#my heart is big enough for the two of them

[superemeralds]

I can finally share this! my comic I did for @sonicshadowzine

This comic is close to my heart. this boss fight means a lot to me, and it's the big anchor that keeps me thinking about these two. this moment is so pivotal. this is the first time shadow truly understands sonic and himself. this is where he falls for sonic, and this is where he dies. and he's accepting of it, because he knows maria's world is in better hands with him, the true ultimate life form. Sonic will forever carry this moment in his heart. he'll forever know he's responsible for shadow's death, because he wasnt FAST enough, couldnt reach far enough. he couldn't save the guy right under his nose. it haunts him forever i think.

and then the guy comes back. he didn't actually die. but he forgot EVERYTHING..... that's when it gets very interesting. despite it all, fate has it that they keep butting heads. that shadow keeps developing the same strong feelings regardless of the change in circumstance, regardless of the fact everyone tries to manipulate him. because sonic is the ultimate life form and shadow can't do anything but look up to him.

i love them and this aspect of them so much i made a whole ass MUSIC VIDEO for the big bang just abt this topic (the fanfic that it's based on is so good too please read it.)

this comic is directly connected with the comic made by @jiiyawns ! please check them out as well!

[vamptizm]

THE PARTY & THE AFTER PARTY — p. bueckers

pairing: paige bueckers x ex-teammate!reader

synopsis: draft night brings the spotlight, but all paige cares about is your new chapter together. you can’t keep your eyes off her and she can’t keep her hands off. between flashing cameras, whispered touches and a whole lot of eye fucking— you can’t wait to leave the after party.

warnings: fluff. nasty smut. dirty talk. switch!paige. switch!reader. oral (both receiving) fingering (p! receiving) strap-on sex (r!receiving)

word count: 6.9k lol

note: this took a while to finish cuz i’m lazy… so sorry but yeah i love former teammate reader like thats my shittt (anyway lmk if u wanna be added to my main/regular taglist) also idk if i properly proof read ts tbh

@brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @ekisokay @paige05bby @sierrale8ne @ohmybueckers @pboogerswbb @yailtsv @xxloveralways14 @prettygirl-gabi

It started in the massive hotel suite Paige had insisted on paying for herself, no matter how much you protested. She'd told you it was a once-in-a-lifetime night — her night — and she wanted everything to be perfect, down to the last rose petal in the oversized bathtub neither of you had touched.

The two of you got ready in separate areas of the suite, your glam teams swirling around you like little clouds of hairspray and lipstick, carefully keeping you from seeing each other before the big reveal. Paige's hair and makeup wrapped up before yours, her naturally striking features needing far less to glow.

It wasn't long before your own team was finishing the final touches. A dab of maroon lipstick. A spritz of setting spray. A gentle hand smoothing a strand of hair into place before sealing it all with hairspray. You sat still under their soft, expert touch, your heart pounding a little harder with every second — not from nerves about the cameras or the crowd, but for her.

A knock. Light, impatient.

"Can I come see the bride?" Paige called through the door, her voice teasing, giddy.

Your glam team exchanged knowing smirks as you bit back a laugh, heat blooming on your cheeks. You rolled your eyes playfully, giving them a nod. One of them called out, "Come on in, Romeo."

The door creaked open. First just her head peeking in, then the rest of her as she slid through the opening — and paused.

The second Paige laid eyes on you, she froze. Her breath caught audibly, her lips parting just slightly in awe. You were still seated, body facing away from her, draped in a black gown with a high slit that sparkled under the lights. It hugged every curve like it had been sewn onto your skin, dipping and hugging at the chest just enough to make her heart stop. Your hair was swept into a loose updo, face framed by soft strands, eyes rimmed in smoky shadows, lips painted a deep, seductive maroon. Femme fatale didn't even begin to cover it. You were art — and Paige was speechless.

And god, you weren't any better.

Your eyes raked over her slowly, shamelessly. She stood tall in a three-piece sparkly suit — a deep and ashy, dark brown that looked like it had been dipped in stardust. It clung to her frame in all the right places, tailored and sharp. Her beachy waves were tousled to perfection, her makeup darker than usual — eyeliner smudged just enough, blush warm on her cheekbones, lips a soft nude gloss. She looked dangerous. And all yours.

You stood, heels clicking softly against the floor, your team slipping out with satisfied smiles. You took a few steps forward until you were right in front of her — so close, you could feel her breath.

Her hands found your waist instantly, pulling you close with a possessive kind of tenderness, her eyes slowly dragging down your body like she was memorizing every inch.

And you mirrored it — gaze trailing over her black chrome nails, the rings on her fingers, the subtle glint of jewelry. You wanted to devour her. To tear every piece off just to see the flushed skin underneath.

But for now, you just stood there. Breathing each other in. A heartbeat before the world would finally see what only the two of you had known all along.

Your hands found solace on her shoulders, the rough shimmer of her suit catching under your palms. You let your fingers trace a line down the structured lapels before resting again, just feeling her there, grounding yourself in her presence.

"The bride, huh?" you teased with a grin, your voice low and warm as it echoed her earlier joke.

Paige's features softened — just slightly, but enough. Her gaze flicked down, and for a moment, you saw her disappear into the thought. You could see it all over her face: flashes of white silk, a crowded aisle, you waiting at the end of it — radiant, hers. She didn't think you could ever be more beautiful than you were right now... but something told her you'd prove her wrong again.

"I mean, it's fitting, isn't it?" she said, the smirk creeping back onto her face as her hands tightened around your waist. "Got my girl getting ready for the world to finally see us together."

You chuckled quietly, eyes soft. "Sure. Maybe one day."

And just like that, her heart stuttered in her chest.

Your perfume lingered in the air between you, thick and dizzying, but it was nothing compared to her — her grip on your hips, the look in her eyes, like she wanted to swallow you whole.

"Wanna kiss you so bad, mama," she murmured, breath fanning hot against your lips. Her voice was rough with restraint, and the weight of it sent a shiver down your spine.

You leaned in, your mouth close — so close — just barely brushing hers without giving in. The teasing was mutual torture. "Can't mess up my lipstick, baby. We've got, what, five minutes before Brittany busts in here yelling at us?" Your hand slid to the back of her neck, nails gently grazing her skin as you held her close.

Paige groaned quietly, rolling her eyes like a petulant child. "Yeah, yeah... whatever," she muttered — but her hands had already moved, trailing down the curve of your waist until they landed on your ass. She gave it a greedy squeeze and kept her hands there, possessive and smug.

You arched into her a little, biting down a smirk, doing everything in your power not to push her back onto the bed and climb into her lap. The tension buzzed between you like static. Just one move would set the whole thing on fire.

Right on cue, Brittany's voice rang from the other side of the suite. "Whatever you two are doing in there, knock it off — we've gotta head out now."

Paige groaned dramatically, burying her face briefly into your neck. "Cockblock," she mumbled, before stealing a kiss just beneath your jaw — a soft, sultry press of her lips that made you melt into her just a second longer.

She pulled back with one last squeeze of your ass. "Can't wait to show you off to the world, pretty girl," she murmured, lips curling into a smirk that made your knees weak.

Finally, the two of you stepped out of the room hand-in-hand like you owned the world — or at least each other.

Brittany stood waiting with crossed arms, one brow raised in that auntie way she had, but a smile tugged at her lips despite herself. She plucked Paige's lip gloss from her bag without a word and dabbed it over her lips.

"Kids," she sighed with a fake huff and a real softness in her eyes.

The orange carpet was buzzing, cameras flashing like stars against a twilight sky. You stepped out first, the flashbulbs catching every detail of your sparkly black gown as reporters immediately swarmed your way—calling your name like clockwork. Rookie of the Year, WNBA champion, former Husky. The attention came with the territory. You didn't love the spotlight, but you knew how to own it when it was time.

Still, this wasn't your night. It was Paige's. You'd made sure of that by insisting she arrive a few minutes after you, allowing her the entrance she deserved—undivided and electric.

And when she finally stepped out, it was exactly that.

From where she stood a few feet away, Paige watched you pose. You looked every bit like a cover star—poised, graceful, devastating. Her heart kicked up in her chest as she took you in. You were a vision, and she was absolutely obsessed.

She wasn't even looking at the cameras when it happened—her body turned toward a reporter, mid-interview, answering a question about the big moment ahead—when her head suddenly twisted, eyes locking on yours as you passed behind her. It was like she'd felt you. Or maybe she'd caught your perfume in the air. Either way, her smile grew wide, involuntarily. And yours matched, just as quiet and private in the middle of all that noise.

It was nearly time. The orange carpet faded behind you, and the buzz of the venue took over as the draft finally began.

You hadn't seen Paige's second outfit yet. All you knew was that it was black—and she'd only told you that because she was desperate to match. You'd teased her for it, but you'd picked your gown with her in mind.

Instead of sitting with your new Dallas Wings teammates, like you were expected to, you were already tucked into a seat at Paige's table—right beside her parents and Geno—while she finished up press duties and changed. She had insisted you sit with them. No words needed to be said. The message was clear: you were hers, and she wanted the world to know it... without ever needing to say it aloud.

"Get out my spot, boy."

You turned at the sound of her voice, just in time to see her shoulder-bump her dad playfully.

And then—your breath hitched. The suit. That suit.

A black Louis Vuitton suit tailored to perfection. The deep V-neck of the blazer dipped low—dangerously low—bedazzled in beautiful black gems, catching the light when she moved. She wore nothing beneath it, and the amount of skin on display was enough to short-circuit your thoughts entirely. You wondered if you leaned just a bit forward, just for a second, would you catch a glimpse of her bare chest?

You already knew the answer.

She sat beside you, casual as ever, like she wasn't single-handedly wrecking your entire existence. "Just a heads up," she said, leaning in close. "I'm mic'd up."

You almost snorted—but you couldn't. Not with the way she looked. Not with her new hairstyle, slightly more neat than before, perfectly intentional. Not with her legs subtly spread and her hand draped lazily over her thigh. Not with that open blazer staring back at you, smug as hell.

You took a slow, measured breath and tried to remember how to think. The lights dimmed slightly and the commissioner approached the stage.

You felt her hand slip beneath the table and find yours, fingers lacing together. Her grip was tight, excited, grounded in something bigger than nerves. This wasn't fear. This was anticipation.

Your eyes met, and she squeezed once.

Then came the words.

"With the first pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft... the Dallas Wings select... Paige Bueckers."

The weight on her shoulders lifted all at once—her mouth tugging into a soft, almost dazed smile. She stood, and so did you, your hand reaching to fix the slight scrunch in her blazer out of instinct, smoothing it down without thinking.

You expected her to hug her family first. Geno second. You figured she'd save you for last, maybe sneak in something later, off-camera.

Instead, she turned and kissed you. Right there. Soft, quick, but real.

You barely had time to register it before she pulled you into a tight embrace. And even though it hadn't been planned—hadn't even been discussed—it felt right. Natural. Easy.

Your arms wrapped around her in return, smiling against her shoulder, eyes a little wide but heart so full it nearly ached.

She moved on to her parents, to Geno, before finally making her way to the stage. The camera flashes picked up again as she accepted her Wings jersey and posed for photos, a confident grin painted across her face.

You looked up at her, your heart swelling in your chest as a tear slid silently down your cheek. You were the epitome of heart eyes. She looked radiant up there. Like she belonged. It was everything she'd worked for — and now, everything the two of you would take on together.

Her name echoed through the stadium.

Paige Bueckers. Dallas Wings.

You smiled, wiping at your cheek, still staring up at the stage like she hung the moon. Because to you, she always had.

Paige got swept up the moment she got off that stage — pictures with fans, videos, congratulatory hugs from just about every recognizable face in the building. You'd hung back with your Dallas teammates at first, still giddy with adrenaline from the draft and high on the electricity of it all. Your Wings hat sat perched on your head, pride swelling in your chest as you hugged, dapped up, and jumped with your new team. Nobody in that building was more thrilled to have Paige in Dallas than you.

After that, you found yourself surrounded by your UConn girls—Nika, Aaliyah, Aubrey, KK and everyone else. Screaming your lungs out together when Kaitlyn's name was called, jumping up and down with Aubrey when hers followed. Paige had jogged over at some point, catching the tail end of Kaitlyn's stage moment, joining your crew just long enough to plant a quick kiss to the side of your head and recording a few moments. It was chaos— but the best kind. And through it all, your eyes kept drifting back to her.

The after party was in full swing by the time you and Paige made your entrance, each of you having slipped into something a little more relaxed but still striking enough to turn heads. Her oversized, shimmery white button-up caught the dim lights just right, while the soft gray checkered pants hung low on her hips. Your outfit — hair down, a sparkly two-piece that shimmered with every step and pushed your chest up like a gift-wrapped secret — had her nearly stumbling the moment she laid eyes on you again.

Later, under the haze of neon and soft bass rumbling through the floor, you found yourself dancing with Nika and Aaliyah, swaying your hips to whatever song was flooding the space. Paige stood just across the room, still holding court, still playing it cool — until she wasn't. Her eyes kept finding yours like magnets. Your thighs squeezed every time they did. You couldn't stop thinking about the way her lips felt on yours. The way her hand had squeezed yours under the table. The way her eyes had traced your body in that black gown like she was starving.

When she started handing out shots, you knew what time it was. You weren't much of a drinker, but for her? Tonight? You'd drink the whole damn bar.

Paige made her way back to you with a devilish glint in her eye, already holding two shot glasses in one hand. She handed you one, but when you went to lift it to your lips, she stopped you with a cocky smirk.

"Nah, lemme." She tilted your head back with her fingertips, pouring the liquid down your throat like she owned you — and she kinda did. You coughed, laughing, a stray drop sliding down your jaw. Her tongue was on you before you could wipe it away, licking the trail down your neck with a low hum of satisfaction.

"Fuck," you whispered, eyes fluttering. The heat between your legs had long since stopped being subtle. Your panties were soaked, your body begging for hers.

