#this the shit that keeps me up at night…

[deadmaidclub]

more kyle and hal ft lady lanterns

[gojosconsort]

hii i love ur work can you please write smth about mean!satoru fucking his virgin gf?

𓂃୨ৎ mdni. virginity loss, degradation, manhandling, spanking, tears, fingering, overstimulation, aftercare

you’re curled on the couch, drowning in satoru’s oversized hoodie, legs tucked under you, heart skittering with nerves. you’ve been waiting all night, stomach twisting since he texted this morning—tonight’s the night, baby. be ready. every sound’s had you jumping, expecting him, and now you’re half-dozing, anxiety and anticipation tangling in your chest. the door clicks open, and he’s there, footsteps deliberate, looming over you, blue eyes sharp and gleaming.

“sleeping without me?” he teases, voice low, a smirk tugging at his lips as he crouches down, brushing a strand of hair from your flushed face. you open your mouth to stammer something about waiting, how you’ve been a nervous wreck, but he’s already pulling you up, hands firm on your wrists, tugging you toward the bedroom with a purpose that makes your pulse race. “no more waiting,” he says, glancing back, his grin all teeth. “we said tonight, and you’re mine.”

you stumble after him, heart thudding, expecting soft kisses, maybe a slow buildup like in your daydreams. but satoru doesn’t do slow—not now. he pushes you onto the bed, silk sheets cool against your skin as the hoodie rides up, baring your thighs. “s-satoru, hold on—” you start, but he’s on you, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, his grip tight, unyielding.

“hold on?” he leans close ‘til his breath grazes your ear. “you’ve been driving me crazy for months, baby, looking all sweet and untouchable. time’s up.” his words sting, but there’s heat in them, a hunger that makes your core clench, your panties already damp. he notices, eyes flicking down, and his smirk widens. “knew you’d want this,” he murmurs, free hand slipping under the hoodie, finding you soaked through the thin fabric.

you gasp as his fingers press against you, circling slow, teasing, not enough to satisfy. “please,” you whimper, hips bucking, and he chuckles, pulling back to strip off his shirt, jeans dropping to reveal his cock—hard, thick, daunting. your eyes widen, doubt creeping in, but he’s already spreading your thighs, slapping the inside of one lightly, the sting sparking heat through you. “don’t tense up now,” he says, voice sharp but threaded with want. “you’re taking me tonight.”

he doesn’t ease you into it—two fingers plunge deep, stretching you, curling fast, and you cry out, the burn blending into pleasure too quick to process. “so tight,” he groans, eyes half-lidded, clearly savoring it, his fingers pumping harder, thumb grazing your clit. “fuck, i’ve been dreaming about this.” you’re trembling, overwhelmed, but he doesn’t stop, working you ‘til you’re dripping, body pliant under him.

“satoru,” you plead, voice shaking, and he leans down, kissing you hard, all teeth and tongue, swallowing your sounds. “no more teasing,” he mutters against your lips, pulling his fingers out, slick and glistening. he lines himself up, the head of his cock nudging your entrance, and you tense, nervous. “relax,” he orders, mean edge softening just a fraction as he strokes your thigh. “you’re gonna love it.”

he thrusts in one fluid motion, deep, filling you completely, and you scream, the stretch searing but tipping into something wild, something good. satoru groans, low and guttural, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to mark. “fuck,” he breathes, pausing just to feel you, his voice cracking with how good it is. “so perfect—shit, you’re squeezing me so tight.” he’s losing it, eyes locked on where you’re joined, clearly drunk on finally being inside you, his control fraying with every twitch of your walls around him.

he doesn’t wait—pulls out and slams back in, setting a ruthless pace, each thrust rocking you up the bed. “thought you could keep me waiting forever?” he taunts, yanking your hips higher, one hand fisting your hair to pull your head back. “you’re mine now.” it’s mean, possessive, but you’re moaning, thighs trembling, pleasure spiking higher than the pain. he spanks you once, sharp, grinning when you jolt and whimper, clearly enjoying how you respond.

“too much,” you sob, tears streaming, but it’s not—you’re close, body clenching, chasing it. satoru sees it, leans down, kissing a tear away, his thrusts never slowing. “you can take it,” he murmurs, softer now, but still commanding. “fuck, you feel so good.” he’s enthralled, groaning with every thrust, loving the heat, the tightness, the way you break under him. you come hard, shaking, crying, and he follows, spilling deep with a ragged moan, savoring every pulse.

he collapses beside you, pulling you close, gentle now. “you okay, baby?” he whispers, wiping your tears, kissing your sweaty forehead. he checks you over, rubbing your wrists, cleaning you up with a warm cloth, voice soft as he murmurs praises. “you did so well,” he says, wrapping you in his arms, stroking your hair ‘til you relax. “i’ve got you, always.”

[paperbackribs]

What i f I told Tommy to fuck off?

"Hey," Steve's head lolls onto Eddie's lap with a thump, "what do you think if I told Tommy to fuck off?"

Eddie thinks he might dance a jig, take a shot of tequila, and then blow Steve if he'd let him near him. But that's not in the cards. They've been roommates for four years now, the two years they'd lived in and out of the Harrington House and the Munson Trailer before then notwithstanding.

"I think that you're full of shit," Eddie retorts, ignoring the warmth of Steve's head in his lap. Ignoring how easily his stupid head turns to lustful images of shoving his palm against Steve's cheeks and turning him face-down to use his mouth in a way that Eddie can only dream of on the most holy of nights.

"No, really," Steve insists, hazel eyes earnest and staring up at Eddie. "You keep telling me that I'm worth more--"

"More than a bastard that fucks everthing that walks and then comes begging back to you? Yeah, sure. I have some standards."

Steve scowls up at him, eyes squinted, "I have standards."

Eddie stares right back, unwilling to back down, "Sure you do, sweetheart." He sinks enough scorn into the last word to push Steve away but Steve continues to squint back. He stares at Eddie with such unwavering certitude that it's Eddie who wavers.

"Robin told me something," Steve says calmly. Head still in Eddie's goddamn lap.

Eddie hums, looking away from the intent gaze. Ignoring it. Ignoring every moment he thought was more over the past six years.

"She told me that I'm not imagining things. That I'm not stupid--"

Eddie interrupts, exasperated after all this time that Steve still thinks so low of himself, "Of course you're not stupid. You have to stop listening to Tommy - he's full of shit and talks you down so that he's bigger. But you're bigger, Steve. You're a whole shitting statue looming above the teeny tiny human he pretends that he is. Just forget him for Christ's sake."

"Not that you will," Eddie mutters even as he's annoyed that he had spoken so candidly.

"So you're saying that I should trust my instincts?" Steve asks, eyes burning and frame oddly taut against Eddie's legs. The television flickers in the background, casting blue shadows against the planes of Steve's face and all Eddie can hopelessly think is how desperately he wants to lick the sharp lines of it.

Before he can sink into the moroseness of it all, Steve scrambles up and Eddie grunts at the unexpected force as elbows poke at sensitive parts only for Steve's sweet, sincere face to be hovering over his.

Eddie stares up, lacking understanding and any idea of what to do next. The beautiful eyes staring back down at him are captivating, the pretty marks against the canvas of his skin enthralling and, in that very moment, Eddie's head is so blank that he can't be counted on to make a decision or recall one past decisive thought.

"Kiss me," Steve demands and an arrow pierces Eddie's chest so cleanly that he thinks he'll never breathe easily again.

"What?" he wheezes, but Steve simply nods resolutely.

"Kiss me if you feel anything for me."

Steve's jaw is clenched, Eddie can see, in the way he does when vulnerable and sad. It makes something in Eddie's gut tighten in sympathy. Because all he has wanted for years is for Steve to kiss him. To want to kiss him. But here Steve is, looking for all the world like he expects Eddie to push him away.

He'd never.

Palm raising shakily, Eddie cups Steve's jaw, bringing their lips together in a union that is soft and unsure.

Just as shakily, Steve exhales, brow furrowed and lips pursing in distress. "That's it?" he sighs heavily, sadly. Looking away and nodding to himself as if he understands a terrible truth, "I get it. And I'm sorry, I shouldn't have forced you to--"

Consumed by a sudden fierceness, Eddie surges forward, taking Steve's beautiful face in his hands and his lips in a passionate fusion. Their lips merge in a slick embrace while breaths combine, becoming one.

Drawing back with a wet schlick, a translucent ribbon connects their mouths before snapping away. Steve looks as dazed as Eddie, the both of them reminiscent of cartoon characters whacked over the head with rolling pins.

"I should..." Steve stutters.

The whole of Eddie's body softens, sure in that this is the moment. This is his moment and it's Steve's too. It's their moment to make a future worthwhile.

"You should tell Tommy to fuck off," Eddie says, hoping against all hope that Steve will meet him beat for beat.

Steve licks his lips, a smirk spreading across his delectable face, "Because you feel something for me."

Confidence fills Eddie and he smirks right back, "Because I feel everything, sweetheart." Steve's face brightens as Eddie repeats, "Everything."

[sugusama]

꒰🎀꒱﹒ 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 ﹒⟢ featuring: kamo choso, kento nanami, satoru gojo, suguru geto, fushiguro toji, ryomen sukuna ‧₊˚ . ꣑୧

sypnosis ☆ the jjk men never knew you were a freak in the sheets, here’s how they react to you acting out your kinks ⸝⸝ ᰔ ̫ ᰔ⸝⸝

content warnings ☆ smut! 18+, age gap, petnames, choking, slapping, manhandling, spit play, hair pulling, bruising ๑•́ ₃ •̀๑

word count ☆ 1.1k

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎

he always touched you so carefully.

choso held you like porcelain. kissed you like your skin might bruise from it. slow strokes, soft grunts, warm aftercare. he was a giver—always asking if it felt good, always stopping if your breath hitched too sharply. so when you wrapped your legs around his waist one night and whispered, “you can choke me,” he froze.

you felt his cock twitch inside you.

“what?” he rasped, pulling back just enough to see your face.

“want you to use me, choso,” you breathed, lips kiss-swollen and pupils blown. “you don’t have to hold back.”

it was like flipping a switch. something ancient, primal, unfurled in him.

he was on you again in seconds—hand wrapped around your throat, heavy but careful. you gasped, eyes fluttering as pressure bloomed behind your eyes, and choso moaned at the sight.

“fuck, baby… you like that?” he muttered, voice guttural. “you like when i squeeze you like this?”

you nodded—barely—his grip tightening just enough to make you dizzy.

his thrusts changed too. harder, deeper, the kind that knocked the air out of you. his free hand pinned your thigh up to your chest, fucking into you with a desperation you’d never seen in him.

“been wanting this?” he panted. “wanna be ruined by me?”

“yes! nnggh fuck! cho—!”

you came like a wave crashing down, body trembling, mouth open in a silent scream.

and choso just kept going.

“my good girl,” he whispered, still fucking your twitching cunt, hand sliding from your throat to your jaw, thumb dragging over your lip before slipping into your mouth. “you take it so well. my nasty little angel.”

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

nanami was always so proper. straight-laced. reserved.

so when you whispered across his office desk one night, “i want you to use me like a slut, nanami,”

he didn’t hesitate.

“is that so?” he muttered, loosening his tie with one hand, the other gripping your chin as he tilted your head back. “my darling wants to be ruined?”

you nodded—and he bent you over the desk.

“hands flat,” he ordered, hiking your skirt up and sliding your panties down, slow and smooth like he had all the time in the world.

he spat on your cunt before pushing two fingers in deep.

“so wet already,” he said calmly, voice still tight with restraint. “what a greedy little thing you are.”

you gasped as he pushed inside with no warning, heavy and thick, the edge of the desk digging into your hips as he pounded into you from behind. and the praise… the fucking praise.

“you’re taking me so well, sweetheart,”

“just like that, good girl,”

“that’s it, let me fuck you dumb.”

when you begged for him to slap you, he paused—only a beat—before landing a firm, stinging smack to your ass. then another. then across your cheek, light but firm, just enough to send you spiraling.

“you asked for this,” he murmured, pulling your head back by your hair. “so take it.”

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

“spit in my mouth,” you moaned one night, sprawled under him, skin flushed and slick. “please, ‘toru—just do it.”

he stilled. blinked. then smirked like you handed him a toy.

“you nasty little slut,” he purred. “i knew it. all that innocent shit? fake. you’ve been waiting for daddy to ruin you.”

he grabbed your cheeks, forced your mouth open wide. let a thick string of spit drip from his tongue to yours, then leaned down to kiss it sloppily back into your throat.

“don’t swallow yet,” he whispered. “keep it there.”

and then he fucked you.

legs pinned over his shoulders, body folded in half, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as he drilled into you, laughing every time you choked on your own spit.

“look at you,” he cooed, “drooling, shaking—my perfect little cumdump.”

you came three times. didn’t even know your name by the end.

“i’ll never let you act innocent again,” he said with a grin. “you’re mine.”

𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

“pull my hair,” you whispered, nails raking down geto’s back. “hurt me.”

he raised a brow.

“didn’t expect that from such a sweet mouth,” he said.

then he grabbed your hair and pulled until your neck arched back and your lips parted.

“so you like it rough?” he asked, slapping your tit with an open palm. you gasped. “there’s more where that came from, baby.”

he forced you to ride him, hair in his fist, other hand bruising your ass as he bounced you on his cock. every time your tits jiggled, he slapped them again. you moaned, crying out, pain and pleasure blending.

“look at my messy little girl,” he whispered, low and dark, “so desperate to be used, you’ll let me bruise every inch of you.”

and when you came? he didn’t stop.

he fucked you through it, soft kisses on your cheeks while his cock split you open, saying,

“shhh, baby, take it. take it all. good girls don’t run.”

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

you asked to be broken, and toji fushiguro delivered.

“say it again,” he growled, slapping his thick cock against your tongue.

“want you to ruin me,” you moaned, throat already sore, legs trembling. “use me, please—”

he grabbed your face, spit into your mouth, and smeared it across your cheek with his thumb.

“you are mine to use,” he snarled, shoving you onto your stomach, pinning your wrists behind your back with one hand as the other lined up his cock and slammed into you hard.

you screamed.

he didn’t stop. fucked you deep, rough, relentless. left handprint bruises on your ass, bite marks on your shoulder, scratches down your back.

“cry for me,” he grunted, “scream if it hurts. i wanna hear it.”

you came with your cheek pressed into the sheets and your legs shaking.

“good little girl,” he said, voice raw. “can’t get enough, can you?”

and he kept going until you passed out.

𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

you said it like a prayer.

“sukuna—please—i want you to break me.”

he laughed. Laughed.

“you want pain?” he sneered, licking his fangs. “i’ll give you more than you can handle, little whore.”

he slapped you across the face first—just to see how you took it. and when your eyes fluttered, lips parted, thighs squeezed together?

he lost it.

he spat in your mouth, made you open wide and swallow.

he pulled your hair so hard you cried out, shoved his cock in your throat and made you gag, tears dripping off your chin.

he called you his “dirty bitch,” his “pretty little hole,” his “favorite toy.”

and you loved it.

“no one else could take me,” he whispered, voice laced with cruelty as he fucked you stupid. “only you. my pathetic little fuckdoll.”

you came sobbing. overstimulated. used. ruined.

and he kissed your cheek after. just to mock you.

authors note: yeaaa… this was in the drafts if u cant tell!

[slutzforbueckers]

Paige x reader go ALL NIGHT. (Literally all night till like the fucking crack of dawn) It starts off with them taking honey packets as jokes but they realize that it hits them harder than they expected and they get rlly sensual qnd horny and it leads to the smut but like they do EVERYTHING in the book (this is actually filth and borderline insanity)

Ex: strap, oral, fingering,(both p&r receiving for all three), 69, scissoring, dirty talk- they go from bedroom, to kitchen, to counter, to living room, to the car, against the wall, to shower (it doesn’t have to be in this order)

all night long

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

warnings: smut smut smut smut

synopsis: you and paige take the viral honey packets—as a joke, of course— and you doubted its authenticity until you both couldn’t keep your hands off of each other.

a/n: anon i love you.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

it started as a joke.

you and paige had went to the gas station on a late night snack run. paige had spotted them first, those little golden packets that had everyone in a chokehold. she had looked at you and you had looked at her, both sharing one thought. you grabbed two, quickly paid for your things and left.

now, you were siting in the driveway to your shared house. you sat with your back against the door, your leg pulled into the seat, watching paige watch you. you had taken the packets as soon as you got in the car from the gas station so that it would have kicked in by the time you got back home, and it did. honestly you were skeptical at first, thinking everyone had been exaggerating but you were starting to feel it.

"is it just me or..." you trailed off, shifting in your seat slightly. your body was starting to feel hot with need and paige looked extra good.

"nah, i feel it." she shook her head, her fingers curling into the fabric of her shorts. your eyes followed the movement, watching as the veins in her hand popped. the air was thick as you both waited for the other to make a move. it wasn't long before you did.

"push your seat back."

paige didn't have to be told twice. she pushed her seat back as far as it would go and you climbed into her lap, crashing your lips into hers without a care in the world. her hands found your ass almost immediately, fingers pressing into your flesh like she couldn’t get enough—which, she couldn’t. the way you kissed was nothing short of filthy—tongues fighting for dominance, teeth clashing, hands roaming. your teeth grazed her bottom lip, sucking it into your mouth hard enough to make her moan.

"i want you," you breathed against her mouth, voice low and desperate. "right now, paige."

“take me. right here, right now.” she couldn’t hide her desperation, she couldn't deny you, not when she was already soaked in her boxers. your hands roamed up her hoodie as you moved down, lowering onto your knees in the drivers seat. it was a tight fit but you couldn't care less, you only had one goal in mind and that was tasting her.

you yanked her shorts and boxers down both in one swift motion your hands immediately spread her thighs and you couldn't help but moan looking at how wet she already was. you leaned in without hesitation, dragging your tongue flat through her folds, humming as her slick coated your tongue. paiges head fell back with a soft thud, a breathy whimper escaping her lips as her hips twitched.

her body was on fire, everything seemed ten times more intense, and she was loving every second of it. paige's hands found their way to your head, she looked down at you as she gathered your hair into a makeshift ponytail. you wrapped your lips around her clit, sucking just enough to make her hips jerk up.

"holy shit—" she whined. the car was starting to get hot, the windows fogging up slightly. paige tugged your head closer, if that was even possible, her hips starting to grind into your mouth as she chased that high. you focused on her clit, flicking your tongue fast, then slow, then fast again, sucking it into your mouth with just the right amount of pressure.

one of your hands slid down to tease her entrance, fingers slick with her arousal as you circled around before pushing two inside her. the way she gasped made you clench around nothing.

“fuck, baby, i’m gonna—” she didn’t even finish the sentence before her thighs clamped around your head, back arching as she came hard on your mouth, crying out your name.

you didn’t stop until she was twitching and begging—literally begging—for you to slow down. you pulled back with a slick-covered smile, licking her off your lips like you were savoring dessert. paige slumped into the seat, her arm coming up to rest over her eyes, chest rising and falling heavily.

she let out a small moan as looked down at you, a fucked out expression on your face just from eating her out. "in the house. now."

you barely made it inside the front door before she was pushing you against the nearest wall, pressing her body flush against yours as she kissed you like she needed it to breath. your hand rested on the back of her head, fingers curled into her blonde hair.

paige pulled away so she could pull your shirt over your head, then dropped to her knees like a woman possessed. her fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts and she yanked them down, your panties going with them. you stepped out of them blindly, chest heaving from the way she looked at you—lips swollen, pupils blown, jaw tight with need.

“you’re so fucking wet already,” she muttered as she lifted your leg and placed it over her shoulder, her eyes zeroing in on your glistening cunt. she dragged her fingers through your folds, spreading you open. “you got this wet just from making me cum?”

you whimpered, nodding your head and pressing yourself against the wall for support. “yes—yes, fuck i love it.”

her mouth was on you in a second— hot, relentless, like her entire purpose in life was to make you cum on her tongue. her tongue slid through your folds with slow, deliberate pressure before she zeroed in on your lit, sucking it into her mouth hard enough to make your thighs shake. you slapped a hand against the wall behind you, the other flying to her hair as your hips jerked forward, desperate to feel more.

"oh my god- fuck baby, you're so good at that, don't stop."

she moaned into you like you were her favorite meal, and in a way you were. her tongue flicked and swirled, lips locking around your clit as two fingers slid into you without earning, deep and fast. you cried out, eyes rolling back as she curled them just right, hitting that spot that made your whole body react, that made your head spin.

"god, you taste so fucking good." her words vibrated against you and your hips jerked forward, fingers tightening in her hair as you gushed around her fingers. the sound your cunt was making as she fucked you with her fingers was obscene, loud and filthy in a way that had your stomach tightening.

you couldn't think, couldn't breathe—all you could do was grind into her mouth, chasing her fingers with reckless abandon. your head fell back against the wall and your stomach tightened. paige ran her hands up your thighs, circling around your hips and grabbing your ass. her fingers pressed into your flesh as she pulled you against her mouth, flattening her tongue on your clit and shaking her head.

“you’re gonna make me cum, paige. don’t stop—yes yes yes—“ you voice went up an octave as you nearly screamed, your back arching off the wall as your thighs shook with the force of your orgasm. paige fucked you through it, moaning against your clit, still curling her fingers against that sweet spot.

“damn,” you exhaled shakily when paige pulled her fingers out, you looked down at her with low eyes. paige chuckled as she lowered your leg from her shoulder, pressing one last kiss to your clit before standing up. her mouth and chin were glistening and she pressed her forehead against yours, letting your rapid breaths mingle.

"didn't think it would really work but..." paige trailed off, her slick fingers grazing your hip. "i really wanna fuck you on every surface of this house."

"so do it." you whispered. paige didn't have to be told twice. her lips were on yours within the second, her hands grasping at your hips as she pulled you off the wall. you wrapped your arm around her neck and kissed her back harder, moaning into her mouth as she slipped her tongue past your lips.

paige walked you towards the living room, bumping into the side table which made you both laugh. paige pulled away so she could direct you to the couch without tripping over anything—you took the chance to litter kisses down her jaw. once you felt the back of your legs hit the cushions you twisted around and pushed her down.

“take your clothes off.” you demanded, reaching behind you to unhook your bra and letting it fall off your shoulders. paige quickly pulled her hoodie off, revealing her bare chest underneath, and pushed her shorts and boxers off in one swift motion. she laid back and you climbed on top, slotting your legs between hers so your cunt pressed against hers.

paige’s hands found your hips as she guided your movements, her lips parting. she couldn’t take her eyes away from where your bodies met, she was entranced. you rolled your hips just right, your clit catching hers perfectly.

“you feel that?” you whispered, your voice low and dark as your hips rolled forward again, dragging your pussy against hers with a sticky, obscene sound. “you’re so wet for me, paige. god.”

her head fell back with a moan, breathless and desperate. “f-fuck. that shit is insane, I—” she grabbed your hips tight, guiding your grind as her voice dropped into a groan. “you’re fucking dripping. keep going, baby. don’t stop.”

you didn’t, you couldn’t, not when it felt that good. you pressed your forehead to hers and started moving harder, faster, rocking your hips in a rhythm that had both of you panting. the slick heat of her cunt against yours, the tension building fast—your thighs were already shaking. paige hips jerked up to meet yours, the added pressure causing moan after moan to fall from your lips.

paiges hands fell to your ass and she began pulling you against her harder, her breath coming out in short, sharp gasps. the house was quiet, the only thing heard was the sound of your moans and the squelch of your cunts pressed against each other. you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as you looked down at her, watching each jab of pleasure shoot across her facial expressions.

pressing your lips against hers, you moaned into her mouth—a high pitched whine that had her slapping your ass. she could tell you were close, the way your hips stuttered and lost their rhythm being a tell sign.

"cum for me, pretty. let me feel it." she muttered against your lips, using her grip on your ass to pick up the slack. you dropped your head onto her shoulder, your breathing hot and heavy.

all you could do was moan, that knot in your stomach slowly starting to unravel. there wasn't a thought in your head, no other than how good she felt. the couch creaked from how hard you were grinding against each other, you wouldn't be surprised if by the end of the night you were searching for a new couch.

you didn't warn her that you were going to cum, there was no need, she could feel it coming. your clits dragged over each other, swollen and slick, wetness coating both of your thighs. you rolled your hips again, harder, and it was over. you kissed her, messy and care free, as your orgasm rocked through your body.

"paige," you mewled, tears welling in your eyes as she kept up the same hard pace. you could feel the pricks of overstimulation settling in your skin and somehow it still wasn't enough.

"i'm almost there—fuck, ma, keep going." her voice cracked and her grip on you tightened, trying to hold you there as her hips bucked up wildly. you kissed her again, moaning because you could feel yourself tumbling into another orgasm.

her back arched, thighs trembling, eyes shutting tight as she came with a loud groan, soaking your thighs as she clung to you. your whole body trembled as your cunt throbbed against hers, soaked and messy. you collapsed on top of her, both of you gasping, legs tangled, sweat-slicked skin sliding together.

“holy fuck,” you heaved.

neither of you spoke for a moment, just trying to catch your breath and come down. one of paiges hands traced lazy circles on your back, the other was tangled in your hair.

a minute passed and paige swallowed, voice hoarse as she finally broke the silence. “is it bad i still want more?”

you laughed, lifting yourself up and planting your hands on her chest.

“would it also be bad if i agreed?”

it was past 5 am now, and you and paige were still going.

your legs were wrapped around her waist, ankles locked behind her back to keep her in place. her hips moved at an impossible pace, hard and fast. your moans flowed straight from your mouth to her ears, the sound a beautiful melody she adored.

paige pressed wet, open-mouthed kissed to your neck down to your shoulder, each one leaving behind a faint sting—the kind that made your toes curl and your walls flutter around the strap she was fucking you with. her hands gripped your thighs tightly, pressing you open as she rocked her hips into yours like she was trying to live inside you.

