#probably way more than you were looking for

[daryltwdixon]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5 | Part 5

Summary: Cracks begin to show in the life you were building with the Miller brothers, the weight of the third trimester pressing down as Tommy lashes out in a way you didn’t see coming. Seeking comfort and clarity, you leave with Joel—where tension, tenderness, and long-buried feelings finally surface behind closed doors.

|| smut MDNI 18+, arguing, Tommy is an ass, pinv, fingering, pregnancy kink?, dirty talk obvi, breeding kink, possessive joel, some longing and angst, no outbreak, they still cant f'ing communicate ||

notes: I promise I actually like tommy in the show / game lmao. sorry this took me so long! was traveling to see family and literally had no downtime. enjoy!!!

The nursery was only half finished. 

The bassinet was still in its box, unopened, up against the wall. Paint cans were stacked in the corner, samples painted haphazardly on the walls that had been dried for weeks. It was like dust had settled over everything—over the plans, the promises, the parts that were supposed to come next.

You sat in the recliner, the one meant for late-night feedings and early-morning lullabies. One hand rested on your belly, your thumb moving in slow, steady circles— something to do, to keep your breath even. 

You were supposed to be building the crib today. Joel had followed Tommy home from the job site, both of their boots still dirty with sawdust, just to make it in time. They’d barely stepped inside before it was clear something was wrong.

Tommy stood by the window, arms crossed so tightly across his chest it looked like he might splinter from the pressure. His jaw was locked, shoulders coiled. Joel mirrored him from the doorway—hands tucked under his arms, weight leaned against the frame like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or go.

Whatever was between them wasn’t being said, but you felt it all the same. Thick in the air, pressing down like humidity before a storm. Crawling across your skin, making you itch in places you couldn’t reach.

It had started weeks ago. Subtle, at first. Tommy pulling away in small, quiet ways—forgetting appointments, brushing past you with less warmth, keeping his kisses chaste and short. The bigger your belly got, the more he seemed to disappear.

Maybe now that it was real—your body changing more by the day, the shape of this future becoming something tangible—he was seeing it differently. Maybe he was seeing you differently.

You hadn’t wanted to believe it at first. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe it was stress. But as your due date crept closer, it became harder to ignore. He barely touched the baby clothes, the packages that came for the nursery. Or you.

Something had cracked, and no one wanted to look at the pieces. Now, whatever this was—this silence, this standoff—it felt like the final leak in a dam. Like the whole thing was about to burst open.

You tried to ease the pressure. Something small. Something safe.

“Have either of you thought more about names?” your voice came out lighter than it should. Like a peace offering. “We should probably decide before he gets here.”

Tommy didn’t even look at you. “You mean you and Joel should decide.”

You exhaled. Of course.

“Tommy… you’ve been avoiding every conversation about the baby lately,” you said gently. “For weeks. Can’t you just…talk to us? To me?”

“Maybe that’s because every time we talk,” he snapped, “I’m the one who’s unreasonable. I’m the one who’s supposed to suck it up and smile.”

“You are being unreasonable,” you said, too fast, too sharp. Then, softer—more careful. “You keep shutting Joel out of everything. You won’t let him have a say in any of the decisions or plans. He’s supposed to be part of this.”

Tommy laughed—a short, humorless bark. “He was part of this. We needed him to help. That’s what this was. A favor. You and me—we were gonna raise this baby. He’s not—” he shook his head, letting the end of his sentence hang between the three of you.

You rose from the chair slowly, pressing your palm into the armrest as you shifted your weight, the other hand supporting your swollen belly. Joel moved instinctively, ready to help, but you lifted a hand without looking at him. I’m fine.

Your knees ached. Your back pulled. The baby shifted under your ribs, like he knew something was wrong.

You crossed the room, stopping just a few feet from your husband. “Tommy,” you said, voice calm but full, “we agreed he would be part of this. We agreed to try it this way. We’re supposed to be a team. He’s not just some uncle. He’s the baby’s—”

“Don’t fucking say it.”

His voice cracked halfway through the word, and for a second you saw it. The grief. The way it was wrapped around his anger like barbed wire.

Joel pushed off the doorway. “Then what the hell am I, Tommy?” His voice was calm, but there was steel under it. “What, just a stud you called in when things didn’t go your way? You think I’m gonna stand here and act like none of this matters?”

Tommy scoffed as he looked at his brother. “You think it does matter? What—you catch feelings after a couple fucks and now you think she’s yours?”

Your heart lurched at the venom in his words. Joel stepped even closer, his voice low and even and deadly calm.

“I think I was there when she couldn’t stop throwing up for three days straight. I think I was the one bringing her crackers and Pedialyte at two in the goddamn morning. And where the hell were you? Out with Frank again?”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just kept his eyes locked on his brother.

“I was there when she had those dizzy spells. When she got scared something was wrong. When she cried through the whole damn glucose test because you were too busy to answer your phone.”

He stepped forward in front of you. Steady. Final. “So yeah. I think I’ve earned the right to stand here. And I think you better watch your damn mouth when you talk about her like that.”

You stood frozen, heart in your throat, Joel’s words echoing louder than the silence that followed. You hadn’t expected him to speak—not like that. Not so plainly.

But maybe what scared you more was how much it meant to hear someone fight for you.

And then Tommy looked at Joel. Really looked at him. “Tell me the truth. You wanted her the whole time, didn’t you?”

Joel’s voice was tight. “That’s not fair.”

“Answer me.”

Joel looked down, breathed once, then met his brother’s eyes. “It didn’t start like that.”

“But it is like that now, huh?” Tommy’s voice broke. “You think you can just stand in my house, in my life, and pretend this is yours now?”

Joel’s voice cut in, sharp. “That’s enough.”

Tommy shook his head, face red. “Get the hell out of my house.”

“I’m not leavin’ her,” Joel said. “Not when you’re actin’ like this.”

“You don’t get to—”

“She’s pregnant,” Joel bit out, stepping into Tommy's space. “And you’re standing here yelling like she hasn’t been carryin’ all this on alone for weeks.”

“Alone?!” Tommy exploded—but you stepped between them before either could say another word.

“He’s right.” Your voice wavered, but it didn’t break. “That’s enough.”

You pressed a finger into Tommy’s chest, trembling with everything you hadn’t said.

“You’re the one who asked for this, Tommy. You’re the one who said you could handle it. And now you want to punish me–what? For trying to make this work even when you barely look at me anymore? I’m trying, Tommy.” You shook your head, blinking back tears. “Don’t rewrite this like I betrayed you. I already took the blame for my mistakes. We moved forward, we agreed this would be the three of us.”

Tommy stared at you like he didn’t recognize you.

“You want him here?” he asked, voice hollow. “Playin’ daddy, picking names for our baby in our house? Fine. But don’t act like I’m crazy for wanting my wife back.”

He didn’t stop when you called his name. He turned, shoved past Joel—hard enough to make it known—and stormed out.

The door slammed.

And just like that, the nursery was silent again.

Before

Joel never had a party phase. 

He never did the college thing. No keg stands, no spring breaks, no waking up in someone else's dorm bed not remembering how he got there. Never packed into a room with three roommates and a GameCube. By the time most guys his age were skipping class and shotgunning beers, he was knee-deep in diapers and formula receipts. 

He graduated high school, married his pregnant girlfriend, and tried to do the right thing. And within a year, Sarah was born—and Jess was gone. Real gone. Not a slow unravel. More like a door slamming and a trail of dust behind her.

He told himself she was never meant to be a mom. Hell, they were both still just kids at the time.

But that didn’t make it right. Didn’t make it easier, either. She left the baby. Left him. Just checked out and never looked back.

So when one of Tommy’s friends invited them to some frat party, Joel didn’t see the point. He tried to beg off, mumbled something about Sarah needing him, even as valid as that was. But Tommy had already lined up a sitter and wasn’t about to let him off the hook.

“You need a night, man,” he’d said. “Just one damn night to remember what it’s like to have a pulse.”

So Joel went.

And now, he stood just inside the front door of a house packed with strangers, wondering what the hell he was doing here.

The place smelled like beer, sweat, cheap cologne, and microwave pizza. Every surface was sticky. A girl brushed past him, laughing too loud, perfume trailing behind her like cotton candy and alcohol. Guys with shaggy hair and flip-flops shouted over the blare of some terrible pop track, slapping each other on the backs like they’d just survived war.

Joel felt old. Not in years. In miles.

These kids weren’t that much younger than him, technically. But they weren’t people who'd held a screaming newborn at 3 a.m. They weren’t worried about overdue bills or busted radiators. These were the types who’d call home if they overdrew their account and had money wired to them in an hour.

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and slipped through the crowd, trying not to bump into anyone. A couple was making out against the fridge in the kitchen as he grabbed a red solo cup of beer. Someone was throwing up in the sink. There were Doritos crushed under his boots.

He needed air.

The back door stuck a little when he pushed it open. He stepped onto the porch, the screen door slapping shut behind him with a squeal. Out here, it was quieter. Cooler. The music still thudded through the house like a pulse, but it was distant now—muted by the walls and the steady hum of crickets in the yard.

A few people lingered at the far end of the porch, passing a joint back and forth, slouched on the railing and talking low. One guy stood off to the side with a cigarette between his fingers.

Joel walked over, nodding once.

“Hey,” he said, voice low. “Can I bum one?”

The guy didn’t say anything, just held out the pack and a lighter.

Joel took both. Lit the cigarette and handed them back with a quiet thanks.

He hadn’t smoked since Jess told him she was pregnant. He quit cold turkey that day—barely even missed it. But tonight? He needed something to bite back the tightness in his chest. Something to ground him. He’d shower the second he got home anyway, throw his clothes straight in the wash before checking on his sleeping toddler. 

God, he wished he was already there.

The smoke burned a little as it hit the back of his throat. He exhaled slow, watching it curl up into the porch light.

Time passed. People wandered back inside. The weed-smokers disappeared. The porch emptied out until it was just him.

Joel leaned against the railing and let his shoulders drop. He pulled out his old blocky cellphone, flipped it open with a quiet snap. No missed calls from the babysitter. No voicemails.

He stared at the screen a second longer than he needed to. Just making sure.

He almost wished there was something. A reason to leave. A reason to get the hell outta here and go home. But everything seemed fine. He closed the phone and slipped it back into his pocket, jaw tightening as he took another drag of the cigarette between his fingers.

Just as he was settling into the quiet, the back door creaked open again. He didn’t look to see who it was, just figured it was some more potheads needing to get their fix. But he was surprised when he looked up, that his sudden gravitational pull felt off balance. 

You stepped outside, fingers gripping the neck of a beer bottle, bringing it to your lips that shined in the moonlight from whatever gloss you had swiped across them tonight. Your black tank top clung to every inch of your chest and your mid-drift peeked below until your jeans that hung low on your hips, hugged you perfectly. 

When you made your way out onto the porch, you looked like you didn’t owe the world shit, that you didn’t give a shit if anyone noticed you. But he noticed you. Everyone probably did.

Joel couldn’t stop staring.

When your eyes met his, it was like the world blinked. Just a beat—long enough to catch, short enough to question. And then you didn’t look away.

You tilted your head, your eyes glancing down at the beer and cigarette in his hand.

“That cheap stuff tastes like shit,” you said, “Like it came outta someone’s shoe. You’re better off with the good stuff.” you dangled your beer bottle up, shaking it just a little to show off you weren’t drinking from the keg. 

“Not really one to drink it for the taste,” Joel said. You moved forward with a small smile.

“Mind if I take a hit off that?” you said smoothly, pointing to the cigarette.

He handed it to you wordlessly, and watched, entranced despite himself as your glossy lips wrapped around it, the ember burning at the tip.

“Told my parents I quit,” you said, blowing out the smoke, “Which is true. But nights like this make me a liar,”

Joel liked the way you talked. Dry, confident, like you were letting him in on your world. You weren’t fawning, weren’t giggling. You were sharp. Maybe a little reckless. Probably younger than him by a year or two, but smarter than half the house of partygoers combined.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you around,” you said, handing him back the cigarette.

He shrugged. “That’s probably a good thing.”

You sipped your drink. “So you don’t go here?”

“Nah. Not exactly the academic type. Friend of a friend invited us out.”

You nodded, still watching him. The cigarette passed quietly between the two of you.

“And by ‘us,’ I’m guessin’ you mean...?”

“My brother,” he answered, “He’s around here somewhere. He’s better at this kinda scene than me.”

“I don’t know,” you said. “You seem to be doing just fine.”

Joel looked at you then—really looked—and felt something low in his chest shift, just slightly off-center. Your hair was pulled back in a pony-tail, big eyes that had no business looking at him like you were.

He huffed, barely a smile. “Don’t know about that.”

You shrugged, but didn’t look away. “You’ve got that whole brooding-loner thing going for you. Girls eat that shit up.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

“Mhm.” You took another sip of your beer, slow and deliberate. “I’ve been out here, what—five minutes? I can already tell. Not even trying, and yet you look like you’ve got some kind of tragic backstory.”

He snorted, caught somewhere between amused and flustered. “Not sure that’s a compliment.”

“It is,” you said, leaning in a little, just enough that your voice dropped slightly. “You wear it well.”

Joel swallowed once, felt the heat crawl up the back of his neck. You were watching him like you already knew how he’d taste. Like you were just deciding whether or not it’d be worth the trouble.

He cleared his throat, looked down at his boots for half a second, then back up.

“What about you?” he asked. “You come to these things just to psychoanalyze strangers with your imported beer?”

“No, silly.” You smiled, slow and confident. “I come for the free cigarettes and hot strangers to psychoanalyze.”

Joel huffed a soft breath, smirk faint but real. He flicked ash off the end of the cigarette, not quite looking at you when he said, “Don’t know if I fit the bill on that second one.”

Your eyes didn’t leave him. “On the contrary, mystery man, pretty sure you’re tickin’ all the boxes.”

And Joel—God help him—he forgot his own name for a second.

He leaned a little closer, felt the pull of you like gravity. His fingers twitched with the urge to touch your waist, to tuck a piece of your hair that fell from your ponytail back just so he could feel what it was like between his fingers. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time. Maybe ever.

You were about to say something else, he could sense it, that moment between beats when something clicks open, but then a girl stumbled out the back door, making you turn as she grabbed your arm.

“Hey!” she slurred, glancing between the two of you before locking eyes with you. “I need you—seriously, Stacey’s throwing up and she just called freaking Mark, and she’s, like, sobbing—please come help.”

You looked over, face twisting with reluctant affection. “Shit. Yeah, okay.” you turned back to him, apology written all over your face, handing him back the nearly burnt out cigarette.

“Duty calls,” Joel said with a short nod.

“I’ll find you later?” you offered, a little breathless, and before he could reply, you were gone–swept back into the house, the music blaring for the moment the door was open, then leaving him out in the quiet again.

He stood there like a damn idiot, heart still pounding. He couldn’t even remember what he’d said to you—just a blur of cigarette smoke and smart little smiles.

You didn’t ask his name.

He didn’t ask yours.

But you’d looked at him like you already knew him.

The porch felt quieter now. Emptier, somehow, like you’d taken the oxygen with you when you left.

He took one last drag from the cigarette, flicked it into the yard, and let the silence wrap around him. Music still pulsed faintly from inside, muted now, swallowed by the thick summer air. A few fireflies blinked out by the fence. The sky above was dark and low, stars peeking through the haze of humidity and porch light glow.

He braced his hands on the railing and stared out at nothing for a long minute.

Eventually, he straightened up, ran a hand down his face, and turned back toward the house. He hadn’t seen Tommy in a while, and if he didn’t check in soon, he might completely lose track of his little brother.

Still… he glanced at the door once more before heading inside, like maybe you’d reappear if he looked hard enough.

You didn’t.

So he opened the door and stepped back into the noise. The music hit harder now—bass thrumming straight through his chest, like it was syncing up with his pulse. Everything felt louder, warmer, just a little off-kilter. The crowd moved in flashes—glimpses of faces, glitter, teeth, hands in the air—and Joel moved through it like he wasn’t fully there.

Maybe it was the beer. Maybe it was you.

He made his way through the crowd slowly, eyes skimming over the living room couches, checking the faces of couples tangled together, wondering if Tommy was caught in some sort of lip lock with a random girl by now.

“Joel!”

He blinked and turned toward the sound.

There was his little brother, shoving his way through the crowd, hair messy, cheeks flushed from beer and the thrill of whatever he’d been up to. He looked like he’d just won a bet or found twenty bucks on the sidewalk.

Joel raised an eyebrow. “You good?”

Tommy grabbed his arm, grinning like an idiot. “Better than good.”

Joel gave him a look, dry. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m in love,” Tommy announced.

Joel snorted. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m serious, man.” Tommy’s eyes were gleaming. “I just met the girl I’m gonna marry.”

Joel shook his head, a smile creeping over his face. Only his little brother.

“Where?” he asked, playing along.

Tommy spun, rising on his toes to look above the crowd. “She went back that way. Wait—hold up—there.” He pointed past the kitchen, toward the hall that led to the bathrooms and the back patio.

Joel’s eyes followed his hand.

And landed on you.

You were standing beside your drunk friend, your brows knitted as you held a water bottle to her lips, gently brushing hair back from her face. Still impossibly beautiful. Still glowing in a way that had nothing to do with the lighting or the beer or the gloss on your lips.

And Tommy was pointing at you.

Joel didn’t move. Couldn’t.

“D’you see her?” Tommy said. “Little tank top, high ponytail—God, man, she’s—fuck. She smiled at me and I swear I felt it in my spine. I’m gonna find her after her friend’s chill. She said she’d come back.”

Joel’s mouth opened. Then closed.

Because what the hell was he supposed to say?

Joel nodded once, slowly. “Yeah. I see her.”

Tommy clapped his back. “She’s everything, man.”

Joel didn’t answer. Just took a long drink of his beer.

And said nothing at all.

Present Day

You were silent as you climbed into Joel’s truck, his hand reaching for yours—rough, steady, warm—lifting you carefully onto the bench seat with your full belly.

Tears still clung to your lashes, blurring the view out the passenger window as you looked up at the house. At the window just above the garage. The one that led into the nursery.

The one where it all fell apart.

Your heart ached—not just from the fight, but from the truth in it. The worst part was… you understood Tommy. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was right. Maybe not about everything, but enough. Enough to leave a sting that wouldn’t fade anytime soon.

But that man inside the house—yelling, jealous, eyes full of something that looked too much like hate—he didn’t feel like the Tommy you knew. The man you married filled the house with music and laughter, who sang off-key in the shower and danced you around the living room with a beer in one hand and your waist in the other. He made late-night grilled cheese and kissed you with his whole heart, like he couldn’t believe you were real. He was your best friend. The one who stayed up with you talking nonsense into the middle of the night. The one who brought you coffee just the way you liked it. The one who made everything feel like the two of you were in it together—always.

He used to listen. Really listen. He was open. Curious. Soft where you needed softness and strong where you didn’t even realize you needed strength.

Where had that man gone?

Where had you gone?

“He just needs some time,” Joel said softly as if hearing your thoughts as he started the truck. It rumbled to life, and all you could do was bluntly nod, your throat too tight. 

“Thanks–” you choked out, “For…I don’t know.” You shook your head. What the hell were you thanking him for? Sticking up for you to your own husband? Getting you out of your own house? Sitting beside you like the only steady thing left while everything else went to hell?

Maybe just… being here.

Joel didn’t answer. He just kept driving, one hand on the wheel, the other resting palm-down on the bench between you. Like if you needed it, his hand, his steadiness, his silence…it would be there.

You sat in it—the hum of the engine, the wind coming through the windows, the muffled ache in your chest—while familiar streets gave way to unfamiliar ones. Houses changed. Yards grew wider. You passed the sign for Joel’s neighborhood, only a few miles away, but it felt like crossing a border into a different world.

“Do you remember,” Joel said, breaking the silence, “when we first met?”

You blinked, looked over at him, trying to come back to the present. “Huh?”

He didn’t look at you. Just kept his eyes on the road, but his voice was warm and comforting. That southern drawl like velvet. “You were in school. Tommy and I got dragged to some party by a buddy of ours.”

“Oh… right.” You blinked through the cobwebs of the memory. “Back when I thought I was cool for liking even grosser beer.”

Joel let out a quiet laugh at that. Just a puff of air through his nose, but it softened the edges of the truck’s cab.

“Yeah.” he sighed heavily, hand coming up to his chin as he leaned against his side door.

“What about it?”

He shook his head a little, jaw working, his fingers regripping the wheel. The leather creaked.

“Just funny how it all…” He trailed off. Exhaled. “I don’t know. Nevermind”

You studied him, brow furrowing. “What were you gonna say?”

At the next red light, he finally looked over.

His eyes met yours across the bench seat—deep, quiet, and full of something raw. Something you had been seeing more of since whatever this was had started. 

A part of Joel no one else ever saw.

Your heart kicked at the look on his face. Like he was standing on a ledge and just now realizing how far the drop really was.

“It’s just…” Joel’s voice dropped. “I knew you first.”

You blinked, your brow furrowing deeper. “Tommy introduced us that night.”

Joel shook his head, eyes back on the road now, but there was a small smile twitching at his lips. “Nah, if I remember right, you bummed my only cigarette off me on the back porch. Spent ten minutes tryna figure me out like some sort of shrink.”

You let out a small, breathy laugh, the corner of your mouth lifting. You didn’t fully remember it, not clearly—but it felt right.

“Sounds like me, I guess.”

Joel’s fingers drummed once against the wheel, then stilled. “I just… I wonder sometimes.”

“Wonder what?”

The light turned green.

He didn’t answer right away. Just stepped on the gas. The truck lurched forward.

The golden hour light slanted across his face, catching the hard lines of his profile, the scar at his temple, the way his jaw twitched like he was biting down on something he’d been holding back for years.

“I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d had the guts to tell my brother I saw you first.”

You didn’t say anything.

There wasn’t anything to say.

The cab filled with silence. The kind that settled in your chest and turned tides in your stomach. The kind that said more than words ever could.

Outside the window, the trees blurred past in a haze of dying light.

And neither of you reached to turn on the radio.

When the truck pulled into the driveway, the sky was streaked in burnt orange and lavender, the last light stretching long across the hood. Joel was quick to hop out, moving around to your side before the engine had fully ticked quiet. He opened your door and held out his hand without a word.

You took it gingerly, wincing as your body shifted with effort. Six months in, everything took a little more.

He helped you down slow, steady, his hand catching at the crook of your elbow before it slid down to the small of your back as you found your footing. He kept it there as you walked toward the house—not holding you up, not rushing. Just… there.

When you stepped inside, you blinked at the silence.

“No Sarah?”

“She’s studyin’ at her friend’s. They got their exams comin’ up now,” he said, pulling the front door shut behind you. He toed off his boots near the mat, and you followed suit, groaning as you kicked yours off. Your feet were beyond swollen.

“Can we order a pizza or something? I’m dying,” you muttered, pressing a hand into the small of your back and arching until it cracked. The relief was minimal, but it was something.

Joel glanced over. His eyes skimmed your face, down to your belly, then back again. “Why don’t you sit down,” he said, already heading toward the kitchen. “I’ll make somethin’. It’ll be quick.”

You hovered near the table, one hand resting on the slope of your belly. The house was quiet. You hesitated, unsure.

“I don’t mind,” he added. “Just relax a minute.”

You wandered to the table and eased down into a chair, the weight of the day heavier now that you weren’t pretending it wasn’t. The silence of the house pressed in at the edges. You stared at the wood grain in the table. Breathed in the faint scent of garlic still lingering in the air from whatever he was fixing up. It all felt… normal. Which made it worse.

Joel moved around the kitchen, pulling things from the fridge. A box of pasta. A jar of sauce. His movements were easy, practiced.

You didn’t speak until he was chopping something—onions maybe, the soft rhythmic knock of the knife filling the space.

“I don’t know what happened,” you said quietly.

He glanced up.

You weren’t even sure where the words had come from, but they were out now.

“Things were okay. Good, even. Me and Tommy. Me and you. It felt like we were getting into a rhythm. But the last few weeks…”

Joel didn’t say anything. He just kept chopping. Listening.

You pressed your hand over your belly. “Feels like the closer we get, the more he pulls away. Like he’s finally seeing what this is gonna look like and—” Your voice cracked. You swallowed. “—and I don’t think he likes it.”

Joel set the knife down, wiped his hands on a towel. He didn’t push. Just looked at you across the counter.

“You don’t have to figure it all out tonight,” he said. “You can stay here, if you want. I’m not sure when Sarah’s gettin’ home, but… we can watch a movie or somethin’. Just… take your mind off it.”

You nodded slowly, eyes burning. “I’m just really tired, honestly.”

He understood, turning back to his cooking on the stove. You sat there, eyes unfocused, listening to the low simmer of the sauce, the clink of dishes, the soft scrape of silverware being laid out. So domestic and easy.

Before long, dinner was ready. Nothing fancy—just pasta with a little garlic, some toasted bread, and water poured into mismatched glasses.

You sat across from each other at the table, the kitchen bathed in that soft in-between light, not quite night yet.

The food was warm. The silence was easy. Neither of you said much, and that was fine. Joel wasn’t the type to fill quiet just to hear himself talk, and you didn’t have the energy to pretend you were okay. So you ate. Slowly. Each bite keeping you tethered to reality a little more.

He looked up once, just briefly, like he was checking on you without making a thing of it. You caught it but didn’t say anything. Just kept eating, your hand resting against the curve of your stomach.

By the time your plate was mostly cleared, the exhaustion was creeping back in full force—behind your eyes, in your limbs, settling deep.

Joel stood and grabbed your empty dish without a word. Washed it. Dried it. Set it aside.

Then he turned to you, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Come on. Let’s get you upstairs.”

You didn’t argue. You just stood, slowly, your joints stiff from sitting too long. His hand found your back again, that same steady pressure, guiding you through the quiet house like it was muscle memory.

When you reached the bedroom, you sat on the edge of his bed, the familiar scent of his cologne and detergent wrapping around you like a weighted blanket. Usually, it stirred something electric in your blood—lit a fuse that burned hot and fast. But tonight, it was grounding. Comforting. A balm for something deeper.

Joel gave you the softest smile, the kind he rarely let anyone see, then knelt in front of you and began to pull your socks off—slow, careful. His hands were warm, calloused in all the familiar ways, but his touch was gentler than usual. Reverent, even. He slid your pants down next, then your shirt, peeling each layer away without rush or heat.

This wasn’t the same kind of hunger he’d shown you before—wasn’t the fierce, consuming need that usually lived in the space between these sheets. This was something else. Something quieter. Worship without fire.

He stepped away for a moment, grabbed one of his sleep shirts from the dresser. You raised your arms, and he pulled it over your head with care, letting it fall over your bump and thighs. It smelled like him. Made you feel like you were wrapped in him.

Then he started to undress—slow and casual, unbothered by your gaze—and turned toward the bathroom as he unbuttoned his jeans.

“I’m gonna shower,” he said softly, voice low and rasped from the day as he shucked off the last of his clothing. “You go on and get comfortable.”

You nodded, watching him go.

And God, that view.

Joel’s bare back was broad, solid, built like it belonged to another time—hewn from marble and made to be seen on Greek statues of Achilles or Aries. You couldn’t help but stare at his tight, perky ass that always looked like it was made just for your hands.

He was so thoroughly masculine. So undeniably made from earth and sweat and quiet strength, it made something low in you ache—blood warming, mouth going dry. Even now. Even after the day you’d had.

That pull toward him never let up these days. Not really. It just shifted, simmered, and waited.

After a moment of sitting in patient silence, you eased yourself into the bed, shifting slowly beneath the sheets until the pressure on your hips and back lightened. You reached for the remote and turned Joel’s TV on low—just enough sound to fill the quiet without pulling you in. A dull hum. Something to keep the thoughts from circling too tight.

You pulled your phone out, thumb hovering before you typed the message. A small knot formed in your stomach, tight and uneasy.

I love you. I still want this with you. Can we talk in the morning?

You stared at it for a second longer than you should’ve. Then you hit send.

With a quiet sigh, you turned the phone face-down on the nightstand. You weren’t sure if you expected a reply. You weren’t even sure if you wanted one. But he deserved to know where you were, even if probably already assumed. You didn’t want him thinking you’d just given up or disappeared.

The door to the bathroom opened a few minutes later, a wave of steam curling into the bedroom as Joel stepped out, toweling off his hair. A dark towel hung low on his hips, drops of water trailing down his chest, catching in the lines of muscle carved from years of labor.

He moved toward his dresser, rifling through a drawer for something clean to sleep in.

You shifted onto your side, the tension in your belly easing with the change in position. One arm tucked beneath your bump, the other bent under your head. You watched him move, quiet and unbothered by your gaze.

“Enjoyin’ the view?” he asked, not even looking up, his voice thick with amusement.

You heard the smile in his voice before you saw it, that boyish grin flicking over his shoulder as he turned toward you.

His eyes caught yours from across the room. Your smile mirrored his.

“Definitely,” you said, voice soft but sure.

Joel chuckled under his breath, the sound low and rough as he pulled a clean shirt over his head and stepped into a pair of loose flannel sleep shorts. He didn’t rush—never did—but there was something different in the way he moved now. Something quieter, like the air between you had thickened just a little.

He turned off the bathroom light and crossed the room, climbing into bed behind you without a word. The mattress dipped under his weight, and then his arm was sliding around your waist, pulling you gently against him.

His chest pressed to your back, one of his legs curling around yours. His body was warm from the shower, and the scent of soap clung to his skin—clean and comforting, with that lingering hint of spice that was just him.

You exhaled slowly, letting yourself sink into the feeling. Into him.

Joel’s hand rested low on your belly for a beat, thumb brushing absent circles against the soft cotton of his shirt stretched over it. It felt instinctual, protective. Like his body had already memorized the shape of yours, the places that needed soothing.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, lips close to your ear.

You nodded, not trusting your voice just yet. “Yeah.” you said, swallowing dryly, “Just… nice to not be alone.”

He hummed in agreement, nuzzling the back of your neck gently. “You’re not,” he said. “Not tonight.”

His hand slipped up beneath the hem of his shirt you were wearing, fingers grazing your bare skin—light, curious, like he was just reminding himself of the feel of you. That he was still allowed to touch you like this.

You shifted slightly, giving him room. The smallest invitation.

Then—he stilled.

You felt it too. A soft nudge from inside, low and to the left. The baby moved again, a firm little kick right against Joel’s palm.

His breath caught. He didn’t pull away.

“Was that…?” he asked, voice low and rough, like he couldn’t believe it.

You smiled into the pillow. “Yeah. Think he’s saying hi.”

Joel didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stayed there, hand wide over your belly, chest pressed to your back. You felt him swallow, the rise and fall of his breath slowing as he processed it—really felt it.

“That’s…” he exhaled, the sound brushing the back of your neck. “Wow. He’s strong.”

“Tell me about it,” you murmured with a soft groan, shifting your hips to ease the pressure. Then your hand reached back, finding his cheek, fingers curling gently as you turned your head to look at him. “Those Miller genes must make tough boys.”

Joel gave a quiet huff of a smile, but his eyes stayed on your belly. On his hand, still moving slow under your shirt, like he was memorizing every curve.

“I wouldn’t… this wouldn’t be real without you,” you said quietly, your thumb brushing his jaw. “No matter how messy it gets. You’re part of this. He’s here because of you.”

His gaze flicked to yours then—steady, searching, something unreadable in it. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t pull away either. His fingers spread wider over your belly, grounding himself in the feel of it. Of you. Of him. The little life shifting beneath his hand.

Then he leaned in.

His lips met yours, slow and sure. The brush of his beard tickled your chin, your lips, your shoulder as he breathed you in. Your mouths molded together easily, unhurried, familiar.

The hand on your belly shifted—sliding lower, then wrapping around your hips to pull you closer into him. His body curved around yours, heat pressing into your back, chest to spine, hips tucked tight flush against yours. You could feel him against you as the moment turned heated, solid and wanting beneath his pants.

