#if anyone cares I would be so so down to just sit down and do a full character analysis of my thoughts on all the tutu characters

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Thirty-Four

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, autistic breakdown on page, racing accidents (Las Vegas 2023), domestic fluff, slight (?) cliffhanger

Notes — Another longggg one! Hope you love it.

2023 (Las Vegas)

It was one of those overcast afternoons where the sky couldn’t decide if it wanted to rain or not. The light through the huge windows was grey and flat, and the air inside the rented house-slash-shoot-location had that odd, sterile warmth that came from too many camera batteries and ring lights and people trying to look casual for content.

The house itself was the kind of place you couldn’t quite imagine anyone actually living in — all clean lines, brushed steel, and exposed concrete. There were too many stairs. Too many echoey corners. And absolutely no soft lighting. It had been chosen for aesthetics, not comfort.

Amelia sat curled in the corner of the oversized leather sofa, knees tucked under her, one hand gripping her iPad, the other fidgeting absently with the drawstring of a hoodie that had somehow ended up in her lap. She hadn’t asked for it. Someone had draped it over her when she sat down, and now it was hers, apparently. That was fine. She liked the weight of it.

Her focus, however, was fixed entirely on her screen. The Vegas GP loomed ahead — a race full of unknowns, simulations stacked high with red flags and conditional parameters that changed every time she blinked. The track was new, the surface barely tested, the layout odd and inconsistent. Every variable gave her brain another reason to loop. And loop. And loop.

She was halfway through calculating braking loads based on preliminary corner speeds when Lando wandered past, all soft socks and too-long limbs, dragging one arm into a puffer jacket he wasn’t really planning to zip. He slowed when he saw her, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You gonna wear that for a photo?” He asked, nodding at the hoodie.

Amelia didn’t look up. “No.”

He paused in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “You sure? You’d look cute.”

She blinked once, then met his eyes. “I’m not in the mood for cute. I’m calculating brake performance for a track we have literally never raced on before. There are so many variables. I’m stressed.”

Across the room, Max Fewtrell barked a laugh, his voice echoing faintly as he adjusted a light stand. “That’s the most Amelia sentence I’ve ever heard. Like, ever.”

Pietra, seated on the floor nearby in flared jeans and a cloud-soft crewneck, turned toward Amelia with a gentle smile. She had a scrunchie looped around her wrist and two bracelets Amelia had given her after a layover in Japan. “You can do both,” Pietra said warmly. “Be cute and stressed.”

Amelia looked at her, expression softening around the eyes. “Honestly, I just want to stay sat down.”

“Okay,” Pietra said, and leaned sideways to gently press her shoulder against Amelia’s. “Then we’ll sit. Together.”

Amelia didn’t say thank you. But she didn’t move away, either.

Lando reappeared a moment later with a bottle of water in one hand and a small protein bar in the other. He plopped onto the armrest beside her, knees brushing hers. His eyes flicked to the hoodie.

“You know that one’s technically mine.”

“I don’t care,” Amelia said without looking up.

He grinned. “I figured.” He nudged her ankle gently with his socked foot. “Still think it’d look better on you anyway.”

“That’s not difficult,” she replied, tugging the cuff of the hoodie over her hand. Then, after a pause, she added flatly, “That was a joke.”

Max dropped into a nearby chair, flinging one leg over the side with practiced drama. “Just one picture of you, Amelia? Come on, people would love it. Bit of behind-the-scenes. The fans adore when you’re in anything.”

Amelia didn’t even blink. “No thank you.”

Lando snorted into his water bottle. Pietra let out a warm laugh. “Stop bothering her, Max. Lando does enough of that.”

“Oi,” Lando said, mock-affronted. “Leave me out of this.”

“You’re both bothering me,” Amelia replied, perfectly even. “I’m trying to work. I already hate the Vegas track.”

He turned his full attention to her now, brows lifting. “Why? We haven’t even been yet.”

“Because it’s new!” she burst out, sharper than she meant to. The volume bounced off the walls. She winced immediately, ducking her head into her shoulder. Her voice dropped low, controlled. “Because it’s new and we haven’t raced it before and that means no past data to lean on. That means sim work based on theoretical grip levels. That means error margins get wider. And that means I have to prepare twice as hard with half as much certainty.”

There was a pause.

“...Fair enough,” Lando said gently.

“I hate guessing,” she mumbled.

“No one likes guessing,” Pietra offered.

Amelia gave a small nod. “I like control. I like knowing.”

Max opened his mouth like he was about to tease her, then caught the subtle tension in her shoulders and wisely shut it again.

Lando tapped the top of her tablet lightly with one finger. “Well. You’ll figure it out, baby. You always do.”

She glanced up at him. “Because it’s my job.”

“And because you’re brilliant.”

She didn’t respond, but the corner of her mouth ticked upward.

“Are you wearing that to dinner later?” Pietra asked, gesturing to the hoodie.

Amelia looked down at it, then back at her. “Yes. I don’t want to change. I’m comfortable.”

Pietra smiled. “Good. I’ll wear mine too. We’ll match.”

“Accidentally?”

“Deliberately.”

Amelia considered that. “Okay. But only if we sit near the window.”

Pietra beamed. “Done.”

Lando looked between them, then leaned back on his hands. “You’ve replaced me.”

Amelia didn’t even blink. “I only want to kiss you.”

He made a thoughtful face. “Alright. I’ll allow it.”

Max rolled his eyes. “You’re both so weird.”

“I’m autistic,” Amelia said plainly.

“You’re the weird one,” Pietra added to Max.

“Rude,” Max said.

Lando grinned. “You’re still in love with us.”

“Terrible.”

Outside, the sky finally made up its mind — light rain pattering against the windows in slow, scattered streaks.

Inside, Amelia tucked the hoodie tighter around her, legs still folded, checklist still glowing on the iPad in her lap. Her head leaned lightly against Pietra’s shoulder now, and Lando’s hand rested on her shin — grounding, present, always within reach.

They’d survive Vegas. They would.

Amelia exhaled through her nose. “I need a backup plan for the Sector 2 hairpin.”

“You’ll come up with one,” Lando said, completely sure.

And she would.

Because she always did.

—

The sim suite smelled faintly of coffee and carpet glue.

It was making Amelia feel violently ill.

It was well past nine in the evening, and the McLaren Technology Centre was mostly dark — lights dimmed, staff dispersed, and only the low hum of servers and quiet keystrokes from the strategy team still working in the next room. On the main screen, a full layout of the Las Vegas circuit was overlaid with predictive data. Telemetry lines in orange and blue flickered in real time, charting Oscar’s run.

Inside the sim rig, Oscar exhaled sharply and let the steering wheel go slack as the run ended.

“Turn ten still feels off,” he said, voice crackling slightly through the headset. “Rear snaps too easily on downshift. It’s like— I don’t know. It just unloads.”

Amelia stood beside the sim rig, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She didn’t look at Oscar as she replied. She was looking at the data instead. “We’re too aggressive with the engine braking into the apex,” she said. “You’re already on a mid-bite diff setting. I can pull back the torque map slightly — see if we can stabilise it.”

Oscar lifted his visor and blinked into the low lighting. “We tried that earlier though.”

“That was with a higher track temp sim,” one of the strategy engineers chimed in from his desk.

Amelia nodded. “This time we’re modelling it colder. Night session, cooler surface, lower grip. It’s a different profile now.”

Oscar gave her a skeptical look. “You think it’ll make the difference?”

“I don’t know,” she said flatly. “We run tests. And I wait for the results.”

He frowned at her. “You’re stressed.”

“I’m not stressed,” Amelia replied. “I’m tired. And annoyed. This track is stupid.”

The strategist behind her snorted into his water bottle. “That’s the technical term, is it?”

“Yes,” she said, deadpan. “Stupid.”

Oscar raised a hand in surrender. “Okay, okay. No argument from me.”

Amelia stepped forward and typed something into the control console. “I’ll load the next setup with the revised map and a minor front wing tweak. You’ll run sectors two and three only.”

Oscar nodded, settling back into the seat. “Short run. Got it.”

“Not just short,” Amelia added. “Precision. I want minimal steering corrections. No overcommitting. If we’re going to adjust setup for the race, I need to see your clean line.”

Behind her, Lando’s voice chimed in from the doorway, “someone’s feeling bossy tonight.”

Amelia didn’t turn around. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I’m just here to observe,” Lando said, stepping in with a smoothie and a faint smirk. “Oscar’s face is funny when he gets told off for oversteering.”

Oscar flipped him off without lifting his head.

Amelia keyed in the updated run. “I don’t care what his face does. I care about what the car does.”

Lando walked over, watching the screen over her shoulder. “What’s the target delta?”

“Half a second gain from his last run if the balance correction holds.”

Lando let out a low whistle. “Ambitious.”

“It’s not,” Amelia replied. “It’s necessary.”

There was a pause.

“You doing okay, baby?” He asked, a bit more gently now.

“I will be fine,” she said. “After Vegas is over and no one asks me to model tyre deg on untested tarmac again.”

Oscar cleared his throat from the rig. “Not to interrupt, but—uh—ready when you are.”

“Go ahead,” Amelia said, refocusing instantly. “Cold tyres, revised torque, short sector two and three run. Confirm.”

“Confirmed,” Oscar replied.

The sim kicked back into life. Virtual Vegas, all garish lights and overblown spectacle, unfurled across the screen. Oscar’s car dove into sector two with smoother transitions, noticeably fewer corrections in the corners.

“Better,” Amelia muttered, half to herself.

Oscar’s voice came through again. “Still doesn’t feel natural, but it’s drivable now.”

“We don’t need natural,” she said. “We need consistency.”

Oscar snorted. “You should get that put on a mug.”

“I did,” Lando added from behind her. Sarcastically. “It’s in our kitchen. Pink ceramic. Very cute.”

Amelia didn’t respond to that. She was too busy watching the data smooth out. Torque delivery flattened. Brake pressure stayed linear. The car made it through turn ten without any hint of snap.

Finally, she let out a breath. “Alright. That’s something we can build on.”

Oscar coasted to a stop in the sim. “You going to sleep tonight?”

“No,” Amelia said plainly. “I’m going to write a full report for Andrea and then run sector modelling for Sunday. Maybe tomorrow I’ll sleep.”

Lando moved closer, brushing his hand against hers lightly. “You’ll sleep. I’ll make sure of it.”

Amelia didn’t argue, but she didn’t confirm either.

Instead, she turned back to the engineers. “We’ll do a full load run tomorrow, weather sim in two parts. I’ll rework the wing config tonight.”

Oscar pulled off his gloves. “Do we ever do anything the easy way?”

“No,” Amelia said simply. “But if we want to win, we’re going to have to do it the hard way.”

Lando smiled at that. “Now that should go on a mug.”

—

The Woking flat was dark except for the glow of Amelia’s laptop screen and the soft blue hue of the night bleeding in through the curtains.

Lando had been asleep for the last hour. Or at least, he’d been pretending to be—chest rising slow and steady under the covers, one arm thrown across the pillow she’d vacated earlier. He hadn’t moved, even when she’d shifted to the desk by the window and started typing furiously with only a desk lamp and the stars for company.

She’d barely noticed how stiff her back had become. Her legs were tucked beneath her again, one sock half-rolled, posture twisted into something unnatural. Her fingers moved with focused speed, mapping Oscar’s sector performance against a projected tyre wear curve.

“Amelia,” Lando said, voice rough from sleep but still gentle. “Baby. Come back to bed.”

She didn’t look up. “I’m almost done.”

“You’ve been almost done for forty minutes.”

“That’s because I keep finding new things to optimise,” she replied, tapping a key with just a little too much force. “The grip model’s still off in sector three. I think the sim is overcompensating for the surface temp. If Oscar brakes, he’s going to overshoot.”

Lando sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. “You know you’re going to fix it all tomorrow anyway, right? It doesn’t all need to happen tonight.”

“It does,” she said immediately. “It does, because it’s unpredictable, and if I don’t account for everything now, I’ll be scrambling when I’m supposed to be thinking clearly. And I hate scrambling.”

He rolled out of bed with a sleepy grunt and crossed the room to her, quiet and barefoot on the plush carpet. When he reached her, he leaned against the edge of the desk, arms folded, watching her for a long moment. Not judging. Just… taking her in.

“You’re spiralling,” he said simply.

“No, I’m working.”

“Amelia.”

That one word, soft and firm and Lando-shaped, made her pause.

She didn’t meet his eyes, but her hands stilled over the keyboard. Her mouth was set in a thin line. Tired. Frustrated.

“I don’t know how to switch it off,” she admitted, barely above a whisper. “Not when I know I haven’t solved the problem.”

“I know,” he said, and gently reached to brush a lock of hair from her cheek. “But right now the problem is that you’re running on fumes, and if you don’t rest, you’re not going to solve anything.”

“But—”

“You’ll still be brilliant in the morning. I promise.”

She swallowed, jaw tense. “I hate how much I care. I hate that it makes me feel—” She clenched one hand into a fist. “Like I’m chasing something I can never quite catch. Because there’s always something else to fix.”

“I know,” Lando said again. “But you’re allowed to rest without fixing everything first. That doesn’t make you less good at your job. It just makes you human, yeah?”

Amelia looked at him finally. Her eyes were glassy, but not tearful. Just full — with pressure, with effort, with the weight of wanting to be the best and feeling like she had to prove it constantly.

He reached down and took her hand in his.

“Come to bed,” he said gently. “I’ll lie awake with you if your brain won’t shut up. We can talk about strategy, or nothing at all. But I want you with me.”

Amelia hesitated. Then closed her laptop with a soft click.

“Okay,” she said, voice a little hollow from the sudden shift in momentum. “Okay, I’ll try.”

Lando squeezed her hand and led her back toward the bed. She climbed in beside him, limbs slow and uncertain, like she wasn’t sure how to be still. He wrapped an arm around her and pressed a kiss to the back of her shoulder.

“You’re allowed to rest,” he whispered. “You’re allowed to exist outside of your job.”

She let out a long, shaky breath. “I know.”

“Say it like you believe it.”

“I’m allowed to rest,” she repeated, curling into him. “Even if I haven’t fixed everything.”

He smiled against her skin. “Good girl.”

Amelia relaxed by inches, not all at once, never that, but her breath began to slow, her hands stopped fidgeting, and the tension in her shoulders faded as his warmth soaked into her.

It was enough.

—

Amelia stirred slowly, the weight of Lando’s arm still draped across her waist, his breathing deep and even behind her.

Her brain came online before her eyes opened. The first thought was always a race.

Telemetry. Overnight sim data. Updated Vegas surface temps. Sector three.

She kept her eyes shut. Just for a moment longer.

Her hand reached, automatically, half-blind, toward the bedside table. She found her phone and lit the screen — brightness low, eyes squinting. There was a new email flagged from McLaren strategy. An attachment from the sim team. A message from Oscar. Just a quick one.

Brake marker change in T11? Feel like it’s off. Can we run it again?

Her thumb hovered over the reply button.

Then a low, sleepy voice rumbled behind her ear. “If you answer that, I’m going to bite you.”

She stilled.

Lando’s voice was rough with sleep, his face still half buried in her hair, but his grip on her waist tightened just slightly — enough to ground her, enough to keep her in the moment.

“I wasn’t going to answer,” she said softly. “I was just checking—”

“You were doing the exact thing we talked about,” he said, not unkindly. “Waking up and not even giving yourself ten minutes to take care of yourself before you start thinking about everyone else.”

She blinked. Her screen dimmed and went black. She let the phone fall gently back onto the bed.

Lando pressed a kiss to her shoulder blade. “Thank you.”

“I really wasn’t going to do anything,” she murmured again, not sure why she was defending it. “I just needed to know what’s going on. So I could stop thinking about it.”

“I get that.” He kissed the back of her neck this time, a little firmer. “But I also know you. One look turns into an hour of work. You don’t know how to stop unless someone physically pins you down.”

She rolled onto her back to look at him. His hair was flattened on one side. His eyes were sleepy but open now, watching her like she was something fragile he was determined not to drop.

“I just don’t want to miss something important,” she said. “Vegas is proving to be a nightmare.”

“We’ll be fine. You’ll be better than fine.”

“You can’t guarantee that.”

“No,” he agreed. “But I can guarantee that if you burn yourself out now, you won’t be able to fix the problems when they actually matter.”

Her lips twisted into something half-smile, half-grimace. “That’s annoying because it’s true.”

“Mm.” He nuzzled her hairline. “I like you when you’re being all smart-pants Amelia,” Lando said, pulling her closer again. “But I like it better when you’re well-rested.”

She sighed and let herself relax, her head falling against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat — steady and calm — the opposite of her usual thrum of anxious energy.

He tapped her hip. “Tell you what. You stay here, in bed, with me for fifteen more minutes. Then I’ll get up and bring you your laptop, your iPad, three highlighters and whatever else you need. Deal?”

She closed her eyes. Thought about saying no. Thought about Vegas. Then she nodded.

“Deal.”

Lando smiled against her temple. “My girl.”

—

Las Vegas

Amelia found herself blinking too fast at the way the skyline shimmered. There was no charm, there was only overstimulation. Neon screamed from every building; engines echoed off concrete; something in the air smelled like fried sugar.

Her stomach turned.

As they moved through the paddock, she turned sharply to her dad, who was walking beside her, and asked, "Can I do a track walk later? I need to see the surface in person. Kerb structure, cambers. The sim doesn’t replicate the actual feel, not at night."

Zak gave her a careful look, then a sigh that told her the answer before he said it. “Honey… I’m sorry. They’re limiting access this weekend. Safety regulations, plus a logistical headache with all the road closures. Sorry, kiddo."

She stopped walking entirely. “What do you mean? That’s ridiculous. My understanding of this track is directly tied to driver performance.”

“I know that,” Zak said, placating. “But it’s out of my hands. FIA’s ruling.”

Amelia blinked. Hard. Her jaw set. Her brain scrambled to make the logic work — and couldn’t. The denial didn’t make sense from a safety standpoint or a performance one, and worse, it was illogical and personal.

She threw both hands out in disbelief. “Are you kidding me right now? What kind of regulatory framework tells the people making car decisions that they can’t assess the track in person?”

Zak ran a hand down his face. “I know. Believe me, I tried. I even—”

“No, this is absurd,” Amelia went on, ignoring the curious glances of passing engineers and team staff. “I’m being told to rely on visual models and telemetry estimates on a track that doesn’t exist on any previous calendar. Dad.”

That word slipped out sharp and unimpressed.

Zak winced. “You’re mad at the wrong person.”

Amelia exhaled through her nose and folded her arms. “I’m mad at everyone.”

Lando, a few steps ahead, doubled back when he realised she wasn’t beside him anymore. “Everything okay?”

“She’s not allowed to walk the track,” Zak supplied.

Lando’s brows rose. “Why not?”

“Ask the FIA,” Amelia muttered, rocking slightly on her heels, clearly overstimulated and trying not to explode about it.

Lando gave a low whistle, stepping up beside her. “That’s proper stupid.”

“Thank you,” Amelia said, voice clipped.

Lando’s hand slid to the small of her back. Just the lightest pressure. She leaned into it instinctively, grounding herself.

“You’ll be fine,” he murmured. “You’ve been simulating this track for two months. You probably know it better than anyone else already.”

Amelia didn’t answer right away. She looked out at the chaos of the strip behind the paddock fencing, then back at the rows of garages, the closed doors, the high fences. She chewed the inside of her cheek.

Zak, softer now, said, “Hey. Don’t give this the power to make you wobble, alright? You’ve got this!”

Her face didn’t soften, but her posture did, just slightly. She nodded, tight and short.

Then, “If Oscar crashes because I misjudge Turn 12 apex grip, I’m going to email the FIA and tell them to eat gravel.”

Lando grinned. “There she is. My beautiful, terrifying wife.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.” He leaned in to kiss the side of her head and whispered, “Now stop worrying so much.”

—

The media room was lit like a game show. Two stools, a camera crew, a backdrop with the McLaren logo, and a table of whiteboards and markers.

Oscar looked mildly bored. Lando looked amused. Amelia looked like she’s been forced to be there (she had).

A social media coordinator beamed behind the camera. “Okay, welcome to a special edition of 'Who Knows Her Best!'  We’ve got our race engineer Amelia here, and joining us are her driver, Oscar Piastri—”

Oscar gave an awkward little wave.

“—and her husband, Lando Norris!”

Lando winked at the camera.

Amelia stared dead ahead. “You have ten minutes. I have things to do.”

“Great! First question—What’s Amelia’s favourite food?”

Lando started writing instantly.

Oscar hesitated. “Does coffee count?”

Amelia frowned. “No. You don’t chew coffee.”

He groaned and scrawled something anyway.

“Alright—reveal!”

Lando flipped his board: Marco’s Italian Marinara Pizza Oscar’s board: …Toast?

Amelia pursed her lips. “Lando’s right.”

Oscar muttered, “She eats toast every morning.”

“I eat it because it's efficient, not because it brings me joy,” she replied.

Next question.

“Okay—what’s Amelia’s biggest pet peeve?”

Oscar didn’t hesitate.

Lando paused and narrowed his eyes. “Only one?”

They flipped.

Oscar: Inefficiency Lando: People breathing loudly near her

Amelia blinked. “Both are right. I can’t put one above the other.”

Lando smirked. “So I get half a point?”

“We didn’t agree on half points.” She huffed.

Oscar stifled a laugh.

The coordinator laughed nervously. “Alright! Final question: What’s her idea of a perfect day off?”

The boys scribbled.

Reveal:

Oscar: A quiet room, iPad fully charged, noise-canceling headphones Lando: No phones. No noise. Me, her, somewhere nobody can find us.

Amelia looked at both answers, then spoke flatly.

“Oscar’s is my ideal race-weekend. Lando’s is correct for a non-race-weekend.”

Lando grinned. “Boom.”

Oscar sighed. “I should’ve said that.”

“You were just guessing.” She shrugged.

The social media manager clapped. “Well! Looks like… Lando wins!"

Amelia stood. “Great. I’m going back to run a qualifying simulation now.”

She left frame without saying goodbye.

Oscar and Lando both laughed as the camera faded to the McLaren logo.

—

The McLaren garage buzzed with the low hum of machinery and murmured radio checks. Engineers moved with purpose, but Amelia sat on the edge of Oscar’s workstation, unusually still, arms folded tightly across her chest.

Oscar was halfway into his race suit, glancing at her between sips from his bottle.

“You’re staring at me,” he said, trying to make it light.

“I’m thinking,” she replied flatly.

He waited. She didn’t elaborate.

A beat passed.

Then, in that clipped, low tone of hers, “Track’s colder than ideal. Grip will suck the first stint. You’ll want to push, but don’t chase the feeling if it’s not there. Let it come to you.”

He nodded, tightening his gloves. “Copy.”

“Stay out of traffic, especially Sector 2. If someone impedes you, don’t get emotional about it. Just report and reset.”

Oscar studied her. “You okay?”

“I’m briefing you.”

“…Right.”

She unfolded her arms slowly, like the motion took effort. Her jaw was tense. The usual snap in her delivery was duller, like she was wading through fog and didn’t want to show it.

“You don’t need to prove anything to anyone today,” she said finally, without meeting his eyes. “Not to me. Not to the paddock. Just get the data. Clean session. That’s the win.”

Oscar hesitated. “You sure you’re alright?”

She finally looked at him. Her expression didn’t shift, but there was something behind her eyes—tired, maybe. Not physically. He couldn’t tell.