"you take me so good," she groaned against your skin, her voice low, rough with need. "always so good for me."

you could barely speak—your throat was raw from moaning, begging, crying out her name again and again. every drag of the strap against your walls make your stomach clench and your legs twitch, you clung to her shoulders, nails digging into her back as you buried your face into her neck.

“paige—fuck, i-i can’t—” your hips jerked up to meet her thrusts, a broken sob tearing from your throat. she adjusted her angle, pulled back just enough to slam into you deeper, harder, the base of the strap grinding perfectly against her clit with every thrust. the sound of wet skin slapping filled the room, joined by the thud of the bed frame hitting the wall and the desperate sounds leaving your mouth.

“i’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, voice cracking. “fuck, paige—I’m gonna—”

“cum for me,” she demanded, one hand flying up to press against your throat—not tight, just enough to make your breath hitch. “cum on my cock, baby. let me feel you.”

your back arched as you shattered beneath her, legs locked tight around her waist, eyes rolling back as you came hard, soaking her strap and your thighs all over again. you fell back against the pillows with a loud breath, feeling like the wind had just been knocked from your lungs. you felt paige move off of you and you opened your eyes, blinking up at her in a daze.

"wanna fuck you now." you muttered, sitting up and reaching for the the strap. paige handed over the harness and you fastened it around your hips. once you had it tightened to your fit, paige crawled into your lap, bitting her lip as she hovered over the strap. she wrapped her hand around the strap and cursed under her breath as she could feel your cum still dripping off the silicon.

you leaned back and watched as she slowly lowered herself onto the strap, small whimpers leaving her mouth as she felt the stretch. paige gasped as she bottomed out, her lips parting, hands flying to hold onto your shoulders for stability.

paige started to move, slowly at first, the strap slipping in and out with ease from how wet everything was. your hands found her hips, guiding her movements. her fingers tangled in your hair, her mouth brushing against your cheek, your jaw, your neck. you kissed her shoulder, then down to her collarbone, each press of your lips pulling another soft sound from her.

then, you started to lift your hips in time with hers, thrusting up as she came down—each one sending a sharp bolt of pleasure through her body.

"oh my—fuck, baby. feels so good." she moaned, her head falling onto your shoulder. you responded with a slow thrust upward, and she gasped, her back arching just enough for your hands to trace down her spine and squeeze her ass, guiding her pace. she started to move faster, grinding harder, her thighs flexing around you.

her orgasm was building fast, thanks to all the ones she had before, her body buzzed with overwhelming pleasure. the slick sound of the strap sliding into her filled the room, punctuated by the soft, broken cries she couldn’t hold back anymore. her nails dug into your back—not hard, but enough to ground herself.

you could tell she was close, evident in the way her moans increased, her pace faltering before picking back up faster and messier. she buried her face in your neck, her breath hot and uneven against your skin. “y/n,” she whimpered, voice high and trembling. “i’m—oh my god, i’m gonna—”

“i know, baby. let it go,” you whispered, your voice steady and low, right in her ear. you kept thrusting up into her, matching the roll of her hips. paige cried out, her whole body seizing up as wave after wave of pleasure rocked through her. she held onto you like she might float away otherwise, her thighs shaking around your hips as she rode it out. you slowed your thrusts, just enough to keep her whimpering, keep her grounded while her orgasm surged, leaving her gasping against you.

paige lifted herself up, wincing at the feeling of emptiness, and fell onto the bed beside you. you looked over at her and laughed at how fucked out she looked, her hair was a mess, skin flushed red, her chest still rising and falling unevenly.

"bro," she groaned, turning her head to the side to hide her face from you. you got off the bed and started to remove the harness from your hips. the room was thick with the smell of sex and sweat.

you climbed back onto the bed and onto her lap, leaning down and pressing your lips to her jawline then to the spot right under her ear. "still want more, p."

paige hummed and turned her head towards you, her hands finding your ass. "really?"

"mhm, i love getting you off." you muttered against her skin, ghosting your lips over her cheek before settling on her lips. you kissed her. once. twice. "you're so pretty when you cum."

your words made paige groan, her eyes fluttering for a second. she tugged you up her body, your wet cunt sliding across her abs. "i want you to sit on my face. like right now."

you smiled against her lips and lifted yourself up, turning around and carefully moving back until you hovered over her face. paige didn't waste a second, her eyes landed on your pussy and she grabbed your waist, tugging you down until her tongue was flat against you. a soft gasp fell from your lips as she immediately went to work.

your hips grinder down against her mouth and then you were leaning forward, hands separating her thighs so you could taste her. the second your tongue found her clit she jerked under you, her thighs twitching as she drew her legs up and planted her feet on the bed.

at the same time, you felt her tongue flick against you, soft and hot, and you moaned, hips jolting forward instinctively. paige held you steady with both hands on your ass, guiding your hips against her mouth as she licked deeper, messier, somehow hungrier. you moaned into her, the vibrations making her whimper beneath you.

it was electric—somewhat a push and pull between your mouths, the slick, obscene rhythm that built faster each time your tongues stroked and circled and pressed. you rocked against her face with purpose now, matching every pulse of her mouth with a deeper lick of your own, determined to draw every sound out of her you could.

her hips were bucking now, trying to meet your tongue, and you held her steady, fingers digging into her thighs as you flattened your tongue against her, slow then fast then slow again—right until you felt her body start to tremble. she moaned against your pussy, long and guttural, and the sound of it dragged you closer to the edge too.

you felt her body tense beneath you, her thighs trembling, her breaths turning into helpless little whimpers as your tongue never relented. you knew she was close and you didn’t let up for a second. you circled her clit with slow, deliberate pressure, then sucked, and that was it. paige’s cry was muffled beneath you as she came hard, her entire body jolting beneath your mouth. you didn’t stop—kept licking her through it, feeling her hips jerk with every wave crashing over her.

her fingers dug into your ass, holding you in place as her moans vibrated directly against your clit—that alone had you spiraling. your thighs clenched around her head as you let out a strangled moan, hips grinding desperately down onto her mouth. she met you with everything she had—tongue flicking, licking, sucking until your vision blurred. you came with a loud, shaking gasp, your whole body shuddering above her, thighs locking around her head as your orgasm rolled through you in pulsing waves.

your hands gripped her legs for stability, and she kept going, gently this time, easing you down from the peak while you whimpered and panted above her. eventually, you slumped forward, your lips finding the inside of her thigh, pressing slow kisses into her skin as you both tried to breathe again. her hands rubbed soothing circles into the back of your thighs, her touch still tender, even after all that.

you lifted yourself off her with care, then collapsed beside her, your arm and leg draped across her. paiges eyes fluttered open, dazed but glowing. the room fell quiet except for your breathing, both of you tangled in each other. you laid there for a while, fingers tracing lazy shapes along paige’s waist, before you finally whispered, “i need water or i’m gonna die.”

paige let out a quiet laugh, her fingers gliding through your hair once more before she sat up. “go, before you die.”

you shoved her shoulder lightly at the sarcastic edge to her voice and slid off the bed. you picked up one of her t-shirts that laid messily on the floor and pulled it over your head. padding out of the bedroom, you made your way to the kitchen in the soft, low light, the floor cool beneath your bare feet. you grabbed a glass and filled it at the sink, leaning against the counter as you took a long sip.

you hummed in contentment as you took another sip, leaning against the counter. it was quiet until you heard the soft shuffle of feet approaching the kitchen. before you could turn, two arms were wrapping around your waist. paige was there, pressing her front against your back, hands trailing up your thighs and under your shirt.

“you look so good in my shirt,” she murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “too good.”

a shiver ran through your spine and you called her name with a small groan. “there’s no way that stuff is still working.”

“nah, das all you.” she whispered, her hand reaching up to move your hair aside so she could press kisses down the side of your neck. “i just need to feel you again. that okay, ma?”

you could only nod, hips already tilting back into her touch. she grinned against your skin and ran her hand up to your cunt. she slid two fingers between your folds, groaning when she felt just how soaked you still were. her fingers teased you for a second—gentle, slow—then she slipped them inside with practiced ease, curling just right.

your hand slammed against the counter for balance as your body arched into her. she kept one arm around your waist, holding you in place, as she thrust her fingers steadily—deep and slow, then faster as your moans grew louder. you set the glass of water down with a shaky hand and bent forward over the counter.

your thighs trembled as her pace picked up, the wet, lewd sounds filling the quiet kitchen. her other hand slid up to your breast beneath the shirt, fingers pinching your nipple lightly before rolling it between her fingers, pulling another moan from your throat. then she shifted, adjusting the angle—curling her fingers deeper, her palm dragging slightly over your clit as she moved. you nearly sobbed at the sensation, your knees weakening as her fingers brushed against that spot.

“shit, paige—right there,” you breathed, the words barely making it out before your body was overtaken by another wave of sensation. every little breath you let out—every twitch of your hips, every whimper—only spurred her on. paige kissed along your shoulder blade, trailing her mouth across the back of your neck, her breathing heavy and quick against your skin.

she ran her free hand over your hip, her fingers curling into your skin as she pulled your body back into hers. “let me hear you, baby. let go.”

you cried out—no control left as your orgasm crashed over you, your muscles tensing so hard your knees nearly buckled. paige didn’t stop, just fucked you through it, holding you steady with a hand on your hip. your hips jerked, oversensitive, and she finally slowed—fingers still inside, but easing the rhythm now, drawing out every last pulse until you collapsed forward against the counter, gasping for breath. she kissed the back of your head, then down your spine.

“i’ll meet you in the shower, yeah?”

a moment later, you followed her into the bathroom, steam already clouding in the air. the sound of running water filled the space, and paige stood beneath it, back arched slightly, eyes closed as the water poured over her. you stepped in behind her, the heat wrapping around you instantly.

your hands found her waist, and she let out a soft sigh, leaning back into you. you kissed the slope of her shoulder, trailing your mouth up her neck before whispering, “sit down.”

she dropped onto the built-in bench with no hesitation, legs spreading just enough to let you settle between them. her gaze met yours—half-lidded, already heavy with want. you kissed her thigh first, a gentle kiss before you pressed your lips to her swollen clit. you took your time—a teasing lick, a kiss. paige let out a quiet whimper when you blew on your clit, her hips shifting forward.

you flattened your tongue and licked a long, slow stripe through her folds, groaning against her as the taste of her spread across your tongue. paige gasped, hips twitching beneath your hands, her thighs tightening around your shoulders as you did it again, and again. your tongue circled her clit, then flicked softly, teasing just enough to make her whimper. you moaned into her, the vibrations making her twitch and gasp, her fingers finding your hair.

“fuck— baby, please…” she breathed, voice trembling as she pulled your head further into her cunt. you slipped two fingers inside her at the same time, curling upward slowly until her hips jumped. her walls clenched around you, wet and throbbing, and you fucked her with your fingers as your mouth kept working her clit.

she started falling apart fast, head tilted back against the tile, chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. you felt it in her thighs, in the way her hand couldn’t stop trembling in your hair, in the sharp, desperate sounds leaving her lips.

“oh my god—don’t stop, don’t stop—” she cried out, her legs tightening around you, her whole body lifting off the seat as she chased it. you didn’t let up, fingers thrusting deep, your mouth locked around her clit until she broke with a cry, her entire body shuddering with the force of her orgasm. her hips bucked, back arching, voice whiny and ragged as she came hard on your tongue.

you moaned at the taste of her and pulled away from her cunt, a string of both her cum and your saliva keeping your lips connected to her pussy. you slowed your fingers to a stop and placed them in your mouth, holding her gaze the entire time. paige watched with low eyes as you cleaned her off your fingers, a low groan falling from her lips. she pulled you up and kissed you—hard.

“we’re so doing that again.”

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

[no-144444]

꩜ summary: your past relationship ends and you may or may not get with his rival...

꩜ pairing: ollie bearman x fem! reader

꩜a/n: cheating!

“What the fuck is this?!” you demanded shoving the phone in his face. He couldn’t have- no he wouldn’t have, right? “What the fuck did you do?” 

Pictures. Him. Another girl. Fuck. 

You were in love with him. That was the worst part. You were ready to do everything with him. Ready to give him your all, marriage, kids, growing old together, etc. All that was fucked, thanks to him and his inability to keep it in his pants. 

“Baby, come on, she’s just a friend,” he sleezed, thinking some sweet-talking and a smirk would smooth it all over. Absolutely not. You weren’t letting this go. “Don’t tell me you actually believe all those rumours?”

You did, because you knew they weren’t rumours. “They aren’t rumours, Gabriel, go fuck yourself. Don’t call me again,” you scoffed before walking out of there, for good. 

A few months later, and you were feeling good, better even. Healed, was probably a better word for it, but you didn’t want to label yourself with that just yet, it gave you less of an out when all of the dates you’d been going on have ended terribly. It made it more your fault. You had imposed rules though, 1) no more racing drivers, 2) no more racing drivers. Pretty simple, right? 

“Meet Ollie, please,” Paul begged. Paul Aron was one of the only people in motorsport that you’d kept in contact with. He was sweet, funny, and apparently attempting to set you up with Oliver Bearman. “I don’t date racing drivers,” you shook your head before taking another sip of your drink. The bar he’d dragged you to was some up-market (he was paying), hipster-chic spot that he’d dug out of some instagram travelers ‘best-loved spots’. It was nice. The alcohol wasn’t watery, but the drinks were expensive, and the group of dickhead businessmen that had been gawking at you for the past hour were annoying, but it would do for the night that was in it. You enjoyed the slow jazz playing lowly over the speaker, and the very obvious couple fighting at the table next to yours. 

Paul deflated in front of you, groaning. “Y/n,” he whined. “Come on, he’s super nice!”

“He’s a racing driver, and not only that, he’s in F1. I’d honestly rather get shot repeatedly in my hand with a nail gun,” you scoffed. 

“That’s graphic,” a voice from behind you smirked. You whipped your head around to see him standing right there, Oliver Bearman. The man, the myth, the legend. You face-palmed. 

“Fuck off Paul,” you groaned and a satisfied smile made its way onto his face. 

“I’ll leave you two to chat,” he smirked before getting up, and leaving you beached on a date you didn’t even want to go on. “My card is behind the bar!” he called after himself.

“Hi,” he smiled, sitting across from you. “I’m Ollie.”

“I’m Y/n,” you smiled awkwardly. 

As much as you wouldn't admit it to Paul, you liked Ollie. You liked his floppy hair and soft smile, you liked the way he gave you his full attention and didn’t dare talk over you, you liked how he made you laugh. Shit. You were falling for another racing driver. You groaned as you sat on your bed, Paul beside you. The night was meant to be wine and chatting, but it turned into a bitch session about Gabriel trying to contact you again, and then you ended up talking about Ollie… 

It was difficult not to when the last few months had been filled with going on small date nights, facetime for hours, and generally just being with him. 

“You like him!” he cheered, ecstatic. “I’m Cupid!” 

You slapped a hand over his mouth. “I do not like him, and you are most certainly not cupid.” 

“I so am,” he chuckled, pushing your hand away. “Come on, you like him, go for it! What the fuck is stopping you?” 

“I don’t know!” you exclaimed, crossing your arms. “It’s… weird. He’s really nice and really sweet, but it’s like… a lot right now, alright? I’ve just gotten over Gabi, and now he’s texting me about getting back together again, and Ollie is there too, and I think he really likes me-” “He does,” “And that’s super nice and all, it’s just- yeah. It’s a lot.”

“Maybe you should just give him a chance,” Paul suggested. “Ollie’s going to be nice about it anyway, once you make it clear that you want to move slowly.” 

You huffed. “Why is romance so complicated?”

“Why ask me? I’ve literally never been in a relationship,” he laughed. You laughed. The weight on your shoulders lifted, it always did when you were around Paul. You thought about it for a moment and internally sighed, waving your white flag. 

“Hm,” you hummed after you both calmed down. “Maybe you are Cupid.”

The scream he let out probably could’ve been heard from space. It didn’t bother you much.

Ollie pressed his whole body against yours the second you opened the door to your hotel room. Australia hadn’t been the greatest, China had been good, and Japan had been too, but still, he had begged you to come to Bahrain, citing ‘performance issues’. He wrapped his arms around your waist and hugged you tight. Not really knowing what else to do, you hugged him back. He smelt like burnt rubber and his cologne, a pretty regular combo for him. 

“Are you alright?” you asked, pulling away from his chest and looking up at him. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

He sighed and shook his head, directing your head back to his chest. “Not really,” he answered, though his voice was muffled through your hair. “It was just shit. Fucking P20,” he shook his head, then pulled back, cradling your head in his hands. “You look beautiful though,” he offered a soft smile, and something about it made you lean in and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“You look beautiful too,” you smiled. He softened slightly, and finally let you go as you led him into your hotel room. “Y’know, you didn’t have to get me another room,” you teased. “I could’ve just roomed with you.” 

He felt his cheeks heat up despite the nights you’d spent in each other's beds, but he chuckled all the same. “Didn’t want to assume.” 

“You’re very good,” you smiled, turning to him. 

“You’re very worth it,” he smiled back, wrapping his arms around your waist once again and pulling you in for another kiss. “Missed you,” he admitted, pulling back. The soft glow of your bedside lamps made his brown eyes look even bigger than they usually were, and you smiled. 

“Missed you too, I guess,” you taunted. He didn’t complain. He just kept looking at you with that same love-sick look. “Sorry I was bad luck.” 

He shook his head. “You’re good luck,” he demanded. “I’m going to get in the points tomorrow just to prove it.”

“You don’t have to make me-”

“I’m not ‘having’ to do anything,” he said, his voice stern but sweet. “I can’t have you believing something untrue, right?” 

“Alright loverboy,” you laughed. “Let's get some rest, yeah? You’re probably exhausted.” 

“Always sleep better next to you,” he admitted and both of you stilled again. You didn’t notice the cars driving past outside, the noises coming from the open balcony door, etc. You just saw Ollie. He just saw you. He was nervous, for some reason. You always made him nervous. There was something about you that he just couldn’t not want to impress. 

You smiled gently. “Well, I’m right here all night.”

He couldn’t argue with that. 

Building up the courage to walk into the paddock again was difficult. Gabi had basically disgraced you, and while that wasn’t your fault at all, it was weird to have the cameras and media label you as ‘Gabi’s ex girlfriend’. You felt the looks of sympathy as you walked in, everyone assumed you’d taken him back despite his scandals, but they were all stunned into silence when you walked into the Haas hospitality, finding a seat beside Thomas, Ollie’s brother. You’d met him once or twice, but Ollie didn’t even know you’d come in. You weren’t totally comfortable doing it yet, but Ollie needed support, and you had no other choice but to be there and show up for him. 

The race was tense, but staying true to his word, Ollie dragged that tractor up into 10th, and scored some more points for Haas. His dad got handed the radio, then Thomas, then you. You didn’t really know what to say, but you did know it would be broadcast to millions of people worldwide. 

“Hey Ollie, well done out there today, love you.”

It slipped out before you knew what you were saying, and you made a terrible realisation that you’d said that live on air. A few eyes turned to you and you genuinely wanted the earth to swallow you up. 

“Oh my god! Y/n! What did you just say?!” he laughed over the radio and you hid your face in your hands, Thomas patting you on the shoulder for moral support. It actually helped a little bit. “I love you too,” he chuckled. “This might be the best race ever!” 

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and smiled. His dad smiled at you too, pulling you in for a side hug as you both watched the screen turn to Ollie in the car. You chuckled. 

“Is this some kind of joke?” Gabi demanded, his voice thick with emotion. “You break up with me, then you move onto my rival?” 

“A) you cheated, B) Ollie is so far above being your rival, you drive a fucking Sauber,” you shot back, hanging up the phone. 

Ollie watched all of this unfold from the comfort of your bed. He laid a hand on your lower back and sighed. “Alright?” 

“I need to kill him,” you sighed, cuddling into his side. “I cannot fucking stand his whole ‘woe is me’ shtick,” you scoffed. “I mean, how many people have the balls to cheat on someone, and then blame them for breaking up with them! It’s fucking insane.” 

“I agree,” he shrugged, wrapping his arms around you. “Not with the murder part though,” he added. 

You chuckled against his neck. “I don’t know, maybe he has a point. Maybe it was kind of shitty to get with his rival-”

“You said it yourself, he’s not my rival,” he shrugged. “He’s driving a Sauber, his biggest rival is his own career choices,” you both laughed out loud at that. “There’s no blood on your hands.” 

Well, maybe there was a little blood on your hands, considering you may or may not have posted some photos with Ollie, with the caption ‘Bounced back and found another, and he hates you’. 

You didn’t really mind.

so close to what masterlist

pop queens mixtape

navigation for my blog :)

[lovethestarrs]

OLD TIMES SAKE — 𝒿ℴℯ𝓁 𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓁ℯ𝓇

requested! 💌 “hooking up with exhusband!joel 🤤” — in my head they divorced on good terms, they just married young and regretted it. — but that seems to have changed.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒: no breakout!au .. nsfw .. smut .. ex husband! Joel .. praise .. brief f!receiving!oral .. unprotected (DONT DO THAT!) .. pull out game fire (also don’t do that) .. slightly intoxicated sex (also don’t do that) .. don’t drink and drive .. use of Y/N .. not really proofread

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: haven’t written smut in a while so forgive it for not being super well written. I know I said I wasn’t going to write smut but like JUST THIS ONCE, KAY? If you’re uncomfortable with me writing it, just don’t interact with it or me, I’m trying to keep the peace.

I am not 18 nor above, so if that makes you uncomfortable dni or block ♡ pls keep the peace

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The work week was long. Hours filled by customers who were “always right” and coworkers never shutting their trap had you tuckered out. So what better way to relax and unwind is there than going to the bar and throwing some back?

The old chipping road crunched under your shoes as you stepped out of your car, still in your work clothes. You slammed the door shut and could already hear the music inside like it was heaven calling your name. Opening the door, the bell jingled, causing heads to turn, trying to see what soul was going to be taken next.

You payed no mind, setting your eyes on an open barstool. You hopped on and set your purse in your lap. The bartender came by, asking for your order. “Uhm, can I get a gin tonic?” You asked. “Sure thing. Wanna start a tab?” He responded, already working on your drink. “Yes, please.” It felt like a long night ahead so why the hell not? He set the drink down with a soft thud and you thanked him.

“Well, what do we have here.” A voice. Texan. A little raspy. Deep. It’s Joel Miller. Your ex husband.

You turn your head and he comes into frame, sitting next to you. He’s older, grayer, finer… No, that’s the alcohol talking. The alcohol which you haven’t even taken a sip of.

“Joel,” you acknowledge, “never thought I’d see you here.” You reply, not knowing whether to laugh, cry, or die in this moment.

“Yeah, never thought I’d see you either. What brings you?” He asks, eyeing your outfit. “Jesus, you stick out like a sore thumb.” It was nice to see he hadn’t changed much.

“I just came from work. Which, matter of fact, is why I’m here. It’s a pain in my ass.” You sipped your gin and tonic.

He snickered, “Tell me about it.” He shook his head, taking a swig of beer. “It’s fuckin’ exhausting that’s for sure. What’d do you do now?” He looks over at you. God, those eyes.

“Just some office job, trying to make ends meet. You?” Another sip, trying to still yourself from saying anything too crazy.

“Y’know, same thing as always. I’m working with Tommy.”

“Tommy.. how is he?”

“He’s doing well. He got married, he’s got a wife and one on the way.”

“Wow, no shit? Tell him I say congratulations.” You smile. You had fond memories of Tommy. He was Joel’s best man. Bit of a partier during that time but it was nice to know he settled down.

“Will do… So you got a boyfriend?” He takes a swig and you laugh.

“I knew you were gonna ask some shit like that.” It’s a dig but there was no real bite to it. “No, I don’t. You got a girlfriend?”

“Hey, no harm in wondering,” he surrenders with his hands up and a hearty chuckle, one that sounds like nostalgia. “And nah. Haven’t got any time for that no more.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “There’s no way you aren’t at least fucking someone on occasion. Forgot how to be a player after we divorced or something?” Another sip. Y/N shut up before you say something stupid.

“I mean yeah, a man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do but I’ve never really stuck with anyone. Ain’t got the time. And c’mon we were married for awhile I lost a bit of my flare in that time.” He finished his beer and set it down, not signaling for another.

“I guess you’re right.” You shrug, setting the glass of your own cup down, seeming to relax a bit more. The reminder of the years together settling you. It’s not like you two were strangers.

“What about you, huh? S’there someone keeping you… satisfied?” His attention is fully on you now, and it makes you nervous. Like when you first met Joel when you were both young. Fresh faced and dreaming.

“Oh God, no. I’m too busy for all of that.” You shook your head.

“See, maybe that’s what got you all mangled and stressed. You need a good fuck.” You nearly spit out your drink in his face. Swallowing, you laugh, “Joel Miller!” Gently nudging his shoulder. He laughs at how flustered he got you. It was just as easy as he remembered.

“I can help you out if you need.” That cheeky bastard. Grinning at you with the stupid look. You could blame the alcohol all you want, say it drove you to feeling this way but in reality it hadn’t even hit your blood stream yet. “Joel, come on now.” You tried to laugh it off, shifting in your seat as the blood rushed to your head and thighs.

“I’m serious, Y/N. You know I’ve always been a helping hand. He settles hand on your thigh and it sets your nerves on fire. He’s almost primal in the way he looks at you, like a meal he wants to devour. And it doesn’t make it any better that you know he’s good at it.

“So whaddya say? For old times sake.” Maybe you could’ve said “no, you’re an idiot” and get the hell out of there. But with the way he was looking and talking to you in that voice. You were weak.

“You know what? Fuck it.” You chuckle, going to grab money to close your tab but Joel quickly intervened. “I’ve got it, baby, don’t you worry ‘bout it.” You swear your knees almost gave out. God bless Southern hospitality. He slapped a fifty dollar bill down to cover both his and your tab, signing it off and making his way out with you.