She stayed glued to you after that — one arm slung around your shoulder, or curled protectively around your waist. Her chin pressed to your shoulder while you talked to others, her fingers occasionally brushing over the skin peeking between the hem of your top and the waistband of your skirt. You tried to stay composed, but her touches were calculated. She knew exactly how to unravel you without anyone else catching on. At least not yet.

By the time the clock hit 2 a.m., all hope of keeping things low-key was gone.

You were dancing on her now, her front pressed tightly against your back as your hips rolled in slow, hypnotic circles. Your ass ground into her hips every time the beat dropped, her kissing the tattoos on your arms, and hands gripped your waist like she was holding on for dear life. One slipped lower, guiding your body against hers until you could feel the heat of her through her pants. Her lips were at your ear, whispering the nastiest things that made your knees weak and your breath stutter.

You didn't even care who was watching.

It had been over a year of private kisses behind closed doors. Of lives where you had to stay away from each other, hidden dates, stolen glances, fake stories. Tonight? You were done hiding.

You turned to face her, lips brushing hers with every breath, your hands sliding up the firm line of her chest, palms resting against the shimmer of her shirt. "Take me home," you whispered into her mouth.

She didn't say a word.

Just grabbed your hand and led you out the back door, that same smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

The second the elevator door clicked shut behind you, Paige had you pinned to the nearest wall.

Her mouth was on yours with a hunger you hadn't tasted in weeks — not like this. Not publicly buzzed, not in celebration, not with months of restraint finally breaking like a dam. Her hands gripped your thighs before sliding up, catching under your ass to lift you effortlessly. You gasped against her lips as your legs wrapped around her waist.

"Wanted you all night, ma," she breathed into your neck, kissing a path down to your collarbone. "Looking like that... fuck were you thinking?"

"Thinking about you taking this top off with your teeth," you whispered, fingers tangled in her hair.

Her laugh was low, dangerous, sending a shiver straight through you. "You're not making it to the bedroom if you keep talking like that."

"Then don't make me wait."

She didn't. She carried you through the hallway, her hat tilted backward on her head, your body wrapped around hers like it belonged there. Which it did. You barely registered being pinned to the still locked door, too distracted by her mouth nipping at your jaw, her hand slipping between your legs, pressing through the thin fabric of your skirt. You whimpered into her mouth as she pressed her fingers harder against your core, smirking when she felt just how soaked you were for her.

The second the hotel room door opened, you guided her towards the bed, pushing her backward and watching her fall onto the bed, legs sprawled, shirt half open.

You took your hat off slowly, teasing, eyes locked on hers the whole time. Then you climbed onto her lap, straddling her with a slow grind that made her hiss through her teeth.

Her hands were on your hips immediately. "Don't start something you can't finish."

You leaned down, your lips brushing hers again. "I plan on finishing all night."

You kissed her hard, desperate, grinding against the firm heat between her legs. Her hands pushed up your top, fingers grazing the soft skin of your stomach, then higher, until your bra-covered chest was in full view.

"Fuck," she muttered, pulling the fabric down and burying her face between your breasts. Her tongue flicked over your skin, her hands squeezing, kneading, touching like she was trying to memorize every inch.

You whimpered, your fingers digging into her shoulders. "Take it off. Please."

She obliged— unhooking your bra with one hand and carelessly throwing away to the floor. Immediately, her lips wrapped around your nipples, sucking and tugging on them, gently grazing them with her teeth.

Paige sat up, your legs still wrapped around her and now it was her turn to toss you onto the bed and on your back. The girl crawled over you, her eyes studying you like you were a deer and she was the starving lion waiting to tear you apart.

Her tongue trailed down your body, slow and dangerous. The blonde pushed your skirt up to your waist and when she finally kissed the inside of your thighs, you almost cried. But she didn't dive in right away. She teased. Kisses, nibbles, her nose brushing against the wet patch of your panties.

"You smell so good," she whispered. "So fucking sweet."

You whimpered again, arching into her touch. "Paige..."

And when she finally pulled your flimsy panties aside and dragged her flat tongue up your slit, you forgot how to breathe. Once. Twice.

She licked you like she was starved—fingers digging into your thighs, as your back arched and your hands scrambled for something—*anything*—to hold on to. That Dallas Wings hat still backwards on her head. She wrapped her arms under your thighs and pulled you closer, locking you down, owning the way your body responded to her. You could barely squirm as she dipped her tongue deeper into you. She moaned into you when you tugged her hair, the vibration making your legs shake.

Paige's lips tugged at your folds, your pussy slick with a mixture of your arousal and her spit, and every single time she wrapped them around your clit, it elicited yet another whine from you.

You mindlessly pushed her head closer to your pussy, feeling the tip of her nose against your clit while her tongue circled your entrance, dipping in and out — letting your wetness seep into her mouth.

"Tastes so fucking good." She mumbled against you absentmindedly, sending more tingly vibration up your spine. She could stay between your legs for hours, just lapping at your soaked pussy.

She didn't stop. Not when you gasped. Not when your voice cracked. Not when you almost crushed her head with your thighs. Not even when you came on her tongue, thighs trembling, mouth open in a silent cry.

You barely had time to recover before she was climbing up your body again, her mouth shining with you, her eyes dark and blown.

You were still catching your breath when she pulled away—her lips red and swollen from kissing you, eyes low and dark with desire. Without a word, Paige leaned in to kiss your jaw, then your neck, and finally your shoulder.

"Said you'd finish all night f'me, yeah?" she whispered, kissing your swollen lips again. "Wait here, I got something for you, baby."

You did as told, legs still a little shaky, heart still racing as the heat between them pulsed with anticipation. You watched her disappear into the walk-in closet of the suite, her shimmery white button-up shirt sticking slightly to her back from the sweat of your bodies pressed together on the dance floor all night.

When she returned, your breath caught in your throat.

The shirt was completely unbuttoned now, hanging loose and exposing her chest. Her pants were still on, but unzipped, just low enough to reveal the black harness hugging her hips, snug against her skin. And in place — her surprise — bold and thick, gleaming slightly from the lube she'd clearly already applied. She stood at the foot of the bed, letting you take it all in.

"Y'gonna let me fuck you?" she asked lowly, voice raspy from drinks and desire. Her eyes were on you — predatory, hungry.

You couldn't speak, only nodded, lips parted slightly as your thighs pressed together unconsciously.

Paige stepped forward slowly, her hand gripping your chin gently, tilting your face upward. "Told you I wanted to show you off tonight," she whispered. "But honestly? I fucking hated how everyone had their eyes on my girl.”

She flipped you over onto your stomach with little effort. Her hands found your hips, tugging the already hiked-up sparkly skirt a little higher, exposing you. She bent you forward until your chest met the sheets, arching your back just the way she liked it.

"You kept teasing me all night," she murmured behind you, dragging her nails down your spine. "Dancing on me like that... talking all sweet, acting innocent. You thought I wasn't gonna do somethin’ about it?"

You whimpered at the feeling of her lining up behind you, the blunt pressure just barely pushing against your entrance. "Wanted you to."

"You got it, baby."

Her hand slid up your spine, slowly, tracing the curve of your back like she was memorizing it. You felt her press a kiss to the small of it, soft and warm, just before her palm smoothed over your hip and her other hand settled firmly between your shoulder blades, holding you steady.

The first push was torturously slow — just the tip, easing in with deliberate patience. You gasped at the stretch, your body instinctively trying to push back for more, but Paige tightened her grip, keeping you exactly where she wanted you.

"Nuh-uh," she said, her voice dark and low, lips brushing against your ear as she leaned over you. "Y'gonna take it slow first, yeah? Want you to feel every inch."

And you did.

Paige didn't rush. She rocked her hips in gentle, controlled thrusts, just deep enough to make your breath hitch every time she bottomed out. The wet sounds between your thighs, the soft pants leaving your mouth, the way your fingers gripped the sheets — she drank in all of it, eyes locked on the way your body moved beneath her.

"You're fucking dripping," she muttered, almost to herself, voice thick with awe and arousal. "Knew you'd take me so good."

And then, just when you started to settle into the rhythm, thinking maybe she'd keep it tender tonight, she pulled almost all the way out—then slammed back in with a force that knocked the wind out of you.

Your moan was immediate, raw, punched from your throat. Face pressed down into the mattress, ass up high for her.

"There she is," Paige growled, hand fisting into your hair and yanking your head back just enough to keep you gasping. "That's the sound I wanna hear."

"Makeup's getting all over the sheets." You barely managed a coherent sentence.

Paige only chuckled, "On my life, i don't give a fuck."

She didn't hold back after that.

The slow, sensual strokes were over—replaced by quick, deep thrusts that had you clawing at the sheets, crying out her name. One hand stayed gripping your hip tight enough to bruise while the other slipped around to your front, finding your clit with practiced ease.

"Such a good girl," she murmured against your neck, voice ragged, "taking all of me like that. Look at you. Fuck—look at you."

"Eyes up, ma," Paige grunted, roughly grabbing your chin and turning your face toward the floor-length mirror just a few feet away. "Want you to see how fucked out you look when I'm guts deep inside you."

The sight had you whimpering. Your sparkly skirt was bunched around your waist, your thighs trembling, and Paige — shirt open, chest bare, pants low on her hips — looked like a goddamn dream behind you. One hand gripped your hip, the other pressed flat against your lower back, keeping your arch deep as she thrust into you again, hard enough to make the bed shake.

You chased her eyes and you saw her watching your pussy swallow her strap, her lips parted and eyes filled with lust.

"Fuck, baby," she groaned, watching her hips slam into you in the reflection. "Look at you takin' it so good. Dripping all over me, makin' a mess."

Your eyes fluttered but Paige's fingers gripped your jaw again, more demanding this time. "Nah, keep 'em open. Look at what I'm doin' to you. You see this? You feel how deep I am?"

You nodded, broken sounds spilling from your mouth that didn't even sound like words anymore.

"That's right," she purred. "You're mine. My pretty girl. Fuckin' mine."

She slammed into you again, rougher, and the mirror caught the exact moment your body gave out just a little, arms trembling under your weight. Paige growled behind you and pulled you upright by your chest, your back flush to her front now, her length still buried inside you.

"Can't even hold yourself up, huh?" she rasped against your ear. "I love you like this. So fucked out for me. So needy. You were waitin' for this, weren't you?"

You nodded frantically, breath hot, your hands clawing at hers where they gripped your body.

"Use your words," Paige demanded. "Tell me who got you like this."

"You, mama," you whined pathetically, helpless and aching. "Only you."

"Damn right. I fuckin’ own this pussy."

Paige was so fucking wet and her clit throbbing, begging for stimulation but there's only so much she could do while focusing on digging deep in you.

She bent you forward again, one hand now tangled in your hair, the other wrapped tight around your waist as she started pounding into you, relentless. You met her eyes in the mirror — dark, focused, full of hunger—and that look alone had you spiraling.

"Wanna feel you cum on me," she muttered, her voice deep and filthy. "Right here, on this dick. Make a mess f'me. Can feel you gripping my shit, mama."

The knot in your stomach began to tighten impossibly at the sound of Paige's sinful words and the squelching sound of your sopping cunt. You hadn't even had the chance to warn her before the rope snapped, your mouth falling open in a high pitched moan before it went silent. There was no doubt that you'd made a mess on her, just like she wanted it.

"That'sss it, mama," she grunted lowly, blunt nails digging into the skin of your hips. "Just creaming on this dick, hm?"

After the high, you collapsed onto your back, chest heaving, your lungs chasing air like you'd just run miles. The room spun just a little — not from the alcohol, not even from the high — but from her. From Paige. The way she looked at you like you were the only thing that existed in the entire damn world.

Paige's hand found yours almost immediately, her fingers weaving through yours, grounding you. Her other hand smoothed over your stomach, slow and gentle, tracing mindless patterns as she pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then your neck, then your cheek.

"You're okay, princess," she whispered against your skin, voice warm and low and so full of something deeper. "Breathe for me."

You did, exhaling shakily as her lips moved across your jaw. She brushed your hair back with a careful touch, thumb caressing your cheek. You leaned into it, eyes fluttering shut, your body still trembling slightly from the aftermath.

"Still with me?" she asked, softer now, teasing but laced with love.

You nodded, letting out a short, breathy laugh as you sat up. "Barely."

That earned a quiet smile from her, and she pulled you close for a moment, your head resting against her chest as she kissed your temple and held you there.

But not for long.

You shifted, slowly, your muscles still warm and loose. Then, with a mischievous glint in your eye and one last deep breath, you flipped the two of you over — her now beneath you, laid out again in all her glory.

Paige grinned up at you, winded in a different way, hands automatically resting at your hips. "Oh," she murmured, clearly amused, "we're not done, huh?"

You leaned down, your lips brushing hers just barely. "Not even close."

She stared up at you, her eyes hungry, her chest rising and falling just a bit faster now.

You took your time, letting your hands trail down her arms, then her thighs, coaxing them apart with slow, teasing pressure. She let out a soft breath, already pliant under your touch.

"You always look so fucking sexy. It's not fair." you spoke, as you began to work her pants lower — slowly, watching every flicker of expression on her face. She groaned under her breath, tilting her head back as the fabric dragged against her legs.

"Only for you," she breathed, her voice low and wrecked.

Once her pants and your skirt were discarded, you kissed your way up her thighs, gentle but purposeful, trailing soft touches over her hips. Her fingers tangled in your hair before you even got all the way up, desperate to feel more of you, to ground herself in the moment.

"You're killing me, mama," she rasped, the nickname slipping from her lips like a prayer.

You smiled against her skin, your breath warm against her stomach as you moved higher, the tension between you crackling like fire.

You pulled back slowly, your body tingling, your breath a little uneven. Paige whined quietly at the loss, eyes fluttering open, chasing your touch even as you sat up.

But instead of diving right in, you just... looked at her.

The room was quiet again, save for the heavy sound of her breathing. The sight before you made your chest ache — and something deeper burn.

Paige lay sprawled across the bed, her legs parted slightly, her arms loose by her sides like she'd completely unraveled for you. The oversized white button-up clung to her in the most sinful way, the fabric open and exposing every soft curve of her chest and waist. Her skin practically glowed in the dim lighting, flushed from heat and wine and everything you'd just done to her.

