#but using will swaddle and warm you

[circusclownproductions]

seeing a lot of videos that are like “I didn’t know babies couldn’t have water” so here’s an incomplete list of things you need to know before having a baby

- the obvious, they can’t have water bc milk is incredibly high in water already so excess water leads to over hydration

- babies cannot have honey until 1

- if ur breastfeeding your kid and saving excess milk, make sure you label what you pumped in the morning vs at night bc your body produces different melatonin levels throughout the day and giving your baby daytime milk at night can make them more alert and fuck up their sleep schedule

- idk why ppl keep saying this but swaddling your babies or getting them those baby straight jacket things is not abuse. It chills them out cuz it reminds them of the womb

- babies have a dandruff like buildup on their head called cradle cap, and it’s very easy to deal with and remove with just some baby shampoo, a gentle scrub brush (MADE FOR BABIES!!) and a comb. It does need to be removed tho cuz it can be very painful after a while. This can also continue to happen late into toddlerhood it’s normal

- you have to clean out the creases of your baby’s skin and hands and feet they WILL collect dust😭😭

- you cannot bathe your baby until their umbilical cord naturally falls off. Use a warm damp rag until then

- tummy time is actually very important

- your baby might have a misshapen head at first (not all the time but sometimes) this will either sort itself out or they’ll need a corrective helmet ask your doctor

- I wouldn’t recommend having your baby leave the house very much until they’re at least 6 months old, especially if they’re born near cold and flu season cuz the common cold can kill a newborn

- you’re not an awful horrible person for having postpartum depression and it’s always a million times better to let your baby cry a few minutes longer than normal while you regain your composure than to freak out and give ur kid shaken baby syndrome

- you’re not an awful horrible person for giving your baby formula milk either

- don’t put shoes on your baby it’ll compromise their toe box and balance

- babies put every single thing in their mouths

- the easiest way to burp a baby is to hold them straight up (spine straight) and hold their head a bit higher

- always support their head they barely have necks

- if your baby fights away food, fights tummy time, vomits every single time you burp them, is gaining or losing an unreasonable amount of weight at a time, wheezes after eating, or goes red after eating, chances are they’re probably allergic to the type of milk they’re eating (again ask a doctor but these are just some signs it’s not just colic)

- they will wobble a lot when learning to do things but you gotta fight the urge to help them every single time cuz they gotta learn

- they’re not always spitting out baby food cuz they don’t like it they just don’t know how to eat. Like they don’t know how to push food down they only know how to stick their tongue out so be patient

- babies craniums are broken up into three parts at first that later fuse together, this is to help make birthing easier but it results in a small EXTREMELY sensitive spot in the top of their head that has no protection. This puts their brain at a high risk. Always protect their soft spot

- read to your baby!! Get cute bright colorful sensory books with sight words and read them to your baby it makes such a huge difference in their educational growth and will help them acquire a love for reading early on. And talk to them never shut up just say whatever comes to mind all the time this will strengthen their vocabulary growth also.

- babies poop like a lot. A lot. an unreasonable amount. Bring back up clothes and more diapers than you think

- no pillows or stuffies in the crib and only use a muslin blanket unless it’s especially cold to prevent suffocation

- babies kick reflexively until they’re out of their newborn scrunch (they stay womb shaped for a while) and if your baby is crying and pushing at the swaddle try letting them flail around for a minute

- consoling your baby is not spoiling them ! They need comfort and they will learn to self soothe on their own

- singing lullabies actually works, they can recognize your voice a consistent place of comfort from the womb and the cadence of lullabies is literally engineered to create a calm headspace

- for the love of god do not get boring ass beige toys. Colors are important for their neurological development

- babies are very responsive to praise from a young age so be as supportive of them as you can

- babies get constipated a lot and you have to do like tummy massages to help ease their pain the easiest way is to lay them on their backs and hold one foot in each hand, kick their feet like bicycles, scrunch up, and then stretch their legs out

- holding them on your hip too much will not cause bow legged-ness if your baby is bow legged that was always gonna happen

- they drool so so much and you have to get bibs for them so they don’t get chest eczema

- don’t use scented products on their skin cuz their skin is sooo much thinner than ours

- when your baby first starts sitting on their own never walk away from them without setting up a nest of pillows and blankets around them. Even minor head trauma can mess them up sometimes

- this one is kinda morbid and scary but sometimes babies just die out of nowhere and it’s no one’s fault or anything it’s called sudden infantile death syndrome(SIDS) and it’s about 1.3k deaths on average per year in America so not super common but still very real. 90% of these deaths happen during the first four months however edit: apparently it’s bc of an enzyme deficiency which at the very least you can take steps to try and prevent

- smoking and drinking during pregnancy WILL affect your baby and your breast milk and also might contribute to SIDS cases

- babies sometimes have a big red mark on them somewhere called a stork bite immediately after birth but typically it goes away

- babies can’t see very well for a while after birth and they’re VERY wobbly so they’ll typically bonk their head into your chest and face a lot while trying to support themselves

- female babies might have smth similar to a period the first few days after birth, this is because of the hormone transfer that happens during the birthing process and the days leading up to it

- male babies get random erections for the first few days after birth(hormone transfer again) literally do not be weird about this it’s a baby

- things like weaning your baby onto solid foods, potty training, weaning off pacifiers etc, can actually be directed by the baby and will happen naturally will minimal guidance from the parent(some guidance is still necessary) although I would do individual research into baby led weaning for food to prevent choking

- get those chewy feeding pouches to help with weaning

- the most random things will scare the hell out of your baby don’t take it personal 😭

- baby carriers are life savers (tulas are one of my favorites)

- once babies hit toddlerhood they’re tougher than you think, and a lot of their reaction is based on YOURS. they’re always going to be looking to you for how to react to a situation. Remain calm and if they’re ok they’ll calm down but if they’re genuinely hurt they’ll keep crying

- babies will most likely get ridiculously attached to an inanimate object and you have to keep this thing intact at all costs until they’re old enough to abandon it or they will throw a FIT. I got a lemur plushie from a zoo once and every single one of the kids has bonded their soul with it until about 6 years old and once a month I have to stitch him back up

- don’t compare yourself to other parents. Maybe your kid isnt getting grass fed wild caught north Atlantic cheerios but at least they’re fed. If your kid is alive and healthy and happy you’re doing a good job

- you will need 3 car seats, an infant seat, a grow with me toddler seat, and a booster seat

- getting a good diaper bag is a MUST

- the hair a baby is born with will most likely all fall out or they’ll get a bald spot on the back of their head where they sleep cuz their hair is so fragile and thin but once it grows back it grows back thick

- get like 20 muslin blankets so you always have a backup when the main ones are covered in spit up

- the babies grip IS stronger than yours (keep your hair up and keep pets away best you can)

- your best bet for your teething baby is a pacifier you can put your finger in so you can massage their gums and some chewing toys numbing cream can be dangerous and should be used sparingly

- go ahead and come to terms with the fact you’re gonna have to use a Frida Baby to manually remove snot

- babies can get hair and thread wrapped around their toes and fingers that can cut off their circulation try to make a habit of checking

- don’t hit your kid please it’s nothing but trauma and fucked up coping mechanisms from there pls empathize with your child they’re a person too

- be careful not to pull too hard on their arms and legs(like during play or holding their hand while they walk) and NEVER pick them up by their hands this will very easily cause dislocation

- they might have a little tooth like callous on their lip from their pacifier. This does not hurt them and it will go away but it may hurt during breastfeeding

- breastfeeding will make your boobs different sizes

Yeag that’s all I can think of rn but yk i Will add as I remember stuff ppl are also adding things I forgot in the tags in case you’d like to look thru that as well <3

[drgnflyteabox]

can't get much better

pairing: ghost / simon riley x fem reader summary: simon is forced to take some time off - he makes the most of it. tags/warnings: very soft, pregnant sex, size difference, softdom!simon- he's a masculine man who doesn't let his lady lift a finger :'), oral (f), one (1) butthole kiss, dacryphilia, daddy kink (sigh), minor minor foot stuff, allusions to injuries and chronic pain, title from an adrianne lenker song w.c: 2.5k

You try very hard not to think about it, but it's hard not to notice how massive he is.

Even shirtless, he somehow looks bigger, muscles flush with heat and exertion under the sun. He toils and breathes hard like an ox, working while you sit on the porch wrapped in his big flannel. Wearing his clothes is like being swaddled in a blanket straight out of the dryer, warm and nostalgic and syrupy with love. It leaves you feeling some type of tender. You're afraid of that feeling sometimes, of how soft it is and how soft it makes you. He could ask anything of you, and you'd yield like he was pressing his thumb into a bruised peach.

You have.

"How are you two?" Simon is so quiet when he wants to be. One would think he'd clomp like a horse with how big he is, but he can float like dust. It used to startle you, but you've been sinking deeper into the memory foam mattress of this life with him and it doesn't anymore.

"Tired, even though I'm not doing anything," you squint at him through the late afternoon sun. It haloes him like an angel.

"You're growing my baby in there, love. That's not nothing," his voice is rough, it always will be. But it's rough now like earth and soil rather than rough with pain and smoke the way he'd sounded when you met him.

You're feeling especially nostalgic, it seems, not like it's hard here. His hand is warm on your belly.

"I guess so," you let him pet you for a moment. Your stomach is swollen but not as big as it'll get, just enough to veto pants. A few months to go still. "How's your back?"

"Argh," Simon says, taking a heavy seat next to you. Dismissive and yet he groans a little when his muscles unclench. Classic.

You slowly reach up and nudge him until he's facing the field opposite to you, face toward the golden afternoon sun and his back to you. He's never asked you to do this, to take care of him, but it's your favourite thing in the world.

His back is always rock-hard no matter how many times you take your knuckles and fingers to it. Just a condition of a hard life lived for him, countless falls and impacts and pushing through injuries. There's a slight slant to his spine now that isn't there in the pictures he's shown you of his youth, but the stiffness is the same. You might've said he was born to be a soldier, had you not known him as a father. He could do both, but - you'd never say this out loud - you were privately grateful for this injury. It wouldn't take him out forever, but the recovery would be long. Long enough to get the homestead started, to get you pregnant.

Simon would never be completely still. This was compromise. Sweet compromise, a life started and time with him you could think back on the next time he shipped out. Making the most of things, he would always say. Making the time count.

"That feels good, love" he groans. Bending forward slowly, relaxing, he's like an aloof stallion finally accepting an apple from your hand. Acquiescing. Showing you his back. It's trust, and you savour it.

"I bet it does," you tease back, just a little. Your fingers are nimble and attuned to his specific aches and pains. "Are you hungry for dinner?"

"I'm hungry for something," he turns, slowly, hands reaching for your thickened waist. Huge, work-roughened hands. War-roughened hands, holding you like a delicate egg. Sometimes it feels like he's the only thing that holds you together; all your pieces, everywhere, until he's holding you.

Kissing him is a contact sport. It's his hands moving, cupping your breast and then your pussy through your panties, your own hands wrapping around his broad shoulders like he's the only thing keeping you from drowning. It's open-mouthed, breathing into each other. Impossibly, you get softer, melting like ice on a hot day. 

Before you can lean back on the bench, he stands and lifts you with him. He's still hot from the day, damp with sweat, pushing you into the house while kissing you still.

"Simon-" you start, with no goal in mind. "Please."

"I've got you, love," he murmurs. He always does. Before you know it, you're laid back onto the plush armchair in your living room. Simon knows this is the most comfortable place for your newly-aching body. Affection swells in your chest uncontrollably and comes out through your eyes leaking down your face. Sure, pregnancy makes people emotional - but you're still embarrassed, touched by how considerate he is.

"It's alright, shh," he thumbs the tears at the corner of your eyes. His cock tents his work pants, aroused by them. "Let me take care of you."

The next words he murmurs are into your cunt, right over your panties, tongue laving over the already-wet fabric. "Just need your daddy, don't you?" You clench in tandem with his words, hot all over, skin prickling. He pushes your dress up, bunching it right under your tits.

It's reminiscent of how you spent the first night with him, on the very first day you'd met. Hurried, his big head between your thighs and clothes hanging off you still while he made you fall apart.

He's fucking good at it, too. Pulls your panties to the side and builds up the pressure with which he sucks on your clit, softly and then harsher until you shake. You've been extra horny lately, always wet around him and always so swollen. The scrape of his five-o-clock shadow against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh is what tips you over, clamping his head tightly and shouting your orgasm into the heady summer air.

"That all it takes?" Simon grins, chin wet, fingers moving from your hips to your pussy to gently rub along your slit.

"Give me a second, please," it's humbling how quickly you come nowadays. Quick and intense. Fireworks.

You set your foot on his shoulder and he turns towards it, kissing your ankle. Patience is rare with him, something come about only since you confirmed your pregnancy. You miss being overwhelmed by him, miss the nights where he'd guide you over the edge one, two, three times in succession.

He pushes now, just a little, not waiting for your go-ahead but watching you intently. His fingers spread your cunt in a V and he puffs a breath on your sensitive clit. You jump. He grins again, leaning down to lick you, using one hand to hold both your legs under your knees and push them until they meet the soft bump of your belly.

"Hold them there," he says. It's spoken not to you, but to your hole, which he spears his tongue into. You obey as you're helpless to do, holding your legs up and giving him an unimpeded view. It's more than vulnerable, it's not only baring yourself to him completely but giving him the authority to do what he wants. What you need.

Simon eats you out like it's a kiss, slurping you down and letting you leak until the evidence of your weakness to him is all over you. Your legs are wet, and it drips down onto your other hole. He pushes a thumb into your cunt, dipping it in and out.

"Needed me, did'ya? Watched me all day," he's so smug, sometimes. His lips find your bare foot, kissing your sole. "Been wet like this all day?" His other hand finds the meat of your asscheek, spreading you open further, letting the split of you open to him. He leans down, kissing your inner thigh, then your other hole. You whine and clench your pussy around his thumb. 

"So needy," he murmurs, finally finally moving back to your clit. Flicks his tongue over it, something that might've been teasing before but is intense now. Your hands tighten against your legs, head thrown back.

"Oh please- Simon!" You shout again, abs drawing up, stars in your eyes. "Ahh- I'm-"

"I know, honey," his lips suction again around the hard little pebble of your clit, eating like a man starved. 

This is how he likes you. Losing control, coming apart, helplessly vocal against the onslaught of his tongue. No matter how many times you've done this, it never gets old. The release almost always makes you cry, especially intense like this. You're wet all over, face and cunt and legs. He is, too.

"You still with me, love?" He pets your flank like you're a horse.

"Yes," but that's not what he wants.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl," and fuck if that doesn't always fill you with warm fuzzy energy. Wipes your brain, keeps you soft and floaty.

He guides you up and out of the armchair, lifts you into his arms when your legs shake too much. That electric feeling is still coursing through you, tingles in your extremities as they come back to life.

The hand he strokes over you is half affectionate, half proprietary. You've been his since the first time he laid eyes on you.

He reminds you of it as he sets you down gently on the bed, your hair a halo around your head and hands reaching to his face where you pull him down for a kiss. Hands find his shirt, pulling it off you, and then the dress. Fingertips touch the headboard, your arms stretching up, making room for him. Slips your panties down your legs.

It's a lingering, indulgent kiss. Breathing each others air, gasping into his mouth, he puts his elbows by your head and lays as much weight down as he can without cramping your full belly. He's as vocal as you, groaning and rutting like a dog.

"Ready for me, sweet girl?" He leans out of the kiss, sitting back on his heels. You nod, desperate and pulsing between the legs again like you didn't just come twice.

"Daddy's gonna take care of you, don't you worry," he rearranges you like a doll, turning you to your side and getting between your legs. A pillow is tucked under your belly, and he tests your flexibility by holding your leg tight to the length of his body. Your hamstring burns a little with it.

A hand holds your knee, another to your waist. His jeans scrape against your sensitive skin.

You focus on little details. His scar, touching his eyebrow and splitting through his nose, ending down by his jaw. The knuckles on his fingers holding your knee, and how rough the pads of his fingers feel on your waist. This man has never had soft hands in his life. Those same hands capable of so much force, so much violence, the very same that hold you and guide you. A shepherd, you his lamb.

The weeping head of his cock kisses your hole, catching there and traveling up. He taps it against your clit until you're tensing, whining, needy again. Tears down your cheeks.

He steadies you, pets your waist, guides his cock inside and it feels like you can breathe again. His mouth laves hot kisses over your ankle, the sole of your foot again, reverent and controlling all at once. The stretch burns - it always does, and maybe always will. Simon is just so big, thick all around and the mushroom head of him could always bump your cervix if he's not careful.

He's careful now, but only just. You can sense his control fraying, his hips driving forward steadily but his thighs tensing and his grip getting meaner. This is your favourite part. Watching him sweat, breathe hard, taking his pleasure in you.

"Yeah-" he cuts himself off with a long, drawn out groan. Deep, from the bottom of his belly and out. "Already so full of me, aren't ya? Can't get full enough."

You plead with your sounds, words out of your grasp. Your hands clutch at the sheets but it isn't enough. He's solid, he's your anchor, but he's losing himself in your cunt and you're free falling.

"Play with your tits for me," he commands, pumping faster. You're reflexively tightening around him, clit jumping for attention, squeaking each time he lets himself in as deep as possible and touches the mouth of your cervix.

Sunlight slowly fades on the bed, the last golden rays escaping out the window as you're bathed in dusk. 

There's nothing to do but obey, hands finding your swollen breasts and squeezing. They've been sore and huge, like that week before you get your period only it's been a couple months. None of your bras fit anymore.

Simon appreciates it, he loves it. Has you cooking for him with your tits out, nipples peaked and pussy leaking. They bounce, now, stopped only by your hands pinching and twisting. It's insane - no one in the world could replicate the feeling. No artist, no musician. Electricity zips from your breasts down to your clit and shit - you might come just like this, untouched, just full of your man and fondling yourself.

"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me. Fucking," he pants, leaning over you, bending your leg. "Pinching my dick, sweetheart. Your pussy's so fucking good."

The orgasm begins in your toes, tingling. Your muscles tighten, drawing up, up, towards your cunt, which is making obscene sounds around him.

Simon sees the signs, sees your eyes rolling and your body going taut. He abandons your leg in favour of rubbing your clit with two big fingers quickly, up and down.

"That's it, sweetheart, come all over my cock. Go on," his voice is a snarl, barely distinguishable as human, beastly. "Be good for daddy.”

It's like the crescendo of an orchestra, like a summer afternoon in august, like waking up without a clogged nose after being sick, it's - really fucking good. You're near sobbing, crying out his name, abandoning your tits to reach for him desperately. He meets you halfway, shuddering his own orgasm into you. The press of his hips against yours is better than buttered toast, the delicate press of his chest against yours as he lets your leg go is bliss.

"Si-imon," you slur, hands on his cheeks. He laughs and kisses your forehead.

"What's that, sweet girl?"

"I love you," you cry a little more then, feeling him pull out and lay next to you. You're boneless.

"I love you too," his arm reaches across you, pulling you into him. "Both of you." Hand on your belly again.

"That was insane," you pant. He barks a laugh against your hair. "I'm serious."

"I know you are, love," he kisses your forehead, petting your stomach. You can tell it's meaning, can feel the gratefulness behind the kiss. He's saying thank you, for staying with him, for making him a father. Your hand finds his, squeezing back a wordless reply. Of course, it says.

<3

[gay-dorito-dust]

Jason had become aware of a habit you always did without fail, which was the habit of you shifting over to him to rest your forehead against his shoulder.

Sad? You rest your head on his shoulder.

Tired? Still you shuffle over to him with whether energy you had left in your aching body to rest your forehead on his shoulder.

Sleepy? Same thing as the previous two Instances, your head always ends up on his shoulder regardless as though it was calling to you in a pitch that he couldn’t hear nor comprehend.

Yet he wasn’t one to complain about it as having you find him as a source of comfort was enough to have him wanting your head on his shoulder more often, impatiently waiting for when you’d need to lean on him for respite and comfort form the failures that the day brought. He once hated the idea of being relied upon, but now he wished it more then anything, especially when it came to you as it serves as a reminder that desire how people may see him you would always come to him; for you felt safest in the presence of a man whom many thought would’ve lost it by now.

So when Jason heard you sigh your exhaustion, he had already set his book aside and was already on his feet to meet you halfway, smiling softly when you’ve seen him and began to shuffle towards him until your head was firmly pressed against his shoulder like you’ve done multiple times before.

‘Long day chipmunk?’ He asks softly.

You only hum your answer as your arms lazily move to his waist, loose enough for him to break away from you but firm enough at the same time. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, having felt you’ve already done enough of that for an entire week, and felt that the amount of effort in doing so wasn’t worth exhausting yourself anymore then you’ve already done.

‘What do you need sweetheart, tell me.’ Jason says as he feels you poking his chest, nuzzling your head further into his shoulder in the way he found the most adorable way possible. ‘Me? You need me?’ He says with a small chuckle but when he feels you poke his chest once more and your grunts of agreement did he bring you into a warm embrace, strong arms crossing over your back and swaddling you in waves of warmth and comfort as you felt sleep start to take effect on you.

‘You’ve got me sweetheart, I’m right here it’s okay.’ Jason’s whispered against your head as he peppers kisses whether he could, feeling you lean further within his embrace, feeling your breathing even out as he continues to softly encourage you to take a rest. You only grunted again, this only a little more sluggish and delayed from how quickly you were succumbing to a light slumber within the arms of your Jason, your sweet Jason who was more teddy bear then man most days, not that you were complaining in the slightest.

For that was just the effect he had on you and he knew this better than anyone as he gently eased you both onto the couch, where Jason would cuddle and swaddle you in his arms for hours on end, never once uttering a single sound of discontent; loving the fact that you found comfort and peace within his scar littered body and calloused hands, an instrument of destruction was now being used as a way of comfort and healing without words being necessary.

and for once Jason didn’t mind, not one bit.

[s4kura-tr3]

how about reader comforting gojo / mediating when their new baby doesn’t like him? maybe his cursed energy makes his presence too overwhelming for them or maybe they just don’t like his freaky blue eyes

Gojo x reader

Gojo Satoru had faced curses stronger than most sorcerers could even comprehend. He had been feared and revered in equal measure. But nothing — nothing — had prepared him for the heartbreak of his own child not liking him.

It had started the moment you brought the baby home. Swaddled in soft cotton, cheeks plump and rosy, their tiny fists would flail happily when you held them. But the second Gojo leaned over the crib, his heart swelling with love and nervous excitement — the baby would cry. Not a soft whimper, but a full-blown scream that shattered the peaceful quiet of the nursery.

“Maybe it’s my cursed energy,” Gojo muttered one night, sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest. His head was tipped back against the wall, hair messier than usual, the pale blue glow of his eyes dim beneath the weight of his exhaustion. “Maybe it’s too much for them.”

You sat cross-legged beside him, your hand rubbing circles on his back. “You’re suppressing it, though. You’re being careful.”

“Careful’s not enough, apparently,” he sighed, dropping his head into his hands. His long fingers tangled in white hair. “I’m supposed to be the strongest. But I can’t even get my own kid to stop crying when I look at them.”

“Or maybe,” you teased gently, “it’s those freaky eyes of yours.”

He shot you a glare, but you saw the sadness lingering beneath the usual mischief. “I’m serious.”

“I know,” you murmured. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “But maybe they don’t know that yet.”

Gojo let out a tired laugh. “Great. So my own child thinks I’m scary.”

“Or maybe they’re just overwhelmed,” you suggested. “You’re a lot to take in, Satoru.”

He huffed. “Gee, thanks.”

You shifted closer, brushing a hand through his soft hair. “They’re still figuring out the world. They don’t know yet that their dad is the safest place in it.”

Gojo’s jaw tightened. His gaze drifted toward the crib, where the baby was sleeping peacefully under the soft blue light of the moon filtering through the curtains. He hesitated, his hand hovering mid-air like he was afraid to disturb the fragile peace.

“Hey,” you whispered, scooting to sit behind him. Your arms wrapped around his waist, chin resting on his shoulder. “Let’s try something.”

He turned his head slightly toward you. “What?”

“Come here.”

You rose to your feet and walked over to the crib, scooping up the baby with practiced ease. Their little mouth opened in a sleepy yawn, tiny fists curling against your chest. You settled back down on the floor, motioning for Gojo to sit behind you.

He hesitated before sliding in close, his long legs bracketing yours. His chest pressed to your back as you leaned the baby slightly toward him.

“Just let them get used to you,” you said softly. “No pressure. Just… be here.”

Gojo’s breath was warm against your neck as he leaned down. The baby stirred slightly, their sleepy eyes fluttering open. Gojo reached out with careful hands, brushing a knuckle along the soft curve of their cheek.

The baby’s gaze met his — wide, round, and unblinking. Gojo held his breath. Their tiny face wrinkled. His heart slammed against his ribs.

But this time, they didn’t cry.

“Hey,” Gojo whispered, his voice so soft it almost didn’t sound like him. His finger brushed along their tiny hand, and miraculously — miraculously — the baby’s hand curled around it.

Gojo’s eyes widened, breath hitching in his throat. His mouth parted like he couldn’t believe it was happening.

“They like you,” you whispered, smiling.

Gojo’s eyes softened, the usual teasing glint replaced by something far more fragile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He leaned down, brushing the gentlest of kisses to the baby’s forehead. His breath shuddered when they didn’t pull away. His arms circled around you and the baby, his chin resting on your shoulder as his eyes fluttered shut.

“See?” you whispered, turning your head just enough to press your lips to his temple. “They just needed to know you were safe.”

Gojo’s smile was small and quiet. “Guess they’re smarter than they look.”

“Of course they are.” You laughed softly. “They take after me.”

Gojo chuckled, low and warm. His arms tightened around you both, and this time — when the baby stirred and opened their eyes — they didn’t cry. They just blinked up at Gojo with quiet curiosity, their tiny hand still wrapped around his finger.

[ijustwannabecool]

Moments You Wish You Caught on Camera

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary... Six strangers. Six ordinary places. One unforgettable couple. This is a collection of short, cinematic glimpses into Max Verstappen’s life with the woman he’s loved since high school. Seen through the eyes of strangers who just happened to be in the right place, at the right time.

A/N: Happy reading. I loved writing this piece and I hope to write more pieces like this, with Max and other drivers. You guys let me know who you wanna see next. As always enjoy it and have a beautiful day!!!

If you enjoy this story don't forget to like, reblog, and comment your thoughts and feedback.

---

The Pediatric Waiting Room

— Sofia, a tired new mom running on a lukewarm oat milk latte, not expecting to witness a world champion be a world-class dad.

It was 8:07 a.m., and Sofia was already regretting not canceling the appointment.

Her youngest had just started cutting teeth and had been up at 3:15, 4:52, and again at 6:01—each time with a cry like she was personally offended by the universe. Her toddler was whining for screen time, the diaper bag was short one essential wipe packet, and her phone had just died after playing Cocomelon on repeat.

The waiting room was mercifully empty. Cold, quiet, sterile. Just her, a too-small chair, and a little boy whose nose was running like a faucet.

Then the door creaked open, and in stepped someone she almost didn’t believe was real.

First, the man. Tall. Athletic. Messy hair tucked under a cap. Hoodie. Sweat shorts. That kind of effortless “I’ve got my shit together even though I definitely haven’t slept” vibe.

Then the baby carrier.

A tiny girl inside, swaddled in a soft floral blanket, a yellow pacifier in her rosebud mouth. Peaceful.

Then the toddler on his hip—grinning around a banana biscuit, curly hair tousled like he’d rolled straight out of bed and into a Gap ad.

And then her.

The woman.

Clearly postpartum. Puffy eyes, leggings, nursing tank, hospital socks still peeking from her sneakers. Yet… radiant. And holding herself like she was used to being loved out loud.

Sofia couldn’t look away.

They settled into the opposite corner. The man gently set the baby carrier down first, then lowered the toddler into a seat with a whispered, “Remember our agreement? Sit quietly until snacks, yeah?”

The toddler gave a dramatic thumbs-up.

Y/N approached the check-in desk, voice low and melodic as she confirmed their appointment for baby girl’s six-week weight check.

Max—because now Sofia realized that’s who he was, Max Verstappen—leaned over the carrier, adjusting the pacifier and brushing a finger over the baby’s cheek. His hoodie bunched at the elbows, revealing the black-and-gray ink on his forearm.

“She’s still got those hiccups, huh?” he murmured to her, voice so soft that Sofia almost didn’t hear it.

“She’s just dramatic like you,” Y/N teased, returning to sit beside him.

“You say dramatic, I say expressive.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately, curling into his side.

Sofia turned her gaze back to her own child, who was gnawing on a toy giraffe like it owed him money, but she couldn’t help but steal glances at them.