“Focus on your job, Oscar.”

A long pause.

“Alright,” he said softly. “Let’s do it, then.”

He turned to leave for the car, but her hand briefly touched his forearm.

It was the first time she’d done that all season.

“You’ve got this,” she said.

And then she was gone; disappearing behind a headset and a screen, shutting the world out with precision.

Oscar didn’t say anything.

But when he climbed into the car and pulled his belts tight, his shoulders were a little squarer. His breathing calmer.

—

The TV feed cut to chaos. Red flag. Marshals sprinted onto the track. Carlos’s Ferrari was being craned away. Oscar hadn’t even managed to leave the garage yet.

Amelia stood at the pit wall, arms crossed, headset still on. She hadn’t blinked in fifteen seconds.

Her dad appeared behind her, phone in hand, expression a blend of irritation and corporate damage control.

“What happened?” He asked.

“Drain cover came loose,” she said flatly. “Sainz drove over it at 320. Floor’s completely destroyed.”

Zak frowned. “Seriously?”

“Yes. The cover wasn’t welded properly. Obvious risk. They didn’t check.”

He looked at the monitor. “Are we running Oscar?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

She turned her head slowly toward him. “Because there’s a hole in the track.”

Zak didn’t respond.

She continued. “Sending a car out now is negligent. I already told Race Control we won’t participate until they give a structural inspection report. I won’t risk Oscar’s chassis because someone forgot a torque wrench.”

Zak sighed. “Okay.”

Behind them, mechanics hovered awkwardly, unsure whether to continue prep or stand down. Amelia tapped her headset.

“FP1 is over,” she said, voice clipped. “Go back to base. Check Lando’s floor and cooling ducts for debris. Full diagnostic.”

Oscar walked up, half-suited, helmet under his arm. “What’s going on?”

She looked at him. “You’re not going out. Drain cover came off. Session’s red-flagged.”

“That’s it?”

“It could’ve killed someone,” she said. “So yes. That’s it.”

He blinked. “Right.”

She turned to walk back toward her workstation.

Zak called after her. “Don’t be angry!”

She stopped. Looked over her shoulder. “I’m not. Anger won’t fix the track.” Then, after a beat, she said, “But I think someone should be fired.”

And she walked off to find her husband.

—

The lights along the Strip hadn’t dimmed, but everything else had gone strangely quiet.

It was well past midnight. The garage, usually crackling with anticipation before a session, felt more like a waiting room. Too many people moving too carefully, voices lowered like something had been interrupted. Amelia stood at the pit wall, headset already pinching slightly against her temple, her fingers motionless over the trackpad. Waiting.

She hadn’t said much in the last hour. Not out of some dramatic mood, she just didn’t feel like filling the air with worthless commentary.

When the green light finally blinked on at the end of the pit lane, there wasn’t relief. Just exasperation.

She keyed her mic, steady. “Box out. Let’s see how everything feels.”

Oscar responded immediately. “Copy.”

The car pulled away, the hum of the engine disappearing into the neon distance. She stared after it a beat too long.

They hadn’t run in FP1. None of the planned setup work mattered anymore, this was just about salvaging time, collecting data.

But now, every drain cover was now a threat. Just another thing to add to her list of concerns.

Amelia’s eyes flicked to the screen, watching Oscar’s telemetry as if she could will the suspension to stay intact through every straight.

Two chairs down, her dad made some offhand joke about this being “the most expensive late-night go-kart session ever,” and she smiled with half her face, but didn’t turn.

The data streamed in. Amelia’s brain parsed it automatically, throttle traces, brake pressures, steering angles, but the usual focus wasn’t clicking the same way tonight. She pressed the mic button. “Feeling okay with the grip?” She asked.

“Better than expected,” Oscar replied. “Still a bit green, but manageable.”

“Copy that. Let’s try Mode 7 next lap.”

A beat passed.

“You alright?”

She blinked. The question had come in over a private channel. Just him. “Yeah,” she said. “Just having to watch everything twice. Sorry if I sound a bit distracted.”

She didn’t add that the neon lights were starting to feel like they were flickering behind her eyes, or that the pressure in her chest hadn’t really gone away since the FP1 red flag. Or that the silence before the sessions had settled into her bones in a way that didn’t feel temporary.

But none of that mattered. Not tonight. He had 90 minutes, and they had to make every single one of them count.

She shuffled on her hair, opened the sector comparison window, and let out a quiet breath. “Let’s go hunting, ducky.”

—

Amelia sat on the edge of a low bench, her headset off, fingers tapping absently on the worn fabric of her skirt. Oscar slid next to her, helmet still under one arm, face flushed from the heat of the track.

“You did well out there,” she told him.

Oscar smiled, the kind that barely touched his eyes. “You sure? It felt like I was half driving with one eye on every drain cover.”

She let out a soft, humourless chuckle. “Yeah, well, that’s what we get for racing on a casino parking lot.”

He glanced at her, watching for the flicker of something beneath her calm. “You okay?”

Her eyes caught his. “I’m fine. Just... processing. You know how it is.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. If you need to step back or—”

“No.” She shook her head, almost imperceptibly. “No. I’m fine.”

Oscar leaned back, exhaling through his nose. “Roll on tomorrow, eh?”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “Tomorrow.”

—

Oscar and Lando stood by the side of the track, away from the chatter and TV cameras, sharing a rare moment of quiet.

“She’s different,” Oscar said, voice low, like sharing a secret. “Not in a bad way. Just... more quiet, more serious. Even when she talks, it’s like she’s somewhere else.”

Lando nodded, eyes scanning the pit lane as if he could spot the cause in the distance. “Yeah. Noticed. You think she’s pushing herself too hard?”

Oscar shrugged. “Maybe. I’ll keep an eye on her. Don’t want to be that guy who notices too late.”

“Good call,” Lando said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll try to get it out of her tonight, but I appreciate it.”

Oscar smiled, half relieved. “Anytime, mate.”

—

The lobby’s glare hit Amelia like a punch, each flicker of neon and burst of laughter hammering against the fragile calm she’d been clinging to all weekend. Every unfamiliar voice seemed to multiply, overlapping into a chaotic storm behind her eyes. Her skin prickled, nerves sparking in every inch of her body. She tried to focus on the steady rhythm of her own breath, but it felt shallow, too fast.

The weekend had been a relentless tide of changes — the new track layout, unexpected strategies, the flood of questions from media she barely had energy to endure. Everyone expected her to be sharp, ready, unflappable. But inside, her mind was scrambling to process it all, the sensory overload making everything worse.

She could feel the walls closing in, the pressure building behind her ribcage, tightening like a vice.

Just breathe. But the breath didn’t come easy. Her hands clenched at her sides, fingers trembling.

She tried to steady herself, a practiced smile pressed onto her face for the reception staff, for Lando, for Oscar. But it was too much. Too loud. Too unpredictable.

The floodgate broke.

Her vision blurred, chest tightening until it felt like the air itself was betraying her. She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t want anyone to see this unraveling — but she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Lando’s voice cut through the haze — soft, patient, familiar.

“Hey, baby. Let’s go over here.”

His touch was a lifeline, grounding her in the chaos. She stumbled toward him, every shaky breath breaking as the raw exhaustion spilled out.

She wanted to explain, to scream ‘this isn’t weakness!’ but the words caught in her throat.

Lando didn’t say a thing. He just reached out, firm and steady, pressing his hand gently but insistently into the small of her back. A solid, grounding pressure that said, I’m here. I’ve got you.

She leaned into it, breath ragged, heart racing, muscles trembling. His warmth was steady beneath her — an anchor.

Her hands found his arms, clinging like an octopus, desperate for the hold that would stop the spinning. She didn’t have the words to ask for help, but the silent understanding in his touch was enough.

Without a word, Lando lifted her effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing at all, cradling her close against his chest.

The noise of the lobby faded into background white noise as he carried her through it, the solid rhythm of his steps matching the slow crawl of her ragged breathing.

They moved past the glare of the lights, past the curious eyes, straight back to the safety of their room — where she could finally just be.

—

The shower ran hot, steam swirling thick and heavy in the small bathroom. Amelia sat on the cold tile floor, knees drawn up, fingers tightening around her stim toy, the familiar texture a welcome relief. The water hammered down, relentless and fierce and perfect.

Behind the fogged glass, Lando crouched, silent and steady. His presence wasn’t words or pressure, just steady warmth, a solid anchor in the swirling storm she couldn’t always control. His hand rested lightly on the tub’s edge, close enough that if she reached out, she’d find him there.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. His calm, wordless support let her unravel at her own pace, gave her permission to sink low and find the fragments of herself again. The tight coil inside loosened, breath slowing, muscles softening.

When she finally reached out, she wrapped her fingers around his wrist, and exhaled a slow, quiet breath.

—

The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. Amelia lay on her side, knees tucked in, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it might swallow her whole. The bed creaked softly as Lando shifted beside her.

After a long pause, his hand found hers in the dark. “You doing alright, baby?” He asked, voice low but steady.

She hesitated before answering. “No. Not really. Today was... too much. Like everything was spinning, but I was stuck in place.”

Lando squeezed her fingers gently, patient. “You’ve been on edge since we landed.”

A small nod, tight with tension. “Since the plane, yeah. I felt sick the entire flight. And then here—everything just kept coming at me. Noise, people, changes. I thought I could handle it, but it kept building.”

He kept his hand in hers, steady and warm. “Nobody had enjoyed the weekend so far, baby. I promise you, you’re not alone there.”

Amelia finally turned her head to look at him, eyes searching. “I don’t want to sound weak. Or like I’m complaining.”

Lando shook his head, a soft smile breaking through. “You’re the last person that anyone would think was weak.”

Her shoulders relaxed a little, a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding escaping in a quiet sigh. “I’ve just felt physically sick with nerves since we left England. It’s like the whole weekend’s hanging over me, and I don’t know how to handle it.”

“Hey,” he said gently, fingers fluttering over her cheek and eyelids, “We’ll get through it together. We handle tomorrow, then we handle race day, and then we get to go home.”

She gave a small, wry smile. “I might lose it completely if it wasn’t for you.”

Lando chuckled softly. “Wouldn’t let that happen, would I?”

They stayed like that for a while, fingers entwined, silence wrapping around them like a shield.

“I hate feeling like I’m not in control.”

“I know, baby. And I’m sorry I can’t take that feeling away.”

She blinked back the hint of tears, voice softer now. “Thanks for being here.”

He brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. “Always.”

—

The morning light spilled gently through the curtains, softening the edges of the hotel room. Amelia was curled up in bed, the duvet pulled just below her chin. Lando balanced a tray with two plates of eggs, toast, and steaming coffee, trying not to spill as he settled it on the bedside table.

Oscar sat on the edge of the bed, knees tucked under him, already half-entwined in the quiet comfort of the morning. This wasn’t their first breakfast like this; the three of them, an unspoken little routine born out of long weekends and unpredictable schedules.

Lando grinned as he handed Amelia her coffee. “Here you go. Not too sweet, I promise.”

She gave a small, tired smile, reaching out to take it. “Better than last time.”

Oscar, perched close by, reached for a piece of toast and grinned back at her. “Glad I don’t like coffee. I’m just here for the food.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow, sipping. “You remind me of a stray cat sometimes.”

Oscar laughed, warm and easy. “I weirdly don’t mind that comparison.”

Lando shot Amelia a fond look across the bed.

“So, what’s the plan today?” Oscar asked, munching thoughtfully.

Lando shrugged, “Take it slow. FP3 later and then Quali, obviously, but nothing crazy this morning.”

Amelia leaned back into the pillows, her voice quiet but steady. “I might go and buy some Epsom salts. Write some strategy notes in the bath.”

Oscar nodded, eyes kind. “Sounds relaxing”

She glanced at Lando, who gave her a small, encouraging smile. “Hope so,” she said simply.

Oscar reached out and ruffled Lando’s hair. “Christ, mate. You could do with a haircut.”

Lando scoffed, showing him away. “Fuck off. Says you, mister swoop.”

Amelia pursed her lips and hid her smile behind her mug.

—

The gift shop was a small, cluttered oasis of weirdness and nostalgia tucked inside the hotel lobby. Amelia was scanning the shelves with practiced efficiency, eyes locked on the little jars of bath salts.

Lando and Oscar were already browsing the second aisle.

Lando held up a neon cowboy hat. “Mate, how can you say no to this?”

Oscar was inspecting a glittery, oversized keychain shaped like a slot machine. “It’s got lights and sounds. Look.” He pressed a button and the keychain erupted with flashing colours and a cacophony of jingles. “Jackpot! I’m rich.”

Amelia sighed, pushing her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. “Guys, don’t start. I just want some bath stuff.”

Oscar grinned, undeterred. “But we’re just doing cultural research.”

Lando plopped the cowboy hat on his head sideways and attempted a drawl. “Y’all ready for the rodeo?”

Amelia gave him a flat look. “Great look, husband.”

Oscar laughed and reached for a novelty plastic cactus, pretending it was a microphone. “Welcome to the Las Vegas Gift Show! I’m your host, Cactus Carl.”

Lando, clearly in his element, grabbed a toy rattlesnake and slithered it along the floor toward Amelia’s feet. “Don’t step on the snake! It’s venomous.”

Amelia stepped back, raising an eyebrow, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Right. Venomous and ridiculous.”

Finally, she found what she was looking for; a small, unassuming jar of lavender bath salts with a label promising relaxation. She grabbed it, turning to the boys.

“Alright, I’m done.”

Lando tilted his hat back and gave her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am. Mission accomplished.”

Oscar picked up another keychain. “Hey, look at this one! It’s a limited edition.”

Amelia sighed tiredly.

—

Less than an hour later, the hotel bathroom was filled with the soft scent of lavender from the bath salts Amelia had chosen. The water was just the right temperature, warm enough to ease the tension knotted deep in her shoulders but not scalding. She sank down slowly, letting the heat seep in, her fingers tracing the ripples on the surface.

Outside the bathroom door, Lando and Oscar sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the wall with laptops balanced on their knees. Their voices were low, careful not to break the fragile calm Amelia was clinging to.

“So, the long straight,” Oscar said quietly. “Telemetry showed some unusual brake pressure spikes on your last run.” He said to Lando.

Lando nodded, flicking through the data. “Yeah, I noticed that too. Maybe the surface temperature was throwing off the balance?”

Amelia sighed, eyes closed. “Probably. Felt off the whole session.” She added, only having to speak a little louder than usual to be heard through the ajar door.

Oscar glanced toward the door. “You want us to try something different for FP3?”

She let her fingers trail in the water, thoughtful. “Maybe adjust front brake bias… just a bit.”

Lando nodded. “I’ll write it down.”

There was a pause, the only sound the gentle dripping from the faucet. Amelia opened her eyes a crack. “Thanks for this.”

Oscar grinned. “You asked for company and telemetry. We deliver.”

Lando chuckled. “Yeah, we’ve got nowhere better to be, baby.”

She let herself smile, a quiet warmth spreading beyond the bathwater. In this little bubble of steam and soft voices, the chaos felt a little less relentless.

—

FP3 was more than just practice—it was a chance to claw back control after yesterday’s chaos, and Amelia was feeling the weight of it.

Oscar was in the car, revving the engine, while her headset buzzed with team chatter. The track was unforgiving today, hotter, more demanding, but Amelia’s eyes stayed locked on the timing screen. She flicked through sector times, braking points, tire temps—all the little details she’d been obsessing over for days.

Her gut still fluttered, nerves stubborn beneath the surface, but she pushed it aside. This wasn’t the place for doubts. She spoke into the comms, “brake bias -0.3 for the next run. Watch rear temps.”

Her radio crackled, Oscar’s voice clipped but focused. “Got it. Feels different already.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “Keep the feedback coming.”

A few laps later, she caught a subtle improvement in the data—sector two times shaving off milliseconds. Not perfect, but progress. The day wasn’t going to beat her.

By the end of FP3, the sun was blazing, sweat damp on her brow. Amelia’s mind was a swirl of analysis, but beneath it all was something steadier—quiet confidence, the kind that comes after pushing through the noise.

When Oscar pulled into the pits, she let herself exhale. One step closer.

—

Qualifying came in the blink of an eye and Amelia’s eyes were glued to the screen, every pixel of telemetry, every split second on the sector times drilled into her mind.

Oscar’s car cut through the track, precise and aggressive, pushing the limits. Amelia’s fingers tapped lightly on the desk—not from nerves, but calculation, running through every variable in her head. She caught the slight twitch in the rear suspension, the tiny loss of rear grip in sector two. Adjustments would be needed. Not a disaster, but enough to make a difference.

Will was nearby, watching too, but Amelia barely noticed him.

Oscar crossed the line, a clean lap, but not quite the best. Amelia’s brow furrowed. “Sector three’s where he’s losing time. Let’s tweak the brake bias for the final run.”

Will leaned over, quiet but warm. “You think he’s got it?”

She didn’t look away from the screen. “I don't know. He needs the car to behave like it’s supposed to.”

The final moments stretched taut, then Oscar’s second run flashed up. Faster, cleaner. Still not enough to get out of Q1. Her jaw clenched. 

Fuck. 

—

[Twitter Feed – #protectamelia]

@/f1fanatic123:

just saw that vid of amelia having a full autistic meltdown in the hotel lobby in vegas last night… why don’t you weirdos shut the hell up and disappear into a hole and leave the fucking girl alone omfg

@/raceengineerlvr:

people spreading that clip with zero context? big yikes. amelia is freaking brilliant and deserves respect. stop the ableism.

@/landosupportr:

if anyone can handle this insane pressure it’s amelia. lando’s lucky af to have her, and honestly? so are we. back off.

@/keepitrealf1: autistic, blunt, iconic. amelia’s meltdown is just her being human—get over your toxic asses.

@/f1momlife: as a parent to a neurodivergent kiddo, this blatant ableism online is disgusting. show some empathy. #protectamelia

@/oscarp443:

oscar’s team isn’t complete without amelia. her meltdown shows how much she cares. toxic ‘fans’ need to check themselves

@/nocapf1:

y’all acting like sharing a meltdown is funny or weak. nahhhhhhhh, that’s ableism 101. have some respect or just stay offline ????

@/disabledandproud:

this is EXACTLY why autistic ppl get unfair hate. stop weaponising someone’s mental health moments for clicks. grow up.

@/f1_truthteller:

seeing the clips blow up and ppl twisting it into jokes? pure ableist nonsense. end of.

—

[Instagram – McLaren Official Story]

Video clip of Amelia working intently in the garage, captioned:

"Focused, fierce, and the backbone of the papaya team."

—

[Reddit – r/formula1]

Post Title:

“Can we talk about the video of Amelia Norris? The backlash is unreal and uncalled for.”

Top comment:

“It’s easy to forget these people are human. Amelia’s dedication is clear, and the meltdown just shows how much she gives. This fandom can be toxic. Let’s be better.”

—

Amelia sat rigid, fingers barely twitching on the edge of the conference table. The room felt too bright, too loud—like a spotlight had been slammed onto her without warning. She watched her dad pace. His voice was steady but tight, every word laced with frustration.

“How did we let this happen? The video should’ve been reported immediately.”

She caught Lando’s fists clenching behind her, his jaw set hard. He wasn’t shouting—he didn’t need to. The anger radiated off him like heat, a shield she wanted to lean into.

Oscar was quieter than usual, but his eyes, sharp and steady, burned with the same quiet fury.

They all thought they were defending her.

But inside Amelia, it felt like a thousand static whispers; people’s opinions buzzing at the edge of her brain, overwhelming and unrelenting. She wasn’t weak. She was tired. The energy it took to smile, to explain, to pretend like none of this was a breach of her life felt like a lead weight pressing down on her chest.

The PR team rambled about damage control and messaging, but Amelia barely heard them. Her thoughts slipped away from the room, spinning cold and sharp.

She looked up, met her dads expectant gaze.

Her voice was flat, stripped of any theatrics. “Yeah, it sucked having it put out there. But I’m not going to make a scene about it. I can handle it.”

They waited, as if that was supposed to be reassuring. She knew what they wanted: a show of vulnerability, maybe some anger.

Instead, she smiled inwardly.

She pulled her phone out, thumb hovering. Then, with a quiet kind of defiance, she pulled up a new tweet.

Autism affects 1 in 36 people. Awareness beats stigma.

Also, I married Lando Norris and you didn’t. Suck it.

[Link to autism awareness resource]

She hit send.

Lando’s laugh was the first sound to break the tension. Her dad let out a short, grudging chuckle. Oscar’s eyes flickered with something like pride.

—

[DTS Outtake Clip]

Will Buxton

“Yeah, so… that clip of Amelia, it really went viral, didn’t it? I’m sure she must have thought her weekend couldn’t get any tougher after that moment. But then Sunday came…”

—

Amelia caught Lando just before he stepped into the car. The hum of the track buzzed behind them, but for a beat, it was just them.

She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him. “Good luck. Be safe. Drive fast.”

He smiled, eyes bright with that fierce fire she loved. “Always, baby.”

She turned and headed to the pit wall, heart steady but fierce — ready.

—

The roar of the crowd swallowed the pre-race tension whole as the lights blinked out, one by one. Oscar launched perfectly—an instinct honed from endless hours tracking telemetry and analysing every millisecond. He surged forward, slicing through the tight corners of the Las Vegas street circuit with brutal precision.

Amelia’s eyes locked on the screens, her fingers dancing over the buttons and dials at the pit wall. Every lap was a heartbeat, every split time a breath held. She was the calm centre for Oscar’s storm.

“Sector one clean, good pace,” she told him over the radio, voice even but focused.

“Copy. Tires feeling good,” came Oscar’s crisp reply.

She allowed herself a brief, tiny exhale. This was what she lived for, the rhythm of the race, the flow of strategy, the challenge.

But then, amid the relentless thrum of engines and tires gripping asphalt, the radio sparked. A sudden crackle, then Lando’s voice—strained, quick.

“Car’s sliding—shit—oh fucking—”

The pit wall fell silent except for the crackling radio. Amelia’s chest tightened. The word ‘crash’ hovered unspoken but undeniable in the space between sounds.

Her fingers froze. Her eyes darted to the live feed on the screen; Lando’s McLaren spinning wildly, slamming into the barriers.

Time fractured.

The noise dimmed, the crowd’s roar now a distant wave crashing against the edges of her mind.

“Lando’s out,” the comms guy said quietly beside her. “Full safety car. Medical car dispatched.”

She blinked rapidly, trying to swallow the sudden lump forming in her throat. Breathe. Focus.

She had to focus.

Oscar was still out there, still racing.

She shook her head slightly as if clearing fog. “Oscar, you’re clear. Keep the pace, watch brake temps—”

“I’m ok.” Lando reported, but his voice was tight — like he’d been winded.

Amelia’s voice cracked, and she hated herself for it. Hated how much it betrayed her insides.

Oscar’s voice came steady, but she could hear the surprise, the tension. “Shit. That was Lando?”

“Yeah,” she said before she could stop herself. “He’s… he’s climbing out of the car. He’s okay.”

She stole a glance at the live feed showing Lando being helped out, walking with a medic, shaking his head like he was fine. But she knew—knew the physical toll, the adrenaline masking the pain, the shock that would hit later.

She frantically grabbed for her golf ball — she always kept it beneath the monitors, and squeezed it. Grounding herself.

“Focus on the race, ducky. I’m here. We’ve got this.”

Oscar’s voice softened, “You sure?”