Your eyes traveled down her body slowly, drinking her in. The black boxers she still wore clung to her hips in a way that made your mouth go dry, riding low, the waistband stretching slightly over her stomach. She looked like a Calvin Klein ad, if Calvin Klein ads were made to ruin you.

"You're so..." You couldn't even finish the sentence, voice catching in your throat. Your fingers trailed lightly along the hem of her waistband, dragging just a little.

Paige's lips parted, her eyes hazy and wild with need. "Say it."

You let out a soft laugh, the pads of your fingers dipping just beneath the band now, teasing. "Perfect," you whispered. "You're perfect like this."

She smirked, but it was weak — dazed. "Then what are you waitin' for, ma?"

That was all it took.

You leaned back over her, your lips brushing her jaw, your hands firm on her hips now as you tugged the boxers down her legs — slow, like you wanted to savor every inch of skin as it was revealed. She lifted her hips for you without needing to be asked, letting you strip her bare, bit by bit.

Her hair fanned out around her on the pillow, chest rising and falling in quick, eager breaths, legs open and waiting.

And when you crawled between them, her hands reached for you again — like she couldn't stand another second of distance.

It started out with you pressing open-mouthed kisses to the soft skin of her inner thighs, teasing her torturously slow, trailing your way up higher inch by inch. You couldn't refrain from looking up at her with an infuriating grin.

You were eye level with her cunt in all it’s glistening glory— how could you possibly deprive yourself any longer?

The last bit of oxygen in her lungs was lost when your index and middle finger lay gently over her to spread her folds, tongue darting out to lick a fat, painfully slow stripe up. Her wetness coated your tongue, slick and warm, and you couldn't help but groan before burying yourself into her.

Paige's back arched off the bed slightly, her hands twisted tightly in the sheets as you settled between her thighs. Her breath hitched and the sound that left her lips had you clenching your eyes shut for a second — like it physically hit you.

"Fuck—baby," she gasped, one hand flying up to push her hair back. "You tryna kill me or what?"

You hummed against her, teasing, "Just making up for lost time. Fucking missed this pussy."

Her thighs instinctively tightened around you, and her head fell back against the pillow, the open collar of her button-up slipping further down her shoulders, exposing more of that skin you'd already memorized. She looked wrecked — flushed, glowing, utterly undone. You wanted to etch that image into your mind forever.

The tip of your fingers teased her slick entrance, stretching her out with just the tip of two digits before fully sliding them into her. Moving your head side-to-side, your tongue laid flat against her, digits curving where she needed you most.

"Mama," Paige rasped, voice deeper than usual, breathless. "Right there—shit, right there."

You glanced up at her through your lashes, your smirk impossible to hide. "Yeah? You like that?"

She nodded, biting down on her bottom lip, then whined when you pulled away for a moment just to breathe.

"Say it," you whispered, fingers plunging in and out of her at the perfect pace. "Tell me how good I make you feel, Paige."

Paige's hands tugged at your hair with just the right amount of desperation. "So good. Like I was made for this," she panted, eyes heavy and glassy with need. "Made for you."

You didn't reply with words — you didn't need to. The way your mouth returned to her, slow and intentional, said everything. She cried out, her voice turning into soft curses, muttered praises, her thighs trembling.

"God, you're so fuckin' good," she near to whined. "My girl. All mine."

Her hips began to stutter and you knew she was close — could hear it in her voice, could feel it in the way her hand gripped your shoulder the longer you hit that spongy spot over and over, clenching around you.

"Don't stop," she begged, "please don't—"

You didn't.

The room was dimly lit, but the large mirror across from the bed reflected the scene perfectly — her sprawled out, makeup melting, skin flushed and glowing under your touch. She caught sight of it and groaned softly.

"Look at you," you whispered, glancing up. "Can't believe how good you look falling apart for me."

Paige let out a soft, broken sound—her head tipping back, hand reaching blindly for yours and interlocking. Her legs curled around you, heels digging into the sheets, trying to ground herself against the slow, deliberate way you devoured her. She looked a hot mess, but in the most angelic way possible.

" 'M s-so close— f-fuck." The girl stuttered, too deeply lost in pleasure to form a perfect sentence.

"I know, pretty girl. 'S okay, you can let go for me.”

Every flicker of touch had her unraveling — every movement echoed in the mirror, in the shallow breaths she let out, in the way her back arched off the bed.

And when she finally shattered, trembling and gasping your name, it was with a kind of reverence—like you were everything she'd been waiting for.

Paige was still catching her breath, chest rising and falling steadily. Her skin was flushed, glowing, lips parted as she blinked up at the ceiling, stunned and speechless in the best way.

You pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of her thigh before slowly making your way back up her body, dragging your fingertips across her skin as if memorizing every curve, every freckle. She shivered at your touch, still so sensitive, and let out a soft laugh.

"Aight," she mumbled, her voice hoarse and blissful. "I actually can't feel my legs."

You grinned, settling beside her on your back with a deep exhale, heart still racing. "Good. I was aiming for temporary paralysis."

That earned you a playful smack to the arm, and Paige turned to face you, her cheeks still a little pink. She reached up to brush some damp hair away from your face, fingertips feather-light as she trailed them down your cheek.

"You really don't play fair," she murmured, eyes searching yours. "Ruin me every time."

You leaned into her hand and smiled, lips brushing her wrist. "You ruin me too, you know. It's very fair."

The two of you lay there for a moment, sharing slow breaths in the quiet, your bodies tangled under the sheets. Paige eventually pulled you closer, her arm hooking around your waist and her leg draping over yours, keeping you snug against her.

"I should've worn something uglier," she teased, burying her face into your neck. "didn't expect you to eye-fuck me the second I sat down."

You giggled, carding your fingers through the back of her hair. "Don't know what you expected when I could almost see your tits."

There was a long, blissful silence after that — the kind where words weren't needed, where the warmth of each other's presence said everything. Paige traced slow circles on your back with her fingertips while you lightly tickled her side, making her squirm and giggle before settling again.

Finally, she whispered against your skin, "We really did it. Same team, same future. You and me."

You smiled so hard your cheeks hurt. "You and me."

Wrapped in each other's arms, hearts steady and slow, you drifted off with the quiet hum of music still playing from outside the bedroom and the promise of so many more nights like this ahead.

[prettygirl-gabi]

“To the Moon and Beyond” pt.2

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

Fandom: NCAA Women’s Basketball / WNBA

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

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

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

Also thank you @paige05bby for the banner/header

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

Time Passes…

Azzi’s POV – Connecticut

We never said we’d be okay again. We just said we’d try.

And that was enough.

Paige and I gave each other space when we got back to Connecticut. No more sharing playlists or crashing on each other’s couches. No long talks under low kitchen light. Just… basketball and boundaries.

And oddly, it helped.

We found our rhythm on the court again—better, even. Quieter communication. More trust. Something about everything falling apart had made us sharper. More aware. More patient.

She’d glance at me after big plays now, like checking to see if the foundation was still solid. I’d nod once. It always was.

But we didn’t talk about her. Not really.

It was like this uncrossed line neither one of us dared to cross.

Not until we had to.

Because she crossed it.

Before Paige or I could.

Y/n’s POV – Southern California

Three months.

That’s how long it took before I could breathe without tasting regret.

I started sleeping better. My shot was smoother. My appetite came back. I laughed again—loud and real—usually thanks to Juju or Avery acting like idiots in the locker room. And slowly, the ache dulled into something almost nostalgic.

That’s when I saw Paige’s post.

Just a simple photo dump post.

And without overthinking it, I did the thing I told myself I wouldn’t:

“🌚”

That emoji.

Ours.

I hit send and tossed my phone across the bed.

It didn’t take her long.

Incoming call: P.B🌝

I stared at it for a second before answering. “Hey.”

Her voice was quiet, shaky. “What does it mean?”

I smiled faintly. “It means I’ll see you soon, P.”

Three Days Later – Connecticut

They were already waiting at my Airbnb when I pulled up—Azzi leaned against Paige’s car, hoodie sleeves pushed up, Paige sitting on the hood, knees bouncing, like she hadn’t slept.

I stepped out slowly. Heart racing.

We walked into the living room in silence. The same couch they used to sit on. The same air that used to choke us.

Only this time, we all sat closer.

Nobody ran.

“I’m not asking for a miracle,” I said. “Or a relationship. Not yet. But I think… I think we all deserve to know what this could be if we tried.”

Azzi nodded. “Even if it breaks us again?”

“Even then,” Paige whispered.

I looked at them—two people I knew like the back of my hand. Two people who knew all the ugliest parts of me and still showed up.

“Let’s be honest. Let’s be clear. And let’s try—together. For real this time.”

Azzi swallowed. “You mean all three of us?”

I nodded. “If you’re both still willing.”

They looked at each other, then at me.

And for the first time in months, all of us exhaled at the same time.

It wouldn’t be easy.

But maybe it could be something.

Something wild, something flawed, something real.

Something worth breaking and rebuilding again.

Time does something to love.

It doesn’t erase it.

It stretches it. Rebuilds it in the spaces between heartbreak and forgiveness.

It’s been years since that night.

Since Azzi stood in my doorway with a suitcase and heartbreak on her lips. Since Paige cried outside my apartment like she was begging the past to love her back. Since I threw a water bottle at the only girl I ever really wanted to stay.

We tried.

Then we tried again.

And again—each time more honest than the last.

And somehow, all that trying turned into something else. Something that didn’t need to be named to be known.

Junior Year (Me & Paige) | Sophomore Year (Azzi):

It was two weeks before the start of junior year, the night it all started—Paige’s jaw in my hands, Azzi’s laugh breaking between kisses—never fully left us.

It just kept morphing.

Into private hotel rooms after games, where the world slipped away behind locked doors and drawn curtains. Into Spotify playlists shared without explanation, songs that said everything we were still too scared to.

Into FaceTimes at 3 a.m. that started with anxious whispers, melted into silence, and ended with us asleep but still connected—breathing synced through the screen, like some kind of tether neither of us wanted to cut.

Senior Year (Me & Paige) | Junior Year (Azzi):

We found a rhythm. Unspoken but steady.

Azzi and I shared playlists. Paige and I studied film together. When one of us got hurt, the other two were there. Always.

We took turns traveling. Hid in hotels. Drove hours for a few minutes of normal. Still never confirmed what this was to anyone. But we were each other’s constants. I think we all clung to that.

There were moments—quick, breathless ones—when I swore we were close to saying it out loud.

But we weren’t ready yet.

Now.

My fifth and final year.

Paige’s, too.

Azzi had the chance to declare. Agents lined up. WNBA scouts in her DMs. But she didn’t.

“Not yet,” she told us both. “I’m not done with this chapter.”

Maybe she meant basketball.

Maybe she meant us.

I didn’t ask.

We’re older now. Wiser. Still messed up in our own ways, but we don’t run from it anymore.

Because somehow, against all odds…

We made it here.

Whatever this is—we’re still writing it.

Not in the way that erases what we did or how we broke each other. But in a way that makes it all softer at the edges. Like smoothing out the corners of something once too sharp to hold. Like choosing to remember the warmth more than the ache.

We never put a label on it. There were no posts, no announcements. Just a series of moments that filled the space between “maybe” and “still.” Like Azzi flying out to surprise me during finals, showing up in a hoodie that still smelled like her detergent, standing outside my apartment with donuts and a handwritten note I’ll never throw away.

Like Paige bringing me lemon ginger tea when I lost my voice before media day, tucking a fleece blanket around my shoulders before I could protest, then sitting beside me in total silence just to be close. Like me knowing the exact minute they both needed space—and when they didn’t.

When Azzi went quiet for too long. When Paige stopped making eye contact but lingered in the doorway like she was waiting for someone to pull her back in. I always did.

The only people who knew were the ones close enough to feel the heat off us when we were all in the same room. The kind of knowing you don’t talk about out loud, because naming it might steal something from it.

There were nights when it felt too fragile to last. When someone would flinch a second too late, or ask a question we didn’t have words for yet.

But somehow, we kept choosing each other. Quietly. Constantly. In the ways that mattered most.

It was love.

Complicated. Tangled. Untraditional. But love.

We weren’t hiding. Not really. Just… protecting. We were public as best friends. Private in every other way.

Especially with Paige and I going pro soon.

Paige? Projected number one pick. Everyone had already printed the headlines. She walked into rooms like she already belonged in them—but I knew how much of that was armor, how much came from the pressure of being everyone’s golden girl for so long.

Me? Somewhere right behind her. Maybe second. Maybe third. My name floated through draft boards like a sure thing—but never the first thing. And I was okay with that. I was chasing something different anyway. Something slower. Something real.

And somehow… we were still us. Not every day. Not always smooth. But we never stopped coming back to each other.

There were team dinners where we sat across from each other pretending not to flirt through inside jokes. Long weekends where we vanished into some Airbnb upstate and forgot what the world expected from us.

Off days spent tangled in dorm beds too small for three people, limbs heavy and warm, no one ever really knowing where one body ended and the next began.

There were fights—sharp words flung in hallways, silences that lasted days. Jealousy that crept in like static: who got more minutes, more press, more offers. Exhaustion from being pulled in too many directions. But even in the worst of it, we never questioned the gravity. Never stopped orbiting each other.

And there was laughter. So much of it. Azzi’s laugh against my neck when I said something stupid. Paige’s breathless giggle when we piled on top of her after a win. Late nights watching bad TV, fingers laced, legs braided, mouths full of popcorn and too-tired confessions.

There was comfort. A kind of safety that didn’t need explaining. That silent understanding of you’re mine even when it’s hard to be.

Now, we’re back in the same room again.

The night before the draft, we end up curled together in Paige’s hotel room—no glam team, no press, no cameras. Just us.

Azzi’s on the floor with her back against the side of the bed, head leaning on my thigh, scrolling through some playlist she swears is good luck. Paige is beside me, one arm flung across my waist, her other hand tangled in Azzi’s curls like muscle memory. The air is thick with unsaid things, but none of them feel heavy.

There’s an unspoken weight hanging in the room—like we all know this is the last time it’ll feel like this. Like home.

Tomorrow, everything changes.