There was a rhythm to them. An unspoken choreography. Max peeled open a pouch of applesauce, offered it to the toddler with practiced hands, and even remembered to wipe the crumbs off his chin without missing a beat.

Y/N shifted the baby, cooing when she stirred. “She’s getting fussy.”

Max was already unzipping the diaper bag. “Bottle?”

Y/N frowned. “Shit. I think I forgot it. I—” Her voice cracked with guilt. “I thought it was in the side pocket. I triple-checked. God, I’m so tired, Max.”

“Hey,” he cut in immediately, warm and gentle. “She’s fine. We’ve got options. We always do.”

“I didn’t bring a cover either,” she added quietly. “I’ll go feed her in the car.”

“No,” he said firmly, already pulling his hoodie over his head and handing it to her. “You stay here. We’re good right here.”

He used the hoodie to drape over her shoulder while she adjusted her top and helped the baby latch on.

“There we go,” he murmured, rubbing small circles into her back. “You’re doing great.”

The room was still, silent, except for the suckling sounds and the cartoon jingle still stuck in Sofia’s head.

After a few minutes, Y/N whispered, “I just… I don’t know if she’s getting enough milk. She pulls off a lot. I think I messed up something with my supply.”

Max shook his head. “Babe. She’s got cheeks like brioche buns and arms like croissants. She’s fine.”

Y/N huffed a laugh, resting her head against his. “Croissants?”

“You heard me. That’s pure Dutch baby chub. I know quality carbs when I see them.”

When the nurse finally called them back, Max scooped up the toddler, hoisted the carrier with his free arm, and glanced at Y/N.

“You okay, mama?”

She nodded. “As long as you’re right here.”

He grinned. “Always.”

Sofia watched them go, still stunned by what she’d witnessed: a world champion who didn’t care about being recognized, a mom who looked like a goddess in leggings, and a love that looked like it was built on inside jokes, sleepless nights, and endless grace.

She pulled out her phone to text her husband:

"We’re trying skin-to-skin tonight. And also, maybe don’t complain when I forget wipes. Just tell me I’m doing great like Max Verstappen did.”

---

The Tiny Café in Tuscany

— Luca, travel writer, espresso enthusiast, and recently dumped romantic.

It was a sleepy café tucked on the corner of a side street in San Gimignano—one of those blink-and-you-miss-it places where the tiles were chipped, the espresso machine screamed like an old woman in a mood, and the overhead fan wobbled dangerously every time someone opened the door.

Luca had been coming here every morning for a week, hunched over his laptop, pretending to update his travel blog while actually stewing over a messy breakup with a man who said things like, “I need freedom” and “You’re too intense.”

It was on day five, as he swirled the last bitter sip of his third espresso and stared blankly at the same paragraph for the sixth time, that the door jingled behind him—and he looked up.

The couple didn’t match the usual tourist aesthetic. No clunky cameras, no loud American voices. Just a man in a navy hoodie and black shorts—tall, relaxed, with sun-kissed skin and a quiet sort of confidence. His hand rested lightly on the lower back of the woman beside him, who was wearing loose linen pants and a tank top tucked in with no effort but all the grace in the world.

They were talking softly in a strange blend of Dutch and English—Luca caught pieces of both as they approached the counter.

“No, Max,” she laughed, gently elbowing him. “You had two yesterday.”

He mock-pouted, a hint of an accent curling around his words. “That’s called balance. Two yesterday, one today. I’m growing.”

The barista, clearly familiar with them, didn’t even ask for names. Just smiled and went to work preparing their usual: two cappuccinos, one extra hot, and a slice of fig-and-honey tart.

They slid into the table directly in front of Luca—angled just enough that he could pretend to be focused on his screen while secretly watching them over the rim of his coffee cup.

“I had a dream last night you forgot our anniversary,” Y/N said as she took the first sip of her coffee. “You gave me socks.”

“Were they at least good socks?” Max asked, pretending to be offended.

“They had race cars on them.”

He grinned. “So… on brand. What’s the problem?”

“You told me they were on sale.”

Max placed a dramatic hand over his heart. “Discounted love. Brutal.”

She leaned in, nudging her shoulder into his. “You know what’s worse? I still said thank you in the dream. Like a chump.”

“You’re a very polite chump.”

They laughed—quiet, unassuming, private laughter that made Luca feel like he was seeing something he wasn’t meant to.

He watched Max tear off a piece of tart and offer it to her on his fork. She opened her mouth with the same ease someone might accept a kiss.

The domesticity of it all—the comfort, the familiarity, the rightness—ached in Luca’s chest.

They weren’t checking their phones. They weren’t documenting the moment. They were just… being.

Max leaned his elbow on the table, fingers threading lazily through the ends of her hair as he spoke. “Do you remember that café in Bruges? The one with the green door?”

“The one where the waiter spilled a whole espresso in your lap?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, eyes soft. “I think that was the first time I realized I wanted this with you. All of it.”

She blinked, caught off-guard. “Because I laughed at you?”

“Because you didn’t care about the stain. You just said, ‘Well, now you match the chair.’ And I remember thinking… fuck, this is the person I want next to me when things go wrong.”

Y/N’s expression crumpled slightly with affection, her hand reaching to curl around his wrist. “You never told me that.”

“I didn’t have the words then.”

Luca was still staring when Max glanced up, eyes locking with his for a brief second.

Not in a confrontational way. Just a knowing look. Like he knew Luca had heard everything. Like he didn’t mind, as long as it made someone believe in something again.

He turned back to Y/N, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“You still get this little line here,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the corner of her eye. “Right before you cry. You’ve had it since we were seventeen.”

She swatted at him. “Stop making me sentimental, Verstappen.”

“I’m serious. It’s my favorite wrinkle.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Wrinkle?”

“Expression line,” he corrected immediately, grinning like he was proud of himself.

They finished their cappuccinos slowly, not rushing, like they had all the time in the world.

And when they stood to leave, Max held the door for her—let her step out first like it was second nature—and tucked his sunglasses over the bridge of his nose without releasing her hand.

They disappeared around the corner.

Luca stared down at his blank document for a moment longer before finally typing:

“Sometimes love doesn’t need to be loud to be heard. Sometimes it just needs a morning, a fig tart, and someone who remembers your first wrinkle.”

And for the first time in days, he meant every word.

----

The School Fundraiser

— Camille, 27, first-year teacher, very overwhelmed, very underpaid, and absolutely not ready to witness Max Verstappen handing out juice boxes like a literal dad dream.

Camille had been teaching first grade for exactly four weeks and seventeen hours.

And she already knew that if one more parent tried to explain why their child didn’t need to follow “standardized discipline guidelines,” she would fake her own death and move to Spain.

The school fundraiser was supposed to be a “light lift,” according to her ever-optimistic vice principal.

Which was, apparently, a lie.

Because nothing about organizing a bake sale, a bouncy house, three food trucks, a dunk tank, a raffle, and a very temperamental face-painting volunteer felt light. Her hair was frizzing. Her shirt was stuck to her back. A juice box had exploded in her tote bag.

She was stress-sorting Capri Suns when she heard the murmurs.

“Is that…?”

“No way.”

“Wait, that is Max Verstappen.”

Camille looked up—half expecting it to be a false alarm or some dad who just looked like him. But no. It was him.

Walking across the school field in a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, sunglasses pushed back into his hair, a backpack slung over one shoulder… holding hands with his toddler.

Behind them was a woman holding a baby strapped to her chest in a linen wrap, her other hand gripping the shoulder of a little boy in a Lightning McQueen hat who was dancing along the pavement like the ground was lava.

They looked so normal. And yet, not.

Max squatted down to fix the toddler’s shoe, glancing up at his wife. “Did we bring sunscreen?”

Y/N patted her tote. “Already did them before we left.”

He nodded. “That’s why you’re the boss.”

The baby squirmed in the wrap, and Y/N bounced instinctively, her voice light. “You’d think we’d remember to bring the pacifier.”

Max reached into his pocket and pulled one out. “Already ahead of you.”

“God, marry me.”

He glanced up, deadpan. “We are married.”

She smiled. “Marry me again.”

They made their way to the games area, Max lifting the toddler up so he could see better. “Where to, kleine muis?”

The little boy pointed at the duck pond game with such confidence that Max saluted. “Duck game it is.”

Camille tried to focus on organizing the juice cooler, but her eyes kept trailing back to them—especially when they came to her table.

“Hi!” Y/N greeted. “Can we grab some waters?”

“Of course,” Camille replied, fumbling a little. “They’re… they’re cold-ish.”

“Honestly, cold-ish is perfect,” Y/N said with a warm smile. “We’ll take four.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think the kids will go straight for the soda?”

“They can try,” she said, already tucking the bottles into her tote.

Max turned to Camille with a grin. “Let me guess. First year?”

Camille blinked. “How did you…?”

“The look of despair. I had the same one during my first press conference.” He said.

She laughed despite herself. “I wasn’t aware that despair was that universal.”

“It is. But you’re doing great,” he added sincerely. “This all looks amazing.”

Y/N nodded, reaching into her wallet. “Can we donate directly to your class?”

Camille’s heart skipped. “Oh—you don’t have to—”

“We want to,” Y/N insisted gently, tucking a folded bill into the donation jar.

Camille glanced down after they walked away and nearly choked.

A hundred euros.

Who just casually dropped that into a fundraiser jar?

The answer: apparently Max Verstappen’s wife.

—

An hour later, Camille was managing the chaos near the dunk tank when she saw them again—this time sitting on a picnic blanket beneath the shade of a tree. The toddler was in Max’s lap, licking an orange popsicle with sticky fingers. Y/N was lying on her side, her baby curled up against her chest as she wiped her son's mouth with a napkin.

“Easy, liefje,” she murmured when he got too excited and nearly dropped it.

“He’s trying to break his own record,” Max said, biting into his own popsicle and wincing. “Brain freeze. Why do I do this to myself?”

Y/N chuckled, tucking her bare feet under his thigh. “Because you never learn.”

He looked at her for a second too long.

Then, with all the gentle devotion in the world, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“I’m glad we came.”

She closed her eyes for a second, as if just letting herself feel the moment. “Me too.”

Camille tried not to stare. But it was like watching a scene from a movie that somehow escaped into the real world.

No drama. No noise. Just… partnership. Parenting. Love.

When the toddler reached up and touched Max’s cheek with a melting hand, Max just kissed his palm and said, “Sticky boy. My sticky boy.”

Camille went home that night and told her roommate, “Max Verstappen came to our fundraiser and made me believe in love again.”

And she wasn’t even exaggerating.

---

The Supermarket

— Zoë, 35, single, newly heartbroken, and very much just trying to buy oat milk and not cry in the produce section.

Zoë wasn’t in the mood to see anyone that day.

She’d cried in her car for twenty minutes in the parking lot, then sat scrolling through TikTok about “healing energy” while pretending she hadn’t just been ghosted by a man who once wrote her a poem about her freckles.

All she wanted was to get through her grocery list and be home before the sobbing resumed. The universe, however, had other plans.

Because as she turned into the snack aisle—debating between regular sea salt chips and the fancy truffle ones that cost way too much—she saw them.

Not in a tabloid. Not on TikTok.

In real life.

It was Max Verstappen.

Pushing a slightly scuffed shopping cart, baseball cap backwards, hoodie on, brows furrowed like he was solving a math equation instead of comparing two different brands of oat milk.

Next to him was a woman who could only be described as… anchored.

She didn’t look like a celebrity’s wife. She looked like someone who smelled like vanilla and fresh laundry. Her hair was tied in a messy bun. Her leggings had a juice stain near the knee. A toddler sat in the cart seat, happily munching on crackers.

And trailing behind them—barefoot inside Spider-Man crocs—was a little boy in a Red Bull jacket, holding a box of waffles like it was treasure.

“Did you write down whether it was the almond milk or oat milk that made her stomach weird?” Max asked, waving the carton slightly.

Y/N squinted at her notes app. “It just says ‘milk (weird tummy?)’ — which is completely useless. This is past-me setting us up for failure.”

Max sighed dramatically. “She’s going to be gassy for three days and we’ll never sleep again.”

“We never sleep anyway.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Zoë tried to duck behind a display of pretzels but ended up knocking a bag off the stack. It crinkled loudly. Mortifying.

Max glanced up — not with irritation, but mild curiosity — and when their eyes met, he gave her a small, polite smile. Then turned back to his wife like the world had narrowed back to just them.

“Do we have enough diapers?” Y/N asked.

“Define enough.”

“For two nights away and three ‘blowout emergencies.’”

Max tilted his head. “So… a hundred?”

“Give or take.”

He smirked and offered her the oat milk carton. “We’ll gamble. She’s had worse.”

Zoë followed them — not intentionally, just… coincidentally — into the produce section.

They were standing by the bananas when the toddler in the cart dropped her snack container and immediately began to whimper, tears bubbling up in her big blue eyes.

“Oh no, don’t cry,” Y/N cooed, reaching for it—but Max was faster.

He picked it up, brushed it off, and crouched so they were eye-level. “Hey, kleine prinses. Look—it’s back. Just a little floor spice. Builds immunity.”

The baby blinked at him, then gave a hiccupy giggle before popping a cracker into her mouth.

“You’re so weird,” Y/N said fondly, watching him rise.

“You married me,” he shot back, brushing his hands off on his sweats.

“And I’d do it again. But only if you promise to stop saying ‘floor spice’ in public.”

“I make no promises.”

The little boy—Ezra, they called him—was tugging at Y/N’s sleeve, holding out the waffle box.

“Can we get two? One for home and one for the car ride?”

Y/N crouched down, eyes level with his. “Do you promise not to eat them all before dinner again?”

“I pinky swear on Daddy’s racing helmet.”

Max gasped. “That’s legally binding. Now you have to behave.”

Ezra beamed as his mom kissed the top of his curls and stood back up.

They wandered past Zoë again near the bakery, Max now balancing a bouquet of tulips awkwardly in one hand.

“Who are those for?” Y/N asked, amused.

He shrugged, adjusting the flowers. “You. You’ve been in a mood lately and I like it when you smile.”

She blinked at him, stunned for a moment. “I’m not in a mood.”

Max raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, I’m maybe…slightly overwhelmed.”

“You’re allowed. But flowers still help.”

They shared a look so full of unspoken history that Zoë had to look away.

Later, while unloading at self-checkout, Max gently peeled open the baby’s fruit pouch and helped Ezra scan his waffle box. Y/N was half-asleep on her feet, leaning against the cart as he gently nudged her shoulder.

“Go wait in the car. I’ll finish up and load it.”

“You sure?”

He kissed her forehead. “Always.”

She left with the kids, and Max packed the groceries methodically, organizing by category.

Zoë stood frozen in line behind him, cradling her oat milk and sadness like a broken promise.

And then Max turned, caught her staring again, and—once more—just smiled.

Not like a celebrity. Not like a man who thought he was better.

Just a tired dad, happy husband, and guy who clearly lived for the people who called him home.

As he walked out of the store with a bag in one hand and tulips in the other, Zoë opened her Notes app and typed something new.

“It’s not the big gestures. It’s someone remembering oat milk, wiping cracker crumbs off your mouth, and handing you tulips in aisle seven because they just want you to smile again.”

---

The Train Station

— Matteo, 19, pizza delivery guy, chain smoker, and hopeless romantic against his better judgment.

He didn’t mean to stare.

But the girl was crying, and the guy was arguing with a vending machine, and somehow both things were happening like they’d done it a hundred times before.

Matteo was sitting on a bench at the Eindhoven train station, waiting for the 3:15. He was sweaty, out of cigarettes, and coming off a breakup where his girlfriend said he was “emotionally dense” because he forgot their six-month anniversary.

Whatever.

He wasn’t eavesdropping. He just… noticed things.

Like how the girl in the jean jacket had smudged eyeliner and messy hair twisted into a bun with a pen. And how the guy in the Red Bull hoodie kept slapping the side of the vending machine like it had personally insulted him.

“You’re not eating M&Ms for lunch,” the girl said, sniffling.

“I wasn’t going to. I was going to eat them for comfort,” he muttered, still jabbing the buttons.

“You literally have a race tomorrow.”

Max turned, grinning. “And if I crash, I want to know I died with peanut chocolate in my bloodstream.”

“Max.”

He sighed like it physically pained him, turned, and held out his arms. “Okay, okay. Come here, crybaby.”

She glared at him but walked straight into his hug. He wrapped his arms around her like he’d done it a thousand times.

Matteo watched her melt instantly.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled against his chest.

“You’re allowed to be upset. Your parents were unfair.” He leaned down to kiss the crown of her head. “But I’m proud of you for coming anyway.”

She wiped her eyes. “I look disgusting.”

“You look like my future wife.”

Matteo blinked. He hadn’t expected that.

She shoved him lightly. “You’re such a liar.”

“Nope,” Max replied, tone light but his eyes serious. “I’ve known since the first time you wore that ugly jean jacket.”

“Hey!”

“You looked like someone who’d ruin my life.”

“And?”

“You did. And I love it.”

They were quiet for a minute, sitting on the bench beside Matteo. Close enough for him to smell her cherry chapstick and his cheap cologne.

Max reached into his backpack and pulled out a chocolate croissant wrapped in a napkin. “Didn’t get your M&Ms. Got you this instead.”

Her face lit up like a child on Christmas. “You remembered?”

“You always want croissants when you’re sad.”

“I do.”

Matteo saw it then—saw the whole damn thing. The beginnings of forever.

They were too young. Too reckless. A little dramatic. But there was something magnetic about the way they looked at each other, like they were already writing the rest of their lives in real time.

As the train pulled in and they stood, Max laced their fingers together like it was automatic. She leaned her head on his shoulder, still holding the croissant.

They walked onto the train like two people who didn’t know how rare that kind of love was. Who didn’t need to.

Matteo pulled out his cracked phone and wrote a note he’d forget about until years later:

“Sometimes forever starts at a vending machine. And the person who buys you a croissant instead of saying the right thing is the one who actually gets it.”

---

The Airport Lounge

— Helena, 42, business consultant, solo traveler, professional people-watcher, and casual believer in fate.

The Zurich airport lounge was surprisingly quiet for a Friday afternoon.

Helena had parked herself near the floor-to-ceiling windows with a glass of pinot and a half-read book she was pretending to finish. Her flight to Madrid had been delayed, and she was nursing the rare, delicious silence that came with noise-canceling headphones and no Slack notifications.

Until she noticed them.

They weren’t loud or dramatic. Just… still.

The woman sat curled up in the corner of a leather armchair, knees tucked beneath her, oversized hoodie swallowing her whole, damp curls loosely braided down her back. She had a book open on her lap but wasn’t reading it.

Instead, she was watching the man beside her — Max Verstappen, though it took Helena a moment to place him without the racing suit, the cameras, or the speed.

He looked softer like this.

He was seated slightly sideways in the chair, legs stretched out, thumb stroking lazy lines into her ankle where it rested against his thigh.

Her sock had a tiny embroidered mushroom on it. He was focused on it like it held secrets.

They weren’t speaking. Not really. Just occasionally exchanging glances, faint smiles, little movements that spoke volumes.

Max reached into his backpack and pulled out a tupperware container. “Eat,” he said simply, handing it to her.

“I’m not hungry,” she murmured.

“You always say that and then eat half of mine.”

She squinted at him. “Is it the good pasta?”

“The good one. From that place near the ferry.”

“…I hate you.”

He grinned. “You love me.”

“I do.”

Helena didn’t mean to watch. But it was hard to look away from something that looked so much like home.

After a few quiet bites, the woman reached over, tugging the hem of Max’s sleeve with childlike gentleness. “Do you have to go today?”

Max hesitated. “Yeah.”

He said it softly. Not coldly. Like he hated the truth of it just as much as she did.

She nodded, lips pressing into a tight line. “It’s just a few days. I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t try to talk her out of it. Instead, he reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Open it after I leave.”

“Is this a love letter?”

“It’s a maybe-you-won’t-murder-me-for-being-gone-so-long letter.”

She smiled, but Helena saw the way her fingers tightened around the paper.

“I left little notes in your bag,” Max added. “One in your book, one in the snack pocket, and one in your makeup bag.”

“That’s excessive.”

“That’s love,” he shrugged.

Helena found herself blinking rapidly.

She wasn’t used to seeing people who still made space for each other like that. Who weren’t rushing, glued to their phones, or distracted by other people.

Just present.

After a while, Max stood, stretching slightly. His flight had been called.

He reached for his carry-on, then paused and knelt in front of her.

“C’mere,” he said softly.

She leaned down, and he kissed her — not rushed, not showy, but full. Her hands slipped into his hoodie, his thumb brushed her cheekbone, and Helena knew she wasn’t the only one watching now.

But neither of them cared.

When they parted, Max rested his forehead against hers for a beat. “See you Monday.”

“See you Monday.”

She didn’t cry. She didn’t cling. But as he walked away, she held that letter to her chest like it was armor.

Helena watched her breathe in slowly. Then she tucked the note into her book and picked up her phone—not to scroll, but to open the photos app.

She was scrolling through pictures.

Ones of Max. Their kids, probably. A dog, maybe.

Every one made her smile in that quiet, half-wistful way that meant: I’ll be okay, but I miss you already.

Helena turned back to her wine thinking about how beautiful of a relationship they had.

[bbywriter]

between us | c. sturniolo

masterlist

summary: you and chris go meet matt's newborn baby

pairing: christopher sturniolo x fem!reader

warnings: none just fluff<33

notes: i really need to be studying but i just haaad to write this first

word count: 1k

—

The hospital room is still. A steady rhythm beeps quietly from one of the machines, interrupted only by the hushed conversations between Matt and his girlfriend. The morning sunrise filters gently through the curtains. It outlines the couple sitting on the bed with golden rays, completely wrapping them in their new little world.  

Exhaustion is heavy in Matt’s features, but it’s soothed by something peaceful and soft. His girlfriend leans against him, her eyes half-lidded with a tired but content smile on her lips. And in his arms, held with the utmost care, is a tiny bundle wrapped snugly in a blanket, barely stirring except for the occasional sleepy wiggle. 

Chris hasn’t taken his eyes off the baby since you walked in.

He’s been up all night, eagerly waiting since Matt texted at the early hours of 2am that ‘we’re in labour!!!!!’ to get the okay to come visit. But now that you’re actually here, he’s gone completely still beside you. Hands fidgeting at his sides, his earlier excitement is now replaced by quiet admiration.

Matt glances up, sending his brother a knowing grin. “You wanna hold her?”

The question pulls Chris from his thoughts and he hesitates, his gaze flickering to you for some sort of reassurance. You place a hand on the small of his back and nod, offering an encouraging smile. “Yeah, baby, go hold her.”

He looks back at his brother and lets out a shaky exhale before stepping forward. He carefully stretches out his arms, his usual confidence softened by a new uncertainty as Matt gently transfers her into his hold. For a second, Chris stands completely frozen, holding his breath. He’s afraid to move too fast or do something wrong.

But then as the baby lets out the softest little sigh and nestles further into his chest, his heart becomes hers.

“She’s so small,” Chris whispers. His voice is barely audible as he glances at his brother, and with a smile, Matt gives him a reassuring nod. Chris shifts naturally, adjusting his hold, his fingers tracing light, absentminded circles over the baby’s back. You can see the way his throat bobs and his lips part as if he wants to say something else, but no words come out. His eyes glaze over just slightly, and when he lets out a breathy laugh, your chest tightens.

You’ve never seen him like this before.

He's always been loving—caring in ways that go unnoticed, selfless and gentle towards everyone around him. But the pure adoration in his eyes as he stares at his niece is entirely different. It’s deeper and more profound and it stirs a warm feeling in your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever loved him more than in this moment.

Matt slings an arm around Chris’s shoulders, pulling him in as they watch the baby together. For a moment, neither of them speaks, just taking in the surreal moment.

Chris shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’re a dad.” His voice is full of disbelief, still trying to process his brother’s new title.

Matt chuckles, his gaze never leaving his daughter. “I know, dude, it’s insane.”

Just then, like she knows they’re talking about her, the baby stirs in her swaddle, her tiny fingers twitching as she shifts against the blanket. She cranes her neck ever so slightly before letting out a slow, sleepy yawn, her little mouth opening wide, her nose scrunching just a bit. The sight is almost too precious, and their reaction is immediate. An identical “aww” slips from their lips in perfect unison.

Chris leans in slightly, studying her sweet features. “You literally do that too with your nose when you yawn.” He smiles at the realization.

“Isn’t it so cute?” Matt replies genuinely, his voice laced with pride and awe at his baby’s simple existence.

But Chris doesn’t hesitate. “Only when she does it.”

Matt scoffs, shaking his head with a smile. He doesn’t argue, but giggles softly instead. Chris is already grinning as well when his own laughter bubbles up. And just like that, the’ve fallen into the fit of giggles that’s been second nature to them since they were also babies.

You watch them closely, and suddenly, your own eyes fill with tears. Their triplet bond has always been something you’ve deeply admired. And now, with this tiny new life between them, you can see it’s only growing impossibly stronger.

“___, do you wanna hold her?” Matt’s girlfriend asks, her voice gentle, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

All eyes shift to you, and when Chris’s gaze meets yours, a soft smile spreads across his face. His eyes flicker with understanding as he notices the tears welling up in yours. You let out a quiet laugh, feeling a little embarrassed by the surge of your emotions, and quickly wipe at your eyes. You nod with a smile, and he gently places the baby into your hold.

The moment her weight settles into your arms, cradled gently between you and Chris, it feels as though you two have also slipped into your own little world.

Without a word, he steps behind you and gently rests his chin on your shoulder, his arm snaking around your waist. His body presses against yours, warm and solid, the closeness both grounding and instinctive, like he needs to be close—to share this moment with you.

You glance up at him, expecting to find him still focused on the baby. But his eyes are on you instead, so full of quiet devotion, full of love, and it pulls the air straight from your lungs.

In the softest voice, just loud enough for you to hear, he whispers, “I can’t wait ‘til we have our own.”

Your heart stutters, unsure if you heard him right. You turn toward him, searching his face, but he’s already looking at you like he means it with every fiber of his being. The words urge a new wave of tears to fill your eyes, and for a second, you forget to breathe.

A slow smile tugs at your lips. You glance back down at the baby in your arms, swaying slightly like it’s second nature. “Me neither.”

Chris tightens his hold around your waist, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin. And although in this moment you don’t know exactly what the future holds, it’s clear and without doubt that when the time comes, Chris is going to be the best dad.

—

a/n: thank you always for reading<3 ily guys<3 so much<3

[luveline]

Spencer’s oldest child (either with reader or previous relationship) wanting to help out with readers baby!

“So…” 

“So,” Spencer echoes, hooking Amy under the arms before she can wriggle away. He props her on the counter, cloth already in hand. 

“About the baby.” 

“What about the baby?” he asks, encouraging her head back gently to wipe her mouth. She’s covered in butter and omelette, a chive stuck to her chin. 

“You know how she’s little?” 

“Yes.” Spencer wipes her face clean very gently. It’s not a good plan, Amy wriggles and squirms away from the warm water and it takes a long time, but Spencer can’t bring himself to be rough. “She’s really little. I know all about it.” 

“And mom is tired.” 

Spencer grins. “Yes, mom is tired.” 

“Can I look after the baby? ‘Cos I’m big?” 

Spencer isn’t in the habit of lying to her, perhaps to the detriment of his own easy life. “Probably not. You are getting bigger, but she’s so little she’s actually quite fragile. We have to be careful to hold her the right way, and to carry her gently, because she’s not done forming. You don’t have the dexterity to do this all the time. Plus, she’s heavy.” Spencer puts the cloth aside. He leans down enough to be face to face with Amy, puckered up for a kiss. 

Amy frowns. Spencer kisses her damp cheek. 

“I do too have dex-trity.” 

“What do you want to do?” 

“I want to look after the baby.” 

“Then who will look after me?” Spencer asks cheekily. 

“Mom.” 

“Okay. Listen,” he takes her face carefully into his hand, wiping at the place where he’d kissed affectionately, “there are ways you can help with the baby. Lots of ways! Stuff we already do, like making dinner, and stuff we’ve been doing to help mom, like washing her clothes and watering her plants.” 

“I love mom so I water the plants, that’s not the baby.” 

“I know,” he says, rubbing her cheek. “That’s why I do it too. But I promise it helps mommy more than you realise when we do this stuff for her.” 

“Let’s do something else.” 

“Like what?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Spencer opens his arms for her and she latches on like his baby sloth. He used to say it to her all the time, how she was his lazy sloth pup, always on his chest. “How about we ask?” 

He carries her out of the kitchen and upstairs to find you, only you’re not where they left you in the master bedroom. Instead, you're sitting on the floor of Amy’s bedroom with the baby swaddled to your chest. “Oh, hey, it’s big Reid and little Reid.”  

“What Reid does that make you?” Spencer asks. 