Still, he kissed you like he had all the time in the world.

Your fingers curled behind his neck, pulling him closer as your tongue brushed his. A soft, low sound slipped from his throat, almost like a whimper.

He kissed you more and more, each second growing a little needier. His hand slid further beneath the hem of the shirt you wore—his shirt—palm grazing your stomach, your ribs, until his fingers found the soft underside of your breast. He cupped you gently, thumb stroking over the sensitive skin, slow circles that made your breath stutter.

“You tell me to stop, I’ll stop,” he murmured against your mouth, but his hands stayed steady and gentle against your soft skin.

Your breath caught, but not from surprise. It was the way he said it—low, honest, a little desperate under all that restraint.

“I don’t want you to,” you whispered back.

That was all he needed. He groaned softly, deep in his chest, and kissed you again as you arched into him, pressing your chest against his palm, the ache blooming fast and low inside you. His touch grew firmer, more certain, squeezing and caressing, dragging another soft gasp from your lips.

Joel shifted, rolling his hips against you slowly, deliberately. You felt him thick and hard through his shorts, grinding into the curve of your ass with a low exhale.

“You look so pretty like this,” he murmured against your skin, voice thick with heat. His mouth trailed down the side of your face, beard scraping your cheek, your jaw, your neck as he kissed you slowly. “Belly all big and swollen with our baby, like it was always supposed to be this way.”

You moaned softly, your breath catching as your hips rocked back to meet him, chasing the friction. His hand slid from your breast down to your belly, splaying wide as he held you there, possessive and tender all at once. You whimpered, the heat between your legs only growing as he ground into you again, deeper now, his cock rubbing right against your soaked core through your panties and his shorts. The friction was maddening, so close, but not enough.

Joel groaned, voice breaking as he rutted against you. “You feel that? How bad I want you? How much I need you?”

His hand drifted down, slow and greedy, rubbing his calloused fingers over your covered mound. Then he pushed the fabric aside, dipping into your folds—slick and aching—and swore under his breath.

“Christ,” he muttered, thick with awe. “You’re soaked, honey. Already drippin’ for me.” His lips brushed your ear. “Already knocked up with my baby, and you still need more, huh?”

“Yes, Joel—please,” you gasped, your voice breaking. You lifted your knee, spreading your legs wider for him, offering everything.

“I know, darlin’,” he rasped, fingers gathering more of your slick, moving in slow, delicious circles around your clit. “Gonna make you come so many times before I even get my cock in you.”

You cried out softly as two of his thick fingers pushed inside with no hesitation, just the perfect stretch as he filled you. Your head dropped back against his shoulder, mouth falling open as pleasure bloomed bright and hot beneath your skin.

His lips grazed your neck, then your shoulder, the scruff of his beard scraping gently as his tongue licked a slow line over your pulse. He growled into your skin, low and deep, like he wanted to sink his teeth into you.

“That’s it,” he murmured, fingers curling deep as you pulsed around them. “You feel that? That’s me takin’ care of you. My girl.”

“So—so good, Joel,” you moaned, hips rolling to meet each thrust of his fingers. “Please. More.”

He hummed behind you, the sound dark and indulgent. He pulled his fingers out, slick and shining, and brought them up to circle your swollen clit, slow and firm.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “Completely fucked out and I haven’t even touched you properly yet. You love this, don’t you? Show me how much you need this.”

Your only answer was a moan, ragged and high as your body arched for him, chasing every stroke like it was oxygen. Joel kissed your neck again, then your jaw, voice rough and trembling. His fingers didn’t let up the slow, steady circles over your clit, so firm and perfect. His other hand had slid beneath your body, wrapping and anchoring you against him.

The pleasure climbed fast, stealing your breath, your thoughts. Your hips rolled helplessly, grinding into his hand, chasing that friction, that pressure, desperate to crest at the edge.

Your back arched against him, and your head tilted, lips parting on a ragged moan, “Joel—oh god—”

Your orgasm hit sharp and sudden. Your body seized, fluttering around nothing, thighs clenching tight as his fingers kept moving, easing you through it. He didn’t stop. Not when your hips jerked, not when your breath stuttered into sobs. Not even when your legs started to shake.

“C’mon, sweet girl,” he growled against you, “Again. Know you can do it.” 

His mouth was everywhere as he said it—your neck, your shoulder, your cheek—kissing you with a reverence that bordered on ruinous.

You barely had a moment to breathe before his fingers dipped back inside you. Two again, deep and slow, curling just right, the heel of his palm offering friction against your aching and sensitive clit. Your body responded instantly to him, your back curling further into him.

You whimpered, hand fisting in the sheets. He curled his fingers again, thick and warm as they pushed against the spot inside you that made your eyes roll back.  The second wave crept up slower, thicker, your limbs going soft and heavy even as your core tightened like a coil wound to the point of snapping.

You moaned, louder this time, body trembling in his arms.

“Joel—Joel, I—”

“I know, sweet girl,” he rasped, his mouth brushing your ear, fingers still working you with unrelenting care. “Can feel your pussy grippin’ my fingers. Be a good girl now and give me another.”

Your breath caught on a sob as your body shattered again—this one deeper, longer, stealing the last of your strength. You came with a choked cry, thighs trembling, hips bucking against his hand. Your muscles clung to his fingers like they were the only thing tethering you to the world, your body instinctively holding onto him, knowing he was the one who did this to you.

Joel held you through it. His palm stayed firm and grounding over your belly while the other hand slowed, easing you down from the high. His fingers remained inside, stroking you with reverence as your body twitched and shook with the aftershocks.

Then he brought his fingers up—slick and shining with your arousal—and kissed your cheek, slow and warm.

His voice dropped to a gravelly whisper at your ear, full of control and hunger.

“Open.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a honey-laced command, thick with heat and tension.

You obeyed.

Your lips parted, and his fingers slid into your mouth. The moment his knuckles brushed your lips, you closed around them, tongue flattening beneath as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked him in. The taste of yourself on his skin was heady, electric.

A low rumble of satisfaction vibrated deep in Joel’s chest.

He pulled his fingers free with a slow drag and gripped your jaw with that same hand, still wet, turning your face toward him as he leaned in and kissed you—hungry, consuming. Your hand flew to his hair, twisting in the dark hair at the base of his neck as his tongue pushed into your mouth, both of you moaning into each other like it hurt to be apart for even a second.

His body pressed tighter to yours, and you felt him—thick and heavy, and his hand moved between you, tugging your panties down your thighs, off entirely, leaving you bare for him.

One hand wrapped around the base of his cock, guiding himself to your soaked entrance. He rubbed the swollen head through your folds, slow and teasing, gathering your slick as your breath hitched.

Then he lined himself up, the broad head pushing against your opening. The stretch made you gasp, even after everything he’d already given you. You wondered for a moment if you’d ever get used to the stretch of him splitting you in two.

You reached for him instinctively, needing him closer, deeper. Joel’s hand returned to your belly, spreading wide, anchoring you again as he sank into you.

Slow. Deep. Devastating.

You moaned, the sound trembling out of you, as he filled you inch by inch—no rush, no mercy. He buried himself to the hilt with a guttural groan, your walls fluttering around him in helpless welcome.

Your eyes fluttered shut, body arching back into him, completely surrounded by him. He held still for a beat, just feeling you pulling him in deeper. You whispered his name, and he exhaled shakily against your neck.

He stayed there for a moment, fully buried, like it took everything in him not to come right then as he let you adjust. He was so thick, stretching you as your walls fluttered with every uneven breath you took. And Joel felt it—every twitch, every pulse. His hand splayed across your belly like he needed to hold onto something solid before he lost control entirely.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice torn and low. “You feel that? Feel how deep I am inside you?”

You whimpered, barely able to speak, body already fluttering around him in overstimulated waves. Your hands clutched at the sheets, at his arm, at anything you could find.

He pulled back just an inch and pushed in again, slow and heavy, dragging another desperate moan from your throat.

“Mine,” he growled, almost like he hadn’t meant to say it, but it slipped out as his cock felt you gripping him, quivering around him. His hips rolled into you again, grinding deep, making you cry out.

“You were made for this,” he rasped, kissing your neck, your shoulder, his hand gripping your breast now, fingers toying with your nipple. “For me. Made to be full of me—my cock, my cum, my baby.”

You gasped, arching into his touch, your body trembling from how completely he owned you in this moment. He thrust again—harder now, still slow but deeper, rougher. You could swear you could feel him in your stomach as he rutted into you.

You sobbed his name, overwhelmed, wrecked, clinging to him like he was your gravity.

His mouth dropped to your ear again, voice dark and shaking.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he whispered. “Can’t stop thinkin’ about it—how sweet you look like this. Belly round, tits heavy, pussy so fuckin’ wet for me I could drown in it.”

Another deep thrust. Another broken sound from your lips.

“Fuckin’ mine,” he growled, hips snapping harder now, losing rhythm in his need. “All of it. Every inch of you.”

He wrapped his arm under your belly again, lifting just enough to hold you steady, like you were something precious, fragile—his.

“I don’t care what happens tomorrow,” he said, thrusting slow and deep, burying his cock to the hilt. “Right now, you’re mine. This body’s mine. This pussy—” he grunted, grinding into you until your toes curled “—fuckin’ belongs to me.”

And you could only nod, barely breathing, gasping his name as the heat built again, faster this time, rising wild and uncontrollable between your legs. It was nearly Pavlovian how fast this man could bring your body to the edge within minutes.

Your body was already trembling again, every nerve stretched to its breaking point, and Joel felt it. He sensed it in the way your breath hitched, your thighs tensed, your walls fluttered around him. He thrusted deeper, slower, the weight of him unbearable in the best way. His hand slid between your legs, fingers circling your clit with practiced, devastating precision.

“You’re close again,” he muttered, lips at your ear. “I can feel it. Pussy’s already startin’ to milk me, like you need it. Need to come on my cock, huh, baby?”

You whimpered something incoherent, your nails digging into his arm as your hips rocked into every thrust, chasing that final wave. The pleasure was blinding, your body overstimulated but desperate. His voice. His hands. The way he filled you like nothing else ever could.

Then—barely above a whisper, like it wasn’t meant for you at all, “He could never give you this.”

Joel’s voice cracked around the words. Still deep. Still raw. But it shook.

“What I give you… how I make you feel...”

You sobbed out a moan, and that was it. Your body shattered, pleasure exploding through you so violently your legs kicked and shook, your cries muffled by the sheets. You clenched around him, tight and relentless, pulling him with you.

“Fuck—fuck, baby—” Joel groaned, losing himself, grinding deep into you as your orgasm ripped through you.

He cursed again, low and guttural, his hips jerking as he spilled into you with a strangled moan. The sound of his voice, wrecked and unguarded was enough to send another shiver down your spine.

He didn’t stop moving, not at first. Slow, instinctive rolls of his hips, keeping his cock deep inside you, like he couldn’t stand to pull away just yet.

You lay there, both of you trembling, still joined, his chest heaving against your back, his arms locked around your belly like you might disappear if he let go.

You hummed softly as he slid out of you, the loss of him making your body twitch with oversensitivity. He didn’t go far, his arms just curled tighter around you, pulling you into his chest like he couldn’t get enough of your skin. His face tucked into your neck, breathing you in like oxygen.

You closed your eyes and let him hold you, your hand resting on top of his where it lay over your belly.

“Joel?” you asked gently once your breath came back to you.

He hummed in response, tired and wrecked, lips brushing your skin.

“What did you mean earlier?”

You felt him tense—just barely. A flicker of hesitation. His breath slowed, deepened, like reality was creeping back in and neither of you could stop it.

“When?” he asked, low and cautious.

You swallowed hard, your voice quiet but certain. “You said… you wonder what would’ve happened if you told Tommy…”

I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d had the guts to tell my brother I saw you first.

You could feel the words hanging there between you, unspoken but known. 

Joel sucked in a breath and exhaled slowly before shifting, pulling away from your back and settling against the pillows. His arm draped over his eyes as he laid back, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that told you he was thinking. Too much.

You turned carefully, your body sore and boneless but needing to be near him. You laid your head on his chest, your belly pressing against his side, fitting awkwardly but close. He didn’t stop you. Just let you come to him.

His hand dropped from his eyes a moment later, resting on your back, his thumb tracing over your spine.

“I shouldn’t’ve said that,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Not tonight.”

That was it. No elaboration. No apology, either. Just Joel’s version of walking the line—saying something and unsaying it all at once.

You looked up at him, searching his face. “But…what did you mean? Did you…have you always have feelings?”

He didn’t look at you. Just stared at the ceiling, jaw working.

After a moment, his hand slid to your belly, resting there like it always did.

“I don’t know what any of it means." he said finally. “I just know it ain’t simple.”

Your throat ached, but you nodded anyway. Because it wasn’t.

Not with him. Not with Tommy. Not with this.

You laid your head back on his chest, his heartbeat steady in your ear. And neither of you said anything else.

Because maybe silence was safer than the truth.

taglist: @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @alidiggory92 @pinkylouise @izzy698 @doblasftcisco @devotedlypaleluminary @elsplayground @puduvallee @victoriaholland @legoemma @leenieweenie12 @possiblyafangirl @alitaar @mads198-9 @emmaoc10 @auteurdelabre @the-last-twin-of-krypton @lilasskicker2 @levislegislation @flowercrowns-goodvibes @starmurdock @94namkooksworld

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 5: July 2023

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of the death of a parent, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families...I think that's it?

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Text Conversation: Max Verstappen & Jos Verstappen

Max: Just a heads-up. I have a girlfriend.

Jos: …And you’re only telling me now?

Max: Yes.

Jos: How long?

Max: Four months.

Jos: Jesus, Max. Who is she?

Max: Isabelle.

Jos: Isabelle who?

Max: Isabelle Leclerc.

Jos:

Jos: LECLERC??

Max: Yes.

Jos: You’re dating Charles Leclerc’s sister?!

Max: Yes.

Jos: And you didn’t think to mention this sooner?

Max: Why would I?

Jos: Because she’s a Leclerc.

Max: And?

Jos: And that’s complicated.

Max: No, it’s really not.

Jos: Do her brothers know?

Max: No.

Jos: They’re going to lose their minds.

Max: Probably.

Jos: And you don’t care?

Max: Not really.

Jos: …You’re serious about her.

Max: I am.

Jos: Huh.

Max: That’s all you have to say?

Jos: What do you want me to say?

Max: I don’t know. I expected more yelling.

Jos: Would it change anything?

Max: No.

Jos: Exactly.

Jos: Don’t let her distract you.

Max: She’s not a distraction.

***

There was something to say about Isabelle Leclerc in her element. 

High Heels clicking against the dark wood that now covered the floor of his penthouse (Walnut, as she had explained to him once, laid in a herringbone pattern), the cream dress she wore swishing around her calves, nearly the exact same colour as was on most of the walls (Max had realised that he was colour blind by the time she had shown him five different shades of cream, told him to pick one, and he had been certain that she was playing a practical joke on him because they all looked the exact same. Who knew that there was a different between Snow White, Skimmed Milk White, Shaded White, Strong White and New White?) and telling him all about the light fixtures that were now hung in the space. 

She walked ahead of him, soft voiced, giving a quiet tour of the apartment she’s spent the last few months designing. 

Max trailed behind her, hands in his pockets, watching her more than the rooms.

She was different here.

Not in a big, obvious way—Isabelle was always composed, always graceful—but here, in the space she had built from the ground up, she walked with ease. She fit into the light like she belonged to it. And the truth was, she did.

Isabelle stopped in the living room, where the late sunlight stretched across the wooden floors, and looked around.

“All that’s left is the furniture install,” she said, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. “It’ll be livable in a week or two.”

Max nodded, but didn’t answer right away.

Isabelle turned to him, mistaking his silence for something technical. “Unless there’s anything you want to change?”

He shook his head slowly. “No. It’s perfect.”

She gave him a small, pleased smile, and turned back to the windows. That’s when he said it.

“You should move in.”

She stilled.

“Belle.”

She looked back at him. Her smile didn’t vanish, but it wavered at the edges. “Max.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” she said softly. “That’s the problem.”

He stepped closer, gentle, careful—because he knew that look on her face. It was the look she wore whenever he offered her something she wasn’t sure she was allowed to accept. 

“You made this place feel like home,” he said. “Everything in it has your fingerprints on it. You already live in it, in every way except physically.”

She didn’t answer. Just looked around again—at the walls she’d chosen, the soft gold hardware, the faint echo in the emptiness.

“I don’t want to take up too much space,” she said finally, so quiet it hurt.

Max frowned. “I want you to take up space.”

She hesitated. He knew she would. She always thought twice before stepping forward, especially when it came to being wanted. He also knew that hesitation wasn’t about him—not really. It was about every time she’d been treated like an afterthought.

So he took a step back, and pulled out his phone.

She blinked. “What are you—”

“Exhibit A,” he said, tapping open a photo and turning it toward her. “Jimmy. Sitting by the front door. Waiting for you after you left last week.”

Isabelle’s lips twitched. “That’s just because I give him treats.”

“Exhibit B,” Max continued, swiping again. “Sassy. Nesting on the blanket you left on the couch. Will not accept substitutes.”

“Max…”

“And Exhibit C,” he said, putting the phone back into his pocket and walking over to her, eyes soft but unwavering. “Me. Also useless without you.”

She bit her lip, trying to hold back a smile. “Are you emotionally blackmailing me with your cats?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “And if this doesn’t work, I will start sending photos of Sassy looking depressed. I will weaponize her pout.”

She laughed, head dropping slightly as she shook it. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m right,” he said. “And I’m not asking for something huge or scary. I just want you here. Where you already belong.”

She looked up at him, eyes glassy but smiling now.

“I’m scared,” she admitted.

“I know,” he said. “But I’ll be here. So will Jimmy. And Sassy. And we’ll all be very supportive and dramatic about it.”

She laughed, but the sound was splintering around the edges. 

“Are you sure?” Isabelle asked him, her voice shaky. 

Max reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I’m sure,” he said firmly. “But if you’re not ready, that’s okay. I just—” He exhaled, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “I just want you to know I want this. I want you.”

She stepped into his arms then, wrapping hers around his waist, burying her face in his chest. And when she whispered, “I think I want to say yes,” he smiled so wide it made his cheeks ache.

And if Jimmy and Sassy got extra treats that night when she came over?

Well. They’d earned it.

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Max asked me to move in.

Isabelle: Like. Officially. Into the penthouse. With him.

Isabelle: I said yes.

Emilie: YOU SAID YES??? YES TO WHAT??

Isabelle: Max. The penthouse. The cats. All of it.

Emilie: AAAAAAAAAAAA

Emilie: I knew it. I KNEW he was going to ask. He’s been treating you like a man who wants joint bills and matching key hooks.

Isabelle: He was so calm about it. Like he’d already pictured me there. Like it was obvious.

Emilie: Because it is obvious. You designed that penthouse and made it a love letter to your own taste. You’ve already moved in emotionally. Time to do it physically.

Emilie: So when do we pack?

Isabelle: That’s… actually why I texted. Can you come help? I need moral support.

Emilie: Say less. I’ll be there with wine. 

Isabelle: …perfect. Also, if I start backpedaling emotionally, please just throw a throw pillow at me.

Emilie: I’m bringing the heaviest one. You’re doing this, Belle. I am SO proud of you.

Isabelle: I’m scared. Like… what if I mess it up?

Emilie: You won’t. You don’t know how to be anything but steady and brilliant and thoughtful.

Emilie: And Max is completely in love with you.

Emilie: You’re building a life with someone who sees you.

Emilie: Not someone who just remembers you when they need a reservation booked.

Isabelle: That’s a little mean.

Emilie: I am your best friend. I am required to be mean on your behalf.

Emilie: Max loves you. He sees you. You get to have a gorgeous man AND a rooftop pool. This is the dream.

Emilie: Let’s pack your life, Belle. You’re going home.

***

Emilie Abadie had always believed that homes told stories.

Not just the curated kind you shared in design portfolios, or the kind Instagram filtered into perfection. The real ones. The stories that lived in cluttered drawers, forgotten shelves, and the boxes you avoided packing because they were full of things you didn’t want to explain.

Isabelle’s apartment told a quiet, thoughtful story—soft linens, deep greens and warm woods, books arranged by mood, not color. A ceramic cup collection that made no cohesive sense except to her. It was lived-in, and loved, but also… careful.

Emilie knew what careful looked like.

She’d watched Isabelle perfect the art of it for years.

Which was why it didn’t surprise her when, halfway through packing up the hallway cupboards, she found it. The collection of objects that could only be described as “well-meaning psychological warfare,” wrapped in tissue paper and reluctant affection.

Highlights included: 

A desk plaque that said Think Like a Leader.

A collection of self help books. 

A coffee mug that read Worlds Okayest Sister. 

A heavy coffee table book about golf. 

A Bluetooth speaker shaped like a race car that lit up in flashing LED colors.

A number of scented candles, all of them unburnt. All of them with the kind of sickly sweet scents that Emilie knew Isabelle would get headaches from. 

A bright red umbrella. Ferrari merchandise. 

A black pantsuit Isabelle had never worn and would never wear—tags still attached.

A Diet cookbook. Which pretty much exclusively featured recipes that involved red meat, which Isabelle never ate anyway. 

A pair of trainers in a garish neon yellow.  Two full size too big. 

It was Isabelle Leclerc’s version of a family scrapbook.

Emilie didn’t say anything at first. Just sat cross-legged on the floor and started lining them up like museum artifacts. Like evidence. And it made her blood boil.

“You kept all of them,” Emilie finally said, not bothering to mask her disgust.

Isabelle, predictably, didn’t flinch. Just looked over from where she was folding dish towels and sighed. “Please don’t start.”

Emilie snorted. “I’m not starting. I’m documenting.”

Isabelle walked over and perched on the armrest of the couch, staring at the collection like someone facing down a polite ghost.

“They’re not trying to hurt me,” she said, because of course she did.

“They’re not trying to see you either,” Emilie finally replied.

God, they had trained her to make excuses for them so well. 

And that was the thing about Isabelle.

Isabelle defended them. Always. Even when they ignored her. Even when they handed her a gift that said, in a thousand unspoken ways, we don’t know who you are, so here’s who we’d rather you be.

Emilie loved Isabelle for her grace. Respected her for her patience.

But sometimes she wanted to scream on her behalf.

Because Isabelle Leclerc was brilliant. Quietly, devastatingly brilliant.

She could sketch out a space and see a life inside it before anyone else could.

She knew how to listen, how to hold space, how to fill a room without taking it over.

And yet, her family treated her like the placeholder sibling.

The support system.

The “how lucky we are to have you manage our chaos” afterthought.

Emilie wanted to shake her sometimes. 

“You’re allowed to admit it hurts,” she said, softer than she meant to.

Isabelle just hummed noncomittingly.

Emilie had watched this play out for years: birthdays where Isabelle got gifts that felt like HR perks, dinners where she was interrupted or talked over, family holidays where she played event planner and emotional buffer and never, not once, was asked what she wanted for herself.

And then Max Verstappen had shown up.

At first, Emilie had been skeptical. Who wouldn’t be? He was Max—F1 World Champion, known for being blunt to the point of rudeness.

But then… she saw the way Isabelle softened around him.

Or no—that wasn’t it.

Isabelle didn’t soften with Max. She just… relaxed.

Like for the first time, she didn’t feel the need to justify her existence. Max didn’t question her decisions, didn’t treat her like she was delicate or invisible. He watched her. Not with confusion, but with certainty. Like he already knew she was extraordinary.

And when he asked her to move in, Emilie saw the panic. But underneath it? The wonder.

The possibility of being seen. Fully. Without apology.

So as Emilie watched her best friend now—holding that terrible mug with a rueful smile, defending the people who had handed her metaphorical shrink-wrap year after year—she didn’t say the things she wanted to.

She didn’t say, They don’t deserve you.

She didn’t say, They never tried hard enough.

She didn’t even say, You don’t have to keep forgiving them just because it’s easier than facing the truth.

Instead, she handed Isabelle a roll of bubble wrap and said, “I’m glad you’re moving.”

Isabelle didn’t answer, just smiled faintly and kept folding.

But Emilie meant it. Not just because the apartment was too small for her, or too carefully arranged around other people’s expectations—but because Max had asked her to move in.

And Max—despite being the chaos of F1 incarnate—saw her.

He wasn’t perfect—God, no—but he made space for her. Real space.

And for someone like Isabelle, who had spent her whole life tucking herself into corners… that mattered.

Max didn’t just love her.

He made her feel unchallenged in her existence. Like it was safe to take up room. To bring her books and her silly teacups and her weird throw pillows and be.

Emilie looked around the apartment one last time. The walls felt like they were exhaling. Letting go.

And when Isabelle asked, softly, “Do you think I’ll miss it?”, Emilie didn’t hesitate.

“No,” she said. “You’ll be too busy building something better.”

With someone better.

And that made all the difference.

***

Isabelle didn’t expect it to feel like this.

The shopping trip was meant to be practical.

They had all the essentials, really—Max’s penthouse was fully furnished, a curated blend of sleek lines and soft warmth, every finish and fixture carefully chosen. By her. For him.

And now… for them.

Because Max had asked her to move in. And she’d said yes.

And suddenly, the things she used to walk past in shops—the towels, the sheets, the coffee mugs—meant something entirely different.

They weren’t just purchases.

They were choices.

Isabelle ran her fingers over the display of Egyptian cotton sheets, crisp and cloud-white, then turned to a soft beige set that made her think of sleepy mornings and Max’s warm skin under her fingertips. She held up the tag, inspected the thread count, and caught herself smiling.

It felt a little silly, how giddy she was. How young she felt. Like a teenager dreaming of her first apartment. But this was different. This wasn’t fantasy.

This was real.

She was going to live with him. Not just crash on weekends, not just brush her teeth beside his before tiptoeing out the next morning.

She would be there when he got home.

She would be there when he left.

She would be home.

That thought made her pause.

The nerves came creeping in—quiet but insistent.

Would she take up too much space? Would she somehow get in the way? What if she over-decorated, what if she made it feel less like his place?

What if she loved it more than she was allowed to?

She picked up towels next—thick ones, luxurious ones. One set in cream, one in a dusky grey-blue. Neutral. Calming. Shared.

Would Max care?

Probably not. He’d happily dry off with whatever was closest.

But Isabelle cared.

Because this wasn’t just shopping.

This was settling.

Belonging.

She carried the towels and duvet set to the counter and added a couple of throw pillows she hadn’t planned to buy, and still did, before she went to her favourite antique store. 

The store smelled like old books, wood polish, and dried lavender. Isabelle had always loved it—the quiet hush of it, the way everything creaked slightly underfoot, how time seemed to fold in around the edges. Nothing here rushed. Nothing here demanded.

Which was why she came.

When she needed to think.

When she needed to feel like she was choosing something entirely her own.

The console table caught her eye almost immediately. Oak, mid-century, solid but delicate somehow—slim legs, warm finish, brass drawer pulls that looked like little leaves. It wasn’t flashy, but it was hers. In the way certain pieces just are.

She stood in front of it for a while, her hand brushing over the edge.

They had space for it. Max had said she could pick what she wanted. He meant it. He’d said things like it’s your home too and whatever makes it feel like us, but Isabelle still felt the pull of hesitation in her chest. A quiet anxiety that came not from Max—but from all the years of not quite being allowed to take up space.

But she wanted this one.

This table. This little symbol of her taste, her joy, her voice.

She turned to the shopkeeper. “I’ll take it.”

The words were quiet, but steady.

A few minutes later, she stood at the counter, scribbling her name on the delivery slip. The butterflies were still there—flapping somewhere between her ribs—but so was something else. Something lighter.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: So hypothetically… if someone were to have bought a few things for the apartment while you were gone… would that be a problem?

Max: Define “a few things.”

Isabelle: …Towels. Throw pillows. A vintage console table I may have emotionally imprinted on.

Max: Was it whispering to you in the store?

Isabelle: It was practically begging to live in our hallway.

Max: Then obviously you had no choice.

Isabelle: Exactly. Also, I got a really pretty ceramic tray for the kitchen island. You know, for keys. Or snacks. 

Isabelle: You’ll love it. It’s very “Max doesn’t know what it’s for but agrees it looks nice.”

Max: My favorite kind of décor. You’re making this apartment ours. I love it.

Isabelle: You can thank me by letting me put  the throw pillows I just found on the couch. 

Max: Are the throw pillows neutral or secretly pink?

Isabelle: Neutral… ish. There’s texture. You’ll survive. I debated between “soft beige” and “almond stone.” I chose “soft beige”.

Max: That’s not even a real difference.

Isabelle: Says the man who can feel the difference between tire compounds while going 300 km/h.

Max:  Touché.

Max: Buy anything you want. Cover the couch in throw pillows. I miss you and imagining you decorating makes it feel closer to coming home.

Isabelle: That was dangerously sweet.

Max: I’m in a hotel room with bad lighting and no you. I’m weak.

Isabelle: I’ll save you a spot on the couch. And possibly hide the pillows until you’ve emotionally adjusted.

Max: Deal. Now send me a photo of that tray. I need to know what I’ve agreed to.

***

Instagram Story – @/isabelleleclerc

Instagram Post – @/isabelleleclerc

Comments: 

@f1fashionista93: where is this shop?? asking for a friend (the friend is me)

↳ @isabelleleclerc: It’s called Vintage Collection, at the Carré d’Or!

@emilie_abadie: You’re so lucky I wasn’t with you or that lion would be in my living room.

↳ @isabelleleclerc You would’ve named him and given him a tragic backstory. ↳ @emilie_abadie And he would’ve deserved it.

@paddockprincess: how is this not a painting???

@victoriaverstappen: “Something older than everyone in the room” is my new golden rule—thank you for this! ❤️

↳ @isabelleleclerc: It’s such a good trick!

@/F1GossipQueen: You’ve inspired me to go antiquing this weekend. Hoping to find my own weird lion.

***

Max wasn’t sure when it hit him exactly—somewhere between unrolling a rug Isabelle had ordered and setting it gently under the coffee table, or watching her rearrange the spice drawer for the third time like she was memorizing her own existence.

She was here. She had moved in. But somehow… she hadn’t arrived yet.

He watched from the doorway as she unpacked a box labeled “Books + misc. (bedside stuff?)” in her neat handwriting. Her movements were precise. Careful. Like every item she placed might be quietly retracted if it took up too much space.

It wasn’t the way she moved in his life. With him, she was steady. Present. Laughing softly in the kitchen or curled up with Jimmy or Sassy, or leaning into his touch like she belonged there—which, to him, she did.

But this… this looked like someone trying not to leave a mark.

“Hey,” Max said softly, leaning in the doorway.

Isabelle glanced up. “Sorry. I’m taking over the dresser—if you want the top drawer back—”

“I don’t,” he said, crossing the room. “I want you to take all the drawers. And the shelves. And the bathroom counter.”

She looked at him warily, like she didn’t quite believe it.

Max reached for her hand. “You’re not a guest, Belle. You live here. I want to see your things around the place.”

Isabelle hesitated, fingers curling slightly in his. “I just… I’ve never had space before. Not really. And I don’t want to—”

“Take up too much room,” he finished for her. Gently.

She nodded, eyes down.

Max cupped her cheek, making her look up. “Take up all the room. Please. I’ve seen this place without you in it. It’s beautiful and cold.”

She huffed a soft laugh, like it surprised her. “I just didn’t want to… clutter it.”

“You’re not clutter,” he said firmly. “You’re the heart of it.”

He tugged her into his chest, arms wrapping around her tightly, and pressed a kiss to her hair.

“I want to trip over your shoes in the hallway,” he murmured. “I want your throw blankets on every surface. I want the picture of Blanche in the living room and that stuffed bunny from your childhood sitting next to my championship trophies.”

