in therapy, your own doubts began to quiet. Perhaps he would be able to do it and not run away, or be emotionally distant from your son.

“I can’t really change the past, Robby. I would if I could. I fucked up, I know that.” You said, trying not to yell.

Matthew was sitting in the other room, on his playmat, completely unaware of the tension that sat between his parents. You needed to keep it that way.

“I can’t ever get that time back.” He said, tone hard.

You frowned, “I know that.”

Silence echoed between you, stiff and uncertain. Guilt clawed up your throat.

“Maybe he could stay with you this weekend.” You offered lightly, hoping you might bridge the gap.

There was no official arrangement between you as Robby steadily got to know his son, not wanting to force anything, or rush a bond. However, Robby began paying for the daycare without asking, and turned his guest room into a bedroom fit to Matthew’s needs.

He blinked at you while he processed your words, “Really?”

You nodded, though tears burned the back of your eyes. “He needs to get used to this place being his home, too.”

Robby was stepping forward to hug you before you even registered that he had stepped toward you. Despite the fact that he could be a very physical lover, he rarely was physically affectionate with you outside of the bedroom back when you had been sleeping together before Matthew had been born.

So the arms wrapped around you spoke volumes of his gratitude.

—

It was roughly half a year later that Michael had completely softened, and told you he forgave you. You had been lingering more often at drop offs, and Michael found any reason to stop by your apartment. It felt like something was beginning to spark at a fire that had grown cold.

Though, in his wandering gazes and lingering touches, you realized the embers had always been there. They had never gone anywhere, just simply slipped into hibernation.

It felt easier to fluster around him, skin growing hot while your heart raced. Or how an overwhelming warm feeling will fill your chest at the sight of Michael with his son, playing or reading to him, quietly always there whenever he needed him. You blinked away tears.

“I was thinking I could take Matty to the zoo,” Michael said one night when you had come to pick him up.

“Oh? Okay.” You said, deliberating it, “What day were you thinking? I don’t mind giving you this Saturday—”

“I was actually hoping we might go together?”

“Together?” You stared at him. “As in like…”

“Like a family.” He said, like he was skirting around something else.

“I’d like that.” was out of your mouth before you even thought about it.

He smiled at you, wide and warm.

Michael had picked Matty out of the stroller not long after you had gotten to Pittsburgh Zoo & Aquarium. Matty was eagerly pointing at the elephants, grinning ear-to-ear, an expression that matched his father’s face. It warmed your heart.

You stepped into pace with Michael, looking at the animals with mild interest, more focused on engaging with your son, pointing and clapping with him.

For the first time, the quiet felt comfortable. Michael’s hand found yours and he intertwined your fingers.

Your breath caught and you looked over at him.

“This is what I want.” He told you, squeezing your hand. “This is how I want to move forward.”

An easy smile overtook your features, “Together?”

“As a family.”

It was a fresh start and you weren’t going to waste it.

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Dr. Robby taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43 @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @girl-obsessed-with-things @laurenkate79 @woodxtock @rosie-posie08 @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse @diasnohibng

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged @pastelbunnelby @jetjuliette @that-one-fangirl69

All content taglist: @nixandtonic

#the pitt #asxgard answers #michael robinavitch #michael robinavitch x reader #asxgard writes #dr robby x reader #dr robby #michael robinavitch x female reader

403 notes · View notes

aqua-tophana · 19 hours ago

Text

So, I’ve always been “The Fat One” in any social group - be that friends or family. But I’m also, by all reasonable medical metrics, healthy, minus a bad back and depression. And I’m one of the supremely lucky ones, my doctor considers BMI to be pseudoscience and complete bunk (she had to step out of the room to curse and calm down when she heard my ex’s old doctor put her on a 900cal diet). She doesn’t care what my weight is; she cares about my metabolic panels and blood pressure and whether my migraine meds are working. All of which have been perfectly fine.

I usually sit right around 350 pounds, give or take a donut. I’m also, despite being afab, built like Thor from God of War: Ragnarok because I used to routinely deadlift and carry my disabled ex who was also 300+ pounds. I’m generally big and wide with a thick layer of fat over muscle. My idea of getting and staying healthy is building muscle and endurance, not weight loss. In fact, weight loss would likely be detrimental to those goals given muscle tends to be the first thing to go during a cal deficit.

Doctors appointments whenever I meet a new nurse are always fun (/s) because I’ll be entirely confident in my weight/size and equally uninterested in “nutritional advice” and these tiny size eight nurses would tell me how they couldn’t imagine being that comfortable in their body, how they were always dieting or trying to lose weight. It’s sad. Like, I just kinda want to give them a hug and maybe recommend therapy to unpack all that. It sounds like a really horrible way to live inside your own head and your own skin.

Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t come to be confident in my weight over night. I had to work for it. I still struggle with it. I still have internal fatphobia of my own to unpack - mostly attached to “I want to be smaller just to find clothes that fit, godamnit” and things like that. But I try to appreciate what my body does for me and what it can accomplish rather than what it looks like.

I have another appointment with that same doctor in a few hours. I know I’ve lost just under fifty pounds since I last saw her. And I’m pissed about it - which isn’t something most fatphobes would understand. But I’ve been near bed-bound and not eating since new year with crippling depression and I can tell that just about 100% of the weight I’ve lost is in pure muscle. It’s going to take me months or even years to rebuild myself to where I was before. Yet I know there are those out there who see any weight loss as good weight loss, even if it’s muscle loss. Even if it makes my life actively harder to manage.

So I’m going to go to my appointment and talk to my doctor about increasing protein and fat intake to help with rebuilding my muscles, all of which increases my body weight. Because it’s my abs that take the burden of holding me upright when my back gives out*, it’s my arms that carry groceries in the house, and my legs that walk me up the stairs. It’s my muscles that let me move and live my life. The numbers on a scale can’t compete with lived reality.

The point to my little rant is that “healthy” can look different for different people. If you have a health goal, it doesn’t have to be focusing on losing fat. Sometimes, it can be keeping the fat the way it is and focusing on building muscle instead.

But this is just one fat person’s perspective.

* I’ve the back of a 3x car crash victim: hit by a semi, hit by a metro bus, and hit a pallet on the freeway and rolled my car twice. Didn’t get PT for any of it until a decade later because I didn’t have insurance. Building up my abs and obliques to act as a brace for my back has been the best way to keep my back from going out and I’ve let all that progress go during this depressive slump. Not kidding about being pissed.

It says a lot about society that a beach towel that actually fits me is labeled "oversized" on the packaging so that thin people can know which of a select few beach towels will make them feel all warm and cozy and small.

I already buy beach towels to dry myself off with because it's easier than looking for bath towels that fit me, so labeling a beach towel "oversized" because this world is made solely for thin people is just added cruelty. I've been using beach towels to dry myself off with even when I was in the low 200s weight range.

What's fucking wild is that 99.999999% of thin people are blissfully ignorant of what the world is like for fat people. They have no clue what it's like to have to check the weight capacity of a chair on a website before buying it or seeing everything that's the perfect size for you being labeled "oversized." They don't know what it's like not being able to find clothes that fit you at a regular store, thrift store, online store, or even those plus size stores that only go up to a 3XL and just resize thin people clothing.

They don't know what it's like being thankful to learn online that Plan B doesn't work for most fat people before you bought and assumed in a post-roe world that Plan B will be effective. They don't know what it's like to live in a world where everyone freely hates and discriminates against you without even having backlash from progressives and people who claim to support equality, because oppressing you is just accepted fact even to the people who fight for the rights of all of your other oppressed identities. They don't know what it's like to live in a world where hating you is so expected and normalized that it's ingrained into your own people to the point that you literally cannot trust that

anyone you meet

not a single person

who looks like you will share solidarity.

None.

Whenever a thin person suddenly becomes fat, that is the closest we have to a person realizing they've been living in the Matrix. The most intense epiphany you'll ever have is rapidly becoming fat and then seeing how this world changes for you almost overnight.

-Mod Worthy

#fatphobia #fat life #fat liberation

3K notes · View notes

theonion · 2 days ago

Text

Speaking for the first time since waking from a medically induced coma following a devastating car accident, 8-year-old Aiden Miller recounted an extremely vivid near-death experience Friday that reportedly contained detailed descriptions of heaven, angels, and a six-figure book deal. “I was walking up in the clouds and met friends, and strangers, and all these famous people who talked with me about all kinds of things and brought up the possibility of selling the rights to my story to a big-name publisher,” said the second-grader, who attested that during the five-minute period in which his heart had stopped on the operating table, he ascended to a shining, golden paradise where he says he met with the archangel Gabriel and a literary agent who has helped a number of authors secure multi-book deals with lucrative worldwide book tours.

Full Story

#the onion #news #religion

401 notes · View notes

russo-woso · 3 days ago

Text

He’s got your timing || Kyra Cooney-Cross x pregnant!reader

Request | Masterlist

Warning labour and delivery

Summary Your son decides to come when Kyra’s away on an Arsenal camp

Arsenal had travelled to southern France for a pre season camp, allowing the girls to have a nice break away whilst training at the same time.

Not only was it important for training, it was also a very important time for the girls to bond with each other and sometimes the new players that had joined over the summer.

Which is why you made Kyra go - despite the fact you were eight months pregnant.

Alessia was out injured and so didn’t go with the team to France, and had promised Kyra she’d look after you whilst she was away.

Once the promise was made, Kyra reluctantly agreed and went to France.

The thought of you going into labour rested in the back of your mind, just like it did in Kyra’s, but you were only 36 weeks pregnant and the chance of you giving birth was low.

Alessia had temporarily moved in for the week whilst they were gone just to be there in case you needed her.

And whilst it was annoying, having your best friend on top of you all the time - asking if you were okay, if you needed any food, if you were having contractions - when your water did actually break and contractions started, you couldn’t have been more thankful.

“Less! Alessia! Oh my god, Alessia Russo!” You shouted from the kitchen, shouting as loud as you possibly could, but despite how loud you were actually shouting, there was no response.

You walked through to the living room, Alessia sat on the sofa with her headphones on and a book in her hands.

“Hello?” You asked, standing in the doorframe, but once again, no answer.

You pulled her hair to get her attention.

She turned around, putting her book down and taking her headphones off.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes everything’s fine, Alessia. It’s not like I’ve been shouting for you for the last two minutes.” You replied sarcastically

“Why were you shouting for me?”

“Oh no particular reason.” You shrugged, clearly lying.

“Oh okay then.” She said, going to put her headphones back on.

“Are you kidding me? You think I’d just start shouting for no reason? My water broke Alessia. That’s why I was shouting.” You scoffed, grabbing your bump as a contraction hit.

You winced in pain, the contraction catching you completely off guard.

“You’re kidding.” Alessia said, shaking her head with a frown.

“Does it look like I’m kidding. This baby wants out of me.” You told her, still wincing in pain.

“Oh my god.” Alessia breathed out, her face whitening as all the color fell from it. “I’ve got to calm Kyra. She needs to get a flight. Do we need to take you to the hospital?”

“I haven’t timed my contractions first. Look, I’ll call Ky if you can load your car with the bags. They’re in the hallway.” You said and Alessia nodded, jumping up from the sofa.

The team had only been in France for three days and you felt like you were cutting Kyra’s little holiday short, but she needed to be here.

“Ky?” You asked over the phone

“Hiya, baby. How’s bubba?”

“Bubba wants to get out. Ky, my water just broke. I need you back home.” You revealed to her

“Are you being serious?”

“100%.” You replied

“Okay. I’ll be there soon, baby. I promise. I’ll get a flight as soon as I can.” Kyra told you and you hummed.

“I’ll see you soon, Ky.”

“I love you, baby. I’ll be there with you so soon.”

“Pleas get her quick. I can’t do this without you, Kyra.”

“I know, love. I’ll be there, don’t worry.”

“Less, where’s Ky?” You asked through gritted teeth as you sat on the exercise ball.

“I don’t know, she’ll be here soon though, I promise.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can take. I can feel bubba moving down.” You admitted, your whole body exhausted.

“I know. She’ll be here soon.” Alessia rubbed your back, tying your hair in a quick bun at the same time.

You closed your eyes as pain hit your body.

“You’re doing so well.”

“I need her here, lessi. I can’t do this without her.”

Alessia broke at your words, she hated seeing her best friend in this much pain.

“I know you do.”

The nurse walked in at the point, coming to check how dilated you were.

Once she’d checked, she announced that you were eight centimetres dilated.

Just ad the nurse opened the door to walk out you heard the accent.

“Where’s my girlfriend? Y/N?”

“Ky?” You asked, looking at Alessia who had quickly gotten up to look in the corridor.

“Kyra! Over here!” Alessia shouted, Kyra quickly running over to her.

“Have I missed it? Are they here yet?”

“Ky! Oh my god, you’re here. I thought you’d miss it.”

“Miss this? I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Kyra laughed, relief rushing over her. “I made the taxi driver break the speed limit so many times. I said that if he gets any speeding tickets to put my name down that I was driving. I was so scared.”

“You’re here now, that’s the main thing.”

“I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

When the time came, Alessia left the room to go and sit in the waiting room.

Kyra stood by your side, holding your hands and pushing your sweat soaked hair out of your face.

You seemed to push for ages, but in reality it was no more than fifteen minutes.

Kyra was by your side the whole time, whispering words of praise in your ear.

Time slowed as you heard the first cry.

“Congratulations mummies, you’ve got a baby boy.” The doctor told you, immediately placing your son in your chest.

Tears ran down your face as you focused your eyes on the baby on your chest.

“You did so well, baby.” Kyra whispered, tears on her cheek as she pressed a kiss to your head.

Her hand came up to rest on your son’s back, her thumb rubbing it gently as his cries died down.

“Mum, would you like to cut his cord?”

Kyra nodded immediately, wiping her tears as she took the scissors from the nurse.

You took in your son’s features for the first time, holding him close as you felt his skin on yours.

The nurses took him away, just checking him over before swaddling him and handing him back to you.

He was perfect, despite being a few weeks early.

By then, you’d pushed the placenta out and was deemed okay by the doctors.

“Hi, bubba. Where’s your mama? There’s your mama.” You whispered, Kyra sitting on the side of the bed.

“Hey, bubba.” Kyra cooed, taking him in her arms as she took the first proper look at your son. “He’s perfect.”

“He looks just like you. He even inherited your bad time keeping skills.” You joked, rubbing Kyra’s back as she cried - her emotions high as she held him.

“I can’t believe he’s here.” She whispered and you hummed in agreement.

“He came at the worst possible timing. I’m sorry you had to leave early.”

“Don’t say sorry.”

“You should’ve seen Alessia when I told her. She went so pale.” You said, letting out a small laugh at the memory that seemed like it was ages ago.

“Shall I go get Alessia?”

“Yeah, I think she’d like to see him.”

Kyra handed your baby boy back to you as she walked out the door.

You cradled your son close to you, watching Alessia’s face light up as she set eyes on him.

“He’s here.” You smiled at her

“He’s gorgeous, you two.” Alessia said, her voice thick with emotion as she hugged Kyra and you. “He was worth all that panic, huh?”

“He really was.”

“I think auntie lessi will be giving him lessons on how to keep track of time because he gave us all quite a shock.” Alessia said, stroking his cheek as he stirred gently.

“If he’s anything like, Ky, then it’ll take a while.” You joked, Kyra’s jaw dropping, clearly taking offence to the comment.

“My time keeping is not bad!”

“You keep telling yourself that, baby.”

#woso #woso community #woso x reader #woso imagine #womens football #woso fanfics #kyra cooney cross fluff #kyra cooney cross x reader #kyra cooney cross

224 notes · View notes

fallenbratfiction · 3 days ago

Text

no one bullies my kid ~ dad!bucky

Your seven-year-old gets bullied at school and Bucky cannot allow this ever happening again. Bucky threatens a child here.

masterlist faq

A/N: I thought of this before going to bed and I am a sucker for domestic and dad! bucky. Stop I melted this was supposed to be a funny "haha imagine Bucky threatening a child" and it turned into more before I realized.

mentions: protective dad!bucky, domestic fluff, soft!bucky, ex-assassin now full-time dad, school drama, bucky threatened a child (but like, gently), supportive uncle steve, found family feels, comfort and hugs. Let me know if I missed any mentions, I'll be sure to add them.

minors dni with me or my blog. i am not responsible for what you choose to consume.

do not copy, translate or claim any of my work as your own.

You knew something was wrong the second the front door opened. Not just because it slammed, but because your kid—your sweet, funny little seven-year-old—stormed in, backpack half unzipped, eyes glassy and red.

Bucky was already rising from the couch. “Hey. What happened, kid?”

No answer. Just the sound of a sniff and quick feet heading down the hall to their room, slamming that door too. You exchanged a glance with Bucky. You could see the shift in him. His jaw set, shoulders stiff. Protective-mode fully activated.

“I got it,” he said. “Just… gimme a second.”

You stood in the hallway, watching as he knocked gently on the door. “Pal? C’mon. Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

A muffled voice came through. “Nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.” His voice softened. “I can’t fix it if I don’t know, buddy.”

A pause. Then, quieter: “A kid at school said I’m weird. That I talk too much. Said I only have friends because they feel bad for me.”

That was it.

You watched Bucky close his eyes, just for a second. Deep breath. Controlled. Then he stepped into the room. You followed after, in time to see him kneel by the bed, one hand brushing your kid’s hair back and resting his hand on your kid's shoulder.

“Listen to me,” he said. “You are not weird. You are brilliant. You’re funny. You’ve got more heart than most grown adults I know. And if some little punk can’t see that—then that’s on them. Not you.”

Your kid blinked at him, lip trembling. “You’re just saying that ‘cause you have to.”

Bucky grinned. “Nope. I’m sayin’ it ‘cause it’s true.”

They nodded slowly, still sad—but calmer.

“Now,” Bucky added, standing up and rolling his shoulders like he was heading into battle, “What’s this kid’s name?”

You raised your brows. “James.”

“I’m just asking.” He shot you a look. “Just for… situational awareness.”

“Bucky, you cannot threaten a child.”

“I’m not gonna hurt him,” Bucky said innocently. “But if I accidentally show up at pickup tomorrow wearing full tactical gear and staring him down with my metal arm on display—well. That’s not technically a threat, is it?”

“James.”

“Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll wear a hoodie.”

----------------NEXT DAY AT PICK UP

You were standing by the car when Bucky walked back from the school gates, calm but with purpose in every step. You hadn’t seen the interaction—only caught the tail end, where one terrified eleven-year-old shrunk about five inches under the weight of Bucky’s death-glare and murmured something like “Sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

Bucky slid into the driver’s seat like a man who had just conducted a very civil interrogation.

“You didn’t punch him, right?” you asked, eyebrow raised.

“Nope.”

“Bucky.”

“I didn’t. I talked.”

You gave him a look.

He shrugged. “With my eyes.”

----------------------

Later that afternoon, your kid stood barefoot in the backyard, still a little shaken but smiling. Bucky was crouched beside them in the grass, arm around their shoulders.

“Okay,” he said. “We’re not looking for a fight, alright? But if anyone lays a hand on you—anyone—you make sure they never forget it.”