“I’m ambiguously sized Reid.” You look down at the baby. “And this is tiny Reid.” 

“What are you doing?” Amy asks. 

“I’m cleaning up your humongous mess, angel.”

“What!” Amy shouts. Spencer laughs at her outburst. “Mom, I’m supposed to help you!” 

“Says who?” 

“Says me! Daddy, put me down.” 

Spencer obliges her and sets her down. Amy runs to you and takes the doll from your hand, to your surprise, sweeping the pile of her dolls away, mixing the ones you’d redressed with naked and ragged ones. You cover the baby’s back, sighing. Spencer knows from experience those dolls are finicky. 

“I was just trying to help,” you say, pouting at her. “It was a big mess, you can’t do it all by yourself, you’re just my little girl.” 

Spencer appreciates the way you say it. It’s good to love someone, but it feels like great luck to have fallen in love with a mom who couldn’t adore her children more than you do. He wanted kids so badly, and your love for them cements a great decision. Amy doesn’t feel so lucky, throwing herself against the side of her bed with a dramatic, forlorn whine. 

You tip your head back as Spencer kneels by your side. “What’s wrong?” you ask. 

He pulls the swaddle from the baby’s face to see her. She’s awake but quiet. Recognition lights her features when she notices his poking, giving him a gurgling smile. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says to you. “Amy just wants to help today, ‘cos she’s our lovely girl.” His voice turns to sweetness as the baby’s smile widens. “Hello, angel. Hi, hi, hi.” 

“You wanna help me?” you ask. 

Amy pulls her face up from her messy bed sheets. “Yes, please.” 

“Well, nobody’s given me a hug in a while.” 

“I want to help with the baby!” 

“Nobody’s given her a cuddle today, either.” 

“She’s cuddling you right now!” 

“She’s just resting. What she needs is a good hug and a good kiss.” You stretch your legs out in front of you and reach back to pull at the swaddle. Spencer helps before you can stretch your shoulder in the wrong way, taking the fabric down your arms and releasing you from its confines. You cup the baby’s weight in one hand, her head the other, and slide her into your arm. “Come on, best big sister. Come and hold her for me.” 

Amy rushes to do as you’ve said. Spencer smiles to himself and pulls the mound of dolls toward him —there’s a lot of work to do in here, you weren’t kidding about the mess. 

You put the baby in Amy’s lap. 

“Now,” you say, leaning into Spencer’s, arms opening expectantly, “for me?” 

Spencer can’t wait to abandon the doll and bend down over you. He almost pokes your kidney out with a Barbie, but he’s never been any good at resisting you when you ask for a cuddle. It’s not your most comfortable embrace, and yet it’s as perfect as any other, his laugh lost in your shoulder, wrapping his arms behind your back. 

“Keep an eye on the babies,” you whisper. 

Spencer checks that Amy’s holding the baby the right way and makes you into a Reid sandwich. “She told me she is too dexterous.” 

“Did you imply she wasn’t?” 

“I said,” he relents, smiling to himself as you squeeze his waist, “that she’s not dexterous enough to carry the baby all day long.” 

“But how do you know?” 

“I read a couple parenting books a few years ago, I tend to have a pretty good memory.” 

“Do you remember how to rub my back?” you tease, softly, still a little shy after all these years. 

Spencer rubs your back. Amy babbles loving nonsense at the baby for a few minutes, and then complains of being bored and wanting another omelette. 

[cannibaliist]

Pink Matter - Sevika x F!Reader (18+)

One shot | Part 2 soon??

Contains: 18+, sickfic, slight modern!au, smut, explicit content!!, NSFW, mentions of alcohol and weed consumption, established relationship, no use of y/n, nicknames of 'baby girl, sweet girl, etc.' mentioned, dom!sevika, strap ons, oral!s e x reader recieving, rough, vaginal s e x

Word Count: 3.6K

a/n: the Sevika brainrot got too much so here we are lol . hope you enjoy !!

cross posted on AO3

title inspired by Pink Matter by Frank Ocean

Sevika likes you even when you're sick. Because there is no other grown woman or man she'd allow to perspire on her sheets and take up all the space on her mattress on an early Saturday morning when she's finally free from work and Silco's nagging. So yeah, she likes you all right. 

You don't usually get sick often, especially with her watching over you to make sure you're warm during Zaun's freezing weather. 

Your sweat-coated skin soaks through the double layer of navy blue sheets on the bed. It turns the blue almost black and Sevika can only think about how her shit – the one pair of sheets she probably owns – is definitely close to fucked up. God, you are so lucky she doesn't want you to die from whatever you contracted after fucking around all night during the misting rain, laughing and dancing high off your mind from the cheap weed Sevika bought off her coworker. That mixed with what the people called “Shimmer Juice”, you were half out of your mind for the night. 

“Baby get the hell inside,” Sevika had told you last night, but all you did was smile at her. That blinding ass smile full of white teeth and crescent shaped eyes that made her heart start thumping a little faster in her chest. Fuck. She really was in love with you. 

So of course, now you were running a fever and swaddled in whatever blankets she could scrounge up around her room. Sevika likes you like this though, fading in and out of consciousness.

Snoring softly and muttering small words while grasping at whatever body part of Sevika you could reach to keep you warm. You get super clingy when you're sick, one of the only times you are completely super sweet and malleable instead of talking back to Sevika like she won't put you in your place the next moment, but your freak ass is into it so she has to calm herself down another way to not give you exactly what you want. Still, she smiles at your petty actions. Helps to know you really want her in every single form.

She decided to run a few errands while your younger form slept, grabbing soup ingredients – Does my love prefer celery or corn? – bottles of water and a thermometer that she's never bothered to keep in her home before. The things my baby makes me do, she thinks as she puts her things into her grocery basket. 

When she gets back and puts the groceries away she expects for her baby to still be sound asleep but instead you seem a bit off. Hair splayed out everywhere with your chest rising and falling heavily. A flush in your cheeks that's still so visible even with the color of your skin, tinted a steady red even in your sleep. 

Sevika wondered if you were having a nightmare, thrashing and moving in your sleep like you do when your dreams get really bad, fighting more than just sickness.

But instead, your whole body is trembling, your hips unconsciously grinding into the sweat-stained sheets. Sevika walks closer, watching you move your body further into the bed, soft little groans escaping your plush lips. She stills as you mutter a soft cry for her. “Sevika…” She holds her breath, slowly approaching the voice. “Sevi, please.”

Sevika smirks to herself, touching a hand to your warmed skin shaking your awake. “Get up, sweet girl.” She had to take your temperature now before giving you any water. You startle with a groan, whining like you always do. Some nonsense about a “-middle of a good dream. ruin everything.”

“Open your mouth for something other than running it baby.” Even though you're slightly annoyed from being woken up from such a nice dream, you do as instructed, mouth wide and hinting for more than just a thermometer. 

Sevika felt a twinge in her pants. Her desire to slide her strap down your awaiting throat was just too tempting. Instead, she cups your jaw, and sticks the thermometer tip under your tongue. You glare and let out a soft whine of disappointment. “Tease,” you mutter. 

Sevika rolls her eyes at the petulant behavior and pulls out the thermometer at the beep. “101.4, Told your crazy ass to sit down last night and now here we are,” she scoffs. “Sit up and drink some water.”

You groan and turn your head away, letting yourself fall back onto the bed. “Don't want to.”

Sevika sighs, sliding her warm fingers over your sweat-soaked hair, small pieces threatening to curl at the nape of your neck. They feel nice as they start to comb at your scalp. “Listen, you've been playing housewife all week, cleaning and cooking all nice for me, let me take care of you now baby girl.” 

You groan again, weak hands gripping the edge of the blanket, trying to pull it off of you. You sigh into the pillow, words all muddied and unclear. “Speak up baby, I'm not straining to hear you.”

You take a deep, labored breath in, and turn her head towards Sevika, cheeks getting all hot. “Said you want to, so take care of me.”

Her eyes narrow at you, “What do you think I'm doing?” 

“No Sevi, I need you to fuck me. Please.” 

Sevika grips your chin, hard, probably could leave a few bruises if she tried hard enough. You twitch under her touch, ultra-sensitive from the fever. “You're outta your mind right now. You need to rest ”

You bring a hand to Sevika’s thigh as she hovers over you, grasping with more strength than you probably needed to have. “I need it, please. I'll be good.”

Just the thought of your body loose and desperate sends a rush straight to the older woman's crotch. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. Fuck me, Sevika.” Your voice was exhausted, but eager, wide eyes staring endlessly into her own dark grey ones. 

She watches the quickened rise and fall of your chest as she goes to take off her vest and her pants. Of course she's commando. Of course. The thing you're waiting for is less than 5 steps away, tucked in the nightstand drawer. Sevika is quick to grab the strap-on and fasten it around herself. It's a beautiful deep shade of purple and thick and practically gleaming as she steps closer to you. You scramble out of your sleep shorts and t-shirt to feel her presence even closer.

“Gonna slick me up baby? Get me ready for you?” She asks as she sizes you up. Her eyes are dark, hungry, for you. 

You nod dumbly. So ready to suck her off like you've done times before. 

She drags her metal hand along your lower leg, up your shaking thighs, over your awaiting ass in your underwear, and up to your back. You twitch at the cold of the metal, too much sensation from such a small gesture. Simply Sevika’s touch – gentle strokes across the skin – was overwhelming. 

Sevika gently tugs on your jaw, testing how pliable and easy you promised to be. She was met with no resistance as your mouth opened with ease, “doing so good already baby.” 

Sevika stepped closer, hovering over your face, sliding in her strap until she hit the back of your throat with no resistance. You were too tired for a reflex, too tired to choke. Fuck, she could do anything she wanted to you right now and you wouldn't even flinch. Something dark coiled in Sevika's stomach, if she was a better person she would've ignored your pleas and doped you up with enough medicine to tire you out but she wasn't an entirely good person, and you liked her that way. 

Sevika worked your mouth, it's as if she could feel the warm back of your throat every time she bottomed out. But the small quiver of breath on the straps cockhead was a reminder that you needed to breathe.

Tears welled in your eyes, and Sevika had to fight coming right then and there. She wanted to fill your throat, make you keep her strap warm as you swallowed every last bit of her. The only fight you had was an involuntary gasp for air. Sevika held you there for just a second longer, slowly sliding out of your mouth, warm and wet. As Sevika’s strap head passes your lips, you groan, trying to get Sevika to put herself back where she belongs.

Sevika replaces the emptiness with her fingers, laying them on your tongue instead. “Not now baby girl.”  

Sevika hovers over you, staring at your parted lips, watching your eyes flutter as sweat drips down your brow. She lowered her hips, slowly dragging her strap along your entrance. Sevika’s other hand traveled down to the leaking pussy between your thighs, mouth watering at the wetness. She thumbs your clit slowly as she grasps your ass with her metal hand.

You gasp at the soft friction, pushing your hips up to meet Sevika, breath heavy. “Need you Sevi, please.”

“Keep your hands up. Just like that.” You cross your arms above your head as you ache to touch Sevika back. Your skin is hot and flushed and you feel like you'll explode any second that your girlfriend isn't touching you. 

“Hurry, please.” 

“Patience pretty girl,” Sevika warns. Your whines were cut short by Sevika’s mouth meeting your own. The kiss was rough, more teeth meeting lips and gasps than anything else but it was perfect. Just like her. 

Sevika pulls away and watches her baby's head lift off the pillow to chase her, falling back almost immediately with a huff. You let your hands move from where they lay against the pillow crossed to pull Sevika back down into a kiss. Desperate. 

Pulling away again Sevika pins your wrist to the mattress with a growl. You stare up at her, eyes shining with tears but overfilled with lust and want. Fuck. “You don't listen for shit, girl. Keep your hands where I can see ‘em.”

Sevika kisses along your jaw and neck, soft nips and bites that you wanted to feel more of. Wanted them to bruise. To show everyone who you belonged to. But all you can do is whine and mumble out whispers instead of words.  

“Use your words, baby.”

You choke on your words. “M-more. Please.”

Sevika leans back down, crashing her lips into yours. “You want more?”

You groan into her mouth. “Please, anything.”

Sevika pulls away, spitting into your mouth, hungry and aching. “Swallow. Want you to remember that taste.” You swallow greedily, heart pumping as Sevika kisses down the soft skin of your stomach, inching closer to your cunt. 

She smirks at the sight, you already so desperate for more, as she runs her fingers up and down your warm entrance. You moan at the sudden intrusion, rocking back onto Sevika’s hand as she slips a finger in, all the way to the knuckle, groaning at the heat and the way you're clenched so tight around her. 

“Another please, Sevika.”

One finger quickly becomes three, and you can't even flinch at the rushed invasion, just blabbering and moaning as Sevika's thick fingers slam into your pussy. Your hips rock against Sevika’s hand as you can do nothing but wordlessly whimper and beg for something.

Sevika hits that special spot in quick little pumps, bringing your muted cries to loud gasps. 

“Almost there, baby.” Sevika tells you, her ability to hold herself back from jumping your bones entirely is slowly starting to crumble. 

When she deems you prepped enough, she takes her fingers away and slides them into her mouth making you moan. She licks her fingers like it's nectar as she sucks them into her mouth. 

Finally, Sevika settles between your trembling thighs, the color a hue she's always loved from all the time you spent tanning in the sun with no worries in the world.

A gentle groan passes by your lips as Sevika sucks a mark into the flesh of your legs, nipping along the skin turning it into a pinkish red that will soon blossom into a deep purple. She grazes her teeth along your inner thigh, biting down hard. She trails her fingers up the backs of both your legs, settling on your ass and grabbing at the soft flesh, sending a shiver up your spine. 

You mewled, begging. “Need you please.” You could feel Sevika smile into the mark she made on your thigh, turned on beyond relief at your begging. “Just a little longer baby.”

Giving you a pat on the head, she lowers her awaiting mouth to your weeping cunt, though you're already close even from her thick fingers inside of you. You moaned at the contact, gripping the sheets as Sevika licks you up clean. You resist the overwhelming urge to clutch at her hair as she works you out, but you promised not to move your hands. You'd listen this once, just for her. 

She works her tongue over your swelling clit, swirling her tongue, and moving back down. She ate you like a pro, taking you deeper in her mouth, breathing in the smell of her girl and the tickle of your hairs along her face. Whether you had a bush or shaved for some occasions, she was very appreciative of the effort, regardless of how you presented yourself to her. 

She fucks you with her tongue and only adds in a single finger. Pistoning faster as she works at your clit. It's all too much too soon and she pulls off to lick you up again, fingers still angled over your sweet spot, when she hears a loud cry. You've already cum. Making the sheets stain a darker shade of navy blue. 

“W-what the fuck?” You say more to yourself than anyone else. The fever makes you even more sensitive, even the littlest bit of stimulation making you come, it's insanely embarrassing to your already dwindling ego. 

“Think you can do one more?” the older woman chuckles. You just shake your head nervously, tears peaking at the corner of your eyes. “No more.”  

Sevika's eyes harden, grasping your hips and digging her nails in. The clutch of her metal fingers into the flesh of your hip leaves you reeling – knowing it's gonna bruise later. “If I tell you one more, then it's gonna be one more.” 

He slicks up her glistening strap with whatever lube she had on her dresser already half empty, and positions her above you. She lines herself up, pushing slow yet unyielding into you. You can't help but scream as Sevika pulls out and slams her strap into you, purposely missing your sweet spot just to make you beg for it. 

You try and bite your arm to quiet your whimpers, it was embarrassing wanting her so bad, wanting her dick, her strap, inside you so bad. Sevika reaches up, grabbing your face until they drift to your throat. “You can be loud, baby, let me hear you.”

She fucks you slow and deep, wanting to savor every second you're so pliant underneath her. Your mind is quieted by the fever, now, basically delirious. She uses just enough pressure against your throat to let you breathe, already labored and erratic.

It feels like your whole body is on fire. Only filled with thoughts of Sevika Sevika Sevika. Those words chant themselves over and over in your mind like a mantra. 

Sevika places your legs over her shoulders and enters again with no hesitation, fucking into you even faster. “Touch yourself sweet girl. Wanna see you cum again.”

You whimper. “Sevika, I don’t think-”

Sevika puts a finger over your mouth. “You don't get to tell me no princess, you wanted this, remember?” It was mocking, less a question and more a statement. Of course you remember, it's burned into the back of your mind. 

Your weak hand reaches for your clit to give it at least a little bit of stimulation. But there's no strength left in your body to bring yourself to come again, your grip was nothing more than a soft coaxing. Tears fill your eyes from frustration, from pleasure, a sharp mixture of both. 

With a laugh, Sevika slaps your pathetic hand away and brings her hand to your clit herself. Sevika continues to stroke you, angling her hips to hit even deeper into your tight pussy. It's all too much and all you can do is sob. 

Sevika moves her vacant metal hand from your hip to your throat, choking you properly now. Sevika’s pace quickens, folding you in half with your thighs against her sticky chest, thrusting as deep into you as she could. Your eyes began to roll, chest heaving from a sob but no words can escape her lips. 

“Please don't stop, please.”

You barely have time to process what’s happening before Sevika folds you in half again. You love the way the older woman makes you feel when she's caged over you. You're not overly short or tall, but you still feel so small in comparison to Sevika’s more broad-shouldered frame. You feel your body shake as Sevika sheathes herself back inside fully with one single thrust. You barely manage to take it, body tightening around her cock reflexively. It's basically an extension of her at this point. 

She lets her hand slither from around your neck to your boobs, fondling them as she fucks you harder. You scramble against the sheets with sweaty hands and weak fingers, trying to get away from the pistoning dick tearing you apart. Sevika is so big inside of you, he can hardly feel anything else. 

She kisses you and it feels like heaven all over again. 

Feels like you're drowning in pure bliss. She keeps fucking you through it, making you cum over and over again, watching as your body writhes in agony and overstimulation. It almost hurts, so fucking much, but it feels so so good. You love that Sevika isn’t afraid to handle you roughly – isn't afraid to slam her hips forward like she wants to destroy your guts with each thrust – but she isn't afraid to truly make love to you either, all nice and slow. Here, your mind finally has the ability to finally shut off and you can submit yourself fully to the older woman.

When Sevika finally comes it's like you can practically feel the strap swell inside of you. 

Sevika pulls out with a groan, as if it really is her own cock and not a toy. Something about it has your stomach swirling into knots again. 

She licks her lips. “Not done with you yet baby.” 

Sevika grabs you by your waist and flips you over, shoving your face deep into the mattress. 

“Fit around this cock so well baby girl. Bet you're wishing it was real huh?”

You can barely process Sevika’s words, only letting out a jumbled, “only yours Sevi” before your mind is clouded by a thick sheen of tears, sweat, and cum. You can't count how many times you come before you pass out from the fever and from working your body so hard. 

————

When you come to, the first thing you feel is emptiness. The emptiness of your cunt and the bed as Sevika is nowhere to be seen. It triggers something in your chest and he can't help the sob that gets stuck in her throat. You want to call out for her, cry, something, but your throat is wrecked and raw. 

“Sevika?” you push out, voice weak from exertion. 

After a few moments of silence, you hear the floorboards creak near the bedroom door. It's Sevika with a bowl of something in her hand and a bottle of water. She smiles at you, her lopsided smile glistening against the window light and it's all too domestic. 

“You aight Bambi?” The special nickname makes you want to jump her bones all over again. Her voice is soft as if speaking any louder would frighten you. But you're strong, already feeling better from your nap. You just nod, reaching an arm out towards Sevika's approaching figure to motion her to the space on the bed next to you. 

There’s different sheets this time, a creamy grey color and you wonder how long you were out cold so that she was able to replace sheets right under you.  

“I'm right here baby hold on.” He grabs the thermometer from the nightstand, motioning for you to open your mouth again. 

“98.9” she says after the beep. She cracks a wide smile, “fucking miracle my strap is huh?” You can only roll your eyes, “don't get too cocky, Sevi. I was right after all.” 

Sevika wraps you in a hug, breathing in the faint smell of sex, and the smell of your shampoo. “Eat your soup and if you're good I'll let you sleep with it in.” She raises her eyebrows suggestively, grinning larger than life. The little gap between her teeth has your heart melting as you kiss her softly. 

“I love you so much Sevika.” She presses your foreheads together and holds the sides of your face with her hands.

One kiss to your left eyelid, one kiss to your right lid, another to the tip of your nose, and finally another one your lips as she clutches you tighter. “I love you too baby.”