She buried her face in his chest, breathing in deeply. “You’re sure?”

“I’m certain,” Max whispered. “Make it yours. Make it ours.”

There was a long silence—warm, safe.

Then Isabelle pulled back slightly and smiled, small but real.

“Okay,” she said softly.

And just like that, the penthouse began to feel like home.

***

Isabelle hadn’t meant to hide it.

The roll-up keyboard wasn’t a secret. It was just… something small. Something she kept. Tucked away behind art books and a folded throw blanket. She’d placed it there quietly, the way she placed most of her things in this space—carefully. As if she were still trying to make sure she belonged.

So when she heard him call from the living room—“You didn’t tell me you had this”—her stomach fluttered.

Isabelle padded out of the bedroom, barefoot, hair still damp from the shower, the sleeves of Max’s hoodie falling over her hands. He was crouched near the bookshelf, curiosity written across his face as he unzipped the worn canvas pouch she hadn’t touched in months.

The roll up keyboard.  That sad little silicone thing she’d used in university apartments and rental flats, when the idea of owning a real piano had felt laughable.

“Oh,” she said, voice faintly embarrassed. “Right. That thing.”

Max looked up at her, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth. “You actually play on this?”

“I did,” she admitted, sinking onto the rug beside him. Her legs folded under her easily, like muscle memory. “When there wasn’t room for anything else.”

There was a time when she’d pulled that keyboard out just to feel normal for five minutes. Between assignments, between shifts, between everyone forgetting she existed.

“You’re full of surprises,” Max murmured, watching her fingers hover above the keys, not quite touching them.

Isabelle shrugged, soft. “Not really. We had a piano growing up. At the country house.”

He glanced at her. “Do you write music too? Like Charles?”

She blinked, surprised that Max knew that…but then she remembered that her brother had actually released some of his compositions. Of course, Max would know.  “Do you?” Max asked again, gentler this time. Not pushing—inviting.

She shook her head. “No. I was never interested in writing anything new. I liked learning. Things people said were difficult. Pieces with layers. There’s something comforting about playing something that already exists. Like translating someone else’s thoughts.” Her voice dropped slightly. “It felt less scary than putting mine out there.”

Max watched her like he always did—closely, quietly, like he knew what she wasn’t saying.

“So you were more of a storyteller than a composer.”

She blinked. That was… accurate.

“It felt like less pressure,” she said. “I didn’t have to be brilliant. I just had to be present.”

And that, she thought, was the kind of safety she rarely felt in her family. But somehow, she found it here. In this penthouse she helped design. In this quiet space with the man who saw her entirely.

Max turned to glance at the empty corner by the window, where soft light spilled from the sconces she’d chosen herself. “We should get you a real piano.”

She looked at him quickly. “Max…”

He didn’t flinch. “I’m serious. You shouldn’t have to unroll your music out of a drawer. Not here. Not anymore.”

Her throat tightened. Not just at the gesture, but at what it meant. What he understood without her having to explain it.

“I don’t even know if I’d still be good,” she said quietly.

“I don’t care,” Max replied. “I just want to hear you play.”

She leaned in and kissed him—slow, grateful, still in disbelief that someone wanted this much of her. When she pulled away, her voice was soft and full of warmth.

“What kind?”

“You pick,” he said simply. “I’ll just be the guy who listens.”

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: Serious question: Am I allowed to touch your trophies?

Max: …What?

Isabelle: Your F1 trophies. The actual ones.  Like, are they sacred objects or can I move them?

Max: I’m sorry… what?

Isabelle: I want to move them into the built-in display we had made. The one with the custom lighting and matte black shelves you pretended not to care about but totally loved.

Max: I do love that wall.

Isabelle: It’s ready. And your trophies are going in. But I needed to check if you’re one of those people who’ll panic if I breathe too close to the 2021 Abu Dhabi trophy.

Max: What?? No. They’re trophies, not cursed artefacts.

Isabelle: You say that like it’s obvious.

Max: Why would it not be obvious??

Isabelle: Because Charles once lost his mind when I breathed too close to his karting trophies. Like—actual panic. Told me to “never touch the silver one from 2012,” because apparently my mortal fingerprints could destroy the legacy.

Isabelle: So I’m checking. Do I need gloves? Tongs? An FIA certification? Or can I just move them like a normal person?

Max: ...Your brother is completely insane. 

Isabelle: So can I move your trophies? Dust them? Put them in the light-up cabinet I designed with my whole heart?

Max: You could build a pyramid out of them and I’d say thank you. They’re metal, not ancient relics. You don’t need ceremonial gloves.

Isabelle: Okay good. Because the lighting is chef’s kiss. I even have little engraved name plates.

Max: Touch whatever you want. Including me, when I get home.

Isabelle: Noted. Trophies first. You second.

Max: I’ll take it.

Max: Send me a photo when it’s done?  I kind of love that you’re doing this. Feels like the trophies finally have a home too.

Isabelle: I’ll send you a whole slideshow. With dramatic lighting.

***

The flight back had been mostly quiet.

Well—quiet-ish. If you didn’t count the eighty-four times Lando had apologized for breaking Max’s trophy, or the part where he genuinely offered to ride in the luggage compartment as penance.

Now they were back in Monaco. The sun was doing that rich golden thing it did right before it sank into the sea, and Lando was trying very hard not to think about how he’d destroyed a priceless piece of Verstappen history.

Max had just unlocked the front door of his brand-new penthouse—the penthouse, the one Lando hadn’t seen yet—and turned back with a smirk.

“Come in,” Max said. “You can personally witness the replacement trophy making it home safely. Might help your guilt complex.”

Lando followed him in, dragging his emotional damage behind him like a suitcase. “Mate, I broke your winning trophy. They handed it to you and I just—smash. Right there on the podium.”

“Honestly, that thing fell apart like IKEA furniture,” Max said over his shoulder, already tossing his keys into a surprisingly stylish bowl. “That’s what they get for making a teapot the trophy.”

Lando barely heard him. His brain had short-circuited the moment he stepped into the apartment.

It was… insane.

Vaulted ceilings. Curved walls. Warm lighting that didn’t feel clinical or rich-guy sterile. It didn’t scream money, it whispered it, in like, six languages. And the view—the view—was like something out of a dream. Monaco glittered below them, golden and lazy, like it had been placed there just for Max.

Lando looked around the massive open space—sleek kitchen, moody wood floors, an actual staircase—and had to bite back a seriously?!

It looked like Max Verstappen lived in a Pinterest board for emotionally stable billionaires.

He flopped dramatically onto Max’s disturbingly soft couch. “Do you know how many people sent me the slow-mo of that moment? Like I wanted to be immortalized as the idiot who destroyed the winner’s trophy.”

Max snorted from the kitchen. “Gods, you’re worse than my girlfriend.”

Lando blinked. “Wait, what?”

Max poured two glasses of water like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb. “Belle used to be terrified of touching my trophies. Wouldn’t even go near them. Her brother’s obsessed with his, told her once that she could ‘smudge the history’ by getting fingerprints on them.”

Lando stared. “Your what?”

Max, with the calm of a man not fully aware of the chaos he was about to cause, strolled past him. “My girlfriend.”

Lando’s entire brain short-circuited. "SINCE WHEN DO YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?"

Max shrugged. “About… four months?”

“FOUR MONTHS?” Lando shrieked, sitting up straight. “And I’m just now finding out?”

Max raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you needed to know.”

“I’m your friend, Max!”

And then, as if the universe were determined to finish Lando off, the front door opened.

Lando turned.

In stepped Isabelle Leclerc.

Isabelle Leclerc in all her soft, gently glory. Wearing sunglasses on her head, a bag slung over one shoulder, in high heels and a pink dress… her expression soft and content in that way people were when they walked into a space that felt like home.

“Hey,” she said, smiling at Max. “I missed you. Did the box with the spare trophy arrive?”

Max pointed to the dining table. “It’s right there. Lando helped escort it home personally.”

Lando’s soul evacuated his body.

He turned to Max.

Then to Isabelle.

Then back to Max.

In a hoarse, horrified whisper, he said, “That’s Charles’ sister.”

Max, the absolute psychopath, just nodded. “Yes.”

“You’re joking.”

“No.”

Lando turned to Isabelle. “And you’re okay with this?”

She smirked. “Clearly.”

Lando turned back to Max, voice rising. “And Charles knows?”

Max popped a chip into his mouth. “No.”

Lando nearly fell off the couch. “HE DOESN’T KNOW?”

“We’re keeping it private,” Isabelle said, casually crossing her arms like she wasn’t detonating Lando’s entire worldview.

Lando laughed. Or maybe screamed. Or both. “You’re keeping it private?” He pointed at Max. “Does Victoria know?”

Max nodded. “Yes.”

“Sophie?”

“Yep.”

“Jos?”

“Yes.”

Lando stared, hands flailing. “So just to confirm—everyone in your family knows—”

“Right.”

“—and none of hers knows?”

“Correct.”

Lando dragged a hand down his face. “Okay. Okay, cool. Cool cool cool. So when Charles finds out, do you want your funeral to be in the Netherlands or Monaco?”

Max rolled his eyes. “Charles isn’t going to kill me.”

“YES HE IS!” Lando turned to Isabelle. “He’s going to kill him!”

Isabelle just shrugged. “I’ll deal with him.”

Lando made a strangled noise. “You’ll deal with him? This is the worst idea Max has ever had!”

Max just grinned, maddeningly pleased with himself. “Is it?”

“Yes!” Lando pointed at him. “And I want no part in it! I’m officially removing myself from this entire situation!”

“Noted.”

“I’m serious, Max. When Charles comes at you with, like, a Ferrari spoiler, I was never here.”

Max smirked and held up his hands. “Understood.”

And yet somehow, Lando knew that when it all inevitably exploded�� he’d still end up involved.

Because, apparently, this was his life now.

***

Max had survived media scrums, championship-deciding races, and Jos Verstappen's silence-with-a-side-of-glare disapproval—but nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to waiting for Emilie to step foot into the penthouse.

Isabelle’s Emilie.

 The best friend. The sister-by-choice. The one person Isabelle never sugarcoated anything for. The one who’d once, according to Isabelle herself, told a former boyfriend, “I hope you fall down an escalator and land on your ego.”

Max was… a little afraid.

He wasn’t nervous often. His job didn’t allow for it. But now, standing in his own kitchen, hands resting on the marble countertop Isabelle had picked out, he was nervous.

Because Emilie was the kind of person who saw things clearly—and said them out loud. And Max wasn’t stupid. He knew that Isabelle’s past was littered with people who hadn’t protected her the way she deserved. Especially her family. Especially the ones who should have known better.

So Emilie was the gatekeeper.

And Max? He was the boy who had fallen in love with the girl she protected.

The intercom buzzed. Isabelle, barefoot and glowing, went to let her in.

Max exhaled, rolled his shoulders once, and silently promised the cats not to make this weird.

When the door opened, Emilie stepped in with a tote bag on one arm and sunglasses perched on her head like she belonged on the cover of “Best Friend With a Sharp Tongue Monthly.”

“Hi,” she said to Max, all easy charm and narrowed eyes.

“Hi,” he replied, with what he hoped was equal ease but probably came off a little like please don’t hate me.

Emilie looked around slowly. Took in the space. The light. The symmetry. The faint scent of lemon and clean wood. Then: “You let her pick the rug?”

Max blinked. “I mean… yes?”

Emilie turned to Isabelle. “He’s either deeply in love with you or very smart.”

Isabelle grinned. “Both.”

Max cleared his throat. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Emilie studied him for a beat. “Coffee?”

“Coming right up.”

He moved toward the machine, listening as Isabelle showed her around—explaining where things were, which parts of the design had been last-minute additions, what Max had insisted on and what she had picked out. 

Max made her coffee exactly the way Isabelle had once told him Emilie liked it—strong, touch of oat milk, pinch of cinnamon—and slid it across the island as Emilie wandered in, Sassy having demanded Isabelle’s attention like she was prone to be doing. 

Emilie took it, sipped, and raised her eyebrows. “Alright. You pass step one.”

“There are steps?” Max asked, mouth twitching.

“Oh, so many,” Emilie said. “But relax. You’re already ahead. You didn’t try to impress me with vintage wine or your Rolex.”

“I was going to offer cookies,” he admitted.

“Smart man.”

She took another slow sip, then set the mug down.

“Max,” she said, and her tone shifted—less playful now, more real. “You know she’s never done this before, right? Never let someone be her safe place. Never believed she could build something and live inside it, too.”

“I know,” Max said quietly.

Emilie studied him a moment longer.

“I don’t care that you’re a world champion,” she said. “I care that when she comes home, she gets to rest.”

Max nodded. “She does. That’s all I want. I don’t need her to fit into anything. I just want her to feel like she doesn’t have to be anything more than she is.”

Emilie stared at him.

Then, finally, she smiled. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Better or worse?”

“Infinitely better,” she said. “But if you screw this up, I will make you regret it in very creative ways.”

Max raised a hand. “Understood.”

Isabelle returned to the kitchen then, breezy and radiant, unaware that Emilie had just conducted an emotional background check in under five minutes.

“I like him,” Emilie said, already helping herself to a cookie.

“Thank God,” Isabelle murmured, leaning into Max with a smile.

And Max—well, Max just exhaled for the first time in twenty minutes. Because if he had Emilie’s approval?

That meant he was doing something right.

 Which mattered.

 Because Isabelle?

She was everything worth getting right.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Lando Norris

Max: Need vacation recommendations.

Lando: Oh no.

Max: What?

Lando: This is about her, isn’t it?

Max: …So do you have suggestions or not?

Lando: I knew it.

Lando: Max, I know you and Isabelle are a thing.

Lando: But Charles doesn’t.

Lando: And I would like to stay alive.

Max: This has nothing to do with Charles.

Lando: It has everything to do with Charles.

Max: No, it has everything to do with Isabelle.

Lando: SAME THING.

Lando: I don’t want to know. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to be involved.

Max: I’m literally just asking for vacation recommendations.

Lando: And yet somehow, I will still end up suffering because of this.

Max: Lando.

Lando: FINE. Seychelles.

Max: That was fast.

Lando: Because I don’t want to talk about this any longer than I have to.

Lando: Seychelles is private, expensive, beautiful. Go there.

Max: Thanks.

Lando: Do not tell me anything else. I don’t want to know.

Max: Got it.

Lando: Seriously.

Max: Okay.

Lando: Like, if Charles finds out and demands to know what I knew—

Max: Then you knew nothing.

Lando: Exactly.

Max: Thanks, Lando.

Lando: I hate you.

***

Team Redline Stream Transcript 

Stream starts, Max joins the call.

[Background reveals a brand-new sim room: sleek LED lighting, perfectly mounted curved monitors, and a back wall entirely dedicated to trophies, helmets, and framed photos—immaculately designed.]

Chat:

WAIT.

NEW ROOM??

WHERE TF IS HE

TROPHY WALL HELLO???

Bro has a museum behind him

That’s not the old sim room 😭

Chris Lulham: “Hold on, what is that behind you??”

Gianni Vecchio:  “Is that a whole new background?? Did you move? Why do you look like you're in an actual Formula 1 museum?”

Luke Crane: “That is not the same white wall with the sad curtain.”

Chris:  “Is that a trophy wall?? With lights?? WHY IS IT GLOWING.”

Gianni:  “That’s a custom setup. Someone made that. You did not install LED strips yourself, Max.”

Max: glances around “Oh, yeah. I moved. Still in Monaco.”

Chris: “Wait, what?! Since when?”

Max: “Few weeks ago.” shrugs

Chat:

🚨 BREAKING NEWS: MAX VERSTAPPEN MOVED AND DIDN’T TELL US 🚨

Max casually dropping life updates like he’s talking about the weather.

Bro didn’t even hint at it???

NEW SIM ROOM???

OH MY GOD THE MONACO TROPHY IS ON A LITTLE TURNTABLE

Luke Crane: "Hold on, hold on—are we just glossing over this? You moved and didn’t tell us?"

Max: laughs "I don’t tell you guys everything."

Luke Crane: "Clearly."

Chris: "Okay, but like… why?"

Max: shrugs again "Just wanted a change."

Chat:

He’s so unserious about major life events.

“Just wanted a change” bro you’re in a whole new house.

Luke Crane: “Alright, when’s the housewarming party?"

Max: "Never."

Chris: "Figured."

Chat:

That was the fastest rejection ever.

LMAOO Max really said NOPE.

Someone check the Monaco real estate listings 😭😭😭

Chris: "Okay, but real question—do we at least get a tour?"

Max: “Hold on, check this out.”

[Max adjusts his camera slightly, reaching off-screen.]

[Trophy wall lighting shifts smoothly from warm white to deep racing red.]

Enzo Bonito: NO WAY.

Luke Bennett: Did you just change the color?

Max: It’s all programmed. RGB control. Motion sensors too. They dim when I leave the room.

Gianni: That’s actually ridiculous. 

Max (grinning): Also acoustic panels. So no echo. And the mic quality’s better now too—right?

Luke Bennett: Sounds dangerously smooth, yeah. Honestly, this is a Bond villain layer disguised as a sim room.

Chat: 

max literally lives in a batcave

 this is a SIM LAIR

 rich people don’t build houses they build race temples

 bro’s sim room has mood lighting and better HVAC than my entire apartment

 WHY DOES THIS LOOK LIKE A NETFLIX SET

Luke Bennett: Man, I feel like I should be wearing a tuxedo just to race you now.

Max (grinning): Anyway. Let’s race.

Chris: If my wheel breaks mid-race, I’m blaming this emotional damage.

Gianni: If I lose tonight, it’s because your RGB lighting intimidated me.

***

Isabelle always arrived on time for family dinner. With dessert, of course.

She always brought something. Homemade or picked up from her favorite patisserie. No one commented on it, but the plate was always clean by the end of the night.

Dinner was in full swing now, a chaotic medley of pasta, overlapping voices, and half-remembered updates from everyone’s life—except hers.

“So I told the media team we should change the graphic for next week,” Charles was saying, gesturing with his fork. “And they acted like I was speaking a different language.”

“Maybe they were,” Arthur said, grinning. “You barely speak one as it is.”

Charles rolled his eyes. “And you’re in F2, so calm down.”

“I’m in F2, not in last,” Arthur shot back.

“Boys,” Pascale said in a long-suffering tone. “Please. Eat.”

Isabelle had barely spoken since they sat down.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to contribute—she just never quite found the opening. Every time she tried, someone else jumped in louder, faster. She was used to it. It had been this way for most of her life.

Still, she tried.

“Oh,” she said lightly, when the conversation briefly turned toward travel. “I’ll be in Nice next week for a client install. Final stages of a boutique I’ve been working on for a few months.”

Charles barely looked up from his glass. “Interior stuff again?”

Isabelle smiled tightly. “Yes. It’s the final phase.”

“What are you installing, like… pillows?” Arthur asked, half-joking, half-serious.

“Furniture. Lighting. Custom cabinetry. Architectural finishes,” she replied, ticking them off calmly. “You know. The usual.”

“Right, right,” Lorenzo said, tone absent. “Pinterest, but expensive.”

Isabelle bit her tongue.

Hard.

She smiled again—her polite, polished, professional smile—and took a sip of her wine to swallow down everything she wanted to say.

No one asked more about the project. The conversation veered into Charles’ media schedule for the next race.  No one circled back to Isabelle.

They never did.

Until, several minutes later, Arthur mentioned Max.

“Did you know he just finished renovating his place in Monaco?” Arthur said, gesturing with his fork. “Fully redone. It’s all over the sim racing forums—some insane setup.”

“Oh, yeah,” Charles added. “I saw it. Trophy wall, hidden screens, mood lighting. So over the top.”

“It’s not over the top,” Isabelle said, casually.

They all turned.

“I designed it.”

Silence. Actual silence.

Isabelle set down her fork and took another sip of wine, just to give them a moment to catch up.

Charles blinked. “You—what?”

“I was the lead interior architect on Max Verstappen’s penthouse,” she said, voice steady. “From layout to lighting to final finishes.”

Arthur’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

Lorenzo frowned. “Like… the Max Verstappen?”

“No, Lorenzo, the other one,” Isabelle deadpanned.

Pascale blinked. “Well. That’s… quite something.”

“It was,” Isabelle said mildly. “A lot of work. High standards. Very involved client.”

…not really, but nobody needed to know that. Mostly Max had just let her do whatever she wanted. 

“You never said anything,” Charles muttered, confused.

“You never asked,” she said, sweetly. “You thought I was just picking out pillows.”

No one had an answer for that.

And Isabelle didn’t try to change the topic. instead she just stood up, starting to clean up plates— graceful as ever.

“I’ll help clean,” she said, voice still perfectly polite. And then, with a final smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, she added, “Let me know if you ever want help picking out throw pillows, though. I’m very good at that.”

***

The front door opened with a soft click, followed by the unmistakable rustle of paper shopping bags and the sound of someone toeing off their shoes with slightly more force than necessary.

Max looked up from the couch, one arm draped around Jimmy, who had fully claimed the throw blanket. “You’re back late.”

Isabelle stepped inside, arms full of muted-toned bags from an upscale decor shop near the port. She dropped them on the kitchen island with a sigh that sounded far too heavy for a casual stroll home.

“I stopped at—” she started, then waved vaguely at the bags. “—somewhere.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Shopping?”

“Frustration shopping,” she muttered, pulling off her coat and hanging it neatly by the door.

He got up slowly, padding barefoot across the floor to meet her. “What happened?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she unpacked …something that looked like a seashell and a pretzel had a baby,  a geometric candleholder she didn’t need, and a cushion cover in a color Max was pretty sure they used in the guest room.

“They laughed at my job,” she said finally, quiet but steady. “Again.”

Max’s jaw tightened. “What did they say?”

Isabelle didn’t look at him. She kept unpacking. “Arthur made a joke about installing pillows. Lorenzo called it Pinterest, but expensive.”

He let the silence hang, waiting.

“And then I told them,” she said, meeting his gaze now. “About the penthouse. The sim room. The trophy wall. All of it.”

Max stepped closer, brushing his fingers lightly against her hand. “Good.”

“I wasn’t going to,” she admitted, her voice dipping. “I didn’t want it to sound like name-dropping. But I just—snapped. I was so tired of biting my tongue.”

“You don’t have to bite your tongue,” Max said, his voice low and firm. “Not with them. Not with anyone.”

She looked up at him, eyes a little glossy but not crying. Not yet.

“I built something for you,” she said. “Something real. And they still treat me like I’m playing house with fabric swatches.”

Max reached behind her and gently tugged her into his chest, wrapping both arms around her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“They can’t see it because they don’t want to,” he murmured. “But I see you. Every detail, every decision, every part of this place that feels like home—you did that.”

Isabelle closed her eyes and let herself lean into him.

The silence was softer now. Safer.

After a beat, Max pulled back just enough to glance at the bags.

“...Please tell me that weird seashell thing isn’t going in the sim room.”

Isabelle laughed, a real one this time, even as she sniffled. “No promises.”

***

Quadrant Stream Transcript 

Lando Norris: Okay, I’m in. Finally.

Max Fewtrell: Took you long enough. What’d you do, build a new rig?

Lando: Nah, I’m not Max Verstappen. I don’t have a personalised sim fortress with like… ambient lighting and a trophy shrine.

Max F: Bro, that room is insane. I saw a clip on TikTok, and I swear it looked like he was about to launch a space shuttle.

Lando : That’s because Isabelle did it.

Max F: …Isabelle who?

Lando: Isabelle Leclerc.

Max F (pauses): …As in… Charles Leclerc’s sister?

Lando: Mhm.

Chat: 

LANDO WHAT

 BACK UP

ISABELLE LECLERC DESIGNED MAX’S SIM ROOM???

Max F: Wait wait wait hold on. Max Verstappen’s sim room was designed by Isabelle Leclerc?

Lando: Yep.

Max F: Okay but like—can she do my room?

 Lando: Have you got Max Verstappen money, mate?

Max F: …Right. So that’s a no.

Lando: That’s a hard no. She’s not out here doing LED lighting schemes for the boys on a Logitech G29.

Max F: Ouch. No, but seriously, that room looks like a race car museum had a baby with an interior design Pinterest board.

Lando: It’s ridiculous. He’s got like… hidden drawers, ambient color modes for quali, race, cooldown—mood lighting for his championship mood swings.

Max F: You’re telling me my man gets P1 and then sets the room to gold sparkle mode?

Lando: Wouldn’t even be surprised.

Max F: And Isabelle did all that?

Lando: Yeah. Interior architect. Like… architectural degree, portfolio, the works.

Max F: I’m gonna DM her my IKEA shopping list and see what happens.

Lando: All she’ll say is “please never contact me again.”

Max F: Worth it.

Chat: 

 “do you have max verstappen money” LMAO

 lando fully spilling the tea again i love him

ISABELLE IS THE INTERIOR ARCHITECT???

makes so much sense now why it has taste

Max F: This stream just turned into an episode of MTV Cribs: F1 Edition and I’m emotionally unprepared.

Lando: You and me both, mate.

***

The rooftop club was loud—bass pulsing through glass walls, drinks flowing freely, and the scent of something expensive lingering in the air. Monaco glittered below, and the whole world above felt like it had hit pause: one final blowout before the second half, before the summer break. 

Charles had been halfway through a conversation with Pierre when he heard it—faint, over the music, slipping in between thudding bass and the occasional shout of laughter.

French.

With a Monegasque accent.

He turned instinctively, blinking through the crowd.

Who the hell—

It was Max.

Max Verstappen.

Speaking fluent French. 

Not just French—Monegasque-accented French. Clean. Polished. Lightly clipped consonants in the way Charles had grown up hearing around every market stall and café table. Max’s cadence had shifted too—not quite native, but not clumsy either. 

Max was leaning slightly over the bar, talking to a bartender Charles recognized. His posture was relaxed, like it was normal. Like he’d done this a hundred times. His accent wasn’t perfect, but it was close—soft R’s, local cadence, the kind that didn’t come from a Duolingo app.

Charles couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away.

He didn’t even know Max spoke French.

Pierre elbowed him, confused. “What?”

Charles shook his head, blinking. “Is he speaking French?”

Pierre followed his gaze, did a double take, then frowned. “Oh. Huh.”

“Where the hell did he learn that?” Charles muttered.

“Don’t look at me,” Pierre said. “Last I checked he couldn’t even pronounce ‘quiche’ properly.”

Lando strolled up then, already laughing at something Oscar had said. “What’s going on?”

“Max is speaking French,” Charles said, still stunned.

Lando blinked. “Oh. Yeah, he does that now.”

“What do you mean now?”

Lando shrugged like it was obvious. “He’s been learning. Says it’s good for Monaco. And, you know with…” He trailed off.

Charles narrowed his eyes. “And?”

Lando opened his mouth to respond and then suddenly blanched. “Nothing! Just…I need another drink!” and off he went. Charles stared after him. 

What was that about now? 

Charles frowned deeper, watching Max accept his drink with a quiet merci, bonne soirée like it wasn’t the most confusing thing Charles had witnessed all summer.

It wasn’t just the French.

It was the accent. The ease. 

Charles couldn’t figure out what bothered him more—that Max was speaking French… or that he was doing it like a local.

And somewhere in the back of his head, a quiet, suspicious thought began to form:

Why would Max Verstappen bother learning Monegasque-accented French?

[be4chywritez]

serious | oscar piastri

oscar piastri x fem!reader

rec: #37 with oscar piastri please? maybe they’re arguing or smth and he says something without thinking and reader starts crying? thank u!!

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

warnings: none except me being really high and writing this

You weren’t even sure how the argument started.

The plan had been simple—spend a quiet night with Oscar, finally get some time together before his schedule got crazy again. You had been curled up on his couch, legs thrown over his lap, teasing him about how helpless he was when it came to assembling furniture. It was harmless, the way most of your jokes were.

“You’d be lost without me,” you said with a grin, nudging his thigh. “Like, I’m pretty sure you’d still be eating your takeaway off a cardboard box if I wasn’t around.”

He chuckled at first, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t be lost—I’d just have a slightly more… minimalist lifestyle.”

“Minimalist?” You snorted. “Oscar, you didn’t even own proper plates before I got here.”

He rolled his eyes. “I had plates.”

“Oh, my bad, I meant one singular plate and a set of mismatched cutlery you probably stole from McDonald’s.”

You expected him to laugh, to play along like he always did. But instead, his expression shifted—his jaw tensed, his fingers drummed absently against your shin. The lighthearted teasing suddenly felt heavier, like you had unknowingly poked at something deeper.

You should’ve stopped there, but you didn’t.

“Face it,” you said, grinning. “You’d be a disaster without me.”

And that’s when he sighed, long and sharp, before muttering, “You never take anything seriously.”

Your smile faltered.

“What?”

Oscar ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “It’s like nothing matters to you.”

The words cut deeper than you expected. You blinked, suddenly unsure if you had misheard him.

“Nothing matters to me?” you repeated, voice quieter now, more careful.

He sighed again, still not looking at you. “I don’t know, sometimes it just feels like you don’t take me seriously.”

Your stomach twisted.

“Are you—” You let out a breath, trying to steady your voice. “Are you actually saying that? After everything?”

He exhaled through his nose, frustration evident in the way his shoulders tensed. “You’re always joking, always acting like nothing’s a big deal. I get that it’s just how you are, but sometimes… I don’t know, sometimes I just wish you’d be serious for once.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening.

It wasn’t just the words—it was the way he said them, like he actually believed them.

Like he believed you didn’t care.

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as your vision blurred. You didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much that hurt. But the lump in your throat wouldn’t go away, and before you could stop it, a tear slipped down your cheek.

Oscar’s entire body stiffened.

“Shit,” he muttered, his frustration vanishing in an instant. His eyes widened as he reached for you, panic creeping into his voice. “Shit, shit, shit, c’mere.”

You turned your face away, wiping at your cheek quickly, but it was useless. Another tear followed, and Oscar groaned under his breath, like he physically hated himself for making you cry.

“I didn’t mean that,” he said hurriedly, shifting closer, his hands finding your face. “I swear I didn’t mean that.”

Your voice wobbled as you pulled back slightly. “Then why did you say it?”

He winced, his thumbs brushing over your damp cheeks, like he was trying to undo the damage. “I don’t know—I was frustrated, I wasn’t thinking.”

You let out a shaky breath. “You think I don’t take you seriously?”

“No,” he said instantly, voice thick with regret. “No, that’s not true. I know you do. I just—I was being a fucking idiot.”

You sniffled, eyes still glossy. “I always take you seriously, Oscar. I literally revolve my entire schedule around your ridiculous race calendar. I watch hours of onboard footage with you even though half the time I don’t even know what you’re analyzing. I show up to every race I can, I defend you when people online say dumb shit—”

“I know.” His hands were still on your face, his forehead now pressed against yours. His voice was softer now, desperate. “I know, baby. And I love that about you. I was just—I was just being an asshole.”

You swallowed hard, not fully ready to forgive him yet, but also not wanting to keep crying. His thumbs kept smoothing over your cheeks, his touch warm, grounding.

“I don’t like fighting with you,” you admitted, voice small.

“I hate fighting with you,” he murmured, tilting your face up slightly. “I especially hate making you cry.”

You let out a small, unsteady exhale, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. “You really were an asshole just now.”

“I know.” He kissed the tip of your nose, then your forehead. “Biggest asshole on the planet. Probably breaking some kind of world record.”

Despite everything, you huffed a quiet laugh. “I was this close to throwing a pillow at you.”

“I deserve worse.” He kissed your cheek this time, soft and lingering. “Like, I don’t know, maybe being forced to watch an entire season of your guilty pleasure reality show.”

You narrowed your eyes. “The Bachelor?”

He groaned but nodded. “Yeah. If that’s what it takes.”

You pretended to think about it. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

His lips finally twitched into something closer to a smile. “So lucky.”

And then, finally, he kissed you—soft and slow, like an apology woven between every press of his lips.