As he walked you out, you spotted his old truck, the same one he drove in when you left your wedding. “Still driving that thing?”

“She’s been good to me, can’t leave her.” He opens the door for you and slides in on the other side. The seat in the front and the back were benches. Memories of all those frisky times with him, back seat and the front easily came back.

Joel’s hand made its way to your thigh as he peeled out. “C’mon, girl, let’s get you home and satisfied.” His thumb rubbing circles on the top of your thigh, making you already feel flustered and needy. Your thighs subconsciously rubbing together to keep you sane.

But Joel’s too attentive to just not notice. “Look at you. Already rubbin’ your thighs together. Haven’t even touched you yet. It’s still so easy to get you worked up.” He chuckled deeply.

You suck in a sharp breath, the alcohol was kicking in a bit now. His hand inching higher and closer to where you needed him most. “Jesus, Joel, please.” you swore you were going crazy without anything to rub against.

“We’re almost there, baby. Don’t go gettin’ your panties in a twist.” He squeezed at your thigh, thumb rubbing soothing circles on your inner thigh.

He pulled into his driveway and made quick work of getting you in the house and into his room. Pulling you in for a heated, messy kiss. One hand holding your face and the other pulling you in by your ass, kneading the soft globe.

“Please, Joel. I can’t take it anymore.” You begged against his lips, so desperate for his touch.

“I’m getting there, baby,” His fingers tried to undo the buttons of your blouse but he gave up midway through, “just- fuck it.” He mumbled and ripped it, buttons flying all over the room.

“Joel!” You flinched in surprise.

“Sorry. I’ll get you another one.” He pulled it the rest of the way off, leaving you in your bra. His tongue laved at your salted skin, groaning at your taste. He quickly unhooked your bra, skillful fingers making quick work of it. When your breast were bared to his eyes he almost blew a load. “Oh, God, baby, look at ya. Still so fuckin’ beautiful.” He thumbed your nipples, pulling them into stiff peaks before trailing his lips down to the valley of your breasts.

He walked you backwards until you both hit the bed. He laid you down, continuing his kisses up your neck, below your ear, nipping and sucking at your heated skin, soothing it with his tongue.

“Let’s get these pants off of ya.” He slipped his fingers in the waistband and slid them off of your legs, tossing them carelessly aside. Taking your legs by the ankles and spread them as he kissed the inside of your calf, trailing kisses up until he reached the soft flesh of your soft inner thigh. His teeth found their way to graze at your skin before he suckled on it, his hot mouth burning into you.

His fingers toyed with your panties as he made his way to your begging heat. He placed open mouth kisses to your clothed slit, wetness already seeping through, your pussy weeping for him. As he looked up at your splayed out form, you caught a glimpse of him, looking like who was already fucked out and drained. His eyes hooded and glaring like he was about to devour you.

He wasted no time yanking your panties off, he couldn’t be barricaded from your cunt any longer. He pulled your legs up and pushed them back to get a better view, mouth practically watering.

“Prettiest cunt I ever did see,” he traced a finger down your slit causing you to shudder. His tongue followed, licking a stripe up to your clit, his nose resting on your mound. “And still the sweetest.” He spoke, muffled against your folds. He held your thighs apart, his fingers digging into the plushness.

He feasted upon you, eyes fluttering closed in pleasure. “God, Joel, fuck!” You moaned as his tongue found your entrance, nudging your walls. Your fingers threaded through his hair as he seemed to remember all the right ways of making you feel so good.

He slipped in a finger, then a second as he sucked on your clit, tongue toying with your sensitive button. “Come on, cum for me. Make a mess on my fingers, darlin’.” He plunged them in and out, fucking you senseless with his thick digits.

And before you knew it, you were clenching around his fingers as he sucked on your clit, pushing you through orgasm, drawing out every drop of pleasure. You panted, body going limp as you shuddered. “Atta girl. You did so good, baby.” He kissed up your thighs, your belly, each of your breasts, before funding his way to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He held your waist, letting you come down from your orgasm.

“Think you can handle more?” He asked, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Joel, you know I can.” You chuckle. He let out a hearty laugh in response. “I know, I know. Just makin’ sure.” He smiled.

He quickly shed his own clothes, baring himself to you. He still looked damn good. “Forgive me, it’s been awhile since I’ve hit the gym, y’know. Got a bit of a dad bod.” He rubbed over his sternum, littered with some hair.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. You look amazing.” You smile.

“You don’t gotta butter me up none, darlin’. You still look as beautiful as when I first met you.” He crawled over you, peppering kisses on your cheek and temple.

“I’m not! And… thank you.” You giggled as his beared tickled your skin. “No need to thank me at all. That’s all you, baby.”

You could feel his cock nudging at your thigh, precum smearing on your skin. You clenched around nothing, needing him in you so badly.

“Joel… please.” You breathed, your hands cupping his face. “I know, baby. Gonna take care of you real good— get you satisfied.” He lined himself up with your entrance, teasing you and watching you writhe. Pushing himself through your folds, head bumping against your clit.

Your hands clawed at his chest, going crazy. All he did was chuckle in response to your neediness. “It’s still so easy to drive you crazy.” He notches himself inside of your entrance and it takes you a moment to get used to his size again, your head thrown back from the stretch. He slowly inches himself inside, inch by tantalizing inch.

He’s panting by the time he bottoms out, your cunt sucking him in. “Still so fucking tight, ain’t ya?” He groans, starting to thrust into you slowly.

But once he gets the hang of it again, he’s slamming into you, his head board slamming against the wall. His thumb circled your clit, his cock nudged against the spot that made your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Take it, baby, I know you can.” He panted, sweat beading on his forehead. “You’re still so fucking big,” You moan, legs wrapped around his waist. “Don’t stop!” Your back arched up into him. “Wouldn’t ever dream of it.”

He hiked your leg up higher, pushing it into your chest a bit to get even deeper causing you to practically scream. “That’s it, let me hear you.” Joel purred. His hips snapped into you, the head of his cock kissing your cervix deliciously and making you see stars.

Joel growled, “come on, give it to me. Cum on my cock.” And by his command, you did. Hands gripping his shoulders, cunt quivering around him. His hand working your clit as he leaned down to take your nipple into his mouth as he helped you ride out your orgasm. His hips never faltering.

As he felt you squeeze his cock, his orgasm was building to its peak. “Baby, I’m gonna.. fuck!” He pulled out over your belly, tugging at himself before shooting himself over your chest and stomach, coming down his crescendo with groans of pleasure.

He flopped down next to you as to not crush you, his hand rubbing your thigh. “God, you’re incredible.” He panted, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin. You chuckle, “says you.” Your hand covers his in an intimate moment of silence.

“You know what would be crazy?” Joel speaks up. “Yeah?” You turn to look at his reddened, sweaty face. “If we dated again.”

“You wish, Miller.” You chuckle, shaking your head. “C’mon, Y/N. Second time’s a charm, huh?”

“You’re insane.” You smile. “Hey, it’s not a no.” You pause, smirking to yourself, “maybe.” Joel rolls over, his lips hovering an inch away from yours. “I’ll take that as yes.” He presses his lips against yours, a kiss of gratitude and appreciation. And maybe even love.

Who knows where this’ll take you. If it’ll even work out. If anything, this is just a get together for old times sake.

[velaenam]

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧

                                                                         ◦ ♡

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 – non!mc. when the sky took caleb, all you got back was a folded flag and the echoes of everything left unsaid. you thought that the hardest part would be losing caleb– turns out, it’s learning how to keep living without him.  𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 – ANGST, swearing, mature themes. loss of life, grief. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬– not proofread. couldn't sleep, so i wrote this in one go. please excuse the inconsistencies. i hope you guys enjoy. i may write an epilogue ^^ — reblogs comments & likes are appreciated.

11.6k

3 years previous.

“let’s give a round of applause for your valedictorian– caleb xia!”

the sun is brutal, but caleb looks unbothered standing at the podium—uniform crisp, cap tilted just right, smile at ease. he scans the crowd, his face unbroken by the intense amount of bodies that showed up for today’s celebration. the applause fades. the wind shifts. and then he starts his speech.

“i thought flying would be the best thing that ever happened to me.  i trained for it. worked for it. sacrificed a lot to get here. i made a lot of friends– a lot of life long connections. but somewhere along the way, something… better happened.”

his voice doesn’t shake. doesn’t rush, cool and calculated. he glances down at his notes like he needs them– but it’s not his notes it’s his bad drawing of a plane. must’ve gotten the wrong paper on his way here. he clears his throat, very well so improvising.

“i’ve written this speech more times than we’ve flown in the simulations. i wanted to write about everyone that helped pave the way for me, but, you see, the best part of my life didn’t come from the sky. it came from someone who kept me grounded. someone who made sure i never forgot who i was when everything else got loud. she sat through my late-night calls, my stress meltdowns, my terrible ramen phase. and she’s the reason i’m still standing here, sane, intact, and apparently valedictorian.”

there’s light laughter, scattered claps. he holds up a hand. but he’s not looking at his classmates. he’s looking straight at you.

“can you come up here for a second?”

you blink. once. twice.  you point at yourself like an idiot. caleb just nods. still smiling and someone behind you shoves your shoulder gently. “go, go!” you stumble forward, heat crawling up your neck. you can feel everyone watching, whispering, wondering. your heels were the only noise that was heard as it clicked across the pavement. his classmates cheer.

caleb reaches his hand out to help you onto the stage like this is a movie and he’s memorized every line. you lean in, voice low. “what are you doing?” and he doesn’t answer. instead, he pulls a small box from his uniform pocket. and just– goes down on one knee. your eyes widen, lungs deplete of air. the air vanishes. the world stops.

“i want to fly a thousand missions and still come home to you.  i want to grow old with you before i grow old in the cockpit. you are the love of my life, and i can’t envision my life without you.…..will you marry me?”

gasps. someone in the crowd yells “holy shit!” caleb’s hand doesn’t shake. his eyes are soft. wide open and waiting for your response. your body was stilled, it was just so mesmerized at this moment. you don’t cry right away. you’re too stunned.  but you nod. and laugh. and nod again. and then tears flow.  you cried at how, despite that this was his moment ,he decided to share it with you– decided to share it with the one he loved the most.

“yes,” you say. then again, louder: “yes!”

the crowd erupts. his classmates lose it. someone sets off a confetti popper they definitely weren’t cleared to bring. caleb slips the ring on your finger and pulls you into his arms, spinning you like the cliché he swore he wasn’t. you don’t care. you’re dizzy. you’re full. you’re his. and for one perfect second,  the sky has never felt closer.

the knock is soft, almost hesitant at first—three measured taps that echo in the hallway like a heartbeat. you’re curled up on your couch, the low hum of the tv a distant comfort, when the sound reaches you. for a moment, every instinct tells you it’s caleb; maybe he’s finally returned, his voice promising that he’d surprise you with flowers and that worn-around-the-edges smile. you set aside the book you were pretending to read, rise slowly, and shuffle toward the door with bare feet and trembling anticipation.

when you swing the door open, the sight that meets your eyes makes time momentarily stop. there is no caleb, no familiar face framed by the doorway– just two military officers in crisp uniforms, their expressions a blend of duty and gentle sorrow. one of them, a woman, taller than the other, offers a respectful nod while the shorter man carefully holds out a small, unassuming box. resting on top of the box is a folded flag, pressed down as if to protect it from the chill of the unknown. the flag’s fabric is soft and worn. it looks reverent. of the highest importance. the most precious gift to be given. its creases speaking of countless memories. you feel a sudden, disorienting numbness replace the hope you’d clung to just moments before.

“good morning ma’am. are you mrs. xia? colonel caleb’s wife?” you steel your nerves, as you give a meek nod. 

the three of you stand there, intensity piling over each other nonstop. your eyes start to water, as one of them start to speak, “we.. regret to inform you..” the man says, voice low, smooth, practiced, “colonel caleb xia-” and that’s when it breaks you. you were about to face the music. face the fact that they’re about to announce that your husband, childhood best friend, the man of your life.. “..-was involved in a flight incident three days ago. a systems malfunction. his aircraft lost contact over the water- and there was no distress signal. search and rescue operations have ceased as of this morning.” 

presumed. lost. presumed lost. presumed. presumed. 

the words echo in your skull like your heartbeat as if it wont sync with the rest of you. the officer keeps talking, and you don’t register most of it. words like sacrifice, and service, feel far away. like they’re happening to someone else. not to you. 

your knees buckled, but your legs don’t give up. your throat is stuck. you couldn’t say anything. the pain that was slowly boiling over as the officer set’s the box down on your coffee table. as she walks past you once more, she doesn’t meet your eyes, but leaves you with one final sentiment, “we.. offer our deepest condolences.” she says gently as they leave. your chilled fingers find their way to the doorknob, closing it gently. 

as the officers walk to their vehicle, they hear a blood curdling scream coming from your house. followed by screams of crying. they tense up, as they head into the car, forlorn amongst each other. 

you stare at the box. the box sits there on your coffee table, untouched and solemn, as if it holds the final echoes of his laughter, the soft echo of his whispered promises, and the bittersweet memory of a love that once soared higher than any runway. in that quiet moment, every fiber of your being is caught between the hope of a return and the harsh, unyielding pain of loss—a loss that is carved into each fold of the flag resting there, a silent tribute to the life that was, and the heart that must now learn to continue without him.

the room feels too big now. it stretches wide and hollow, filled with quiet corners that used to hold his voice. your body is folded in on itself on the living room floor, back pressed to the couch, legs drawn tight to your chest, like curling inward might make the ache stop echoing.

the tv still hums softly in the background, forgotten, casting dim light across the walls that shifts every time the screen changes. none of it feels real. it’s like you’re watching yourself from far away—like you’re not really here, not really in this moment, not really alone.

for a while, you try to pretend it’s not real.  you stare at the floor. you pick at the skin around your thumbnail until it bleeds. you blink too fast to see straight. you wait for someone to wake you up.

but no one does.

you don’t even realize you’re crying until your lips part and the first sob slips out—shaky, strangled, helpless. like your body is trying to warn you that this is going to hurt more than anything else ever has.

your face burns with pain. tears stain your face and neck, as if you have cried for years. your hands tremble at the sight of that fucking flag. that fucking flag that doubles down as a reminder that he was fucking dead. you were slowly unraveling. becoming ballistic. 

your face crumples and the sound that follows is raw. ugly. gutted. you press your forehead to your knees and cry like you’ve never cried before– like it’s ripping something from inside you just to let it out. your shoulders shake. your breath stutters. you grip your sleeves so hard your knuckles ache.

you cry for the stupid way he used to tap on your door in threes.  you cry for the voice that used to call you “baby” like it meant something holy. you cry for the way his arms wrapped around you perfectly, like you were the most priceless item in the world. the way he would wake up early just so he could take care of your daughter without you having to do it first. the silly plans he makes for you when you had a hard day. just to see you smile. you cry for the fact that your baby will never see her father ever again. 

you cry because he promised he’d come back. and now there’s a flag sitting on your coffee table instead.

when the sobs finally slow, you’re left in the quiet aftermath—your body trembling, your cheeks sticky with tears, your throat raw. the room is still. the only thing you can hear is the soft hum of the refrigerator and the muted static from the tv you forgot to turn off.

you lift your head.

your eyes land on the box again. it hasn’t moved. but something in you has. your heart thuds unevenly as you crawl forward on shaking hands and knees, closing the space between you and the thing that holds whatever’s left of him. you hesitate when you reach it. your hand hovers above the lid, fingers twitching. your breath catches.

you don’t want to know what’s inside.  you don’t want to see the things he left behind.  but not knowing hurts worse. because at least if you open it, part of him will still be here. you press your hand to the cardboard. it’s warm from the sunlight filtering through the window, but the weight of it is cold in your chest.

you let your palm slide to the flag. the fabric is soft, neatly folded, impossibly precise. you wonder who folded it. if their hands were gentle. if they cried.

your fingers curl around the edge of the box.  and with a breath that doesn’t feel like enough,

you lift the lid.

and the world goes quiet again.

your fingers grip the edge of the lid and lift slowly, carefully—like opening it too fast might break whatever’s inside.  the cardboard creaks. the air shifts… and then it’s open.

you don’t know what you expected. maybe you thought it would feel colder. heavier? louder? but it’s quiet. inside are his things. small and simple. personal. they sit still, like they’ve been waiting for you.

your hands tremble as you reach in. the first thing you pull out is his flight jacket—brown and worn, creased in all the places you remember him folding it. the left sleeve still has your hair tie around it. the one he stole from your nightstand. the one you never asked him to give back.

you press the jacket to your chest and close your eyes for a second. it still smells like him. like apple soap, his favorite that he stocked up on at the flea market, and jet fuel and something warm you can’t name. you hold it a little longer before laying it gently on the couch behind you.

next, there’s a ziplock bag. inside is a small flash drive, black with a chipped corner.  You recognize the sticker stuck to the front. his messy handwriting. your name. a little heart next to it.  you don’t touch it yet.

you pull out a small notebook. it’s filled. the cover is creased, the spine soft from being carried around too much. you flip it open to a random page that was sticking out and find his handwriting again—neater than you remember. a list of things he wanted to do when he came home.

go to that lake and teach her how to ride a bike learn to make bouquets for wifey fix the chair in the bedroom or she’ll kick my ass again go on a date. super overdue. 

your vision blurs again. you blink hard. your thumb brushes over the last line, like touching it might make it real. beneath the notebook is a small envelope. no postage. no seal. your name is written across the front in ink that’s faded just slightly at the edges. you set it down gently, like it might explode. every touch made you feel hotter. like you were about to erupt yourself.

and then– at the very bottom– is a photo.

creased. softened at the corners. well-loved. it’s one of you.  you’re smiling, barely looking at the camera, sunlight catching in your hair. he must’ve taken it when you weren’t paying attention. on the back, written in pen:

love of my life. my heart. my once-in-a-lifetime

your tears didn’t give you any time. your hiccups come fervently. you crouched down, your forehead hitting the dark floor, not caring if the impact hurt you in the slightest. your hands balled into a fist– as you slammed down on the floor repeatedly. this was a curse. did you piss off a god? did they want to punish you? you wailed, not caring if neighbors or a passerby hears you. 

the first time he took you flying.

the airfield was quiet that afternoon, touched with golden light and the distant hum of activity. caleb had been pacing near the hangar, hands shoved into his flight suit pockets, pretending he was calm. pretending this wasn’t a big deal but it was. you knew it and he knew it too.

he’d talked about this day for weeks. “when the weather’s perfect, and the schedule clears… i’ll take you up. just us.”  and now here it was– sunlight stretching across the tarmac, barely a breeze, and the world wide open.

“you sure you’re ready for this, lieutenant?” you teased as you approached, backpack slung over one shoulder, sunglasses half-slipping down your nose. “don’t call me that,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “you make it sound so formal.” “you’re about to fly a whole ass plane with me in it, caleb,” you said, grinning. “that’s kindaaa formal.”

he didn’t laugh—not at first. he just stared at you for a second, lips pressed together like he was holding something back. his fingers twitched at his side. not nerves about flying. you’d seen him pilot with calm precision under pressure.

no. this was different.  this was you.

you followed him out to the jet, heart racing. it wasn’t big, but it was beautiful– sleek lines, pale blue paint kissed by sun. the cockpit door was already open.  he helped you up the steps like it was second nature. you didn’t need the help. he still offered.

inside, the cockpit was warm. the leather smelled like old vinyl and the faint smell of caleb’s cologne. you settled into the co-pilot seat, buckling in, glancing sideways just in time to catch the way his hands lingered on the controls—steady, but shaking. just barely.

“you okay?” you asked, quieter now. he nodded, adjusting a dial.  “yeah. just… haven’t done this ….with you before.”

you blinked. “you mean flying?” “no,” he said, turning to look at you. 

the plane hummed to life beneath you. the engine low and alive.

he looked at you like the sky had nothing on you.  like this– being here, with you– was the risk and the reward.

“you trust me?” he asked. you didn’t hesitate.  “always.” and god, the way his face softened. the way his eyes held yours for that extra second, like he was memorizing the way you said it.

then the wheels lifted from the ground, and the sky opened for you both. you looked over at him mid-flight—hands sure on the controls now, wind sweeping against the windows—and thought:

he was never more beautiful than when he flew.

the knock doesn’t wake you.

it’s the doorbell that does—bright and insistent, slicing through the heavy quiet like sunlight through curtains. you stir against the couch, body aching from how you must’ve curled up at some point during the night. your throat is dry. your eyes sting. your limbs feel like they belong to someone else. 

it takes a second to remember. then it all hits. the box. the photo. the letter you still haven’t read.

you sit up slowly, blinking against the light. your hand is still clutching the edge of his flight jacket, twisted in your sleep. you press your face into it once– just once– before the doorbell rings again.

you move on autopilot, feet bare, blanket slipping off your shoulders as you make your way to the front door. when you open it, you don’t expect her. you don’t expect them.

his sister stands there with a soft expression, one hand resting on the shoulder of the tiny girl standing beside her—the girl with his eyes.

your daughter.

you freeze in the doorway, one hand still gripping the edge of the frame. you’re not sure if your face is blotchy, if your hair is a mess, if your grief is still showing like blood beneath your skin. but she doesn’t say anything.

she just offers a quiet, “thought i’d bring her back a little early,” and a soft smile, almost apologetic. like she knows.

your daughter doesn’t wait.  she sees you and beams, eyes crinkling, arms lifting like flight.

“mommy!”

you kneel before you can think, before you can stop the tears that spring up all over again– this time, different. she crashes into your arms with the full weight of someone small and unbreakable, her hair smelling like strawberries and sunshine. you wrap her up. hold her so tightly it nearly hurts. she giggles against your shoulder. “you squishing me.”

“i missed you,” you whisper, voice barely there. “i drew you a picture,” she says proudly. “it has a plane in it. like daddy’s.”

your heart twists. your eyes close. you nod against her hair, swallowing hard.

caleb’s sister steps inside without needing to ask, her eyes scanning the living room, the box still open, the flag still folded, the quiet aftermath still lingering like smoke. she says nothing about it. just rests a hand on your back as you sit with your daughter, fingers brushing through her hair.

“do you want juice?” you ask, voice a little steadier now. “yes! and waffles.” you kiss the top of her head. “you got it, captain baby.”

she runs off to the kitchen like it’s the best morning in the world. you stay kneeling there on the floor for a moment, staring after her. the ache is still there. the hole caleb left behind hasn’t shrunk. but right now, in this soft, impossible moment, it doesn’t feel quite so wide.

because part of him is still here. in her laugh. in her joy.  in the way she runs like she’s never known anything but love.

you feel arms envelope you, like a cocoon. your sister in law pulls you in her arms, her voice trembling as her jaw tightens. “i’m sorry..” she musters as her tears land on your shoulder. she was strong in her own way. she was a rock to you when things went wrong. when you needed help she was there. she hadn’t even found out the news– but from her glance at the folded flag.. she knew… she knew..  she couldn’t even beat around the bush. 

the next day felt like death. 

you wake up in his hoodie. not because you meant to sleep in it, but because at some point in the night, you stopped trying to be strong.

your phone is buzzing. again. and again. you don’t want to check it.  you already know what you’ll see. but you do. thumb slow. screen too bright.

and there it is–  his name. everywhere.

not in headlines, not yet.  but in comments. stories. posts from people you barely remember.

“can’t believe it. he was the best of us.” “my heart goes out to his family.” “rest easy, colonel caleb xia.” “you were so loved, man. you didn’t deserve this.” “sending prayers to his girl and daughter.” “we’ll take it from here.”

the words blur..  you scroll until your thumb aches. you like none of them. you reply to no one. you close the app, but the weight of it stays. he’s gone. and now the world knows it. 

you ignore the messages and missed calls from your family and in laws. you even ignored his sister.

you hear footsteps– tiny ones– padding down the hall.

“mommy?”

you look up.  your daughter is standing in the doorway of the kitchen, still in her apple pajamas. hair wild. eyes puffy from sleep. she hugs her stuffed rabbit tighter to her chest.  the one caleb bought her.  the one she never sleeps without.

“when is daddy coming back? i’m starting to miss him.. he always makes me waffles when i wake up..”

your breath stops.

she says it like it’s happened before. like it’s normal. like she expects a phone call later. a video. a souvenir. you kneel slowly, legs weak beneath you. your hands reach for hers, steadying even though you’re anything but. “baby,” you say softly. “come here.”

she walks over, all sleepy and innocent, and crawls into your lap without hesitation. she rests her head on your shoulder, small fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. you rock her gently. back and forth. back and forth. and then— you try.

“remember how we talked about how daddy flies really high in the sky?” she nods. her voice is small. “with the big plane.” you breathe in. it hurts. like hell. “sometimes,” you whisper, “the people we love go up so high… they don’t come back down.”

she frowns, brows furrow, in that cute way she does when she doesn't understand. “but daddy always comes back.” you press your forehead to hers. your voice shakes. you didn’t plan this. how do you explain death to a child who still thinks love can fix everything? “i know, baby,” you say. “but this time… he couldn’t. something went wrong. and he had to stay up there.”

“he forgot?” the way her lip trembles nearly breaks you. “no, sweet girl. he didn’t forget. he would never forget us.” she’s quiet for a long time.

“is he… in the stars now?” she whispers. you nod, even though your eyes are full again. “yeah. he’s in the stars.” fuckfuckfuck- you rapidly look to your right, away from her eyes, so you can blink the tears away.