You eat your soup with a hunger you've never had before in your life. You go to sleep very happy that night, stomach full and pussy full as she spoons you as you both fall asleep. 

~~~~

[sturniqlo]

Motherly Instincts- M.S

summary: mom!y/n has trouble putting the baby back to sleep, dad!matt sees that's she's getting overwhelmed and near the edge of breaking down. BLURB

cw: slight cursing, ANGST; crying, being overwhelmed, postpartum depression, FLUFF; soft kisses, reassurance, comforting

an: i tried my best to not use a name for the baby but i kept getting confused when i used the baby and y/n in a sentence so i chose a random name | lowercase intended | a continuation(?) to spilled water

masterlist | join my taglist

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

"got the baby back to sleep?" matt asked and opened his arms back up for y/n to crawl into him. "mhm." she hums, and snugs herself into his arms. he wraps his arm around her shoulder and she leans her head on his chest. y/n's eyes keep going back and forth between the movie playing on the television in front of them and the baby monitor that sits on the coffee table.

"hey, she's okay, i promise you. i'm sure she's fast asleep by now." he whispers and places a kiss on her forehead. "i know, but what if her swaddles comes undone. or what if it's too tight?" she bites the inside of her cheek, worrying.

matt frowns slightly, for the past couple of weeks, y/n hasn't really been herself. she's more quiet, she gets irritated quickly, she only interacts with the baby when it's necessary "i just- she's so fragile, you know?" is her excuse.

in reality, everything is right. y/n has been trying so hard to create a bond with her baby girl. she's tried so hard but, there's something inside of her- almost like a voice- telling her that she isn't fit to be a mother, that her baby doesn't like her. she sees how matt and his brothers have a bond with her own baby, who she grew for nine months. it gets to her.

y/n always has to excuse herself and cry in the bathroom when she sees her baby crack a smile with someone who isn't her, or when mia isn't fussy when someone is carrying her. there has been multiple occasions where mia doesn't let y/n carry her and she squirms in her arms but, when she's given to matt, she isn't fussy anymore. it breaks y/n's heart.

2:36am

the clock on y/ns nightstand reads. the speakers of the baby monitor begin to fill the room with the wails of baby mia. she mutes the monitor so matt won't wake up. swinging her legs over the bed, she puts her slippers on and walks to the door to leave the room. entering the nursery, the cries only get louder. she goes to the crib and sees that her pacifier had fallen next to her small head.

"hi, baby. mommy's here." she whispers, she carefully picks her up in her arms and grabs the pacifier and tries to put it back in her mouth. mia takes it and y/n sighs in relief. she cradles her for a couple more seconds until she sees the babys face churn in discomfort, the pacifier coming out of her mouth and hitting the floor, cries fill the room again.

"oh no, let's get this cleaned up." she tries to stay calm and squats down to pick up the pacifier. before she heads down she places mia down on the changing table and undos the swaddle. "do you need a diaper change, is that it?" her shaky hands unclip the onesie and starts to take off the diaper.

cleaning her up and changing her into a new diaper, her cries don't stop. y/n feels a lump start to form in her throat and she blinks her tears away. "are you hungry, baby? let's get you a bottle." she puts her back in her arms and grabs the pacifier so she can clean it while she's downstairs.

y/n runs one of her frozen breast milk pouches under warm water and proceeds to pour it into a bottle once it's warm and melted, however with a crying baby in her left arm, and a shaky right hand, the bottle falls on its side and the pouch of milk slips from her grip. "shit." she curses and a tear slips down her face. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry." she tells the crying baby in her arm. grabbing a different frozen pouch she manages to pour all of it into the small bottle.

putting the nipple of the bottle into the babys mouth, she refuses and her cries get louder. y/n tries not more time and mia takes it for a couple of seconds and repeats what she previously did with the pacifier. y/n places the bottle down next to the spilled milk and cleans the pacifier before heading back up into the nursery.

she moves side to side patting the baby lightly on the bottom, trying to soothe her to sleep. "i- i don't know what you want." she whispers, looking down at the baby's blue eyes that resembles matt's so much. however, these pair of eyes are sad and leaking tears.

in their shared room, matt flips over and tries to put an arm around y/n. he feels the spot empty and cold, waking up and sitting up he begins to come conscious of his surroundings and hears the cries of his baby. his bare feet meet the cold wooden floor and he heads out the room into the nursery where he sees y/n wiping tears from her eyes and hears the wails of the baby.

"babe, what's going on?" his raspy voice says. y/n looks up and sees matt standing there. "she's- i don't- she won't stop crying, i don't know what she wants. i've- i've tried everything, she won't stop, matt." his heart aches at her quivering voice. "it's okay, let me have her." matt walks closer to his two girls and y/n hands mia to him.

once the baby is in matt's arms, her cries stop. this makes y/n's eyes well up even more. "hey, why don't you go to our room, i'll be there in a sec, okay?" he grabs her jaw and kisses her forehead. "o- okay." she nods. as bad as it sounds, matt wished that she hadn't stopped crying right away in his arms. he saw the way y/n's eyes welled up again. he wished it would've taken him some time to get the baby to calm down.

y/n remembers of the mess downstairs and heads down to the kitchen. wiping both the milk and her tears, she hears matt coming down the stairs and she turns around. "hey, is she- is she asleep?" she says, trying her best to smile. "yeah, here, i'll clean this up." matt grabs the napkins from her and he cleans it up. "is it okay if i go back up?" y/n asks.

"of course, i'll be right up." matt turns around and nods at her. matt waits a couple of minutes before going back upstairs so y/n can have a moment to herself.

"you okay?" matt says as he closes the third bedroom door. y/n places the baby monitor back down on her nightstand after unmuting it and turns around to matt's voice. "am i a good mom?" she blurts out and sits on the edge of the bed. "what? of course you are. you're the best. why do you ask?" he goes to sit next to her. "i feel like i'm not. i mean, mia doesn't even like me. she doesn't let me hold her whenever i just want to. i cant even put her to sleep when she wakes up. i- you put her straight to sleep by just carrying her, i can't do that." she cries into matt.

"y/n, baby, you're the best mom ever." matt says and she shakes her head. "matt, you're not listening to me, i can't- i'm- i'm not good enough. i don't have motherly instincts. i'm- i'm the worst."

matt shakes his head and gently grabs her face in his hands. "baby, believe me when i say this. you are the best mommy for mia. did you change her diaper just now?" he asks and she nods. "did you make her a bottle?" she nods. "did you give her, her pacifier?" she nods again. "did you go to her when you heard her crying?" she nods. "see, you do have motherly instincts, my love. nobody told you what to do, you just did it." he smiles at her. "please, believe me, babe."

"and, it's okay if we can't figure it out right away. we're first time parents, of course it's going to be hard. we're learning." her cries have now turned into sniffles. matt wipes away the last of her tears and kisses her nose, making her giggle lightly.

"feelin' better?" matt murmurs against her hair. they had moved from sitting on the edge of the bed to matt cuddling her, kissing her hair from time to time. "much better. thank you, babe. i- i think i have postpartum depression." she whispers the last part. "oh." he says. "i want to get help, i don't want to feel like this anymore. i want to enjoy these moment with her. she's not going to be this little for so long." she looks up at him.

"you get all the help you need. i'll be with you every step of the way, alright? me and mia will be right next to you." she smiles at his words and he presses a soft kiss to his lips. "thank you." there's a beat of silence until matt speaks. "please don't ever say that she won't be this little for so long. one moment she needs us to change her diaper and next thing you know, i'm walking her down the aisle." y/n gasps. "okay, let's not go that far. she's not even two months old yet."

"you're right."

[cupofteatoyou2]

Sex Is a Luxury Item

(+18)

The nursery door closes with a soft click that feels louder than it should. You both stand there for a full ten seconds, like you're trying to will the silence to hold. Then—very slowly—you back away.

“Did she…?” Alexia whispers.

You hold up a single triumphant finger. “Out. Cold.”

Alexia’s whole body visibly deflates with relief. “Praise. Be.”

You tiptoe down the hall like you’re sneaking out of a haunted house. Once you’re safely in the living room, she collapses onto the couch with a dramatic grunt.

“I’m never using the word ‘down’ again unless it’s followed by ‘to clown’ or ‘for real this time.’”

You laugh, slumping beside her. “I sang the ABCs, and I did that swaddle shuffle thing you made fun of.”

“I don’t make fun of it. I fear it.”

She reaches for your hand, twining your fingers. Her thumb brushes over your knuckles and it’s the softest touch you’ve felt all day.

It makes your chest ache a little.

“I missed this,” she says quietly. “Just being able to… sit with you.”

You glance over at her. Her hair’s a mess, hoodie slightly damp from some earlier baby-related incident, but the look in her eyes is calm. Warm. Need.

“I missed you,” you say softly.

“I missed your mouth,” she says, just as softly—except hers is a little more direct.

You smirk. “Oh, we’re skipping right to that?”

“It’s been weeks. I’m done playing it cool.”

You shift closer, legs touching, your hand sliding to her thigh. Her eyes darken. “Don’t tease.”

“You used to love that.”

“I used to have eight hours of sleep and an immune system.”

You giggle, then tilt your head and kiss her.

It starts slow. Gentle. Careful. You haven’t had space for this in so long, and you both know it. Her fingers slide under your shirt. Yours tangle in her hair. It builds like a fire you’re finally allowed to light.

You shift onto her lap, her arms circling your waist like she never wants to let go.

“I’ve wanted this,” she murmurs against your mouth. “God, I’ve needed this.”

You kiss her again, deeper, slower, letting her feel it.

And just when her hands start to slip under your hoodie—

click.

Rustle.

A small sound crackles from the baby monitor.

You both freeze.

Then a soft sigh.

“Don’t move,” Alexia whispers.

“Maybe she’s shifting in her sleep.”

“Maybe. Or maybe she’s sensing happiness and preparing to destroy it.”

You both stare at the monitor like it's a horror movie screen.

There’s another soft grunt.

And then—one, single, high-pitched cry.

Alexia slumps back onto the couch. “She’s awake.”

You blink, heart sinking. “We didn’t even get a boob out.”

“I didn’t even make it past second base.”

You press your forehead to her shoulder. “What do we do?”

She sighs. “I’ll go.”

“No, I’ve got her.”

“You did bedtime. I’ve got her.”

You squeeze her hand. “Together?”

She looks at you, eyes soft and tired. “Always.”

You both rise like soldiers going back to war. As you pad toward the nursery, Alexia reaches back and flicks off the light in the living room.

“Tomorrow,” she murmurs.

“Tomorrow,” you promise.

Alexia was moving like a woman possessed.

You watched her storm around the house with a candle in one hand, wine bottle in the other, and the baby monitor clenched between her teeth.

“What are you doing?” you asked from the couch, half-laughing, half-intrigued.

She spat the monitor onto a pillow and said, “Tonight, I’m reclaiming my title as your wife. Not just your co-parent. Your sexy, romantic, occasionally sleep-deprived wife.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Should I be scared or impressed?”

“Both. I cleaned spit-up off my ear today. I deserve this.”

You tried not to laugh, but her eyes were wild with determination. She lit the candle dramatically and dimmed the lights.

“She’s fed, changed, burped, rocked, lullabied, and snuggled within an inch of her life. The monitor says she’s sleeping like a rock. We have—statistically—at least one hour.”

“And you used that hour to set the mood?”

“I used five minutes to set the mood. I plan to use the next fifty-five to ruin you.”

You flushed. “God, I missed you.”

She moved closer, cupping your face gently before kissing you, slow and warm. You melted into her, everything soft and familiar, her hands on your waist pulling you in.

“Tell me you want this too,” she whispered.

You grinned, leaning your forehead against hers. “Of course I do. But slow, okay? I just want to feel close to you again.”

Her lips curved. “Slow is my middle name.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Tonight it is.”

She tugged you down onto the couch, mouth finding yours again. Her hands moved carefully, like she remembered every part of you and needed to touch it all. Your shirt came off, hers followed. You gasped into her mouth, and her teeth scraped your bottom lip in that exact way that used to make your knees weak.

Her hand slid under your bra—

click.

You both froze.

Alexia’s eyes darted to the baby monitor. A tiny grunt. A rustle.

“Don’t you dare,” she muttered. “Do not wake up. I’m begging you.”

You pressed your ear to her chest, listening with her.

Another rustle. Then silence.

“She’s just shifting,” you said, exhaling.

Alexia didn’t move. “I’ve never wanted a mute button more in my life.”

You burst out laughing and pulled her back down. “Crisis averted.”

Your fingers went to the waistband of her joggers. Hers slid behind your back again—

And then—hiccup.

Sniffle.

You both slowly turned toward the monitor again.

“Maybe she’s just—”

WAHHHHHHHHH!

You both groaned in perfect sync.

Alexia flopped backward, dramatically throwing an arm over her face. “I love her so much, but she is truly the tiniest, cutest pussyblocker I’ve ever met.”

You were already pulling your shirt back on, laughing into the fabric. “We made her too powerful.”

“She’s weaponized her timing,” Alexia muttered, slipping on her hoodie. “We’re under siege.”

In seconds, you were back in the nursery. The baby blinked up at you both, looking thrilled to be awake again.

“I swear she’s doing this on purpose,” Alexia said as she rocked her. “She senses hormones like a shark smells blood.”

“Maybe she just misses us.”

“She sees me kiss your neck and goes, ‘That’s enough out of you. Stay away from my mommy’”

The baby yawned. Then sneezed directly in Alexia’s face.

You giggled so hard you nearly dropped the burp cloth.

“Still love her?” you teased.

Alexia wiped her cheek and said, “I’d take a thousand sneezes to the face if it means we eventually get to have sex again.”

Once the baby was back in the crib, snoring softly, you both tiptoed out like burglars escaping a crime scene.

Back in the living room, you didn’t even speak—you just pounced.

Alexia caught you, laughing breathlessly, and pulled you right back into her lap. Your lips locked, more eager this time, more desperate. Her hand slid down your thigh. Yours pushed up under her hoodie.

“I missed your skin,” she whispered against your jaw. “Missed the way you sound.”

“I’ll show you,” you murmured. “Just keep kissing me like that.”

Shirts peeled off again. Breathing got heavier. Her hand moved under your waistband—

BWAAAHHHHHHHH!

Both of you nearly screamed.

The monitor lit up again.

“She was asleep for eight minutes!”

“She sensed skin-to-skin contact!”

Alexia stood dramatically and pointed at the monitor. “You, young lady, are a menace to intimacy.”

You were crying with laughter as you stood. “She’s literally a baby, Lex.”

“A baby with an agenda.”

you both went in together again and took turns holding her. You whispered lullabies while Alexia made up dramatic Shakespearean monologues about interrupted foreplay.

“Sleep, my tiny villain. For tonight we are merely shadows of the lustful beings we once were.”

You were shaking with silent laughter.

Back to bed. Again.

This time, neither of you even pretended to go fast. You laid beside each other, fingers intertwined, foreheads pressed together.

Alexia sighed. “I love her so much it physically hurts.”

“I know.”

“But if I don’t get to see you naked soon, I’m going to lose my mind.”

You grinned. “We’ll get there.”

“You think when she’s in college we’ll finally have sex again?”

“Oh, I think we’ll be nasty empty-nesters.”

She laughed and pulled you close, tucking your head into her shoulder. “You’re still the most beautiful thing in the world to me.”

“Even covered in milk stains?”

“Especially then.”

Your baby snored on the monitor. Peaceful. Temporarily.

You kissed Alexia one more time and whispered, “maybe Tomorrow?”

Alexia yawned. “I’m scheduling it like a dentist appointment.”

Alexia stood in the kitchen, barefoot, holding a baby spoon like it was a laser pointer in a corporate meeting. Her hoodie was stained with milk, her bun was half falling apart, and yet she radiated authority.

“We need a new strategy,” she said, pointing the spoon at you with conviction.

You shifted your baby on your hip and squinted at her. “Is this about sex or war? Because your vibe is giving NATO crisis response.”

“Sex is war,” she muttered dramatically. “And right now, we’re losing.” She gestured broadly to the chaos around you: toys scattered across the floor, a bib hanging from the lamp, a rogue pacifier floating in someone’s half-drunk tea. “We are being outmaneuvered by someone who can’t even hold her own head up yet.”

“She’s a baby,” you reminded her, kissing said baby on the head.

“She’s a tactical genius,” Alexia said, narrowing her eyes at the infant. “Every time we so much as touch lips, she makes a sound like she’s being exorcised. She waits. She listens. Then she strikes.”

You snorted. “We’re being pussyblocked by someone who thinks her own feet are a conspiracy.”

“Exactly!” Alexia snapped her fingers. “It’s a psychological game. She doesn’t even know she’s winning, and that’s what makes her so powerful.”

You bounced the baby gently. “Okay, war general. What’s your big plan?”

Alexia marched over to the fridge, yanked off a magnet, and slapped a Post-it to the surface like it was a classified briefing. In bold, scribbled handwriting, it read

OPERATION: SEXY SUBMARINE

You stared.

“Tonight,” Alexia began, pacing, “we follow a strict schedule. No detours. No distractions. No Netflix, no chatting about the laundry, no doomscrolling while she naps. We do everything early—feed her early, bathe her early, snuggle her into a sleepy little puddle of baby bliss. Then we put her down.”

She paused dramatically.

“And then, we retreat. Bedroom only. Lights off. Curtains drawn. Door closed. Silent mode. Like a stealth mission. No candles. No ambiance. Just pure, uninterrupted—” she made an expansive gesture “—reconnection.”

You bit your lip, amused. “What’s with the submarine part?”

“Because we’re going under the radar. No noise. No trace. Pure stealth.”

“And because it’s been so long, we’ll probably have to dive deep into foreplay before anyone remembers how anything works?”

Alexia’s face lit up. “Exactly. See? You get me.”

You kissed her cheek. “Alright, Captain Putellas. I’m in.”

That night, you prepared like Olympic athletes warming up for a relay.

Dinner was served 47 minutes ahead of schedule. Alexia made airplane noises while feeding mashed peas, which ended up mostly on her shirt, but you were both undeterred. Bath time included the new sparkly bubble soap and a rousing three-minute duet of “Let It Go.” Your daughter clapped for you both like you’d just taken a bow at a Broadway matinee.

Book time came next. You sat side-by-side in the rocking chair, your daughter balanced across both your laps. Alexia read The Very Hungry Caterpillar with the dramatic timing of a Shakespearean actor on a caffeine high. Then she followed up with Goodnight Moon in a soft whisper, pausing between each “goodnight” like it was a prayer.

The final lullaby was sung in hushed tones. Alexia cradled the baby like she was made of glass, her voice wrapping around the room like a blanket.

“She’s out,” you breathed, watching her chest rise and fall in rhythmic peace.

Alexia’s eyes sparkled. “You ready?”

You tiptoed like trained spies out of the nursery. Alexia carefully shut the door with the reverence of someone sealing a tomb.

Once inside your room, she didn’t waste time. Her hands slid around your waist as soon as the door clicked shut. “No talking,” she whispered. “You might jinx it.”

Your lips met hers, slow and deep. She pulled you to the bed, her hand warm against your lower back, your knees already going weak. Clothes started to come off—carefully, quietly. Her hoodie hit the floor. Your shirt followed. Her hands traced your ribs like she was relearning you from scratch.

“I missed this,” she breathed against your collarbone.

You ran your fingers through her hair, tugging gently. “I missed you.”

She leaned in, kissing along your throat, one hand sliding up your bare thigh—

THUMP.

You both froze.

Then:

sniffle.

hic.

whimper.

Alexia slowly looked over her shoulder. “No. No, she’s bluffing.”

“Lex…”

“She’s testing us.”

A louder whimper. Then a soft wail.

Alexia flopped onto her back and buried her face in a pillow. “This is a conspiracy. A full-scale operation against our libido.”

You sighed but couldn’t stop the giggle bubbling up. “The Sexy Submarine has been compromised.”

“She’s too strong,” Alexia groaned into the pillow. “She’s outmaneuvered us again.”

You pulled on your shirt, patting her back. “Come on, soldier. We’ll regroup.”

“She doesn’t even like books,” Alexia muttered as she stood. “I read two stories. Two! With voices!”

In the nursery, your daughter greeted you with wide, innocent eyes.

Alexia lifted her gently, holding her close. “You are lucky I’m weak for cute things,” she whispered, nuzzling into her soft hair. “But seriously—do you have to wake up every time I try to get laid?”

You were laughing into your hand.

By the time she was back in her crib, you were both too tired for round two. You collapsed onto the bed fully clothed, limbs tangled together.

Alexia turned to you with the softest look in her eyes. “I love you,” she murmured. “Even if we never have sex again until she’s in preschool .”

“Preschool’s only few years away. We can make it.”

She groaned. “No. No we can’t.”

You reached for her hand. “We’ll find our way back. We’re just in the baby fog right now.”

Alexia smiled, eyes already drooping. “At least we’re in it together.”

You drifted off to the sound of your daughter snoring through the baby monitor.

The silence was golden. Sacred. A rare miracle.

Your daughter was finally asleep. For real this time—tiny limbs sprawled, cheeks flushed, pacifier bobbing softly with each breath. You and Alexia stood outside the nursery like two burglars about to flee a heist.

Alexia turned to you, eyes dark with purpose. “If she even makes a noise in the next hour, I swear to God—”

“Shhh,” you whispered, grabbing her hand and yanking her down the hallway like you were both escaping prison.

Back in the bedroom, the door clicked shut behind you, and Alexia’s lips were on yours before you even had a chance to breathe. Her hands slid under your shirt, warm, insistent, and you melted into her like it hadn’t been weeks of stop-starts and frustrated cuddles.

“God, I forgot how soft you are,” she whispered, mouth grazing your neck. “I feel like I’m kissing a memory.”

You laughed softly, tugging her shirt over her head. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m starving for you.”

The kiss deepened—slow and messy, teeth and tongue, her fingers dragging down your sides until she was pushing you gently toward the bed. You went easily, smiling against her mouth, thighs parting instinctively as she climbed over you.

She kissed down your chest, taking her time, teasing. You ran your fingers through her hair, tugging just enough to make her hum against your skin.

“You’re being mean,” you whispered, breath catching as she took a nipple between her lips. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

Alexia looked up at you, grinning wickedly. “I’ve had four weeks to plan this.”

Her kisses trailed lower. Lower. Her hands slid under your thighs, spreading you open slowly, reverently. You moaned as her breath hit your inner thigh.

Then she paused.

“Lex—”

“I’m savoring.”

“You’re torturing.”

She grinned and lowered her head.

And then—

Then—

Just as her tongue touched you—

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

It was immediate. Loud. Gutting.

The baby monitor crackled to life like a horror movie villain.

Alexia froze. Lips still pressed against you.

You whimpered. “No. No, no, no—”

She dropped her forehead to your thigh with an actual whimper. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

You stared at the ceiling, chest heaving, already mourning the orgasm you had almost tasted.

Alexia lifted her head, eyes wild. “She’s possessed. She’s got, like, a sixth sense.”

“She was dead asleep,” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I felt her soul leave her body. What even—”

Another scream. A hiccup. The unmistakable sound of a pacifier hitting the crib floor.

Alexia let out a strangled growl, crawled up your body, and collapsed on top of you. “I’m going to cry.”

“She’s probably just—”

“I don’t care. I’m staying here. She can put herself back to sleep.”

You giggled, threading your fingers through her hair. “You want her to self-soothe at nine months?”

“I want to finish going down on my wife, is what I want.”

You were still breathless. Still throbbing. Still too turned on to laugh properly. But you laughed anyway. “Five more seconds and I would’ve blacked out.”

Alexia rolled off you with a dramatic sigh and reached for her hoodie. “I hate how much I love that baby.”

You smiled. “You don’t hate her.”

“No, I just think she’s doing this on purpose.”

“She’s nine months old.”

“She’s a genius-level saboteur with a personal vendetta against my sex life.”

You groaned as you slid your shirt back on. “You going or me?”

“I’ll go. I know the look in your eyes. If I let you walk in there all flushed and dripping, she’ll cry for another hour.”

You made a face. “Rude but fair.”

Alexia shuffled out, still muttering to herself.

You lay there, legs still parted, body aching, mind spinning. You could still feel her mouth on you. You could still tastewhat you almost had.

Through the monitor, you heard her gentle voice:

“Shhh… shhh… no más drama, cariño. Mamá is this close to having a breakdown.”

More hiccups. Some giggles. A thump.

You closed your eyes and moaned into your pillow.

Fifteen minutes later, Alexia returned looking like she’d been through battle.

“She kicked me in the boob and laughed about it.”

You sat up, arms open, and she dropped into them with a full-body sigh. “I want you so bad it’s physically painful.”

“She’s asleep again?”

“Temporarily. Probably until I touch you again. I think it’s her new defense mechanism.”

You kissed her temple. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

Alexia looked at you. “If I don’t eat you alive tomorrow, I might die.”

You pulled her close. “I’ll let you. But we have to move faster. Get in, get off, get out.”

Alexia laughed softly. “Operation Quickie Reloaded?”

You nodded. “Or just Operation: Don’t Wake the Baby.”

She smiled. “Tomorrow. We win.”

You’ve never seen Alexia this unhinged.

She marched into the bedroom like she was about to defuse a bomb, except the bomb was your daughter’s cry and the stakes were your sex life.

“White noise?” she asked, holding up the machine like it was the Holy Grail.

“Set to rainforest,” you replied.

“Doors locked?”

“Deadbolt and chair wedged under the handle.”

“Monitor?” she asked.

You held it up. “Battery: full. Volume: high. Vibe: non-threatening.”

Alexia exhaled like she’d just completed a NASA launch checklist. “We’re not being pussyblocked tonight. Not by our own baby. Not by fate. Not by a squeaky floorboard. Nada.”

You grinned, already lying back on the bed in just her Barça tee and a pair of lacy panties she hadn’t seen since the third trimester. “God, you’re hot when you’re this paranoid.”

She climbed onto the bed, eyes dark and focused. “Do not speak her name.”

“The baby?”

“She has ears like a bat. And emotional radar.”

You laughed, pulling her in by the collar of her hoodie. “You’re acting like we’re about to commit a crime.”

“We are,” she said, voice low and sinful against your neck. “We’re gonna fuck. And we’re gonna finish.”

She kissed you like it was her last act on earth. Her hands skimmed up your thighs, under the tee, finding bare skin and making you jolt.

“Oh,” you gasped, “we’re skipping foreplay?”

Alexia pulled back, scandalized. “This is foreplay. This is tactical sensuality. I’ve been edging myself emotionally for weeks.”

You blinked. “You’ve been… emotionally edging?”

“I’ve imagined going down on you while rocking the baby back to sleep.”

You choked. “That’s hot and disturbing.”

“Motherhood’s weird like that.”

You pulled her back down, breathless with laughter and lust. “Okay, tactical sensuality. Show me what that means.”

Alexia sat back on her knees, peeled her hoodie and tank off in one smooth motion, and tossed them over her shoulder. “Step one: remove barriers.”

You raised a brow. “Physical or emotional?”

“Panties,” she replied, and yanked yours off like she had a vendetta.

You gasped. “Damn, mamá’s not playing tonight.”

She grinned and ducked down between your legs. “Shh. You’ll wake the boss.”

The second her mouth touched you, your legs jerked up in shock. You slapped a hand over your mouth.

She laughed against your skin. “God, I missed how sensitive you get.”

You whined. “You’re not allowed to be cocky about it when we’ve been dry for, like, nine months.”

“I’ve been tracking your ovulation by instinct alone.”

You were laughing and moaning now, torn between arousal and actual tears.

Alexia licked a long, slow stripe, and your hips bucked. “Fuck—Lex.”

“Yeah?” she said, smug as hell, holding your thighs down with both hands like you were her personal reward.

“I swear if you stop, I will file for sole custody.”

She looked up, mouth glistening, smirk savage. “Not even God’s interrupting us tonight.”

You grabbed the pillow beside you and threw it at her. “Shut up and keep going!”

She did.

She devoured you like a woman who’d waited far too long, who’d dreamed about this every time she’d rocked a crying baby at 3 AM, who’d looked at your bare shoulder while brushing her teeth and thought, soon.

And now?

Now was finally here.

No interruptions.

No cries.

No disaster.

Just Alexia between your thighs, moaning like your pleasure was oxygen.

You threw your head back, already dizzy, and whispered, “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t—”

A pause.

A beat.

A quiet.

You both froze.

Alexia slowly raised her head. “Was that—?”

“No,” you said firmly. “It was the white noise. Wind in the trees. Jungle frogs. Shut up. Keep going.”

She stared at you for one more second—then dove back in with a muttered, “For the love of all things holy.”

And this time? You knew it.

She wasn’t stopping for anything.

Your thighs were shaking, and your hands were tangled in Alexia’s hair like you were holding on for dear life. Her mouth moved with slow precision, her tongue relentless and so smug about it, you could practically feel the grin in the way she licked.

“You’re gonna kill me,” you gasped, chest rising fast under her tee.

Alexia hummed like that was exactly the plan. You felt it vibrate against your skin, and it sent a shock straight through your core. The kind of touch that made your whole body lock up before melting again, like your nerves couldn't decide if they wanted to tense or just give up entirely.

“I haven’t even started,” she murmured between strokes of her tongue. She looked up at you with her chin glistening and eyes filled with that cocky, dangerous glint—like she had something to prove, and your body was her proof.

She flicked her tongue again, just a bit firmer now, and you jolted, moaning her name as if it was the only word your mouth remembered how to form. “Lex… oh my god.”

“Still so sensitive,” she said, half awe, half victory. “And still mine.”

You groaned, one leg twitching at the knee, a helpless spasm you couldn’t even stop if you tried. She wrapped her arms around your thighs to hold you steady, fingers digging into your skin in the gentlest kind of possessive grip.

Her mouth found you again, unrelenting, licking slow and deep before switching to short, tight circles over your clit—soft, then harder, like she was playing a rhythm only she knew.

You squirmed, unable to stop it, and she moaned low at the way your hips moved. “Fuck. That’s it. Just like that.”

Her hands slid up and found your chest, warm palms cupping you like she missed this just as much as you did. She squeezed gently, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and your body practically convulsed.

“Lex—Lex, I’m gonna—”

She pulled back, just barely, mouth still wet, panting slightly. “You better. I’ve waited months for this. You think I’m gonna let you off easy?”

You whimpered and bucked your hips up toward her mouth, needy and too far gone to care. “Alexia—”

“Say it again.”

“Alexia.”

She grinned—pure sin. “Good girl.”

And then she sucked.

Your whole body arched off the bed. Your hands tightened in her hair and pulled, not even on purpose. It was just instinct at that point—desperate, overwhelmed, chasing release like it was life or death.

You were loud. Too loud. But you didn’t care. Not until you realized what you were risking.

“Shit—the baby—” you gasped, eyes flying open, chest heaving.

Alexia popped off you with a wicked look, then licked her lips like she’d just finished dessert. “She’s sleeping.”

You reached for the monitor blindly on the nightstand. “We can’t be loud—”

“She sleeps through the dog barking, thunder, and your snoring. She can handle a little moaning.”

“I don’t snore.”

“Bebé…” she smirked, already crawling back up between your legs, “I love you, but yes, you do. It’s cute. It’s like tiny dinosaur growls.”

You were about to argue—but her tongue was already back where you needed her most. And suddenly, snoring didn’t seem like the hill to die on.

You tried, for a full ten seconds, to stay quiet. You bit your lip. You pressed your hand over your mouth. You even turned your head into the pillow.