You let yourself sink into it, because even when he was frustrating, even when he made dumb mistakes, he was still yours.

And you took that seriously.

[mononijikayu]

casual crazy — fushiguro toji.

“You’re staring.” His voice is deep, casual, but there’s something about it that makes your stomach flip. You don’t look away. Why should you? He’s a sight, broad shoulders stretching his dark shirt, the veins in his arms just there, teasing your drunken brain into all sorts of bad ideas. “So?” you couldn’t help but garble, setting your empty glass down with a clumsy clink. “Can’t help it. You’re kinda hard not to look at.” His smirk deepens. “Are you always this bold, or is it the liquor talking, hm?”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: smut, romance (sorta), enemies to lovers (sorta), assasins and hitmen, friends with benefits, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, porn with plot, kissing, making out, rough sex, p to v sex, bathroom/toilet sex, orgasm, tension, lust, power play, dirty talk, sexual tension, public sex, size difference, dom/sub undertones, drunken flirting, casual sex turned complicated, humor, profanity, pet names (baby, sweetheart, good girl, etc), jealousy, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, assassin! toji, assassin! reader;

WORD COUNT: 5.7k words.

NOTE: i remember writing this while i was going through the horny thoughts i couldn't avoid. genuinely, need to be done dirty like this, i fear. i made my friend beta read this and they were like, 'actually if he calls me good girl again, im gonna lose it' and the reaction was totally worth it. anyway, i hope you enjoy it as much as we did. i love you all <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

YOU HAVE A VERY BAD RELATIONSHIP WITH ALCOHOL. You’ve long admitted that to yourself. Yet, you’ve done very little about it over the past few years, no matter the amount of therapy or rehab you’ve done.

There just really wasn’t any escape from the addiction that made you feel alive. But that’s just the life of an assassin, you supposed. You had to have something that keeps you alive, that keeps you going, in this line of work.

Your calloused fingers clutch the sweating glass, the whiskey inside sloshing dangerously close to spilling. You should probably slow down, but the warmth spreading through your veins is the only thing keeping you steady. Or maybe it’s the opposite. Hard to tell at this point.

And then, all of a sudden, the devil hands you a brand-new temptation. One far more intoxicating than the burn of whiskey down your throat. The familiar craving for alcohol vanishes in a blink, cast aside as something far more potent takes hold. Lust. Raw and unfiltered, creeping into your veins like wildfire. Because there he is.

Fushiguro Toji.

The dark haired man looks like he’s danced with the devil and walked away grinning, untouched, undefeated. They even say so, all the other assassins. They say he wears sin like a second skin, so easily, so unapologetic, so effortless. And seeing it for yourself, it was actually impressive. 

There’s a weight to him, something heavy and dark, yet he carries it with an ease that shouldn’t be possible. Perhaps that’s why he could live easily as an assassin more than most. That lazy confidence rolls off him in waves, an unspoken challenge to the world.

It was as if nothing—no god, no fate, no consequence, could ever chain him down. 

Nothing in the world could bring this dangerous man to his knees.

After all, that’s why he’s Shiu’s favorite out of the scores of assassins like you.

The scar at the corner of his mouth twitches when he smirks, a wicked little tell that gives nothing away and yet says everything. His sharp blue—green eyes was interesting to look at, you think. 

In some ways, you know you could not read the truth behind those emotions that spiral through those orbs. Yet, it was obvious what intentions they had. And that makes your skin crawl to no end. It was eager, hungry, cutthroat, knowing. 

Amusement, intrigue… danger.

You didn’t care for the precisement emotion.

That’s when you knew you were already lost.

“You’re staring.”

His voice is deep, casual, but there’s something about it that makes your stomach flip. You don’t look away. Why should you? He’s a sight, broad shoulders stretching his dark shirt, the veins in his arms just there, teasing your drunken brain into all sorts of bad ideas.

“So?” you couldn’t help but garble, setting your empty glass down with a clumsy clink. “Can’t help it. You’re kinda hard not to look at.”

His smirk deepens. “Are you always this bold, or is it the liquor talking, hm?”

You hum, tilting your head as if actually thinking about it. The room sways a little, but before you can fall off your stool, a firm hand wraps around your arm, steadying you with ease. His fingers are rough, warm, and entirely too comfortable where they are.

“Whoa there, [last name].” he murmurs, close enough now that you can smell him. All smoke, steel, and something faintly sweet. “Didn’t take you for a lightweight.”

“I’m not, Fushiguro.” you protest, frowning up at him. “I just… you’re distracting right now.”

He chuckles, low and deep, and it rumbles through you in a way that makes you grip the edge of the bar. He still hasn’t let go of your arm, and you’re suddenly very aware of how big his hand is, how easily he could manhandle you if he wanted to.

“Distracting, huh?” He tilts his head, watching you like a cat watches a mouse that’s just a little too cocky for its own good. “So, what? You tryna flirt with me?”

Your grin is slow, lazy. “That depends.” you murmur, dragging your fingers up his arm, feeling the way the muscle tenses slightly beneath your touch. “Is it working?”

For a second, he just watches you, unreadable.

Then, he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“Damn. You are drunk.” He snickers at you. “Not what I expected from you.”

You pout. “That a no?”

He leans in, just a little, enough that his breath fans against your cheek. “That’s a be careful, doll.” he says, voice like gravel, mischievous eyes gleaming with something that makes your throat dry up. “I don’t play nice. I never have.”

Your heart stumbles over itself. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the way he looks at you like he already knows exactly what would make you fall apart, but you find yourself leaning closer instead of backing off.

“Who said I wanted to be nice?”

His fingers tighten around your arm just slightly, his smirk curling into something more dangerous. “…Now that’s interesting.”

Toji exhales a quiet chuckle, his grip on your arm firm but not restraining. He could let go anytime, you could have just as much let go. But neither of you move to do anything. Instead, the tension only builds, like waves crashing over itself over and over.

His eyes flick over you, slow and assessing, like he’s deciding whether you’re a good bet or just another bad decision waiting to happen. Not that he seems like the type to care about bad decisions.

“You got a death wish or somethin’?” he murmurs, tilting his head, the scar on his lip twitching.

You smirk, fingers playing at the rim of your glass. “I dunno,” you say, voice dipping lower, hazier. “Depends. Are you planning on killing me?”

His grin sharpens. “Not unless you ask really nicely, doll.”

A shiver runs down your spine. It was one that had nothing to do with alcohol, that was quite certain. You should probably tread carefully, but the way he’s looking at you, like you’re something worth toying with, tasting. You suppose that makes you bold. Or maybe just stupid. You couldn’t decide the distinction.

“So what if I did?” You lean in, resting your chin on your palm, eyes locked on his. “What if I wanted a little danger?”

Toji hums, like he’s amused. “Doll, you’re too confident about it, don’t you think? I doubt you could handle it.”

You scoff, but before you can argue, he moves. Just a slight shift, but suddenly, he’s closer. He shook his head at you, full of intrigue. In an instant, his massive knee brushes yours under the bar, his breath teasing your ear as he murmurs, 

“You’re drunk. That liquid courage’s talkin’ for you.”

Your fingers trail up his forearm, slow, deliberate. “And what if it’s not?”

He watches you, blue–green eyes dark and unreadable, his lips hovering just out of reach. The tension hums between you, thick and charged, like a wire stretched too tight. You swear the whole bar fades away, until it’s just the two of you and the heat simmering between your bodies. 

All of the noise from the bar counter, the clinking glasses of little cheers, the other patrons dancing and singing, being the obnoxious humans they were. None of that truly ever mattered t at that moment. Toji tilts his head, considering. Then, just as slowly, he pulls back, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest.

“Tempting, isn’t it?” he murmurs, tossing back the last of his drink. “But you’d regret it.”

Your stomach twists—frustration? Curiosity? Maybe it was a little of both. “And what if I wouldn’t?”

He smirks, standing from his stool. He towers over you, his presence alone enough to make your breath hitch. “Then that would be even worse.”

“You make it sound like it’s the worst thing in the world.” You hiccuped in reply.

He snickers back at you as he taps two fingers against the bar, signaling for another drink before glancing down at you one last time, his gaze lingering. “Drink some water, doll. Clear that head of yours. An assassin can’t let their guard down.” 

You exhale, heart pounding against your ribs.

Well, damn.

You don’t think. 

You just move.

Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you. It was like he’s already decided you’re trouble, but he’s entertained enough to stick around and see what kind. Maybe it’s just that you don’t want to let this moment slip away, not when the air between you is crackling, thick with something sharp and wanting.

So when he turns away, you reach out, fingers curling around his wrist—firm but not desperate. Just enough to make him pause. He looks down at your hand, then back at you, one brow quirking up in silent question.

And then you kiss him.

You don’t even give him a chance to smirk, to throw some smug remark about how bold you are. You just let go. You just go for it. Your lips press against his, the taste of whiskey and smoke flooding your senses, and for a second, he doesn’t move. 

It’s like he’s caught off guard, like you actually surprised him. But then—then—he takes a moment to exhale a quiet grunt, and his hand is suddenly on your waist, pulling you in just enough to keep you steady.

The kiss is messy, a little too eager, too animalistic. But you don’t care. You can feel the curve of his smirk against your lips, the way he lets you take the lead just long enough to lull you into a false sense of control. Because then, he takes it back.

Fushiguro Toji kisses like he fights. And he liked it that way. It was all too sharp, and devoid of mercy. It was deliberate, like he knows exactly where to hit to make you weak. His teeth graze your bottom lip before he deepens it, tongue sliding against yours, and fuck, you’re dizzy all over again, but this time it has nothing to do with the alcohol.

His fingers dig into your waist, pulling you flush against him, and it sends a spark straight down your spine. He tastes dangerous, and it makes your head spin worse than any drink. And then just as suddenly as he let you have him, he pulled back.

You’re left breathless, your lips tingling, your pulse hammering. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, looking entirely too amused, like he just figured something out about you that even you didn’t know.

His thumb brushes over your lip, slow, lazy. “Huh.” he murmurs, voice husky. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

You swallow hard, trying to regain your balance. “Yeah, well… maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

He chuckles, low and deep, thumb still idly tracing your lip like he’s considering whether he wants another taste. “Maybe not, doll.” he agrees, stepping back.

“What are you thinking now?”

His grip lingers just a second too long before he finally lets go. He slyly smiles at you. “I’m startin’ to think I should.”

You should say something witty, something cocky, anything to keep this game going but your brain is still scrambling from the way he kissed you like he was meant to. Toji smirks like he can see exactly what he did to you. Then, with one last lingering look, he turns back toward the bar, tossing a few bills down before sliding his hands into his pockets.

“You comin’, or you just gonna sit there lookin’ dazed?”

Your breath catches. “Where to?”

He glances at you over his shoulder. “Outta here,” he says simply. “Unless you just wanted a kiss and nothin’ more, doll.”

It’s a challenge. A dare. One you have no intention of backing down from. You slide off the stool, shaking off whatever remains of your hesitation, and follow him to wherever he was taking you. After all, you realized you were crazy. You might as well act like crazy, too.

IT DIDN’T TAKE VERY LONG FOR YOU TO END UP WHERE YOU WERE. You and Toji slipped away from the crowded room, making your way to the nearby comfort room. As soon as the door closed behind you, Toji pushed you against the wall, his lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss. 

His hands roamed your body, gripping and squeezing as he pressed his hips against yours.You could feel his hardness through his pants, grinding against your core. Toji's lips trailed down your neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin.

"Someone’s getting quite impatient, isn’t she?" he murmured against your throat, his voice husky with desire. His hands slid under your shirt, his fingers tracing the curves of your breasts.

Your hands tangled in Toji's hair, pulling him closer as you deepened the kiss. His tongue explored your mouth, dueling with yours in a passionate dance. Toji's fingers deftly unhooked your bra, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts. He kneaded the soft flesh, his thumbs brushing against your hardening nipples.

A moan escaped your lips, your hips bucking against his. Toji's other hand slid down, popping the button of your jeans and slipping inside. His fingers brushed against your core, finding you already wet with desire

"Fuck, you're so ready for me, aren’t you?" Toji groaned, his breath hot against your skin, his voice thick with satisfaction. His fingers traced slow, teasing circles over your clit, the deliberate motion sending sparks of pleasure crackling through your nerves.

He didn’t just touch you, no. He consumed you whole. He commanded your body, every movement calculated to pull a reaction from you. And he got it. A sharp gasp, a desperate arch of your hips, a needy little whimper that only made his smirk deepen.

He pushed two fingers inside you, the stretch delicious and unrelenting. The slow, slick glide of them made you shudder, your walls tightening around him instinctively. His touch was maddening and all the while measured, knowing, dragging pleasure out of you inch by inch.

“Can you feel it?” he murmured, voice like gravel, like temptation itself. His thumb pressed a little harder against your clit, his fingers curling just right. “Feel how wet you already are? Fuck, you’re gripping me so tight.”

"Hhnnn… your fingers feel so good…” you cooed against him, voice breathy, barely there, your mind slipping under the weight of sensation. “Toji…..fuck…..”

Toji chuckled, low and rough, his amusement edged with something darker—something possessive. "Yeah? Then take ‘em."

His fingers plunged deeper, stretching, stroking, his pace quickening with a ruthless precision. Every twist, every push, every brush against that perfect spot sent you unraveling further. Your body tensed, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter, climbing toward an inevitable, overwhelming crescendo.

Toji’s lips ghosted over your ear, his voice nothing but a sinful whisper. “Let me hear you, baby. I wanna feel you come on my fingers.”

His fingers moved with unrelenting precision, pushing deeper, curling just right, stroking over that devastatingly sensitive spot that made your breath catch. Every motion was deliberate, every flick of his wrist measured to wring another shudder from you.

The heat in your core coiled tighter, pleasure winding sharp and insistent. Your legs trembled, muscles clenching, but Toji wasn’t about to let you squirm away. His free hand pressed against your stomach, pinning you down, his grip firm all too possessive.

"You’re so desperate for it," he murmured, his voice laced with amusement, with something darker. "Fucking clenching around me like you’re already close."

A whimper slipped past your lips, and Toji chuckled, the sound rough, pleased. His breath ghosted over your ear, teasing, taunting. "Gonna come for me just like this?" His thumb pressed harder against your clit, circling with slow, devastating intent. "Or do you need more?"

Your body answered before your lips could. Your back arched, fingers grasping for something—anything—to ground yourself against the overwhelming sensation. But Fushiguro Toji had you exactly where he wanted you, held firm in his grasp, unraveling beneath his touch.

His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, voice a husky whisper. "Go on, baby. Let me feel it."

The pressure inside you snapped, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, leaving you trembling, breathless. Toji held you through it, drawing out every last shudder, his fingers working you through the aftershocks, never once letting up.

When he finally withdrew, his fingers slick and glistening, he brought them to his lips, watching you with that same lazy smirk. The one that sent heat pooling low in your stomach all over again. He sucked them into his mouth, tasting every bit of you with a satisfied hum.

Toji then dragged his cum stained fingers down your thigh, his touch deliberate, lingering, as if savoring the way your body still trembled beneath him. His smirk never wavered, that lazy confidence settling deep in his stance, in the sharp glint of his eyes.

"You look real pretty when you come, pretty." he mused, voice low and rough, like he was speaking more to himself than to you. His gaze flicked over you—your parted lips, the rise and fall of your chest, the dazed look in your eyes. "Bet you’d look even prettier coming on my cock."

The way he said it, like a promise, like an inevitability, sent a fresh wave of heat through you. It was all too much, this sensation. You’ve never truly felt it before, not even with your other partners. Fushiguro Toji was the first to take you down this path. 

“But I’m not giving it to you easily, doll.” He smiles at you, overtly sadistic. “You gotta work for it, hm?”

“Toji, this is so cruel!”

He laughs. “But isn’t that how pleasure works? You gotta earn it.”

“But I’m desperate!”

"Tell me, doll." he murmured, fingers tracing up your inner thigh, stopping just shy of where you needed him most. "You want more, don’t you?"

You stared at him for a while, groaning as he got to your cunny again.

Your breath hitched, your hips shifting toward his touch on instinct. 

But Toji only chuckled, his grip tightening just enough to keep you still.

"Use your words, doll." he coaxed, his thumb ghosting over your already swollen clit, featherlight, teasing. "You begged so sweetly before. Let me hear it again."

Your pulse pounded, every nerve alight, but he wasn’t going to give you what you wanted so easily. You know that now. He wanted to hear you say it, to watch you squirm, to make you admit just how badly you needed him.

"Please…" The word came out breathless, barely there.

Toji hummed, tilting his head like he was considering whether or not to give you what you wanted. "Mmm. That’s not enough, sweetheart." His fingers flexed against your thigh. "Tell me exactly what you need."

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up your neck. 

He was enjoying everything about this situation.

He liked this, how he was dragging it out, making you work for it.

"I need you, you bastard." you finally admitted, voice unsteady but desperate, raw. "I need you inside me. Please, Toji."

Something dark and satisfied flickered across his face, and in an instant, his teasing patience snapped. "That’s more like it, doll." he growled.

Your breath hitched as Toji held you there, his grip firm, unyielding, like he had all the time in the world to savor this moment, to savor you. His thick, calloused fingers pressed deeper into your hips, holding you steady beneath him, his touch branding you, leaving no room for escape. Not that you wanted one.

His lips ghosted over your jaw, the heat of his breath sending shivers down your spine. “Takin’ me so well again. You’re such a good girl.” he murmured, his voice deep, rough around the edges, like he was barely holding himself back. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

The question hung between you, thick with expectation, and you couldn’t do anything but nod, your body taut with anticipation, with need. But it was obvious that this wasn’t enough for him just yet, no. He still wanted more. And you still did too, pushing against his long massive fingers, letting the edge of pleasure hit you again in the pandemonium of overstimulation.

“Say it.” Toji ordered, his tone carrying that unmistakable edge, a command wrapped in dark amusement. He wanted to hear it, to pull the words from your lips just like he pulled every other reaction from your body.

Your fingers curled against his arms, nails digging into the hard muscle there, seeking something to anchor yourself to as you gasped out, “Feels—feels so good, Toji.”

A low, satisfied hum rumbled in his chest. “That’s my pretty girl.”

His movements were deliberate, controlled, a stark contrast to the raw hunger in his eyes. He wanted to see you come undone beneath him, to watch every tremor of pleasure ripple through your body. His thumb found your clit, circling in slow, devastating strokes that made your breath hitch, made you gasp his name like a prayer.

Toji leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice nothing but a dark promise. “Now show me something beautiful, doll.”

The dark haired man’s fingers continued their relentless pace, drawing out your pleasure. His thumb circled your clit, the sensitive nub throbbing under his touch. Your body shuddered, waves of ecstasy crashing over you.

"Fuck, you're so responsive, aren’t you?" Toji groaned, his voice strained with desire. His fingers pumped slowly, gentler now, as he helped you ride out the final waves of your second orgasm. "That's it, baby. Let go for me."

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue danced with yours, swallowing your moans and cries of pleasure. As your overbearing orgasm finally subsided, Toji's fingers withdrew slowly, leaving you feeling empty and wanting more. His eyes, dark with lust, met yours.

"You okay?" he asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You nodded, your chest heaving as you caught your breath. "More than okay." you murmured, a satisfied smile on your lips.

Toji's grin was wicked, his hand sliding up your thigh. "Good, because we're just getting started." 

He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you over to the nearby counter. He set you down, stepping between your legs. Toji's lips crashed against yours, his kiss demanding and passionate. His hands roamed your body, touching and teasing every inch.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard, doll." he promised, his voice low and husky."I'm going to make you scream my name."

His fingers slowly hooked into the waistband of your skirt, tugging them down along with your already wet underwear, He narrowed his eyes at the wetness that stained your underwear. You watched as Toji's eyes darkened further as he then took in the sight of you, bare and exposed.

“Tell me, pretty little doll……What do you want? Say it for me, loud and clear.”

You barely had the breath to answer. “Please… make me feel good.” Your voice trembled, your hips rocking into his touch, desperate for more. “I need you inside me. I need your cock.”

Something dark flickered behind his blue–green eyes, endless hunger twisting his expression into something wicked. A slow smirk stretched his lips. “With pleasure.” he growled, pulling his fingers from you.

Toji stripped away his lower garments, his thick cock springing free from its confines, hard and heavy against his abdomen. The sight alone had your mouth running dry. He stepped between your legs, the head of his cock teasing your entrance, dragging slick over your swollen folds.

His fingers dug into your hips, hard enough to bruise. “Look at me, pretty doll.” he ordered, voice edged with command. “I wanna see your face when I stretch you open.”

You met his gaze just as he thrust forward, spearing you open in one swift stroke. The stretch burned, a mix of pain and unbearable pleasure, your walls squeezing around his thick length as he filled you to the hilt. A strangled moan tore from your throat, your head knocking back against the counter, legs trembling from the force of it.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Toji groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder for a second as he fought for control. “Feel so good wrapped around me like this.”

He pulled back, only to slam forward again, setting a slow, punishing rhythm. Each thrust was deep, measured, deliberate. It was driving the air from your lungs, sending shockwaves of sensation through every nerve ending.

The room filled with the obscene sound of skin meeting skin, your moans tangled with his rough grunts. Toji leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, his voice low and guttural. “You like this, don’t you?” 

“F….fu…..I–I do! I…I liiiiikeeee—”

His teeth grazed your earlobe before he sucked it between his lips. “Like being fucked open on my cock?”

The filthy words sent a violent shudder through your body, your walls clenching around him in response. Toji could feel it overwhelm him. He felt everything. A growl ripped from his chest as his pace turned brutal, desperate.

His hips slamming into yours with enough force to jolt the counter beneath you. One hand slipped between your bodies, his calloused fingers finding your clit, rubbing rough circles that sent you hurtling toward the edge.

“Come for me, pretty doll.” he commanded, voice strained, raw, demanding. “Come all over my cock.”

It was too much for you to even bear. It was all too good, all too intense, all too overwhelming. You could feel everything in your body tightening, pleasure coiling sharp and hot in your core before snapping all at once. 

Toji's grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to bruise and burn. His thrusts became more aggressive, each snap of his hips driving into you with a brutal force that stole the air from your lungs. 

The shitty counter creaked beneath you, the heavy sound of its movement mingling with your cries of pleasure and pain. Toji's breath came in ragged pants against your neck, his teeth sinking into the sensitive skin.

"You're mine now, aren’t you?"he growled possessively, his voice low and dangerous. "Say it."

His hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat. His other hand slid down to grip your jaw, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. You could feel drool sliding down both sides of your lips as you shook over and over again against his intense movements.

"Say you're mine." His hips pounded into you relentlessly, his cock hitting your deepest spots with merciless precision. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming sensation, your body shaking with each thrust.

"Please..." you gasped, your voice hoarse and strained. Toji's eyes flashed with a mix of desire and dominance. 

"Please what?" he demanded, his thrusts slowing to a torturous pace. "Tell me what you need."

His grip on your hair tightened, pulling your head back further. His thumb pressed against your lips, forcing them open. "Beg for it."

Your heart raced, your body trembling with a heady mix of fear and arousal. The dominant side of Fushiguro Toji was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. It made you wet and it made you on your guard. It made you want to be possessed and it made you want to be let go. And yet, you knew what you would choose. You knew what you wanted more than being free.

"Please..." you whispered again, your tongue darting out to lick his thumb. "Fuck me harder. Use me. Make me yours."

A wicked grin spreads brutishly across Toji's face, his blue–green eyes darkened with lust at the sight of your surrender to him, to your lust. To his pleasure. To the horridness and the craziness of all of this.

"Good girl." he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. 

Without warning, he pulled out, only to flip you over onto your stomach. And then all the strength of him, pushed his weight on you once again and pushed inside, earning an illicit moan from you, that now repeats like a symphony.

Toji gripped your hips, pulling them up to meet his thrusts. His hand cracked across your ass, the sting mixing with the pleasure coursing through your veins. "You like that, don't you?" he growled, his voice low and husky.

"Like being punished for being such a greedy little slut." His hips snapped forward, burying himself to the hilt.He leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, his breath hot against your ear.

"I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk straight, doll." he promised, his words sending shivers down your spine."Until the only thing you can think about is my cock."

His fingers dug into your hips, his pace becoming more frenzied. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by your moans and Toji's grunts of pleasure. He reached around, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in tight circles. 

"Come for me." He whispers hotly against your ears. “Go on, be a good girl, doll.”

“I–I can’t!” You cried out, slurring at your words as you moved against him, letting his pace ruin you. “Too….Too good, fucccckkkkk!”

"Do it, doll. Be a good girl f’r me." Toji demanded, his fingers moving faster against your clit. "I want to feel you squeeze my cock as you come apart."

His thrusts became more erratic, his breathing ragged against your neck. He bit down on your shoulder, marking you as his.The combination of sensations was overwhelming, pushing you closer to the edge.Your body tensed, your inner walls clamping down on Toji's length.

"That's it, pretty girl!" he growled, his hips pistoning into you. "Come on my cock. Now."

His command was all it took to send you spiraling over the precipice. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing with the force of it. Toji's hips snapped forward one last time, burying himself deep as he found his own release. He groaned loudly, his hot seed filling you up, one thrust after the other.

The air was thick with heat, the scent of sweat and sex still lingering in the dimly lit comfort room of the assassin’s bar. Your legs felt like jelly, like your entire body was going to collapse from the force of his push and pull.

You could feel your body still humming from the intensity of what just happened, yet Fushiguro Toji, the absolute menace that he was, looked completely unbothered about it. It was like he hadn’t just rearranged your entire existence against a suspiciously sturdy sink in this bar comfort room.

His breath was still rather heavy, his body slick with piling golden sweat, but his lazy smirk was back in full force as he finally pulled away. He cracked his neck, stretched like he’d just finished a workout, then gave you a once-over, his green eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Damn.” he muttered, running a hand through his damp dark hair. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

You glared at him, or at least tried to, but your legs wobbled the moment you moved, forcing you to grip the sink for support. Toji, ever the bastard, caught it immediately. “I hate you.”

His grin widened. “Aw, what’s wrong, sweetheart? Legs ain’t workin’?”

Your eye twitched. “You—shut up.”

Toji laughed, full and deep, the sound bouncing off the grimy tiled walls. “Tch, that’s what happens when you get greedy, doll.” he mused, zipping up his pants with a satisfied hum. “Didn’t expect you to be such a lil’ freak, though.”

Your face burned, but before you could snap back, a loud bang rattled the door. “OI, HURRY THE FUCK UP!” a voice bellowed from the other side. “Some of us actually need to piss, y’know!”

Oh. Right. The fact that you were in a goddamn assassin’s bar and had just let Fushiguro Toji ruin you and rearrange your guts in the bar comfort room like a couple of horny teenagers had completely slipped your mind. 

The depths of the alcohol you had drunk tonight had long slipped away from you and now you were sober. The wanton greed from you had all but disappeared and only replaced by the embarrassment you feel. 

You whipped around, hurriedly smoothing down your clothes, heart hammering in mortification. Still trying to make sure his cum doesn’t spill from your thighs, still trying to make yourself presentable. 

Meanwhile, Toji took his sweet time adjusting himself and his pants, looking completely unbothered. He even had the audacity to yawn. “Hold your damn horses, you idiots.” he called out lazily. “Some of us were busy.”

Loud groans and swearing erupted from the other side, followed by someone grumbling, “I swear to god, if they clogged the sink again—”

You nearly choked. “Again? What the fuck does that mean, Fushiguro?”

Toji snorted, tossing you a smug look. “Told ya, this ain’t my first time in here for a round. It's always casual. Or crazy Or both. Whichever is preferred.”

You gaped at him, scandalized. “You absolute piece of shit! You fucked me here—”

Another furious bang cut you off, and this time, the doorknob actually rattled. “I SWEAR TO FUCK, IF YOU TWO DON’T OPEN THIS DOOR—”

Toji just laughed, grabbing your wrist before you could fully process what was happening. “Time to go, doll.”

And just like that, he swung the door open, stepping out like he didn’t just defile the bar’s restroom, greeting the pissed-off assassins outside with a lazy smirk and a casual, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

You, on the other hand, nearly tripped over yourself as you followed, trying very hard to ignore the furious glares of the men who had just spent the last twenty minutes listening to your, uh… indiscretions. Toji slung an arm around your shoulders, leading you back toward the bar like it was just another regular night.

“You’re buying the next round.” you grumbled under your breath, face still burning. “And get me new underwear and pants, you fiend.”

Toji grinned, pressing a kiss to your temple like an asshole. “Worth it, though.”

You elbowed him in the ribs.

He only laughed harder.

[katharkness]

See, the thing about Chat GPT is that it is GENERATIVE. As in, it will generate, or create, or invent, stuff.

There was a court case in New York, I think it was in 2024, might’ve been 2023. The plaintiff’s lawyers were having trouble finding precedent to support their argument - because their argument was “New York state law can overrule international treaty if we really really want it to”. I can go into specifics if you want, but I hope you can see just why they weren’t finding precedents.

(If you don’t know, some legal systems use precedent rather heavily to interpret laws, so if you can show that five years ago Judge X interpreted law Y to reach conclusion Z, you can probably get other judges to interpret law Y in the same way. That’s why this search for precedents matters.)

Anyway, the lawyer couldn’t find precedents, so he turned to what he THOUGHT was a new search engine, Chat GPT (I’m inclined to believe he genuinely believed it was just a search engine, because that seems more likely than him knowingly trying to get away with this.)

Chat GPT found him four or five precedents, complete with details and citations to the case record books! So the lawyer wrote up his argument, cited the cases Chat GPT had found for him, and didn’t bother looking up the cases for himself.

The judge looked at the argument with its preposterous conclusion, and he looked at the cited cases, and he didn’t remember any of them. He also noticed certain inconsistencies in who was trying what cases in which courtrooms, and he got suspicious. He told the lawyer to produce the records of the cited cases. After all, the citations were right there.

The lawyers stalled several times before admitting they couldn’t find they couldn’t find the cases, and came clean about Chat GPT, and not having bothered to check the citations before filing their argument with the court.

Because Chat GPT had made up the cases.

Moral of the story. Sure, you can use Chat GPT as a search engine, and you’ll find what you’re after, but it might not be true or accurate.

[pbaz7]

FINDING PEACE IN YOU: PART 4

paige x azzi

warnings: sexual content

word count: 12k

A/N: I struggled bringing my plot to life on this one for some reason. It’s not terrible but it’s definitely not my best work😭 also it’s completely unedited because I was being harassed so be warned lol. Let me know what you think and happy game day!!!

—————————————————————————

Azzi wasn’t one to dwell too much on social media—she knew better, she barely even used it. But she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been on it a little more recently; and that the posts after Paige’s first away game in Minnesota hadn’t gotten her gears turning.

As she scrolled through her timeline there were pictures and videos of the team walking into a club to celebrate their first win of the season. Paige looked amazing—her blonde hair wavy and slightly tousled, a confident smirk on her lips, her jewelry shining from the camera flashes, her outfit fitting her perfectly. It was the kind of pictures that would’ve had Azzi playfully rolling her eyes a few months ago, when she’d just met the blonde, knowing how easily Paige could get who she wanted. But now? Now, it just made her stomach tighten.

What really caught Azzi’s attention was how many women were lingering around in the pictures.

Some were just fans Others were players from the Lynx, people Paige probably knew. But of course there were the ones who stood a little too close in the group pictures. The ones whose eyes lingered when Paige wasn’t even looking in videos.

What the hell am I doing?

Azzi knew better than this. She definitely wasn’t insecure, and Paige had given her a reason to doubt her. Still, something unsettled her. Maybe she just missed her, or maybe it was the way the past had taught her to be wary even when things seemed great.

As Azzi scrolled through the posts, her expression remained unreadable. She wasn’t upset—not really. Paige hadn’t done anything wrong. Still, that didn’t stop the small, unfamiliar feeling creeping up her spine. Something she wasn’t used to dealing with.