“can he see me?” you nod harder.  “always.”

she buries her face in your shoulder and says nothing. and you hold her like she’s the last tether to your heart. like maybe if you stay still enough, quiet enough, caleb might still be listening.

you rock her gently. back and forth.  the morning sunlight spills across the floor.  the phone buzzes again on the counter.  you ignore it. right now, the world can wait. you’re too busy holding what’s left of him.

it was a beautiful day. of course it was.

clear skies. gentle breeze. birdsong carried over the low hills of the memorial field like it didn’t know what today was. like it didn’t matter that the only thing missing from the funeral was the one person it was for.

they called it a ceremony. a tribute–  a celebration of life. as if any of those things made up for the fact that they never found his body. as if a flag folded with precision and placed on velvet could replace the man who used to carry your daughter on his shoulders through grocery stores. as if taps, played too perfectly, could echo louder than the silence he left behind.

you sit in the front row, wearing black you didn’t remember picking. hands clasped tightly in your lap, nails digging into your palms. your breathing is slow. measured. because if you breathe too fast,  you might feel it all. and you can't. not here. not now. not for her. 

caleb’s photo sits on an easel beside the podium. he’s smiling in it—smiling like he always did when you were behind the camera, like he was in on the secret that life could be beautiful. you can’t look at it.

the general speaks but you don’t hear him. his mouth moves, his voice low and reverent, but it all feels like it’s underwater. like someone pressed pause on the world and forgot to tell you. your fingers tighten around the small hand holding yours–  your daughter. sitting beside you in a navy blue dress she didn’t want to wear.

she doesn’t understand why there’s no casket. no goodbye.no daddy.

she fidgets in her seat. you glance at her once, eyes glassy, and see that she’s clutching her stuffed rabbit like it’s the only thing keeping her together.

someone begins to read caleb’s accomplishments.  his rank. his record. his honors.  you hear the word “sacrifice.” it lands like lead in your stomach.

your vision blurs, not from tears— but from distance.

you’re floating somewhere behind your own eyes, not really here, not really now. watching your body sit perfectly still while your heart bleeds out across the grass.

and then…

a sob.

not yours.

small. sharp.  your daughter.

“where’s daddy?”

the voice cuts through the speech. the silence after it is instant, jarring. you feel every eye shift.

her bottom lip quivers, hands balled into fists. she stands up, turns to the crowd, and says it again—louder this time, more broken:

“where’s my daddy?!”

your throat seizes. you try to reach for her but your arms feel far away. in a split second– she’s running towards the general.

“why isn’t he coming?!”

your vision breaks.  the disassociation splinters. everything crashes back into you— the sunlight, the wind,  the sound of her crying, the echo of a man they call fallen  but you still want to believe is just late. like he’ll burst out of wherever he’s hiding, and laugh at the sick and stupid joke.

your body doesn’t think, you’re already running towards her as you scoop her into your arms, dragging her back into the chair. her fists beat weakly against your chest, her wailing unmatched. “he said he’d come back!” she sobs. “he promised!”

you hold her so tightly you’re not sure where she ends and you begin.  you press your face into her hair and finally, finally cry. loud. unrestrained. not for the ceremony. not for the image. but because she said what you couldn’t. because she’s five, and she understands the truth you’re still trying not to choke on.

he’s gone.

he’s not coming home.

and you’re still here, letting her cry,  in a world where taps plays for people who never got to say goodbye.

everyone was gone.

they left with soft smiles and casseroles in their arms, careful condolences tucked into envelopes you haven’t opened yet. they whispered, they nodded, they touched your shoulder like grief could be comforted with just enough gentle hands.

but now it’s quiet again. just you, the breeze, the wildflowers at the edge of the memorial field.. and him– or what’s left of him.

your knees are pressed into the grass in front of the stone they gave him. it’s smooth.  too new.. his name carved into it like that makes it official. Permanent.

colonel caleb xia. loving husband, brother, and one hell of a pilot.

“you asshole,” you whisper.

it slips out soft, breathy. your voice cracks around it. you huff a laugh, and then the tears come–again.

“i can’t believe you left me here to raise a mini-you,” you say, rubbing your thumb over the stone . “she’s got your eyes. your smile. your attitude.”

you look up at the stone. at his name.  your chest tightens.

“you should’ve seen her today. she stood up and yelled at a man in uniform because she didn’t understand why you weren’t there.” your voice trembles. “i didn’t know what to tell her. how do you explain to a baby that her father is now a folded piece of cloth and a few medals in a box? a tombstone?” you wipe your face, trying to pull it together, but you’re shaking.

“and i can’t–i can’t do it like you could. i don’t know how to make waffles the way she likes them. i don’t know the airplane sounds you used to do at bedtime. she asked me last night if you still brush the stars with your plane and i–” you stop. you choke on the sentence. then laugh through the tears.

“you’d be so smug right now, wouldn’t you? hearing that. you’d say something like ‘told you she was gonna be a handful just like me.’ and then you'd flash that dumb grin and i’d want to punch you but kiss you at the same time.” you look down at the marble and press your hand over it.

“i miss your voice,” you whisper. “your stupid jokes. the way you used to braid my hair for me.” you look at the stone again, and something crumbles in your chest.. something deep. you couldn’t let go.. you don’t want to. coming to terms with him being gone would be the end of you, and you knew it. this was your soulmate. the soulmate who is now laid down in the ground, never to return, and you had to just.. live on? 

“god, i loved you,” you say.  and now you’re sobbing. “i loved you so fucking much.” you lean forward, forehead resting lightly against the stone. the breeze picks up around you, brushing through your hair, tugging gently at your sleeves. you felt delusional as you think that maybe the tugging was him in the afterlife.. some sort of comfort yields to you.

you close your eyes. you stay like that for a long time. just breathing. just existing in the space where he should still be. “i’ll take care of her,” you whisper finally. “i swear. i’ll make sure she remembers how soft your hands were. how you laughed when she tried to salute you. how you cried when she called you daddy for the first time.”

“but you’re gonna owe me for this,” you add, voice hoarse. “when i see you again, you’re explaining everything.”

you pause. smile, just barely. “and you’re making waffles.”

three days later

the house is quiet. the kind of quiet that feels heavy, like it’s waiting for something. your daughter’s at school. you packed her lunch this morning with shaking hands and kissed her forehead twice before she ran off with her backpack bouncing behind her. she’s resilient. But she’s tired around the eyes lately. quieter.  you didn’t say anything. she didn’t either. 

you told yourself you’d clean. maybe eat something. instead, you’re here. kneeling in front of the box again. the one that’s been sitting on the floor beside the couch since the funeral. untouched.  you’d meant to leave it closed for a while.  give yourself space. time.  but that never really helps, does it?

you open it slowly, like it’s a wound you’re reopening on purpose. his jacket still smells like him. the notebook still rests inside, half-written. the photo of you is curled slightly at the corners. you press it flat again without thinking.

and then–  the flash drive.

small. black. a little chipped at the edge, but still intact. your name is written on the sticker in his messy handwriting. next to it, a tiny drawn heart.

you hesitate.

then you stand, walk to your laptop, and plug it in. it hums quietly as the screen flickers to life.

two folders appear. one labeled "for you." the other, "for our girl." you click the first one. a single video file. “if something happens.”

your heart starts pounding before you even hit play, tears brimming to life as you read that. you click. and there he is. your breath catches so hard you nearly sob right there. he’s sitting in what looks like the base’s rec room—his hair a little messy, flight suit unzipped just enough at the collar, like he’d rushed to record this. he’s smiling. not nervous. not rehearsed.

just him.“ hey,” he says, and the sound of his voice– god, it hits like thunder. you felt a shock, like the first time you heard him talk all those years ago. “if you’re watching this, something went wrong. and i hate that. i hate that you’re hurting.  but i didn’t want to leave without saying what i needed to. i'm hoping i can delete this video after i come back from my flight.”

you press your hand to your mouth. his eyes are soft. like he’s looking right at you.

“i love you. not just the easy kind of love. not the kind that fades. the kind that roots itself in your bones.  the kind that makes you want to be better, because i get to come home to someone like you.”

you watch him as he pauses, running a hand through his hair. your tears cascading down to your collarbone and beyond. you take deep breaths as you swallow just as hard.

“you made everything make sense. you gave me a life i didn’t think someone like me could have. and our daughter–”

he swallows. his eyes shine just a little.

“she’s the best thing i’ve ever helped create. every time she smiles at me, i think, how the hell did i get this lucky? and i couldn’t wait to give her a brother. or a sister. or both. i wanted more mornings.  more bedtime stories. more bothering mommy while she’s doing her woman stuff.  more late-night snack raids. i wanted it all with you.”

your shoulders shake. tears are spilling down your face, hot and uncontrollable. you don’t try to stop them. his voice keeps going, steady, like it’s holding you.

“if i’m not there– please tell her every single day that i loved her.  that i still do. and that i was trying to come home.”

he smiles, soft and full of everything he never got to say in person. even though he was persistently smiling, you could tell that his eyes glossed. he was trying to hold himself together.

“there’s another file on here. it’s for her. just… in case she ever needs me at night. i love you..”

the video ends. the silence it leaves behind is deafening. you stare at the dark screen, your reflection, then look down at your hand. you sob into your hand for a long time. the kind of grief that splits you apart, the kind that wraps you in warmth and ache at the same time.

eventually, with trembling hands, you open the second folder. “for our girl.” another video. you recognize the cover of the book instantly.

“the airplane that could.”

 her favorite. you hit play. and there he is again.

this time, sitting cross-legged on her bedroom floor, the book open in his lap.“ okay, kiddo,” he says, voice soft. “bedtime story, dad edition. you ready? his one’s for brave girls who fly high and land even higher.”

you laugh through your tears, hand pressed to your heart, as his voice fills the house again. reading each word like he’s still here. like he never left. and for a few minutes, he hasn’t.

you don’t know how long you sit there.

the laptop screen dims every few minutes and you keep tapping the touchpad to wake it, desperate not to miss a second. your fingers hover near the video file like they’ve made a habit of it already. you watch the story once. twice. three times.

and on the fourth playthrough, you press your palm to the screen. his image is pixelated under your skin. but it’s his voice that gets you.

the way he makes the little airplane’s “zoom!” sounds. the way he laughs when he trips over a sentence and mutters, “she’s gonna call me out for that one.”  the way he pauses after the final line and says, “night, kiddo. dream big. daddy loves you.”

you rewind that last part. three times. you don’t realize you’ve been crying again until a drop falls onto the keyboard. you wipe it away and sniff, laughing softly—like he’d just caught you.

the sun’s shifted by the time you hear the door open. your daughter’s back from school, jacket half-off, hair windblown from recess. she drops her backpack in the hallway, calls out, “mommy?” you swipe your cheeks with your sleeve. “in here, baby.”

she walks in, still hugging her stuffed rabbit, and climbs up beside you on the couch. her head rests against your shoulder like she’s done it every day of her life.  you close the laptop for a moment.

“can i show you something?” you ask softly. she looks up. her eyes are wide, curious. “is it daddy?” you nod. “he made you something. before… before he left.” her lips press together, and for a second, you think she might say no. but then she nods. “okay.”

you open the file. press play. and you don’t watch the screen this time. you watch her. her eyes light up the second he speaks. “that’s daddy,” she whispers. her hand tightens around yours.

as he reads, she mouths along to her favorite parts. laughs when he makes the airplane noises. leans in when he says, “you can do anything, little flyer. you just have to believe.” you hear her whisper the words with him.  she’s memorized them. and when he finishes, “night, kiddo. dream big. daddy loves you.” she smiles through tears.

you’re crying again. silent. broken in the most beautiful way. she looks up at you.  “can we watch it again?” you nod.  “as many times as you want.”

and you hit replay. and you both sit there, curled together on the couch,  wrapped in a blanket watching the man you both loved  tuck her into sleep from somewhere beyond the sky.

a few days later

it’s raining. soft and steady, the kind of rain that doesn’t demand anything from you. the kind that just stays. your daughter is asleep—finally. she asked to hear “the airplane that could” twice tonight, and you let her. every word caleb read, every silly sound, every warm pause—it fills her room like he never left. you made tea but, you haven’t touched it.

instead, you sit on the floor of the bedroom in an old hoodie and sweatpants, the box beside you, your fingers resting on the envelope you still haven’t opened.  it’s thinner than you remember. lighter. but it feels like the heaviest thing in the world.

you run your thumb over your name again. the ink is slightly smudged, like he held it for a while before setting it down. and you take a breath– and you open it.

the paper shakes in your hands as you unfold it. it’s his handwriting. no doubt. you’d know it anywhere—slanted, a little messy, confident.

you read:

my girl, my woman, my wife, my life, if you're reading this, something happened. and if something happened, you’re hurting. and god, if i could change that, if i could tear the sky open just to get back to you, i would. i’d do it a thousand times.but this is my backup plan. because you always said i needed one. so here it is. my heart on paper.

your hand flies to your mouth. your eyes burn. you keep reading.

first: i love you. not just the everyday kind of love.  but the kind of love that made me rethink everything.  the kind of love that made base housing feel like a palace, made ramen feel like a meal, made 3am deployment calls feel like they could wait a few more minutes because you were still asleep on my chest. i love the way you laugh. the way you fight. the way you love. i love the way you yell at me from the hallway to get my clothes out of the washer. i want more with you. i wanted more. more babies. yeah, i said it imagine a tiny version of you with my ears–terrifying.  but perfect. i wanted to put another crib in the corner of our room. i wanted to teach our daughter how to ride a bike, and let you laugh at me when i ran beside her like an idiot. i wanted home with you. every version of it. i was gonna ask for the instructor position when i got back.  no more deployments. no more taking off without knowing if i’d come home. i was ready to teach. to stay. because you made staying feel like the only dream worth chasing.

you stop. your vision is too blurry. you blink, wipe your face, your chest heaving. but you keep reading.

but if i don’t come back– promise me something. i know that i told you before that i’m obsessed with you– deeply devoted– and i am. i always will be, and i wanted you to be the same.. but this is different now.. don’t put your heart in a box with my name on it. don’t shrink just to keep loving me. be happy. fall in love again if you want to. raise our daughter to be wild and brave and soft the way you are.and when the house is quiet, and the world feels big and empty, pull out the notebook. it’s all in there. the first day i saw you. the night i almost kissed you but chickened out. the fight we had over burnt toast. it’s messy. real. it’s me.and it’s yours. always yours. —caleb

your hands are shaking. you fold the letter against your chest and sob. not the sharp, sudden kind. this one is slow. broken. like letting go and holding on at the same time.

you reach into the box, pull out the notebook. the leather cover is worn. familiar. you press your lips to it.  you don’t open it. not yet. but you will.

and when you do, you know it’ll be like hearing his voice again. not a goodbye. just a continuation. just love, written in the only language he had left. you stare at your tea that’s been on your table this entire time. it was cold, long forgotten. you look at the window, watching and listening to the rain still hitting against the glass. finally, you look back at the book, tracing the edge of the notebook with your thumb for a long time. just sitting there. the only thing that matters is what’s inside this worn leather cover.

you open it slowly. his handwriting greets you like an old song. the first page is dated 6 years ago. early fall. just two weeks into your first year of college.

september 9 dorms are hell,  someone stole my towel and i think my roommate sleeps with his eyes open.but today i saw her. i don’t know her name. she was in the common room, sitting cross-legged in front of a vending machine like she was trying to make peace with it. said it ate her dollar and she refused to let it win. she had on a nasa sweatshirt that was way too big, and i think she’d forgotten she had a pencil behind her ear. she muttered something about orbital mechanics and kicked the machine. it gave her a snickers. i think i’m in love.

you laugh. it slips out through the tears, a sound you didn’t think you could still make.  a memory rises with it– you, hunched in front of that vending machine, furious and hungry and too broke to lose another dollar and him, standing behind you with a bag of chips and a look on his face like you’d just rewritten the sky.

you turn the page.

september 15 her name is gorgeous. she’s in my aero engineering lecture. i sat two rows behind her and spent half the class trying to think of something cool to say if we bumped into each other outside. i said “hey.” she said “you look like the kind of guy who brags about parallel parking.”i don’t know what that means but i think she’s right.

you cover your mouth, shoulders shaking with laughter and ache. god, he remembered every detail. the next few pages are scattered—little notes about campus, sketches of planes, scribbled song lyrics he never finished.  but you keep flipping. page after page of a boy slowly falling in love with a girl he hadn’t even kissed yet.

october 3 she said she wanted to be the kind of woman who builds things that fly. said it with her eyes half-closed, on the roof at 2am, wearing my hoodie like it already belonged to her. i don’t even remember letting her take it, but it looks better on her.  i told her i wanted to fly them. she said, “guess that means we’re stuck with each other.” i wanted to kiss her. i didn’t. i just said “yeah.” i should’ve kissed her.

you’re crying again. you hold the journal to your chest, just for a second. because he wrote these things for himself. but maybe, deep down, he always hoped you’d read them one day.

and now you are. and he’s here again,  word by word, memory by memory– falling in love with you on the page, like he never stopped.

you flip through the journal carefully, the pages worn and full of little smudges from where his hand must’ve lingered. his writing gets a little more rushed as the months go on—like his heart was moving faster than his pen could keep up.

you find it, tucked between two pages. a folded napkin taped inside– faded ink, the logo from that burger place near campus.  and beneath it, a date you’ll never forget.

october 14 – first date i picked her up at 7. i say “picked up,” but we both know i walked across campus in a panic, stopped twice to fix my jacket, and almost tripped on my shoelace outside her dorm. she was already waiting by the door. hair tied back. that stupid nasa sweatshirt again. she smiled at me and i forgot my own name.

you laugh, pressing your fingers to the page. you remember it exactly– how he blinked at you for a full five seconds before remembering to speak.

we went to that burger place with the wobbly tables and the jukebox that only plays sad 80s songs. she said she liked the milkshakes there. i said “me too.” i don’t even know how the milkshakes tasted. i just wanted to match her. she talked about stars and i listened like they were falling out of her mouth.

your chest aches. you flip the napkin up to read what’s scribbled underneath.

she drew a rocket on this napkin. i told her it looked like a shoe. she punched my arm. i’ve never felt more in love. after dinner we walked back to campus. slow. like we didn’t want the night to end. she said her favorite part was when i didn’t talk too much. i said my favorite part was when she laughed with her head tilted back. she said that was a dumb favorite. i said i was a dumb guy. and then– she looked at me. really looked. i stopped breathing. in love or terrified? the world may never know.

your heart’s pounding. you turn the page.

she asked me if i was going to kiss her or just stand there looking like a scared intern.i panicked and said “both?” she kissed me. it was fast. messy. perfect. she pulled away smiling.  i didn’t know where to put my hands.  i think i said “wow.” stupidstupidstupid she said, “took you long enough.”

your hands are trembling as you close the journal for a moment, hugging it to your chest.  you can still feel that night. the cool air. the neon lights of the diner behind you. the taste of vanilla shake on his lips. the way he looked at you like you were a miracle he’d never stop believing in.

he wrote it all down.  because even then–  he knew: he knew he’d love you forever.

you flip further into the journal. the entries start to space out a little, scattered between class notes, training schedules, coffee stains. but one page stands out—creased at the corners, the words pressed harder into the page like he couldn’t write them fast enough.

bold letters across the top:

november 17 – I WON.

you smile immediately.

i fucking won. nationals. first place. best time of my life. my lungs are burning. my legs feel like they might fall off.  my hands won’t stop shaking. and all i keep thinking is— she was there. she saw me. her voice was the only one i could hear.

you remember it. you feel it still—your throat sore from screaming, the way your hands ached from clapping, your whole body buzzing with pride.  you were near the front, right by the finish line. you jumped so high when he crossed, you nearly fell over the railing.

she was wearing my jacket. the big one. said it made her feel “official.” i saw her before the race—she blew me a kiss and said “don’t lose. i bet snacks on you.” i think that’s when i knew i had to win. couldn’t let her down. or lose snacks.

you laugh, pressing your fingers to the words. he was always like this—charming and ridiculous and so sincere it hurt.

when i crossed the finish line, i didn’t even look at the clock. i looked for her. found her jumping up and down, hands cupped around her mouth, yelling like she wanted the world to know i was hers. i’ve never felt more like i belonged to something.  not the medal. not the track. her. she ran down to meet me after. shoved people out of the way like it was life or death. she threw her arms around me before i could even catch my breath and kissed my stupid, sweaty face. said, “my champion.” i wanted to cry. i wanted to marry her. i will.

you close your eyes. the sound of the crowd still echoes in your ears. his arms around you, shaking from the race, from the weight of it all. how he buried his face in your neck like the win didn’t matter half as much as the fact that you were there. how he whispered, “i did it for you.”

he always did.

december 12 – i said it. i told her i love her. and i meant it so hard i thought my chest might give out.

your breath catches before you even turn the page.

it wasn’t supposed to happen like that. not that night. not like that. we weren’t dressed up. there weren’t candles. it was just us. just the couch.  just a shitty movie playing in the background. she was curled up next to me, stealing all the blankets. hair a mess. feet cold. skin warm. she was ranting about something—some professor she didn’t like, or the terrible sandwich she had for lunch.  and i wasn’t even listening. not really. i was just looking at her. and i thought, god. i love you. and it came out.  just like that. out loud.

your fingers tremble as you turn to the next page.

she stopped talking. just blinked. looked at me like i’d thrown a brick through the window. i panicked.  i froze.  i didn’t even try to take it back. i just said it again. “i love you.”and then, quieter: “i didn’t mean to say it right now. i just—i mean it.”

you laugh—soft, broken, a sound from somewhere deep.  you remember the way he said it.  like it had been sitting behind his teeth for months.

she stared at me for a second. and i swear, my whole life happened in that silence. then she kissed me.  slow. full. like she was trying to memorize me.. sappy... and then she whispered, “took you long enough.”

your chest tightens. your fingers press to the page like touching his words might let you feel him again.

i don’t care how long i live— that moment? that kiss? the way she smiled after? that’s the one i’ll take with me. that’s the one i’ll keep. forever.

you close the journal against your heart.  tears fall in silence. not from pain— not only. but from knowing, absolutely, that you were loved. so fully. so honestly. and that even now, he’s still loving you in every word he ever left behind. your lips tremble as you part your lips, “why’d you have to defend this country you stupid man.. you should’ve just became a fucking scientist or something.” you half laugh half hiccup as you held the journal tighter against you.

after some time you peel from it, readying yourself for the next excerpts.

april 4 – first time. i don’t know how to write this without it sounding like every dumb teenage diary in every coming-of-age movie, but— we slept together. and yeah, it was sex.  but it was more than that. it was her hands in my hair when i couldn't stop shaking.  it was how she made me feel safe even when i felt like i didn’t know what the hell i was doing. i’ve never been looked at like that before.  like i was something worth loving. like i could mess up and still be enough. she kissed my shoulder after and whispered,  “we’re good, yeah?” and i said,  “we’re so good, baby.” and i meant it with every damn cell in my body.

august 28 – the scare. she was late. not by a day. by five. i didn't sleep the whole week. and it’s not that i wasn’t ready—hell, i don’t know if anyone’s ever ready.  but i wasn’t scared of being a dad. i was scared of what it might do to her. of her giving up the sky she wanted for diapers and night feeds and stress.but when she told me it was a false alarm— we just sat in the bathroom, laughing.  half from relief, half from how stupidly close we felt to everything changing. and i think that’s when i knew. if it had been real, i’d have loved that kid so hard they’d never doubt who their father was. because she’d be the mother. and that alone would’ve made them magic.

february 2 – ring shopping, kinda.  okay, okay.  technically i said we were helping james pick out a ring for his girlfriend. technically, that wasn’t a lie. but also, i wanted to see what she’d pick.  what made her eyes light up.  what styles she hated.  what made her whisper, “i could wear something like that forever.” and damn, she did. there was this one—gold, thin band, little oval-shaped diamond tucked in the center. she didn’t even say much about it. just touched the glass in front of it and smiled like she saw a future. our future. i didn’t buy it that day.  but i went back.  and i swear, when the time comes— i’ll put it on her finger like a promise. like everything i am belongs to her.

you didn’t think it would hit this hard.

you thought this one would be sweet. nostalgic. the kind of memory you keep behind glass and smile at when no one’s looking.  but the second your eyes land on the words

your throat tightens. you know this one.

you pull the journal closer, your thumb resting against the page, and you start to read.

may 25 – graduation. i asked her. i was valedictorian.  they called my name last. the applause was loud. i smiled, shook hands, made jokes. i gave a speech. i don’t even remember half of it. because all i saw was her. and i also forgot my speech paper at home.

your eyes sting immediately. you bite down gently on the inside of your cheek—like maybe if you anchor yourself hard enough, you won’t fall apart. you remember where you sat that day. front row.  wearing his jacket even though it was warm out. hands trembling in your lap.

she was front row. wearing my jacket. eyes red from crying. hands clutched in her lap like she was trying not to run up onstage and tackle me.

you let out a shaky breath, tears sliding slowly down your cheek.  it’s like watching a memory through someone else’s eyes—but it’s yours. it always was.

i had the ring in my pocket the whole time. heart racing so hard i thought it would give out. after the speech, i asked her to come up.  she looked confused. nervous. and when she finally walked up there— i dropped to one knee in front of the entire class.

you smile through the tears. god, the way the crowd erupted.  how you covered your mouth and shook your head in disbelief, even though you knew. you always knew.

i said, “i want to fly a thousand missions and still come home to you.  i want to grow old with you before i grow old in the cockpit. will you marry me?” and she said yes.

you press your fingers to your lips, like you can still feel the kiss you gave him onstage—fast, breathless, the only answer you could give.  Yes.  a hundred times yes.

i’ve never won anything more important.  not the title. not the speech. her. she’s it.

you close the journal slowly, but your fingers stay pressed to the cover, unmoving.

his handwriting still lingers behind your eyelids. the way he wrote her—not even your name, just her, like it was enough.  like it said everything. and maybe it did. you lean back against the couch, cradling the journal like a heartbeat.  your voice is barely a whisper when you say it out loud.