Your kid blinked up at him. “But I’m small.”

Bucky grinned. “You think size matters? Lemme tell you something.” He tapped their chest gently. “This? This is what counts.”

Your kid nodded slowly, taking it all in.

Then Bucky stood up, pulling them gently to their feet.

“C’mere, I’m gonna show you something I taught your uncle Steve when he was getting picked on when we were younger.”

Your seven-year-old lit up. “UNCLE STEVE GOT BULLIED?!”

“Oh yeah. All the time.”

“But he’s huge!”

“He wasn’t always huge. He was tiny. Like… coat rack with a mouth tiny.”

“Did he cry?”

“Only when I wasn’t there to see it,” Bucky said with a wink. “But then I taught him how to throw a punch. Just like this.”

He adjusted their stance, nudged their feet into position, lifted their hands.

“Now, aim right here,” Bucky said, pointing to the chin of an imaginary opponent. “This is the off switch.”

Your kid grinned, winding up like a windmill.

“Whoa, whoa, not like that,” Bucky laughed. “You’re not trying to stir soup, kid. Straight shot. Wrist straight. No thumb inside the fist unless you want it broken.”

You watched from the porch as they practiced the motion again and again, each time a little better, a little prouder.

Until finally your kid turned around and asked, “Did it work? Did Uncle Steve stop getting bullied after that?”

Bucky gave a soft laugh, like something old and golden was buried in his memory.

“Eventually. But mostly ‘cause people got tired of him standing back up.”

You were halfway through your coffee when your phone buzzed with a call from the school. You answered it expecting something minor—missed homework or permission slips.

What you got was: “Hi, yes, we’re going to need both you and Mr. Barnes to come in. There’s been a complaint. It’s… regarding a threat made toward a student.”

You paused. Turned toward Bucky. “Did you threaten a child?”

“I told him to watch how he talks to people smaller than him.”

“That is a threat.”

He took a sip of coffee. “That’s character development.”

---------------------- PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE

You walked in first. Bucky followed behind you, in full “don’t fuck with me” mode—leather jacket, sleeves rolled up just enough to show a flash of metal, sunglasses still on indoors.

Inside the office sat the principal, Mrs. Avery. Across from her were the boy’s parents: a very polished, very irritated couple, arms crossed, child nestled between them like some poor traumatized porcelain doll.

You sat down. Bucky didn’t.

“Mr. Barnes,” Mrs. Avery began, already stiff. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“Because I told a disrespectful little shit to keep my kid’s name out of his mouth?”

You kicked his foot under the table. He winced, then added, “—with kindness. Obviously.”

The other parents gasped. The mom clutched her pearls. “You intimidated our son.”

Bucky tilted his head. “Did I raise my voice?”

“No,” the dad muttered.

“Did I touch him?”

“No.”

“Then maybe the real problem is that your son isn’t used to being held accountable.”

You covered your mouth and closed your eyes in a prayer. God give me strength.

Mrs. Avery pinched the bridge of her nose. “Mr. Barnes, while I understand your protective instincts, we have a zero-tolerance policy for adults confronting students.”

Bucky finally sat, slow and measured. “And what’s your policy on students harassing other students until they come home crying?”

The room went still.

You could see the principal falter. The bully’s parents looked like they wanted to say something, but… couldn’t. Because their perfect little angel had been caught being an asshole.

“You don’t have to like me,” Bucky said, voice calm. “But you will respect the fact that I’m not gonna sit back and watch my kid get picked on. Not by your kid, not by any kid. So if I have to be the villain in your story to make sure mine doesn’t end up afraid to go to school? Fine. I’ve been worse.”

You exhaled—low-key impressed, high-key terrified of the future PTA meetings.

Mrs. Avery cleared her throat. “Let’s… move forward with a mediation plan for the kids.”

Bucky raised his brow. “Does it involve their kid apologizing?”

Later that day, after the incident at the round table, you and Bucky waited by the school gates for pickup.

You were still reeling from the chaos. Bucky looked relaxed, leaning against a tree like he hadn’t just verbally disarmed two overprotective yuppies and a principal in one sitting.

Your kid spotted you and bolted over.

“Dad!” they grinned, cheeks flushed with excitement. “Did you really say he needed to keep my name out of his mouth?!”

Bucky smirked. “Who told you that?”

“Ms. Tanner. She was in the hallway. She said you had serious Batman energy.”

You burst out laughing. Bucky looked far too pleased.

Then your kid, grinning even bigger, reached out for a high five—and Bucky gave it like it was the most important handshake of his life.

“I love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, kid.”

And before Bucky could even react, your kid threw their arms around his waist in a tight, full-body hug—face pressed against his torso, like they were trying to fuse into him.

Bucky froze for a second, like the moment knocked the air out of him.

Then slowly—gently—he wrapped one arm around their shoulders, the other patting their back in an awkward rhythm that melted into something steady. Familiar. His hand settled there, resting between their shoulder blades, then crouched down instinctively, arms open.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice low. “You’re my whole world, y’know that?”

Your kid didn’t answer—just buried his face in Bucky's neck.

Tiny arms around his shoulders, little fingers curled in his shirt.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, one hand sliding up to cup the back of their head. “I’ve always got you.”

And for once, Bucky let himself stand there, arms around something that was safe and his and real, without thinking about what came before or what might come after.

You stood there by the car, heart basically melting, watching your reformed-assassin husband get completely undone by a kid that fit perfectly in his arms.

Bucky pressed his cheek against their temple, eyes fluttering shut for a second like he was remembering how to breathe—then he shifted his weight, stood, and lifted him right off the ground.

"Let's go home, yeah?"

-----------------------------------------

Saturday morning. Backyard. Bucky’s got your kid out again practicing footwork—slow, controlled moves. You’re watching from the porch with coffee, amused at how serious he looks for a game of “self-defense 101.”

And then: the sound of a very familiar motorcycle pulls up.

Your kid’s face lights up.

“UNCLE STEEEEEVE!”

Steve steps off the bike in jeans and a Henley like a walking golden-hour ad. He barely has time to take his helmet off before your kid flings themselves at him.

“Oof—hey there, firecracker!”

Bucky crosses his arms, smirking. “Took you long enough.”

Steve shoots him a look. “You threatened a child. I had to reschedule three meetings to come deal with the PR disaster.”

“He had it coming.”

“I know. That’s why I brought some pie.”

Later, your kid pulls Steve aside while Bucky sets up a makeshift punching bag.

“Uncle Steve? Is it true you got bullied?”

Steve sits on the steps, stretches his legs out with a soft smile. “Sure is. All the time.”

“But you’re Captain America.”

He chuckles. “Wasn’t always. Used to be small. Sickly. Couldn’t throw a punch without falling over.”

Your kid’s mouth falls open. “No way.”

Steve leans in, tapping their chest gently. “This is what got me through. Not muscles. Not a shield. Just being brave, even when I was scared.”

They blink up at him. “Did Dad teach you how to fight?”

Steve grins. “Oh yeah. First punch I ever threw? Your dad showed me how. Got my nose broken anyway, but I looked cool doing it.”

Bucky, from across the yard: “You cried for fifteen minutes.”

“Character development,” Steve deadpans.

That night, Steve stays for dinner. Bucky grills. You pour some wine. The kid is showing off his “combat stance” in the living room, wobbling slightly but proud as hell.

Steve leans over to you in the kitchen. “Y’know, for a guy who used to be a war assassin, Buck’s actually doing okay.”

You smile, watching Bucky gently correct your kid’s form with a patience he pretends not to have.

“He’s not so bad, huh?”

Steve snorts. “Not bad at all. Just… terrifying.”

Then, from the living room:

“Dad, what if the bully tries again?”

Bucky, calm as ever, flipping a burger on the grill. “Then he’s gonna learn why they call me the Winter Soldier.”

Record scratch.

You and Steve in unison

“NO.” “ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

Had a good laugh writing this piece, i hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!! Feedback is always welcome!

Shares, Reblogs, Likes & Comments help stories grow! I'm thankful for every single one of them! ✨✨🩷

#domestic!bucky #dad!bucky #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes comfort #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes au #found family #bucky found family #bucky dad #dad!bucky thoughts #domestic!bucky thoughts

216 notes · View notes

bu3ck3r · 1 day ago

Text

tied together – part 2

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

wc: 7k

a/n: okay part 2 is finally here! thank you for all the kind words about part 1 i love yall fr. after you read spam my inbox and tell me how was it and what you want to see next in this series because that would help me finish writing it faster🩵

tied together – masterlist

paige’s pov:

there were three different air vents in the ceiling above paige’s bed, and she’d been staring at them long enough to map out their pattern in her head. she could hear the soft hum of the central air unit kicking on and off, a quiet rhythm that should’ve been comforting. should’ve put her to sleep. but it didn’t.

nika was snoring lightly in the other bed. arm slung over her stomach. unaware that her friend was drowning in a mess of memories, nerves, and someone she couldn’t stop thinking about.

paige rolled over again. the clock on the nightstand glared at her in burning red: 3:05 am.

she wanted to scream.

instead, she pressed her face into the pillow, muffling a frustrated groan. her legs tangled in the hotel sheets, which had somehow gotten too hot despite the air conditioning. she threw them off and sat up, scrubbing her hands over her face. her chest was tight again.

not the post-game adrenaline. not soreness.

azzi.

always azzi.

her name had been playing on a loop in paige’s mind since the final buzzer. since that short conversation they shared just off the court—tense and quiet and loaded with everything paige had been trying to suppress since their last goodbye. since the last time she kissed her in the backseat of her car with trembling hands and didn’t say anything afterward. since she found out azzi committed to south carolina in a headline instead of a phone call.

what azzi had said to her after the game kept echoing in her head:

“i don’t know if it’s too late.”

it felt like it might be. felt like they’d crossed whatever line you don’t come back from. not because of the game. not even because of the school decisions. it was everything in between. the silence. the missed chances. the way they’d let pride fill the space where honesty should’ve lived.

she ran her hands down her face, frustrated. it wasn’t supposed to go like this.

they were supposed to rise together. be legendary together. win together. lose together.

instead? they had become a story people whispered about. “paige and azzi would’ve been inseparable if they played together.”

now they were rivals.

she should’ve said more. in the tunnel. when azzi stood there looking torn between biting her head off and reaching out. paige had seen it—the war behind her eyes. she could read azzi like a damn book. could always tell when she was bluffing. when she was hurt.

tonight, azzi had been both.

and paige had let her walk away.

again.

and now here she was—three in the morning, sitting in a hotel bed , not an ounce of sleep in her body, and one very real urge building like wildfire in her chest.

she reached over to the nightstand and grabbed her phone, squinting against the light as she unlocked it.

her thumb hovered over azzi’s name.

they hadn’t texted in months. not since before azzi announced she was going to sc. not since paige stopped replying altogether. there were so many almost-messages saved in the drafts: little check-ins, late-night thoughts, deleted love letters.

she hovered her fingers over the keyboard. started typing. deleted. tried again.

are you still awake?

she stared at it.

didn’t send it.

she started typing again, like she had a thousand times.

i miss you.

just those three words.

she stared at them. read them over. read them again. her heart thumped like it was trying to break out of her chest.

then, like always, she deleted it.

she couldn’t do this through a screen.

not anymore.

she was out of bed five minutes later.

slipping her phone into the hoodie pocket. moving slow to not wake nika. she slid on her uconn slides and crept into the hallway with her hoodie pulled tight around her, the strings bouncing against her chest.

the hallway was dim and silent, except for the low sound of vending machines and the soft, faraway sound of an elevator ding.

paige walked past room after room, carpet muffling her footsteps.

room 350.

she remembered the number because she’d seen it on a clipboard earlier that day when the teams checked in. she was signing some form in the hotel lobby and caught the room assignments. her eyes had skimmed the page, heart skipping when she saw bueckers – 250 right above fudd – 350.

she told herself it was coincidence she saw it. she told herself she wasn’t trying to remember.

but here she was.

standing in front of it.

she hesitated, staring at the door like they held the answer to smthing she didn’t know how to ask.

paige closed her eyes for a second. her hand trembled as she raised it. she knocked.

the door opened fast—like azzi had been standing right behind it.

maybe she had.

and there she was.

azzi.

hair messy. hoodie oversized. barefoot.

she froze when she saw paige.

neither of them said anything for a second.

then azzi leaned against the doorframe, blinking like she wasn’t sure if this was real or just something her brain had conjured up from exhaustion.

azzi’s pov:

the room was too cold, but azzi refused to get under the covers. she’d been sitting alone upright in bed for nearly an hour, hoodie on, legs crossed, just… thinking.

not about the game.

about her.

about the way paige had looked when their eyes met across the court again. like she hadn’t aged a day and yet somehow carried years in her expression. about the way her voice cracked when she said, “i don’t know if it’s too late.”

that moment replayed in her mind over and over, like a skipped record.

azzi had pretended to be fine all day. laughed with her teammates, took pictures with fans, smiled for the cameras. but she hadn’t been fine in months.

not since that night paige stopped answering.

not since she chose herself and sc and left paige behind—and paige didn’t fight for her.

azzi had her phone in her lap, paige’s contact open on the screen, but her fingers refused to move. her pride refused to reach out first. again.

she was just about to shut it off when the knock came.

it wasn’t loud. but she knew. somehow, before she even looked through the peephole. she knew.

she pulled open the door fast, heart already thudding in her chest.

and there she was.

paige.

hair messy. eyes tired. mouth parted like she didn’t know what to say.

azzi stepped aside without a word.

paige stood just inside the doorway, her hand still curled around the strap of her hoodie like she wasn’t sure she was staying. her eyes swept the room—messy bed,few azzi’s tshirts hanging halfway off the chair—but she didn’t comment. she just looked… tired. unsteady. like showing up at 3am hadn’t been impulsive at all, but something she’d been fighting herself over all night.

paige swallowed. “hey.”

azzi’s voice was a whisper. “paige it’s 3 a.m.”

“i know.”

another pause.

azzi tilted her head slightly. “you came all the way up here just to stare at me?”

“i wasn’t done,” paige said, her voice low. “back there. in the tunnel.”

azzi looked away. “you were right not to be.”

there was a beat. a breath.

then paige stepped forward.

“look, i don’t know what the hell we’re doing anymore. but i’m tired of pretending like this doesn’t still mess me up.”

azzi didn’t say anything, but her eyes softened. just a little.

paige kept going.

“i messed up. i didn’t call when i should’ve. i didn’t fight for us when i should’ve. and maybe that’s on me. but i need you to know…” she trailed off, swallowing hard. “it wasn’t because i stopped caring.”

azzi blinked slowly, her arms folding tighter across her chest. “it felt like it.”

“i know.”

more silence.

the hallway was still. the only sound was paige’s heartbeat thudding against her ribs.

then azzi stepped aside, just enough for paige to walk past her.

just enough to let her in.

and paige did.

she doesn’t say anything when paige steps inside. the door closes with a soft click, like the quiet has finally wrapped around them and won’t let go.

azzi leans back against it, watching as paige walks a few steps into the room—like she’s unsure whether she’s allowed to belong here.

the space between them is maybe five feet, but it feels like ten miles.

“nice room,” paige says, her voice low, teasing by instinct but without bite.

azzi doesn’t laugh. just gives her a slow once-over. hair tousled. hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands. eyes tired but too alive for this hour.

“you’re bold,” azzi finally says. “for showing up here.”

paige shrugs. “you didn’t slam the door.”

“didn’t mean i was ready to talk.”

“you didn’t look ready to not talk either.”

silence again.

the adrenaline from the game, the tunnel, paige’s sudden appearance—it’s all still buzzing under azzi’s skin.

“you want to sit?” azzi asked quietly, voice low so it didn’t carry down the hallway. “or…?”

“yeah.” paige exhaled. “yeah, i just—couldn’t sleep.”

azzi moved toward the bed and sat cross-legged near the top, motioning for her to sit. paige took the far edge, careful like she was afraid to sink too far into the mattress. the air between them stretched, tight and quiet.

she doesn’t know what she wants more: to scream at her, or to lie next to her and pretend nothing ever changed.

“you really think showing up like this fixes it?” azzi asks quietly.

paige doesn’t answer right away.

“no,” she says. “but i think it’s a start.”

“i kept thinking about what you said,” paige said after a beat. “or what you didn’t say.”

azzi swallowed. “in the tunnel?”

paige nodded.

“it’s not that simple,” azzi said. “it never was.”

“i didn’t ask for simple.” paige’s voice was soft, but not weak. “i just want to know if it’s too late.”

azzi looked at her. really looked. the same loose blonde hair, the same tired eyes, the same little freckle under her lip she used to stare at when paige would lean in close and pretend they were “just friends.”

“it felt like you gave up,” azzi whispered.

paige flinched. “you left.”

“you ghosted me.”

“you didn’t call.”

azzi laughed, bitter. “you think committing to south carolina was about you?”

paige blinked. “wasn’t it?”

azzi’s breath caught. she turned away, stared at the lamp on the desk. “i couldn’t be in your shadow, paige. not forever. not when i was trying to figure out who i even was.”

“i never wanted you in my shadow.”

“you didn’t have to want it. it just happened.”

silence again.

paige shifted on the bed. “so we just… stop talking? after everything?”

azzi didn’t answer.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi hasn’t moved since she sat down. paige doesn’t know what to do with her hands. her mouth. her entire body.

“you looked good out there,” she says, trying to break the silence again. “you always do, but… tonight especially.”

azzi looks up at her with a dry, unimpressed expression. “compliments now?”

“too soon?”

“try ‘not helpful.’”

paige nods, tries to laugh it off, but it dies quickly.

“i miss you,” she blurts, before she can stop herself.

azzi freezes.

the air shifts.

“you don’t get to say that like it’s easy,” azzi says slowly.

“i’m not trying to make it easy. i’m trying to be honest.”

“where was that honesty few months ago?” her voice is sharp, but not loud. controlled. the way azzi always was—even when she was breaking.

paige doesn’t flinch. “i was scared.”

“of what? me?”

“of choosing you and losing the rest.”

azzi stands up suddenly. “so you didn’t choose me, and you lost me anyway.”

the words hang in the air like smoke from a slow fire. dangerous. choking.

paige walks closer. not enough to touch. just enough to be in range.

“i didn’t know what i was doing. i thought we’d have more time.”

azzi shakes her head. “we had the time. you just… didn’t show up.”

paige leaned back on her hands, voice lighter, more teasing now: “we were definitely more than friends. i still remember the backseat of my car in december.”

azzi raised an eyebrow. “we were cold.”

“oh, right. that’s why your hands were under my shirt.”

“you weren’t complaining.”

paige smirked. “i’m not now.”

and just like that, the air changed again. warmer. more dangerous.

azzi looked at her, studying the soft curve of her mouth, the way her eyes held hers like a dare. like she was testing how far she could push before something cracked.

“you always did this,” azzi said. “made it a joke before it got too real.”

paige’s expression faltered. “it was real.”

“then why didn’t you fight for me?”

azzi didn’t mean to say it like that. but it was too late to take it back.