Jealousy.

Muttering a few words under her breath, Azzi locked her phone, then immediately unlocked it again and scrolled to Paige’s contact. She wasn’t about to sit here playing detective when she could just call her.

The phone rang three times before Paige picked up, her voice coming through with a slight, telltale sign of tipsiness. The background quieter than Azzi expected.

“Wassup, gorgeous?”

Azzi felt the tension in her shoulders ease, just slightly. “What are you up to?”

“M’ just at the hotel bar with Arike, Lyss, DiJonai, and some random stragglers,” Paige said, her words lazy, like she was comfortably slouched in a chair somewhere.

“I thought you told me you were going to be at the after-party for most of the night?”

“Yeah,” Paige sighed. “Wasn’t feeling it for real.”

That had Azzi pausing. Paige wasn’t exactly the life of the party, but Azzi knew she wasn’t one to turn down a good time, especially after a win.

“Way too many people,” Paige added, almost like she could sense Azzi’s thoughts. “Too much going on.”

Azzi hummed in understanding, letting the last of her unnecessary overthinking fade away. Paige had already left the club. She’d opted for a quiet drink instead.

“What you doing, gorgeous?” Paige asked, her voice a little playful now.

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that in less than a minute.”

“‘Cause you are,” Paige said easily.

Azzi shook her head, unable to stop the small smile tugging at her lips. “Are you drunk?”

“Prolly,” Paige admitted with a quiet chuckle.

“You’re probably drunk?” Azzi repeated.

“Mhm,” Paige hummed. “But not like bad drunk. Just a little tipsy maybe.”

Azzi leaned back against her bed, relaxing now that she’d heard Paige’s voice. “So, you ditched the after-party to sit at a hotel bar with Arike and them and be kinda drunk?”

Paige laughed. “I ain’t ditch it for real. Just…left. Like I said…too many people. Too much going on.” She paused, then added, “’Sides, I’d rather be on the phone with you. Can’t do that at the club.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t stop the warmth that was spreading through her chest. “You’re smooth when you’re tipsy, you know that?”

“I’m smooth all the time, don’t play with me.”

“You gonna go up to your room soon?” Azzi asked.

Paige made a noise that sounded like she was stretching. “Yeah, probably. You tryna tell me to go to bed?”

Azzi smiled. “Maybe.”

Paige exhaled dramatically. “Damn. You don’t even wanna talk to me?”

Azzi bit her lip, shaking her head at Paige’s antics. “Go to bed, P.”

Paige huffed out a soft laugh. “Ight lemme just FaceTime you first.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but said, “Okay.”

Two seconds later, her phone lit up with an incoming call. She swiped to answer, and Paige’s face filled the screen, her expression already a lazy, lopsided grin. Her hair was slightly tousled, and the dim lighting of the hotel bar cast soft shadows across her features.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “What are you already grinning about?”

Paige shrugged, still smiling. “Nun.”

Azzi wasn’t convinced. “Yeah, right.”

Paige finally focused in on Azzi’s demeanor, eyes narrowing just slightly before she tilted her head and sat up slightly. “Why you look stressed? You good?”

The question caught Azzi slightly off guard. Even through a screen, even slightly drunk, Paige still noticed everything. That alone made something in Azzi's chest loosen.

Azzi exhaled softly, her lips curving into a small smile. “I’m great now.”

Paige licked her lips, the intent in her gaze changing. “What, I made you feel good huh?”

Azzi wanted to roll her eyes, to deny it, but she didn’t just raised her eyebrows.

Paige sighed dramatically as she sant further into the booth she was sitting in, her voice a little softer now. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

Before she could say anything else, Paige glanced up at someone offscreen. A second later, Azzi heard a voice in the background. “Who you talking to?”

Paige’s grin was huge when she said, “My girl.”

Azzi froze.

Her girl?

They hadn’t made anything official, hadn’t even had that conversation yet. But Paige said it so casually, like it was already a fact, like there was no doubt in her mind that Azzi would be hers eventually. Azzi’s stomach did a ridiculous flip, her heart picking up speed, but before she could even process it, Rickea suddenly appeared on the screen, taking the phone out of Paige’s hands.

Rickea was definitely drunker than Paige, her expression exaggerated as she pointed a finger at Azzi. “You stole my wingwoman.”

Azzi blinked. “Hm?”

Rickea groaned, waving a hand in the air. “You got her pussy whipped. She wouldn’t even look at nobody else tonight, let alone talk to them so I could get with their friend. Awful night for me. Zero outta ten.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, clearly amused. “I’m… sorry?” The words came out more like a question than an actual apology.

Rickea shook her head, then leaned in closer to the screen, lowering her voice to a supposed whisper that wasn’t even close to quiet. “Imma tell you a secret.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, already bracing herself.

Rickea glanced around then whispered loudly, “Paige needs to get laid. That girl been tense for weeks.”

Azzi’s mouth fell open slightly, caught between shock and stifling a laugh. Paige, on the other hand, was immediately reaching for the phone with an exasperated, “Alright, bro.”

There was a brief shuffle before the screen shifted, and Paige was back. “Ignore her.”

Azzi tilted her head slightly, a teasing cadence in her tone. “So, you don’t need to, quote-unquote, ‘get laid’?”

Paige squinted at her through the screen, lips pressing together like she was trying to figure out how to respond. “I ain’t say allat,” she admitted, shifting in her seat. “I’m just saying I’m not tense or nothing, you know?”

Azzi hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Mhm.”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “Why you say that like you don’t believe me?”

“Cause I don’t.”

Paige let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. “Man, y’all love painting me as this sex deprived, miserable person.”

Azzi laughed at this. “I mean… Rickea said you’ve been tense for weeks. Weeks, P.”

Paige scoffed. “Rickea don’t know what she’s talking about.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “So you haven’t been tense? What you don’t want me?”

Paige huffed, shifting in her seat. “Nah like, obviously, I want—” She stopped, shook her head, and started again. “I mean, if you was here, then yeah, maybe—” She groaned, running a hand down her face. “Nah, what I’m trying to say is—”

Azzi bit her lip, amused. “Go ahead. Take your time.”

Paige shot her a glare through the screen. “You’re annoying.”

Azzi grinned. “And you’re deflecting.”

Paige exhaled. “Man, shut up.”

“I’m just saying, you sounded real confident telling people I’m your girl, but now all of a sudden you don’t have anything to say?”

Paige groaned again, running a hand through her hair. “Why you gotta bring that up?”

“Because I liked how it sounded,” Azzi admitted.

Paige paused, her expression shifting. “Yeah?”

Azzi nodded. “Yeah.”

Paige let out a breath, her lips curling into a slow smile before she said, “Bet.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she changed the subject. “You need to rest and drink some water before your flight tomorrow.”

Paige frowned. “I’m tryna keep talkin’ to you, though.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You can talk to me in your room.”

Paige squinted. “Why you keep tryna send me to bed?”

“I’m not,” Azzi said–she definitely was, she could tell Paige was tired and would crash within 10 minutes of being in her room. “You’re just in public, and I don’t wanna filter what I say.”

Paige stilled for a second, like she was processing what that meant, then Azzi watched her scramble up from her seat so fast it was almost impressive.

Azzi smirked. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Paige, already halfway out the bar, just said, “Hold that thought,” before the screen went a little dark.

Azzi heard the shuffle of movement, followed by Paige’s voice calling out to her teammates, “I’m goin’ to bed.”

In the background, Rickea and Dijonai immediately started booing. Paige just laughed, the sound a little muffled, and then Azzi saw her moving toward what looked like the elevators.

Azzi was about to say something when she heard a voice—someone stopping Paige. “Hey, can I get a picture real quick?” the person asked. “We were at the club with y’all earlier.”

Paige sighed quietly but stopped, clearly obliging. “Yeah, yeah, for sure.”

Azzi watched as Paige posed, the flash going off before Paige mumbled, “No problem.” With that, she finally stepped into the elevator, the doors shutting behind her.

The call cut in and out until Paige stepped off the elevator and into her room, shutting the door behind her. She looked down at her phone, her lips curling into a small smirk. “Wassup.”

Azzi smiled at her saying, “Hi again.”

Paige chuckled as she kicked off her shoes, her movements a little sluggish but still controlled. “How was work today?”

Azzi leaned back against her pillows, watching Paige through the screen. “It was good. Just scheduled appointments and check-ins, nothing too unexpected.”

Paige smiled at that. “That’s good. You eat?”

Azzi hummed, nodding. “Yeah.”

Paige propped up her phone, adjusting the angle before stretching her arms over her head with a small groan. “Good, what’d you have?”

Azzi smirked at the domesticity of it all. “You checking up on me now?”

Paige rolled her eyes. “Man, just answer the question.”

Azzi hummed. “I had some salmon, rice, and veggies earlier. Happy?”

Paige grinned. “Very. Proud of you for eating real food.”

Azzi scoffed. “What does that mean?”

“You be playin around sometimes, acting like coffee is a meal.”

Azzi shrugged. “Sometimes it’s all I need to get through the day.”

Paige gave her a pointed look. “If I said that, you’d give me a whole lecture about what my body needs for like twenty minutes.”

“That’s different.”

Paige scoffed. “It’s not.”

Azzi crossed her arms, leaning back against her pillows. “It is, though. You’re an athlete, you burn way more calories than me. Your body literally needs more fuel.”

“Doesn’t mean you can just run on caffeine and sheer will?”

Azzi smiled. “It’s been working so far.”

Paige gave her a pointed look. “Mmhm. Until one day, you just randomly fall out.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Alright, that's dramatic.”

Paige shrugged. “I’m just saying, don’t let me catch you slipping. Imma absolutely pull the ‘I told you so’ card.”

“Noted.”

Paige grinned, satisfied. “Good. Now, did you drink water too, or am I about to be disappointed?”

Azzi sighed dramatically. “Yes, Paige, I drank water.”

Paige grinned. “Damn, look at that—sexy, responsible woman over there. Drinkin water and shit.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

Paige just laughed, grabbing the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head before walking out of frame.

Azzi immediately frowned. “Where’d you go?”

A few seconds later, Paige reappeared on the screen, now wearing a pair of shorts and a sports bra. She smirked as she sat down. “What, you tryna get a show?”

Azzi tilted her head slightly, eyes flickering over Paige’s toned frame before humming. “Maybe.”

Paige let out a low chuckle. “You gotta pay for allat.”

Azzi played into the joke, as she bit her lip. “What’s the going rate these days?”

Paige’s jaw dropped dramatically. “Wowww. That’s crazy.”

Azzi smiled. “I’m just trying to be an informed customer.”

Paige leaned closer to the camera. “Ahh, so you tryna make a purchase?”

Azzi tilted her head, pretending to think about it. “Depends on what’s all included in the package.”

Paige let out a low laugh, licking her lips. “Premium service. Real exclusive type service.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “How exclusive we talking?”

Paige’s grin grew, her tipsiness making her bolder. “Like… only available for one person, kinda exclusive.”

Azzi hummed, playing along. “And what if I want a trial run before committing?”

Paige sucked her teeth, shaking her head. “Nah, this ain’t no free sample situation. You either all in or not at all.”

Azzi’s voice is a little softer when she says, “I tried to remember? You stopped me.”

That brought a shift in Paige’s expression. Her smirk faltered, turning gentle as her eyes searched Azzi’s face. She nodded slowly.

“I did,” Paige said softly. “I was just tryna respect you gorgeous.”

Azzi’s features softened in return, her voice sincere. “And I appreciate that.”

Paige smiled at her, eyes growing heavier. “Tell me about your day?”

Azzi settled further into her bed, adjusting her phone as she watched Paige’s face relax. “You sure you’re not going to fall asleep on me?” she teased.

Paige let out a soft chuckle, already nestling into her pillow. “Nah, I wanna hear you talk.” Her voice was quieter now, more at ease. “Just tell me about your day.”

Azzi smiled at that, something warm settling in her chest. “Alright.” She thought for a moment before starting. “Well work was good—mostly just check-ins and scheduled appointments like I said, nothing too crazy. I had this one client who swore they were dying over a minor sprain, though.”

Paige let out a sleepy laugh. “Mmm. You saving lives out here, huh?”

Azzi smirked. “Always.”

Paige hummed in response, eyes slipping closed but her lips still curved in a small smile. Azzi kept talking, telling her about little moments from her day—her workout that morning, grabbing coffee, the book she’d started reading. Paige would mumble something here and there, making it clear she was still listening, even as her responses got slower.

Eventually, Azzi heard Paige’s breathing even out, her face peaceful on the screen. Azzi just watched her for a moment, the sight of Paige so relaxed making her chest tighten in a way she wasn’t ready to unpack.

Softly, she whispered, “Goodnight, Paige.”

Paige stirred just enough to murmur back, “Night, Az,” before fully drifting off.

Azzi smiled to herself, shaking her head fondly before ending the call, letting herself relax into bed as well.

…

The next time Paige and Azzi saw each other was the day Paige returned to Dallas. She had just picked up Lukas from her mothers house, the little boy practically bouncing in his seat in the back, a bright grin on his face as he was excited to see his mom after being apart for so long.

As they drove down the familiar Dallas streets, Lukas chatted about everything from starting school in the fall to the new toy he wanted that his uncle showed him.

Paige pulled up outside Azzi’s clinic, shifting the car into park as she glanced at Lukas through the rearview mirror. The little boy was peering out the window, his small brows furrowed in curiosity.

“Where are we?”

Paige unbuckled her seatbelt, stretching her arm over the passenger seat as she turned to look at him. “We’re picking up Azzi.”

At the mention of her name, Lukas immediately went quiet, mumbling out a quiet, “Oh.” His tiny fingers messed with the strings of his hoodie, and a faint pink dusted his cheeks.

Paige caught the reaction instantly, smirking as she tilted her head. “Oh?” she teased, dragging the word out.

Lukas shifted in his car seat, suddenly hyper focused on the straps across his chest. “Nothin’,” he mumbled, eyes darting away.

Paige chuckled. “You excited to see Azzi?”

There was a pause before Lukas gave a quick, almost shy nod. “She’s nice,” he admitted quietly.

Paige’s smirk softened into a smile. “Yeah, she is.”

She unlatched her door and turned back to him. “You gonna come inside with me or just sit there looking shy?”

Lukas hesitated, his little legs swinging. “I’ll go.”

After helping Lukas out of the car, Paige took his hand and led him up to Azzi’s clinic. When they got off the elevator the same receptionist from last time looked up, offering a polite smile. Paige returned it with a small nod.

Azzi was waiting for them just past the desk, standing with her hands in her pockets. Paige gave her a quick once over taking note of the white button up that was slightly undone and the heels Azzi had on.

Maybe it was the fact that they hadn’t seen each other in days, or maybe it was something else entirely, but the moment Azzi stepped toward Paige, the hug that followed felt different.

To anyone watching, it would seem like nothing more than a warm embrace—Azzi’s arms wrapping around Paige’s shoulders, Paige’s arms circling her waist. But to them, it felt like something else entirely.

Azzi melted into it just a little too much, the weight of her body pressing against Paige’s completely as she let out the smallest sigh against her hoodie. Paige felt the way Azzi’s fingers curled slightly against her back, how the warmth of her breath tickled her neck.

Paige, in turn, held on just a second longer than necessary, her lips brushing the curve of Azzi’s jaw as she whispered, “Wassup, beautiful?”

Azzi stiffened for half a second, just enough for Paige to notice, before she pulled back, keeping her expression neutral.

Their eyes met.

Lingering.

Reading each other.

Their eye contact lasted long enough that the receptionist cleared her throat softly, a subtle reminder that they weren’t alone.

Paige smirked as she shifted her weight, finally glancing away. Azzi, on the other hand, bit the inside of her cheek, schooling her expression before turning her attention down to Lukas, who had been watching the interaction with his wide, curious eyes.

Azzi crouched slightly, offering the boy a warm smile. “Hey, buddy,” she greeted, her voice softer now.

Lukas, still flustered from before, rocked on his heels before shyly mumbling, “Hi.”

Paige watched the exchange with amusement, her heart beating a little faster than it probably should have been.

Azzi stood up, her gaze flickering to the small bowl of candy on the receptionist’s desk. She grabbed a piece, then turned to Paige with a silent question in her eyes, lifting the candy slightly in Lukas’s direction.

Paige let out a quiet laugh, nodding. “Yeah, he can have it.”

Azzi grinned and crouched again, holding the candy out to Lukas. “This is for you.”

Lukas’s eyes widened slightly, his shyness momentarily replaced with excitement as he reached for it. “Thank you.”

Azzi chuckled. “You’re welcome.”

Paige watched the exchange shaking her head. “You tryna win him over with candy already?”

Azzi smirked, glancing at her. “Is it working?”

Paige looked down at Lukas, who was now inspecting the candy like it was a prized possession, his tiny fingers gripping it tightly. “Yeah… definitely.”

Azzi turned back toward the receptionist, giving her a small wave. “Goodnight, Kelly,” she said with a smile.

“Goodnight, Dr. Fudd. Paige,” Kelly replied, her tone slightly teasing as she subtly glanced between Azzi and Paige.

Azzi rolled her eyes but smiled before following Paige and Lukas toward the elevator. As the doors closed, the three of them stood in comfortable silence, Lukas still clutching his candy while sneaking glances at Azzi.

When they got outside, Paige immediately reached for Lukas’s hand, keeping him close as they walked to her car. Azzi attempted to open the passenger door but Paige stopped her and with her free hand, she pulled open the passenger door for Azzi.

Azzi arched her eyebrow but smirked as she slid into the seat. “A real gentle woman,” she teased.

Paige snorted. “You’re welcome.”

Once Azzi was settled Paige shut the door for her and turned her attention to Lukas, opening the back door and lifting him up into his car seat. She stepped back, watching as he carefully buckled himself in, his small hands fumbling with the straps.

“You got it?” Paige asked.

Lukas nodded, determined. “Mhm.”

Satisfied, Paige shut his door and made her way around to the driver’s side, sliding in behind the wheel.

For the most part, the car ride was quiet as they drove to Paige’s house. She wanted to give Azzi time to wind down, having heard how draining her days can be sometimes. Azzi didn’t seem exhausted, but she wasn’t rushing to fill the silence either. She simply gazed out the window, her body relaxed in the passenger seat.

In the backseat, Lukas had talked himself out for a bit. He stared out the window, occasionally kicking his feet as he took in the sights passing by. Every now and then, he’d say something random—commenting on a car, a dog he saw on the sidewalk, or just mumbling a thought that popped into his head.

Paige, of course, always responded, laughing at his little observations or answering his occasional questions. One hand was lazily gripping the wheel, the other resting on the gear stick, fingers drumming lightly against it.

Eventually Azzi glanced down, noticing the movement before subtly reaching over. She slid her hand over Paige’s, fingers curling around her wrist for a second before tugging it toward her lap. Paige let her, exhaling a quiet chuckle as Azzi interlaced their fingers, resting their joined hands on her thigh.

Neither of them said anything. Paige’s thumb brushed against Azzi’s skin absentmindedly, and Azzi just let herself enjoy the warmth of Paige’s touch. It was simple, but there was something grounding about it. Something comforting.

A few minutes later, Paige pulled into a spot near a small café, glancing in the rearview mirror. “You hungry, little man?”

Lukas perked up immediately, nodding. “Yes!”

Azzi chuckled, shaking her head. “Didn’t even hesitate.”

Paige smirked, already knowing the answer before she asked. “Figured I’d stop now so he’s not up too late.”

Paige ran inside and ordered some grilled chicken wraps for all of them, and a fruit cup for Lukas. As she pulled back onto the road, the smell of the food quickly filled the car, and Lukas hummed in satisfaction from the backseat.

“That smells so good,” he mumbled, his voice sleepy but happy.

Paige grinned, glancing over at Azzi. “See? Man’s got priorities.”

Azzi smiled, giving Paige’s hand a small squeeze. “Can’t argue with that.”

As Paige pulled into the garage, the car had barely come to a complete stop before Lukas was already unbuckling himself. The second the lock clicked, he swung the door open and bolted inside, his small feet pattering against the floor as he rushed to reunite with the toys he had been separated from while staying at his grandmother’s house.

Paige chuckled, watching him disappear into the house. “Big head didn’t even say bye,” she mumbled.

Azzi laughed as she stepped out of the car, stretching her arms above her head before following Paige inside.

As soon as Paige set the food down on the island, she turned to Azzi and pulled her in by her waist. Azzi barely had time to adjust before Paige’s lips were on her neck, pressing slow kisses against her skin.

Azzi exhaled softly, her arms winding around Paige’s shoulders as she tilted her head, offering more access. Paige hummed against her skin, trailing her lips lower, taking her time as if she was reacquainting herself with the feeling of having Azzi this close again.

Azzi sighed at the sensation, her fingers threading through the hairs at the nape of Paige’s neck, nails scratching lightly. “Missed me, huh?” she teased, though her voice came out softer than intended, reflecting just how much she was feeling it too.

Paige smirked against her skin, pressing one last open mouthed kiss beneath Azzi’s jaw before whispering, “Maybe a lil.”

Azzi pulled Paige toward her lips, her voice a soft whisper against the small space between them. “Liar,” she whispered before closing the distance, pressing their lips together.

Paige melted into it, her hands tightening around Azzi’s waist as she let herself sink into the warmth of Azzi’s mouth. It had only been a few days, but it felt like forever. She could feel Azzi smiling against her lips, could feel the way her fingers curled into her hair.

Just as the kiss was about to deepen, Paige heard the sound of small, hurried footsteps making their way toward the kitchen. Her instincts kicked in and with a quiet sigh, she tugged playfully on Azzi’s bottom lip before pulling back, smirking when she saw the way Azzi’s eyes fluttered open, a little dazed.

Azzi exhaled, blinking as if she was snapping herself out of it. “You’re evil,” she whispered.

Paige grinned, stepping away just in time for Lukas to come sprinting into the kitchen, completely oblivious to what he had just interrupted.

Paige glanced over at Lukas, who was bouncing on his feet, eager to eat dinner. “Go wash your hands so you can eat.”

Lukas nodded and dashed toward the sink, stepping onto his little stool that was positioned for him to reach the faucet. He hummed quietly to himself as he scrubbed his hands, focusing intently on the task at hand. Paige smiled at him before turning her attention back to the food, moving everything to the table,

As Lukas finished washing his hands, he hopped off the stool and walked over to the table, his eyes scanning the seats. “Ma, can I sit there?” he asked, pointing to the seat next to Azzi.

Paige laughed, raising her eyebrows at Lukas's sudden preference for the seat next to Azzi. "Go ahead," she said. She pushed his food over toward that spot, smiling as Lukas happily scooted into the chair beside Azzi and began to dig into his food.

Paige handed Azzi her food before sitting across from her, offering a small smile. Azzi’s lips quirked into a smile of her own as she murmured, “Thank you.”

The dinner started with easy conversation between Paige and Azzi, filled with them talking about the past few days and plans for the upcoming weekend. Lukas chimed in here and there, his voice cutting through the conversation with random, innocent comments or questions. It felt effortless—comfortable, even—until Lukas suddenly stopped, looking up at Paige with a serious expression on his face.

Paige was in the middle of talking to Azzi about her game on Sunday when Lukas suddenly cut in, his voice serious. "Ma, I got a question," he said, pausing with his kids-wrap halfway to his mouth.

Paige looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. "Wassup?"

Lukas set his wrap down. "Can I have a girlfriend yet?"

Paige’s mind raced, her face briefly going blank before she recovered. She was prepared for a lot of things, but not that—certainly not from her freshly four-year-old. She glanced at Azzi, who was struggling to suppress her laugh.

Paige cleared her throat, trying to keep her voice steady. "No, buddy," she said, simply.

Lukas looked a little bummed, his small brows furrowing. "When can I have a girlfriend?"

Paige nearly choked on her own laughter at the sheer seriousness in his voice, but she composed herself, trying to act like it wasn’t the most absurd thing she'd ever heard. "Dude, why are you asking? You're, like, four."

Lukas just shrugged, his cheeks turning a little pink as he looked down at his plate. Paige couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head. "16, maybe," she said, figuring that might be a reasonable answer for when he'd actually be ready for a girlfriend.

Lukas looked up at that, trying to do the math with his fingers, clearly confused. After a few moments, he looked back at Paige. "How many years is that?" he asked earnestly.

Paige took another bite of her food, smiling despite herself. "Twelve," she answered casually.

Lukas stared at her for a moment, his small brows furrowing in thought. Then, in his innocent, matter-of-fact way, he turned to Azzi and asked, “Excuse me. How old will you be in 12 years?”

Paige froze for a second, her wrap halfway to her mouth. She glanced at Azzi, whose eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected question.

Lukas stared up at Azzi, his blue eyes wide and serious, still waiting for an answer. Paige squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to come up with a way to explain this to her four-year-old. She put her food down and let out a quiet sigh, then looked at Lukas. "Lukas, buddy..." she trailed off, clearly struggling to find the right words.

Lukas looked at her expectantly, waiting for a response from one of them. Paige gave up trying to come up with a more tactful response and just went with the straightforward answer. "You can't date Azzi, buddy."

Lukas blinked a few times, then scrunched up his face. "Why not?"

Paige sighed, glancing over at Azzi, who could see how much Paige was struggling. With a soft smile, Azzi finally spoke up. "I'm a little too old, Luke.”

Lukas looked between the two of them as he tried to make sense of it all. “Even in twelve years?”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, her eyes crinkling as she smiled at him. “Yes, even in twelve years.”

Lukas let out a thoughtful “Oh,” and nodded slowly, accepting the answer as fact. But he wasn’t done yet. He then looked at Paige. “Ma, do you like Azzi? She’s not too old for you right?”

Paige blinked, once again caught slightly off guard by the abrupt shift, “Yeah, I do,” she said with a soft smile.

Lukas tilted his head side to side. “Like… like like?”

Paige chuckled again, reaching for her glass of water. “Yes, Lukas. Like like like.”

Lukas hummed thoughtfully, his spoon full of fruit paused in midair as he mulled it over. Paige watched him for a beat, a small hint of nervousness in her smile. “Is that okay with you?”

He shrugged, already turning his attention back to his plate like the weight of the conversation hadn’t even touched him. “Yeah,” he said casually, scooping up another bite of fruit. “She’s pretty.”

Paige blinked, then burst into quiet laughter, glancing across the table at Azzi—who was doing a terrible job of hiding her smirk behind her water glass.

“Well,” Azzi said playfully, leaning an elbow on the table, “guess I’ve got son approval now, huh?”

Even though Azzi was addressing Paige, Lukas nodded through a mouthful of food. “Mhm. You can stay.”

After that, the rest of dinner was pretty uneventful—filled mostly with Lukas’s nonstop chatter, bouncing from one random topic to the next now that he had food in his stomach. Paige and Azzi let him lead the conversation, throwing in playful questions to keep him going.

But even as they talked, Paige couldn’t help but notice the way Azzi’s foot kept brushing against her leg under the table.

Once dinner was cleared and Lukas had finished the last of his water, Paige stood and stretched. “Alright, time for bath and pajamas,” she said, nodding for Lukas to follow her.

He grumbled in protest but still grabbed his toy car and trudged after her toward his room.

Azzi smiled at them before catching Paige’s eye. “I’ll hop in the shower while you do that,” she said softly.

“Sounds good.”

…

When Azzi finished her shower, she oiled and detangled her hair before pulling it into a messy bun on top of her head. She slipped into one of Paige’s old college shirts—the UConn logo stretched across the front with the number 5 on the back.

She padded downstairs, the sound of laughter greeting her before she even reached the bottom step. As she rounded the corner, she paused in the archway, smiling at the sight in front of her—Paige and Lukas were tangled up on the living room floor, both laughing like crazy.

Lukas was squirming beneath Paige’s hands, squealing through fits of laughter. “Ma! Stop, stop! That tickles! I gotta breathe!”

Paige grinned, completely unbothered by his protests as she continued to tickle him. “Nah that’s what you get for splashing me in the tub!”

Azzi leaned against the wall, her heart softening at the sight.

Lukas finally managed to roll on top of Paige—she let him, of course—and he immediately launched his counterattack, his tiny hands moving clumsily as he tried to tickle her sides.

“Ha I got you now!” he declared, his grin huge.

Paige exaggerated her reaction, squirming under him as she laughed. “Ahh! No, not the tickle monster!”

Through her playful flailing, she caught sight of Azzi standing there, leaning against the archway. Her smile softened the moment she saw her, eyes flicking to the UConn shirt hanging comfortably on Azzi’s frame. It was an old one—faded lettering and all—but it looked ridiculously good on her. Paige smirked, eyes trailing over Azzi for way too long before she scooped Lukas up with a grunt and stood.

“Alright, go play with your toys for a bit. I gotta go shower.”

Lukas nodded, already halfway to his favorite corner of the living room, which was packed with cars, a mini ball and hoop, and a table with art supplies all over it.

As soon as his back was turned, Paige crossed the room toward Azzi. Without saying anything, she grabbed her hand and tugged her around the corner and out of sight. Azzi let herself be pulled, curiosity dancing in her face—until her back met the wall gently and Paige stepped into her space, hands on both sides of her waist.

Paige mumbled, “You look good in my shirt.”

Azzi tilted her head, smirking now. “Do I?”

Paige nodded, eyes flicking down her body briefly before meeting Azzi’s again. “Yeah… too good, honestly.”

Azzi bit back a smile, her hands sliding up Paige’s arms. “Maybe you should let me borrow your clothes more often.”

Instead of responding Paige just leaned in, pulling her into a kiss that was deeper than usual, her lips lingering longer as she gently pressed Azzi against the wall again.

Azzi melted into it for a moment before murmuring against Paige’s lips, “Thought you were going to shower.”

Paige smirked, lips brushing over hers again. “Five more seconds won’t kill me.”

Azzi grinned. “You gonna be thinking about this the whole time you’re in there aren’t you?”

Paige’s thumb dragged lazily across her side. “Absolutely.” With that Paige smiled at Azzi and gave her one more quick kiss before she went upstairs to shower.

Azzi’s stomach was still warm from Paige’s kiss as she wandered into the living room, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of the shirt. She sank into the couch, exhaling softly into the quiet. Lukas was still off in his corner, mumbling to himself as he attempted a spin move, and for a moment, Azzi let herself get lost in everything—how comfortable this all felt, how unexpected it was, how easy it had become to want this.

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts, she didn’t notice Lukas approaching until he was standing in front of her, holding out a picture book with his hands. “Can you read this to me please?”

Azzi smiled as she took the book from him. “Of course I can.”

He didn’t say anything as he climbed up beside her, settling close. Azzi waited for him to get comfortable, letting him wiggle around until he was satisfied with his spot. Then she opened the book across both their laps and began to read, her voice smooth as she brought the story to life.

Every so often, she’d pause to point something out—“What do you think that is?” or “Look at that face, silly, huh?”—and Lukas would grin, nod, or offer a quiet answer. His responses were soft, but they came quicker with each page, his comfort growing right alongside his curiosity.

By the fifth or sixth page, Lukas was fully leaned into her, his head gently resting against her chest. Azzi didn’t say anything about it. She just shifted the book slightly, adjusting to his weight as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

When Paige came back downstairs in her usual shorts and a sports bra, she froze just before she entered the room. Her eyes locked onto the couch—and for a second, she genuinely felt like she couldn’t move.

Lukas was curled into Azzi’s chest, his small body tucked against her like he belonged there. Azzi’s arm was wrapped loosely around him, the book still open in her hand as she read in a quiet voice. Lukas’s blue eyes fluttered, heavy with sleep, but still trying to hold on to her words.

Paige felt her throat tighten, breath catching as something sharp and soft cracked open in her chest. The sight hit her so hard she had to press her lips together to keep them from trembling. Her eyes stung, but she blinked quickly, swallowing the emotion down before it could rise too far.

