#for like weeks. and she cared about you and you cared about her but it didn't work and it was your fault. and you try to move on...

[onlypinkslut]

toji fushiguro x slutty pregnant!fem!reader 🍼 NSWF 18+ 🍼

✩ part one ✩ next>>

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cw: emotional neglect, pregnancy struggles, bodily fluids (piss accident), public humiliation, realistic depiction of pregnancy symptoms (swelling, leaking, back pain), visible body changes, body image issues, loneliness, mild degradation, toji gaze, nonverbal tension, soft obsession, breeding themes, toji being a feral man with a quiet fixation.

♥︎40k words

six months ago you didn’t know this was how you’d end up. you didn’t picture yourself waddling in a sundress with swollen ankles and a back that constantly ached. you didn’t imagine waking up in sweats at 3am, leaking through your flimsy bralettes, cheeks hot, thighs slick, stomach bloated and heavy with a baby you were growing alone. you thought he loved you when it happened. you thought he’d change.

but he didn’t.

he kept saying it was an accident.

you told him if he didn’t want to be a father, then he should’ve worn a condom. but that conversation replayed every night now, his words like needles. he barely touched you since. never kissed you goodnight anymore. didn’t care when you cried over your sore nipples, didn’t care when your back gave out in the kitchen and you needed help getting off the floor. you didn’t recognize your own body anymore. your hips had widened into a full slope, your thighs touched now when you walked, jiggled with every step, and your once-small belly button had popped forward like a button on a shirt too tight. even your arms had gotten softer, rounder, heavy from cradling your stomach. you looked in the mirror and didn’t see a woman anymore. you saw a thing that was made to be used, filled, bred.

and worst of all… you were horny.

feral.

pregnancy hormones had made you into something sick. you got wet over ads for formula. you rubbed your thighs together when you felt the baby kick. your nipples were always sore and swollen, so sensitive they ached if your bra rubbed wrong. and your boyfriend didn’t even want to look at you.

toji fushiguro hadn’t touched his fiancée in over seven months and it wasn’t because he didn’t want to. it was because she didn’t let him.

the first year of their engagement had been fine. empty, curated, expensive, but fine. hana liked luxury and he didn’t mind buying it. handbags, skincare fridges, matching sets from paris that sat untouched in velvet-lined drawers. she was polite and pristine, a pilates instructor with perfect posture and cold hands. but she had rules.

she slept with her face mask on. she cried over gaining three pounds. she timed her orgasms like they were workouts, breath sharp, core tight, never letting go too much, never messy, never sloppy.

he should’ve seen it coming.

she froze her eggs the same week she bought her new veneers.

when he told her he wanted a baby—really wanted one, not in some theoretical future, not as a borrowed cousin at brunch—she looked at him like he said he wanted to raise a wolf.

she said it would ruin her body.

she said he didn’t understand the trauma of childbirth.

she said adoption exists and we can hire a surrogate and you’re being selfish.

and he tried. fuck, he tried. he nodded through her presentations, even met the poor art student she suggested should carry their child. she looked about seventeen and couldn’t even look him in the eye.

and still, hana asked if he was happy.

he was not.

he was not fucking happy.

he was thirty-eight. his back hurt every time he tied his boots. he was tired of drinking protein sludge and being around women who smelled like almond milk and botox. he wanted to smell skin. milk. birth.

he wanted something real.

and lately, he’d been having the same dream.

someone warm in his lap. soft. heavy. crying. breasts leaking down his arms, stomach big and tight against his chest, thighs sticking to his legs. he’d wake up rock hard, humping the sheets like a dog, teeth clenched.

he never told hana.

instead, he started driving at night.

aimless loops through old streets. past playgrounds, daycares, corner markets that sold diapers and baby wipes and off-brand pacifiers in pastel plastic. he’d park and sit there sometimes, engine running, his hand fisted in his lap, thinking about what it would smell like to press his nose to a breast that had fed a baby.

he couldn’t explain it.

he didn’t want sex. he wanted breeding.

and every time hana spoke now, he felt something crawl up his spine.

she booked a couple’s massage for them that morning. he skipped it.

she texted him a blurry selfie from the spa, legs crossed, glass of lemon water in hand. you’re missing out, she wrote.

he didn’t reply.

he was already in his car.

you had to sit on the edge of the bed just to put your shoes on.

your thighs kept swallowing your panties. your ass had gotten so fat you could barely pull your old underwear over it, and you’d long given up wearing anything with a waistband. your stomach sat like a heavy globe on your lap, skin tight and itchy and patterned now with angry pink lines. your nipples darkened so much they looked bruised and your bras were stained from constant leaks.

you used to cry about it.

used to beg him to tell you you still looked pretty. but he barely touched you anymore. said he was tired. said he didn’t feel attracted to you when you were like this.

you’d scream and ask what like this meant.

he’d say he didn’t mean it like that.

you stopped asking after that.

you weren’t even supposed to be pregnant. he said he was gonna pull out. he said it was an accident. and when you peed on that stick and came out crying, he just stood there. said you should think about options.

but you couldn’t.

you’d felt something the second that second line appeared.

you felt it now too. every kick. every roll. you knew you were doing this alone but you still felt… alive.

horny. god, it was sick. but you were always wet. always aching. even now as you waddled beside your friend in a too-tight sundress, your thighs chafing, your back sweaty, your breasts heavy and bouncing slightly with every step. your belly was pushing the fabric so far forward the dress looked see-through from how taut it was stretched.

you’d only come out to buy pacifiers.

but now you were sweating through your dress and hungry and needed to pee.

you were mid-sentence when it happened.

a loud horn. a screech.

your friend screamed and yanked your arm so hard you almost toppled.

you screamed too, not even thinking, not even breathing—just instinct, arms wrapping your belly, feet locking in place, every nerve in your body snapping shut like a cage.

the car missed you by a hair.

but the fear made you lose control.

a gush of hot piss rushed down your thighs, soaking your dress. you felt it drip into your shoes.

your face burned.

your heart thudded in your ears and your breath caught in your throat as the truck skidded to a stop, tires shrieking.

and then the door opened.

you barely heard your friend swearing beside you, too dazed to focus on anything but the figure that stepped out.

he was huge.

broad in the way that filled doorways. thick thighs wrapped in black canvas, boots heavy enough to crush bones, shoulders stretching a plain t-shirt that looked dark grey but might’ve once been black. sweat clung to the sides of his throat, his sleeves rolled tight over veiny forearms, one thick vein bulging from his neck like a rope as he walked forward.

he had a scar across his lip.

his eyes were green.

they hit you like a truck harder than the one he almost drove into you.

his gaze dropped immediately.

to your soaked thighs.

to the wet fabric clinging to the curve of your ass, the underside of your belly, the hard outline of your nipples through your dress.

he didn’t blink.

and then, for a split second, he breathed in.

like he could smell you.

you felt your knees buckle.

your lips parted.

and in that moment, neither of you said a word.

you couldn’t move.

your soaked shoes squelched when you shifted and the piss had already cooled between your thighs, clinging to the inside of your knees, dripping down to your ankles. your fingers were locked around the underside of your belly, cradling the heavy weight like it was the only thing anchoring you to the earth. you were trembling. cheeks flushed. eyes wide and wet.

he stopped right in front of you.

and stared.

your stomach, tight and round and stretching the fabric until it went sheer under the light. your breasts, so full and heavy the seams of your sundress were straining, nipples clearly outlined and puckered. the patch of soaked cotton between your thighs, dark and humiliated.

aecha’s voice cut through the air before you could even catch your breath.

are you crazy?!

her words snapped the silence like a whip.

you were still frozen, heart pounding in your throat, thighs sticky, feet soaked. the heat of your piss had already turned cold, clinging to your skin and dripping down to your ankles, your sandals squelching softly beneath you. you clutched the underside of your belly tighter, like it might slip out of you if you let go.

she spun on him, voice sharper now.

you didn’t even stop at the red light. are you fucking insane?! you almost hit her!

toji’s eyes didn’t leave your body.

he didn’t flinch.

his head turned slightly, just enough to acknowledge her—but his gaze kept dragging back to you, slow and tense like his jaw.

his tongue moved behind his cheek before he exhaled low, steady.

i didn’t see them.

his voice was flat. deep. rough like it hadn’t been used in hours.

you were still gasping, lips parted, your belly rising and falling beneath your dress as you tried to breathe through the shock. you could feel the fabric clinging to the curve of your ass, your thighs, your inner legs slick with piss and sweat. your friend hadn’t noticed yet. she was too busy stepping in front of you, protective, furious.

she’s pregnant, she snapped. look at her! she pissed herself, you asshole! you think this is okay?

toji didn’t move.

he looked down. at your legs. your shoes. the dark patch spread between your thighs. his eyes didn’t jerk away like most men. they stayed there. his lashes heavy, mouth tense.

i didn’t mean to scare her, he said, slower now, quieter.

his shoulders rolled as he breathed again, but the breath was tight. controlled.

you barely heard them. your ears were ringing. all you could do was stand there, trembling, hands gripping your belly like a shield, heart still stuck in your throat. you weren’t crying. not yet. but your eyes had gone blurry, hot, wet.

you blinked once and your vision caught him.

he was massive.

his chest stretched the fabric of his shirt. veins curled over the bend of his arms like rope. a scar dragged the corner of his lip. his hair was damp at the temples like he’d been sweating behind the wheel.

his mouth moved like he was about to speak, but then you shifted your weight and your belly moved again—soft and slow—and his mouth stopped moving.

his jaw locked.

his gaze traced the underside of your belly like he was memorizing it.

sir, what the fuck, her voice hit again, too close this time.

her hand was on your elbow now, tugging you back instinctively. you took a step, one sandal slipping slightly, the sound wet.

she kept yelling, waving an arm toward the truck, toward the red light, but his attention didn’t drift again.

it was glued to you.

and when he spoke, his voice was more clipped now.

i’ll drive you to a hospital.

your friend let out a sharp breath.

oh, so now you’re gonna be helpful? you try to kill us and now you’re suddenly a gentleman? get the fuck out of here. you’re lucky she’s okay.

he exhaled through his nose, slower this time.

he looked like he was about to argue but then you moved again.

your thighs rubbed. your belly shifted. your chest rose—and the outline of your nipples was visible now, two swollen circles pressing through the cotton. your dress clung to the wetness between your legs. your lips were parted. your eyes glossy.

his face twitched.

your voice broke the moment. small, quiet, soft like you’d forgotten how to speak.

s’kay… sir…

it was barely more than a breath.

you hadn’t even meant to say it.

you just wanted the heat to end. the embarrassment. the tension. you weren’t thinking.

but the second it left your mouth, he changed.

his stomach pulled tight under his shirt. his shoulders rose just slightly—his whole body flexed, once, like he was biting something back. he swallowed hard and you watched his throat twitch.

he didn’t say anything.

he just stared.

and in that second, you could feel it.

the shift in the air. the burn behind his eyes. the way he was looking at you—not like a man who made a mistake. not like someone worried.

like someone starving.

you lowered your eyes, breath shallow, and let your arms hug your belly again.

he stepped forward once.

and your friend moved to block him again, furious.

you’re not going near her. we’re calling someone. you’re a fucking pervert.

he didn’t answer.

his eyes dropped one last time to your thighs, your roundness, the soaked patch darkening your dress.

he clenched his jaw.

you were still trembling when you heard her again.

your friend’s voice—loud, breathy, full of panic and disgust—like she was trying to speak enough outrage for the both of you.

you could barely process the words. your pulse was ringing in your ears, blood hot and wet behind your knees, and your thighs were still slick with piss, sticky and clinging under the weight of your sundress. the fabric sucked to your skin now, outlining the full curve of your belly, your swollen breasts, the soft part of your ass that had doubled in size since month four.

he was still standing there. staring.

his body hadn’t moved. broad frame parked right in front of you like a barricade. thick arms loose at his sides, fists flexed once—like his hands were caught between apology and something darker.

she was still yelling, something about suing, about the red light, about how you could’ve fallen. how you could’ve lost the baby.

but the words didn’t feel real.

only the ache in your bladder. the hum in your belly. the burn in your throat.

you blinked. the back of your hand brushed your stomach again, slow and automatic, like your body was trying to shush itself. like maybe if you rubbed enough, the heat would stop climbing.

you looked up at him.

it took effort to speak, voice thin and scratchy from the shock.

he didn’t mean to.

your friend stopped.

turned to you like you’d just betrayed her.

what?

you could barely meet her eyes.

it’s okay. really. just—just calm down.

he didn’t even touch me, you wanted to say. he didn’t hurt me. you couldn’t explain the tremble in your knees, the way your fingers curled tighter under your stomach like you were shielding something sacred.

toji’s voice came low behind you.

not sharp. not defensive. just heavy. irritated.

you need to stop yelling.

he wasn’t looking at your friend.

he was looking at you.

she’s already scared.

the air went quiet for a beat.

your friend scoffed, eyes darting between the two of you like she couldn’t believe what was happening. like she was about to explode.

and still, he didn’t move.

he was so much bigger up close.

you hadn’t realized how much until now.

he was standing in front of you fully, body blocking the sun, taller by at least a foot. his chest rose slow and thick under a worn black tee, his belt sitting snug across a hard waist and broad hips, cargo pants hugging his thighs. the outline of his biceps twitched slightly under rolled sleeves. his neck, veined and flexing with each slow breath, looked like it could snap jaws.

he looked down at you like he was studying something raw.

a creature he’d never seen before.

he glanced once more at your belly—still shifting softly with the baby’s movement—then back to your face.

you barely reached his chest.

you rubbed your bump again, slower this time. you weren’t thinking. your fingers just needed to move.

the silence was thick now. uncomfortable.

and he broke it.

let me take you to a hospital.

his voice was lower now. slower. his throat worked through a swallow as he added—

or at least let me buy you new shoes. new clothes.

his eyes dropped to the puddle near your feet.

your soaked sandals. the piss glistening across the tops of your feet, tracing your ankles, your calves.

you didn’t answer right away. your fingers were still rubbing slow circles at the top of your belly, like a woman hypnotized. your lips felt dry, but your eyes were soft now, too soft, blinking slow like you were calming down—because he was calm.

he was so calm.

and your friend was standing beside you, breathing hard, arms crossed, trying to regain control.

we don’t need your help.

toji didn’t even look at her.

he took one half-step closer. not enough to threaten. just enough that you could smell him.

you tipped your head back to look up at him, lashes fluttering as the shadow of his body covered yours again, heat crawling up your neck like shame.

but he didn’t mock you.

he didn’t pity you.

he just looked at you like he saw everything.

your fattened thighs, your stretched stomach, the leak-stained crotch of your dress, the quiet way you trembled under pressure and still tried to be good.

you didn’t know why your lips moved again.

but they did.

soft. breathy.

okay…

your friend made a noise behind you, somewhere between disbelief and rage.

you didn’t hear her.

you were still staring up at him.

and he—

he hadn’t blinked once.

aecha’s voice came sharp behind you.

tighter this time. pissed. frantic.

no.

you flinched.

no, you don’t know him. you don’t even know him. just because he’s got some fancy car and a belt that costs more than your rent doesn’t mean you can trust him.

her hand wrapped around your wrist without asking, tugging once. hard. like she thought if she pulled fast enough, you’d snap out of whatever spell you were under.

but it wasn’t a spell.

you screamed.

not loud. not theatrical. just a soft, strained, pregnant scream—high and aching, more like a cry than a yell. your sandals squeaked, your balance slipped, and your free hand flew to your belly protectively as your whole body buckled forward.

aecha.

you whined it. breathless.

what’s wrong with you?

tears blinked down your cheeks without warning. hot, fast, shameful. your voice cracked around the edges, too hormonal, too broken, your other hand still pressed over the top of your belly like you were cradling the baby through the shock.

aecha didn’t back off.

she was fuming.

no. i’m not letting you go anywhere with him. i don’t care how he talks or how fucking pretty you think he is. he’s a stranger, and you’re pissing yourself in the street, and you’re six months pregnant—your boyfriend is going to flip out.

you snapped your wrist from her grip before you realized you were moving.

don’t.

you yanked your arm away with a force you didn’t know you had, your breath ragged now, lips trembling.

dae wouldn’t even care.

you didn’t mean to say it. it came out like a gasp.

if dae was here, he’d be embarrassed. he wouldn’t be helping. he’d look at me like i’m disgusting.

you paused, one hand still pressed against your belly, dress soaked and clinging to your thighs.

he wouldn’t have stopped the car.

aecha’s face twisted. something between betrayal and helpless rage.

then fucking go, she hissed. her arms went up, face burning red.

go with your pervert. good luck.

she glanced once over your shoulder at him, then back to you, eyes narrowing.

good luck, slut.

and then she turned.

she didn’t say goodbye.

you stared after her, stunned, lips parted, heart thudding in your throat.

and that’s when you felt it.

warmth behind you. a shadow moving closer. no touch. no breath. just presence. heavy and thick and masculine and impossible to ignore.

you didn’t have to look to know it was him.

he was behind you now.

and towering.

his voice came low. not soft. not mean. just flat with quiet judgment.

looks like you got some issues to work through with your people.

a pause.

let’s go, pretty girl.

you blinked slow.

you turned your head, just enough to glimpse him over your shoulder.

you could smell him.

spiced cologne. versace eros. musk and heat and the faint burn of a cigar smoked hours ago. not fresh. just clinging to him like memory. like sin.

you didn’t say anything.

you just started walking.

your steps were slow. sticky. the wet fabric between your thighs chafing. your breath still uneven. your face hot with shame.

he didn’t guide you. didn’t rush.

he walked ahead, a step or two in front of you, broad shoulders stretching his shirt. his back was wide. tapering into that solid waist, thick belt, heavy boots. he opened the passenger door of his black range rover and held it without a word.

you stood there.

staring at the interior. the leather seats. the glossy touchscreen. the quiet hum of luxury. the cleanliness.

your eyes flicked down.

you were soaked.

your legs were dripping again, slowly, and the hem of your dress was stained from where the piss had clung and dried along your thighs.

your voice was so small when it came out you almost didn’t hear it.

do you have… a towel or something i can sit on?

he turned his head toward you.

his brows rose. barely.

and then a quiet snort. not amused. not cruel. just slightly exasperated.

he tilted his head, leaned an elbow on the door, and looked down at you fully now. his pecs flexed under the cotton of his shirt as he breathed, arms heavy and veined, his expression unreadable except for the bare twitch in his jaw.

it’s just piss.

you flinched.

he blinked slow. looked at the seat. looked back at you.

a lil mess.

his eyes dropped once—belly, tits, thighs.

ya think i care?

his voice dropped lower.

i’ll get it cleaned. that’s what car washers are for.

he leaned in just a little.

what you should care about is that you didn’t get your belly crushed by a fuckin truck.

you blinked again, glassy-eyed.

now sit.

you nodded.

slow. obedient.

and you did.

the leather stuck to the backs of your thighs the second you sat.

it was warm. not from the sun, but from the seat itself, like his truck had been running long enough to trap body heat inside, to soak it into the cushions. the piss that had dried into your panties dampened again from the pressure, and you could feel it pressing up, warm and slick between your thighs as your weight sank in. the stretch of your hips forced your knees to spread slightly, and your belly rose high between them, taut and round and full, pushing against the lower curve of your breasts. the seatbelt was too tight. the air smelled like pine and men’s cologne and the lingering ghost of a cigar—smoke and sweetness, burnt sugar and old breath. your breath stuttered. your fingers hovered over the seatbelt, unsure where to start. your hands were trembling. your panties were sticking to your folds. your thighs still burned. and he was standing there. outside. his shadow cutting across your lap through the windshield, frame so wide he filled the driver’s side window before even opening the door. you looked down at yourself and felt so exposed, even in the air-conditioned silence of his car. your nipples were hard again. your stomach shifted. your lower back was starting to ache but you didn’t say anything. you just sat there with your knees sticky and apart and your fingers curled in your lap like a child, body sore, face hot, mouth dry, and the part that scared you most was how safe you felt. how wet you were. how good it felt to be looked at. not with pity. not with disgust. not like dae did. but like you were something to keep. your breath hitched as he finally opened his door and slid in—his presence loud even in silence, engine purring as he shut the door and filled the cabin with nothing but heat and him. toji.

and you couldn’t look at him yet. not yet. not without gasping.

he drove with the kind of ease that only came from a man who was used to being in control. one hand on the wheel, broad palm curved over the leather grip, the other resting low on his thigh, thumb tapping the denim like a rhythm he didn’t notice. he slouched into the seat but still took up all the space—spread knees, wide back, the muscle in his forearm flexing every time the car turned. the cabin was cool but heavy with heat, the kind that lingered after bodies had been inside too long. the faint hum of the engine, the low thud of tires rolling over patched concrete, the quiet pulse of the air vents—it all blurred together as the city smeared past the windows.

you hadn’t said much since getting in.

you were still adjusting to the way the leather clung to your thighs. your stomach sat heavy in your lap, tight and round, straining the fabric of your dress, rising and falling with each uneven breath. the belt stretched uncomfortably across the slope of your belly, biting a little into your side, and your feet had already begun to swell again. you stared out the passenger window, arms curled loosely around yourself, hands smoothing down the same spot over and over—just below your navel, like you were trying to convince the baby inside that everything was fine. that you weren’t trembling. that you hadn’t just been humiliated in the street.

his voice broke through the hum.

how far along?

you didn’t look at him. just blinked slowly, lips parted from the weight of everything.

six months.

he hummed low. not a word. just that sound men made when they were thinking but didn’t want to give too much away.

you like it?

you breathed out through your nose. not a laugh. not an answer. just something tired.

it’s hard.

you could feel his eyes on you even if he didn’t turn his head. just that quiet, crawling weight of being watched. it didn’t feel judgmental. just present. too present.

in his head, he compared you to hana.

hana, who used to stand in front of the mirror pinching her skin between her fingers like it was a threat. hana, who rationed her food in ounces. hana, who said things like my body is my business and i don’t owe anyone a baby and then cried when her period made her bloat. he hadn’t seen her naked in months. hadn’t wanted to. she was delicate, yes. beautiful in the way you admire from far away. but she didn’t feel real. not like this.

you—soft, flushed, visibly struggling to stay upright in the passenger seat, leaking into your soaked panties, cheeks blotched, thighs swollen, belly round and shifting beneath your own hand—you looked like a woman who had been taken. like you’d been filled up and left to carry it, like your body had bloomed in real time from pain and pressure and feral need. you looked like you needed someone to hold you up and drag you through the fire, not give you protein shake recipes.

he shifted in his seat, thumb tapping harder.

the screen lit up.

hana.

incoming call.

you saw it. you didn’t need to stare. the photo—her white teeth, perfect tan, frozen in that fake-candid look. the call pulsing on the glossy black screen, vibrating softly beneath it.

he ignored it.

you said nothing.

it came back. again. same call. same name.

his jaw ticked once. he silenced it with a flick of his finger, then pressed into the touchscreen and disconnected bluetooth completely.

you heard him clear his throat. like it meant nothing.

got any cravings? want me to get you some sushis.

your eyes drifted toward him, half-lidded. your lips curved, lazy. slow.

he was trying.

you’re really gonna offer sushi to a pregnant woman?

you turned your head to the side and looked at him, properly, for the first time.

he didn’t smile, but his lip twitched. the scar across it stretched. he looked back at the road.

look, i don’t know the rules.

his voice was rougher now. the kind of hoarse that came from clenching too long, holding something in.

you rested your cheek against the window for a moment, eyes fluttering shut as you rubbed your belly again.

mmm. just get me something greasy.

he glanced sideways. the kind of glance that scanned too much in too little time. his eyes dipped over your knees, your thighs, the curve of your ass flattened against the seat, the soft roll of your hip pushing against the seatbelt.

anything in particular?

you shrugged.

fast food. something shitty.

he laughed—barely—but it cracked his chest open. a low, grating sound, deep from his stomach. he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and muttered something like okay under his breath, his eyes lingering longer this time. not on your belly.

on your mouth. your thighs. the way you shifted when you said shitty like you wanted to be seen.

you sat there. leaking. swollen. unbothered.

he turned the wheel one-handed again.

and took the next exit.

he didn’t talk too much at first.

his voice had that weight to it—masculine in the quiet way, the kind of voice that stayed low, gravelly, a little dry at the edges like it only got used when necessary. deep but not showy. like he could make your whole name sound filthy just by saying it once in that slow, half-bored tone.

but now that the silence had cracked, he let the words come easier.

you didn’t even know how the conversation started. he said something about how hot it was lately, how the city smelled like pavement and sweat, and how your man should’ve been the one out there with you, carrying your bags, watching the road.

you hummed. didn’t say much. just rubbed your belly and pretended you weren’t throbbing between the legs.

his voice kept going.

sometimes steady, sometimes quiet, always low. god, so low. like his whole chest vibrated with it. and you tried not to react. you crossed your legs and then uncrossed them. you shifted in your seat and every time the tires hit a bump in the road, your swollen breasts bounced under your dress, nipples raw and aching. you knew. you knew he noticed. his hand never left the wheel but his jaw kept flexing tighter.

your thighs rubbed with every movement, sticky with sweat, the soaked fabric of your dress wedging between them like it belonged there. your sundress had ridden up almost to your hip by now and you hadn’t even realized until his eyes dropped for a second too long at a red light and he caught the crease where your thigh met the swell of your ass.

he didn’t say anything.

but he knew you saw him look.

you twirled your hair around your fingers and turned toward the window again, pretending not to care. pretending you weren’t horny out of your mind. pretending your pussy wasn’t hot and wet and swollen, pressed into your ruined panties, clenching every time he spoke low beside you.

he sounded like he could fuck with his voice alone.

the kind of voice that didn’t rush. didn’t ask permission. the kind that told you what to do and made you want to do it, even while your pride made you cross your arms tighter under your sore tits and act like you were listening to the radio instead.

he said something about how nobody gave a fuck anymore. how men these days were soft. too scared to deal with blood or stretch marks or leaking or mess.

you glanced at him out the corner of your eye.

and you couldn’t help it.

you smiled.

a tiny little smirk tugged the corner of your mouth and you let it sit there, quiet, like a secret.

he caught it.

he didn’t say anything at first. just glanced back.

what?

his voice curved a little. not quite teasing. but it had a different texture now. a subtle pull. a hook.

nothing, you said, twisting your hair again.

he didn’t push.

you wished he would.

you were chewing the inside of your cheek now, pressing your thighs together, trying to sit still but you couldn’t. everything ached. your back. your feet. your pussy. you wanted him to say something disgusting. you wanted him to stop acting normal. to reach over and drag your leg over his thigh and press your hand to the bulge you knew had to be there.

but he didn’t.

he just drove like he wasn’t about to lose it.

like he hadn’t been staring at your soaked thighs ten minutes ago like he was starving.

he adjusted the mirror. rubbed the back of his neck again with that big, veiny hand. cleared his throat like it might calm something in him.

you liked the way he drove.

one hand on the wheel. broad fingers tapping sometimes. arm flexed enough to make the veins shift up his skin, thick forearm stretched out under the sun. he leaned back a little more now, like he was getting comfortable.