“i wanted you to fight,” she added, quieter now. “to come after me. even just once.”

paige stared at her. “you think i didn’t want to?”

“you didn’t.”

“i was hurt.”

“so was i.”

paige looked down at her lap, fingers twisting together. “we were scared.”

azzi nodded. “we still are.”

neither of them moved for a long time.

then paige looked up, slow, like the weight of every memory was pulling her gaze. “i missed you,” she whispered.

azzi swallowed hard. “i missed you too.”

there was a pull. invisible, magnetic. paige inched closer, her knees brushing azzi’s now. her eyes were soft, unreadable. but azzi knew that look. that was the look that used to undo her in long car rides and quiet corners at tournaments where no one was looking.

she should’ve looked away.

but she didn’t.

and paige leaned in.

just close enough that azzi could feel her breath.

“i shouldn’t,” azzi said.

“you don’t want to?”

paige’s voice was quiet, but it wasn’t a question. not really.

azzi’s heart beat too loud in her chest. “that’s not the same thing.”

usa basketball u16 women’s national team

it was after curfew one night during fiba women’s americas championship in argentina. they were buzzing on adrenaline and the quiet hush of a hotel where everyone else was asleep.

paige had crept into azzi’s room, just like this. hoodie half-zipped, socks mismatched. she had laid down beside her on the bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.

they talked for hours. about fear, pressure and carrying the weight of a country on their shoulders. paige had this soft way of looking at her—like she saw the good parts azzi tried to hide under perfection.

then paige reached out and touched her hand, so gentle. their fingers curled together. and azzi had leaned in first that night.

their first kiss was quiet. unpracticed. but it burned in azzi’s memory like scripture.

the next morning, they never talked about it. but everything changed.

paige nodded slowly. “it was real, though. right? we weren’t just friends.”

azzi huffed a soft laugh. “friends don’t make out in hotel elevators.”

“or in the back of your mom’s car.”

“or sneak into each other’s rooms during usa basketball.”

they looked at each other.

and smiled. the kind of smile that held too much weight behind it.

october 2021

they were on the rooftop of some building, sneakers kicked off, music low. the stars were hiding behind a thick gray haze, but they didn’t care.

azzi was leaning against her shoulder, paige’s hoodie pulled over both of them like a tent.

“you ever think we’ll get sick of each other?” azzi asked.

paige laughed. “you’d miss me in, like, two days.”

“two hours,” azzi corrected with a smile.

there had been no doubt back then. just this quiet, loud certainty. the way you just knew when you were with the right person—even if the world didn’t make space for it.

azzi traced circles on paige’s hand. “don’t leave.”

“i won’t.”

both of them did.

paige leaned back against the headboard. “you remember the night when we went out on the roof?” she asked, voice low.

“oh my god,” azzi laughed. “you had me wrapped in your hoodie like that was gonna make us invisible.”

“you were cold,” paige said with a shrug. “and also… you looked cute in it.”

azzi turned to her, eyes playful. “so you admit it. you were down bad.”

“yeah whatever, but you know what else i remember,” paige said, voice soft. “usa basketball u16. you kissed me and then you wouldn’t look at me the next day.”

azzi laughed under her breath. “i was freaking out.”

“you still do that, kiss me and then disappear.”

azzi bit her lip. “and you still let me.”

paige turned her body slightly, resting her weight on one elbow.

they were quiet again. but not the heavy kind. this was lighter. fragile.

“i kissed you first that night,” azzi said. “and i kept waiting for you to say something after. like, ‘tell me what it meant’. but you didn’t.”

paige looked away, shame crawling up her spine. “i didn’t know how. i was scared.”

“of what?”

“that if i said i loved you, you wouldn’t say it back.”

azzi was quiet.

and then she said, “i would’ve.”

the words hung in the room like a heartbeat.

azzi’s hands are clenched at her sides, and she can feel the war happening in her chest—part of her wants to yell, part of her wants to cry, and part of her just wants to fall into paige’s hoodie and pretend nothing changed.

“you broke my heart,” azzi says. quiet. not accusing. not soft. just true.

“i know.”

“and you waited until you lost to come here and say it?”

“i didn’t come because we lost.” paige looks right at her. “i came because i couldn’t leave town knowing i hadn’t looked you in the eye and told you everything i never said.”

azzi’s eyes start to sting. she blinks hard.

“i was angry,” she says. “for a long time.”

“you should’ve been.”

“and i hated you for a little while.”

paige doesn’t flinch.

“but mostly,” azzi says, her voice almost breaking, “i just missed you.”

they’re lying on the bed now, not touching, but close enough that their pinkies brush every time one of them breathes too deep.

it’s quiet.

their voices are tired. their eyes are heavier.

“i used to rehearse it,” paige says softly. “what i’d say to you if i got the chance.”

“yeah?”

“it never went like this.”

azzi smiles, faintly. “same.”

azzi looked over at paige, really looked at her. blonde hair messy, eyes bloodshot but glowing in the low light, hoodie drowning her frame.

she looked tired, but beautiful.

azzi shifted. “what do we do now?”

paige looked up. “what do you want to do?”

azzi hesitated.

paige’s eyes softened, and then she said it—just barely louder than a whisper.

“come here.”

the kiss came slow.

no rush. no adrenaline.

azzi leaned forward first, hands trembling just a little, and paige met her halfway. their mouths pressed together in something warm, something real. it was a kiss built on months of silence, years of closeness, and all the things they never said.

when they pulled apart, neither of them moved. they stayed forehead-to-forehead, breathing the same breath.

“i can’t do this if we’re gonna pretend it’s nothing again,” paige whispered.

azzi nodded. “me neither.”

“then let’s figure out how to be something. just… not tonight.”

“tonight,” azzi murmured, “i just want you to stay right here.”

another long silence. but this one isn’t heavy. not quite. it’s almost… suspended. like the night hasn’t decided whether it’s heartbreak or healing.

paige finally turns toward her. “do you think we could start over?”

azzi doesn’t answer right away.

instead, she reaches up and gently tucks a loose curl behind paige’s ear. her fingers linger, and for a second—just one—paige leans into the touch.

“i don’t want to start over,” azzi says. “i want us to keep going.”

“but we’re not the same.”

“no,” azzi agrees. “but maybe that’s not the worst thing.”

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

they’d moved under the covers at some point. not touching. not kissing. just talking.

about everything.

about how paige felt like the injury had turned her into a ghost and how she didn’t want azzi to see her fading.

about how azzi cried on the plane to south carolina, because she realized she didn’t know how to build a life without paige in it.

4:45 a.m.

they’re still awake when the first light slips through the blinds.

azzi’s head is on paige’s shoulder now. paige’s fingers trace lazy patterns on her wrist.

they haven’t said the word love all night.

but it’s everywhere.

in the silences. in the unfinished sentences. in the way neither of them asked the other to leave.

they don’t know what tomorrow looks like. whether anything really got solved. whether this is just nostalgia wearing a disguise.

but for now—for this hour—it’s enough.

just them.

just paige and azzi.

and the space between them finally closing.

6.00 a.m.

paige doesn’t remember falling asleep. she only remembers the feeling of azzi’s breath warm against her neck, her name spoken softly in the dark, like an invitation and a promise all at once.

now, it’s morning.

the harsh kind. not soft and easy like in movies, where the light’s always golden and perfect. it’s gray, a little cold, and the sheets are tangled at their feet. her mouth is dry, her heart full of things she can’t quite articulate. she’s lying there in azzi’s bed, still wearing her hoodie from the night. everything about the situation feels like a careful balance, and paige isn’t sure how to breathe without making the whole thing fall apart.

azzi’s still asleep next to her, tucked against her side like a piece of her is trying to anchor itself in the moment. her hand is draped over paige’s ribcage, fingers just barely brushing the fabric of the hoodie, but the touch feels intimate, grounding.

it’s too early. too much. too real. paige doesn’t know how to walk this line between regret and longing.

she turns her head slightly, watching azzi’s face. the peacefulness there is so different from what’s been between them for years. paige doesn’t know what to do with the softness.

“i could stay here forever”, she thinks, but the world won’t let her.

azzi stirs beside her, shifts in the bed. the blanket moves slightly, and for a second, paige thinks she might slip into sleep again. but then azzi opens her eyes, blinking slowly as if she doesn’t quite understand where she is.

when their gazes meet, there’s something fragile there, something unspoken. but neither of them says a word.

the tension between them isn’t angry or distant—it’s something else. something too fragile to touch, but impossible to ignore.

azzi finally clears her throat. “you steal the covers even in your sleep.”

paige chuckles softly, though it’s awkward. “you drool on your pillow.”

azzi’s lips twitch, but it’s a strained smile. “good to know you’re paying attention.”

paige’s heart beats a little faster, but she can’t tell if it’s from the teasing or the something heavy still hanging in the air. she shifts slightly, her arm brushing against azzi’s. neither of them pulls away.

they’re caught in this moment—too close to run, too far to hide. but neither of them wants to break it just yet.

the silence between them stretches on, and this time, it doesn’t feel as comfortable. the clock is ticking. the day is waiting, and paige doesn’t know how to start the conversation. how to untangle everything they’ve left unsaid.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi pokes at her fruit, trying to ignore the strange sense of familiarity she’s feeling in this moment. she doesn’t want to feel comfortable. not yet. she doesn’t want to admit that the night before—whatever it was—mattered.

paige is sitting across from her, picking at a muffin like she’s doing her best to pretend this isn’t an awkward situation. but the air between them feels too soft for the usual easy banter they’re used to.

azzi stirs her coffee with more force than necessary, watching paige out of the corner of her eye. it’s too early for this, too raw. she doesn’t want to say anything that could make this harder than it already is.

but paige’s voice cuts through her thoughts. “i think that dude’s trying to figure out if i’m kidnapping you or something.”

azzi raises an eyebrow, glancing toward the table where one of the south carolina coaching staff is watching them. “you’re not that charming.”

“you let me walk you down here,” paige says, her voice quieter now.

azzi takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the flutter in her chest. “that was pity.”

“that was longing, and you know it.”

azzi doesn’t laugh. just stares at paige, feeling that familiar tension—pulling her closer and pushing her away at the same time.

“can we just… not?” azzi says, her voice quieter, more serious than she intended. “we both know what’s happened. we can’t pretend it’ll be easy.”

“i’m not pretending,” paige says softly, her eyes not meeting azzi’s. “but it’s still real.”

azzi’s heart skips a beat. real. what does that even mean now?

she looks away, trying to steady herself. “we both have things we have to deal with,” azzi mutters.

there’s no more laughter between them, just the sound of soft clinking as they finish their meals, neither one willing to speak more than they already have.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi has no reason to be back at the hotel.

she has practice soon. she’s supposed to be with her team. but something about the morning makes her feel restless—an itch she can’t scratch, a question she can’t answer.

she ends up in front of paige’s hotel room door, her hand poised to knock.

but before she can do anything, the door opens, and there’s paige—hair still damp from her shower.

azzi’s heart skips a beat. she doesn’t know why she’s here. she doesn’t even have a good reason for it. it’s just that this feels like the place she’s supposed to be.

“oh,” paige says, her voice startled. “i didn’t think i’d see you.”

azzi shrugs, playing it off. “just thought i’d stop by. no big deal.”

“right.” paige looks at her for a long moment, her gaze soft but unreadable. “are you sure you’re not just trying to make me lose my focus?”

azzi shrugs again, like it’s nothing. but something shifts between them, something unspoken and heavy. neither of them knows how to move past this, but neither of them wants to walk away either.

“i don’t know what you want from me, azzi,” paige finally says, her voice quieter now, like she’s afraid to speak louder and break whatever fragile hold they still have. “i never meant for any of this to get… so complicated.”

azzi’s eyes flicker, caught off guard by the raw honesty in paige’s voice. she’s not sure how to respond. what do you say when everything you’ve been holding in for so long suddenly threatens to pour out?

“i just thought…” azzi starts, her voice trailing off as she looks at paige, trying to find the right words. “i just thought we could pretend it didn’t happen.”

paige laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it. “i wish. i really do. but you can’t unfeel something like this.”

azzi steps into the room, the door clicking shut behind her. the air between them feels thick now, charged in a way that’s both terrifying and thrilling. she doesn’t know what she’s doing here, doesn’t know why she came, but she knows she doesn’t want to leave yet. not without saying something, anything, to ease the ache that’s settled in her chest.

“i didn’t come here to mess things up,” azzi says, a little too quickly. “i just… i just wanted to talk to you. to make sure you’re okay.”

paige stares at her for a long moment, like she’s trying to figure out if azzi’s telling the truth or just hiding behind words. finally, paige sighs, her shoulders sagging with a weariness azzi can feel in her own bones.

“i’m not okay,” paige admits quietly. “but i will be. i’ll figure it out.”

azzi watches her, heart aching. she takes a step forward, not sure what to say next, but she’s so close now that she can hear the unsteady rhythm of paige’s breath. she could kiss her again. she could lean in and make it all feel better, if only for a few seconds. but something tells her that would just make it worse.

“you can’t do this alone, you know,” azzi says, her voice soft but firm.

paige meets her gaze, and for a second, there’s a flicker of something—hope, maybe?—but it’s gone before azzi can name it.

“i know,” paige whispers. “but i have to figure it out on my own. i can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not.”

azzi steps back, letting the silence fall between them again. she didn’t expect things to be easy, didn’t expect her to just open up and make it all okay. but she hadn’t expected this, either—the feeling of knowing the space between them is widening, and that there’s no easy way to bridge it.

for a moment, neither of them says anything.

“i should go,” azzi says finally, though her voice cracks a little.

paige doesn’t stop her, doesn’t say anything. she just watches her walk toward the door, her face unreadable.

when azzi reaches the door, she pauses, hand on the knob. “paige, whatever happens, don’t forget… i’m still here. even if you don’t want me to be.”

paige doesn’t respond. she just looks at her, and azzi can feel her heart breaking in the silence that stretches between them.

pov: paige

paige steps onto the uconn bus with a heavy heart, taking a seat by the window and staring out at the world as it blurs by. the morning still feels like a haze—azzi’s voice lingering in her mind, her smile, her words.

they’re gone now. she’s gone.

but the ache is still there.

as the bus rolls down the road, the last few hours replay in paige’s head: the kiss, the awkward breakfast, azzi standing in front of her hotel room, her soft admission that she wasn’t okay.

paige closes her eyes, trying to focus on something, anything, that isn’t the hole inside her chest where azzi used to be.

“i can’t keep doing this”, she thinks, but even as she tells herself that, she knows it’s not true. she’s already too far gone. and no matter how many times she tells herself to move on, to let it go, the feelings won’t fade. they never do.

she lets her phone buzz in her hand—another notification, another distraction. but when she looks at it, it’s just a text from ice:

you good?

paige doesn’t respond right away. she lets the silence fill her for a moment before tapping out a reply:

yeah, just thinking.

and she is. thinking about the kiss, about the unspoken words, about what it means to have something real slip through her fingers when she wasn’t ready to let it go.

paige stares out the window and lets the silence settle around her like armor.

there’s a text draft open on her phone.

i think i’ve always known it was you.

she doesn’t hit send.

but she doesn’t delete it either.

the bus ride back to the airport had been long, quiet, and almost suffocating. paige couldn’t stop replaying everything that had happened the night before, azzi’s words, the soft pressure of her lips—everything was too vivid, too sharp. it’s as if the whole world paused for a moment when they were together.

but then, in the quiet of the morning they said their goodbyes and azzi had left.

paige knows she has to focus. the team needs her. the game is over, but there’s still practice, still the road ahead, still the tournament. but right now, she doesn’t want to focus on any of it.

her phone buzzes, again,text from ice:

yo, did something happened? you seem a lil off.

paige sighs, her fingers hesitating over the keys before she replies:

just tired. we’ll talk later.

she’s not sure what to say. she can’t explain this thing with azzi, this thing that keeps eating at her, and she definitely can’t tell ice that she’s been up thinking about azzi. not without sounding like a mess.

she shoves the phone back into her bag and leans back against the window, trying to ignore the unsettling feeling crawling up her spine.

pov: azzi

azzi is late. she knows it. the rest of her team is already stretching, warming up, the air filled with the low hum of sneakers on hardwood and the sharp calls of coaches.

but azzi’s mind is elsewhere. she’s still tangled up in the early morning hours, the faint echo of paige’s voice ringing in her ears. she told herself she was fine, that she was going to move on, that this wasn’t going to disrupt her focus. but every step she takes toward the court, every drill she starts, the pull of her thoughts drags her back to that hotel room.

she hasn’t been able to shake the look in paige’s eyes when they said goodbye. she can’t pretend it wasn’t something more, something that meant more than it should.

that goodbye wasn’t enough for her, and azzi’s pretty sure it wasn’t enough for paige either.

the whistle blows, and azzi quickly snaps her focus back to the court. the next drill begins, but her body feels like it’s moving without her.

she catches a glimpse of bree, watching her from the corner of the court, and azzi wonders if she has noticed the shift in her energy. she’s been distant lately, quieter than usual. it’s hard to pretend everything is fine when it’s not.

aliyah boston calls out to her during a break. “hey, you good?”

azzi forces a smile, trying to brush it off. “yeah, just focused. lots on my mind.”

aliyah’s gaze is sharp, like she sees through the mask azzi is trying to wear. “whatever it is, we’ll get through it. you’re not in this alone.”

azzi nods, though the words don’t feel as reassuring as they should. she appreciates aliyah’s support, but there’s only so much that can be said. what she really wants to do is leave the gym, hop on a plane, and head to connecticut. to paige. her paige.

but she doesn’t. she stays, practices hard, and forces herself to focus.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

paige is finally in her dorm and flops down on her bed, the midday light creeping through the curtains in soft beams. her mind is still spinning, filled with a mix of exhaustion and something else—something a little more dangerous. she hasn’t stopped thinking about azzi, and it’s not just because of what happened the night before. it’s everything. the way they’re connected without meaning to be, the way azzi makes her feel things she’s not supposed to feel.

the door to her room creaks open, and her teammate, nika, steps inside, wearing an expression of concern that paige knows too well.

“you okay?” nika asks, her voice low, almost like she’s already figured out what’s going on.

paige doesn’t know how to explain herself, doesn’t know how to tell her friend that she can’t stop thinking about someone she should never even care about. she just shrugs. “yeah, just a little tired. a lot of stuff on my mind.”

nika looks at her for a beat, her eyes narrowing slightly. “i saw the way you were acting at breakfast this morning. you’ve been off for a while now. what’s going on with you and fudd?”

paige tenses. she didn’t think anyone had noticed—but of course nika would.

“it’s nothing. seriously. just… stuff with the game,” paige lies, her words not coming out as smoothly as she hoped.

nika doesn’t buy it. “uh-huh. i don’t know what happened, but you two have been different. don’t let this mess with your focus. we need you, paige. you know that, right?”

paige nods, but even as she says, “i know,” the words feel hollow.

what if this thing with azzi does mess with her focus? what if it messes with everything? she’s supposed to be a leader, supposed to lead her team to victory, but how can she do that when she’s losing herself in thoughts of azzi?