She took a steady breath and stepped into view, her voice softer than usual as she asked, “What’s going on in here?”

Lukas didn’t even look up, just waved her off with a sleepy hand. “Sssh, ma… she’s reading to me.”

Azzi bit the inside of her cheek to hold back a laugh, while Paige chuckled under her breath. She crossed the room and sank onto the couch next to Azzi, her arm naturally stretching along the back behind her shoulders.

Azzi glanced sideways at Paige for a second, and they shared a look. Once again a blink longer than it needed to be.

Then Lukas shifted and looked up at Azzi expectantly. “You stopped.”

Azzi smiled, eyes still lingering on Paige before turning back to the book. “Right. Where were we?”

Lukas says easily, “The elephant.”

“Right the elephant, thank you.”

Azzi finished the story and Paige sat quietly beside her the whole time—fingers tracing absentminded patterns along the back of Azzi’s neck. It started out casual, innocent even, but as the pages turned and Lukas leaned heavier into Azzi’s side, Paige's touch grew more purposeful, more tender.

When she noticed that Lukas had fully fallen asleep, his little breaths even, Paige leaned in closer. She pressed an open-mouthed kiss just beneath Azzi’s jaw, then another along the curve of her neck, her voice barely a whisper as she murmured, “You’re really something, you know that?”

Azzi exhaled softly, her eyes fluttering closed for a second. Paige smiled against her skin and whispered again, lower this time, “You keep doing shit that makes me wanna give you whatever you ask for..”

Azzi turned her head just slightly, enough for their noses to brush. “You’re not making it easy to stay still right now.”

“Good,” Paige whispered, her lips grazing Azzi’s. “Wasn’t trying to.”

Paige pulled Azzi into a soft kiss, her hand slipping gently along Azzi’s jaw as their mouths moved together slowly. Their tongues met and lingered, tracing one another’s with a quiet kind of desperation. When Paige finally pulled back, her smile was laced with something fuller—adoration, maybe.

“You’re amazing,” she whispered against Azzi’s lips, still close enough to feel her breath.

Azzi blinked, eyes searching Paige’s for a moment before replying just as softly, “You’re amazing.”

Paige exhaled, a content sigh leaving her as she rested her forehead briefly against Azzi’s, not wanting to move. She finally pulled back, eyes flicking to Lukas. “Alright,” she murmured, “Imma take him to bed.”

Azzi nodded. “I’ll meet you in your room.”

Paige stood up and scooped Lukas into her arms, the little boy still sound asleep, head resting against her shoulder. She carried him upstairs, her steps quiet and practiced. Once she reached his room, she gently laid him down, tucking his blanket around him before turning on his night light by the bed, and the one in the bathroom connected to his room—just like always. She stood there for a moment, watching him, brushing a hand through his blonde hair before quietly stepping out and closing the door behind her.

Paige walked into her room and found Azzi sitting on the bed, eyes focused on her phone. The moment Azzi looked up and saw Paige, she set it aside without hesitation. After shutting and locking the door Paige moved toward the bed, standing between Azzi’s legs, looking down at her with a soft smile.

"Thank you for reading to him," Paige said, her voice sincere. "You didn't have to do that."

"You don't need to thank me for being a decent human," Assi teased.

Paige smiled at her, her heart softening. Before she could say anything else, Azzi reached for Paige's hand, tugging her gently onto the bed so she was hovering over her. Paige smirked down at her. “Wassup?”

Azzi’s gaze remained steady as she looked up at Paige, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. “Did you sleep with anyone while you were gone?”

Paige looked a little shocked at the question causing a slight pause before she answered. “Um..no…?”

“Why not?”

Paige shifted slightly, her eyes searching Azzi’s face to figure out where her mind was. Eventually Paige let out a small sigh saying, “Look I like you Azzi. A lot. And I realized that pretty early on. So I guess I just didn’t wanna disrespect you, your time, or the energy you’ve given me. It didn’t feel right.”

There was a quiet weight to her words, and Azzi felt a warmth stir inside her as she processed what Paige had said. The honesty between them always seemed to draw them closer.

Azzi answered back, “It sounds childish to say, but...I like you a lot too,” she admitted, a small but genuine smile forming on her lips. “And I’m probably going to regret saying this, but I can’t get you out of my head most days.”

Paige smirked, just as Azzi knew she would, but Azzi wasn’t done yet. “I just—I really can’t get hurt again, Paige,” she said, the vulnerability in her voice cutting through the small space between them.

Paige’s expression softened, her blue eyes warm as she gazed down at Azzi. “I wouldn’t hurt you, Azzi.”

Azzi’s eyes searched hers. “You don’t know that,” she replied quietly, her heart still a little heavy with the weight of past experiences.

Paige’s smile was gentle as she leaned in closer. “I do,” she said with quiet conviction. “Azzi, I have a son. This is about to be my 7th year in the league. I’m ready to slow down, have consistency in my life... in Lukas’ life.” Paige paused for a second before adding, “And I’m not about to lie to you, maybe four months ago I couldn’t say all this, but this past week away from you kinda showed me where I’m at mentally. So I'm telling you, you don’t need to worry about allat. I got you.”

Paige's words washed over Azzi, and for the first time in a while, she let herself feel hopeful that maybe, just maybe, this was something different. Something real. With a small smile Azzi connected their lips gently.

It deepened as Azzi pulled Paige closer, her hands wrapping around Paige's shoulders, urging her down, wanting to feel her weight on top of her. Paige hovered over her, their chests pressing together, the heat of their closeness growing as they kissed with a quiet urgency. It was slow, but every kiss seemed to carry the weight of the last few days they'd spent apart, the longing finally being given room to breathe.

For a few moments, they lost themselves in each other, their kisses messy yet perfect. Their lips moved against each other in a rhythm that somehow felt new and familiar at the same time. Occasionally, one of them would sigh softly, a breathless sound that only seemed to deepen the connection between them. Each touch, each shift of their bodies, felt like a reaffirmation of something they haven’t said yet.

Paige’s hands had drifted to Azzi’s neck, gently pulling her in closer, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath her fingertips. Every so often, one of them would pull back slightly, just enough to catch their breath, their foreheads resting together, eyes fluttering open to gaze at one another.

Paige’s breath hitched when she heard Azzi slightly moan into the kiss causing her to slowly move her lips to Azzi’s neck, pressing a soft kiss there before returning to her mouth. “I missed this,” Paige whispered between kisses.

Azzi smiled against Paige’s lips, her hands tracing the outline of Paige’s jaw before pulling her back in for another kiss. “Me too,” she murmured, her lips capturing Paige’s with a different intensity.

As the kiss grew heavier, Paige slowly broke from Azzi’s lips, her mouth trailing down the curve of her jaw, pressing wet open mouth kisses until she found that spot on her neck that she knew Azzi liked. She attached her lips there, sucking gently before soothing it with her tongue, her breath hot against Azzi’s skin.

Azzi let out a quiet, involuntary sound—half sigh, half moan—as her fingers curled into Paige’s shoulders. “That feels good,” she mumbled, her head falling back to give Paige more access.

Paige smiled against her neck, lips brushing over the spot she’d just kissed. “Yeah?” she whispered, her voice low, full of quiet satisfaction at Azzi’s comment. “Swear I been thinking about this—about you all week.”

She nipped gently again, her hands smoothing up and down Azzi’s side. “Missed you so much,” she murmured into the warm skin of her neck, letting the words linger as she started to suck gently on Azzi’s neck again..

Azzi’s breath hitched, and she whispered, “Paige…”

Paige immediately paused, pulling back as her eyes searched Azzi’s. “You okay?” she asked softly, already easing off her, assuming they needed to slow down.

But Azzi shook her head and reached for her, fingers curling around the back of Paige’s neck as she tugged her back down, closer. “No, don’t…I didn’t mean stop,” she said, her voice breathless. “I just—God, I just wanted to say your name. It felt good.”

Paige smirked, her lips brushing against Azzi’s jaw as she leaned in again. “Mmm ok,” she murmured before kissing down her neck again, slower this time. Her hands slipped beneath Azzi’s shirt fingertips dragging along her warm stomach, tracing the lines of her sides.

Azzi’s fingers tightened slightly around Paige’s shoulders as she whispered, “Take it off.”

Paige once again paused, pulling back just enough to see her face, her hands still resting on Azzi’s ribs. Her voice was gentle, steady. “You sure?” she asked, blue eyes locked on Azzi’s brown ones, no pressure in her tone—just a quiet promise to Azzi that they could wait if she needed.

“Yes,” Azzi said, barely above a whisper. “I want this.”

Paige nodded and slowly lifted herself off of Azzi, her hands gliding down her sides as she moved. Azzi shifted fully onto the bed, her back resting against the pillows. She peeled off the UConn shirt—the one that smelled like Paige, the one she secretly didn’t want to give back.

Paige's gaze swept over Azzi’s bare chest, quiet and steady. Her blue eyes had dilated so they appeared darker, but the look she gave Azzi was soft, almost reverent. Like she was seeing something sacred.

Climbing back over her, Paige leaned down and whispered, “You’re so beautiful, Azzi.”

Azzi smiled up at her, a little breathless already. “Thank you.”

Paige shook her head, her voice even softer now. “I’m for real… I’ve never seen anyone like you.”

Azzi didn’t say anything this time. She just smiled and pulled Paige into another kiss, her fingers threading into the back of her hair. The kiss was slower now, full of everything that had been simmering between them for months. Azzi pulled back slightly, her lips brushing against Paige’s as she murmured, “Did you lock the door?”

Paige smiled. “Course I did.”

Paige lifted herself slightly, her eyes never leaving Azzi’s as she reached for her sports bra and tugged it over her head, tossing it aside. Warm light from the bedside lamp caught the lines of her body, casting soft shadows across her toned muscles. Azzi’s breath hitched, her eyes flickering over Paige—seeing her for the first time.

Paige dipped back down, her lips brushing over Azzi’s jaw before trailing lower—pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, and then to the top of her chest. Her hands stayed on Azzi’s sides, thumbs moving in gentle, slow circles as she explored the new territory.

Azzi exhaled sharply, her fingers flexing against Paige’s back as her body arched into the touch. “Paige please…” she whispered, breathless and quiet, her voice catching on the edge of a moan.

Paige smiled softly against her skin, not saying anything—just letting her lips speak for her as she sucked along the curve of Azzi’s chest, her skin warm and flush against hers now. Every shift of Paige’s body, every lingering kiss, the way her tongue swirled around her chest, made Azzi whisper her name again and again, like she was afraid the moment would disappear if she didn’t hold onto the fact that it was Paige.

Paige’s mouth moved with purpose now, nipping and sucking gently at Azzi’s skin, leaving behind little pink-ish purple trails like a map of where she’d been. Her hands slid down Azzi’s sides, fingers curling and squeezing every so often—grounding them both in the moment. Each time she dipped lower, she let her tongue soothe where her teeth had marked.

Azzi’s breath caught again when Paige’s tongue traced her nipple, her back arching into the feeling.

“You sound so beautiful,” Paige whispered, her voice horse. She kissed the words into her just below her ribs, trailing them with her lips.

Azzi’s fingers found Paige’s hair, gently tugging as her eyes fluttered closed. Her heart was racing in her chest—not just from the way Paige was touching her—it was the way she was seeing her.

Paige looked up at her, her lips stilling for a moment as she whispered, “You okay?”

Azzi nodded, lips parted, her fingers tightening just slightly in Paige’s hair. Paige held her gaze for a moment longer, then slowly trailed down a little lower. Her mouth moved with care—pressing open-mouthed kisses, leaving behind soft marks that only Azzi would be able to see.

When Paige glanced back up, Azzi was already looking down at her—her brown eyes vulnerable, but filled with admiration. Paige paused, brushing her lips against her skin one more time before quietly asking, “Is this okay?”

Azzi nodded again, but Paige didn’t move. “I need you to say it’s okay for me baby.”

Azzi let out a quiet sigh, swallowing down the emotion that bubbled up. “Yes… yes, it’s okay,” she whispered, her fingers still in Paige’s hair. “It’s good. You’re good.”

Paige kissed her way slowly back up Azzi’s body, taking her time—savoring every inch, every sigh she pulled from her. When their lips met again, it was slow as Paige coaxed Azzi into relaxing, her hand sliding into the boxers she slipped on.

Her hand found Azzi’s clit, fingers brushing lightly as she began to trace slow circles against her wet center. The touch was soft, but the effect was immediate—Azzi’s breath catching, her body tensing slightly beneath Paige’s.

It had been a while so her senses felt heightened, her body already teetering between wanting more and struggling to keep up.

Paige felt it too—the way Azzi arched into her touch, the way her tongue pushed further into her mouth but her lips faltered at the edges. She pulled back slightly, just enough to rest her forehead against Azzi’s, her fingers still moving in gentle circles.

“Too much?” Paige whispered.

Azzi shook her head, her eyes half-lidded. “No,” she whispered. “It’s just…it’s been a long time.”

Paige nodded as she continued her movements. She watched Azzi closely—the way her chest rose and fell, the way her lips parted with each quiet breath. Paige leaned in and pressed a kiss to the edge of Azzi’s jaw, her voice warm.

“You look so beautiful right now,” she whispered. “So, so pretty.”

Azzi’s fingers curled in the sheets for a moment, her body shifting beneath Paige’s as she exhaled a shaky breath before saying, “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true,” Paige said with a faint smile, nipping lightly at Azzi’s neck before soothing it with her lips. “And you sound even prettier. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me right now.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh at that, but it faded into a soft moan when Paige’s fingers dipped down towards her entrance slightly before moving back up. “You’re making it really hard to think straight,” Azzi whispered.

Paige grinned against her skin. “Good. Lemme just make you feel good then.”

Azzi looked at her, eyes warm—she reached for Paige’s face, her fingers brushing her cheek. “I missed you while you were gone”.

Paige smiled and leaned into her touch, kissing her palm softly before whispering, “I missed you too. So much.”

With that, Paige dipped her head again, her lips starting to trail lower.

She continued to move slowly against Azzi’s clit, her fingers tracing delicate circles, as she felt the way Azzi’s body began to shift beneath her. Azzi’s breaths grew shorter, her soft noises turning into quiet whimpers that were harder to hold back.

Her hips shifted, chasing the warmth of Paige’s touch, and Paige felt it. Paige glanced up through her lashes, a small smile on her face. “That feel good, baby?”

Azzi nodded, her brows knit together as she exhaled shakily. “Yeah… yeah,” she whispered, almost breathless. “Fuck—Paige, I…” Her voice trailed off into another soft sound as Paige’s fingers dipped just a bit lower—not quite sliding in yet, but close.

Paige’s lips curled into a soft smile, brushing another kiss along Azzi’s stomach as she whispered, “You’re so responsive…I love how your body’s talkin to me.” She slid her fingers near her entrance again, grounding Azzi with her palm against her side.

Azzi’s fingers found Paige’s hair again, tugging gently as her back arched into her. “You’re driving me crazy,” she whispered.

“I haven’t even started,” Paige chuckled. “I been thinking about this—about you—every night.”

Azzi let out a breath that was almost a moan, her head tilting back against the pillow. “Please stop teasing me,” she whispered.

Paige smiled curling her fingers in the boxers Azzi had on, her eyes meeting hers in a silent question. Azzi answered by lifting her hips slightly, giving her the go-ahead. Paige peeled the fabric down Azzi’s legs, tossing it aside before her gaze dropped—and lingered.

All Paige could muster was a quiet, “Damn,” her eyes taking Azzi in completely—the way she was already dripping for her.

Azzi blushed under the attention, a small smirk tugging at her lips, but she didn’t look away. Paige pulled back just long enough to tug her shorts and boxers off, letting them fall beside Azzi’s so she wouldn’t be the only one bare.

Then she leaned down towards Azzi’s center, her eyes soft as they scanned Azzi’s face. “This okay?” she asked, her voice quieter now, more serious.

Azzi nodded without hesitation. “It’s more than okay,” she said, her voice reflecting her excitement slightly.

Paige nodded giving Azzi one last lingering look before she dipped her head down and pressed a soft open mouthed kiss to Azzi’s center. The warmth of her mouth made Azzi’s breath hitch and her stomach flutter. Her fingers tightened around the sheets.

Paige felt it—heard it—and looked up at her again, her expression gentle but searching. “You good?” she asked softly.

Azzi nodded again, this time slower, her hand brushing against Paige’s shoulder. “I’m good,” she whispered. “Amazing.”

Paige nodded gently, her hand’s brushing along Azzi’s thighs as she leaned back down, mouth returning to Azzi’s center. She kissed there slowly—once, then again—each movement tender and slow, letting Azzi melt into the rhythm.

Then Paige shifted her position slightly, hooking Azzi’s legs with her arms. She dragged her tongue up and down slowly a few times causing Azzi’s breath to hitch, her fingers tightening in Paige’s hair. It wasn’t desperate, she just needed to hold onto something to stop herself from making unnecessary noises.

Paige smiled into Azzi softly. “You’re doing so good,” she whispered. “Taste so good baby.”

Azzi let out a soft sound at that, her cheeks flushed, eyes fluttering open to look down at Paige. There was so much emotion in Azzi’s chest, it felt like it would spill over.

After hearing Azzi’s reaction, Paige started to lick at her with a little less reservation now, circling her tongue at any part of Azzi she could reach. “Been wanting to take care of you like this for a long time.”

Azzi’s hand slid into Paige’s hair again, pushing her closer. Whispering “Mmm–then don’t stop. Keep going just like that.”

Paige dipped back down, her lips and tongue moving in tandem, like she was committing every inch of Azzi to memory. Paige would’ve thought she was the one losing herself in it, completely undone, if it weren’t for the continuous sounds slipping off of Azzi’s lips.

Tiny gasps when Paige would dip her tongue into her entrance. Whispered sighs. Her name falling out in a broken moan, now and then, said so softly it made Paige’s heart ache in the best way.

The warmth in Paige’s stomach bloomed, rising into her chest and pressing against her ribs. She hadn’t expected to feel this full—like she could float away from how much she felt in this moment. She glanced up at Azzi, her wet lips still brushing softly against Azzi as she whispered, “You sound so beautiful, baby…”

Azzi’s eyes were hooded now—couldn’t open them further if she wanted to. “Oh fuck baby—feels so good,” Azzi whimpered, voice barely there. “You feel so good Paige…”

Paige’s lips curved into the softest smile. “You don’t even know what you doing to me right now,” she murmured. “Never wanted to take my time like this. Could stay in here forever.”

Paige kept moving, her tongue and lips still working in perfect rhythm, like she knew exactly what Azzi needed—like her mind had already memorized every little response, every sigh and plea that Azzi gave her. She stayed patient, even as Azzi’s body started to arch, her hips shifting restlessly, trying to push Paige closer.

Azzi’s fingers tightened in Paige’s hair, her breathing ragged as her body started to tremble beneath her. Paige looked up, her mouth still attached to Azzi as their eyes met.

For a moment, they just held the gaze—Paige’s blue eyes dark, full of awe, and Azzi’s low and hazy with everything she was feeling. Azzi’s lips parted, as if she was about to say something but a soft sound slipped out that wasn’t quite a word, but Paige understood it anyway.

Azzi’s voice cracked as she whimpered out, “I’m so close…”

Paige didn’t speak—she just gave a soft nod, never breaking eye contact as she dipped her tongue fully into Azzi’s entrance, letting out her own sigh at the contact.

Azzi’s breathing caught again, her lashes fluttering, but she didn’t look away. Even as her body moved desperately into Paige’s mouth, she kept her gaze on blue eyes, like Paige’s eyes alone was the only thing steadying her.

Paige moved her thumb gently across Azzi’s ribcage, a silent kind of comfort as she worked her tongue into her.

Even though barely a word had been said, everything about the way Azzi reacted for Paige, the way she breathed her name like it was sacred, told Paige more than words ever could.

Azzi’s lips parted on a shaky breath, her fingers gripping at the sheets now, trying to hold herself together. The feeling was overwhelming—Paige’s mouth, her hands, her presence. Her body was humming, too warm, too full, and instinctively, her head tilted back slightly, eyes fluttering shut to escape how much she felt.

But Paige’s hand slid gently up her side, squeezing gently.

Azzi opened her eyes to see Paige shaking her head no, barely a motion.

Don’t look away.

Azzi let out a soft, broken noise, her gaze locking back onto Paige’s. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her throat bobbing as she swallowed hard, her expression completely undone.

Paige never broke her rhythm, her own heart thundering at the way Azzi was starting to fall apart beneath her. But she didn’t rush—didn’t chase the end. She moved like she had all the time in the world, like every second mattered. Like Azzi deserved to be worshiped, not just fucked.

And Azzi—God, Azzi—she was unraveling. Her breath got stuck every few seconds, broken gasps and whimpers slipping out as Paige continued her path, eyes never leaving hers for long. Her hands had found their way to Paige’s now, interlacing them as she squeezed periodically.

Another lick. Another gentle stroke of her tongue. And still, Paige watched her without looking away.

Azzi’s eyes were glassy, lips parted, completely breathless until she was a trembling puddle beneath Paige, her body taut with feeling, unraveling as she cried out quietly. The pleas slipped from her as Paige helped her ride out her orgasm, the soft sounds of Azzi's lips echoing through the room and settling in Paige’s chest like a heartbeat.

Azzi’s hands gripped Paige’s shoulders now, her voice cracking with the way she whispered her name—over and over, like she didn’t know what else to cling to. And Paige, eyes still watching Azzi come undone, felt something bloom and break inside her all at once.

She’d never seen someone so beautiful. Never heard anything that made her feel like this.

Azzi was flushed and breathless, her eyes glassy and full of something that went beyond pleasure.

Paige kissed up Azzi’s body slowly, whispering quiet praises until she reached just beneath Azzi’s ear. “God, you’re so perfect.”

Azzi let out a small, broken sound in response, her hands sliding down to cup Paige’s face—pulling her into a kiss.

Their mouths moved in sync, like neither of them wanted to let go of the moment—like they were trying to memorize each other completely with just their lips. Azzi’s hands stayed on Paige’s face, thumbs softly stroking her cheeks and Paige melted into it, one hand pressed to Azzi’s side, the other tangled in her hair that was no longer pulled into the bun.

Between kisses, they whispered—barely-there words, soft sighs of names and praises that faded into the warmth between them. Nothing loud. Just the kind of quiet that held weight, the kind that wrapped around them.

As their foreheads touched, breaths mixing, chests still rising and falling in uneven rhythm, something settled in both of them.

This was different. This was home.

They didn’t say it out loud. Not wanting to put too much pressure on the other, but they both felt it. In the way Paige looked at Azzi—like she was the only thing that existed—and in the way Azzi held onto Paige—like she never wanted to let her go.

The two of them stayed like that for a few hours that night, wrapped in the quiet comfort of one another. As the night stretched on, they took their time to learn the rhythm of one another, the way their hearts beat when they were close, the little sounds and touches that made them both want more. The world outside seemed distant, like it didn’t matter anymore.

Every kiss, every whisper, every laugh when Paige said something that rolled off her tongue a little too easily felt like a tiny piece of something beautiful being woven into the fabric of their connection.

…

When Azzi woke up the next morning in Paige’s large bed to the sound of her alarm, the first thing she did was smile. Her brown eyes glowed with contentment, her gaze light as she was met the pillows beneath her. The sun streamed gently into Paige’s room, casting warm light across the space. She could slightly hear Paige and Lukas downstairs, though their voices were muffled, not able to travel far enough in the large house.

Azzi reached for her phone, checking her schedule for the day. After taking a moment to stretch, she pulled herself from the comfort of the bed, her body still warm from the night before.

She made her way to Paige’s closet, grabbing some clothes she had left here the last time she stayed over. When she walked into the bathroom she smiled to herself, thinking back to when she had playfully joked about how tangled her hair always was whenever she left Paige’s place. To her surprise, the next time she came over, Paige had bought her the exact hair products Azzi had in her own bathroom, a thoughtful gesture that had made Azzi laugh and tease Paige for a few days despite the blonde refusing to believe she was a “simp.” The memory brought a lightness to her chest, and she shook her head, feeling a warmth in her heart that she didn’t quite know how to put into words.

Azzi was looking at herself in the mirror when she heard what sounded like Lukas letting out a screech of laughter and she felt a strange sense of peace settle over her. It was a good morning. And, despite the busy day ahead, for once, Azzi didn’t mind. Everything felt a little lighter today.

Once Azzi had gotten ready for her day, she grabbed her heels from Paige’s closet and carried them downstairs with her. As she stepped into the living room, she expected to see Paige, but instead, she only saw Lukas. He was lying on the floor on his stomach, his head propped up with his hands as he stared at the TV screen. His blue eyes were wide, not blinking as he watched Bluey.

Azzi couldn't help but laugh softly, the concentration on his face was too much. She stood there for a moment, attempting to see if the little boy would finally blink, before quietly walking toward the kitchen.

She found Paige in there, humming softly to herself as she made coffee, the early morning light catching the edges of her blonde hair. Paige’s back was to her, so Azzi leaned against the doorframe for a moment just watching her.

There was something about these moments, something about the simplicity of it all, that made her feel at home.

“Good morning,” Azzi said softly.

Paige turned around, a smile instantly forming on her face. “Good morning,” she replied, the sun making her squint a little. Paige motioned with her head for Azzi to sit at the island.

Azzi smiled as she walked over and sat down. Paige was quick to follow, placing a plate in front of her with turkey bacon, avocado toast, and eggs.

Paige leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “Eat.”

Azzi laughed, her fingers brushing against Paige’s as she took the coffee, the warmth of the drink and Paige’s attention filling her with a sense of contentment. Paige grabbed her own plate before sitting down next to Azzi.

Azzi couldn’t help but notice how similar their portions were. With a small grin, she picked up one of her pieces of avocado toast and a few strips of turkey bacon, transferring them onto Paige’s plate.

Paige raised an eyebrow at her. “You need to eat, Azzi,” her voice was teasing and gentle as she said it.

Azzi smiled as she crossed her arms on the counter. “I am eating, but you need to eat more,” she replied with a playful grin knowing how much it annoyed Paige.

Paige rolled her eyes but she still had a smile on her face as she picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite. “You’re annoying.”

Azzi just laughed, watching Paige for a moment before grabbing a bite of her own food. “I know.”

Once they were finished eating, Paige cleared their plates and set them in the sink. “You need me to take you to the office?”

Azzi grinned as she stood from the counter, moving toward Paige and pulling her into a kiss without answering the question. Their bodies pressed against the cool granite of the countertop as the kiss deepened for a brief moment before Azzi gently pulled away. “It’s okay, Ben’s outside,” she whispered.

Paige nodded. She reached for Azzi’s hand, helping her balance as she carefully stepped into her heels. Paige’s eyes lingered on Azzi, her heart fluttering a little as she took in the sight of her. “You look too good,” she mumbled, shaking her head in disbelief.

Azzi couldn’t do anything but laugh at this. “You say that every time you see me before work…anytime you see me period actually.”

Paige licked her lips and smirked at Azzi. “Cause what you tryna look good for if I’m not there?”

Azzi just rolled her eyes playfully, adding, “Whatever.”

The two of them made their way toward the front door. Paige opened it, revealing Azzi’s driver waiting in the grey natural stone driveway. Azzi was about to lean in for a kiss goodbye when suddenly, the sound of little feet pattering against the floor rushed toward them.

Lukas came running up, his small arms wrapping around Azzi’s waist in a quick hug. “Bye, Azzi!” he said with a big grin.

Azzi was surprised but grinned at him. She gently squeezed his face with one hand, causing him to make a face. “Bye, Lukas,” her voice filled with affection.

Lukas released her and bolted back toward the living room, calling out as he ran, “Back to Bluey!”

Azzi laughed as she watched him disappear back around the corner. When she turned her gaze to Paige, she caught the soft, awestruck look on her face. Azzi didn’t point it out. She just let Paige have the moment.

Instead, she stepped closer, wrapping her arms loosely around Paige’s shoulders, brushing their noses together as she leaned in. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I have to go gorgeous.”

Paige’s smile spread slowly, her hands slipping around Azzi’s waist. “I got practice in a lil bit, but I’ll text you after, okay?”

Azzi nodded, resting her forehead against Paige’s for just a second longer before they shared a quick kiss.

Then Azzi pulled away, walking toward the car with a small smile still on her face as Paige stood in the doorway, watching her go.

[malereadermaniac]

Forced Mate - Alpha Zenin Naoya x Omega Male reader

Naoya had the privilege to chose his Omega - your relationship with the heir after an arranged mating and marriage has many ups and downs WARNING: Not watched JJK, probably OOC!! Top!Alpha!Naoya x Bottom!Omega!Reader word count: 2.2k Nsfw / MDNI ~ amab m!reader / FDNI

As expected by anyone who knew him, Naoya of course presented as an Alpha; and as the golden child of the clan, his father set out to find him the perfect mate as soon as possible. Naturally, this proved easier said than done. Naoya had been an egotistical narcissist since he was barely walking, he demanded that his opinions and choices be taken into account on the hunt for his mate, and hell did he have many opinions...

'A woman who doesn't know how to walk three paces behind her husband should be stabbed in the back'

Zenin Naoya was a known sexist. Once he had presented as an Alpha, many thoughts ran through Naoya's head; 'this was expected' - 'of course I'm an Alpha' - 'been stronger than these betas since i was a kid'. But also, after many self-indulgent and boastful thoughts, Naoya also thought 'Thank fuck I don't have to knock up some bitch'. The youngest heir of the Zenin clan was a fucking misogynist, getting a man pregnant seemed like a much sweeter deal than having to deal with a woman as his mate.

So, whilst his father was busy organising match-making meetings and courting hours for his son, Naoya was busy rejecting every single Omega brought to him; because of course, they were all female. The Zenin clan were still traditionalists, if Naoya was to mate with an Omega, that Omega was to at least be a woman. But as you'd expect, Naoya couldn't give less of a fuck about what the clan wanted. He only cared about himself. So once his father eventually gave in and began matchmaking the blonde with male Omegas, Naoya had made his choice. You. And what an honor you would find out this was (or rather quite the opposite). You had caught the Alpha's eye almost immediately after walking into the room. You had aristocratic blood, had undergone etiquette and submission training, you were healthy, and you had so many more 'appealing' qualities for an Omega; but Naoya cared for none of that. The brooding Alpha made most of his decisions on instinct and feeling alone, and it helped that you were quite the head-turner in the looks department. So the decision was made rather quickly. You were to be mated and married to the Zenin clan heir.

You thought you knew what you were in for. Being born into a powerful clan but presenting as an Omega meant one thing; you were a bartering piece, something to marry off in order to establish political relationships. Ever since you presented as an Omega, you had undergone many types of training to become the ideal mate, and you thought that you knew what to expect when it came to how an Alpha would treat you; badly. But boy did you underestimate just how bad it could get. After all of the contractual and political work was out of the way for your arranged marriage, you were immediately moved into the Zenin residence. You had your own room; small but not as crummy as those of the servants. Whilst Naoya viewed you as above all women, he still viewed you as less than any man due to your secondary gender, meaning that he wouldn't share his chambers with you, he wouldn't acknowledge you romantically; you may as well be his live-in prostitute... The night of your moving-in, the two of you were expected to mate; as in, you were expected to submit to Naoya and allow the Alpha to mark you. It was a hard night for you, the hardest by far. Naoya was an impatient man, a selfish man who cared only for his own pleasure, and even worse for you, a sadist by all means. You were in immense amounts of pain that night, the Alpha forcing his way inside of you and drilling into you the whole night; you screams and whines of pain egging him on, turning him on. Your body was covered in bite marks and hickeys, your nape permenantly marked by Naoya; your now mate forever, your Alpha.