Draft night. New cities. New teams. New people.

And yeah, we’ll FaceTime. We’ll visit. But we all know it won’t be the same. We won’t have spontaneous Wednesday night takeout or shared laundry loads or long recovery sessions where one of us always ends up asleep with someone else’s ice pack slowly melting between tangled legs.

Paige being the first to speak. “This doesn’t feel real.”

Azzi sighs softly from my lap. “It doesn’t feel fair.”

I tilt my head, resting it on Paige’s shoulder. “We knew it wouldn’t last forever.”

“Still,” Azzi says, voice tight, “I wanted more time.”

None of us say it, but we all feel it: the ache of what it means to love two people at the same time, knowing the world doesn’t always bend to make space for that.

Shortly we fall asleep in the bed tangled together as if we were a package deal, that was too fragile to separate. Paige on one side, Azzi on the other, me in between—like a bridge holding two halves of the same heart together.

And in the quiet, I let myself wonder if this is the last night we get to have like this.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[izzih22]

Can you do azzi being busy and doesn’t check her phone and paige keeps texting her and she thinks she ignoring her but she’s not and when azzi finally texts back paige doesn’t respond because she’s mad

Left on Read

Note: sorry it took me a minute.

It started with a good morning text.

Paige [8:02 AM]: Morning baby. Good luck today. I miss you already.

She waited for a response—nothing. Which was fine. Azzi was always a little slow to reply in the morning. Classes, practice, meetings—it made sense. Paige sent another message later.

Paige [11:47 AM]: How’s your day going?

Still nothing. No read receipt. No reply. Just the quiet buzz of her phone as others texted, group chats lit up, and time dragged by.

By the time her own practice ended, Paige’s stomach was twisting into knots. She stared at her phone for the millionth time, screen lit up with… nothing.

It wasn’t like Azzi. They texted all the time. Dumb updates, TikToks, “look at this squirrel outside my dorm” type messages. Azzi always responded. Even when she was busy, she’d send a quick “I’ll text you later, okay?” Just something. Something to let Paige know she was still there.

But today?

Silence.

Paige [3:05 PM]: Did I do something?

Paige [3:06 PM]: I’m not trying to be annoying, I just… you usually answer.

She almost deleted that one.

But she didn’t.

Because she felt stupid. The kind of stupid you feel when you miss someone way too much and don’t know if it’s mutual anymore. She threw her phone onto her bed, paced the floor of her dorm room like it could solve anything. Then picked her phone up again.

Paige [4:12 PM]: You could at least say you’re busy.

It was petty, but it came from somewhere real.

⸻

Azzi didn’t see the texts until nearly 5.

Her phone was dead—legitimately dead. It had been a long day. One of those ones where nothing stopped moving: class, tutoring, weight room, media requests, and a coach who went twenty minutes over because people weren’t rotating fast enough.

By the time she plugged in her phone and let it light back up, there were six unread messages. All from Paige. All slowly shifting from sweet to confused to… hurt.

Her heart sank.

Azzi [5:06 PM]: Paigey I’m so sorry I just saw these. My phone was dead and I’ve been nonstop today. I didn’t mean to ignore you I swear.

Delivered. Read.

No reply.

Azzi bit her lip. Waited. Typed something. Deleted it. Tried again.

Azzi [5:11 PM]: I didn’t even have time to think straight today. I miss you too.

Still nothing.

Now she felt it—the shift in air. That aching kind of silence where you know someone’s upset but they’re not ready to talk to you yet.

Paige wasn’t ignoring her to be cruel. She was hurt. Feeling like she didn’t matter. Azzi knew it, and it made her chest ache.

⸻

Paige sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the screen like the words weren’t enough.

She read the messages. Twice.

She believed them. Mostly.

But the sting didn’t go away. Because all day, she’d been feeling like a priority to no one. And Azzi not answering—even unintentionally—felt like the cherry on top of a crap day.

She turned her phone over, face down. Let it buzz once. Then again. She didn’t read the new message.

She just lay back, arms folded behind her head, and stared at the ceiling, too stubborn to admit that she didn’t want to be mad anymore.

⸻

Azzi gave her space.

For like… two hours. Which was a lot for her.

But after two hours of pacing, rereading her own texts, and feeling like she’d messed up the one person she never wanted to make feel forgotten, she decided to show up.

Paige’s dorm wasn’t far. They weren’t roommates—separate team housing—but close enough to walk. So she did. Hoodie pulled tight, hands shoved in pockets, breath fogging as she waited outside the building for someone to let her in.

She didn’t text.

She wanted this to be in person.

A knock on Paige’s door. No answer. She knocked again, quieter.

Footsteps.

Then the door opened.

And Paige was standing there in a hoodie too big for her shoulders, hair a little messy, eyes tired and soft. And mad. Soft and mad.

“…hey,” Azzi whispered.

Paige didn’t speak.

Azzi stepped forward, almost cautious. “Can I come in?”

There was a pause.

Then Paige stepped aside, just a little, and Azzi slipped inside.

“I’m really sorry,” Azzi said quietly.

“I know,” Paige murmured.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” Paige said too quickly. Then after a second, “Okay, you did a little.”

Azzi nodded. “I should’ve told you this morning it might be a crazy day. Or texted as soon as I realized my phone was dead. I just… I wasn’t thinking.”

Paige finally looked at her, and Azzi hated how guarded her eyes were. “I didn’t want to be mad. I just… I felt like I didn’t matter.”

Azzi walked forward slowly, until she was standing right in front of Paige.

“You matter more than anything to me. You know that, right?”

Paige didn’t answer.

So Azzi cupped her face, gently, like Paige was glass and she didn’t want to press too hard.

“I swear if I ever make you feel like you don’t, I’m failing. And I’m sorry.”

Paige blinked quickly, fighting it. She always tried to be the strong one, the one who didn’t need the reassurance, but god did she need to hear that.

Azzi leaned in. “I love you.”

Paige broke then. Just a little. Just enough to wrap her arms around Azzi’s waist and bury her face in her shoulder, letting out a quiet, shaky breath.

“I love you too,” she whispered. “Even when I’m mad.”

Azzi held her tighter. “Even when I’m stupid?”

Paige smiled into her neck. “Especially then.”

They stood like that for a long time—quiet, tangled together in a small dorm room that somehow felt like the safest place in the world when they were in it together.

[stevesgother]

i adore chalkboard hearts! could i see steve and reader explaining to abby shes gunna be a big sister 🥰

here is this for you darling <3 thank you so much for reading steve harrington x fem!reader

"Mommy?" Abbey asks as she mindlessly roots through the bathroom drawers, looking for nothing in particular, "What is this thing?"

You barely spare a glance from where you're applying your makeup in the mirror above the sink. Ever since the wedding, Abbey has made it her life's mission to never not be right next to you. 'Misdirected jealousy', your mom had told you. It didn't matter what you were doing: cooking dinner, folding laundry-- bathing, for Christ's sake-- Abbey would be there.

That's why you don't register that your daughter is holding your clean, but used nonetheless, pregnancy test. But Steve does, when he pokes his head around the door to check in on the two of you.

"Hey, you almost--oh-- Abbey don't touch that!" He says, all in one panicked breath.

You finally chance a look at what she's holding, immediately understanding Steve's reaction. Without another thought, you quickly snatch it from her innocent hands.

Abbey's still looking up at you inquisitively. She did ask you a question, after all.

"Oh, this? This is-- uhm, it's a, uhm--"

"It's a thermometer!" Steve saves.

"Then why can't I touch it?" She pushes further. You should've known better than to think she would drop it that easily.

"Steve checked my temperature with it a couple of weeks ago, so now it has all my sick germs on it." Both you and Steve make sour faces to really sell it, though you can't see his from where he's perched behind you.

"Hey, Ab," Steve prompts, "I have something really important I need your help with,"

Her ears perk instantly, "Yeah?"

"I need you to go into the kitchen and get some things out to make sandwiches while I talk to your mom, do you think you can do that for me?"

"Uh-huh!" She beams, Steve's request appealing to her newfound craving for independence.

"I don't know," Steve lilts playfully, "You sure you're up for it?"

You're forever in awe at how he manages to make the most mundane tasks feel like an impossible mission; how he turns everything into a game. You'd kill to be a fly on the wall of his classroom all day, content to watch him perfectly in his element.

"Yes! I am!" Abbey giggles as she tries to weasel by Steve where he stands blocking the doorway. He lets her think she overpowered him when his legs finally give way to her freedom from the bathroom.

Steve takes one more glance over his shoulder, "We need to tell her," he says in a hushed sort of tone.

"I know," you pinch the bridge of your nose, "It's just, what if--"

"Nothing's going to happen, sweetheart." He reassures you with two strong arms wrapped around your waist, "The doctor said the ultrasound looked great, and you're not a high-risk pregnancy. You said you had no complications with Abbey, right?"

"Right, but--"

"No 'but's I'm not gonna let anything happen to you-- either of you. You know that." Steve guides your head to nestle in the crook of his neck, enough so that you can't see that he's scared, too.

"She's going to find out eventually," he reminds you.

"You're right," you sigh.

"Per usual." You pinch his side in retaliation, making him yelp.

"Let's have lunch, then we'll tell her?" You ask, lifting you head from the safety of his chest.

"If that's what you want to do, then that's what we'll do.

--

You don't work up the courage to speak until Abbey's halfway through her PB&J, but Steve picks up the slack for you. He's perfect like that.

"Abbey, babe-- there's something Steve and I want to talk to you about," you tell her, trying to keep your tone lighthearted, but your voice still wobbles slightly with nerves.

Both of them turn to face you then, Abbey's mouth full and Steve sending you a look that says You've got it, I'm here.

God, you don't even know where to begin.

"Do you remember-- right before we had that big party where mommy and Steve got married-- when I got sick during dinner time?"

Abbey nods, idly licking jelly off of her tiny fingers; waiting for you to continue.

"Well... I thought it was just because Steve's burgers tasted yucky--" She giggles and Steve lightly kicks your foot under the table, "Really, it was because I have a baby in my belly, and the baby was making me feel sick."

You can practically see the gears turning in her head; she's certainly old enough to understand what it means to be pregnant, but maybe not quite the logistics of it yet.

Both you and Steve wait with bated breaths to see how she'll react. You're bracing for the worst, but all she asks is, "Is the baby still in there now?"

You have to stifle a laugh, not wanting her to feel silly for asking questions, "Yes, it is. That means you're gonna have a little brother or sister,"

She takes another bite of her sandwich, mostly indifferent. You don't know what you were expecting, but this nonchalance was probably the last thing.

Steve decides to take the reins for a moment, hoping to coax a little more of a reaction out of her, "How does that sound?" He asks, shaking her shoulders playfully.

"Good, but-- will we still be able to go to the park?"

Maybe you had been totally overthinking this, "Of course," you tell her, "And the baby can come, too!"

"Does the baby have to come?" She asks, just the slightest bit of whine in her tone, resting her tired head in the propped-up palm of her hand.

"Not always," Steve chimes in, "You'll still get plenty of time with us without the baby, too. We don't want you to worry about that, okay?"

She nods, "Okay," sipping her chocolate milk casually from its straw. "Can we go play on the swings after I'm done?"

"Uhm, yeah, I think we can manage that," Steve smiles at Abbey first but looks to you like 'That's it?'. You only shrug in response.

--

"Did we totally butcher that?" You ask Steve later that night from where you lay waiting for him in your shared bed.

He answers you with his toothbrush hanging haphazardly out of his mouth; making eye contact through the bathroom mirror, "No, honey-- I think kids are just like that sometimes."

You groan, "I feel like a bad mom..."

"Hey," he spits into the sink, wiping his mouth on the nearest hand towel, "None of that, okay? You're a fantastic mom."

Even from across the room, Steve can sense your slurry of racing thoughts. Ones of insecurity and worry for the future of your family-- of your daughter, whom you'd swore would always be your greatest priority.

He makes his way to the edge of the bed where you're curled in on yourself, "It's not just you anymore, love," his hands brush a stray tear you hadn't even realized has fallen.

"What if she feels like-- I don't know, what if she feels like I'm replacing her?"

"Listen to me, I promise you-- Abbey is never going to question whether or not you love her." Steve's hand moves from your face to land gently on your belly, "And neither will she,"

You breathe a teary chuckle, "You seem awfully convinced it's a girl,"

"Yeah, well-- call it father's intuition."

Hearing him refer to himself as a father sends butterflies erupting in your belly, "Thank you, Stevie."

"Hey, I'm serious. Everything's gonna work itself out, alright? Ab just needs a little time to warm up." You nod in agreement, "I'm tellin' ya, once we start getting those cute little baby pajama things-- she's gonna be pumped."

You laugh at his unsuccessful search for the word 'onesie', but you don't correct him. You know he's right, and even if he's not, you're sure now more than ever that there's not a thing in this world you can't conquer together.

taglist - @soulxiez @sadieshairbrush @the-witty-pen-name @ilovetaquitosmmmm @micheledawn1975 @cherryc1nnam0n @paleidiot @adaydreamaway30 @mrsnarnian @negomi123 @twinkling-moonlillie @royalestrellas @jamdoughnutmagician @cali-888 @kolsmikaelson @1deverland @borhapparker @alexa4040 @chiliwhore @weonlysaidgoodbyewithwordss @paddockspookie42 @foxes-n-frogs @j-mlover383 @i-love-gfv @the-fairy-anon

[moth-murdock]

My heart takes up all my strength (Frank castle x pregnant!wife!reader)

My masterlist | Series masterlist

a/n: writing my first series! This is kinda scary NGL!!!

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: a fight with your husband, and a surprise

Warnings: spouses arguing, canon typical swearing, reader finds out she's pregnant, fem!reader

Other tags: Bearded Frank my beloved, but he starts out with the skin fade, Max the dog!!, frank being frank, he's living as Pete rn

Word count:2.7k

To say Frank Castle was traditional was an understatement. From the very beginning, you knew. He was the kind of guy to pick you up for dates, bring you home, and even wait until he saw you walk in the door to make sure you did get home safe. He would buy you flowers. He introduced you to his rescue pitbull, Max. He took you to places you had mentioned in passing. He had asked your dad for his blessing, like you were in a movie.