“thanks, nika,” paige says quietly, before turning away from her teammate. nika doesn’t say anything else. she just nods and walks out, leaving paige alone with the thoughts she doesn’t know how to sort through.

──────────── ౨ৎ ────────────

azzi can’t concentrate.

she’s in her dorm, getting ready for the team meeting before they head out for the next game. but all she can think about is the way they left things. how this—all of it—is too much.

“you’re letting this get in your head”, she tells herself, pacing back and forth. focus.

but focus doesn’t come. it never does when she’s thinking about paige.

the room feels too small, the walls too close. she feels like she can’t breathe, like the weight of this whole situation is bearing down on her chest.

there’s a knock at the door, and azzi pauses. “come in,” she calls.

the door opens, and aliyah steps inside, a knowing look on her face. “you’re still thinking about her, huh?”

azzi sighs, sitting down on the bed. “i don’t know how to stop.”

“you don’t have to stop. but you need to stop letting it take over your game,” aliyah says, her voice firm but not unkind.

“i know,” azzi mutters, running a hand through her hair. “but what happens when the feelings don’t go away?”

aliyah sits beside her, crossing her arms. “i can’t answer that for you. but i know this: you’re stronger than this. don’t let paige bueckers, or whatever’s going on between you two, take away your power.”

azzi glances at her friend. aliyah’s right, of course. but it doesn’t make it easier.

pov: paige

paige finally admits it to herself. the feelings are too strong to ignore. no matter how much she tries to bury them, no matter how much she wants to tell herself this was a one-time thing, something’s shifted.

she opens her phone, staring at azzi’s name on the screen. should i text her?

the words come too easily.

hey, i’ve been thinking a lot. maybe we could talk?

she hesitates before pressing send. it’s reckless. but the moment it leaves her hands, paige knows she can’t take it back. she’s already in too deep.

what do you want to see in part 3?

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #pazzi fics #uconn huskies #south carolina #paige x azzi #fiction

181 notes · View notes

sosasturns · 2 days ago

Text

𝐒𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 shoota!chris x bottle girl!reader

you been off for the past few days.

not off schedule—off him.

chris been moving funny, and you peeped it.

your texts? dry responses.

your calls? missed. straight to voicemail.

he said he been busy.

but busy don’t explain why he stopped pulling up after your shifts, why the usual “you get off at 3, right?” texts went silent.

thank god your car’s finally out the shop. riding passenger in silence would’ve pissed you off anyway.

brina knew something was up before you said a word.

“you ain’t post him in a minute,” she said.

you just shrugged.

“neither has he,” jasmine added.

funny how his contact disappeared from your lock screen.

your notifications full yet ones from him were nonexistent. blank. like this whole situation feelin.

you get the real punch to the gut when brina dm’s you.

that’s trey girl’s friend right?? this the spot they was at saturday

oh bitch...

you tap the post.

some chick you don’t follow, posting a carousel from that new rooftop spot in burbank.

it’s vibes. drinks. blurry dancefloor pics.

fourth slide got trey holding a bottle up.

fifth slide?

your whole chest drop.

chris.

in the back.

head low, hoodie up, arm wrapped around some girl shoulder.

grinning into her neck like he comfortable.

you zoom in.

then you lock your phone.

nah.

he got you fucked up.

you don’t text.

you don’t call.

he said he been busy, right? okay.

so when he does show up three nights later—unannounced, just like he always do—you almost don’t open the door.

but you do.

and the moment he steps in, all slow like shit sweet, you see red.

“wassup,” he says, brushing his hand against your waist like always.

you don’t lean into it.

you cross your arms.

his phone lights up in his hand—default wallpaper.

he pockets it fast.

“you good?” he asks, brows furrowed, acting clueless.

you blink at him.

“you was at rooftop saturday?”

he freezes for half a second. that’s all it takes.

“trey hit me last minute,” he says, voice casual. “only stayed for a lil.”

“stayed long enough to have your arm wrapped ‘round somebody.”

he laughs—laughs—like you just said some outta pocket shit. “man, you trippin.”

you tilt your head.

“so that was you?”

he doesn’t answer.

just exhales hard, licking his lips like he’s annoyed now.

“you really tryna come at me for a random ass hangout?” his tone got sharp edges now.

“so what, you don’t trust me now?”

you scoff at his question, turning your back.

“you made it real hard to.”

he don’t like that. you hear him shift behind you, footsteps heavy now.

“so you done? over a hangout?”

he sounds like he can’t believe you. like you’re the one being irrational.

you turn back slow.

“it’s everything, chris.”

“like what?”

“like you ghostin. not coming to the club. not calling. switching your fuckin lockscreen. moving weird. like i’m not supposed to notice.”

his jaw flexes.

“i ain’t ghost you. i been tryna get my shit in order.”

“but you had time for rooftop?”

silence.

you nod.

“cool.”

he steps closer.

“stop. don’t do that. don’t be like that.”

you laugh, tight and bitter.

“like what? like a bitch that peeped you hugged up on someone else while waiting on texts that never came?”

“it ain’t even like that!”

his voice cracks a little now, loud with frustration.

you bite your lip, swallowing that sting crawling up your throat.

you don’t wanna cry. not over this. not over him.

“then what’s it like, chris? explain it. cause right now it look like i’m the fool.”

he doesn’t speak. just runs a hand over his face, like he’s trying to figure out what to say.

too late.

“nah. fuck it. i’m good.”

“don’t say that.”

you walk past him.

he grabs your wrist gently, pulling you back.

“don’t say that,” he repeats.

his voice low now. not angry. not defensive. just…defeated.

“i ain’t mean for it to be like this.”

you don’t say nothing.

you just look at him.

the boy you let in, who made a home in your heart without even asking.

he sighs.

“just… give me a minute to fix this. please.”

you pull your wrist back, stepping away.

“we’ll see.”

then you shut the door.

and he don’t stop you.

#sosasturns #shoota!chris #bottle girl!reader #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo au #chris sturniolo angst #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo imagine #chris x reader #sturniolo triplets #sturniolos #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo

201 notes · View notes

clanwarrior-tumbly · 2 days ago

Note

how about (webseries + dream bbq? if it's no problem) ena with an s/o who has a child?? like ena discovers they have a child and when they become a thing, they introduce her to their child?? i'd also love to see mother ena <33

Yes oughh. She could be a good mother :(( /ref

Gonna put the hcs under a cut because I think I locked in a little too much haha

.........

Webseries!Ena

Above all things, your kid was your pride and joy.

They were basically a mini version of yourself. Boundless. Full of energy. Ever curious about the world around them.

They just spawned in one day while you stood around pondering what having a child would be like. It was only a fleeting thought, a small wish you kept in the confines of your heart, convinced it would never come to fruition.

But it seems like the Great Runas heard you and was feeling particularly generous.

Now you have someone who looks up to you for guidance and love, and for years it's always been that way. Just you two against the world.

Then Ena walked into your life, and she hasn't left since. She claims to have seen a "mini you" running around recently and thought you had shrunk in size, being disappointed she couldn't catch you.

Only then do you realize she's seen your kid but didn't know...

So after building up a close relationship with her, you figured now would be a good time for a proper introduction. You invite her over to meet them, and you explained to them beforehand about her arrival.

Untimely as ever, she walks in, but before you could say anything, she's rambling excitedly. "Salutations! So you're the little fragment of joy I saw running amok the other day. If not a clone, what's your relation to my beloved partner? Sister? Nephew? No, no, wait..you're their third cousin twice removed!" She grins, crouching down to their eye-level.

"Ena..this is my child."

"...ohh, I see. I see." Something in her tone shifts as her gaze meets yours. It's subtle, but she looks disheartened. "Dare I ask..who's the father? Or mother? Or...alternative parent?" Each question is laced with more dread than the last, her hands fidgeting with the fabric of her geometric skirt.

Of course, you should have known...

"There's nobody else. I promise. It's always been just us." You reassured her, before looking at your kid with a smile. "This is Ena. The one I was talking about earlier. Don't mind her fancy words. She's been good to me."

"Woah..you're Ena??" They seem astonished, at first, but then a skeptical look crosses their face. "My friends say you guys are bad luck, and trouble always comes from you."

Your girlfriend's yellow half still smiles, but inside she could hear her cubic heart crack. Yet she maintains her composure. "Ahaha! Not to worry, little one! I have been your parent's most loving other-half for....3.5 consecutive months! The follies you hear are just that! I'm most confident that we'll get along!"

After that initial meeting, Ena tries spending more time with your kid...although they still seem nervous around her, which she chalks up to them listening to the rumors and utterly despising her presence.

She wants to set a good example, and she's been great at warning them about falling rain rocks, stopping them from taking blood samples/IDs/files from strangers, and making sure Moony (who gets the "fun aunt" designation) isn't being a bad influence.

Yet it never feels like it's enough, stressing as though she's the mother herself, even when you remind her she's not.

That crack in her heart has only gotten bigger. Like a neglected pebble that was lodged into a car's windshield last week.

Her Sad form had one major breakdown when she discovers your kid warmed up to Moony quicker than her, but you reassure her that they will. It'll just take some more time.

"Bu..But what if *hic* we wun out of tiiiiiime??????"

"We won't, Ena. I promise."

One night, while your kid was at a friend's sleepover, you and her went out to a party to celebrate an anniversary. She got Drunk and had to be carried back to your place, where she kept giggling and babbling nonsense about motherhood (yet somewhere in her nonsense, you could hear her sadness, deep longing, and desires for acceptance)--and she promptly passed out.

Your kid came home earlier than expected, saw her Demon side for a framerate or two and got scared, running to hide underneath their bed.

The next morning, you tell her what happened, and you wish you didn't.....because now she's facedown on the couch, sobbing her eyes out. "I give uuuppppp," she wails, hitting her fists against the cushions. "I-I'll be nothing morwe than a..a-a stwanger to them! They can bawely even look at me!!"

You only understand half of what she's saying, but as you try comforting her, your kid suddenly walks in, looking very confused.

"Oh hey, um...." You panic a little, although they see your girlfriend crying and quietly go over to her, their gaze full of worry.

"Mom?"

Immediately she falls silent and looks at them in shock, wiping away her static tears. "Wh-What...did you just call me?"

Even you're astonished.

After months of being referred to as "Miss Ena" and "My Parent's Girlfriend of 3.5 Months"....they finally call her "Mom".

She looks at you, then your kid, then you, and back to them, eyes still wide.

"I-I'm sorry. I was just nervous." They explain, feeling a little guilty for waiting this long. "It's only been us two for a long time. But I know you love my parent, and they love you, too. I want you around more often. So...I-I'm ready to call you "mom", if that's okay."

"Bu...But what about your fwiends?" She sniffles. "Y-You still believe them?"

"Nah, they were actually real jerks. So I left them. That's why I came home early last night."

"What? But..you've known them fowever...and now you're lonely because of me..." She mumbles, feeling sad that she's the reason for yet another ruined friendship. She's ruined a few of your past ones simply by existing...and now your kid's.

But they don't seem bothered by it at all. "I'd rather be lonely than have friends who talk bad about my mom all the time."

Hearing that word makes her cry again, but now her blue side is actually smiling for once. She sits up, allowing you kid to climb onto the furniture and into her lap, embracing her tightly. "Thank you..." She whispers. "Thank you so much."

Never before has she cried happily. It's a new feeling.

But she welcomes it. Just like she's ready to fully welcome your kid into her life.

All the while, you smile too, nearly tearing up yourself.

You couldn't be prouder.

Dream BBQ Ena

It's just another day at the office, where Ena eavesdrops on a conversation between you and Froggy.

"Ughh, fine. You can go home early. But you know...you should bring that duplicate of yours to work sometime! We could always use the extra-!"

"Hell no. My kid's not gonna get wrapped up in all this mess. And that's final."

"Ehh???? You get the final say??? Remind me again who hired you?"

"Um...Ena?"

"....right, erm...okay. You can go on, I guess. But I expect you back here early tomorrow." Froggy grumbles, suddenly getting the suspicion that you two are being watched, and promptly calls out to his coworker. "Oi! Ena!! Stop being a creep and come talk to us!"

Her head peeks around the corner, followed by the rest of her body. "Sorry to intrude on this private board meeting, fellow associates." She pretends she didn't hear anything about your kid--being unaware of their existence until literally right now.

Yet you know that she knows, as it's obviously bugging her when she walks you home (after promising Froggy that this is an escort, not an unmandated break). Salesperson is chatting away about tomorrow's goals and yesterday's deadlines, but you haven't heard a word out of Meanie yet.

She always found it odd that you didn't work the longer hours like she did, as though this job wasn't the core focus of your life. It wasn't in your blood. In your veins. It didn't define you. Consume you--unlike her.

Oftentimes she wonders what kind of life she'd lead if not burdened by her duties.

Today, she discovered the reason why you randomly asked if this job had paternity leave.

It's your kid, who just spawned into this world one day and hasn't left your side. They've grown some, but still they run to greet you after work like always, and you'd pick them up with a smile bigger than the sun.

However, this evening's routine is different because of Ena's presence, as she awkwardly stands in the doorway.

"Who's that?"

"Oh!" You set them down, clearing your throat. "I think it's high time that I introduce you to Ena. We work together, and we are together, if that makes sense."

"Ohhhh...so does this mean she's my mom now?"

The question is innocent, blunt, and unassuming, holding a twinge of excitement and hope, even.

Your kid adores you, but every now and then has wondered what it'd be like to have two parents. They've seen different media about it, and heard about it from friends, too, so you knew this subject would come up eventually.

While you've entertained the idea, you weren't sure about Ena's feelings towards motherhood, considering her job and all.

In embarrassment, you lightly scolded them and turned to apologize to your girlfriend...only to see that she's frozen on the spot, like a TV segment somebody forgot to unpause. Her geometric claws twitch at her side, and her eyes are hidden beneath her hat. It's like some uncomfortable memory had resurfaced...triggered simply by saying the word "mom".

You wonder what's wrong, but her Salesperson side slaps her out of the trance, and she teleports into the middle of your living room space, scooping up your kid. "Ah! I see we have a CEO in the making! Coming soon to a dying business near you! Do you plan to step into my beloved associate's shoes once they retire? Are you investing wisely?" She puts them down, and kneels, grinning from center line-to-ear. "What's your evaluation of my work-life balance, little entrepreneur?"

"....um. Good?"

"Thanks for your feedback."

Least to say, it's not the best introduction...but not the worst, either. You'll try again tomorrow.

When tomorrow comes, you decide to bring your kid to the Hub to meet your coworkers (after they've been practically begging you to), making sure they didn't go down into the casino.

While they play with Kane, you're sitting on the pier, overlooking the bloody ocean. Ena shows up and sits beside you, but her movements are rigid. She's not chipper. She looks uncomfortable, and her Meanie side seems to crave conversation. An explanation.

So you talk.

"Darling..I'm sorry I didn't mention them before." You frowned, your hand resting on hers. "I wanted you two to meet a lot sooner, but-"

"Is there someone else?" Her voice is flat, although you detected a slight tremor in its tone.

Sure, Meanie would yell at people if she even thought they were trying to flirt with you....but this was different. This was insecurity at its core, and it's understandable for her to feel that way. If it was reversed, you'd get insecure too.

"No. It's only been [Child] and I. I'd never do that to you."

"......."

"Look, I know what they called you was a little..awkward. I'm sorry. I already talked to them abou-"

"They're your reason."

"Huh?"

"They're your reason for what you do. Everything you do, you do for them. But...where's mine?" Tiny cracks and vines begin to creep along her body, and her hands tremble. Salesperson doesn't interfere this time. "Wh-What..am I even doing here, [y/n]? I take the stupid jobs I'm given...I clear the smoke....and for what? Myself?! WHAT AM I EVEN FIGHTING FOR ANYMORE?!! A MINIMUM WAGE??? A POINTLESS EXISTENCE???"

"Ena. Hey. Hey."

She suddenly looks at you, static tears falling freely from her eyes. But you bring her into your arms before she could think of drying them. And she buries her head into your chest, clutching at your uniform, desperate for grounding.

Ever since her flashback when you two met the vending machine entity in the Lonely Door...you've been worried sick for her well-being. You didn't wanna see her fall apart like that again. Especially not after the rain rocks consumed her in the white and barren Uncanny Streets, and you thought you've lost her forever.

Your biggest regret would've been that she never got to meet your child...

"If you want...my little entrepreneur could be your reason, too." You suggested, and she looks up at you with wide eyes, as though you've just forgiven her of all sins. "When we get to the Boss, we'll take them down, for their sake. All the work we do along the way? It'll be for them, too. We can both parent them. It might be hard with our job and all, but...we can make it work."

"...you'd...let me to be their mother?" Her voice breaks. "You trust me with such a sacred task? But before you said...you didn't...wh-what if I-?"

"Nothing bad will happen to them, my love. We got our coworkers here to look out for them." You brush away her tears, removing her hat so you could kiss the top of her head. And she cuddles back against you.

Seeing her react this way made you wonder if, maybe in a past life, she was a mother at some point...or perhaps, more tragically, she had a child and lost them during the war, and only Meanie was left to carry the burden.

It's no wonder she was falling apart in your arms at the prospect of helping you raise your kid. She didn't want the same tragedy to befall them.

"Don't think of it as an "assignment" or "task" I'm giving you. Something tells me you really, really wanna be in their life. So...do you?"

Before she could give you an answer, your kid comes over, oblivious at first. "Kane is funny. He wants to invite me to a party! Can I.......Miss Ena?" They look at your girlfriend in worry. "Are you..okay?"

She manages to compose herself and sniffles, before Salesperson takes the reigns again. "I'm..operating at a sufficient level." Her smile is gentle as she sits up, her eyes warm as she looks at them. "After much discussion, I am open to being your co-parental unit. Complete with a lifetime supply of love and protection protocols." She extends her clawed hand to them. "Starting today, you may address me as "mom", "mother"....whatever fits your budget."

Your kid takes her hand, but is quick to turn that handshake into a full embrace. "Sounds cool, mom. "

It felt extremely foreign to Ena, to receive physical contact from an entity besides you that's not violent in nature.

But this one is related to you. Made of your own flesh/blood/code/etc. So in a way...you were the one embracing her. And in that way, it made her feel comfortable enough to wrap her arms around them.

Something about this moment brought her peace, as though GØD finally decided to give her a break.

For once, everything was quiet...

Only for it to be disturbed by Kane's yelp of fear and the sound of a meteor crashing.

But right now, none of you were worried about it.

#clanask #ena x reader #ena dream bbq x reader #webseries ena x reader #dream bbq x reader #parents reader #hurt/comfort #fluff #headcanons

227 notes · View notes

kxsagi · 10 hours ago

Note

got this idea cuz I was comparing sae and Rin to my friends who don't watch bllk loll

reader who's around the itoshi brothers a lot and accidentally mixes up their names at times and sometimes when she isn't looking at them or she's talking to them from another room she'll even mix up their voices 😭

lowk my dad does this w me and my siblings LMFAO

“𝐰𝐡𝐨’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢?”

a/n: i want to make out with sae

(art credits go to Jhong_Dai on X)

it’s not even your fault. really. they’re both monotone. they both sigh like the world annoys them. they both say your name like you just crashed their car. and sometimes, just sometimes, you’re not looking and they sound exactly the same.