“you were it for me too.”

you open to the next entry. the page feels heavier.

september 10  – wedding day. i don’t know where to start. maybe with the way her hands shook when she laced them with mine. maybe with how she kept adjusting her veil like it wasn’t already perfect. maybe with the way i saw her walking toward me and forgot how to breathe.

you exhale shakily. your hand lingers on the ink where he pressed a little harder—where he wanted the words to stay loud, like that moment still echoed in his chest.

she looked like sunlight.  like warmth. like she was born to ruin me and rebuild me in the same breath. and god, she did.

you smile through the tears, lips trembling. you remember the way he cried first. you remember laughing at him—softly, not to tease, but because it was so unmistakably caleb to weep like that and pretend he wasn’t.

she made fun of me for crying.  i said, “have you seen yourself?” she rolled her eyes.  and then she promised forever. and i promised it back. with every cell in my body.

your smile was forlorn. you stared at this entry just a bit longer than the others.. eventually you flip to the next entry, dated not long after.

november 14 –she’s pregnant. i’m writing this with both hands shaking. she told me this morning. came into the room holding that little test like it was a secret, like if she said it too loud the moment might disappear. i was brushing my teeth. i almost dropped the toothbrush. and then she said, “you okay?”and i said, “i think i’m in love with you all over again.”

you cover your mouth. you remember the way he dropped to the floor like his legs gave out. how he kissed your stomach before you even had a bump.  how he whispered, “we’re gonna be parents,” like it was something holy.

she kept pacing. said she wasn’t ready. said she was scared.and all i could think was— i get to build a life with her. a home. a child who’s half her, half me.and if this baby has even an ounce of her fire— the world better watch out. …maybe we should name it apple.

your eyes squeeze shut. your hand shakes against the page.

 august 12 –  she’s here. our daughter. i don't even know how to start this. i've rewritten the first line seven times. nothing feels big enough. no words feel like they belong to what just happened. but she's here. our little girl. and she’s perfect. her name sounds different when i say it out loud now.  heavier. real.  it used to be a name we whispered over dinner. a maybe. a dream. now it’s a person. a whole person. and she has my eyes. i swear to god the second they handed her to me— i thought the whole world paused. like even time wanted to watch.

you smile through the tears. your fingers rest over the date on the page, like holding it might take you back to that room—where everything changed.

you flip through more pages, just details of his experiences with your daughter. he was sweet, adoring, and the sweetness may have fooled you if your eyes didn’t land on this page;

february 18 –  i’m leaving in the morning. deployment orders came in. she tried so hard not to cry. held our daughter in one arm, kissed my cheek, told me she’d hold the sky down till i came back. she always says things like that—poetic and steady.  like if she can speak it into the world, it’ll make it true.i wanted to believe her. i do believe her. but i’m scared. not of the mission.  not of flying. i’m scared of missing too much.

march 4 – base is loud. hot. everyone’s tired. i think about them all the time. i have a picture taped to the inside of my locker—one of the three of us on the couch, blankets everywhere, popcorn stuck to our shirts. my daughter’s head is in her mom’s lap.  her mom is laughing. i look like i’ve already won the war. i stare at that photo every morning before briefing. whisper to it,  “i’m coming home. wait for me.”

you flip through more entries, until you get to the last page. you almost didn’t want to read it. head light, breath staggered, the paper felt thinner now. you take a deep breath– or as best as you possibly can, and continue.

may 3 – in case something happens. i need this written down. i don’t know why i feel like writing this now.  maybe it’s just a quiet night.  maybe the wind sounds different. maybe love makes you preemptive. just in case. if i don’t make it home— if you’re reading this—god, i hope you know i loved you with everything i had. from the moment you kicked a vending machine to the day you said “i do.”  from the time you placed our baby girl in my arms to the last voice note you sent before this mission. you’ve been my gravity.  my sky. my reason to fight, and the softness i always returned to. and if i don’t get to hold her again—  tell her i never stopped trying.  tell her she’s brave like her mommy.  and kind. and funny. and too smart for this world. tell her i was hers from the first time i felt her kick. and you. you, baby— live. laugh again. love again. fall asleep in someone’s arms and know that it’s okay. you were my forever. and i’ll be waiting at the edge of every sky. until you find me again.

his final entry is burned into your mind. the words feel heavier than paper has any right to be.  your hands are shaking. your lips part like you want to say something, maybe to him, maybe to the empty room—  but nothing comes out. just air.  shallow. trembling.

you press the journal to your chest like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the earth.  and then it hits. not slowly. not gently. like a punch straight through your ribcage. the kind of grief that doesn’t knock. it takes. your body curls in on itself. your shoulders begin to shake.  and the first sob breaks out of your throat like it’s been waiting days to escape. you try to muffle it— fist pressed against your mouth, breath caught halfway between a gasp and a cry.  but it keeps coming. a second sob. then a third. and then you’re full-on breaking.

you bury your face into the hoodie still stained with his cologne, the one you’ve worn three nights in a row.  your knees draw up to your chest, arms wrapped tight around yourself like you’re trying to hold your heart in place.

you can’t wake her.  your daughter is down the hall. so you cry as quietly as you can. but the pain still slips through.  in your breathing. in the way your body rocks slightly like he used to do when she cried in the middle of the night.  like you’re trying to soothe yourself the way he would’ve done.

you were my forever.  and i’ll be waiting at the edge of every sky.

your hand presses to your mouth to stifle the next sob, but it still escapes—loud enough to crack through the silence,  not loud enough to wake her.

you whisper his name. once.  twice.  like a prayer that’ll never stop aching.

and then, quieter: “i miss you, caleb. i don’t know how to do this without you.”

you sit there in the dark, with his words against your heart and your tears soaking the only piece of him you still have left to hold. and for the first time in days,  you let yourself fall completely apart. because tonight,  you don’t have to be strong. not for her.  not for anyone.

just for this—  this goodbye you never got to say, and this love that never stopped living inside you.

a few days later

the house is quiet. soft sunlight spills through the kitchen windows, painting the floor in gold. the kind of morning that doesn’t ask much of you, just presence. just breath.

you’re at the sink, mindlessly rinsing dishes that weren’t even that dirty. the journal still lives on the table behind you. closed, but not untouched.  you haven’t opened it again—not yet. you will. just… not yet.

and then— the front door swings open.

“mommy!” your daughter calls, her voice high and full of breathless excitement.

you turn, startled. she’s carrying a basket. no, dragging it, really—too big for her tiny hands, but she’s determined. a woven handle hangs off her wrist, stuffed to the brim with pastel-colored wrapping and little ribboned items peeking through the top.

she marches straight into the kitchen and sets it down with a loud thud.  you blink at it.

“baby… what’s all this?”

she beams, huffing and puffing, “lukey and kiereny’s dad gave it to me at pickup! he said it’s for you!” you freeze. luke and kieren. you know those names. they’re in her class. and their dad— that’s…

you kneel down slowly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “he gave you this? for me?”she nods hard.  “he said it was to make you feel better. and he said you could call him if you were sad.” you glance at the basket—carefully curated, clearly thoughtful.

bath bombs in calming scents. artisan chocolate. a small jar of lavender honey. a soft-rolled pair of cozy socks.

and nestled between everything, a sealed envelope with your name written across it.

you take it with gentle fingers. your daughter leans against your arm, watching. you unfold the note.

i’m sorry for your loss. i understand how you feel. if you ever need anybody, don’t hesitate to reach out to me.

— sylus

and below was his phone number.

you read it twice. then a third time. short. simple. but it lands softly in your chest like something warm against all the cold. he didn’t overstep. didn’t try to fix it.  he just… offered his hand.

you let out a slow breath, blinking hard. “do you know him?” your daughter asks, looking up at you. you smile—small, tired, but real.  “not really,” you say. 

“but maybe i will.”

[angstywaifu]

Someone Caught Feelings - Garrick Tavis

Summary/Request: You and Garrick have a no strings attached arrangement, but what happens when your feelings for him get revealed.

A/N: This contains spoilers for Onyx Storm. If you have not read Onyx Storm or past a certain cake moment. Do not read.

I can’t help but watch Garrick as he continues to chop up the rest of the wood for the campfire we’re all gathered around on the beach. We’d barely had time to rest over the last few days, meaning I’d barely had time to process anything that’s happened.

Mainly the fact Garrick hadn’t died. I don’t remember much of what happened, other than someone having to hold me back as I launched myself at our hosts. All I’d seen was red. Wanted to spill their blood on the table we’d all sat at and eaten with them. Great way to keep my feelings hidden. At least Garrick had been unconscious for that. Had no idea that I’d lost it.

This no strings attached arrangement we had was slowly forming strings from my end. For the first few months it was easy. At night we’d enjoy each others company, and during the day we’d act as friends. Able to separate the two with ease. Till recently when it became harder and harder for me not to enjoy his company. Notice every damn thing about him. Notice whenever had came into a room, notice how he moved and fought, how he touched me…. I was going to have to end our arrangement before I slipped up and revealed how I felt.

”All I have felt on me the last few days is your eyes.” Garrick states as he sits next to me, startling me from my thoughts. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with how you reacted the other day?”

Shit. How the hell did he know? I do my best to hide my shock as I turn my attention to the fire in front of us that Mira and Drake are currently trying to cook our dinner on.

”I reacted just like everyone else.” I tell him, a blatant lie I know he sees through when he scoffs at me.

I jolt back when I feel his nose skim my ear, his hazel eyes pinned on me with a hint of amusement. “That’s not what Xaden told me.” He murmurs as he smirks at me.

”A Xaden who was busy trying to keep you alive.” I state, hoping the tinge from the fire hides the flush working its way onto my cheeks from embarrassment on being caught out.

”You know all too well Xaden sees everything. And he definitely didn’t miss as Dain having to stop you from murdering our lovely hosts, or the way you lost it when Aaric said I wasn’t breathing.”

”You were practically dead. We all panicked.” I tell him bluntly.

”True, but no one as much as you. Which has me curious. Why did you react like that? We’re just friends with a… mutually beneficial arrangement. Unless.” He drawls as he cocks his head to the side, his damn dimple popping as his smirk deepens. “Someone caught feelings.”

I don’t give him a visual reaction, but with how damn fast and loud my heart is beating right now, I’m surprised he doesn’t hear it.

”You’re my friend. Of course I’d be worried and upset over you being practically dead. There’s nothing else to it.” I snap at him as I stand up and turn my back on the fire as I walk down the beach.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I angrily wipe my eyes in an effort to stop the tears that decided to try make an appearance as I storm down the beach and away from everyone. I couldn’t let Garrick see me like this, it would only confirm his suspicions on how I felt. And I couldn’t let that happen. No. I had to make him think I was angry at him for pushing me on this, for insinuating I had feelings. And then, when we were back at Basgiath I could call this stupid arrangement off and try move on. I’m too busy storming down the beach to notice the rushed footsteps behind me and gasp when a strong hand grasps my elbow and spins me around to face a very concerned Garrick. I watch as his eyes take in my watery eyes, the skin around them probably red tinged from me trying to force the tears away.

”You do. Don’t you?” He asks me, his voice much softer than before, void of the cockiness from a few moments earlier.

”Fine. I do.” I admit angrily as I step out of his grasp, throwing my arms wide. “I fucked up and caught feelings. So I guess that’s the end of this arrangement we have.”

Instead of Garrick agreeing with me and saying it’s done he just stares at me. The sad look is still on his face, but instead of nodding or walking away he shakes his head. No. He’s saying no. Why is he saying no to ending our arrangement? That was our agreement. That if it became more than just friends having sex, it was done.

”No. It is not over.” He tells me as he steps back into my space, grasping my hips in his hands as he pulls me flush against him, leaning down to rest his forehead against mine. “This is far from over. Sgaeyl showed Chradh what Xaden saw. I saw how you reacted. Saw your heart break when Aaric said I wasn’t breathing and when I collapsed. Saw everything in you snap when you thought you were going to loose me. And as fucked up as this is to say, it made me so damn happy to see you react that way. Because then it wasn’t me who had also gotten feelings.”

”Y-you what?” I nearly yell at him in shock, causing Garrick to chuckle at my outburst.

He reaches up and cups my face in his hands, thumbs caressing my cheek as he smiles down at me. “I. Have. Feelings. For. You.” Accentuating every word that falls from his mouth as if making sure I understand exactly what he is saying.

Which I do. I understand every word that falls from his mouth. But I still somehow don’t believe it. ”

Why? Why me?” The question slipping from my mouth before I can stop it, probably sounding like an idiot.

”Because it just felt natural with you. At first it was just sex, I won’t deny that. But over time I found myself wanting you instead of wanting sex. I wanted to spend more time with you, wanted to hear those noises you make fall from your lips over and over again. You were consuming my brain every waking moment. And there was nothing I could do to stop it. And I didn’t want to stop it.”

I look behind him, to see the others still struggling with dinner, completely oblivious to us being gone. I reach up and grab his hands, pulling him towards the trees, his cocky smirk back on full display.

”Lets see how many times you can get those noises to fall from my lips before dinner is ready then.” I tell him as we cross the tree line and pull his lips down to mine.

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

So You Wanna 'Revive' Your Show

Hi Tim. This took me like ten minutes because I actually have two brain cells to rub together. <3

Give the 911 call center more to do. Linda and Sue especially in my opinion.

Go back to what made the show great in the first place which was the core characters becoming/being a family.

Mix up the dynamics. Remember Chim and Bobby's friendship in season one? Hen and Athena's bestieism? Bring that back along with some lesser seen dynamics. I want more of Chim and Karen's friendship. Have Maddie and Bobby work together on something. Pair Athena and Eddie together and have Athena realize just how like her husband Eddie is (and maybe in doing so they help each other get perspective on other things).

Give Bobby a promotion and have him deal with that (although so soon after he quit being an advisor and was clearly enjoying being captain might not work but something to consider).

Have Athena retire and become a private investigator.

More fun filler episodes. A bottle episode where they have a boring day at the station. An episode made up entirely of B shift or the non-firefam members of A shift like SG-1's The Other Guys. An episode entirely from Jee-Yun's point of view showing a young child's perspective of crazy silly adult drama. Boys Night Out/Girls Night Out a la Leverage. "Alternate universe" episodes like Bones' season four finale and Castle's Blue Butterfly episode.

Keep Buck single for a while and give him a safe haven baby. Another way to bond with Hen and Karen over adoption, another way to bond with his sister, and another way to bond with Bobby by making him a grandfather. And oh, hey, Eddie, you want to help me coparent?

Maybe stop having all of Eddie's important shit happen offscreen, I don't know if there's BTS beef or what but grow the fuck up and keep it out of the script. Professionalism, heard of it?

Make Buddie canon. Yes my bias is showing but it's what a large percentage of your audience and media reporters have been clambering after for years. Put guns to heads if you must. Jesus. You want to revitalize the show that's literally the number one way to do it. You dumbasses.

Okay I always said I didn't want it and I still don't but fine. fine! do a musical episode! if that's the price of Bobby's life I'll fucking pay it!!!

Maybe relearn the concept of arcs that last an entire season and not just two-three episodes.

Michael and David have a destination wedding and every single firefam member encounters some kind of emergency, either life-threatening or comedy-of-errors, that means they all show up looking like they got run over by trucks.

RASHOMON EPISODE. For either dramatic or comedic effect. Or both.

Everyone loved the heist episodes like The Taking of Dispatch 9-1-1 and Ocean's 9-1-1. Like come on you fuckwit let the show be fun again.

Actually commit to giving any of the main characters a pet. I know everyone wants Buck but it could be Athena and Bobby, Hen and Karen, Maddie and Chim... personally I would love to see Eddie get hit by the Cat Distribution System.

Firefighters do charity drives all the time, go to schools to do talks about fire safety - show the team interacting with the local community more. Show the parents interacting with their kids' schools or the parents of their friends' kids a bit more. I want to see Eddie and Karen fight the PTA.

It's not hard. That's what gets me. You don't actually worry about the show becoming stagnant. You just wanted to do a really big shocking holy shit episode that everyone would be talking about, forgetting that truly good shows earn those. Shit shows that pull that kind of nonsense lose their audience and get cancelled. You did it because you're a mediocre, boring, never-quite-popular-enough egotist with an inferiority complex who was luckily born with a dick so you fell upward your entire career, and you orgasm to other people's pain.

And for once in my life? I hope cast/crew do know my tumblr. I hope they are on here. I hope they fucking read this, and I hope they print it out and tape it to your office door and every other door on set they can manage like Martin fucking Luther. I want you to go to bed at night knowing you are despised and that a starving barely-breaking-even idiot who wrote a stripper!Buck fanfic knows more about television writing and comes up with better ideas than you do.

To quote David Lynch, fix your heart or die.

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS THE EPILOGUE

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @flipthepaige @wbbgetsmewetter @mariahthealchemist @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @makethemhoesmad @slvt4her @luvapaigeeyy @hedidnotpleaseme @paigesbabygirl @mopopshop @omg-imtumbling @numberonepartyanth3m @wbb4l @authentic-girl03 @slut4uconnwbb @kplum10 @avvwritesstufff @paigesluver @bueckersbitch @ryywyd @lupinqs @unadulteratedcyclepaper @ohmybueckers @ykylalex @hcneymooners @cherryswisherz

warnings 17.8k words, sexual content, a whole lotta paraye content!

kalena speaks 🪽! i fear the time has come to wrap up paige and raye’s story… but maybe i’ll post something for them again! who knows? this is long… like the longest thing i’ve ever written bc y’all know i love some plot 😊 thank you so much for all the love and all the support throughout it all, i hope you enjoy the epilogue with my babies 🥹

December 2025 — Aspen, Colorado 

“Paige hurry up!”

“Ma, I’m trying!”

Weightless snowflakes fall from the sky and onto the wood just below my feet. I’m not used to the cold, living in Georgia followed by California to blame for that.

My knees knock together slightly when a rush of wind blows over, Uggs on my feet, white snow suit pulled on top of layers of sweats and leggings to keep warm— with my hands stuffed into my pockets.

The scenery was beautiful, hills and the large Rocky Mountains covered in a thick blanket of snow. We had just gone skiing down it hours ago, and Paige taught me how to snowboard yesterday. String lights in the town illuminate a nice yellow hue. It’s the first time I’ve gotten to experience a white Christmas, even if it wasn’t actually Christmas yet.

The add on of having a secluded cabin to ourselves was a plus too.

“Baby it’s fucking freezing, God.” I hiss, watching her gloved fingers fumble with the key to the front door of the cabin. She cradles ski equipment in her hands, a large Nike backpack slung over her shoulder. And then there’s me, hands in my pockets watching her struggle with just a bit of amusement.

Paige looks cute, though it really isn’t much of a surprise. A black beanie is fitted onto her head and a black hood on top of that. She’s all bundled up in her winter clothes, snowsuit, beanie, swaddled in all black with an occasional touch of purple like a little kid going to school. Her skin is paler than normal and her nose and cheeks are reddened. Lips, pink, and smothered in vaseline. Her tongue sticks out of the corner of her lips, and I can tell she’s just a bit frustrated.

“I know that, Raye.” She grumbles. “I know you see me with all this shit in my hands.” 

I smirk, seeing her struggle after offering to help just minutes before brings a sense of pride to my body. I was right, as I tend to be.

“I told you I’d help, you just wanna be big dog sooooo bad.” I tease, rocking back and forth on my heels. My body leans against the wall, the dark wood barely even felt thanks to all the layers I wear.

“Shut up.”

“Give me the key.”

Paige thinks it over. I can see the way her mouth opens slightly and her eyes flutter when she blinks. Her lashes are long, dark from mascara and slightly damp from one too many tumbles in the snow.

But she hands it over anyway. So I unlock the door, doing it with a kind of ease that makes her cheeks flush more than they already have. “Ladies first.” I smile, holding open the door for her.

Paige ducks her head under the frame, fitting all six feet and some inches of her through the door. “Whatever.” She huffs like a baby, making me giggle behind her.

She kicks her boots off by the door, I follow suit with my own, before walking all of our equipment to the nearby closet.

The cabin is spacious, definitely more than enough for just the two of us, but we use up all the space anyways. The living room has two large couches that face one another, chairs and wood furniture surrounding them both. The nearby fireplace illuminates the room and its high ceilings. A Christmas tree sat bare in the corner until I convinced her to decorate it with me. It looks messy, like we just threw something together last minute—which we did— but still. It’s us.

Everything is comfortable, warm and snug— perfect for our first vacation together. 

It doesn’t take long before she’s chasing me up the stairs, some joke that she did not find very funny to blame for. I push my way into our bedroom, navigating to the bathroom and ridding myself of my layers.

“No way you wore that many clothes.” Paige deadpanned. She watches me pull my beanie off my head, followed by my zip-up hoodie. “You didn’t sweat in that?”

“I told you it’s cold out!” I breathe, still catching my breath from dodging her in the living room. “I’m from the south, Ion know shit about snow, P.”

Paige’s clothes fall as well, starting with her black hoodie and long sleeve compression shirt underneath. It leaves her in front of me in a sports bra and sweats hanging fairly low on her hips. “It's almost 30 degrees outside.” 

“Which is cold! Don’t gaslight me into thinking it’s not cold.” I laugh, shedding the rest of my clothes and turning on the shower faucet. 

The sound of the shower running nearly drowns out the blonde’s voice. So much so that she pulls me to her by my waist just so I can hear her.

My back is pressed to her now bare chest, and surprisingly, she has this heat to her body that sends chills down my spine. A juxtaposition that makes my head spin.

“You’re really warm.” I sigh, tipping my head back onto her shoulder. Paige kisses my neck, slow, soft in a way that was intimate without being sexual. Which I find funny considering My panties are the only clothes I have on, her hands on my hips— about to get into the shower with her.

“Yeah? ‘Cause you’re freezing, mama.” She speaks into my hair, mussed by the beanie I wore nearly all day. “Let’s get you warmed up, how ‘bout that?” I turn to face her, wrapping my arms around her neck.

Her bun messily sits at the back of her head, strands tickling her soft skin. The rosiness of her cheeks stands out more than normal and I can’t stop thinking about how perfect she looks. The entire trip, her eyes are brighter than normal or her smile looks more carefree. She’s been gentler with me too. Overly domestic with how she insisted on making breakfast and led me down the slopes and even rubbing my feet that we sore from my boots. 

She made this memorable, and I can’t seem to think of how she’ll top the Christmases to come.

I run my thumb over her cheek, slightly dry from the cold but still just as soft as ever. Goosebumps arise on my skin from how her eyes stare into mine. 

“What?”

I shake my head, planting a kiss onto the corner of her mouth. “Nothing. You’re just pretty.”

Paige blushes some more, trailing her hand to my ass. She doesn’t even squeeze, just palming it in her slightly calloused hand. The other wrapped snug around my lower back.

“You’re pretty, Raye.” She hums. Her head turns and she meets my lips fully, sucking gently on my bottom lip like a piece of candy. “Been lookin’ perfect all week. Lookin’ like mine.” 

Mine. Still after five months, it makes my knees weaken whenever I hear it. Mine or my girl, the term girlfriend still nearly sends me into a school girl induced shock. 

“I am yours. You don’t even gotta worry about that.” I murmur against her mouth. 

Steam fills the bathroom. The stickiness of the humidity sticks to my skin, and I know I should be worried about my pressed hair sweating out, but I can’t bring myself to care when she’s languidly moving her lips with mine like she’d die if we stopped. 

“I ever tell you how much I love you?” She asks, pulling back with enough resolve to make me go dizzy. “Like foreal.”

“A few times.” I responded. “But, I’d love to hear it again.” I smirk, making the decision to reach for my scarf and wrap my hair. She watches the whole time attempting to keep her eyes on mine rather than my boobs which push towards her.

She laughs and it comes out throaty and deep, rumbling through her chest and through my body. “Get in this shower and I’ll show you.” She says teasingly.

I shake my head. “Nothing funny this time. My legs still hurt from last night.”

“We’ll see.”

—

Raye was setting her mug full of hot chocolate on the bedside table and sighing to herself when I walked into the room. Plaid boxers sit on my hips, an old UConn crewneck stretched over my top half.

She’s comfortable in the bedroom’s king sized bed, white comforter bunched up to warm her bare legs. Her navy blue bonnet sits on her head, skin glowing from the aftermath of her lengthy nightly routine. Lips plump and glossed from her lip mask, slightly pink. She wears one of my hoodies and the angel necklace I swear she hasn’t taken off since I gifted to her sits comfortably around her neck.

Raye’s back rests against some pillows on our headboard Her legs bent at the knee, acting almost as a table for her notebook. I exhale, leaning over to kiss her cheek as I join her.

“What’s this?” I ask, shamelessly leaning into her personal space to get a look at the notepad.

“New song.” She beams. Her eyes grow wide, twinkling in the soft lighting.

I find it adorable how she glows when she’s talking about her music, or when she knows that she’s in a groove. It’s the way you act when you truly love something, that’s how she feels about her music and watching it up close sends a warmth to my heart that I couldn’t even try to get rid of.

I fake a groan, nestling my head into her neck. She smells like coconut and fresh soap. The kind of smell that gets stamped in a file in my brain full of things I love about Maraye Carter. “Baby… we said no work while we’re here.”

She scoffs playfully. “You went to the gym before I woke up?”

“Okay, but I didn’t touch a basketball. We’re supposed to be finding a movie.” I complain, reaching to my left for the polaroids we took before leaving this morning. 

Suddenly the notebook is forgotten, tossed somewhere on the bed with a pen stuck in between the pages as a placeholder as she turns slightly to face me. “Wait, I wanna see ‘em!”

We’d taken nine out of the ten, all of which were scattered around the table. A few kissing ones, some silly faces that she insisted on, my arm slung around her shoulder with our ski goggles on— and the like.

“We’re cute, huh?” I tease, sending her a cheeky, tight lipped smile. Raye’s face mirrored my own eyes bright as she pushed my face to the side. “Look at your smile in this one, you love me so bad.” I jeer.

She doesn’t even try to hide it.

She reaches for the stack of photos, shuffling them like they’re a deck of cards. Her hands stop, eyes lingering a bit longer on one in particular. It’s from early in the morning, Raye sat on my lap in the old school kitchen just a minute or two after we ate breakfast. Her arms wrapped around my neck and her lips pressed to my cheek, just slightly kissing the corner of my lips. My eyes were closed just a bit, lip in that scrunch that she seems to be obsessed with.