The day you were married, he refused to be in the same room as you until you were both at the chapel. He rolled his eyes and laughed when he found out you had secretly been training Max to walk with Matt down the aisle, a sight that your husband will never forget or let his friend live down. He actually honest-to-god carried you over the threshold of the small house you two had bought a few weeks ago, despite how you giggled and squirmed.

The house itself was still halfway done, needing spackle and paint in a few places. It was barely furnished, mainly just the bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen. But since you two were on your honeymoon, it's not like you'd really need any of the other rooms anyway.

Now, as cute as that is, you're still both only human. You have your faults, and things you do that bothers the other person. The current issue is that Frank, god bless him, is horrible at updating you on time estimates for when he'll be home. You knew about his life and his past, so you had asked him to let you know when he'd be home from work tonight. He told you no later than 5. It is now 6:30. You check your phone, but there's still no update. Only the messages you've sent him.

You almost home? 5:12

Is everything okay? 5:37

I'm getting worried, honey 5:55

Hello?? 6:07

Are you even alive???? 6:26

Dead silence from him. You knew he would often get too focused on his work and forget to check his phone, but he promised he would more often. So, you did the one thing you knew would get through to him. You got petty. Rather than wait up for him, you ate your dinner, leaving his plate uncovered on the table to get cold. You put up the leftovers, take a hot shower, not caring if there would be enough hot water left for him.

After your shower, you put on a proper set of pajamas rather than sleeping in just a bra and underwear the way you know Frank loves it. You crawl into bed, your back towards Frank's spot. You check your phone one last time, seeing that your husband, your fucking husband, has left you on read. On. Fucking. Read. Not even a simple apology, not even an 'im alive', nothing.

Oh, you were fucking fuming. You grabbed his bare essentials that he'll need for the night, dumped them on the couch, and called Max in to sleep in his place. You crawl right back into bed, silencing your phone and shutting your eyes.

Frank gets home, knowing he fucked up. It was barely 8pm and you were already in bed, a single plate left on the table, Max nowhere to be found, and his stuff dumped on the couch. Fuck. He went to the guest bathroom, taking a lukewarm shower. Fuck. You two hadn't fought a lot, much less fights that were this big, so he knew that when you didn't even care to leave him some hot water, he was in the doghouse.

And he knew why, too. He had promised to tell you when he'd be home, and you made him pinky swear to give you an update if that changed. And he didn't. So he had two options now. Either he apologized to you and admitted he messed up, or he could wait to see if you would forgive him anyway.

You are now on day 12 of being angry with Frank, because you'll be damned before you let this one slide. You've let him sleep in bed again, but you make it clear that any affection is off the table until further notice. It kills the both of you to not be able to wrap your arms around eachother, feeling an uncomfortable amount of space every night. You wake up as you have for the past 12 days, cold and disappointed.

You get out of bed to brush your teeth, hearing Frank's buzzsaw snoring cease about halfway through. Eye contact is avoided as you leave the bathroom, grabbing a change of clothes out of your dresser. Today, you thought, you were going to push it to the limit. The thing you knew would finally break him.

"Sweetheart, can we-" he starts, but you cut him off.

"Good morning to you too, Pete."

Oh. Now that got to him. He shuts up immediately, and with how fast he disappears into the bathroom, you wonder if you took it too far.

As per usual, you two hardly speak throughout the rest of the day. Frank grabs his lunch, which you have started to pack for him again, not saying goodbye before leaving for work. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.

You're on edge all day at work. You snap at your coworkers, you drop stuff, you make mistakes with simple math. It's just out of the ordinary for you. What makes it worse is when you get a text from Frank about halfway through the day

Need to talk at home tonight.

Shit. God damn it. Of course he send a text so fucking unreadable in tone.

Okay you reply, putting your phone back into your bag. It feels like a live bomb, so it's a good way to make sure you aren't checking it while working.

You go through the motions of the rest of your work day, though you can feel the anxiety and nervousness boiling inside you like a soup that was left on the stove too long. It makes you feel nauseous, and you don't even touch your own lunch that day.

When you get home, you see that Frank has sent a single message.

5:30

Okay. That's fine, right? He's just telling you what time he'll be home, right? Maybe you read it in the wrong tone. What if he's super pissed? What if he hates you? What if he regrets marrying you? What if-

You are pulled out of your thoughts when a cold, wet nose presses against your leg. Max.

"Hi, baby..." You coo, petting him and watching the big dumb pittie smile spread across his face.

"You wanna go potty?" You ask absentmindedly as you reach for his leash and harness that hang by the door.

By the time you get back from your potty trip with Max, it's already 5. Only half an hour left. You take Max's harness off, making a mental note to give him a bath at some point within the week. Not knowing what to do with your time, you settle on putting the dishes from yesterday away. By the time you're done, it's 5:15. Fuck. Nothing to do but wait.

After the most tense fifteen minutes of your life, The front door opens almost silently. You might not have noticed it if Max hadn't barked and if you weren't actively watching the door from the table. Frank enters silently, petting the dog for a second before hanging up his jacket and turning to you. His gaze is heavy and intense, but you hold it. You are going to show him how much this affects you.

"So, you actually followed through this time." You speak pointedly

"For Crissake-" he huffs, running a hand through his hair

"No, Frank. Don't even fucking start with that. Do you know what that was like? For three fucking hours I got complete silence from you! You never do that! And then you don't even have the decency to reply? You left me on read, Frank! I didn't even know if you were fucking alive! You could have been bleeding out on the sidewalk, and I'd have had no idea!"

"Why would I be bleedin' out?"

"Because I know you, Frank! I know you walk into fights with minimal protection, and I've stitched up enough bullet holes and slashes and I've put your goddamn bones back into place, and- and-" you start to trail off, tears welling in your eyes because of how angry you are.

Frank goes soft for a moment, thinking you're crying because you're worried.

"No! Don't fucking do that! I'm just pissed off at you!" You clarify as you wipe your tears.

"You can't expect me to update you every second of the day, doll." He says in a neutral tone, putting a hand on his hip and the other dragging down his face

"Not every second, smartass. You know that all I ask is what time you'll be home. I don't give a shit about any reasons or other factors. Just tell me when you'll be home. I'd go fucking pick you up if you needed me to. But you and I both know very well why I worry. So don't act like the goddamn victim here."

Frank stays still for a second, processing that you're upset because you wanted to know that he was okay. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, which are chapped since you haven't been reminding him to put chapstick on.

You watch in silence as Frank makes his way over to you, his steps so quiet and yet so heavy all the same. You hiccup in a breath and wipe your tears again, opening your mouth to add another point. Before you can say anything, he had his arms around you and his face in the crook of your neck.

"M'sorry."

It's barely audible, and it doesn't even technically qualify as a word, but it speaks volumes. You want to make him say specifically what he's sorry for, but you also don't want to push it after 12 whole days of fighting.

"It's okay..." Your sniffled response is instinctual. that's just what you're supposed to say when someone apologizes.

"No, it's not." He doubles down

"I shoulda told you I was gonna be late. And m'sorry it took me this goddamn long to figure out why."

Wow. From anyone else, this would be the bare minimum. But coming from Frank? This was a big step.

"I just... I know what you've been through... And... I know who you've pissed off before... So I just wanna know when you'll be home, if at all. I feel like that's not too much to ask, right?" You sigh

"Never, doll. I shoulda been keepin' you updated from the start. That's my bad." He speaks softly, pulling back to cup your cheek gently.

You bring you own hand over his, pressing his hand further into your cheek as you press a soft kiss to the calloused skin of his palm. It's gotten worse since you haven't been reminding him to moisturize.

You two stand there for a moment, just holding eachother in your dining room. Then Frank presses the softest of kisses to your lips.

"M'sorry." He repeats as he rests his forehead against yours, your lips mere millimeters apart

"It's okay." You whisper back

"It's not."

"I forgive you anyway." You murmur before initiating another kiss, only breaking it to pinch his side

"- as long as you don't do that shit again."

Frank winces and let's put a gruff laugh, but he nods. He leans down to kiss you again, his hands trailing down to your waist. He paused for a moment, but when you gave him the go-ahead, he proceeded to spend the rest of the night making it up to you.

Frank made a promise to himself that night, that he'd never let a fight last that long again. Sometimes, he really didn't understand what he was apologizing for, but you would explain it and accept the apology anyway. Neither of you wanted to do that again.

(Three years later)

At your request (and because you hid the electric shaver), he had grown out his hair and beard. You absolutely loved it. When the two of you would watch a movie, he'd lay his head in your lap and you'd massage his scalp until he was sawing logs along with Max. His beard would tickle you when he'd press kisses to your neck, and when he'd bury his face between your thighs. His hair would also come in handy there, giving you something to tug and use for leverage as you ground your hips into his face. When you would tug it a certain way, he'd groan right into your sex, and it would rumble from his chest all the way to your core.

All was well in your guys' little world, living as Pete Castiglione and his wife. You had gotten Frank to adjust to a more domestic life, and he was more than happy to come home to a loving wife, man's best friend, and a home cooked meal almost every night (because some days you really do just need to order some takeout). Your guys' relationship was thriving, both in public and in the bedroom. He just had a way of making you a stupid mess that you couldn't get enough of.

If you asked Frank what his favorite part about you was, he'd say your smile. It was his home screen, his lock screen, the picture in the rearview mirror of his truck, everything. But inside the bedroom? It was the feeling of you wrapped around him, nothing in the way. Before you were married, he would always wear a condom just in case. But on your wedding night? He nearly came just from finally feeling you without the damn latex.

He loved to fill you up. He loved the way you'd beg for it, the way you shivered when he did, hell, he's even filled you up just to eat it right back out of you until you were crying. You were on birth control anyway, so there wasn't a risk. Right?

You notice it when you wake up one morning to the familiar notification on your phone.

A new cycle begins today!

You roll your eyes at the cheery message from your period tracker, making your way to the bathroom. But it's not there. Your app is never wrong, it adapts based on your past logged periods and adjusts accordingly. It's always right. But your period isn't here.

You decide not to panic, because for all you know, maybe it'll hit later today? Surely, that'll be the case. So you wait. But it didn't come that day. Or the next, or the day after that. On the fourth day, you're really starting to panic. You're officially late. And not the kind that can be excused by blaming traffic.

You don't tell Frank right away, not wanting to sound a false alarm. That night, you're sitting on the bathroom floor with a timer on your phone and a sleeping husband and dog in the living room. To say you were nervous was the understatement of the century. You weren't scared about being pregnant (yet), you were more nervous about Frank. You knew about Maria, Lisa, and Junior. You knew that was something he hadn't truly healed from yet.

What if he freaks out? What if he doesn't want it? What if he leaves you? What would you do? How would you pay the bills on your own? What if-

Your thoughts are interrupted by the timer on your phone going off. You quickly shut it up, lest it wake your sleeping husband. you're silent for a moment, glad to hear that he's still snoring like a chainsaw. Your hands are shaky as you reach for the small plastic device on the sink, and you almost don't want to see the results. You take a deep breath for your nerves before flipping it over. Two pink lines.

Oh boy.

[tzuyubb]

If you somehow able to have a threesome with a celebrity as they are now, and them how they were 5 yrs ago, who would you pick?

Past and Present

Pairing: Past and Present Isa x Male Reader

Word Count: 903 words

Tags: virgin sex, deflowering, missionary, deep penetration, squirting, rough sex, doggystyle, facial

In a dimly lit bedroom, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation as you knelt on a bed, your eyes fixated on two versions of Isa. Laying on the bed, on one side, the present-day Isa, a confident and experienced slut for big cocks, her eyes gleaming with desire. Beside her, the past Isa, an innocent and inexperienced virgin, her eyes wide with a mix of nervousness and curiosity.

You positioned yourself between them, your massive cock standing erect, ready to deflower the past Isa and pleasure the present Isa with what she craves. With a gentle touch, you caressed the young Isa's cheek, her skin soft and smooth. "Relax, my dear," you whispered, your voice soothing. "I'm going to make you feel things you've never imagined."

The virgin Isa's heart raced as she felt your hand trail down her neck, over her collarbone, and onto her chest. Her breath quickened as you cupped her small, perky breasts, your fingers gently rolling over her hardening nipple. "It's okay to be nervous," you assured her, "but trust me, the pleasure will surpass any initial pain."

With that, you shifted your attention to the experienced Isa, who was watching with a mixture of longing and anticipation. "And you, my little slut," you said, your voice laced with dominance, "you'll get your turn soon enough. But first, let's give this innocent girl a proper introduction to the world of big cocks."

The present Isa's eyes lit up with excitement as she understood her role in this unique threesome. She turned her head and leaned forward, her full lips brushing against the virgin Isa's ear, whispering “Just relax and let yourself enjoy it. His cock will stretch you in ways you've never imagined."

The virgin Isa's body trembled at her words, her pussy already beginning to moisten in anticipation. You positioned yourself at her entrance, the head of your cock teasing her virgin folds. "Are you ready, my sweet innocent girl?" you asked, your voice filled with lust.

The young Isa nodded, her eyes closed, and with a gentle push, you began to penetrate her. Her breath caught as she felt your girth stretching her tight opening. "Relax and breathe," you instructed, your voice calm and steady.

Inch by inch, you slid into her, her body slowly accommodating to your size. The virgin Isa's eyes squeezed shut, her hands gripping the bedsheets as she adjusted to the sensation of being filled so completely. "It's... so big," she moaned, her voice trembling.

"That's right," you encouraged, "and it's all for you. Focus on the pleasure, let the pain melt away."

As you reached her hymen, you paused, giving her a moment to prepare. "Take a deep breath," you said, and with a gentle push, you broke through her barrier, eliciting a sharp gasp from the young Isa.

The pain was intense, but it was quickly followed by a rush of pleasure as your massive cock filled her completely. The virgin Isa's body trembled, her pussy clenching around your shaft as she experienced her first orgasm. She began to violently squirt, her juices gushing out and coating your cock and thighs.