“rin, pass me the charger?”

“i’m sae.”

“… okay, but are you gonna pass it or not?”

you don’t even flinch anymore. you just accept the wrong name like it’s your god-given right to be mildly incorrect 60% of the time. and it pisses off a particular itoshi.

rin scowls. “do you not hear the difference?”

“well yeah, i do now. you sound more like you're ready to fight someone, and sae sounds like he just woke up from a nap he didn't want to take.”

“that’s literally just being awake.”

but when you're not in the same room, that’s when things get dicey.

once, you told sae from the kitchen, “rin, can you check the oven?”

and sae, older brother sae, peeked inside and said, “yeah, it’s done.”

and you thanked him like that was normal. it wasn’t until rin came home later that night and asked what you baked that it hit you. you stared at him. “wait… that wasn’t you earlier?”

rin blinked. “i haven’t been home all day.”

“… oh.”

“… did you confuse us again.”

“… maybe.”

“… again?”

you don’t even try to defend yourself anymore. “look, you guys have the same DNA or whatever, maybe my brain just can’t distinguish premium itoshi stock.”

rin looks like he’s about to walk into traffic. sae, from the couch, just smirks without looking up from his phone.

“it’s okay,” he says, “you’re not the first one to be confused. rin used to think he was me, too.”

“i didn’t.”

“you wore my uniform with my name tag for a week in middle school.”

“it was black. they’re all black.”

“you thought you were me.”

sometimes you think you’re just being dramatic. but then they both walk into the room in black shirts, with the same resting judgmental face, the same little flick of hair falling across their forehead, and you have to mentally roll the dice.

“sae?”

“wrong.”

“rin?”

“still wrong.”

“what? ... okay, but one of you has to answer.”

"you could just turn around and look."

“no. this is a test now.”

the worst is when they use it against you. like today. one of them called from the hallway: “hey, can you come here for a sec?”

you shout back, “who’s ‘you’?”

“me.”

“who’s me?!”

“your favorite itoshi.”

you freeze. because honestly? that doesn’t help at all. they both say that with the same exact sarcasm.

rin walks in first, holding a water bottle. “did you come when i called or when sae called?”

“wait, so you called me?”

sae trails in a second later. “i didn’t say anything.”

“then why did i hear–”

they both smirk. they planned this. they planned this to gaslight you and it worked.

“i hate you both,” you mumble.

rin tosses you the bottle. “love you too.”

sae ruffles your hair as he walks by. “learn our voices before you embarrass yourself in public.”

you grumble something under your breath, and rin hears it.

“what was that?”

“… nothing, sae.”

rin stares at you. “i will throw this bottle.”

you grin. “do it, sae.”

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #itoshi brothers #itoshi siblings #rin itoshi #itoshi rin #sae itoshi #itoshi sae #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #who's that itoshi?

193 notes · View notes

viennakarma · 3 days ago

Text

Mi Nena

Fernando Alonso x Reader (+ kids)

Summary: Your daughter Esmeralda and her Father have a disagreement over karting. Stubborn as they are, you have to let them sort themselves out alone.

Word count: 3.4k

Tags: Female reader, mom!Reader, dad!Fernando, established relationship, married couple, children, karting, small accident, soft hurt/comfort, mostly fluff, godfather!Carlos Sainz, not beta read

Note: Don't even ask me how this came to be, just on my Father Fernando Alonso Agenda (again). Just a bite sized little thingy. Let me know your thoughts!!! Feedback and comments are appreciated.

Find me on Twitter!

You watched as Fernando carried Esmeralda on his back, her hold on him tight as he carried the bags to the car. It was one of those days that Fernando had to go to his karting track, and you, Esmeralda and Miguel would accompany him.

As Fernando drove away, Esmeralda was in the backseat, reading over some papers in her lap, while Miguel, at almost 2, was dozing off in his toddler seat, clutching his little plushie.

“What are you doing over there, Esme?” You asked, turning around in the passenger seat while Fernando drove.

“Just going over some lap times of the track,” She mumbled, appearing focused on her papers. You turned to Fernando, who was biting back a grin.

Esmeralda had first shown interest in karting at age 4, and now, almost 12, she was just as obsessed as she was back then. She started in a small karting track at home that Fernando had built as a hobby for whenever he had friends over, or just wanted to kart as relaxing time. After his daughter asked him to kart too, he gifted her an age appropriate go-kart. Fernando had been over the moon about his eldest kid wanting to follow his steps, even if he tried to not be too excited, since it could be a temporary interest as kids are usually prone to.

But still, eight years had gone by and Esmeralda was still focused as ever in karting. She had gone through small karting competitions, and now, she was getting ready for the next season of karting competitions.

As you all arrived at the track, Esmeralda hopped off the car, while Fernando unlatched Miguel from his seat, the little boy stirring awake. Hand in hand with his kids, Fernando walked into the main building. He went to his meeting, Esmeralda went to pick a kart and get ready to race, and you went to give Miguel a little snack, sitting outside as you watched the track from the balcony.

The track was relatively empty, with few children karting alongside your daughter. You watched, sometimes shouting for her to slow down, but he didn’t hear or pretend not to. After a couple of hours, Esmeralda stopped karting to make a lunch break, and you, her, Fernando and sleeping Miguel sat together on a table.

“Papá, will you be busy after lunch?” She asked, with big eyes and even bigger hope, and Fernando, who would do anything for her, including rescheduling his meetings to a better time, shook his head.

“Never busy for you, Princesa,” He muttered.

“Will you time a few of my laps to see if I can make it faster? Please?” She pouted, and Fernando smiled, reaching over to rub her head and mess her hair.

Esmeralda had unapologetically chopped her own hair a few months back to shoulder length because she'd say it got in the way of her sports and it was annoying under the helmet. With this hair she looked even more like her dad when he was younger, first entering the world of F1.

“Sure I can, Princess,” Fernando muttered, finishing his meal.

Later as you had Miguel in the stroller, lulled by the sound of his sister’s swooshing kart. You stood beside Fernando by the starting line, watching Esmeralda’s lap time markings, her father holding a timer device.

“What was her lap time before you started?” You asked Fernando.

“2:13:47,” Fernando replied.

Finishing the first three tries, Esmeralda had reduced her times to 2:12:39, which according to Fernando was a good improvement at first. After a few more laps with very little improvement, you could see your daughter was getting frustrated.

“Papá,” She paused, stepping out of the kart and marching towards the two of you, “where can I win time?”

“You’re doing great, Princess. You probably need to adjust more to the kart, and you’re still a little out of the racing line. Can you adjust that?”

Esmeralda nodded and returned to the kart to keep trying. Adjusting the racing line, she got a couple more seconds. But after reaching a shorter time, she stuck there.

“I’m stuck in the 2:10’s, ain’t I?” She stepped out of the kart, to look into the chart her dad was taking notes of the laps. Fernando knew that the track record was 2:02:36 because it was his own, “I need to get to at least 2:05,” she said.

“That’s…” Fernando paused, searching for the right word, “... ambitious.”

“I can do it, Papá,” Esmeralda muttered, slightly offended.

“I know you can, but-” Fernando started, but she cut him off.

“What can I do to make my time better?” There was a little tense silence and you knew Fernando was trying not to be upset with her tone.

“Try braking a little later in the turns,” you cut the tense silence. Fernando looked at you as if you had slapped him.

“You don’t-”

“¡Gracias, Mamá!” Esme smiled, rushing back to the kart and starting again.

“Why did you do that?!” Fernando asked you as she drove off.

“I’m no professional but I know she’ll win a lot of time braking later…” You shrugged. Your experience came from years and years of dating and being married to Fernando, but you did know a little bit here and there. And being an engineer, you knew your physics.

“But it’s dangerous!”

“She’s a tough girl,” You replied, narrowing your eyes at him.

“You don’t even know a thing about racing!” Fernando snapped. You looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Fine, let me take my uninformed ass away from you, then,” You said with clenched jaw, pushing the stroller and the sleepy Miguel away from the track and towards a sitting area nearby.

A few more hours went by as you worked some on your laptop and took Miguel around, all while Esmeralda was still reducing her lap time. She’d do a few laps, then go back to Fernando, then back to the kart to try again back and forth.

At some point, she left the kart looking upset, she pulled her helmet off and walked straight past Fernando towards you. You stared at the scene confused, and as Esme came towards you with messy hair and watery eyes.

“What happened, Esme?” You met her in the middle and gently brushed her hair back.

“I wanna go home…” She said, her voice trembling.

“Do you want to talk about it, love?” You asked her and she shook her head.

The drive home was quiet, well, mostly quietly, considering Miguel babbling in the backseat. As you got home, dinner was served by the home staff.

“Mamá, can I skip dinner?” Esme asked after the food was served.

“Love, you were go-karting the whole day. I think it’s healthier to eat something.” You said patiently, your eyes navigating between Esme and Fernando.

Esme mumbled but started eating anyway. After dinner, the kids showered and got ready for bed. Miguel still had an hour of play time, which he usually would use to make drawings, and Esme had two hours before bedtime. After putting Miguel to sleep you went to check on Esme. She was watching old races from Formula 1 on her iPad. As you knocked on the door and entered, she sighed.

“I know… No screens an hour before sleep.” She muttered, closing the iPad and putting it on the nightstand.

“How are you doing, Esme?” You sat down beside her on the bed, both of you with your backs against the headboard.

“A little upset.”

“I could tell. Do you want to talk about it? Or maybe talk to your dad about it?” You gently nudged the conversation.

“Maybe tomorrow?” Esme conceded with a reluctant sigh.

“Okay, baby. Just don’t keep any bad feelings too long in your heart.”

“Mom! I’m not a baby-” She huffed, rolling her eyes.

“You’re always going to be my baby, Esme!” You laughed, hugging her, placing kisses on her head until she was trying to squirm away, “do you want me to read you something?”

“Mom!” She squealed.

“Fine, fine… You’re not a baby, I know…” You jokingly rolled your eyes and got up, “Let me know if you need anything, okay? Sweet dreams.”

“You too, Mamá.”

As you returned to the master bedroom, Fernando was sitting by your vanity, removing his watch and looking in the distance, lost in thought.

“So… what happened? Why did Esme get upset with you?” You crossed your arms leaning your back against the closed door.

“I don’t know.”

“So you didn’t snap at her like you snapped at me at the track?” You asked with narrowed eyes.

“No, I-” Fernando stood up, walking towards you, he reached for your hands, “I’m sorry I snapped at you. It was rude and unnecessary when you were just trying to help,” He placed a gentle kiss on the back of your hands, “Will you forgive me?”

“I forgive you, Nano. If you tell me what the hell is going on with you.” You said, despite the harsh words, your voice was gentle.

“It’s just… It’s dangerous. Karting can be dangerous.” Fernando exhaled, “And I worry for her. I don’t want her to get hurt, or suffer any kind of track accidents.”

“Oh, Fernando,” You finally understood, his worry, his nervousness, the fear that he never had for himself in any kind of racing track. You pulled him closer and wrapped your arms around his neck, playing with the hair on the back of his head, “I get it.”

“And I had this nightmare… Remember that crash I had in Australia?” He asked, his accent thicker every time he was upset, and you nodded, “I had a nightmare it was Esme and I just… I just freaked out, I guess.”

“It’s fine, Fernando, I understand. You’re feeling what I felt my whole relationship with you. It takes some getting used to it. But she’s tough, she’s brave and most of all, she understands the danger. I know you think she can be a little reckless at times, wonder who she got that from,” you scoffed playfully, “but you have to trust Esme a bit more.”

“She’s just a child…” Fernando closed his eyes.

“And so were you once. She’s just as fierce as you were as a child.” You said, and pulled him closer, kissing his neck softly, “Let her earn her stripes. If she stumbles, or makes mistakes, we’ll be there to catch her.”

“Yes, you’re right as always, mi amor. We’ll catch her.” Fernando whispered, eyes closed as he hugged you back, “Did she say anything?”

“She said she’ll talk tomorrow. Let her cool down.”

In the morning, you and the kids had breakfast while Fernando spent a couple of hours in the study having some work calls and meetings. The doorbell rang and as you went to check the cameras, Carlos was there. You allowed his entry, and went to open the door.

“Good morning,” he greeted you with a brief hug. Carlos had been your friend for even longer than you had been with Fernando, and he was the one that first introduced you two.

“Good morning. Not to be rude or anything, but… Did something happen?” You asked, inviting him inside.

“I came to get my goddaughter to spend the day,” He said, shrugging as he went to the coffee pot to pour himself some.

“Oh, she… she and Miguel had plans to go to their grandparents’ for a sleepover…” You said.

“Well, she asked me to come,” Carlos frowned, “What is hap-”

“She’s upset with Fernando. She hasn’t spoken about it yet, and I was hoping she would open up eventually.”

“Hey, will you let me take her today? Maybe I can get her to talk.” Carlos suggested.

You sighed, because deep down you knew she had Carlos as not only her godfather, but also as a trusted uncle, a fun uncle with whom she had definitely opened up before. So you just nodded.

“Will you bring her back before dinner time?” You reluctantly said.

“Will do.”

After that, you went into her room to ask her to pack a bag to spend the day with Carlos, and you packed them a couple of snacks. As they were leaving, you started saying a few warnings for them.

“Eat the snacks, you two,” You handed her the bag, “There are a few juice boxes too,” You said as Esme and Carlos started making it to the door, “Carlos, remind her to drink water okay?”

“Relax! I’ve been her godfather for twelve years. We’ll be okay.”

After she left, you went to check on Miguel, to see if he had used the potty correctly or if he’d need a new shower. He did need a new shower. Then you took him to do some groceries with you while Fernando was still working.

When you arrived with Miguel from the grocery store and started putting everything away, Fernando came out of his study, he pecked your cheek and picked up Miguel.

“Where’s Esmeralda? Is she ready to have a talk yet?”

“She left with Carlos.”

“What? Why?” Fernando said, slightly offended.

“She probably wanted to vent to another adult instead of you and I. Let her come around.”

“This is not right,” Fernando reached for his phone, checking something for a couple of minutes, “Ah-ah, they’re at the karting track again.”

“Fernando, let them-”

But before you could finish Fernando was grabbing a backpack and the car keys. With an annoyed sigh, you followed him and packed things for Miguel, both of you getting in the car with him. You did not say anything as Fernando drove off.

When you arrived at the track, Carlos was tracking Esme lap times just like Fernando had been doing the day before. With Miguel on your hip, you followed Fernando to the trackside as he went there looking even more upset than he did before. He waited for her to finish a lap and slow down to a stop.

“¡Esmeralda, ven aquí ahora!” He called her over, shouting angrily. You and Carlos watched with wide eyes at his yell, and even more when Esme stomped out of the car, removed her helmet, and went towards her father with that defiant glint in her eyes, like she was about to argue with him head on, “What did I tell you about karting today?!”

“That you wouldn’t bring me to kart today! So I asked Tío Carlos! You didn’t say I could not come, you said you would not bring me!” She argued back.

“Don’t shout at me, niña!”

“Why not?!” Esme kept shouting, you handed Miguel to Carlos and were about to intervene when her next words made you pause abruptly, “everyone knows you don’t like to coach me because I’m a girl!”

There was a moment of silence, like Fernando couldn’t believe what he heard, and neither could you. You froze for a moment and even your mom instincts were all over the place. As you looked at Fernando, he was looking at Esme with hurt in his eyes, like she had punched him painfully in the chest.

“Esme,” He exhaled, the fight evaporated from his eyes, “Is that what you think?”

“Is that not what you think?” She asked, her voice had also gone soft, her eyes watering and chin quivering as she was fighting tears, “You never let me race fast, and you never teach me how to be faster, even though you know how to. It’s because I’m a girl. I’ve seen you coach Gabriel, and- and- many other of the boys and you always let them give their best. But never me!” Finally her tears fell down her cheeks and she looked down, her messy hair covering her face as she sobbed like a baby.

“No, no- Princesa…” Fernando walked towards her, pulling her towards a bench, where he sat so he could face her on same height, he held her shoulders, “I don’t let you race faster not because you’re a girl. It’s because you’re my daughter. It’s not that I think you’re not good enough or you can not be good enough. It’s because I worry for you. I’m so, so scared, Esme… I’ve never felt this scared when I raced myself, but now I do. There are things that are dangerous and you don’t understand how terrified of losing you that makes me.”

Esme stopped sobbing as Fernando held her chin and raised her head from looking down. He gently wiped his tear streaked cheeks, his own expression growing emotional.

“Girls are fast too. For your age, you’re very fast now. And, yes, you probably can go even faster, but… I’m scared you won’t know what to do or worse- that you could suffer some kind of accident-”

“Then teach me, Papá…” Esme whispered, “You’re the best I know. You can teach me, you can coach me. ¿Por favor?”

Fernando sniffed, refusing to cry as he nodded.

“Okay, okay… I’ll let you take more risks. But you promise you’ll do what I say? We’ll try faster but less reckless, alright?”

Esme nodded, hugging her dad, sniffing as she hid against his neck and he hugged her back, arms wrapped around her and pulling her to his lap.

“I’m so sorry I made you think that…” Fernando muttered and then his voice went softer as he whispered in her ear, probably more reassurances and praises as she nodded slowly.

With Miguel still gurgling and babbling on his hip, Carlos bowed, which made Miguel laugh.

“And scene!” Carlos whispered to you, “my work here is done.”

Carlos handed you Miguel back, reaching for Esme’s backpack to steal a couple of snacks.

“Let me know when they butt heads again,” Carlos mumbled.

“Hey!”

“What? Don’t pretend like they aren’t identical. Even the hard-headed part…” Carlos snorted, kissing Miguel’s head and waving goodbye, not wanting to interrupt the father-daughter moment.

You watched Fernando and Esme from afar for a few minutes until they both agreed with something and stood up. Fernando grabbed the timer and the notepad Carlos had left there and Esme went back to the kart, putting on her helmet and getting into it. She started driving again and Fernando timed her lap. He’d stop her and lean over her kart to tell her a few tips and things she could do to improve and she’d get better and better.

And then, at some point, she crossed the finish line and Fernando shouted, fist in the air as he celebrated.

“She made it!” He told you with a bright smile.

“2:05?” You asked.

“2:05:26”

You two celebrated with Esme as she hopped out of the kart, doing a little celebratory dance, giggling and hugging you, Fernando and Miguel.

“How about we try for the track record now?” Esme asked, looking at Fernando.

“We gotta get home for dinner. Leave it for another day.” You said with a sigh. Both Fernando and Esme looked at you with big pleading eyes, “Twenty more minutes. Then we’re leaving.”

“Yay! Gracias, Mamá!”

You were walking around close to the track with Miguel when suddenly, you heard Fernando curse. You looked just in time to see Esme’s kart going past the turn and straight against the barriers. Your heart dropped and Fernando took off running towards her.