But when Alexia slid two fingers inside you and curled them just right, you squealed.

“Fuck.”

You slapped a hand over your mouth like it was going to do anything at that point.

Alexia chuckled, not stopping for a second. “So much for quiet time.”

You couldn’t answer. All you could do was breathe fast and try not to scream as she fucked you with her fingers and sucked your clit at the same time, the kind of multitasking only someone with pure chaos in their DNA could master.

She kept her pace slow and steady, dragging you toward the edge in the most excruciating way possible. Your thighs started trembling again, tighter this time, clenching around her head like your body was trying to trap her there.

And the worst part? She loved it.

You felt her moan into you. Felt her speed up. Felt the smugness in every move like she was daring you to come and wake the baby up. Like this was some fucked-up game.

And you were losing.

“Please,” you whispered. “Please, Lex, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” she said, voice muffled. “Come on. I wanna feel it.”

Her hand was gripping your thigh, holding you open, and her mouth was pure destruction.

You broke.

The orgasm crashed over you like a wave that had been building for weeks—months, maybe. You shook, you cried out, you grabbed the sheets and her hair and anything you could reach, and your whole body convulsed as pleasure took over. Every nerve lit up and then gave out all at once.

You were panting, a wreck, your limbs limp and twitching.

Alexia finally pulled back, face flushed and shining, looking like she’d just finished a workout.

“Goddamn,” she said, breathing hard. “That was worth the wait.”

You didn’t have the strength to speak. You just blinked at the ceiling, chest rising and falling, brain full of static.

Alexia crawled up next to you, her arms sliding under your body, pulling you into her chest.

She kissed your shoulder, then your neck, then your jaw. “You okay?”

You nodded slowly. “I think you broke something. Like… structurally.”

She laughed, full and loud, and you smacked her arm weakly. “Shh. She’s actually going to wake up if you don’t shut up.”

Alexia smirked against your skin. “Let her. I earned that orgasm.”

You rolled your eyes, still breathless. “You say that like you carried the baby for nine months.”

“I did carry the diaper bag for nine months. That counts.”

You swatted her again, and she caught your hand, kissing it sweetly.

“Tell me the truth,” she murmured. “Was it… okay? After everything?”

You blinked, turning your head to look at her. And for a second, all the teasing fell away. Her eyes were soft, warm, maybe even a little nervous.

You nodded slowly. “It was everything.”

Alexia’s face relaxed, and she leaned in to kiss you, this time sweet and lingering and full of everything unsaid.

“You’re everything,” she whispered.

And then—

crackle.

The baby monitor buzzed to life with a hiccup.

Both your heads whipped toward it like you’d heard a ghost.

Another hiccup. Then a whimper. Then silence.

Alexia narrowed her eyes at the monitor. “Don’t you dare.”

You held your breath.

Another soft sound. Then… nothing.

Alexia reached for the monitor, flipped it face-down, and muttered, “I swear, she’s got a sensor for sex.”

You laughed into the pillow.

“Next round?” Alexia whispered. “Face. My face. Ride it. I’ll even play with your boobs.”

You looked at her, amused and dazed. “You’re insatiable.”

“I’m starving.”

You rolled over, still dizzy from round one, and gave her a look. “Bathroom. Five minutes. Before she wakes up for real.”

Alexia perked up like a golden retriever. “You serious?”

You grinned. “You better bring the monitor.”

She was already out of bed, grabbing it with one hand and your wrist with the other. “Say less.”

The cold of the tile never stood a chance against the heat in your body.

You straddled Alexia’s face like you were born to be there, knees digging into the bathroom floor, one hand braced on the counter and the other fisting in her messy hair. She looked up at you with flushed cheeks, parted lips, and those dark, feral eyes like you were her next meal.

You barely had time to moan before she latched onto you—mouth open, tongue flat, licking one long, devastating stripe through your folds. Your whole body shuddered.

“Oh—fuck—Lex…” you gasped, already rolling your hips down against her mouth.

She groaned in satisfaction, hands gripping your thighs like she was anchoring herself. “That’s it. Use me, cariño.”

You did. Hips grinding down, thighs trembling around her head as she worked you over with slow, confident licks. She licked your clit with the kind of deliberate pressure that drove you insane—just enough to tease, just enough to ruin.

“You taste like heaven,” she muttered between strokes, voice muffled but smug. “Missed this pussy so fucking much.”

You let out a strangled moan, rocking harder. “Then shut up and eat.”

Alexia laughed, hot breath fanning over your core. “Bossy now, huh?”

But she obeyed, and when her lips sealed around your clit again, you almost lost it. She sucked hard, tongue flicking rapidly, her grip on your thighs tightening to keep you in place. You were practically sitting on her face now, and the way she moaned underneath you told you she loved it.

Then her hand slid up your thigh—and before you could prepare yourself, she sank two fingers into you.

You gasped loud, the stretch sudden and perfect. “Lex—fuck—”

She didn’t wait. Didn’t tease. Just started pumping her fingers deep and fast, curling them at just the right angle to make you see stars.

“God,” she breathed against your clit, “you’re so fucking tight—clenching like you’re trying to suck me in.”

Your head dropped forward, forearms now braced against the sink, body shivering under the weight of her mouth and hand.

“More,” you whispered. “Give me more.”

She obeyed without a word—three fingers now, pushing in with a wet, obscene sound that had your entire body jerking. Your moans were loud, shameless, bouncing off tile walls.

“That’s it, baby,” she murmured. “Fuck—you’re taking me so well. Look at this pussy—dripping all over my hand.”

You whimpered, hips grinding, thighs starting to shake.

And then she started fucking you with her fingers, hard and deep, curling with every thrust. Her mouth stayed latched on your clit—tongue swirling, flicking, licking with relentless precision.

You were coming apart. Muscles locking, breath catching, fingers digging into the counter.

“You gonna come?” she rasped. “Gonna make a mess all over my face?”

“Don’t stop,” you begged. “Don’t you fucking stop.”

She moaned against you, her free hand slipping up to grope your boob, fingers rolling your nipple. “You’re everything, you know that?” she murmured. “My perfect girl. Let go for me.”

You choked on a cry, orgasm ripping through you like a wave—violent, pulsing, unstoppable. You came with your whole body, hips stuttering, thighs clamped tight around her head as her fingers drove deep and her mouth kept sucking.

Alexia groaned like she was the one coming, still moving inside you, still licking every aftershock from your body like she was addicted.

And then—just as your high started to ebb and you collapsed onto her chest, legs shaking, completely destroyed—

The baby monitor crackled.

“Waaaaawaaaa…”

You froze.

Alexia’s head dropped back onto the tile, and for a long beat… silence.

Then “Oh, come on!” she groaned, exasperated but laughing.

You buried your face in her shoulder, still panting. “Are you kidding me?”

“She waited,” Alexia said, wide-eyed and breathless. “She actually waited until you were done. That’s progress!”

You snorted into her neck. “She’s a pussyblocker with manners now.”

You both started laughing, tangled together on the bathroom floor, sticky, sore, and finally satisfied.

Alexia pressed a kiss to your cheek. “We made it, mommy.”

“Barely,mama” you whispered back, grinning.

Then the baby monitor made another soft sound—your daughter babbling like she knew exactly what she’d just interrupted.

Alexia groaned, rubbing her face. “We’re never gonna have sex again, are we?”

You kissed her, slow and sweet. “Not without a timer and industrial-grade earplugs.”

She smirked. “And maybe duct tape for the baby monitor.”

You laughed, standing slowly, legs wobbling.

“Come on,” you said. “Let’s go check on our pussyblocking miracle.”

Alexia groaned again, getting to her feet. “At least we got few orgasm. I’m calling that a win.”

You smiled, taking her hand. “A very wet, very loud win.”

And together, you padded out of the bathroom—laughing, limping, and still very much in love.

[abyssyby]

hi! same anon who asked for dragon!sylus building a nest! i just read the little twins intro and i just wanna say i adore your writing so much. seeing your posts brightens my day so much, and your work provides lots of comfort. i'd love to know how the realization of the little twins relationships with hats came about. please take care of yourself ♡

hi dear! i got ur request, and since i have a pretty long queue, i can't promise that i can get to that soon, i hope you understand (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ meanwhile, i have a fic where sylus kind of makes a special space for u, its called messy spaces, if youre interested! thank you so so much for your kind words, i appreciate every single one 🥺💗 please take care of yourself as well, anon!!

i really wanted to answer this ask bc my favorite thing is gushing about the little twins’ itty bitty quirks & preferences!! i’d mentioned it before in a reblog, but here’s a little bit more detail hehe

sylus x reader | lucian kyros luke & kieran | parents!au, crow family, how the little twins feel about hats <3

— little twins at 3 weeks

Sylus had bought them baby bonnets when they were born, to keep their heads from getting cold and to distinguish them from one another (the hats are embroidered! with each initial on the back, and colored tiny cat ears on top).

“Cold, angel?” he murmurs to Kyros when he starts to shiver on his chest during kangaroo care. He’ll never admit it, but he was so excited to finally see the kids in it. He really didn't have to, you were sitting on the bed watching when his eyes lit up at the idea and he got up from the armchair.

He places the bonnet on Kyros’s head, wraps him up in his romper, and swaddles him before handing him back to you.

“Oh! darling, look at you!” you coo, and the baby smiles ever so slightly at your voice. “Papa finally give you your special hat?”

sylus is beaming with pride. “It’s cute, isn’t it?”

you agree. “Does Lucian have one?”

Sylus goes to get Lucian from his bassinet only to find his bonnet on the pillow instead. “Hm, slipped off?”

He places it back on his head and watches as the little face scrunches into a sour frown.

“Sy, can you get the mittens too?” you call, holding Kyros's hands to keep him from scratching his face. Sylus turns away from Lucian to grab them for a split second only to return and see the bonnet off his head again, further away from him now.

Sylus guffaws when he realizes. Your ears perk, “What is it?”

He gathers Lucian up in one arm and the beanie and mittens in one hand then slides into bed beside you.

“Watch,” he simply says and places the hat in place on Lucian’s head.

He hates it. Lucian's lips twitch at the feeling. He squeezes his eyes shut and uses his mittened fists to paw at his cheeks before punching upwards at the hat, popping it off effectively. Your laughter is melodious as you fawn at him. “No hats, papa!”

Sylus grins, watching his finger dip into the chub of Lucian's cheek before taking the bonnet away. “Then what shall we use to warm your head?”

The solution comes to you naturally as your eyes trail the movements of Sylus's fingers over Lucian's cheek. You take his hand gently and guide it to curl around the baby’s head, covering his ears from the cold. Lucian doesn’t protest, only melts back into comfort at the palm as his pillow.

You nudge sylus. "You don't mind, do you?"

He shakes his head, already lost at the little life he holds. He whispers, “Built-in feature.”

You giggle. A kiss is pressed to his temple and your cheek is smushed against his. "You're a good papa."

Sylus shuts his eyes at the words and leans even closer to you. You sit there for a moment, marveling at your twins before he breathes softly. “So, Lucian hates hats.”

— twins at 3 months

"This is for Lucian." Kieran says, presenting the stuffed green dinosaur to Sylus like it's a rare auction piece. Offering it like a knight would a bested beast to a king. and Sylus is deeply amused, "Sure, just don't get it near Kyros." Both Luke and Kieran peer into the two bassinets and hover. Kyros had just recovered from his sickness (which shook the household to its core), so they didn't want to risk bringing the stuffie fibers into his space for him to inhale. The issue lies in figuring out which twin to give the gift to and which twin to avoid. Especially when they looked exactly alike. "This is Cian." Luke points at the wriggling baby, bright-eyed and blinking slowly. "I can feel it." But then the other one coos, loud and resonant. Kieran shakes his head then, "This is Lucian. He's loud." "Eh?" the baby Luke is pointing at counters, voice just as loud. "Huh..." It's Luke who inspiration strikes. He takes the pieces of clothing from the fresh laundry pile nearby and places them on the twins at once. The little brown bear beanie sits on the head of the first twin. This one blinks up at them in amusement, wriggling his limbs at the attention they give him as they watch him do something with the hat. They count to five. When it's still on, they smile— "Hi, Kyros!" The yellow duck hat is placed on the second twin, who grimaces. And the big twins are too slow— Lucian had already shaken the hat off and is now wailing. Panic was an understatement. "I see you found him," Sylus is immediately coming up behind them, already taking Lucian up in his embrace and rubbing his head to help erase the sensation, having done it a hundred times before. The twins apologize, but Sylus waves his hand in dismissal, admitting he'd also used the same method to tell them apart many times before. When Lucian is calm, he accepts the gift and pardons whatever crimes his brothers had committed against him. Their next gifts from the big twins are embroidered onesies— one reading "HATS!" and the other: "NO."

this was super fun to write!! hehe but yes— it's silly but lucian just doesn't like the weight & feeling on his head, while kyros doesn't mind <3

thanks for sending in this ask!! (⭒•͈ 𓎺 •͈ )

✧˚ ⋆｡ read more with the little twins here || more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

[happy74827]

Butterflies

[Harvey Specter x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You know you’re screwed when you feel them fluttering in your chest {GIF Creds: jeysuso}.

WC: 717

Category: Fluff

For all my Harvey lovers out there, I made a cute fluffy quickie (I’m seeing a lot of my fics being swarmed with love so why not add to it 🤗)

『••✎••』

It happened over a bottle of bourbon. A spilled bottle, actually. But a bottle of bourbon nonetheless, and that is important to note.

You didn’t mean to spill the alcohol all over your date, but he had made some comment about how you shouldn't be wearing a dress with a plunging neckline, so you just… happened to tip the entire thing over him.

The man was furious, of course, but he left pretty quickly after that. And you were left with a mess on the floor and a waiter hovering at the side, asking if you wanted another bottle.

You told him no. You just wanted to go home.

You didn't want a new date; you didn't want to sit at this stupid table with the stupid white tablecloth, the stupid, gaudy candlesticks, or the stupid waiter with the stupid, expectant look on his face.

"Miss?"

"No, thank you," you say, a little more firmly, gathering up your things and leaving as much cash as you can on the table. If you were smart, you'd have brought an umbrella, but you're not smart, so you'll just get drenched like an idiot.

But, fortunately for you, the person calling your name knew you well enough to know you weren’t that smart.

Before a drop of water could even hit your hair, a tall, dark figure steps out in front of you and blocks the downpour. Some might consider this a gentlemanly action, but you knew the man, and he was hardly ever gentle.

"You're welcome," Harvey says, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You're a pain," you reply, but you're grateful for the cover.

"And you're dateless. So, I see two options: we can have dinner and a drink back at my place, or we can do dinner and a drink back at mine."

You can't help but laugh. "Did you use this on Scottie? I see why she left. That line was bad."

"You're not going to ask how I knew you were here?"

"Nope. You probably had Louis stalk me."

"Don't talk about the puppy like that."

"So you did have him stalk me!"

"I prefer the term 'make sure you were alright,'" Harvey replies, and he holds out his arm to you. "Guy was a douche. Let me buy you dessert to make up for it. And I don’t mean in the biblical sense, although that can be arranged, too, if you'd like."

"Harvey, you’re such—"

You turned to him, ready to tell him exactly what you thought of him, but the words died when you met his eyes. Those same eyes that allured you into taking his offer at Pearson Hardman. The same eyes that made you agree to work with him on the case despite your better judgment.

In a flash, you saw the whole thing: your first meeting, the cases, the laughs, the looks, the touches. And now, the moment.

When you were younger, the term butterflies had never really made sense to you. The idea of feeling them in your stomach seemed ridiculous, and yet, there you were, feeling them for the very first time.

They were all fluttering around inside of you, and all you could think was, "Oh, no."

And as if the universe had heard you, it suddenly stopped raining, and you both stood there in the middle of the street, the moon casting a warm light on your faces.

Harvey noticed it, too, and his expression softened. His usual cockiness was replaced with a gentle concern. "You okay?"

You nodded, biting your lip. "Yeah."

Harvey reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his hand lingering a moment longer than it needed to. He gave you that signature grin and asked, "You look like a velvet cake kind of girl. Am I right?"

He was right.

Goddamnit, he was right.

And as he swaddled you in his coat to keep you warm as you both went back inside, the anger and confusion you felt earlier melted into a quiet, warm glow.

Date night had not gone according to plan, but when his lips met yours and your hands slid through his soft, brown hair, you realized that, perhaps, sometimes, it was good to deviate from the plan.

The butterflies seemed to agree.

[scribblestatic]

The autosave didn't work. Thrice.

*kicks my feet and screams*

THE WORLD SHAN'T STOP ME, tho do excuse me if some of the stuff seems short. I got tired of writing some parts over again lol.

Spider Shen Yuan, aka, continued creaturfication of the twink.

--

More people ask for silk so they can use it for repairing clothes, making rope, and other necessities. It's stronger than iron and softer than a silkworm's well-treated cocoon. They use it for rope, integrate it into their utilities, everything. And it's such an iridescent color, very enchanting to look at.

Considering the thick forest and the mist that flows through it, perhaps someone could mistake them as a village visited by a god responsible for clouds, capturing rays of light and stringing them into form for their favored worshipers.

But, well, no. It was a spider.

A spider that, despite the agreement and the comfort many people came to have with him, they never quite forgot that he was a beast. Of course, that was well and good enough. Their relationship was built on mutual respect with some reverence built in.

Fan Zhenzhen's relationship with him was much closer to that of a devout follower, it seems.

That was the only way he could explain her standing in the snow of winter, bundled warmly in fur coats and thick boots, her cheeks pink from the chill as she held her infant.

"He is Ruoxing. 'Like a star.' Because of Zhizhu and your blessings, he was born safely."

(若星 - Ruò Xīng)

Shen Yuan's largest two eyes focus intently on the child, who coos and gurgles, unable to move in his warm swaddle. He smells like milk, and looking at him evokes memories of a life he perhaps had begun to forget. If he'd been a little girl...

"Zhizhu, this lowly woman has a request. As payment for today's story, please bless this little boy, that he may have a good fate."

"...Mm. Commence."

This time, Zhenzhen tells a story about her husband, the man she'd lost just a few months before. She talks about how they met in their old village, he being a known playboy and she being a stalwart visitor.

It was through communication and budding love that he decided to marry her. But his family didn't approve. While he wasn't exceedingly rich, he wasn't a commoner either. His family was relatively affluent, and his marriage to her was seen as a slight, like someone trying to pull themselves out the mud by hugging someone else's thighs (not the term she used, but it felt right to think of it that way). This disdain toward her only became stronger when she failed more than once to have a child.

But her husband loved her. Defended her for as long as he could, even after they cut him off from his wealth, sabotaging his business and saying they would only return his earnings if they divorced. He was stubborn, though, and refused. He even began doing hard labor to try to feed the family, eager to make a living.

It was during that hard labor that a bull went awry. He was gored in the stomach by its horns, and he was made bedridden. He suffered in pain, but he tried to recover for his wife. They spent his last days cuddled in his bed when she was home from work. One morning, she woke up, and he was gone.

But, he hadn't left without leaving her a gift. A little star in her stomach.

...Having gained the ability to speak more clearly, Shen Yuan murmurs his dissatisfaction with her family. Whispers little curses, that they would never know peace for what they did.

But he turns his words around upon the request for a blessing.

This isn't just a story to critique. There's a little boy here, and she wants him to bless him.

He's just a spider, however. How could he do something like bless someone? Even so, her story had been genuine, full-hearted, and overall, not yet a tragedy. If this boy lived well, she said, she would consider her life and success.

In the face of that, he must repay her for the tale she told.

"...Burn brightly, little star. Stay true to your path, young stallion. May you weave a tale that blesses those who bless you, and curses those who curse you. Be firm, and be kind."

He gives her a little woven blanket for the child, and Fan Zhenzhen, with tears in her eyes, bows as low as she can manage with the babe in her arms.

As she leaves, Shen Yuan wonders how he knew the boy was born during a Fire Horse year.

...

Winter turns to spring, and spring to summer, and so on.

The seasons change, and Shen Yuan receives many stories, from enchanting and thorough to boring and benign. Regardless, he continues to trade with them as he always has.

Little spiders that once had nothing to do with him were steadily coming under his control. After eating the insects that would try to eat his plants, it seemed their little minds connected to him, and they went out of their way to follow his will.

His own qi was also getting stronger, and his abilities more numerous. Cultivation and meditation became second nature to him. Along with his diet of qi-dense fruit and spiritual and demonic creatures, he felt like his skin was growing a tad thin on himself. For sure, it would be time to molt within the next few years.

As that time approaches, he watches as Ruoxing grows. He goes from being held in his mother's arms to holding onto her hand as he toddles beside her, to walking on his own and bowing to him when his mother does.

He also starts telling him his own stories. As a toddler, of course, it was mostly nonsense babbling, but it had been more entertaining that some of the half-assed attempts a few other villagers tried. The older he grew, the more his stories took shape, although the characters didn't always make sense and the plot could change at a moment's notice.

Shen Yuan, being himself, couldn't help but lightly critique the stories with genuine intent. After all, a child raised with too much praise and not enough guidance could quickly become a fool. He wasn't nearly as tough on the child as he was on the adults, so he was clearly just teaching him the elements of a good story.

...Apparently these critiques caused a slight shift in how Ruoxing saw him.

While Fan Zhenzhen revered him, Fan Ruoxing seemed to see him like some sort of uncle.

That was probably what explained the boy's reliance on him for decidedly human issues.

"I don't know what to get Miyun for her birthday. But I really want it to be nice. Zhizhu, what do you think I should get her?"

Ruoxing, now a young teenager, is cutting into some wood, trying to sculpt something, but clearly not trusting that whatever he made would be enough for her. He gazes up at him hopefully, as though he's a reclusive neighborhood uncle and not a giant spider that could quite literally eat him whole.

Being a spider notwithstanding, he also had never mated, not in this life or the one he feels he may have lived before. As such, he was, quite literally, the worst being to ask for romantic advice.

"...This spider cannot be sure what little Miyun likes. Xing-er would know more. However, a gift given with heart and meaningful intent often means the world to those receiving it. Perhaps Xing-er could recall something little Miyun finds of particular interest?"

"Erh...she likes clothes, I think. Not the hemp ones. I'd want to give her something fancy. She's the eldest daughter, so she works hard. She deserves something nice to wear, like A-niang has. You know, A-niang still wears the coat you made for her. She only ever wears it in the house..."

He sits up straighter, as if in realization.

"A coat! Zhizhu, if I, ah—" He clears his throat. "If this servant tells Zhizhu a story, could he make a coat for Miyun?"

"...It...would be difficult. The coat this spider made for your mother was done in her presence, where this one could see and hear her, measure her. Little Miyun does not visit this spider, so he cannot make a coat to fit her. Unless. If Xing-er describes her well, perhaps he can make one anyway."

Ruoxing hums, his fingers pausing on whatever he'd been sculpting.

"Well...she's older than me by three months, but she's a little shorter than me." He illustrates this by holding his hand horizontally, just a bit above his chin. "Her hair is dark brown, like chestnut skins. She's not pale like some ladies in the big town, but she's really pretty."

Shen Yuan had really meant for the boy to describe her size and features more, but he didn't stop Fan Ruoxing as he started waxing poetic about her personality and beauty.

The more he listened, the more he decided against anything particularly fitted. Something like...a poncho. Yeah. A poncho-like cloak that can fit over her clothes. Something that looks nice, but not so nice that she'd get robbed or accused of theft...

By the time Ruoxing finished, stuttering to a stop with a red face, Shen Yuan had finished most of it.

"Hmm... Heartfelt. Earnest. This one thinks this gift could use a personal touch."

Per his suggestion, Ruoxing carved the wood into a triangular, rounded pin with a hole through the base. Shen Yuan wove thread through the hole, making the pin into a clasp, and had a small hole on the other side of the shawl-like cloth. Pushing the pin through that hole would secure the shawl around her shoulders.

"Thanking Zhizhu for his guidance!"

"Mm. You guided yourself to this. May your gift be received well."

Fan Ruoxing grins eagerly before running off. He only just remembers to turn back and bow in respect before making his way down the hill.

Humming, satisfied with himself, Shen Yuan crawls through his webs, back to his cave for him to relax and meditate in peace.

...

And despite his efforts to accommodate their economic status, it seemed he still made Miyun's poncho shawl too nice.

A few weeks later, a demoness stands where humans usually would, surrounded by demon guards. She has her hands on her hips, glaring up at him. Her eyes are a bright yellow, hair black and skin pink-toned. She wears long, silken clothes that are, honestly, ill-fitted for trouncing around his forest, gold vambraces and necklaces denoting her status.

"This is what you said made your coat? This dumb beast?"

She sneers at her captives, one of whom is Ruoxing. He leans near a shivering girl, who, by the looks of her and the shawl on her body, is Miyun. However, she doesn't seem to be shaking completely from fear, judging from her furrowed brows and severe expression. Fan Ruoxing does his best to shield her, but with his own arms caught and held tightly, it is difficult to do so.

"It probably can't even speak. Ugh. Whatever. Human, how does Li-er make this...thing...produce the silk to make my clothes?"

"...What does the miss want?"

She turns back to him, eyes wide with clear shock. The demon guards also stiffen, becoming more wary of him. They point their swords and spears in his direction.

Miyun flinches in fear, toward him, her eyes shutting tight.

Ah, he probably understands now. Is she arachnophobic? No wonder she never visits. Quite understandable.

"Oh... So it speaks." The demoness huffs, putting her hands back on her hips. "If you understand this girl, listen well. There's no reason for a mere human to have such clothing. This benevolent one shall give you the opportunity to rectify your sin. Make her a beautiful dress, and she shall let you live."

If Shen Yuan had eyelids, he would certainly lid them.

Instead, he just crawls down a little further, staring at her intently.

"...Tell this one a story."

"Excuse me?"

"Tell this spider a story. It is payment."

"Payment? What need do you have of any sort of payment? The only payment you deserve is to keep your—"

"Guuakk!!"

A guard jumped out in front of the demoness. Despite the hard armor on the guard's body, Shen Yuan's leg pierces easily through their torso.

He smells the blood dripping from the demon's body...and can't resist.

It was like putting a prime steak drizzled with butter right in front of him, okay? Sure, he had an audience, but food was food!

So, not minding the iron armor, Shen Yuan's teeth pierce through the chest plate as the demon cries out. He screams in agony as his organs began to liquify, but Shen Yuan's venom acts quickly. Once the demon chokes on his own blood and falls still, he easily sucks up all the guard's innards and qi with a deep, hearty slurp. Not a single thing is wasted, not even the marrow in the demon's bones.

Once emptied, Shen Yuan drops the guard's body like a crumpled carton.

The demoness had stepped backwards, more guards standing in front.

Shen Yuan sighs, then settles in his web.

"Tell this one a story, and the miss may have her dress."

[anantaru]

DAY 18 — OVERSTIMULATION

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — gorou, lyney, alhaitham, kazuha

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, overstimulation, oral (fem! receiving), fingering, dom/sub dynamics, teasing, skilled genshin men

𖧡 — GOROU

subtle twitches— the very ones that conceal little hints of excitement that resonated over gorou's ears when he moves himself closer in between your parted thighs, the insides full on glistening with your arousal laced over your folds— and time had passed, surely it did, yet it didn't feel this way to you, not when gorou couldn't stop himself from being trapped within the warm wrap of your legs swaddled around his head.

he's obsessed with it, driven by it.

you're feverishly riding his tongue and keep him as close as possible, your gaze falling down through your tear-stricken lashes as you get a thunderous thrill out of his tongue pressing painfully against the spongy flesh of your folds, your bottom lip tied in between your sharp teeth to hold back on your quivering moans.

you're still too sensitive from the hour long drags of his tongue, really, just pleasure and pain, a ripple of galvanic stirs overloading your senses until you're quivering all over, his sloppy tongue teasing and prodding at your stimulated hole, attempting to push inside as your toes curl inwards, your back arching like a bow.

gorou always sucks so hard on your cunt that it feels like he's trying to draw your pending orgasm out through the sheer force of his mouth attached on your pussy, using your glossy arousal to lubricate his mouth further as he pushes past the aching ring of your slit at last, his nostrils flaring and jaw tightening due to immense concentration.

who knew the general was that good at this?

and gorou was so handsome, so pretty, when he swiftly returns a shy smile at you, pearly whites peaking from underneath his glimmering mouth, whilst his lips never leave your warm pussy and remain on top, because he was truly, utterly, hair-raisingly shameless when it got to pleasuring his perfection of a darling— he'd do anything for your hips to keep on wiggling and aching through timid ruts that would ultimately manifest into a desperate grind of your swollen sex battering his cheeks.

𖧡 — LYNEY

lyney casts a single glance down on your face and falls, head first, in love with you once again— straight from the shoulder, it doesn't matter to him how you look right now, because even though your mascara was cementing under your lower lashes, your eyes transpicuous with mellow tears slithering all over your warm cheeks the moment you whine out his name, it's still not of significant importance.

because for the magician himself, you're still and always will be— the most drop-dead gorgeous being on earth.

you're so good to him and he wants to pay you back for it, every touch and thrust of his thudding dick setting a path of electricity straight to the furthest part inside your ribbed walls and ending at the tip of his his cockhead curling up all nicely inside of you, adding his scent on all the right places that needed the most attention.

and lyney was becoming hungrier by the minute, rocking his length in and out of your pulsating pussy to smear your slick all over your squishy folds and clit, while teasing your nipples with one hand and never downgrading the brimming thrusts of his hips, not until your body was aching, the curves on your frame incandescent of a sharp glow, powered by alight beads of perspiration scattering over the shivers on your skin.

"fuck, so fucking hot, you're so fucking hot, my love,"