The experienced Isa, witnessing this, couldn't contain her excitement. "Oh Daddy, she's squirting for you so much!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with delight. "Now it's my turn to show her how to really enjoy that big cock of yours."

The present-day Isa positioned herself on all fours, displaying her glistening pussy and letting you admire the sight of her thick bubble butt and thighs. "Tease me, please," she begged, her voice hoarse with need.

You obliged, releasing your cock from the near unconcious past-Isa’s tight embrace and running the wet tip along present Isa’s moist pussy lips and clit, teasing her and making her squirm with desire. "Please, fuck me," she pleaded, her voice desperate.

As she finished her plea, you grabbed her hips with both hands and thrust forward, impaling her with one powerful stroke. The experienced Isa cried out, her body welcoming the familiar sensation of being filled by a massive cock.

You began to jackhammer her, your hips snapping forward and back, each thrust causing her thick butt and thighs to jiggle and ripple. The contrast between the tightness of the virgin Isa and the wet constriction of the present Isa's pussy was heavenly. The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the present Isa's moans and screams of pleasure, and your own grunts of satisfaction.

As your climax approached, you pulled out of the present Isa's pussy, leaving her wanting more. You turned her over, positioning her next to the exhausted virgin Isa, who was still recovering from her intense orgasm. Both their mouths opened in anticipation, tongues peeking out, ready to receive your load.

The sight of their pretty faces, side by side, was the final straw. You grasped your cock and stroked it aggressively, your eyes flicking between the two Isa’s as you released your massive load. Rope after rope of warm, sticky cum shot out, covering their faces, dripping down their chins, and pooling on the bed.

The present Isa, her body still quivering from the rough fucking, reached up to taste your cum, smearing it across her lips and face. The virgin Isa, coming back to her senses, watched with a mixture of fascination and awe as her more experienced self savored the taste of your release.

[pocket-watcher]

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Your friend said cheerily.

“I don’t know…”

You’d (begrudgingly) agreed to go to a hypnosis show with them. Something about an owe'd favour. You rolled your eyes, fidgeting nervously. Unknown to them, however, you have a pretty big secret which will make the whole experience very awkward…

You have a particular reaction to hypnosis.

You’d found your seats and you’d prayed you were far enough from the stage neither of you would be called up for audience participation. You'd turned off your phone and fidgeted until the lights dimmed.

“Welcome, welcome! I am the Alluring Alessandra. But you may all call me your new Mistress…”

People whooped and cheered and the beautiful woman on stage. The hypnotist.

You squeezed your thighs together.

Having a… special interest in hypnosis, your body reacted before your brain had even fully registered her words.

You peered over at your friend, who was watching the stage, none the wiser.

How were you supposed to sit here for an hour and a half and act normal?!

“What a beautiful audience I have today. So many gorgeous faces. Handsome, too.” She winked at someone in the second row. “But what I love more that all of your looks is your heart. Who here is brave enough to help me with my show tonight?”

Cheers rang out once more. You clapped politely.

Hands shot into the air. You shrank into your seat...

Unlike the friend next to you.

“What are you doing?!” You hissed.

“I’m volunteering! What? It’s half the fun!” They said, hand in the air.

You fidgeted awkwardly again, praying that she wouldn't -

“You! Yes, you! There!”

Crap. The spotlight captured your friend, partially on you as well.

They beamed, standing up to cheers, squeezing past you into the aisle and up towards the stage.

“Everyone give it up for our lovely volunteer.”

They waved and cheered, moving to shake the hypnotist’s hand. But, as they did, the hypnotist pulled them forward, snapping their fingers.

“Sleep.” The hypnotist commanded.

They dropped immediately.

Head forward, hair over their closed eyes, posture hunched over.

You shifted in your seat again.

“Wonderful. You’re drifting down, down, down. Pulled into trance. I’m going to snap my fingers again, and you will do whatever I say whilst feeling wide awake, without hesitation of course. Understood?”

A sleepy and slow nod from them.

“Very good, and three, two, one.”

SNAP.

They shot upwards, smiling and waving to the audience once more.

Around you, people cheered.

“Now, my dear, I’d like you to jump up and down.”

They jumped, looking confused.

“Oh no, keep going.”

There was laughter. You bit your lip.

“And stop,” they commanded. Your friend laughed nervously.

“That was… intense.” They said, breathlessly.

“Wasn’t it just? But when you obey it feels good.”

Their eyes fluttered, and you could feel yourself blushing.

"Go on. Say that it feels good."

"It felt so good." They slapped a hand over their mouth, embarrassed. The robotic, mindless tone of their voice was a memory you very much wanted to forget, but you knew it would replay in your mind over and over and over again.

"Everyone give them a big round of applause!" Mistress - the hypnotist, you corrected your horny brain, cheered as your friend slumped back into the seat next to you, dazed.

You covered your face a little.

"...That was kinda hot." Your friend murmured, still dazed. "Do you think thats a thing? Like a fetish for hypnosis?"

You shook your head and let out a squeak.

"And now, on with the show!"

[himasgod]

Can I request Jack with an S/O who's afraid of big dogs?

She doesn't hate them or anything. She just had a bad experience with a big dog when she was little and was never quite able to get over that fear.

JACK X READER

Where reader is afraid of dogs

You’d never hated dogs. Not really. You even liked them—on postcards, in cartoons, in stories. But real dogs? Especially big ones?

That was different.

The one from your childhood still haunted you. The way it had barreled toward you with teeth bared and a growl that shook the air. You’d tripped backward, screamed, cried—

It hadn’t bitten you, but it had been enough. Enough to make your heart seize even now, years later, when one barked too loud, or when its size felt just a bit too much like a shadow overhead.

And that fear… it made things complicated with Jack.

Not because he was a dog. He wasn't. He was a beastman, and you knew that distinction mattered.

He was kind and reserved and incredibly self-aware.

Still, he was big. And strong. And when he got excited, his tail thumped loud, his ears perked with alertness, and his teeth—

His teeth.

He never hurt you. He never would.

But the fear didn’t care.

Jack noticed it before you even said anything. Maybe it was in the way your shoulders tightened when he got too close, or how your breath caught when he barked out a laugh.

At first, he thought it was him. That you'd just… didn’t like beastmen.

But you weren’t the kind of person to judge like that.

So he asked you. One warm afternoon, while the two of you sat under the shade in Savanaclaw.

"You get nervous when I'm close sometimes," he said, arms resting on his knees, golden eyes on you.

“Is it… something I did?”

You hesitated, then stared down at your hands.

“It’s not you. I swear it’s not. I just… I had a really bad experience with a dog when I was a kid. A big one. It jumped me. I’ve never really gotten over it.”

Jack was quiet for a moment. Then:

“Was it a beastman?”

You shook your head.

“No. Just a regular dog. Beastman and stuff… they don't exist in my world.”

He nodded slowly, shoulders lowering. “Okay. That’s good to know.”

You’re… not mad?”

His ears twitched, and he gave you a sheepish look.

“Why would I be mad? Fear doesn’t make you a bad person. And I’m not just ‘a big dog,’ you know?”

“I know,” you whispered, guilt creeping in your voice.

“I just wish you didn’t have to feel that way around me,” he murmured.

“I don’t want to scare you.”

“You don’t.” You glanced down.

“It’s just… my brain gets confused sometimes. You’re nothing like that dog, Jack. You’re gentle. You even apologize when your tail knocks something over.”

That earned a quiet chuckle. “Can’t help it. My tail’s got a mind of its own.”

There was a pause. The kind that settles between two people who want to say something, but aren’t sure how.

So he said it first.

“You don’t have to pretend to be okay around me. If you ever need space, just say it. And if you want to get more comfortable with me… I can help. But only if you want that.”

Your heart softened at that. The way his voice stayed low and careful, the way his golden eyes stayed warm but distant enough not to crowd you.

“I think I do,” you admitted. “I want to be okay with it. With you. I just don’t know how long it’ll take.”

“As long as you need,” he said simply. “No pressure.”

And he meant it.

He never forced you to be close. He’d always ask before sitting next to you. He stopped offering hugs and started offering handshakes, or little waves from across the hallway.

When his tail wagged near you, he’d keep it low and slow. When he barked during Spelldrive practice, he’d glance your way, worried it startled you.

Over time, you noticed how much he paid attention. How he kept his distance on bad days and quietly walked you Ramshackle on the good ones.

Then, one evening, while you were sitting on the bench outside Ramshackle after dinner, you offered a hand without saying anything. Just a quiet gesture.

He looked down at it, ears slowly lifting. “You sure?”

You nodded. “You’ve been so patient. I trust you.”

He reached out carefully, gently pressing his much larger hand over yours. His palm was warm and rough, the "pads" of his fingers calloused from training—but his grip?

Soft. Careful. Like you were something breakable.

Like you mattered.

And for the first time in years, the thought of something big and strong didn’t make your chest tighten in fear.

It made you feel safe.

[liviqc]

accidental love letter - jj maybank

summary - you write a letter to jj maybank, never expecting him to find it.

You and JJ Maybank had been best friends since third grade.

From building sandcastles on the Outer Banks shoreline to getting into trouble with teachers for passing too many notes, the two of you were inseparable. You shared scraped knees, inside jokes, and way too many secrets that lived in the space between late-night calls and whispered conversations under the stars.

And somewhere around seventh grade, your heart caught up with your head.

You wrote him a letter.

Not to give to him, just to get it out. It was middle school, and your feelings felt so much bigger than you were. So you scribbled them onto notebook paper in messy, crooked lines. You even signed it.

Then you folded it and tucked it deep into an old shoebox with movie tickets, polaroids, and friendship bracelets that still smelled like salt water.

That letter stayed hidden for years.

Until today.

JJ was digging through your closet looking for an old hoodie he’d left at your place—probably a hundred years ago—while you were in the kitchen grabbing snacks.

“Dude,” he called out, laughing. “You’re literally a hoarder.”

“Sentimental,” you corrected from down the hall. “There’s a difference!”

He chuckled, rifling through a half-open box when a folded piece of paper slipped out. It was crinkled and aged, like it had been read over and over—though this one hadn’t. Not yet.

Curious, he opened it.

Your handwriting hit him in the chest like a punch.

"Dear JJ,

This is stupid. I know it is. But sometimes I look at you and it feels like my ribs aren’t big enough to hold everything I feel.

You’re my best friend. But I think I’m in love with you. Not in the weird, fake movie way. In the real way. In the ‘I notice how your laugh changes when you’re really happy’ way.

I don’t think you’ll ever feel the same. And that’s okay. I just needed to say it somewhere. Even if no one ever reads this.

I love you. I probably always will.

– Me (but you’ll probably guess anyway)."

JJ didn’t realize he was holding his breath until you walked back in.

“You find the hoodie?” you asked casually, holding up a bag of chips.

He looked up slowly, eyes soft. “No. But I found something else.”

Your heart stopped when you saw what was in his hands.

“JJ—oh my God. That was from, like—middle school.”

“So you did write it.”

You opened your mouth to backtrack, to laugh it off, to say something like ‘I was thirteen, I didn’t even know what love meant,’ but he cut you off.

“I kept everything you ever gave me, you know?” he said quietly. “Every dumb note, every drawing, even that ugly friendship bracelet that fell apart after two days.”

“JJ…”

“I wish I’d seen this back then,” he admitted, holding up the letter. “I would’ve told you I felt the same.”

Your breath hitched. “You’re just saying that.”

He stepped closer. “I’m not. I’ve been in love with you since before I knew what it was. And yeah, I didn’t find the letter until now, but—” He smiled, a little helplessly. “Better late than never, right?”

You blinked back the stinging in your eyes. “You mean it?”

“I do,” he said, voice low. “I love you.”

So you did the only thing that made sense.

You kissed him.

And just like that, all the years between seventh grade and now melted away.

Maybe some love letters were meant to be read—eventually.

[starlightsuffered]

Can you write something where timothee has a massive dick. Like its the first time the reader is seeing this and she's shocked. It takes a while for her to get use too. And timothee goes from not knowing he's that big to being cocky about his size. Thnaks

Cocky

Warnings - teasing, begging, smut, unprotected sex, masturbation, cumming on face.

"No it doesn't hurt, it feels great," I answered my friend.

"No, babes, if only I could show you. It's soooo big, yes bigger than his. It's like an instant pantie dropper," I told her. "Thick too, it feels like I'm getting porn dick or something."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, it's always the skinny ones. Sometimes I call it his third arm," I giggled. "I know I'm disgusting."

"You cannot tell him any of this though, his ego is big enough as it is."

"I don't know, I think my ego could get a little bigger," I heard my boyfriend's taunting voice say.

"Shit, I'll call you back later," I said to my friend. I turned slowly, to find Timothée leaning against the wall with a large smirk on his face.

"Hey Tim," I said.

"You know I heard your whole conversation right. I think you thought I was out, but I was in the office."

"Fuck," I whispered.

"Hey, don't be grumpy, after all, you're getting porn dick," he chuckled as he moved closer to me.

"Shut up," I said folding my arms.

"What's it like having a boyfriend with three arms?" He asked, and tried to kiss me, I moved my head so he got my cheek.

"So feisty," he said, with bright eyes. Then he stepped back an inch or two. He slowly unbuckled his belt. I heard the sound of his zipper. I tried not to look, I really did, but I couldn't help but peek just a little.

Timothée's bottom half was bare. His cock stood at attention, pointing at me as if it knew what I'd said too.

"Instant pantie dropper," he whispered as he closed in on me again. He was kissing my neck, and I felt his length pressing against my thigh.

"Fuck it," I snapped and pulled him to me, kissing him fiercely. I felt him smirk into the kiss, but I wanted him too badly to care.

"You want my cock baby? Huh? You want it so bad don't you? Mouth or pussy?"

"Pussy," I whimpered. I peeled off his shirt, licking a stripe up his chest. He was nearly ripping my clothes with his eagerness to get them off.

He began to drag his cock through my folds. I moaned at the teasing, but he just laughed.

"Come on Timmy, fuck me," I pleaded.

"Beg me," he said in a sing-song tone.

"Please Timothée, I want your cock," I begged.