Before you could genuinely panic, Esmeralda raised her small hand in the air and made a small thumb’s up to show she was fine. Which wasn’t enough for Fernando, who helped her out of the kart and blindly felt her limbs, asking her to breathe, to see how many fingers he was holding up, desperately trying to see if she had hurt herself.

“Papá, I’m fine!” She laughed, removing the helmet and taking his hand to walk back the rest of the way, “I’m really hungry now, can we go?”

She took his hand and practically dragged a dumbfounded Fernando towards you and the baby.

As you drove home, Esme rapidly talked about the day, about how she improved her lap time, with Miguel babbling back to her excitedly as if he knew whatever his big sister was talking about. With one hand on the steering wheel, you reached over and took Fernando’s hand.

“Are you okay?”

“I think I need to see a cardiologist…” He said with a sigh.

“You sure do, viejo.”

“This girl will give me a heart attack before I reach fifty.”

“Now you know what it is like watching an Alonso racing.”

“Thank god you love us,” He laughed, kissing your hand.

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula 1 #f1 #formula one #fernando alonso #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso x reader #fa14 #fa14 x reader #fa14 imagine #fa14 fanfic #Spotify

190 notes · View notes

leriexoxo · 2 days ago

Text

A Bumpy Ride

PART ONE

“Rough ride, hold on tight, yeah this train never sleeps”

Pairing: Chan x Fem Reader

Tags: smut, exhibition, semi-public sex, fingering, riding, car sex, risky sex, unprotected sex (be smart), breeding, tit play, friends to fbuddies

Word count: 3.9k

Summary: You got invited to go camping with the members of straykids after their promotions, everyone’s excited about the road trip in the mountains but with all the luggages of over 10 people piled up in three cars, there wasnt any room for you- well except on Chans laps, for the entire 2 hour bumpy ride and lets just say, You did NOT dress up with this outcome in mind. The road plus your clothes or lack-thereof puts you both in a sticky situation

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of laughter echoed from the driveway as the members of Stray Kids bustled around, finishing the last-minute packing for the long-awaited road trip to the campsite. Every inch of the three cars was packed to the brim with luggage, snacks, and camping gear, the trunks barely able to close, and even the backseats cramped with duffel bags and coolers. It was supposed to be a weekend away—a break from their hectic schedules, and maybe the first chance to truly relax in what felt like forever.

But, as the boys loaded into the first two cars, you stood on the edge of the driveway, eyes widening in confusion.

“Wait, where’s my seat?” you asked, glancing around. “There’s no space in the back of either car!”

Jisung poked his head out of the first car. “Uh… yeah, we didn’t quite plan for your bags, and, well, there’s no more room.”

Hyunjin, standing beside him, gave you a sheepish look. “Looks like you’re gonna have to hitch a ride in the trunk.”

“No way,” you groaned. “I’m not sitting in the trunk for two hours.”

Chan was already walking toward you, amusement in his eyes. “Hey, if you want to make it to the campsite, I can carry you. We’ll squeeze you on my lap for the ride.”

You stared at him, blinking in disbelief. “You’re serious?”

“Would you rather be left behind?” Chan smirked, raising an eyebrow, as the other boys chuckled, giving you no choice but to agree.

With a sigh and a roll of your eyes, you shrugged, “Fine, but you owe me big time for this.”

“Deal,” Chan said, already opening the back door of the third car. You slid in after him, your face flushed with embarrassment and excitement at the same time. The moment the door closed, the smell of his cologne surrounded you, his body heat radiating as you awkwardly settled onto his lap, your knees pressing against his thighs.

As the car began to roll out of the driveway, you couldn’t help but wonder how the next two hours would go. With your body pressed against his in such close quarters, you already knew this ride was about to be more intense than you had anticipated.

—

The car jolted again, tires thudding hard against another bump in the dirt road. You barely had time to brace yourself before you were airborne for half a second, and then gravity pulled you right back down—right onto Chan’s lap.

“Fuck—” he muttered under his breath, his arms tightening around your waist like a seatbelt.

“I told you I could sit on the floor,” you huffed, adjusting your grip on the headrest in front of you. Not that it helped. The moment you settled, another jolt sent you sliding again, your thigh catching between his legs.

He let out a strained breath through his nose. “Yeah, and then you’d crack your head open on the cooler.”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder, but all you caught was the flush creeping up his neck, the way his jaw clenched as you shifted again. His hands were splayed wide at your hips now, thumbs dangerously close to the hem of your shorts.

The stack of luggage separating the rest of the car felt like a wall of denial at this point—just you and Chan back here, locked in your own little pressure cooker.

“I didn’t think the road would be this bad,” you muttered, trying to lift yourself up a little, as if giving him space would help.

It didn’t. The next bump had you bouncing straight back down, and this time you felt it—hard. Solid. Pressed right beneath you.

Chan’s breath hitched audibly.

You froze. “Was that—”

“Don’t,” he cut in, voice low, jaw clenched tight. “Don’t move.”

You didn’t move. But your breathing changed—deeper, shallower, uneven.

Neither of you spoke.

Chan’s hands were still on your hips, firm, fingers twitching like they were debating a very stupid decision. His voice came again, low and rough near your ear.

“I’m serious. Don’t move.”

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.”

Another bump. Smaller this time, but it still rocked you just enough. Your body shifted instinctively, trying to find balance—and there it was again. Hard and growing.

“Fuck, y/n…” he hissed under his breath. You felt the heat in your face instantly.

“I—Chan, I didn’t—”

He exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead to your shoulder for a second. “I know you didn’t. But you’re not making this easy.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “I didn’t realize sitting on you would be this… distracting.”

He chuckled dryly, but it sounded strained, barely holding back. “Yeah well… your shorts aren’t doing a very good job of hiding anything. And I can feel everything.”

You clenched your thighs instinctively. He felt everything?

“I’m wearing thongs,” you muttered, voice barely a whisper.

His fingers dug into your hips. Just a bit. “Yeah. I noticed.”

The road jolted again, and you bounced once more—this time straight back with your ass grinding down just enough to make him curse through gritted teeth.

You froze, then slowly turned your head, eyes catching his. His gaze was dark, intense, and hungry.

“You keep doing that and I’m gonna fuck around and embarrass myself,” he murmured.

Your heart was pounding now, heat pooling low in your belly. “Maybe I don’t want you to hold back.”

His breath caught.

For a second, the only sound in the car was the rattle of loose camping gear and the hum of tires over uneven ground.

Then his grip on you changed—firmer, more possessive. “Say that again.”

You looked at him over your shoulder. “Maybe I want to fuck around and embarrass yourself?”

That was it.

Chan’s mouth was at your neck a second later, hot breath dragging over your skin. He didn’t kiss you—yet—but his hands were sliding up under the hem of your tank, palms rough and warm as they grazed the bare skin of your waist.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, baby girl,” he murmured. “You keep grinding like that and I’m not just gonna sit here and behave.”

Another bump. Another grind. This time you didn’t try to stop it.

“We’ve got two hours,” you whispered. “Make them worth it.”

The next time the car rocked, you felt it—all of it. His cock, thick and hard, trapped beneath the thin fabric of his shorts. And with how your own had bunched up so high from all the jostling, your skin was nearly bare against him. Nothing but your thin thong and the soft cotton of his shorts in between.

Your breath hitched. He groaned. Loud.

The bass from the radio swallowed it whole.

“You feel that?” he muttered near your ear, voice dark and ragged. “Feel what you’re doing to me?”

You nodded, unable to speak.

Another dip in the road—thud—and your body rocked again, thighs spread just a little wider by the movement, ass grinding down like it had a mission. You weren’t even trying to tease him now; the road was doing it for you.

But Chan was suffering. His jaw was tight, his knuckles white where he gripped your waist like it was the only thing tethering him to sanity.

“Your shorts…” he rasped. “They’re so—fuck, baby, they’re riding up so high I can see your ass.”

You whimpered, heat spiraling through you.

“I can feel everything,” he growled, pressing his hips up just slightly. That movement alone made your body shudder. “Your thong… you’re so soft, and the way you’re moving on me—”

Another bump. This one dragged you back along his lap before slamming you forward again—your bare ass grinding across the full length of his cock like a sin you couldn’t take back.

Chan groaned. Louder this time, but the music masked it again. The beat thrummed through the car like a countdown to your unraveling.

“I can’t take this,” he hissed. “You keep moving like that and I’m gonna fuckin’—”

“Then do something,” you whispered. “Touch me.”

His fingers trembled on your waist. He dragged them lower, just a little—pads brushing over the waistband of your shorts, thumbs dipping beneath, teasing the edges of your thong.

“You’re not gonna stop me?”

You shook your head. “I don’t want you to stop.”

That was all he needed.

His hand slipped down, just one. Slowly. Carefully. Until his fingertips grazed between your thighs—where the fabric was soaked.

“Shit.” He exhaled, voice cracked. “You’re dripping.”

You clenched around nothing, thighs tightening.

“You want me to keep going?” he asked, voice filthy-soft.

You didn’t trust yourself to answer. You just arched your hips back—grinding into his palm, into the thickness straining beneath you.

His fingers pushed your thong to the side. Bare skin met bare skin. Heat met heat.

“Fuck,” he muttered, biting back a groan as his finger traced the crease where your inner thigh met your heat.

You wanted to say something—but then he did it.

One arm curled tightly around your waist. The other moved fast. In a swift, practiced motion, he lifted your hips just barely—just enough—and shoved one leg of his own shorts up, freeing himself.

You didn’t even have time to react.

He was bare. Thick. Hot. His cock rested heavy and flushed against his stomach for a beat before he guided it—down. Right where you’d just been sitting.

Then he slowly lowered you back onto him.

You gasped.

There was no warning. No barrier. Just the thin strip of your soaked thong and his bare length pressing directly beneath you—so warm, so hard, the tip catching against the curve of your ass, dragging sinfully along your folds with the slightest motion.

“Holy shit,” Chan choked out, one hand clutching your hip, the other gripping the seat beside him. “You feel that?”

You nodded wordlessly, mouth parted, hips frozen.

“Don’t move,” he groaned. “Just—fuck, don’t move.”

But then the car hit another rut.

You dropped onto him with a jolt, your body sliding back and forth over his cock. No fabric. No friction buffer. Just sinful, desperate rubs with every bounce of the wheels.

Chan growled, low and guttural.

“Fucking hell, baby girl, you’re gonna make me lose it.”

Your hands gripped the back of the headrest in front of you, legs trembling as each bump dragged you across him again—tip gliding between your folds, shaft grinding against the soaked thong and swollen skin. It was torture. Hot, slow, overwhelming torture.

“I can feel your slit every time,” he rasped against your neck. “You’re soaked, baby. Your pussy’s just rubbing all over my cock like you want me to slide right in—”

You whimpered. The music thumped around you. No one could hear. No one knew. But you were unraveling—both of you were.

Two hours of this? There was no way you’d survive.

The next bump sent another long, dragging rub down the length of his cock—and this time, you didn’t even pretend it was an accident.

You shifted your hips, tilted just slightly forward, and then rolled them back—slow and deliberate.

Chan let out a strangled, broken sound behind you. “Baby girl… don’t do that.”

You did it again.

His hands flew to your hips like magnets, gripping tight—but he didn’t stop you. He couldn’t. Not when your soaked thong was leaving a hot, sticky trail with every slide along his shaft.

“I thought you said not to move,” you whispered, leaning back into his chest like you hadn’t just destroyed every ounce of his control.

“I did,” he growled, his breath hot against your neck. “And now look what you’ve done.”

You rolled your hips again, slow and sensual—smearing yourself along his cock, soaking him with your arousal. The movement pressed your bare ass tighter against his lower stomach, letting you feel just how wet you were making him.

He hissed, head dropping back against the seat. “You’re so fucking wet, baby. I can feel it all over me.”

You shivered at the sound of his voice—low, desperate.

“I want your hands,” you said quietly.

His eyes snapped open, dark and wild. “Where?”

You guided one hand up beneath your tank top. His palm was rough, fingers wide as they skimmed the soft skin just beneath your chest. You arched into his touch, and he groaned again, fingertips brushing the underside of your breasts.

“No bra?” he rasped, voice cracking.

“Too hot,” you whispered, and then ground against him again, dragging your soaked core along his length.

His other hand slipped down, fingers trailing over the curve of your thigh, then back up under the edge of your bunched-up shorts—cupping your ass. Skin on skin.

He groaned like a man starving.

“I could come just from this,” he muttered, lips ghosting your shoulder. “Just from the way you’re grinding on me. Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

You kept moving—slow, calculated circles of your hips, soaking his cock in your slick, never letting him push inside. Not yet.

“Touch me more,” you breathed, and his hands obeyed instantly.

One slid up higher under your tank, finally palming your breast, thumb flicking gently over the nipple until you gasped. The other massaged your ass, squeezing and pulling, guiding your grind like he was trying to memorize the way your body felt on top of him.

The road kept jerking you, bump after bump, each one adding to the torture.

He was soaked now—shaft glistening with your arousal, tip slick and nudging against your entrance every now and then, tempting fate.

“You don’t want me to put it in?” he asked, voice hoarse. “Not even a little?”

“I want your fingers first,” you said. “I want you to feel what you’re doing to me.”

Chan swore under his breath. You felt his hand dip lower, slide between your thighs—and then two fingers, warm and strong, brushed over your slit.

You were dripping.

“Holy shit, baby…” His breath caught. “You’re soaking through the seat.”

And then he slid one finger along your folds, slow and reverent. Just barely teasing. Just enough to make you lose your mind.

You moaned softly, head tilting back, and his lips caught your neck. “You gonna let me play with you back here, princess? Gonna let me see how wet you get before I fuck you stupid?”

You didn’t answer. You just kept grinding—slow and sinful—while his fingers slipped beneath your thong and finally, finally, sank inside.

His fingers were deep inside you now—slow, torturous. He worked you with careful precision, like he was studying every little shiver your body gave, every breath you took. Your hips ground down harder, desperate for more, but he just pulled back, not letting you feel the deep, punishing stroke you needed.

You were soaked. So fucking soaked it was obscene. The sounds of your wetness mixed with the sound of the car’s engine humming beneath you, but all you could focus on was him—his fingers buried inside, curling against you just enough to make you ache for more.

“God, baby…” Chan muttered, his voice strained, low and ragged. “You’re so tight, I can barely move inside you. Just a little… fuck, just a little bit more—”

You whined as his thumb brushed your clit, the sensation so damn good that you nearly bucked right off his lap.

“Chan…” you whimpered, voice breathless, “please…”

He didn’t answer. He just moved faster, fingers sinking deeper, thrusting in and out of you in a slow rhythm that matched the uneven speed of the car. Every bump seemed to push you closer to the edge, making you grip his arm tighter, your body trembling as you ground yourself against him again, dragging your soaked thong along his hard cock with every movement.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” he groaned in your ear, his lips brushing your skin as he leaned in, his free hand massaging your breast again, squeezing the soft flesh, rolling your nipple between his fingers. “All this wetness… all this for me? For just my fingers, baby girl?”

Your eyes closed, head tipping back as you lost yourself in the sensation. The way his fingers moved, the way his thumb circled your clit, the way he was slowly unraveling you from the inside out. You couldn’t stop grinding against him, the friction driving you crazy.

“More,” you whispered, needing it. “Please, more.”

But Chan’s pace stayed maddeningly slow, deliberately pulling away just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore. He wasn’t giving you what you wanted—not yet.

“You want more?” he teased, voice thick with desire. “Tell me how bad you want it. Beg for it.”

You moaned, grinding harder against his hand, your hips moving as if they had a mind of their own now. “Chan, please. Please… don’t stop, I need more.”

A satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he added a second finger. The stretch burned, but it was delicious—perfect—and you gasped in response.

“There we go,” he murmured, his fingers working in and out of you in a steady rhythm. “Let me hear those pretty sounds. Let me feel how wet you are for me.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore. You bucked your hips, fucking yourself against his hand, your body pushing harder into him, desperate for that sweet release that was slowly building. You were so close—so close you could taste it.

His fingers moved faster, deeper. His thumb rubbed tight circles around your clit, and that was all it took. The sensation built higher, tighter, until you exploded, hips jerking violently as you came on his fingers, your body trembling with every aftershock.

Chan groaned, voice low and guttural. “Fuck. You’re so fucking beautiful when you come on my fingers.”

But you weren’t done yet.

You stayed there, breathless, shuddering in his arms, your body still writhing from the intensity of the orgasm. You could feel his cock, hard and aching beneath you, and you needed it. You wanted to feel him—more than anything.

But the road kept shaking, throwing you in and out of his lap, teasing you further.

“Please, Chan,” you whimpered, fingers gripping his wrist, pulling his hand away just enough to feel the tip of his cock brushing against your slick folds. “Please… let me ride you. I need you.”

His eyes darkened, breath ragged. “You’re gonna kill me, baby girl, but yeah… yeah, let’s make it happen.”

One hand slid between your thighs. Found the edge of your thong. Tugged it aside.

“Chan—” “I need you.”

And then—he was there.

Hot, thick, and bare, pressing against your entrance. You tried to shift forward but his arm wrapped tight around your waist and dragged you back, slow and steady, until he was buried inside you.

Your mouth fell open in a silent cry. You could feel every inch of him, the stretch delicious, dizzying. He was deep—too deep for a position like this—but you were soaked and desperate and clenching around him like he belonged there.

His breath stuttered behind you. “Jesus—you’re so fucking warm.”

You nodded, dazed, forehead against the window as you tried to keep quiet. The van hit another bump. You rocked forward, then back—impaling yourself even deeper. He groaned through clenched teeth.

“Keep doing that,” he whispered. “Fuck, ride me. Just like that. Slow.”

Your hips obeyed before your brain caught up. Rocking in tiny, aching rolls, grinding down on him with each jolt of the van. Every breath was ragged, every movement a gamble.

And right on the other side of those boxes?

Hyunjin hummed along with the music.

Still completely unaware that you were fucking yourself on his leader.

Slow, careful, desperate.

Chan’s cock was buried inside you, pulsing with every clench of your walls. His hands were locked around your waist, trying to hold you still, failing miserably. Every bump of the road pushed you deeper, every sway of the van had your breath catching.

He was too hot. Too hard. And you were soaking him—your thighs slick, his jeans drenched at the crotch where your arousal was leaking down his length.

“This is so fucked,” you whispered, barely audible over the hum of the tires and the loud music from the radio. “We’re gonna get caught—”

“No one’s watching,” he growled into your ear, voice thick with lust. “They don’t even know. You’re doing so good, baby. Just keep going.”

You whimpered. Baby.

He’d never called you that before this car ride. Never held you like this, whispered filth into your skin with his cock so deep inside you that your toes curled. You were always part of the gang, like one of the boys.

The box next to you shifted again. For a split second, you thought Hyunjin had moved—your heart stopped, but he didn’t stir. Still slumped with headphones in, face turned toward the window.

“Ride me slower,” Chan whispered, lips brushing the back of your neck. “Nice and quiet. Can’t let them hear how wet you are, right?”

You nodded frantically, already lifting your hips with agonizing slowness before dropping back down—just a little. Just enough to make him shudder.