She swallowed hard again. “I’m sure.”

Every lap was a razor’s edge now. Amelia ran through data, strategic calls, tire management; but her mind kept drifting back to that crash, to Lando’s face on the screen, the unspoken “what if.”

The pit lane buzzed, the crew working, the team breathing with her through Oscar’s race, but she was somewhere else too.

She bit back a dry sob and pressed on. “Sector two clean. Let’s push on the next lap. You can get Sainz.”

Oscar’s voice returned with renewed fire. “Copy. Let’s make it count.”

She nodded, though no one could see.

And yet.

There was the ache.

The race carried on, unforgiving.

—

The monitor in front of her flickered with telemetry, lap times, sector splits—Oscar’s heartbeat in digital form. She had to be here. Had to be present.

Her fingers danced a quiet rhythm on the edge of the pit-wall console—a practiced stim to keep the rising panic locked behind a steel door in her mind. The world had already cracked around her today.

“Sector three’s slower by two tenths, watch the tyre temps,” she said, voice clipped, tight. Her gaze never left the screen, even as the chaos inside her threatened to seep out. The noise outside, the shouted team radio chatter, the flashing pit boards, it all blurred into one sharp focus: Oscar.

The world had been unpredictable all weekend. The unexpected video circulating. The judgment from people who didn’t know. Lando spinning out and hitting the wall. But here, in this moment, Amelia was the engineer, the strategist. The calm in the storm.

She clenched the golf ball in her palm, fingers twisting the soft silicone shapes until the ridges bit into her skin just enough to bring her back. The tears she hadn’t let herself shed yet pooled behind her eyes, but she swallowed them down. Not now. Not now.

Her radio crackled to life, “Oscar, focus on exit at turn seven, keep it smooth; tyres need managing.”

And then, after what felt like a lifetime of silence, she sensed him before she saw him. A warmth settling over her. Lando, standing just behind her, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder. No words.

His arms wound around her waist and he squeezed. Tight and warm and perfect.

The sharp edge of panic softened in that quiet pressure. It was like a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding for hours finally escaped. The knot in her chest loosened.

She kept her eyes on the screen, voice steady but softer now, “Push on the next lap, Oscar. You’ve got this.”

The relief didn’t break her focus. Instead, it sharpened it, gave her the strength to keep Oscar moving forward through the pack.

But just for one brief moment, the whole world faded away, leaving just the hum of the race, the steady pulse of the monitor, and the quiet heartbeat pressing against her back.

—

Amelia sat at the small kitchen table, absently stirring her coffee, her mind half on the morning briefing notes she’d reviewed earlier.

She wasn’t in the mood to think much, really. Too many things buzzing in her head—the weekend, the viral video fallout, the constant undercurrent of stress that never quite left her.

Then, for no particular reason, her hand drifted to her phone, and she opened the calendar app. That’s when it hit her. 

The date she’d been quietly expecting had come and gone.

No sign.

A slow, quiet realisation settled in her gut. She hadn’t missed a period in years. 

She blinked, staring at the screen. No big dramatic wave of panic. No sudden flood of excitement either. Just… a plain, blunt acknowledgment.

Oh.

“Okay,” she muttered to herself quietly, voice flat but certain. “Should probably tell Lando.”

She stood and walked to the living room, pulling out her phone again.

iMessage — 13:03pm

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

My period is 3 weeks late.

--

She slid the phone onto the table, fingers lingering on the edge for a moment. Missing a period wasn’t a crisis, just a mildly inconvenient fact.

She glanced out the window at the bustling street below. Monaco was doing its usual thing, people rushing, cars honking, life barreling forward.

Amelia took another sip of coffee and muttered under her breath, “Well, that’s new.”

Then, with all the casual decisiveness of someone deciding what to have for lunch, she shoved the thought aside and got back to work.

NEXT CHAPTER

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Helmet (John Walker)

Description: Y/N may be the only person on the planet that gets turned on by John in his helmet.

Warning: Smut, Praise Kink, Dirty Talking

Word Count: 2,174

“The helmet? You like it?” He was excited that someone seemed to like it. Y/N bit her lip as she stared at it in his hands. It was sexy, he looked sexy in it. It had to be the beard, she thought. All the pictures she had seen with him in it before weren’t good but seeing him in person with it made her want to drop her panties. “Do you like it?” Yelena asked him, she clearly didn’t. “I like it.” Y/N said and John looked over at her. They hadn’t talked much but he wasn’t blind, she was gorgeous. “Yeah?” He asked with a smirk. 

“I like it a lot.” She whispered in his ear, “It’s a panty dropper.” Now a year later as she straddled him in his bed after a mission. They were still in their suits and John tried to remove his helmet but she stopped him. He’s never had anyone think that it was hot or sexy, not even his ex wife. Olivia hated it and on his lap right now was a woman who was praising him for how he looked in it. “Fuck.” He whispered as she ran her hands down his torso, “I also like how you look in the suit.” She told him, “I just want you to rail me in it.” He flipped them over so she was underneath him, “That can be arranged.” He whispered and leaned down to kiss her.

She moaned into the kiss and gripped his shoulders since she couldn’t run her hands through his hair. One of his hands moved down towards her covered cunt that was soaked, “We need to get you out of this suit.” He mumbles against her lips and she nods, eager to remove it as well. He pulls away from the kiss and sits up, helping her remove it. She only had on a bra, no panties which made him smirk. Her wet pussy was on display for him, “So you never wear panties underneath your suit?” He asked, he found that so hot. She shook her head and bit her lip, “That’s so fuckin’ hot.” He growls and cups her tits.

She gasped and reached up to grab at his hands, “Please.” She wanted the bra off so he could truly touch her. “I see what you want, pretty girl.” He says and unclips her bra, she leans up so it can fall off her and John throws it somewhere in his room. He leans forward and takes one of her nipples in his mouth, “Shit.” She moans and one of his hands moves to her pussy. She held back a whine as his gloved fingers toy with her clit. She was trying to be mindful of the others being there as well but it was hard with how skilled he was. He pulled away from her tit with a string of spit.

It was such a dirty sight but she loved it. “Would you eat me out with the helmet on?” She asked, with needy eyes. He nearly lost all thoughts at that but nodded and quickly moved so he was face to face with her pussy. “So wet.” He mumbled before giving it a lick, gathering up the juices. He hummed at the taste, wanting more. She gripped his sheets as he slowly ate her out, wanting to savor the moment and the taste. “John please.” She huffed out and he moved her legs over his shoulders, “Needy little thing.” He growled but gave her what she wanted. She covered her mouth, eyes wide, with the hand that wasn’t gripping the sheets.

He ate her out like it was the end of the world and he was careless about getting his helmet dirty. Just the thought of the bottom of his helmet covered in her cum really did things to her. She was whining underneath her hand as he brought his hand up to her pussy and circled her hole. He inched one of his fingers in her, not caring about the gloves. She felt his bare finger inside of her, only wishing that he didn’t wear fingerless gloves. But her juices dripped onto the glove as he fingered her. She felt his breath on her pussy, “You’re leaking all over the place, dirty girl.” She knew better than to be embarrassed about that, John loved it.

He never meant ill when he teased her. He added another finger which made her cry out, her cry muffled by her hand which John didn’t like. “Remove your hand or I’ll stop.” He warns her and she does as she is told. Her shaky hand placed itself on his helmet as he went back to pleasing her. She whines loudly as his fingers curl to hit her g spot. The repeated motions he does makes her squirm and whimper above him, her thighs close around his head. It wasn’t long till she felt her orgasm approaching, “John, I’m so close.” She cried and he smirked against her before speeding up his movements.

Her g spot was getting abused at this point and his mouth was roughly making out with her clit. Her hips bucked and humped against his perfect face until she moaned his name loudly and came all over his face. Her eyes were closed as her moans got softer, her hips slowly riding out the perfect orgasm he just gave her. His fingers came to a stop as she whined from overstimulation. He pulled away and placed her shaky legs on the bed. The lower part of his helmet was covered in her cum along with his fingerless gloves. He smirked at the sight as she recovered before opening her eyes to look at him.

The sight was to die for, his mouth and helmet was covered in her orgasm and he held up his hand to show her. “You made a big mess, baby.” She sat up and took his hand, taking the two fingers that were inside of her in her mouth, sucking them until they were clean. John’s jaw dropped at the sight and he needed nothing more than her mouth wrapped around his cock. She pulled away and gave him a smirk, “Your turn.” It was like she read his mind as she pushed him to take her place. He laid down and she straddled him, removing his belt and unzipping his pants, “You look so sexy.” She told him as she grabbed his huge dick. His hips bucked into her touch, never used to how amazing it felt.

She hummed as she moved in between his muscular legs and saw his eyes closed as he enjoyed the feeling. She moved to lick a long stripe up his dick causing him to let out a small moan. John was all about grunts, groans and growls but on the occasion that he moans, it’s always a special one. Her lips moved to his tip as she teased him, his hands moved to her head making sure she doesn’t tease him for long, “Don’t tease.” He breathed out but he really didn’t have any power here. She chuckled against him, the vibration causing him to groan and his hands tightening on her hair. She took him into her mouth fully and what she couldn’t her hand was taking care of.

Her mouth felt incredible on his cock, so much so, he let out another moan, this one was louder than the first. She looked up at him and nearly came a second time at the sight. He looked like an angel trying to hold back all the pornographic noises that threatened to spill, his eyes were closed and oh did he look so good in that helmet. Y/N picked up the pace, wanting to hear his moans. Her hands gripped his thighs as she really went for it. John tried so hard to hide his moans but he really couldn’t. Curses left his mouth nearly every breath as Y/N tried to get him to orgasm. It didn’t take long to get him to really make noise, he couldn’t hide it once he was close.

His dick twitched in her mouth, “Ahh I’m close.” He tells her, more like whines to her. She removed her hand from him and deepthroated him to the best of her abilities. His eyes opened and rolled as she swallowed around him, “Fuck.” He nearly yelled as his thick cum went down her throat. His breathing was hard and he was nearly gasping as she took all he gave. She pulled away and wiped her mouth of the drool and spit. “That was so fucking good.” He breathed out. Y/N straddled him again and leaned down to kiss him. He moaned into her mouth, tasting himself, something he never was into until he met her. They did the dirtiest and sluttiest things together, she showed him a new world, something Olivia never did.

His hands ran down her naked back until he reached her ass, slapping it. She gasped against his lips, “Ride me.” He tells her. He was already hard again, how couldn’t he be? There was a beautiful girl pleasing him and praising him. “Whatever you say.” She said seductively. She repositioned herself above him and his hard cock, “Just looking at you in that helmet is enough to make me cum.” She tells him before taking him inside of her. His jaw dropped at her words and the feeling of her wetness. It felt like home to him, her warmth was very welcoming and she felt amazing. “So big, John.” She loved praising him and he loved it as well.

Though it was a fact, he was big. “Fills me up, so full.” She continues as she lets herself get used to his size. He grips her hips and nearly dares himself to thrust up. She can see it in his eyes, the need and the want to take control. “You have control issues, Johnny. Let me take care of you.” She purrs and moves her hips. The rhythm is perfect and she tries not to go so fast but John is nearly begging her to, “Faster.” She shakes her head but throws it back, keeping her pace. John growled and surprised her as he slammed her onto his cock at a fast pace. She looked down at him and he didn’t look guilty but pleased with himself, “Fuck me like this helmet is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.” She wanted to roll her eyes at him but he was smart.

He always had control even when it didn’t seem like it. He sounded like a mad man right now, groans and growls leaving his mouth as he dragged her on his cock, “Perfect.” He growled and she cried out. “John.” His name fell from her lips so perfect, like she was meant to moan it. She wanted to keep her eyes on his face so bad but her eyes threatened to roll. “Eyes on me.” He demanded and she stared at him, jaw slacked. “So perfect.” She moaned, “So beautiful like that.” He wanted to tease her by asking what she meant but she was slurring her words like she was drunk. She was drunk, drunk off his cock. His movements made her tired and she nearly collapsed on his chest.

Her arms held herself up as they were face to face, the breaths mingled together as she cupped his face, “The sexiest man ever.” She whispered and then a loud moan left her as she felt her orgasm approach, “I’m so close.” She cried and he nodded. He could feel it, her pussy going crazy as each thrust chased it closer and closer. He watched her as her jaw dropped and her eyes rolled back, her pussy cumming all over his dick as she cried out. She collapsed on his chest as he continued to chase his high.

She laid on top of him as he thrusted up into her, getting closer and closer. “You feel so good.” She whimpers to him and he feels it. His dick twitches and he lets out a loud growl as he cums. She sets up and gives him a tired smile, “I love you in that helmet.” She tells him and he chuckles, “I love you, suit or not.” He tells her and she looks a little surprised at his confession, “You never make me feel insecure about anything and you make me feel like I’m worth something.” He cups her face, “I want you to move in this room with me.” He whispers and she gives him another tired smile before kissing him. The kiss wasn’t filled with anything other than love and promises. “I love you too.” She mumbles against his lips and pulls away, “And yes I will move in.” She tells him and he smiles. “As long as you bring out the helmet for sex every once in a while.” She jokes and he laughs, “Of course.”

[izzih22]

Heyy, would you write a fic based on this interview that paige and Azzi did:

"Wow, I didn't think about that," Fudd said Friday.

"I had not thought about that part because I'm just super-excited to play in the tournament. I know Paige has been on me because I've been, a couple of times, relying on her. If my shot is not falling I can take a step back and Paige will take care of it. She's been on me to not let that happen. She's like, 'These are our last few games together regardless of what happens. There won't be more. I want to see you play well.' She's been challenging me to step up and be more aggressive with her."

"I don't ever want her to defer," Bueckers said. "I want her to think, 'I've got this.' We want her to be her best, aggressive self. Don't defer, don't necessarily look to pass, look to score and do it every time she touches the ball. That opens everything else up for our team."

Don’t Defer

Note: hope y’all like it!!

They were the last ones on the court.

The rest of the team had cleared out an hour ago, the lights in the practice facility dimmed except for the ones directly over the main court. The echo of bouncing balls and squeaking shoes had long faded, replaced by quiet.

Azzi sat on the hardwood, legs splayed out in front of her, gently rolling her ankle with one hand and staring at the opposite basket. Paige stood a few feet away, dribbling lazily between her legs, glancing at her every so often.

Neither of them said anything at first.

Azzi could feel it. The weight of it. The end creeping closer. Whether it was a week away or three, they both knew — this was it. The last tournament run. The last bus rides. The last post-practice meals. The last of this version of them.

The air between them had been different all week. Charged. Not bad. Just… more.

“I was watching film,” Paige said, still dribbling.

Azzi blinked, then turned her head slightly. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Azzi didn’t ask what film. She already knew.

Paige hesitated. “You passed up four shots in the first half against Marquette.”

Azzi sighed and leaned her head back onto the floor. “Here we go.”

“No, really.” Paige stopped dribbling and walked toward her, the ball thudding against her hip. “Four clean looks. You made the right pass, technically. But we didn’t need the right pass. We needed you.”

Azzi closed her eyes. “My shot wasn’t falling.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

“Exactly.” Paige dropped the ball and it rolled away. She crouched down beside her, hands on her knees, staring down at her girlfriend. “You’re in your head before the ball even hits your fingers. And you know it.”

Azzi didn’t move, but her throat tightened. She hated how well Paige could read her. Sometimes she wished she couldn’t.

“I just don’t want to let anyone down,” Azzi said quietly.

Paige sank the rest of the way down, sitting cross-legged next to her. Her voice softened. “You think passing up open shots is how you protect people? Because it’s not.”

Azzi let the silence stretch again, but Paige didn’t fill it. She just waited.

Finally, Azzi turned her head toward her. “What if I miss?”

“Then you miss.” Paige shrugged. “You miss, and we get back on defense. But if you don’t even try? That’s worse.”

The lights buzzed faintly above them.

“I’m not trying to shrink,” Azzi whispered. “It just happens.”

“I know,” Paige said. And then, after a beat, “But I also know you. You want this. You’ve been working for this your whole life. So stop playing scared.”

Azzi’s eyes burned. Not because Paige was being harsh, but because she wasn’t. She was being honest. Raw, real, and deeply present in a way she only ever was with her.

Paige reached out and tugged gently at the sleeve of Azzi’s shooting shirt. “Hey.”

Azzi looked at her.

“These are our last few games,” Paige said, voice low. “No matter what happens. I don’t want to look back and think we didn’t give everything. That you didn’t.”

Azzi swallowed hard. “I just… it’s easier when I know you’re there to take over.”

“That’s not the point,” Paige said, touching her hand now. “We’re at our best when you take over. When you stop deferring and just… go.”

There was something else behind her voice, something Azzi couldn’t name right away — not frustration or urgency, but something heavier. Sadder.

She sat up slowly. “You’re scared too.”

Paige blinked.

Azzi searched her face. “You don’t want to say it, but I know you. You’re scared this is the end.”

Paige’s jaw flexed. “It is.”

Azzi shook her head. “Not for us.”

“Not for us,” Paige echoed. She took a breath. “But yeah. For this.”

The gym. The uniforms. The late-night ice baths and the early-morning walkthroughs. The feeling of walking onto the court next to the person who knew your game better than anyone else in the world.

“Promise me something,” Paige said quietly.

Azzi nodded.

“Play free tomorrow. I mean it. Don’t look for me, don’t defer, don’t hesitate. Just go. Go like it’s the last game of your life.”

Azzi’s throat tightened again. “Okay.”

“I want to see you do it. Really do it. I don’t care if you miss. I just want to see you trust yourself.”

Azzi looked down at their joined hands, then back up at Paige. “Only if you promise me something too.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t carry it all by yourself.”

Paige blinked.

“You’ve been doing that all year,” Azzi said. “Every game, every moment. You take it all on, like it’s your job to fix everything. But you don’t have to do it alone. Not with me here.”

Something in Paige’s expression cracked — not in a weak way, but in a vulnerable one. Like she’d been holding her breath for weeks, and finally someone noticed.

“Okay,” she said, her voice soft and uneven. “Deal.”

They stayed there for a while, the court quiet around them, the air warm with everything unsaid. It didn’t need to be said.

⸻

The next night, Azzi dropped 27 points.

She pulled up without hesitation, attacked without apology, and never once looked toward Paige for permission.

And Paige? She watched with pride, her chest aching in the best kind of way — the kind of ache you get when someone you love finally realizes how powerful they are.

Late in the third quarter, Azzi hit a step-back three that sent the bench into chaos. As the timeout buzzer rang, she jogged back toward the sideline, chest heaving.

Paige met her at half court, slapped her hand, and grinned.

“There she is.”

Azzi’s eyes sparkled as she grinned back. “Told you I got this.”

“You always did,” Paige said. “You just had to believe it.”

[thebumblebeesworld]

NSFW! • ALPHABET

annie x fem reader

summary: bunch of gay shit with my girl annieee

cw: everything smut related obvi, use of the nword, mentions of violence, knife play, impact play, the works

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a = aftercare

Annie likes to know you’re taken care of in all ways. Whether it be making sure you have a full stomach early in the morning or a warm place to rest your head after a day of work, she takes care of all your needs. That extends perfectly to your after sex care as well.

Annie loves to massage your body—rid you of the aching in your thighs or pain in your knees from kneeling on the hard wooden floors of her shack, eating her out.

You extend this courtesy to her as well. When Annie has spent a particularly long time pleasuring you or giving you her pleasure, you make sure to fix her a nice bath. You heat up a pot of water on the stove, pouring it into her tub and joining her if she so desires.

b = body part

Annie adores your titties. Couldn’t get enough of them if she tried. She likes it when you sleep in your silk chemise with nothing underneath. It gives her the perfect opportunity to rest her hands or face in your chest. She once said, “If I ever suffocate in yo’ titties, it’s the best way I could go out.”

Annie loves every part of her own body, but as she’s aged, she’s found an adoration for her curves. She loves the way her body dips and turns and flushes in certain spots. She loves the way your hands fit in her curves most of all.

c = cum

The first time you two had sex was the first time you learned that Annie was a squirter. It was the first time she learned that as well.

She had good sex before you but never to the point of blacking out and cumming like a mad man who didn’t know any better.

You love it about her—you love drinking up every bit of her she has to give.

d = dirty secret

Annie is an open book.

She never keeps any secrets from you about her desires or fantasies or kinks. She tells it all, knowing you will supply her needs.

e = experience

Before you, Annie had never been with a woman before. Or anyone besides Smoke, but she didn’t let that stop her.

She loves to make up for the lost time and chance for experience by learning all of your bodies quirks. She revels in being able to bring you to a quick orgasm just as much as she loves drawing your pleasure out.

She’s learned with time what your sex faces mean and when you’re on the verge of orgasm or simply wanting more.

Even though she lacked the experience you had with women, she gladly allowed you to teach her.

f = favorite position

It’s hard for Annie to choose just one position as her favorite, but she could easily narrow it down to you on your knees while she rides your face or you laying on your back while she takes care of you in every way you desire.

She loves to watch every face you make while giving and receiving pleasure. It spurs her on.

g = goofy

Annie doesn’t like to limit herself in the bedroom, and in the beginning of your relationship—as she tried to explore and learn—you both would find yourselves breaking into a fit of laughter fairly often.

One time, when Annie was trying to climb on top of your face, she ended up slipping and falling off the side of the bed. You scrambled, raising your voice and asking if she was ok. Blanket wrapped around your waist, you kneeled on the floor to help her up, but all Annie could do was laugh.

“Are you ok,” you ask, a confused look pulling at your eyebrows. You grab her face, pulling her into you to check for any damage to your love, but she just laughs.

“Did you see that,” she giggles. “You eat it so good I couldn’t even sit down well enough before falling over.” You blink you eyes in amusement, never having seen her so carefree and light.

h = hair

Annie definitely has a full on bush. She keeps it nice and tidy, but she—and you—prefer to leave her public area more natural.

i = intimacy

Your woman shows love in a way you’ve never experienced before. She balances the erotic, passion-filled sex and romantic, intimate sex well, not favoring one over the other.

You appreciate romantic Annie. Romantic Annie likes to have candles lit and Bessie Smith playing smoothly through the phonograph in your bedroom. Romantic Annie likes to sip on cherry wine while slow dancing with you, windows open to let it the cool air of a late summer night.

When you have true intimate and romantic sex, it’s slow and not reliant upon a quick orgasm or breaking down of the other person’s body. You get to explore each other and whisper I love you’s to the tune of blues.

j = jack off

She fucks herself to the thought of you. Your moans. Your body. Your hot, aroused skin pressed against hers. Everything about you gets her going to the point of not being able to stop her fingers from trailing underneath the fabric of her dress.

You come home early from work, missing your woman and simply wanting to love on her. It had been a hard week of grueling work, and you hadn’t been able to spend as much time together as you’d prefer.

Walking through the front door, her name on the tip of your tongue, you stop as you hear a sound coming from the back end of your home.

Your bedroom.

You walk down the hall, muffled cries becoming more distinct the closer you get. You find your shared bedroom door slightly ajar. On the bed is Annie. Her legs are spread wide. Her dress is hoisted up to her full hips, and the top that’s meant to cover her breasts is down, allowing her titties to bounce freely.

You admire her form as she fucks herself wildly. Three fingers are being thrusted in and out of her dripping cunt, and her chest heaves at the intensity.

“Oh, y/n,” she moans. You think for a second that she caught you watching her, but her head is thrown back and her eyes are squeezed shut.