"Gonna need a little more than that Mon Amor," he told me, reveling in his power. "How 'bout you describe it for me?

"Tim, I want your big, thick, cock to ruin me, please, I need you," I amended, feeling truly needy.

"Ah," Timothée said, rolling his hips into me. "That's better."

He was merciless, pounding into me so fast I could barely comprehend it. I was clinging to him, hoping I wouldn't fall over from pleasure. He had his hands on my hips.

"Your knees weak baby? Does my cock make you weak?"

"No," I gritted out.

"Your face says otherwise sweetheart," he chuckled.

"I, Oh," I moaned, unable to argue back.

"So big," he teased, now moving his hips slowly, so I felt every inch of him. "Feel that baby, how long it takes me to fill you."

"It's average," I managed to pant. Timothée just laughed.

"It was nice to hear you brag about me, usually you're so mean," he tutted. "I don't know why you lie so much, you can't even fit all of me in your mouth, you have to use your hand to help."

"You're so damn cocky," I growled as he picked up the pace again, and he easily hit my G spot.

"Well, when you've got a pantie dropper, you can afford a little cockiness."

He reached up to roll one of my nipples between his fingers. I was in pure bliss. He felt so good stretching me out like this.

"Don't stop," I begged.

"There's my nice girl," he hummed. I pulled him to me, sucking on his tongue.

"You're magical," he breathed, and I felt my heart do a happy spin.

"Where do you want my cum baby, let me know," he said, and I noticed a new sloppiness to his thrusts.

"On my face," I want you all over me," I begged. He pulled out, and I got on my knees and opened my mouth. He let out a whine at the sight of me as he pumped himself. I rolled my clit and came just as he began to anoint my face with his cum. I felt some of the salty essence land on my tongue, and I swallowed gratefully. I licked my lips, wanting more of him.

"Fuck you look so sexy," he moaned as he started coming down. I swiped two fingers along my cheek and put them in my mouth.

"Shit," he panted. "Let's go again."

[lesmiix]

i dont think i’ve seen anyone request or write this anywhere, what about actress!hyunju when her (preferably fem) partner surprises her on set or her movie/kdrama premiere?

ONE-SHOT: Center Stage.

Cho Hyun-ju x Fem!reader.

Summary:Hyun-ju doesn't expect you in her premiere, until you surprise her in the crowd. Warnings: Pure fluff. a/n:Thanks for the request!!!

🤍HYUN-JU REQUESTS ARE TEMPORARILY CLOSED!!!🤍

The buzz of camera shutters and chatter fills the air outside the premiere venue, where banners for "The Glory" wave in the late evening breeze. It's Hyunju's big night, her first lead role in a primetime drama. Glammed up in a sleek champagne gown, she moves like she was born for the spotlight, but there’s a flicker in her eyes. She’s smiling for the cameras, but you know her smile-smile. The one that reaches her eyes and softens her whole face. That one, she saves for you.

And she doesn’t know you’re here yet.

You weren’t supposed to be. Not with your work schedule. Not with how tight security was. But she told you last night, in that sleepy voice of hers.

"I wish you could be here. It’s not the same without you." And so you found a way. You always do when it comes to her.

You're tucked off to the side of the red carpet, hidden behind a row of staff and waiting for the moment. Your heart beats in rhythm with the click of heels and the faint sounds of reporters calling out her name. Hyun-ju waves, bows politely, glances toward the press pit.

Then she sees you.

For a second, she freezes mid step. Her hand, mid-wave, falters. Her mouth parts in surprise, and then she beams. Not the press smile. Your smile. The one she gives you in the morning when her eyeliner’s half-done and she’s holding her coffee like a lifeline.

She breaks formation, almost tripping on her heels as she makes her way toward you, ignoring the calls of her manager and the cameras that quickly swing your way. You brace yourself just in time as she wraps her arms around you, tight like she’s anchoring herself after weeks of promotion, filming, late nights, and missed dinners.

"You’re here?" She whispers, voice shaking just a little.

"Wouldn’t miss your premiere for anything."

Hyun-ju pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes glassy

"You’re gonna make me cry and ruin my mascara."

You smile, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Then I’ll just have to fix it for you"

She leans in, forehead touching yours, and suddenly the flashes and yelling feel so far away. She whispers

"I can do all of this, the acting, the cameras, the stress, if I know you’re here. Even if it’s just for a moment."

You kiss her knuckles.

"Always, baby. Even in the background, I’m always watching you shine."

A few feet away, her manager clears their throat, not-so-subtly. She winces, pulling away with a soft groan.

"I have to go back."

You nod. "Go knock them dead."

She does. But not before turning back one more time to whisper.

"I love you."

And in that moment, she isn’t just the actress. She’s Hyunju, your Hyunju, lit up not by the cameras, but by the love you give her.

The premiere ends in a blur of applause, standing ovations, and camera flashes. Hyunju bows with the rest of the cast, her fingers twitching with the urge to reach for yours even on stage.

And the moment the final photos are taken, she’s gone, ducking past staff and security, high heels in one hand, the other tugging up the slit of her gown as she slips into the private dressing room.

You’re already there, waiting.

When she sees you, the door clicks shut behind her, and the show-perfect posture drops. Her shoulders sag with relief, and she makes a sound between a sigh and a laugh.

"You stayed."

You smile.

"Told you I wasn’t just here for the red carpet."

Hyunju crosses the room in two strides, barefoot, makeup still flawless except for the corners of her lips, where her lipstick’s faded just slightly. She kisses you like she’s starving for it, soft and slow, the kind of kiss that says "you’re mine and I missed you and thank God you’re here" all at once.

Her hands find your waist, pulling you flush against her.

"You have no idea how hard it was not to kiss you out there." She mumbles into your neck, voice muffled and just the tiniest bit whiny.

"Oh, I could tell." You laugh, curling your fingers into the back of her dress. "You almost walked off mid-interview."

"Because you looked too good." She tilts her head back dramatically.

You kiss her again, this time gently, like you’re grounding her.

"You were incredible tonight, Ju-ju."

She exhales shakily.

"I kept thinking about you. Like, the whole time. Every scene on screen, I wanted to look over and see if you were watching."

"I was." You whisper. "I saw everything. Every little expression, every line. You were breathtaking."

She rests her forehead on your shoulder, quiet for a second. Then, in a smaller voice.

"I wanted to dedicate it to you. I almost said it on stage."

You wrap your arms tighter around her.

"You didn’t have to say it. I felt it."

She pulls back slightly, cupping your face.

"I think… you’re my home. I love the red carpet. I love acting. But when it’s all over, when I take off the heels and wipe off the makeup, I want to come back to you."

You blink, heart catching in your throat.

"You already do. I’m always here, waiting."

And you kiss again, softer now. Slower. The kind of kiss that isn’t for show, not for the cameras. Just for you two.

Outside, the world still buzzes. But in here, it’s just her heartbeat, the fading warmth of the spotlight, and you, reminding her that being loved isn’t something she has to perform for.

[jyoongim]

HI THERE! I JS WANTED TO SAY THAT YOUR WRITING IS ABSOLUTELY PHENOMENAL 🙏 AND ALSO ARE YOU TAKING REQUESTS?? BC I WOULD LOVE A FIC WITH HUMAN ALASTOR X FAMOUS SINGER READER? WHERE ITS LIKE THE SILLY LITTLE RADIO MAN AND TALL HOT WOMAN?? (were reader is leaving lipstick marks all over Al’s neck and face in the backstage) (also feel absolutely free to delete this if you feel uncomfortable btw with the request btw and sorry for talking in all caps 😔)

Title: A Song for the Radio Demon

It was the night of the big concert, and Y/N was in her element. The crowd outside the venue was buzzing with excitement, the lights of the city shimmering like stars above. She stood backstage, adjusting her mic and smoothing out the glamorous, floor-length gown that hugged her figure perfectly. As one of the most famous singers in the world, she had performed for packed arenas before, but tonight felt different.

She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was an energy in the air—something electric, something... personal. And that wasn’t just the fans’ excited anticipation. No, it was the presence of one particular person that was making her heart flutter.

Alastor.

The man who had become an unexpected part of her life, a charming yet mysterious radio personality who’d appeared in her life out of nowhere, offering both a support system and a challenge she hadn't expected. He wasn’t just any man—he was entirely different, with his old-fashioned suit and charismatic, smooth voice. The way he smiled with that devilish glint in his eye. The way he made her laugh with his quirky, unpredictable humor. And the way his presence seemed to haunt every room, no matter where they went.

But tonight, Y/N had something on her mind.

The radio man and the singer. The tall, glamorous woman, and the silly, quirky man who always seemed to get under her skin in the most irresistible way.

“You look beautiful, darling,” Alastor’s voice broke through her thoughts, his smooth tone wrapping around her like velvet. Y/N turned to find him leaning against the doorway, looking effortlessly dashing in his usual tailored suit, his crimson eyes glimmering with that mischievous sparkle.

“Oh, stop it.” Y/N laughed, adjusting her lipstick in the mirror. “I’m not going to fall for your compliments again, Al.”

“I never joke about something as serious as your beauty, my dear,” he teased, his grin spreading wider as he approached her. “You’ve got that... star quality, hmm? It’s practically oozing out of you.”

Y/N shook her head, her lips curving into a smile despite herself. “You’re such a dork.”

The moment their eyes met in the mirror, Y/N felt that familiar, magnetic pull between them. It wasn’t something that could be ignored, even if they both tried. The teasing, the banter—it had all led to this. She had always known there was something more, something unspoken between them.

“Shall we get this show on the road?” Alastor asked, his voice suddenly serious as he stepped closer, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. He placed his hand on the small of her back, his touch unexpectedly warm for someone so elegantly composed.

Y/N nodded. "Let's do it."

The show was a roaring success, as expected. The stage lights bathed her in warm hues, and the sound of the crowd singing along to her songs was enough to make her heart race. She could feel Alastor's eyes on her throughout the entire performance, his gaze sharp but full of admiration, never leaving her for a second.

When the concert finally ended, and the roaring applause slowly faded, Y/N made her way backstage, the adrenaline from the performance still buzzing in her veins. She had barely taken two steps before Alastor was there, offering her a glass of champagne with a grin.

"Well done, darling. A flawless performance," he said with a twinkle in his eye, his voice smooth and velvety.

"Thank you, Al," she replied, taking the glass from him with a smile. She could feel his presence all around her, as usual, but tonight there was something different. Something in the way he was looking at her that made her pulse quicken.

She leaned in close, just enough that he could feel the heat of her body next to his. “You’re looking awfully sharp tonight. Might be I’m not the only one getting all the attention,” she teased, her lips brushing against his cheek as she playfully kissed his skin, leaving a faint lipstick mark.

Alastor froze for a moment, clearly surprised by her forwardness, before letting out a low chuckle. "Is that how it’s going to be, hmm?" His eyes narrowed playfully, but there was something more behind them, something deeper.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "I don’t know... Is that a problem?"

Her lips were just inches away from his neck as she traced her finger along his jawline. Alastor seemed to be struggling to maintain his usual composure, and that made her grin. It wasn’t often that she got to see him disarmed like this.

“No problem at all,” Alastor replied, his voice a little lower now, tinged with something unmistakable. “I find your... boldness charming, darling.”

With that, he reached out, pulling her closer by the waist. The movement was fluid, confident, and before Y/N could register what was happening, Alastor's lips were on her neck. The sensation of his touch sent a shiver down her spine, and she gasped, eyes fluttering shut as he nipped at her skin, leaving his own mark on her.

Her hands found their way into his hair, fingers threading through the strands, tugging him closer as she let herself enjoy the feeling of his lips against her skin. The subtle mix of danger and tenderness in his touch was intoxicating, and she couldn’t help but let out a soft moan, pulling his face up to hers with a newfound urgency.

"Al…" she whispered, her voice breathless.

Alastor didn’t answer right away. Instead, he kissed her. Slow at first, but as his hands moved to her back, pulling her flush against his chest, the kiss grew deeper, more insistent. She could taste the champagne on his lips, mingling with the faintest trace of something darker, more delicious.

In the heat of the moment, Y/N couldn’t help herself. Her lips trailed along his jaw, leaving soft, delicate lipstick marks that smeared across his neck and cheeks. Each mark was like a signature, proof of her passion.

"You're a bit of a mess, darling," Alastor teased with a smirk when she finally pulled back to admire her work. His voice was thick with desire, and his breath was heavy, almost unsteady.

Y/N grinned, wiping her lipstick from his cheek with the back of her hand. “What? Can’t handle a little bit of a bad girl?”

Alastor chuckled, clearly amused, but there was something more to his expression now—something raw, something hungry. "I think you need to be careful, darling," he murmured, his tone low and teasing. "You may be leaving marks on me, but I’m afraid you’ve already left one on my heart."

Her heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol in her system or the undeniable chemistry between them, but in that moment, everything seemed to fall away. There was no audience, no stage lights, no fame—just her, and Alastor, and a kiss that felt more like a promise than a playful moment.

“I think you might be right, Al,” she said softly, a playful glint in her eyes. “But maybe I’m just starting to enjoy this mess I’m making.”

And as the night went on, with the backstage chaos and the lingering excitement of the show still in the air, Y/N and Alastor found themselves wrapped up in their own little world, leaving a trail of lipstick marks and heated glances that would linger long after the final notes of the concert had faded away.

The End

[story-box]

FINAL ENCORE | Eddie Munson

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader | Eddie Munson x You

Summary: A month after Eddie’s death in the Upside Down, you find yourself at his grave, guitar in hand, ready for one last jam-session.

CW: Death, Grief, Loss

-

The cemetery was quiet, too quiet.

You hated it.

Eddie’s absence had left a hole too big for silence to fill. But here you were, guitar in hand, standing in front of his grave like it was just another day. Except it wasn’t. It never would be again.

You didn’t know how long it had been since you’d played.

A month? Maybe more.

Since the "accident" (as the townfolk of Hawkins had taken to referring to the unexplained chaos that tore through the town—blamed, of course, on Eddie Munson), it felt like time had become something that didn’t make sense anymore.