It did get better though. With time, Naoya began to tolerate you. The most of your interactions did of course still take place in his chambers; you would visit your Alpha's bedroom almost every single night at his request, leaving in the early hours of the morning back to your chambers. Naoya acknowledged you now though: a chuckled scoff when passing you in the gardens, allowing you at his dinner table, calling for you when he was bored. Of course, Naoya never spoke your name, he often had to be reminded it by his advisors, he would instead call you 'Omega'; but in a weird was, that was enough for you. You also couldn't complain about the sex! He may be a maniac, but Naoya sure does know his way around your body. The Alpha knows how to rut into you in ways that make you writhe and scream in pleasure, he knows how much pain you can take to where you aren't in agony, but you do cry out his name and shed a few tears; he knows you, and that's a lot coming from such a self-absorbed man. Naoya loves it when workers walk in on the two of you fucking; he acknowledges whoever walked in, but he doesn't stop whatever it is he's doing to you. Whether it be his fingers curling into your slicked hole, his tongue forcing your tight walls apart, his hand forcing your head up and down his length, or his dick visibly thrusting in and out of you, Naoya never lets an unexpected audience prevent his pleasure.

The Alpha would never admit it, too proud and narcissistic, but there are things he likes about you. Hell, Naoya fucking loves certain things about you. The blonde goes absolutely feral for your scent, demanding that you scent his room bi-weekly to "comfort his inner Alpha". Naoya will hold you closer while he fucks you, just to get more of your intoxicating, sweet scent. He'll even use your scent as an excuse to have you sleep in his bed; claiming that a mate's scent helps an Alpha sleep. That's another thing he's come to like - sharing his space with you, more specifically his bed. Naoya has become unable to sleep in an empty bed. He'd never admit to missing your weight beside him, to missing the scent of your hair as you curl into his muscular body; but Naoya knew deep down that he loved having you around. But again, the Alpha refused to vocalise his liking of you; you just had to assume from his actions that your Alpha didn't seem to mind you as much as he used to.

Naoya's ruts are another key part of your relationship with the Alpha. Knowing how he is when in his right mind, you can imagine how Naoya behaves like during a rut. The man is a fucking menace. Your body usually goes limp from suffering multiple orgasms without breaks in between. Hickeys and deep bites always end up littering your body. Naoya's body glistens with a sheen of sweat as his muscles flex and tense after what must be ten orgasms in one night; the endurance and stamina of Alphas is a medical phenomenon. Naoya loves to be as close as physically possible to you when in rut, pushing his body down onto yours as he drills his thick, long cock in and out of your warm, tight hole. You switch positions many, many times in one night during one of Naoya's ruts; a favourite of his seemingly being speedbump, but with his muscular arm around your neck, your cheeks squished by his bulging bicep as the Alpha pounds you into the bed with a ridiculous amount of force. Usually, Naoya is talkative when messing around with you, loving the sounds you make and your squirms at his dirty talk, but a rut fully takes it out of him; all of the man's energy going to fucking, with none to spare for any words other than 'Omega' and 'mine'. That's another thing about his ruts, Naoya becomes extraordinarily possessive during them! During pre-rut, Naoya will have anyone who dares speak to you locked away for a week! The blonde has to always have some form of physical contact with you during his pre-ruts and becomes much less of a cunt; showing a more endearing side of himself when he demands to cuddle you and be around you constantly. During Naoya's full ruts, he never allows you to leave his side. The man could be dead asleep and if you get up to clean up or grab some water, he wakes up within seconds and grips your wrist as tight as he can, looking up into your eyes with his own, dark, brooding ones.

Your heats are a completely different story. Naoya is his usual self times ten! Such a fucking sadistic tease. He refuses to touch you where you want him to, going as slow as possible, and making your big, pretty eyes pink up with tears. You end up a begging, pleading, crying mess before his dick gets anywhere near you ass! Your Alpha's fingers do most of the work for your first couple of orgasms, his mouth moving from your nape, to your scent gland for a hit of your hypnotic, sweet smell. Until you're screaming out incoherent pleas and 'Alpha' s, Naoya doesn't allow you the pleasure of fucking you to heaven and back; but damn, when you finally cave in and beg like a pathetic bitch (his own words), your world shatters. During your average heat, Naoya will make sure that you're writhing in pleasure beneath him as he roughs you up; the Alpha's eyes locked onto your immensely pleasured form, watching and admiring how physically and mentally overwhelmed you seem with pleasure, pleasure that only Naoya can provide for you. Kisses are a lot more common when you're in heat. Naoya knows that you are too dazed from the hormones running rampant throughout your body and brain to remember almost anything from your heat; so he lets some affection show here and there. His kisses are tender. So soft and even to an extent loving. The blonde fucking loves to interrupt your moans and desperate panting with a kiss, turning the moment of primal desire into a romantic one; the juxtaposition kinda turns him on, and it most definitely helps you with your heat! Naoya's kisses go right to your brain (dick), your inner Omega screaming in pleasure at the sign of affection; subconciously understanding the kiss as 'my Alpha loves me', 'my Alpha cares'. And even though he would never admit it, Naoya did care about you.

Many months go by after your first night with your Alpha. A weird, but comfortable relationship blooming between you and Naoya. But this was an arranged marriage, the key word being marriage. So of course, Naoya's father pushed the two of you to get married as soon as possible. And the demands kept coming from the Zenin clan... House work. Resigning from your career. Submission. Children.

The Zenin clan needed an Heir; one that would take over even after Naoya. And you were expected to provide that. One one hand, as an Omega, you naturally did crave having children in your life; caring for pups came naturally to you. But holy shit was it insulting. To be told to your face that you were good for nothing other than producing off-spring; it really knocked you down a few pegs. So much so that Naoya even noticed; and he didn't like it. He liked that you usually had some fight in you; normally, you would clap back at him when he was being a cunt, you would knock him down a few pegs. But after his father basically called you a breeding cow, you stopped being... interesting.

It got to the point that you were barely even talking to Naoya; simply presenting to him whenever he wanted to fuck. That pissed him off. Usually you'd at least call him a name or insult him! What snapped you out of this little lull was Naoya himself; told you he secretly cared. A harsh slap to your face and your cheeks squished between the Alpha's masculine, strong hand, and you were sorted! Well it was a little more than that... Naoya gave you a good talk too, tellin' you that you were more than just an incubator for his heirs, you were his after all; and verbatim "Nothing that's mine is so boring and surface-level". So you sucked it up. All the opinions for the rest of the clan didn't matter anymore; you simply didn't care. Sure, you would produce an heir, you would produce many. But what a kick in the balls to all of the traditionalist cunts in the Zenin clan it would be, if you raised your pups to be the exact opposite of what they wanted. And when you promised that to Naoya, his grin couldn't of stretched any wider.

I feel like this was really shit. Sorry. But i did really wanna get more omegaverse out cause I love it so so much! And Naoya is fucking hot.

[yukioos]

helloo i was wondering how the boys from Bnha would act if they arrived early to the date with fem!reader and saw her finishing her curly hair, maybe try to help her or just admire her

I really like your write btw 😽

when the boys see you doing your curly hair routine before your date

featuring izuku, katsuki, shoto, eijiro, denki, hitoshi

izuku midoriya

izuku knocked on the door to your house with a sweaty fist, nervous to see you again. he’d gone over to your house many times before for school projects and hangouts, but this was a date. he decided it would be more reasonable to be early than on time, to make a good impression on you. he wanted you to think he was getting ready for a while and was excited to see you, which, he was.

he fully expected you or your parents to open the door, but to his surprise, a man who looked to be a little under twenty opened it. the man stood there menacingly with a grim frown on his face. crap, was this your brother? the green-haired boy’s eyes widened at the realization. you had similar features and the same nose, the same look in your eyes when you were angry.

izuku knew he had to say something or else he’d be in deep shit. he tried to sound confident, but his words came out with a stutter, “um— hi! i’m— uh— i’m here for—“

“here for y/n?” your brother continued the sentence for him, glaring straight into his eyes.

“yes!” he nodded and showed his pearly whites, “we’re going to the movie theater together!”

your brother’s eyebrows furrowed and he rolled his eyes before opening the door so izuku could walk through. both boys knew your brother was just trying to protect you. he knew how men could be, and he wanted the best for you. your boyfriend took his shoes off, knowing he would hang out with you before going to the theater.

“‘zuku, come here!” he heard your voice shout from upstairs, a little muffled. he guessed you were doing something in your room.

“okay!” he shouted back with excitement, but that faded once he looked back and saw your brother with his crossed arms.

he scoffed, “just leave the door open. go.”

izuku nodded and bolted upstairs without a second thought, racing up your stairs all the way to your bedroom. he gently opened the door and peeked his head in, checking to see if he was in the right room. the bathroom door was opened, and you were putting something into your wet hair.

“what are you putting into your hair?” he questioned, shyly walking closer to you in the bathroom. products were laid everywhere on the counter, including hair clips and a bonnet you probably took out prior to your shower.

your attention was pulled away from your hair and instead to izuku when you saw a speck of green in the mirror. you smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

“it’s gel, reduces frizz and stuff like that.” you stated, tilting your head and scrunching it into your hair. once you repeated it to the other side, you grabbed a bottle with an odd cap on it. “this thing is mousse. what d’ya think it does?”

he thought for a moment. it could most likely do many things, and according to you, a lot of products help with reducing frizz and add volume. maybe that was it. he picked up some of your other products and looked at what they were. with process of elimination, he realized mousse’s purpose had to be to add volume.

“does it add volume to your hair?” he asked.

you nodded, “yeah, good job!”

he smiled and blushed, then began to giggle from how nervous he was. he scratched the back of his neck and stated, “you know, i notice your hair looks longer, one of the reasons being because it’s wet, but what’s the other thing called again? whenever i pull your hair it’s very long, but i forgot what the term is.”

“shrinkage?” you asked, receiving a nod from the freckled boy.

“yeah, that’s what it’s called!” he smiled eyes closing. his eyes then widened and looked a little more nervous. he asked, “was the guy downstairs your brother?”

“oh, yeah. he’s really smart so he went to college when he was young. he’s here for break.” you smiled, it was apparent how much you loved your brother. you then paused, “he didn’t give you a hard time, did he?”

“wha— no, of course not! your brother was very amazing and um— we—“ izuku began to stumble over his words, and his heart dropped when heavy footsteps travelled up the stairs.

your brother walked into your room. izuku’s eyes widened, shit, he forgot to keep the door open.

your brother stomped over to your bathroom and grumbled, “i said leave the door open, didn’t i?”

“y-yes! i’m sorry, it won’t happen again! i will fully keep the door open, i promise!”

you rolled your eyes and scrunched more product into your hair before whining, “get out! ‘m trying to hang out with him, so be nice!”

“whatever,” he rolled his eyes back and left your room.

izuku was sure to leave the door open after that.

katsuki bakugo

katsuki arrived at your house with a gift for you, a coat you’ve been wanting because it’s winter. he planned to give it to you before you went out to dinner with him, but knew you’d want it to be washed beforehand. luckily, he washed it at his house, so you could wear it on your way to the restaurant.

he was early, however, and rang the doorbell to signal to your parents that he was there and needed to be let in. it was cold, after all, and although the blonde naturally ran hot, he was shivering. a few seconds after he rang the doorbell, he grumbled and stomped.

then, your father opened the door and grinned, “hey, katsuki! takin’ our daughter out to dinner, huh?” he checked his wrist as the blonde walked into the house and took off his shoes, “you’re pretty early. she’s probably getting ready up there, you can go ahead and check if you’d like.”

he nodded and thanked him, then walked upstairs, and took his scarf and coat off before laying them on your bed. he didn’t see you in your room and was oblivious to the light from your bathroom.

“y/n, where are you?” he asked, eyes darting around the room in a slight panic.

“in the bathroom, kats.” you replied, opening up the door with your foot, as your hands were preoccupied.

he followed in after you. you were putting something in your hair, but he didn’t know what. is that how you got your curls to be like how they are? and second of all, why the hell haven’t you kissed him yet?

“the hell is that?” he asked, picking up the bottle of mousse and examining it.

you rolled your eyes, “it’s a product i use for my hair. helps to make my hair less flat and have more volume instead.”

he grumbled then touched the hair you hadn’t scrunched product into yet. your curls were perfect, but your hair was still wet. once you did the other side and diffused it, he took a curl in his hands, pulled it down, then released it. he would never admit how entranced he was by how long your hair actually was, and how much he loved it.

“y’like it, honey?” you asked, wrapping your arms around his neck and looking so sweetly into his eyes. on your tiptoes, you gently kissed his cheek, and he placed his hand on your back to keep you there.

maybe he would admit it.

“yeah, i like your hair, you should know that by now.” he paused, then grumbled, “and it was about damn time that you gave me a kiss!”

shoto todoroki

shoto was invited into your house by your parents as soon as he stepped foot onto the property. your parents began to talk to him, giving details about how much you talk about him. he blushed at the compliments you gave him behind his back, but tried not to show his pleasure.

but a few minutes later, your excited little brother ran down the stairs. he looked to be around five or six years old, and it was clear that you were siblings. you had the same hair.

the little boy ran up to him then stared up at him for a few seconds. shoto began to stare at him back, curious as what he was going to say. kids had no filter, after all, but you always praised your little brother, saying he was a well-behaved kid.

“are you my sissy’s boyfriend?” he asked, fiddling with his tiny fingers.

“i am.” your boyfriend replied simply. he still didn’t know how to talk to children as well, unlike you, but tried his best.

“so… um… do you like her?” the little boy asked, looking up at him with round cheeks and big eyes.

“yes, i like her a lot. that’s why we’re boyfriend and girlfriend.” he responded with a blank look on his face.

your brother paused for a moment then turned to your mother. he exclaimed, “mama, i want goldfish!” and raised his hands, wanting to be picked up.

a soft chuckle came from shoto’s mouth at the change of topic, and how your little brother walked away with no explanation. when your mother walked to the cabinet to get your brother some snacks, your father told him he could go upstairs, you were in your room doing something to your hair.

he walked up to your room and knocked on your door, still trying to be as polite as possible in case you were changing. he heard a muffled, ‘come in,’ and walked in, eyes darting everywhere to find you.

you were in your bathroom, styling your hair when soft footsteps lingered in your bedroom. you opened your bathroom door so shoto could come in, supposing he felt awkward as he didn’t know where you were.

a smile formed on your face when you saw his split-colored hair and his body in the bathroom. you washed your hands and wiped them on a towel to get rid of the product, then placed your hands on his warm sweater before wrapping your arms around his neck.

he was a little caught off guard by the act of intimacy but sent you a soft smile and wrapped his arms around your waist. his soft lips were suddenly on yours, continuing to give you slow, loving kisses.

once the two of you stopped, you placed one more plush kiss onto his cheek and continued to scrunch the product into your hair. shoto was confused at what you were doing. it looked like you were just scrunching your hair for no reason. he tilted his head in confusion and wonder, but remembered what you said when you first started dating. as shoto didn’t know much and was an airhead at times because of his isolation as a child, you told him to always ask questions if he was wondering something.

“what are you doing with your hair?” he asked, staring at it intently.

you paused and turned your head towards him, and smiled, “oh, i’m just putting product into my hair. it helps make my hair not so frizzy and creates volume so my hair isn’t so flat!”

he hadn’t seen you with wet hair very often, but he knew one thing. you definitely looked good with it. wet droplets still lay on your skin, and you were so focused on your hair. he loved moments like this, when he could admire you for as long as he wanted to with no words, and you were completely fine with it too.

time passed quickly, and his eyes were on you throughout all of it.

once your hair had dried, you asked, “wanna feel it? it’s super soft, sho.”

he smiled and ran his hands down your hair but not through. according to you, your classmates and relatives used to take your curls apart and come through it. as a result, it would become frizzy, and you hated it that way.

but you were right, your hair was so damn soft. he smiled, then took a curl that looked as if it was done very carefully and precisely. he mumbled, “i really like this one,” then paused, “it looks perfect.”

“aww, thank you, sho! you’re adorable!”

ever since he touched your hair that day, it became a habit for him. whenever he was bored or a bit nervous but tried to hide it, he would fiddle with your hair. shoto was completely enamored with it.

eijiro kirishima

in eijiro’s hands were two sets of flowers, one for your mother and one for you. you always kept the dead petals in a box, and he wanted to be a gentleman anyway. what better way to get your parents to love him than bringing your mother flowers?

he smiled and knocked on the door with his free fist, and your mother opened the door with a bright smile.

“oh, eijiro, it’s so great to see you again! y/n has been talking about this day so much, she’s excited to go on another date with you!” she exclaimed, ushering him in with a hand on his back.

“i’m pretty excited too, mrs. l/n! i’ve been planning this for a while, so i’m glad she’s been looking forward to it.” he held out one of the flowers, “this is for you!” he showed his sharp teeth and grinned wildly.

“aw, thank you, you didn’t have to. i’m guessing the other set is for my daughter?” she guessed with ease. even she knew him too well. he nodded, and she suggested, “you should go up and surprise her! i’m sure she’ll love them, eijiro.”

he happily obeyed, “will do, mrs. l/n!”

eijiro tiptoed into your room before he heard squelching sounds from the bathroom. maybe you were doing your hair routine? he shrugged and tried to sneakily walk in before you yelled, trying to scare him back.

he yelped and activated his quirk for a split second before falling to the ground and laughing. you erupted with giggles and paused your hair routine, almost falling to the ground yourself. your arms were wrapped around your stomach, feeling pain.

once it had stopped though, you helped him up, and he placed the flowers on your bed. you would see them eventually. but eijiro surprised you before you could greet him, twirled you around, and picked you up, placing kisses all over your face.

you laughed and kissed him back until he asked, “you were doing your hair routine? right?” you nodded, and he continued, “what does this one do?”

“that’s mousse, you basically scrunch it into your hair like this,” you demonstrated, “because it helps with frizz and volume! wanna try?”

“sure!” he exclaimed, always willing to try new things. he hoped he would do good, although he doubted he would make them look as good as you make them.

you pumped some of the product into his hands and rubbed them together before he gently took some of your hair and scrunched it in. you praised him for it, and he relished in the compliments.

once he was done, you flipped your hair. “damn, eiji, you did good! how’d you do it so well?”

“i dunno, but there’s one thing i want you to know!”

“huh? what is it?”

“i gotcha flowers!” he pointed at the flowers on your bed and you nearly screamed, jumping for joy.

he loved how you gave him so many more kisses throughout the night, and he knew he would bring more flowers every day if it meant he would see you happy.

denki kaminari

denki stood on your porch, pacing around in circles as he waited for someone to answer the door. it didn’t look like your parents were home, as there were no cars in the driveway besides yours. loud footsteps ran and suddenly, the door burst and you jumped onto him.

you attacked his face with kisses and wrapped your legs around his waist, making him hold onto your ass with his hands. he giggled, and when you got down, you grabbed his hand and guided him to your room. you needed to finish your hair routine before you watched a movie together, of course!

“you’re pretty early, aren’t you?” you asked, walking into your bathroom to scrunch product into your hair.

“yeah, i was pretty bored so i decided to come early— woah, what’s that stuff you’re putting in your hair?” he became distracted midway through and put some of your hair in his hand, then shook it.

“just some product to make my hair less frizzy. you know how it can get sometimes!” you chuckled, remembering the time when you jumped a couple of times to the beat of a song and your hair turned very frizzy.

denki laughed and then asked, “can i put some in? i wanna know what it feels like!”

a bright smile was on his face, and you weren’t against it, so you said yes. you pumped some mousse into his hands, and he rubbed them together before scrunching it into your hair, as he had seen you do many times before. once he was done with all your hair, he washed his hands and looked at your hair from all angles.

then, he moved your body to directly face his. “damn, babe, you’re beautiful! i just feel like i’m in the presence of a goddess, i should kneel down or something.”

you bellowed and rolled your eyes before going downstairs with your boyfriend to bake and watch a movie.

hitoshi shinso

hitoshi had been talking to your parents for a couple of minutes before you shouted his name, making his attention switch from the conversation to you. your parents told him to go ahead and see you, causing him to apologize but send them a sweet smile before going your way. he walked up the stairs to your bedroom before turning the handle and peeking in.

looked like you were doing your hair routine. he looked at you up and down, almost smiling at the sight of you in sweatpants and the oversized shirt he left at your house. you turned your head as you scrunched product into your hair and looked deep into his purple, sultry eyes.

“c’mere, toshi,” you gently commanded, immediately seeing him stride towards you.

he looked down at you and tilted his head before placing his hands on your hips, then placing a kiss on your forehead.

you giggled, “oh, come on, give me a real one.”

your boyfriend rolled his eyes with a smile, then kissed you on your soft lips, tasting strawberry lip balm. you rubbed your hand up and down his chest and kissed his neck, then returned to putting product into your hair.

he was curious as to what you were doing, but decided not to ask. he’d rather watch and learn. after you were done scrunching your hair, you flipped your hair back, all of it whipping backward with a smack. hitoshi saw a part of your hair was in the wrong place, so he smoothly moved it before you could say anything.

but when the two of you watched the movie at your house as you cuddled, the purple-head thought you wouldn’t be able to feel him playing with your hair. he would turn out to be incredibly wrong when you began to play with his once you moved positions.

this took a while to write so i hope you guys like it! kinda got tired near the end so the later ones aren’t as detailed, sorry! i’m so glad you like my writing, this request was very fun to write

[new-undergrowth]

(happy to share, very glad your enthusiastic about it!) Yes, definetly ways, although the exact method depends on who you ask and the location your in.

Anything made in a factory can, at the very least, be run as a worker co-operative without any real changes. It'd probably work best in factory towns, especially in ones where it could be more like volunteer work than a mandate- as the latter risks issues without threats hanging over heads.

In non-factory towns for the device, or really anywhere with access to electronic materials, most devices should be DIY-able in theory; this is the expertise of many DIY groups and collectives atm, and in the 'global north' especially you can usually find one within an hour of you. They don't create new things like hearing aids much yet, but as capitalism ends electronic 'junk' will be more accessible (both since it wonn't be picked up by state garbage services- pollution- and because many will be scrounging for stuff).

Plastic, similarly, can have the same; 3d printers are widely distributed enough now that the technology in theory can be viable for medical purposes, let alone other methods, and theres certainly more than enough plastic to go around for a century or two until we find an alternative method.

Chemical and biological stuff is similar too; much more difficult, but DIY chemistry is a thing and as the state collapses their uses will be much more niche anyway.

Now, this isnt to say there won't be losses. There will be, many, many losses. Deaths, infastructure, entire cultures maybe. We are saying this second part because many think "ok, we have alternatives, but why not try to save this? why revel in the states collapse?" Some states may not fall for millenia more. Many communities out of desperation will likely not realize how to do mutual aid for these things, and by majority believe they/we have entered a 'dark age'- much like many roman citizens did when their empire fell.

But crucially, this would happen *anyway*; crucially, these alternatives were always neccesary to develop. There as not yet been a state that was willingly dismatled, not yet been a state that willingly stopped 100% of its exploitation of the planet - causing climate change. Not even prior to industry, as research shows even the Kingdom of Solomon likely died out in part due to his mining of copper's environmental impact.

And, in event a state did willingly do so, it would likely eventually look like this anyway; Capitalist factories are only efficient for profit, not for communities. It is cheaper, easier, and more helpful to your community to buy local, and as that happened more and more would work as mutual aid.

Ao3 does not need an algorithm, you're just lazy

Ao3 does not need a 1-5 star rating system, you just want to bring down authors writing for FREE

Ao3 does not need automatic censorship, it is an archive, therefore anything can be posted

Writing or reading about something illegal does not mean the author nor the reader condones it, if that were true, you could never read a story involving anything negative

Purity culture is ruining fan culture and you all are fucking annoying

[woso-story]

Better Boyfriend Than Him - Part Thirteen

Alexia Putellas x Reader - Other Parts

The weekend was meant to be simple.

No games, no obligations—just you, Alexia, a stack of movies, and way too much pizza.

You were halfway through an action movie, and while Alexia was completely captivated by the explosions on screen, your mind was somewhere else entirely.

You needed to talk to her.

“Alexia,” you said, but she didn’t react.

You tried again. “Alexia.”

Without looking away from the screen, she waved a hand at you dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, take the last slice of pizza.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. How could someone not listen at all like that?

Shaking your head, you nudged her side with your foot. Once. Then again.

She finally grabbed your ankle to make you stop, turning to you with a confused expression. “What’s wrong?”

You suddenly felt nervous under her gaze. Too intense. Too close.

You swallowed, willing yourself to just say it. “I, uh… I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Alexia immediately let go of your ankle and shifted closer, her focus now entirely on you. “Okay,” she said, voice softer. “I’m listening.”

That didn’t help.

Your heart pounded as you tried to find the words, but the way she was looking at you made it impossible to think straight.

Alexia frowned. “Is something wrong?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Then, without really meaning to, you blurted out, “You haven’t brought anyone home in weeks.”

Alexia blinked, clearly caught off guard. “…What?”

You cleared your throat and forced yourself to keep going. “I mean exactly what I just said. You haven’t brought anyone home. You don’t have to hold back just because I’m… alone right now. Because I got cheated on and everything.”

She still looked perplexed. “I—what?”

You kept talking before she could say anything else. “It’s probably best if I move out soon anyway. You should be able to go back to your old life without me as a burden.”

At that, Alexia reached out and placed a firm hand on your knee. “Stop.”

You swallowed hard.

Her touch was warm, grounding, but it did nothing to calm the storm inside of you.

“You don’t have to move out,” she said firmly. “And me not bringing anyone home has nothing to do with you.”

That wasn’t entirely true.

Over the past few months, Alexia had found herself looking at you differently. She told herself it was wrong. That you were still healing, still getting over Luis. That she couldn’t—shouldn’t—let herself feel something for you.

And besides, Mapi had warned her. She’s off-limits, Ale. Don’t even think about it.

So she had tried.

But then you looked at her like that—your eyes wide, vulnerable, unsure—and it took everything in her to stay still.

“I like having you around,” she admitted. “It’s nice to have company. Someone to share ice cream with.”

You let out a small laugh at that, thinking back to that night, how calm you had felt beside her.

Alexia’s expression softened. “I don’t understand where this is coming from.”

You dropped your gaze, staring at her hand on your knee.

And that’s when it hit you.

The way your stomach flipped. The way your skin burned where she touched you. The way your heart ached at the thought of her with someone else.

You were so far gone.

But you were nothing to Alexia. Just a friend. Just someone she had taken in when you had nowhere else to go.

She didn’t see you that way.

And one day, she would bring someone home, and it would break you.

You were already in too deep.

Alexia saw the shift in your expression, saw the way your eyes grew distant, lost in thought.

She hated seeing you like this. More than anything, she wanted you to be happy. She wanted to be the one to make you happy.

Then, suddenly, your eyes filled with tears.

You tried to wipe them away before she noticed, but it was too late.

Alexia cupped your chin gently, tilting your face toward her. “What’s going on?” she asked softly. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head. “It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

Her voice was so quiet, so full of concern, and she was so close, only inches away.

Her hazel eyes searched yours, and before you could stop yourself, before you could even think, you leaned in and kissed her.

The second your lips met, a jolt of electricity shot through you, warmth flooding your entire body.

But then reality crashed down.

You pulled away like you had been burned, jumping to your feet as panic took over.

You just kissed Alexia Putellas.

Your friend.

Your roommate.

You needed to get out. Away from her. Away from this moment.

You turned to run, but Alexia was faster.

She stood up and grabbed your arm, spinning you back around to face her.

Your chest heaved, your eyes still damp with tears.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Neither of you spoke.

Then, slowly, like in a dream, Alexia stepped closer.

Her hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing away a stray tear.

And then she leaned in.

Was she really going to kiss you?

And more importantly..

Would you let her?

[woso-writing]

Secret Supporter

Renée Slegers x Arsenal!staff member

A/n: I know that some people enjoy reading Renee fics and I am one of those people so I thought I would make one.

You had been with your wife for nearly 10 years now and yet no one other than her family knew about the pair of you. You and Renée met when you were both playing for Linköping and you both instantly hit it off and became great friends before long the friendship developed into more than that and then after being together for 3 years, Renée asked you to marry her. A few years after you got married you both retired from football because you knew you wanted to start a family with Renée but unfortunately, the latter was forced to retire because of a knee injury. But through the unfortunate circumstances it did also mean that you now have two beautiful children called Anneliese and Lucas. After she retired, Renée was adamant that she wanted to go into the managerial side of the sport and you supported her through the whole process when you both got offered a job at Arsenal, Renée the manager and you the head physio, you both knew that you couldn't turn down the offer. So that leads you to where you are today, you have been at the London club for nearly three months now and still no one knows about you two, or the fact that either of you have children, well not yet.

Y/n: *Answers the phone* Hello, how can I help?

AT: Hello, is this Anneliese Slegers' parent?

Y/n: Yes speaking.

AT: Ok, well I am Anneliese's teacher and I am afraid that you will need to come and pick your daughter up as soon as you can.

Y/n: Ok I will see what I can do, it may not be me or her mum as we are both at work but I will try and get in contact with a family member, can I ask why? Is she ok?

AT: Anneliese said she was feeling ill and then she was sick a few times when we were taking her to a quieter room to give her some time, she seems to be feeling a bit better now but because she was sick she will need to stay at home for at least 48 hours.

Y/n: Ok, thank you for calling me, someone will be there to pick her up as soon as possible.

AT: Thank you and sorry to disturb you at work.

You hung up the phone and tried to get into contact with Renée's sister as she was meant to be over from the Netherlands for work but it turns out the trip got cancelled and she is still at home, slightly panicking you leave the physio room and walk up to Renée's office, knocking on the door when you get there.

Renée: Come in, oh hey you, what has Kyra done now?

Y/n: It isn't Kyra.

Renée: Oh ok serious, what's wrong?

Y/n: I have just been on the phone with Annie's teacher.

Renée: Oh god, is she ok?

Y/n: Apparently she said she wasn't feeling well and then she ended up being sick a few times and they need one of us to go and pick her up, which I can do but then I am going to have to bring her back here and I didn't know what to do.

Renée: Ok, well either way we need to go get her, do you have any girls in this afternoon or is it meant to be pretty quiet?

Y/n: No I have Caitlin and Leah coming in, as well as a few of the girls after training.

Renée: Ok so there is no way I can get you out of that then.

Y/n: No, I mean I am happy to bring her back here, she can lay down in there and just sleep if she's still not feeling well.

Renée: And she does look exactly like you so they probably wouldn't pick up on anything.

Y/n: Ok I will go get her now, I'll keep you updated babe.

Renée: Ok, I need to get to training but if anything happens you know where I am.

You walk out of the office and quickly go to your car, leaving and driving to the school as quickly as possible, when you get there, not only do you see Anneliese waiting for you but your eldest, Lucas is also sat there playing with his sister.

Y/n: Hello you two, are you not feeling well either Lucas?

Teacher: Yes sorry we didn't phone because we thought you would already be on the way but Lucas has also been sick so we assume it is something that they have picked up outside of school.

Y/n: Ok, well thank you, come on you two let’s get going.

Anneliese: Where's Mama?

Y/n: She's at work baby, do you want to go see her?

Anneliese: Yes please, can you pick me up please mummy?

Y/n: Of course I can baby, come on Lucas.

You get them back to the car and into their car seats before driving back to the training ground, when you get back you go into the physio room which you expect to be empty but when you get to the door you can hear people inside.

Y/n: Right you two, no one here knows that me and your mama are together so try not to mention her and we will go see her soon ok?

Lucas: Ok mum.

Anneliese: Ok mummy.

You walk in to see that the noise is coming from Kyra who is arguing with Alessia over something.

Y/n: What have you done this time Kyra?

Kyra: Umm that can wait, who's this little one? She is adorable.

Y/n: They're mine, this is Anneliese, and this is Lucas, wait Lucas where have you gone, buddy?

Lucas: I'm here mum *sitting in your spinny chair* 

Y/n: Of course you are, right Kyra let me just put this one down and then I will be right with you.