“This one is mine.” I hear her decide. She sets it off to the side, going through the rest of them. “This we’re tossing. I look awful.” She laughs, hiding the photo from me before I can even reach for it and see for myself. 

Though I don’t think she could ever look awful to me. I’ve said that she could wear a trash bag and I’d still think that Raye was the most beautiful and perfect woman in the world.

“Let me see it!” I wrestle with her, giggles and soft breaths falling into my ears.

“No, Pa— move!” She laughs, pushing me back over to my side of the bed. “You play too much, Madison.” She groans, flicking my ear.

“Madison? Damn.” I choke out a laugh, taking the rest of the photos from her and setting them to the side. 

“That’s why I’m picking the movie. Move.” Maraye mumbles, reaching over the expanse of my body to grab the remote. I kiss my teeth in distaste, but still, I don’t even try to fight back.

Once my laughing dies down, I snuggle my face against her cheek, the warmth of her body shooting up through me. “I’m sorry, baby. We can jus’ keep that one to ourselves. I promise you look beautiful regardless.”

She ignores me, mushing my face away from her own and clicking on Home Alone 2.

I scoff and pull her into my lap. “Don’t try to act mad, you ain’t fooling nobody.” I speak into her neck, the feeling of my breath on her skin making her smile.

“I was writing a song about you and here you go annoying me.” Her pout is the cutest thing in the world to me, it makes her nose scrunch and her eyelashes tickle the apples of her cheeks.

“About me?” I question, a grin across my face. “Sing it, I wanna hear it, angel.”

“What happened to ‘no working on vacation?’”

My cheeks burn under her glare and I let out a sigh. “Fine. But I still wanna hear it.” I made my arms comfortable around her shoulders, the blanket we were wrapped in slowly slipping down Raye’s body. She backs away from me when I pucker my lips. “Are you crazy?”

“I wanna watch the movie.” She tuts, kissing my cheek before redirecting her gaze to the flatscreen. I don’t even waste a second of time trying and failing to pull her back. “Y’know I love this one.”

“That don’t explain why you’re avoiding my kiss.”

My hand slides to the back of her neck, pulling her back in to kiss me like I wanted. Raye’s lips glide against mine slowly. Even after all these months I can’t get enough of the feeling.

“Better?” She murmurs as she pulls away.

“Better, baby.” I nod. “C’mere.” We sink further into the bed, my arm around her shoulder, a designated spot for it at this point. She looks up at me briefly, the high points of her cheeks turning pink as she smiles. Her pretty hands grip the hem of the blanket, pulling it higher on my torso before nestling in my chest.

“Is it bad If I say I don’t wanna go home yet?” Maraye questions me. Her eyes don’t look up to mine, just locked on the opening scene of the movie.

“Gonna miss me too much?” I tease with a fake frown, but her lack of response lets me know she doesn’t find me funny. I divert my attention to her, getting a glance at her glassy eyes. “Why you all sad, angel? I’ll see you in a few weeks.” I brush her hair out of her face.

She shrugs, “can’t believe you did all this just so I can have a white Christmas.” Raye chuckles, wiping the tears from her eyes before they even get a chance to fall. “I just wanna stay with you and not worry about anything else.”

“Tour starts in two weeks, baby.” I remind her.

She sighs loudly, looking back at the screen. “I know.” She replies. “I don’t like being away from you.”

It warms my heart, which is beating so loudly in my chest I don’t even hear what’s being said in the movie. I hate it too, weeks at a time where I’m on the road, followed by her long trips as soon as I get home. 

“Me neither.” I comment honestly. My lips find the top of her head, Raye’s recently straightened hair feels cold against them. I don’t let her go, keeping her tucked in that spot of my arms and chest throughout the whole night.

—

January 2026 — New York City, New York.

“You look pretty.” I hear Brittney compliment Maraye who sits a few feet away from me. Her hand is smoothing over her hair, it’s dark red this time around, layered and in curls that make her look even more goddess-like than she already is, something new she’s trying out for her tour and I’m completely enthralled by it.

“Thank you, B.” She cheeses.

“Showin’ her all 32 is crazy.” I mumble, shuffling the cards in my hand and adjusting the collar of my polo.

“Can you just sit there and be quiet?” She snaps back, kicking my shin with her heeled foot.

The studio lights brighten and the producers on the other side of the threshold lets us know we’re shooting the first take. Brittney scatters off and looks over at my girlfriend with wide eyes.

She looks stunning, as per usual, but her dress that sits nicely on her body is what has my attention. It’s black, long enough to cover her up, but short enough to give me a great view of her moisturized legs. Not much, but enough to keep me mildly distracted.

“You ready?” Raye asks me, playing with the corner of the large index card.

“Always.”

We hear the famous click of the board and the yell of take one before Maraye sits up straight. She’s perfect for the camera, gorgeous smile and big beautiful brown eyes that would make anyone melt. I’m damn near drooling over her where I sit.

“Wassup y’all, I go by Maraye and I’m here with…” She trails her hand out to me, but my eyes are stuck on her and I freeze. “Paige!” She laughs at me, and I blink.

“My fault, my fault. Do it again.” I shake my head.

The producers do it all over again, the lights, the board, the directions.

“Wassup everybody. I’m Maraye, here with…”

“… Paige Bueckers.” I finished.

“And this is the GQ Couples Quiz.”

I never once imagined being on this show, for a multitude of reasons, but to do it with Raye was going to be so entertaining. Our relationship was pretty private, the closest thing to a confirmation being fans catching me in a suite at one of her shows or lingering too close to each other at public events.

And that time last week when the paps caught us making out in her car. It sent WNBA twitter into a frenzy, and her fans nearly threw a party.

Regardless, I was jumping at the opportunity to show off my knowledge of my girl to the world. 

“Easy dub, don’t y’think?” She asks, clearing her throat and crossing one of those beautiful brown legs over the other.

I laugh, “yeah, easy for me. Better watch out.” I tease.

“Wanna bet on it?” Raye turns and looks at me intently, a smirk on her face and a slight tilt of her head that leaves too much for my imagination.

“I do, actually.” I nod, adjusting the collar of my shirt. Today was one of the days that I let Brittney style me in whatever she pleased. Making my reaction to the high neckline a little more intense than she probably expected.

Raye grins, tapping her chin with a finger as she pretends to think. “Okay so when I win.” I roll my eyes at her choice of the word when. “I dunno if I can say this on camera.” She says, looking off to the crew behind the cameras that start laughing. 

“You need help, dude.” I shake my head, amused at her very obvious suggestion. I lean my head closer to her, turning slightly so she can speak in my ear.

My eyes grow wide as she speaks. Raye surprises me more and more as our relationship progresses. She pulls back from me with a smirk, and I’m positive that my entire face is flushed by just how horny she is.

“Okay. And if I win, you come out to Miami for Unrivaled.” I offer and Raye nods with a smile.

“I was gonna do that anyway.” She rolls her eyes that are nicely lined with black. “Deal.” She says, sticking her hand out for me and I shake it firmly.

I’ve agreed to let Maraye go first to get a feel for the competition. If she were to know that, she’d probably tell me I’m too competitive; taking it to heart. And I am. Because losing on the internet would simply be too embarrassing.

She gets comfortable in her chair, swiveling her hips in a way that makes me forget we aren’t the only people in the room.

“What is my favorite movie of all time?” She asks, holding those sleek white cards close to her chest. Raye has like 30 favorite movies, all of which depend on her mood. “The one that I always make you watch, like you literally have no choice.”

“Oh, Just Wright?”

She smiles with a nod, tucking the notecard at the back of the pile. “10 outta 10 movie. If you’ve never watched it, do so quickly!” Raye says to the camera.

“Let’s not drag it. 10 outta 10 is crazy.”

She shoots me a look, eyebrows raised and head turned. A look she gives me when she’s asking me to keep testing her.

“Don’t even. You think Die Hard is good.”

“It is!”

“Not. Anyways, what’s my favorite nickname for you?”

I dart my tongue out over my lower lip. “Dad— I’m just playin’.” Maraye’s hand reaches over the space almost instantly, slapping my thigh with her french tipped fingers. “Blondie? Or Madison, you been callin’ me that a lot lately.”

“You get the point for ‘Madison.’ I think your middle name is cute, babe.” She cheeses, blowing me a kiss.

“I’m too good at this.” I shrug, feeling myself a little too much.

“Chill. I guarantee y’ont know this one.” Raye rolls her eyes as she switches cards. “Where did we first meet, and what did I think of you. See that’s a good one, y’all ate a lil bit.” She looks over to the producers and gives them a thumbs up.

That’s my girlfriend, everyone.

“We first met on opening night, and I literally fell on you and you thought I was the sexiest woman to ever walk the planet.” I answer with a shrug.

Maraye shoots the camera a side eye before looking back at me with a fake grin. “You can get half a point?”

“You’re telling me I’m wrong?”

“Yes!”

“Wow, so I’m not the sexiest woman alive?” I feign hurt, my hand pressed against my chest, right over my heart.

She scoffs. “You definitely are. But that wasn’t what I thought at first.”

“Then what did you think?” I lean in.

“You’re gonna get mad If I say it.”

“Say it.”

“I thought you were sweaty and I was worried about my outfit” Raye muses, a smirk playing on her lips. I scoff, because while I should be embarrassed, the admission is so distinctly Maraye that all I can do is laugh. 

“Aight bro.”

“But I swear immediately after I thought that you were stunning!” She laughs in an attempt to neutralize. “Seriously! Got a li’l star struck right after, baby.”

I brush her off. “You’re ass kissing, whatever!”

Maraye lets out a gasp, a large dramatic, genuinely terrible, gasp that makes me think she should pick up a career in acting. “Watch your language, you can’t say that here!”

“Who said?” I fire back. The producers behind the camera wave me off, silently telling me that it’s fine. “See.” I push, sticking my tongue out playfully.

“Annoying.”

It goes like that for a while, Raye asking me questions— her favorite food (crab legs), biggest turn offs (snoring, a subtle dig at myself), facts about her that only I could know (what that tattoo on her ribcage says)— followed by me answering them and getting all of them right. 

She’s trying really hard to throw me off track, that look in her eye that always makes me think she’s lying when really she’s just good at faking it. But it’s my turn now, the cards both literally and figuratively in my hands now.

“You got one wrong.” Raye informs me, giving me golf claps with a slight grin that makes me feel like the only person in the room in a building full of people and lights and cameras. “I think I can beat that.”

I nod, finding her confidence amusing. Whenever it came to competition between us, I believed that Raye would always get either the 'easy' questions or she'd cheat, which she swore was never the case and that I was just a sore loser. “Yeah, we’ll see about that. What’s my guilty pleasure?” I read the card.

She sends me a smirk, silently asking if she should take it there or not. She doesn’t; she knows better. “Um, you like those wheel throwing videos, like the pottery ones.” Maraye answers and I nod.

“I wanna try it sometime, but she refuses.” I tell the camera.

Raye scoffs. “You’re messy! You’d get clay all over my clothes.” She’s right, the intimacy that would come from sitting in a quiet studio, dim lights, soft jazz or R&B echoing; would distract me to the point where I’d send a lump of wet clay flying across the room.

“What’s my go-to pregame meal?”

Raye clears her throat, answering without hesitation. “Pasta. Any kind. As long as there’s garlic. And some kinda protein.” She answers. “Grilled chicken is the current protein obsession, by the way.” She sends a wink to the camera, as if to say ‘yep I know my girl’ which she does.

I blink lazily, thinking about how her hair drapes over her shoulder. “Solid start, ma, but these are all easy questions.”

“You got my easiest question wrong.”

“Did not.”

“You absolutely did—”

We’re cut off by a producer clearing his throat, telling us to wrap up the bickering. I switch cards, getting back to the subject at hand. 

We kept going—my favorite hobby, lego building was her answer though it was really golfing. Maraye nearly tore the set apart swearing up and down I just lied on the internet at her expense. I asked her about our first date. She got the restaurant wrong but remembered how I wore that black Kith jacket she secretly loved, so I gave her a point. My least favorite thing about her (when she wakes up in the middle of the night to write before “an idea leaves her and blesses someone else.”) and dream vacations.

I sit there shocked, because not only does she remember these things, she remembers the little details. Restaurant excluded, she remembered everything. Topics that we had touched on maybe once or twice that she took and practically tattooed into her brain. 

I nearly stopped worrying about losing because watching her talk about me and us like it was a topic she studied for hours made up for it.

By the time I reached the final question—How did I tell you I loved you?—Maraye’s teasing, celebratory grin softened. “Okay,” I said, a little quieter. “This one’s serious. You get it wrong and we’re breaking up.” I joke.

Her eyes darken, not with doubt but with memory. Like it happened yesterday.

“I was headlining for ACL in Austin, and Cam called me saying you won rookie of the year and they were giving you your trophy that night and that I needed to get home.” She starts speaking. I could listen to her tell the story for hours. “So as soon as I got off stage, I got on a jet and rushed back. I made dinner, and you came in with your trophy all shocked that I was there.”

I hum at the memory. “I wasn’t expecting you back for another day or sum.” I justified, feeling my cheeks blush and neck tingle under the camera glare.

“We were eating and you said something— you’re usually not that funny but this time it made me, like, burst into laughter— I spilled red wine all over me and down my shirt.” 

“‘Usually not that funny” is crazy! Now If I take a point away—” I laugh, pointing a ringed finger in her direction. 

“Let me finish!” Raye slaps my hand away. “I was embarrassed as hell trying to dab my already ruined shirt, but when I looked at you, you just had this stupid doe eyed look on your face. You got up, kissed me, and said you loved me.”

I kissed her harder than I think I ever did that night. Tasting the wine off her lips and the little bit of garlic from our mashed potatoes. It happened exactly like that. I’d looked at her and just knew I was completely screwed, so in deep that nothing could possibly pull me away from her. 

“I’d like to point out that she stuttered for like five minutes before saying it back.” I let out a slow breath, looking at this woman like she hung the moon and the stars, which she probably did. “But yeah, you’re right, so another point for Ms. Carter.”

“I win?”

“You win, angel. We can do your thing once we get up outta here.” I nod, reaching for her hand as she stands up to climb into my lap. It’s natural, honestly I think not having her on it is more odd than when she does take a seat on me. “Well GQ, thank you for having us, but me and my lady got some things to tend to. Right, baby?”

“Yes we do.” She smirks, waving at the camera until the red recording light shuts off.

—

February 2027 — Miami, Florida

I don’t know why I ever assumed that Paige and I could be cordial in the same house for a few days.

We can’t.

Or, more like she can’t.

I say that because at whatever hour of the night it is, she lays here, spooning me lovingly— the warmth of her body completely engulfing my own— clearly doing everything in her power to wake me up.

It started with the groaning, which honestly she does all the time. I didn’t think much of it.

But then she’s breathing all raspy and shit in my ear, mumbling my name into my ear. Her hand traveled under my shirt, first only feeling on my abdomen but now it rests soundly under my tit, just cupping it like that’s how she normally sleeps.

I’d like to think I’ve been doing a good job ignoring her.

“Hey,” Paige whispers against my skin, voice husky with sleep and something heavier. “Ma.”

“Mmm.” I groan, digging my head further into my pillow before even getting the chance to open my eyes and look at her.

“Damnit, woman, wake up.” Paige groans, dragging out her plea in my ear. She’s grinding against me, quite literally humping against my backside in a way that makes me wonder who she is and what she’s done with my girlfriend.

I let out a quiet sound, somewhere between a sigh and a hum. My eyes flutter open, catching the soft blue cast of moonlight spilling in through the window. “What time is it?”

“Late,” Paige murmured. “Or early. I dunno, didn’t mean to wake you.” She lies, making me scoff in the midst of my sleep induced haze.

But her mouth was still on my shoulder, trailing up toward the curve of my neck. The kisses were light, almost lazy—if lazy felt like fire slowly licking through my nerves. I blink, finally catching a glimpse of the clock on my nightstand.

I turn my head just enough to look at her. Paige’s hair was tousled, her eyes heavy-lidded, lips already parted. That look she got when she couldn’t help herself. And it was absolutely, utterly irresistible.

“You didn’t mean to,” I echo, voice dry. “Sure.”

Paige smiled, guilty but unrepentant, and slid a thigh between my own from behind. Her hands draw patterns on my stomach, slow but all the more unrelenting. “You were breathing like you were dreaming about me, so I figured I’d check.” she whispered, mouth brushing the shell of my ear. She knows what she’s doing, my body instantly shivers on contact. “C’mon, ma. I only got you for two days.”

I sigh, turning over on my back languidly with sleep still clouding my vision. I can just barely make out her figure through the Miami city lights that peak through the window. Her boxer band peaking out from her basketball shorts and a thin tank top riding up her abdomen. In all honesty I think if I wasn’t so outrageously tired from my flight delay I would be letting her turn me out right now.

“Paige, I got rehearsal in the morning.” I whine, trying to stand my ground but goddamn does she make it hard. “You could’ve waited until morning,” I whisper, but my fingers were already curling around the back of her neck, guiding her mouth back down to my sweet spot.

“I didn’t want to,” she breathes against my collarbone.

She hovers over me, her hand cupping my chin with one hand, angling it to the side. She leaned into my neck and the kiss that followed wasn’t soft this time—it was full of quiet hunger, lips parting;sucking, hands starting to roam with familiar purpose. 

Paige’s palm found my hip and slid upward, dragging the hem of my pajamas—aka her Sparks t-shirt—with it. My vision finally starts to adjust, and my hand covers my face in an attempt to keep sleep from leaving me.

“I can’t sleep like this.”

“You have a hand. There’s a vibe in the—oh.” Paige cuts me off with a grip of my own hand, sliding it right between her legs where she clearly needs me the most.

She’s practically, no, literally soaked through her shorts. The material is damp against my hand, I can only wonder how much of a mess she made on the back of my shorts from her grinding.

“Ion want none of that. I need you. Fuckin’ soaked for you, Raye.”

My fingers press further against her core and she lets out a strangled groan into the air, arching into me. The slow grind of her body on my fingers igniting something low and pulsing in my abdomen.

“I was sleeping,” I say under my breath, but there was no protest in it, just the tremble of want behind my voice. Even as I try to hide it, the way she makes my cunt throb right now— with her pleading and grinding and purely submissive behavior— isn’t something I could even try to hide.

“It don’t look like it now.”

And it doesn’t. I was very, very awake.

“Lay back.” I give in, pulling my fingers away from her.

Paige doesn’t wait another second. She’s following my direction, rolling off me and lying on her back with her head nestled on a stack of pillows. I can’t help but giggle through my faux anger at her eagerness.

I find my way between her legs, nose nudging her own before our mouths meet again—open, slow, almost aching in the way we moved against each other, like we had all the time in the world but still needed more. Her fingers tangled in my hair, tugging gently as I pressed my body against hers in the dark.

“You’re a brat.” I groan against Paige’s lips. Her hand pulls me in deeper, so much further that I think she might swallow me whole. Her tongue navigates my mouth like it hasn’t been there in years, licking whatever mouthwash I used hours ago out of my mouth and into her own. “Waking me up like that, so needy, hm?”

She doesn’t answer, obviously too touch deprived to process the nature of my words. I trail my hands to the hem of her tank, tugging it over her head with ease.

My hand moved with unhurried certainty, gliding up Paige’s chest—fingertips grazing over ribs, pausing at the underside of her breast. I don’t push or rush, just touching like she’s some artifact that could break if I do too much.

Her hand digs deeper into my hair, tugging stubbornly at my scalp. I moan at the feeling, eyes fluttering shut before moving down her chest. I lick lightly at her nipple, pink and standing up for attention, before sucking on it. 

Paige’s lips parted around a soft gasp, one arm falling to her side, the other threading through my hair, urging me closer.

“More, ma. Fuck— just, anything.” She whines, which sends a blush to my cheeks that is noticeable even in the dark. 

Paige doesn’t do this much, she doesn’t give in completely or fall back and let me do as I please. There’s always a bit of dominance underneath all her sexual wants and needs. But now? Anything I do to her is better than me doing nothing at all, and that sets my soul on fire.

“Shut up, Paige.” I mumble, a free hand moves down to her shorts, the other groping and feeling at her chest in a manner that makes her whine. Breathy with a bit of an edge. “You woke me up, you’re gonna take what I feel like giving you.”

Lucky for her, what I feel like is getting my mouth on her. Since the moments we got together, Paige has made it known that she’s as much of a munch as could be, and while I might not be at her level yet, the pleasure that comes with watching her fall undone on my tongue is other worldly.

So I yanked myself back from her nipple, slightly missing the feeling of having it in my mouth. Her shorts come off first, down her tanned and muscular legs and onto the floor behind me.

My fingers press to her core through her boxers, and she’s soaked. So much so that I’m not even sure I can feel a bit of dry fabric. “I think you were the one dreamin’ about me, P.”

“Mmm, I was.” She confirms, pushing the hair in my eyes out of my face. Even in the dark, I can see how her blues lock on my browns, pupils dilated but eyes falling low. “Dreamin’ of you eatin’ my pussy, baby.”

I nearly moan at her voice, taking in her scent and her panty-dropping, Minnesota accent. My fingers break into her boxers, tugging the waistband down her crotch, her thighs, her calves— before also throwing them off the bed. 

“Is that right?”

“Makin’ me cum. You’d look so sexy with my cum on your face.” Paige whimpered, shifting beneath me, already trembling under the weight of my voice. “My shit’s so wet for you, baby. Need you to taste me— fuckkkk, Raye.” She groans, head falling back when My tongue finally meets her cunt.

The walls of her Miami apartment are thin, I know that and so does Paige but it seems like she doesn’t care. Her normally breathy and soft moans grow loud with just a few licks. Her hand deep in my hair, scratching my scalp like it’s her lifeline. 

Paige’s breath came in shallow little pulls, her chest rising and falling as if she were still catching up to what was happening—what I was doing to her. She lay there, pliant beneath me, the sheets gripped loosely in one hand, eyes half-lidded and shining.

“Just—God, just like that, ma. Y’do it so good.” I listen, eating her out just like that, tongue circling her clit before dipping inside for a taste. And Goddamn does she taste perfect. Like if an angel themselves made a potion and decided that that’s how Paige fucking Bueckers should taste.

I drink it all, lips wrapping around her swollen and throbbing clit. “Tastes so mmmm, baby. Soooo good.” I breathe into her, keeping my eyes glued to the figure above me. It’s as if I’m searching for something along the lines of approval and want. 

“Oh my fuckkk, gonna make me…” Her moan trails off, eyes rolling back before briefly snapping up to look at me. Her mouth forms a perfect circle tongue occasionally darting to the corner of her lips as she pants. “Raye, baby, I can’t.” She hiccups.

I look at her with faux pity, pulling back just enough to get a glimpse of all the sweat dripping down her skin. Paige was losing it, legs trembling around my head. “I don’t care. Woke me up for this, take it.” I grumble, but my feelings towards the matter left ages ago. I can’t bring myself to care about how tired I’ll be, when Paige’s slick is dripping from my mouth, lingering on my tongue.

My tongue dips back inside her, tasting her deeply. Paige's body convulses, her breath hitching as my mouth and occasionally the brush of my nose on her clit worked in tandem, bringing her to the brink of orgasm. Her cries filled the room, her body trembling with the intensity of her release.

“Gonna cum, fuck, I-I wanna cum, angel.” Paige babbles in that way that tells me she’s closer than she lets on, her hips lifting, pressing her against my mouth. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop."

“You wanna cum?”

“Raye.”

“In my mouth?” I tease, following it up with a long and hard suck on her clit. 

“Goddamn, ma. So perfect,” the praise sends a moan through me, and the vibrations push her over that edge. Paige’s voice and moans and cries echo loudly in my ears. “Yes, Raye.” Her chest heaves up and down as I work her through it, planting light kisses on her throbbing cunt. 

I lick my lips in an attempt to savor every last drop before wiping my chin with the back of my hand. “Good enough?” I joke, but there’s an underlying feeling of wanting to be praised by her behind it. Knowing that I really did make her feel that good. 

Paige’s hand leaves my hair, letting me crawl up the bed until we’re face to face. There, she cups my face, holding me delicately as she searches my eyes through her post orgasmic haze. 

“You get better at that every fuckin’ time.” She sighs, running a thumb over my cheek.

I smile, her taste still leaving its mark in my mouth. “You’re touching me like I’ll break.” My lips connect with hers, fast and insistent, allowing her to taste herself. Paige sucks on my tongue, groaning something about my explicit nastiness somewhere between hurried kisses and slow grinds of my hips against her thigh. 

“I just can’t believe you’re real sometimes.” She sighs into my mouth. I turn my head, deciding then and there that I want more.

I slow down the kiss, letting her deepen it. She pulls me close, snaking an arm around my waist and holding my face with the other. She kissed me like I really was fragile. The kiss built gradually, mouths sliding, breath mingling, a burn between my legs transforming into a drip of my slick.

Paige shifts up just barely, enough for my weight to fully press onto her thigh to make me feel owned. Grounded. “Do something, please.” I whine, grinding down harder, letting the drag of the seam of my shorts stimulate my cunt. “Baby, I—”

“I think you got it.” She says, an edge to her voice that turns me into nothing. “You need that, baby? Needa fuck yourself in me like this?” Paige kisses down my neck, licking her tongue up and down my neck before sinking her teeth into the skin.

“Ah, fuck!” 

Paige lifts my shirt, and I fight to get it off my arms, about to throw it over my head when she flexes her thigh and I instead throw myself onto her shoulders. My head in her neck, her hands on my tits, kneading and kneading; and sucking and fucking sucking on my neck.

“Y’know how much of a slut you are for getting off on my thigh, right now?” She hums, rocking me back and forth at a pace much different from the one I set for myself. It’s faster and my clit snags again and again on her leg. “Can feel that pussy just throbbing for me, angel.” Paige’s voice caught, and she kissed my jaw again, a quiet sound breaking in her throat.