lyney's body seem to scream of thrill, indulging of the salacious puffiness on your cunt when you moan through a slacked jaw, step by step falling apart underneath his looming figure as your body suffers from an overstimulating sensation.

oh no, it's way way way too much now, you shiver and cry out his name, yet beg for lyney to continue, wince at the penetrative pressure getting so close that it squeezes the air from your lungs, the electrifying buzzes on your sensitivity move so fast they're unstoppable, it's too much, again, too much;

but it's so fucking perfect.

𖧡 — ALHAITHAM

alhaitham derives gleaming pleasure into your person, an exclaimed heat luxuriating across your face as you return his kiss grouped by rapture— and your boyfriend was outright intoxicated on the way you offered yourself to him so gracefully.

the more your thighs twitched apart and enclosed his waist— the more he convulses when pressing in and out of your glistening cunt, breaking waves of colliding grunts and whines that get swallowed by you both tangling your tongues as he gropes the flesh of your ass to tug and push you into his dripping erection even further.

for that passion that was set free within the confines of the perspiring room— there was also love, determination and the excitement to bring you close to the edge, it turned alhaitham more eager to fasten his blows on you, which, for someone who preferred to take the slowed route, when it came to this, fuck, this, he'd never end it with you being unsatisfied in his performance.

your fingers rummage at the back of alhaitham's shoulders as he kisses your neck before moving the pink muscle and drawing the flat of his tongue right behind your ear— his exhaled breathes were menacing on you, his hair all tousled and disheveled with a couple strands sticking on his dampened forehead, he looked utterly devilish, beautiful and handsome when he grunts in bliss.

shuddering and bucking, you jerk your hips up as you notice the perspiring pressure on your wet sex, something was suddenly different and your entire frame begins to twitch and shake whilst pressed underneath his bulky figure suffocating any form of distance on your bodies.

the most plausible reason for this being on how alhaitham precisely gyrated his hips to penetrate over the clenching base on your entrance, delving through the devious pleasure points in your sensitivity as he explores the totality of your soaking wet walls, the sum of his moments decorated by the heavenly noises slithering from the tip of your tongue.

the surplus of stimulations on your luscious cunt melted into your skin, beating the air with copious amounts of  small, hiccoughy moans as you clung yourself tight against alhaitham's body to ride out the powerful shudders as you intensely, came and came apart— your hips curling up mindlessly against his girthy shaped length as your eyes fall shut from exhaustion, mind hanging above the clouds— your pussy throbbing from the musky scent from the scribe, not to mention of pheromones and filth that had been everywhere, all pendant around your bodies— jutting into empty air with your arms forevermore enclosed around each other, overwhelming you in the most beautiful of ways.

𖧡 — KAZUHA

kazuha clearly knows what he's doing to you, and he sees how it's working on each corner of your eyes desperately holding on to a droplet of tears— and he swiftly slides his fingers in and out, his eyes manifesting through a lidded glance, a languishing haze obscuring over your heads as he keeps your legs apart with his body, spending enough time to stretch you, although going slow.

you see, when you suddenly make a sound, kind of a vocalized panting that showed kazuha that you're much more sensitive and reactive than usually, he is aware that it's doing something to you, he knows he needs to keep his slender digits hidden in your cunt for a much longer procedure, perhaps even coax out a real, harboring orgasm from you without using his cock this time.

"just leave it to me," he coos as you're gaped open by his fingers being knuckles deep inside, scattering your bodily scent over his hand as kazuha scissors your creamy arousal back into you, fucking that little cunt of yours silly and proving to you— that you really had nothing to worry about, besides the strong radiation of overstimulation circulating through your entire blood stream.

"just keep your attention on me," he adds onto his mutters, long lashes tickling your cheeks before moving his fingers faster and faster through your tensed walls, the wet echos of your cunt diffusing into the entire humidity of your room.

slap, slap, slap, it's so noisy— ugh, and you drawl out an embarrassed whimper as well as a flustered writhe from how impossibly loud it had become, not to mention on how fast kazuha thrusted the two digits in and out of you and appeared to be utterly delighted by the noises your sweet sex could make, almost as if that was part of his plan.

you stumble and hiccup over your short-lived heaves, wriggling and writhing from the deep curls on your g-spot as he suddenly places his warm thumb on your clit.

it's over now, you're done for, and kazuha's whole, intense ministrations on your body were being downright relentless, his fingers pressing in and out of your wet sex as your exposed figure couldn't do anything other than endure the tasteful traces— with your tits in perfect view for him to indulge in, bouncing up and down in rhythm with the fast pumps of his hand, the underside of your breasts faintly doused with a glow of sweat and perspiration.

"i know, i know," kazuha whispers at you, sensually kissing your cheek when he perceives the soft cries pulled from your throat, the looming begs and whines developing and revealing themselves afterwards— all due to the expanding pressure of his finger over the stretch on your sloppy walls messing you up,

"but you can do it for me, okay? my love, can you?"

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[the-offside-rule]

Castiel Novak (Supernatural) - Baby Winchester

Requested: yes

Prompt: Cas being like a guardian angel to Y/n and Dean's baby

Warnings: none

Y/n stirred awake to the faint sound of her daughter’s cries through the baby monitor. She squinted at the clock on the nightstand; 3:14 am. Beside her, Dean was sprawled on his stomach, snoring softly, clearly exhausted from his recent hunting trip. She sighed, her heart swelling with affection. He needed rest. Silently, she reached over, turned off the baby monitor, and leaned down to kiss his cheek. "Thisis for your own good, Winchester." She whispered before slipping out of bed.

Padding softly down the hall, she stopped at her daughter’s room. The dim nightlight cast a soft glow across the nursery, and her breath hitched when she noticed someone standing by the crib. "You know, peopleusually knock before they come in." She said, gently knocking on the doorframe. Castiel turned sharply, startled. "Y/n. I apologize. I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll leave now." She stepped inside, her expression calm. "It’s okay. What are you doing here?" Castiel shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flickering back to the baby. "I… thought something was wrong." He said, but the lie was transparent, his usual stoicism faltering. Y/n chuckled softly. "Cas, you’re a terrible liar. What’s really going on?"

He sighed, looking at the baby. "It… has no arms." Y/n blinked before realizing what he meant. "Oh no, Cas. She’s swaddled. Here, look." She gently unwrapped the blanket, freeing her daughter’s tiny arms. "See? She’s fine." Castiel tilted his head, his intense blue eyes studying the baby. "Ah. I see. My mistake." He stepped back awkwardly. "Well, if I’m not needed-"

"Wait-" Y/n interrupted, her tone warm. "I need to feed her anyway. Would you like to hold her and feed her downstairs?" His eyes widened slightly. "You would trust me with this?" Y/n chuckled at the ever-so-serious face Cas had made so many times before. "Of course. You're a literal angel." She said, scooping her daughter up. "Come on." He hesitated, then nodded, following her downstairs.

In the living room, Castiel perched stiffly on the armchair, glancing around the cozy space as Y/n went to the kitchen to prepare a bottle. When she returned, she handed him the baby, guiding him on how to hold her properly. "Like this." She said, adjusting his hands. "Support her head." After a moment, he frowned. "No, no. Take it back. I fear I might break it." Y/n laughed softly. "Cas, you won’t break....it. Just relax." She handed him the bottle. "Now, feed her."

Castiel began feeding her, his expression softening as he watched the baby suckle. "Oh wow. Humans are remarkable." He murmured. "So fragile, yet so resilient. Especially the little ones." Y/n smiled, settling onto the couch. "You’re practically human yourself, Cas. You’re pretty remarkable too."

Before Castiel could respond, footsteps creaked on the stairs, and Dean appeared, holding a crowbar. His serious expression melted into one of surprise when he saw Castiel feeding their daughter. "What the hell’s going on?" Dean asked, setting the crowbar down. "Why’d you turn off the baby monitor? I thought something was wrong." Y/n shrugged, smiling sheepishly. "I wanted you to get some sleep. You looked exhausted."

"Why’d you say that this was for my own good? I thought you were possessed or something." Dean added. "And ypu didn't stop me then and there? You figured an extra ten minutes of beauty sleep would've helped you fight a demon better?" Dean rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze shifting to Castiel. "And what’s he doing here?" Y/n grinned. "Found us a babysitter." Castiel looked up. "I would be adequate for that position."

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. "As long as you don’t teach her any bad habits." Y/n scoffed, smirking at Dean. "I’d trust Cas to be a better influence than you." Dean smirked back, dropping onto the couch beside her. "You'd trust Cas?" She nodded. "I like Cas." Dean grabbed the remote and pulled her in closer. "You like me a lot too though, right?" She didn't answer, instead she grinned over to Cas. "Don’t give him that look. I know you two are gonna plot something against me soon enough."

"What? You don't live with Sam anymore so I can't plot anythin with him anytime soon."

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS THE EPILOGUE

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @flipthepaige @wbbgetsmewetter @mariahthealchemist @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @makethemhoesmad @slvt4her @luvapaigeeyy @hedidnotpleaseme @paigesbabygirl @mopopshop @omg-imtumbling @numberonepartyanth3m @wbb4l @authentic-girl03 @slut4uconnwbb @kplum10 @avvwritesstufff @paigesluver @bueckersbitch @ryywyd @lupinqs @unadulteratedcyclepaper @ohmybueckers @ykylalex @hcneymooners @cherryswisherz

warnings 17.8k words, sexual content, a whole lotta paraye content!

kalena speaks 🪽! i fear the time has come to wrap up paige and raye’s story… but maybe i’ll post something for them again! who knows? this is long… like the longest thing i’ve ever written bc y’all know i love some plot 😊 thank you so much for all the love and all the support throughout it all, i hope you enjoy the epilogue with my babies 🥹

December 2025 — Aspen, Colorado 

“Paige hurry up!”

“Ma, I’m trying!”

Weightless snowflakes fall from the sky and onto the wood just below my feet. I’m not used to the cold, living in Georgia followed by California to blame for that.

My knees knock together slightly when a rush of wind blows over, Uggs on my feet, white snow suit pulled on top of layers of sweats and leggings to keep warm— with my hands stuffed into my pockets.

The scenery was beautiful, hills and the large Rocky Mountains covered in a thick blanket of snow. We had just gone skiing down it hours ago, and Paige taught me how to snowboard yesterday. String lights in the town illuminate a nice yellow hue. It’s the first time I’ve gotten to experience a white Christmas, even if it wasn’t actually Christmas yet.

The add on of having a secluded cabin to ourselves was a plus too.

“Baby it’s fucking freezing, God.” I hiss, watching her gloved fingers fumble with the key to the front door of the cabin. She cradles ski equipment in her hands, a large Nike backpack slung over her shoulder. And then there’s me, hands in my pockets watching her struggle with just a bit of amusement.

Paige looks cute, though it really isn’t much of a surprise. A black beanie is fitted onto her head and a black hood on top of that. She’s all bundled up in her winter clothes, snowsuit, beanie, swaddled in all black with an occasional touch of purple like a little kid going to school. Her skin is paler than normal and her nose and cheeks are reddened. Lips, pink, and smothered in vaseline. Her tongue sticks out of the corner of her lips, and I can tell she’s just a bit frustrated.

“I know that, Raye.” She grumbles. “I know you see me with all this shit in my hands.” 

I smirk, seeing her struggle after offering to help just minutes before brings a sense of pride to my body. I was right, as I tend to be.

“I told you I’d help, you just wanna be big dog sooooo bad.” I tease, rocking back and forth on my heels. My body leans against the wall, the dark wood barely even felt thanks to all the layers I wear.

“Shut up.”

“Give me the key.”

Paige thinks it over. I can see the way her mouth opens slightly and her eyes flutter when she blinks. Her lashes are long, dark from mascara and slightly damp from one too many tumbles in the snow.

But she hands it over anyway. So I unlock the door, doing it with a kind of ease that makes her cheeks flush more than they already have. “Ladies first.” I smile, holding open the door for her.

Paige ducks her head under the frame, fitting all six feet and some inches of her through the door. “Whatever.” She huffs like a baby, making me giggle behind her.

She kicks her boots off by the door, I follow suit with my own, before walking all of our equipment to the nearby closet.

The cabin is spacious, definitely more than enough for just the two of us, but we use up all the space anyways. The living room has two large couches that face one another, chairs and wood furniture surrounding them both. The nearby fireplace illuminates the room and its high ceilings. A Christmas tree sat bare in the corner until I convinced her to decorate it with me. It looks messy, like we just threw something together last minute—which we did— but still. It’s us.

Everything is comfortable, warm and snug— perfect for our first vacation together. 

It doesn’t take long before she’s chasing me up the stairs, some joke that she did not find very funny to blame for. I push my way into our bedroom, navigating to the bathroom and ridding myself of my layers.

“No way you wore that many clothes.” Paige deadpanned. She watches me pull my beanie off my head, followed by my zip-up hoodie. “You didn’t sweat in that?”

“I told you it’s cold out!” I breathe, still catching my breath from dodging her in the living room. “I’m from the south, Ion know shit about snow, P.”

Paige’s clothes fall as well, starting with her black hoodie and long sleeve compression shirt underneath. It leaves her in front of me in a sports bra and sweats hanging fairly low on her hips. “It's almost 30 degrees outside.” 

“Which is cold! Don’t gaslight me into thinking it’s not cold.” I laugh, shedding the rest of my clothes and turning on the shower faucet. 

The sound of the shower running nearly drowns out the blonde’s voice. So much so that she pulls me to her by my waist just so I can hear her.

My back is pressed to her now bare chest, and surprisingly, she has this heat to her body that sends chills down my spine. A juxtaposition that makes my head spin.

“You’re really warm.” I sigh, tipping my head back onto her shoulder. Paige kisses my neck, slow, soft in a way that was intimate without being sexual. Which I find funny considering My panties are the only clothes I have on, her hands on my hips— about to get into the shower with her.

“Yeah? ‘Cause you’re freezing, mama.” She speaks into my hair, mussed by the beanie I wore nearly all day. “Let’s get you warmed up, how ‘bout that?” I turn to face her, wrapping my arms around her neck.

Her bun messily sits at the back of her head, strands tickling her soft skin. The rosiness of her cheeks stands out more than normal and I can’t stop thinking about how perfect she looks. The entire trip, her eyes are brighter than normal or her smile looks more carefree. She’s been gentler with me too. Overly domestic with how she insisted on making breakfast and led me down the slopes and even rubbing my feet that we sore from my boots. 

She made this memorable, and I can’t seem to think of how she’ll top the Christmases to come.

I run my thumb over her cheek, slightly dry from the cold but still just as soft as ever. Goosebumps arise on my skin from how her eyes stare into mine. 

“What?”

I shake my head, planting a kiss onto the corner of her mouth. “Nothing. You’re just pretty.”

Paige blushes some more, trailing her hand to my ass. She doesn’t even squeeze, just palming it in her slightly calloused hand. The other wrapped snug around my lower back.

“You’re pretty, Raye.” She hums. Her head turns and she meets my lips fully, sucking gently on my bottom lip like a piece of candy. “Been lookin’ perfect all week. Lookin’ like mine.” 

Mine. Still after five months, it makes my knees weaken whenever I hear it. Mine or my girl, the term girlfriend still nearly sends me into a school girl induced shock. 

“I am yours. You don’t even gotta worry about that.” I murmur against her mouth. 

Steam fills the bathroom. The stickiness of the humidity sticks to my skin, and I know I should be worried about my pressed hair sweating out, but I can’t bring myself to care when she’s languidly moving her lips with mine like she’d die if we stopped. 

“I ever tell you how much I love you?” She asks, pulling back with enough resolve to make me go dizzy. “Like foreal.”

“A few times.” I responded. “But, I’d love to hear it again.” I smirk, making the decision to reach for my scarf and wrap my hair. She watches the whole time attempting to keep her eyes on mine rather than my boobs which push towards her.

She laughs and it comes out throaty and deep, rumbling through her chest and through my body. “Get in this shower and I’ll show you.” She says teasingly.

I shake my head. “Nothing funny this time. My legs still hurt from last night.”

“We’ll see.”

—

Raye was setting her mug full of hot chocolate on the bedside table and sighing to herself when I walked into the room. Plaid boxers sit on my hips, an old UConn crewneck stretched over my top half.

She’s comfortable in the bedroom’s king sized bed, white comforter bunched up to warm her bare legs. Her navy blue bonnet sits on her head, skin glowing from the aftermath of her lengthy nightly routine. Lips plump and glossed from her lip mask, slightly pink. She wears one of my hoodies and the angel necklace I swear she hasn’t taken off since I gifted to her sits comfortably around her neck.

Raye’s back rests against some pillows on our headboard Her legs bent at the knee, acting almost as a table for her notebook. I exhale, leaning over to kiss her cheek as I join her.

“What’s this?” I ask, shamelessly leaning into her personal space to get a look at the notepad.

“New song.” She beams. Her eyes grow wide, twinkling in the soft lighting.

I find it adorable how she glows when she’s talking about her music, or when she knows that she’s in a groove. It’s the way you act when you truly love something, that’s how she feels about her music and watching it up close sends a warmth to my heart that I couldn’t even try to get rid of.

I fake a groan, nestling my head into her neck. She smells like coconut and fresh soap. The kind of smell that gets stamped in a file in my brain full of things I love about Maraye Carter. “Baby… we said no work while we’re here.”

She scoffs playfully. “You went to the gym before I woke up?”

“Okay, but I didn’t touch a basketball. We’re supposed to be finding a movie.” I complain, reaching to my left for the polaroids we took before leaving this morning. 

Suddenly the notebook is forgotten, tossed somewhere on the bed with a pen stuck in between the pages as a placeholder as she turns slightly to face me. “Wait, I wanna see ‘em!”

We’d taken nine out of the ten, all of which were scattered around the table. A few kissing ones, some silly faces that she insisted on, my arm slung around her shoulder with our ski goggles on— and the like.

“We’re cute, huh?” I tease, sending her a cheeky, tight lipped smile. Raye’s face mirrored my own eyes bright as she pushed my face to the side. “Look at your smile in this one, you love me so bad.” I jeer.

She doesn’t even try to hide it.

She reaches for the stack of photos, shuffling them like they’re a deck of cards. Her hands stop, eyes lingering a bit longer on one in particular. It’s from early in the morning, Raye sat on my lap in the old school kitchen just a minute or two after we ate breakfast. Her arms wrapped around my neck and her lips pressed to my cheek, just slightly kissing the corner of my lips. My eyes were closed just a bit, lip in that scrunch that she seems to be obsessed with.

“This one is mine.” I hear her decide. She sets it off to the side, going through the rest of them. “This we’re tossing. I look awful.” She laughs, hiding the photo from me before I can even reach for it and see for myself. 

Though I don’t think she could ever look awful to me. I’ve said that she could wear a trash bag and I’d still think that Raye was the most beautiful and perfect woman in the world.

“Let me see it!” I wrestle with her, giggles and soft breaths falling into my ears.

“No, Pa— move!” She laughs, pushing me back over to my side of the bed. “You play too much, Madison.” She groans, flicking my ear.

“Madison? Damn.” I choke out a laugh, taking the rest of the photos from her and setting them to the side. 

“That’s why I’m picking the movie. Move.” Maraye mumbles, reaching over the expanse of my body to grab the remote. I kiss my teeth in distaste, but still, I don’t even try to fight back.

Once my laughing dies down, I snuggle my face against her cheek, the warmth of her body shooting up through me. “I’m sorry, baby. We can jus’ keep that one to ourselves. I promise you look beautiful regardless.”

She ignores me, mushing my face away from her own and clicking on Home Alone 2.

I scoff and pull her into my lap. “Don’t try to act mad, you ain’t fooling nobody.” I speak into her neck, the feeling of my breath on her skin making her smile.

“I was writing a song about you and here you go annoying me.” Her pout is the cutest thing in the world to me, it makes her nose scrunch and her eyelashes tickle the apples of her cheeks.

“About me?” I question, a grin across my face. “Sing it, I wanna hear it, angel.”

“What happened to ‘no working on vacation?’”

My cheeks burn under her glare and I let out a sigh. “Fine. But I still wanna hear it.” I made my arms comfortable around her shoulders, the blanket we were wrapped in slowly slipping down Raye’s body. She backs away from me when I pucker my lips. “Are you crazy?”

“I wanna watch the movie.” She tuts, kissing my cheek before redirecting her gaze to the flatscreen. I don’t even waste a second of time trying and failing to pull her back. “Y’know I love this one.”

“That don’t explain why you’re avoiding my kiss.”

My hand slides to the back of her neck, pulling her back in to kiss me like I wanted. Raye’s lips glide against mine slowly. Even after all these months I can’t get enough of the feeling.

“Better?” She murmurs as she pulls away.

“Better, baby.” I nod. “C’mere.” We sink further into the bed, my arm around her shoulder, a designated spot for it at this point. She looks up at me briefly, the high points of her cheeks turning pink as she smiles. Her pretty hands grip the hem of the blanket, pulling it higher on my torso before nestling in my chest.

“Is it bad If I say I don’t wanna go home yet?” Maraye questions me. Her eyes don’t look up to mine, just locked on the opening scene of the movie.

“Gonna miss me too much?” I tease with a fake frown, but her lack of response lets me know she doesn’t find me funny. I divert my attention to her, getting a glance at her glassy eyes. “Why you all sad, angel? I’ll see you in a few weeks.” I brush her hair out of her face.

She shrugs, “can’t believe you did all this just so I can have a white Christmas.” Raye chuckles, wiping the tears from her eyes before they even get a chance to fall. “I just wanna stay with you and not worry about anything else.”

“Tour starts in two weeks, baby.” I remind her.

She sighs loudly, looking back at the screen. “I know.” She replies. “I don’t like being away from you.”

It warms my heart, which is beating so loudly in my chest I don’t even hear what’s being said in the movie. I hate it too, weeks at a time where I’m on the road, followed by her long trips as soon as I get home. 

“Me neither.” I comment honestly. My lips find the top of her head, Raye’s recently straightened hair feels cold against them. I don’t let her go, keeping her tucked in that spot of my arms and chest throughout the whole night.

—

January 2026 — New York City, New York.

“You look pretty.” I hear Brittney compliment Maraye who sits a few feet away from me. Her hand is smoothing over her hair, it’s dark red this time around, layered and in curls that make her look even more goddess-like than she already is, something new she’s trying out for her tour and I’m completely enthralled by it.

“Thank you, B.” She cheeses.

“Showin’ her all 32 is crazy.” I mumble, shuffling the cards in my hand and adjusting the collar of my polo.

“Can you just sit there and be quiet?” She snaps back, kicking my shin with her heeled foot.

The studio lights brighten and the producers on the other side of the threshold lets us know we’re shooting the first take. Brittney scatters off and looks over at my girlfriend with wide eyes.

She looks stunning, as per usual, but her dress that sits nicely on her body is what has my attention. It’s black, long enough to cover her up, but short enough to give me a great view of her moisturized legs. Not much, but enough to keep me mildly distracted.

“You ready?” Raye asks me, playing with the corner of the large index card.

“Always.”

We hear the famous click of the board and the yell of take one before Maraye sits up straight. She’s perfect for the camera, gorgeous smile and big beautiful brown eyes that would make anyone melt. I’m damn near drooling over her where I sit.

“Wassup y’all, I go by Maraye and I’m here with…” She trails her hand out to me, but my eyes are stuck on her and I freeze. “Paige!” She laughs at me, and I blink.

“My fault, my fault. Do it again.” I shake my head.

The producers do it all over again, the lights, the board, the directions.

“Wassup everybody. I’m Maraye, here with…”

“… Paige Bueckers.” I finished.

“And this is the GQ Couples Quiz.”

I never once imagined being on this show, for a multitude of reasons, but to do it with Raye was going to be so entertaining. Our relationship was pretty private, the closest thing to a confirmation being fans catching me in a suite at one of her shows or lingering too close to each other at public events.

And that time last week when the paps caught us making out in her car. It sent WNBA twitter into a frenzy, and her fans nearly threw a party.

Regardless, I was jumping at the opportunity to show off my knowledge of my girl to the world. 

“Easy dub, don’t y’think?” She asks, clearing her throat and crossing one of those beautiful brown legs over the other.

I laugh, “yeah, easy for me. Better watch out.” I tease.

“Wanna bet on it?” Raye turns and looks at me intently, a smirk on her face and a slight tilt of her head that leaves too much for my imagination.

“I do, actually.” I nod, adjusting the collar of my shirt. Today was one of the days that I let Brittney style me in whatever she pleased. Making my reaction to the high neckline a little more intense than she probably expected.

Raye grins, tapping her chin with a finger as she pretends to think. “Okay so when I win.” I roll my eyes at her choice of the word when. “I dunno if I can say this on camera.” She says, looking off to the crew behind the cameras that start laughing. 

“You need help, dude.” I shake my head, amused at her very obvious suggestion. I lean my head closer to her, turning slightly so she can speak in my ear.

My eyes grow wide as she speaks. Raye surprises me more and more as our relationship progresses. She pulls back from me with a smirk, and I’m positive that my entire face is flushed by just how horny she is.

“Okay. And if I win, you come out to Miami for Unrivaled.” I offer and Raye nods with a smile.

“I was gonna do that anyway.” She rolls her eyes that are nicely lined with black. “Deal.” She says, sticking her hand out for me and I shake it firmly.

I’ve agreed to let Maraye go first to get a feel for the competition. If she were to know that, she’d probably tell me I’m too competitive; taking it to heart. And I am. Because losing on the internet would simply be too embarrassing.

She gets comfortable in her chair, swiveling her hips in a way that makes me forget we aren’t the only people in the room.

“What is my favorite movie of all time?” She asks, holding those sleek white cards close to her chest. Raye has like 30 favorite movies, all of which depend on her mood. “The one that I always make you watch, like you literally have no choice.”

“Oh, Just Wright?”

She smiles with a nod, tucking the notecard at the back of the pile. “10 outta 10 movie. If you’ve never watched it, do so quickly!” Raye says to the camera.

“Let’s not drag it. 10 outta 10 is crazy.”

She shoots me a look, eyebrows raised and head turned. A look she gives me when she’s asking me to keep testing her.

“Don’t even. You think Die Hard is good.”

“It is!”

“Not. Anyways, what’s my favorite nickname for you?”

I dart my tongue out over my lower lip. “Dad— I’m just playin’.” Maraye’s hand reaches over the space almost instantly, slapping my thigh with her french tipped fingers. “Blondie? Or Madison, you been callin’ me that a lot lately.”

“You get the point for ‘Madison.’ I think your middle name is cute, babe.” She cheeses, blowing me a kiss.

“I’m too good at this.” I shrug, feeling myself a little too much.

“Chill. I guarantee y’ont know this one.” Raye rolls her eyes as she switches cards. “Where did we first meet, and what did I think of you. See that’s a good one, y’all ate a lil bit.” She looks over to the producers and gives them a thumbs up.

That’s my girlfriend, everyone.

“We first met on opening night, and I literally fell on you and you thought I was the sexiest woman to ever walk the planet.” I answer with a shrug.

Maraye shoots the camera a side eye before looking back at me with a fake grin. “You can get half a point?”

“You’re telling me I’m wrong?”

“Yes!”

“Wow, so I’m not the sexiest woman alive?” I feign hurt, my hand pressed against my chest, right over my heart.

She scoffs. “You definitely are. But that wasn’t what I thought at first.”

“Then what did you think?” I lean in.

“You’re gonna get mad If I say it.”

“Say it.”

“I thought you were sweaty and I was worried about my outfit” Raye muses, a smirk playing on her lips. I scoff, because while I should be embarrassed, the admission is so distinctly Maraye that all I can do is laugh. 

“Aight bro.”

“But I swear immediately after I thought that you were stunning!” She laughs in an attempt to neutralize. “Seriously! Got a li’l star struck right after, baby.”

I brush her off. “You’re ass kissing, whatever!”

Maraye lets out a gasp, a large dramatic, genuinely terrible, gasp that makes me think she should pick up a career in acting. “Watch your language, you can’t say that here!”

“Who said?” I fire back. The producers behind the camera wave me off, silently telling me that it’s fine. “See.” I push, sticking my tongue out playfully.

“Annoying.”

It goes like that for a while, Raye asking me questions— her favorite food (crab legs), biggest turn offs (snoring, a subtle dig at myself), facts about her that only I could know (what that tattoo on her ribcage says)— followed by me answering them and getting all of them right. 

She’s trying really hard to throw me off track, that look in her eye that always makes me think she’s lying when really she’s just good at faking it. But it’s my turn now, the cards both literally and figuratively in my hands now.

“You got one wrong.” Raye informs me, giving me golf claps with a slight grin that makes me feel like the only person in the room in a building full of people and lights and cameras. “I think I can beat that.”

I nod, finding her confidence amusing. Whenever it came to competition between us, I believed that Raye would always get either the 'easy' questions or she'd cheat, which she swore was never the case and that I was just a sore loser. “Yeah, we’ll see about that. What’s my guilty pleasure?” I read the card.

She sends me a smirk, silently asking if she should take it there or not. She doesn’t; she knows better. “Um, you like those wheel throwing videos, like the pottery ones.” Maraye answers and I nod.

“I wanna try it sometime, but she refuses.” I tell the camera.

Raye scoffs. “You’re messy! You’d get clay all over my clothes.” She’s right, the intimacy that would come from sitting in a quiet studio, dim lights, soft jazz or R&B echoing; would distract me to the point where I’d send a lump of wet clay flying across the room.

“What’s my go-to pregame meal?”

Raye clears her throat, answering without hesitation. “Pasta. Any kind. As long as there’s garlic. And some kinda protein.” She answers. “Grilled chicken is the current protein obsession, by the way.” She sends a wink to the camera, as if to say ‘yep I know my girl’ which she does.

I blink lazily, thinking about how her hair drapes over her shoulder. “Solid start, ma, but these are all easy questions.”

“You got my easiest question wrong.”

“Did not.”

“You absolutely did—”

We’re cut off by a producer clearing his throat, telling us to wrap up the bickering. I switch cards, getting back to the subject at hand. 

We kept going—my favorite hobby, lego building was her answer though it was really golfing. Maraye nearly tore the set apart swearing up and down I just lied on the internet at her expense. I asked her about our first date. She got the restaurant wrong but remembered how I wore that black Kith jacket she secretly loved, so I gave her a point. My least favorite thing about her (when she wakes up in the middle of the night to write before “an idea leaves her and blesses someone else.”) and dream vacations.

I sit there shocked, because not only does she remember these things, she remembers the little details. Restaurant excluded, she remembered everything. Topics that we had touched on maybe once or twice that she took and practically tattooed into her brain. 