you peeked at his lap.

quick.

low.

his zipper was bulging slightly. not obscene. just present. enough to make your mouth dry.

he asked if you were always from the city. what you did before. what you were planning to name the baby. he didn’t sound like he cared for small talk—he sounded like he wanted to know. like he’d memorize every word. like he’d store it somewhere.

you gave short answers. didn’t want to talk too much or seem desperate. you weren’t the kind of girl who poured her heart into the first man with a car and muscles and a voice that made her spine buzz.

but you were squeezing your thighs together again.

and he noticed.

you knew he did.

he didn’t speak for a while after that. just breathed.

the window was cracked and his cologne was still thick in the air—versace eros and something else. tobacco. his skin. sweat. something dark.

you hated how much you liked it.

he asked if you needed to stop. if you were hungry again. if there was anything he could get you.

and you couldn’t stop your lips curling again.

you didn’t even look at him when you said it.

i already told you.

his eyes flicked toward you.

fast food. nothing cute.

he huffed a breath out his nose.

half laugh. half groan.

you eat like a guy.

you smiled wider.

you drive like a guy.

he laughed at that. really laughed. voice deeper when it cracked open like that, his grin pulling crooked over his scar.

you like it?

you turned toward the window again.

smiled.

maybe.

and god—he wanted to pull over.

he wanted to stop the car right there and make you say it again but slower. messier. with your lips wrapped around the word.

his hand flexed tighter on the wheel.

and you?

you just kept rubbing your belly.

playing innocent.

and bouncing softly with every bump in the road.

the dress was too small.

he’d handed it to you outside the fitting room like it was just a quick fix. said nothing special, just something soft for now. it wasn’t fancy—just a blush-colored thing, simple cotton, ribbed texture with a soft hem and v-neck that dipped too low—but you didn’t expect it to cling like it did.

it pulled tight under your chest the second you slid it down. the fabric caught the curve of your breasts and pressed there, lifting them up without a bra, the cotton molding around the swollen weight of them like a second skin. you could see the dark outline of your nipples through it immediately. the hem refused to go past your thighs. it stopped high—mid-thigh in the front, rising even more in the back where your ass had filled out from the pregnancy. the side seams looked stretched already. you couldn’t even bend over in it without flashing everything.

but it was soft. and it was his.

and when you stepped out, biting your lip, shifting your weight, mumbling something about how fat you felt—he didn’t laugh. didn’t tease.

he just looked at you.

and nodded once.

perfect.

you didn’t realize how high the heat would climb until after lunch. it was already late—sun starting to slope orange against the sky—and the fast food had settled heavy in your stomach, mixing with the bloat of hormones and heat. you felt stuffed. full. thighs rubbed when you walked. your black panties were too tight now, sticking to the lips of your pussy under the cotton, digging into the crease of your hip. every step you took, you felt them ride higher. cling deeper.

and you liked it.

he helped you back into the car again, hand resting on your hip as you climbed in slow, your belly swaying, the thin dress catching against your ass. he adjusted the door for you, hand brushing lower than it needed to go, steadying you—and the pressure of his palm against your waist made your thighs clench before you could stop it.

you bit your lip.

looked up at him.

he didn’t say anything.

but he was smirking.

and you didn’t even hide your smile when you leaned back in the seat and let the dress ride up higher.

you lounged sideways in the passenger seat now, belly rising in the middle, thighs spread slightly, one hand idly smoothing the front of the dress while the other twisted into your hair. your cleavage was soft and obvious, breasts heavy and pushed up by the tight cut of the neckline, stretch marks faintly visible along the upper curve. you let your legs fall open just enough that the edge of your panties peeked out. black. soaked. tight around your hips.

he didn’t say anything.

but he wasn’t pretending not to look.

the screen buzzed once—another call from hana—and he shut it off with a flick of his thumb. didn’t even flinch.

thank you, you murmured, not meeting his eyes.

for the dress. for the food.

your voice was warm. syrupy. that kind of sweet that made men think they weren’t being manipulated.

and sorry, you added. about my friend. she’s always been like that.

he raised an eyebrow, glancing over at you as he pulled onto the highway.

like what?

bitter.

you smiled, softer this time.

we’ve known each other since high school. she’s… competitive. when we were younger, if i got attention from guys, she’d make this face. like she was offended by it.

his jaw worked as he merged lanes.

so she’s always had that energy.

you nodded.

mhm. the you-think-you’re-special energy. the i’d-look-better-in-that energy. she never liked when men paid attention to someone else.

he nodded slowly.

yeah.

his voice was darker now. not angry. just quiet.

i get it.

you watched him for a second. the way his neck flexed, one hand still loose on the wheel. his chest rising under the soft stretch of his tee. the bulk of him completely taking over the driver’s seat like the car was made around him.

he didn’t ask anything for a while.

then—

your boyfriend.

he said it flat.

he lucky to have someone like you?

your smile curled slowly.

you didn’t answer right away.

just twisted your hair tighter around your finger and dropped your eyes to your lap.

soft giggle.

i think he’s still figuring that out.

toji exhaled through his nose. one of those deep, quiet sounds men make when they want to say a hundred things and swallow them all.

he looked at your thighs again.

your stomach.

the line of your black panties between your legs.

he didn’t hide it this time.

you saw him look.

you didn’t stop him.

you smiled again.

he’s not exactly hype about the whole baby thing, you said lightly, adjusting your tits with one arm as you spoke, pretending it was casual.

he wanted me to end it.

toji didn’t respond.

he was gripping the wheel tighter now. his knuckles pale.

and you?

you shifted again. thighs spread wider. dress riding up.

i wanted it.

he didn’t look away.

you smiled again—slow, slutty, aching from the inside out.

you asked, and he answered.

my girlfriend hana doesn’t want kids too, he said, voice rough now.

you tilted your head.

but you do.

he didn’t answer.

he didn’t need to.

you could feel it.

and the silence sat between you now—thick, hot, alive.

your panties were soaked.

and he hadn’t even touched you yet.

the air had gotten quieter.

not awkward, not stiff—but that kind of silence that starts to gather when two people are sitting too close and pretending they’re not thinking the same thing.

you were still lounging in the seat, belly rising with every breath, thighs parted from the weight of it all, the pink dress riding high enough now to tease the crease between your leg and hip. your panties had long soaked through. you could feel it each time you shifted, the cotton sticking and pulling between your lips. it was obscene, how hot and wet you were just from talking to him.

and he was still pretending to drive like it was nothing.

you didn’t know what made you do it.

maybe it was the way he stared at the road like it had done something to him. maybe it was the clench of his jaw when you mentioned your boyfriend not being excited. maybe it was the vein that curled over his hand as he gripped the steering wheel, that thick forearm flexing with every slight movement.

but when you looked at him again—really looked—something caught in your chest.

you gasped. soft. barely audible. more breath than voice.

he noticed.

you didn’t hide it this time.

he turned his head slightly, still driving, and you saw it—the frustration sitting in his jaw, the way his mouth tightened around it like he was chewing something bitter.

you okay?

you nodded, but your eyes were still on him. still wide.

he sighed.

it’s nothing.

he glanced over at you again.

i just think your man’s an idiot. that’s all.

you blinked slowly.

your hand rubbed over your stomach again, gently, without thinking.

i don’t get it either.

his mouth twitched. like he didn’t want to say what came next but couldn’t stop it.

you show up like this. all soft. glowing. you chose this. carried it. wear it like it’s yours. your back’s hurting and you’re still smiling like it’s worth it.

he ran a hand through his hair, rough, frustrated.

and some guy has that—you—willingly, and he’s too fuckin blind to know what he’s got.

you shifted again. slowly. your thighs spread further, the hem of the dress crawling higher.

you looked out the window to steady yourself.

he kept going.

hana froze her eggs last year. told me she wanted to preserve her options. said pregnancy’s a trauma to the body.

he scoffed once. dry.

called it that word—trauma. like it’s a disease.

your brows knit as you turned back to him.

she can, though. right? she’s able to?

he nodded once.

yeah.

then she’s stupid.

your voice was firm. no giggle. no sugar.

there’s so many women who can’t. who’d kill to carry once. and she can? and won’t?

he didn’t answer right away.

he looked straight ahead, chest rising.

i always wanted it, you know.

you were quiet now.

wanted a team. kids everywhere. house noisy. gym gear all over the floor. sons i could raise hard. teach them not to take shit.

he paused.

and girls i’d spoil so much they’d never need some prick to tell them they’re pretty.

you bit your lip.

your voice came quieter now.

you’d be a good one.

he looked at you.

not with pity.

not like you were some single mom in need of saving.

he looked at you like you were his already.

and you touched him.

you didn’t think. you just let your fingers reach across the console, brushing against the warm skin of his arm, right below the sleeve.

it was harder than you expected.

dense. hot. tight with muscle.

your fingers looked small against it—soft and slow as they moved over the grain of his forearm, up toward the curve of his bicep.

he didn’t move.

but his knuckles whitened on the wheel.

you’re not wrong, he said finally.

his voice was lower now. hoarse like it was dragged up through his chest.

i don’t care about weight. i don’t care if she’s sore or messy or loud or cries for no reason. i’d still take care of her. i’d train harder. go to the gym more. lift more. carry her if i had to.

he paused.

but she won’t listen.

you nodded slowly, your hand still resting against his arm, heat from his skin seeping into your palm.

some women don’t know how lucky they are.

he looked at you again.

you think i’m lucky?

you met his gaze, cheeks flushed, breath warm.

you don’t need to ask.

he didn’t smile.

not really.

but his hand shifted.

and yours stayed where it was.

you kept it there, resting gently against the rough swell of his forearm like it had a right to be there, like it belonged. your fingers were soft, too soft—he could feel the difference instantly, how much smaller they were, how different they felt from what he was used to. you weren’t doing anything special. you weren’t stroking or gripping. you were just there. pressing against him like it was natural. like you didn’t need to ask.

you watched the road, but you weren’t looking at it. your eyes were glassy, unfocused, fixed on nothing. you were too aware of the heat rising up your thighs again, of the wetness clinging under your panties, of how tight your dress felt now that you’d eaten. your belly was heavier. the pressure made you spread your legs more, the hem riding up again, black panties peeking in the corner of his eye as he turned the wheel.

you glanced at him.

his jaw was still clenched.

he looked straight ahead, his mouth drawn tight, hand gripping the wheel like it owed him something. but he didn’t tell you to move. didn’t shrug you off. didn’t say a word about the way your palm was still pressed to his skin, how your nails had grazed a vein a minute ago and made it twitch under your touch.

you swallowed softly.

he finally spoke again, voice rougher than before, like gravel pressed into asphalt.

i tried to talk to her about it once.

his throat moved as he swallowed, fingers tapping once against the leather of the wheel.

told her it wasn’t about control or forcing her to be something she’s not. it was about what i wanted.

you listened.

not with pity. not to flatter him.

but because he sounded tired.

not the kind of tired that sleep fixes.

just a man who’d spent too long wanting the wrong thing from someone who couldn’t give it.

she said i was trying to change her.

he laughed, but it wasn’t a good one. it was hollow, low in his chest.

i said i’d love her no matter what. even if she gained weight. even if she got pregnant by accident and hated it at first. even if she screamed through every month.

he paused, jaw tightening again.

told her i’d be there. i’d train harder. protect her. spoil her if she needed it.

he turned to look at you for just a second.

but she won’t listen.

you nodded slowly, biting your lip.

your hand squeezed his arm—just once, soft, reassuring—but you didn’t pull away.

some women just… don’t get it.

your voice was quiet now.

they want to be wanted, but not needed. they want attention but not weight.

you felt the tears sting at your throat suddenly. not the dramatic kind. just that little ache when someone says something that hits too close.

and you said, almost in a whisper—

i would’ve killed to hear that from my boyfriend.

toji turned his head again.

looked at you.

really looked.

his eyes dropped—slow, unhurried—to the soft curve of your belly, the gentle way your dress clung to the roundness, the stretch of the fabric across your full breasts, the faint peek of your black panties between your thick thighs, the sheen of sweat under your cleavage.

he looked back up.

you’re too good for him.

your heart knocked once against your ribs.

you shouldn’t say that.

but you didn’t mean it.

he didn’t answer.

his hand left the wheel for just a second—long enough to rake through his messy hair again, push it back like he was trying to cool himself down.

he laughed once, quieter this time, more like an exhale through his nose.

you’re bold for a pregnant woman.

you smiled.

pregnancy makes me bold.

you shifted again, crossing your legs in the seat, the fabric stretching tighter across your ass as your stomach jutted higher. your thighs clamped together, sticking from the heat. your dress hiked again, and the waistband of your panties caught just under the curve of your belly.

you didn’t bother to fix it.

he didn’t bother to pretend he wasn’t looking.

and when his eyes dragged up from between your thighs to your breasts again, you let them linger.

he said, softer this time—

it’s good.

his voice was low now, like it belonged in a bedroom and not a car.

that women like you exist.

you tilted your head, letting the air settle.

you mean messy? tired? hungry? always needing help standing up?

he chuckled once.

i mean real. not empty.

you smiled again, slower this time.

stretch marks and all?

his answer was immediate.

especially those.

and you laughed. but it broke into a soft sigh, because you believed him. you wanted to. even if it wasn’t your name he’d said over the phone. even if he hadn’t touched you. even if you were still pretending this was just a ride.

he didn’t take his eyes off you at the next red light.

and you didn’t look away either.

you just rested your hand on your belly again.

and kept your legs parted.

you shifted again in the seat.

slow. deliberate.

your thighs parted wider as you leaned back against the cool leather, one hand resting under your belly, the other smoothing up toward the top curve of it, fingers trembling slightly as the pressure shifted. you could feel the kick coming before it happened—the little roll beneath your skin, the low tight push that made your breath catch in your throat.

and then—there. sharp, firm.

you gasped.

not soft this time.

a real sound, laced with something deeper—like a moan that didn’t know where it belonged. it left your mouth open, lips parted wet, and your head tipped back for a second as your thighs shifted again, trying to accommodate the stretch of movement inside you.

mpf fuck.

you whispered it like it was nothing. like it belonged to the air between you.

he gripped the wheel tighter.

you rubbed your bump again, nails dragging lightly over the fabric of your dress, just above the peak. the cotton was so tight now you could see the outline of your belly button, the shape of the kick pulsing against it.

another gasp.

you bit your lip.

his voice broke the silence. strained. low.

you alright?

you nodded slowly, still panting, still rubbing.

yeah.

you turned your head to look at him—eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, mouth open just enough that your breath hit the window when you exhaled.

he’s kicking again.

toji’s throat moved.

you hummed again, but this one was filthier—lower, breathier, like it was meant for someone. your thighs tensed, parted slightly again as your back arched gently, belly tilting forward.

you can feel it… if you want.

your voice didn’t come out innocent. not anymore.

he turned toward you—just for a second—but that second was enough.

your dress was pulled so tight now across your chest that your nipples were visibly hard beneath the fabric. your breasts were on the verge of spilling out with every bump in the road, cleavage slick and full and heaving with each moan. your thighs, spread open around your belly, let the black band of your panties peek up again, soaked and clinging. your stomach moved once more beneath your palm, the kick pressing out like a signal.

he stared.

you’re gonna make me fuckin insane, you know that?

his voice wasn’t teasing anymore.

you bit your lip again and smoothed your hand lower, pressing gently just above the kick.

he’s strong.

toji let out a breath, slow and tight, adjusting his grip on the wheel like he didn’t trust himself not to swerve off the road.

you still want to feel?

your voice was lower now. nearly a whisper. but not nervous.

you wanted this.

his hand came off the wheel.

and he reached for you.

his hand left the wheel like it was instinct. like his body moved before he gave it permission. fingers flexed once in midair, hesitating, unsure of where to go—her thigh? her belly? the waistband of those soaked black panties peeking between her legs like a secret?

you didn’t look at him at first.

you kept your eyes out the window, lashes low, rubbing slow circles over the roundest part of your stomach, where the baby had shifted again, pushing into your palm from the inside like it knew. like it was putting on a show.

you moaned again. this time softer.

higher in your throat.

a breathy little sound that wasn’t innocent but still tried to wear the costume.

toji’s breath caught. you heard it. low and hot, right before he cleared his throat and spoke again, trying to steady himself.

where?

you turned toward him slowly, like it took effort.

your lips were parted. your cheeks flushed. your thighs still slightly open, dress bunched up at the top of them now, cotton stretched so thin across your breasts it looked translucent in the light.

you lifted your hand and touched a spot—low, near the right side of your belly, just above your waistband.

here.

he moved closer.

his hand hovered now, a few inches from your stomach, broad palm trembling slightly with restraint.

you waited.

bit your lip.

tilted your head like you were thinking about something dangerous.

you don’t have to, you said softly, lashes fluttering.

but your voice betrayed you. that breathy little twist at the end made it sound like you wanted him to. like you wanted him to know you were too polite to beg but your body was aching to be touched.

he didn’t answer with words.

his hand lowered.

and pressed gently over yours.

you both gasped at the same time.

your hand was soft. his was rough—calloused, thick, hot even through the thin cotton of your dress. the weight of it on your stomach made your thighs twitch slightly, made your spine curl forward just a bit, belly pressing into his palm like it wanted to be held.

he didn’t rub. didn’t move. just rested it there.

like he was grounding himself.

the baby kicked again. hard.

your breath caught, lips twitching.

you moaned. sharper this time. almost a whimper.

he felt it.

his fingers tensed slightly, thumb brushing over the fabric where your skin curved up beneath it, tracing the shape of the movement.

his jaw clenched.

he’s strong, huh?

you nodded, biting your lip again, curling your fingers under the hem of your dress like you were fixing it—but you didn’t pull it down.

you let it bunch up more.

your thighs spread a little wider.

he’s active lately, you murmured, shifting your hips just slightly in the seat.

probably feels all my tension.

you glanced at him now. eyes glassy. lips wet.

then maybe you should relax, he said.

you giggled.

you’re sweet.

his hand didn’t move.

your stomach moved again beneath it. your dress was nearly riding up over your hips now.

you looked down at his hand.

big. veiny. flexing slightly every time your body shifted under him.

your fingers brushed his wrist—barely—just as another kick moved under the skin.

you smiled like it tickled.

and then you sighed, slow and breathy, as if the weight of his hand somehow settled your entire body.

mmh. yeah. right there.

you weren’t talking to the baby anymore.

and he knew it.

you didn’t move his hand. not even when he flexed his fingers, broad palm dragging lightly over the curve of your stomach, thumb grazing the rise of your bump like he was memorizing the weight of it. the baby kicked once more—gentler now, like it was settling—and you sighed, leaning further back into the seat, letting your legs relax, your dress riding higher with every breath.

you rubbed over his hand slowly. like it was normal. like this was something people did. your fingers traced the ridges of his knuckles, the callouses across his palm, the edge of his wrist where his veins stood out thick beneath the skin. you let your thighs part just a little more and pressed his hand flatter against the top of your belly, humming quietly like it soothed you.

he was driving slowly now. slower than needed. the streets were mostly empty, just sunset bleeding into dusk and soft city lights flickering on like sighs. the hum of the car, the soft brush of your fingers against his, the heat of your skin—it filled the air between you like smoke.

he spoke again, voice quieter now. lower. almost like he was pretending to ask something innocent, something polite.

how’re your breasts holding up?

you turned your head and looked at him, pout forming before you could stop it. your eyes were glassy again, lashes heavy, mouth open slightly from the heat pooling in your core.

mmph. sore. disgusting. huge.

you shifted in the seat, one arm sliding up to cup the weight of one. your hand barely covered it.

nipples are… dark. fat. i hate them.

toji’s jaw ticked once, fingers flexing again where they rested on your stomach. he made a soft sound. not quite agreement. not disagreement either. just… pressure.

mm. happens.

his hand slid lower, rubbing in slow circles over the tightest part of your belly.

you cupped both breasts now, tugging the dress down slightly—not too far. just enough to let the neckline pull lower, the swell of cleavage more visible, soft skin marked with faint reddish stretch lines that glowed in the warm light. you didn’t hide it. you showed him like you were showing a friend a rash. like it was helpful.

see?

he nodded once.

tight. controlled.

yeah. looks heavy.

you let out a breathy little laugh.

they are. everything’s heavy.

he rubbed lower.

your thighs twitched again.

the ride was quiet for a few more blocks. your eyes fluttered slightly, head resting against the seat. the movement of his hand over your belly had slowed, turning into gentle strokes. your fingers had drifted back to his wrist, tracing him. grounding yourself.

when he turned onto your street, the headlights caught the curve of your apartment building, familiar and dim.

you straightened a little, twisting toward the window.

he’s not here.

your voice was small. hollow.

you stared at the driveway. your boyfriend’s car wasn’t parked.

again.

you tried to sound annoyed.

but you just sounded… tired.

toji’s voice came after a beat, warm and low.

you want me to walk you up?

you hesitated.

then smiled a little.

nah. s’kay. i should walk. sitting too long makes me sore.

you started shifting in your seat, preparing to gather your bag, your limbs heavy and sticky from heat and arousal and all the weight you carried. you adjusted your dress, but didn’t pull it down all the way. you still let it sit high across your thighs.

thanks for today.

you looked at him when you said it, trying to smile fully, but your voice cracked just a bit.

really. i… i’m glad i met you.

he nodded once.

eyes steady.

but he didn’t speak.

he just reached over slowly, his hand sliding down.

at first it was casual. neutral.

his palm moved across your thigh—thick, warm—fingers curling slightly as they met the meat of it, squeezing once.

you gasped softly.

he didn’t flinch.

s’nothing, he muttered.

his hand moved slightly. back and forth. rubbing slowly over the top of your thigh.

man’s supposed to help.

his voice was deeper now. quieter.

especially when women get like this. pregnant. tired.

his hand moved again.

you were frozen.

his palm slid higher, fingers brushing over the seam of your inner thigh now—pressing, then pulling back, then pressing again like he was testing what your body would allow.

he squeezed your thigh again.

and then—lower.

just a little.

the heel of his hand brushed the crease where your pussy met your leg.

you twitched.

he didn’t react. didn’t apologize.

his voice stayed steady.

feels hot.

his palm settled there.

you looked down.

your panties were soaked. you knew they were. drooling, almost. the outline of your pussy pressing against the cotton like it was begging. swollen, puffy from the heat, from the attention, from the sheer frustration of being untouched for so long.

you moaned softly. not loud.

just a breath that came out too thick to hide.

he rubbed once more.

still pretending it was nothing.

still staring forward like he was only helping.

and you sat there. legs open. tits sore. panties wet. eyes wide.

letting him help.

you didn’t even notice how tightly you were squeezing your thighs until he pulled his hand back.

his fingers dragged slow over the seam of your skin, where your panties had already begun to stick from how wet you were. the cotton clung to your pussy, soaked and puffy, every inch of you swollen with heat and pressure and the weight of everything you weren’t getting at home.

his thumb brushed higher—just barely.

enough to graze the edge of your lips beneath the fabric.

you twitched.

gasped softly.

your eyes fluttered.

he didn’t say a word.

just rubbed his hand over your thigh again, slower this time, dragging the wetness upward—until it glistened faintly in the glow of the console light.

then he pulled back.

you watched him.

dazed. throbbing.

he didn’t meet your eyes.

just sniffed once—quiet, subtle—like clearing his nose.

but you saw the way his fingers hovered near his mouth before he wiped them quickly on his jeans.

casual. nothing to see. like he was drying sweat.

but he knew.

you both knew.

his door opened first.

the air changed immediately—the warm thud of summer night sweeping in, thick and heavy, the sound of his boots on the pavement, his keys jangling softly as he turned toward your side.

you sat there. thighs wet. heart racing.

he opened your door slowly.

his scent hit you all at once.

man. not boy.

spiced cologne and soap and something low and smoky, like the back of his neck had held a cigar once and never let it go. the smell of chest hair and heat. of someone who never needed to speak too loud.

his shadow fell across you as he leaned down.

c’mon.

you blinked.

i said i’m good, you muttered, shifting like you were going to step out.

but your knees didn’t follow.

your body was too heavy. too hot.

and he didn’t wait.

he bent down and lifted you—slow, deliberate, one arm slipping under your knees, the other beneath your back.

your ass dropped onto his forearm with a soft thud. skin to skin. hot. bare. the dress had ridden up too high now and you weren’t wearing anything under it but those soaked, thin panties.

you gasped again.

your arm looped around his neck out of instinct, fingers tangling in the collar of his shirt.

toji.

mm.

he didn’t look down. didn’t adjust his grip.

just straightened with you in his arms, shifted your weight against him like you didn’t weigh anything at all.

his free hand reached into his pocket and clicked the key fob.

behind you, the car beeped softly, locking with a low whine.

you felt his bicep flex beneath you.

felt the sweat on your back.

felt the way your thighs stayed parted from how wide his arm stretched them.

you turned your head slightly, breath catching.

you didn’t have to—

your voice cracked a little.

he cut you off.

man’s not home, is he?

you swallowed.

no.

then let me do my job.

his voice was flat. clipped. almost annoyed.

he carried you to the stairs like it was nothing.

like you didn’t weigh eight months of softness and craving and water and blood and aching need.

like you weren’t pressed right against his chest, tits full and rising against him with every shallow breath.

he didn’t speak again until your feet touched the ground at the top of the stairs.

you were flushed. gasping a little from being held like that.

you know…

you turned around, one hand on the doorframe, your voice soft.

you can leave now.

his brow twitched.

just slightly.

leave?

he repeated the word like it offended him.

i didn’t carry your ass up here so you could say that.

you blinked.

he looked you up and down—slow, like he was taking inventory.

the way your dress clung to your stomach.

the wet outline between your thighs.

the stretch marks high on your tits, the way your nipples dented the cotton.

your hair twisted, messy. cheeks flushed. pupils wide.

he stepped closer.

i didn’t drive you. feed you. dress you. carry you…

he reached out—touched your belly again.

soft. reverent.

just to get dismissed like a fuckin delivery man.

you swallowed hard.

didn’t say anything.

he looked at you for another second.

and then, softly—

you want me to leave?

you didn’t answer.

your pussy said no before your mouth could.

you didn’t even pretend to argue.

you stood there in the doorway with your hand curled around the edge of your belly and your dress sticking to the curve of your ass and you said it under your breath, lashes low—

m’kay. you can stay.

he didn’t say thank you.

didn’t smirk.

he just nodded once and muttered—

that’s what i thought.

then reached past you to open the door himself, his arm brushing your side, heavy and warm, the keys still in his hand as he turned the knob like it was his house, like he’d done it before.

you stepped in first.

he followed you without hesitation, boots landing slow and deliberate across the threshold. the air inside hit different—cooler, still, softly perfumed from whatever cheap plug-in you’d tucked in the hallway outlet weeks ago. lavender. maybe vanilla. maybe just something warm and clean.

the apartment was quiet, dim but warm from the low amber bulbs you always left on in the evening. not much furniture, but what you had was yours. a small white rug. thrifted couch, overstuffed with throw pillows you never sat on. pale curtains. framed sonogram on the end table. two plastic baby bottles on a folded towel by the kitchen sink.

you turned slightly, face flushed from heat and nerves and unspeakable filth still wet between your legs, and started walking barefoot toward the living room.

your dress clung with every step. you moved slow, almost dragging your feet like you needed him to see the sway in your hips, how the hem rode higher in the back now. the air made your inner thighs prickle, sticky with your own arousal, and when you sank down into the cushions of the couch, you let your knees fall open like it was just comfort—just soreness—nothing more.

but the fabric bunched. the pink cotton stretched.

and the soft swells of your breasts pushed forward, the top of your dress scooped too low to hide the warm brown skin of your areolas. dark now. wide. peeking from the neckline like you hadn’t noticed. your belly sat heavy in your lap, tight and round and twitching now and then from the baby’s soft kicks.

toji lingered at the doorway for a second, his boots still planted on the hardwood, staring around the apartment like he needed to memorize it.

you said something light.

i picked the rug. on sale. and the plants. they’re fake, but…

you smiled to yourself, shrugging.

he looked at you.

at the rug. the table. the bottle warmer.

you wanna take your shoes off? you said, glancing down. i always do when i come in. keeps the floor clean.

he huffed softly, kneeling with one hand on the wall for balance. big hands unlacing heavy boots, sliding them off one at a time. when he stood again, he left them neatly by the door beside your white sandals, his socks thick and dark against the pale carpet.

you were already reclined into the couch. your legs bent slightly now, thighs parted, the dark triangle of your panties barely covered by the dress bunched between your knees. your stomach looked even bigger from this angle. heavy and high. tits full, round, straining the neckline.

toji walked over, slow and solid, and sat beside you without asking.

the cushion dipped under his weight.

his body pressed against yours immediately—his thigh against your thigh, the side of his arm grazing your shoulder, thick and warm and solid like concrete. he threw one arm across the back of the couch, not touching you, but hovering just close enough that you could feel the heat of it behind your neck.

he turned his head slightly.

sniffed once.

not loud. not obvious.

just a quiet inhale through his nose, slow and deep.

you smelled like something soft and edible—cheap body cream, maybe cocoa butter. something with sugar. something sticky.

he exhaled and leaned back further into the couch, eyes scanning the room again.

s’nice.

his voice was low. quieter now.

he let his hand drop lazily to your shoulder for a second, squeezing it with his thumb like it meant nothing.

you sighed, leaning into the couch more, letting your legs open slightly again, belly heavy between them, thighs pressed against his.

your panties were wet enough to leave a mark on the fabric now.

and still, your voice stayed light.

i didn’t think it’d feel this good to sit again.

you smiled.

he looked at your legs.

yeah?

you hummed.

yeah. everything’s swollen. thighs. feet. tits.

he nodded, eyes dropping to the spot where your nipple peeked from the stretch of fabric, the color darker than he imagined. rawer. wider.

he cleared his throat.

you’re… handling it well.

you giggled softly, letting your head tip to the side, toward his shoulder.

you’re handling me well.

he didn’t respond.

but his hand dropped behind your back again. heavier now.

he rubbed once, slow.

and kept breathing you in.

you didn’t move away when his hand dropped behind your back.

he wasn’t even touching you fully, not really. just resting his arm there—casual, possessive in that offhand way men like him were built to be. his forearm grazed your upper back when you shifted, and you knew he could feel it when you shivered. when you exhaled too long. when your thighs pressed tighter and the wet between them warmed into something more dangerous than just heat.

you reached lazily for the remote on the end table, the curve of your breast pressing into your belly as you leaned forward, your neckline dipping just enough that the top swell of your nipple peeked out again. dark. wide. heavy from how full you were.

he watched it.

didn’t blink.

you flicked on the TV, volume low, some late evening news hum in the background.

you adjusted yourself again, resting back into the couch, thighs parting like they needed space to breathe. you felt the wet press of your panties stick and tug at your folds, a slow, warm pulse sitting low in your gut. you didn’t fix your dress. didn’t close your legs. just leaned your head slightly toward him, acting like none of this meant anything.

you glanced up at him, your voice a little lighter now.

you want a drink or something? water? beer?

you stretched your arms a little like it was no big deal, pushing your tits up again under the tight cotton, your belly sitting perfectly round and high between your legs, pressing into the hem of your dress.

he didn’t hesitate.

i don’t need a beer when i got this.

your lips curled into a half-smile before you could stop it.

you rolled your eyes, biting your lip after like it didn’t mean anything, like the heat suddenly building in your chest and dripping down your spine didn’t just flood your panties again.

you’re so full of yourself.

your voice cracked slightly as you said it, but you smiled—flushed and warm and sore, and secretly, aching.

toji didn’t move.

he didn’t reach for you. didn’t touch you more than he already was.

but he noticed everything.

he saw the way your breathing changed. the way your thighs flexed. the way your dress had hiked so far up now it looked like you were halfway undressed without realizing it.

he turned his head slowly toward you, the side of his nose brushing your temple, voice rough.

and you love it.

you looked up at him.

big eyes. wet mouth. skin hot.

you didn’t answer.

you didn’t need to.

you leaned further into the couch, pretending to get comfortable—but really, you just wanted his arm closer, his thigh touching yours again.

his hand shifted behind you slightly, elbow brushing your shoulder, knuckles grazing the back of your neck in that soft, quiet way that didn’t feel intentional but was.

you reached for the throw pillow in your lap and pulled it down over your thighs, adjusting it like it was for support—but really, it was the only thing stopping you from rocking your hips into the couch.

you didn’t know what you wanted him to say next.

but you knew he knew.

and toji?

he just sat there, breathing you in, letting the tension climb. letting it drag.

the tv played quietly in front of you. meaningless noise. background to a silence so heavy it made your chest throb.

and you couldn’t help the next breath that slipped out of you.

wet. warm.

and just a little too close to a moan.

you shifted the pillow.

slowly. carefully. like you were just trying to get comfortable, just trying to support your sore thighs and aching back. but the second the edge of it pressed between your legs—right against the heat soaked into your panties—you moved again.

softer this time. lower. letting the curve of your pussy drag against the fabric like it wasn’t on purpose.

you sighed.

toji heard it.

he didn’t move. didn’t speak at first.

just watched you from the corner of his eye—your belly rising and falling, thighs tensing slightly under the cotton, your dress now so high up it barely covered the dark triangle where your panties had long been sticking to your folds.

you shifted again. slower now.

his voice came quiet.

rough in the way a man speaks when his mouth is dry but his cock is hard.

what’s it feel like?

you blinked, dazed.

what?

pregnancy.

you looked at him, surprised.

he was watching your stomach now, his hand resting behind you still, his other forearm draped along his thigh. he wasn’t touching you—but his gaze made your skin prickle like he was.

he spoke again, slower.

what’s it feel like. when you pee. when you shit. when you move. you ever feel… trapped in it?

your face flushed instantly.

you swallowed. shifted the pillow again, hips pressing forward just slightly to catch more pressure against your soaked cunt.

it’s weird, you said softly, eyes down.

i used to be normal.

toji’s brow twitched.

you shrugged, pouting slightly, rubbing your hand over the top of your bump like you were grounding yourself.

then i got… soft. everything got big. my belly. my thighs. my tits. nipples went dark. my pussy got darker too.

you laughed once—half embarrassed.

even my pee smells weird now. and i sweat more. it’s like… nothing fits. like i don’t look cute anymore.

he watched you in silence.

then hummed low in his chest.

didn’t say he agreed. didn’t nod.

just let the sound sit there.

and then he leaned back a little further.

s’just tits and pussy.

you blinked. turned toward him.

what?

he looked at you like you were the one being dramatic.

that’s all it is. your body’s doing what it’s supposed to.

he glanced once at your thighs, your dress, the faint outline of your pussy straining against the pillow you were grinding slow and subtle into.

you’re eating for two. sweating for two. feeling for two.

his voice was low now. flat. honest.

so what if your pussy looks different. that’s what it’s for.

your mouth opened slightly.

your hand pressed down harder into the pillow.

your thighs tensed.

he looked at your tits.

you said they got heavier.

you nodded slowly.

he lifted a hand, flexed it once, like remembering.

still light enough for me to carry you earlier.

thank you for reading if you made it this far 🩷 i’m sorry i couldn’t use the usual pink layout this one was just way too long 😭 but i hope the story still hit. love u. part two cmming tmrw filthier and nasty 🎀

onlypinkslut

[formulafanfics13]

eighteen years and one tiny heartbeat - KA12

Masterlist

summary: Kimi Antonelli is only eighteen, but he's already living a life no one else sees. While the world praises him as a rising star, he quietly carries a truth that means more than any podium — he’s a father. In the quiet of Monaco, between photo ops and teething cries, he clings to the only two people who make him feel real.

warnings: teen parenthood, secret relationship, emotional vulnerability, soft domesticity, exhaustion, off-screen pregnancy and childbirth, Kimi Antonelli being the softest boy alive, fluff with ache underneath, hidden family dynamic

He signs the final autograph with a smile that doesn't touch his eyes.

The pen clicks shut. The camera shutters stop. Some press girl with a clipboard and a fake smile thanks him for his time. Kimi nods, stiffly polite, and turns his back on the photo wall like it personally offended him. He walks too fast down the hallway, pulling his cap lower over his curls, ignoring the engineers chatting outside a meeting room.

He's only eighteen, but already too good at hiding what's real.

The lobby is bright. Too bright. Monaco sun filtering in through floor-to-ceiling glass. His driver bag is waiting by the door, but he walks right past it and out into the side alley, where the car's idling in the shade.

She's in the passenger seat. And the baby, their baby, is in the back.

Kimi's chest fucking aches. He opens the back door without a word. She's half-asleep in the car seat, cheeks flushed pink, curly hair stuck to her forehead. A bottle on the floor. One sock missing. His whole fucking world, five fingers long, breathing soft little puffs into the hot afternoon.

"Hi, sweetheart," he whispers, crouching down, brushing a fingertip along her calf.

She stirs. Then opens her eyes. "Da," she says.

It's not the first time she's said it. But it might be the first time it hits like this.

His throat closes up. He leans in and kisses her knee. Then her cheek. Then her hand. "I'm here, baby. I'm here."

The passenger door opens. "You okay?" you ask softly.

Kimi stands. Nods. "She fall asleep fast?"

"Five minutes after you went in."

"Did she eat?"

"Mostly. I think she's teething again."

He exhales. Rubs a hand over his face. "Fuck."

"You did good in there."

"I don't care."

"Yes, you do."

He looks at you then. Really looks. You're wearing his hoodie. There's a sippy cup in the door pocket, and your phone is on 8% battery, and there are tired rings under your eyes. You're eighteen too. And nobody knows. Not the fans. Not the media. Not even most of the fucking paddock.

You've done everything together, from the pregnancy test in your childhood bathroom to the night she was born in a public hospital with no air conditioning and only Kimi's trembling hands cutting the cord. Everything. And you're still here.

So he walks around the car, pulls you out by the hand, and kisses you like it's the only way he knows how to breathe. Long. Desperate. Silent.

"I miss you," he whispers against your mouth.

"I'm right here."

"Yeah, but not there. Not on the track. Not in the interviews. Not when they talk about my future like I don't already have one."

You nod. Fingers in his hair. "I know."

"She said 'da' again."

You smile, big and soft and sleepy. "She's obsessed with you."

"She gets that from you."

You kiss him again. He doesn't tell the press that he's got a daughter. But that night, after the baby's asleep and you're curled together in the tiny Monaco Airbnb with the windows open and the sea air trickling in, he whispers it to Ollie on the phone.

"I have a kid," he says, voice shaking.

There's a beat of silence. Then Ollie gasps, "Wait, you have a kid?"

And Kimi laughs. Properly laughs. For the first time in weeks. "Yeah," he says. "I do."

[heavenlybodies333]

Professional Conduct My Ass -S.R

Spencer Reid x coworker!reader

You should’ve stopped at the second orgasm.

Maybe the third.

But Spencer had been looking at you like that—rumpled curls, shirt half-buttoned, a smug little smirk on his stupidly handsome face—and you had gone full slut. Now it was 7:12 AM, and you were in your bathroom mirror trying to make concealer do what no government-issued forensic cover-up ever could.

Your throat looked ravaged.

You tilted your head and winced. A neat ring of bruises, Spencer’s fingers like little trophies circling your neck in deep plum and ink-blue. And then the hickeys—dear God, the hickeys. He looked like a vampire victim.

You turned back to the bedroom, horrified. “We cannot go to the office like this.”

He was shirtless, bent over tying his shoes, and it was just—unfair. All lean lines and lanky muscle and a constellation of bruises blooming like wildflowers across his neck and shoulders.

You whistled. “I really went to town on you.”

“You bit me,” he said, straightening and pointing to a crescent mark just below his collarbone. “You left dental evidence.”

You shrugged. “It was a compliment. In the moment.”

He stared at you. “We have to go to work. With Hotch. And Morgan. And JJ. And Garcia. And we have a case briefing,” he said, rubbing his face like it physically pained him to remember.

You were too busy dabbing concealer onto your neck like a madwoman to look back at him. “You’re literally the smartest person in the Bureau and you let this happen.”

“Excuse me?” he shot back, slipping on his button-up with a hiss. “You bit me like I was a chew toy!”

“Only because you said—” You stopped yourself. “Never mind.”

He raised a brow. “‘Only because I said…?’ What?”

You muttered something about having a latex allergy and being turned on by fucking raw and kept blending.

You arrived at Quantico seven minutes late, coffee in hand, silently daring the elevator to move faster as you and Spencer stood like statues inside.

You sit down two chairs away from Spencer. Not next to him. Never next to him. You learned that lesson last week when you accidentally let your knees touch under the table and Morgan nearly imploded from curiosity.

He’s wearing a scarf.

Spencer Reid is wearing a scarf. In July.

JJ arches a brow. Morgan outright snorts. “Pretty boy, what’s with the neckwear? You join a jazz band?”

You immediately shove a too-hot sip of coffee in your mouth to avoid making a noise. Spencer blinks at Morgan like a man choosing violence.

“Had a sore throat this morning,” he says too quickly. “Didn’t want it to get worse.”

Garcia, bless her meddling heart, swivels around in her chair. “Oh no! Are you sick? Do you need tea? I have lemon ginger in my desk—”

“No! No. I’m fine.” Spencer coughs, like he’s trying to make the lie more convincing. “Just… precautionary.”

Emily’s eyes flick from him to you, to the scarf, to your turtleneck, then down to your wrists, where you accidentally forgot to cover one of his bruises with foundation. A ring-shaped imprint from his hand still lingers faintly. Her brow arches. Her mouth twitches.

You pretend not to notice. You focus on the whiteboard.

Hotch walks in, files in hand.

“Morning,” he says. “Briefing’s starting now. Let’s keep it efficient.”

9:12am Post-Brief Coffee

You’re waiting for coffee when Emily walks in, holding a mug and a smug look.

“Nice neck,” she says casually.

You freeze. “Excuse me?”

“You and Reid are really subtle, you know that?”

You nearly spill your drink. “We’re not—”

She holds up her hand. “Relax. I don’t care. Just… maybe cool it with the murdery makeout sessions before team meetings.”

Your face burns. “Noted.”

“And FYI,” she adds, stepping past you, “you’ve got a bite mark on your shoulder. Left side. Might wanna rethink the tank top.” You glance down and swear under your breath.

Walking back to your desk, coffee in hand before you collapse into your chair. Spencer sent you a text from across the bullpen:

SPENCER: We are so bad at being secretive.

YOU: I told you not to leave a fingerprint on my neck.

SPENCER: You told me to choke you.

YOU: I was drunk on your nerd dick. That doesn’t count.

SPENCER: Fair. Still. We need a new plan.

YOU: New plan: no more fucking before briefings.

SPENCER: Counter-offer: we fuck gently next time.

You met his eyes across the room.

That smug little smile was back. You bit your lip.

God help you.

You were going to do it all over again.

a/n: hehehe

[sunsetmade]

Can you do a rafe x gf!reader where he's just been really distant and she tries to make him happy then he lashes out and calls her clingy and it makes her soooo sad and insecure and he feels so bad and makes it up to her the next day

Slipping Through

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Rafe had been distant lately.

And not in the casual, “just busy” kind of way. Not the kind of distant that came with late nights or long days. This was different. This was bone-deep, soul-quiet kind of distant. Cold in a way that made her shiver even when he was sitting right next to her. The air around him had shifted—grown heavier, sharper—until it filled every room they shared with something unspoken and stifling.

He’d been quieter. Shorter. His texts less frequent, his touches more fleeting. He stared at his phone like it held more answers than she ever could, disappearing without warning and returning without explanation. And when he was around, he wasn’t really there. His body was in the room, sure—but his mind? His eyes? They were somewhere far away, and she didn’t know how to follow.

At first, she tried not to overthink it. Rafe carried a lot—expectations from Ward, the weight of the Cameron name, and whatever war raged inside his own head. He wasn’t the best at handling it, never had been. She told herself it would pass, that he just needed space. Time. Quiet. But the more days slipped by like this, the more she felt herself shrinking, folding in on herself, reaching for pieces of him that kept slipping through her fingers.

She missed him.

Missed the curve of his mouth when he smirked at her like she was the only one who mattered. Missed the way he’d hook his pinky around hers when they walked through a crowd. Missed his hand on her knee when they watched movies—warm, possessive, grounding.

Missed being his peace.

So she tried to bring him back. Little by little.

She cleaned his apartment—wiped down every surface, folded his laundry, even scrubbed the stovetop he always forgot about. She picked up his favorite snacks without asking, tucked his favorite gum into the console of his truck so he’d find it the next time he got in. She wore the hoodie he loved—soft and slouchy and sliding off one shoulder—and showed up with a coffee in hand, made just how he liked it. She didn’t push. She didn’t beg. She just… tried.

And tonight, she cooked.

Steak and mashed potatoes, buttery and rich and made with the kind of care you could taste. She lit candles even though she felt a little silly doing it. Put on music—nothing too much, just soft background hums to fill the silence she hated so much. She didn’t let herself hope too hard, but her heart still fluttered in her chest like it hadn’t gotten the memo to be cautious.

He was late.

Thirty minutes, then forty.

She kept the food warm and tried to keep her hands from wringing. By the time the door opened, the candles had burned low and the music was looping for the second time.

Rafe stepped inside, rubbing a hand over his face like he was already exhausted. His eyes flicked toward the table, but he didn’t react. No smile. No acknowledgment of the effort. Just a tired, annoyed breath.

“Didn’t know we were doing some big thing tonight.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “It’s not a big thing. I just… I thought you had a rough week, and I wanted to do something nice. That’s all.”

He didn’t sit. Didn’t take off his jacket. Just stood near the island, shoulders tense, eyes darting toward the floor.

“I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, okay?” His tone was clipped, edged with something sharp.

“I know. That’s why I—”

“Yeah, I got it,” he snapped, cutting her off. “You’re always trying to do something. Always right there, up under me, hovering like I’m gonna fall apart if you’re not holding my damn hand.”

Her breath caught.

He wasn’t yelling, but the words hit like a shout. Her stomach turned.

“It’s just too much,” he muttered, not even looking at her.

Too much.

The words echoed in her head like a bell, loud and hollow and final. Her lips parted, but nothing came out. She stood frozen in the soft glow of the candles, surrounded by a meal gone cold and silence gone sharp.

“I was just trying to help,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Rafe let out a bitter sigh, like she was the burden. “Sometimes it feels like you’re just… clingy, you know? Like I can’t even think with you always needing something from me.”

Clingy.

It landed in her chest like a stone.

She didn’t cry. Not yet. But something inside her pulled taut, like a thread stretched too far. She felt it—that aching shift from warmth to shame. Her heart had been so full of hope, and now it just hurt.

She nodded.

Once.

Then again, slower.

Again, like it was the only thing she knew how to do.

He watched her, some of the tension starting to drain from his posture, but it was too late. The words were already out. The damage already done.

Her voice, when it came again, was flat. Hollow. “I should go.”

She didn’t meet his eyes. Didn’t ask if he wanted her to stay. She just turned away, hands moving on their own as she gathered her things. The hoodie he loved. Her keys. Her purse. The quiet clink of silverware as she brushed past the table was the only sound in the room.

“I didn’t mean to overwhelm you,” she added, softer now. Like maybe she could still take up less space.

She didn’t wait for him to answer.

The front door clicked shut behind her.

⸻

The next day, the silence was deafening.

No “good morning” text waiting on his phone.

No heart emojis.

No blurry snapshots of her coffee mug sitting beside one of his hoodies.

Nothing.

Rafe unlocked his phone before he even sat up in bed, thumb hovering over her name in his messages. The thread was right where he left it—her last message a heart-eyed emoji she’d sent the day before, after she told him she was making his favorite for dinner.

He hadn’t responded.

He stared at it for a beat too long before switching apps. Instagram. No story updates. No little circle around her profile picture. He refreshed once, then again, as if that would magically change something.

It didn’t.

And maybe—maybe—he should’ve felt relieved. After all, wasn’t this what he said he wanted? Space? Quiet? No constant check-ins. No sticky notes on his dashboard reminding him to eat lunch. No texts at 2 a.m. asking if he made it home okay. No sweet little nudges that said I’m thinking about you, even when he didn’t deserve them.

But he didn’t feel relieved.

He felt empty.

Worse—he felt wrong. Like something inside him had been ripped loose, and now the space it left behind was echoing.

His stomach twisted as her face came back to him in sharp, unwanted clarity—eyes wide with hurt, mouth parted in shock, that slow, stunned nod that said okay even though her heart was breaking. She hadn’t fought back. Hadn’t yelled. She just… shrunk, like he’d drained the light out of her.

And he had.

Rafe raked a hand through his hair, jaw clenching hard. He hadn’t meant it like that. God, he hadn’t meant it at all. He was just overwhelmed—Ward had been on his back about everything lately, snapping at every little thing. The pressure in his chest hadn’t let up for weeks. He felt like he was one wrong move away from collapsing.

But she hadn’t been part of the pressure. She was supposed to be the opposite. She had always been the calm after the storm, not the storm itself. Her love came soft and steady, with warm hands and sweet gestures and the kind of quiet devotion he didn’t know what to do with—but damn it, he needed it. Even if he pretended he didn’t.

And what did he do with that softness?

He crushed it.

He snapped at her. Brushed off her care like it was a burden. Called her clingy—clingy, like she hadn’t been the only thing keeping him from drowning most days.

And now she was silent.

Rafe couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t think straight. The walls of his room felt like they were closing in on him, so he grabbed his keys and left without a plan. His truck roared to life, and before he knew it, he was halfway across town, hands tight on the wheel, knuckles white.

He didn’t even think about where he was going—his instincts were stronger than his guilt.

And then he was there.

Her place.

The street was quiet, sunlight filtering through the trees in soft golden patches, as if the world didn’t know he was on the verge of unraveling. He parked across the street, heart beating like a war drum. He didn’t know if she’d be home. Didn’t know if she’d want to see him if she was.

But then he saw her.

Through the window.

Curled up on the couch, knees drawn up beneath her, arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold in all the pieces. She was wearing a hoodie—not his—and staring off into space like whatever show was playing barely registered. Her face looked… blank. Not angry. Not crying anymore. Just tired in a way that scared him.

Because he did that.

He made her retreat into herself. Pulled the light right out of her.

He sat there for a second longer, hands gripping the steering wheel. Then he got out of the truck.

Walked up the steps.

And knocked.

The door opened after a long pause.

She stood there, backlit by the soft glow of a nearby lamp, dressed in sleep shorts and socks. Her arms were crossed protectively over her stomach like she was holding herself together from the inside out. And she looked… smaller. Not physically—but emotionally.

Her cheeks were flushed, not from warmth, but from crying. Her eyes were glossy, tired, rimmed with the kind of red that came from quiet sobs and too much thinking. But even so, they were blank. Not angry. Not resentful. Just… tired.

Rafe’s breath caught.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice unusually tentative, like he wasn’t sure he deserved to be speaking to her at all.

She didn’t respond.

No smile. No questions. Just a step back, wordless, allowing him in with the smallest motion of her head.

He hesitated in the doorway, guilt sitting heavy in his chest like lead. The silence between them wasn’t sharp—it was hollow. Like everything warm had been scooped out and replaced with nothing at all. He watched her retreat back to the couch, small and quiet as she tucked her legs up beneath her and wrapped her arms around her knees.

She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t ask why he came.

Didn’t try to fill the silence.

And somehow, that silence hurt more than if she’d screamed.

Rafe shut the door gently behind him. The soft click echoed through the room.

“I messed up,” he said, his voice rougher this time.

She nodded once, but it was slow. Empty. Like her body was on autopilot, giving him the bare minimum.

“Like—really messed up,” he added quickly, desperate for her to hear the weight behind it.

Another nod.

Still no words.

His stomach twisted.

She wasn’t shutting him out—she wasn’t even guarded. She was just… absent. Disconnected in a way that made his skin crawl. Like she’d already started building a wall to protect herself from him, brick by painful brick.

“Baby,” he said, voice cracking as he crossed the room. He knelt in front of her, his hands bracing the edge of the couch cushion like he needed the anchor. “I didn’t mean that shit. I swear, I didn’t. I was stressed and pissed off and I took it out on you, and that’s—God, that’s on me. That’s all on me.”

She didn’t pull away.

But she didn’t lean in either.

When she finally spoke, her voice was soft. Small. Like she was trying not to cry again. “You called me clingy.”

Rafe flinched like she’d struck him. His jaw tightened. “I know. I shouldn’t have. That was—fuck—it was cruel. And wrong. You’re not clingy. You’re good—too good to me. You care. You love me in a way I don’t even know how to deserve yet, and I threw it in your face.”

Her eyes finally lifted to meet his.

They were wet, but not spilling over. Rimmed in hurt. Dim in a way he had never seen on her before.

“I didn’t know I was too much for you,” she whispered. “I just wanted to make you happy.”

“You do,” he said instantly, leaning closer. “You make me so fucking happy. You’re the only thing that feels good when everything else is chaos. I’ve just… I’ve been stuck in my own head. And instead of leaning on you like I should’ve, I pushed you away.”

She looked down at her lap, fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of her hoodie—twisting the fabric like she needed something to hold onto.

“I kept trying to be enough for you,” she said, barely audible. “Trying to make everything perfect. I thought if I just did more… if I loved you harder… you’d come back. You wouldn’t feel so far away.”

Rafe’s heart cracked wide open. His throat tightened, the air catching somewhere between apology and regret. He reached for her hand slowly—gently—and when she didn’t pull away, he wrapped his fingers around hers, thumb brushing across the back of her hand.

“I’m already yours,” she said after a moment, voice so quiet it barely reached him. “You didn’t have to shove me away to get space. You could’ve just told me.”

He swallowed hard, staring at her hand in his, overwhelmed by how fragile it felt—like she might let go at any second.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to fight for a place in my life,” he murmured. “You already have one. You always have. I just… I get in my own way. I let everything pile up and instead of talking to you, I shut down. And you paid for it.”

She finally looked at him—really looked. And it wrecked him.

Her eyes were glassy, rimmed with unshed tears, but they didn’t fall. There was no dramatic outburst. No trembling lower lip. Just that quiet kind of heartbreak that lives in the silence between people who love each other deeply but are still learning how to handle it.

“Why did you say it?” she asked softly, her voice a careful whisper, like she was afraid the answer might hurt more than the question.

Rafe let out a slow, unsteady breath. It was the kind of question that cracked something open in him.

“Because I was scared,” he admitted, voice rough with guilt. “Everything’s been piling up—my dad, expectations, all of it—and I’ve been drowning. And instead of reaching for you—the one person who actually makes me feel like I can breathe—I pushed you away.”

He swallowed hard. His voice lowered. “I guess… I thought if I let you get too close, if you saw all the cracks, all the mess, I’d fall apart in front of you. And I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then her gaze softened, something raw and honest settling into her expression. “You already have fallen apart in front of me,” she whispered. “And I stayed.”

The words hit him square in the chest, almost knocking the breath out of him.

Rafe’s throat tightened, eyes burning. “And I’ll never forget that. I swear to God, I’ll never take that for granted again.”

He shifted closer until he was kneeling at the edge of the couch again, then leaned forward, resting his head gently against her knee like he was surrendering—like he was placing his heart there and asking her to take him back.

“I miss you,” he murmured. “I missed you even when you were standing right in front of me last night. You were trying so hard to love me, and I was too far in my own shit to appreciate it. To appreciate you.”

Her fingers twitched in her lap, like she was debating whether or not to reach for him. Slowly—hesitantly—she brought her hand to his hair, fingertips brushing through it. Testing the waters.

When he leaned into her touch, eyes fluttering shut, something in her chest loosened.

“You make me feel safe, Rafe,” she said quietly. “Even when you don’t know what you’re doing. Even when you’re a mess. But last night…” She trailed off, breath hitching faintly. “Last night, I didn’t feel safe. I felt like I was annoying you just by existing. Like being near you was the last thing you wanted.”

Rafe flinched like her words physically hurt. He lifted his head, eyes red and glassy now too, and looked up at her like she was the only thing anchoring him to this earth.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “I hate that I made you feel that way. I hate myself for it.”

Her brows pulled together, the tiniest crease forming. “Don’t say that.”

“I mean it,” he said, his voice raw. “But if you don’t want me to, then… let me show you. Let me show you how much I regret it. How much I love you.”

There was a long pause. Not because she was unsure—but because she needed a second. A moment to let his words settle, to let her heart steady itself.

Then, finally, she nodded.

Not dramatic. Not rushed.

Just a soft, slow movement that felt like hope.

“You’re already trying,” she said quietly.

Rafe rose to his feet, hands reaching for her with reverence. He pulled her up into his arms and held her like something precious. Like something fragile that he’d nearly shattered.

Her cheek pressed to his chest, and she let herself melt into him with a shaky breath, clinging just a little tighter than usual.

And this time—he didn’t pull away.

He cradled her like she was home.

“I love you,” he murmured into her hair, voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t say it last night. I should have. I love you so much it scares me.”

She tilted her face up to look at him, her lips trembling with the ghost of a smile. “Even if I’m clingy?”

He gave a soft, breathy laugh, pressing a kiss to her forehead. His arms tightened around her like he’d never let go again.

“You’re not clingy,” he whispered. “You’re mine.”

⸻

The next day, he showed up at her door just after noon—nervous, fidgety, and holding far more than just an apology.

In one arm, he cradled a bouquet of her favorite flowers—sun-warmed peonies and blush-pink ranunculus, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a navy ribbon. In the other, a canvas tote bag stuffed full with comfort: her favorite snacks (the obscure chocolate bars she loved, the salty chips he used to tease her for), a mason jar of homemade sweet tea, and a hoodie—soft, oversized, the color of a summer sky, with his name stitched in white thread along the sleeve like a promise.

She opened the door slowly, brows lifting in surprise.

“I know flowers won’t fix it,” he said, offering a tentative smile. “But I wanted to start somewhere.”

He handed over the tote bag, brushing her fingers with his own. “There’s something inside,” he added, voice lower now. “Something… I needed you to read.”

Tucked between the folded hoodie and a sleeve of cookies was a note. Not typed. Not copied and pasted from something impersonal. This was handwritten—slightly messy, the ink smudged in the corner like maybe he’d hesitated halfway through.

It read:

You’re not too much. You’ve always been exactly what I needed—even when I didn’t deserve you. Thank you for loving me anyway. I promise I’ll love you better now.

- R. C

Her fingers trembled slightly as she folded the note back up, eyes wet but clear. She didn’t say much—just reached out and hugged him. No words. Just arms around his waist, cheek pressed to his chest, and a soft, shaky breath that told him she believed him.

And after that, he made good on every word.

He showed up—not just once, but every day after. Not with grand gestures, but with quiet consistency.

He took up space on her couch, close enough to touch. Sat beside her while she worked, brushing his knee against hers every now and then just to feel her there. He rubbed gentle circles into her back when she couldn’t sleep and rested his hand on her thigh like it was instinct, like she was home.

He kissed her forehead when she was stressed. Her knuckles when she doubted herself. Her shoulders when she curled in on herself, too unsure to speak.

He took pictures of her when she wasn’t looking—curled up with a book, dancing barefoot in the kitchen, laughing at something dumb he said—and made them his lock screen, his wallpaper, his everything.

And when she got quiet—too quiet—he didn’t pull away anymore. He held her tighter. Kissed her temple. Told her she didn’t have to say anything for him to understand her.

Because he did.

She wasn’t too much. She never was.

She was soft. And steady. And his.

And he would never let his own chaos drown her again.

Not when she had saved him from it more times than he could count.

[syrecjh]

hiiii this is my first time requesting smth but like I lowky have an ideaaa

so what if bakugo has a gf but none of his friends believes him bc of his personality n wtvvv. (basically they think he's making it up) so what if he tries to prove it to them n yet they still believe he's imagining

(sorry sorry it's lowkey kinda dumb 😭)

──★ ˙🌻 ̟ !!She’s Real, Damn It

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ || katsuki bakugo x reader, pure fluff

They didn’t believe him.

It wasn’t like he expected them to throw a parade, but seriously—he tells them he has a girlfriend, and they laugh. Not teasing. Not playfully. Laugh. Mina actually snorted orange juice through her nose, Kirishima clutched his stomach like he pulled a muscle, and Sero just blinked like Bakugo had tried to claim he’d written a love song. On purpose. About feelings.

“Yeah, sure, Bakugo,” Kaminari grinned, elbowing him. “What’s her name? ‘Detonation-chan’?”

Katsuki Bakugo, currently a third-year, top-ranking in both combat and strategy, the closest thing this country had to a teenage thunder god, just scowled deeper into his bento. “She’s real, morons.”

“Uh-huh. And I’m the next Symbol of Peace.”

It wasn’t like he paraded it around. He wasn’t one for sappy Instagram captions or couple photos or public declarations. He liked things private—safe, just for him. And you? You weren’t even from U.A. You were from Shiketsu. You met through a patrol exercise collaboration last year, when Camie brought you along for post-mission hangouts. And you—smart-mouthed, too pretty for your own good, sharp-eyed and annoyingly patient—you caught him like a match to gasoline.

It started with exchanged numbers. With teasing texts. With sparring advice that turned into late-night conversations. Before he knew it, you were calling him ‘Katsu’ in that voice only you could pull off. Before he knew it, he cared. And then more than cared.

He was in it. One year strong. Still going.

But his friends didn’t believe him because, apparently, no one wanted to believe that Katsuki freakin’ Bakugo—resident boom boy and human middle finger—had someone who actually chose to date him.

When Mina brought up someone from the general course crushing on him—some second-year girl who baked cookies and giggled every time she passed—

Sero snorted. “Another one? What’s that, the fourth this semester?”

Bakugo barely looked up from the weights he was pressing.

“Not interested. I’m taken.”

That was the moment Sero dropped his water bottle.

“Bro. You’re still on about that imaginary girlfriend?”

"A year of make-believe,” Mina sing-songed.

Bakugo rolled his eyes so hard it looked like they might never return forward again. “She’s not fake, you extras. Just because I don’t broadcast her every second of the day—”

“Bro,” Kirishima cut in gently, “you do realize the more defensive you get, the more sus you sound?”

Sero smirked. “It’s giving imaginary girlfriend from Canada energy.”

“I’m gonna blow all of you up.”

“Hey, no offense,” Kirishima added, raising both hands in mock surrender, “but with your personality? Who would date you?”

That was it. He had enough.

So when the group sprawled out in the common room that evening—popcorn bowls half-empty and laughter echoing off the walls—he pulled out his phone and hit FaceTime. He didn’t say anything. Just angled it toward them while it rang.

“Okay, Bakugo, we get it, it’s a fake call—"

And then your face appeared.

Hair in a messy bun, hoodie drowning your frame, circles under your eyes from back-to-back Shiketsu mock evaluations. And still—the moment your screen lit up, you smiled.

“Hey, baby,” you said, voice warm. Soft. Familiar.

Bakugo didn’t even blink. “Hey baby, you busy?”

“Just died emotionally during Quirk Theory class. Save me. I miss you. I hate school. I want your hoodie and a nap.”

Bakugo’s mouth twitched. “You can have both. Summer’s in a few weeks.”

And then—then you noticed the boys.

“Wait. Are those your friends?” you asked, squinting into the camera. “Oh my god, you finally showed them I’m real?”

He gave a smug shrug. “They didn’t believe me.”

You leaned closer to the screen, giving them a tired smile. “Hi Katsu's friends! I exist. Its so hilarious how you think of me as someone imaginary.”

Dead silence. Kaminari dropped his popcorn. Mina’s mouth hung open. Sero choked on air.

Kirishima grabbed the phone next, eyes wide. “Wait, seriously?! You’re real?!”

“I’m offended.”

“You’re dating Bakugo?! Willingly?!”

Bakugo took the phone back, face flushed but smug. “Now do you believe me, jackasses?”

“Holy—she’s real,” someone muttered.

He leaned back, arms crossed, expression victorious.

“She’s not just real,” he muttered, lips twitching upward. “She’s mine.”

[alwaysanangelneverag0d]

Everything starts here

based off this prompt(thank u anon)

masterlist

a/n:sorry this is late y’all my life got crazy busy and extremely stressful i had no free time to sit down and write:(.THIS IS FREAKY AF THO).Might be some mistakes as well,didn’t do a huge proof read

content:Fluff then straight FILTH,sub!pxdom!a,mommy kink(i’m ovulating),fingering,oral sex,scissoring,faceriding,choking,spitting,edging,overstimulation,hair pulling..i think that’s it if i missed anything lmk

Wc:8.0k

————————————————————————-

Paige Bueckers might have been the luckiest woman on earth.

Not because of the cameras flashing in her direction.

No it’s because she was here—on Azzi’s night—as her girlfriend.

Draft night. The accumulation of Azzi’s hard work. Her blood,sweat,tears and damn near everything else. Paige had watched her grind for this moment with a quiet intensity few people understood—and now the payoff was soon to come. The Valkyries had the number one pick.And everyone knew who’s name they were calling

And Paige?Well..she looked great tonight. But more importantly she looked like she belonged next to greatness.

Brittany had chosen a simple sleek suit for Paige. Deep navy with cream piping at the edges,the kind that whispered power-it had been tailored to frame her shoulders,nipped in at the waist as if it had been perfectly made for her. The jacket produced a slight shine under the lights,just enough to catch the eye,but not enough to outshine Azzi.

She’d skipped the tie as Brittany suggested. Too stiff. Instead,she left the first two buttons of her shirt undone. Not enough to be obvious but enough to relax,just enough to make Azzi look twice. Her pants were cropped a fraction above her ankles—hugging her hips without clinging. The matte black Louis Vuitton loafers were her silent flex—not that Paige cared about labels,but damn..they made her walk different.

She decided to keep her hair in a classic slickback bun. Nothing too complex. Just simple. It was Azzi’s night

Her jewelry was another story though.

She had chosen small gold hoops—light,flashy,and clean.

She wore two rings. On her index finger sat another promise ring she and Azzi had picked out together—small but heavy with meaning. A 14k gold band with a slim row of topaz—Azzi’s birthstone—resting flush against metal as if it had always belonged there. She hadn’t taken it off since the day they bought them.

The second ring chosen by Brittany weeks before—minimalist perfection .A plain,gold band brushed with titanium. It was bare except for the words engraved on the inside proof not promise

And lastly the necklace.

The silver chain rested beneath her collar,barely visible unless you looked for it. But Azzi would look. The silver chain sat right over her neck—the same one azzi had given to her as a “good luck charm” the summer before her first year in college. Paige had never stopped wearing it outside of basketball. Not really. Not when she left for Connecticut. Not when they were trying to pretend they were just friends who occasionally slept together. And especially not now,on the night Azzi was finally stepping foot into the league.

She’d seen glimpses here and there of Azzi’s outfit in the group chat they shared. A cream coloured dress meant to match the dark navy of Paige's suit

When she opened the door to the room,She saw Azzi before Azzi saw her—Posing for photos as they were taken by the photographer in the lit room.

Which was good—-hell maybe even necessary. Because if Azzi had looked at her in that moment,Paige knew she would’ve cracked. Right there on the carpeted floor,cameras lingering in the room,the chaos of getting draft ready humming around them—Paige would’ve folded under the weight of her. Probably would have crossed the room and kissed her so passionately that it would make even the most hopeless romantic gag.

Azzi’s dress was cream.

Not exactly stark white. But soft and warm like sunlit silk. It wrapped around her frame in a way that made Paige forget her own name for a mere second. The dress gave her power and presence,but everything else about it was quiet yet deliberate—cinched at the waist ,fabric catching just enough light to glow like it was lit from within. The hem of the dress hit midcalf. Showing just enough skin to make Paige choke on a breath—caramel skin contrasting the color in a way that made her want to do things she couldn’t do in public. And the gold button accents down one side? Yeah. The image was gonna live rent free in her mind for a long,long time.

She wasn’t covered in jewelry—simplicity had always been her style. Just a pair of gold droop earrings that danced when she moved,and a matching cuff around one wrist. Minimal. But elegant. Deadly to paige

She turned slightly adjusting her clutch,and Paige caught a glimpse of her back—defined yet soft muscle dipped clean down her spine. Paige’s jaw tightened. She stared

God how was this the same girl she used to watch fall asleep on her shoulder with a hoodie over her face?

She looked grown.

She looked like everything Paige had spent years trying to not want loudly.

Like a woman who was born to play in the league.

Like the kind of woman you rewatched interviews of time and time again—-just to hear her voice.

Like everything Paige used to dream about when they were stuck between almost and never.

The moment she had dreamed about since she and Azzi were on the same team in a U16 tournament. It was here.

And then Azzi turned fully—as if she sensed Paige watching. Looked past the assistants smoothing down the hem of her dress

And she smiled

Soft—almost shy.

But Paige caught it—the real one,the smile only reserved for just her. She thought she couldn’t fall even more in love then she already was—but in that moment she did.

Azzi made her way towards Paige ,heels clicking softly against carpet. Her smile grew,Paige’s chest tightened at the sight. She took in a moment to admire Azzi’s hair for the night.

Azzi had worn it down—long stunning goddess braids cascading over her shoulders and down her back like ink poured in slow motion. The braids framed her face like a halo,highlighting the sharp line of her cheekbones,the softness of her lips,the strength of her jaw.

Paige’s knees suddenly felt weaker than they ever have.

She had seen Azzi sweaty in a practice shirt,bare faced and sleepy on long flights,laughing in oversized t-shirts over FaceTime. Even seen her with the same hairstyle. But she had never seen her like this—elevated,radiant,ethereal.

There was power in it. In the way Azzi wore her beauty through pride.

And yet she still looked at Paige like she was the one who hung the stars.

She nearly forgot how to breathe.

“You clean up nice Bueckers”Azzi whispered when she neared close enough for her to hear it,eyes flicking down to the navy suit Paige wore,the undone buttons,the chain peaking out of the collar.

Paige gave her a slow once over in return—not caring who was watching “You think so?”

Azzi smirked”You wore that suit on purpose” her voice was soft—but it carried an undertone that was only shared in moments of lust.

“I wore it just for you.”

Then Azzi moved

She stepped forward slowly and slid her arms around Paige’s neck-not rushed, just real,as if it was second nature. Her fingertips grazed the hair along Paige’s nape,warm and soft,then settled there.

The press of her body was grounding. Paige froze for half a second—like she was 17 again and Azzi Fudd had just wrapped her arms around her. Then instincts kicked in and her hands moved towards Azzi’s waist,settling just above the curve of her ass. Fingers brushing the edge of the dress where fabric met skin.

She felt the rise and fall of Azzi’s chest.

In that moment everything else disappeared. The makeup artists kept moving in the background. The camera clicked with a shutter again. Brittany murmured something to Azzi’s assistant. But Paige heard none of it.

Azzi was close enough now that her breath was right over her ear,light and steady. Her cheek lightly brushed Paige’s temple—and Paige closed her eyes at the familiar sensation. The scent of her,the way her nails lightly pressed at the back of her neck like she needed to be touching her there.

“Are you trying to kill me before the draft even starts?”Paige whispered— loud enough for only the two of them to pick up on.

She felt Azzi’s lips curve against her skin.

“No,I’m trying to make sure you remember what’s waiting for you after this.”

Paige squeezed her waist tightly at this,letting her thumbs rub along the exposed skin on her back.

She leaned in and whispered with a low sultry tone

“If you keep talking like that…”She paused her voice dragging with heat “I’ma make you regret wearing something I can’t rip clean off.”

She felt Azzi’s breath hitch at this,nails pressing hard into the pale skin of her neck.

They stood in silence after that longer than they should've.Long enough for a makeup artist to clear their throat.But neither of them pulled away quite yet.Azzi leaned back far enough to look her in the eyes

“I’d say we look pretty coordinated tonight” she said softly, fingers still brushing the skin of Paige’s neck.

“We do” she paused”Brittany did her thing”

Azzi just gave her a smile—dimples on full display.

Azzi sighed “I would kiss you right now if it didn’t smudge my lipstick.”

Paige just laughed at this “Lipstick can always be reapplied ma” she moved a hand towards Azzi’s face,cupping her cheek bone “Come here.”

Azzi unwrapped her arms around Paige’s neck and shoved her playfully

“I had to sit in that chair for hours getting this done no way im letting you mess it up”

Paige groaned mumbling under her breath “I’ve been banned from kissing..what kind of girlfriend would so such a cruel thing”

Azzi just rolled her eyes at this and grabbed Paige’s arm

“Let’s get our photos taken together before someone drags us over there”

And Paige just followed behind her.Eyes lingering maybe a little too long on the curve of Azzi’s ass

Yeah.She was definitely the luckiest woman on earth.

————————————————————————

She was seated at Azzi’s draft table,tucked between her parents and Geno,half—listening to Tim chat about the upcoming WNBA season.Paige nodded at the right moments ,but her eyes kept drifting—drawn like a magnet to the woman beside her.

Azzi sat nearly still,but Paige caught the way her teeth tugged anxiously at the soft skin of her bottom lip.

Without a word Paige slipped her hand under the table,resting it gently on Azzi’s upper thigh.She squeezed

Without a word Paoge slipped her hand under the table,resting it gently on Azzi’s upper thigh.She squeezed

Azzi didn’t speak just t turned her head and gave her that look.

The one that made Paige feel like her chest would split open from how much love it was holding.The one she’d spend the rest of her life chasing.No cameras.Just Azzi and those eyes,full of everything they’d survived to get to this point.

Then the commissioner stepped up to the mic.The entire arena hushed as she greeted the crowd.

Paige didn’t look at the stage.She just looked at Azzi.

“With the number one pick in the WNBA draft” the commissioners voice echoed off the walls. “The Golden State Valkyries select…Azzi Fudd, University of Connecticut"

A wave of cheers and applause broke out.Accompanied by the shuttering of cameras.The sounds felt distant to Paige like she was underwater

Azzi rose slowly from her seat,braids slipping back over her shoulders as she stood.

And them,without hesitation she turned to Paige first

She didn’t think.Just wrapped her arms around her tightly and held on.

Azzi’s arms wove tightly around her back.Paige felt the silk dress against her chest,the slight tremble of Azzi’s breath,the heat of the skin where her hand met her bare back.For a second nothing else mattered but them.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” Paige whispered into her ear

Azzi didn’t say anything, just nodded into her shoulder,silent but soft.

Then she turned to hug Tim,Katie,then Geno—who was definitely crying,and definitely getting teased for it later.

And then was walking towards the stage.

Paige sat down and watched as Azzi took the crisp Valkyries jersey with her name in bold print—holding it with the quiet grace she always carried.The quiet grace Paige had fallen in love with the moment they met.The crowd roared and Azzi smiled—wide,with those dimples anyone could fall in love with.

Paige had to bite the inside of her cheek hard—-almost enough to draw blood.

Because at that moment?

She wanted to run up there.She wanted to kiss her stupid.She wanted to press her forhead to Azzi’s head and tell her how much she deserved this,how much she earned this.She wanted to rewind every second of this night just to feel it again.

Instead she just sat perfectly still.Eyes burning with tears

She had dreamed of this night more than her own.Dreamed of watching the woman she loved—after injury,after doubt ,after the world kept asking if she would come back—finally step into the light that was meant for her.

She was sure she had never felt more proud in her life

Azzi Fudd.Number one pick

The love of her life.

Her Valk.

——————————————————————-

A week later Azzi had been invited to a private tour of the Valkyries Facility.She had insisted Paige accompany her.Even though Paige would soon be an opponent.She still wanted her moral support to steady her nerves(which she would never tell Paige was the reason).

The Valkyries facility was pristene—new wood,new glass,new history waiting to be made.Azzi tried to act unphased as she walked through the wide double doors,but her chest was tight with nerves she hadn’t expected.The last few days had been a blur—the draft,press,fittings,cameras,and now here she was,officially part of the W.

She glanced beside her as Paige followed her in,sunglasses tucked into her collar, a relaxed half smirk on her face like she owned the place,even though it wasn’t her team’s practice court.

“You’re not gonna like it too much right?” Azzi teased under her breath.”I still have to play against you.”

Paige just grinned “Im just here to be a supportive girlfriend.Totally neutral”

Azzi gave her a look

“Fine” Paige added.”I’ll clap quietly when you get you in a shot.Maybe”.

They didn’t get much further before a familiar voice called out from across the hallway.

“Well,well,well.Look who brought her ex-teamate-slash rival to work”

Azzi turned to see Kate Martin Jogging over, a wide grin stretched across her face.Tiffany Hayes and Veronica Burton weren’t far behind,looking equally amused

“I didn’t bring a rival” Azzi said,trying to steady her voice.

Tiffany raised an eyebrow “That looks like Paige Bueckers to me.Pretty sure she cooked us last season”

“She had 24” Kate added,helpful yet annoying”We lost in OT”

Azzi groaned

“She’s not here to spy” she said “She’s here for moral support.And i wanted her to see the facility.”

“Mhmmm” Tiffany said,eyeing Paige”And how moral is that support,exactly?”

Paige stepped forward,hand on Azzi’s hip,a spark of mischief bouncing in her eyes”You know i offered to keep it professional.But someone begged me to come”

Azzi shot her a glare “I did not beg.”

She’s not here to spy” she said “She’s here for moral support.And i want her to see the facility.”

Kate whistled”Damn its like that”

Azzi just shook her head in annoyance

Veronica nudged her “They’re just saying—bold move bringing in your former backcourt partner info enemy territory.Not sure Coach would approve”

“I already cleared it” Azzi said and turned,starting down towards another hallway”Tours happening anyways.If anyone wants to act normal for 5 minutes”

Behind her Veronica whispered loud enough for everyone to hear,”Act normal?Girl that was us being polite”

Paige laughed,low and pleased,jogging to catch up with her agitated girlfriend.

“I think they already love you” she said as she fell into stride with Azzi.

“I don’t know.They seemed kind of standoffish” Azzi muttered,biting her lip.

Paige bumped her shoulder lightly “They were teasing.Everyone loves you” She paused smiling “Though no way they will love you as much as I do”

Azzi laughed,mumbling a returned I love you.She reached over enclosing her hand in Paige’s

It was a new court.A new team.

Yet Paige still felt like her home

——————————————————————

Paige hated to admit it but the Valks facility was immaculate.High ceilings,sleek floors—a clear sign of a new building.Azzi was practically glowing as she walked through it all—the hardwood court stretching beneath her feet,the rafters where banners filled with accomplishments would be hung in the future.Watched as she introduced herself to team staff—a nervous smile tugging at her lips.

Paige stood a little to the side,on the edge of these moments,trying her best to not look too obvious.But she couldn’t help it.Azzi was radiant,her energy infected as she toured the facility like it was made for her.She’d always been so calm,so composed on the court,but in this moment,in this space—her new space—she looked giddy.

Paige’s eyes traced every movement,every flicker of excitement on her face.When Azzi reached the locker room,she ran her fingers over the new locked with her name embroidered on it,the plaque catching the light.Azzi’s fingers lingered for a moment,brushing across the surface, like she couldn’t believe it was real.Paige had seen her confident,focused,driven, and excited.But now she was amazed…She was seeing it,living it,all for the first time.

Azzi grinned at the nameplate shaking her head slightly,”This is crazy” she whispered to herself,but Paige caught it—and something in her chest swelled. Azzi was so genuine in this moment.So unguarded.Her excitement was as bright as her smile,and Paige was lost in it.

When Azzi turned and caught Paige looking she blinked for a second—as if she had just realized Paige was watching her.There was no embarrassment,no hesitation,it felt for a second like the whole room disappeared.The way her lips parted, just enough to speak.The way her eyes softened,in the the way they only did when she looked at Paige.

“You okay baby?” Azzi asked,the spark still in her eyes,her voice still laced with excitement.

Paige swallowed,forcing herself to breathe again.”Yeah” she said,but a tear escaped the corner of her eye

Her emotions were a traitor

“Im just so fucking proud of you” she choked

Azzi’s smile widened,and her heart skipped a beat,smiling knowing she was this loved.

“Thanks P” she said softly,eyes never leaving Paige “It still feels like a dream.”

Paige’s chest tightened,as she looked at Azzi standing there,so full of life,so full of hope in this moment.Her heart was full of something that somehow felt stronger then love,it almost hurt.

Azzi turned back to the locker for a minute,then shot a look over her shoulder,meeting Paige’s gaze again.”I’m just…I never thought I'd be here.You know?After everything.”

Paige didn’t say anything for a couple seconds,too caught up in the rawness. of it all,but she shook her head,her smile softening

“I know” she said quietly”I know exactly how you feel”

Azzi smiled—turning back in the direction of the court she would soon call hers.”I can’t wait to get out there”

Paige didn’t move.She didn’t need to.Just watched,her heart swelled with something so deep and soft for Azzi that it made everything else blur.

It was the same feeling Paige had when they were together,back at UConn .But here in this moment,Paige bathed in it—Azzi was living her dream right here,and it was something Paige would never grow tired of watching.

Azzi walked back towards her new home court with that same quiet confidence,but there was something different about her today.She was more than just a rookie.She was home.And Paige standing in the background,was once again reminded that she was already in love with the way Azzi moved through the world,the way she embraced her victories,no matter how small.And Paige vowed in that moment to be there for every single victory—always watching in awe.Proud.Always in Azzi’s corner

——————————————————————

A few weeks later,Azzi found herself in the depply cursed ritual known as moving.

Boxes were stacked like a skyline around her brand new apartment,the scent of fresh paint still lingering in the air.Sweat clung to her temple,her hair hung low and clinging to her back in the effort.She’d forgotten how much she loathed this process.The hauling.The lifting.The chaos of unpacking cardboard.

Good thing she had a tall,annoyingly helpful hot blonde girlfriend who made a sport out of it.

“Bet you wish you had guns like these” Paige teased,attempting to lift a heavy box with one arm like she was in a strongman competition.Her biceps flexed under the strain,and she flashed Azzi that cocky smile—the one that always walked the fine line between charming and maddening.

Azzi raised an eyebrow,failing to bite back the smile at her lips.”Less flexing,more unpacking,Captain Biceps”

The taller girl chuckled,clearly undeterred and shot her a wink.”The sooner we finish the sooner we can break in your new bed.”

Azzi rolled her eyes,turning away so Paige wouldn’t catch the way her cheeks flushed—embarrassed that a groan worthy line was so effective.

They settled into a silent rhythm,the kind that came with knowing each other for years,Unpacking turned into a simple waltz of lifting,folding,and tossing memories into new places.Occasionally they’d bump hips,exhange a heavy glance, and maybe sneak a few makeout sessions during breaks that were definitely longer then necessary.

At one point Azzi left to grab her water bottle from the kitchen.But when she returned to the living room and caught sight of Paige her knees buckled.

Paige had peeled off her white t-shirt and slipped on the brand new Valkyries jersey Azzi had intended on giving her.It hung on her frame,brushing the tops of her black corduroy shorts.She stood in the middle of the room doing a dramatic pose in front of the mirror they left propped against the wall,flexing again.This time in Valkyries purple

Azzi froze,throat dry.Paige glanced up at the sound of her footstep,grinning like a fool.

What ya think princess” Paige paused,spinning on socked feet “Purples my colour huh”

Azzi rolled her eyes “Wearing the opposition's colors is a bold move. Even for you.”

Paige just laughed and closed the distance between them,wrapping her arms low above Azzi’s waist.Her hands—predictably,found Azzi’s ass,and Azzi didn’t even bother swatting them away this time.Instead she braced herself against Paige’s solid bicep,her fingers digging into the muscle with intent.

“You like me wearing your jersey baby?” Paige whispered,her tone suddenly gone of playfulness.

“ Does it make you wet?”.Azzi nearly collapsed at this.She didn’t answer,just grabbed Paige’s face aggressively before smashing their lips together.The kiss started off slowly at first,molten and unhurried —-as if their mouths had forgotten they weren’t starving.But it quickly grew heated as her tongue forced its way past Paige’s lips.She couldn't help but let out a moan,moving her hands to grip Paige's skin under the fabric of the jersey.

Paige broke the kiss and moved towards Azzi’s neck,lips biting into caramel skin—-then tracing gentle strokes of her tongue to contrast the harshness.Azzi surrendered to the sensation a breathless moan of Paige’s name leaving her lips.

Paige grinned against her skin.In that moment clarity struck Azzi.Tonight she wanted to be in charge

With sudden strength Azzi grabbed Paige’s bun and tugged hard,pulling her girlfriend’s mouth away from her neck.Paige whimpered but quickly shifted gears,her voice dropping into a low tone

“C’mon mama,quit playing.Let me take care of you” she whined,gripping Azzi’s ass tighter,trying to prove a point.Azzi’s breath hitched but her resolve hardened.

“No.”she remarked,low and final.

Paige’s eyes widened in confusion “What?”

“I’m in charge tonight” Azzi declared,one hand gripping Paige’s jaw,the other still tangled in her hair.Paige let out a soft frustrated whine.

“Youre gonna let me do whatever I want,and you’re gonna listen.Does that sound good baby?”

Paige nodded,suddenly too desperate for words.And Azzi hadn’t even really touched her yet

Azzi crushed their lips together again—no hesitation this time.The kiss was fierce.Hard.Messy hungry.She guided them toward the black leather couch,still gripping Paige’s bun.When they reached the couch,she released her grip,their mouths wet with shared lust.

“Take you clothes off.”

Paige didn’t respond.She just followed instruction.Fingers clutching the waistband of her shorts,sliding them slowly down to her ankles,Her boxers followed,legs trembling under Azzi’s stare.She reached for the hem of the Valkyries jersey but Azzi quickly stopped her.

“Keep it on” she commanded,voice thick and rough “I want you to wear it while I ruin you”

Paige nesrly collapsed backwards onto the couch.Azzi chuckled,loving Paige’s desperation.She pushed Paige onto the cushions,watching with heated eyes as she shed her croptop,revealing black lace that barely contained her curves.

Her hands slipped into the waistband of her own shorts,peeling them off until she stood before Paige in nothing but a matching dark set.

Straddling Paige’s lap,Azzi crushed their lips together again

Paige’s hands instinctively moved towards Azzi’s hips but Azzi slapped them away with a playful tut.

“Who said you could touch?

“But—“

Azzi silenced her with a hand over her mouth.”Can you be a good girl for me?”

Her fingers danced Paige’s scalp,the power of dominance humming through her veins.The rare kind Paige rarely let her hold.

Azzi’s lips found Paoge’s neck with a deep hunger,seeking a pulse point.Her teeth bit hard on pale skin.Then slow and calculated,she traced the mark with her tongue,licking up the entire length of her throat—teasing,claiming and owning.

She quickly sat up—effectively no longer straddling Paige.

Azzi rolled her eyes “Wearing the opposition's colors is a bold move. Even for you.”

Paige just laughed and closed the distance between them,wrapping her arms low above Azzi’s waist.Her hands—predictably,found Azzi’s ass,and Azzi didn’t even bother swatting them away this time.Instead she braced herself against Paige’s solid bicep,her fingers digging into the muscle with intent

“You like me wearing your jersey baby?” Paige whispered,her tone suddenly gone of playfulness.

“ Does it make you wet?”.Azzi nearly collapsed at this.She didn’t answer,just grabbed Paige’s face aggressively before smashing their lips together.The kiss started off slowly at first,molten and unhurried —-as if their mouths had forgotten they weren’t starving.But it quickly grew heated as her tongue forced its way past Paige’s lips.She couldn't help but let out a moan,moving her hands to grip Paige's skin under the fabric of the jersey.

Paige broke the kiss and moved towards Azzi’s neck,lips biting into caramel skin—-then tracing gentle strokes of her tongue to contrast the harsh harshness.Azzi surrendered to the sensation a breathless moan of Paige’s name leaving her lips.

Paige grinned against her skin.In that moment clarity struck Azzi.Tonight she wanted to be in charge

With sudden strength Azzi grabbed Paige’s bun and tugged hard,pulling her girlfriend’s mouth away from her neck.Paige whimpered but quickly shifted gears,her voice dropping into a low tone

“C’mon mama,quit playing.Let me take care of you” she whined,gripping Azzi’s ass tighter,trying to prove a point.Azzi’s breath hitched but her resolve hardened.

“No.”she remarked,low and final.

Paige’s eyes widened in confusion “What?”

“I’m in charge tonight” Azzi declared,one hand gripping Paige’s jaw,the other still tangled in her hair.Paige let out a soft frustrated whine.

“Youre gonna let me do whatever I want,and you’re gonna listen.Does that sound good baby?”

Paige nodded,suddenly too desperate for words.And Azzi hadn’t even really touched her yet

Azzi crushed their lips together again—no hesitation this time.The kiss was fierce.Hard.Messy hungry.She guided them toward the black leather couch,still gripping Paige’s bun.When they reached the couch,she released her grip,their mouths wet with shared lust.

“Take you clothes off.”

Paige didn’t respond.She just followed instruction.Fingers clutching the waistband of her shorts,sliding them slowly down to her ankles,Her boxers followed,legs trembling under Azzi’s stare.She reached for the hem of the Valkyries jersey but Azzi quickly stopped her.

“Keep it on” she commanded,voice thick and rough “I want you to wear it while I ruin you”

Paige nearly collapsed backwards onto the couch.Azzi chuckled,loving Paige’s desperation.She pushed Paige onto the cushions,watching with heated eyes as she shed her croptop,revealing black lace that barely contained her curves.

Her hands slipped into the waistband of her own shorts,peeling them off until she stood before Paige in nothing but a matching dark set.

Straddling Paige’s lap,Azzi crushed their lips together again

Paige’s hands instinctively moved towards Azzi’s hips but Azzi slapped them away with a playful tut.

“Who said you could touch?

“But—“

Azzi silenced her with a hand over her mouth.”Can you be a good girl for me?”

Her fingers danced Paige’s scalp,the power of dominance humming through her veins.The rare kind Paige rarely let her hold.

Azzi’s lips found Paoge’s neck with a deep hunger,seeking a pulse point.Her teeth bit hard on pale skin.Then slow and calculated,she traced the mark with her tongue,licking up the entire length of her throat—teasing,claiming and owning.

She quickly sat up—effectively no longer straddling Paige.

She quickly settled on her knees between Paige’s legs.Paige was already trembling for her,thighs parted,folds glistening in the light of the room.The Valkyries jersey was ridden up to her hips.Leaving her cunt in perfect view

“Fuck baby…” azzi murmured,fingers grazing the pale skin of Paige’s thighs “This pussy is so soaked for me”.Paige whimpered clawing her fingers imto the leather of the couch.Azzi leaned in pressing a soft kiss just abive her mound.Then another.Then a third one much closer now.She dragged her tongue slowly through Paige’s folds,groaning as she tasted her—tangy and warm,just for her.

“God,you taste like heaven”Azzi rasped,nose brushing against Paige’s clit. Paige let out a choked noise,hips twitcjing into Azzi’s mouth

“Baby please”she whined,voice thin and needy.”Stop teasing me”

But Azzi didn’t respond with words.Instead,she tightened her grip on her thighs and spread them wider—staring up at her like she was about to destroy her.Which she was

“Beg.” Azzi stated simply

Paige’s head fell back,frustration evident in her tone”Please…fuck,Az,I need your mouth.I need you inside me—dont make me wait anymore”

“Good girl”

She dove in with no warning.Just her mouth devouring Paige’s pussy,tongue parting her folds in slow deliberate strokes.Paige gasped,arching up,but Azzi was ready—she flattened her tongue and licked up over and around her clit in tight circles before closing her lips around it and sucking hard.

Paige cried out

Her hands shot to Azzi’s head,fingers twisting into her hair,but Azzi caught her wrists and pinned them to the couch.

“Stay still”

Paige nodded frantically,panting as her legs quivered.Azzi released her wrists but didn’t break her rhythm—she licked paige with a steady intensity,tongue dragging slow then quick,relentless and then tender,building Paige’s orgasm with every motion.

She didn’t relent.She didn’t stop.She just stared up at Paige,pupils blown wide,as if this is what she was made for.

“Fuck,fuck Azzi your—tongue—“ Paige babbled,eyes fluttering,voice catching with each moan

Azzi growled low against her,causing Paige’s hips to twitch up in response.She switched her angle,tongue fucking deep into Paige’s entrance now,slow and watm—whilst her thumb circled her clit with maddened precision.

“You look so pretty when you’re falling apart for me” Azzi whsipered pulling back to speak—her mouth covered in Paige’s arousal.

“G-god fuck baby—“ Paige let out a wanton moan tilitiing her head back and closing her eyes..

“Keep those eyes open for me baby.I want to see you”.Azzi let go of Paige’s thigh in favour of spreading Paige’s folds open with her fingers—- allowing her tongue to go deeper inside her gummy walls.

Paige bit her lip hard—nearly drawing blood as she felt the coil in her stomach tighten.

“Fuck Azzi…just like that” she whimpered”Im so close baby”.She shook her head into Paige’s core as she fucked her with her tongue.Paige’s breaths started to quicken .Then Azzi hit a particularly spongey spot inside Paige—making her let out a guttural moan in response.

“Im so close Az,please dont stop—fuck,I’m gonna—-”

But Azzi pulled away.Completely

Paige let out an animalistic noise—somewhere between a sob and scream.Her whole body tensed—desperate,soaked and feral

“Why—“ she panted voice wrecked “Why’d you stop”

Azzi rose up slowly,abs tensing with the effort

“Because i want to watch you cum with my name on your back”.Paige just nodded—still panting from her stolen orgasm.

She grabbed Paige by the throat to force her into a sloppy kiss—Paigr moaned at the taste of her own arousal.Tongue darting outside to taste herself as much as she could. Azzi pulled back—a string of saliva connecting their mouths.

“Get up baby and bend over the couch for me”Azzi stroked her cheek.Paige’s lips were bitten and swollen—eyes glossy.

She rose,shaky on her legs,and bent over the arm of the couch,her breaths shallow.The Valkyries jersey clung to her back,sweat soaked and twisted enough for “FUDD” to stand out across her back in bold purple letters.

Azzi quickly followed,standing behind Paige.Azzi took a moment—maybe too long—just to stare.

The jersey,the curve of Paige’s spine,her ass perched perfectly,thighs trembling with anticipation.She was dripping down her legs.Waiting.Submitting.

Azzi hummed in approval,stepping forward to run her palms up Paige’s thighs,slow and reverent.”You wearing my name like this?Baby…you’re asking to get ruined.”

Paige whimpered pressing her forhead into the leather cushion “Please.Azzi.I need you.”

Azzi tucked paige’s jersey higher,folding it into Paige’s sports bra to keep the view clear.Then she spread Paige’s legs wider with a nudge of her thigh,biting her lip at the sight of her soaked,twitching cunt.

She hummed in satisfaction,thumb stroking along Paige’s ass before pulling back to give it a quick slap.Paige’s hips pressed back at the action—a whimper falling from her lips

“Arch more for me baby” Paige pressed her body further down into the couch at Azzi’s request—recieving another slap to the ass in response.

“Look at this pussy..” Azzi breathed.She dragged two fingers through Paige’s folds,fluid coating her fingers instantly.” So fucking wet.Is that all for me?”

Paige nodded furiously,gasping as Azzi teased her entrance with the pad of her fingers.

Azzi smirked then thrust inside—two fingers driving deep into her in one fluid motion.

Paige cried out,hands clawing into the leather.

Azzi didn’t give her time to adjust.She set a punishing rhythm right away,knuckle-deep strokes curling upward with each thrust,fingers fucking into Paige with intent,her palm brushing her clit on every pass.

“God,Mommy—fuck—“Paige sobbed,the words tumbling out as her hips rocked back against her hand “S-so deep”

Azzi leaned over,chest brushing Paige’s back,lips ghosting over her ear”You’re taking me so well baby,so tight for me.”

Paige had long since given up on being quiet— letting out loud guttural whines and babbling nonsensically.With every thrust she met Paige’s clit—red swollen and throbbing from the denial of the previous orgasm.With her other hand she traced the letters of her last name on Paige’s back—her name on full display as she ruined Paige.

She reached up and grabbed a handful of Paige’s now messy bun,yanking her head back so their eyes could meet in the reflection of the mirror left leaning on the wall across the room.

“Look at yourself. wearing my name like a slut.Are you my slut baby?”Paige’s eyes darkened at this she tried to get the words out but nothing came—-it was if she was too fucked out to speak.She moved her hand to roughly grip Paige’s cheekbones at this—-fingers still destroying Paige’s walls.

“I asked you a question baby” Paige moaned—eyes watering

“Y-yes fuck mommy I’m such a slut for you.” Paige moaned,gaze glassy,breath’s coming out in stutters.Her thighs were shaking,knees buckling between the pleasure.

The sounds in the room were absolutely filthy.Nothing but the sound of Paige’s slick filled the space—the creek of the couch as Azzi's fingers pounded into her.

“You close?” Azzi asked,voice low,almost teasing,she slid in a third finger without warning.

Paige screamed.

Her body jerked,hips grinding back frantically as her walls clenched around Azzi’s hand.She couldn’t answer.Just nodded over and over,face flushed eyes rolling back.

Azzi’s free hand came around to harshly circle her clit,quick and relentless.”Come for me.Now” she growled into Paige’s neck “Soak my fucking fingers.”

Paige shattered.

Her whole body convulsed,legs giving out as her orgasm hit her like a freight train.She cried Azzi’s name over and over,walls pulsing around her fingers,slick gushing down her thighs.

Azzi didn’t stop.

She kept fucking her through it relentless and deep,even as Paige whined,trembled—attempting to twist away from the overstimulation.Azzi’s hand reached back up and tighted around her hair.She yanked sharply,forcing her head back so their eyes locked—wild,desperate and starving.

Paige whimpered her mouth parting as Azzi leaned down and spat deliberately into her waiting mouth.The taste was raw,possesive

“Swallow” Azzi growled.

Paige obeyed without hesitation,swallowing the spit with a shaky gulp,eyes wide and completely undone.

Good girl” she pushed paige’s face into the couch cushion—muffling her loud moans.She felt Paige’s walls tighten around her—curling her fingers into Paige’s gummy spot.She drove harder—fighting the resistance of Paige's walls sucking her in.

“Stop mommy its too much” Paige gasped,desperation and want battling for control in her voice.But her hips betrayed her,chasing Azz’s fingers with frantic desperation.

Azzi just smirked “No baby.one more.You’re begging arent you?She’s still begging for me”

Paige nodded shakily letting out a breathless” Ok”

Azzi pulled back and removed her fingers out—slow and slick,strings of arousal clinging between her hand’s and Paige’s pulsing heat.

Paige groaned at the stark emptiness.Pushing her hips back and meeting Azzi’s eyes

“God” Azzi whimpered,bringing her fingers to her mouth and sucking them clean.Paige whimpered at the slurping noise,at the look in Azzi's eyes—ravenous and in control.

Azzi dropped to her knees behind her,hands spreading Paige’s cheeks apart.She could see her twitching,the aftermath of the overstimulation written all over her body.The wetness had accumulated down to her thighs.

And yet she was still wet.Still throbbing

“She’s not done” Azzi murmured almost to herself “This pussy’s crying for me.”

Without warning she drove back in.

Her tongue licked through Paige’s folds with a purpose that was almost brutal.She flattened it against her entrance and dragged up in one long stroke before wrapping her lips around her clir and sucking.Hard

Paige shrieked.

Her hands clawed at the cushions,nails digging in desperately

“A-Azzi fuck,please,I can’t” she sobbed hips jerking in attempt to move away.

Instead Azzi held her down.Moving a muscled arm around her waist,the other gripping her thigh.

“You can” Azzi growled into her “You will.”

Her tongue flicked against Paige’s clit in tight,rushed strokes,her rhythm merciless.Then she dipped down again,thrusting her tongue into Paige’s cunt like it was the only thing in the world that mattered—like she’d die without it.

The blonde’s body twitched with overstimulation.Her head shook side to side in denial,but her hips still pushed back again—chasing every lick,every breath.She was unraveling.

“I’m gonna cum again” Paige gasped,voice high pitched and frantic.”I c-cant stop—Az,baby please—“

Azzi just hummed as a response.The vibrations pushing Paige over.

Her orgasm tore through her body like a tidal wave.She came hard,shaking,sobbing,gasping for air as her thighs clamped around Azzi’s head.Azzi held her through it,tongue still lapping through her folds,face and neck now entirely covered in Paige’s arousal.

When she finally collapsed,limp over the armrest,Azzi eased back,face soaked,shining with Paige’s release.She wiped Paige’s arousal off her face with her fingers and stared at her girlfriend— absolutely wrecked,body glistening.

Azzi leaned over and pulled her gently off the armrest,her touch a shocking contrast to how ruthless she had just been to her.Paige landed in a messy sprawl on the cushions,legs still trembling,lips parted and wet with spit.

She sat next to Paige and pulled her head gently into her lap and forced her mouth open

Paige knew exactly what to do

She sucked Azzi’s fingers clean,her tongue tracing every ridge and dip with eager devotion,swallowing every drop.Azzi slid her fingers deeper into Paige’s mouth,watching the way she gagged and drooled over them.

When satisfied she pulled her fingers free with a loud pop and with her other hand stroked Paige’s sweat damp hair.Whispering praise and sweet i love you’s into her ear as Paige settled,tears still streaking down her flushed face.

Paige closed her eyes.Finally feeling her soul come back into her body.

“Holy fuck,ma” Paige murmured after a long moment,voice hoarse “I should’ve worn that Jersey sooner if I knew i’d get your like that.”

Azzi laughed softly,pressing a tender kiss to Paige’s damp hair

“You did so good for me baby” she cooed,fingers still threading through Paige’s hair.

She helped Paige up,peeling the sweat soaked Valkryies jersey and bra from her glistening frame.

“Lets go clean up” Azzi murmured, voice tender,but low and steady.

Paige shook her head “I need to taste you” she pausied to lick her lips and lock eyes with Azzi.”Please”

Azzi hummed a slow approving sound,then nodded

“You want me to sit on that pretty face of yours? Azzi teased

Paige moaned softly in response,nodding eagerly as she sank back into the couch,skin meeting cold leather.Azzi straddled Paige’s hips first,then shifted forward,letting her wet heat brush against Paige’s defined abs.Her thighs trembled slightly at this,her arousal sticking to Paige’ skin.

“Take off the bra”Paige murmured

Azzi obliged,unclasping the delicate black lace and tossing it aside.Paige stared openly at her breasts,the way they moved slightly with the rise and fall of Azzi’s chest—the way her nipples peaked in the cold air of the room.

“You’re unreal” Paige whispered,like she didn’t even mean to say it outloud

Azzi then leaned down and kissed her.Not rough like before.This time slowing.Lingering,tongues brushing and lips catching

Azzi ground down against Paige’s abdomen,letting out soft whimpers muffled by their locked mouths.Then she pulled away, breath short.

Azzi hovered her slick,heated core above Paige’s eager mouth

Paige stuck out her tongue,teasing the damp fabric of Azzi’s thong before Azzi pushed the lace aside snd settled fully onto Paige’s waiting mouth.She let out a strangled groan at the firm contact of her girlfriend’s tongue.

Paige moaned like she was the one being ate.

Without hesitation she dove in,tongue swirling through Azzi’s folds like she was starved.Her moans of pleasure mixed in with the salty sweetness—hands finding Azzi’s ass,digging in,pulling her down deeper.Azzi didn’t protest—just this once—and began to rock her hips,riding Paige’s mouth in grinding circles.

Azzi’s fingers gripped Paige’s messy hair harshly,steadying her as she rocked back and forth slowly,riding the rhythm of Paige’s tongue. Paige took Azzi’s swollen clit into her mouth,nibbling then soothing it with lazy,sensuous swirls of her tongue.

Azzi’s fingers dug into Paige’s hair harder,moaning and fighting to hold onto the dominant power she claimed in their tangled heat.

“Does my pussy taste good baby?” Azzi’s voice broke with a teasing whine just as Paige’s tongue slipped deeper,flicking inside her slick canal.

Muffled by her girlfriend,Paige nodded eagerly and let out a low hum.Sending vibrations through Azzi’s core that that twisted the coil building in her stomach.

She loosened her hold on Paige’s hair and began teasing her own nipples—pinching and rolling them in time with the grinding of her hips against Paige’s face.

Paige groaned and slapped Azzi’s ass,making her let out a sharp,breathy gasp—fighting to keep control as Paige’s tongue didn’t miss a single inch,lapping and savouring every drop of her essence.

Azzi’s breath hitched as she neared the edge.

“Fuck keep eating my pussy like that,p” she gasped,rolling her nipples between her fingertips.Her hips bucked greedily against Paige’s face.

“I’m gonna fucking come for you.”

Paige didn’t relent,her movement fierce and eager,coaxing Azz over the edge with mounting moans that bounced off the walls.

Azzi crumbled with a loud,ragged moan,grinding through the peak of her orgasm before collapsing down onto Paige’s chest,attempting to gather her stuttered breathing.

Paige lay beneath her,thumb stroking Azzi’s bare back.Mouth parted in a dazed out haze,her pale skin gleaming in the soft glow of the room’s light

She couldn’t resist.Azzi stuck out her tongue and carefully cleaned every inch of Paige’s face,not missing a single drop of her own arousal.

Paige bucked her hips at this,and Azzi grinned,pressing a teasing kiss to the column of her neck

They lay there for a few minutes in silence,coming down from the intensity.

Then Azzi looked up at Paige—eyes still full of hunger

“Can you give me another baby?”Azzi smirked wickedly,her fingers tweaking Paige’s hardened nipples.Her voice dipped low and needy,dripping in lust.”I wanna cum on your pussy.”

Paige threw her head back at the filthy promise,breath hitching and eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Azzi took this as a yes

With slow deliberate movements, Azzi shifted her hips,sliding one of Paige’s legs up and resting it firmly on her shoulder,angling herself perfectly. The heat of Azzi’s core pressed hard against Paige’s, slick with their shared arousal. The contact sent an immediate shock through them, and a loud primal moan tore from their lips simultaneously.

Azzi started off slow, grinding in calculated circles, letting the friction build and tease. But as time passed, she quickened the pace,hips rocking with growing urgency. Their puffy clits collided repeatedly in a maddening tempo—each brush sending goosebumps of pleasure riveting through their bodies. The air around them thickened with the scent of arousal. Heavy breaths and wet sounds,the relentless friction creating a symphony of choked moans and ragged gasps.

Paige’s hands stayed firmly planted on the leather, hands gripping the edges so tight her knuckles whitened. She wasn’t sure if she had permission to touch Azzi yet—so she restrained herself, eyes locked on the way Azzi’s breasts bounced with every passionate grind.

Azzi’s voice pierced through the silence,breathless and light “You wanna feel them baby?”

Paige whispered a trembling “Yes.”

Azzi grinned cunningly, pulling Paige up slightly just enough to force her mouth onto her hardened nipples.Paige’s teeth grazed the sensitive peaks, biting and tugging with growing desperation.Azzi moaned, her fingers digging deeper into Paige’s shoulders as she pushed her deeper into pleasure.

“Do you love making mommy feel good?” Azzi purred, her hand suddenly closing around Paige’s throat, applying just enough pressure to elicit a shuddering whimper.

She pushed Paige’s head back down and guided her hands towards her ass. Paige caught the hint in an instant, wrapping her fingers around the softness and helping the curly headed girl grind harder and faster against her.

Paige let out a loud broken whine, tears streaking down her flushed cheeks again as the band inside her stomach snapped tighter and tighter.

“Mommy,I’m gonna come” she groaned, hands gripping Azzi’s ass with enough force to leave half moon marks.

Azzi responded,voice equally thick with need and desire “Me too baby.Hold it for me—I’m almost there.”

Their bodies moved in perfected sync, driving against each other with wild, unfiltered abandon.

“Hmmpphh—I’m cumming on this pussy” Azzi whimpered, her voice cracking with raw emotion.”Come with me honey.”

Their orgasms crashed into each other like tidal waves—moans mixing in breathless harmony as their control shattered. Azzi collapsed fully knto Paige’s chest, both girls shaking and gasping, sweat and slick lingering on their skin.

For a long moment neither of them spoke—just the sound of steadying breaths and the warmth of skin pressed to skin

Azzi finally sighed, voice low and amused “I might need a new couch after this.”

Paige let out a hoarse laugh “Totally worth it though.”She leaned down and kissed at the skin of Azzi’s temple,a tender comparison to the wildness moments before.

“We need to get up and shower. We can’t sleep like this baby” Azzi murmured, yet nuzzled deeper into the crook of Paige’s neck.

“I know” Paige whisperd back, palm rubbing slowly against Azzi’s bare skin.”Let’s just chill here a little longer.”

Paige wanted to imprint this moment deep into her memory—the feel of Azzi’s skin, the taste of her mouth, the comfort of her voice. Nights like this would soon be rare,separated by miles and clashing schedules. But no matter where it took them, they were chasing the same dream.

Together.

Just like Paige had imagined ever since that first day they met.

[mishappeningss]

We already know about grid's relationship with her but how about off grid celebrities and famous people's relationship with her? Like she's making history left and right here, there's no way that fashion houses or famous brands won't want to work with her. She's talented, hot, famous, beautiful and has this amazing energy...

oh totallyyy, everyone off grid is into her. fashion brands are all over her, celebs and popstars show up to races to support her and her team 😩

she’s got the whole package — talent, looks, vibes — no wonder everyone wants to work w her

more about driver!yn

We all know the paddock is obsessed with her. They all follow her around like lost puppies, reposting her podium pictures, they’re shouting her name out — we get it, they love her.

But outside of the paddock? Off-grid celebrities are adoring her too. She’s not just an F1 driver anymore, she’s become a full on icon. People who don’t even watch races know her name.

The fashion world, Hollywood, the music industry, and luxury brands are tripping over themselves to work with her.

First of all, the fashion world has already claimed her. Like fully adopted her as one of their own. She’s front row at fashion week whenever she’s not racing — sitting next to big names like it’s casual — wearing custom looks aren’t even available to the public yet.

Dior, Balenciaga, Gucci — you name it — they’re all sending her pieces months in advance. And she wears them like she was born for it. Some look awkward in customs but her? Never.

She shows up in a structured bodysuit with a long train and she still looks like she could jump into a car and win a race.

She’s done campaigns for LV and Rolex, and rumor has it she’s co-designing a racing inspired capsule with Coperni. Fashion girls love her because she’s effortless. She doesn’t try — she just is.

And then you’ve got the luxury brand side — which is also obsessed with her. She’s the face of multiple campaigns as we speak — stuff like skincare, watches, tech drops, fragrances — and they all fit her because she lives that high performance lifestyle.

She’s not the person who’s pretending to care about hydration or fitness or travel, because that’s literally her daily life. So when Rolex puts her in a campaign about ‘Precision under pressure’? It hits.

Or when Estée Lauder drops a serum collab and she’s like, “This is what I wear before race week” — people believe her. She’s got credibility and influence.

And Hollywood? Don’t even get me started. She’s become the girl everyone wants to hang out with. She’s being invited to all these private dinners and post-award show parties with Mike Faist, Hailee Steinfeld, Riley Keough… and she fits.

She walks into a room full of A-listers and she’s not intimidated — she’s the one they’re all circling around. There’s whispers about her getting film offers, documentaries, maybe even a sports biopic.

She’s that rare mix of inspiring and intimidating — the type that actors and filmmakers want to write about.

And the music industry? Unreal. Dua Lipa’s been seen at her races, Raye posted her with the caption “My hero,” and there’s this clip of her dancing with Harry Styles after a GP and fans lost their minds.

Countless artists allegedly tried to get her appear in their music videos. The Weeknd reposted one of her wins with a flame emoji… and it’s not just admiration.

They respect her. They see her as someone who’s breaking boundaries, not just in sport, but in the way she carries herself. She’s confident, she’s chill, and she’s not desperate for attention — which makes her even more magnetic.

And I think what really seals it is that she’s still herself through all of it. Like she’ll go from launching a designer collab to fighting for her life in the track. She’s not losing that grounded, authentic vibe, she’s not trying to be someone else to fit into spaces.

And fans feel it too — she’s not just being hyped for being attractive or famous. She’s loved for being who she is, how she talks, and what she represents.

[kimmeiy]

the engagement party

sophia laforteza x reader

synopsis- with an engagement party coming up, y/n has to put up with sophia’s bitchy wealthy family. problem is, y/n is known for cussing out family members.

warnings- none i think

wc- 1190

i wrote this with a headache at 3am so it’s probably ass (it’s my first time writing)

sophia walked into the living room, makeup done and dressed, ready for the engagement party and she couldn’t hold back the annoyed sigh as she saw y/n, lounging on the couch casually as if they didn't have to leave in less than an hour.

“are you kidding me? why aren’t you getting dressed?”

sophia was already stressed. interactions between you and her family have never ended well and now you’re not even bothering to get ready.

you looked up confused, wondering where she was planning on going.

“dressed for what?”

that alone made sophia want to strangle you. there’s no way you’re doing this right now. she checks the time on her phone.

“are you serious? my cousin's engagement party. we have to leave in less than an hour.”

y/n sits up from the couch, digging through her brain before she finally remembers that sophia has been constantly reminding her about this party for the last two weeks.

“that’s today? i thought you said the 13th?”

“it 𝘪𝘴 the 13th. just get ready! you’re going to make us late.”

sophia puts a hand on her head and lets out another frustrated sigh as she watches y/n run around, rushing to get dressed. she checks her phone constantly, watching the time and getting more and more frustrated at every minute that passes.

when y/n finally rushes out dressed, sophia checks the time once again.

“took you long enough. we need to leave now or we’ll be late”

the whole way there, you can tell sophia is annoyed. you try to make conversation but she just brushes you off and looks out the window the whole drive. when you arrive at the venue, sophia finally turns to you, but the look on her face has you letting out a sigh.

“before we go in there, i don’t want any shit from you. i don’t care if you don’t like my family, you’re going to behave yourself.”

you roll your eyes and let out a groan

“cuss out an aunt once and suddenly i’m being scolded like a child”

“well yes! you keep acting like a child so that’s how you’re going to be treated”

“fine, if it makes you feel better, i’ll stay by your side the whole time.”

sophia nods, seemingly satisfied with that. you get inside and as soon as you’re greeted, the insults start flying.

it goes from, ‘your hair is too messy’ to, ‘you couldn’t bother to wear some makeup for once?’. it hasn’t even been ten minutes and you’re already drawn to the bar but sophia has a firm grasp on your hand, refusing to let you leave her side.

your eyes roam the party, taking in all the familiar and new faces before they finally land on the one that made you dread this a little less. sophia’s cousin matthew is the only one you actually enjoy being around. he doesn’t act like he has a stick up his ass or like he’s the best person in the immediate vicinity. you look for any opportunity to be freed from sophia’s grip. when you try to pull away, her hand tightens around yours.

“where are you going?” she pauses her conversation to ask

“i gotta use the restroom”

she lets go of your hand without a second thought and when she isn’t looking, you turn in the direction of matthew and quickly hide behind him

“what are you doing?”

“i’m hiding from sophia. she wants me to stay with her the whole time but it’s so boring.”

matthew playfully rolls his eyes,

“bar?”

“hell yeah”

the whole way to the bar, you’re on the look out for sophia. you quickly ask the bartender for the strongest drink he can mix, looking over your shoulder the whole time.

“really? you need a drink that bad?”

“no offense, but you’re family sucks”

“none taken”

when you get your drink, you try to drink it as quickly as you can.

“you plan on causing another scene this time?”

“nah, i’d rather not have sophia threaten to strangle me and leave me in a ditch again”

“that’s a shame, i was hoping for some entertainment”

you scoff and bring the glass to your mouth again, when matthew looks over your shoulder, he makes a panicked face and gestures for you to drink quicker. before you’re done, the glass is snatched from your hand.

“this doesn’t look like the restroom”

“oh, you see, what had happened was, i tripped and grabbed on to the nearest thing, that happened to be the glass.”

“are you serious? we haven’t been here for thirty minutes and you’re already drinking? you haven’t even socialized”

“i did though! with matthew” you point to the man who seems to only be interested in the drama

“matthew doesn’t count! i swear i should have left you at home”

“i’m not even doing anything! we’re just having a harmless drink”

“let’s go and stay away from matthew. you two are always up to something”

“can i at least finish my drink?”

“no.”

another hour, sophia has your hand tightly in hers, leaving no room for an escape. she talks with her aunts and you’re just there, trying to look polite, pretending to be interested in the conversation. one comment in particular caught your attention however

“when will you finally settle down with a nice young man sophia?”

you can tell the comment also took her by surprise as she seems to not know what to say

“she’ll do that when you finally decide to leave your cheating husband” you say quickly, earning a sharp gasp from most people who heard it and a slap on the arm from sophia

“what? everyone wonders the same thing”

the thing is, you’ve only ever acted out around her family when they disrespected sophia. she never defends herself so you do it for her, not liking when 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 says something against her.

“what did you say to me?” her bitchy aunt says

“well-“ before you can finish, sophia pulls you away, apologizing until they can’t hear her.

“what’s wrong with you? why would you say that!”

“i’m supposed to just let her say whatever she wants to you?”

“you didn’t have to say anything! why do you always have to go causing problems?”

“because you never defend yourself! you just let them say shit to you and it pisses me off”

sophia rolls her eyes, she knows that you just want to defend her but this is her family, she used to this

“you always go too far”

“okay, i’m sorry, but she just upset me.”

“yeah, she upsets everyone but nobody ever says anything”

“except me”

“except you.”

sophia stays silent for a few seconds, clearly thinking about something.

“thank you… for always defending me when i’m not brave enough to do it myself”

“i’d gladly do it every time”

“y/n! glad to know i can always count on you to keep the parties interesting!”

matthew shouts from where he stands at the bar and you just shake your head with a smile.

‘god i hate this family’

[on-the-clear-blue]

Unlike the others, Connor wasnt very excited about having a new "brother".

He had only really truly started to get along with Clark (yes he refused to call the man anything else) a few months ago after years of emotional will tehy won't theying, and it was only now that Connor actually had a room at the Kents.

But as always, they were firmly still awkward around each other, usually needing another person there to be social lubricant to make sure neither of them said something random like "Why dont you love me" or "I never wanted you to exits but-"

Anyways...after the sudden outburst of swearing and cursing to flipping Batman of all people, Connor was looking forward to at least introducing Danny to Tim...not the other Bats or Birds just yet, no body needs that kinda attitudes or bullshittery without deserving it.

His eyes flicked between this Maddie lady and Clark, he could see the resignation on her face, along with guilt and a swiftly crushed hope.

('Wow, great job Clarkie, way to just harsh the vibe')

The boy, or really, teen was standing by his mother looking he would rather be anywhere else, and Connor could understand that too a T.

He was told that Danny had powers and a lab accident, so at least the usually Kryptonian suite of weirdness mixed with whatever kinda crazy science that the Fentons had cooked up (Clark had been tight lipped with just what exactly the woman and the husband she cheated on were doctors of, though he was sure a quick stop to Titans Tower or a YJ base to run a search)

What Connor was trying to get at was...Danny would 100% get a "Super" title and some blue spandex in a week tops, maybe sooner. Something about being around Clark just made perfectly sane people decide to be heros and vigilantes.

(For fucks sake he is sure he had caught Lois brainstorming a hero name out loud before she saw him and blushed harder than he had ever seen her do before telling him to go clean his room)

---

Clark stared into Madelines eyes, daring the woman to say something else, to try and insulate that he could have been cared the least bit about her still.

There was a time, years back, that he would have dropped everything in his life to see this woman again, he had built her up to be some sort of goddess in his mind and yet.

The second he actually saw her again all he could feel was apathy for her, and anger at being denied access to his son.

He watched as she nodded, eyes squeezed shut before letting out a long sigh, before finally turning away from Clark, and to the son he never knew he had.

"Daniel, I love you. More than you ever could know...Jack and I will fix this, we...it was our fault this is happening. I will call you when I can okay? Jazz will be coming up next week with some supplies and a few..." the woman turned to the Kents, then to the people milling in the street, it seemed the Fenton sized tank was gathering more attention the longer it stayed there on the busy city street.

"She'll have some vials, it should speed up the healing process, dont use any of *those* powers dont turn, anything with ecto can alert them, just..." the woman's eyes flicker to the Kents once more, "Learn from your...learn from Clark how to defend yourself, he will know a bit more than I do about what you can do."

The two, mother and son, shared a long hug before they pulled apart, and like that Madeline Fenton was out of his life once again.

---

Okay yeah Jon had so many questions and he was going to explode if he cant ask any of them.

But a quick look to his mom and- Yeah the clouds look great today, totally not going to just blurt stuff out, it would be...untactful.

He watched as the silver hulking beast actually crunched down the street, leaving some cracks on the pavement as it sped off...

Yeah the Mayor was so going to hear about that...at least this time it wasnt one of his family members that caused the destruction of public property!

Wait tho if it was Danny's mom then...technically it was...

"Dad can I show Daniel around the house! I want to give him the tour!" Jon decided that, it wanst worth worrying about the city's budget when he had a new brother to show around!

His Dad looked towards him, having stared after the silver tank as it left until he called out, and he only gave a small smile when Jon usually would have gotten a grin, "Of course kiddo, just go slow with him...Daniel is still healing."

Right, he was hurt...wait what even hurt him? Like he was a half Kryptonian right? Did this GIW group find Kryptonite? Ughhhhh that would totally, utterly suck dealing with...

But thats Later Jon's problem, right now he had something better to do!

"Come on! We're sharing a room since Kon is a jerk and didn't want to share! Mom and I built a bunk bed and I'll even let you get the top bunk if you want! Oh this is gonna be so cool!"

Grabbing his new brothers hand, Jon started to, carefully, drag him into the condo building.

---

After one awkward elevator ride up, filled with the youngest chattering away about anything that seemed to pop into his mind, Danny was very quickly realizing just how much the low ecto in Metropolis was affecting him.

Danny was usually pretty good with kids younger than him, having done his fair share of babysitting jobs and dealing with Young Blood, and hell, Jon wasnt even that much younger than him, barely a year and half younger (if Tuckers super secret technique of scrolling through Clark and Lois's Facebook accounts were correct)

But by the time the elevator stopped, and he was able to step out, Danny was utterly drained.

Maybe it was the cross country road trip at break neck speed, dodging their GIW tails and fighting anyone that they couldn't go around, plus the extra burden of healing...

Danny only wanted to eat a dozen Nasty Burgers, down a gallon of cola and hibernate till next spring.

Though, he didnt have the heart to phase through Jon's grip on his arm, and let himself be pulled along.

Once inside the apartment he would be staying in for an undisclosed period of time (about long enough for his mom and...yeah Jack is still his Dad, to dismantle the GIW), Danny could see that it was a pretty average place, nothing super fancy but still better than his house. Though not as fancy as Sam's mansion.

"Okay so this is the living room, Mom says we can watch what ever we want as long as it is pg-13 or keep it down if it's R, the dining room is over there, we only really eat then on Sundays." Danny nodded along, walking with yhe younger boy before pausing as he felt his phone vibrate in him.

Yes, inside of him.

He had lost the damn thing so many times between fights, extra dimensional hops and governmental black site medical exams that he had found it just so easy to keep inside of him for safe keeping.

Looking over to Jon to pull his hand away, he was met with a barely, pathetically hidden look of horror.

Then he felt a large hand on his shoulder and suddenly he was spun around, looking at his bio dad and oh shit he looks pissed...oh not pissed, okay many a bit angry but very concerned it seemed.

"Daniel...what is ringing inside of you?"

Ugh...he really didn't want to deal with this....

Maddie looked down at the floating, giggling baby boy in front of her, and felt old guilt bubble up inside of her.

It had been at first time Jack and her had fought, disagreeing on theories and neither of them left the arguments at the lab, Jazz had just been a little girl then, barely tottering around with a big gummy smile.

They had tried to patch it up, to pretend that the words they said in their rants didn't hurt, but in the end...Jack had taken Jazz up state, vist his family for the summer and leaving Maddy all alone.

It really was a moment of weakness, she had met Clark Kent and it was a whirlwind of emotions almost instantly.

She had a type, sue her, big nerdy farm boys that stuttered when they got kissed, who looked at her like she was the only thing that ever mattered...

She saw Jack in Clark's sky blue eyes, and the guilt built up.

The romance was wild and fast, like a runaway train hurtling towards a cliff. They moved fast, skipping through the long talks and planning that she had with Jack, and going right to the down and dirty.

Even though she loved it (even though she loved Him) Maddie knew that she couldn't keep it up, she admitted in the end, that she was married, that she had a child and neither of them wanted to tare that family apart.

She still remembered the betrayed look on Clark's face when she told him, when he found out that she was cheating on her husband, the kind of hurt that echoed in her mind, those sky blue eyes that she fell so hard for were like icy flakes as she held her head in her hands and cried.

She didn't know what she had wanted from.him then, to fight for her, perhaps to even comfort her at that time, even though she had spent the last months living a lie. In the end Clark just stood and left, his shoulders tight and back straight, walking out of the small apartment that Maddie rented in Metropolis to get away from it all.

It was for the best, she knew that. When Jack came back they managed to work the relationship out, Jazz had been young enough not to remember the fighting.

And by the time that the baby bump started to form, she didn't doubt that it couldn't have been Jacks child.

(A lingering in the back of her mind, a dark nothingness whispered, "its not his. It's the man you toyed with and threw away")

She had managed to push those thoughts aaway, convincing herself that it had to be Jacks, that the child (Daniel, after her grandfather) would bring them together, mend the cracks even more.

When the boy was born she could only see His eyes. Not Jacks cloudy, ocean blues, but Clark's stark sky colored ones, the same small curl in his downy baby hair.

She had never felt more in love, and never had felt more disgusted in herself.

Maddie let Jack think Danny was his, trying to keep the grimace off her face each time she saw her husband, the man she had spent so long building up a new branch of science with, coo and tickle the child that was proof of her infidelity.

When the boy started to float, that was when she felt a pang of panic, she didn't have the meta gene, she had tested and double tested to make sure, and came to the conclusion that it was Clark. That Clark had powers and never felt comfortable enough to tell her.

(Little did she know, that on the day she told him, Clark had a ring in his pocket, his mother's simple band that held a small diamond, he had planned to propose, to tell her his biggest secret, but the words died in his throat at her confession, and the box now sat, in the dark corner of his bedside table, only to be gazed at with a sorrowful heart in days he is reminded of the woman he thought he knew)

It was when the boy, Danny was age 14, bloody and delirious, with scars in a Y shape across his chest that oozed green instead of red, when she had to pull him out from a lab that used her own technology to torture her son that she finally pulled out her phone, with shaking hands she typed out the same number that even after all these years she still remembered.

"Hello Kent residency! How can I help ya?" A young voice answered, and she could hear the cheery sunshine smile through the line.

("He has a family now. Don't you dare feel jealous Madeline, you did this to yourself")

"Hi there, is Clark there? I-i need to speak to him about something." She managed to say with an even voice, even though her heart pounded in her chest.

"Uhhh...yeah I think Dad is around. Lemme-oop here he is" there was a rustling as the phone was passed between hands, a whispered conversation.

("Who is it Jon? *I dunno Dad, just some lady asking for you?* sigh, dont just answer my phone son, now go help your mother, it isnt fair that she does all the house work")

There was a shuffle of feet and then- "Hello, Clark speaking, may I ask who is calling?"

That voice. It was deep but gentle and caring, smooth like velvet with a hit of that country still in him.

"Clark...its been a while....I-its Madeline. Please dont hang up. I am just...I just need you help with something." She hears a sharp drawn in breath, the perfect stillness that she could have thought that he had hung up until-

"What do you need." It was clipped, words controlled and even, though there was something behind held back, old emotions and hurt dug back up with just a simple phone call.

"After...our-our relationship. I got back with Jack. I am not...not calling to get back together. It's just...Clark I was pregnant. It...he was yours."

There was another drawn in breath, then a sound closer to a whimper than a sigh "W-what?" (On the other side, the Man of Steel was hunching over the living room coffee table, glasses thrown to the side as he massaged the bridge of his nose, breath speeding up as his brain raced) "How...how can you be sure it is mine..."

She presses her back agaisnt a wall, her head leaning agaisnt it as her eyes closed, "Clark. He can fly. And lift cars. And...and lived when thousands of volts of electricity ran through his body...I dont have the meta gene, neither does my parents or Jack and his. The only conclusion i can come is that..."

"He's mine..." Clark's voice was limp, sounding far away yet all the same still there.

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, both clearly going though the motions, before Clark finally spoke "Why did you never tell me till now." There was a longing in his voice, one that Maddie couldn't fully understand.

"It wasnt until he was born that I knew for certain Danny was yours Clark. I didn't want to...to risk everything that Jack and I had built again after it all just to call you...I knew how much you had wanted to be a father but i...I was scared Clark."

The mans stuttered breathing was the only way that Maddie knew that he hadn't hung up, "I am only reaching out now that...that Danny is in danger. Things have been happening and...he needs to get away from Amity Park, the GIW have been hunting him. I have managed to stem most of the attempts but they are getting annoyed at the lack of results. I dont ask you this lightly Clark...but I have no body else to ask."

The line was quiet for a while, before Clark breathed out slowly, "I would love to meet him...a-and if he is in danger...i-i would be honored to take care of him."

---

Danny clutches his bag as he stares up at the tall condo, his nose scrunching up as he makes a face, "...Y'know mom when I said I wanted to cosplay Percy Jackson for Halloween I was thinking, more letting me dye my hair silver for the stripe thing and getting an orange t-shirt and a sword, less finding out my dad isnt actually my dad and getting shipped to New York..."

Maddie sighs as she rubs at her eyes, "Daniel...please. this is hard for me enough already. I really do not have the patience for the sass...Clark is a good man, he will take care of you while Jack and I take care of the GIW..."

Neither of them get the chance to respond as a tall man with curly black hair steps out from the condos entrance, flanked by a dark haired woman, a young boy with a big smile and a punkish looking teen that seemed to want to be anywhere else.

"Here they are Danny, the Kents."

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Cotton Candy.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here!!

authors note - i couldn’t not write about this lol, so enjoy whatever my brain has come up with !!

word count - 1.3k

in which, it’s a wednesday night, and what better way to spend it then in your boyfriend now fiancé’s pink boat, surrounded by all of your friends to celebrate your engagement, not realising that it’s going to go into the morning.

It’s a Wednesday night, but it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like Saturday cranked up to eleven, like a pink dream that smells like saltwater and champagne, lit up by the soft hum of fairy lights strung across the deck of your fiancé’s catamaran.

His pink catamaran, of course—named Cotton Candy, because that’s exactly what it looks like: fluffy, sweet, and just a little ridiculous.

The champagne corks popped hours ago. You can’t remember how many. The sky’s turned that early morning steel-blue, where the stars have mostly vanished but the sun’s still shy. The horizon’s bleeding color.

You’re barefoot, tipsy—or no, scratch that—you’re absolutely smashed out of your head. Standing at the drinks table like it’s your only anchor to the waking world, plastic cup in hand, trying to remember if you’re refilling it or just staring into it like it might answer the secrets of the universe.

Your hair’s a mess. Someone braided flowers into it earlier, and now the petals are wilting beautifully down your shoulder. You’re wearing a silky white coverup over your swimsuit that you think used to be clean. It’s tied all crooked and the hem’s damp. Who cares? You’re engaged. You’re so in love.

And the boat—this beautiful, bouncing pink party palace—is alive. The DJ’s still going, some dreamy house remix of a song you both used to blast in the car. Your friends are scattered everywhere—on the upper deck, curled in lounge chairs, slow-dancing barefoot like sea-drunken ghosts, or shouting-laughing down in the galley, still going on tequila and whatever’s left of the charcuterie board.

You sway a little too hard and grip the edge of the table, giggling at yourself. And that’s when Madi appears beside you, holding two cups. Her eyeliner’s smeared and she’s grinning like the moon.

“Babe, you good?” she asks, pushing a drink into your hand.

You take it. Raise it. “I am transcendently good. Did you know I’m engaged now? Like, actually? To him?”

You point in the vague direction of your fiancé, who is currently arm-wrestling your cousin in a beanbag chair.

Madi laughs, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “I was literally there when he proposed. On this boat. Four hours ago.”

“Oh my god, was it four hours ago?” You look at her with wide eyes. “It feels like two weeks.”

“You sobbed. Like hard. I’ve never seen you ugly cry in HD before.”

“I blacked out during the speech. Did he say something about forever? There were stars. Or maybe sparklers.”

“He said,” Madi mimics in a dramatic, dreamy tone, “‘You’re the only person I’d ever want to eat cereal on a boat with at 3 a.m.’ It was disgusting. We all cried.”

You laugh so hard your drink sloshes onto your toes. “That’s so him. He still eats dry Cinnamon Toast Crunch out of the box like a raccoon.”

“And you’re gonna marry that raccoon.”

“Hell yeah, I am.”

There’s a lull in the music. Then the beat drops again—something thick and wavy that vibrates the floor under your feet. Someone cheers. Someone else cannonballs into the water, fully clothed. You hear the splash and a scream. You don’t even look. Nothing could surprise you tonight.

“Hey,” Madi says, turning toward you seriously. “I’m really happy for you. Like, actually. I’ve known you through so much bullshit, and I’ve never seen you light up like this.”

Your throat catches. It’s the drink. Or the hour. Or her. “Stop. I’m already crying again.”

“I mean it.” She clinks her cup to yours. “To ugly crying and raccoon husbands.”

And then the smell hits you: a mixture of saltwater, cedarwood cologne, and faint remnants of his ridiculous peach margarita. You’d know that scent anywhere.

“Fiancé,” comes a low, husky voice in your ear, slightly slurred but very pleased with himself.

You grin immediately. “Oh, hi.”

Madi smirks. “And there he is. The raccoon groom himself.”

“Oi,” Harry says, lifting his head lazily from your shoulder and squinting at her. “You love me.”

“I tolerate you,” she teases, sipping her drink as she wanders off, leaving the two of you in your own private little orbit.

He spins you around to face him, his eyes glossy and a little too wide from alcohol and emotion. His curls are a mess from dancing and the sea breeze, his shirt’s unbuttoned halfway down (per usual), and there’s glitter stuck to the corner of his mouth.

“Can I steal you?” he asks, all earnest and a bit wobbly on his feet.

“You already did,” you say, mock-swooning. “In 2019. I have the receipts.”

He snorts and takes your hand. “Come on. Before I cry in front of the hummus again.”

You follow him through the soft-lit chaos of the party, hands brushing, hearts very full, and out onto the open deck. It’s quieter here. Just the hum of the ocean and the muffled bass from inside.

The sky’s gone from deep navy to a tender peach-pink, like the boat’s trying to match the sky now. The first birds are chirping faintly in the distance. And everything smells like sea air and champagne and a new life starting.

Harry turns to face you, swaying slightly. His eyes are glassy. His lips part like he has a speech prepared, then close again. He looks at you like he can’t believe you’re real.

“You said yes,” he says finally, voice thick.

“I did,” you whisper, smiling like an idiot.

“To me,” he adds, shaking his head slowly like it’s unfathomable.

“You’re you” you laugh, stepping closer. “You’ve had a boat named after a candy. You wear glitter like a weapon. You once cried during Paddington 2. You’re the most ridiculous, most perfect man I’ve ever met.”

“I did cry during Paddington 2,” he admits, then frowns. “That scene in the prison with the marmalade, it just got me.”

You burst out laughing and lean your forehead against his chest. He wraps his arms around you, holding you tighter than you thought was possible while still standing.

“I’m so drunk,” he mumbles into your hair.

“I know,” you reply.

“I love you so much it feels illegal.”

“I love you so much I think we might’ve accidentally gotten married in my head already.”

“That’s fine. Let’s be married in your head and engaged on a boat and maybe later we can just… make out in a closet for a bit?”

“A closet on a boat?”

He pulls back slightly and looks at you with a goofy, wine-sweet grin. “We can build one.”

You snort and rest your hands on his chest. “You’re so soppy when you’re drunk.”

“You make me soppy,” he says, brushing a thumb along your cheekbone. “You make me stupid. I wrote a whole song about you last week and it was just four minutes of me going, ‘She’s got great teeth’ on loop.”

“I do have great teeth,” you say proudly.

“The best,” he whispers, kissing you gently, slowly. He tastes like gin and sugar. “Promise me we’ll always be this soppy, even when we’re old and wrinkly and yelling at the dog.”

“Promise,” you whisper back, forehead to his.

And for a moment, it’s just you and him and the sea, spinning slightly, soppy and sunkissed and drunk on love—and the actual drinks too, obviously.

In the background, the DJ switches to a slow, sparkly remix of “Just the Two of Us.” Harry gasps like he’s just witnessed a miracle.

“Oh my god. Our song.”

“It’s not our song,” you laugh.

“It is now. Come on. Dance with me, future Mrs. Styles.”

And there you are, barefoot and tipsy, slow dancing on a pink catamaran at 5:43 in the morning, wrapped in Harry’s arms as the sky stretches into day. You think maybe this is what magic feels like.

And you think: God, I hope the night never ends.

[jarofstyles]

Picture blurb timeeeee. Low key a little sugar-daddy ish because someone sent an ask a little bit ago asking about it so I thought I’d find my way into the dynamic a little.

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Warnings- daddy kink (it’s been a whole), power imbalance (boss x assistant),

“You really want to assist me?”

Sitting with his palm laid on his thigh, the other holding the glass of whisky, Y/N looked up at him from across his desk. The chair was pushed back and away from the expensive, dark stained oak he spent most of his days behind. It was late in the office and Y/N had just helped him finish the last of his emails that had been backed up, but it hadn’t been lost on her that he’d been a bit spacey the whole time.

“Hm?” She looked up at him with rounded eyes from the pile of papers she was trying to clean up on his desk.

“Said, do you really want to assist me?”

Y/N knew that tone of voice. The one that made her quiver, her knees shake. The tone he took on when he wanted her in ways that HR would have a medical emergency over.

“Of course I do, Sir.” Her voice was airy as she stood up straighter, clasping her hands in front of her neatly.

He’d trained her well.

“Of course you do.” He echoed her words with a husky chuckle, placing the glass down on the striped coaster Y/N had crocheted him. “Come t’me. You know where I want you.”

He wasn’t playing around today. There was no hiding it, the hands moving to the arms of his chair as he waited for her to sit on his lap. Apparently, the first attempt wasn’t correct.

“Ah- no. Other way.” He murmured, watching her turn around so she was truly on him now. His chest against her back as he lifted his hands to adjust her the way he liked it. “There. Knew you could listen. You always do a good job for me, don’t you Sweets?”

“I try my best, Sir.”

“Y/N.” He mumbled, brushing the hair away from her neck. “You know what t’call me when we’re doing this.”

“S-Sorry. I try my best, Daddy.” Her voice wavered not because of uncertainty- it was excitement. Giddiness. They hadn’t done this nearly all week. Hadn’t touched like this because they’d been truly busy doing the job they both came her for, and Harry had obviously been stressed.

“That’s my girl. You know how much I like that.” His nose brushed over her sensitive skin, down her neck as he placed a wet kiss to the curve of it where it met her shoulder. “You’ve always had a knack for knowing how t’please me. I’m so lucky.”

Y/N preened at the compliment, leaning back against him as she let some of the tension from the day melt away from her. Harry took care of her. He always took such good care of her, made her feel good, made her feel healthy and happy, and she wanted more. Greedy wasn’t her usually feeling, but he’d not even kissed her in the last two days and it felt like she was finally getting a fix. “I like making your life easier. Making you happy.” She replied, a shuddery breath leaving her as his hands ran over her thighs.

The skirt she wore had ridden up, but that wasn’t a problem. That was exactly what the man wanted.

“And you do. Such sweet little thing. You help me work, you help me relax, you help me thrive. You, my sweet angel… have done everything I’ve ever needed. And that’s why you’re mine.” He’d made it abundantly clear that he didn’t share, and he had no interest in anything or anyone else. It had seemed too good to be true at first given what she’d heard of his prior activities but it was true.

Given the fact she made his calendar, she knew it would be near impossible for him to do regardless.

“I’ve been going crazy all week. Don’t like it when we don’t get to have our time alone together.” He sighed, sliding his slightly cool hand up her skirt. There was no hesitation, no question about it as he teased the hem of her panties, feeling her squirm just a little. Knuckles brushed back and forth over the edge, a happy sound leaving his lips as he felt her tense just the slightest bit at the close proximity to where she wanted him the most. “I know you have been too. S’not fun to be too busy to give you my cock.”

As much as he obviously enjoyed work, the place she saw him happiest was when she woke him up with her mouth on his cock, taking him down the way he liked.

“I do miss it.” She replied, swallowing the moan she wanted to let out as he nudged his hand fully between her thighs to cup over her cunt. There was no doubt he could feel the damp fabric, the way her clit was most definitely pulsing now. Holding it like he owned it, owned her- and he did. Y/N would hand over every inch happily if it meant she got to be his. She had been his since the first time he’d lifted his eyes and asked her to get him a coffee. “I miss when we can’t be close.”

“God, you’re fucking sweet.” He shook his head in disbelief, his free hand curling over her breast. It seemed he truly didn’t get how he had her devotion at times, but it was easy. For as prickly as he was, he treated her right. After a string of awful circumstances when it came to dating, he managed to blow them all out of the water. “I’ve had half a mind to bend you over every time you entered the office. To get you under the desk and suck. But we were too busy. I think that we’re going to take a break.”

A break? That had her curious.

“What do you mean, Daddy?” She turned her face to look at him, smiling slightly when he nudged his nose against hers.

She loved when he smiled back at her. His dimples. His teeth. The way his eyes softened just for her. It wasn’t often she got them, but she was seemingly the only one who did.

“I think that I need an entire week t’have you all to myself. I don’t want anyone interrupting. I don’t want phone calls. I just want you.” Harry’s fingers tugged the panties to the side, the little mewl she let out when his thumb slipped over her clit making him hum. It had swelled, hot and slick underneath his fingertip as he played with her pearl. Just how he preferred. “We’re going to Italy. The coast. Rented a pretty pink boat for us, because I know you’d love it.” It had taken him a bit to find a pink boat that would fit his needs, but he’d done it for her. He’d buy it at the end if that’s what she wanted. “Going to have you as much as I want, as much as you want.”

A getaway wasn’t something she’d done with him. It was something he mentioned in passing but the actual plans had her giddy. “Really?” Her words were breathless as his other finger slipped into her cunt, making her squirm. “We’re gonna… we’re going?”

“Mhm.” He nodded, connecting their lips in a chaste kiss. “We’re leaving here, going to let you pack a bag, and we’re taking my plane. You’re going to sleep with my cock tucked up into you, and by the time you wake up we’ll be there.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” She grinned widely at him, only letting it fall as he curled his finger the way she liked. “I-I’ll make you so happy. I promise.” The concept of spending all that time with him alone was a reward in itself. A man who never took a real day off going off the grid to a yacht he booked because she liked the color of? It was far more than she’d expected.

“And I’ll make you happier, darling. Just wait n’see.”

[landossnorriss]

Pairing: lando x she. Summary: a small series of lando loving his girl through her life when her endometriosis is being a pain. Word Count: 1.4k Warning: health mentions , then just fluff. AN: this was requested and i tried to do it justice with as much research and realism as i could! i hope you enjoy it.

it was two in the morning when lando felt her shifting beside him again . she lay curled in on herself , a small knot under the duvet , her breathing shallow and shaky . he knew that sound by now , the way she tried not to wake him . he hated it more than any DNF he’d ever had .

“hey,” he murmured , his voice thick with sleep as he rolled closer . he slid a warm hand over her hip , careful and protective . “ you hurting again ? ” she didn’t answer right away , just nodded , eyes squeezed shut . her pyjama top was damp near the collarbone . silent tearss. he hated that too . he pressed a kiss to her temple . “ alright , love . let’s get you more comfortable , yeah? ”

he had a routine now , the little things he could do when he couldn’t take the pain away .

he slipped out of bed and padded to the bathroom for her heat pack . he rubbed his eyes while it hummed in the microwave . back in the bedroom , he helped her shift , draping it over her lower belly with gentle hands . she let out a tiny hiss at the heat, but he knew it helped .

sometimes she tried to apologise , “i’m sorry, you’ve got to be up early, i’m sorry , ” , but he cut her off every time . he cupped her cheek and wiped away a tear with his thumb . “ don’t be sorry ,” he told her, like it was the simplest truth in the world . “ it’s my job to look after you. "

when it was really bad , when her whole body seemed to lock up with the pain , he sat behind her . he let her curl into him like a comma, her back pressed to his chest . his hand slid under her top , resting over the warm pack. his palm was steady and warm , and she always said it helped , just that tiny weight , his thumb tracing lazy circles near her belly button.

he murmured soft nonsense into her hair , stories about next week’s race , what they’d do when she felt better , how he’d make her pancakes in the morning if she wanted them . he would have read the dictionary to her if it would keep her breathing through the pain . not that he was sure he knew how to read that many words . still , he would try .

lando couldn’t fix it , couldn’t pit stop her pain away , couldn’t trade places with her , but he would always be there in the dark , heat pack ready , hands steady , heart breaking and mending for her every time .

there were times when she hated needing his help . when the fact she was this young and needed him for more things than she should got him down . the bathroom was steamy and warm , but the heat did little to dull the sharp ache curling through her lower abdomen . she sat in the tub , fingers gripping the slick edge , trying to will the cramps away .

when she tried to stand though ? the pain hit like a punch — sudden, fierce, and unrelenting . her legs trembled , and she faltered , heart sinking with the helplessness she hated so much .

a soft knock at the door startled her .

“ love? you okay in there?” lando’s voice was gentle, filled with quiet concern , the way it always was when he knew she wasn't asking for the things that she needed from him . she swallowed hard , cheeks flushing with a mix of shame and frustration . “ i.. i don’t think i can get out.”

the door creaked open , and he stepped in , careful not to slip on the wet tiles . without hesitation , he eased down beside the tub , offering his strong hands . “let me help you,” he offered. of course , she hesitated for a moment , embarrassed to need him like this , but her trembling hands found his . there wouldn't be a way to do this without him so instead , with his steady support she used his hands to help lift herself out of the tub .

her legs wobbled , but lando held her firm , guiding her carefully out of the bath and onto a warm towel on the floor . she pressed her face into his chest, a whispered apology catching in her throat.

he shook his head, brushing damp hair from her forehead . “ no apologies . you’re not alone in this . ”

" but it's so embarrassing lando . " her huff came as she looked up at him , there was nothing sexy about this , nothing appealing for him , she had seen the girls that went after him . she was pretty sure none of them had to fight their bodies every day but lando wouldn't hear any of it if even if she tried to tell him so she clung to him instead .

he wouldn't ever let anyone else say anything about it either.

they were at a friend’s birthday, just a small gathering, people they trusted , lando had still told her not to come when he had realised she had been masking her pain all morning but she had insisted . now she was curled up on a garden chair , a blanket pulled over her legs , laughing at something carlos was saying when one of the newer team guys , young , eager , clueless , leaned over and said , " she’s always tired , huh ? must be nice , using you as an excuse to skip stuff. ”

lando’s eyes flicked up , sharp . he didn’t raise his voice — he didn’t need to. several other drivers moved their heads towards lando waiting for his response , braced for impact. but lando ? he just tilted his head, one arm dropping protectively along the back of her chair. “ it’s not an excuse ,” he said , his tone calm but leaving no room for argument . “ she’s in pain . a lot of the time , actually. ”

the kid went pink, stumbling over a half-apology , lando didn't care . she reached for lando’s hand under the blanket , squeezed it once . the driver squeezed back . when the kid slunk off to the bar , she exhaled , cheeks warm. “ you didn’t have to do that. ”

“ yeah, i did, ” lando said. he kissed the side of her head , low enough that only she could hear . “ i’ll always do that.”

she hated it most when it interupped his world . when the focus was pulled from where he really needed it to be . the roar of engines and the buzz of the paddock felt distant to her , like a world she was only half part of . race weekends were supposed to be thrilling . sometimes they were , sometimes she stood at jons side and hoped the older male could keep her propped up whilst her man did his thing .

the pain flared unpredictably , sharp and exhausting , stealing energy she needed to just stand , to smile , to be present . she was great at masking now , she had to , to nod when others spoke , to catch lando’s eye when she absolutely needed a moment .

he never missed those looks . always there , steady as the lap times ticking down on the screen , his hand finding hers in the crowded garage, a quiet anchor amid chaos.

one evening , after a particularly rough day , they sat together in their hotel room . she traced the curve of his scar across the bridge of his nose with tired fingers, voice low . “ i hate how this steals moments from us ” she admitted.

lando shook his head , pulling her close . “ you don’t have to carry it alone . we’re a team . on and off the track .” she let herself lean into him , relief softening the edges of her pain . no matter how hard the race , no matter how relentless the ache , this was their victory , holding each other through it all .

landonorris just posted:

liked by, maxverstappen1, lilymhe, herusername, quadrant and 342,134 other people.

not all battles are on the track . my girl is a true warrior .

@hotforleclerc: a warrior AND putting up with you? give that woman a trophy 😂❤️ @sophie_gasly: true love is dragging each other through the pits and paddock. Queen behaviour! 👑 @carlos55: Mate, she deserves a medal AND a lifetime supply of snacks for dealing with you. @maxverstappen1: True warrior — she’s even braver for choosing you. Respect! 😂 @pitlane_paul: strongest girl in the paddock and lando’s personal champion. we love to see it! @crazyf1fan69: If she’s a warrior, you’re her emotional support driver 😂 @trackside_tina: she deserves a championship ring for surviving the cramps AND you, king! @unhingedf1fan77: when’s the parade? we need a ‘queen of endo warriors’ float immediately. @george63: I think we’re all agreeing she’s out of your league, bro. Well done 👏😂 @f1wagclub: you two = ultimate paddock power couple. she’s iconic. @speedy_sam: protect this woman at all costs. and give her all the snacks.

[raynewolferune]

The building they buy in Gotham is a small row of three conjoined older storefronts with apartments above them. They have plans to eventually take down the walls between the units to make them one large home for all the Amity Park fugitives to share but to start Phantom and his closest Fraid members take the middle unit while everyone else splits between the other two; girls to one side and boys to the other. The middle storefront is reserved for their daily group meetings for the time being & they all gather twice a day - at sunrise and sunset - to go over their plans and progress.

"Team A is making good progress gathering resources from the local criminals," Dash reports as leader of Team A-is-for-Awesome that is made up of most of the football players from their class. "Not in an employed way yet, not enough connections for that, but we're making off with things no one's noticed are missing yet."

Sam nods sitting on top on the old register counter while she cradles baby Danny, currently in Phantom form. Everyone had silently agreed to continue calling him Phantom in ghost form and Danny in human form for safety. "That probably won't work for much longer," she pointed out. "So start making efforts to integrate with the local community to find gainful employment. We don't want to attract the wrong kind of attention here." She instructed him and Dash nodded seriously in agreement before sitting back on the ground with his group. Paulina stood up next.

"Team B is has been making great progress in finding out more about the upper class citizens here," said the leader of Team B-is-for-Beautiful. "But we did find out there actually is a cult called the Court of Owls here like you asked us so that might be a problem." Paulina said flipping her hair at the end with a small huff. "And they are so lame. Using zombie assassins to do their dirty work; how out of style." She grumped.

Sam hummed thoughtfully with a nod as she adjusted her grip on the baby in her arms.

"We should be able to avoid a confrontation with them as long as they never meet our little king," she said using the affectionate nickname they had started adopting for him after Pariah's assault. "But we'll need to prepare contingencies in case we cannot."

Paulina sat down and Tiffany stood next.

"Team C has been making progress in gaining connections among the regular everyday civilians. Half of us have even acquired gainful employment already so we should have more funds to work with soon." She reported proudly. As team leader of Team C-is-for-Casual-Caution-and-Civilian, she had every right to be pleased especially since they were 2 weeks ahead of their originally projected schedule.

"You had no issues with identification?" Sam asked to be safe.

"None," Tiffany confirmed with a grin. Sam mirrored it back.

"Excellent."

Tiffany sat and Mikey stood next.

"Team D has made the necessary connections to begin securing the appropriate legal documentation we need now." The team lead of Team D-is-for-this-is-a-Disaster-or-we-are-Dungeon-Raiders said. "So we just need to finish deciding what names we want on everything and we can pull the trigger on that whenever."

"Good," Sam said with a smile. "Stick around after and I'll take you to our den mother for the finalized list." She joked slightly. Mikey grimaced slightly.

"How's she doing lately?" He asked, shifting unconsciously. Jazz had been running herself into the ground trying to take care of her now literal baby brother as well as the entire group of teens that had come with them to Gotham.

"Better now that she's getting more time to rest between rounds." Sam said, since Tucker, Valerie, and the rest that had hung back to obfuscate the first group's trails caught up to them in Gotham, the four of them had been able to switch to 6 hour Danny-monitoring shifts instead of 12 hour ones. "It's still draining though." She confessed, looking down at baby Phantom and petting his hair gently as she spoke.

"Well, if you guys need anymore sacrifices to share the load just let us know." Star joked to murmurs of agreement all around.

Across the street, hidden inside his renovated theater home Red Robbin watched and listened in on the cult that had been dumb enough to move in literally next door.

Cult Casper High schoolmates, but make it deaged Danny

Danny's entire class slowly figures out that Danny=Phantom but, with the exception of some outliers (Wes), they all agree to keep Danny's secret. One of the A-listers--Dash has definitely been hit by one of his parents before--brings up the idea of what could happen if Danny's parents find out and no one is there is cruel enough to put Danny through that.

Until one day, the Fentons shoot down Phantom and haul him back to their lab.

It only takes the class a few hours to mobilize, but in that time, Danny has already been vivisected like a frog and because of the damage, he retreats into his core, and comes out Ghost age, ei that's a toddler now.

That's their toddler now.

Obviously they have to escape Amity Park, because this is dcxdp and the GiW aren't happy about them "defending" a ghost, so they get the hell out of dodge. Gotham is the most obvious choice, Sam explains with a powerpoint, due to low cost of living, most careers not requiring ID and are willing to pay under the table, and high ectoplasm interference. To save money, they buy a run down building together and the whole class says under one roof.

Everyone likes baby Danny. Everyone wants to take care of him. Some of them are weird about it.

Or, the Bats investigate a new cult that popped up, only to find out that their object of worship is a toddler.

[oztri]

it’s been a rough day (i cried at work bc my mom was treating me like a failure). that being said osc putting reader into subspace and taking care of her and calling her good and assuring her she’s okay sounds lovely. obvi he fucks her silly too

oh im so sorry you had a rough day :(( i can assure that you are NOT a failure and its unfair for anyone to treat you like that. smooching u on the forehead. i hope the next few days are better for you baby 🩷

this should be gn!reader for the most part bc i think everyone should get to experience this oscar, but its mainly just oscar loving you so thoroughly, wanting to make you forget everything.

that being said, osc would absolutely do this for you if you asked. sometimes, you wouldn’t even need to ask.

oscar is so observant without you knowing about it. he sees the way you’ve gone a bit quiet, the rigid line of your back, the way your knee bounces when you’re at the table for breakfast. it’s a saturday, there’s no race this weekend, no work, nowhere to be. just you, your boy, and a warm, quiet weekend.

it starts in the morning. the sun is catching on the sheer curtain, making everything just the right side of hazy.

“hi, love,” oscar whispers, leaning over the back of the couch where you’ve sat yourself, curled up in a warm blanket. his breath is soft and warm against your ear, lips pressing delicately into your neck, the skin the below your ear. when all you offer is a hum, eyes barely registering the cartoon you’ve settled on, he frowns. “everything okay?”

you nod, because of course you do. you… you are fine, you think. for the most part, at least. you’re just tired and the week hadn’t exactly gone the way you wanted. it left you drained. “think ‘m just exhausted,” you mumble, turning your head a bit to look up at oscar. he’s looking at you with eyes so soft and gentle it makes your stomach twist. “had a shit week.”

there’s a twitch of his lips, hands coming to rub soothing at your shoulders. he massages gently, deft fingers digging into tense muscle. it has you sighing, eyes fluttering shut. oscar always rubs your back just right. never too rough, never in one spot for too long. “mm,” you hum, head rolling forward. “s’good.”

he grins, leaning forward to nuzzle his nose into the back of your head, inhaling the scent of your shampoo. “do me a favor,” he whispers, voice now dropped, rumbling. it’s a tone that offers no room for argument. “let’s go take a nice, warm shower. let me take care of you. scrub your legs, your back, your arms. should be a new body scrub in there. take our time.” he whispers, and. oh. oh, you think. you quite like the sound of that.

“c’mon, pretty baby.” and that… that has you melting.

you’re up before you register it, wanting so badly to please oscar. hear him purr words of praise into your ear while you simply just. exist.

—

oscar takes his time. he lets his hands trail over each and every part of you. callused fingers rub out the rest of the knots in your back, kneading soft skin until it’s warm with heat. until you’re warm with heat. then, he’s scrubbing every inch of you with that new body scrub. it smells clean, refreshing, and so soothing. oscar kneels in the shower, almost reverent as he swipes the sugared crystals along your skin, exfoliating until you feel rubbed raw in the best way possible.

as he rinses away the sweet smell, your head is on cloud 9, being doted on and cared for like this. oscar notices. he watches the way your eyelids droop, heavy and pupils the size of dinner plates.

“feel good, baby?” he calls up to you, still on his knees. he steadies you with a hand on your waist, thumb swiping away a water droplet that sticks to your hip.

you nod, looking down at him. oscar has always been pretty on his knees, you think to yourself. you tell him. the light blush that fills his cheeks has something burning bright in your belly. reaching, you swipe your fingers through his flop of messy hair, licking your lips.

“thank you, angel,” oscar says, voice whispered and fond. he presses a warm kiss to the inside of your thigh, making you hum. “can you spread your legs for me?”

and, of course, you do. immediately. with a gentle press to your belly, oscar has you leaning against cold tile, muttering apologies as he leans in, still knelt beneath you, and licks up the insides of your thighs. he kisses and sucks, leaving pretty, purple bruises in his wake. when he gets his mouth on you, you’re nearly doubled over, gasping as you tangle your hands in his hair. he just hums, looking up through his eyelashes. if he could grin, he would, but he’s currently preoccupied with something.

by the time you leave the bathroom, it’s on wobbly legs. oscar says you look like a baby deer. you move to glare at him, but he stops you. “i like when you’re a little helpless. just need someone to take care of you, don’t you?” the mewl that escapes you makes oscar scoop you up, carrying you the rest of the way.

—

the bedroom door kicks shut with a muffled click of the lock as oscar lays you down. the sheets are soft against your skin, exfoliated and smooth and oh, so clean. you feel brand new, if a little raw, but it makes your brain do something you can’t even comprehend. it feels like it leaks out of your ears when oscar kneels on the bed, spreading your thighs to pull you close.

“what’s going on in that head of yours?” he asks. his voice is soft. it always is, but when oscar is like this… has you like this… it makes you purr.

through a shaky breath, you spread your thighs wider, almost like you’re offering yourself up to him. it makes him grin. “please,” you gasp, keenly aware of the press of the sheets against your skin, loving the way the soft cotton rubs your legs, your back, your arms. every inch of bare skin had been scrubbed so thoroughly, it felt like oscar had scrubbed the entire week off of your body. if the body remembered, oscar was sure to make it forget.

“please, what?”

you squirm, pressing your toes against his thigh, bare and soft and strong all at once. “oscar.” it’s a whine, one that has him pinching your skin.

“ah-ah,” he scolds, hooking your thighs over his own, pulling you close so his cock presses against you. it’s thick and heavy. has been since he got his tongue on you in the shower. “tell me what you want or you don’t get it at all. that’s how this works.”

tears, big and fat and salty well up in your eyes, so thoroughly wanting but not able to articulate it. if he’d wanted you to talk, he shouldn’t have made your brain melt! oscar shushes you, softened by the tears. he leans down, kissing your cheeks gently, nosing along your hairline. “shh. no crying, my love. that’s not what we’re here for, is it?”

when you shake your head, sniffling, oscar coos. he thumbs away the tears that slip down your temples.

“no, ‘course not. what do you think i’m here to do for you, baby?” you hesitate, not sure what he might be asking for. at your pause, oscar just hums. “there’s no wrong answer. tell me what you need from me.”

“need you.”

“oh, well i know that, angel. here, let me ask it a different way.” oscar leans down after hiking your hips higher onto his. “what do you want from me?”

and, oh. oh, it… what do you want?

“want you to make me forget.”

and oscar, your oscar—sweet, gentle, a little awkward in the most endearing way, gives you exactly that.

he takes his time, pulling you apart, piece by piece. he’s got his mouth on you again, opening you up on his fingers. he’s pulls ever pretty little sound he can from you. he slides his hands up your thighs, your belly, wraps them around your ribcage. he presses in close, breathes in the smell of your body wash and the sugar scrub he’d rubbed you down with. your skin tastes sweet on his tongue, making him groan like you’re the best meal he’s had in ages. your mouth is open, panting into the air of the bedroom like your lungs are squeezed by the pleasure.

“oscar,” you moan when he has you clenching down around three of his fingers. he just looks up, eyes dark and warm, like coals on a campfire. “please.”

and that… there’s something about the way your lips wrap around the word, so desperate and so fucking sweet. sitting up, oscar grabs you by the waist. “wanna stay like this? or d’you wanna be on your hands and knees?”

“wanna stay… wanna look at you. wanna see your face, please, osc—“

“shh, shh. that’s why i asked. wanna make it good for you.” his noses presses to yours, nudging and nuzzling as he kisses you slowly, pressing you deeper into the soft plushness of your shared bed. he licks into your mouth like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you. you shiver.

oscar’s hands are warm when they wrap around your calves, tugging till your legs lock around his waist.

the first press of his cock inside you has your eyes rolling. they close, brows furrowing. he coos, thumbing out the crease before he groans. you feel full. you always do. oscar felt like he was made for you, and you for him. he settles, buried deep inside.

“fuck, baby,” he moans, elongating the swear. “fuck.”

heat licks up your spine, making you arch. above you, oscar looks like an angel. a god. something that had taken you and molded you anew. your skin thrums, nerves alight with pleasure as he pulls out only to push back in. it’s deep and purposeful, like oscar’s sole intent is to make you feel every single delicious inch of him spreading you, stretching you. he wants you to remember this.

“that’s it… fuck, that’s it. y’take it like a champ, baby,” he whines, tipping back his head as he lets out a throaty noise, strangled and broken. you keen, proud of the reactions you’re getting from oscar just from him being inside you. it’s all wet and messy, oscar’s hips butting right up against yours as he fucks you. long, slow strokes have your toes curling, brain completely scrambled as he angles just right.

“oh—mm!” you whine and oscar looks like the cat that got the cream. he does it again, tilting your hips so he can fuck into you all over again, watching your eyes roll and your lids flutter.

“there? right there, baby? you like it when it fuck you there?”

all you can do is nod, hands reaching to grip his forearms, his biceps, the strong muscle of his back. it’s all you can do to not shake apart, gasping his name as he speeds up.

you can feel it building, that warm coil starting to tighten in your belly. it’s low and looming, warmth filling you up from the inside out. “osc,” you gasp, back arching when he gets his hand between the two of you again. your toes curl, heels pressing into his back. “oscar!”

“mhm.” his face is pressed to your neck, curling you in on yourself, pressing your thighs to your chest almost. the burn has your eyes watering, but you don’t care. not when oscar seems so keen on keeping you like that. “i know. i know, baby. i fuckin’ know.”

oscar groans, low and long into your neck, teeth digging into your shoulder as he sucks love bites into your skin. “you’re mine. you’re so fuckin’ good f’me. god, you were fuckin’ made for me.”

your walls tightening around his cock have him grunting, eyes screwed shut as he speeds up. the slick clap of skin on skin has both of you panting, desperate. grabbing onto oscar’s waist while he has your knees by your ears is all you can do to keep yourself from floating away.

“c’mon, angel. c’mon, give it to me,” he gasps, hand working quickly. it has you seeing stars. “come for me, baby, please.”

the please, the way his voice cracks, the desperate look in his eye. it’s all too much.

your orgasm crashes into you, crested before you can catch it. you shake underneath him, gasping and clawing at his skin while your walls milk him, desperate to be filled. vaguely, you think you register his name leaving your lips, breathy and broken and like music to oscar’s fucking ears.

he comes inside you nearly immediately afterwards, falling down the same hole as you. his face presses to your chest, rumbling with a deep groan. his hips stutter before they bury in to the hilt, grinding in short, stuttered circles meant to draw out your own high.

eventually, it becomes too much and it has you squirming, whining through wet tears and pushing at his hips. he only giggles when he notices, pulling out so carefully.

oscar shushes you with gentle kisses and sweet murmurs of praise.

“did so good.”

“you deserve to always feel like that.”

“you’re so fuckin’ pretty when you’re like this for me.���

his index finger traces over the bridge of your nose, soothing and lulling. it makes your eyes close. “sleep, angel. i’ll clean up. you earned it.”

[inkedinserendipity]

huge spoilers for the new murderbot short story rapport! if you haven't had the chance to read it yet, check it out here!

overall thoughts: god i missed art. very funny, very heartwarming, made me love iris even more. highly recommend, will be thinking about for weeks.

read more for a live react as i actively tried to read this story as slowly as possible to savor it!

so i went into this story knowing it was about how art spilled the beans on meeting secunit. so i figured that the story would start by leaving a trail of breadcrumbs on the ways that art is different after meeting secunit. and let me fucking tell you. with that context, the scene where art goes "please can we kill the corporates please please please please" is so much wilder. because i thought that, after meeting secunit, art immediately went yep! let's kill 47% of the corporation rim! seems about equal for the harm they've done to my secunit!

also the way peri animated the casualties was so funny lskjdfdksf peri you monster

adored that iris basically uses a private discord server to talk to art. because nothing is private on board the perihelion.

truly art and murderbot are soulmates. absolute bitches and absolutely hilarious. "I’ll save them for our long walk through the corporate station, which is still in the throes of a hostile takeover, shall I?" is absolutely something murderbot would say to its humans.

like i know the corporation rim is awful. but oh my god, the bit where iris was dressing to make sure she didn't look kidnappable was abhorrent. she literally had to make sure she wore "...nothing that made her look like a transient who could be kidnapped for a corporate labor camp." unbelievable.

also you can really tell iris and art grew up together!! really it should be art 🤝 murderbot 🤝 iris: scathing sarcasm and humor! "Iris didn’t sigh. 'No, this is what I put on when I’m thinking about what to actually wear.'" get matteo's ass!! get em!!!

oh my god, art's been modeling deflective fabric using what it learned from secunit!! is this the beginning of the fit it makes for murderbot in network effect? it is in my heart. fellas is it qpr to research your homie's armor because you miss it

art fucking hates tarik. murderbot's anxiety about stealing tarik's job in system collapse is so much funnier now. i don't think art's comment about how tarik could go die for all it cared was entirely a joke.

the comment about how art was using self-deprecating humor 😭art no don't you start! that's murderbot's thing!

"But Peri had been in a strange mood since it had come back from its last solo cargo run, so there was no telling." AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH! AAHHHHHH!

"Before anyone else could ask, it added, I had recent contact with a source who demonstrated a number of useful techniques." to be LOVED is to be CHANGEDDDD besties share anti-corporate surveillance techniques with each other <3

iris is such a good character. i think about how she reminds murderbot of mensah all the time. she is so level-headed, competent, and confident. she knows how to play corporates like a fiddle! i love her even more now!!

also speaking of art's crew members shoutout gamer matteo. mmorpg-lookin' ass. i love them.

obsessed with the fact that the method of going through station security to hack surveillance systems is entirely new to art. that art tailing its crew with drone footage is something it's never done before. secunit really is so so so fucking good at what it does. more confirmation that secunit is cracked <3

re: matteo's penetration testing joke: art 🤝 murderbot if you joke about us fucking i will kill you

man they really could've used security on this mission huh. man wouldn't this have been way easier if they had a security specialist they felt comfortable and secure with and could focus fully on the mission. unrelatedly art's brain is so big and it is so so correct in hiring secunit as part of its crew <3

art is more sympathetic to corporate trauma now! it doesn't have to be told twice (or even once!) to be nice to the character with cr trauma!

art wants secunit drones!! art saw them in use and now it wants some too!! fellas is it qpr to want your homie's toolset after they leave you behind

not to get Serious(TM) on this reaction post, but genuinely my first reaction to art's "No intel drones of any type have been aboard me." was, that doesn't sound like a lie. that's some fae wording there. i think art is being factually truthful. (if anyone remembers something from artificial condition that i don't, let me know!) but this is yet more evidence i am stacking on my "art actually doesn't lie" pile because i'm pretty sure art has never outright lied, like, even once.

and now for the big one. "I had never encountered another machine intelligence that I could experience this kind of rapport with before." i wheezed like a fucking teakettle. the noise i made. they're besties your honor!! they're fucking besties!!

the eponymous rapport...being the bond between art and murderbot.....i am in shambles. i have nothing more to say. i love them so much.

"I think it's going to be great, actually." you're so right iris. this story is going to be amazing.

[popcornpoppypop]

At The End Of The Day

Summary: Kit and Robby deal with having a newborn in the house. Robby notices changes with Kit. He'll keep her from drowning, no matter what.

Warnings: Postpartum depression, intrusive thoughts, bad moms, talks of birth

A/N: I have never had a baby nor postpartum. I did a lot of research for this one. I feel like there are a lot of fics that just end with the happy family and wanted to sprinkle a little reality in there. This is The Pitt after all.

The moonlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the bed and its inhabitants. The Robinavitch house was quiet; everyone was sleeping soundly. Michael and Kit were tangled in each other’s arms, Hawkeye snoring at their feet.

A cry crackles through the baby monitor on the nightstand.

The two stirred, Michael sitting up out of instinct and practically still unconscious. Kit groaned as she rolled over, pushing herself up.

“I got her.” Robby murmured.

“She needs to be fed.” Kit groaned.

“We have bottles in the fridge. Sleep.” He cleared his throat.

“And let my tits leak all over myself for no goddamn reason? Brilliant.” Kit snapped as she padded out of the room. Robby felt like he had whiplash, unsure what had just happened.

She’s tired, he thought. They both were. It had been only a week since they had brought Abby home. For the most part, they had adjusted. It was, however, evident that Kit was starting to feel the toll of their new responsibilities more than he was.

He got up and went to the nursery. He stood silent in the doorway, watching Kit. She sat in the rocking chair, the baby held to her breast. The shadows hid her face, the silhouette was still enough to take Robby’s breath away. He never would get used to the sight, something so intimate and beautiful about it. He had to choke back tears every time he saw her feed their baby.

The sound of sniffling made him tip his head in confusion.

He cleared his throat, a small warning that there was another person near, as he walked toward her.

Kit was in her own world, the baby suckling and her head bowed. She didn’t care that Robby was there.

He knelt in front of her, her face clearer, as were the tears falling down her cheeks. It took him by surprise.

“Kit?” His voice soft, afraid of startling her.

“Don’t.” She whispered. “I can’t do this right now.” Her voice was small and fragile.

“Alright. I’ll sit here then, that okay?” Robby put his hands on her knees. She nodded. They sat together in the moonlight as the baby finished feeding. Kit put Abby back in her crib, the baby settling back down.

Robby came up behind her, running his hands up and down her arms. The feeling had always calmed Kit, it was a small gesture that had saved her time and time again. Not this time. In this moment, it was closer to a cheese grater against her skin.

“Stop.” She bit and stomped off, back to the bedroom.

Robby stood staring at the doorway that Kit had just left through, a strange, dejected feeling washing over him.

The sun was streaming through the window, it beat against Kit’s eyelids. She groaned as she sat up. She looked over to see that Robby had woken up already.

The smell of coffee and food felt like a warm hug as she walked into the kitchen. Robby stood over the stove, the baby in her rocker on the floor near him. He looked up at the sound of Kit entering.

“Decaf is ready when you want it.” He smiled

“Great.” Kit forced a smile, he could tell.

“Do you want some eggs? I know they are hit or miss for you.” He observed her as she made her coffee. It was clinical more than romantic.

“That’s fine.” She shrugged.

“I can make something else, if you want.”

“That’s dumb, you’re already doing eggs, just make the damn eggs.” She sighed as she walked over to the table and set her mug down.

“O-kay.” Robby felt himself getting frustrated and did his best to stamp it out.

“When did she eat last?” Kit sipped her coffee.

“About an hour ago. She’s okay.” He smiled down at the baby as she gurgled in her rocker.

“Did you change her?”

“Yes. Honey, I’ve got her taken care of. Don’t worry about her right now.” He put the plate of eggs in front of her.

“Don’t be so patronizing. I’m just checking on my daughter.” Kit snapped.

“That’s not fair.” Robby looked down at her, his annoyance evident.

“Whatever.” She sighed. The baby started crying in her rocker. Kit moved to get up but Robby gestured for her to sit down. He gathered the baby up in his arms and cooed for her to settle.

“We’re going to go and play in the living room so you can have your breakfast.” Robby sighed as he walked off.

The day went on and Kit couldn’t shake the cloud over her head. Robby did his best to keep everything light.

Kit was sitting on the couch, watching some nonsense on the TV, Abby was lying on Robby’s chest. She watched as he rubbed gentle circles on her back. A thought flashed across her mind. It was terrifying and came out of nowhere.

He’s going to take her from you and you won’t care.

Kit shook her head, the tears burning her eyes.

He’s going to take her and you won’t see her again and you’ll be relieved.

She felt her chest tighten.

He’s going to take her because he knows what a bad mother you are, what a bad person you are.

She sat up straight in her seat, her hands rubbing up and down her thighs and breath picking up.

You’ll be so relieved when they aren’t here and you’ll get the confirmation that you’re no better than your mother.

Kit jumped up and rushed over to them.

“Give her to me.” She said, her voice panicked and shaky. She pried the baby off his chest.

“Kit, what the hell?” Robby looked up at her furious and confused.

“She’s my baby too. I’m allowed to hold her.” She snapped as she rushed out of the room. It was the first time Robby didn’t recognize his wife.

The tensions only grew worse over the next few weeks. Robby did his best to be understanding. He tried to give her space and let her work through whatever was going on.

“Can you just clean up after yourself, honestly!” Kit snapped as she tossed Robby’s coffee mug into the dishwasher that he had left in the sink.

“Kit, I put it down for a second. I was going back for it.” His shoulders were tensed.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Kit scoffed.

“I’m tired of this. Can you tell me what I can do right?” Robby snapped.

“Don’t yell at me.”

“You don’t stop yelling at me and I have no idea what is happening!” Robby through his hands in the air.

“Just leave me alone, right now.” Kit hissed.

“Right. I’ll just go spend every waking moment with our baby that can’t hold a conversation yet. Fine.” He knew he shouldn’t have said it. But he did it anyway.

“If you don’t want to spend time with your daughter, why did you knock me up then!?” Kit barked.

“I’m not doing this.” Robby turned and stomped off.

Robby was at his wits end. He was trying so hard to help her. Any time he broached the subject, Kit brushed him off or bit his head off.

Kit could feel herself slipping away. She felt herself turning into something different. It was dark and heavy and she couldn’t figure out how to fight it. She knew that this wasn’t rare, but she didn’t think it would happen to her.

The late nights and early mornings were getting to her. She just needed some sleep, she told herself.

She stood rocking the baby in the living room, standing by the window to get some sunlight. Abby was cooing and wriggling in her arms. Kit watched her face scrunch up and test it’s flexibility. She should be enthralled, Kit thought. But she was indifferent.

Robby walked into the room, watching her stare down at Abby. The look on her face was disconcerting. He walked up behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“She’s getting so animated with her face.” He hummed.

“She’s supposed to by now.” Kit’s voice was monotone.

“It’s fun to watch it happen, though.” Robby rubbed her shoulder.

“I need a shower.” Kit passed the baby off to him.  

“Kit?” Robby called after her.

“What?” She snapped.

“I know it’s hard. But you’re doing really well.” Robby smiled. Kit watched him for a long, silent moment. Tears pricked behind her eyes. She shook her head and left.

The baby monitor crackled with soft sounds that lulled Robby awake. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. He looked over to find himself alone in the bed. He was going to roll over and sleep when he heard the sounds again. It was soft, but the sobs of his wife had him up and out of the bedroom quick.

He walked into the nursery to find Kit in her rocking chair, the baby nursing in her arms. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed.

“Kitty, what’s wrong?” Robby fumbled his way over to her. “Is it painful? I can get that massage thing.” He moved to get up but Kit grabbed his wrist.

“I can’t do this, Michael.” She sobbed.

“What are you talking about?” Robby knelt down in front of her.

“I can’t…it’s too much. I might…I might hate her. I don’t want to hate her.” Kit sobbed. Robby’s heart stopped in his chest. The pain she’d been keeping to herself to spare them was breaking her.

“Honey. When…when did this start?” He brushed a stray hair from her face.

“I don’t know. I just keep having these thoughts, horrible thoughts. I hate who I am. It’s miserable.” Kit sobbed. The baby finished feeding and Robby took her and settled her in her crib.

“It’s okay. This happens. Everyone has scary thoughts, it doesn’t mean you hate her.” Robby put his hands on her knees.

“I-I’m turning into my mother.” Kit cried. Robby wrapped her up in his arms, kissing her head.

“You are not your mother. You’re not. We’re going to get through this. You just need some help. We’ll figure this out.” He promised and Kit sobbed, her hands clawing at his shirt, desperate for escape.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” her voice was raw. She wasn’t sure who she was apologizing to at this point. Maybe Robby, maybe the baby or perhaps herself.

“Shhh. You’re okay. You don’t need to apologize.” Robby held her tight to his chest. “Let’s go to bed. You need some sleep.” He pulled her to her feet, guiding her back to their bed. Her emotions taking their toll caused her to pass out the second her head hit the pillow.

Robby sat up all night looking up the best ways to help and the best therapists in Pittsburgh. He sent emails, pulling on every favor owed to him to get her in somewhere.

Dr. Robinavitch,

I’m sorry to hear of your wife’s struggles. This is very common and, unfortunately, rarely discussed. I want to ease some potential grief that you’re feeling and let you know that it’s hard to differentiate the signs of postpartum from exhaustion; you didn’t miss anything.

I would be more than willing to see Katherine this week. I understand the urgency this case has for you. I have personally dealt with postpartum myself and can understand how quickly it can escalate. If she is willing to come on Thursday, I have an opening at 1pm. I will tentatively schedule it for her.

Please let her know that this isn’t a failure or defect in her. That’s the most important thing you can do for her.

Sincerely,

Dr. Joanna Groff.

The morning light was harsh, unwelcome this morning. It felt nagging. Kit rolled over to find the bed empty. She groaned as she got up, her tits hurt, her head hurt, her body ached. She thought she would start to feel better once Abby was born, but she felt worse than ever.

She walked to the nursery, pulling her robe close to her to fight the cool air. She stood in the doorway, watching Robby hold their daughter. His big arms enveloped her tiny body. She looked so small in his embrace.

“Mama is so good to you. We just need to help her a little. We’re going to take care of her just like she takes care of us.” He hummed to the baby, bringing her close and kissing her soft hair.

Kit’s chest tightened and twisted. She felt so much from those words. She wanted to revel in the beauty of them. She wanted to be comforted by his care. But she couldn’t fight the feeling of failure. She couldn’t stop her mind from spiraling and her mother’s words ringing in her head.

“You think you can do better? Please! You’re no better than me, you’re just like me.”

She couldn’t stifle the sob. It echoed into the nursery. Robby whipped around, surprised to see her and the tears streaming down her face. He put the baby down and gathered her up in his arms.

“You’re okay.” He murmured into her hair.

“I’m just like her.” She whispered.

“Nope, not even a little. Come here,” Robby pulled her to the living room and sat her on the couch. He knelt in front of her, holding her face in his hands.

“She told me that I was no better than her, the day Abby was born. I fought her, but maybe she was right.” Kit shook her head.

“No, she’s never been right about you. Kitty, you are so much more than your mother could ever be.” Robby brushed the tears from her cheeks.

“I know you think you’re failing right now, but you’re not. Your mother would never be this upset; she wouldn’t care the way you do. You care so much, it’s too much for you right now. That’s okay. I’m not letting you drown.” He told her, holding her shaking hands in his.

“What if I can’t get out of this?” She couldn’t look at him.

“I’m not letting that happen. I pulled some favors, I got you in with Dr. Groff. She’s the best in the state. She’s gone through this too, she’s going to help us. I’m getting you whatever you need, okay?”

“Okay. Okay.” She shook her head; her body couldn’t stop shaking.

“I love you so much.” He wrapped her up in his arms, Kit clung on to him for dear life.

Kit hadn’t realized it until she was in the parking lot of Dr. Groff’s office, but that was the first time she had left the house for herself since Abby was born. The world felt foreign, scarier. Her hands shook as she opened the car door and made her way inside.

“Hello, how can I help you?” The receptionist’s bright smile didn’t help Kit’s nerves.

“I have an appointment at 1 pm with Dr. Groff. Should be under Robinavitch.” She cleared her throat.

“Of Course. She’s finishing up with her last appointment. I’ll let you know when she’s ready.” Kit nodded and sat in the plastic cushioned chair. The waiting room was sterile. The pictures on the wall were stock photos of plants. The magazines on the side table taunted her with headlines like; How to relearn self-love, 6 ways to a happier mindset, You steer the ship: how to take control of your decisions.

“Mrs. Robinavitch, she’s ready.” The Receptionist smiled. She got up and walked into the office. She was shocked to see how different Dr. Groff’s office was from the waiting room. There was a colorful rug on the floor, the furniture was soft and pillowy, and the walls were covered in beautiful art. There was a warmth to it.

“Mrs. Robinavtich, have a seat.” The woman was in her mid-fifties, her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. Her clothes were loose and airy. Her top was an earthy green and her pants a deep maroon. Her glasses sat on the tip of her nose, just above a kind smile.

“It’s Dr. Robinavitch, actually.” Kit cleared her throat as she sat on the couch.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were both doctors. I’ll make a note of that in your file.” She nodded as she scribbled something on her notebook.

“It gets confusing. Katherine is fine.” Her body was tense, and she was trying to make herself as small as possible.

“I bet. What is your specialty?”

“EM, like Michael. Same department at PTMC. I just go by Dr. R and he’s Dr. Robby. Still causes some confusion with the med students.”

“Well, it’s not hard to confuse them.” Groff chuckled.

“True.”

“Shall we get down to it?” Groff gave a soft smile, trying to encourage Kit.

“I guess. I’m not sure where to start?” Kit gave a nervous laugh.

“Wherever feels most comfortable for now.”

“Right.” Kit bit at her nails. “I guess, I started having these…thoughts about a week after Abby was born.”

“Abby is your daughter?”

“Yes. Abigail.”

“That’s a nice name. After anyone?”

“Michael’s grandmother. She raised him, it meant a lot to him.”

“What a wonderful memorial. How old is Abby?”

“She’s five weeks.”

“How long is your maternity leave?”

“Eleven weeks. Michael’s paternity leave is only eight.”

“So, he’ll be going back soon. That’s scary.”

“I guess. It’ll be different.”

“Do you want to tell me about your thoughts?”

“Want to? No. But I have to, I think.”

“Why do you have to?”

“Because they’re eating me alive and I feel like Michael just can’t understand. He tries, believe me. He’s a man at the end of the day.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well…he didn’t go through all of it, physically. I had carried her, I was so sick. The worst morning sickness, almost had to be hospitalized. But I never cared. I loved her so much from the moment I found out I was pregnant. Then I went through labor and birth, it was so hard.”

“Was it a traumatic birth?”

“No. Not any more than usual.”

“Can you elaborate on that?”

“All birth is trauma. It’s your insides being ripped apart. It’s your body changing violently against your will. It’s your child being ripped from you. It’s pain and fear and violence and too many emotions.”

“Some women find it to be beautiful. You don’t feel that way?”

“No. I don’t. There were moments during labor, at least. Michael holding me and keeping me safe. It was nice when we talked about the future. But once it reached a point when it was relentless, it wasn’t beautiful.”

“What about when you saw her for the first time?”

“I was scared.”

“Why?”

“Well, she didn’t cry at first. The doctor and nurses had to help her and she wasn’t on my chest like all the other mothers talked about. I thought something was wrong. I couldn’t move to help; I was in so much pain. But I was too scared to move.”

“That would be terrifying. But she was okay.”

“Yeah, it only lasted 20 seconds. They put her in my arms, and she was so beautiful. I loved her so much. But…” Kit couldn’t get the words out.

“It’s okay. Take your time.”

“I’ve never even told Michael this.” Her hands were shaking again.

“I’m not Michael. Everything you say to me stays with me.”

“I know. It’s a lot to say out loud.”

“I think you need to say it out loud.”

“When they put her in my arms, after a minute, I wasn’t interested in her at all. I wanted to push her off of me.” Kit couldn’t stop the sobs. Groff handed her a box of tissues.

“Katherine. It’s normal. Everything you’re feeling is normal.”

“I faked it. Every time someone came in the room, I plastered a smile on my face and pretended like I was beside myself with joy. But I was drowning and couldn’t find the words.”

“We’re going to find the words here, together.”

“I love her. I know I do. But I might hate her too.”

“Why do you think you hate her?”

“She cries and my body just gets so tense it hurts. I hold her and look at her, and half my brain thinks she is so beautiful, and the other half is annoyed at her presence. Sometimes, it’s just disinterest.”

“Katherine, what you’re feeling is just normal emotions. Do you have violent thoughts?”

“No. But…Michael was holding her once, and I thought how much better he was at this than me. How he was going to realize I’m a bad mother and leave, and I’d be relieved.”

“I see.”

“I’m crazy.”

“No one is crazy. You are exceptionally normal, I’m afraid.”

“I get it from my mother.”

“Tell me about your mother?”

“She hates me. She’s told me. She had kids because she thought she had to, not because she wanted to. Every time we talk, she tells me how disappointed in me she is. She doesn’t like my life.”

“How did your mother react when you told her you were pregnant?”

“She laughed at me, told me that I wasn’t mother material.”

“That must have hurt.”

“Yeah, but I’m used to it.”

“What do you do when your mother says these things to you?”

“I tell Michael. He counters her, talks me off the figurative ledge. Most of the time, her words just annoy me. I don’t hold much importance to them.”

“Okay. I want you to try something for me this week. When you have these thoughts that upset you, that feel bad, I want you to tell them to Michael like it’s your mother saying them. Take those thoughts and put them into your mother’s voice. Take the importance away from them, like you do with your mother. Do you think we can try that?”

“I can try.”

“You took a big step today, Katherine. It was a lot, you’re going to be tired. It’s okay. You need rest. Let yourself rest. Be kind to yourself as we figure this out. Healing is not linear; there will be good days and bad days. I want us to meet once a week for now. I’m going to keep this time for you.”

“Okay. Thank you. Thank you.” Kit wiped the tears from her face.

“I’m here if you need me. I’ll see you next week.” Groff smiled.

Kit sat in the driveway for a while. She lost track of time. Her mind felt lighter than it had in weeks, months, even. She took a deep breath before she moved to go into the house.

Michael was cooking, humming to the soft music playing, Abby strapped to his chest. He hadn’t heard her come in yet. She stood in the doorway, letting the sight sink in.

“You look good like that.” She smiled. Michael jumped, looking at her and softening as he saw how relaxed she looked, how she looked more like herself.

“Back at you.” He hummed. Kit walked up behind him, wrapping her arms around him and the baby.

“Thank you.” She kissed his shoulder.

“You don’t have to thank me for doing what’s needed.” He said as he stirred the pasta sauce.

“I know. But some men would have just let me drown. You didn’t. You took care of me, even when I didn’t make it easy.” She buried her face in his back.

“I’ll do whatever you need, Kitty. You are the love of my life. You’re my wife. You and Abby are all that matter.” He turned around and held her face in his hands.

“You’re all that matters.”  She pulled him down into a deep kiss. Abby started fussing between them.

“Valid, we were squishing you. Sorry, Babygirl.” He laughed and kissed her little head.

“After dinner, I need to tell you some things about therapy.”

“Big things?”

“Heavy, yeah.”

“Alright. Food, then feelings.” He kissed her cheek.