I roll my hips in response, feeling my incoming release shoot from the nerves on my clit to my stomach. My legs tingle, chest and neck heating up. My fingers tremble, nails digging into Paige’s muscular back. 

“Paige.” I groan into her skin. Drool spills from my lips and down her neck, trailing her spine. “Close. Fuck, ‘m so, so fuckin’ close. Gonna cum for you.”

“Yeah, just for me. Gonna cum in your pants like a good girl for me.” She eggs me on, moving her lips to a different spot near my shoulder and I just know she’s decorating me in hickeys that’ll last long after I’m on a plane out of Miami. “C’mon, ma. Feels so good, don’t it?” 

“I’m cumming— fuckkkk!” I moan. High and uncontrolled and so messy I can feel my release seeping through and onto her skin.

Paige talks me through it all, as she’s so great at doing. Calling me pretty, and rubbing my back. Stripping me of my shirt and the soiled shorts and satin panties that literally stick to my skin. I fall into bed next to her, naked and warm and still both jaded from the orgasms. 

The room goes still again, save for the low hum of the fan and the soft rustling of sheets as we shifted, tangled around each other. Paige lay on her back, one arm behind her head, the other resting across my bare spine. I was sprawled half on top of her, chin on her chest, staring up at how pleased with herself she looks.

“Wipe that smirk off your face,” I said, voice still scratchy from sleep—and other things.

She shakes her head, planting a soft kiss to the top of my sweaty head. “Can’t help it, shit finally went my way.” Paige laughs, her fingers trailing absent-minded circles along my back, the quiet night wrapped around us again—warm, safe, and full of everything we didn’t have to say out loud.

—

November 2027 — Casco Viejo, Panama City, Panama

The heat was the first thing that hit me—thick, fragrant, alive. Something way different than California. There it was dry, but here it’s almost suffocating. Humid air that seemed to wrap around me like an embrace.

I can pick up on the smell of ripe fruit, blooming flowers, and ocean wind carried from miles away. 

Raye stands in front of me, phone pressed snug to her ear, as her conversation goes back and forth between English and Spanish. She wears a long multicolored skirt—one that I had a lot of feeling under on the plane— and a white tube top.

I drag our bags behind us, as we exit the airport, feeling sweat accumulating on my forehead. But it wasn’t just the weather that made me sweat—it was the crowd of people waiting just outside the airport doors, holding handmade signs and waving excitedly the second they spotted Maraye.

And it was very clear who they were here for.

She slips her phone in her tote bag the second her family comes to view. “¡Ay, por fin!” someone shouted, a man— tall with grays that decorated his thick curls and beard— and then Maraye was gone from my side, swallowed into a wave of arms and kisses and rapid-fire Spanish. 

I watched her cousins pull her into one chaotic hug, and her aunt wept dramatically into her shoulder, all while her grandmother stood behind them all, smiling so wide her eyes disappeared behind her glasses.

From what I’ve pieced together, Raye hasn’t seen this side of her family since she graduated high school years ago. The emotions are warranted. Even for her, she’s been talking my ear off about this trip for the last couple months, and now that we’re here it brings a grin to my face that I couldn’t wipe away.

I hung back, suitcases in hand, trying not to look awkward, but before I could retreat any further, a small boy—maybe six—looked up at me with wide eyes. 

“¿Tú eres la novia?” He asked shyly, squinting at me through the sun and craning his head up to me. I bend my knees, sinking to his height before sticking out a hand. 

“That’s me, yeah.” I smile.

I can feel eyes on me in an instant, the much needed conversation coming to a close as I talk to the young boy, Donovan is his name.

“Everyone, this is Paige.” Maraye said firmly, breaking away from the crush of family and walking back to sink her hand behind my head, ruffling my hair. “Todos sean amables con ella, she’s a bit nervous.” She whispers the last bit, making my cheeks redden more than they already are. 

There was a beat of silence—and then, as if a switch had been flipped, the group erupted again. Aunts and cousins came forward one by one, greeting me with kisses on both cheeks, calling me different variations of mija and bella and young boys already guaranteeing that they could beat me in one on one.

Tía Lydia, a woman I’ve known to be Maraye’s favorite aunt, even if she didn’t say it aloud, approaches me with a smile. I remember late nights when they gossip together for hours, or occasional FaceTimes where she’d pan the phone to me and suddenly I’m up to date with years old family lore that I’ll unpack for the rest of the night.

She hugs me tight, on her toes even in the heels she wears. “Thank you for bringing her here, we’ve missed her.”

“She’s missed you. Seriously, hasn’t stopped talking about it.” I hum, picking up on the scent of strong perfume and something sweeter— coconut? “Gracias por la invitación.”

Rate stands somewhere near, laughing her sweet laugh and letting her hair fly free in the wind. It’s grown longer in the last two years, once thick, shoulder length curls now cascading down her back. My eyes can’t stop looking at her amidst conversation, the glow of her brown skin, earrings down the cuff of her ear. 

That’s my girl. And she brought me here, to her family. 

Tia Lydia wraps her arm around my waist, holding Maraye’s suitcase against my protests. “Come, come.” She hums, shoes clicking against the dark concrete towards the car. “¿Te gusta el ceviche?”

I curse in my head, mentally unprepared to navigate through the language I’ve spent the last year and a half trying to learn for this specific moment. “Uh…yes. I’ve had it before.” I stutter, and I know if Raye is listening, she’s laughing at my english responses. “Yours is probably better, tho’.”

She laughs, the kind that reminds you of your favorite dish as a kid and just makes you smile. It’s all too similar to Raye’s, and the connection makes it all the more enjoyable.

By the time we reached the family home—nestled in a lush, flower-lined neighborhood that I think I instantly fell in love with—it felt like I’d already been adopted. 

My Spanish, if it could even be called that, was shaky; but it didn’t seem to matter. When we got into the home, sandals clacking against the hardwood and the stone, Raye’s family was already enveloping us into everything. Any possible jet lag was thrown out the window and replaced by a buzz that lingered through my blood and in the air. 

I played dominoes with her uncles, my natural competitive nature seeming to keep me in with their approval but still a bit out of the game. 

She had stopped by, handing out cold Coronas with lime like it was second nature, and it very well could’ve been. Raye took a seat in my lap, that was natural too. She pointed out what she thought I should put down here and there, and when win number one was finally under my belt, her uncle looked at me with a drunk smile, saying, “la mujer sabe mejor.” Which brought laughter over the table and a slap to his shoulder from my girlfriend.

The young boys were already insisting on playing me tournament style, even neighborhood kids joining in.

The wins came easy, so did the trash talk. “Don’t choke like game 6!” Ricky, an older cousin from Raye’s dad’s side murmured to me when I checked the ball.

The burn lingered a little, because I did indeed choke in my first finals appearance. Losing a rough game to the Lynx in Minnesota. I have to quit playing like shit whenever I’m there, really. 

But that dig turned me up, I beat him 11-0 and after that, they all quit.

I’m inside now, sweat sticking to my neck and the back of my buttoned shirt, It loosened some after between the legs dribbles and spin moves. Family members sit on the steps outside, others in the living room watching some soccer match. 

But I can’t seem to move from the kitchen entrance.

The kitchen was warm and alive, windows open to the breeze, light pouring in across the tile. Maraye stood at the counter beside her grandmother, their heads bent together over a pot of arroz con coco. She was laughing—freely, hands moving as she spoke, a little bit of flour smudged on her cheek.

And it felt like I’d just seen her for the first time again.

It reminds me of that dinner party all those years ago, nestled in the warmth of Cam’s kitchen. I’ll always remember that dress she wore—red, strapless, and tip-toeing the line between casual and scandalous— how her smile radiated so bright that it visited me multiple times in my dreams.

Her grandmother was teasing her gently in Spanish, and Raye rolled her eyes in mock exasperation but kept stirring the pot exactly how she was told. 

She moved so naturally here—like she belonged to the walls, the rhythm, the history in the room. She was free, the weight of being away from family for so long finally melting away. 

She wasn’t different from the woman I knew in our shared apartment back home, but here… she seemed brighter. Rooted. Full.

My heart swells as I watch her. How she sways along gently to the music that plays, hearing her speak more Spanish than I’ve heard from her in a minute.

I didn’t even notice that Maraye had caught me looking until she turned, a sly grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Paige.” She hums, “ven aquí.” She calls me over with a tilt of her head, flour and coconut milk staining her fingers. 

I walk over, trying to hide the sweat and nerves that stick to my body. Her grandmother gives me a look and a kiss on my cheek before fleeting the kitchen.

“What?” Raye asks, hands on her hips.

I shake my head, slow and full of awe. “You’re just…” my voice trails off, feeling slightly clouded from beer and the drug that is my girlfriend.

She bumps her hip with my own, sliding the wood spoon into my slightly trembling hand. I don’t know why my body betrays me like this, but there’s something about my girl being so domestic? Cooking in the moonlight and looking so ethereal.

“You okay, baby?”

“I think I’m falling in love with you all over again, mami.”

—

“¡No asunto divertido!” I hear my tia yell out after Paige, very clearly expressing her concern for what we both would be doing on the balcony alone. The blonde brushes her off with some Spanish slang that makes me muffle a giggle. It was getting better, and sitting next to my abuela at dinner fixed her accent too.

Music still drifted up faintly from the street below the balcony—lively cumbia rhythms rising and falling like the city had its own heartbeat. Bursts of laughter from my youngest cousins fill the air, alongside the clatter of plates being cleared and the sound of bare feet and sandals against the stone ground below. 

Warm light spilled from the windows of the family home, bathing the worn terracotta balcony tiles in a soft amber glow. 

Panama’s night air wrapped around me—humid, thick with the scent of bougainvillea, grilled street food, and the salty trace of the ocean somewhere nearby. Stars hung lazily above the old colonial rooftops, flickering through the haze.

I stand at the railing barefoot, wine glass in hand. I focus on breathing in the moment, taking in the fact that the last time I was here, I probably didn’t realize the impact this place would have on my life. My cheeks were flushed from dancing, the humid air clung to my skin in a way that made me feel undone in the best way. 

To my right sits Paige on a straw woven two-seater. She had shed her button up, sitting soundly in a white shirt and baggy jean shorts. Her hair is damp, either sweat or the aftermath of her water balloon fight with the neighborhood kids. Her sandals were kicked off ages ago, pulling her knees to her chest as she does the same thing as me. Watching. 

She was good, unbelievably good with everything. Conversing with the adults, entertaining the kids, driving me crazy. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so sure of anything the way I am about Paige. She looks buzzed, eyes bouncing between wide and low from multiple Coronas and a shoddy seven hour flight. 

“Too much?” I ask, a lazy grin tugging at my mouth. “My family’s a lot.”

“They’re perfect,” Paige says softly, her eyes still wide from the whirlwind of hugs, dancing, food, and Spanish spoken too fast for her to keep up with. “I’m prolly the one who’s too much. I nearly cried when your tía brought me another plate of food.”

I let out a breathy laugh, dragging my feet closer to where she sits. When I sit, my eyes fall back over the view. The slight breeze and rumble of rain in the sky, sun setting beyond the horizon.

“You didn’t cry. I saw how you devoured that second pla—”

“Ight that’s enough outta you.” Her hand meets my shoulder, shoving me playfully. “I’m deadass. She been calling me ‘mija’ all night. It was over after that.”

And it’s something about the way ‘mija’ falls from her tongue that makes my legs cross and my heart simultaneously swell at the same time. My hand traces the patterns over my skirt, thinking to myself.

“She loves you. Everyone does.” I sigh, looking over my shoulder to her. “You’re part of this now, P.”

The blonde brood her legs off the edge of the seat, scooting closer until she sits right behind me, my body between her legs. Paige takes my hair in her hands, pushing it over my slightly tanned shoulder. A breath falls from her lips as she sets her chin on my shoulder, the smile on her face fading into something softer, more fragile. “You mean that?”

It’s simple, but the three words weigh so much heavier. 

“I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t.” I look at her, like I really looked. The clearness of her bright almost glass-like skin, freckles that came in a light brown with age, pink lips and the most gorgeous blue eyes I’ve ever had the pleasure of looking into. My eyes are steady, full of a quiet kind of certainty. “This place… this family? It’s my heart. And I wanted you here because you are, too.”

My words settle in the air, traveling through the wind. 

Paige’s eyes flutter closed as she leans into my exposed upper back. She places a kiss, small and lingering, on the tattoo there. A dainty libra constellation that Paige watched me get the entire time. Her lips are warm on my skin, like a kiss of life. 

She tips my head towards her, closer, so close I smell the papaya off her breath. Paige leans in and kisses me, slow and grateful, lingering as the breeze stirred the night around us and sent goosebumps to my skin. “Truth time?” Paige questions against my mouth.

It’s become our thing. After a bit of overthinking while on the road or those nights where we just needed to vent. Truth time insured a moment of no judgement, just the truth.

So I nod, letting her say whatever she wants.

When she pulled back, her voice was barely above a whisper, gravelly from cheers and competitive yells. “I want this with you. Not just the trips or the dancing or the family dinners. I want it all, angel. The quiet mornings, the hard stuff, the little things. I wanna know your people. I wanna be your people.”

I can feel my throat tighten in a mix of emotion and thoughts of the future. The apartment we share transforms into a home, our home. 

I set my wine glass down and cup Paige’s face in both hands, thumbs brushing along her cheekbones like I was grounding myself in something real.

“You’ve always been my people, baby. My person since forever.” I murmur, voice thick.

We sat in the silence that followed, surrounded by the laughter from inside that we stepped away from. 

The world moved on around us, but here—on this quiet balcony tucked in above the chaos—it felt like we carved out a space where only love existed.

Where only I existed with her.

I turn back around after a beat. Back pressed to Paige’s chest. And after a long stretch of quiet, I could feel her laugh softly, the breath of it brushing against my ear. “I think we should have a balcony like this at our first home. Could picture you rocking our baby out here.”

My voice gets caught in my throat.

“All pregnant and shit, glowing. Our kid in your arms. I’ll even learn how to cook foreal, I’d do that for you.” She decides, voice as certain as ever in my ears.

I grin. “That a proposal?”

“Maybe.” Paige nudged me. 

“I’m just saying. I’d say yes.”

Paige pulls me in again, holding me tight against her. “Good. Because I plan to ask.”

—

July 2028 — Crypto.com arena, Los Angeles, California 

“You need to breathe.”

“I’m trying!”

“She’s in love with you, stop freaking out.”

“This is so cliche, Cameron.” I breathe, running my fingers through my hair, attempting to keep it as straight and uniform as possible.

Cam sighs through the phone. “You’re telling the one who got proposed to at the Eiffel tower about cliches?” And when she puts it like that, my breathing just barely starts to regulate itself. “She has no idea. I got her all dressed up, she went with Cassie to get her nails done, just please pull yourself together.”

“Okay. Okay. I’m fine. Everything is fine.” I speak, mostly to myself, and Cameron hangs up.

It has been planned like this for a week, an impulsive decision that kept me scrolling through google when she slept on my chest and pulling whatever strings I could while at the practice facility. I even spent the last hours of All-Star weekend searching for and buying the perfect ring: a delicate gold band with an oval cut diamond tucked into the center.

I was going to do it there. Similarly to how I asked her to be my girlfriend in the comfort of our hotel room.

But then I decided she needed something more. Something big but still private, still just us.

My phone buzzes in my pocket again, and I dig it out of my cream colored dress pants. A black polo is fitted on my body, diamond jewelry around my neck and a bezeled watch around my wrist— courtesy of Raye’s anniversary gift a few nights earlier.

maraye: you ready? i’m coming in now  7:38pm

paige: Yeah, the locker room is unlocked!  7:38pm

I hadn’t told anyone, choosing to just tell Raye we were having a post-anniversary dinner. Which isn’t a total lie, since the festivities of my fourth All-Star appearance caused our celebration to include crashing in bed with makeup still on our faces.

I hadn’t told Azzi, nor my mother, and definitely not Nika or Kaylee. So besides Cam and Cassie making sure she went where she was supposed to and when, it was all me. 

And I’d been waiting.

I hear the voice of a man outside of the door, voice greeting my girlfriend, and only a few seconds later she’s walking into the room. Slightly worried about what could be waiting for her, but I keep calm; normal. 

Raye wears all black, but not in a way that dulled her. It clung to her in all the right places, silky and smooth, with a deep V-neckline that shimmered just slightly under the locker room haze. Her collarbones were kissed with gold, delicate hoops in her ears, and her hair—a cascade of defined curls—was pulled into a loose, romantic updo that looked effortless but elegant. 

Timeless. 

Like she had just stepped out of a dream I once had but could never name.

Like she stepped out of her own song.

Like she was the angelic sound of music I heard for the first time from the couch.

I stand up from my locker, dragging my feet over to where she stands, the ring box feels heavy in my pocket as I meet her halfway.

She wraps her arms around my neck, mine settles around her lower back. She smells like she always does, sweet with just enough undertones of grown and sexy. I lift her off the ground just barely, listening to how she groans into my ear.

“You look good, papi.” Raye nearly growls in my ear, causing me to stifle a groan by biting my lip.

I set her back on the ground with a squeeze, pulling back to look her over once more. “Aye chill out with that, I wanna get through our plans before you start acting up.” I laugh, pressing my lips to hers. It’s short, but full of all the emotion I’ve been holding out on by not seeing her all day.

“You’re right, my fault.” She smiles.

“Mmm but you still look fine tho’, fine as hell.” I hum, dropping my arms and sticking a hand out for her. “Come this way.”

Raye takes my hand with not a beat of hesitation. “We’re going through the court?” She asks, suddenly confused as to why I’d choose this way and not the entryway she came in with.

I brush her off, lying and telling her it’ll get us to my car faster. And then, it’s go time.

“Y’know, I was gonna ask you on a first date the night of Cam’s dinner party.” I confess. Raye nearly trips over her own feet, but I balance her before she gets the chance to fall. “You think we would’ve still been together?”

I walk her through the back door of the locker room, and she stops in her tracks. “Really?”

“Yeah. Kea told me you were seeing someone, but then you told me it wasn’t official yet. I was gonna ask you out when we were leaving.”

“I think we would’ve been.” She answers, finally picking up her feet and walking with me closer to the court. My hands sweat with anticipation and a part of me hopes she doesn’t notice. “I still would’ve found out just how much I like you.”

I nod. “Let’s say in this hypothetical scenario; I ask you out and you say yes, what would’ve happened if Julian still asked you to be his girl that night?” It’s all word salad, something to keep my mind occupied while I try to remember the monologue I’d created.

She stutters, pace just barely slowing down. “I dunno. I was still straight. Maybe things wouldn’t have turned out like this.” Raye shrugged. “Why are you asking about a hypothetical?”

We stand in front of the tunnel entrance and I don’t answer, instead, I pull back the thick black curtain and gesture my head towards the court. “C’mon.”

“Why are we—”

“Mami I love you, but please stop asking me so many questions. Go.” I laugh. My girlfriend rolls her eyes, giving me one more look before dipping behind the curtain. Her pace is slow, but she walks in and I follow behind and I nearly have to hold my hand down in order to not cop a feel of her ass.

The court lights are low, just enough to set a yellow hue over the classic purple and gold hardwood. Candles decorated the baseline, creating a walkway for her to follow until she got to her seat. The seat was illuminated by a single spotlight.

The seat where I saw her for the first time.

There, lays a bouquet full of pink and white roses and lilies scattered in between. 

Raye takes one look at it all, before freezing. Her breath caught in her throat. 

“Paige…” She whispered, voice full of shock and confusion.

“I know.” I say, my voice barely even there. “I want you to walk down there and take a seat for me, can you do that?” I ask softly, suddenly realizing that all my nerves were for nothing. Because in the three years I’ve been blessed to call her mine, she’s always let me know that it’s been me. Now all I have to do is ask to make it official.

The sound of her While We’re Young plays softly overhead. It’s the first song she ever wrote about me.

“I’m askin’ you about a hypothetical because this whole time, I’ve been wondering if we’d still get this far if things were different.” I start, feeling the pressure ease off my shoulders with every step. “Like what if Kea never introduced us that night?”

Raye thinks to herself for a moment. “I probably wouldn't have chosen to partner up with you at Cam’s.” She answers.

“And we wouldn’t have become close friends. You wouldn’t have caught feelings for me, and I wouldn’t get the opportunity to love you the way I do now.” I say.

Raye sits soundly in the court-side seat, clutching the bouquet in her lap and crossing one glowing leg over the other, and I swear I see her eyes glaze over. There’s something heavier there, a realization or maybe even a memory of that night in May.

“The other day, I was going through old practice videos, and I came across practice on opening day.” I step back from her, treading carefully towards the top of the arch. “And I started thinking about the play we ran.”

She lets out a laugh. “When did you have time to do all this thinking?” Raye jokes, and I laugh along with her.

“It’s easy when my girlfriend sleeps like a hibernating bear.” I responded. 

Raye gestures her hand for me to continue, looking at me with wide brown eyes that I’m still obsessed with all these years later.

“The original play was for D to set a screen here.” I point to my left side at the top of the wing.

“I was gonna come off of it, handoff to Kea and she gets right to her spot for a middy. If it didn’t work out, I was trailing behind for an open three and Cam would be available in the paint.” 

She listens intently, my demonstration of the play even without a ball in my hands helped too. Her basketball knowledge has drastically increased since we got together, particularly from watching film with her.

“It was gonna be the easiest way for us to break their zone. But instead they played man. So when I came off the screen, Siegrist called for a switch and McCowan was now guarding me.” I explain.

“You had a mismatch.” Raye hums.

“I had a mismatch.” I agree, continuing with my demonstration.“So instead I faked the handoff and just drove. I went for a lefty, she fouled the shit out of me, and I ended up here.” 

I stand right in front of her now, a grin on my face that mirrors the one she looks up at me with, tears just barely brimming her eyes.

The song tails off and I silently applaud myself for my perfect timing. 

“The very thing that led me to you was a last minute decision. God’s plan brought me to you, Raye.” My voice wavers ever so slightly, throat tightening as I realize the magnitude of the moment. “When I found out you were with Julian, I told myself—of course. Because you were smart, and breathtaking, and kind in that way that makes everyone lean in when you speak.”

Maraye laughed through her tears, squeezing the bouquet tighter in her hands.

“And I tried to be your friend,” I continued. “I was your friend. But somewhere between our third late-night phone call and the night at Waffle House when you told me about how you didn’t feel seen, something shifted. You started making room for me in your life. And I—I fell. Hard.”

My fingers tremble at the thought of reaching for the box in my pocket, but I press on. “I never thought I’d be the one. I had hoped, and prayed for it, but I didn’t think it would happen like this. But you… you surprised me. You let yourself love me. And in doing that, you changed everything.”

I pull the box out, cracking it open before sinking to my knee. And even through it all, Raye lets out a gasp. A little gasp full of everything she’s yet to say to me. 

“I used to think love was supposed to be overwhelming, and I was so scared. Scared of fucking it up for you, for us.” I whisper, holding the ring between us. “But with you, it’s peaceful. It’s steady. It’s choosing each other, again and again, even on the hard days.”

A beat of silence.

“And I want to keep choosing you, Maraye. Every day, every version of you, in every season of our lives. So…” My voice wavered, thick with love. “Will you marry me?”

Maraye didn’t answer right away—sending a quick bout of anxiety to my core. But then she’s sliding off the seat, cupping my face, and kissing me so deeply it said yes a hundred different ways before the words finally came.

“Yes,” she whispered against her lips. “You know that, baby. Of-fuckin-course I’ll marry you.”

I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding, sliding the ring on her finger. We both laugh and cry through it, and then Raye’s kissing me again. Deeper, hand in my straightened hair as she tugged me close—candles flicker around us, and the weight of our story humming in every corner of the arena.

—

May 2029 — Los Angeles, California

The door slams harder than I intended.

No one tells you how hard planning a wedding is. They also don’t tell you how hard it is to plan a wedding while also working on finalizing an album.

I drop my bag on the floor, exhaustion running through me to the point where I can’t even bother to set it on the hook. I set my keys down, kicking off my tennis shoes and nearly falling flat on my face as I do so. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” I groan, stopping dead in my tracks and taking a deep breath and counting to five. Then ten.

It doesn’t help.

The silence in the apartment kills me. It leaves me alone with the thoughts of not doing well enough, not completing enough work. Not, doing anything worth remembering.

It all weighs on me. Wedding emails. Guest list edits. The label riding me every second of the day about finishing this album. Another vendor dropping out. A migraine blooming behind my eyes. And Paige is not even home yet, which—okay, unfair to be mad about because it’s not her fault that her first three games of the season are on the road. But I missed her. Needed her.

I trudge into the bedroom, shedding clothes as I walk. Leggings hitting the floor in the hallway, Sparks hoodie falling somewhere near my vanity, bra thrown on the edge of our bed. The forest green and navy slip dress I wore to bed last night hangs over the vanity chair, and I throw it on lazily.

“Just 15 minutes.” I say to myself, slinging the comforter over my body.

I was out cold in two.

When I woke up, the light outside had changed—dipped into that lavender-blue of mid evening. The headache that had been ruining my life for the last few days had dulled but not disappeared, and my mouth tasted like sleep. Even through the groggy and heavy haze, I sit up slowly.

That’s when I heard it. Water.

It lapped gently alongside the faint clink of glass, a low hum that might’ve been music or, well, humming.

My legs swing over the edge, painted toes padding against the rug in the floor before I sleepily entered the attached bathroom.

Paige was already in the tub, hair piled in the messiest possible way at the back of her head. The curve of her shoulder dips out under the suds and gleams in the candlelight. An empty glass rests on the ledge beside her. Lavender steam curled through the room, carrying the scent of bath oils and eucalyptus. The playlist— our playlist—was mellow, that’s usual R&B with a hint of jazz.

My body naturally leans against the door frame, languidly blinking sleep from my spirit.