I nearly stopped worrying about losing because watching her talk about me and us like it was a topic she studied for hours made up for it.

By the time I reached the final question—How did I tell you I loved you?—Maraye’s teasing, celebratory grin softened. “Okay,” I said, a little quieter. “This one’s serious. You get it wrong and we’re breaking up.” I joke.

Her eyes darken, not with doubt but with memory. Like it happened yesterday.

“I was headlining for ACL in Austin, and Cam called me saying you won rookie of the year and they were giving you your trophy that night and that I needed to get home.” She starts speaking. I could listen to her tell the story for hours. “So as soon as I got off stage, I got on a jet and rushed back. I made dinner, and you came in with your trophy all shocked that I was there.”

I hum at the memory. “I wasn’t expecting you back for another day or sum.” I justified, feeling my cheeks blush and neck tingle under the camera glare.

“We were eating and you said something— you’re usually not that funny but this time it made me, like, burst into laughter— I spilled red wine all over me and down my shirt.” 

“‘Usually not that funny” is crazy! Now If I take a point away—” I laugh, pointing a ringed finger in her direction. 

“Let me finish!” Raye slaps my hand away. “I was embarrassed as hell trying to dab my already ruined shirt, but when I looked at you, you just had this stupid doe eyed look on your face. You got up, kissed me, and said you loved me.”

I kissed her harder than I think I ever did that night. Tasting the wine off her lips and the little bit of garlic from our mashed potatoes. It happened exactly like that. I’d looked at her and just knew I was completely screwed, so in deep that nothing could possibly pull me away from her. 

“I’d like to point out that she stuttered for like five minutes before saying it back.” I let out a slow breath, looking at this woman like she hung the moon and the stars, which she probably did. “But yeah, you’re right, so another point for Ms. Carter.”

“I win?”

“You win, angel. We can do your thing once we get up outta here.” I nod, reaching for her hand as she stands up to climb into my lap. It’s natural, honestly I think not having her on it is more odd than when she does take a seat on me. “Well GQ, thank you for having us, but me and my lady got some things to tend to. Right, baby?”

“Yes we do.” She smirks, waving at the camera until the red recording light shuts off.

—

February 2027 — Miami, Florida

I don’t know why I ever assumed that Paige and I could be cordial in the same house for a few days.

We can’t.

Or, more like she can’t.

I say that because at whatever hour of the night it is, she lays here, spooning me lovingly— the warmth of her body completely engulfing my own— clearly doing everything in her power to wake me up.

It started with the groaning, which honestly she does all the time. I didn’t think much of it.

But then she’s breathing all raspy and shit in my ear, mumbling my name into my ear. Her hand traveled under my shirt, first only feeling on my abdomen but now it rests soundly under my tit, just cupping it like that’s how she normally sleeps.

I’d like to think I’ve been doing a good job ignoring her.

“Hey,” Paige whispers against my skin, voice husky with sleep and something heavier. “Ma.”

“Mmm.” I groan, digging my head further into my pillow before even getting the chance to open my eyes and look at her.

“Damnit, woman, wake up.” Paige groans, dragging out her plea in my ear. She’s grinding against me, quite literally humping against my backside in a way that makes me wonder who she is and what she’s done with my girlfriend.

I let out a quiet sound, somewhere between a sigh and a hum. My eyes flutter open, catching the soft blue cast of moonlight spilling in through the window. “What time is it?”

“Late,” Paige murmured. “Or early. I dunno, didn’t mean to wake you.” She lies, making me scoff in the midst of my sleep induced haze.

But her mouth was still on my shoulder, trailing up toward the curve of my neck. The kisses were light, almost lazy—if lazy felt like fire slowly licking through my nerves. I blink, finally catching a glimpse of the clock on my nightstand.

I turn my head just enough to look at her. Paige’s hair was tousled, her eyes heavy-lidded, lips already parted. That look she got when she couldn’t help herself. And it was absolutely, utterly irresistible.

“You didn’t mean to,” I echo, voice dry. “Sure.”

Paige smiled, guilty but unrepentant, and slid a thigh between my own from behind. Her hands draw patterns on my stomach, slow but all the more unrelenting. “You were breathing like you were dreaming about me, so I figured I’d check.” she whispered, mouth brushing the shell of my ear. She knows what she’s doing, my body instantly shivers on contact. “C’mon, ma. I only got you for two days.”

I sigh, turning over on my back languidly with sleep still clouding my vision. I can just barely make out her figure through the Miami city lights that peak through the window. Her boxer band peaking out from her basketball shorts and a thin tank top riding up her abdomen. In all honesty I think if I wasn’t so outrageously tired from my flight delay I would be letting her turn me out right now.

“Paige, I got rehearsal in the morning.” I whine, trying to stand my ground but goddamn does she make it hard. “You could’ve waited until morning,” I whisper, but my fingers were already curling around the back of her neck, guiding her mouth back down to my sweet spot.

“I didn’t want to,” she breathes against my collarbone.

She hovers over me, her hand cupping my chin with one hand, angling it to the side. She leaned into my neck and the kiss that followed wasn’t soft this time—it was full of quiet hunger, lips parting;sucking, hands starting to roam with familiar purpose. 

Paige’s palm found my hip and slid upward, dragging the hem of my pajamas—aka her Sparks t-shirt—with it. My vision finally starts to adjust, and my hand covers my face in an attempt to keep sleep from leaving me.

“I can’t sleep like this.”

“You have a hand. There’s a vibe in the—oh.” Paige cuts me off with a grip of my own hand, sliding it right between her legs where she clearly needs me the most.

She’s practically, no, literally soaked through her shorts. The material is damp against my hand, I can only wonder how much of a mess she made on the back of my shorts from her grinding.

“Ion want none of that. I need you. Fuckin’ soaked for you, Raye.”

My fingers press further against her core and she lets out a strangled groan into the air, arching into me. The slow grind of her body on my fingers igniting something low and pulsing in my abdomen.

“I was sleeping,” I say under my breath, but there was no protest in it, just the tremble of want behind my voice. Even as I try to hide it, the way she makes my cunt throb right now— with her pleading and grinding and purely submissive behavior— isn’t something I could even try to hide.

“It don’t look like it now.”

And it doesn’t. I was very, very awake.

“Lay back.” I give in, pulling my fingers away from her.

Paige doesn’t wait another second. She’s following my direction, rolling off me and lying on her back with her head nestled on a stack of pillows. I can’t help but giggle through my faux anger at her eagerness.

I find my way between her legs, nose nudging her own before our mouths meet again—open, slow, almost aching in the way we moved against each other, like we had all the time in the world but still needed more. Her fingers tangled in my hair, tugging gently as I pressed my body against hers in the dark.

“You’re a brat.” I groan against Paige’s lips. Her hand pulls me in deeper, so much further that I think she might swallow me whole. Her tongue navigates my mouth like it hasn’t been there in years, licking whatever mouthwash I used hours ago out of my mouth and into her own. “Waking me up like that, so needy, hm?”

She doesn’t answer, obviously too touch deprived to process the nature of my words. I trail my hands to the hem of her tank, tugging it over her head with ease.

My hand moved with unhurried certainty, gliding up Paige’s chest—fingertips grazing over ribs, pausing at the underside of her breast. I don’t push or rush, just touching like she’s some artifact that could break if I do too much.

Her hand digs deeper into my hair, tugging stubbornly at my scalp. I moan at the feeling, eyes fluttering shut before moving down her chest. I lick lightly at her nipple, pink and standing up for attention, before sucking on it. 

Paige’s lips parted around a soft gasp, one arm falling to her side, the other threading through my hair, urging me closer.

“More, ma. Fuck— just, anything.” She whines, which sends a blush to my cheeks that is noticeable even in the dark. 

Paige doesn’t do this much, she doesn’t give in completely or fall back and let me do as I please. There’s always a bit of dominance underneath all her sexual wants and needs. But now? Anything I do to her is better than me doing nothing at all, and that sets my soul on fire.

“Shut up, Paige.” I mumble, a free hand moves down to her shorts, the other groping and feeling at her chest in a manner that makes her whine. Breathy with a bit of an edge. “You woke me up, you’re gonna take what I feel like giving you.”

Lucky for her, what I feel like is getting my mouth on her. Since the moments we got together, Paige has made it known that she’s as much of a munch as could be, and while I might not be at her level yet, the pleasure that comes with watching her fall undone on my tongue is other worldly.

So I yanked myself back from her nipple, slightly missing the feeling of having it in my mouth. Her shorts come off first, down her tanned and muscular legs and onto the floor behind me.

My fingers press to her core through her boxers, and she’s soaked. So much so that I’m not even sure I can feel a bit of dry fabric. “I think you were the one dreamin’ about me, P.”

“Mmm, I was.” She confirms, pushing the hair in my eyes out of my face. Even in the dark, I can see how her blues lock on my browns, pupils dilated but eyes falling low. “Dreamin’ of you eatin’ my pussy, baby.”

I nearly moan at her voice, taking in her scent and her panty-dropping, Minnesota accent. My fingers break into her boxers, tugging the waistband down her crotch, her thighs, her calves— before also throwing them off the bed. 

“Is that right?”

“Makin’ me cum. You’d look so sexy with my cum on your face.” Paige whimpered, shifting beneath me, already trembling under the weight of my voice. “My shit’s so wet for you, baby. Need you to taste me— fuckkkk, Raye.” She groans, head falling back when My tongue finally meets her cunt.

The walls of her Miami apartment are thin, I know that and so does Paige but it seems like she doesn’t care. Her normally breathy and soft moans grow loud with just a few licks. Her hand deep in my hair, scratching my scalp like it’s her lifeline. 

Paige’s breath came in shallow little pulls, her chest rising and falling as if she were still catching up to what was happening—what I was doing to her. She lay there, pliant beneath me, the sheets gripped loosely in one hand, eyes half-lidded and shining.

“Just—God, just like that, ma. Y’do it so good.” I listen, eating her out just like that, tongue circling her clit before dipping inside for a taste. And Goddamn does she taste perfect. Like if an angel themselves made a potion and decided that that’s how Paige fucking Bueckers should taste.

I drink it all, lips wrapping around her swollen and throbbing clit. “Tastes so mmmm, baby. Soooo good.” I breathe into her, keeping my eyes glued to the figure above me. It’s as if I’m searching for something along the lines of approval and want. 

“Oh my fuckkk, gonna make me…” Her moan trails off, eyes rolling back before briefly snapping up to look at me. Her mouth forms a perfect circle tongue occasionally darting to the corner of her lips as she pants. “Raye, baby, I can’t.” She hiccups.

I look at her with faux pity, pulling back just enough to get a glimpse of all the sweat dripping down her skin. Paige was losing it, legs trembling around my head. “I don’t care. Woke me up for this, take it.” I grumble, but my feelings towards the matter left ages ago. I can’t bring myself to care about how tired I’ll be, when Paige’s slick is dripping from my mouth, lingering on my tongue.

My tongue dips back inside her, tasting her deeply. Paige's body convulses, her breath hitching as my mouth and occasionally the brush of my nose on her clit worked in tandem, bringing her to the brink of orgasm. Her cries filled the room, her body trembling with the intensity of her release.

“Gonna cum, fuck, I-I wanna cum, angel.” Paige babbles in that way that tells me she’s closer than she lets on, her hips lifting, pressing her against my mouth. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop."

“You wanna cum?”

“Raye.”

“In my mouth?” I tease, following it up with a long and hard suck on her clit. 

“Goddamn, ma. So perfect,” the praise sends a moan through me, and the vibrations push her over that edge. Paige’s voice and moans and cries echo loudly in my ears. “Yes, Raye.” Her chest heaves up and down as I work her through it, planting light kisses on her throbbing cunt. 

I lick my lips in an attempt to savor every last drop before wiping my chin with the back of my hand. “Good enough?” I joke, but there’s an underlying feeling of wanting to be praised by her behind it. Knowing that I really did make her feel that good. 

Paige’s hand leaves my hair, letting me crawl up the bed until we’re face to face. There, she cups my face, holding me delicately as she searches my eyes through her post orgasmic haze. 

“You get better at that every fuckin’ time.” She sighs, running a thumb over my cheek.

I smile, her taste still leaving its mark in my mouth. “You’re touching me like I’ll break.” My lips connect with hers, fast and insistent, allowing her to taste herself. Paige sucks on my tongue, groaning something about my explicit nastiness somewhere between hurried kisses and slow grinds of my hips against her thigh. 

“I just can’t believe you’re real sometimes.” She sighs into my mouth. I turn my head, deciding then and there that I want more.

I slow down the kiss, letting her deepen it. She pulls me close, snaking an arm around my waist and holding my face with the other. She kissed me like I really was fragile. The kiss built gradually, mouths sliding, breath mingling, a burn between my legs transforming into a drip of my slick.

Paige shifts up just barely, enough for my weight to fully press onto her thigh to make me feel owned. Grounded. “Do something, please.” I whine, grinding down harder, letting the drag of the seam of my shorts stimulate my cunt. “Baby, I—”

“I think you got it.” She says, an edge to her voice that turns me into nothing. “You need that, baby? Needa fuck yourself in me like this?” Paige kisses down my neck, licking her tongue up and down my neck before sinking her teeth into the skin.

“Ah, fuck!” 

Paige lifts my shirt, and I fight to get it off my arms, about to throw it over my head when she flexes her thigh and I instead throw myself onto her shoulders. My head in her neck, her hands on my tits, kneading and kneading; and sucking and fucking sucking on my neck.

“Y’know how much of a slut you are for getting off on my thigh, right now?” She hums, rocking me back and forth at a pace much different from the one I set for myself. It’s faster and my clit snags again and again on her leg. “Can feel that pussy just throbbing for me, angel.” Paige’s voice caught, and she kissed my jaw again, a quiet sound breaking in her throat.

I roll my hips in response, feeling my incoming release shoot from the nerves on my clit to my stomach. My legs tingle, chest and neck heating up. My fingers tremble, nails digging into Paige’s muscular back. 

“Paige.” I groan into her skin. Drool spills from my lips and down her neck, trailing her spine. “Close. Fuck, ‘m so, so fuckin’ close. Gonna cum for you.”

“Yeah, just for me. Gonna cum in your pants like a good girl for me.” She eggs me on, moving her lips to a different spot near my shoulder and I just know she’s decorating me in hickeys that’ll last long after I’m on a plane out of Miami. “C’mon, ma. Feels so good, don’t it?” 

“I’m cumming— fuckkkk!” I moan. High and uncontrolled and so messy I can feel my release seeping through and onto her skin.

Paige talks me through it all, as she’s so great at doing. Calling me pretty, and rubbing my back. Stripping me of my shirt and the soiled shorts and satin panties that literally stick to my skin. I fall into bed next to her, naked and warm and still both jaded from the orgasms. 

The room goes still again, save for the low hum of the fan and the soft rustling of sheets as we shifted, tangled around each other. Paige lay on her back, one arm behind her head, the other resting across my bare spine. I was sprawled half on top of her, chin on her chest, staring up at how pleased with herself she looks.

“Wipe that smirk off your face,” I said, voice still scratchy from sleep—and other things.

She shakes her head, planting a soft kiss to the top of my sweaty head. “Can’t help it, shit finally went my way.” Paige laughs, her fingers trailing absent-minded circles along my back, the quiet night wrapped around us again—warm, safe, and full of everything we didn’t have to say out loud.

—

November 2027 — Casco Viejo, Panama City, Panama

The heat was the first thing that hit me—thick, fragrant, alive. Something way different than California. There it was dry, but here it’s almost suffocating. Humid air that seemed to wrap around me like an embrace.

I can pick up on the smell of ripe fruit, blooming flowers, and ocean wind carried from miles away. 

Raye stands in front of me, phone pressed snug to her ear, as her conversation goes back and forth between English and Spanish. She wears a long multicolored skirt—one that I had a lot of feeling under on the plane— and a white tube top.

I drag our bags behind us, as we exit the airport, feeling sweat accumulating on my forehead. But it wasn’t just the weather that made me sweat—it was the crowd of people waiting just outside the airport doors, holding handmade signs and waving excitedly the second they spotted Maraye.

And it was very clear who they were here for.

She slips her phone in her tote bag the second her family comes to view. “¡Ay, por fin!” someone shouted, a man— tall with grays that decorated his thick curls and beard— and then Maraye was gone from my side, swallowed into a wave of arms and kisses and rapid-fire Spanish. 

I watched her cousins pull her into one chaotic hug, and her aunt wept dramatically into her shoulder, all while her grandmother stood behind them all, smiling so wide her eyes disappeared behind her glasses.

From what I’ve pieced together, Raye hasn’t seen this side of her family since she graduated high school years ago. The emotions are warranted. Even for her, she’s been talking my ear off about this trip for the last couple months, and now that we’re here it brings a grin to my face that I couldn’t wipe away.

I hung back, suitcases in hand, trying not to look awkward, but before I could retreat any further, a small boy—maybe six—looked up at me with wide eyes. 

“¿Tú eres la novia?” He asked shyly, squinting at me through the sun and craning his head up to me. I bend my knees, sinking to his height before sticking out a hand. 

“That’s me, yeah.” I smile.

I can feel eyes on me in an instant, the much needed conversation coming to a close as I talk to the young boy, Donovan is his name.

“Everyone, this is Paige.” Maraye said firmly, breaking away from the crush of family and walking back to sink her hand behind my head, ruffling my hair. “Todos sean amables con ella, she’s a bit nervous.” She whispers the last bit, making my cheeks redden more than they already are. 

There was a beat of silence—and then, as if a switch had been flipped, the group erupted again. Aunts and cousins came forward one by one, greeting me with kisses on both cheeks, calling me different variations of mija and bella and young boys already guaranteeing that they could beat me in one on one.

Tía Lydia, a woman I’ve known to be Maraye’s favorite aunt, even if she didn’t say it aloud, approaches me with a smile. I remember late nights when they gossip together for hours, or occasional FaceTimes where she’d pan the phone to me and suddenly I’m up to date with years old family lore that I’ll unpack for the rest of the night.

She hugs me tight, on her toes even in the heels she wears. “Thank you for bringing her here, we’ve missed her.”

“She’s missed you. Seriously, hasn’t stopped talking about it.” I hum, picking up on the scent of strong perfume and something sweeter— coconut? “Gracias por la invitación.”

Rate stands somewhere near, laughing her sweet laugh and letting her hair fly free in the wind. It’s grown longer in the last two years, once thick, shoulder length curls now cascading down her back. My eyes can’t stop looking at her amidst conversation, the glow of her brown skin, earrings down the cuff of her ear. 

That’s my girl. And she brought me here, to her family. 

Tia Lydia wraps her arm around my waist, holding Maraye’s suitcase against my protests. “Come, come.” She hums, shoes clicking against the dark concrete towards the car. “¿Te gusta el ceviche?”

I curse in my head, mentally unprepared to navigate through the language I’ve spent the last year and a half trying to learn for this specific moment. “Uh…yes. I’ve had it before.” I stutter, and I know if Raye is listening, she’s laughing at my english responses. “Yours is probably better, tho’.”

She laughs, the kind that reminds you of your favorite dish as a kid and just makes you smile. It’s all too similar to Raye’s, and the connection makes it all the more enjoyable.

By the time we reached the family home—nestled in a lush, flower-lined neighborhood that I think I instantly fell in love with—it felt like I’d already been adopted. 

My Spanish, if it could even be called that, was shaky; but it didn’t seem to matter. When we got into the home, sandals clacking against the hardwood and the stone, Raye’s family was already enveloping us into everything. Any possible jet lag was thrown out the window and replaced by a buzz that lingered through my blood and in the air. 

I played dominoes with her uncles, my natural competitive nature seeming to keep me in with their approval but still a bit out of the game. 

She had stopped by, handing out cold Coronas with lime like it was second nature, and it very well could’ve been. Raye took a seat in my lap, that was natural too. She pointed out what she thought I should put down here and there, and when win number one was finally under my belt, her uncle looked at me with a drunk smile, saying, “la mujer sabe mejor.” Which brought laughter over the table and a slap to his shoulder from my girlfriend.

The young boys were already insisting on playing me tournament style, even neighborhood kids joining in.

The wins came easy, so did the trash talk. “Don’t choke like game 6!” Ricky, an older cousin from Raye’s dad’s side murmured to me when I checked the ball.

The burn lingered a little, because I did indeed choke in my first finals appearance. Losing a rough game to the Lynx in Minnesota. I have to quit playing like shit whenever I’m there, really. 

But that dig turned me up, I beat him 11-0 and after that, they all quit.

I’m inside now, sweat sticking to my neck and the back of my buttoned shirt, It loosened some after between the legs dribbles and spin moves. Family members sit on the steps outside, others in the living room watching some soccer match. 

But I can’t seem to move from the kitchen entrance.

The kitchen was warm and alive, windows open to the breeze, light pouring in across the tile. Maraye stood at the counter beside her grandmother, their heads bent together over a pot of arroz con coco. She was laughing—freely, hands moving as she spoke, a little bit of flour smudged on her cheek.

And it felt like I’d just seen her for the first time again.

It reminds me of that dinner party all those years ago, nestled in the warmth of Cam’s kitchen. I’ll always remember that dress she wore—red, strapless, and tip-toeing the line between casual and scandalous— how her smile radiated so bright that it visited me multiple times in my dreams.

Her grandmother was teasing her gently in Spanish, and Raye rolled her eyes in mock exasperation but kept stirring the pot exactly how she was told. 

She moved so naturally here—like she belonged to the walls, the rhythm, the history in the room. She was free, the weight of being away from family for so long finally melting away. 

She wasn’t different from the woman I knew in our shared apartment back home, but here… she seemed brighter. Rooted. Full.

My heart swells as I watch her. How she sways along gently to the music that plays, hearing her speak more Spanish than I’ve heard from her in a minute.

I didn’t even notice that Maraye had caught me looking until she turned, a sly grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Paige.” She hums, “ven aquí.” She calls me over with a tilt of her head, flour and coconut milk staining her fingers. 

I walk over, trying to hide the sweat and nerves that stick to my body. Her grandmother gives me a look and a kiss on my cheek before fleeting the kitchen.

“What?” Raye asks, hands on her hips.

I shake my head, slow and full of awe. “You’re just…” my voice trails off, feeling slightly clouded from beer and the drug that is my girlfriend.

She bumps her hip with my own, sliding the wood spoon into my slightly trembling hand. I don’t know why my body betrays me like this, but there’s something about my girl being so domestic? Cooking in the moonlight and looking so ethereal.

“You okay, baby?”

“I think I’m falling in love with you all over again, mami.”

—

“¡No asunto divertido!” I hear my tia yell out after Paige, very clearly expressing her concern for what we both would be doing on the balcony alone. The blonde brushes her off with some Spanish slang that makes me muffle a giggle. It was getting better, and sitting next to my abuela at dinner fixed her accent too.

Music still drifted up faintly from the street below the balcony—lively cumbia rhythms rising and falling like the city had its own heartbeat. Bursts of laughter from my youngest cousins fill the air, alongside the clatter of plates being cleared and the sound of bare feet and sandals against the stone ground below. 

Warm light spilled from the windows of the family home, bathing the worn terracotta balcony tiles in a soft amber glow. 

Panama’s night air wrapped around me—humid, thick with the scent of bougainvillea, grilled street food, and the salty trace of the ocean somewhere nearby. Stars hung lazily above the old colonial rooftops, flickering through the haze.

I stand at the railing barefoot, wine glass in hand. I focus on breathing in the moment, taking in the fact that the last time I was here, I probably didn’t realize the impact this place would have on my life. My cheeks were flushed from dancing, the humid air clung to my skin in a way that made me feel undone in the best way. 

To my right sits Paige on a straw woven two-seater. She had shed her button up, sitting soundly in a white shirt and baggy jean shorts. Her hair is damp, either sweat or the aftermath of her water balloon fight with the neighborhood kids. Her sandals were kicked off ages ago, pulling her knees to her chest as she does the same thing as me. Watching. 

She was good, unbelievably good with everything. Conversing with the adults, entertaining the kids, driving me crazy. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so sure of anything the way I am about Paige. She looks buzzed, eyes bouncing between wide and low from multiple Coronas and a shoddy seven hour flight. 

“Too much?” I ask, a lazy grin tugging at my mouth. “My family’s a lot.”

“They’re perfect,” Paige says softly, her eyes still wide from the whirlwind of hugs, dancing, food, and Spanish spoken too fast for her to keep up with. “I’m prolly the one who’s too much. I nearly cried when your tía brought me another plate of food.”

I let out a breathy laugh, dragging my feet closer to where she sits. When I sit, my eyes fall back over the view. The slight breeze and rumble of rain in the sky, sun setting beyond the horizon.

“You didn’t cry. I saw how you devoured that second pla—”

“Ight that’s enough outta you.” Her hand meets my shoulder, shoving me playfully. “I’m deadass. She been calling me ‘mija’ all night. It was over after that.”

And it’s something about the way ‘mija’ falls from her tongue that makes my legs cross and my heart simultaneously swell at the same time. My hand traces the patterns over my skirt, thinking to myself.

“She loves you. Everyone does.” I sigh, looking over my shoulder to her. “You’re part of this now, P.”

The blonde brood her legs off the edge of the seat, scooting closer until she sits right behind me, my body between her legs. Paige takes my hair in her hands, pushing it over my slightly tanned shoulder. A breath falls from her lips as she sets her chin on my shoulder, the smile on her face fading into something softer, more fragile. “You mean that?”

It’s simple, but the three words weigh so much heavier. 

“I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t.” I look at her, like I really looked. The clearness of her bright almost glass-like skin, freckles that came in a light brown with age, pink lips and the most gorgeous blue eyes I’ve ever had the pleasure of looking into. My eyes are steady, full of a quiet kind of certainty. “This place… this family? It’s my heart. And I wanted you here because you are, too.”

My words settle in the air, traveling through the wind. 

Paige’s eyes flutter closed as she leans into my exposed upper back. She places a kiss, small and lingering, on the tattoo there. A dainty libra constellation that Paige watched me get the entire time. Her lips are warm on my skin, like a kiss of life. 

She tips my head towards her, closer, so close I smell the papaya off her breath. Paige leans in and kisses me, slow and grateful, lingering as the breeze stirred the night around us and sent goosebumps to my skin. “Truth time?” Paige questions against my mouth.

It’s become our thing. After a bit of overthinking while on the road or those nights where we just needed to vent. Truth time insured a moment of no judgement, just the truth.

So I nod, letting her say whatever she wants.

When she pulled back, her voice was barely above a whisper, gravelly from cheers and competitive yells. “I want this with you. Not just the trips or the dancing or the family dinners. I want it all, angel. The quiet mornings, the hard stuff, the little things. I wanna know your people. I wanna be your people.”

I can feel my throat tighten in a mix of emotion and thoughts of the future. The apartment we share transforms into a home, our home. 

I set my wine glass down and cup Paige’s face in both hands, thumbs brushing along her cheekbones like I was grounding myself in something real.

“You’ve always been my people, baby. My person since forever.” I murmur, voice thick.

We sat in the silence that followed, surrounded by the laughter from inside that we stepped away from. 

The world moved on around us, but here—on this quiet balcony tucked in above the chaos—it felt like we carved out a space where only love existed.

Where only I existed with her.

I turn back around after a beat. Back pressed to Paige’s chest. And after a long stretch of quiet, I could feel her laugh softly, the breath of it brushing against my ear. “I think we should have a balcony like this at our first home. Could picture you rocking our baby out here.”

My voice gets caught in my throat.

“All pregnant and shit, glowing. Our kid in your arms. I’ll even learn how to cook foreal, I’d do that for you.” She decides, voice as certain as ever in my ears.

I grin. “That a proposal?”

“Maybe.” Paige nudged me. 

“I’m just saying. I’d say yes.”

Paige pulls me in again, holding me tight against her. “Good. Because I plan to ask.”

—

July 2028 — Crypto.com arena, Los Angeles, California 

“You need to breathe.”

“I’m trying!”

“She’s in love with you, stop freaking out.”

“This is so cliche, Cameron.” I breathe, running my fingers through my hair, attempting to keep it as straight and uniform as possible.

Cam sighs through the phone. “You’re telling the one who got proposed to at the Eiffel tower about cliches?” And when she puts it like that, my breathing just barely starts to regulate itself. “She has no idea. I got her all dressed up, she went with Cassie to get her nails done, just please pull yourself together.”

“Okay. Okay. I’m fine. Everything is fine.” I speak, mostly to myself, and Cameron hangs up.

It has been planned like this for a week, an impulsive decision that kept me scrolling through google when she slept on my chest and pulling whatever strings I could while at the practice facility. I even spent the last hours of All-Star weekend searching for and buying the perfect ring: a delicate gold band with an oval cut diamond tucked into the center.

I was going to do it there. Similarly to how I asked her to be my girlfriend in the comfort of our hotel room.

But then I decided she needed something more. Something big but still private, still just us.

My phone buzzes in my pocket again, and I dig it out of my cream colored dress pants. A black polo is fitted on my body, diamond jewelry around my neck and a bezeled watch around my wrist— courtesy of Raye’s anniversary gift a few nights earlier.

maraye: you ready? i’m coming in now  7:38pm

paige: Yeah, the locker room is unlocked!  7:38pm

I hadn’t told anyone, choosing to just tell Raye we were having a post-anniversary dinner. Which isn’t a total lie, since the festivities of my fourth All-Star appearance caused our celebration to include crashing in bed with makeup still on our faces.

I hadn’t told Azzi, nor my mother, and definitely not Nika or Kaylee. So besides Cam and Cassie making sure she went where she was supposed to and when, it was all me. 

And I’d been waiting.

I hear the voice of a man outside of the door, voice greeting my girlfriend, and only a few seconds later she’s walking into the room. Slightly worried about what could be waiting for her, but I keep calm; normal. 

Raye wears all black, but not in a way that dulled her. It clung to her in all the right places, silky and smooth, with a deep V-neckline that shimmered just slightly under the locker room haze. Her collarbones were kissed with gold, delicate hoops in her ears, and her hair—a cascade of defined curls—was pulled into a loose, romantic updo that looked effortless but elegant. 

Timeless. 

Like she had just stepped out of a dream I once had but could never name.

Like she stepped out of her own song.

Like she was the angelic sound of music I heard for the first time from the couch.

I stand up from my locker, dragging my feet over to where she stands, the ring box feels heavy in my pocket as I meet her halfway.

She wraps her arms around my neck, mine settles around her lower back. She smells like she always does, sweet with just enough undertones of grown and sexy. I lift her off the ground just barely, listening to how she groans into my ear.

“You look good, papi.” Raye nearly growls in my ear, causing me to stifle a groan by biting my lip.

I set her back on the ground with a squeeze, pulling back to look her over once more. “Aye chill out with that, I wanna get through our plans before you start acting up.” I laugh, pressing my lips to hers. It’s short, but full of all the emotion I’ve been holding out on by not seeing her all day.

“You’re right, my fault.” She smiles.

“Mmm but you still look fine tho’, fine as hell.” I hum, dropping my arms and sticking a hand out for her. “Come this way.”

Raye takes my hand with not a beat of hesitation. “We’re going through the court?” She asks, suddenly confused as to why I’d choose this way and not the entryway she came in with.

I brush her off, lying and telling her it’ll get us to my car faster. And then, it’s go time.

“Y’know, I was gonna ask you on a first date the night of Cam’s dinner party.” I confess. Raye nearly trips over her own feet, but I balance her before she gets the chance to fall. “You think we would’ve still been together?”

I walk her through the back door of the locker room, and she stops in her tracks. “Really?”

“Yeah. Kea told me you were seeing someone, but then you told me it wasn’t official yet. I was gonna ask you out when we were leaving.”

“I think we would’ve been.” She answers, finally picking up her feet and walking with me closer to the court. My hands sweat with anticipation and a part of me hopes she doesn’t notice. “I still would’ve found out just how much I like you.”

I nod. “Let’s say in this hypothetical scenario; I ask you out and you say yes, what would’ve happened if Julian still asked you to be his girl that night?” It’s all word salad, something to keep my mind occupied while I try to remember the monologue I’d created.

She stutters, pace just barely slowing down. “I dunno. I was still straight. Maybe things wouldn’t have turned out like this.” Raye shrugged. “Why are you asking about a hypothetical?”

We stand in front of the tunnel entrance and I don’t answer, instead, I pull back the thick black curtain and gesture my head towards the court. “C’mon.”

“Why are we—”

“Mami I love you, but please stop asking me so many questions. Go.” I laugh. My girlfriend rolls her eyes, giving me one more look before dipping behind the curtain. Her pace is slow, but she walks in and I follow behind and I nearly have to hold my hand down in order to not cop a feel of her ass.

The court lights are low, just enough to set a yellow hue over the classic purple and gold hardwood. Candles decorated the baseline, creating a walkway for her to follow until she got to her seat. The seat was illuminated by a single spotlight.

The seat where I saw her for the first time.

There, lays a bouquet full of pink and white roses and lilies scattered in between. 

Raye takes one look at it all, before freezing. Her breath caught in her throat. 

“Paige…” She whispered, voice full of shock and confusion.

“I know.” I say, my voice barely even there. “I want you to walk down there and take a seat for me, can you do that?” I ask softly, suddenly realizing that all my nerves were for nothing. Because in the three years I’ve been blessed to call her mine, she’s always let me know that it’s been me. Now all I have to do is ask to make it official.

The sound of her While We’re Young plays softly overhead. It’s the first song she ever wrote about me.

“I’m askin’ you about a hypothetical because this whole time, I’ve been wondering if we’d still get this far if things were different.” I start, feeling the pressure ease off my shoulders with every step. “Like what if Kea never introduced us that night?”

Raye thinks to herself for a moment. “I probably wouldn't have chosen to partner up with you at Cam’s.” She answers.

“And we wouldn’t have become close friends. You wouldn’t have caught feelings for me, and I wouldn’t get the opportunity to love you the way I do now.” I say.

Raye sits soundly in the court-side seat, clutching the bouquet in her lap and crossing one glowing leg over the other, and I swear I see her eyes glaze over. There’s something heavier there, a realization or maybe even a memory of that night in May.

“The other day, I was going through old practice videos, and I came across practice on opening day.” I step back from her, treading carefully towards the top of the arch. “And I started thinking about the play we ran.”

She lets out a laugh. “When did you have time to do all this thinking?” Raye jokes, and I laugh along with her.

“It’s easy when my girlfriend sleeps like a hibernating bear.” I responded. 

Raye gestures her hand for me to continue, looking at me with wide brown eyes that I’m still obsessed with all these years later.

“The original play was for D to set a screen here.” I point to my left side at the top of the wing.

“I was gonna come off of it, handoff to Kea and she gets right to her spot for a middy. If it didn’t work out, I was trailing behind for an open three and Cam would be available in the paint.” 

She listens intently, my demonstration of the play even without a ball in my hands helped too. Her basketball knowledge has drastically increased since we got together, particularly from watching film with her.

“It was gonna be the easiest way for us to break their zone. But instead they played man. So when I came off the screen, Siegrist called for a switch and McCowan was now guarding me.” I explain.

“You had a mismatch.” Raye hums.

“I had a mismatch.” I agree, continuing with my demonstration.“So instead I faked the handoff and just drove. I went for a lefty, she fouled the shit out of me, and I ended up here.” 

I stand right in front of her now, a grin on my face that mirrors the one she looks up at me with, tears just barely brimming her eyes.

The song tails off and I silently applaud myself for my perfect timing. 

“The very thing that led me to you was a last minute decision. God’s plan brought me to you, Raye.” My voice wavers ever so slightly, throat tightening as I realize the magnitude of the moment. “When I found out you were with Julian, I told myself—of course. Because you were smart, and breathtaking, and kind in that way that makes everyone lean in when you speak.”

Maraye laughed through her tears, squeezing the bouquet tighter in her hands.

“And I tried to be your friend,” I continued. “I was your friend. But somewhere between our third late-night phone call and the night at Waffle House when you told me about how you didn’t feel seen, something shifted. You started making room for me in your life. And I—I fell. Hard.”

My fingers tremble at the thought of reaching for the box in my pocket, but I press on. “I never thought I’d be the one. I had hoped, and prayed for it, but I didn’t think it would happen like this. But you… you surprised me. You let yourself love me. And in doing that, you changed everything.”

I pull the box out, cracking it open before sinking to my knee. And even through it all, Raye lets out a gasp. A little gasp full of everything she’s yet to say to me. 

“I used to think love was supposed to be overwhelming, and I was so scared. Scared of fucking it up for you, for us.” I whisper, holding the ring between us. “But with you, it’s peaceful. It’s steady. It’s choosing each other, again and again, even on the hard days.”

A beat of silence.

“And I want to keep choosing you, Maraye. Every day, every version of you, in every season of our lives. So…” My voice wavered, thick with love. “Will you marry me?”

Maraye didn’t answer right away—sending a quick bout of anxiety to my core. But then she’s sliding off the seat, cupping my face, and kissing me so deeply it said yes a hundred different ways before the words finally came.

“Yes,” she whispered against her lips. “You know that, baby. Of-fuckin-course I’ll marry you.”

I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding, sliding the ring on her finger. We both laugh and cry through it, and then Raye’s kissing me again. Deeper, hand in my straightened hair as she tugged me close—candles flicker around us, and the weight of our story humming in every corner of the arena.

—

May 2029 — Los Angeles, California

The door slams harder than I intended.

No one tells you how hard planning a wedding is. They also don’t tell you how hard it is to plan a wedding while also working on finalizing an album.

I drop my bag on the floor, exhaustion running through me to the point where I can’t even bother to set it on the hook. I set my keys down, kicking off my tennis shoes and nearly falling flat on my face as I do so. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” I groan, stopping dead in my tracks and taking a deep breath and counting to five. Then ten.

It doesn’t help.

The silence in the apartment kills me. It leaves me alone with the thoughts of not doing well enough, not completing enough work. Not, doing anything worth remembering.

It all weighs on me. Wedding emails. Guest list edits. The label riding me every second of the day about finishing this album. Another vendor dropping out. A migraine blooming behind my eyes. And Paige is not even home yet, which—okay, unfair to be mad about because it’s not her fault that her first three games of the season are on the road. But I missed her. Needed her.

I trudge into the bedroom, shedding clothes as I walk. Leggings hitting the floor in the hallway, Sparks hoodie falling somewhere near my vanity, bra thrown on the edge of our bed. The forest green and navy slip dress I wore to bed last night hangs over the vanity chair, and I throw it on lazily.

“Just 15 minutes.” I say to myself, slinging the comforter over my body.

I was out cold in two.

When I woke up, the light outside had changed—dipped into that lavender-blue of mid evening. The headache that had been ruining my life for the last few days had dulled but not disappeared, and my mouth tasted like sleep. Even through the groggy and heavy haze, I sit up slowly.

That’s when I heard it. Water.

It lapped gently alongside the faint clink of glass, a low hum that might’ve been music or, well, humming.

My legs swing over the edge, painted toes padding against the rug in the floor before I sleepily entered the attached bathroom.

Paige was already in the tub, hair piled in the messiest possible way at the back of her head. The curve of her shoulder dips out under the suds and gleams in the candlelight. An empty glass rests on the ledge beside her. Lavender steam curled through the room, carrying the scent of bath oils and eucalyptus. The playlist— our playlist—was mellow, that’s usual R&B with a hint of jazz.

My body naturally leans against the door frame, languidly blinking sleep from my spirit.

“Hi.” I murmur.

Paige raises her head slowly, setting her phone delicately on the floor by the tub. “Hi, baby.”

“I didn’t know you were home.”

“We landed early.” Her chain glistens against her tanned skin, diamond studs in her ears that dance whenever the light shifts. Paige’s eyes rake over my body, and suddenly I’m hyper aware of the puffiness around my eyes and the slight slump of my shoulders. “It looked like you needed the sleep. Figured I’d soak off and then make us some dinner.” 

I walk over to the tub, sitting cautiously at the edge of the tub. “God, I’m so fuckin’ happy you’re here.” The sigh I let out, I didn’t even know I was holding in. Seeing her like this was like oxygen, I fucking needed it to survive.

Paige leans closer to me and I meet her halfway on instinct, holding her face with one hand. She tilts her head just right, brushing her nose with mine before locking our lips. I hum, allowing the blonde to part my lips with her tongue. She navigates my mouth like it’s her own, like she knows every nook and cranny; where to suck where to lick, and I let her. 

Her hands pull out from under the water, suds sticking to the back of her hands as she runs them over my thighs. Paige sighs, kissing me harder—faster. 

“Get in.” She mutters, dragging me against the ledge and closer to her. “C’mon, it’s still warm.”

I shake my head, something about being here with her and wanting to eat her alive feels more rewarding. So I angle her head in my hand, guiding her lips in the way I want them to go. It’s all teeth and tongue, with the occasional bout of spit against my chin. 

Paige is messy, pulling me into her like the last week and some change of her being on the road altered her brain chemistry. “Baby, get the fuck in.” She pants, pulling back enough that I can see her low eyes and swollen lips. “Needa take all this offa you.” 

I hesitate, but ultimately let her hands travel to the edge of my slip dress. She lifts the hem higher and higher until I break away to pull it off of myself. Paige doesn’t even give me a moment to shed my panties, she pulls me into the tub with her mouth pressing kisses to my cheek. 

“Talk to me.” She whispers against the skin, wrapping her arms around my waist. “What’s wrong, ma?”

I brace my arms around her neck, head comfortable against the side of her face. And it’s quiet for a moment, just breathing and the sound of water moving here and there. Skin to skin.

“Nothing.” I shrug, closing my eyes. But Paige knows me, the front I’m putting on just to keep her calm. To not stress her out.

She nods. Her chin resting in the crook of my neck. “How was dress shopping?” She decides to ask. An answer builds on my tongue, then stops when I feel her fingers against the back of my thigh. She draws slow circles, her nails just barely scratching the skin.

Then I let it out, my voice low and rough either from sleep or something heavier. “It’s… I dunno. Nothing special.” Paige kisses my shoulder slowly, like she’s still figuring out whether to press further or just let me enjoy the silence. “It’s just— I’m so tired, Paige. I’m trying to be everything. Good at work, good at planning, good for you— and I’m failing.“

Paige wrapped her arms around my waist and held on tighter, almost like a lifeline. “You’re not failing. You’re the toughest woman I know, trust, you’re not failing.”

“I cried today,” my voice trails off, “because someone ate my yogurt in the mini fridge; and none of these dresses look like me.”

Paige chuckled softly, pressing her lips to my jaw. “That’s valid.”

I take a deep breath, pulling back just enough to look at her face. How her hair is damp and sticks to her neck and shoulders. The slight flush from the heat in the bathroom. And it hits me then that I really do get to marry her, the ring on my finger is not a fragment of my imagination but it’s real. 

“I love you,” I whisper suddenly, voice thick. “But if one more person asks me if a damn napkin color really represents our ‘aesthetic,’ I’m eloping.” 

Paige simply smiles, something amused with a hit of understanding, before she kisses me softly. “You’re allowed to feel like that, ma. I know you’re goin’ through a lot to make this work.” 

“I just don’t wanna worry about a wedding and a fucking album for a few hours.”

Paige hums, trailing short kisses across my jaw and down my neck. Her hands move with precision, softly messaging my arms to my shoulders, feeling down my back and all we way down. Her hands settle on my thighs again, her fingertips toy with my panties— and suddenly I’m all hers.

“Lemme handle it.”

The water sloshes softly around us as Paige shifts in the tub, her knees brushing against mine beneath the surface. Steam curled between our mouths, and for a moment, we just looked at each other. 

Paige’s eyes, heavy-lidded and warm, searched mine, through the exhaustion and stress. My face was still drawn from the day, but my gaze softened just enough. There was something raw there now. A flicker of want. Of need. I needed her.

“I missed you.” Paige sighs.

“I’m right here.” I grumble. “And I’m needy. Horny, if you will.”

She grins, letting out a laugh before pulling me in. And that’s how it starts. A gentle kiss— brushing of our lips, a deep inhale of her scent.

My fingers find her face again, holding her jaw as I kiss her again, slower this time, but with more pressure. I poured every ounce of tension into it—every tight knot I’ve spent trying and failing to unwind, every unspoken frustration, every moment I’d smiled through exhaustion. Paige took it all, desperately. She kissed me back like she was drinking me in, trying to soothe all my edges and wrinkles from the inside out.

But then all the softness and slowed movements disappeared within the blink of an eye. She was rougher, more primal. Her hands kneaded at my ass, forcing a groan to spill from my lips. It gives Paige the perfect opportunity to make my mouth her own again. She slides her tongue against mine while my hands grip at her wet hair.

Paige whimpers softly against my mouth, tilting her head to deepen it, lips parting even more for the kiss to get messier. I groan, low and quiet, as Paige’s fingers dig into my waist beneath the surface, holding me there, pulling me in like she was afraid I could drift away if she let go.

I reach under the water, tugging my panties down my legs with a fight that nearly makes me curse her out for not letting me take them off before getting in the water. Soapsuds fly over the ledge, and when I finally get them off they’re tossed onto the floor. Landing with a loud, wet plap.

“Lemme get this stress offa you, yeah? Let's make you feel good," she whispers, her voice husky with desire.

“Please.” I beg, not even caring about how desperate I sound. 

I let her, leaning back, pressing my palms to the sore muscles of her legs. She trails her hands back under the water, her engagement ring cool against my skin.

Paige presses against my thighs, spreading my legs wider. Her fingertips trail up the skin and then carefully—and I really mean carefully—she brushes against my clit. I bite my lip.

She kisses her teeth, “you’re swollen, baby. It hurts huh?” Her voice is so sultry that I swear my own arousal leaks out of me like a faucet. “I gotta have you, Raye.” Paige glides her finger through my slick, muttering something about how wet I am and I make a joke about if that’s me or the water. To which she replies “nah it’s all you.”

Her finger dips inside, pushing in and out at a pace that is the perfect mix of rough and still so intimate. But I crave more. That toe curling, leg shaking stuff that she’s given me more times than not. 

“You get me so wet, P.” I confirm, letting the stimulation travel from my core up into my stomach. “I—I need more, please? It’s not enough.” I start, whining and growing frustrated. Paige can sense it, of course she can sense it. Because she leans in, pressing her lips to the valley of my breasts, kissing gently like they were artifacts she wanted to preserve. 

Her finger curls just slightly. “I know what you need. This pussy been mine for years, you think Ion know?” Almost as if my request pissed her off, she snatches her finger out of me. Paige looks up from my chest, licking her pink lips before grinning. “How you want it?”

I inhale slowly and ragged. “I want it hard, Paige. Just fuck me.” I cry. The soft sex is good—fuck, it’s so good—but when she gets in her zone, fucking me like she hates me, I just can’t get enough. 

My hand grips her wrist, tugging her long fingers closer to my cunt. 

And then she’s sliding in, two fingers this time.

I lost it.

They fit in with just enough stretch to remind me just how long it’s really been. But she’s a pro, in all meanings of the word, and gets to work right away. Paige pulls me closer again and meshes our lips. “Gotta stretch you out so my cock fits, baby. Nice and wide.” She grunts against my lips.

Paige begins to stroke her fingers faster and on instinct my hips meet her halfway. Water sloshes in the tub, falling in splashes on the floor. 

“P, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck! It feels so good.” I moan. I lose control of everything, breaking the kiss as my head falls back and my nails dig into the depths of the back of her neck. “Love it when you fuck me like this.”

“Such a slut, Raye.” The blonde kisses her teeth, her free hand pushing hair out of my face. “Prettiest li’l slut f’me.”

She knows just what to say, just what to do— where to touch that makes me fall apart for her. And I think I’d rather die than to live a life where my body isn’t hers for the taking. So I spread my legs wider, enough to create room for the blonde in front of me. And she just takes it. 

Takes and takes and takes.

My eyes screw shut at Paige’s words, my entire body shivering as I work harder against her fingers. The slickness between my legs only intensified, climax growing and building inside me with every passing second. I could barely manage coherent thoughts, let alone words. But I do just enough to murmur, “needed you, baby. Such a sl—ut for you.”

Paige smiles at that, deciding to suck across my skin. She leaves marks behind, and normally I’d find something to say about it but right now I don’t care. I let her mark me up like I'm property. My hips roll simultaneously, taking what her fingers do to me.

“ ‘M gonna fuck you stupid after this. You want that?” She asks. Her mouth moves lower against my skin, over my breasts and to my nipple that peaks out over the surface. Her arm wraps around my hips as she pulls me closer.

Paige encloses my nipple with her mouth. Plump lips over the pebbled skin and tongue running over the bud. It’s as if it’s natural to her. Licking and sucking to the point I’m wishing it was my clit in her mouth. 

My eyes flutter closed, body melting into Paige's touch. I could feel the tension in my muscles beginning to ease; being replaced by a growing heat in the pit of my stomach. 

"Paige," I gasp, hips moving in time with Paige's strokes. "I’m close."

"I know, love," she murmured against my tit. "Just needed a good fuck? I know you missed me, ain’t you?"

I nod, helpless as my release comes in like a wave. My legs tremble and her name falls from my lips like a sin. “So bad, Paige! Shit!”

Paige held me tight, her fingers continuing to stroke inside me gently as I rode out the pleasure. "That's it, baby," she murmured. "Just feel it. Gimme that shit, ma. You're so fucking beautiful when you cum."

My body relaxes. Breaths fall from my lips and Paige presses kisses to my chest. My cunt throbs almost uncontrollably; sore but still so fucking needy. And she feels it.

“C’mon. I think you got a few more in you.”

—

“Daddy…” I hiccup, chest heaving from the aftermaths of three orgasms. Maybe four, but between this one and the one before that, I think I could’ve passed out. Paige buried her tongue inside me just after I regained consciousness from her fingers. Then the strap came out and somewhere along the way everything became a blur.

Sweat sticks to the hollow between her collarbones, and a drip trails down the valley of her breasts. It’s cinematic, really. Her chain hangs around her neck, engagement ring gleaming on her finger when she uses that hand to rub her chin.

She looks at me in disbelief, as if I’m not from this Earth. It sets my soul on fire. 

The strap hangs deliciously from her hips, harness snug and a dildo her skin tone just resting between us. My slick covers it, and now that I’m seeing it in the light of our bedroom, a blush finds its way to every surface of skin. 

The sheets are wet, and I can’t tell if it’s from me or the water that literally clung to us in the sex-drunk endeavor to get to the bed. 

“Shhh shhh. Just gimme one more. I know you got one more.” She coos. She holds the sticky base in her hands, tapping the tip of the strap against my swollen and overstimulated cunt. 

A rush of pleasure runs through my body, and she doesn’t stop. Tapping my clit, running it over my folds, slipping inside just an inch and then pulling out. Over and over again like the reaction she gets from me is better than anything else she’s ever experienced in her life.

“Tell me you can take it.”

I gasp. “I can take it, fuck, I can take it. Just— please, daddy.” I beg. My hand snakes behind her head, tugging her down to my level. Our foreheads touch, as if she’s talking to me telepathically. “Inside, baby.”

Paige captures my lips in a deep kiss as she slowly pushes into me. I can’t even gasp, I just groan. Heavy and thick with the pleasure she’s engraved into my brain for the last some hours. Even then, my cunt stretches again to accommodate Paige's cock. 

The blonde doesn’t wait. Doesn’t falter or waver. She works fast, snapping her hips into mine while I suck sloppily on her tongue. Paige breaks the kiss, her eyes locked onto mine as my body moves under her. My tits bounce in her face, hands attempting to figure out where to grip and scratch.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Paige groans, her voice filled with pleasure. "So fuckin’ tight and wet. Yo’ shit just creaming for me, Raye. Damn." She says it like it’s unbelievable, and honestly, it is. It’s unbelievable how almost four years in she still can fuck me like I’ve never been fucked before. How after spreading me open and licking me clean, she’s still drawing come out of my cunt. 

My back arches into her, eyes rolling into the depths of my head. “You—mmph—‘re deep as fuck, oh my God, Paige.” It comes as a near squeak. Paige keeps going.

“Mhmm. Deep in that shit. Deep in my pussy.” She fucks me like I’m a toy. Rutting her hips inside and out like she’d die if she stopped. 

My hand grips the sheets, the other scratching down her arm. Paige’s thrusts become even deeper and more forceful. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the room, a primal symphony of love and fucking desire. 

Her hands grip my hips, her fingers digging into my flesh as she slammed into me.

My body was on fire, heavily over stimulated from however many times she’s made me come and the pleasure only building with each thrust. I could feel the orgasm coiling in my stomach, ready to explode. "Daddy," I gasp, voice filled with desperation. My hand trails low, pressing against her abdomen. I don’t know if I’m pushing her away or trying to draw her closer. But I do know I don’t want her to stop. "Don’t stop, don’t stop! Fuck!”

“Baby move your hand.” Paige orders. I barely watch her bite her lip, something about the way my eyes roll stop me from seeing it all. My jaw falls slack, back arching even further.

“Gonna—”

“Raye, I’m not playin’. Move.” She says again, pushing my hand off to the side and getting back to her pace. Thrusting hard, so hard that the headboard bangs deliciously against the wall. “Gonna cum all on my shit, y’hear me? Cum with me, same time.”

I nod.

“Say it.”

“Yes! Yes, daddy I’ll cum on—awwww fuck!” I moan, legs trembling around her hips.

Paige leans down, her forehead pressing against mine again. "Cum for me, baby," she commanded, her voice harsh with desire. "Cum all over my cock."

With a cry, my body convulsed, my orgasm completely consuming me. Paige held on tightly, her thrusts becoming erratic herself as she chased her own release. With a final, deep thrust, Paige groaned, her body shuddering over mine as she came. 

We lay there for a moment, our bodies slick with sweat, breaths coming in ragged gasps. Paige slowly pulled out, a satisfied smile on her face as she looked at the mess between my thighs. The come dripping from my folds and coating the strap. She unstrapped the harness and tossed it aside, then almost animated, she collapsed soundly against my chest.

We fit perfectly, like a puzzle.

I run my fingers through her wet hair, scratching delicately at her scalp and Paige groans.

“Baby?”

“Yes, love?” I responded.

Paige sits up, resting her chin on my chest. I look into her blue eyes, watching them go from dark to light all over again. She looks at me with a kind of softness that makes my heart swell.

“We’ll get your dress designed.” She starts. “I want this wedding to be perfect, and it’s perfect as long as you’re happy.” She breathes, pressing a kiss to my sternum.

“But, Paige—”

“We’ll wait. However long it takes for me to give 110% to helping you out. You’ll have the dress of your dreams, the wedding of your dreams; big or small, I don’t care. I’ll do whatever. I—I just can’t watch you stress yourself like this. Okay?”

Her words settle in the air. And when she puts it like that, it’s impossible for me to say anything other than okay.

— 

April 2030 — La Jolla Cove, California

The taste of champagne and a bit of Don Julio still lingered in my mouth. Alongside the taste of cake, and of course, the strawberry flavored lip gloss of my wife.

I still haven’t wrapped my head around that title.

The wedding was perfect. The location felt like a dream, and I truly couldn’t have picked a better woman to marry, than Maraye. 

She wore this gown that clung to her like it had been stitched with by hand just for her body: the corseted bodice sculpted to her curves, every bead and crystal catching the light like tiny stars. The intricate pattern radiated from her waist like a burst of light, tapering down into that full, ethereal skirt. It shimmered—better yet, it glowed—with every step she took, moving like water and starlight all at once. 

Her hair had been straightened and pulled into an updo that still managed to perfectly frame her face. Her skin glistened against the pure white silk. 

I was left at a loss for words.

We took photos. The white of her dress sat beautifully against the pure black of my suit and the forest green of our wedding party. 

She read vows that made me boohoo cry at the altar and I slid a wedding ring on her finger then audibly made her gasp in front of all our guests.

But I loved it because it was her.

When we got to the reception though, all decorum was off the table. We’d changed into something more freeing— comfortable— and drank and danced and kissed like nobody was around but us. Kaylee gave a speech, so did my dad, and Cassie took the cake when she started an emotional spiel about how lucky she felt to have watched our journey from the beginning.

KK controlled the dance floor, Cameron and Sydel drank until their livers almost gave out, Destin sang, and the list really just went on. 

Now, the reception hall was nearly empty.

Our wedding planner, hired after I realized Raye was never going to stop stressing herself out, talks to the manager of the event center. Some conversation I can’t really care too much about when my wife is standing ten feet away in the most casual silk dress. 

The warm hum of the string lights still glowed above the dance floor, flickering like stars over a room filled with the sweet aftermath of celebration. Half-empty glasses lounge on tables, rose petals strewn here and there, and the lingering scent of jasmine, sweat, and laughter.

I leaned against one of the support beams, barefoot and flushed, my shirt slightly unbuttoned at the collar now, bouquet ribbon tied loosely around her wrist. My wedding band rests on my finger.

It was perfect for me, not too much but still not too little. Raye would rather die than give me a mediocre gift. It’s a thin band, diamonds sitting soundly against the metal— and the night we met, etched somewhere on the inside. 

I watched as Maraye stepped back onto the dance floor, her reception dress gathered slightly in her hands to keep from dragging. Her curls were wild, makeup smudged from hours of joy, but my eyes burned her into memory—steady, sultry.

I look back at our planner, noticing that we have at least five minutes to ourselves before needing to get going. 

I approach her slowly, feet padding softly until I reach her with an open palm. She looked up at me with wide eyes, like I was a myth, or something of the sort. “I wanna show you something.” I murmur.

She doesn’t say anything. She just slips her hand in mine, soft almond shaped nails just barely gazing at my palm. 

We walked hand in hand, and I let my mind travel to the first time she held mine. On the way to our first date, I remember how sweaty my hand had gotten, the nerves that had accumulated. And still, to this day, my hand gets just as sweaty and I get just as nervous.

We walk into a secluded room. Pictures of us with family and friends flashing by on tall screens. It’s dark except for the light that the pictures let off.

Maraye called this place “memory lane.” A place for everyone to stop and look at how far we’ve come. From fleeting glances and a scandalous relationship to a written-in-stone marriage.

A song plays softly, our song.

The soft strum of bass fills the room and Raye, the music connoisseur that she is, picks up on it immediately. 1+1. Beyoncé.

She turns to me slowly with a grin. “I was wondering why they didn’t play our song tonight.”

“It’s my little surprise.” I explain. I pull her in, settling her arms on my shoulders as I hold her hips. Not rough, just soft enough to keep her grounded with me. 

Our bodies pressed together, warm and close, and we began to sway—slow, intimate. The kind of dance that wasn’t about the steps or knowing what the hell we were doing, only the pull between us.

“I’ve been waiting all night for this part,” Maraye murmured against my ear. “No more eyes. No more interruptions.”

“No tías asking us to leave room for Jesus.” I add on and she laughs. Full and wholehearted. My eyes flutter shut as her hands slid over the expanse of my upper back—then back up, until they were toying with the flyaways at the back of my neck.

Raye sang softly with the lyrics, her mouth brushing my temple, her breath hot and close.

“I don’t know much about guns, but I… I’ve been shot by you.”

I trembled, just a little. Then, my face turned and met her lips in a slow, indulgent kiss—one that didn’t ask permission, one that said we made it. That said take me home and never let me go. It deepened, just enough, perfect for dancing in a reception hall with my wife.

“Looks like the whole world belongs to you with that kiss,” she teased.

I let my fingers trail over her jaw, whispering softly, “pretty sure it does.”

There was no rush. Just my fingertips tracing her collarbones, the weight of wedding rings brushing against bare skin, and the burn of want simmering under the sweetness of love.

“You’re driving me crazy singing in my ear like that.” I admit, voice dipping a little lower now, fingers slipping under the loose strap of Maraye’s dress. “Gotta give me a private concert when we get to Bali.”

She smirked, a full face smirk that looked too close to my one. But I guess that’s what happens when you spend all this time with someone. “I dunno if there’ll be enough time for that between…you know.”

Then she shifted closer, pressing our bodies tight, and began to sing again—“Make love to me… when the world’s at war… pull me in close…”—just for me. Her lips gaze my skin, each note sinking deeper than the last.

“I love you so much.” I say, words trailing off with the music.

“I love you too, Paige.” And I don’t let myself believe otherwise for a single second.