“Oh my God,” he groaned softly, teeth grazing your shoulder. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

You were trembling. Your thighs, your stomach, your voice—it was all unraveling. The tightness in your belly coiled sharper every time he bottomed out inside you, the base of him grinding against your slick folds, your clit catching against the rough fabric of his jeans.

You wanted more.

You wanted everything.

“Touch me,” you whispered. “Please—Chan—”

His hand slid between your thighs so fast it made your breath catch. Two fingers on your clit, slow circles, slick with your own arousal. You bucked in his lap, nearly gasped—but his hand clamped over your mouth just in time.

“Shhh, baby. I know. I know it’s too much.”

His other hand curled tighter around your waist, guiding you now—fucking you onto him with every soft thrust. You were close. So close.

“You gonna cum for me?” he murmured, filthy and sweet. “On my cock like this, while everyone’s right here? You want that?”

You nodded, eyes wide, thighs trembling. You couldn’t speak—not with his hand over your mouth, not with his cock dragging against that spot inside you that made everything go hazy.

“That’s it,” he whispered, desperate now. “Be good and cum for me. Let me feel it—fuck—please.”

Your vision blurred. The tension snapped. You came with a silent scream, clenching so hard around him that his breath hitched and his hips stuttered.

“Fuuuck—” he groaned, voice ragged. “I’m gonna—shit, I can’t hold it—”

He thrusted up once, twice—and then he was spilling inside you. Hot, thick, filling you to the brim while his head dropped against your shoulder and his entire body went taut.

You both froze. Still joined. Still breathing hard. Still soaking.

Silence.

Then—

“…Yo, you guys alive back there?” Jisung called from the front. “You’ve been quiet as hell.”

You panicked, heart in your throat—but Chan didn’t even flinch.

“Yeah,” he called back, perfectly calm. “She fell asleep on me.”

You choked out a laugh against his palm, breathless, still trembling.

“Cutest little angel,” he added, loud enough for everyone to hear, while he was still buried deep inside you and your ruined panties were sticking to your thigh.

You were going straight to hell. But at least Chan was going with you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: so i’m back with more Channir filth 😂 you know the drill guys, engage! Also this comes with a part 2 so lets get atleast 150 notes before i upload the second part!

Thanks for following guys! I cant believe we’re already over 450 in less than two months! 😭❤️ please continue to drop your likes and reblog, for motivation!

210 notes · View notes

f1daydreamer · 21 hours ago

Text

Everything You’re Not

(Is Everything I Want)

---

At first, you didn’t notice it. The glances. The whispers. The comments buried in harmless conversations.

You were just the girl who loved Charles — the one who never missed a FaceTime call, who stayed up during red-eye flights just to catch a glimpse of him crossing the finish line through a blurry stream. You made him laugh when he was tired, gave him space when he was under pressure, and believed in him when the headlines didn’t.

But the more races you went to, the more it chipped away at you.

It wasn’t just the glamor. It was the quiet way you were not like them — the other girlfriends, fiancées, models, heiresses. You weren’t wearing Balenciaga. You didn’t know how to walk in sky-high heels across gravel without wobbling. You weren’t friends with designers or stylists or team principals’ wives.

You were the girl who bought Zara on sale. Who still checked your bank account before saying yes to weekend plans. Who couldn’t afford to fly to every race unless Charles offered — and when he did, your stomach twisted into guilt.

You weren’t used to being taken care of. You were used to being enough on your own.

But suddenly… you weren’t.

Not in this world.

Not when the cameras loved every other woman’s angles. Not when Twitter compared your outfit to someone else's Dior. Not when fans whispered things like, She’s cute, but she’s not WAG material.

You hated that you cared. But God, you did.

—

You didn’t bring it up to Charles. Not at first. He was already under so much pressure — the car, the strategy, the championship, the media. You didn’t want to add your fragile self-worth into the mix.

But he noticed anyway. Of course he did.

He noticed the way your smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes. The way you shrank beside him at races instead of holding his hand like you used to. He noticed how you suddenly insisted on staying home. On watching from your tiny apartment with the curtains drawn. He noticed your silence more than anything.

And eventually, he asked.

Not as Charles Leclerc — Ferrari’s star. Monaco’s golden boy.

Just as your boyfriend. The man who adored you.

—

He flew to see you right after the Barcelona race — skipped the fancy gala, the yacht party, all of it. Just knocked on your door in a hoodie and jeans, carrying a bag of groceries because he knew you wouldn’t have eaten.

You opened the door and tried to pretend everything was fine.

He stepped in and kissed your forehead.

“You’re lying,” he said softly. “Even your hug felt different.”

You froze.

“I’m just tired—”

“No,” he interrupted gently. “Tired feels different. This is something else.”

You bit your lip.

“I’m not like them, Charles,” you said suddenly, voice cracking. “And I think the whole world knows it.”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed hard.

“The girls in the paddock. The ones on Instagram. The ones who can afford to be at every race. Who wear designer without trying. Who look like they belong in your world. I don’t. I feel like some… out-of-place tagalong who’s embarrassing you.”

His entire face fell.

You laughed bitterly, tears burning behind your eyes.

“Even when I do show up, I get compared to everyone else. I don’t want to ask you to fly me places. I don’t want to be the reason people say you could do better.”

Charles reached for you before your voice gave out.

“You are never an embarrassment,” he said fiercely, hands cupping your face. “You hear me? Never. Not for one second.”

You looked down.

“I’m just… not enough, Charles. Not for this life. Not for you.”

“Stop.”

His voice broke a little. Like he couldn’t believe you’d ever say that about yourself.

“You don’t have to wear Dior for me to love you. You don’t need to be anyone but yourself. You’re not less than because you don’t live out of a suitcase or spend ten thousand euros on a purse.”

He took a deep breath, then leaned in closer.

“You are the only person in my life who makes me feel like Charles. Not the driver. Not the brand. Just me.”

Your bottom lip trembled.

He continued, voice low and unshakable.

“You think I want someone who treats me like a trophy? You think I’d trade the way you hold my hand when I’m anxious for someone who knows how to pose for a photo? No. Never. Because you are the person I come home to — not Monaco. You.”

You let yourself cry then, your walls cracking wide open in his arms.

“I hate that I care what people say,” you whispered.

“I know,” he murmured. “But you don’t have to fight this alone anymore.”

You nodded against his chest.

“And for the record,” he added softly, tipping your chin up, “when you walk into the paddock? You are the most beautiful woman there.”

You scoffed through a watery smile.

“I mean it,” he said. “You walk in like you don’t even know you steal the spotlight. It kills me. Half the team has a crush on you.”

“Liar,” you mumbled, blushing.

He grinned, kissing you slow and sure.

“I love you. Not for how you look in front of a camera. Not for what you wear. Not for how rich you are.”

He brushed a tear from your cheek.

“I love you for being you. For grounding me. For making me laugh. For never treating me like I’m more than human.”

You felt your chest finally loosen — the heaviness lifting.

“You don’t have to be like anyone else, amour. I didn’t fall in love with them. I fell in love with you.”

You nodded, breath hitching.

“I’ll still get insecure sometimes,” you whispered.

“And I’ll remind you,” he said, holding you tighter. “As many times as you need.”

You melted into him.

For the first time in a long time… you felt like you belonged.

—

(If you'd like a part 2 of them at a race where the reader finally walks into the paddock confident and hand-in-hand with Charles, I’d love to write that too.😊)

---

PS.

144 notes · View notes

kaysdelights · 3 days ago

Text

when you're forced to marry an alien himbo | 🔞

words: 5004 fem reader x male main character w / au's: alien!au, himbo alien, arranged marriage, getting off in front of him summary: you're a brand new bride to a himbo virgin alien warrior that is obsessed with making you happy:) a/n: i told myself i wouldn't repost ALL of my shitty stories again for the millionth time while i figure out what i wanna do with my life BUT i desperately wanna get inspiration for this AU again because it was SO FUN TO WRITE! so im posting it again and also i need to tell myself i can do whatever i want to be happy D': okay love you <3 there is another part to this hehe also this has nothing to do with the other alien au i posted recently... i was just in a mood late last year writing about hot aliens lol

“You might want to have a seat when I tell you this, bestie.” You hear the impending doom in the tone of her voice coming in clearly through the speaker of your phone. “You’re an alien bride.”

As if things couldn’t get any shittier for you.

You got fired from your job because you were running late due to your car breaking down. You couldn’t afford to fix the part on your car because your bank account was overdraft due to your A/C breaking the week before. But it’s not like you could have even paid for the A/C when your boyfriend (now ex) broke up with you, drained your account for all he could, and took off with your sister to Vegas. Now you’re an alien bride thanks to the leaders of earth making a deal with the alien’s that they would protect all humans from the other invasive species of the universe if they send mate’s for the aliens in return.

“Or, is it an alien's bride? Are you an alien bride if you’re human and you’re marrying the alien? Or, like, are you the alien’s bride because you’re the alien’s? You belong to the alien. The alien’s woman? Either way… that’s you, girl.”

The sound of your best friend rambling because she’s scared shitless for you barely snaps you out of your daze.

“Is he rich, at least?” You sigh into the speaker. What’s one more weird and oddly specific thing that could go wrong? Just add it to the list. Alien, or maybe alien’s, bride? Check! “Because that would solve half my problems, Sera, and honestly when you’re only adding one problem back in, it evens out. Girl math.”

“Listen, you didn’t hear it from me-” But, you did. Sera works for the earth-intergalactic species representatives resources department. This is the only reason you’re finding out about this now. Normally people are just snatched up from their homes to go off and breed ginormous alien babies. Or, at the very least, marry an alien. You aren’t too sure on the specifics of what happens after that, but you have always been a little curious… “Your alien is a total hottie.”

“What are you insinuating?” You gasp, part offended and part imagining how hot your alien husband-to-be actually is. “I just go up there and let this alien have his way with me to completely destroy me? I heard they’re not gentle! They’re mean and rough and ugly. So, really, how hot could he be?”

“You’ve never even seen one of them before!” She begins to whisper, as if someone is coming closer that could hear and potentially get her fired, or worse. “Look, you’re one overdraft fee away from homelessness. Don’t look at this as a bad thing. You’ve got no choice.”

You know she’s right. What other choice do you have?

You’re beamed up to the alien spaceship that hovers earth the following morning. Literally. Beamed up in a blink of an eye. One minute you’re on earth, the next you’re surrounded by cold, steel walls in a circular room with two bags of your things and your cat, Jellybean. Jellybean hisses at thin air as he looks around, clinging to your shirt like it's his lifeline. His orange fur begins to fly when you try to soothe him, all before a sliding door opening to the right, and in walks the dreamiest, most charming, hunkiest man that ever hunked.

Was this your alien husband-to-be? God, you hoped so. You were going to end it all if you haven’t even left earth yet, knowing this divine specimen exists and you couldn’t have a chance with him.

He clears his voice, a nervous smile on his lips, before he tells you his name. “I’m your husband.”

Relief floods you. She was right. He is hot. Beyond hot. Your knees quiver as he steps closer, heart racing. As he walks into the yellow cast of the light overhead, you notice his brown, military style uniform, matching cap on his head, and black boots. Of course, all the aliens are trained soldiers well respected across galaxies for their skills in combat. It’s why earth so happily accepted their protection. They needed to remain safe, and the aliens needed mates.

Jellybean hisses again to pull you away from the thoughts roaming. He looks down at the cat, then back to you. You expect him to be rude, mean even, maybe make an insulting comment, but he only smiles.

“Would you like to see our living quarters? Let your friend get something to eat and drink while we settle in?”

“S-Sure.” Okay, you weren’t expecting that. Aren’t these aliens supposed to be mean? Horrid? Rough? Terrible? Ugly?! So far he was none of these things. He doesn’t even have a problem with Jellybean. Your ex hated Jellybean, but to be fair Jellybean hated him, too.

God, speaking of, has it really been that long since you’ve been laid that you’re getting all hot and bothered over this alien just for being nice and not minding your cat? He leads you down corridors of metal until you’re suddenly thrust into a bustling living area full of other aliens and humans, lounges, TVs, little food carts with any option of burger, chicken wing, or pizza you could imagine. You name it, it was offered in those delicious smelling stands, though you wonder what kind of meat they used. Alien technologies are clearly far more advanced. Even their fauna was beautiful and ethereal looking, sparkling off the synthetic sun overhead while the koi fish in the ponds around them swam gracefully.

Though food and decor didn’t keep your attention for long. A couple you walk past looks as lovey-dovey in love as one could be. He’s much larger than her as she snuggles into his side while the two read the intergalactic news articles in the morning paper. She leans up and gives him a kiss on his cheek. As if she just couldn’t help herself, and you really can’t blame her either when you notice all of the aliens are pretty hot.

Not as hot as your alien, of course. There’s no alien like your husband.

“Um, husband?” You shuffle your feet quickly to reach his side, grabbing onto his arm with the hand that isn’t holding Jellybean.

“Yes, wife?” A shiver races down your spine at him calling you wife. God, were you really about to fall head over heels for an alien? The odds seemed likely. At this point, what did you have to lose? You only had everything to gain. Like a super hot, super attention and sweet alien husband who was no doubt packing downstairs.

“Where exactly are we staying aboard this massive ship?” The alien spaceship was big enough to serve as a warning to the other space travelers to stay away, but also big enough to host every trained soldier from their home planet.

“Just down here,” he says, leading you out of the living area down a more lively looking hallway with plants and pictures of army captains. Then he stops down another hallway in front of a door seconds before it slides to the right. “Right in here.” He carries your two bags through the threshold into the most normal looking foyer you have ever seen. Ahead are even a set of stairs made from hardwood floor. To the right, a kitchen. To the left, a living room. A house that jumped straight out of a magazine. You expected the alien spaceship to look like something from Star Trek, and part of it does, but some parts…

“This looks so…”

“Human?”

“Yes!” He chuckles at that, setting your things down while you let Jellybean out of your arms to go sniff everything. “Why?”

“To make our mates more comfortable. To feel more like home.”

You can’t help your frown. “What if we don’t want it to feel that way?” Your voice is a whisper as you take in the surroundings. You’ve never lived anywhere this nice. It’s way too suburban, picket fence, three kids and a dog for you.

“If the living arrangement is not to your standards, we can make changes.” There’s a frown on his face now. He actually looks disappointed you don’t seem happy. You definitely hate that look.

“It’s great! No worries!” You offer him the biggest smile you can muster, watching his grin return. “So, shall we get started?” you ask, beginning to take off your coat considering shoes were already left at the entrance. The coat falls to the floor before you begin unbuttoning your jeans.

“Wh-what are you doing?” He blinks a few times before turning his head from you. “If you needed to get changed, I could have stepped away.” He won’t look at you, so you stop fidgeting with your jeans.

“Changed? No, I meant sex and alien babies.” He snaps his head at your words. “Isn’t that what I’m here for?”

“You’re here to be my wife.”

“Yeah… which means sex and then having alien babies. Right?”

He looks confused. Now you feel heat rushing to your cheeks. You quickly pick your coat from the floor, covering yourself to not feel as exposed from your embarrassment. Not like it would help. He’s already eyed you up and down and back again at the mere mention of sex.

“I’m… not sure.” He looks down, rubbing the back of his neck. “We were told marrying a human would give us strength, power. That what we receive from our mate would make us nearly invincible.”

Your jaw hangs open. “Excuse me?” You blink, taking a step toward him. “What the fuck are you saying?”

He gulps, not bothering to meet your eyes due to him cowering like you’re a foot taller than him. To be fair, you do have an intimidating gaze when things start to get complicated.

“Being with a human means being powerful,” he repeats, though it doesn’t make an ounce more sense. “We were told our humans would teach us what we needed to know to be successful lovers.”

You choke on your own spit from the words, coughing. “So being a good lover makes you more powerful?” You shake your head. “Being with me… being a good lover… makes you more powerful?” You’re squinting at him, no longer frustrated, but curious if he’s saying what you think he’s saying. If so, you have one hot himbo virgin on your hands and he’s in dire need of a sex lesson from you.

“Yes, that’s it.” He nods, finally looking you in the eyes.

“Well, you know what? My life sucks so what the hell? Whatever it is, alien husband, I’m going to make you more powerful! And you know what else? My life could still suck but at least I don’t have to go to work anymore and have Creepy Andy stare at my tits all day.”

He frowns, anger spreading in his features. The shift in his demeanor is so sudden, it catches you off guard. “Is this Creepy Andy a problem?”

Oh… you like that. This alien is awakening something in you that makes you… horny? Scared? Maybe both. He’s big, and dangerous, and from another planet and it kind of turns you on he is willing to do, well whatever he would do to Creepy Andy if you said yes. No human man has ever made you feel this way. This stirring of excitement and adrenaline mixed with fear of the unknown washing over you as he looks at you like he would eat you up and worship you. Of course, what’s his has been threatened. From his tone, his posture, his words, you realize he’s a territorial man. So your hot himbo virgin alien is the jealous, protective type. Somehow you find him even more attractive.

“Not anymore,” you tell him, sighing, pouting, earning a little more of his attention which you realize you actually adore in the moment. He steps closer, placing hands on your arms. “I mean, it got pretty bad there for a while. He was always trying to flirt, and make weird comments about me, and just be creepy, you know?”

Okay, you didn’t have to go into detail, but to watch your new alien husband get worked up over another man’s comments about your body does something to your confidence. This alien has claimed you for his keeping, and it’s clear no one else should dare to even look at you or this alien super soldier will not be so nice.

“Where can one find this Creepy Andy?”

His question has you bursting into giggles. “Don’t worry about it.” You reach to pat him on the chest, feeling the hard muscle underneath. “It’s not something I have to worry about anymore.”

You pull away to go get Jellybean settled in while he takes your things upstairs. After a while of soothing Jellybean and coaxing him out of his hiding place under one of the lounges in the living room so he would eat something, your husband comes downstairs to offer you a cooked meal.

“You cook?”

“Sometimes.” His sheepish grin has butterflies swarming your stomach. How can he be so hot, and intimidating, yet cute? You follow him into the kitchen with the standard fridge and oven, with a sink and dishwasher close by. Looks just like something you would see on earth, if it weren’t for the unique gadgets and interesting trinkets here and there. You assume they are alien created, and you’re curious how they work.

You guess a lesson on alien tools will have to be another day as he gets to work creating you a meal that smells delicious. He tells you it’s some sort of delicacy where he’s from, but you don’t question it. You haven’t eaten all day, too nervous about meeting him. So you take a bite, and to your surprise, it’s not half bad. There’s a few flavors you recognize in the dish, what look to be like noodles, and some kind of meat. You don’t ask the questions you normally would. You don’t want to spoil it if this is what you have to live with.

“Would you like to join me while I wash up?” he asks while taking the plates away to place them in the dishwasher. A man who cooks and cleans up? You’ve died and gone to heaven.

“Wash up? As in… shower?”

“Shower, bathe, whatever you wish to do.”

It’s hard to turn him down when he’s being so generous. “S-Sure.” Though, you are a little nervous. It’s been so long since you’ve even seen anyone in their underwear. Better to go ahead and get the awkwardness out of the way. This is your husband, after all.