Anneliese: No me stay with you mummy.

Y/n: I'm sorry baby but I need to help Kyra, I promise you can have loads of cuddles later.

Kyra: How about you come and sit next to me whilst your��mummy does what she needs to do?

Anneliese: Yes please

Y/n: Thanks Kyra, now what is the problem today?

Kyra: Well a certain someone called Alessia was being too rough and stood on my foot when I was getting ready and I didn't have my boots on yet so yeah.

Y/n: Right ok I can fix that.

You wrap up Kyra's foot and ankle and tell her not to train today just because she lost quite a bit of blood and it is quite bruised but she should be fine for the next training. The younger girl decides to stay in your physio room and plays with Anneliese which cheers your daughter up now that she is feeling better, Lucas just sits there on your phone watching one of his shows because he still isn't feeling his best, luckily no one has noticed how much your son looks like your wife so you haven't had to have to awkward conversation about that.

Beth: Hello my favourite physio, you are needed on the pitch.

Y/n: But training finished like 20 minutes ago why is anyone still out there?

Beth: Well I wanted to practice my free kicks a bit more and Renée said she would help me and I don't know but she kicked it and I think it was her knee.

Y/n: God ok, that woman needs to know when to stop, right Kyra can you stay here please with these two, I'm sorry to put it on you.

Beth: I'll stay here too, don't worry about it.

Y/n: Thanks, guys.

You say buy to the kids before walking out and practically running out to the pitch, meanwhile back in the physio room.

Beth: Who are these two little cuties then?

Kyra: Y/n's kids, you were both a bit ill so had to leave school didn't you little one?

Beth: Aww bless, she looks exactly like Y/n.

Kyra: I know, and I know it isn't possible but Lucas over there looks like a little Renée.

Beth: He does.

Anneliese: That's because she is our mama, silly Kyra.

Kyra: Wait what?

Lucas: Annie! Mum said not to say anything.

Anneliese: Sorry I forgot *starts to cry because she thinks she is in trouble*

Beth: Hey kiddo come here *Picks Anneliese up* It's ok you aren't in trouble, it can be our secret, me and Kyra won't tell anyone ok?

Anneliese: Ok.

Meanwhile back outside with you when you get to Renée and luckily she is the only one out there now other than Daphne who goes in when you get to your wife

Y/n: What have I told you about being careful, you can't keep up with the girls anymore babe.

Renée: I wasn't even doing anything that hard, I just kicked the ball a few times.

Y/n: You still need to be careful babe, do you think you can walk on it?

Renée: I'm not sure.

Y/n: Right ok, I'll go get some of the girls so that they can help us get you inside, I will be right back ok?

You don't wait for her to answer and just make your way back inside to ask Kyra and Beth for help, not knowing if any of the other girls are still there. Once the girls have helped Renée inside they both say they need to leave and that they'll see you both tomorrow, as soon as they leave the door you feel a gentle tap on your leg.

Anneliese: I go see Mama now?

Y/n: Of course baby, she's just over there, be gentle though please Annie, mama has hurt herself a little bit.

Anneliese: Ok mummy *runs over to Renée* hello mama.

Renée: Hello Annie, are you feeling better now?

Anneliese: Yes, mummy said you hurt yourself, are you ok mama?

Renée: I am going to be just fine baby, it is just my silly knee.

Y/n: Yes your mama was just being silly and forgot that she is not a professional athlete anymore.

Anneliese: Silly mama.

Y/n: Yes Annie she is very silly, anyway I think we should get all of you home *you hand Renée some crutches*

Renée: I don't want to have to use them again.

Y/n: Well, I am afraid you do not have a choice, maybe this will teach you to be more careful in the future.

Renée: Fine you're probably right.

Hope you enjoyed :)

[bloggerspam]

Lost in Grave Dirt

You've forgotten your name.

You've forgotten a lot of things, actually.

But you keep getting stuck on the fact that you do not know your name.

Maybe John? No, that doesn't seem right. Jane? You've forgotten if you're a woman or man, which feels like it should be important, but doesn't seem to be right in this moment.

Tom? Richard? Harry?

None of these feel right.

"Hello?" You blink. Right, forget the name—someone else is here and has been calling you for a while. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes, I can hear you." You call back, looking down at yourself. You're sitting in a ditch, legs half-buried in the ground. You're disheveled and covered in dirt, but you seem to be okay overall besides that. "Sorry, I was a little distracted. What were you asking me?"

"I asked if you were alright." The person standing at the top of the ditch you're in replies, cautiously, as if they are not sure if you are crazy or not. Which is fair play, really, considering where you have woken up.

"Right." You say, wondering if you should pick yourself up and dust yourself off. "I'm not sure. Would you happen to know who I am?"

The color drains from the person's face, eyes straying to the side, voice trembling a bit as they seem to read off of something. "Uh, does the name Daniel J. Fenton ring any bells?"

"Hm." You think on that for a moment, surveying the ditch and shaking your legs a little to free them. You don't feel like a Daniel, but then again, you don't not feel like a Daniel either. You tell them so, before looking back up in confusion. "Maybe I went by a nickname?"

"Like, Danny?" The person tilts their head, biting their lip. "Probably?"

You consider this, feeling out the possibly-not-new name. "Danny does feel more…right."

"So you don't remember who you are?" The person crouches, leaning more closer. "Or why you're sitting in…uh. There?"

"I have no earthly idea." You admit, to which the person snorts.

"Earthly. good one." They chuckle, reaching a hand down. "Do you, uh, maybe need help getting out?"

"That'd be nice." You take their hand, climbing out of the ditch with surprisingly little effort. You think you've been down there a while, but again, you can't quite remember. Still, you have a lot less aches and pains than you thought you would.

When you are successfully out, you start dusting yourself off, pausing when you see your new companion fidget uncomfortably. You're about to ask what's wrong when you catch sight of the small slab of stone at the head of the ditch you were in.

It's a tombstone, crudely made, with a name and years written on it as they usually do.

Daniel J. Fenton. April 3, 2004 to December 24th, 2023.

"Huh." You say, words slipping out as you carefully make your way over. "That's…interesting."

"I'll say. If I had a nickle for every guy I've seen rise out of his grave," your companion laughs, disbelieving and almost depressively, "I'd have two nickles."

You hum, something not quite sitting right. Your clothes are covered in dirt beyond belief, but beyond the normal wear and tear you're relatively clean. No out of place rips or tears, not even a speck of blood, on your once white teeshirt and blue jeans.

"Which isn't a lot," your companion continues, oblivious to your conundrum. "But it's weird that it's happened twice, right?"

You turn to look at the ditch, inspecting it for a moment, leaning over before your companion grabs you to yank you back.

"Whoa, what—" your companion turns you around, hands clamped around your biceps as if to keep you there, "we just got you out, why are you trying to get back in?"

"I'm not trying to get back in," you try and wriggle your way out, but your companion is not budging. You crane your neck as best you can, before giving up and staring into your captor's blazing eyes. "I just thought it was strange is all."

"Strange?" They finally let you go, moving over to look over the ditch themselves, as if to block your path. "What is?"

"Well," You make a face down at your beat up sneakers. "The grave looks very…machine dug. It's not really what you'd expect from someone crawling out of their own grave, right?"

Your companion freezes, turning slowly too look you up and down in a new light. Their entire countenance changes, as if a switch has been flipped.

"Come to think of it, you don't have a suit," They stalk back to you, taking your hands carefully into theirs. "And your fingernails are too clean to have dug yourself out."

"In the first place," You venture, as they let your hands drop,"Where's my coffin?"

That seems to puzzle them as well, both of you leaning over to peek at the empty grave. It truly looks too clean to have been done by human hands, the walls of it oddly straight. It's about 6 feet deep, with only the side you used to climb out looking slightly lopsided.

"…Huh." Your companion says. And really, what else were you expecting? "Should have noticed that first."

"Can't really blame you." You shrug, looking around and realizing you're also not sure where the missing dirt is, "I'd be more concerned about the amnesiac too."

"I think," Your companion finally decides, having also looked around and found nothing, "that maybe I should take you to my friends so we can sort this out."

"Sure." You agree, amiably. You have this vague notion like you should be more cautious, second locations and all that, but you also have this weird certainty that there's nothing that you can't really handle.

Do all amnesiacs have this kind of cockiness? Or is it just you? You eye your companion up and down as they take out their phone to contact their people, suddenly realizing that maybe you should have taken note of this before.

He's of African descent, skin a smooth and oddly comforting umber color. His eyes are cocoa brown, bright and rounded almond, reminding you of a chocolate Labrador. His hair is in beaded braids, some golden rings decorated here or there.

He's a handsome man, buffer than you are, though only slightly shorter than you. You think, in normal circumstances, that perhaps you would be in trouble. Your own arms are toned but slim, and though you seem to have some abs, you are more of a lean variety.

Still, you somehow know you could take him.

Strange.

"Alright," he says into the phone, "I'll see you at Leslie's."

When he hangs up and gestures for you to follow him with a smile, you realize that maybe you have forgotten something else important.

"So," You say as you trail behind him, "my name might be a mystery, but will yours stay one too?"

The man jolts, twisting around suddenly to a stop. "Right! Sorry," he holds out a hand, sheepishly smiling, "I'm Duke. Duke Thomas."

"Nice to meet you Duke." You smile as you shake his hand, feeling oddly warm. "I guess for now, you can call me Danny until proven otherwise."

"Nice to meet you too, Danny." Duke laughs, tugging you along, both of you walking side by side towards a motorcycle parked just outside the graveyard. "Let's get you sorted, yeah?"

You hop onto the bike behind Duke, feeling a little guilty about dirtying up the spare helmet you were given. The drive from there is smooth, refreshing on your skin—the sights slide by in technicolor and you lean back to flow with it, hands tight around Duke's waist.

You've forgotten your name, though you seem to have a lead on it.

You've forgotten a lot of things, truly.

But somehow, you remember this: this feeling of flying through a city, wind whipping around you, a kind of lightness to your body that feels like gravity is only an occasional visitor.

You find solace in that, this strangely familiar feeling and the warmth that seeps from Duke in front of you.

Somehow, you know:

All is as it should be.

[robotslenderman]

Saw a friend reblog this from me and wanted to rereblog this bc of the Old School Manners comment above, like

My parents were really strict on teaching my brother and I about manners, probably because undiagnosed neurodivergence runs in my family on both sides so we need those scripts more than anyone else. And even though many people don't learn about Old School Manners any more, that just makes learning them even more useful today because it makes you stand out. In a good way. They don't make you look weird or old fashioned (derogatory), they make you look old fashioned (charming) and people eat this shit up. Like not just older people, I had early twenty somethings gushing about how polite I was. When I was in high school the most popular girl in my year group was known to be the most polite. Old Fashioned Manners are a way of publicly displaying respect for the boundaries of others and publicly displaying positive feedback through please, thank you, if you'd be so kind, you look wonderful, etc. In previous times it was taken for granted as the bare minimum, today it's basically a life hack.

Like life has put me in the position twice where I'm somewhere and I know everyone in the room, but they don't always know each other. Being that person who steps forward and acts like social lubricant, introducing people you think get along and making people feel important by giving a small ring of people a blurb about the person you're spotlighting, gives you a huge social boost and gives you social credibility. And shit, on a career level it's a HUGE hit with the age group that holds most of the power in the workplace. People feel bad when they feel awkward, and you can use Old School Manners to make them feel good and enjoy being in a situation they were dreading.

Like yeah, it should be the bare minimum of socialisation but it's not any more, and if you want to advance your career or make more friends or just want to make a party less awkward, Old School Manners will carry you a lot farther than you realise.

I feel like in the rush of “throw out etiquette who cares what fork you use or who gets introduced first” we actually lost a lot of social scripts that the younger generations are floundering without.

[wonysugar]

ex-bestfriend ewb aeri uchinaga

a/n : no actual moodboard(tm)… no title…. what the fuck is wonysugar even about at this point. also! too many words to consider this a drabble but also not elaborate enough to consider a full fledged fic… take this as a mini-fic and whatnot

cw : heavyyy somnophilia but consent is like kind of established beforehand but not really since they technically don’t fw each other so it’s kinda cnc… whatever any of that means, cheating, masturbation, scissoring, fingering, clit play, aeri’s high as FAWKK. and she breaks into reader’s room, lawl

you guys had fought that day.

like you do any other day, at this point.

apparently! you were talking shit about her stupid, artificial and joke of a relationship to other people. of course you would do that, you had nothing else better to do after all. it’s not like you had exams and other priorities to worry about on a day to day basis!

while it is true you said her and her boyfriend weren’t a good match, it’s not like you spent day and night speaking on her. you simply once stated a fact. nothing more, nothing less.

of course, she didn’t believe that whatsoever.

in fact, she was absolutely convinced you did more than that. she was convinced you actively prayed on her relationship’s downfall, how could she not? it was so painfully obvious; to the way you eyed her down in the bus whenever she talked to him, the way you glared at him whenever he looked in your direction, the way you’d smirk and whisper things to your friend whenever you saw her walking down the halls, stealing glances from her—hell, the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like you were jealous of her.

yeah, that’s gotta be it, you were jealous of her!

…is what she believed, anyway.

the truth was, yeah, you were envious… but it was definitely not of her. you couldn't give less of a fuck about him, frankly.

you were envious of him, though. he got all the attention.

aeri was your best friend before becoming his girlfriend. you’re the one who watched her grow up into what she is today, and she was the one to witness your development into young adulthood. you guys went from pushing each other on swing sets and doing your basic addition homework together to getting high together and… what, making out in her room when her parents weren’t home?

hell, he probably didn’t even know you were her first kiss. she probably swore up and down he was her first, anyway.

nonetheless, due to multiple accumulated misunderstandings, that all stopped.

your numerous years of pure friendship and love were killed with nothing but a few crossed wires.

now you just tell each other empty threats and roll your eyes at one another. cute, right?

whatever, you thought to yourself, you’d done enough reminiscing for the day. soon enough, you slipped under the covers of your comfy bed wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and pyjama pants. it was a rather chilly night, you physically couldn’t allow yourself to sleep with no pants on, as saddening as that might’ve been for you.

that being said, you still kept the window open. you enjoyed the feeling of the cold yet light breeze kissing your face whenever you dreamed.

feeling yourself slowly dozing off, your eyes fluttered shut as the minutes pass. eventually, after a few hours, you’re deep in sleep, practically snoring as you’re tightly hugging your teddy bear, laying on your back.

exhausted would be an understatement; you were beat.

so beat that you couldn’t possibly shake awake at the sound of somebody audibly breaking into your room.

that somebody being none other than aeri.

what the fuck was she even doing there? even she herself wasn’t sure. one thing she did know, though, was that she was gonna make you regret ever saying anything about her relationship. of course, she wasn’t thinking rationally whatsoever; the weed in her system had killed every ounce of reason left in her, and she found it more practical to operate with her feelings.

and the feelings in question? they told her to break into your house through that same window you so conveniently left open!

she stepped foot closer to you, watching you sleep. you were absolutely clueless on what was going on near you.

aeri had always found you pretty, but you looked especially breathtaking in that moment. you looked so… peaceful, serene. seeing you like this made her nostalgic; she yearned for the moments where you would look at her with an expression just as warm as that. the moments where she’d talk about something as trivial as a corny song her favorite artist at the time released and you would just... sit there and listen.

you would always listen attentively to whatever she had to say.

her man rarely ever did that. he was always too busy to even look at her when she talked. yet, he's the only one she gives her whole attention to.

funny how that works, huh.

then, she noticed how your graphic tee had seemed to drag itself upwards, unintentionally yet entirely revealing your stomach, as well as the fact itself that you weren’t even wearing a bra underneath.

was that the reason she got on top of you? no, of course it wasn’t; she had a prove to point, that’s what! the point being that you ran your mouth about something that doesn't concern you, and that she was gonna rightfully ridicule and humiliate you for it. she had no problem with touching you in such a suggestive manner.

yeah, she hated your fucking guts now and would rather die a horrible death than sit in the same room as you for more than 5 minutes… but you’ve always had a great body, and even greater tits, that was undeniable.

so, she gently pulled your t-shirt upwards, leaving space for her head and eventually got to licking on your chest while you slept. entranced by the feeling of your nipples grazing her numb tongue, she kept her eyes hooded as she watched out for your reaction. you did squirm around a bit once she started fondling the other breast with her hand, but that was about it. that went on for at least 10 minutes, right? she didn't keep count.

all she knew was that you would’ve felt nothing but pure shame if you knew what was being done to you at that moment. that was the point of this. not because she was dying to touch you, obviously, but because she wanted you to be aware of the power she truly has over you. instead of fucking her boyfriend, like you oh so clearly wanted, she was practically fucking you instead.

you were still in a deep slumber despite all that; you should have already woken up by then, but you didn’t. fortunate for her, although she couldn't help but ask herself, have you been getting enough sleep recently?

nevermind that, she was too into the act of leaving hickeys all over your chest to think about it. aeri didn’t want to think, she was high out of her mind. in fact, she stank up the whole room with the smell of marijuana, she was practically hot boxing you in the comfort of your own bed, whilst you slept. not a single thought of hers was rational, and chances are that's why she had gotten so hot and bothered over ‘ridiculing’ you.

perhaps that's also why she eventually slipped off your pyjama pants and gently hovered your clothed slit with her fingers, getting lost in the feeling of your lips on her fingertips. fuck, your panties were pretty damp, what had you been dreaming of before she got in here?

"you fucking bitch..." she mumbled to herself. she felt herself throb at the sight alone, and that pissed her off. the sensation of her digits dragging along your visibly desperate pussy didn't help, either. her blood ran embarrassingly hot and soon enough, she finished off by completely stripping you of your underwear, unable to contain her desire for any longer. your bare cunt now to the air, exposed and vulnerable only for aeri to see. it glistened under the moonlight that subtly broke into your otherwise dark room through the window, kind of the same way she did.

it was hypnotizing, so much so that aeri could've sworn she was practically drooling from the corner of her mouth. she was so close to just leaning and making out with it, but... she couldn’t. she had other, more important things to attend to; her own warm pool growing in between her legs.

she couldn’t help it, she had to swiftly glide her dominant hand across her lower stomach into her shorts. with a huge sigh of relief, her breath hitched as her middle finger quickly landed on her throbbing clit, rubbing circular motions immediately upon contact. her hooded eyes stayed fixated on you, entranced by the mere sight of you; asleep, your core exposed and vulnerable, just for her.

it didn’t take long for her to slowly slide in two digits inside of herself, biting her lip whilst she fought back a whine, still staring at you. she wanted to touch you so badly, she wanted to use every inch of you to get off, to humiliate you, but that would’ve been too risky. so, she was perfectly content with just pumping her fingers in and out of her entrance for now, quiet squelching sounds filling the silence of the room.

fuck, the weed in her system just made it so, so much better. she was dripping wet just thinking about how confused you would be if you were to wake up. nobody would exactly expect to be immediately greeted by the sight of aeri fucking herself on them right upon exiting dreamland, so that would be a totally valid reaction for you to have.

an adorable one, at that.

she didn’t have to worry about that though, she kept two of her other hand’s fingers inside her mouth whilst simultaneously fingering herself, way to muffle the occasional sounds that slipped out.

that’s, once again, what she believed, anyway.

what she had seemed to forget about you was that you weren’t that heavy of a sleeper, no matter how exhausted. truth was, the nipple sucking was enough to kinda rouse you up a bit, but she was lucky enough to not have fully woken you up, since you quickly drifted back to sleep afterwards.

that wasn’t the case for what came afterwards, however.

aeri, despite her initial plans of playing it safe, had moved on to feeling your wetness on hers; she bit back a gasp as soon as her clit came in contact with yours, soon enough rubbing against it as she held one of your legs in a careful way, leaving space for hers. her mouth agape whilst she looked down at herself grinding, rolling her hips back and forth onto you, the sensation out of this world. fuck, you were so wet for her, and you didn’t even know it.

how embarrassing was that for you.

anyway, she was so caught up in making herself feel good that she hadn’t even noticed you wake up!

“w-what the…” you mumbled, incoherent. then, your groggy eyes widening once you figured out what was actually happening, you raised your voice, “what the fuck?!—“

she shushed you immediately, covering your mouth with her palm, “sh-shut the fuck up… you’re gonna wake up the whole house.”

and she won’t? first thing you heard waking up was a loud ass whimper coming out of her!

onto more important questions… what the fuck was aeri doing in your room? why did she look so fucked up? was she high? what was she grinding onto? why did your body feel so good? why was it so cold in your room? what did she do to you before this? you didn’t have a single clue on anything happening, you felt… used, taken advantage of, objectified by your own ex childhood best friend.

and fuck did you love every second of it once you actually processed everything. was that weird? the thought of her eventually cumming her brains out to you and not to her stupid ass boyfriend was enough to turn you into even more of a mush, despite barely being conscious.

“f—fuck, aeri—“ you'd moan out,

“i know baby, it feels—mmh—good, d-doesn’t it?”

it did, it really did. so much so that you had to cover your mouth with each roll of the hips she did on you, as to not let any potential noises slip out.

aeri had decided to leave the confrontation for much, much later; when she isn't actively chasing the climax of her pleasure. plus, you looked way too good for her to even want to tell you off, it'd make her feel bad. at that moment, all she wanted was to see you lose control under her. your muffled moans like music to her ears, she got more and more lost in the feeling, dizzy and overwhelmed with euphoria. she felt the knot in her stomach get tighter and tighter, until... it snapped.

biting onto the phalanx of her index finger to surpress the moans fighting to escape, her orgasm hit her like a truck, hard.

you, on the other hand, didn't get to cum from just that, however, and that's exactly why she took it upon herself to make you finish on her tongue, eager to taste your juices and hers combined on your cunt.

before the night was over, you both talked it out. granted, it was difficult considering she was still high as shit and you had almost just gotten knocked out from having the best orgasm in fucking years, you still talked. you worked it out on the remix, if you will!

you weren't surprised when news spread on campus that uchinaga aeri had recently broken up with her boyfriend, a few days later.

[personapeters]

✰ 𝐛𝐟!𝐣𝐣 𝐱 𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤!𝐠𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

— sweet boyfriend jj and his ‘full kook’ girlfriend

rating: sfw — cw: none

— boyfriend jj who… was absolutely amazed when he first entered your house, gawking at the high ceilings and shiny decor that sat on the shelves, once reaching out to touch your father’s most prized pieces that sat atop a marble pedistal, to which you quickly said, “oh no, babe, don’t touch that — he’d kill us both,” softly grabbing his curious hands and redirecting them elsewhere.

— boyfriend jj who… wasn't your parent's favorite at first, his reputation on the island proceeding him. they felt you could do much better than a pogue, let alone that pogue, but that didn't stop him from trying to make the best impression possible. he fixed himself up as best as he could when he first met them, even turning his typically backwards cap forwards, saying it made him ‘look more professional’ — professional at what? you don’t know.

— boyfriend jj who… hates when you spend money on him. he appreciates the sentiment, but hates how it makes him feel like he’s using you, even though he knows he isn’t. sure, he’s stolen plenty of cash and random valuables before, but never would he ever want that from you. plus, he wants to provide for you.

— boyfriend jj who… lets you pamper him whenever you’re doing a self care day — plucking his eyebrows as you straddle his lap with his hands on your hips, applying matching face masks which he always says are too cold, fully manicuring his nails with a clear coat of polish; any and everything you did to yourself. at first, he pretended to hate it, but it soon became his favorite thing to do.

— boyfriend jj who… defended you like it was his job to his friends when they first heard about you, though he didn’t understand why he had to. his friends said you’re simply too much of a kook for him, and the hypocrisy pissed him off: “yeah, like sarah ‘n kie weren’t raised on figure eight, too — what’s the difference?”

— boyfriend jj who… introduced you to sarah and kiara with high hopes that you would get along well — an assumption he made based off the fact that you’re all kook girls who were somehow 'slumming it' with pogues like him and his friends. despite their preconceived idea of you at first, you became pretty cool with all the girls once they got to know you, cleo included.

— boyfriend jj who… never involves you in any of his criminal activities, saying he doesn’t want to be the reason ‘y/n, the golden girl’ earns a criminal record. though he almost came around once when you pointed out how your pristine image could probably exempt you as a suspect in just about anything: “that’s not… okay, that’s not not true, but… no, no, stop — s’not happening.”

— boyfriend jj who… managed to unintentionally change your style alot. you're usually dressed up in designer bandeaus and expensive sandals, but after the two of you started dating, you've traded alot of your attire for his (which he loves); his caps, old t-shirts — he even saved up to buy you a smaller version of his boots to wear whenever the two of you get into something messy outdoors; he's converted you into his own 'mini-me'.

— boyfriend jj who… often second guesses if he's good enough for you — he's heard the snide comments other kooks have made about your relationship, saying there's no way a guy like him got a girl like you. he doesn’t know how he landed you either, and deep down is dreading the day you ‘come to your senses’ and leave him.

— boyfriend jj who… had his first taste of what a normal family felt like with you — every dinner, movie night, outing; jj was invited and he always showed up with a smile. at first, he was hesitant because he felt like he was intruding or as though he didn't fit in, but after a while, that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

— boyfriend jj who… isn't the biggest fan of dressing up, but does what he must whenever he goes out to dinner with your family or even just visits your home. you assured him he could wear whatever he wants, what makes him comfortable, but he feels so out of place whenever he does so he chooses not to.

— boyfriend jj who… turned a-lot of his life around for you, though it took some time. his friends weren’t big fans of him spending most nights with you instead of running all across the island, getting into whatever it was they got into. they missed him always being around, but also understood that he was doing what was ultimately best for him and were honestly grateful he had you.

— boyfriend jj who… got a second job and picked up every possible shift just to save up to get you a gift for your birthday: a dainty gold necklace. he beamed with so much pride when he gave it to you, watching nervously as you opened it; “i—i bought it, it’s not, like, stolen or nothin’,” he said with a bashful grin, causing you to laugh at the sentiment of a legally obtained present.

— boyfriend jj who… every once in a while, has a breakdown — one where he tells you that he fears one day you’ll realize he’s not good enough for you, that you’ll leave him for someone of your own status who can do more for you than he ever could. you reassure him that there’s no one you would want to be with other than him, though he still has his worries.

— boyfriend jj who… takes you on little dates across the cut, showing you all his favorite spots and things to do like cliff jumping, riding a dirt-bike or exploring abandoned houses. he always apologizes for them not being as ‘nice as you’re used to’, but you always shut him up immediately, telling him there’s nothing you want more than to just be with him.

 personapeters 2025 — all rights reserved • masterlist

[heavyhitterheaux]

Roommates Until Further Notice (Slight NSFW)

See Me Through You Blurb

Synopsis: Getting your way has always been second nature when it came to your husband, but when he once again tells you no regarding a well-known request of yours, you let him know how he's not being fair

Pairing: Husband!Joe Burrow x Wife!Reader

Series Masterlist

Requested by: a gorgeous anon 😍

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

When Joe had gotten back from Miami to celebrate the Bengals finalizing deals with both your twin and Tee, you had been working on designing the nursery when he made his presence known by wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top of your head.

“Hey pretty girl.” Joe quietly said as you turned around to properly hug him.

“Hi handsome.”

“What are you up to?”

“Just looking up different designs for the nursery. I think I'm leaning toward it being elephant themed.” You replied as you smiled at him and he instantly raised an eyebrow.

“We still aren't buying one. I don't care how many times you try to sneak it in when we're talking. The answer is still going to be no.”

“Why are you such an ass sometimes? Riddle me that.” You crossed your arms as you set your phone down and all Joe did was shrug.

“Oh, so you can buy batmobiles but I can't get an elephant? Fucking hypocrite if I ever saw one.”

“Don't you dare start and that's different!”

“It is NOT!”

“One is literally an animal that is as big as our house.”

“You can't even drive it out on the street.” You shot back and Joe instantly closed his mouth before opening it again.

“YET!”

“I'm calling Robin and I'm telling her that I'm sending her youngest child back to her because he doesn't know how to act and getting on my nerves.”

“Because I won't buy you an elephant? Please be serious, princess.” Joe sighed as he followed you to the living room.

“I should put you on a restriction. No sex until you buy me what I want.” Sitting on the couch, you opened your phone back up to Etsy where you were looking up different designs while Joe snorted.

“You'll probably break before I do.”

This made you look at him in disbelief and you folded your hands in your lap and nodded your head but not before sucking your teeth.

“Then let me make it easier for myself. I don't think I can sleepover tonight.” You replied and Joe had gotten a dumbfounded look on his face.

“This better not be one of those stupid TikTok trends. You literally live here. You are my wife and we share a last name.”

“Since when!? That's news to me.”

“Princess, please don't start and stress me out.”

“You're the one causing the stress. And besides, my mom said so.”

“Your mom?” Joe asked, not believing what he was hearing.

“Yes, that's what I said? Can you not hear me?”

“Your mom that lives in New Orleans?” Joe asked and you nodded your head once more.

“Yes. She told me earlier before you got here.”

“And we are currently in Cincinnati?”

“What is this? Geography class?” You asked Joe as he rolled his eyes at you.

“All this over an elephant?” Was all you had to hear for you to turn up your nose at him and sigh.

“I bet the elephant is cheaper than that damn batmobile. So let me grab my keys.”

“Wait, what? Baby it is almost nine at night, where are you going?”

“Haven't you been listening? I can't stay tonight, especially since you said no to buying my elephant.” You replied as you slipped your slides on that were by the door which happened to be the most comfortable shoes for you these days.

“You are really milking this aren't you?”

“Not my fault that you're a bad roommate who doesn't listen to me.”

“ROOMMATE?! WE'RE MARRIED!”

“Hmm, we're roommates until further notice.” You told him as you tried to open the door, but it was stopped by Joe's hand.

“Are you done having your temper tantrum?” He asked from behind you while leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“Move, so I can leave. I'll go and bother my little brother.”

“You sure you want to leave? And you know for a fact that he'll be calling me to come and get you as soon as you walk over there.”

“Yes, now unhand me, roommate.”

Next thing you knew, Joe's hand slipped inside your shorts and started moving his fingers in a small circular motion along your clit while slowly planting kisses down your neck.

“I didn't realize that roommates did things like this. Still want to leave?” He asked at the same time he inserted one of his fingers.

“You get on my nerves.”

“Is that how you talk to your roommate who is about to make you cum in his mouth?” Joe whispered in your ear before both of his hands made a swift movement and your shorts were now pooled at your feet.

No answer was heard from you as Joe got on his knees and started eating you out from behind making you gasp.

Joe's grip on your thighs became tighter to hold you in place as you leaned against the front door for stability since at any moment you felt like you could fall over.

“Good roommates keep their legs spread, or do I need to call you my good girl for that to happen?” As soon as the words ‘good girl’ left his mouth, it was a wrap with a moan erupting from you, which made Joe laugh as he used both his mouth and fingers to pleasure you.

As soon as you felt your release was near, Joe pulled himself away from you and pulled your shorts back up your legs before you heard his voice and you were confused about what was now happening.

“See you tomorrow I guess.”

“Excuse me!?”

“Well according to you, we're roommates until further notice and I realized that I only make my wife cum. So do what you will with that information.” He told you as he shrugged and gave you a small smirk which earned him a sigh from you.

“Okay. Since you want to go there, sleep on the couch, Burrow. Until further notice.” You told him as you turned around to look at him and crossed your arms in disbelief.

His eyes went wide and he was quickly starting to backtrack.

“Wait, babe. Hold on a minute.”

“Extra pillows and blankets are in the hall closet which you already knew so goodnight.” You replied as you started to make your way up the steps.

“All this for you to stay and kick me out of our bedroom? I need you next to me.”

“Oh, really? I thought the batmobile was going to keep you warm?”

“You're seriously not going to let this go are you?”

“Talk to me once you buy my elephant.”