But the guitar—Eddie’s guitar, the one he bought for you—was still here. Still yours.

You sat on the grass, fingers running over the strings, the tension of them familiar in a way that made your chest ache.

“Alright, Ed. Let’s do this one last time,” you muttered, shaking your head with a smile you knew he would’ve laughed at.

You strummed the first chord, a little too hard, but who cared?

The song, the one you’d written when everything was too messy, too broken—was yours now, and it always would be. You’d let him shape it, sure, but it was your heart that had bled into the lyrics.

"You made a mess out of my heart, And I swear, I liked it that way, But you never let me finish the song, Now I’m singing it anyway."

Your voice cracked, but you didn’t stop. Not now. Not ever. Eddie had always said music was about feeling, not perfection. And right now? This felt like everything.

The wind picked up, like he was behind you, pushing you, laughing at the rough edges. The cemetery was still, but somehow you felt like you were in the middle of one of those late-night jam sessions in his basement. He’d be leaning against the wall, that grin on his face, telling you to stop being so hard on yourself.

"You left me with these melodies, And God, they’re killing me, But I’ll play them till the day I die, Even if you're not here to see."

You could almost hear him singing those last lines with you, his voice raspy and off-key but beautiful anyway. You could almost feel the warmth of his arm around your shoulder, his rough fingertips brushing against yours, making everything feel real.

The next chord was sharper. Angrier. The way you’d always fought, your love tangled up in the mess. But you didn’t care about the fight anymore. You just cared about the music. The way it used to flow so effortlessly between the two of you.

You paused, letting the wind carry the last note through the air.

“Hell, Ed. We were good, weren’t we?” Your voice was thick, but you didn’t care. Not anymore. “We made something out of nothing. You made me feel like I could do anything.”

You stood, wiping away the sudden tears, and for a second, you swore you could see him standing there. He’d laugh, toss his hair back, and make some joke about your terrible singing.

But he’d be there.

Always.

And even though he wasn’t, the music was. The lyrics were. And that? That would have to be enough.

You gave the grave one last look, then turned away, guitar still in hand, like you were walking out of one of his concerts, ready for the next song.

Because there would always be a next song.

“See you in the next one, Eddie."

[poppitron360]

In my mind, Leo found Socrates in a dumpster behind his machine warehouse and took him home to Jason and gave him big heart eyes until he caved. Leo originally found four kittens, named Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, and Sappho, but they eventually gave the other three up for adoption. Leo feels a strong connection to them due to the fact that he has also lived in a dumpster in the past between foster homes. Isabella absolutely adores him. There’s a moment in the fic where they’re trying to rescue their parents and Apollo shows up and offers his help and they ask him a few questions about their Prophecy and then Isabella asks him if he can visit their appartement once a day and feed Socrates while she’s away on the quest, and so I just want to write a side-fic where the all-powerful God Apollo cat-sits for the Valdezes for a week.

That is such a cool concept and would really tie into Isabella’s feelings about not knowing her true heritage, plus would have some cute Hephaestus moments because I need to write more fics about him. I kinda had this general idea of her doing something really cool and genius, maybe along the lines of the Steam-Powered Chicken Chucker that Leo apparently made for a science fair project when he was a kid, and Hephaestus being so impressed he gives her an extra power-up.

That reminds me of the time in TLH where Piper breaks her ankle and Jason asks Leo if he can fix it and Leo’s all “hey man, I’m a mechanic. I don’t fix humans. Now if she were a car…”. Also because it’s set in the same universe as my married AU where Jason is a history professor, I just want a situation where the two of them get to be introduced as “Professor and Dr Valdez”. I’m also imagining a scenario where someone’s chocking and they yell “Is anyone here a Doctor” and Leo slowly raises his hand and Jason has to be like “they mean medical doctor, sweetheart”

So there are a couple of big three kids at camp now, but as per canon these kids often send out the strongest smells to monsters and so they often don’t live long enough to make it to camp. And the ones that do end up not living very long afterwards, so the others try not to get attached. This is especially true for Zeus kids, who also have Hera to worry about. Dark, I know, but I kind of wanted to keep the Big Three cabins quiet because that’s the main reason why Finley and Olympia like to stay in those cabins for sleep, and also so they can be Camp Councillors, and it also makes the trio unique in all being legacies of the Big Three. If there were any Zeus kids, Isabella would probably get along with them but wouldn’t want to do any activities with that cabin. She barely acknowledges openly that she’s a legacy of Jupiter, and anyway she’s kinda inherited the Special Interest in Machines Thing from Leo and so prefers to hang out with the 9’ers where she’s surrounded by machines and forges and stuff, as she has less in common with the kids in Cabin One.

I don’t have much on Robin yet, just that their name is “Robin Abank” which is a funny pun, and they are nonbinary. I like to think they might get on well with the Stoll cousins, and they get up to a lot of mischief together. There’s a moment in the fic where they all play Capture the flag and Olympia keeps getting mad at them for goofing off instead of taking it seriously, which is fun bickering and I get to show how seriously Olympia takes her leadership roles (and also how she’s inherited her parent’s competitive streaks)

Also the whole season of summer is an absolute mess for these demigods because you’ve got: Camp Starts, Summer Solstice in late June which is when most of the quests happen, Jason’s birthday 1st July, Valgrace Wedding anniversary 3rd July, Leo’s birthday 7th July, Annabeth’s birthday, Leo’s deathiversary/Isabella’s birthday/Anniversary of the siege of Camp Half-Blood on 1st August, the anniversary of the death of Charles Beckendorf around two weeks later, Camp Ends, then Percy’s birthday/Anniversary of the Battle of Manhattan/Percabeth’s getting together anniversary on 18th August. Percabeth wedding anniversary probably fits in there somewhere, too. I also feel like Finley has to have a Summer birthday being that it’s kind of his aesthetic, but at the same time practically every Riordanverse character has a summer birthday and it low-key kinda bugs me. Olympia is repping the Spring babies and her zodiac sign is Ares (like me) which pisses Percy off to an astronomical degree (no pun intended).

It sucks that everyone is saying the wrong things about her parents, but after a while she starts to believe them. Or at least believes that everyone around her expects her to be as good as them. And that’s a lot of pressure on her, especially as the person that Olympia is trying so hard to live up to is completely and utterly fictional. This paradigm of awesomeness and sass and baddassery that the “fandom” has come up with. She has worked her whole life to be this person who functionally doesn’t exist- which is something a lot of us can relate to in the social media age where we’re fed these edited and filtered versions of our idols that only keep the best parts. I am someone who struggles to know the “right” way of doing things as a lot of the time the way I naturally do things is labelled as “wrong” (growing up undiagnosed neurodivergent is a hoot and a half /sarcasm), so I often use media as sort of a reference guide for how to do things “correctly” and as a result end up building these unhealthy expectations for myself and beating myself up when my life doesn’t look exactly like Buffy the Vampire Slayer. So that’s what I’ve recently realised I’ve been tapping into for Olympia’s character.

The fun part is, though, because she’s been training so much to meet this impossibly high bar, she has unbeknownst to herself become an absolute DEMON of a fighter and TANK of a human specimen. I don’t think the fanart I drew conveyed how in my head she is 6ft tall and built like a brick shithouse. Like Jack Reacher but younger and a girl. While the other two are incredibly adept fighters in their own right, Olympia most of the time will serve as the archetype of the “muscle” or the “powerhouse”. And despite her insecurities, to me she does one hundred per cent live up to the hype of Percy and Annabeth.

But to her, she’s still not good enough. And BOY HOWDY is that relatable.

And this rant is a reminder to myself to make that bloody clear in my writing otherwise she is pretty just a Mary Sue.

The irony is that my own perception of Percy is just as skewed as everyone else’s and my idolisation of him and Annabeth has reflected in how I’ve made his daughter a complete unit, completely contradicting my point that Fannon Percy is unrealistic and impossible to live up to and look at what you’re doing to this poor girl because also she has absolutely lived up to it and is just as badass if not more than Fanon Percy and look at my OC you guys isn’t she cool.

But like. Don’t think about it too hard and you’ll be fine. Her fighting like a demon the way the fandom thinks of Percy gives the dopamine that comes with confirming our perception of him. And her being a meta-commentary on the toxic and unrealistic perception of Percy that the fandom has gives us the dopamine of I Am Righteous In My Anger Arrrgghh. Because we as individuals like to think of ourselves as separate from just the bad parts of any group we’re in and whoah this is getting deep. So just. Don’t think about it.

Also another tangental sidenote but part of Olympia’s frustration is that Percy gets a lot of the spotlight in these retellings and Annabeth’s baddassery is lesser known. And while she resents a lot of the Athena Campers for the same reasons she resents all the other campers, she does appreciate how Annabeth is revered just as much- if not more so- than Percy over in Cabin 6. This allows me as a writer to just fangirl over Annabeth a little bit by having several moments that are just “hang on Annabeth was awesome too”. Secretly these kids are just an excuse to yap more about how great my favourite characters are in canon but disguised as Deep Writing. Also cute Percabeth marriage bit but Percy is absolutely OUTRAGED every time he hears a re-telling of his story that makes Annabeth seem lesser than he is in power, and will always go on a huge rant about it, mostly so he himself can yap about how great his wife is.

Now Percy’s reaction himself to being turned into a propaganda figure is also an interesting exploration that would probably have to be it’s own fic and also let’s be honest would probably have to be written by someone who cares a lot more about Percy than I do. Percy-centric fics are not my department. I’m a Leo girlie through and through.

And also the “First Legacy” stuff is a big deal, especially as in my mind Olympia was pretty much the very first legacy at CHB. Isabella definitely deals with this the least, since she grew up in New Rome where legacies were common, and Finley had slightly more pressing issues as to why he struggled to fit in at Camp, so Olympia was kinda dealing with this on her own.

I feel like Percy specifically insisted on Olympia’s last name being “Jackson-Chase” because he wanted to make sure Annabeth’s power could carry onto their kids. And yeah, Leo worries that the Valdez name might cause issues for Isabella, but he kind of realises that it doesn’t just carry the power of Leo Valdez but of Esperanza Valdez, Sammy Valdez, and all of the other strong mortals in their family (and I REALLY want to explain why that’s especially important but it would be a huge spoiler). Both Thalia and Jason have renounced the name Grace (mostly because of their mom but they also are just tired of people making puns about their name) but Olympia still has the middle name “Grace” as a little tribute, also because “Olympia Grace Jackson-Chase” rhymes, which ties into the lore that Apollo is the one who delivered her.

Star Wars Side Tangent but I have this reoccurring argument with my friends over whether that moment at the end of “Rise of Skywalker” where Rey says her last name is “Skywalker” was deserved. And like. I get that Luke didn’t teach her for long but you know what she isn’t? Rey Palpetine. And yeah that whole plot was kinda stupid but the “Chosen names are powerful Found Family is awesome” is a hugely impactful message, and so if Rey says she’s a Skywalker she’s a Skywalker.

Found Family is so important, especially when telling LGBTQ+ or queercoded stories. “You deserve to be loved, no matter who you are” should be such a simple statement but for some people it’s somehow hard to grasp. There’s so much hate out there, which is why these stories are so comforting.

Please absolutely talk about your Percabeth kids from Sofíaverse I kinda wanna know how you’re are writing them. It kinda feels like every single PJO fan has some idea or another about their Percababies, and I’ve seen so many different takes.

Does it go well?… On the one hand, it gives her a lot to think about, but she ultimately reaches the conclusion that it’s not a big deal. She still feels more complete knowing that part of herself- but it’s only a part, and not the whole picture. She is so much more than what she was born as. On the other hand… the reveal is unexpected and definitely shakes her up quite a bit, and it doesn’t happen in the most optimal way. It definitely will pose some challenges for her going forward, and she’s gonna need some time to figure out a few things, and it’s really hard to not give spoilers as to what it is and remain vague and cryptic but at the same time I’m kinda hoping you might figure it out so that I can yap about it. But yeah, it does Not go well and might become a problem in the future but she ends up having a pretty positive outlook on it

And that way I can leave it open for a sequel where she gets to actually explore the new opportunities it gives her. And also angst. It gives her some angst

Quick infodump about my Frazel kids as well! They’re a bit younger than the trio and spend most of their time at Camp Jupiter, but show up a bit in the story. Susan, Alexander and Samuel Zhang- Hazel is traditional and in my mind would take Frank’s last name even though Frank insists she doesn’t have to. Also her own mother wasn’t the best so there’s that. They’re triplets (something about Mars kids having strong fertility or something Idk). They’re quite good legionnaires so far, but they haven’t reached their full potential yet. They’re in the Fifth Cohort just like Jason and their parents (it kinda feels like Rick was setting up the cohorts to be different factions like the Cabins but gave up halfway through). I don’t know much about their individual personalities, but Samuel is very insistent on not being called “Sammy”, much to the relief of both Frank and Leo, who are still little weird about the whole thing. Leo is very touched that Hazel wanted to name her kid after his great-grandfather, and they’ve all agreed it’s a good way to have closure on that incident, but it took some getting used to. Isabella and Samuel do laugh about it together, because “I’m named after your great-great grandfather who my mom kissed one time” is an awkward situation to be in otherwise. Finley gets on well with his cousins, and visits them in New Rome often. I wanted to give them kind of old-fashioned names, because I think it fits. I definitely need to flesh them out a bit more, because there’s so much potential of them interacting with the Gang, or having them deal with the same shit Olympia deals with of living up to their parents’ names while in the extremely high-pressure environment that is the Twelfth Legion.

This song is so Married Valgrace. And ik I’d say that about every single song including the Kahoot Lobby Music but this one is especially the vibe

LMAO you're so real for the Kahoot Lobby Music thing, if I'm fixated on something everything is about that something now. Sorry to the books I'm reading and shows I'm watching you are now all AUs of this one thing I like

Anyway you're so right and you should say it (and also the ending of the song made me sob, oh my god? Evil?)

I also feel a very strong need to retaliate now /Ih) so may I suggest I Wanna Grow Old With You as a married Valgrace song?

[that-one-scoundrel]

me with Caleb and Luke Pearce

Me when I see a picture of ✨The Character™✨: