#there's way more but these are the ones that popped into my head first

[wosospacegirl]

Brunette roots - Alexia Putellas

Summary: You love brunette Alexia, and you'll do anything to get her back

Word count: 2.6k

a/n: they could NEVER make me hate you, baby

Also last fic of the week!

..

The blonde was beautiful. It was hot, sexy. It made Alexia look powerful. 

Alexia has had her fair share of blonde shades, going from dark blonde to bleached hair. Her blonde hair was almost like her signature by now. Some people forgot she was actually a brunette.

But you didn't. You never did.

You started dating Alexia when both of you were teens at La Masia. Alexia was serious about her football, it was her passion, it was who she was. You, not so much. You liked to play football, but that was it. Just a hobby, just something to do after school.

When it got to the point where you needed to choose between pursuing a football career or another career path, it was easy. Off to university you went. Alexia stayed, and she grew into it, winning every challenge thrown at her.

It was difficult to balance your relationship, but you guys always did.

The hardest phase of your relationship was when Alexia tore her ACL. Saying she was depressed was an understatement; she was completely devastated. Her mental state showed through her physicality, especially in her hair. She stopped dyeing it, she stopped eating.

When she got back on her feet again–literally–she was back to her old self. She got back to dyeing her hair.

You were happy and relieved that Alexia was okay again, that she was feeling like herself, but you missed the brunette so much. It not only looked beautiful on her–it made her eyes pop–but it also reminded you of the young Alexia. 

The one who was sixteen when she first kissed you, the one who would pick flowers on the way to La Masia to give to you.

Blonde Alexia belonged to Barcelona, to football, to the media.

Brunette Alexia was... yours. Completely yours.

It was turning into an itch you longed to scratch.

Whenever you saw a little bit of brunette root, you had to hold yourself back from jumping on Alexia and kissing her. But then, days later, she would be back to bleaching it, and you'd be back to pouting and whining.

So you realised... all you needed was a plan. It started small, but it grew.

..

"Fuck!" Alexia said as she was packing her suitcase to go to yet another camp. She was looking at her watch. "You let me sleep too much! You knew I needed to dye my hair before I catch the flight."

She had a frown on her face, a small pout that she would never admit doing, on her lower lip. She was mad at you.

You had promised her to wake her up from her nap three hours ago so she could get everything ready to leave. But she was so sleepy and tired, you didn't have the heart to do it.

"Just don't dye it then," you said, giving her boots and shin pads to pack.

"But I wanted to dye my hair before going. I won't be able to do that at camp," she said, annoyed, taking her sports gear from you before closing the suitcase more aggressively than needed. "I hate when my roots are showing."

"I love when they're showing," you said teasingly. If Alexia was annoyed, you would make sure to annoy her even more. 

She got riled up easily, and you liked that.

"Well, you do," she said. "Yo no!"

Alexia put the closed suitcase on the bed before heading to the big mirror in your room. "Look, it's awful." Her eyes were squinting, as if she were counting each strand of hair that needed to be dyed.

You rolled your eyes but walked toward her, hugging her from behind. "You look pretty, hair dyed or not." You kissed her neck sweetly and smiled when Alexia didn't pull away.

"I like blonde," she stated firmly, but her body language was anything but firm. She was soft now, realising that she wouldn't see you for two weeks.

"I like you whatever," you said, your cold hand making its way under her shirt before stopping at her bra.

"If you really liked me–" Alexia breathed, her body shivering when your hand found her nipple. "You would have woken me up."

You laughed a little. "Oh, are we being dramatic now, la reina?"

"Sí," she breathed, eyes closed. "You were mean to me. You promised me you would wake me up, but you didn't."

"I didn't because you looked too pretty," you said. "You can't blame me."

..

"I bought it," Alexia said, taking the pillows from the sofa and throwing them one by one on the floor. "I know I did. I put them in a separate bag, too."

"Alexia," you held the bridge of your nose. "The bottles of blonde dye are not under the sofa's pillows, for the love of God."

"Then where are they?" Alexia turned to you, an exasperated expression on her face.

"I don't know!" you said.

You were lying. You knew where they were: at the bottom of your office's trash. You wanted brunette Alexia back, and you were willing to do it, even if not by the most righteous of ways.

"I haven't dyed my hair in two months," Alexia said angrily, sitting beside you on the loveseat and wrapping an arm around your waist, bringing you closer. "This is my first day off... I wanted to finally dye it!"

You put the book you were reading aside and lifted your head to look at her. "Do you hear how ridiculous you sound? You have a full day off in sixty days and you want to spend it dyeing your hair rather than being with your wife?"

Alexia was silent as you began kissing her jaw. 

"I'm still spending time with you, though," Alexia said, tilting her neck to the side so you would have more room to kiss.

"Uh huh," you shook your head. "You spent the last thirty minutes looking for a bottle of bleach when you could've spent it with me... that's thirty fewer minutes of our life that were thrown in the trash."

"Don't be so manipulative," Alexia mumbled, holding your body so you were straddling her.

"But you like it," you whispered against the skin of her cheek.

"Yes, I do," she agreed eagerly as you slipped your tongue inside her mouth, kissing her deeply.

..

"Ale, come here," you said as you sat on the other end of the sofa. Alexia was playing FIFA.

"Un momento," she said without looking at you. "Almost done."

You waited while flipping through the pages of the very new and handmade album you had just finished. It took you a few weeks, but it was finally done.

When Alexia scored a goal–really Alexia, because her game character was the one who scored–she closed the game and sat beside you, kissing the top of your head.

"What do you have there?" she said, curious eyes gazing at the photography album opened on your lap.

"Just a little thing I've done for Valentine's Day," you said. "Take it as an early gift."

You handed it to her, watching as she flipped through the pages. They were filled with pictures of you two.

It began with you and Alexia at thirteen, both too small in Barcelona's jersey. Alexia's hair was cut very unevenly, she had told you her mom was mad about that. You said she looked cool. That's when your friendship started.

There were pictures of games you shared together, both of you playing for Catalunya under-15s, then more pictures of you dating. Alexia kissed your cheek when you were both sixteen.

"This is so beautiful, amor," Alexia said. "You did it yourself?" she asked.

You nodded, smiling. "Yes, I asked our moms if they had pictures of us when we were younger."

"I love it, thank you," Alexia said. "We were so young."

"Yes, literal kids," you said.

You did the photography album because you knew Alexia would like it, yes. You didn't have millions of dollars to give Alexia an expensive gift, actually, you did, because Alexia's bank account was your own, but you didn't like to use it. Instead, you wanted to create something intimate, something meaningful to give to her, something only you could make.

But this wasn't the only reason. You wanted to show–very subtly–how much you loved her brunette hair, wanted Alexia to associate her brunette hair with the first few years of when you started dating.

Some would call it emotional manipulation. You just called it psychology.

..

Well, psychology didn't work.

Alexia kept buying bottles of bleach, and you kept throwing them away, while very artistically pretending not to know where they were as you helped her search the whole house for them.

Your last plan was something, between the lines, criminal.

You started to pretend to be someone else.

Yes, you weren't proud of it. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

When Alexia would mention she was going to book an appointment to dye or bleach her hair at a salon, you were faster. You would call all the salons you knew Alexia could go to and book appointments during all of Alexia's possible free time.

"This is the fifth salon already!" Alexia complained while eating the fruit salad you had just given her.

"What?" you asked as you were making coffee for both of you.

"Somehow all the salons that specialise in blonde hair are fully booked today," she grumbled, taking a bite of a strawberry. "That can't be normal! I even said they could book me during lunch, and even that time slot had someone already booked."

"Oh," you said in faux pity. "That is so sad, baby."

You were beaming on the inside.

"I think I'll need to go to France to get my hair blonde again," she said.

Oh no, you thought to yourself. Another crime you would have to commit: steal somebody's passport

..

Alexia didn't go to France, but she did find herself a salon in Madrid, of all places. She told you the night before that she was catching a flight to go there, but that she would be back the next day. She was literally just making the trip to get her hair done.

You, of course, couldn't let that happen. Her roots were almost at eye level now—the brunette was coming out beautifully.

When she had her small backpack ready, that's when you began your show.

You lay down on the sofa, legs pressed against your chest, pout on your face. You didn't call Alexia, you didn't need to. She was by your side the moment she noticed you were in pain.

"Hey, princesa," she said worriedly. "What happened?" Alexia was kneeling on the couch, her backpack long forgotten somewhere by the door. Her flight was in one hour, and she would still have to get through Barcelona's traffic. You needed to keep her with you for at least half an hour.

"Cramps," you said, pout on your face. "Got my period this morning."

Alexia looked at you, confused. "Your period? What do you mean? You were on your period two weeks ago."

You almost rolled your eyes. Why did Alexia have to remember everything?

"Well…" you said, trying to think of some excuse. "Guess my hormones are all wrong. My period has been irregular for a few months now."

"It has?" Alexia tilted her head. "Why didn't you tell me? I can book a doctor's appointment for you."

"It's okay–"

"No," Alexia said. "I'm booking a gynaecologist for you tomorrow, sí? Maybe they can get you on the pill. You can't be having two periods a month…you'll get anaemic."

You wanted to hold Alexia, tell her to stay with you, but she was already up. For a moment, you got scared that she was leaving for the airport. But she wasn't.

"I'm going to the pharmacy," she said, hand brushing your cheek gently. "Gonna get some ibuprofen and some iron pills."

You froze. Alexia was taking this too seriously. You didn't need any medicine. Hell, you weren't even on your period, you just wanted a reason for her to stay home and not dye her hair.

"No, Ale, it's alright. Just stay with me."

But Alexia thought she was the one responsible for fixing everything. Of course, she went to the pharmacy like her life and dignity depended on it.

In the end, you had to take two ibuprofen pills that day, plus iron pills for a week, and go to the doctor Alexia had booked for you. 

But hey, at least Alexia's roots were growing during that time.

..

At the end, you didn't need to formulate any more elaborate plans. It was Tuesday night, and Alexia had come home after a long day at training. 

Her hair was now half brunette. You had worked hard enough that Alexia wasn't able to dye it, even if she wanted it a lot.

Alexia walked into your shared bedroom. She looked different, like she had something to say. You knew that look very well, it was the same look the same look she got when she was thinking of something for a long period of time and had finally made up her mind.

"I'm not dyeing my hair anymore," she said, just like that.

She dropped her body on the bed like a starfish. On a normal day, you would smack her arm playfully and tell her not to lie on the bed with her training jersey filled with grass, but you were completely caught off guard.

Alexia's words felt like an angel had just materialised in your room, telling you your biggest dream would come true.

You looked up from your laptop, where you were definitely not researching how to sabotage a bottle of bleach to make the hair of whoever uses it darker.

"What?"

"Yeah..." she said, looking at you, a small smile on her face.

She wasn't necessarily close, your feet were just touching her torso from the way she was lying, but you could smell her post-training scent, the smell of the deodorant she uses.

You couldn't help but peek at her little brunette roots that were getting longer every day.

"I'm letting it grow out–" she stated.

Why? You wanted to ask, but you were scared that if you said anything, she might change her mind. So you just stared at her, trying not to smile too big, trying to keep casual. You let her talk.

"--because," she said quietly, and then, in an instant, she got up and pulled the photography album from the little drawer on your nightstand. She began flipping through the pages. 

"I was seeing these pictures again the other day, and realised how cute I looked with brunette hair. It makes me look younger, I think."

Your heart was doing something weird in your chest.

"And also," she continued, and there was this little smirk on her face, "because I know you've been throwing away my hair dye, amor."

Shit. Your face went hot. Your heart was beating faster, but not because of her brunette roots, but from nervousness. You were caught.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said, avoiding eye contact.

"Mhmm." She moved closer, her voice dropping. "And booking appointments at every salon in Barcelona under fake names."

You opened your mouth to deny it, but she put her finger against your lips.

"I'm not mad," she said. "Actually... It's kind of hot how obsessed you are with my hair."

"So you're really going to let it grow out?" you whispered against her finger.

"Sí," she said, settling against you, her head on your shoulder. "Blonde Alexia can take a vacation, don't you think?"

You nodded eagerly, wrapping your arms around her and kissing the top of her head, breathing in her hair, already imagining how perfect she was going to look in a few months when all the blonde was gone.

"Te amo," you whispered.

"Te amo también," she replied. "Even though you're completely loca."

..

a/n: i had so so so much fun writing thisss!! <3

[goonerforthree]

With you, Always Chapter one

A/N: First chapter, enjoy!

Words: 8.2K

The black SUV rolled up to the curb like it had somewhere more important to be. Tinted windows. Smooth, quiet engine. Paige behind the wheel in a pair of oversized sunglasses and a gray UConn tee that had seen better days.

Azzi stepped out of the terminal into the Dallas heat, duffel slung over her shoulder. Her hoodie sleeves were pushed up, and her expression looked like she was still chasing missed rebounds in her sleep.

Paige lowered her shades as Azzi approached. "You look like you just walked out of a funeral."

Azzi raised a brow. "Season ended three days ago. Semi-final loss. Close enough."

Paige didn’t joke back. Just popped the trunk with a quiet click and watched Azzi toss in her bag before sliding into the passenger seat.

"You hungry?" Paige asked once they pulled away from the curb.

Azzi shrugged. "Not really. I just... needed out."

They sat in that comfortable silence—the kind only years and road trips and shared hotels could build. Paige switched lanes, sunglasses back on, one hand loose on the wheel, the other drumming against her thigh like she was counting down to something.

"My apartment's a wreck, by the way," she said.

Paige’s apartment was still a mess—Azzi already knew that. They’d talked about it over text all week: half-packed boxes, open suitcases, a growing pile of gear she wasn’t sure she was bringing or donating. She was moving back in with her dad for a bit. Just until things settled. Just until the front office called.

The whole Dallas situation was still gray, unconfirmed. Her rookie contract was up. Nothing final had been said, but Paige wasn’t the type to wait around pretending she didn’t already feel the writing on the wall.

"Still no word?" Azzi asked, her voice low.

Paige shook her head, eyes fixed on the road. "Nah. Finals first. Then they’ll decide if I’m part of the plan or not."

"You don’t sound thrilled."

Paige smiled without humor. "I’m not trying to get stuck somewhere I can’t be me."

Azzi gave a small nod. She got that.

"So what are your options?" she asked, eyes flicking over to Paige for the first time since they got in the car.

"Depends. If Kayla McBride doesn’t re-sign, the Lynx might have space. Could be wild, playing with you again."

Azzi smirked. "You’d hate Minnesota winters."

"I’d deal."

They drove a few blocks before Paige continued. "Seattle’s an option. Nika’s out there now. I miss her. That connection was different."

Azzi laughed lightly. "You mean, she actually passed you the ball?"

Paige grinned. "That too. She made the game feel like fun again."

"What about New York?" Azzi asked.

Paige shrugged. "Crowded roster. Big spotlight. I don’t know. Valkyries could be interesting—Sarah already there, and Aaliyah. That team’s got juice."

Azzi leaned her head back, let her eyes close. "I wouldn’t stress too much."

"That’s easy for you to say," Paige muttered, then softened. "Sorry."

"No, it’s okay," Azzi said, glancing out at the flat Dallas skyline. "Just... keep everything open for now. You don’t have to decide tomorrow."

The Dallas heat shimmered across the highway as Paige merged onto the ramp, one hand casually resting at twelve o'clock on the wheel. The windows were cracked just enough to let in the scent of scorched pavement and late-October sunlight.

Azzi leaned into the seat, finally speaking after a stretch of silence. "I talked with Phee this morning."

Paige glanced over. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. We’re both still... kind of wrecked about the Dream series," Azzi admitted, voice low but steady. "But she’s trying to keep it positive. Talking about Unrivaled starting in a couple months. Said it’ll be a reset."

"She’s not wrong," Paige said, nodding. "Fresh rosters. New energy."

"She also told me she, Alex, and Mila are going to Cabo for a week. I’m jealous."

Paige chuckled. "You should be. Cabo sounds way better than packing boxes."

Azzi smiled, just barely. "I needed the laugh."

"We are going to L.A. in a couple days," Paige offered. "And we could still do Turks and Caicos if you want. We just have to hammer out the dates."

Azzi turned her head toward the window but didn’t look away from Paige in the reflection. "Yeah. Let’s figure that out after we get everything moved out of Dallas and to your dad’s."

"Yeah," Paige said, nodding as she slowed to make a right turn. "That sounds like a plan."

The SUV pulled into a shaded lot lined with pale brick buildings and tidy landscaping—deceptively peaceful for a place currently full of half-unpacked chaos and off-season decisions. Paige parked in her usual spot, engine idling for a beat too long before she shut it off.

Inside the car, the quiet settled again. Not heavy. Just familiar.

Paige’s apartment looked like a moving truck had exploded inside it. Boxes half-filled with folded hoodies and unmatched sneakers lined the hallway, and loose practice jerseys clung to door handles like they were too sentimental to pack away. The air smelled like lavender dryer sheets and the faintest trace of Paige’s go-to cologne, clinging to everything like a memory. A stack of unopened mail teetered on the kitchen counter beside an empty smoothie cup from three days ago, and in the middle of it all, Paige knelt on the carpet, arms wrapped around a giant framed photo of the UConn team holding up the national championship trophy from 2025—the piece of net still dangling in the corner, now slightly frayed. She stood up too quickly, nearly dropping it with a loud curse, and Azzi instinctively reached out to steady both Paige and the frame, wide-eyed. "You good?" she asked, and Paige just laughed, breathless. "Barely."

The living room was a collage of life lived fast: WNBA-issued duffel bags, old handwritten scouting notes, gifted designer jackets still with tags, and what could only be described as an ungodly amount of clothing—rows of shoes lined up like a mini Foot Locker, some still in boxes, some half-worn from the season, and others she clearly hadn’t touched since UConn. There were heels that she had not touched since high school, Crocs from shootaround, and at least five pairs of custom Kobes. Azzi stepped over a trail of hair ties and mismatched socks, ducked beneath a hanging dreamcatcher Paige swore was lucky, and finally dropped her own bag in the one clear corner of the couch.

"You really live like this, huh?" she asked, trying not to grin.

Paige just kicked off her slides and flopped down next to her, shrugging like it was all part of the plan. "Organized chaos," she said. "Heavy on the chaos."

Later that night, the apartment smelled like brisket and sweet barbecue sauce—the good kind, the kind Paige always made sure to get from the hole-in-the-wall spot a few blocks over that somehow never had more than three Yelp reviews and a line out the door every Friday night. They sat cross-legged on the floor, paper plates balanced on their knees, surrounded by half-packed boxes and the hum of a fan that barely cut through the Texas heat.

"I’m gonna lowkey miss the fire-ass barbecue down here," Paige said, licking sauce off her thumb. "But I’m ready for something new."

Azzi nodded, chewing slowly before replying. "Yeah. I agree. It’s time."

The conversation drifted as easily as the smoke curling from the takeout bags. They started mapping out their L.A. schedule—mostly just talking through things they’d already talked about, but it felt good to say it all again. Rehearsing control in a summer that felt up for grabs.

"Lunch with Cam and Ben on Sunday," Paige said, tapping her phone screen. "You cool with that?"

"Obviously," Azzi said. "Cam’s basically family. And Ben’s hilarious."

"We’ll poke around Melrose after," Paige said, casual.

"Shopping again?" Azzi raised a brow. "You sure don’t need more clothes."

Paige didn’t even look up. "Whatever, bro."

Azzi grinned. "You know I’m right."

Paige leaned back, plate now empty, looking smug. "You steal all my clothes. If anything, I’m replenishing the closet. You benefit from it."

"It’s not that serious, bro," Azzi mumbled around a sip of water.

"You brought it up," Paige said, laughing now.

Azzi threw a crumpled napkin at her. "Whatever. Let’s get some sleep before the moving truck shows up tomorrow."

They both stood, stretching, the tired weight of the day finally catching up to them. The couch was still half-covered in clothes, but neither of them cared. The night felt soft, full of transition—not heavy, just real. Like something ending, but not in a bad way.

And as they switched off the lights and found corners of the apartment to crash in, the quiet held a kind of peace only summer beginnings can bring.

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

The door swung open to a hollow-sounding creak.

They stepped inside the now-empty apartment, the echo of their footsteps bouncing off bare walls. The space felt cavernous without the clutter — no boxes, no shoes, no tangled mess of laundry in the corner. Just their suitcases lined up by the door and a folded blanket tossed on the floor like a last-minute afterthought.

Paige dropped her keys on the kitchen counter — the clink louder than it should’ve been. She stood there for a second, hand lingering, like maybe she wasn’t ready to let go. Then she let out a breath, slow and quiet, and walked to the window.

The floor-to-ceiling glass framed the city in a wash of fading daylight. Warm gold spilled over the rooftops, smearing the skyline in soft color. The kind of light that made everything feel paused.

Paige stood still, arms crossed over her chest. “Wow,” she said quietly. “I’m really done with this chapter of my life.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She watched Paige from a few steps back — the way her shoulders rose and fell, the stillness in her posture, the way the light painted the edge of her jaw. She looked like someone right at the edge of something.

Then Azzi stepped forward.

She wrapped her arms around Paige from behind, slow and sure. Her chin rested gently on Paige’s shoulder, and she pressed a kiss there — soft, unhurried — like punctuation to a sentence they’d been writing for years.

Paige didn’t move at first. Just exhaled, long and even, her fingers finding Azzi’s and lacing them together.

They stood like that for a while, held in the quiet glow of a goodbye that didn’t feel sad — just honest. Like the end of a story that had taught you everything you needed to know.

The city stretched out in front of them, still humming. Still waiting.

Azzi’s voice was barely above a whisper. “You ready for the next chapter?”

Paige tilted her head slightly, just enough to brush her cheek against Azzi’s. “Yeah,” she said. “Especially if you’re in it.”

“Are you ready to get on a late-night flight?” she asked, not turning her head.

Azzi let out a groan and buried her face in Paige’s shoulder. “Don’t remind me.”

Paige chuckled, the sound vibrating low in her chest. “What? You don’t wanna sprint through DFW at midnight with two overstuffed carry-ons and no sleep?”

Azzi unwrapped her arms and stepped back, just enough to shoot her a look. “I wanna sleep for the next twelve hours, that’s what I wanna do.”

“Too bad,” Paige said, finally turning around to face her, eyes glinting with amusement. “We’ve got a Vogue shoot in L.A., like, yesterday. And you still need to help me pick out which sweatsuit screams ‘laid-back icon.’”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

Paige grabbed her suitcase handle and popped the wheels into motion. “And you love it.”

Azzi sighed dramatically, grabbing her own bag. “Tragically.”

Paige smirked, heading toward the door. “Alright then. Let’s go, princess.”

Azzi followed her out, one last glance over her shoulder at the place they were leaving behind — empty, but not hollow. Just cleared out. Ready for something new. She didn’t say anything, just pulled the door shut behind them with a soft click. The hallway lights buzzed quietly, and the weight of it all — the season, the move, what came next — didn’t feel heavy anymore.

It just felt like motion. And for once, they were both ready to move with it.

The flight was one of those strange liminal stretches of time — late enough that the airport was half asleep, early enough that the exhaustion hadn’t fully hit. They moved through security like muscle memory, hoodies up, sneakers scuffed, and backpacks slung low. Paige wore her UConn hat pulled down to avoid any wandering eyes; Azzi clutched a half-empty bottle of water and leaned against her shoulder at the gate like it was the only place she trusted gravity to work.

They boarded near the end, side by side in first class thanks to Paige’s agency pulling strings. Azzi fell asleep before takeoff, head tucked into the crook of her elbow, long legs curled up under her. Paige didn’t sleep. She scrolled a little. Stared out the window a lot. Let her mind drift — to Minnesota, to Seattle, to what she hadn’t said out loud yet. The inevitable conversation on the horizon

By the time the plane touched down at LAX just after 2 a.m., Paige was bleary-eyed and Azzi was blinking through sleep, hair flattened on one side. The air outside was warmer than expected, a little sticky, and the city stretched out in all directions like it hadn’t missed them at all.

Their bags rolled behind them on tired wheels as they slipped into the back of a black car sent by the shoot team. Neither of them spoke much on the ride to the hotel. Azzi leaned against the window watching palm trees blur into streetlights, and Paige rested her head back against the seat, finally letting herself exhale.

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

Paige and Azzi arrived at the Vogue shoot location in downtown L.A., stepping into a sleek studio space that felt like a quiet buzz of minimalist elegance. White walls stretched high, punctuated by floor-to-ceiling windows that let in the California sun. Racks of designer clothes—everything from structured blazers to flowing silk dresses—lined one side, while makeup artists and stylists flitted around like bees attending to a queen.

Though Paige was the star of the shoot, Azzi was there for moral support, lounging off to the side in soft sweats, sipping coffee, and scrolling through her phone. The shoot wasn’t just about pictures—it was about a story. The Vogue team was focused on Paige’s evolution: how she’d redefined her style from the teenage girl bursting onto the scene to the confident, self-assured woman she was now.

During one of the breaks, the shoot’s creative director pulled Azzi aside with a warm smile. “We’re really framing this feature around Paige’s style journey,” she explained. “How she’s taken control of her own narrative—not just as an athlete, but as a cultural icon. How she’s evolved, matured, and grown into someone who truly embodies power and grace in women’s sports.”

Azzi nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve known her since she was sixteen. Back then, Paige’s style was… something else.” She smiled, the memory vivid. “She showed up to practices in some of the wildest outfits you can imagine. Neon sneakers, oversized hoodies with slogans nobody understood, and this fearless way of mixing and matching colors that didn’t always work.”

The stylist’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Sounds like she was ahead of the curve.”

Azzi laughed. “You could say that. Honestly, if you went back to those early press photos from her rookie WNBA days, you might wonder how anyone thought her style was a good idea. But people loved it. They called her a trailblazer—someone who wasn’t afraid to be different. And she was, even if it wasn’t always stylish.”

Paige, sitting nearby getting her hair done, shot Azzi a mock glare from the mirror. “Thanks for the throwback, Az.”

Azzi grinned. “Hey, I’m just keeping it real.” She leaned back and added, “But the thing is, she’s grown into that style. It’s refined now—bold, confident, but still 100% Paige. That’s what makes her magnetic. Not just how she plays, but who she is, on and off the court.”

A photographer nearby chimed in. “That’s exactly it. It’s more than clothes or hair—it’s owning your story. Paige does that naturally.”

Azzi glanced at Paige, her expression softening. “From neon disaster to icon,” she teased.

Paige shoved her playfully. “I’ll never live that down, will I?”

“Nope,” Azzi said with a laugh. “And Vogue’s here to show the world that journey.”

Back in her chair, Paige adjusted in front of the mirror as the makeup artist finished with a subtle contour and a glossy nude lip. The stylists began bringing in the first outfits—sleek jackets paired with high-waisted pants, a bold red dress that turned heads the moment it hit the studio floor.

Azzi stayed close, offering quick opinions when asked, holding a hanger here, adjusting a sleeve there. Between shots, she pulled out her phone and snapped a few behind-the-scenes photos. The team, despite their professionalism, couldn’t hide their admiration for Paige. A couple of younger stylists whispered excitedly when they thought no one was listening, caught up in the rare moment of being near a true sports icon.

As the afternoon wore on, muscles ached in ways unfamiliar but satisfying. The glamor of hair and makeup gave way to the physicality of standing tall, moving with purpose, embodying more than just athletes but icons in a world they were just beginning to understand.

Between wardrobe changes, they stole bites of energy bars and sipped water, heads close enough to share quiet jokes about Paige’s inability to keep a straight face when wearing heels.

“Next time, I’m picking the shoes,” Paige muttered with mock scowl.

Azzi shook her head, grinning. “You say that now, but tomorrow you’ll be back begging for platform sneakers.”

Finally, as the sun began its slow descent outside the windows, the final shots clicked into place. The lead photographer smiled, nodding approvingly.

“That’s a wrap on Paige and Azzi,” he announced, the crew exhaling as the intensity lifted.

Azzi stretched, flexing her fingers and feeling the familiar exhaustion that followed the adrenaline. Paige’s eyes sparkled with that same tired glow, the kind you get when you’ve pushed through something challenging but meaningful.

They exchanged a look — the unspoken gratitude for a day spent stepping outside their usual lanes, blending worlds.

“Coffee after?” Paige asked, already half-standing.

“You read my mind.”

They walked out together, the buzz of the shoot still thrumming under their skin, ready to face whatever came next.

“First stop—Chrome Hearts,” Paige said, pushing open the glass door and immediately making a beeline for the cases near the back.

Azzi trailed behind her, one hand tucked into her hoodie pocket, the other balancing an iced matcha she’d barely touched. “You do realize we have exactly zero room in our suitcases, right?”

“That’s what carry-ons are for,” Paige grinned, peering into a glass case lined with chunky silver rings and cross-laced necklaces. “Besides, I’m not even buying anything. Just looking.”

“You always say that,” Azzi muttered, but she didn’t stop her. She hovered near the sunglasses, holding up a pair for a second. “These go hard though.”

“You trying to steal my swag again?” Paige asked, giving Azzi a playful nudge with her elbow.

“I have better taste than you. I’m just elevating it.”

They wandered through Gallery Dept. next—paint-splattered everything, from denim to hoodies. Paige tried on a shirt that looked like it had been through three art classes and a house fire.

“Too much?” she asked, turning in the mirror.

“You look like you lost a fight with a Jackson Pollock painting,” Azzi said, arms crossed, but she was smiling.

“That’s a yes, then.” Paige put it back and checked her phone. “Okay, Saks?”

“I need new sneakers,” Azzi said. “But you’re probably gonna walk out with another leather jacket.”

“I make leather jackets look good,” Paige said over her shoulder.

They strolled into Saks like they owned it—Paige in her faded UConn tee, Azzi in black cargos and a cropped zip-up—and still, people did a double take.

“You think that sales associate recognized you?” Azzi asked quietly as they headed up to the shoes.

“Maybe. Or they just clocked my fit,” Paige said, nudging Azzi. “We do look good.”

Azzi shrugged. “True.”

Paige wandered off to the men’s section while Azzi tried on a new pair of Jordans, returning ten minutes later with a Balenciaga hoodie she refused to admit she was about to buy.

“I thought we were just browsing,” Azzi teased.

“Support local luxury,” Paige said, deadpan, already pulling out her card.

They dipped into Supreme next, the store somehow both bare and buzzing. “This store is like... a hypebeast church,” Azzi muttered.

Paige grinned. “I came for the stickers.”

“You’re lying.”

They didn’t stay long—Paige grabbed a hat, Azzi got a T-shirt—and then they were walking down the block toward Louis Vuitton.

Inside, the air shifted—cooler, quieter, like money had its own scent. Paige drifted toward the men’s jackets while Azzi examined a pair of sneakers that cost more than most people's rent.

“You thinking of moving to L.A. permanently or something?” Azzi asked.

“I like options,” Paige said vaguely, trying on a pair of monogrammed sunglasses. “I’m building the wardrobe of a woman in transition.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but didn’t push.

Then came Tiffany.

“I just want to look at earrings,” Paige said casually, stepping into the pale blue glow of the store.

“Famous last words,” Azzi muttered.

Paige lingered by the silver and diamond studs for a while, her fingers tracing a few designs. But then she began to drift—past the pendant necklaces, past the bracelets, and toward the back of the store, where the engagement rings sparkled under perfect lighting.

Azzi raised an eyebrow as she followed. “Why are we back here?”

“Just looking for future inspo,” Paige said smoothly, not meeting her gaze. “You know. For... one day.”

Azzi stared at her. “You’re so weird.”

Paige laughed, a little too quick. “You love it.”

Azzi didn’t say anything, but she stayed close, watching Paige with an unreadable look as she pretended not to be intrigued by the platinum cushion-cut collection. Eventually, Paige sighed and turned back toward the exit.

“Okay,” she said, “I got the earring vibe. Let’s dip.”

Azzi didn’t press her. She just bumped her arm gently. “You know I’m picking out your ring when the time comes, right?”

Paige looked at her, half-smirking. “Noted.”

Their last stop was Sephora, a quick detour for Azzi to re-up on skincare. Paige trailed behind with a basket she didn’t plan to fill, watching Azzi bounce between aisles like she was on a mission.

“I swear they moved the moisturizers,” Azzi muttered.

“Or maybe you’re just losing your touch.”

Azzi stuck her tongue out at her. “Don’t test me. I will buy you the most extra sheet mask I can find.”

“Do it,” Paige dared, grinning.

While Azzi stood at the counter ready to check out, a girl with a Sephora bag in one hand and a drink in the other did a double take as she passed by them. Her eyes widened.

“Wait—are you Paige Bueckers?”

Paige smiled, already bracing herself. “Depends. Who’s asking?”

The fan grinned wide. “You have to come back to Minnesota. I’m serious. It’s not the same without you.”

Azzi leaned in, playing along. “I’ve been saying that.”

Paige laughed. “Y’all are trying to freeze me out.”

The fan beamed. “I’m just saying, we need that Bueckers magic back.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Paige said with a wink. “Appreciate you.”

They paid, Paige insisting on covering both their purchases despite Azzi’s half-hearted protests, and walked back out into the sun.

“You spoil me,” Azzi said.

“Only because you need a solid skincare routine to balance out all that judgment you throw my way.”

Azzi bumped her with her shoulder. “Shut up.”

“I mean, if you want to keep talking about rings and hometowns, I’m down.”

Azzi paused, smiling. “Let’s get dinner first.”

“Steakhouse time,” Paige agreed. “You picking the wine.”

“As long as you’re not trying to propose tonight,” Azzi shot back, laughing.

Paige threw an arm around her shoulders. “Not tonight. I’m waiting for the right lighting.”

They kept walking, bags in hand, sunset on the way. L.A. felt loud around them, but the space between them stayed easy—comfortable. Full of inside jokes, sidelong glances, and something just beneath the surface neither of them needed to say out loud yet.

Dinner at a cozy, upscale steakhouse tucked in the heart of West Hollywood felt like a reward. The kind of place with deep leather booths, golden candlelight, and soft jazz humming in the background. Paige and Azzi slid into a booth near the back, half-tucked away from the rest of the room, just the way they liked it—lowkey but intimate.

They started with mocktails—something citrusy for Paige, something floral for Azzi—and split a few appetizers: truffle fries, a wedge salad, and crispy shrimp. The food was good, but it was the conversation that made the meal linger. They drifted between topics easily, like they always did—debating where to go for their next off-season trip, laughing about a playlist Azzi made in college that Paige still secretly listens to, reciting lyrics that got stuck in their heads all week.

"You really think that Taylor Swift song is about basketball?" Paige teased.

Azzi smirked. "It's about heartbreak. Which is basically the same thing."

They both laughed, loud enough to draw a glance from the waiter but not enough to care.

Over dessert—molten chocolate cake they insisted they were too full for but devoured anyway—Azzi’s sneaker gently nudged Paige’s knee under the table. Paige glanced up, soft-eyed, and leaned in just a little, the gap between them thinning with every second that passed.

Neither of them said much after that. They didn’t need to.

By the time they left, the sky outside had turned navy. They walked to the car slowly, full and flushed with happiness, fingers brushing. Back at the hotel, they kicked off their shoes and curled into each other on the bed, quiet, warm, and content—like the night had carved out a little corner of peace just for them.

Back at the hotel, the city buzzed outside their window, but everything inside felt muted—warm, dim, and easy. Paige tossed the room key on the desk, slipping off her jacket as Azzi dropped her purse by the couch and flopped backward onto the bed with a dramatic sigh.

“That steak was criminally good,” Azzi mumbled, her voice muffled by the pillows. “I might never eat again.”

Paige laughed softly, pulling her hair up into a messy bun and kicking off her sneakers. “You say that every time we eat somewhere nice, and then you ask for breakfast by 9 a.m.”

Azzi rolled onto her side, grinning. “Whatever. I stand by my current truth.”

Paige padded over and collapsed next to her, letting out her own deep exhale as she stretched her legs out. “My feet hurt.”

“Your own fault for wearing those boots,” Azzi said, poking Paige’s calf. “They were cute though.”

“I know,” Paige smirked, “I suffer for fashion.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t fade. “You’ve come a long way from that girl who wore socks with slides and called it style.”

Paige gasped dramatically. “I was a visionary.”

“You were a menace,” Azzi corrected, sitting up slightly. “I still have nightmares about those neon green basketball shorts you wore in, like, every Snapchat story freshman year.”

“They were lucky!”

“They were loud.”

They both cracked up, Paige flopping her head against Azzi’s shoulder. The laughter faded into something quieter, softer. Paige reached for the TV remote, but didn’t turn it on. “You good?” she asked after a beat.

Azzi nodded slowly, brushing hair out of her eyes. “Yeah. Just… this whole trip so far has felt kind of surreal. Like everything’s changing, but it’s good, you know?”

Paige reached down and started unzipping her boots. “It is changing. But not all at once. And not all bad.”

Azzi watched her quietly, then got up and started pulling back the covers. “C’mon. Let’s just crash. You’ve got a workout in the morning, and I plan to sleep through all of it.”

Paige grinned. “Classic.”

They changed into oversized tees and boxers—Paige’s shirt had a faded Huskies logo, Azzi’s was from an Under Armour shoot a few years back. They brushed their teeth side by side, bumping elbows, rinsing out the night’s last bits of sugar and salt. Azzi wiped the mirror with her sleeve after the steam fogged it up, revealing both their tired reflections.

“I like it here,” Paige said softly, meeting Azzi’s eyes in the mirror.

“The hotel?”

“No. This moment. Us. Like this.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Just reached over and gave Paige’s hand a light squeeze. “Me too.”

They climbed into bed, Paige on the left like always, Azzi curling into her side naturally. The city lights spilled in from between the curtains, painting soft golden lines across the room. Paige shifted, arm curling under Azzi’s shoulders as they both settled into the mattress like they’d done it a thousand times.

“You warm enough?” Paige murmured.

Azzi hummed in response, eyes already fluttering closed. “Mmhm. You’re like a human furnace.”

Paige laughed quietly, brushing her lips against the top of Azzi’s head. “Goodnight, Z.”

Azzi’s voice was already heavy with sleep when she replied. “Night, P.”

And with that, the night closed in around them—safe, quiet, and still. The kind of silence where no dreams were needed, because everything that mattered was already right there.

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The morning broke slow and golden over West L.A., the sky still tinted a sleepy gray as the city began to stir. Paige had been up for nearly an hour already, stretched out on the hotel room floor, headphones in, mind already ticking through the drills she knew Chris Brinkley would run them through. She laced up her sneakers quietly, not wanting to wake Azzi—who, as far as she knew, had no intention of coming.

But as she stepped out of the bathroom, towel draped around her neck, she saw movement under the hotel comforter. Azzi’s head popped out from beneath it, hair wild and eyes still half-lidded.

“You’re really going?” Azzi asked, voice scratchy with sleep.

“Yeah,” Paige said, tossing her a soft smile. “Texted Chris. We’re meeting at 7.”

Azzi groaned, turning over. “That’s disrespectful.”

“I could bring you back a smoothie,” Paige offered, already knowing the answer.

Azzi sighed into her pillow for a beat, then tossed the covers back with a resigned sigh. “Nah. I’m coming. You’d talk about it all day if I didn’t.”

Thirty minutes later, they stepped into the cool, echoing stillness of a private West L.A. gym. It was all polished hardwood, clean glass, and high-end equipment. Chris Brinkley was already there, spinning a basketball on one finger like he hadn’t aged a day since college. He grinned when he saw them.

“Well, well,” he said, arms out for a hug. “Look who’s trying to get ahead of the curve.”

Paige jogged over to him. “Still got the same corny lines, huh?”

“And you still talk trash before proving yourself,” he shot back with a wink.

Azzi strolled in behind, hoodie hanging low off one shoulder, a protein bar in hand. “Don’t let him fool you, Chris,” she said. “She was nervous all morning. Already planned her playlist and everything.”

Chris barked a laugh. “A playlist? Paige Bueckers has a warm-up mix now?”

Paige shrugged. “Gotta stay focused.”

He tossed them both basketballs. “Let’s see what that focus looks like.”

They started light—movement drills, short bursts, lane cuts, the type of footwork stuff Chris liked to emphasize. Paige moved through them with a fluid ease, though the travel and off-season rest showed just slightly in her timing. Azzi stayed a step behind, eyes sharp but relaxed, as if the muscle memory was more familiar than anything conscious.

They alternated through shooting drills—spot-ups, curl screens, transition threes. Chris called out points, threw in jabs.

“Azzi, you still got that high-release moon arc?”

“You mean my signature?” she fired back.

“Paige, remember when you couldn’t hit a floater from five feet?”

“That was one workout,” Paige yelled, laughing.

“Exactly!”

By the time the drills wrapped, both of them were coated in sweat. Chris handed them towels and opened a small fridge in the corner, pulling out protein shakes.

“Birthday cake flavor,” he said, holding one out to Azzi like it was a peace offering. “Swear this one doesn’t taste like chalk.”

Azzi took it cautiously, giving Paige a look.

“She says that every time,” Paige deadpanned.

Azzi sipped. Paused. “...Okay, wait. This is actually good.”

Chris smirked. “Told you.”

They settled onto the sideline, stretching out under the soft hum of the gym’s overhead lights. Paige leaned into a hamstring stretch, head tipped back toward the ceiling.

Chris sat on a low bench, elbows resting on his knees. “Y’all are different now,” he said. “It’s weird, seeing it. You still have the same rhythm, the same spark—but there’s more weight to it. Like it’s not just for fun anymore. It’s legacy.”

Neither of them answered for a second.

“I think about that sometimes,” Paige finally said. “When I walk into gyms now. Who I used to be versus who people expect me to be.”

Azzi leaned back on her palms. “You carry it well, though.”

Paige glanced over. “So do you.”

Chris pulled out his phone. “Alright, picture time. Instagram needs to know I was productive today.”

They leaned in, Paige in the middle, Azzi mock-annoyed but smiling, Chris cheesing like a proud uncle. He snapped the photo and showed it to them.

“Caption ideas?” he asked.

“‘Two legends and their coach,’” Paige offered.

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Try ‘Dragged me out of bed for this.’”

Chris laughed. “I’ll tag you both and let the followers decide.”

As they left the gym, stepping out into the bright, late-morning L.A. sun, Paige glanced over at Azzi, who was already tying her hoodie around her waist.

“You sure you’re not mad I made you come?”

Azzi shrugged. “Nah. Honestly, I needed it. You forget how much fun it is until you’re in it again.”

Paige bumped her shoulder. “Breakfast on me.”

Azzi grinned. “Now that’s the real reward.”

After a quick shower and a change into clean, breezy outfits — Paige in wide-leg cream cargos and a cropped ribbed tee, Azzi in a lightweight linen set and fresh white sneakers — they Ubered out to Santa Monica.

The lunch spot was a sunlit corner cafe tucked two blocks from the pier, the kind of place where every table had an umbrella and every plate looked like it had been designed with an Instagram filter in mind. The menu had quinoa bowls, matcha lattes, spicy watermelon salads, and at least five types of iced tea.

Azzi spotted her friend already sitting near the railing, sunglasses on, waving one arm.

“Liv!” Azzi called, smiling as they approached.

Liv jumped up, hugging her tight. “Girl, finally! In the flesh again.”

They broke apart and Liv turned to Paige. “And you — you’re even taller than I remembered.”

Paige laughed, offering a handshake. “People say that a lot. Might be the posture.”

“Or the UConn aura,” Liv teased, sliding back into her seat.

They ordered quickly — iced hibiscus teas for all three, plus bowls loaded with grains, veggies, and grilled chicken. Azzi kept it simple with a salmon salad, while Paige glanced at the menu, shrugged, and asked for a burger that wasn’t technically on it.

Conversation flowed like they hadn’t skipped a beat. Liv was exactly the kind of effortlessly cool person Azzi had always vibed with — genuine, driven, stylish without trying. They had met on an Under Armour campaign trip to Lisbon during the offseason two years back and kept in touch ever since — part business, part friendship, part shared eye-rolls at how absurd the marketing world could be.

Azzi leaned forward, elbows on the table, relaying a story about a behind-the-scenes shoot they’d both survived in the Portuguese countryside where the stylist had accidentally brought the wrong size shoes.

“I was literally wearing shoes two sizes too big,” Azzi said. “I had to stuff them with socks just to get through the day.”

“And she still nailed every photo,” Liv said, gesturing dramatically. “No one even noticed. Meanwhile, I had a meltdown because the lighting was off by, like, five percent.”

Paige sipped her tea, amused, watching them banter. She liked this version of Azzi — relaxed but sharp, speaking with a quiet kind of confidence that wasn’t forced or rehearsed. Paige was always proud of her, but seeing Azzi in work mode, talking shop with someone who actually got it? That was its own kind of flex.

“So what’s next for you two?” Liv asked, leaning back as the waiter set down their plates.

“Unrivaled kicks off soon,” Azzi said. “We’ve got a couple brand things to knock out before that.”

“And she’s making me do workouts every morning,” Paige added, pointing her fork at Azzi. “Even on vacation. It’s brutal.”

Liv laughed. “Honestly, Paige, I’ve heard worse travel complaints.”

They ate slowly, catching up on projects and partnerships. Liv mentioned a new campaign Under Armour was cooking up — a women's performance line focused on comfort and empowerment — and hinted that she might want Azzi involved.

“I’ll shoot you the deck when it’s ready,” Liv said. “I think you’d like the message. And we want more authentic voices on it this time — not just the usual curated stuff.”

Azzi nodded. “Yeah, I’m down. I’ve been trying to be more intentional about what I sign onto.”

Paige reached across the table and stole a piece of cucumber from Azzi’s plate. “She’s also trying to become a skincare influencer on the side,” she said, deadpan.

Azzi slapped her hand away, laughing. “Don’t listen to her. I just don’t want to look thirty when I’m thirty.”

Liv grinned. “Honestly? Mood.”

Paige leaned back in her chair, watching the sunlight flicker off the glass of the water pitcher. “You two sound very… competent.”

Liv raised a brow. “And you sound like someone who’s avoiding brand meetings at all costs.”

“Guilty,” Paige said without shame. “I’m in my post-‘rookie-of-the-year, not sure where I’m playing next’ era.”

Azzi reached over and brushed a crumb from Paige’s cheek without thinking, then blinked when she realized how natural it felt. Paige didn’t flinch — just met her eyes briefly, like the whole world stopped spinning for a second.

Liv caught the exchange, didn’t say anything. Just smiled a little to herself.

They lingered for another thirty minutes, people-watching and joking about basketball group chats and brand managers who didn’t understand athletes’ schedules.

Eventually, the check came. Liv reached for her wallet, but Paige was faster.

“I got it,” she said.

“You didn’t even order a salad,” Azzi said, teasing.

“I paid for your Sephora spree yesterday. It’s only fair,” Paige shot back.

“Fair isn’t real when you always win,” Azzi muttered under her breath.

Liv stood and hugged them both. “Let’s do this again soon,” she said. “And Azzi, I’ll text you when the campaign stuff’s ready. You’ll crush it.”

They said their goodbyes and started the slow walk back toward Ocean Avenue, the breeze salty and warm, the sounds of the boardwalk beginning to drift into range. Paige glanced sideways.

“You were great back there.”

Azzi looked over, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Just… I don’t know,” Paige said. “You’re good at this. Professional but still you.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Don’t gas me.”

“I’m not,” Paige said, bumping her shoulder lightly. “I mean it. You’re kind of hot when you’re in CEO mode.”

Azzi snorted. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.”

They crossed the street, heading back toward their car, the city soft around them, the afternoon light golden and slow. The kind of day that felt full even when nothing earth-shattering happened — just little pieces of life stacking up, one perfect moment at a time.

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The restaurant was tucked off Melrose, candlelit and cool in that “we only take reservations by text” kind of way. Inside, it was all soft wood tones, exposed brick, and warm globe lighting — intimate without trying too hard. The tables were spaced just enough apart to feel private, even when the place buzzed with conversation. Paige and Azzi arrived just past seven, fresh from a quick power nap and a second outfit change of the day. Azzi wore a fitted dark blazer over a white tank, her gold chain catching the light just right; Paige, in loose black trousers and a Gallery Dept. tee she’d borrowed from Azzi’s side of the suitcase, looked effortlessly collected.

Cam and Ben were already seated near the back — a half-circle booth with a perfect view of the room and just enough privacy to avoid anyone eavesdropping too closely. Cam stood first, arms wide.

“There she is!” she grinned, hugging Azzi, then Paige. “You two clean up alright.”

“Just alright?” Paige deadpanned. “Guess I’ll take it.”

Ben offered handshakes and then pulled them both into a quick group hug, because he was like that — warm, dorky in the best way, always too tall for restaurant booths.

Drinks came first — sparkling water for everyone, though Paige and Cam joked about ordering something stronger before their early morning film sessions. They were seated like old friends at a kitchen table, the kind of gathering where you didn’t need small talk, where catching up felt like resuming a paused conversation.

They ordered appetizers — grilled shishito peppers, flatbread with whipped ricotta, a kale salad Paige kept side-eyeing suspiciously. The server disappeared, and the stories began flowing almost instantly.

Ben launched into a tale from their last couples trip — something about a delayed ferry, a cursed rental car, and Cam accidentally texting their Airbnb host thinking it was Ben.

“I told him — I mean, her — that she was being a passive-aggressive little shit and that if she made us stay in that ferry line any longer, I’d walk to the mainland,” Cam laughed, shaking her head.

Azzi was doubled over by the time she got to the punchline. “No, wait — you actually hit send?”

“Didn’t realize it until she replied with a sad face emoji and five question marks,” Cam said. “I was mortified. But hey, we still got five stars.”

Ben just shrugged. “I handled the customer service recovery. I have a gift.”

“It’s the dimples,” Paige said, raising her glass.

They talked hoops, too — how USA Basketball camp had changed, who was climbing the ranks, who needed to be humbled a little. Cam teased Azzi about being too nice to rookies, and Paige confessed to yelling at a practice player last month for not calling a switch loudly enough.

“You’re so soft-spoken until you get between the lines,” Ben said.

“Yeah,” Azzi agreed, smiling at Paige across the table. “Then it’s like… zero to demon mode.”

Dinner came — steaks for the girls, fish for Ben, something vegan Cam swore tasted better than it looked. They picked at each other’s plates, passed sauces, swapped bites without thinking. That kind of familiarity.

“So,” Cam said lightly, after a pause. “You two still planning that Turks and Caicos thing in the fall?”

Paige looked at Azzi before answering. “Yeah… still figuring out the schedule, but we’ve got time blocked off. A little off-season getaway.”

“Just the two of you?” Cam asked, nonchalantly spearing another asparagus spear.

Azzi nodded. “Unless you’re volunteering to crash our romantic beach bungalow.”

Cam grinned. “No, no, I respect the boundary. But it sounds serious.”

Paige raised a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing!” Cam said, too innocently. “Just curious if this Turks and Caicos trip includes, you know… rings of any kind.”

Azzi nearly choked on her drink. Paige coughed once, loudly.

Ben just sipped his water, amused. “Wow. She really went there.”

Cam held up both hands. “I’m just saying — y’all are like goals. Everyone on the national team thinks so.”

“Yeah, well,” Paige said, clearing her throat. “Still figuring some of that out.”

Azzi reached under the table, gave her knee a light squeeze.

Ben steered the conversation back into safer waters with another hilarious story about him misunderstanding a group chat full of WNBA players and accidentally sending a shirtless selfie he meant for Cam.

“You’d be surprised how many compliments I got,” he said, totally deadpan. “Might start an OnlyFans.”

Paige almost spit out her water. “Please don’t.”

By the time dessert arrived — a shared chocolate tart and three spoons, because Azzi swore she wasn’t having any until she was — they were leaning into each other, shoulders brushing, laughter slow and real.

Paige stretched back against the leather booth, sighing. “God, this was good.”

Cam nodded, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. “Yeah. Nights like this feel… I don’t know. Safe.”

“Familiar,” Azzi added.

Eventually, they stood to leave, hugging long and promising to do it again before they all scattered to their next cities. Out on the sidewalk, the air was cooler now, quiet, the buzz of the streetlights overhead humming low.

Azzi slipped her hand into Paige’s as they walked toward the car.

“You okay?” she asked.

Paige nodded, then glanced sideways. “Do you think everyone really talks about us like that?”

Azzi smiled. “Yeah. But it’s only because it’s obvious how much you love me.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

Azzi laughed, swinging their hands once between them. “You do, though.”

They drove back to the hotel in comfortable silence, full in every way — of food, of warmth, of the kind of tiredness that only comes after being around people who see you clearly and love you anyway.

The room was quiet except for the low hum of the AC and the occasional car passing below. Paige lay on her back, one arm behind her head, eyes tracing the patterns the moonlight made across the hotel ceiling. Azzi was curled against her side, cheek resting on Paige’s shoulder, their legs tangled beneath the sheets.

They’d been talking about everything and nothing for over an hour. Paige had launched into a half-serious debate about which WNBA tunnel fits deserved a Hall of Fame wing, which spiraled into a long back-and-forth about fashion eras, the best bagels in New York, who they’d cast in a movie about their lives, and somehow ended with Azzi trying to remember the name of a cartoon she loved as a kid.

Now, the quiet had stretched again — not uncomfortable, just lived-in.

Azzi’s voice broke it, soft but clear. “Do you ever think about… like, getting married soon?”

Paige blinked, gaze still fixed on the ceiling, but her entire body stiffened a little under Azzi’s. “Soon?”

“Yeah,” Azzi said, shifting so she could look up at Paige. “I mean, not tomorrow or anything, but like… not five years from now either.”

Paige hesitated. “Why do you ask?”

Azzi sat up slightly, propping herself on her elbow. “I don’t know. Just thinking. Everything’s been so chaotic — moving out of Dallas, Unrivaled starting up, figuring out teams… it’d be nice to have one thing locked in, y’know?”

Paige stayed quiet a beat too long.

Azzi squinted at her. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m not being weird,” Paige said quickly. Too quickly.

“You are,” Azzi countered. “You always do this thing with your mouth when you’re trying not to say something.”

Paige pressed her lips together, caught.

“Okay,” Azzi said slowly, narrowing her eyes. “You’re not… planning anything, are you?”

Paige opened her mouth. Closed it. Then said, “What do you mean by planning?”

“Paige,” Azzi said, deadpan. “If you’re going to propose to me or something, I need to know. I’m not in the mood for surprises right now. Everything’s been too up in the air lately. I don’t want one more thing I’m not emotionally prepared for.”

There was silence. Heavy. Real.

Then Paige turned toward her, expression softer now. She reached out, brushing Azzi’s curls back behind her ear.

“Of course not, babe,” she said, leaning in, kissing the corner of Azzi’s mouth. “I’d never do that to you.”

Azzi exhaled, melting a little. “Okay. Good. I just… I want to be ready when that moment comes. Not caught off guard. I want it to feel like something we step into together.”

Paige nodded, arm wrapping around Azzi’s waist, pulling her closer. “I get that. I do.”

But behind her calm voice and slow, soothing heartbeat, Paige’s brain was spiraling. Because Katie had already texted back about meeting for lunch next week. And the jeweler in Turks and Caicos was still holding the ring Paige had reserved.

She kissed Azzi’s temple, resting her chin in her girlfriend’s hair, and tried to will her heartbeat back into something normal.

Azzi yawned, finally relaxing into Paige’s arms again. “You’re lucky I love you even when you’re a terrible liar.”

Paige smiled into her hair. “I love you even when you call me out.”

They didn’t say anything else after that, letting the silence carry them into sleep — both of them knowing there were big questions waiting, but holding onto the peace of this moment like it was its own kind of promise.

[socialobligation]

U should give bakugo a child and see what happens

static and sunlight | k. bakugo

you and bakugo have trained for high-stakes missions, but nothing in your pro-hero careers readed you for raising your daughter. (2741 words)

the quiet arrived before the light did.

morning crept in gently, not with drama but with a hush, spilling across the bedroom in cool-toned ribbons. pale gray shadows stretched long over the floor, caught in the folds of blankets and the soft dips of lived-in furniture. the radiator crooned in the corner, ticking quietly as it shook off sleep. outside, the city hadn't yet found its rhythm.

bakugo stirred first, but only barely. his breath fanned against the curve of your shoulder, warm and unhurried. one arm rested against your waist, relaxed in its grip. the weight of him was something familiar, constant—something that still surprised you with its comfort. you could feel the heat where he touched you, hear the groan of the floorboards when the wind shifted outside the window.

you didn’t speak right away. there was a richness to the silence that didn’t ask to be broken. the bed held you in its own gravity, and you stayed, suspended somewhere between sleep and the inevitable pull of the day.

“you’re awake,” he murmured eventually, voice sanded down by sleep.

“so are you.”

his eyes didn’t open, but his hand slid higher along your side, fingers brushing over fabric-wrinkled skin. “could stay like this.”

“you say that every morning.”

“still true.”

he cracked one eye open then, the early light turning his irises into rust-colored fire. you reached up and swept his hair off his forehead, thumb tracing the warm line of skin above his brow.

“time’s ticking,” you said quietly.

he pressed his mouth to your collarbone in answer. a kiss or a groan—you weren’t sure.

eventually, the morning demanded more of you.

when the covers peeled away, the bedroom felt colder by comparison. you both dressed in muted movements: cotton shirts and loose sweats, bare feet against the chill of the floor. you padded toward the bathroom with the shared silence of two people accustomed to fitting together in the early hours.

the mirror had fogged slightly from the radiator’s warm breath, blurring both of your reflections. he stood beside you, head tilted as he rubbed a towel over the back of his neck, the ends of his hair sticking up at wild angles. you passed him his toothbrush before reaching for your own. you moved in near-synchrony, shifting only when necessary, the kind of wordless coordination that came from years of sharing space.

his fingers brushed yours when you reached for the hand towel. he smirked but said nothing. you flicked water at his chin in retribution.

“charming,” he deadpanned.

“you drooled on my pillow.”

“that was payback for stealing the blanket.”

you both laughed into the sink.

afterward, you found your way into the kitchen. the apartment was still mostly asleep—the kind of quiet where the refrigerator’s low hum felt almost intrusive. the digital clock blinked 6:38. there was time.

bakugo switched on the overhead lights. you tugged your robe tighter and turned toward the window, where the city stretched beyond the glass in shades of blue and silver.

he busied himself with the coffee. the kettle hissed as it heated, the low, rising sound filling the room as you gathered ingredients from the fridge. eggs. butter. strawberries that were just a little too soft at the edges.

“i’ll start the eggs,” you murmured.

he nodded, already reaching for the bread. “you want the pan hot or medium?”

“medium. she complains when they crisp too much.”

you cracked the eggs slowly, one by one. the butter melted across the pan like sunlight. bakugo moved behind you, retrieving mugs without looking, shoulders brushing yours in passing. his hand lingered at your lower back a second too long to be accidental.

the toast popped. you barely reacted.

“you check dispatch?” he asked, passing you a clean plate.

“briefly. nothing’s on fire.”

“yet.”

you nodded toward the hallway. “think she’s up?”

“she’ll be out here before we sit down.”

you arranged everything on plates, sliding toast beside the eggs, adding a few halved strawberries for balance. he handed you a mug, the coffee darker than you usually made it, and you smiled into the steam anyway.

her place was already set—bakugo had done it the night before, quietly, without prompting. pink cup. smaller fork. napkin folded once. you could still see the faint crayon markings she’d scribbled across the underside of the placemat last week.

you both sat. no one rushed.

“she’s gonna want the light-ups again,” bakugo muttered, glancing at the clock.

“she’ll argue her case with full conviction.”

he leaned back slightly, tapping his fingers against the mug. “think i’ve got it in me to resist today?”

“you never do.”

“you’re worse.”

you smiled, soft and knowing. “she’s persuasive.”

“she’s a menace.”

“she’s yours.”

his mouth curved then, despite himself.

the sound came first—a groan of old hinges, followed by a series of soft, uneven footsteps. you looked toward the hallway, where the figure of your daughter emerged slowly, blinking at the kitchen lights like they’d betrayed her.

her hair stood in a halo of tangles, her blanket trailing behind her like a second shadow. the sleeve of her pajama top hung past her wrist, and she dragged her feet with the sluggish resistance of someone still tethered to dreams.

“good morning,” you said, already reaching out.

she wordlessly climbed into your lap first, burying her face into the fabric of your robe. you held her there, running your fingers gently through her hair, untangling knots in silence.

bakugo watched from across the table, his expression unreadable but his gaze steady. eventually, she stirred, shifting to her seat as the smell of toast and eggs reached her.

“no pepper?” she asked suspiciously.

you raised your hand. “scout’s honor.”

she took a bite. then another. she didn’t speak, but the slow way she reached for her juice confirmed her approval.

you looked at bakugo, and he raised an eyebrow.

“victory,” you mouthed.

he just shook his head and passed the butter.

there was no grand conversation. just the quiet tap of silverware against plates, the occasional yawn, the muted clink of mugs returning to the table. the morning light grew brighter, settling on the walls like watercolor.

she reached for a second piece of toast. bakugo gave her his without hesitation.

you watched the way he looked at her—eyes softened at the corners, mouth twitching upward when she reached across the table and almost knocked her cup over. he steadied it before it spilled.

“clumsy,” he muttered.

“i’m growing,” she replied, mouth full.

you leaned back in your chair, watching them like they were something you didn’t want to disturb. the plate in front of you was half-eaten. the coffee had cooled slightly. but everything felt, in some strange and delicate way, whole.

you didn’t need to rush yet.

the city could wait a few more minutes.

so you stayed.

⋆˚࿔

the kitchen still smelled faintly of eggs and coffee, soft trails of steam rising from forgotten mugs. plates lay cleared but not yet washed, the clatter of breakfast lingering only in memory. morning light edged across the hardwood like it, too, was hesitant to begin the day.

she sat at the table, tiny fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, legs swinging aimlessly in the space between seat and floor. the last corner of toast disappeared behind her cheek. crumbs dusted the collar of her sweater like sugar.

bakugo’s chair scraped against the floor, sharp in the hush. he stretched, bones clicking in a tired harmony, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head without ceremony.

"teeth," he said. that was all.

she mumbled her reply into her plate, barely intelligible, and slipped off her seat, bare feet padding away.

you were already moving—hands stacking dishes, thumb grazing porcelain, the routine folding around you like a second skin. bakugo brushed past, handing you the juice bottle mid-stride. he was halfway down the hall before his hoodie hit the bedroom floor.

“windy today,” he called. “make sure she wears something with sleeves.”

“you wear sleeves,” you called back.

the closet door creaked in answer.

the faucet ran low and quick while you rinsed dishes, the steam curling over your knuckles. you glanced at the oven clock—still time, though only just. the kind of margin that allowed for no mistakes but forgave a pause.

she reappeared, toothbrush clutched like a scepter, foam still on her lip. she stood just beyond the tile line, eyes on you, waiting.

“hair?” you asked, drying your hands.

she nodded. "can i use the star clip?"

“depends,” you replied, already walking toward the couch. “we’ll see what the outfit says.”

the brush was warm from the radiator nearby. she clambered up between your knees, back straight, neck long, a little soldier reporting for duty. her hair was a bird's nest of sleep, soft and stubborn. your fingers, dampened by the water cup, moved slow and practiced.

“rough night?” you asked, coaxing out the first knot.

“fought a villain in my dream.”

“mm. over what?”

“my snack box.”

you stifled a laugh. “let me guess. he didn’t win.”

“nope. elbow move.”

“classic.”

her smile flickered in the mirror across the room. you caught it just as you parted her hair, comb tracing a clean line.

the bedroom door clicked open again. bakugo emerged dressed in black on black—cargo pants, thermal shirt, sleeves shoved up past the elbows. a shadow of sleep still clung to his face, but his earpiece was already in.

“media thing got bumped to noon,” he muttered, mostly to you. “training’s still at nine.”

you nodded, fingers working through her braid. “easy day, then.”

“for once.”

you tied the braid off with a soft snap of the elastic. she beamed.

“can you help her with clothes?” you asked, reaching for a second tie. “i gotta get ready.”

he gave a grunt of affirmation and crooked a finger. she slid off the couch and followed without hesitation, trailing him down the hall like a shadow.

you sat there for a moment, the brush still warm in your hand, before standing to gather your own things. your uniform was folded across the chair arm. the jacket still smelled faintly of smoke from yesterday's patrol.

you dressed quickly, hair swept up with mechanical precision. the hallway mirror caught you in passing—sharp edges dulled by fatigue, eyes still soft from the morning.

from the bedroom, drawers opened and closed with short, decisive motions.

“this one’s too thin,” came his voice.

“but it sparkles.”

“no lining. wind’ll get through it.”

“but sparkles.”

“corduroy has pockets.”

a pause. a sigh. “fine.”

a minute later, she stepped into the hall—dark red skirt, navy sweater, leggings thick enough to stand a breeze. you recognized the small embroidered detail near her cuff: an explosion, tiny and precise.

“that wasn’t there last week.”

bakugo shrugged as he zipped his jacket. “she asked.”

“you stitched it?”

“told you. she asked.”

you blinked. “you’re soft.”

“you married me.”

you made a noncommittal noise and checked her backpack—lunch, folders, emergency snack pouch. all accounted for.

she danced from foot to foot as you double-knotted her laces, bubbling with the sort of kinetic energy that belonged only to kids and thunderstorms.

“you ready?”

she nodded, a serious expression belying her excited bounce.

bakugo held the door open. the cold spilled in, crisp and impatient. horns honked somewhere below. your breath fogged in the entryway.

you stepped into the day with her hand in yours, the sky pale and stretching above.

just a thursday morning. just another quiet piece of the life you’d built.

and outside, the city began to stir.

⋆˚࿔

the car was cold when the three of you got in, breath visible in the air like smoke signals, hands rubbing against sleeves while the vents sputtered their first few bursts of heat. the windshield carried a crescent of fog where the sun hadn't reached yet, and bakugo muttered something under his breath as the engine groaned to life.

your daughter climbed into the backseat with all the chaos of a tactical mission—boots clunking against the rubber floor mats, her backpack swinging wide and colliding with the headrest. the straps wrapped around her like vines. she gave a loud, theatrical groan, half-upside-down by the time she untangled herself.

"seatbelt," you said, adjusting the vents without looking.

"i know," she shot back, as if you'd asked her to memorize the constitution, slamming the belt into its buckle with a flourish.

bakugo caught her in the rearview mirror, his brow ticking up. "try that tone again and you’re walking."

"you say that every day."

"and one day, i’ll mean it."

"no, you won’t," she said sweetly, already producing a juice box from her pocket like she’d stashed provisions for a cross-country trip.

the car eased into the morning traffic. gray buildings slipped past, framed by scaffolding and winter trees stripped bare. it was only a ten-minute ride on a good day, but their daughter had a gift for stretching time.

"i forgot my folder," she said suddenly, as they rolled past the second block.

you turned halfway in your seat. "what folder?"

"the purple one. with the glitter on the edges. i left it on the kitchen counter."

bakugo made a sharp noise in his throat. "you told me your bag was ready."

"i thought it was."

"then what’s the point of me checking it every morning?"

"moral support," she offered. "you’re good at that."

you covered your mouth with the back of your hand to hide the smile. bakugo's grip on the wheel tightened visibly.

"we’re not turning around," he said.

"but—"

"nope."

"but dad—"

"you’ll live."

"you don’t know that," she argued, winding her hair around one finger. "i could get a zero. my teacher could send an email. i could be—traumatized."

bakugo glanced at her in the mirror. "you’re seven."

"and this is exactly how child prodigies get held back."

"you still can’t spell ‘spaghetti.’"

"neither can you," she replied, unbothered.

"i don’t need to. i just buy it."

"can you buy a replacement folder with glitter and stickers and my homework in it?"

he looked to you with a weary expression. "trade me seats."

"just drive, katsuki."

from the backseat came a snort of laughter. she crinkled the now half-empty juice box, then let her legs swing forward to rhythmically thump against your seat.

you reached behind and tapped her shin. "kick one more time and no tablet tonight."

she froze mid-kick. gasped. "you wouldn’t."

"test me."

she wilted into her seat, chin dropped dramatically to her chest. "this is emotional abuse."

bakugo huffed a laugh. "where’d you learn that one?"

"uncle denki."

"i’m blocking his number."

"you don’t even have it."

"yes, i do."

"prove it."

he reached for his phone. you smacked his hand back down. "eyes on the road."

"see?" she chirped. "you don’t have it."

"you’re lucky you’re cute," bakugo muttered.

"i know," she said brightly, nose pressed to the window as the school came into view—brick façade, chain-link fence, a blur of backpacks and bright-colored jackets.

bakugo pulled to the curb, hazard lights blinking in time with the flicker of the crosswalk signal.

"alright, menace," he said. "you got your lunch?"

"check."

"you got your brain?"

"ehh... partial credit."

"your folder?"

she narrowed her eyes at him through the mirror. "dad."

he twisted in his seat, arm slung over the passenger side. "make good choices."

"no promises."

she unbuckled in a blur of movement, backpack flung over one shoulder. the car door creaked open before it had even fully stopped, and she launched herself out onto the sidewalk.

"careful, kaiju," you called, bracing for the slam of the door.

"love you!" she yelled, already halfway to the gates.

bakugo leaned out the window. "don’t throw hands with anyone before lunch!"

"no guarantees!" she shouted over her shoulder.

the door shut with a bang, and the world shifted. the absence was loud, heavier than her seven years should allow.

bakugo slouched back in his seat, hand dragging down his face. "she’s gonna get detention by third grade."

"third’s generous," you said, re-fastening your seatbelt.

he snorted. "she gets it from you."

"you wish."

he turned the wheel smoothly, merging into the flow of traffic.

"coffee?"

"obviously."

the silence that followed was content, warmed by routine. the city opened in front of you, and the day—already full of its own momentum—waited just ahead.

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Now , Forever

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem Reader (set during CABNW)

Summary: Bucky ended things out of fear , thinking his dark past made him unworthy of love , but when he found her drowning her heartbreak in a bar, he couldn’t stay away.

Word Count: 2.5k+

Warnings: anstyyyy then ends happy , established relationship , exes to lovers , lots of drinking , smoking mentioned , depression mentions , alcoholism mentions , buckys past mentioned , blood mentioned , throw up/vomitting , hangover symptoms , medicine mentions , kisses i think thats all....

If I missed any let me know! 💖

A/N: im writing this half asleep and in one contiuos go , so sorry for any mistakes till i can proof read it! this little idea just popped in my head when rewatch CABNW and i just had to quickly whip something up. Hope you enjoy bbys :P

read my new series here! MY MASTERLIST

REQUESTS AND INBOX ALWAYS OPEN COME SAY HI OR DROP AN IDEA OR TWO! <3

The night Bucky ended things , you could feel it in your gut before he had even said the words. 

He was tense , shoulders tight as cable , his jaw working like he was chewing on something bitter and sticky. 

The apartment was a little too quiet , the air too still. 

You sat on the edge of the bed , fingers twisting in your lap waiting for the ball to drop.

“Bucky , what is it?” you asked softly.

He didn’t look at you at first. 

He stared at the plush carpeted floor, eyes shadowed and distant in deep thought. 

His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides , the faint creak of the metal plates as his vibranium fingers flexed.

“I can’t do this ,” he finally replied , voice low and hoarse.

Your heart seized up. “What? What do you mean?”

He dragged a hand through his hair , his fingers trembling. 

“I’m not who you think I am. I’ve tried to be… someone better. But it doesn’t change what I’ve done. What I’ve been.”

“Bucky,” you whispered , your voice shaking and broken. 

You stood , crossing the space between you , reaching out to touch his flesh arm. “I know about your past. I know it’s hard for you. But I love you. I don’t care—”

“It’s not that simple!” he snapped , his voice breaking on the last word. 

He flinched like he’d struck you , his expression twisting and turning. “I can’t let you see it. If you did… if you really saw what I’ve done , the blood on my hands , the ghosts that haunt my mind , you’d never look at me the same again and I can't live like that.”

You swallowed hard , tears blurring your vision pouring out. “I already see you , Bucky. I see the man in front of me. I see the way you try every day. That’s who I love.”

He shook his head , shoulders slumping now. “You deserve more than this , more than me. I can’t keep pretending I’m not… tainted and bruised. I thought I could protect you from it , but I can’t.”

You stepped closer, your hands on his chest , feeling the frantic beat of his heart beneath your palms. “Don’t do this,” you whispered. “Please don’t , you dont mean it right?”

But his hands came up wrapping around your wrists , gently but firmly removing yours from his chest. His eyes were wet now , his lips trembling. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to.”

And with that , he turned and walked out the door , leaving you standing there with your heart in your hands and the taste of his goodbye lingering on your lips.

You didn’t go home that night. 

Couldn’t. The apartment felt like an empty tomb without him , every shadow whispering his name. So you ran.

The bar down the street was loud and bright , neon signs flickering in the dark and glitter scattered around like promises you knew better than to believe. 

You pushed your way in , the music hitting you with a physical force , the beat so loud it rattled inside your bones.

You didn’t bother with grabbing a seat. 

You went straight to the bar , your voice barely a thread as you ordered a shot of vodka. 

The bartender gave you a once-over , something like concern flickering in his eyes, but he poured it anyway, sliding it over.

You tossed it back, the burn slipping down your throat a welcome distraction from the ache in your heart. 

You ordered another. 

And another. 

The edge of the bar was sticky under your fingertips , the smell of sweat and smoke heavily thick in the air.

The world started to blur around the edges. 

Faces became smears of color and simple shapes , laughter and conversation melting into the thud of the bass blaring. 

You ordered another shot , your hand shaking so badly the shot glass clinked against the counter.

Someone bumped into you , muttered an apology you didn’t hear. 

You didn’t care. 

Nothing mattered except the heat of the alcohol and the numbness creeping through your veins.

Just what you were wanting.

Your phone buzzed and lit up in your jeans pocket , a tiny lifeline in the noise and haze. 

You fumbled for it , your fingers clumsy and tingling , almost dropping it twice before you managed to answer.

“Hello?” you mumbled,  your voice thick and slurred , not even looking at the contact.

“Hey,” Sam Wilson's voice came through , calm but urgent. “Where are you?”

You tried to focus , tried to remember. “I’m… I’m at the bar. The one by the river. He… he left me , Sam.” Your voice cracked , a sob breaking free before you could stop it. “Bucky left me.”

Sam took a breath on the other end , calming himself. “Okay. Listen to me. I need you to stay right there. I’m coming to get you , okay? Don't leave.”

You clutched the phone so hard it could crack under the pressure. “Don’t… don’t tell him where I am . Please. I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“I won’t,” Sam promised. “I’m just going to get you home safe.”

You didn’t remember hanging up. 

You didn’t remember much of anything after that , just the constant too loud music pounding in your buzzing head , the alcohol burning a hole in your gut and chest , and the feeling that you were already halfway to nowhere.

You slumped forward , your head resting on the bar top , the shot glass still clutched in your hand like medicine. 

You didn’t even fight it when the world went black around you.

When you woke back up , it was to the smell of stale coffee and paper. 

Sam’s office. 

The overhead light was dim , the soft hum of the city outside the only sound you could make out right now.

You tried to sit up , but your head felt like it was full of broken glass and bricks. A groan slipped past your lips , and you pressed a hand to your forehead , trying to piece together how you got here.

Your eyes caught a picture frame on Sam’s desk , Sam and Bucky, arms slung around each other, grinning wide and bright. 

It felt like a punch to the gut. 

In your fuzzy , still havely drunken mind , you couldn’t separate the photo from the real people.

You stumbled to the desk , your hands trembling as you reached for the frame. “Bucky,” you whispered , your voice small and raw. “Why’d you leave me? Why didn’t you let me fight for you , for us?”

Tears welled up , slipping hot and fast down your cheeks. You pressed the frame to your chest , your body shaking with sobs. “I love you,” you cried , your voice ragged. “I love you so much , please, don’t leave me.”

The picture didn’t answer. 

It just stared back at you , frozen in time. You sank to your knees , the frame still clutched in your hands , your tears dripping onto the glass.

And then , from the doorway , you heard a voice , soft , rough , but unmistakably real and him.

“I’m here.”

You looked up , your breath catching in your throat. 

Bucky stood there , his expression a mix of anguish and love , his hands curled into fists at his sides.

“Bucky,” you gasped , the frame slipping from your fingers. “You’re… you’re here.”

He crossed the room in three long strides , dropping to his knees in front of you. His hands came up to cradle your face , thumb pads brushing away your warm tears. “I’m here,” he said again, his voice shaking. “I’m so sorry.”

You threw your arms around his neck , burying your face in his shoulder. 

The scent of him , leather and pine soap and something uniquely his , wrapped around you , grounding you to the world.

“I thought you didn’t want me,” you sobbed. “I thought I lost you.”

“Never,” he murmured , his breath warm against your hair. “I was trying to protect you. But I was wrong. I can’t protect you by pushing you away.”

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his jacket , holding him like you’d drown if you let go. 

Bucky didn’t say another word as he stood and scooped you into his arms. You let out a soft gasp , surprised by the effortless strength of his hold , but you didn’t fight it. 

You didn’t want to.

Your head lolled against his chest as he carried you out of Sam’s office. 

The cold night air bit at your skin , but it didn’t matter. 

All you could feel was the steady , sure beat of his heart under your cheek.

Sam and Joaquin hovered in the doorway, their expressions worried but relieved.

“Thank you guys,” Bucky murmured , his voice a promise as he shifted you in his arms. “I’ve got her.”

Sam gave him a small nod. “You know where I am if you need anything.”

Bucky just nodded , but his focus was entirely on you.

The ride back to your apartment was quiet and short.. 

You curled against him in the passenger seat of his car, the streetlights blurring past in streaks of white and golden light.. 

You felt the rough but also soft pad of his thumb brushing soothing circles on the back of your hand and knuckles , the last bit of tether to reality , in the here and now.

When you reached your building , he carried you inside like you weighed nothing at all. 

He kicked the door shut behind him , the soft click of the lock sealing you in with him , no more noise , no more neon lights , just you and him and the quiet of the night.

He set you down gently on the edge of your bed , his hands lingering on your shoulders as he knelt in front of you. 

Your eyelids fluttered , heavy with exhaustion and the last dregs of alcohol sinking in  , but you forced them to still be open.

“Let’s get you cleaned up baby ,” he murmured , his voice a low rasp that sent shivers down your spine.

You nodded , your breath hitching as his fingers brushed a lock of hair behind your ear. 

He reached for a washcloth in the nearby dresser , running it under warm water before wringing it out. 

He cupped your cheek with his flesh hand , tilting your head slightly as he began to wipe away the smudged mascara and left over makeup ruined by your tears.

The gentle drag of the cloth was comforting , his touch so tender it made your stomach do a flutter.

“I missed you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, eyes still closed. “So much.”

“I missed you too,” he said softly, his eyes full of intent on cleaning your face. “Every second.”

He set the now dirty washcloth aside , his hand lingering on your cheek for a moment longer before he moved to brush your hair. 

He found your black hairbrush on the nightstand , the bristles worn and familiar.

He worked slowly , carefully , untangling each knot with a patience that made you want to cry again but you were drained of all tears. 

Your eyes fell closed again , breathing in the familiarity of having him here with you , letting yourself relax under his touch.

“There you go,” he murmured , his voice a soothing rumble. “Almost done.”

When he was finished , he gathered your hair in a messy ponytail , his fingers deft as he laid it over your back. He tied it off with a small black band , his knuckles brushing against your collarbone in a way that made your skin tingle.

“Better?” he asked, his lips curling into a small smile.

You nodded , blinking up at him with glassy eyes. “Yeah. Thank you.”

He pressed a barely there and oh so quick kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get you into bed , okay?”

He helped you out of your rumpled and dirty day clothes reeking of cheap vodka and that smokey club smell , swapping them for one of his old t-shirts that you loved so much. 

It hung loose on your frame , the fabric soft and word against your skin. When he was done , he tucked you in , smoothing the blankets and duvet around you with a care that stole your breath.

He paused for a moment , just watching you. 

His eyes traced every line of your face , every dotted freckle , and the soft curve of your lips , even the faint flush on your cheeks.

“I love you,” he said finally, his voice rough. “I hope you know that.”

“I love you too,” you murmured , your voice thick and raw with sleep. “Don’t leave again. Please.”

He brushed your fly aways back from your face , his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek bone . “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Not this time, not ever again.”

You drifted off to sleep with his hand in yours , the world fading around you like the last echoes of a bad dream.

You woke to the sharp , twisting pain of a hangover in your gut and piercing dull pain in your head , your mouth overly dry. 

You stumbled to the bathroom barely making it , half-blind with the bright morning light streaming through the window.

Before you could even get your mind together , Bucky was there. 

He knelt beside you as you vomited into the toilet , his hand steady and warm on your back , his other hand gathering your hair away from your face to keep it clean and out of the way.

“It’s okay , I'm right here ,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Just let it out.”

When you were done and spent , he wiped your mouth with a damp corner of a  towel and helped you rinse your mouth and brush your teeth. 

You leaned against the cool tile wall ,  breathing ragged, but he didn’t move away. 

He stayed right there the entire time , his thumb brushing over your temple.

“Here,” he said , holding out a glass of cool water. “Small sips not too much.”

You took it with shaking hands , the cold liquid a relief against your parched and raw throat. 

You managed a weak smile of thanks , your eyes bleary as you looked at him.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you said , your voice barely audible.

“I wanted to ,” he said simply. “I love you.”

Tears welled up again , but this time they were soft , gentle. “I love you too,” you said , your voice breaking. “I don’t want you to run anymore.”

He cupped your face in his hands , his thumb brushing away the single tear that slipped down your cheek. “Then I don’t,” he said. “We face it together.”

He pulled you into a hug , his arms wrapping around you like a shield against the world. 

You clung to him , your face buried in his shoulder , breathing him in.

“You’re it for me,” he said softly, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re my forever.”

You looked up at him, your eyes shining. “You’re my forever too.”

He pressed his forehead to yours , the soft morning light catching on the tears in your lashes. “Then let’s start that forever right here , right now,” he murmured.

In the quiet morning , with the world slowly waking around you , you knew that no matter what came next , no matter how dark the nights , how heavy the memories , you’d now face it together. And that was all you both needed.

-end 🌷

Comments , Reblogs , Likes and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

[dollychou]

part of video game luvr series . . ♡

streamer!choso is your typical gamer guy — eyes glued to the screen for hours while playing his games, rarely getting up to take a break. his diet consists mainly of ramen and soda. it's a wonder he's even got a good physique to begin with.

streamer!choso decided to start streaming on twitch on a whim, never expecting much from it and just something to do for fun. he just thought it could be a way to make a quick buck and he's really good at gaming so what could be the harm?

streamer!choso gained an absurd amount of followers relatively quickly, making him both overwhelmed and grateful from the sudden attention.

streamer!choso who's known for his quiet and cool demeanour. he doesn't scream or yell, unlike other streamers out there which made him different from the rest. the most he's ever done is string out a line of curses under his breath. his deep voice makes people swoon over him even more and it's almost alluring how he speaks.

streamer!choso is known as that 'hot streamer dude with the face tat.' he does get rather flustered when his viewers point out how sexy and attractive he is, since he doesn't think he is so himself.

streamer!choso who met you in university during one of your shared classes. you had come up to him and said that you watched his streams, and despite his indifferent expression, his heart swelled with pride and thanks — you were the first person to have ever said anything about it. there was a twinge of bashfulness too because... my, he thought you were so cute.

streamer!choso who would see your username pop up during his streams and he couldn't help the light pink that dusted his cheeks. he'd try and keep himself composed but whenever you made comments as he played, the tips of his ears would turn red. you'd say such sweet and cute things — 'eee my fave streamer >_<' ; 'you play so well <3' ; 'congrats on 20k, cho ♡!'. he loved when you called him cho!

streamer!choso who had finally plucked up the courage to talk to you outside of his streams. he was a bumbling and babbling mess, having never done something like this before. he usually kept to himself but he just wanted to — had to — talk to you.

streamer!choso wanted to bury himself into a hole for having embarrassed himself so much when speaking to you for the first time. he thought you must see him as an absolute weirdo now but to his surprise, you just giggled softly and said to him, "you don't do this often, do you?".

streamer!choso started to spend more and more time with you and found himself falling for you. you were pretty, cute, sweet, fun, caring. how couldn't he like you? the only thing that bothered him was that you two didn't spend time outside of lessons and studying together.

streamer!choso took a while to finally ask you out. you were both sat at the library, finishing up on an assignment when he just blurted out, "you free this week?". you didn't register at first what he meant so you asked innocently, "to study together?". he shook his head and said if you were free to hang out — to go on a date.

streamer!choso who started dating you and was so much more of a gentleman than you would've thought. sure, he was a nervous wreck the first few times you went out but he never skimped out on anything and treated you like a doll — holding the door open for you, giving you flowers every time you met, walking you back to yours.

streamer!choso who's been dating you for the last two years and is still the sweetest guy ever. he still does everything he did when you first began going out and with the money he's amassed, he just spoils you even more.

streamer!choso who will always make time for you. at the start of your relationship, it was something he struggled with, playing games for hours on end having become habitual to him. but soon he realised how much quality time means to him and so he drops his game the second you're with him.

streamer!choso who loves when you show interest in the games he plays. he loves teaching you and playing with you. he finds it so adorable how serious you can get when playing.

streamer!choso loves to have you seated in his lap while he games. he adores how you watch him intently and squirm with joy whenever he wins. sometimes you don't really understand what's going on but you're content with just watching him play.

streamer!choso who has mentioned to his viewers that he is seeing someone. they're all incredibly curious as to who he's seeing but he just wants to keep it private.

streamer!choso who can't help but randomly talk about you during his streams. his viewers find it so sweet how he talks about you and it just makes them wonder who this 'mystery girl' is!

"she put this sticker on my headset. cute huh?" "my girlfriend finds this character really hot." "my girlfriend bought me a new keyboard. she's just the best." "she decorated my mic. i really like it."

© dollychou ⋮ do not copy, repost, or translate any works.

[tashames]

Snuggles | Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary: Waking up and finding yourself snuggled up with Bob on the couch, when it dawns upon you that maybe you do love him.

Word count: 1.6 words

Content: fluff, confessions, snuggling

A/N: This is my first time actually writing and post a fanfic about anyone. Hopefully it's good for everyone! I will be writing more now if this hits good :)

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

It has been 6 months already living in the tower. Everyone has settled down now and the New Avengers are going in and out through missions, except for Bob.

Today was one of those days where surprisingly everyone was in the tower and no missions popping out of nowhere. Alexei and John and have been on the table playing cards for the past hour while Yelena was next to them reading a book. You and Ava were sitting on the couch skimming through the tv, trying to find something good to watch. Bucky was on the one-seater couch, fixing up his arm. Bob was in the kitchen, just getting a glass of water.

“Hey, look at this,” Ava called out, looking over the couch to where Yelena was. “It’s about a robot in the wild, The Wild Robot, huh.”

Yelena looks over and reads the description. “Seems like a good movie, let’s watch it,” she says as she’s already jumping over the couch and sitting between Ava and you.

“We watch movies together, like family,” Alexei says loudly, setting down his cards on the table and walking over to the other larger couch.

John grunts, rolling his eyes, “It’s gonna be a stupid movie, trust me. It’s a cartoon.” Bucky finishes up with his arm and leans back, putting both arms on the couch.

“I-I can make popcorn,” Bob calls out from the kitchen.

You get up from your spot and head over to a small cabinet, taking out blankets and handing it out to everyone.

“Why are you giving us blankets?” John takes the blanket from your hands and starts to open it to cover himself with it.

You look at him and down at the blanket with a smile, “Blankets are good with movies, makes you feel more comfortable.” Bob comes out and has serval bags of popcorns in his hands. You rush over and help me out with carrying them. As you grab the bags, you fingers touch his lightly. You look up to see Bob’s cheeks lighting up with a pink hue.

“Let me help you,” you say with a smile.

You’ve had started to develop feelings for Bob after the Black Out. Smiling at him and making small talk to spending time with him when you’re not on any mission. Yelena and Ava have called you out on having feelings for him and to just be upfront about them.

_________

Yelena, Ava and You were just returning from a mission that was only 3 days long. Just a simple, find target and bring them in. With Yelena being the Widow she is, she was best at capturing the target while Ava would help them escape and You would help protect them with your powers, using force fields. On the flight back home, Yelena had asked a simple question that had you blushing.

“Do you have a crush on Bob?”

You darted your head up, looking at Yelena with huge eyes as if you’ve been exposed. Which you have. You feel your cheeks start to warm up quickly. Ava folded her arms against her chest.

“She’s blushing. Of course she has a crush on Bob. Have you seen the way she looks at him,” Ava asks turning towards Yelena.

“Yeah I’ve seen. That’s why I’m asking. So do you?” Yelena tilts her head.

“I-I um I guess,” you stutter out.

Ava raises an eyebrow. “You guess? What do you mean you guess?”

You look down and start fidgeting with your suit. “It’s just that yeah I do like him but I don’t want to ruin our friendship, you know? He just started to open up to me but if I tell him how I feel, I’m scared that he’s not going to speak to me again,” you say, feeling a weight being lifted off your chest.

Yelena scoffs, making you look up her. She has a smile on her face, staring at you. “Bob not speaking to you? As if. That man has a crush on you too. Have you not seen the way he is around you? Or the way he stares at you when you come in the rooms sometimes? Or when he serves you a cup of coffee before he gets himself one,” Yelena laughs out.

You look towards Ava, seeing her nod her head. “Do you really think so,” you ask them both.

Ava laughs. “Think so, we both know so. Just be honest to him about how you feel. It’s so hard seeing you both trying so hard to not accept each others feelings. Plus it feels awkward when you both are just staring so lovingly into each others eyes.” You look between them both and smile, thinking about Bob and your feelings towards him.

————

You and Bob have just gone back to the living room to see Ava, Yelena and Alexei on one couch while John was sitting down on a bean bag and Bucky stayed in his spot. The other couch was empty, leaving it being the only option for you and Bob. You look to Yelena and see her smirk. You hand out the popcorn bags to Bucky and John while Bob gives the other couch their popcorn bags. You walk back towards the couch and sit down, sliding the blanket on top of you. You look around, trying to find the other blanket you had left for Bob.

“What happened to the others blanket I left here,” you ask. Yelena and Ava both shrug and look at each other. You look up at Bob, smiling to him as you pat the couch next to you. Bob sits down next you, thighs touching. You stretch the blanket over Bob’s legs covering them as he opens up the popcorn bags for you. “Let’s start this movie then,” Ava says as she presses play.

During the movie, you had slipped your hand into Bob’s hand. Intertwining them your fingers with his, underneath the blanket and out of sight of everyone else. You smiled to yourself, feeling a blush hit your cheeks.

The movie credits were rolling as everyone just stared at the screen. John had been wiping his cheeks as tears ran down. Alexi had both his arms wrapped around Ava and Yelena, rubbing their shoulders. Bucky had been sniffling for a bit but no tears. While Bob had leaned his head onto your shoulder and was currently sleeping on them.

“That movie was alright,” John said, pulling off the blanket.

“Alright that it made you cry? John I saw you almost sob at the part where Roz left them,” Yelena pointed out while she stretched her arms, standing up.

Ava looks over to you and smiles. Yelena follows her gaze and sees Bob sleeping lightly on your shoulder. She quickly gets Alexei up, shushing him as he’s about to object to her. Ava grabs the blankets and leaves them on the couch while patting Bucky’s shoulder, signaling him towards you. Bucky looks over and smirks, shaking his head. Everyone quietly heads out to their rooms, leaving Bob on your shoulder.

You turn slightly trying to get comfortable but not wanting to wake him up. Bob stirs in his sleep, lifting his head up. “Oh I was just trying to sit better,” You tell him. He looks at you, his eyes softening. You smile to him, seeing his eyes looking down to your lips. You quickly stand up, the blanket falling off your lap.

“We should uh, go to our rooms,” you whisper to him. Just as your about to leave, Bob takes a hold of your wrist. You look back to him, seeing him looking at you with pleading eyes. In a swift motion, Bob has you laying down as he grabs a hold of your waist.

“C-Can we stay like this for a bit longer? Please?” He pleads. You nod and lean closer to his chest. You can smell his cedar wood 3 in 1 bottle, on him. Just then, Bob holds you closer and puts an arm over your shoulder, leaning over the edge to grab the blanket from the floor. He covers you both with it. You can feel his heartbeat against your hand, pounding rapidly. You feel your eyes get heavier until you completely shut them, letting the sleep carry you away.

You slowly wake up, opening your eyes and blinking a bit. A dark wool sweater is what you’re staring at. You look up and see Bob, sleeping peacefully with a small smile on his face. His arm is draped around your waist while his other arm is underneath your neck. Staring at him, you realize that maybe you should tell him how you feel about him. You love him with all your heart that you don’t want to lose him. Bob stirs a bit before waking up fully. He looks down, seeing yo stare at him.

“O-Oh. Good morning,” he whispers. You bring a hand to his cheek, caressing him.

“Can I kiss you?” His eyes widen at the words that came out of your mouth.

“W-What?” You shake your head and bring in your hand back down.

“Nevermind, it’s nothing. Just thinking some stupi-“ You get cut off with Bob’s lips on yours. You close your eyes and kiss him back. He brings his hand to the back of your head, holding you closer. You’re both kissing so softly but yet so full of love. Pulling away, he stares at you with a smile.

“Bob, I think I’m falling in love with you,” You whisper.

“I think I’m already in love with you,” he whispers back before capturing your lips again with his.

[demie90s]

(love it girly pop)

Legends & Lesbians

Paige Bueckers x legend!ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You’ve dominated the WNBA, broken records, stayed quiet. Never caught in drama.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: reveal fic, soft chaos, loud romance, bad bitch energy

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: language, public PDA, stunned fans, confident sapphics

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~ 0.6k

They didn’t expect to see me. Not here. Not at a college game with six figures in my account and my jersey retired in two different cities. But there I was—front row, hood down, locs fresh and shoulder-length, twisted just yesterday, pulled to the side with one gold clip holding them back. My nails were done. Real done—almond shaped, red, classy. Outfit? Nothing loud. Just a fitted UConn jacket, black cargo pants, and some white-on-white Jordan 1s you can’t even find on resale. The back of the jacket said Bueckers in crisp navy letters. Big. Visible. Intentional.

I wasn’t low. And I didn’t want to be.

The arena clock was still ticking down when I sat. Connor from ESPN stuttered through his notes when he spotted me. KK glanced over mid-stretch and did a double take so strong she almost rolled her ankle. One of the fans behind me whispered, “Yo, ain’t that—wait. Is she here for Paige?” Phones came out. Flashes, clicks, silence. Then the place buzzed like a rumor was finally being confirmed in real time.

Then Paige walked out.

Warmups had already started, but she didn’t see the crowd first. She saw me. Her whole face lit up—not that fake media grin, not the smile she puts on when she’s dropping 30, but that soft, caught-off-guard kind of look like she just got away with something. Her hand went to her hip like it always does when she’s flustered, and she dipped her head like she could hide the way her eyes locked on me. I just raised my brows once. Real slow. Let her know I saw her looking.

She didn’t wave. Didn’t speak. But every time she hit a shot in warmups, she glanced back. I kept my expression still—chin resting on my hand, legs crossed, chain glinting beneath my collar. Watching her like I already owned her.

And I did.

After the game, I didn’t move with the crowd. I waited. I stood near the hallway where they all came out in oversized sweats and puffy jackets, and when Paige stepped into the light, I could tell from the way she paused that she didn’t expect me to still be there.

But she wanted me to be.

She walked slower than usual. Less bouncy. Hair damp from the rinse, bag slung over one shoulder, eyes scanning like maybe I changed my mind.

I didn’t.

I was already pulling her in before she could open her mouth. Arm around her waist, hand firm on the back of her neck, lips brushing her cheek before I even said hello. She melted like she always does—hands coming up to rest against my chest, smile small but blinding.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” she murmured, low against my jaw.

“I said I got you, didn’t I?”

She nodded into my hoodie.

The flashes came back. Phones up. I heard someone whisper “No way” and another say, “Holy shit, they’re actually together?” But I didn’t let go. I tilted her chin up and kissed her like we were in private. Not messy. Not sloppy. Just full. Certain. Like I’d been waiting to do it all game. Because I had.

Later that night, the photo dump hit. No caption. Just the proof. Me, her, the hallway. Her hoodie on my body now. Her fingers tucked into the waistband of my sweats while I held her face like she was the only soft thing in my world. Comments went crazy. The league saw it. So did the world.

And when I went live?

She was curled up in my lap, hoodie half zipped, still glowing from the win. My locs were tied back now, but she kept playing with the end of one like it calmed her nerves.

“You’re really doing this?” she mumbled, half a laugh.

“Already done,” I said.

She leaned in and kissed me right there. Tongue and everything. I didn’t stop her. Let the world know.

Bonus Scene: While I’m Lifting

I wasn’t even looking at my phone. I was three sets into deadlifts, hoodie cropped, sweat dripping down my spine, locs tied up in a bun, hood halfway on like I was hiding from God. Gym was empty except for the music in my headphones and the way the bar kissed the floor every time I dropped it. I was in a zone—focused, locked in, strong.

Then my phone buzzed. And again.

And again.

I checked it mid-set. Notifications flooded in. Mentions. Comments. Tags. Paige posted. That alone? Normal. She’s a little too proud of me now that we’re public. But this one was personal.

It was a photo—me from this morning, before I left. Shirtless, wrapped in a towel, standing at the stove making breakfast with one AirPod in and a hickey just barely showing near my collarbone. Paige had snapped it like she always does—quiet, fast, with that little smirk on her face like she knows nobody would believe she bagged me if she didn’t post proof.

Caption: “This mine. Play with something safe.”

It would’ve ended there. But my ex just had to be weird.

They dropped a comment: @/_____: “Must be nice to get the public version. Could’ve used that energy back then.”

LMAO. I was about to ignore it—truly, I was—until I saw Paige reply.

@/bueckers: “Oh, baby. We don’t recycle. And she said you never made her finish.”

The comment had 4,000 likes in five minutes. I set my phone face down and finished my reps. Unbothered. Still fine. Still lifting. Still hers.

Because I don’t have to say anything. My girl already said it all.

@draculara-vonvamp @non3ofurbusiness @toorealrai

[bonniesbluee]

If ur still taking requests what about like the guys finding out Bob is a virgin or never got a bj one boys night and tease him about it in front of u so of course u change that and take his virginity or give him his first bj

virgin bob ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა

you had your suspicions. about bob being totally inexperienced. since your...drunken actions led him to sleep beside you, you did notice his tense demeanor despite your mind being cloudy.

that and everything about him? it didn't exactly scream "experienced".

but you felt soo bad when the guys started teasing him while you all were in hangman's hotel room having some drinks.

"seriously?" fanboy inquired, laughing along the other guys. you shook your head, taking a sip of your drink. "w-well i-" bob started before getting interrupted. "i mean are we really surprised?" hangman chuckled, patting bob's shoulder in the most condescending way. "i mean look at him."

thankfully the topic is dropped. but you do notice the way bob kind of deflates. like he took the guy's words to heart. so you decide to...help? "hey." you say as you sit next to him, your thighs pressing against against his.

"oh uh- hey." bob murmurs, offering a small smile while looking at you. you open your mouth to small talk, but you decide to stop beating around the bush. plus, you suspect that he's far too oblivious for any insinuations.

"look-" you sigh, looking up at him. "i want to help you, i guess. if you want to!" you say, and he tilts his head slightly to look at you. rubbing the back of his neck in slight nervousness. "if this is about me being i-inexperienced then you dont need to do this. i dont want your pit-"

you shut him up with a kiss. and he almost immediately melts into it, as if he was WAITING for it. you grab his hand and bring it up to your cheek, softly kissing him in a manner that allows him to be able to catch up to your movements.

you are the one to break the kiss, and he very quietly whimpers. "follow me," you whisper to him, standing up. he grabs onto your hand and follows you like a lost puppy.

he follows you into your room, and he feels his hands physically start to sweat more. you push him into the bed, spreading his legs slightly. "just follow my lead, 'kay?"

you are introducing him to a completely different zone, and he loves it. he's (involuntarily) dreamed about this since he found out he was your backseater. and now its happening...and all he had to do was be himself!

"what do you want me to do?" he whispers, his legs automatically spreading as he sees you kneeling infront of you. "just grab onto my hair, ill do the rest."

he nods, fisting your hair. you pulls his boxers down, slightly taken a back as his dick springs out, hitting his clothed abdomen. "stop staring," he murmurs, and you cant help but laugh. "sorry. it was just unexpected."

"ngh-" he whimpers as he feels your tongue lick around his tip.

you wrap your hand around his base, wrapping your lips around his tip. "f-fuck fuck.." he groans, his head tilting back as he lets out a moan. "that's so good..." he forces himself to straighten up to look at you. the urge to force your head down is building up, but he wants to let you continue going.

slowly but surely, you take him in your mouth completely. you feel him filling up your throat slightly and its progressively getting harder to breathe. "pleaseee..." he whines and you pull him out of your mouth with a pop.

"are you coming baby?" you ask, and oh your eyes and tone is so sensual it makes him nod like a desperate little puppy. "yes please." bob says as he takes his glasses off. "good boy. jerk yourself off." you coo, getting to your feet to start kissing his neck.

"tell me how." he whispers shakily, and you wrap your hand around his to guide him through his stroking. "fuck yes, just like that." he groans, looking up you with the neediest puppy eyes ever. "yeah you like it? oh i bet you do." you giggle softly before he splurts out cum without announcing.

his hips buck up in the air desperately as you gasp in cue. "bob.." you giggle, nuzzling your forehead into his neck. "next time you tell me when you're going to come, okay?" he tries catching his breathe while looking at you. his free hand gently rubbing your back.

"next time?"

[fungifanart]

LGBT (Leona's Got Big Tits)

Characters: Leona Kingscholar, Male reader, Yuu!reader

CW: Smut, blowjobs, boobjobs, Leona bottoms, Reader tops

Word Count: 1K

Notes: Happy Pride Month, y'all! We're starting the month off strong with something short inspired by a certain animation I saw on Twitter. Enjoy!

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

When the day came that you and Leona announced your status as boyfriends to his dorm, it was met with a slightly mixed set of reactions.

Now make no mistake, the amount of respect the lion commands over his underclassmen and the respect you've garnered after all the trials this school has put you through meant that they were very supportive. However, there was a certain look that many of them gave you which all seemed to convey the same sentiment of ‘Oh, you poor soul.’

You were rather confused about this at first until you happened to overhear some of them talking about it afterwards.

“Guess we should pray for the Prefect’s asshole, huh?”

“Y'know, I gotta say that I respect the confidence.”

“Just remember, guys: Mum's the word if he has trouble walking in the morning.”

Heh, they'd be singing a different tune if they saw Leona the way you're seeing him right now: The strong, confident, dominant housewarden of Savannaclaw on his knees, both party’s clothes strewn about the floor, and bobbing his head up and down the full length of your cock like it's the only thing he's ever wanted.

“Y'know, I-*huff* I heard some of the others talking about how they're praying for MY asshole…*huff*...I wonder what they would say if they knew just how much you love having my cock in you…” You think out loud teasingly, causing the lion's tail to flick slightly in annoyance as he releases your cock from his mouth with a light *pop* sound.

“Don't see how that's any ‘a their business.” He drawls while lazily raising himself high enough to bring his face right up against yours, “And you should only be thinkin’ about me right now. I know that you're all I think about.”

You feel your face heat up from your boyfriend's sincerity as he brings your lips together, initiating a passionate makeout session while also frotting his hard dick against yours.

Several minutes of making out, frotting and eventually you groping Leona’s ass go by until you can’t take it anymore and push him so that he’s face-up on the bed, “God…seeing you like this…the things I’d do to you, Leona…” You say through heavy lust-filled breaths.

“Y…yeah, Y/n? Ya know I’d try anything once for you, so go ahead and tell me exactly what you’d do to me.” The lion responds provocatively, his voice dripping with equal amounts of lust as yours.

Moving to straddle his abdomen, you deftly trail your hands up his abs until you reach his huge pecs, groping and massaging them as you run your thumbs over his nipples, eliciting numerous delectable grunts of pleasure from him as you open your mouth to speak.

“Ever since I first saw these massive tits of yours, I’ve wanted nothing more than to slide my cock in-between and fuck them raw.” You confess, the vulgarity of your words only adding to the heat and tension in the air.

Leona blinks slowly for a moment and bites his lip at the thought before responding, “You’re really fuckin’ hot, ya know that?” He murmurs, just barely audible enough for you to hear.

Gaining confidence from his arousal, you tilt your head in faux innocence, “So is that a ‘yes’, my love?” You ask cloyingly.

“It’s an ‘I’m kickin’ ya out if ya don’t fuck my tits right goddamn now’, my love.” He orders, his stern tone hiding palpable desperation just below the surface.

With this response egging you on further, you lean down and kiss your boyfriend again, shoving your tongue into his mouth as he kisses back before you pull away seconds later and slather the extra saliva on your tongue all along his cleavage before positioning your cock right between it.

Finally, you let out one big drop of saliva along your shaft and squeeze the soft flesh of Leona’s pecs around it before beginning to slowly thrust your cock, ensuring that the saliva coats it on all sides, the sensation already filling it with intense pleasure.

“*huff* You’re really into this, huh? You’re already leaking down there…” Leona teases as you feel him reach his hands around towards something behind your backside.

“Mm…s-says the guy who’s jerking off as I’m…*huff* doing it…” You point out between moans as your cock continues leaking precum.

“‘m not judgin’, just wonderin’ what it tastes like.” He responds before leaning his head forward to lick the head of your cock whenever you thrust towards him, causing you to let out even louder moans as the pleasure builds higher and higher.

The minutes go by as your pace quickens and the rhythm of your thrusts grows more irregular, with every lick from Leona pushing you closer to your climax.

“Leona, I-I’m…getting c-close…!” You stammer out as the pleasure in your cock reaches its boiling point.

“Do it, Y/n. I want you to cum all over my face.” The lion insists, his voice a low growl that sends one last shock of pleasure through your body and causes you to let loose a loud moan as you shoot a massive load that reaches from his neck all the way to his forehead. As this happens, Leona makes a noise that sounds like a mixture of a roar and a moan as he reaches his climax as well and you feel some of his cum land on your back.

Releasing your boyfriend’s pecs, you scoot back to his abdomen, uncaring towards his cum that gets smeared under your thighs, so you can lean down and get a better look at your handiwork as you catch your breath.

In this moment, Leona makes eye-contact with you and runs his tongue around his mouth, licking up and swallowing the cum that had landed there, “You taste pretty good, Y/n.” He says with a sultry smirk that leaves you with no other choice but to makeout with him again.

—-----------------------------------------------------------

The next day is spent receiving some bewildered looks from the other Savannaclaw members, likely wondering how you’re still able to walk straight, but, again, they don’t know Leona like you do.

After all, you’re the only one who sees him pulling his dorm uniform shirt open to expose one of his pecs with one hand and making a jerking-off motion in front of his mouth with the other from the other end of the room.

[upon-sunflower-trails]

tenna headcanons

sfw and nsfw relationship headcanons for tenna!

never doubt me because when i have a hyperfixation i don't PLAY

The sweetest to you, he will do just about anything to keep you happy. Giant bouquets of flowers, broadcasts dedicated to you, extravagant dates, the whole works

Makes sure everyone within a ten mile radius knows the two of you are an item. You're so so dear to him <3

Pet names for you consist of sweetheart, honey, sugar, and muffin. He goes overboard sometimes, and probably uses these nicknames more than your actual name

He gets veeery insecure, so he needs a lot of reassurance. Whether it be about himself or your relationship, he will constantly ask you for your favorite things about him, the reasons you're with him, if you would love him if he were a worm

Expect to play minigames with him constantly. He likes to take you on little game dates, where he leads your avatar around the beach and takes pictures of the two of you together

Anyone who asks about you will be subject to a six-page thesis in real time about how amazing you are and everything Tenna loves about you

When he's flustered, blush pops up on his screen and you can swear that you see him switch to static for a minute

He would be the one to confess first, no matter how worried he was that you would reject him

Even though Tenna is flashy, his confession of love would be incredibly personal. He would almost shrink a little as he admitted to his feelings, getting emotional as he accepted the fact that you would most likely reject him

He, of course, was overjoyed when you reciprocated. Returned to normal size as cheerful music blared, scooping you up in his arms and pressing kisses all over your face

He loves everything about you, and he thinks you're perfect. He has to sneak in at least one reference to you every time he's on-air

NSFW BELOW THE CUT

I see him as a switch; he prefers being a service top but he'll bottom when he's feeling particularly down on himself

When he's upset with his employees, dom all the way. Probably the kind of guy to bend you over his desk to blow off steam

To him, there's no better way to spend his night than with his face between your legs. Much prefers giving oral than fingering, in my very humble opinion

Will lightly toy with the idea of exhibitionism, in the way that he'd have you under his desk and sucking him off while in a meeting or something

Horrific praise kink. Please tell him how good he is, what a great job he's doing, how badly you needed him. He will increase his efforts by tenfold.

I headcanon that his antennas are super sensitive, which you likely either find out by accident or in the heat of the moment. He'll beg for you to touch them while you ride his face or fuck him

Vocal as hell (especially if you play with the antennas), he is practically incapable of staying quiet. He whimpers and moans when he's being more gentle or subbing, and lets out groans and hisses while pounding into you during his more dominant moments

Loooves to tease you, both with pet names in the moment and overstimulation. He can be unrelenting when he wants to be

Not big into pain (both giving and receiving), but will tug on your hair when particularly lost in blowing off steam

Lowkey has a breeding kink, even if he may never acknowledge it. Just can't get enough of filling you up.

Whether his comment to Mike about kids is true or not, if you are able (and want) to carry children, it'll become his newest fixation. The second you give him the go-ahead, yeah, he's creampie-ing you for weeks

He prefers to actually fuck you instead of just jacking off, but if he doesn't have any other options, he'll gladly pump himself to the thought of you while at his desk. Free hand covering his mouth while his monitor practically burns, whines of your name spilling from his lips

Size kink is basically a given with him. I mean, he towers over everybody, so you are of course no exception. Holding your much smaller hands over your head as he pins you against the wall to obliterate your insides is one of his guilty pleasures

hope you guys enjoyed reading :) tenna my beloved i hope i did you justice

[vibewithma]

please more Sammie content. Please, girl! I ain't read anything that interesting in a while! I loveeeee it.

Say it again

Sinners Modern AU!

Preacher boy/Sammie x Black Church Girl!Reader

A/N: awwwwww thank you so much🥺🤍 y’all gonna make me cry ‘cause I thought about deleting my whole page😕. Here y’all go🫦🤍. Also the pics are running LOW😐💔

The smell alone could baptise a sinner.

The Church Fellowship Hall smelt like grease, sugar, butter and bragging rights wafted through the air like incense. Folks laughed and filled their plates like it was their last meal before glory. And you? You were shoulder deep in the custom apron tight, curls bouncing, spooning out mac and cheese like it was your ministry.

Doris stood at the head of the table, shaking hands and hugging necks, talking about,

“Oh that ain’t nothin’. Just a lil somethin’ I threw together while talkin’ to the Lord.”

Across the room, Sister Lorraine and her crew were watching y’all like hawks in blue lace. Her daughters had on matching blouses, stiff with starch and silent judgment. Her grandson just looked hungry and confused.

Your mama, cool as ever, manned the fried chicken, pork chops and catfish like she was born in a skillet. Dawn was three scoops deep into her dressin’ and potato salad, whispering sideways.

“He lookin’ again,” she muttered under her breath.

“Stack?” you asked, handing over a plate with an extra scoop of mac.

“Mmmhmm. He tryna act like he not but he is. I can feel it.”

You hummed.

“Maybe he’s just watchin’ your elbow. You heavy handed with the dressing.”

Dawn rolled her eyes but smiled like she was wearin’ a crown invisible to everyone but her. Then came the noise loud, clumsy, too many jokes at once.

Terrence. Josh. Paul.

They walked up like a pack of poorly trained puppies.

Terrence was the first one to speak. “Girl, y’all got pork and chicken? Is that even legal?”

Josh talking right after his friend, “you cooked this? No way you that fine and that talented.”

Paul just nodded while taking his plate full of food.

You kept it cute, kept it cordial. Smiled and said,

“Y’all enjoy. The Lord bless your appetite and humble your tongue.”

Then he came.

Sammie.

Walking in like temptation. Chain glintin’. Holding his plate like he didn’t even want food just you.

You didn’t say nothin’ at first. Just stared at him while scooping Mac and cheese, your curls bouncing a little as you worked.

He smirked, leaned a little on the table, voice low.

“You over here servin’ up deliverance?”

“Only to the worthy.” You side eyed him. “You tryna get fed or flirt?”

He chuckled.

“Why not both?”

You handed him a plate, firm in the grip, eyes locked.

“You still ain’t earn that kiss. Gas money doesn’t count forever.”

“Then maybe I need to work a little harder.” He tilted his head. “How ‘bout I help you pass out plates?”

“You gon’ wash your hands first?”

“I keep hand sanitizer in the glovebox, baby. I’m saved and sanitary.”

You laughed despite yourself and Sammie just grinned, soaking in the sound like it was his favorite hymn.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” he said, low and close, “and I’ma forget we in church.”

“And if you keep talkin’ like that,” you shot back, “I’ma let Pops hit you with a paper plate.”

Sammie stepped back with a laugh, hand over his chest like you wounded him.

“Now that’s just disrespectful.”

Behind him, Smoke and Stack were elbowing each other, watching the whole exchange like it was their favorite show. Dawn smirked but stayed quiet.

Sammie gave you one more look like he wanted to say more, do more, but he had enough restraint to keep it Sunday clean.

For now.

“I’ma eat this plate. But save me some red velvet. I want mine from your hands.”

“You gon’ say grace first?”

“I already did, baby. Soon as I saw you.”

Soon as everybody finished the line for desserts starts forming like it was heaven’s gates. The folding table shook slightly under the weight of sugar and tension. Your red velvet cake sat center stage, iced to perfection deep red crumb, thick cream cheese frosting laid like silk. Right beside it, Sister Lorraine’s banana pudding gleamed in its glass dish like it had a spotlight and its own choir.

Doris stood behind the dessert table like a general.

“Y’all come get this red velvet before it’s gone. My granddaughter made it from scratch with love and the fear of God.” Gloria was nudging folks in the line with that mom voice, “that banana pudding lookin’ a little store bought to me.” Pops was perched nearby in his folding chair like a retired food critic. “Ain’t no boxed cake beatin’ my baby girl’s velvet. I done raised her on taste.” Your daddy was helping a kid balance a plate but still found time to say, “that pudding? It’s soup. Y’all want a real dessert, come get some cake.”

And Dawn? Dawn was passing out forkfuls like samples in Costco.

“One bite. That’s all it takes. Go ahead, see Jesus.”

You tried to stay cool, smiling polite, handing out slices like you didn’t notice Sister Lorraine scowling from her side, whispering with her daughters like y’all just launched a holy war.

The cake disappeared fast gone slice by slice, folks returning to the line talkin’ ‘bout “Let me just get one more for my cousin who didn’t come today.” One lady clutched her plate like it was gold, eyes rollin’ as she chewed.

“Mmmm. This got that back in the day taste. Somebody’s grandma touched this batter.”

You smirked, quietly sliding a thick slice under the table and covering it with a napkin. Just in time and you knew Sammie would want his serving untouched by fork or rumor.

Just as you handed off your last slice, your phone buzzed.

Sammie Meet me in the car, Y/N. I saved you a seat.

Your pulse jumped, not from nerves but from that specific brand of giddiness he brought around. You glanced around, made sure Doris was distracted swatting Lorraine’s grandson away from the punch bowl, then wiped your hands, grabbed that hidden slice and slipped out the back exit like a thief in the night.

The sun was dropping low, casting golden streaks through the windows as you slid into the passenger seat. His car smelled like cocoa butter, fresh leather and cologne. Sammie sat with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the headboard of the passenger seat.

He looked over with that crooked smile.

“Was startin’ to think you forgot me.”

“You? How could I when you’re always breathing down my neck,“ you lifted the foil wrapped slice like a prize “and I also got your blessing right here.”

Sammie chuckled and took the plate gently, setting it on the dash.

“What I do to deserve this kind of favor?”

You leaned back, watching him unpeel the foil.

“You kept your hands to yourself at the fellowship.”

He forked a piece into his mouth, closed his eyes, groaned low like it hit his soul.

A bite. A deep groan followed low and guttural.

“Mmmph… Lawd.”

You swatted his arm, laughing.

“Stop makin’ them nasty noises, Sammie. You gon’ get this whole parking lot pregnant.”

He smirked and leaned over, real close now, voice dipping into that dangerous space where reverence and ruin live together.

“If you think that’s nasty, Baby… wait ’til I’m between your legs, mouth full of you instead of cake.”

He smirked, eyes sparkling with mischief, while you hide behind your hands.

He glanced at you, slow and sweet. Than his smirk curved at the corner like a promise he wasn’t planning to break.

“Was lookin’ real popular back there, Church Girl.”

You shrugged, coy.

“People wanted a taste of God’s glory, I guess.”

“Mmm.” He tilted his head. “Terrence? Paul? Josh? They all want a slice of you, not that Mac and Cheese.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed.

“Don’t start, Sammie.”

But he didn’t drop it. He leaned back a little, tongue sliding across his bottom lip before his fork met the cake again.

“I seen the way Josh leaned in when he asked if you cooked all this. Like he could ever stand a chance.”

He pulled back, all proud of himself, licking frosting from his thumb. You shook your head, biting back your smile, heart tap dancing in your chest like it owed him rent.

“You so dramatic.”

“Nah,” he said, eyes still on you, serious creeping back in. “I just like what’s mine. Don’t like sharin’ not even with church boys who can’t hold a tune or their tongues.”

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing.

“Ain’t nobody yours, Sammie.”

He paused, looked at you, took another forkful slow this time and said around it, “not yet.”

Your stomach flipped and not from hunger.

He caught you watching him eat and raised a brow.

“You had a piece yet?”

You shook your head, shrugging.

“Nope. Gone before I could grab one.“

He stared for a second. Then scooped a bite on the fork, holding it out to you.

“Say ahh for daddy.”

“Boy if you don’t behave.” You smirked while swatting his arm.

“Come here, Y/N.”

You leaned in, elbows on the console, lips parting as he fed you slow. The cream cheese icing melted sweet against your tongue and he watched you like you were the miracle.

“Mm.” You blinked. “I did that.”

“Yes, you did, Baby.”

He ran a finger along the rim of the foil, licking it like you weren’t seconds away from climbing in his lap.

“See? I’m looking out for you.”

You settled back, resting your head against the seat, but your eyes never left his mouth.

You giggled, a heat creepin’ up your cheeks.

“If you keep spoiling me like this, I’m gonna expect dessert every time I see you.”

He leaned back, cocky but soft.

“Baby, with me, dessert’s always on the menu.”

The air between you thickened, charged with something sacred and electric all at once. You caught his eye, heart skipping. He leaned closer this time, hand grazing your thigh, thumb brushing over your dress. Not pushin’, not pullin’, just a reminder that he sees you.

“You gon’ let me earn it, Church Girl?”

You looked him square, lips parted like a prayer.

“You already are.”

And for a minute, everything stilled. Just you, him, the sunset and that half eaten slice of redemption.

He’s lookin’ out the windshield like the sunset is talkin’ directly to him, but every few seconds, he peeks at you. That little sideways glance like he ain’t sure whether to flirt or pray.

“You gon’ keep lookin at me like that, or you gon’ say what’s on your mind?” you ask, voice teasing but soft.

He hums low in his throat.

“I’m thinkin’ how you lookin’ too good for a girl who been servin’ mac and cheese all day.”

You laugh, nudging him with your elbow.

“And you look like sin in a suit and a fitted slacks.”

He grins, full and dangerous.

“Good. I’m tryna tempt you.”

You pause. Let your eyes linger. Let the moment thicken.

And then you smirk, sitting up a little, elbow resting on the console.

“I think you earned the gas money kiss now.”

He stills. Just a breath. Then leans in slow, hand lifting to cradle your jaw like he’s holding something sacred.

“Say it again.”

You blink up at him.

“You heard me.”

“Nah,” he says, thumb brushing your cheek, “I need consent, baby. Out loud.”

You smile. Whisper soft but sure.

“Kiss me, Sammie.”

And he does.

Slow.

Like Sunday mornings and old hymns.

Like every lyric he ain’t wrote yet.

His lips are warm and sure, tasting like red velvet and secrets. One hand at your jaw, the other sliding over your thigh, not greedy just claiming. Your fingers curl in the nape of his neck and for a second, it’s quiet. No choir. No elders. No cousins or competition. Just breath and mouth and the heat of something new blooming fast in the late afternoon.

BANG BANG BANG

You both JUMP as the backseat door whips open and Smoke slides in like he ain’t just caught a scene. “Y’all done? I’m tryna talk to you about the club.” Stack climbs in behind him, grinning like a devil in Jordans.

“I KNEW IT. Sammie been outside too long to just be eatin’ cake. I said he was tongue deep in somethin’, but Smoke said he was bein’ holy.”

Sammie groans, pulling back, arm still around you.

“Man, shut up. Y’all the reason the Lord gave us patience.”

You wipe your lips with the back of your hand, cheeks on fire.

“Y’all could’ve knocked softer—”

“We did, three times,” Stack says, deadpan. “Y’all just was preoccupied with… praise.”

Sammie glares at them both but pulls you in tighter, tucking you closer.

“Next time, I’m lockin’ my doors.”

“Next time?” you repeat, arching a brow and he looks at you with that same smile he wore before the kiss.

“Yeah. Next time I kiss you… I want more than a church lot and company.”

You blink, heart lurching again but before you can answer, Stack asks from the back.

“Y’all still got cake left or what?”

Sammie has his arm against your headboard while talking to Smoke and Stack about some club related things, so you opened the door of Sammie’s car with a soft creak and the last bit of warmth from his car wraps around your legs before the cool afternoon air takes its place. You slide one foot out.

Sammie doesn’t move.

“Why you rushing off?” he asks low, like he’s trying to coax you into staying, voice lazy and velvet slick. “You already gave me the kiss. Might as well give me the company.”

You glance over your shoulder. Stack is finishing the club playlist, using his headphones to check the songs, while Smoke still talks about all the things they need to do before opening up the club. You don’t feel like holding a full blown heart to heart with Sammie while his cousins play background extras.

“You know why,” you say, turning just enough for him to see the side of your face, the tiny smirk you’re hiding. “Ain’t no privacy with y’all stacked in this car like Sunday leftovers.”

Sammie huffs and leans back in the driver’s seat, frustrated but amused. “Still hate to see you leave, Y/N… but love to watch you go.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you step out fully, white dress hugging just right and you know he’s looking. It’s in the way you hear him mutter “Damn” under his breath when you close the door.

You walk to your car, unlock it, and slide in with a sigh. Your phone vibrates right on cue.

Ten seconds later, Dawn climbs in, hair still bounce curled.

She barely shuts the door before she’s talking.

“You saw Stack, right?” she says, twisting in the seat to face you. “Tell me he wasn’t lowkey peepin’. Like, every time I looked up, he was already lookin’. Or am I—”

“Delulu?” you finish, teasing but soft. You start the car.

Dawn squints. “Girl, I hate you. Just say yes or no.”

You shrug, smiling to yourself. “I ain’t tryna gas your head up just yet. He might’ve been lookin’. Might’ve just been stuck.”

You don’t even get to finish the next sentence before your phone starts ringing. It’s Chris.

You put the phone on speaker. “Hey, what’s up?”

Chris’s voice is all sunshine. “Yo, I’m in town for the weekend. Thought we could catch up maybe dinner tonight? Just somewhere easy.”

You glance at Dawn, raise your brows.

“Can Dawn come too?” you ask.

“For sure,” he says without missing a beat. “The more the merrier. I’ll send y’all the address.”

You hang up, shoot him a quick “okay” text and finally pull out of the church parking lot.

“Chris still cute?” Dawn asks casually, scrolling through her phone like she didn’t just plan your outfits in her head.

You roll your eyes. “He doesn’t like girls.”

Dawn smirks. “Mhm. Still fine, though.”

You both laugh, the car full of that Sunday tired peace. You drive home with the cake still riding in the back like treasure, change into something a little more laidback but still cute and by early evening, you’re parking outside the restaurant Chris picked.

He’s already waiting by the entrance, hands in his pockets, grinning like he’s been standing there for a minute.

And somewhere in the back of your head, even with the light hum of gospel music and catfish memories still buzzing, you wonder if Sammie’s still sitting in that car… thinking about you in that dress.

Taglist:

@cosmicautomatonshark @fanfictiononly4 @pinkpantheris @andthatsonmaryhadalillamb @sweetalittleselfish-honey @bleufu1 @fruitypatooties-blog @heyyimmisunderstood

[beuxwhoyouare]

Taking What’s Offered

I’ll admit it I spiraled. I do just some backend stuff for a big streaming company so our offices are smack in the middle of everything. My office having a window with a perfect view for me to people watch everything nearby. I longed to live their lives, anything seemed so much more interesting than what I do.

Sometimes it felt like the people out there were rubbing it in my face living their happy seemingly lives. None more than those Grecian statured people coming out of the gym I had the perfect view of. Everyday I’d rush through my coding assignments to spend my left over time watching them push their bodies to the limits. The sweating, grunting, and the form accentuating clothing, all things I could never do but salivated to imagine being surrounded by.

And that’s how I started spiraling. At first I’d end my shifts and pretend to need to walk by the gym to steal glances at all the glistening torsos. But that quickly devolved in me obsessing over gym culture and ways that maybe I could look like them. That ended abruptly when I realized how difficult and long it would take to get those kind of results. Instant gratification of the internet really eroded my mind there, I can’t help it. I want what I want and I want it now.

I pivoted my research to the occult and dark sides of the web. I found several sources promising that I could get all I ever dreamed up if I made a deal with a demon. I gathered the ceremonial materials and began crudely reciting the incantations I found online. To my dismay nothing happened immediately.

As I lay in my bed I drifted asleep before a gnarling growl and voice ripped me awake. The demon promised me I could have what I wanted if I showed him what I wanted in person but in return I’d have to give up my soul. Considering how hollow and meaningless my life has been, why would I say no? All I had to go was go to the gym and show him what I wanted? Psh I didn’t even believe in the afterlife so I don’t care about a “soul”.

The next day I took a stroll into the gym to ask for a tour and pretend to care about a membership. The front desk people couldn’t care less and told me I could walk around myself to look around, the perfect reply for a menacing plan brewing. One of the big brooding alphas I always see from my window was in the middle of an intense set. Grunt after grunt I nearly watching with my mouth ajar as I watched him work in awe.

The demon hissed in my hear, all I had to do was get close enough for a face to face interaction it told me, then it would handle the rest. But that required me to get the gall to approach his large and slightly intimidating frame.

I kept watching from afar until I could tell he was winding down and heading to the locker room. I walked in after him, pretending to not have my gaze fixed on his path. The demon hissed once again, but this was a forcefully nagging, telling me to get him get him get him. I felt myself tip toeing closer behind him as he undressed to shower. I couldn’t tell it then, but the demons pestering wasn’t just verbal he was beginning to motion my feet forward and my hand towards the muscular jock. Like a feral animal, I picked up my pace and eventually wrapped my hands around his neck to choke him. A ridiculous gesture given how much skinnier and weaker I was than him. Running on pure adrenaline I held his neck and then the demon gave me a push. It felt like I was vomiting, like the demon was using metaphysical hands to pull me out from my throat. And with a distinct pop, a slug-like blob of light came out of my throat and rushed into the jocks throat as he stood shocked at my abrupt attack.

Everything went black for a second and when I came to, my blurry vision slowly came into focus as I leaned against the nearby wall of the gym showers. I picked up my head and gasped. Standing in front of me….was me? I fell backwards hitting the wall again feeling the chilly coolness of the tile on my now bare skin. That feeling confirming I was no longer clothed as I had been just moments before. I looked down at my hands as I inherently get a look at my new tool after a towel lays on the floor beneath my feet.

My heart was beating so fast I didn’t even know what to say. My former body approached me and picked up my face gently with his hand. The demonic voice coming out of my throat this time instead of telepathically appearing in my head. Confirming the demon would be taking my body as payment. I phoned in my attention to him, which I wish I hadn’t. My old body snickered and made a run for the exit. I couldn’t be bothered until his voice shook me inside my head. The jock pleading for a semblance of understanding. He remained out of the drivers seat questioning why and how he was moving without being in control. I mimicked the snickering my body had done before as I realized he was now forced to watch me pilot his sexy body and he had no say.

What can I say he was basically offering his body up always working out in the front of the gym. RDLs, squats, chest presses, all the beefy display for me to enjoy from a distance. Now I could enjoy VIP access to the show. I simply took what was being offered. Instead of showering, I walked back onto the gym floor and even though my new body was taxed from a workout and never death choke out, I pushed it to do more reps of anything I could remember from all my watching. I wanted to feel the extension and contraction of his juicy muscles for myself.

I could only muster some partials on some reps but even those felt sexy. The jock continuing to protest in his head and begin to internally sob. I started to relish the moment and accidentally smirked at his calls to stop. His resistance felt like it was empowering me. I ripped his shirt off in front of the mirror to pose with my new musculature like I had seen him do from afar so many times before.

Then I felt it start. I was getting so turned on I started my girthy tool get harder. Instead of panicking and rushing out I sauntered to gather my things and just let anyone nearby enjoy the show.

Soon enough I was catching the attention of a few other gym goers before walking out. Some gave me slight nods of blushing approval and others kept glancing me up and down to seemingly confirm the raunchy sight they were seeing.

As I fumbled through my new bag looking for the jocks keys I accidentally bumped into what I thought was a wall. When I looked up I realized it was an even beefier and taller man. One thing led to another and our flirting became a touchy feely invite over to his place. I finally found my new car and followed him to his home. The second we got inside he pushed me against the wall and pushed me around the way he wanted me. I gotta say I’m sure this body was an alpha male fuck boy originally but I was gonna make sure we erase all of that toxic masculine energy, one bottoming at a time.

What can I say I’m just taking what was offered.

[dannyriccsystem]

can i have 35, 28 and 5 with gabi? if you're comfortable with it 🤞

AREN’T YOU SOMETHIN’ TO ADMIRE?

1K SPECIAL - GB5

“Wear a jacket,” “I don’t have one,” “You can borrow mine.” + Mirror sex + Size difference

SUMMARY: A date gone right with your boyfriend ;)

WORD COUNT: 1.4K

WARNINGS: Smut, AFAB reader, P in V, mirror sex, size difference, praise kink perchance

FEATURING: Gabriel Bortoleto x Reader

NOTE: Hi! I totally did NOT forget about this 1K special and that I promised to fulfill these requests so. I gotta get back on that lol

GABRIEL ALWAYS PUT EXTRA THOUGHTS INTO YOUR DATES. He went out of his way to make sure everything was planned to a T, and that you’d both be ensured to have a lovely night together. Date nights were sparse during the racing season— It had been that way for years now; this information wasn’t something new to you. But during his well deserved week long break after a triple header, Gabi was quick to plan something up for the two of you.

This ‘something’ wasn’t anything particularly out of the norm. It was just dinner at a restaurant you both have been attending for years. The portions were large and the prices weren’t terribly high. The best part about it all was it was still somewhat high-end, meaning the chances of him being recognized or distractions popping up were low. The perks of him being an F1 rookie was that fewer people could actually recognize you. The true die-hard fans, and the occasional trackmate, being an exception!

Living in a small city came with various other benefits, too. When you guys didn’t feel like driving, it was a short walk back home. Gabi, being the ever chivalrous man he is, followed all the steps of a true gentleman. He held the door for you, walked on the outside of the sidewalk, locked arms— Okay, I lied. Almost everything. Because all night you had been dropping hints to being cold, and he just wasn’t getting it.

“It’s chilly out,” You’d comment, only for him to reply with, “yeah, really chilly.” You’d roll your eyes playfully at your boyfriend’s cluelessness. Seems he forgot he was wearing a jacket. However, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was cold, too. Why should he give up his jacket when you’re the one who forgot to bring one?

“Gabi, I’m cold,” You finally spoke firmly, in a more direct manner so he’d get the hint. He perked up at your sudden change of tone, his face reflecting his sheepishness. It was here he was beginning to wonder if he did something wrong.

“Put your jacket…” He trailed off when he scanned you over. You could see his cheeks flush softly, and he shook his head in disappointment at himself.

“I don’t have one.” Your lips twisted up into a smile. It was somewhat teasing, because you could tell he had not been intentionally ignoring you. You watched him pull away to slip his coat jacket off, and then drape it over your shoulders. You slid your arms through the sleeves, hugging the fabric around yourself.

“Desculpe, meu docinho. I didn’t realize you hadn’t brought a jacket.” He kissed your forehead whilst interlocking your hands. The two of you continued to walk— This time with you feeling much more comfortable. He had a long sleeve shirt underneath: He’d be fine!

When you got home, you stood before your full length mirror to take apart your outfit. You stripped down your jewelry first, which was a rather freeing experience no longer having all that extra weight. “Gabi,” you called affectionately. Your boyfriend rushed over like an obedient puppy, standing behind you. His gaze drifted over you in the mirror, hands circling your waist to rest on your tummy.

“You look pretty,” He mumbled for probably the eight-hundredth time that night. You laughed, and his eyes lit up like it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. “I mean it. Especially in my jacket…”

“Thank you,” And that was probably your eight-hundredth time responding to said compliment with gratitude. It didn’t matter how many times he said it, because he always said it with so much sincerity you could have been tricked into believing it was the first. “Will you unzip my dress?”

He nodded eagerly and pushed his jacket up to reveal the back of your dress. He seemed dead-set on keeping his clothes on you, so you didn’t make a move to stop him. His fingers, warm and calloused, pulled the zipper down with caution. He even helped you slip out of the dress— even though that first required removing the jacket.

There you were, in just your undergarments. It was a sight he had seen multiple times before, but it was a sight he was always appreciative of. Gabi discreetly draped the jacket over your shoulders once more, kissing your neck with festering fervor. His hands slid over your stomach, squeezing whatever skin he could with greedy hands.

“Do you see how beautiful you are?” He questioned in a low whisper, breath hot against your ear. You nodded meekly, staring at yourself in the reflection. Every time you were with Gabriel, he managed to wash away your insecurities with ease. “Will you let me show you how beautiful I think you are?”

You nodded again, but he made eye contact with you— harsh eye contact— in the mirror. That was the gaze of someone who needed a verbal answer. So you hoarsely responded, “yes please.”

His hands slid down your underwear, teasing your increasingly wet folds, all while he kissed your neck. He occasionally bit at your skin, or left a hickey with the intent of marking you up. Gabriel dipped his middle finger into you, curling it to increase the friction. You gasped, your moan drawn out by the various points of stimulation. He seemed satisfied with your noise, which persuaded him into adding another finger: his ring finger.

The long digits teased at the spongy, intense points of pleasure from deep within. You whimpered, leaning forward with a hand against the wall right beside your mirror. You were too shy to look up as you were somewhat afraid to see your own expressions. This ideation would not last long, unfortunately.

When he figured you were readily prepped, Gabriel slid your delicate underwear down your legs, leaving them at your ankles for you to step out of. He unbuckled his pants with one hand, maneuvering expertly to release his aching cock, which was flushed pink at the end; this was an indication of his eagerness to please.

You had taken him many times. This wasn’t a new occurrence to you, but each time had a rather long grace period between, which gave just enough time for you to require some stretching. He pushed the tip in— just the tip, because you could barely even handle that. You seethed, breathing through clenched teeth. Gabi massaged your stomach where he could feel a slight bulge, kissing your shoulder blades.

“You’re doing so great, minha vida. Você me completa.” He’d whisper such sweet nothings in your ear all while bullying his dick deeper and deeper inside your hole. He kept you steady, serving as something to squeeze at the initial sting. When he finally bottomed out, his length fully engulfed by you, Gabriel groaned in satisfaction, burying his face in your neck to take it all in.

He pushed you over, bending you down in front of the mirror as he drew his hips back for a harsh thrust. He lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze in the mirror.

“Watch as I destroy you,” was the only warning he gave. Such a sweet, romantic night had turned into something filthy with your boyfriend pounding into you from behind. He manhandled you with such ease, it made you completely forget about his previous acts of courtesy. You tried to pull your gaze away, but he was quick to redirect you back to the mirror.

You felt shameful seeing yourself drool with every thrust, your hands pressed against the wall and your arms shaky. A shudder ran down your spine, and you felt yourself growing weak in the knees already. “Gabi,” you whined out his name, making the Brazilian man smirk with a form of cockiness.

“Hm?” He pulled your head back by your hair, staring into your reflection’s eyes. You nervously looked back, your walls squeezing him.

“Please let me come,” You begged, your tone pitchy and whiny.

“Of course I’ll let you come, meu docinho. You’ve been so good for me.” He pulled you back against him, holding you around your torso. His thrusts slowed, but they felt a lot more intimate this way. He kissed your jawline and cheeks, showering you with love as you came undone around him.

He helped you through your orgasm with his praise and his feather-like touches. You leaned back against him, your eyes fluttering shut as he slowly pulled out. He lifted you onto the bed, laying you down with tender care.

“Let me grab you some water and a towel,” He whispered before pecking you on the lips. You grinned, nodding your head.

“Thank you, Gabi.” He chuckled at your nickname before scurrying off to fulfill his promise.

[gilbertscurls]

falling for you — chris sturniolo

"You’re so fucking gorgeous, my baby girl.”

His voice was hoarse with want, and the way his eyes darkened when they met yours made your stomach flip. It wasn’t just the way he said it—it was how he meant it. Like it was a fact, like he couldn't believe his luck.

Chris crawled over your body with the grace of someone far too excited to be coordinated, straddling your thighs and fumbling with the buttons of his dress shirt. You bit your lip, watching his fingers tremble in his rush, the fabric resisting him at every turn. He was giggling breathlessly, flushed and glowing, hair a mess and pupils blown wide with adoration and hunger.

You sat up to help him, gently batting his hands away so you could finish the job. Each button you undid was followed by a kiss—first his chest, then his stomach, his hips—every inch of him met with your lips, warm and reverent. He groaned, your name tumbling from his mouth like a prayer, one hand slipping into your hair while the other blindly fumbled with his belt.

“I want to taste you,” he rasped, voice low and desperate, his fingers tightening in your hair. He pushed you down gently to lie flat on the bed, and your heart raced as you opened your legs for him, anticipation coiling hot and tight in your belly.

Chris moved down the bed in a blur of kisses and tugging hands, his fingers slipping under your panties to drag them down your legs.

And then—THUMP!

He disappeared.

There was a beat of silence.

Followed by your shrieking laugh as you turned onto your side, face buried in the blankets. “Chris!”

A muffled, "Fuck!" came from below, followed by more laughter—his this time, wild and full of disbelief.

“I miscalculated,” he admitted, laughing so hard he snorted. From the floor, he popped his head back up, your underwear still in one hand, completely unfazed.

“You think?!” you choked out, tears springing to your eyes from how hard you were laughing.

“I was so close to being smooth,” he groaned, attempting to stand—and immediately swayed too far to the left, nearly toppling again before catching himself with a hand on the mattress.

“Get back up here, you dork,” you giggled, sitting up and reaching for him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he slurred dramatically, as if the fall had knocked all sense from him. His hair was a mess, lips swollen, and his pants still hanging halfway off, but he had the most ridiculous grin on his face as he crawled back onto the bed like nothing had happened.

He collapsed on top of you, chest against yours, panting from laughter and desire all at once.

You cupped his cheek, brushing back his damp hair as he hovered over you again. “Where were we?”

Chris grinned, lips brushing yours. “Somewhere between your thighs, if I remember correctly.”

“Then stay there this time.”

And when he did, you could still feel the echo of your laughter between every soft moan and whispered praise that followed.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @shadowthesim237, @courta13, @frankdelreyy, @evansturn, @bamsblooming, @backwardshatnick, @whore4chris

[howi99]

From the Nest 25

Jaune: *looking at the date* ... *Sigh* Only two weeks left until my death.

Nora: What's wrong, fearsome leader?

Jaune: *double take* Fearsome?

Nora: *shrug* You did scare Cardin shitless and you're kind of intimidating when you're angry... I mean, not to me, but you get the idea.

Jaune: ... *Blink* Fair enough. *Rub his chin* And to answer your question, i need to prepare myself for the apocalypse.

Nora: *giggle* Yeesh, that bad?

Jaune: *sigh* You remember Vernal? The girl i saved when i was seven?

Nora: Oh yeah! She's your best friend, right?

Jaune: ... *Sigh, dragging his hand down his face* She confessed her love to me in a letter just before she left for Haven... *Rubbing his eyes* Where i was supposed to join her.

Nora: ... *horrified* THAT'S NOT GOOD!!! THAT'S NOT GOOD AT ALL!!!

Jaune: *sigh, hitting his head on the wall slowly* I know...

Nora: And what's your answer!?

Jaune: *groan* I don't know... She's like a sister to me, even more so than my actual sisters. *Hit his head again* But it's not like i don't feel anything more. *Hit his head again* But i also don't want to lose what we already have, you know?

Nora: (... Uh, so that's what it looks like from the outside.) Yeah, i think i understand it well.

_ meanwhile _

Vernal: *walking aimlessly in Vale, completely lost* (Sun, you stupid CUNT! Where the hell are you!?) *kick a can of coke inside a trashcan, nailing it* Tsk... *Continues to walk, looking more and more annoyed* (It's already bad enough that i've followed you on that boat, but then you leave me in the middle of nowhere!?) *grit her teeth* (What is it with blond guys abandoning me? Did Jaune didn't come to Haven because i'm just THAT awful?!) *worried* (D-does he hate me?!?) *stomping her foot on the ground* (Damn it, damn it-) *Angrily screaming* DAMN IT, AM I THAT UNBEARABLE!?

Every passerby: *turning their heads towards her in surprise*

Vernal: *flustered* W-What? Never saw someone having a bad day!?

_ after searching Sun for 1h _

Vernal: *sitting on a bench, a long sigh escaping her mouth* I'm lost... And Sun's nowhere to be found! *Pout* I hope he gets arrested and put in police custody. *Mumbling* At least that way i'd be able to find his stupid ass.

???: *overly enthusiastic voice* Salutations~! You seem to be in emotional distress; do you need assistance?

Vernal: *frown, turning her eyes towards the voice, seeing a cute young girl with orange hair smiling at her* Hm?

Penny: *still smiling* You said you were lost and needed to find someone? I can help you, if you want!

Vernal: ... Sorry, but if you want to rob me, you'll need a better tactic than that old trick.

Penny: *looking genuinely confused* Rob you?

Vernal: *sigh* I saw right through you, you don't need to continue acting all innocent and-

Penny: *tilting her head* Why would i rob you?

Vernal: Tsk, i dunno. I'm not the one trying to steal money, am i?

Penny: *looking even more confused* B-but i'm not! I would never steal! *Looking genuinely distressed* I just want to help!

Vernal: *slowly realising that this isn't Mistral and that the girl might, potentially, actually want to help her* ... Wait, you were actually asking me if i needed help?

Penny: *nodding her head energetically* Of course! My father always said that i should help people in need whenever i can!

Vernal: *blink* (... How many golden retrievers are there in this world?! I thought Jaune was unique, but they keep popping up everywhere!) I see...

Penny: *smiling, extending her hand* My name is Penny Polendina and i would be thrilled to assist you in the search of this Sun individual!

Vernal: ... *Shake her hand* You can call me Vernal. *Sigh* But i still have no clue where he could be in the first place...

_ meanwhile _

Sun: *confused by his teammate's absence, after coming back from the convenience store* ... Where did she go?

[faithsmadhouse]

Happy 1k! Could I get max verstappen and 🫀??

Ruin Me Right||Max Verstappen x Reader

Warnings—Worship kink, ruin kink, dom!Max, sub!Reader, implied aftercare, smut,name calling degradation/praise

Word count—596

A/n— I did a subby max version of this first before I did this one let me know if i should post it!!!!

You’re already on your knees when he walks in.

Bare. Waiting. Breathing like it hurts.

Max doesn’t speak at first. Just stands there, watching you from the doorway, like he’s deciding what to do with you. His jaw ticks. His eyes are dark—not angry, not impatient. Just hungry. And cold.

“Praying for something?” he finally says, voice smooth and sharp as a blade.

You nod slowly. “For you.”

Max smiles. It’s slow, crooked, dangerous. The kind of smile that makes your stomach drop and your thighs clench.

“Of course you are,” he says, stepping closer. His fingers tangle in your hair, tugging your head back until you’re looking up at him—mouth parted, eyes wide, trembling.

“You kneel so pretty for me. But I don’t think you want forgiveness.”

“I don’t,” you whisper. “I want to be ruined.”

Max hums, pleased. “Good.”

He drags his thumb over your bottom lip. Pushes it into your mouth. You suck without thinking, needy and eager, moaning around his skin.

“Pathetic little thing,” he murmurs, pulling his thumb free with a wet pop. “All that aching in your belly, and no idea what to do with it unless I tell you.”

“I only want what you give me,” you say, heat flooding through you. “Nothing else matters.”

That earns you a sharp slap across the cheek—just enough to sting. You whimper, tears welling up instantly, more from relief than pain.

“You like it when I hurt you?”

You nod.

“You like knowing I could break you open and you’d still thank me?”

“Yes, Max. Please—please hurt me. Please fuck me. Please use me.”

He grabs you by the jaw and pulls you up roughly to your feet. Presses you back against the wall like he’s staking a claim.

“You wanna be my little altar?” he breathes against your lips. “Wanna let me wreck you?”

“Please,” you whisper. “I want your hands on my throat and your cock in my cunt. I want to feel you tomorrow. I want to ache.”

His mouth crashes down on yours—bruising, brutal. You kiss him like he’s sacred, like salvation lives in his tongue, his spit, his teeth dragging your lip until you whimper. His hands are already everywhere, greedy, pinning you like prey. One slides between your thighs.

“So wet already,” Max murmurs, sinking two fingers inside you without warning. You cry out, hips jerking. “Dripping like a good girl. My sweet, filthy little thing.”

He fingers you slow just to hear you beg. And when he drops his pants and lifts your leg, grinding the blunt head of his cock against your entrance, you sob his name like a hymn.

He thrusts in hard—once, all the way—and you scream, body arching, thighs shaking.

“That’s it,” Max growls, fucking you into the wall like you’re nothing but flesh to be used. “Take it. Take it like you were made for it.”

And you do. You take all of him, clawing at his back, moaning, breaking with every thrust until you’re nothing but wreckage in his hands.

When you cum, it’s wild and overwhelming, his name gasped between sobs.

And after—it shifts. The hands that held you down now cradle your face. The breath that cursed you now whispers your name with reverence.

He kisses you slow. Gentle. Wipes the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs and lets you cling to him as your legs shake.

“You did so good for me,” Max murmurs against your temple. “Let’s get you cleaned up, lie down. I’ve got you, baby. I’ll always have you.”

And he does.