You then realize: she’s cumming to the thought of you alone.

k = kink

Annie is definitely down for some impact play, there’s no doubt about it. Whether she’s feeling more dominant or submissive, she’s willing to partake in a little bit of painful pleasure.

When she wants to give, she lets you choose what method she’ll inflict, giving you options between her hand or a belt.

When she receives, she wants to go the whole way: tied up, eyes covered, ass in the air, and taking it. You love to watch the way her ass recoils as you spank her progressively harder. Her moans heighten, bouncing off the walls of your bedroom. Music to your ears.

Annie also has an affinity for calling you daddy when she’s in a submissive mood. But you’ve come to realize that she uses it to get her way every time.

l = location

When the weather permits it, you and Annie fuck outside. She always said it was a spiritual experience to be in nature, so when you recommended that y’all have sex in the wide open Mississippi sun, she was all for it.

“Fuck yes, baby,” you cry directly into Annie’s pussy as her head is buried between your trembling legs. Underneath you is nothing but a sheer blanket and tufts of overgrown grass and Annie.

You love when y’all change up the routine and fuck under the clouds, and giving and receiving at the same time has your body feeling like it’s floating amongst those clouds.

Annie groans as you get back you work. She nibbles at your folds, trying not to drown in you but ultimately wanting to.

You fuck each other with a burning passion. The slight breeze that rustles the grasses around you tickles your skin. It eases the perspiration brought on by the sun and it whispers in both of your ears. The wind seems to talk to you both, urging you to give each other what you desire. To make love like you never have before.

You listen, leaning fully into Annie and palming her plump ass. She brings your own pelvis closer into her desperate lips, and for just a second, it seems like the whole earth goes quiet, waiting for what’s next.

Your breathing falters—as does Annie’s, and in a flash of cries and cum, y’all are orgasming into each other’s mouths.

m = motivation

When out on the town and at somebody’s juke, you and Annie are sure to pull in a lot of attention. Women and men alike flock to you both, offering to buy you drinks or asking for a dance, but you both shoo them off with a calm no thank you.

On one occasion though, you planned to meet Annie at the juke instead of riding together on account of her wanting to arrive with a few of her friends.

As you stroll in, you search high and low for your Annie, needing to reach out and hold her to the tune of some slow, crooning blues.

You look around and see Mary and Pearline, knowing Annie just had to be close by. They meet your gaze as you walk their way, but worry quickly flashes over their faces. They share a look before glancing to the side for just half a second. But you catch it.

You move your gaze toward that direction to find your woman in the arms of another man.

Leroy Archibald. That nigga been trying to get Annie alone for the longest, and the one day you arrive after her of course he takes it as his chance.

You straighten out your clothes, smoothing the non-wrinkled fabric in order to cool your nerves. Mary and Pearline attempt to stop you from making a scene, knowing you don’t play when it comes to Annie, but when Leroy pulls Annie into him and she tries to fight back against him, you jump into action.

“So you gon’ sit up in my face and fool ‘round with my woman, nigga?”

You revel at the way Leroy immediately let’s Annie’s body go, trembling at the feeling of a well-sharpened blade lined up perfectly at the base of his throat.

In your youth, you were known to do damage to a man, but people began to take your matured-adulthood for weakness. Everyone in the juke stopped dancing to watch as you confront Leroy, but all you can care about is Annie.

“Lo-look, y/n,” he stuttered. “I ain’t even mean nothing by it. I promise! She asked me for a dance—SHIT!” You kick him in the back of the knee, causing him to crumble into a kneeling position. You lay your eyes on Annie as the blade presses further into his neck.

“He hurt you any, sweetheart,” you ask her gently. Her eyes are blown. Seeing you so protective of her, ready to cut this man in front of a juke full of people has her body warming up all over. Mary and Pearline come to stand by her side again.

“He,” she begins, interrupted by his cries for you to let him go. You press the blade a little harder to shut him up.

“You ain’t gotta worry ‘bout him, suga’. Now go on. Tell me.”

Your persuasive and guiding voice just adds on to her growing arousal. You prompting her to speak, pulls her submissive side out of her.

“He wouldn’t let me go when I asked ‘im,” she admits, making your blood boil. “But I’m good, love. I think he learned his lesson.” She gazed down at Leroy’s tear-streaked face. You believe what she’s saying, but you aren’t gonna let any man feel like he could get that close to your woman again.

You force Leroy up to his feet, pushing him through the crowd. You stop at Annie and whisper in her ear:

“I’m just gon’ go handle this right quick, baby. Don’t worry.”

You assurance forces butterflies to flutter around her insides as she—along with the crowd—watches you take Leroy into a side room. Before the door closes fully, she sees you throw him to the floor and begin punching the asshole out of him.

The whole scene has her motivated to treat you well tonight. When y’all get home, she vows to give you some good loving.

n = no

Annie is open to most things, but in the trying of new positions and ways to have sex, she realized that she isn’t a huge fan of knife play. Intrigued by your show of aggression with Leroy Archibald, Annie wanted to play around with your blade. But she quickly realized that it wasn’t for her when she actually felt the weight of it on her neck, even though you were as gentle as ever.

Afterwards, you gave her as much love as she could handle, thanking her for her time and effort. You ran her a warm bath, placing dried rose petals in to calm her body.

“Can you get in with me,” she stops you just before you can cross the door’s threshold. Her eyes are big with emotion, and you can tell that she just wants to be close. So without answering, you strip off your few clothes and settle in the tub behind her.

Annie’s body fully melts into yours, the hot water and rose petals tickling your skin.

o = oral

As stated, Annie loves head. Giving. Receiving. It doesn’t matter. She has never had her pussy ate so good until you came into her life, and she never thought pussy would taste as good as yours does.

Whenever Annie can get a mouthful of you, she is a happy woman.

p = pace

Annie has times where she likes it fast and times where she likes it slow. It all depends on her mood or if she’s been stressed recently. When she’s stressed, you make sure to take her slow and calm her worried mind bit by bit.

More often than not, it works.

q = quickie

She doesn’t prefer quickies in the slightest. She likes to have her hands on you for as long as humanly possible, but if needed, she’ll settle for quick sex.

Sometimes when you’ve spent the entire day thinking about her, you’ll come home during your short lunch break. When she hears your truck pounding down the dirt road, she knows exactly what type of time you’re on. She pounces on you as soon as you make it through the door, wasting no time at all.

r = risks

Everything has technically been a risk so far. Since you’re the second sexual partner she’s ever had, she’s been open to trying a plethora of different things.

Risks are what make the bedroom fun.

s = stamina

“I wanna go again,” Annie breaths, climbing back on top of you. You both have already gone three rounds. The night has consisted of you on your knees near the front door, barely getting inside the house good before ravaging her body; you on your back with Annie’s fingers knuckles deep in your arousal; and you grinding your clit against your lover’s as she pulled on your hair roughly and with no remorse.

Annie has a sexual appetite that you can definitely satiate, so as she practically demands for more, you are quick to give it to her. You throw her off of you, her back meeting the firm surface of the quilt-covered bed. She lets out a huff at the harshness of your love, but you sooth her with an unchaste kiss.

“Please, y/n,” she cries, grinding against your thigh that’s made it between her legs. Looking down, you get an idea. A sinister grin causes her body to shiver.

“You want it, suga’,” you question in a lower, teasing voice.

“Please, daddy,” she coos, trying to get you to break and just let her have it. “I want you so bad.”

You kiss along her already mark-riddled neck, pushing her just a tad bit further into her submission. She grabs at your body, clenching around your thigh. You lean into her ear:

“If you want it so bad,” you growl, “then fuckin’ work for it.” You slap the side of her ass and force her hips to grind harder on your exposed thigh. The feeling of her arousal on your skin and the way she gave in so easily makes you want to cry.

You and Annie were meant for each other in every way.

As she moans your name and cums on your thigh, you’re made even more sure of that fact.

t = toys

She believes in pleasure that is for sure. She loves getting in touch with her body by taking care of her own needs. In a Modern AU, Annie is a bullet vibrator type of girl. Something small to satisfy herself. She takes care of the rest of her needs with her hands alone.

u = unfair

“You remember when you made me work for that orgasm, daddy,” Annie questions, harping down your ear as she lightly spanks your clit. She has you tied to the bed, something about trying new things since it was normally her that liked being restrained.

You jump as she lands a heavy hand directly to your jewel, you try to close your legs to rid yourself of the torture, but it backfires.

“You had me humpin’ your thigh like a bitch in heat,” her Louisiana accent curls around you. A false sense of safety pools in the air; Her voice is so sweet yet so deadly.

“Come on, Annie,” you grumble, pulling at the ties around your wrists as she toys with you. She laughs deeply at your attempts

“Oh, daddy,” she purrs. “You’re deeply mistaken. I’m gon’ make you pay. Gon’ have you moanin’ my name like it’s the only word you can remember.” Annie lays a harsh slap to your inner thigh, making you tremble at the way it sends pleasure straight to your core.

You look at her with low, pleading eyes.

“Tomorrow Sunday, baby,” she nods while trailing her nails down your exposed chest. “The Lord’s day. That means we got all night to have fun and all day tomorrow to rest.”

v = volume

You live in the middle of the Mississippi Delta which lends itself to the opportunity of being loud whenever you feel like it. There’s no neighbors within a five mile radius. Nothing but coyotes, tall grasses, and wide ponds, and you like it that way. Especially when Annie gets particularly into it, screaming things like “Fuck me like you mean it;” “Eat this pussy, daddy;” “You know, I’m all yours.”

It’s like a game you play with yourself, trying to get her to be louder than she was the time before. It’s like beating your own high score.

w = wild card if smoke came home after 7 years but walked in on y’all fucking.

Annie never imagined Smoke would come home. He has been away so long that other people began to fill the spaces her previously occupied. Annie was her own woman with a good, stable life. So when he came barging into your home, seeing the both of you laid across the living room floor, all of you were beyond shocked.

“Right there, baby,” Annie moans as she grinds against your face. Her hand is behind your head, providing her with good stability to be able to fuck into you. “Look at that pretty face. All covered in me.” You whine into her, grabbing onto her thighs and going to town.

Her grip on your head loosens as she lets out a wail of pleasure so loud that you both missed the sound of a truck door slamming outside.

You stick your tongue into her and watch as her titties flail from the erratic movement of your thrusts.

“YES!”

Just as she cums on your tongue, the front door bursts open, causing you to quickly pull a blanket from the couch to cover her before grabbing your gun that stays hidden in the floor boards.

You’re met with the sight of an aggressive-looking man. Clean cut with a nice suit on. Gun pointed at you. You’re about to pull the trigger, but the sound of Annie’s voice stops you.

“Smoke?”

x = x-ray

Annie is a beautiful woman with a sturdy body. She grew up with people calling her solid, and she certainly is that. You love to just trace her naked form with your eyes. Not touching. Just looking.

There’s something about her curves that simply mesmerizes you.

Your eyes become caught in the valley between her breasts, unknowing of what direction to follow next. They glide over her waist and hips, delighting in her hip dips and stretch marks.

Annie is all woman, and as you watch her, she doesn’t think once about shying away. Your desire-laced eyes fuel her and heighten her confidence.

y = yearning

You sit across the table from Annie, unable to concentrate on the conversation being held because she won’t stop throwing you looks. Y’all are at Grace and Bo’s for dinner. Pearline and Mary are here as well, but as always, it feels like you and Annie are in your own world.

She bites her lip, and you feel her heeled-foot sneak up the side of your calf. A shot of electricity runs through your body as you envision all the things you could be doing to her body.

Her dress sits lower on her chest, showing more cleavage than you think acceptable for a dinner, but you support her nonetheless. In the background is just a mess of muffles as you both seem to communicate telepathically.

“Damn,” Mary breathes, breaking you from your reverie. “Do y’all not get tired of jumpin’ each others bones?” The table agrees with her question, giggling and shaking their heads at the way you continue to eye each other.

“Not when it’s as good as it is,” Annie remarks with a sly grin.

z = zzz

“Annie,” you whisper softly, rocking her body to see if she is finished recovering. After your fourth round of the night, Annie rested her head in your titties comfortably, citing that she needed to close her eyes for a spell.

You knew that was code for I’ll be asleep in five minutes, but you didn’t stop her, knowing she needed a break from all the pleasure.

When she doesn’t answer your call, you pull the quilted blanket over both of your bodies, tucking it in to make her feel more secure. You place a loving kiss to her forehead and rub your hand along her back. Facing your head toward the ceiling, you smile at the wonderfulness that is your life.

[twovialsofamortentia]

effie’s vineyard 🍇

🎧 tell him- ms. lauryn hill

a/n: so i’ve been a writer for about eight years and this is the first time i’ve ever posted fluff. it probably sucks but the idea literally came to me in a dream and i couldn’t not share it with you all <3

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff written by a smut author, reader and james as disgustingly in love newlyweds, effie and monty have both passed away recently, not proofread

James was told his whole life that he loved too hard. He felt too deeply. He couldn’t help it, it was just habit. He loved, and he loved hard. It was just his way.

And by God, did he love you. You, and your beautiful hair, which contrasted so perfectly against your beautiful skin. You, and the way you walked. The way your eyebrows would raise, then furrow, then raise again just before you were about to tell him off. The way your eyes betrayed the rest of your face when you were looking at him like he was crazy, giving away every time that you loved him, really.

James was sunshine in a bottle. Being near him felt like stepping into direct sunlight on a spring morning and realising that if you just held on a little longer, summer was coming.

James was good at helping you to hold on. Whether he knew it or not. He was a walking reminder that if one person could be so kind, and so loyally loving, then so could the rest of the world, and that gave you hope.

What also helped James’ case was that he was fit. He was so, so fit that sometimes it physically hurt you because you couldn’t put it into words. The amount of times Alice had just watched you screaming into your pillow was testament enough to the fact that she had the patience of a saint.

He had his flaws, of course. He had too big an ego. He was impatient. He was reckless when he needed to be careful. He didn’t always think before he acted. Despite all that, he had a good heart. He cared deeply about the people he loved. He would move mountains for them in a heartbeat, he simply needed to be pointed in the right direction.

And he loved you.

That was why you married him.

You listened to the voice in your head for once. Do it, you silly bitch! it said. Good God, do it. If you let him slip through your fingers, you’re the stupidest woman to walk the earth.

That was how you ended up in his parents’ massive house. Your favourite place to sit and think (or smoke) was the window seat at the end of the first floor hallway, because you could look out across the garden, and the vineyard that hadn’t been a vineyard since James’ mother died- you were planning on getting it back up and running. That was your favourite thing to think about.

You would often catch James looking at it out the window, too, when he thought no one else was around. He had more of a sentimental attachment to the place than he liked to let on, so when you had mentioned the idea of getting it back up and running, in that offhanded sort of way you spoke sometimes, his heart filled to bursting.

You couldn’t count the number of meetings you’d had with wineries, specialists, that sort of thing, who were interested, mostly in the fact that a filthy rich young man and his intelligent young wife were trying to revive something from the dead for seemingly no reason except romance. They were intrigued, and a bit sceptical, but James was too good at persuasion. He had an incredible way of convincing people to just give him things, or do things, by just being himself.

And, of course, it was also partly down to you. Because God, how could anyone say no to you?

James shook himself out of his own thoughts as he watched you watching the world outside. He leaned against the bannister, about ten feet away from where you were sitting, hands in his pockets.

“When I was younger,” he spoke up. “My dad used to tell me that to him, my mum got prettier every day.”

You were snapped out of your daydream at his words, and you turned to see him, which made a smile spread across your face. You hummed in response, leaning your head back against the wall, waiting for James to continue.

“And I just used to say sure, dad, because I thought that they were just old and lovey dovey- which they were, obviously.”

You giggled, nodding along. When James started stories like this, took that certain tone of voice, you could tell he had been thinking about it for a while beforehand. It was if it were his life’s mission to tell you what he wanted to say, and every story was just as important, even if they just ended with Anyway, I love you.

“And then when you happened- it was actually the first day you moved in- I looked at you and I thought no shot, dad. She’s already as beautiful as it gets.”

James pushed off of the bannister, walking the few short steps to where you were sitting on the windowsill. He leaned against the wall next to the window, so that he could gaze out of it from the same angle as you. He freed one of his hands from his pocket, bringing it up to smooth over your hair.

“I was wrong.” James said quietly. Finally. Certainly. “Fuck me, I was so wrong.”

You just smiled. What else could you have done? Your gaze flicked between the white wisps of smoke rising from your cigarette, and the expanse of the vineyard- not in total disarray, but definitely in need of some love.

It was just as well that the vineyard was yours and James’ problem, in that respect, because between the two of you, you had enough love for a thousand vineyards. You hoped that would reflect in the end result.

“Are you thinking about the vineyard?” James asked gently, still running his fingers through your hair as he stood behind you.

You just hummed again, nodding.

James nodded too, slowly, his mind drifting towards his mother. She loved you, with all her heart. He couldn’t help but think about how proud she’d have been of you for running the house in the way that you did.

You crossed your legs underneath you, making space for James to sit down as you stubbed your cigarette out in the ashtray before dragging that out of the way, too.

“I was thinking,” you began, lighting another cigarette. “That if we’re doing up the vineyard for your mum.. Monty should get something too- I don’t know what, but-”

“I think-” James swallowed, taking the cigarette from you when you offered it to him. “I think Dad would be happy just to know that you’re doing something for Mum. That you’re putting the effort into keeping her around- he’d want that more than he’d want something of his own.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah.” James agreed, pausing to take a drag of the cigarette before passing it back to you. “They were joint at the hip- but like, more than that. They were like two halves of the same person, you remember. The way they loved each other.”

“I know,” you sighed, raising the cigarette to your lips as you cast your gaze out of the window.

You were both unaware of the irony in James’ words, as you sat across from one another on the windowsill. There was something strangely intimate about the fact that you were sharing a cigarette and talking about love. You just didn’t realise because you were so smack bang in the middle of it.

There was an indescribable sort of comfort in having moments like this one. The intimacy of just- existing, next to the person you loved the most, and doing nothing of real importance in the grand scheme of things. There was something so simple about sitting on a windowsill, sharing a cigarette, drinking in each other’s presence. That was how love truly worked, you thought. It was these moments that made all of the other hard things worth it. It just made it oodles better that that person was James.

Everyone would always get on at James for being such a loverboy. Even back in Hogwarts, when he was just hopelessly pining for you, everyone would rinse him for being too in love. He’d laugh, because he knew it didn’t matter what anyone thought, he was in love with you regardless.

But it was always James who got the stick for being so in love. You should have been thankful for the fact that he was taking the heat, but it made you wonder if he knew sometimes that it was possible for you to love him as much as he loved you. Because you did.

“You okay?”

“Mhmm.” you hummed slowly, finally tearing your gaze away from the fields out of the window to meet James’ eye. A small smile spread across your face as you did- because it wasn’t just you who looked beautiful in this light. “I’m okay.”

“What are you smiling at?” James challenged, returning the smile as he watched the way your face relaxed as you looked at him. He was sure that no matter what else happened or changed in this world, he would never tire of looking at you. It was impossible to tire of someone like you.

You laughed quietly, eyes drifted to your legs, intertwined. You debated whether or not he’d just rinse you for saying all the sappy things you were thinking, but then you’d be able to come right back and call him a hypocrite, so there.

“Love you.”

“What was that?” James lifted a hand, holding it behind his ear. “I didn’t hear you.”

You raised an eyebrow, a look of mock annoyance falling across your face as you shook your head. With a roll of your eyes, you repeated yourself.

“I said, I love you.” you told James, leaning forward. “I love you.” you leaned further forward, taking his face in your hands. “I love you.” a little further, squishing his cheeks together, and then a final, muffled “I love you.” because you were mimicking the pout you’d put on his face.

As you leaned forward, squishing his cheeks together, James wrapped his arms around you and pulled you towards him, shifting you until you were sitting in his lap. He held you like that for a moment, his face still trapped in your hands as he laughed at the expression you had put on it. As he did so, you could feel the vibrations of the sound moving along your body as your chests were pressed together.

“Thought you ought to know.” you shrugged teasingly, raising your cigarette to your lips and taking a quick drag.

“Why, thank you.”

James shifted his grip on you so that he could pull the cigarette from between your lips. He brought it to his own mouth, his gaze flickering from your face, to the cigarette, and then back to your face. He took a drag then, before gently blowing the smoke into your face.

“Eugh-!” you winced, scrunching your nose up. “Fucker.”

He just laughed at your reaction, taking another drag off of your cigarette before taking the opportunity to kiss the side of your neck- which also involved blowing the smoke across your skin.

You stole the cigarette back, placing it between your own lips for a final drag, ignoring the way the filter burned your finger because you had smoked it down too far, then stubbing it out in the ashtray.

“Do you think-” James began, then paused for a moment, his gaze roaming your face, from your lips up to your eyes. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing? About the vineyard, I mean?”

“Yes.” you said, and as you did, you nodded certainly. “I know it’s a lot right now, but it was your mum’s- I don’t want to just leave it to ruin.”

James smiled faintly at that, sufficiently reassured and reminded of the fact that, if at least, it all went wrong, it would be a valiant effort in the name of his mother anyway. You wouldn’t let it be anything else.

“Anyway,” you said, taking James’ face in your hands again, making him smile when your eyes locked onto his. “I love you.”

“You’ve said.” James beamed, and he looked like an actual ray of sunshine as his gaze bore into yours, looking up at you with no intention to stop any time soon.

You nodded slowly, obviously, pretending to be thinking, then you leaned down to catch James’ lips in a gentle kiss, one that tasted like cigarettes and the realisation that James had been eating your strawberries even though you made him promise not to. You’d get him for that later, though, because right now you were dedicated to showing him that he married you for a reason, and that reason was that you loved him very very much.

“Just making sure you know.”

[asce-of-hearts]

Hello! You said we could request more for Jiraiya so I have this idea. Maybe reader is someone Jiraiya solicits for services, and he gets jealous at the idea of reader servicing anyone who isn't him. So he fucks them until they accept to be his! A lot of smut pls

And if you could add 🧃 prompt it would be great

Thank you!

Hypocrite

Contents: Yandere!Jiraiya with prompt: 🧃

more Jiraiya content here

TAG LIST

PROMPT LIST

WARNINGS: YANDERE, KIDNAPPING, DUBCON, OVERSTIM, SIZE KINK, BREEDING KINK, TALKS OF PROSTITUTION AND PIMPING.

Showgirls, prostitutes, and all of those women who sold their bodies for the enterntainment of dirty old men like him was a business, a profitable one considering the excessive and expensive fees they charged just for a pretty girl with a nice bust to fawn over him for half an hour. Was it worth it? Absolutely.

Specially if it involved you fawning over him.

Anyone on the business could also tell you that most hookers that ended up dead was because a psycho old man became a little in love with them, a little obsessed. Business and love should never mix, don't stick your cock where you have your gold. Well, unfortunately for everyone, Jiraiya wasn't a business owner. And as such, was allowed to obsess over you, just a little.

It all started with jealousy, which he can admit was hypocritical. Sure, he was fine with having you and ten other ladies sitting around him and fetching him drinks while laughing at his drunken jokes. But you, servicing another man? Unacceptable, you were supposed to be his only. Not this... whore who goes and pleases other men.

So, if the only choice to make you understand your place was to... Fuck a baby into you or something, then that's what he would do, without hesitation. He will take the bullet, for you, of course.

So there you are, sprawled under him, the dim light of the motel room casting a strange glow over your skin. You don't look real, you certainly don't feel real. You're young, and you're ripe and you're perfect for him to eat like the precious, forbidden fruit you have always been. He doesn't care, he can't bring himself to care about anything else in the world in that moment other than the fact that he has to breed you. Pump you full of kids and make you moan underneath him, pleading for more inches of his fat cock inside your little cunt. Milking him for all he's worth. He doesn't know how many seconds, how many minutes, how many hours he has exceeded the curfew your pimp imposed over you. And he doesn't care, he just wants to have you, all for himself, forever and after.

"Please—" Your voice is more like a wheeze in that second, folded in half in a mating press that just shouldn't be humanly possible. It felt like you were getting impaled, the air forced out of your lungs with another brutal thrust that had your innards shifting just to see how they could even fathom to accomodate his lenght. "I can't— It's so—" The world is spinning, or maybe you are, you don't know, you can't think. You can only focus on his face as he grins, little spirals in your eye as you think you might be going mad underneath his ministrations.

"You can, pretty girl. Stay with me," He has the audacity to croon as he continues to ravage you, large hands caressing the underside of your thighs, pressing further so your breasts squeeze together. Dirty old man. "Don't you want me, baby? Don't you like it when I make you feel like this?" Your cunt is so packed it almost hurts to recieve the friction your body aches for, your clit throbbing as he spits down on it. Making you throw your head back as you howl in pleasure.

"I do! I do I do I do," You're delirious, and he bends down to press a lewd kiss to your swollen lips, sucking on your tongue in a way that has you creaming around his cock once more. He's making you mad, completely mad, you try and move your hips, but your body has already given up a long time ago. You're a sex doll in that moment, existing solely for his pleasure. "Mnn— I gotta— I have to go back to—" You cling to the last scraps of sanity left inside your brain, quickly replaced by another thick load of cum poured right inside your womb.

"I don't think so, sweetheart. You're stayin' right here with me, where you belong. Dripping with my cum between those pretty thighs," He whispers, sultry, seductive. "I’m gonna make you addicted to me. That way you're never going to even think about leaving, about being a little whore for anyone else." You tremble and shake under him, ruined, eyes teary and mind foggy, clouded with lust, with sensations only he's able to provide.

"Jiraiya..." You whimper, and he chuckles, fucking you faster.

"I know, I know. I'm here, little girl. I'm not going anywhere," He murmurs, his kiss much more tender this time as he squeezes you against the bed further, burying you under his weight and strenght in such a delicious way. "You're not leaving my sight ever again."

hope you enjoyed this!!!!!!

have a great day/night

TAGGING: @mimihaitani @architectofsuffering @staarflowerr @starberryzos @dreamcastgirl99

[queerteapie]

Please, I Beg (18+)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness/Rio Vidal/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Fic Playlist: Spotify

Summary: Your friend presses questions into your mind you hadn't thought to ask, and without answers of reassurance, you're afraid her concerns may be right.

Tags: 18+, angst, smut, NSFW, femme reader, light mommy kink, strap, light fingering, threesome

Reader Tags: @filmedbyharkness @agatha-rio-enthusiast @unidentable @fadedbee201923 @bigfinsquidd @katiemay-025

Masterlist | Ao3 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Chapter Six

The diner isn’t anything special. Red vinyl booths, sticky menus, the thrum of fluorescent lights overhead. Probably wouldn’t have looked twice at it if Agatha hadn’t texted you the night before, casually suggesting it.

"Cute little spot off Sunset," she’d said. "Good pancakes, terrible coffee. You’ll love it."

You hadn’t even thought twice about it then, just smiled at your phone, heart warm, and sent the address to Liv.

But now, sitting alone at a corner booth, nervously tracing the rim of your water glass, it feels a little different. Like you dragged them here with you, even if you didn’t mean to.

Liv arrives a few minutes late, all bright eyes and wind-tousled hair, pulling you into a hug so tight you almost forget the knot in your chest.

"Look at you!" they say, sliding into the booth. "All grown up and mysterious."

You laugh, trying to shake off the nerves. It’s easy, for a while. The two of you fall back into step like no time’s passed at all, ordering the pancakes and the bad coffee, trading half-finished stories about work, about life, about everything and nothing.

But it doesn’t last.

"So," Liv says eventually, propping their chin on their hand. "You seeing anyone?"

You falter, your fork hovering over your plate. The silence stretches half a second too long.

They grin, sharp and triumphant. "Knew it."

You groan, setting your fork down. “It’s...complicated."

"Ooh. Complicated. Spicy. Tell me everything."

You pick at the edge of your napkin, trying to find the right words. How do you explain something that doesn’t have a name yet? Something that feels real but fragile, like a soap bubble in your hands?

"They’re a couple," you say finally. "I babysit for them. And...we’ve gotten close. Really close."

Their eyebrows shoot up. "Like... close close?"

You shrug helplessly. “Yeah. Close close."

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Liv leans back in the booth, exhaling slow. "You’re sleeping with both of them?"

You flinch at the bluntness. “It’s not just-" you start, but stop yourself.

What else can you call it?

You think about Rio’s hands tangled with yours, about Agatha’s mouth on your throat, about the way their house feels like home in a way nothing else has in years.

You think about the way you missed them last night, even when you tried not to.

"It’s more than that," you say quietly.

Liv studies you for a long moment, their expression softening.

"I’m not judging," they say. "Really. I just...you sure they’re not using you?"

You blink.

The words hit harder than you expect. A little off-center punch right to the ribs.

"I mean," they continue carefully, "you’re hot, you're charming, you’re great with their kid," they tick the points off on their fingers. “Of course they’d be into you. But, they’re already a package deal. You’re...sort of…extra."

You open your mouth, ready to argue but the words get stuck. Deep down, you know that fear has been whispering in the back of your mind for a while now.

Not that Agatha and Rio would mean to hurt you. But maybe, it’s inevitable anyway.

Liv must see something on your face, because their own softens even more.

"Just...be careful, okay?" they say, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. "I don’t want to see you get hurt."

You squeeze back, smiling as best you can, but the food tastes like cardboard after that. And even when you leave the diner, stepping out into the bright Los Angeles morning, you can’t shake the weight pressing against your ribs.

You almost pull out your phone to text them, to tell them you miss them, to ask if they’re thinking about you too.

But your thumb hovers over Agatha’s name...and then falls away.

You shove your hands deep into your pockets and start walking, hoping the morning sun can burn off the chill still clinging to your skin.

You don’t say much after breakfast.

Liv hugs you tight before they go, promises to text later, but the warning they left behind clings like burrs to your skin.

You walk away from the diner feeling heavier than you should, each step dragging a little more.

The rest of the day drifts by in a strange haze. You wander the streets downtown, popping into little shops you barely register, sipping coffee that tastes like nothing, scrolling aimlessly through your phone without ever really seeing the screen. The city moves around you, vibrant and alive, but you’re somewhere far away from it all, stuck turning over the same words again and again in your mind.

Maybe they’re right. Maybe you’re just something temporary. A distraction. Something easy to toss aside when the novelty wears off.

The thought curls tight in your chest like smoke.

When Rio’s message pops up around four, it feels like both a balm and a fresh wound.

Rio: Having fun with your friend? Wanna come over later?

You stare at it for a long second, heart clenched painfully tight in your ribs. You almost say no - you almost let that creeping fear win. But you miss them. God, you miss them. You miss the way they see you, the way they fold you into their lives without hesitation, the way it feels to just be with them, uncomplicated and warm and whole.

You don’t want to lose that.

Not without a fight.

You: Would love to. See you soon.

**********

You try to shove the nerves down as you drive over - music blaring too loud, windows cracked to let the cool evening air whip through the car. It almost works. Almost.

But the second you step through the front door, you know you’re not fooling anyone.

The house smells like something sweet baking - maybe cookies, maybe cinnamon - and there’s a lazy kind of chaos humming through it. You hear Nicky’s laughter from the living room, the crinkle of a snack bag being opened, the low murmur of a movie playing on the TV.

Agatha is curled up on the couch, a book forgotten in her lap. Her gaze lifts the second the door clicks shut behind you, pinning you softly in place.

Rio’s sprawled out on the floor, cross-legged among a mess of Legos and coloring books, Nicky perched beside her, chattering away about dinosaurs and rocket ships. She glances up too and you catch the quick flicker of concern that crosses her face before she schools it into an easy smile.

"Hey, sweetheart," Rio says lightly, patting the spot next to her. "C’mere."

You shrug your jacket off slowly, draping it over the hook by the door, and cross the room on stiff legs. You sink down beside her, trying to smile, trying to pretend everything’s normal but your hands twist in your lap, and your shoulders stay tight, and you can feel the worry radiating off both of them in waves.

Rio nudges your knee with hers, playful but careful.

"You okay?"

You nod. Then shake your head. Then laugh weakly, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. It all comes tumbling out before you can stop it.

The breakfast.

The conversation.

The warning about being used.

The way it stuck in your gut all day, growing heavier with every hour that passed.

By the time you’re finished, you feel wrung out - hollow and raw and small.

There’s a long silence, broken only by the faint sound of the movie playing in the background.

Agatha shifts first, sliding off the couch to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of you. She reaches out, tugging your hands gently away from your face and lacing her fingers through yours.

Her thumb brushes across your knuckles in slow, grounding circles.

"We're not using you," she says, voice low and unwavering. "We would never."

Rio leans into your side, wrapping an arm around your waist and squeezing lightly like she’s trying to hold you together.

"We’re still figuring this out," she says, her voice softer now, earnest. "It’s new for us too. But if it keeps moving forward - if it becomes something more serious - it’s not gonna be you orbiting around us. You’d be in it. With us. Equal."

Agatha’s eyes don’t leave yours, fierce and open.

"You’re not extra," she says simply. "You’re...you. That matters."

Your throat feels tight. Your chest aches in a way that’s half pain, half overwhelming relief.

You believe them. Or maybe you just want to believe them so badly it hurts.

And maybe, for tonight, that’s enough.

You don’t realize you’re crying until Rio brushes a thumb under your eye, catching the tear before it falls.

"Hey," she says, grinning, trying to lighten the moment. "C’mon. We didn’t break out the emergency cookies for nothing."

You let out a shaky laugh, scrubbing your hands over your face.

Agatha bumps her shoulder against yours.

"So," she says, mischievous again, that wicked spark rekindling in her eyes. "New plan."

You blink at her, still a little dazed.

"Invite your friend over tomorrow," she says. "Board games. Pizza. Whatever. Let them see for themselves."

Rio perks up immediately, sitting back on her heels.

"Charm offensive," she says brightly. "We’re very good at those."

You laugh - really laugh this time, the tension finally cracking apart inside you.

"You’re insane," you say fondly, pulling your phone out of your pocket.

Agatha leans in over your shoulder, her hair brushing your cheek.

Rio practically drapes herself across your back, reading along as you type.

“Hey, wanna come over tomorrow? Agatha and Rio wanna meet you. They’re cool. Also devastatingly attractive and annoyingly funny. You’ll like them.”

You hover over the send button.

Agatha taps the screen lightly with one finger.

"Send it," she says, smirking. "Before we lose the advantage."

You hit send with a theatrical sigh, dropping your phone onto the couch cushion beside you.

Rio cheers softly and throws her arms around your neck, dragging you back into her lap like you weigh nothing.

"See? Crisis averted. Genius plan. We're gonna win your friend over so hard, they’ll be begging for sleepovers."

Agatha chuckles, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Or at least they’ll stop filling your head with garbage," she says, eyes soft.

You let yourself sink into them, into the messy pile of limbs and warmth and ridiculousness. The house buzzes quietly around you, Nicky’s movie still playing, the faint clatter of the oven timer going off, the lazy golden light of the setting sun sliding across the floor.

For the first time all day, you don’t feel hollow anymore.

You feel...safe.

Held.

Home. 

***********

Later, when Nicky’s finally down for the night - after three bedtime stories, two drinks of water, and one last insistence that he absolutely needed to show you his latest Lego masterpiece - you all collapse on the couch like marionettes with their strings cut.

The house is blissfully quiet now, except for the soft murmur of the TV playing a documentary about ancient shipwrecks.

You’re squished comfortably between Agatha and Rio, a knitted blanket thrown over all three of you, mugs of hot chocolate cradled carefully in your hands.

A pile of half-eaten snacks balances precariously on the coffee table - popcorn, cookies, some gummy bears Rio keeps sneakily tossing at your head when Agatha isn’t looking.

You feel good.

Tethered.

Your phone buzzes quietly on the cushion beside you.

You fish it out lazily, thumb sliding across the screen.

Liv: Sounds fun. See you guys tomorrow. Bring your A-game, I don't lose at board games.

You stare at the message for a second longer than you probably should.

It’s fine. It’s friendly.

But there’s something off about it. Something you can’t quite name. A lack of the usual exclamation points, maybe. Or the warmth you’re used to. The pit in your stomach stirs, unwelcome. You tuck your phone away quickly like you can hide the creeping anxiety along with it.

Without thinking, you shift closer into Agatha’s side, pressing your face into her shoulder.

She doesn’t miss a beat.

Her free arm comes up immediately, tucking you closer against her.

She kisses the top of your head, slow and deliberate, her lips lingering.

"You’re thinking too hard again," she murmurs against your hair.

Rio leans forward to catch your gaze over the rim of her mug, smiling crookedly.

"You okay, baby?"

You nod. Then shake your head. Then shrug helplessly.

"It’s stupid," you mumble. "Liv just texted back. She’s coming tomorrow, but...I don’t know. She didn’t sound like herself. It’s probably nothing, but-"

Agatha cups your jaw gently, tilting your face up so you have to meet her eyes.

"It’s not nothing if it’s making you feel like this," she says.

Her voice is warm. Steady.

A tether against the flood rising in your chest.

"We’re not playing games with you," she says, thumbing softly over your cheekbone. "This isn’t a trick. It’s not some experiment, or whatever else you’re scared it might be."

Rio nudges your foot under the blanket with hers.

"The only game we’re playing," she says, grinning wide, "is absolutely destroying you at Scrabble tomorrow."

You snort before you can stop yourself.

"Wow," you say, voice wobbly with half-laughter. "You’re really talking a big game for someone who tried to play 'quazle' like it was a real word last time we played Scrabble."

Rio gasps, clutching her chest like you've mortally wounded her. “Quazle is absolutely a word in some language," she protests. "I stand by it."

"Baby," Agatha says, gently exasperated from across the room, "you tried to argue it was Australian slang for ‘a soft breeze.’"

Rio shrugs, shameless. "It sounded real. It had a Z. That’s power."

You laugh again - really laugh - and the ache in your chest finally starts to loosen.

Rio’s head whips around from where she's been poking through the snack pile.

"Oh, you laughing at me, huh?" she says, mock-offended, eyes narrowing playfully.

Before you can react, she lunges at you, tackling you sideways into the couch cushions.

You yelp, laughing helplessly as she tries to pin you down, her fingers digging in mercilessly at your sides. Agatha laughs too, a low, warm sound from where she’s curled in the corner of the couch, legs tucked underneath her.

"Get her, darling," Agatha calls out, amusement thick in her voice.

"Traitor," you gasp at her, still squirming under Rio’s relentless tickling, but Agatha just laughs harder.

The three of you dissolve into a ridiculous, tangled mess, all laughter and grabbing hands and useless protests.

At some point, you manage to wriggle yourself on top of Rio, pinning her hips with your knees, breathless and triumphant.

"Ha! Got you," you declare proudly, chest heaving.

Rio grins up at you, smug and unbothered. "Oh no," she says, voice dripping with fake fear. "Whatever will I do."

Something bold sparks in your chest - maybe from the victory, maybe from the heat in her gaze - and before you can second guess it, you lean down and kiss her.

Quick and sweet and yours.

Rio kisses you back immediately, easy and eager but the second you pull back, it hits you.

You kissed her.

You kissed her first.

Your face flames so fast you feel dizzy, a soft little gasp escaping before you can swallow it down.

Agatha sees it happen - the way you freeze, the way wide-eyed panic flashes across your face - and her smile curls slow and wicked.

"Aww," she coos, leaning forward, her hand stroking warmly down your back. “Is my little one getting shy now? After being so brave?"

You try to bury your face against Rio’s shoulder, but Rio just laughs and tugs you closer, wrapping her arms loosely around your waist.

"Don't go getting shy on us now," she murmurs, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

You let out a breathless little laugh, trying to play it off, but it’s no use. You can feel the colour rising in your cheeks.

Agatha just smiles - hungry and sweet at once - and crooks a finger at Rio. “Come here, darling.”

Rio turns her head, grinning as Agatha leans in and kisses her, slow and sure, all practiced affection and heat. And then Agatha shifts, moving toward you.

She doesn’t kiss you right away. Just leans in, her lips brushing yours, barely there.

"Good thing I really, really love sharing with you."

You let out the tiniest whimper, your whole body melting into their hands, their mouths.

Agatha smiles against your mouth lazily. 

"You know," Rio says, voice dropping low as she nuzzles just beneath your jaw, "the night’s still young..."

"And we," Agatha purrs, fingers teasing at the hem of your shirt, "have a lot of ways we could wear you out."

The only thing you can focus on is the warmth of their hands, their mouths, the heavy, aching promise of everything still to come.

“Should we take this to bed?” Agatha murmurs against your lips, already sitting up. Her hoodie rides up her thighs when she stands, revealing smooth legs and the soft sway of her hips as she leads the way upstairs.

You follow, heart pounding, hand clasped in Rio’s. There’s something reverent in the quiet steps you take down the hallway

The bedroom is dim, lit only by the spill of hallway light and the soft glimmer of the city beyond the window.

Agatha pulls back the duvet while Rio comes up behind you, hands curling around your waist.

“Still nervous?” Rio whispers, kissing the nape of your neck.

“Always, with you two,” you admit, barely breathing the words.

Agatha turns, her voice lower now. “You were so brave making the first move tonight.”

She steps close again, hands gentle as they slide beneath the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly over your head. She kisses each inch of exposed skin like she’s thanking you for it.

Rio presses in from behind, her hands warm on your hips. Her lips move along the curve of your jaw, trailing heat in their wake.

You’re dizzy in the best way, caught between them, wrapped in touch and warmth and a steady pulse of affection.

Agatha’s voice is barely audible. “Do you trust us?”

You nod. “Yes.”

And you mean it.

She smiles, guiding you gently to the bed. The mattress feels soft beneath you as they continue to undress you slowly, reverently - like it’s part ritual, part worship.

And when Agatha opens the drawer beside the bed, fingers brushing over a few velvet-covered toys and harnesses, she looks to you again.

“Still okay?”

Your pulse thrums, but you nod again. “Yes. Please.”

Agatha stops, her voice firm but kind. “I need you to use your words, little one.”

“Y-yes, still okay,” you manage, your voice unsteady.

They don’t rush. Every touch is slow, teasing, designed to draw out the anticipation, not just the pleasure. Agatha kneels between your legs while Rio holds you from behind, her mouth at your ear, whispering praise and soft encouragement.

And you feel it - not just arousal but this sense of being cherished. Of being chosen.

They’re not just using you.

They’re loving you. In every slow, deliberate way they know how.

And as Agatha kneels back for a moment, she reaches for the harness. You watch her fit the straps around her hips with practiced ease, her eyes flicking up to meet yours now and then - not asking, just making sure you’re still with her. Still saying yes.

When she finishes, she crawls back up the bed, her fingers gentle as they caress your face, thumb sweeping across your cheek.

“You sure you want this, my love?” she asks, voice low and syrupy sweet.

“Please,” you breathe, barely above a whisper. “I beg.”

Agatha’s eyes darken at your words, the corners of her mouth curling into something equal parts tender and hungry. “Good,” she murmurs, brushing her thumb along your bottom lip. “Because I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

You hear the soft creak of the harness as she adjusts it, the toy swaying slightly between her thighs - thick, smooth, and glistening faintly where she’s already slicked it with lube. She strokes along the length once, slow and purposeful, while Rio presses a kiss to your shoulder from behind, her hands now framing your waist.

“You’ve been so good for us,” Agatha says, crawling up over your thighs, the strap brushing along your skin, teasing. “So patient. I think our little one deserves a reward.”

“Don’t you?” Rio’s voice is a low purr at your ear.

You nod, heart pounding. “Please, I want this.”

Agatha shifts closer and presses the tip of the toy against you, teasing. Not pushing in yet, just circling, spreading you where it counts. Then her fingers return, parting you, easing the small vibrator between your folds, switching it on low. Your hips jolt at the buzz, a gasp slipping from your lips as the tremor settles against your clit.

“Sweet thing,” Agatha whispers. “You’re already shaking.”

She presses in slow, inch by aching inch, her other hand gripping your hip to keep you steady.

Rio wraps her arm around your torso, mouth at your ear. “Let her in, baby,” she breathes. “Let Mommy fuck you real good.”

You moan - high, broken, involuntary. Agatha smiles as she bottoms out, filling you completely, then stills. She leans forward to kiss you, slow and deep, her hips pressing against yours, keeping you full.

“Now let’s make you feel everything,” she says, voice thick.

Agatha sets a rhythm that’s slow and deliberate, each roll of her hips measured, coaxing your body to open for her. A vibrator now hums between you, sending shivers up your spine with every grind of her pelvis against yours. Her hand pins your hips with gentle strength, keeping you exactly where she wants you.

You clutch at Rio’s arms behind you, trembling, breath catching with each thrust. She tightens her hold, lips ghosting your ear. “You’re taking her so well,” she murmurs. “You’re so beautiful when you’re being fucked like this.”

Agatha leans in close, mouth at your throat, her voice a low purr. “That’s it, sweetheart. You don’t have to do anything. Just feel.”

It’s overwhelming, in the best way. The pressure, the vibration, their voices, it melts you down to nerves and heat. You whimper, fingers tugging at the sheets, and Rio kisses the side of your face with a soft chuckle.

“Think you can take more, little one?” Agatha asks, slowing just enough to let your hips grind up toward her. “Or do I need to hold you down?”

“More,” you pant. “Please.”

Agatha pulls out nearly all the way before sliding back in harder this time - deeper, grinding with purpose. You cry out, your back arching into her.

“Good girl,” she praises, thumb brushing your cheek, eyes locked to yours. “You’re making Mommy so proud.”

From behind, Rio’s hand drifts down your front, fingers moving toward the vibrator. She tweaks the setting slightly, just enough to kick it up a notch, and your whole body tenses.

“That’s it,” she whispers. “Give in. Let us take care of you.”

Your body jolts as the aftershocks ripple through you, every nerve still alight. Agatha slows only slightly, still rolling her hips in smooth, steady thrusts, drawing your climax out until it feels almost unbearable.

Agatha leans over you, planting a trail of kisses down your jaw, her voice thick with praise. “You’re perfect like this. So open. So full. I could watch you fall apart forever.”

Her words make you clench around the toy, and she groans softly, giving one more slow thrust before she stills inside you.

“Let’s give our girl a little break,” she murmurs, easing out with care and slipping the harness off her hips. “Don’t want to overstimulate you…too much.”

But there’s a gleam in her eye when she says it, one that tells you she knows exactly how far she could push you.

Rio sits back on her heels before removing her shirt, revealing the warm slope of her stomach and the curve of her bare thighs. She licks her lips, eyes flicking to Agatha. “Your turn?”

Agatha hums, brushing sweat-damp curls from her brow. “I thought you’d never ask.”

She lifts the toy from where it still hums faintly, lowering the setting before passing it to you.

“You wanna hold this for me, baby?” she asks, eyes gleaming.

You nod, still trembling, still high on the haze of their touch. Agatha shifts to lie back across the bed, legs spread with slow confidence, gaze steady on yours.

"Come here," she says, voice rough. “I want to see those pretty eyes while you fuck me.” You crawl forward on trembling limbs, still feeling the echo of her deep inside you. But the way Agatha looks at you - darkened eyes lazy with hunger, legs already parting wider - grounds you in a different kind of heat.

You kneel between her thighs, vibrator in hand, and feel Rio settle behind you, her chest warm against your back, her breath ghosting against your ear.

"Nice and slow, my love," she murmurs. "She's sensitive. But so greedy, too."

You nod, pressing the vibrator gently to Agatha’s inner thigh, just to tease. Her hips twitch, the muscle jumping under the toy’s hum.

“Oh, she’s already squirming,” Rio coos, reaching around to guide your hand higher - until the head of the vibrator presses snug to Agatha’s clit.

Agatha lets out a low groan, her thighs twitching again. “Fuck…”

You slowly slide your fingers into her, already slick with the promise of what’s to come. A subtle curve of your hand has Agatha gasping, her breath catching in surprise. 

"That's it," you murmur, finding a rhythm, watching the tension build in her body, each breath shorter, her stomach flexing, her hands gripping the sheets.

Rio doesn’t just watch - she wraps her arms around your middle, hands cupping your chest lazily, possessively. She rocks against you while you work the toy in slow, precise circles, her lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Look at her,” she whispers. “Look how beautiful she gets when she falls apart.”

Agatha’s back arches as she lets out a ragged moan, one hand reaching for you, the other fisting the sheets.

"Fuck yes," she gasps, her voice cracking with need. "More."

You oblige, pressing the toy firmer against her clit. Her thighs shake, her eyes fluttering closed as her body fights the edge.

Rio's hand slides between your legs, just to stroke - lazy and indulgent. Not to push, not yet. Just to remind you that you're still wanted. That this isn’t over.

“Let’s make her come,” she breathes. “And then you’ll get to taste it, won’t you?”

Agatha groans your name, the kind of sound that sticks in your spine.

"Don't stop," she pleads, teetering.

"You're so close," you murmur, the words instinctual now. "Come for me, mommy."

Her body seizes, thighs clamping around your hand, and then she’s crying out - high and broken and wrecked as she comes, shaking beneath you, hips jerking and grinding into the toy like she never wants it to end.

And Rio, behind you, moans low like the sight alone is enough to get her off.

“You want to taste the mess you made, sweet girl?” She purrs. 

You give a small nod in response - eager and wanting. 

Rio eases back from you, the heat of her touch still tingling across your skin. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she crawls over to Agatha, straddling her with practiced ease. She throws you a teasing wink just before lowering herself onto Agatha’s waiting mouth.

Your cheeks flush as Rio begins to grind against Agatha’s face with slow, deliberate rhythm - her moans spilling out low and unfiltered, filling the room with the sound of control and pleasure claimed.

Agatha’s hands grip tight around Rio’s thighs, holding her steady as Rio rolls her hips in slow, deliberate circles against her mouth. The soft, wet sounds fill the room, matched by Rio’s breathy moans - sharp and satisfied.

From her perch, Rio looks down at you with a sly, commanding smile. “Don’t just watch,” she says, voice thick with arousal. “Get down there. Make yourself useful.”

You obey without hesitation, crawling in close, the heat between Agatha’s thighs drawing you in like gravity. Her slickness coats her folds, a decadent blend of her own arousal and the aftermath of Rio grinding above her. You press your mouth to her, tasting her slowly at first - exploring, savoring.

Rio watches you from above, a hand in your hair as you work. “There you go,” she murmurs, rocking against Agatha’s face with a shudder. “She’s all yours, baby. Take what you want.”

Agatha moans into her, the vibration making Rio gasp, and you feel it reverberate against your tongue. She arches again but now beneath both of you, trapped in the shared rhythm you’ve built - her thighs tensing, her grip tightening.

The scene is layered, intense - Rio commanding from above, Agatha writhing between you both, and you lost in the taste and heat of her. It’s messy, intoxicating, and entirely yours.

Rio’s moans rise, a delicious tremble in her thighs as she slows her grinding. “Fuck,” she breathes, hips giving one last roll before she gently lifts herself off Agatha, thighs glistening. She looks down at you with a dark smile, dragging her fingers through your hair before slipping away and settling on the bed beside you, her back hitting the sheets with a satisfied sigh.

You barely have a moment to breathe before Agatha is behind you, her presence wrapping around you like silk and steel. She brushes your hair aside, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

“Think it’s your turn now, sweetheart,” she murmurs, voice dark and indulgent.

Your breath catches as she guides you up on your knees, fingers slipping around your waist with possessive ease. From the drawer beside the bed, she pulls out another harness - leather and gleaming chrome - and you feel your pulse quicken.

“Hold still,” she says, and her tone brooks no argument.

You obey, heart thudding as she fastens the straps around your hips, her hands firm and practiced. Each buckle snaps into place with deliberate clicks, her knuckles grazing your bare skin as she adjusts the fit - tight, secure, perfect.

“There,” she hums, stepping back to admire you, her hand trailing possessively down your spine. “God, look at you. So fucking delicious.”

You glance toward Rio, who lies back now with her legs parted, one hand idly teasing along the inside of her thigh as she watches you with a wicked grin.

Agatha steps closer again, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, then your jaw. “Now be a good girl,” she purrs, her voice low against your skin. “Ruin my wife for me.”

You move between Rio’s legs, the weight of the harness holding you in the moment, in the desire written all over her flushed face. She watches you through half-lidded eyes, lips parted, chest rising with every anticipatory breath.

Agatha climbs onto the bed and slides in next to her wife, their lips meeting in a kiss that’s slow, sensual, and so deeply familiar it makes your stomach flutter. You watch as Agatha’s hand finds its way between Rio’s thighs, fingers sliding through the slick you can already see glistening there.

Rio’s breath catches, hips twitching toward the contact. But she doesn’t look at Agatha - she’s watching you.

“Go on,” Agatha murmurs against Rio’s lips. “She’s ready for you.”

You move forward, guiding yourself into place, the pressure of the harness a steady reminder of what you’re about to give her. Rio moans softly as you push in, Agatha’s hand never leaving her, instead circling and stroking gently as you start to move.

The room fills with the sound of shared breath, whispered praises, and wet, rhythmic movement. Rio's head tips back, her mouth parting in a gasp, and Agatha kisses her throat, her cheek, her temple.

“That’s it,” Agatha whispers, watching her wife unravel beneath both your hands. “Look at you, taking our sweet girl so well.”

Rio’s moans deepen, her body arching between you and Agatha, caught in the pull of both your touches. Every thrust from you earns a new sound from her lips, each one more desperate, more pleading. Agatha’s fingers don’t falter - stroking her with practiced, deliberate pressure - her eyes dark and focused as she watches the way Rio falls apart beneath you.

“Such a good girl,” Agatha purrs lowly, her words just loud enough for you to hear. “Look at how desperate she is for you.”

Rio’s hand suddenly reaches for you, fingers curling around the back of your neck as she pulls you down, her lips catching yours in a messy, breathless kiss. She’s gasping into your mouth, her moans swallowed between kisses as her thighs tremble around your hips. The heat of her is all-consuming - her mouth, her body, the way she holds you like she can’t get you close enough.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers into your mouth. “Please…don’t you dare stop.”

Agatha kisses the edge of Rio’s jaw before whispering, “Let her ruin you, baby. You look so beautiful like this.”

And you do - you move harder, deeper, spurred on by the way Rio’s whole body tightens beneath you, by the way her nails press into your skin, by the low sounds spilling from Agatha’s throat as she watches her crumble. Between the three of you, there’s no space left untouched, no silence unfilled. Only sweat, breath, and the building pleasure curling hot and inevitable in the air.

Rio’s kisses turn frantic, uneven, her mouth parting around a moan as your pace holds steady - deep, unrelenting, coaxed by every trembling gasp and needy plea she offers up to you. Her head falls back against the pillows, breaking the kiss, exposing the arch of her throat as her nails dig into your hips.

Agatha’s voice comes again, soft and knowing. “That’s it, baby. You’re so close, aren’t you?”

Rio can’t answer, she only nods, eyes fluttering shut, hips jerking against yours with growing desperation. Agatha’s fingers move faster, her other hand tangled in Rio’s hair, holding her close as she whispers filth and praise in her ear.

You lean in, your body flush against hers, and watch - truly watch - the way Rio begins to fall apart. Her breath catches, her thighs start to shake, and she cries out, loud and raw, as her climax hits like a wave crashing into her.

She grips you tighter, legs clenching, her body trembling beneath you. Agatha kisses her through it, coaxing her through every second of it, and you hold her - strong and steady - until she finally stills, gasping, glowing, utterly undone.

Between you both, she melts into the mattress, completely wrecked. Agatha brushes her hair back, murmuring something sweet into her ear before looking up at you with a smirk.

“God, look what you did to her.”

Rio lets out a breathless laugh, eyes fluttering open. “You ruined me,” she whispers hoarsely, pulling you down to kiss her again - slow and grateful this time, her body warm and pliant beneath yours.

The room is quiet now, the air still humming with heat and intimacy, but softer somehow, like a song easing into its final note.

Your breathing is slowing, though your body still trembles faintly from the aftershocks, warmth radiating between you and them. You're cocooned in the tangle of limbs and blankets, but it's their voices that anchor you.

“You with us, sweetheart?” Agatha asks softly, voice warm and steady.

You nod, and she brushes your damp hair back from your face, her thumb grazing the edge of your brow. “That’s my good girl,” she murmurs. “You did so well.”

You manage a soft sound in return - not quite words, but enough. Rio slips out of bed for a moment and returns shortly with a warm, damp cloth and a bottle of water. She takes care of you without a word, gentle and attentive, her eyes never leaving yours as she wipes you down, soothing your skin.

“You didn’t just let go,” she says with a small smile. “You flew.”

You laugh, breath catching in your chest, still raw around the edges, but so full of affection you can hardly hold it all. You reach for her hand and she squeezes it in return, sliding back into the bed beside you.

Agatha pulls the blanket up over all three of you, her arm wrapping around your waist to tug you close. Rio curls around your other side, a leg sliding between yours, anchoring you.

There’s no rush. No need to move or speak. Just the soft thrum of shared breath and the cool weight of the sheets wrapping around your sticky skin. Every inch of you feels like it belongs here - caught between their bodies, their warmth, their steady presence.

Agatha kisses your shoulder, slow and lingering. “You were perfect, baby.”

Rio hums into your hair. “We’re going to need a whole day to recover.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to walk,” you murmur, earning a lazy laugh from both of them.

“Worth it,” Agatha says, voice thick with pride.

The room fades into a gentle hush, broken only by quiet touches and the rhythmic beating of hearts pressed close together. Someone strokes your back - you think it's Agatha - and someone else rubs slow circles along your thigh. You feel completely undone, yet more whole than you’ve ever been.

Rio murmurs, “You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

“Not if I can help it,” you reply, honest and soft.

Agatha kisses your neck. “Good. We’d just have to come drag you back.”

The three of you settle together, the room cooling slowly around your bodies, breath syncing up, warmth tucked between you like a shared secret.

And finally, eyes heavy, heart full, you let sleep take you - nestled between two women who’ve undone you in every possible way, only to put you back together more completely than you’ve ever known.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Birthday Cake (Alastor x Reader)

Requested on VoxTek Discord server! No CW, a little angst. Happy birthday to those of you with birthdays this month <3

Alastor hummed as he carefully measured flour and sugar. He cracked eggs and mixed in cocoa powder. It’d been a long time since he baked anything, let alone this cake.

There was a point in his life when he baked it every year, though he himself wasn’t fond of sweets. It was his Ma’s favorite cake and by that virtue alone, it was Alastor’s favorite as well.

She raised him in poverty but the one thing she always ensured was that Alastor had a birthday cake. She’d skip more meals than typical in order to ensure it would happen. Before he was old enough to realize how much it meant to her, he would protest that he didn’t like sweet cakes.

As he grew, he noticed that most years, she didn’t have a cake to mark her own birthday. It was only used to mark his birthdays and that of his father. That’s when Alastor decided that when she would ask him what cake he wanted that year, he would request his Ma’s favorite cake.

Every year following, he asked for her favorite, claiming it as his own. It was many years later, when she was weak and ill, that she mentioned how adorable she thought it was that they shared that favorite.

He told her again how he doesn’t care for sweets. He didn’t ask for the cake for himself. It was late, every year, but unbeknownst to her, she was making her own birthday cake.

After she passed, he did carry a fondness for the cake. He’d make a small one to mark his birthday, taking it to her grave-site and eating it with her.

That, of course, ended with everything else when he took a bullet to the head.

The ingredients to make the cake were much harder to find in hell, making the special cake an infrequent treat. It’d been at least a decade since he made it last.

But then you showed up at the hotel. What a darling little bit of entertainment. He’d grown fond of teasing you, taking joy in your emphatic reactions to his little jabs. It was a passing snippet of conversation that he overheard your birthday.

It was the same birthday as his Ma. What were the odds? What were the chances?

Alastor wasn’t one to believe in signs from above in life. He believed in those even less now. The divine wouldn’t bother sending a sign to a man damned in hell.

That lack of belief did not stop him from hunting down the ingredients for the cake. It had him mixing them together in a bowl in the quiet hours of the morning, while everyone else was still asleep. He poured the batter into the floured pan and tapped it hard against the counter, knocking the bubbles out before reaching out with a tentacle to open the oven.

He waited while it baked, mixing up the too sweet icing. His nose wrinkled as the powdered sugar fluffed up into his face, sweetening the air itself as he whipped it into the butter.

Once the cake was done, baked, cooled and decorated with the rustic charm that came with spatula waves in the icing. All that was left was to give it to you.

That shouldn’t be so hard, should it? Except he didn’t want a single other person in the hotel to know what he’d done. He wasn’t ashamed- Ha! It was just what he made for you was special.

It wasn't something he wanted to share with just anyone. You were special. You had to be, you had the same birthday as his Ma. It had to be a sign that you would be important to him.

He paced the room, trying to think of a way to get you into his space without raising questions. There wasn’t time to worry about it longer as a knock sounded at his door. He looked behind him once, his hand resting on the knob.

If he opened the door, they’d be able to see the cake sitting on his small dining table. That wouldn’t do.

Darkness deepened in his room, shadows swallowing the table and everything around it. Much better!

“What can I help you with?” Alastor asked, opening the door with a dramatic flourish only to find himself face to face with you. “Oh, what a pleasant surprise!”

“I… Um?” You blinked up at the intimidating demon. He was handsome and charming but more than anything, he was terrifying. “Charlie-”

“Charlie can wait!” Alasator laughed, reaching out and wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you to his side. “It’s a special day today!.”

“Is it?” You tried to step away from him only for his grip to tighten.

“You can’t have forgotten what day it is?” Alastor’s static was thick in the air, but his voice was light as he pulled you into the darkness of his room.

“I don’t… I don’t know what you mean?”

“It’s your birthday!” Alastor’s hands left you, and he stepped in front of you.

His eyes and smile glowed in the near total darkness. He held out his hands, fingers wiggling. The darkness pulled back slowly, letting light into the space as he kept his jazz hands going until you saw the small cake sitting in the center of the table.

"I’ve made you a cake!” He laughed as if that was some sort of joke.

The sharp snap of his fingers sparked a flash of green light that turned into a green flame. It floated on nothing through the air, traveling to the wick of a candle in the center of the cake. It caught, shifting with a flash from green to the orange flame you knew so well.

“You… made me a cake?”

“I did!” Alastor laughed again. “Now come, sit. Blow out your candle and make a wish. It won’t come true, of course, but wish anyway!”

You didn’t know what else to do so you sat down in the wrought iron chair. Alastor sat across from you. Two forks appeared in a flash.

“Go on,” he urged. “Can’t start without you.”

“Right,” you said, leaning forward to send out a puff of air. It was just enough to blow out the candle.

Smoke trailed up into the air for a few seconds before the candle flickered back to life.

“It’s your lucky day!” Alastor leaned forward. “It looks like you get another wish.”

This repeated near a dozen times before Alastor grew tired of the game and allowed the candle to remain out. Though his antics aggravated you, you were far too attached to being in one piece to demand him stop.

It was well known that Alastor didn’t care for sweets, so it surprised you when he picked up his fork as you picked yours up. You hesitated before spearing the cake and bringing a bite toward your lips where your fork’s travel stalled.

“It’s not poisoned, is it?”

“Heavens, no!” Alastor flapped his hand at you before taking a bite of the cake himself. It either wasn’t poisoned or, if it was, it was weak enough that Alastor wasn’t in danger from it.

Either way, you were backed into a corner with no choice but to trust him and put the cake in your mouth.

“Good, isn’t it?” Alastor looked smugly down at you from across the table.

“It is,” you answered honestly. “Where did you get it?”

“I made it,” Alastor confided. “It was my ma’s favorite.”

“And you made it for me?” You blinked your wide eyes up at him. “Why?”

“It’s your birthday, silly!” Alastor said, reaching across the table to tap your nose with the tines of his fork. “Did you forget already?”

“No, I-”

Alastor cut you off, “Eat your cake and have a happy birthday, cher.”

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[nataliasquote]

Honesty pt. 5 | n romanoff

now we’re the lucky ones

honesty masterlist

summary: dance team results and a new insight into Natasha’s messy mind

pairings: enemies to… (natasha romanoff x o!c), best!friend!yelena

wc: 4.3k

notes: this is the last chapter before the drama starts :))

-⧗-

Yelena came back to the dorm early and immediately hopped into the shower, feeling sweaty and gross from running around a soccer pitch for almost two hours. She also knew Kaia would want to shower when she got back so she hurried through her routine.

The hot water felt good on her aching muscles and she spent a couple of extra minutes scrubbing the mud off the side of her leg where she'd fallen and slid across a boggy part of the field.

The mirror over the sink had steamed up from the heat of the shower, so once Yelena had wrapped her body in her navy blue towel, she drew a large smiley face with her finger, hoping it wouldn't disappear by the time Kaia came back.

She was towelling her hair dry as Kaia walked through the door with a scowl on her face. But it instantly turned into a smile when she spotted Yelena sitting on the edge of her bed in a tank top and sweatpants, skin still shiny from her shower.

"So? How did you do?" Yelena asked, hopping to the floor and running to give her best friend a hug. It was quite hard with a large towel in her hand and Kaia's dance bag hanging from her shoulder, but the pair made it work all the same.

Kaia shrugged as she dropped her bag by the door. "I don't know. They're going to tell us on Monday."

"You should at least know your result. They'd be dumb not to have you."

Kaia kicked off her shoes and placed them on the rack. "Yelena you're forgetting who you're talking about. Natasha isn't going-“

"Kaia," Yelena placed her hands on her best friend's shoulders. "You know as well as I do how much Nat has it out for you." Kaia stared blankly, not knowing where this was going. "But unless there's a really valid reason, she can't dismiss you from a spot on the team. She needs you and you know it.”

"Try telling her that." Kaia pushed her away and hopped onto her bed, starting to tug out all of the pins that were holding her bun in place. "This is Natasha's territory Lena. If she really is 'Queen Bee', then whatever she says, goes."

"Then she'll be getting an in person visit from me." Yelena said casually, like she wasn't talking about walking into the lion's den. "I won't let her sabotage you."

"Let me handle it." Kaia said as she shook her head. "If she sees you fighting my battles for me, that's just something else for her to pick up on."

Yelena groaned, slumping down onto her chair. "Okay, моя сестра has taken enough of our time. Anyone who mentions her name has to give a slice of pizza to the other." It wasn't a true Yelena deal if food wasn't involved, but Kaia actually agreed.

"Is it okay if you order? I want to take a shower because I know I stink."

"Glad it's not just me who thought that." Yelena replied cheekily, dodging out of the way as Kaia swung her fist.

"Watch it Belova." She warned, glaring over her shoulder as she closed the bathroom door. Yelena failed to see the smile that broke out on Kaia's face as she saw the smiley face on the mirror, although it had almost disappeared. Her best friend was a goofball but she wouldn't trade her for the world.

An hour later and both girls were showered, pizza was ordered, and a movie was playing on Yelena's laptop as they both squeezed onto the blonde's bed. Limbs intertwined and heads so close they almost touched.

"Ow! Lena that's my rib!" Kaia whined as her friend leaned over to dunk her pizza slice in the jar of dip sitting precariously by Kaia's left thigh. There were blobs of garlic and herb dip across her leg as Yelena was messy, but Kaia was too tired to care.

"Hey it's not my fault you're basically hoarding the dip!" She took a large bite of her pizza and then swiped the sauce from Kaia's thigh, making the girl squeal.

"You are gross!" The brunette pulled her knee up to her chest, leaving the slightly slimy one laying flat on the bed. If it got on the comforter, that was Yelena's fault.

"Then hand over the dip!"

Kaia clutched it to her chest, narrowing her blue eyes at her best friend who lunged for it. The bed really wasn't big enough for them to be moving around so much and Yelena wobbled precariously, almost falling backwards.

"I'll give it to you if you promise not to fall off your bed!" Kaia grabbed the collar of Yelena's sweatshirt and pulled her back from the edge, her grip loosening on the pot which gave enough time for the mischievous blonde to swipe it from her grasp. "Dude I was gonna give it to you anyway!"

Yelena shrugged, biting her pizza that was now covered in dip. "Feels better when I've stolen it. Too easy if you just give me everything."

Kaia stared at her in disbelief before she reached into the box to pull out a garlic breadstick. She chewed the end off with her eyes glued to the laptop screen, ignoring Yelena at her side. She felt a poke in her side but pretended not to feel it.

"It's in two days," Kaia suddenly blurted out, but Yelena knew what she meant. "That's the longest two days of my life."

"Well, then we will keep busy. Or just sleep all day. I can't decide which one I want more." Their actual classes didn't start until the following Monday, so the next week was the final week of preparation. Textbooks would be available for pick up, schedules released. The true college experience would begin.

"Are we even ready?"

Yelena looked at her. "Ready as we'll ever be," she said with a smile.

-⧗-

9am Monday morning. Kaia and Yelena were never up this early now that they didn't have parents nagging at them, but neither girl had managed to sleep much with the thought of results being posted early in the morning.

They didn't bother to get ready much, knowing the rest of the day would be chill. Yelena slipped on a pair of navy blue sweatpants and Kaia pulled her old dance studio hoodie over the top of her athletic shorts.

There was already quite a crowd making it's way through the main entrance of the sports centre, so clearly the dance and soccer teams weren't the only ones with that idea.

"I don't think I can do it," Kaia suddenly spurted out, grabbing onto Yelena's arm and dragging her to a standstill. "I'd rather not know."

Yelena just rolled her eyes and tugged her arm free. "You're being a big baby. Do you want me to look for you?"

"No!" Kaia replied, possibly a bit too quickly. "I mean, no, it's okay thanks. You need to find yours."

"Meet back here in 10?" They shared a quick hug before Yelena disappeared down the hallway to the designated soccer team room. The dance team didn't train much in the sports centre itself, choosing to use the performance studios in the building next door. But for all announcements they had a small notice board in the main foyer area, almost exactly where Kaia was stood.

She spotted the group of girls huddled around the noticeboard, but no one was crying yet so either they all got lucky or the list wasn't up yet. As she approached, Kaia noticed the empty spot on the blue felt pinboard and her anxiety crept back up her spine.

The list wasn't out yet.

Which meant more waiting and hanging around, every outcome and worst case scenario playing through her mind like the trailers at the cinema. She was kind of glad she was alone though. Talking when she was nervous never seemed to help. Her Russian roots made her a bit of a bitch under pressure, which Yelena was used to. They were very much alike in that aspect.

Wanda was nowhere to be found, much to Kaia's relief. She had grown fond of the sweet girl, but her overbearing enthusiasm was a bit much for a Monday morning. Nothing would stop her from saying hi if they did bump into each other though.

Three slow minutes ticked by before the group suddenly hushed over and everyone's heads turned to face the partially opened door. Natasha came swanning through, Maria hot on her heels as they wore stony expressions. Only the brunette actually smiled a bit as she saw everyone waiting. Natasha didn't of course.

Dressed in her football jersey, which Kaia now realised did indeed belong to her as it had 'Romanoff' along with '03' printed on the back, and a pair of black shorts, Natasha held the single sheet of paper close to her chest. Her green eyes narrowed at anyone who tried to get a sneak peak over her shoulder.

It was a remarkable sight to see the crowd of college girls parting to let the dance captain through. A lot of them towered over her in height, but still shrank under her gaze and even turned away. They were the ones Kaia was sure wouldn't make it.

She felt those all too familiar green eyes baring into the side of her face but ignored them all the same. Kaia wasn't here to start anything with Natasha. She just wanted to see that her name wasn't on the list, prove herself right, and then go and cry about it over a pint of Ben and Jerry's cookie dough ice cream back in her dorm.

As Natasha pinned up the paper, Maria stood in front, blocking all eager eyes from the view. But the redhead shortly turned around with a sly smirk, eyes darting to find Kaia's blue ones in the crowd.

"Knock yourselves out," she husked before strutting off down the hall, listening to whatever Maria was chatting about.

"Am I late? Did you already find out?" An out of breath voice suddenly piped up from behind Kaia's left shoulder. She almost leaped away in shock as Wanda appeared in view, red faced and panting. "I missed my alarm and ran all the way here."

"Next time don't scare people like that!" Kaia said, her hand clutching her chest. "You didn't miss anything. She's just put the list up."

"Oh yay!" Wanda forced her way through the crowd and Kaia watched her in disbelief. How someone could be so eager to know a result that could make or break their year, she had no idea. Or maybe it didn't mean as much to them as it did to her.

"Fuck it, let's go," she muttered to herself before pushing past a couple of crying girls who were muttering about how mean Natasha was. 'They're not wrong' she thought to herself.

There were fifteen names on the list. Fifteen girls out of the forty to fifty who tried out. That had to hurt.

Kai skimmed over them, smiling at Wanda's name halfway down. Of course, she'd heard the girl squealing about it and knew instantly, but seeing it in writing made it all the more real.

More names she didn't know. Surnames she couldn't pronounce... more names... names...

Kaiiarina Lenkova.

"Oh my god Kaia you got it!" Wanda shrieked from her side, pointing at the last name on the list and earning some disapproving looks from the other girls. Kaia, however, barely registered what she was saying. She was too busy registering the state of shock she had found herself in.

Was it the lighting in the hallway that was making her see things? If she rubbed her eyes, her name would vanish, right? She stood staring at the list, feeling a little bit like Elle Woods but less of the squealing and more knots folding and twisting in her stomach.

"-and maybe she doesn't hate you after all!" Wanda had been chattering away down Kaia's ear as she stood static, but the Russian barely paid her any attention until that last part.

"Oh, no she definitely still hates me," Kaia muttered, pulling out her phone and snapping a photo of the list before turning away to allow other disappointed girls to get their own peek. "That was probably Maria's doing."

"Well who cares? We made the team!" Kaia studied her new friend with a smile, questioning inside her head about how much coffee that girl had drank beforehand. She literally looked wired, her pupils dilated with excitement. "I'm glad we both got it though. I was worried we wouldn't be friends if only one made it."

"Unfortunately for you, you're now stuck with me," Kaia said with a laugh before smiling sympathetically at a sobbing girl she remembered from the audition. "Literally too, seeing as I have a feeling Natasha is going to be a slave driver with training."

Wanda shrugged, still beaming from ear to ear. "I don't mind. It's not like I'd have anything else to do with my time."

"Okay that's a shitty way to look at college life. I'm definitely making sure you come along to some parties."

"Parties aren't my thing," Wanda groaned, "I don't know enough people to even get invited to one."

"You know me, you'll know my roommate, that's all you need. You can make friends at parties anyway, so then you won't be alone," she said as if it was the most simple thing in the world. The truth was, Kaia had romanticised her college experience in her head. She knew how she wanted it to go, and it probably wouldn't turn out that way, but her hopeless romantic self wouldn't expect any less.

Until proven otherwise, her college social life was going to be epic... if she could ignore her anxiety.

Wanda didn't look so sure, so Kaia placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'll text you whenever we have plans and you can join in too. Bring whoever you want, okay?"

"Is it weird if I invite my brother? If he's even around I mean, he always just seems to be-"

"Wanda," Kaia cut off her rambling, "you can bring whoever you want. I need to go find my- Yelena, but I'll text you."

"Okay, cool! Uh- yeah- um- congrats on the team!" Wanda blushed as she tripped over her words before just deciding to walk away to prevent further embarrassment. Kaia just chuckled and watched her walk away before she felt a presence behind her.

"Don't even think about scaring me Belova," she warned, not even needing to turn around. A disgruntled groan came from the blonde who was fully set on leaping onto Kaia's back and making her shriek in front of everyone around them.

"So... how did you do?" Yelena asked, smiling widely as if she didn't just try to give her best friend a heart attack. "Did you get in?"

"I don't need to tell you," Kaia deadpanned. "I know you looked at the list before you even came to see me. I'm not stupid."

"Dammit I'm getting too predictable!" Yelena exclaimed, slapping herself on the thigh like she was telling herself off. "I need to be more stealthy."

"You can't hide anything from me."

"You can say that again." Kaia winked before her smile dropped a little. "You make the team?"

"Of course," Yelena said, tossing her messy braid over her shoulder with some sass. She was calm and collected on the exterior, but inside she was screaming for joy, as was Kaia. If they were alone, it would have turned into a competition of who could jump the highest and squeal the loudest.

"Good because otherwise I was about to go and give those captains a piece of my mind." She put her fists up and tried to look angry, but Yelena's unimpressed face just made her burst into giggles. "I'm proud of you Lena."

"I'm proud of you too, but I don't want to do this soppy shit in public," she replied with a wink, looping her arm through Kaia's and dragging her towards the exit. "How about a target run and then a celebratory Mario kart session?"

"You brought your switch?"

Yelena rolled her eyes before waving to a couple of girls across the pavement. "You think I'd leave it? You didn't know because I didn't want you stealing it from me and spending all your time building houses out of diamonds on Minecraft."

"But I love sparkly houses," Kaia pouted, dragging her feet like a toddler. "But now I know you've got it..."

"I fucked up."

-⧗-

Natasha

"So, how does it feel knowing we've got our dance team for the season?" Maria asked, kicking her heels up onto the top of her table. Natasha frowned disapprovingly but didn't comment.

"Good."

"Are we gonna make it to Nationals?"

"We have to. There's no other option." Losing wasn't in Natasha Romanoff's vocabulary.

"Then why aren't you excited?" Natasha wasn't even looking at Maria, choosing to draw little stars on her wrist instead. "You're still the youngest dance team captain Pale Oak has ever had, and you've been doing it for a year. You scared or something?"

"No Maria, I'm fine," she shot back, her tone a bit too harsh and forced which made her so-called best friend do a double take. "We've just got a lot of work to do."

"Okay. But we've got some heavy hitters. I can already see some soloist potentials."

"Like who?" Natasha asked, now suddenly curious. She was interested to see if Maria was on the same wavelength as her.

"Well," she began, imagining the line up in her head. "That little one. The brunette. Katerina? Or something like that-"

"Kaiaarina," Natasha quickly corrected before she could even stop herself. Maria's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Yeah... her." She eyed the redhead suspiciously but Natasha kept her face stoic as usual, green eyes not giving anything away. "You don't agree?"

"She's ok," Natasha said with a shrug. "But we've got others. Put them through training and see who can handle it. Then we go from there. We've still got the girls from last year, remember?"

"Except half the team left because they were seniors. It's gonna be different Nat, but it's gonna be good."

Natasha just rolled her eyes and picked up her phone, making it very clear that she was indeed done with the conversation. She swiped onto Instagram and quickly shielded her phone incase Maria took a peek over her shoulder. Stalking the new team members' instagram accounts was one thing, but spending that long looking through Kaia's account? Didn't look good for her.

Her candid profile picture had a colourful ring around it and Natasha clicked on it, her recent instagram story filling her screen. Kaia was laughing into the camera with a green smoothie in her hand, pointing at it with her perfectly manicured nails. She'd simply added a small bit of text with 'celebratory smoothies for making our teams! (pc to @yelenabelova as always).'

Natasha recognised the smoothie bar from the centre of the town where the college was located. It was a popular hang out spot for the students, Natasha included, so it was no surprise that Yelena had found it. Her eyes lingered on the photo for a few more seconds before she clicked away and swiped off the app completely, Kaia's smiling face feeling like it was burnt into both her screen and her mind.

"Let me know when you've drawn up the schedule with Stella. I want to check it over before we send it out." The redhead stood up from her chair and grabbed her backpack, swinging it onto her shoulder and adjusting the sleeve of her football jersey. It really didn't take much to bribe someone to get her a personalised jersey; no one ever said no to Natasha Romanoff.

"Will do boss," Maria said with a small salute, knowing it pissed Natasha off. The redhead was clearly on edge so she narrowed her eyes and stalked out of the meeting room, leaving Maria alone with her laptop.

The door barely had time to close before it was pushed open again, but this time a tall blonde occupied the doorway, her brows knotted in confusion.

"Who shoved a stick up her ass this morning?" Stella asked, peering off down the hallway in the way Natasha had left. "Didn't even get a 'hi'."

Maria shook her head exasperatedly. "Dance team was released this morning. She's stressed about it. Thinks we won't win or even qualify for Nationals."

"She needs a chill pill."

"You try saying that to her," Maria said and Stella let out a scoff.

"Absolutely not. I'd love to graduate with all of my limbs, thank you."

Stella dropped herself into a chair beside Maria and pulled her laptop from her bag, quickly muting the volume as a Vogue: Beauty Secrets video started playing on her open YouTube tab.

"Are we scheduling today?" She asked, shutting all of her tabs and pulling up an empty word document. "I don't want to have as many 6am practices as last year."

"Actually," Maria began, gently closing the lid of her friend's laptop. "Can we just chat? I'd love to have a conversation with someone who doesn't constantly look like they want to murder me, or anyone else for that matter."

"Of course!" Stella lived for gossip, but not in a bad way. She was a talker, which did get her on Natasha's bad side more often than not. But she was an angel of a human and no one could really stay mad at her for long, not even Natasha. "What's new?"

"Well... I met this really cute girl in Italy over summer..."

-⧗-

Kaia

"I know you called it a global crisis, but do you really need ten pots of instant mac and cheese?" Yelena was impressively balancing the boxes in her arm as she tried to reach for the last remaining one on the shelf. "You want help?"

"I've told you before, my cravings just appear out of nowhere. And seeing as we aren't at home anymore, I can't just go downstairs at three am and make some. So I have to be prepared."

"You are weird."

"Says you!" After placing her pots in the cart, she gestured to Kaia's collection of tortilla chips and red pepper hummus. Mini fridges were there for a reason...

"Ok fine!" Kaia held her hands up in surrender and Yelena grabbed the handle of their cart. "No more judging snack choices."

"Deal. What fruit do we have in our room?" It still felt weird to say 'our room' and the girls found themselves grinning about it.

"Well, my strawberries went kind of mouldy so currently none. Unless you want a fluffy berry?"

"And you say I'm the weird one!"

"You are."

They wandered down the colourful aisles of heavily processed junk food until they reached the fresh produce section. Kaia grabbed a couple of punnets of berries and a bag of apples, knowing Yelena loved to snack on them.

"Oh! Can we get one of those stick bread things?" Yelena suddenly piped up, the idea springing into her mind.

Kaia looked at her confused. "Breadsticks?"

"No! The um... багет!" (Baguette.)

Kaia couldn't stop herself from bursting out laughing, doubling over so hard she had to hold her stomach due to how much her abs were tensing. "You- you-" she spluttered, not recovered enough to form proper sentences. "It's a french word, and yet you still said it in Russian!" She wheezed and Yelena turned red.

"It's easier to remember words in Russian!" She defended, but Kai wasn't listening in the slightest. She was too busy laughing and trying not to crumple to the ground. "Kaia!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" She tried to get her laughter under control but one look at Yelena's pout just sent her into another fit of giggles, to which the blonde just huffed and pushed the cart forwards, abandoning her best friend by the loose carrots.

"Yelly I'm sorry!" She called, rushing after the angry little Russian who was eying the potatoes rather scarily. Perfect weapons in her mad eyes. "It was just cute, that's all!"

"ты сука. я уезжаю," She mumbled under her breath, but it still didn't have the desired effect, even in their mother tongue. Kaia couldn't take her seriously and Yelena hated it. (You're a bitch. I'm moving out.)

"о, детка, я не это имел в виду. ты меня действительно любишь." She looped her arms around Yelena's waist and pressed her chin into her shoulder, digging it in like they did in middle school. Yelena wiggled in protest but Kai's grip was iron and she couldn't move. "Admit it. You love me." (Oh baby, I didn't mean it. You love me really.)

"я тебя ненавижу." (I hate you.)

"No you don't. I'll buy your french bread stick thing if you want?" Kaia couldn't resist and she started giggling again as Yelena's jaw dropped in disbelief.

"That's it. I'm leaving you here and locking you out. Have fun sleeping in the rain."

Kaia widened her eyes and gave her best friend an irresistible look. "You wouldn't. I'm too special. You'd miss me."

"Shut up."

[faireyhouses]

— Dinner Guest (Cg!Tai, Reg!Jackie + Reg!Van)

Summary: Jackie isn't one of Van's usual playmates, but when Van brings her home Tai doesn't hesitate to care for her

WC: 1,700+

Contents: brief paddedreg scene towards the end 𓈒 brief mention of a sad home life for jackie (literally a sentence and a half) 𓈒 implied autistic!jackie

A/N: not too fond of this, it feels a little jumbled, but it's my first fic and I've been thinking of cg!tai + reg!jackie, so who actually cares?

Tai glances at the clock on the wall, pausing as she takes note of the late time.

She had made Van promise to be home by five, in time for their pizza dinner to be ready, when she had gone to the park with Nat earlier in the day, and as the clock's arms tick towards 4:50 she readies herself to go sit in the living room to wait.

But before she can leave the kitchen, she hears the front door swing up and the sound of feet, as well as soft murmuring and assumes that Nat had come home with Van again, not an uncommon occurrence, so she places the hand towel down on the counter and turns on her heel to go say hi to the shaggy haired kiddo.

But instead she finds Jackie, shoulders hunched as her and Van murmur back and forth in the entryway.

Jackie notices her first, her mouth clamping shut as she somehow manages to hunch her shoulders further up, ducking her head as well.

Tai stares at the obviously regressed girl, in a state of light shock. Not at her regression, practically the whole Yellowjackets team were some type of regressor, but at the simple fact that she was here, with Van.

Jackie wasn't one of Van's usual playmates, sure when the whole team were together she would join in on whatever make-believe game they had conjured up, but she wasn't as close with Van as Nat or Mel, and Tai usually saw her playing with Lottie or Laura Lee.

But Tai doesn't really get more time to ponder, because Van finally takes note of her and quickly approaches, beckoning her caregiver back into the relative privacy of the kitchen.

"Mama," she quietly starts once they're away from the entryway between the two rooms, "can Jackie stay for dinner?"

Tai tilts her head, frowning slightly. "Van, Jackie can't just join us. Does Shauna even know she's here?" She starts to worry, had Van somehow managed to drag the little girl all the way here without her own caregiver noticing?

She starts for the phone on the wall, but stops when Van grabs at her shirt, tugging lightly. "No, mama. Shaunie isn't home, remember?"

Ah. Tai does remember now. Shauna had mentioned something about a family trip at practice on Friday, she had been complaining about it to anyone who would listen.

"Jack don't wanna be alone, mama. Not in her big house." Tai feels her heart break a little, sure the Taylor's weren't as loaded as the Matthews' were, but their house was plenty big, and if Tai had to guess, Jackie’s parents were probably equally as absent as Lot's were.

"Okay sweetie." She says softly, gently patting her kiddo on the head. "How about I go talk to Jackie while you set up the plates?" She offers, and the ginger beams. "Can I give Jackie my dinosaur plate?" She asks excitedly, and Tai nods, appreciating the sweet gesture.

As Van scrambles off to find the plates and utensils, Tai turns, walking back into the living room. Jackie was where they had left her, thumb now stuck in her mouth as she gazes at some photos on the wall.

"Hi Jackie." She says softly, crouching down in front of the small girl and offering her most reassuring smile. "Van told me you were going to join us for dinner, is that right?"

There's a pause as Jackie looks at her, her thumb quickly sliding out of her mouth as she tucks it against her side, blushing lightly. "If it oh'tay." The small girl quietly murmurs.

"Well of course it's okay, I'd love to have such an important guest join us. Do you like pizza?”

With a small nod in response, Tai straightens, offering a hand and guiding Jackie to the kitchen once she takes it.

Van happily greets them, gesturing towards the table's set up proudly, Tai helps Jackie towards the extra chair Van had scooted next to hers, with the promised green dinosaur plate set out in front of it with the added, mismatched kid's utensils alongside it.

Van scrambles into her own chair, patiently waiting until Jackie is settled before she holds up her plate. “Pizza please!”

Tai smiles, ruffling her hair before taking both of the girl's plates. She slides a piece each onto their plates, despite Van's usual asks for two, promising more if they finished what they had already.

And as she sets the plates back down in front of them, she crouches slightly, pulling both of their attention to her. “Do you want yours big or cut up, Van?” She asks first.

“Big! Cus’ Imma big kid.” She says with a toothy grin, Tai chuckles. “Okay, just be careful not to get sauce everywhere.” She gently, yet firmly, reminds her, before turning to Jackie.

“What about you, Jack?” Jackie takes a moment, glancing between her and Van's plates. “Imma big kid too.” She murmurs softly, but Tai can tell she isn't so confident in the decision.

“Big kids can have cut up pizza too, you know.” She gently says, “Uh huh!” Van says from her other side, sauce predictably smeared on her face, “Mama even has special kitchen scissors!”

Tai nods, “Cool red ones,” she says, standing to get them to show her.

Once she does, Jackie nudges her plate back towards her, and Tai ends up cutting up her own pizza to make her feel even better about the decision, and of course once Van sees it she asks for her next piece to be cut up as well.

After Tai gets the two sippy cups of juice and her own drink as well the three of them settle into a nice dinner, Van rambling about her day at the park while Jackie quietly nods and occasionally softly adds her own details.

Once they finish, Tai lets the two go off to the living room to play while she loads the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and saves the leftover pizza for lunch tomorrow, and once she's done she goes to find the two.

They're building with some of Van's Legos on the carpet, and once they see her they both show her their own creations, which she exaggeratedly marvels at before Jackie shuffles her feet, glancing towards the dark sky out the window.

“Go home now?” She asks Tai softly, and Van pouts beside her. “Does she have to?” She asks, sending Tai a big pleading look.

Tai glances at the girl, remembering that her home was most likely empty and at least a fifteen minute drive from theirs. “How about,” she says after some thinking, “you spend the night with us, would that be fun?”

“Fun!” Van cheers, turning to Jackie excitedly. “Can sleep in my room with sleeping bags, right Mama?” Tai nods, the sleeping bag sleepovers were already a common occurrence whenever Nat or Mel slept over.

Jackie glances at Tai, shrugging. “Don't have jammas.” She says simply. “And toothbrush.”

“Can have my dino footies!” Van interrupts with a beaming grin, but Tai notes the slight hunch of Jackie’s shoulders and recalls the girl's previous aversions to certain clothes in the locker room.

“Or,” Tai offers, “I have some shorts that would fit you, Jack, and we have some extra toothbrushes in the bathroom.”

Jackie seems to debate her options for a moment, and although her thumbs rises slightly it doesn't enter her mouth, instead hooking around the collar of her sweater.

“Would be fun…” she eventually says and when Van cheers she grins, nodding to Tai.

They collect a pair of shorts and an old Yellowjackets shirt that Jackie approves of, and Tai lets her go into the bathroom to get changed before going to help Van set up her room.

They lay out a sleep bag for Jackie, and one for Van after she decides she'd rather lay on the floor beside her, along with plenty of blankets and pillows around them to create a comfy nest.

But once they're done Jackie hasn't returned, so while Van roots around her pile of stuffed animals for a bedtime buddy, Tai leaves to go check on the girl.

She gently knocks on the bathroom door when she finds it still closed, and after a moment of silence she cracks it open.

“Jack? You alright, kiddo?” She gently asks before she pokes her head in.

She finds the girl standing in the middle of the room, her hands pulled up to her chest as she looks at the pile of new clothes still folded on the counter.

“What's the matter, sweetie?” Tai softly asks as she fully steps into the room, pulling the door in behind her to offer some privacy.

Jackie avoids her gaze, and when Tai hears a soft sniffle she reaches out to gently rest a hand on her shoulder.

“Jack?” The girl rubs a hand under her nose, her eyes darting towards Tai as she gently rubs her back.

“Do you need a pull-up, sweetie?” Tai gently asks, knowing from experience with Mel how some littles don't like to talk about any need for such tools, even if they need them.

Jackie’s bottom lip pokes out, and a light blush appears on her cheeks. “It's okay if you do, we have spares, and there's even some with cool glow-in-the dark stars.”

Mel much preferred the Clifford the dog printed ones, but there had been a sale and the stars were a hit with Nat whenever she needed some while over.

Eventually Jackie nods, and after giving it to her Tai retreats to the hall, waiting until the door cracks open and Jackie sticks her head out, asking for help with brushing her teeth.

Once they finally enter Van's room, they find her sitting on her bed, a handful of stuffies spread about her spot, and a few around Jackie’s as well.

“Found friends for you if you want ‘em.” She says as she climbs down, quickly scurrying under her sleeping bag.

“Thank you.” Jackie says, carefully climbing into hers as well once Tai gives her an encouraging nod.

“Goodnight you two, make sure to sleep good.” Tai says once they're both comfy, making sure the Barney nightlight Van had once sworn she didn't need, but had since insisted on using every night, was turned on before she steps towards the door.

“If you guys need me I'll be in my room, okay?” She says, earning nods from both of them, and sending Jackie an extra smile before she leaves, making sure both her and their door was cracked before starting to get ready for bed herself.

[thequeenofthewinter]

Even in Death Flowers Bloom

Chapter 6: Tulip (Link)

This one is rated E, so be warned if you click the link. <3

"How long has this been going on?" As he feels her hands clench into his nightshirt, a stirring of both affection and something else swells within him. 

Not now, Emmrich. Please. It would be wildly inappropriate and especially not while she is crying in your arms. That would be taking a gross advantage. Do you not have a care?

He swallows, his fingers tentatively reaching up to run through her hair. Soft, it is so soft, just like her. Just like her skin which runs beneath his fingertips as he carefully tips her head back to look at him again. "How long?"

Watery eyes made greener in the light look up at him, tears trailing down her cheeks. Would that he could wipe them away. How he would love to--

No! She doesn't want that. Not here, not now, and most likely not ever. What has gotten into you tonight?

"Weeks. Since before the Lifts, prior to when I began teaching with you."

"And you did not think to come to me before?" His eyes do not leave hers as worry and something else unidentifiable to her flicks across his expression. "Iris, I had told you--"

"I know. I know, and I am sorry. I thought this would all resolve itself on its own. Clearly, I was wrong."

"Clearly, and now--"

Her voice comes out small, so different from the Rook he had known who had brought their team together, sorting out their problems and bringing Evanuris to their knees. No. This is Iris, the woman, stripped bare before him with worries, insecurities, and doubts just like anyone else. "Are you angry with me?"

"No, of course not. What ever would make you believe that?"

"I don't know. I just--" Her voice trails off as she realizes how warm his arms are wound around her, how wonderful he smells like leather-bound books and parchment--how close she is to him. She is practically sitting in his lap, and if she leaned forward just a little, she could--

It is the sweetest torture for her as Iris finds she wishes to cry for an entirely different reason altogether.

For a moment, they continue sit in silence, the spring of her words suddenly run as dry as her tears. Or perhaps, it is that they are all not enough, poignant emotion instead pulling them taut with invisible strings to say what cannot be said with words through action.

The air stills around them as Emmrich's eyes drift down to her lips before meeting her eyes, his hand trailing from her chin to cup her cheek as she takes in a shaky breath. Is this really going to happen? Will he--

Slowly, her eyes flutter closed, hope driving her forward, and she is unable to help herself as she leans forward until her lips finally find his.

At first, their kiss is soft, tentative, and perhaps a little uncertain as Emmrich's lips envelop hers as if he had nothing but time in the world for her. How she had craved this, dreamed of it, wanted him for so long that she cannot even remember when it started and now--now it feels like her suffering has finally ended as she falls into him, lips parting slightly to take in a breath before he steals it away from her.

And she would let him.

He could have anything he wanted of her, and she would give it freely to Emmrich as if it had already belonged to him. Perhaps that is why when she pulls back from him, and he sinks his fingers into the silken strands of her hair, she does not protest and even presses herself closer.

The softest moan, so quiet and so sweet, escapes him, so unexpectedly exquisite that she drinks from him deeper, lips fully parting without question when his tongue runs over the seam of her lips.

Divine. He is absolutely divine. She could die and be buried here right on the spot as his tongue brushes lazily against hers. The taste of salt mingles with their sweetness, turning their kiss ever more desperate with the remembrance of why she is here to begin with, and he drowns himself further. He will wipe away every trace of her fear and replace it with nothing but affection until he drags her down with him to the depths.

Art by the insanely skilled Svanha. (You may have seen this floating around as I posted it the other day. This is the snippet of writing which I commissioned this for.)

[negrowhat]

Old QL Game

Rules: Think about the oldest BLs you've ever watched. They have to have been released prior to 2020. Now name 5 - 10 iconic scenes that you cannot forget.

Tagged by @ommited-miscellaneously and the OG post is by @brazilian-whalien52

This is going to be fun. I've been in the BL space for a supremely long time. Like I don't want to date myself too much but literal decades so reaching back into the vault is going to be insane. Be prepared for screenshots because I know there are no gifs for most of the scenes I'm going to talk about.

SOTUS S (2017)

Kongpob turning Khaofang down. One of my most favorite things about Kongpob is how straightforward he is when people confess to him. One of his juniors tried to give him her gear and confess her love to him and he immediately told her that he was already taking care of someone's gear. He shut her down gently and kindly and kept it pushing and I just LOVE that scene.

TharnType the Series (2019)

Type asking Tharn to have sex with him. He really just sprung that on Tharn while they were having breakfast. He claimed it was because he didn't want to "owe" Tharn anything but really he was curious. And let's not forget we got the iconic ice scene in that ep.

Takumi-Kun Series 5 (2011)

Takumi tells Gii about his childhood trauma. They had just finished having sex and Takumi finally tells Gii what caused his phobia of people touching him. They sit there in bed and Gii holds Takumi tightly and listens to Takumi tell a horror story involving sexual abuse at the hands of his older brother when he was very, very young. It's a scene that was hard to watch but still very memorable.

I Love You As A Ma AKA Like Love (2014)

An Ziyan tells Mai Ding he loves him. Mai Ding literally runs into An Ziyan's room and asks him if he loves him to which which An Ziyan literally just laughs in his face. Mai Ding storms out of An Ziyan's dorm room and goes back to his which is just next door and angirly lies in his bed. An Ziyan does in fact love Mai Ding and just doesn't want to say it so he sits on his bed too and knocks on the wall they share and the knocks are in the rhythm a person would say 'I Love You' in. It's very sweet and Mai Ding is touched and happy again. If anyone can tell me where I can find that gem of a movie and it's sequel please let me know!

Until We Meet Again (2019)

DeanPharm meet face-to-face in the market. Win and Dean are out shopping for snacks for the swim team where Dean sees Pharm trying to reach for some peas or beans of some sort so he grabs them for him. WHEN THEIR EYES MEET?? And Pharm IMMEDIATELY starts crying!? And Dean caresses his cheek?? They don't know each other but their souls do and it's such a raw reaction and it literally makes me cry every time I see it.

Dark Blue Kiss (2019)

Sun stopping Mork from fighting. Specifically in the noodle shop when they went coffee bean hunting. Some jerk was harassing Mork and Sun and literally threw hot soup on Mork! So when Mork punched him out and almost bashed his head in with a solid wood stool all Sun could do was drag him out of the shop. I think it was a justified fight and Sun should've let the boy bludgeon that dude. One of my fave things from DBK was how Sun was always trying to keep Mork from fighting.

Long Time No See (2017)

Chisoo finds out about Gitae. Loved this part because Gitae really doesn't want to fight Chisoo so Chisoo is giving it all he's got and Gitae is holding back and mostly blocking. Anytime he has an opening to hit Chisoo he doesn't take it. Chisoo somehow rips off Gitae's mask and is stunned to see who he's fighting. Gitae has been a double agent their whole relationship and was hired to kill Chisoo.

ReminderS (2019)

Phun saying he's not worried about Noh cheating. Phun's new friends are asking him why he's not more jealous or worried about Noh hanging out with another man on campus. Phun easily just says that Noh is too stupid to notice anyone's advances and he's not generally worried because of that and because Noh tells him everything. It was such a funny scene. This entire series felt like a fever dream but it brought back PhunNoh to us.

Love Place 1: Hakanaki Kata Omoi (2013)

Doumoto sets Kana up to walk in on him and Souta. Kana is in love with Souta and his boyfriend knows it. Souta and Kana sort of used to date before he came out but she's still in love with him even though they agreed to be friends. Doumoto calls Kana and asks her to go to their apartment to check and see if they left the door unlocked when they stepped out to the store. She's in the middle of strawberry shopping but leaves to do that. Of course they're both still at home and Doumoto makes sure they're right in the middle of sex when she arrives. She is so pissed off that she screams, rips off the blankets, and throws the strawberries at them. A very justified crashout.

2 Moons 2 (2019)

Forth kissing Beam to shut him up. Beam has just accidentally hit Forth in a head with a hammer and they rush him to the hospital. When Forth comes to Beam is there and babbling out his apologies for giving him a concussion and the only way Forth can shut him up is to kiss him. Top tier. A lot of Pavel stans were born from him in 2 Moons 2 so I can't make this list without mentioning my beloved Bi Biker Icon Forth.

I'm tagging @bengiyo @lurkingshan @thisautistic @slonekaru @itsallaboutbl @benkaben @cirphu @babyangelsky @respectthepetty @khaotungthanawat @omarandjohnny @pharawee and whoever else sees this and wants to participate!

[commander-writergirl]

In the Dirt

Synopsis: Robby reflects on the loses and not just the ones that end up six feet under.

Pair: Dr Michael Robinavitch/You

Rating: PG13

Warning: Angst

Word Count: 1139

A/N: You can thank @darcylightninglewis for this. I was helping her figure something out and uh this happened. Based off this song.

----

Home state, old paint Used to shine, now it don't look the same

Robby looked at the mail. It was from the shul his grandmother would take him to, reminding him her yahrzeit was coming up.

He doesn't know why he still pays the shul's dues. He hasn't gone since his grandmother's funeral. Then again, he still lives in the brownstone she raised him in.

He rented it out when down in New Orleans but he couldn't bring himself to sell it. Not when the walls held her memory.

But it wasn't just her memory that lived in these walls.

—

I take a drink and I let it burn 'Cause there's a part of me that likes the way it stings, the way it hurts

You had been by his side as his grandmother slipped more and more away. Even taking care of her when Robby was away at medical school.

You called him when it was time.

Now you sat with him as people stopped by with food and their condolences. Robby didn't want any of it; he wanted to get back to work but his grandmother's last words filled his head.

"You better sit Shiva for me, then," she took his hand. "You propose to that girl, not many would do what she has."

Robby looked over at you. He knew you wouldn't leave Pittsburgh but he knew you would wait.

—

Wasted all my lies on the four walls that I'd known And I'm scared of what's to come more than I fear being alone.

"No, Michael." You say packing your bag. "I'm not going to stay if you're just going to work the whole time."

Robby just watched you. "I don't know what you want from me."

You turned to him. "I want you to give a damn Michael. I want you to leave work at work like a normal person and take days off."

"You knew what you were getting into-"

"Bullshit!" You yell. "I was marrying the boy I fell in love with who wants to save people and be there for those he loves."

Robby just shrugs and goes to fix his bag for work tomorrow.

You stare at his back fighting back the burn building behind your eyes. "So that's it? You aren't going to fight for us?"

"It seems you made up your mind." He turns to you. Part of him is screaming for you to keep calling out his bullshit, to keep pushing him. But then he sees it in your face.

He expected you to wait for him, when he couldn't even clearly let you in on the pain building in his chest. A pain that has been getting worse since his grandmother's Shiva.

'Cause every time it's going right I'm left here on my own.

—

It don't talk to God, don't think it works 'Cause I know better people than myself still end up in the dirt

The day Adamson dies, he looks you up. Sees all the good you're doing, even became a mom.

He's tempted to call you. To cry his pain to you. But then he remembers getting the wedding invitation and RSVPing 'no' without a second thought. Even through you told him, it would be great to see him. Though he knew that marriage hadn't lasted for long; cancer never cared about anyone.

He sighs and closes his eyes. The flashing of that moment he saw you at the hospital, how he had wanted to kiss you when he saw you. Then he realized you were there with your husband.

And he still kicked himself for what happened when he comforted you. Another reason he couldn't look at the little girl standing next to you in your social media posts.

He really should call you…

—

'Cause I know better people than myself still end up in the dirt.

He knocks on your door, closing his eyes as he hears you moving around.

"One moment!" you yell.

It had been 24 hours since PittFest and he still couldn't get everything that happened out of his mind. Especially not Jake's face.

And even now more than every, he wanted to have you forgive him. To get to know his little girl.

He opened his eyes when you opened the door. You were smiling but it dropped when you saw him. "Michael?"

As he went to say something, he heard little footsteps then a girl no older than 8 walks over and hug your waist. "Mama, who's that?"

His heart ached as he looked at the little girl, your's and his. Then he looked at you and your shoulders dropped seeing his face.

"Why don't you go finish cleaning up Rachel." The girl nodded then ran off again. "No running in the house!" You yell before looking at Michael.

"Rachel? You named her…" He rubbed at his chest as all the pain came crashing back.

"She was an important person in my life too, Michael." You whispered. "Why are you here?"

He sniffled and rolled his shoulders. "Yesterday was shit and I just couldn't think of someone who would even understand one moment about how much pain I'm in."

"PittFest was at your hospital?" You asked. You had seen the news but turned it off to not upset Rachel.

All Robby could do was nod before the tears started coming again. Before he knew how to react, you were hugging him. "Oh Michael."

He hugged you back and quietly cried into your shoulder.

You stroked his hair and let him cry. "I've got you."

—

In the dirt In the dirt

"So what brings you in today, Michael?" Robby rubbed his hands together looking at the man Jack had suggested for therapy.

"I need to be better for my daughter and her mother said that I need to go to therapy to do that." Robby nodded at the thought of Rachel, how he was lucky you were letting him anywhere near her. That she was even allowed to know who he really was to her. "That and uh Jack Abbot is usually a smart man and he suggested you as well."

The doctor nods. "Okay. What has them worried about you?"

Robby took a breath. "I'm aware enough to know that the people I've lost have greatly affected my abilities as an ER doctor," he sighed. "And I need to work on ways to cope with it all since it seems keeping people out is my only defense."

The doctor took a few notes and gave an encouraging smile to Robby. "Well Michael, this is a great first step. Now lets talk about how this all started."

He touched his Magen David and nodded. "Probably when I lost my grandmother, she raised me and I was left with just the walls of the brownstone she raised me in…"

[erwinsvow]

!!!!! animal kingdom season 4 spoilers !!!!!

the scene with angela where they’re about to start hooking up and she stops him so she can close the door and then smurf is outside the door mad asf made me think about nympho!reader because clearly pope didn’t care who might hear or see. like they really match each others freak

im crying youre actually so real for this. nympho will sit on his lap and basically dry hump in front of anyone she does not care. and if pope cares he would tell her (like maybe let's not do that in front of my brothers) but then if she sits next to him instead of in his lap he'll just use a huge hand to scoop her into his lap and she's like ??? or like at those post job smurf parties. they're in their own little world on a beach chair together staring up at the stars or making out and no matter who says his name they cannot get his attention. i just love them being so down bad for each other all the time honestly it's what he deserves. nympho and smurf DO NOT get along so i think it'd be hilarious. she's fucking her man whenever and wherever she wants does not matter who might walk !! (in the least creepy way possible) just imagining smurf's reaction to them horizontal on the couch or her up on the kitchen counter making out sloppy style w pope. like smurf go away why are you still here creepy ahh. but i still stick by that nympho prefers things like car sex and forest sex (yay!) and removing pope from the environment because he's so much more relaxed and himself without his family nearby but. she also likes putting people in their place and doesn't like how the others think of pope or their relationship and so she likes showing them that whatever they think about her and andrew is wrong if that makes sense???? okay i love this i am neglecting studying so hard. love you for this.

[wooahaes]

the thrill of something new

pairing: non-idol!dino x gn!reader

genre: fluff. strangers -> lovers implied.

warnings: food mentions. introverted reader. well-meaning friends (and friend-of-a-friend).

word count: ~1.3k

daisy's notes: slightly taking childhood bits from my own life lol

The last time you had a joint birthday party with someone else, you were maybe five or six years old and it had been at the public pool three weeks before your birthday. As a child, you had been excited because the girl was your friend at the time—most people tend to be friends in this loose way when it comes to elementary school. Growing up made you realize that your parents had arranged it so you wouldn’t be so lonely on your birthday, and that most people liked you enough… but not enough. You didn’t let this taint the memory: it was a good day. But you’re feeling that again now as you sit alone on the balcony, listening to what turned into another joint birthday party when the birthday girl heard that you didn’t celebrate your birthday anymore.

She wasn’t even your friend this time. She was a friend-of-a-friend who had the tendency to be nosy, even with good intentions, and said it would be super fun to celebrate both of you this year. It might be her way of trying to befriend you, and if it is then it’s sweet, but it just made you realize how little some people knew you. Part of your childhood had been colored by loneliness, but the other part was the fact that you had always been a quiet person, even as a kid. So once the candles were blown out, you found yourself escaping upstairs with your slice of cake and the everlasting need to get out and stop pretending to be the party person you could never fully be. You slid your earbuds into your ears, turned on a playlist, and just listened as you looked out at the relatively quiet neighborhood. Were the neighbors home…? Would they get pissed over the thumping music downstairs and in the backyard…?

You stopped caring for a moment, shutting your eyes. Your legs dangled over the edge, the gaps in the railing wide enough that you could do so comfortably, and you could feel the warm breeze on your face. At least the cake was something you liked. No presents, but no one bought presents to this thing in general: if the birthday lady was getting them, then they’d at least hid them all from you so you wouldn’t feel left out. And your own friends had brought them to your home earlier, so that you could tuck everything away into its proper place—even if your birthday wasn’t for another few days.

The bedroom door opened. You glanced back, only to see a sheepish looking guy standing there. He raised a hand in greeting, shutting the door before making his way over to you. You’d seen him a few times before—mainly at this party, but you thought this guy worked in the same building as you. Different floor, maybe, but you definitely knew his face.

“Do you know anyone here?” He asked after a moment, visibly a little nervous. “One of my friends dragged me here, and I didn’t know it was a birthday party until…”

You just pulled the empty plate over so that he could sit close enough that the two of you could hear each other over the distant music. “I know a few people. Not a lot.”

“Good,”  he said, shoulders slumping with relief. “It… felt a little lopsided when we were all singing earlier.” The guy slowly sank down onto the floor. “I’m Chan.” 

You gave him your name, pulling an earbud from your ear. “It wasn’t my idea, you know. I was going to just stay home and have a slice of cake.”

“I figured.” He sat criss-cross in front of you, arms draped over his legs as he leaned toward you. “The birthday girl is my friend’s friend, by the way. Apparently she and Soonyoung used to dance together in the same group.” He shrugged. “She’s nice. But…”

“But?” You paused for just a second, quickly following it up with, “She’s best friends with one of my friends.”

“I’m not saying she’s bad!” He held up his hands, “she’s very nice, and she hugged me when we met—as if we’ve known each other for years.” That made you smile a little: she’d done the same with you, warm as could  be. “I’m just saying… I don’t know you, but it seemed a little forced. Like… a lot of these things feel like things she’d pick out for her own party. Not really a party for two.” 

Well, he’d be right. The most influence you had was giving some feedback on the menu when she showed it to you, and she did adjust accordingly without any complaint. It probably came as the perks of being well-off, between her and her boyfriend having high-paying jobs. The color scheme had apparently been changed to something more neutral rather than being personalized to her (a sweet gesture, too: you didn’t dislike her at all), and she’d mixed in a few songs that your friends knew you liked into her party playlist. Still… it felt a little obvious that all of these changes had been more last-minute. 

But you weren’t going to besmirch her. The effort was sweet, even if it wasn’t what you wanted on a day meant to celebrate more than one birthday. You would rather have just been a guest at this thing than anything else. 

“What would you do?” 

You blinked in surprise, drawn out of your thoughts by Chan’s question. “Huh?”

“To celebrate.” He’d run his fingertips along the grooves in the wood. “Just stay home?” 

Well… Maybe. Probably? But you wracked your brain for a moment. As much as you were content to spend your birthday at home (or maybe traveling one day, when you had the chance)... There were things you were fine with. Small parties were nice, especially if it was just people you knew. You’d done an escape room with a few friends one year before going out to dinner afterward, and that had been great. 

Chan spoke up again after a moment. “My friends are going to karaoke. You don’t have to sing if you don’t want to… But it’s just the two of them since Seungkwan said the others were busy. And I think you’d like Vernon—” 

That was a name that stuck out to you. Chwe Hansol worked in your department, but you’d seen ‘Vernon’ on his documents plenty of times enough that he told you to call him whichever, he’d answer to both. “You know Vernon?”

Chan’s eyes lit up. “Yeah! We went to college together.” Then realization hit him even further, “Wait, you work on his floor, don’t you? I thought I recognized you!” He chuckled, smiling now. “It’d be just the three of us. One of Seungkwan’s coworkers might join us, since Seokmin said he only had to run an errand for sister, but…”  He paused for a second, “I’ll buy you a snack there if you want?”

“Why?” 

His cheeks were faintly red in the low light. “You’re cute,” he admitted after a moment. “You can say no. I won’t take it personally—” He fumbled for his phone, “This place isn’t that far from where we work, actually.” 

You barely knew Chan, but you knew Vernon well enough to trust the company he kept. Standing up, you turned to face Chan. “Any snack I want?”

His eyes twinkled as he stood up quickly, grabbing the disposable plate from the balcony floor as he did so. “Anything. Just don’t break my wallet. Consider it a birthday present.”

Chan was cute. You made your way back to the door, turning back to him. “You’re not going to say it?”

With a warm chuckle, he offered a hand to you. “Happy birthday. Let’s go be bad at karaoke for a bit.”

[sturnswiftie]

but what if it was vice versa?? what if someone accused matt of abusing sunny???

-★

tw: mentions of abuse.

it happens at an urgent care.

sunny twisted her ankle tripping over her own feet coming down the stairs at the café. matt had shown up to walk her back to her dorm only to find her sitting on the curb with red eyes and a shoe in her hand.

he practically carried her to the car, listening the entire time as she sniffled and apologized for being a "baby." he was trying not to panic, unsure of the severity of her injury, so he'd hit it behind a gruff "you're not walking on that, dumbass."

but it all goes sideways in the waiting room.

when the nurse calls her name, sunny limps up with matt's help, his hand on her lower back. when they're taken to her room, the nurse glances at the chart, sunny's bruised ankle, and then at matt. it's almost in slow motion that the energy shifts, but he feels it immediately.

"does this happen often?" the nurse asks after some preliminary questioning. "you falling, i mean."

but sunny just nods, completely oblivious. "i'm really clumsy," she admits sheepishly, a pink embarrassment seeping into her already rosy cheeks.

the nurse looks at matt, and then back at her. "any other bruises? arms? ribs?"

matt's stomach drops.

sunny tilts her head, confused. "um... yeah? i guess so. but i bump into things all the time—"

the nurse's expression tightens, catching them both off guard as she stands from her chair. "i'm going to bring in the physician. i'll be back."

when the door closes behind her, sunny still doesn't get it. she just blinks before looking down at her foot, trying to move it, while matt is frozen in place like someone dumped a bucket of ice down his spine.

"they think i did that to you," he says slowly.

sunny looks up, blinking. "what?"

"they think i'm hurting you," he reiterates, his voice low and flat. the silence stretches, and something in his jaw twitches as he watches sunny's face fall.

"no—matt. no one thinks that."

but he doesn't answer. he just stands from his chair and begins to pace, carding a hand through his dark, messy hair.

"they do," he mutters with a shake of his head. "you bruise easy. you're always covered in little marks and shit, and i'm—"

"the only person who's ever made me feel safe."

matt looks over at her, taking in the crinkle of her brow and the sad gleam of confusion in her pretty eyes. the fact that she looks so genuinely confused as to how anyone could think he would hurt her makes his palms feel clammy.

when sunny reaches out for his wrist, he doesn't fit her. instead, he lets her slowly pull him in, icy eyes warming around the edges like a lake finally defrosting with the change in seasons at the sight of her soft smile.

"i don't care what anyone else thinks, matt. and neither should you," she insists quietly, looking up from beneath her lashes as he nods reluctantly.

he lets out a soft breath as he cradles the back of her neck, leaning forward slowly to press a kiss to the crown of her head, voice a soft mumble.

"jus' be more careful, yeah?"

©sturnswiftie

divider by; @issysh3ll