“I would love a bath. My muscles feel so tense from being nervous and I think I sweated so much from the anticipation of meeting you I would really like to wash up.”

He’s smiling at your rambling. Okay, you’re a lot nervous. Not that you don’t have confidence around men. You do and you enjoy taking charge and demanding what you want, but this is no ordinary man. This man is gorgeous, understanding, sweet, and kind. From out of this world. This man could have been written by a woman, maybe mother nature herself, and that’s what is making you so nervous. Why does he seem so perfect? You were so convinced the aliens were mean, and rough, and ugly, but he’s shown you the opposite.

“Come with me,” is all he says before you’re following him up the stairs, down the hall into a room that looks more alien than human. The door slides to the ride to reveal marble steps leading to a dais filled with water. The platform sits low as a soft hum emits from the inviting bathing pool, lights glowing all around in alien markings you can’t decipher.

“This is simply gorgeous,” you sigh, taking in the purple and blue fauna all around the room. Steam rolls off the water, shimmering beneath the glowing markings.

“I’m happy it pleases you, I spent a while setting it up for you,” your big alien husband says, his tone giving him away that he could be blushing. “This is where I can bathe you every night while worshipping your body in any way you see fit. It is one of the more intimate ways we can bond so you can share your gift with me, so I feared I might be rushing things, but I admit, I was excited to show you.”

You’re nearly brought to tears from the way he speaks to you as well as this steamy, inviting bathing pool he’s brought you to. Earth men could never.

“Thank you,” you whisper a second before jumping into him. Your arms wrap around his neck while his hands pull you in closer. “No one has ever been this nice to me or done something so sweet.” He took you away from at least half your problems, doesn’t mind your cat, gave you a cozy, comfortable house to live in, cooked for you, built your own personal, lavish bathing pool, and wants to give you orgasms every night. Could your life get any better? You might have just fallen in love. It’s not too soon if he’s an alien, right?

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he says, pulling away. “I just wanted to show you tonight, and if all we do is admire one another in our flesh then that’s okay with me.”

Your heart swells. Could your husband get any sweeter? “No, believe me, I want to.” Suddenly, you’re not feeling so shy. The confidence has returned in full force as you take your coat off once again, allowing it to fall to the floor.

“Well,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding your eyes. “If you’re sure you’re comfortable…”

The mood shifts suddenly. You picked up on the tone of his voice, the uncertainty there.

“Hey, are you alright?” You stop in the middle of unbuttoning your jeans once again, stepping to him to look into his eyes from below.

“I just…” He lets out a breath and your heart sinks.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, either,” you remind him, reaching to give his hand a squeeze. “I’ll admit, this whole situation is bananas, and the fact that I have a husband who is an alien is wild to me, but we don’t have to rush anything just because that’s what we’re supposed to do.”

He looks into your eyes, the subtlest of wrinkles between his brows. “It’s just… my whole life I was trained to be a soldier. I’ve spent well over twenty of your earth years testing my combat skills, my war knowledge, my stamina and wit and endurance. It wasn’t until our last years in training did they talk about our need for a human mate from earth. I… I want to be a good mate to you, a good husband, because it’s important to both of our species survival, but I don’t know how.”

Tears finally do begin to well behind your lids as he speaks. The familiar tightness tugs behind your eyes, heart breaking into pieces. You only thought about how the situation makes you feel, not how your new alien husband would feel. You feel a little sick at the thought of disregarding him just because he’s not human. Of course he has feelings and boundaries.

“I’m sorry,” you exhale, shaking your head. His expression turns into confusion, brow wrinkling and lips parted. “I guess I’m just used to the men I’ve been with and their ability to only speak with their dicks. This is the most adult conversation I’ve ever had. I don’t know how many times I can say this, but earth men could never!”

He chuckles as you speak, happy to see his smile return since he’s unbelievably beautiful when he does so. “I like the way you talk. It’s funny.”

“Funny?” You raise a brow, but you can’t stop yourself from grinning.

“It makes me happy and I just want to keep smiling.”

Oh… he thinks you’re cute. Your stomach flip flops just the same as your heart.

“Why don’t we start as slow as both of us need to.” You step away from him, gesturing toward the bathing pool. “Let’s just bathe tonight.”

He agrees and you both begin to take your clothes off. There’s hesitation in every motion and he can’t stop stealing glances at you. Your jeans slide to the floor, his shirt follows. Piece by piece until you’re both naked before one another. His eyes travel down your body, taking in every enticing curve, every dip, every expanse of skin until he’s gulping. You take him in as well, the muscles twitching beneath your gaze, the smooth skin, the fact that his cock is half hard and growing as he looks at you. A big, thick, delicious looking cock that you aren’t sure how is going to fit inside of you, but God do you want to try.

You don’t want to stare for too long because you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. If he was written by a woman, he was built by a God. It’s hard to pull your eyes away, but you finally manage to make your way to the edge of the steamy pool. The water is crystal clear, noticing glowing markings on the bottom and sides of the pool. The blue, shimmery light guides you to step down into the water, taking each step slow until you’re submerged up to your ribs.

“How does it feel?” His voice behind you earns your attention. You turn to face him, watching as he follows your steps into the pool. The water comes to his waist as the two of you slowly dance around one another, gliding in the water as the heat relaxes your body.

“Feels amazing. Like I’m being massaged all over. And what’s that smell?”

“Honey and rose. Comes from the water. The massage feeling is intentional due to the currents created from the vibrations in the walls.”

So that’s where the hum comes from. Interesting. “This is too cool, honestly.” You begin laughing, then he joins in. As if neither of you can believe the situation. All you can do is laugh.

Until his smile fades and the mood shifts. “Can I see you?” he asks, and at first you’re confused, until his eyes sweep down your body.

“Didn’t you see when we undressed?”

“I want to see all of it,” is all he says, eyes traveling down once again, and landing on the little V between your thighs. Your heart skips a beat. There’s no way you can tell him no. Not when he looks like he wants to eat you like his favorite dessert, he just may be a little confused about what toppings he wants. You’re willing to show him as you back up to the closest step to hoist yourself up onto the ledge of the bathing pool. His eyes are glued to you as you part your legs for him, giving him the perfect view of your pussy.

He licks his lips, eyes darkening. The mood has shifted entirely. There’s a heaviness between the two of you now. One of longing and desire. He may not know all the intricacies of sex, but it’s clear he wants to.

His exhale is heavy before he speaks. “Please, teach me.” He huffs again, like he’s struggling with holding himself together. “Teach me what I can do to make you feel good.

You bite your lip for a second. “They didn’t prepare you for anything?”

“Not much. We got most of our knowledge from hearsay, though the basics were taught.” He takes another deep breath. “We expect our partners to teach us, that way their needs are met. It’s important to me for you to be pleasured properly. So, please, I’m not asking you to give me a lesson, I’m asking what makes you feel good…”

You inhale a sharp breath. The last thing you want to do is take things too far if he isn’t comfortable. Though, now you’re wondering if he just isn’t comfortable because he doesn’t want to let you down. That’s why it’s so important to him for you to show him.

So your hand falls between your thighs to begin stroking the soft skin of your pussy. Feather light strokes earn his attention quickly, watching so you only play for a few seconds.

“If it makes you feel better,” you begin, middle finger finding your clit to begin teasing yourself there, “I’ve never done this with anyone before.” His eyes remain trained between your thighs, watching your finger softly circle your clit.

“You’ve never touched yourself in front of someone?” he asks, and you bite your lip while shaking your head. A grin forms on his lips. “I’m your first?”

You nod, then sigh when you dip your hand lower, finger easing inside of yourself to feel how wet you’ve become. Then you trace a line back to your clit, beginning to rub in slow circles once again.

“I’m getting so wet already,” you whisper as he takes a step closer. “It must really turn me on when you watch me.” You don’t consider what you tell him dirty talk. It’s only the truth. You’ve never been watched like this. He takes another step toward you, and another, until he’s pressing his palms to the water’s edge near each of your thighs.

“I hear it’s a good thing,” he says, looking between your pussy being pleasured and your head tossed back with lips parted. “If you get wet for me, it means you are enjoying yourself, yes?”

“God, yes…” Your fingers dip again, easing inside of you as your hips begin to roll against your hand.

“Have you ever gotten this wet for anyone else?” he asks as his hand lazily falls onto your thigh, rubbing circles with his thumb. The added attention, even if so innocent and curious, adds to the pleasure, jolts of electricity surging from where he's touched you.

“I don’t think so,” you tell him in a raspy breath, and once again, it’s the truth. He’s a jealous alien, so he needs reassurance. You feel yourself dripping onto the edge of the pool. No one’s ever made you this hot just by watching you. Normally you have to work hard to get yourself close, but you feel yourself on the edge of bliss within minutes. Slowing down, you bring yourself back in, wanting more than anything to make this moment last between the two of you.

“Good,” he groans, and it nearly brings you right back to the precipice of your orgasm. “I want to be the only one that gets to see you like this. Touching yourself. Dripping wet for me.”

“Yes!” you cry out, falling back to lean on one hand as he grips your thighs, parting them wider for him to see. The other hand continues to work your clit in messy, quick circles. Your breaths deepen as soft moans escape your lips. You’re getting close to the edge again just from the way he watches you touch yourself.

“The noises you make are making my cock ache, baby,” he nearly growls, suddenly full of sexual frustration, but he keeps it together. Warmth floods your body from the pet name. It’s never sounded so good coming from anyone else’s mouth. “Does it feel that good, or do you just enjoy me watching you touch yourself that much?”

“Both,” you whimper seconds before the pleasure is bursting from between your thighs. You couldn’t hold yourself off any longer, warmth surging through your body as the bliss takes hold. You cry out for him, reaching to wrap an arm around his neck and pull his body close as you ride out the pleasure. He takes hold of you, wrapping you up in his embrace until you’re coming down and catching your breath.

Panting, shaking, he holds you against his naked body for what feels like an eternity. He strokes your hair and back, pressing his lips to the top of your head.

When you pull away, you look him in the eyes, then your gaze falls to his mouth. “Will you kiss me?” you ask, and a darkness ignites in his eyes, the question fueling his evident desire for you. He leans in, pressing his lips to your own. Softly at first, just to feel each other’s skin, then he leans in further. He takes hold of you and the moment, slipping his tongue past your lips to play, to tease. You can’t help but moan against him, becoming lost in the very thing you swore was going to be terrible.

He finally pulls away from you to begin tending to you as he would if he were really bathing you. He washes your body with the softest cloth and the same smelling gel from a little vial he had prepared. While he washes you, he explores your body, taking his time to go over every inch until you begin to feel worked up again.

When you’re both clean, he helps you out of the pool to dry you off. You giggle at the ticklish spots and he laughs at your giggling. He already has a cozy looking pajama set prepared on the bed which you will share with him when he takes you to the bedroom.

When you’re dressed for bed, you snuggle between the sheets and he pulls you as close as he can to his body.

“Good night, wife,” he whispers, placing a kiss against your temple.

“Good night, alien husband,” you reply, smiling to yourself since it seems, not half, but all of your problems have disappeared because of him.

124 notes · View notes

4drianaaaa · 1 day ago

Text

"i think i like u"

hamzahthefantastic x influencerreader! ⚠: none! wrd count: 1.4k

📝: In where 'influencerreader!' moves to the busy, chilly, Toronto, Canada and eventually meets Hamzah as they both find each other falling for one another and constantly flirting eventually becoming a thing.

part 1 | navi

yourusername:

: finally got out of fucking Cali 3 months ago…Toronto pls be good to me.

user23: gorgeous girl ever!

user45: cutie

user7: I just know that girl got a whole band in her hand disguised as naked babies 😭 ↳ yourusername: LMFAOOOO my pockets are CRYINGGGG

mandys_iphone: Sonny angel hunting!!! ↳ thatmartinkid: say thank you for the money daddy🥺😇🍆 ↳ user6969: OMG MANDY AND Y/N KNOW EACHOTHER WHATYTT!?!??!

quenblackwell: Girl pls come back to cali imy 💔 ↳ yourusername: stop I'll fly you out mama </3

hamzahthefantastic: hey ↳ quenblackwell: out.

You recently moved to Toronto, Canada all by yourself. Surprisingly. You made this huge decision after being so overwhelmed with your hometown a.k.a Los Angeles, California. You felt sort of suffocated in a way due to you being a influencer and a micro-model. Paparazzi and drama, those two words sent shivers down your spine. Also due to the fact you were a small content creator filming grwm's and your hobby in collecting trinkets - a small YouTube channel by the name of : @ mandys_iphone , reached out to you.

Now, you were walking in the cloudy, busy, downtown Toronto with Mandy. The two of you barely met two months ago but the two of you were hip-to-hip since you guys had the same interests and humor. You barely had just moved so you haven't really seen the hidden gems of the city so Mandy decided to have a catch-up with you. "Okay this is my favorite spot like ever. Me and my boyfriend always come get breakfast here when were too lazy to cook." She pointed to a building that you can already smell the coffee beans blocks away. "Oh my god I just realized you never met Martin and our friends that well huh? You need to met them, you'll love them!" she smiled, "I dunno', still testing the waters trying to socialize.." you gave Mandy a worried like smile as she scoffed "Well this is a perfect way to socialize! Trust me, you'll all get together just fine. Nothing to worry about!" she slightly shook your arm as you couldn't say no to her. "Fineee, but you better not ditch me for Martin!" you swung open the café door letting her in as you were slapped with the smell of coffee.

You both sat down at a table outside the café trying to get used to the chilly, dry, Toronto weather. Nothing you were used to back in sunny Los Angeles. "Okay so Martin and Hamzah, they both have had this YouTube channel since 2023 called 'Slushynoobz' and they basically just post vlogs, gaming, mukbangs and other shit like that." she said sipping her coffee as you almost spat your drink from your mouth, " 'Slushy noobs' ? I'm sorry I can already tell they're sense of humor from that name" you giggled as she did as well, "Trust me, they are the loudest people on earth." she rolled her eyes sarcastically.

You both decided to look for the nearest toy collection store trying to get your hands on some trinkets. You walked through the towering buildings of Toronto absolutely admired. It was as busy as Cali but negative degrees. You and Mandy spent definitely more than you two implied to, you walked into your car and unboxed them all filming for her YouTube channel.

"welp that was fun" Mandy looked at you and at the wrappers thrown all over your car as the both of you died of laughter due to the silence of the car. She ended the recording and helped you clean your car.

"You better show up or I'm beating the shit out of you!" Mandy pointed her finger at you as you laughed, "Yes, I'll show up I promise!" you replied as she shut the car door waving goodbye to you.

After a couple hours of cleaning your apartment and laying your sonny angel's everywhere throughout your house you began to get ready. Re-touching your makeup, straightening your hair, and changing you slipped into light washed loose jeans, a small cropped pink sweater, and a over the shoulder white Chanel purse. You stepped into your car anxiously driving you to Mandy's place. Your palms became sweaty at the thought of people not liking you. You tried shaking this emotion off as you were minutes to arriving. You took a deep breath as you shut your car door behind you walking to Mandy's door step.

Your knuckles hovered right above the door as you re-thought everything all over again. You feeling like this was one of the reason you hated those big influencer parties back in L.A. but since Mandy had reassured you it was no where near that your knuckles lightly hit the door. The door was swung open by Mandy holding her dog 'eddy'. "Y/n!! Ahh come in quick!" she exclaimed as you stepped into her place. She's always been over to yours but this was your first time seeing her home. You loved it. "Please come in, come in! Martin!" she waved her hand towards the couch as you sat on the edge.

You saw Martin for the first time, his hair straight and a quirky look on his face. "Hi!, Martin." he shook your hand pulling you into a side hug, "Hiii!" you smiled receiving his hug as you sat back down "Now Mandy has another person she can go get trinkets now!" he laughed as you nodded, "well this is our pet's; fish, carl, eddy, and Rudy! There all small so they won't bite!" he pointed to the cats and dogs positioned in different places all over the house. You suddenly heard a knock at the door mimicking a song as Martin went to go answer it. It was a tall guy with a 'obama' plastered beanie walking in with grey sweats and a phone sideways recording Martin. Claire then walked in (you already knew her), and lastly a tall curly head with frosted tips walked in catching your eye. You noticed Claire walking up to you reaching for a hug, "Hi y/n, oh my gosh I haven't seen you like in ages dude!" she said rocking you side to side "I know!" you smiled still keeping that curly head in mind.

"Okay well, Y/n this is chase.." Mandy pointed to the camera guy that walked in "Hi, nice to meet you y/n!" he hugged you as you greeted him. "Anddd...this is Hamzah!" You looked up at him as you couldn't help but notice how cute he was. You felt as if you were staring at him since he stepped foot in this house. "Hi, I'm Hamzah nice to meet you" he shook your hand as he pulled you into a hug. He felt himself get a little nervous. He's never been around a pretty girl like you. "Nice to meet you, Hamzah." his name rolled off your tongue satisfyingly. You could get used to him.

You all spent the night making drinks and talking with each other about what they all usually do here in Toronto. After taking sip after sips of different drinks you all felt yourself become tipsy.

You plopped onto the couch as It was just you and that pretty boy Hamzah. You looked over at him as he chuckled, "Hi" you said lowly as he looked at all your unique features. Especially your lips. "One to many drinks?" he questioned as you scoffed, "Quite like that" you shrugged your shoulders nodding. He couldn't stop looking at you, he was almost getting lost in your beauty. "I- um, how long has it been since you moved?" he questioned, "like 3-4 months ago. I couldn't handle all the stress back in cali." you replied. "Really? Me and Martin would love to go to cali!" he sat up intrigued into the small talk. "Yeah it's nice but you need to have like a lot of help, I was kind of navigating on my own." you explained as his eyes were glued to yours.

It was safe to say Hamzah wasn't close to being 100% sober either, "I hope you don't find this weird but your stunning" he admitted as your cheeks grew red. You felt butterflies take over your stomach, "Thanks, Your pretty handsome yourself too Hamzah." You had a sly smile. He folded. He felt like he got pinched with a everlasting blade, he hated it. He hated how easily flustered he got. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that...You know if you have a boyfriend -" "I don't" You cut his sentence off as you played with the ends of your hair looking around the room. "Woah, you? No boyfriend?" he questioned as you bit your lip hiding your face "Unfortunately" you replied. "Woah, a lot of guys with zero taste in women in L.A. huh?" he scoffed laying his hand across the top of the couch, you shyly looked at the opposite direction of his. "I'm serious!" he said. You spent the rest of the night talking with Hamzah until you felt more sober to be able to drive. You couldn't help but tuning him out some times and just staring at him. You caught yourself blushing every minute.

"Y/n right?" Hamzah questioned as you nodded, "that's me" you smiled. "We should hangout more often, mind if I get your instagram?" he handed you his phone. You typed in your Instagram, "Phone number too much?" , "Not at all".

adri’s note: omg this is my first time writing anything like this, kind of nervous!

#hamzahthefantastic #slushy noobz #hamzah x reader #hamzah x y/n #hamzah imagines #hamzah #hamzahsmut #blurb #smut #2006wr #mandysiphone

112 notes · View notes