“Hi.” I murmur.

Paige raises her head slowly, setting her phone delicately on the floor by the tub. “Hi, baby.”

“I didn’t know you were home.”

“We landed early.” Her chain glistens against her tanned skin, diamond studs in her ears that dance whenever the light shifts. Paige’s eyes rake over my body, and suddenly I’m hyper aware of the puffiness around my eyes and the slight slump of my shoulders. “It looked like you needed the sleep. Figured I’d soak off and then make us some dinner.” 

I walk over to the tub, sitting cautiously at the edge of the tub. “God, I’m so fuckin’ happy you’re here.” The sigh I let out, I didn’t even know I was holding in. Seeing her like this was like oxygen, I fucking needed it to survive.

Paige leans closer to me and I meet her halfway on instinct, holding her face with one hand. She tilts her head just right, brushing her nose with mine before locking our lips. I hum, allowing the blonde to part my lips with her tongue. She navigates my mouth like it’s her own, like she knows every nook and cranny; where to suck where to lick, and I let her. 

Her hands pull out from under the water, suds sticking to the back of her hands as she runs them over my thighs. Paige sighs, kissing me harder—faster. 

“Get in.” She mutters, dragging me against the ledge and closer to her. “C’mon, it’s still warm.”

I shake my head, something about being here with her and wanting to eat her alive feels more rewarding. So I angle her head in my hand, guiding her lips in the way I want them to go. It’s all teeth and tongue, with the occasional bout of spit against my chin. 

Paige is messy, pulling me into her like the last week and some change of her being on the road altered her brain chemistry. “Baby, get the fuck in.” She pants, pulling back enough that I can see her low eyes and swollen lips. “Needa take all this offa you.” 

I hesitate, but ultimately let her hands travel to the edge of my slip dress. She lifts the hem higher and higher until I break away to pull it off of myself. Paige doesn’t even give me a moment to shed my panties, she pulls me into the tub with her mouth pressing kisses to my cheek. 

“Talk to me.” She whispers against the skin, wrapping her arms around my waist. “What’s wrong, ma?”

I brace my arms around her neck, head comfortable against the side of her face. And it’s quiet for a moment, just breathing and the sound of water moving here and there. Skin to skin.

“Nothing.” I shrug, closing my eyes. But Paige knows me, the front I’m putting on just to keep her calm. To not stress her out.

She nods. Her chin resting in the crook of my neck. “How was dress shopping?” She decides to ask. An answer builds on my tongue, then stops when I feel her fingers against the back of my thigh. She draws slow circles, her nails just barely scratching the skin.

Then I let it out, my voice low and rough either from sleep or something heavier. “It’s… I dunno. Nothing special.” Paige kisses my shoulder slowly, like she’s still figuring out whether to press further or just let me enjoy the silence. “It’s just— I’m so tired, Paige. I’m trying to be everything. Good at work, good at planning, good for you— and I’m failing.“

Paige wrapped her arms around my waist and held on tighter, almost like a lifeline. “You’re not failing. You’re the toughest woman I know, trust, you’re not failing.”

“I cried today,” my voice trails off, “because someone ate my yogurt in the mini fridge; and none of these dresses look like me.”

Paige chuckled softly, pressing her lips to my jaw. “That’s valid.”

I take a deep breath, pulling back just enough to look at her face. How her hair is damp and sticks to her neck and shoulders. The slight flush from the heat in the bathroom. And it hits me then that I really do get to marry her, the ring on my finger is not a fragment of my imagination but it’s real. 

“I love you,” I whisper suddenly, voice thick. “But if one more person asks me if a damn napkin color really represents our ‘aesthetic,’ I’m eloping.” 

Paige simply smiles, something amused with a hit of understanding, before she kisses me softly. “You’re allowed to feel like that, ma. I know you’re goin’ through a lot to make this work.” 

“I just don’t wanna worry about a wedding and a fucking album for a few hours.”

Paige hums, trailing short kisses across my jaw and down my neck. Her hands move with precision, softly messaging my arms to my shoulders, feeling down my back and all we way down. Her hands settle on my thighs again, her fingertips toy with my panties— and suddenly I’m all hers.

“Lemme handle it.”

The water sloshes softly around us as Paige shifts in the tub, her knees brushing against mine beneath the surface. Steam curled between our mouths, and for a moment, we just looked at each other. 

Paige’s eyes, heavy-lidded and warm, searched mine, through the exhaustion and stress. My face was still drawn from the day, but my gaze softened just enough. There was something raw there now. A flicker of want. Of need. I needed her.

“I missed you.” Paige sighs.

“I’m right here.” I grumble. “And I’m needy. Horny, if you will.”

She grins, letting out a laugh before pulling me in. And that’s how it starts. A gentle kiss— brushing of our lips, a deep inhale of her scent.

My fingers find her face again, holding her jaw as I kiss her again, slower this time, but with more pressure. I poured every ounce of tension into it—every tight knot I’ve spent trying and failing to unwind, every unspoken frustration, every moment I’d smiled through exhaustion. Paige took it all, desperately. She kissed me back like she was drinking me in, trying to soothe all my edges and wrinkles from the inside out.

But then all the softness and slowed movements disappeared within the blink of an eye. She was rougher, more primal. Her hands kneaded at my ass, forcing a groan to spill from my lips. It gives Paige the perfect opportunity to make my mouth her own again. She slides her tongue against mine while my hands grip at her wet hair.

Paige whimpers softly against my mouth, tilting her head to deepen it, lips parting even more for the kiss to get messier. I groan, low and quiet, as Paige’s fingers dig into my waist beneath the surface, holding me there, pulling me in like she was afraid I could drift away if she let go.

I reach under the water, tugging my panties down my legs with a fight that nearly makes me curse her out for not letting me take them off before getting in the water. Soapsuds fly over the ledge, and when I finally get them off they’re tossed onto the floor. Landing with a loud, wet plap.

“Lemme get this stress offa you, yeah? Let's make you feel good," she whispers, her voice husky with desire.

“Please.” I beg, not even caring about how desperate I sound. 

I let her, leaning back, pressing my palms to the sore muscles of her legs. She trails her hands back under the water, her engagement ring cool against my skin.

Paige presses against my thighs, spreading my legs wider. Her fingertips trail up the skin and then carefully—and I really mean carefully—she brushes against my clit. I bite my lip.

She kisses her teeth, “you’re swollen, baby. It hurts huh?” Her voice is so sultry that I swear my own arousal leaks out of me like a faucet. “I gotta have you, Raye.” Paige glides her finger through my slick, muttering something about how wet I am and I make a joke about if that’s me or the water. To which she replies “nah it’s all you.”

Her finger dips inside, pushing in and out at a pace that is the perfect mix of rough and still so intimate. But I crave more. That toe curling, leg shaking stuff that she’s given me more times than not. 

“You get me so wet, P.” I confirm, letting the stimulation travel from my core up into my stomach. “I—I need more, please? It’s not enough.” I start, whining and growing frustrated. Paige can sense it, of course she can sense it. Because she leans in, pressing her lips to the valley of my breasts, kissing gently like they were artifacts she wanted to preserve. 

Her finger curls just slightly. “I know what you need. This pussy been mine for years, you think Ion know?” Almost as if my request pissed her off, she snatches her finger out of me. Paige looks up from my chest, licking her pink lips before grinning. “How you want it?”

I inhale slowly and ragged. “I want it hard, Paige. Just fuck me.” I cry. The soft sex is good—fuck, it’s so good—but when she gets in her zone, fucking me like she hates me, I just can’t get enough. 

My hand grips her wrist, tugging her long fingers closer to my cunt. 

And then she’s sliding in, two fingers this time.

I lost it.

They fit in with just enough stretch to remind me just how long it’s really been. But she’s a pro, in all meanings of the word, and gets to work right away. Paige pulls me closer again and meshes our lips. “Gotta stretch you out so my cock fits, baby. Nice and wide.” She grunts against my lips.

Paige begins to stroke her fingers faster and on instinct my hips meet her halfway. Water sloshes in the tub, falling in splashes on the floor. 

“P, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck! It feels so good.” I moan. I lose control of everything, breaking the kiss as my head falls back and my nails dig into the depths of the back of her neck. “Love it when you fuck me like this.”

“Such a slut, Raye.” The blonde kisses her teeth, her free hand pushing hair out of my face. “Prettiest li’l slut f’me.”

She knows just what to say, just what to do— where to touch that makes me fall apart for her. And I think I’d rather die than to live a life where my body isn’t hers for the taking. So I spread my legs wider, enough to create room for the blonde in front of me. And she just takes it. 

Takes and takes and takes.

My eyes screw shut at Paige’s words, my entire body shivering as I work harder against her fingers. The slickness between my legs only intensified, climax growing and building inside me with every passing second. I could barely manage coherent thoughts, let alone words. But I do just enough to murmur, “needed you, baby. Such a sl—ut for you.”

Paige smiles at that, deciding to suck across my skin. She leaves marks behind, and normally I’d find something to say about it but right now I don’t care. I let her mark me up like I'm property. My hips roll simultaneously, taking what her fingers do to me.

“ ‘M gonna fuck you stupid after this. You want that?” She asks. Her mouth moves lower against my skin, over my breasts and to my nipple that peaks out over the surface. Her arm wraps around my hips as she pulls me closer.

Paige encloses my nipple with her mouth. Plump lips over the pebbled skin and tongue running over the bud. It’s as if it’s natural to her. Licking and sucking to the point I’m wishing it was my clit in her mouth. 

My eyes flutter closed, body melting into Paige's touch. I could feel the tension in my muscles beginning to ease; being replaced by a growing heat in the pit of my stomach. 

"Paige," I gasp, hips moving in time with Paige's strokes. "I’m close."

"I know, love," she murmured against my tit. "Just needed a good fuck? I know you missed me, ain’t you?"

I nod, helpless as my release comes in like a wave. My legs tremble and her name falls from my lips like a sin. “So bad, Paige! Shit!”

Paige held me tight, her fingers continuing to stroke inside me gently as I rode out the pleasure. "That's it, baby," she murmured. "Just feel it. Gimme that shit, ma. You're so fucking beautiful when you cum."

My body relaxes. Breaths fall from my lips and Paige presses kisses to my chest. My cunt throbs almost uncontrollably; sore but still so fucking needy. And she feels it.

“C’mon. I think you got a few more in you.”

—

“Daddy…” I hiccup, chest heaving from the aftermaths of three orgasms. Maybe four, but between this one and the one before that, I think I could’ve passed out. Paige buried her tongue inside me just after I regained consciousness from her fingers. Then the strap came out and somewhere along the way everything became a blur.

Sweat sticks to the hollow between her collarbones, and a drip trails down the valley of her breasts. It’s cinematic, really. Her chain hangs around her neck, engagement ring gleaming on her finger when she uses that hand to rub her chin.

She looks at me in disbelief, as if I’m not from this Earth. It sets my soul on fire. 

The strap hangs deliciously from her hips, harness snug and a dildo her skin tone just resting between us. My slick covers it, and now that I’m seeing it in the light of our bedroom, a blush finds its way to every surface of skin. 

The sheets are wet, and I can’t tell if it’s from me or the water that literally clung to us in the sex-drunk endeavor to get to the bed. 

“Shhh shhh. Just gimme one more. I know you got one more.” She coos. She holds the sticky base in her hands, tapping the tip of the strap against my swollen and overstimulated cunt. 

A rush of pleasure runs through my body, and she doesn’t stop. Tapping my clit, running it over my folds, slipping inside just an inch and then pulling out. Over and over again like the reaction she gets from me is better than anything else she’s ever experienced in her life.

“Tell me you can take it.”

I gasp. “I can take it, fuck, I can take it. Just— please, daddy.” I beg. My hand snakes behind her head, tugging her down to my level. Our foreheads touch, as if she’s talking to me telepathically. “Inside, baby.”

Paige captures my lips in a deep kiss as she slowly pushes into me. I can’t even gasp, I just groan. Heavy and thick with the pleasure she’s engraved into my brain for the last some hours. Even then, my cunt stretches again to accommodate Paige's cock. 

The blonde doesn’t wait. Doesn’t falter or waver. She works fast, snapping her hips into mine while I suck sloppily on her tongue. Paige breaks the kiss, her eyes locked onto mine as my body moves under her. My tits bounce in her face, hands attempting to figure out where to grip and scratch.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Paige groans, her voice filled with pleasure. "So fuckin’ tight and wet. Yo’ shit just creaming for me, Raye. Damn." She says it like it’s unbelievable, and honestly, it is. It’s unbelievable how almost four years in she still can fuck me like I’ve never been fucked before. How after spreading me open and licking me clean, she’s still drawing come out of my cunt. 

My back arches into her, eyes rolling into the depths of my head. “You—mmph—‘re deep as fuck, oh my God, Paige.” It comes as a near squeak. Paige keeps going.

“Mhmm. Deep in that shit. Deep in my pussy.” She fucks me like I’m a toy. Rutting her hips inside and out like she’d die if she stopped. 

My hand grips the sheets, the other scratching down her arm. Paige’s thrusts become even deeper and more forceful. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the room, a primal symphony of love and fucking desire. 

Her hands grip my hips, her fingers digging into my flesh as she slammed into me.

My body was on fire, heavily over stimulated from however many times she’s made me come and the pleasure only building with each thrust. I could feel the orgasm coiling in my stomach, ready to explode. "Daddy," I gasp, voice filled with desperation. My hand trails low, pressing against her abdomen. I don’t know if I’m pushing her away or trying to draw her closer. But I do know I don’t want her to stop. "Don’t stop, don’t stop! Fuck!”

“Baby move your hand.” Paige orders. I barely watch her bite her lip, something about the way my eyes roll stop me from seeing it all. My jaw falls slack, back arching even further.

“Gonna—”

“Raye, I’m not playin’. Move.” She says again, pushing my hand off to the side and getting back to her pace. Thrusting hard, so hard that the headboard bangs deliciously against the wall. “Gonna cum all on my shit, y’hear me? Cum with me, same time.”

I nod.

“Say it.”

“Yes! Yes, daddy I’ll cum on—awwww fuck!” I moan, legs trembling around her hips.

Paige leans down, her forehead pressing against mine again. "Cum for me, baby," she commanded, her voice harsh with desire. "Cum all over my cock."

With a cry, my body convulsed, my orgasm completely consuming me. Paige held on tightly, her thrusts becoming erratic herself as she chased her own release. With a final, deep thrust, Paige groaned, her body shuddering over mine as she came. 

We lay there for a moment, our bodies slick with sweat, breaths coming in ragged gasps. Paige slowly pulled out, a satisfied smile on her face as she looked at the mess between my thighs. The come dripping from my folds and coating the strap. She unstrapped the harness and tossed it aside, then almost animated, she collapsed soundly against my chest.

We fit perfectly, like a puzzle.

I run my fingers through her wet hair, scratching delicately at her scalp and Paige groans.

“Baby?”

“Yes, love?” I responded.

Paige sits up, resting her chin on my chest. I look into her blue eyes, watching them go from dark to light all over again. She looks at me with a kind of softness that makes my heart swell.

“We’ll get your dress designed.” She starts. “I want this wedding to be perfect, and it’s perfect as long as you’re happy.” She breathes, pressing a kiss to my sternum.

“But, Paige—”

“We’ll wait. However long it takes for me to give 110% to helping you out. You’ll have the dress of your dreams, the wedding of your dreams; big or small, I don’t care. I’ll do whatever. I—I just can’t watch you stress yourself like this. Okay?”

Her words settle in the air. And when she puts it like that, it’s impossible for me to say anything other than okay.

— 

April 2030 — La Jolla Cove, California

The taste of champagne and a bit of Don Julio still lingered in my mouth. Alongside the taste of cake, and of course, the strawberry flavored lip gloss of my wife.

I still haven’t wrapped my head around that title.

The wedding was perfect. The location felt like a dream, and I truly couldn’t have picked a better woman to marry, than Maraye. 

She wore this gown that clung to her like it had been stitched with by hand just for her body: the corseted bodice sculpted to her curves, every bead and crystal catching the light like tiny stars. The intricate pattern radiated from her waist like a burst of light, tapering down into that full, ethereal skirt. It shimmered—better yet, it glowed—with every step she took, moving like water and starlight all at once. 

Her hair had been straightened and pulled into an updo that still managed to perfectly frame her face. Her skin glistened against the pure white silk. 

I was left at a loss for words.

We took photos. The white of her dress sat beautifully against the pure black of my suit and the forest green of our wedding party. 

She read vows that made me boohoo cry at the altar and I slid a wedding ring on her finger then audibly made her gasp in front of all our guests.

But I loved it because it was her.

When we got to the reception though, all decorum was off the table. We’d changed into something more freeing— comfortable— and drank and danced and kissed like nobody was around but us. Kaylee gave a speech, so did my dad, and Cassie took the cake when she started an emotional spiel about how lucky she felt to have watched our journey from the beginning.

KK controlled the dance floor, Cameron and Sydel drank until their livers almost gave out, Destin sang, and the list really just went on. 

Now, the reception hall was nearly empty.

Our wedding planner, hired after I realized Raye was never going to stop stressing herself out, talks to the manager of the event center. Some conversation I can’t really care too much about when my wife is standing ten feet away in the most casual silk dress. 

The warm hum of the string lights still glowed above the dance floor, flickering like stars over a room filled with the sweet aftermath of celebration. Half-empty glasses lounge on tables, rose petals strewn here and there, and the lingering scent of jasmine, sweat, and laughter.

I leaned against one of the support beams, barefoot and flushed, my shirt slightly unbuttoned at the collar now, bouquet ribbon tied loosely around her wrist. My wedding band rests on my finger.

It was perfect for me, not too much but still not too little. Raye would rather die than give me a mediocre gift. It’s a thin band, diamonds sitting soundly against the metal— and the night we met, etched somewhere on the inside. 

I watched as Maraye stepped back onto the dance floor, her reception dress gathered slightly in her hands to keep from dragging. Her curls were wild, makeup smudged from hours of joy, but my eyes burned her into memory—steady, sultry.

I look back at our planner, noticing that we have at least five minutes to ourselves before needing to get going. 

I approach her slowly, feet padding softly until I reach her with an open palm. She looked up at me with wide eyes, like I was a myth, or something of the sort. “I wanna show you something.” I murmur.

She doesn’t say anything. She just slips her hand in mine, soft almond shaped nails just barely gazing at my palm. 

We walked hand in hand, and I let my mind travel to the first time she held mine. On the way to our first date, I remember how sweaty my hand had gotten, the nerves that had accumulated. And still, to this day, my hand gets just as sweaty and I get just as nervous.

We walk into a secluded room. Pictures of us with family and friends flashing by on tall screens. It’s dark except for the light that the pictures let off.

Maraye called this place “memory lane.” A place for everyone to stop and look at how far we’ve come. From fleeting glances and a scandalous relationship to a written-in-stone marriage.

A song plays softly, our song.

The soft strum of bass fills the room and Raye, the music connoisseur that she is, picks up on it immediately. 1+1. Beyoncé.

She turns to me slowly with a grin. “I was wondering why they didn’t play our song tonight.”

“It’s my little surprise.” I explain. I pull her in, settling her arms on my shoulders as I hold her hips. Not rough, just soft enough to keep her grounded with me. 

Our bodies pressed together, warm and close, and we began to sway—slow, intimate. The kind of dance that wasn’t about the steps or knowing what the hell we were doing, only the pull between us.

“I’ve been waiting all night for this part,” Maraye murmured against my ear. “No more eyes. No more interruptions.”

“No tías asking us to leave room for Jesus.” I add on and she laughs. Full and wholehearted. My eyes flutter shut as her hands slid over the expanse of my upper back—then back up, until they were toying with the flyaways at the back of my neck.

Raye sang softly with the lyrics, her mouth brushing my temple, her breath hot and close.

“I don’t know much about guns, but I… I’ve been shot by you.”

I trembled, just a little. Then, my face turned and met her lips in a slow, indulgent kiss—one that didn’t ask permission, one that said we made it. That said take me home and never let me go. It deepened, just enough, perfect for dancing in a reception hall with my wife.

“Looks like the whole world belongs to you with that kiss,” she teased.

I let my fingers trail over her jaw, whispering softly, “pretty sure it does.”

There was no rush. Just my fingertips tracing her collarbones, the weight of wedding rings brushing against bare skin, and the burn of want simmering under the sweetness of love.

“You’re driving me crazy singing in my ear like that.” I admit, voice dipping a little lower now, fingers slipping under the loose strap of Maraye’s dress. “Gotta give me a private concert when we get to Bali.”

She smirked, a full face smirk that looked too close to my one. But I guess that’s what happens when you spend all this time with someone. “I dunno if there’ll be enough time for that between…you know.”

Then she shifted closer, pressing our bodies tight, and began to sing again—“Make love to me… when the world’s at war… pull me in close…”—just for me. Her lips gaze my skin, each note sinking deeper than the last.

“I love you so much.” I say, words trailing off with the music.

“I love you too, Paige.” And I don’t let myself believe otherwise for a single second.

[saatorus]

had the brightest idea…sukuna x tattoo artist reader..😪😪

wc: 1.4k

warnings: smut (unprotected sex)

authors note: anon anon anon. i need to pull your head off so i can get access to your brain like kenjaku so that i can give your smart brain a lil smooch. this was fun to write :3

The first time he walked into your studio, he had zero tattoos. Just scars from what looked like getting into fistfights and that sharp, cocky grin.

You didn’t think he was serious. Guys like him—too smooth, too smug—usually just wanted to flirt and bounce. But he picked a design off your wall, pointed to his chest, and said, “Right here. First one. Don’t fuck it up.”

You didn’t. In fact, he looked almost… reverent, watching you prep. Like he wasn’t used to being touched gently.

You assumed he’d be a one-and-done. He was not. He came back the next week, shirt already off when he walked in. “What’s up, picasso shawty. Wanna do my ribs next?”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, but you let him sit. Again. And again.

He kept coming back. More tattoos. Bigger pieces. One on his back. One winding around his thigh. Some you designed just for him—your art permanently etched into his skin.

Your studio’s small. One chair. Walls covered in sketches and post-it notes. Half your tools are secondhand, but your work is crisp—clean lines, solid shading. Sukuna never comments on it directly, but he never lets anyone else touch him. Not once.

You pretend not to notice how he watches you set up. The way he stares at your hands like he’s memorizing every move.

He’s always saying dumb shit.

“If I say something filthy mid-session, will you mess up on purpose?”

“If you talk while I’m doing linework again, I’m putting a Hello Kitty on your ass.”

“Tempting.”

You keep it professional for months. Years. But it’s not cold—it’s comfortable. Inside jokes. Dumb snacks during long sessions. Him crashing on your couch once when it got too late. You drawing a fake tattoo on his thigh with sharpie “just to mess with him.”

One night, you’re doing a detailed piece low on his hip. He’s quiet, for once. Then:

“You ever think about how many hours you’ve spent touching me?”

You blink.

“You ever think about shutting the hell up?”

But your voice cracks a little.

The shift is small. He starts showing up without appointments. You don’t kick him out. You start drawing designs with him in mind. You stop correcting him when he calls you “baby” just to mess with you.

One night, it’s late. Like should’ve closed an hour ago late. The shop is quiet, just the soft hum of the fluorescent light and whatever chill R&B playlist is still looping from your phone. You’re cleaning up after a late session with Sukuna—again. He’s lounging in the chair, shirt half-on, scrolling on his phone like he lives here now.

“You know I have other clients, right?” you mutter, wiping down your machine.

He doesn’t look up. “Yeah? You tattoo them like you do me?”

You pause. “What the fuck does that mean?”

He looks up now, real slow. Smirk twitching at the edge of his mouth. “Means you get real quiet when you're working on me. Like you’re focused or… like you’re trying not to think too hard.”

You toss the rag on the tray, annoyed. “I don’t know if you know this, but that’s actually called doing my job.”

“You’re shaky sometimes,” he adds, casual. “Especially when I’m shirtless. Or when I ask for spots you gotta like, get on your knees for.”

You scoff. “You think you’re hot shit.”

He stands. Walks up, real close. “I know I am. But that’s not the point.”

Now he’s right in front of you. Not touching—but close enough that you feel him. Heat off his skin. The scent of his cologne and smoke and something distinctly him.

“You wanna do it or not?” he says, voice low, like he’s done waiting.

Your stomach flips. “Do what?”

“Come on,” he mutters, like he’s tired of the game. “You’ve been looking at me like you want to fuck me since the third tattoo. You gonna keep pretending or you gonna let me fuck you in that chair of yours?”

Your throat goes dry. You stare at him—cocky bastard, red eyes burning into yours, hands flexing at his sides like he’s holding back too.

You don’t say anything. Just grab the front of his hoodie and pull him in. Not your proudest moment professionalism-wise, but he kissed you like he’d been waiting for this.

The kiss is messy. Too fast. All teeth and tongue and breathless gasps. You don’t know who moans first—doesn’t matter. His hands are already on your ass, pulling you in like he’s starving.

You shove him back into the chair. Straddle him. His hands slide up your shirt, palms hot and rough, and he mutters, “Been jerking off thinking about this for months, fuck.”

Your fingers are already at his belt. “Shut up.”

“Not a chance,” he laughs, voice wrecked. “You’re gonna hear how bad I wanted this.”

You sink onto him right there, still half-dressed, the whole thing rushed and reckless. The studio smells like ink and sweat and skin. He’s gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. And you’re riding him like you’ve been needing it just as bad.

No soft words. No slow build. Just the creak of the chair. His filthy mouth in your ear. Your nails digging into his shoulders. And that broken sound he makes when you clamp around him, whispering “Fuck, don’t stop—”

Before you know it, you’re clamping down on him, hard, your orgasm washing in pleasurable waves over you. He follows suit, a final thrust of his hips, emptying his load inside of you.

The only sound is your breathing—still uneven—and the low thrum of the playlist you forgot was even on. You’re half-naked in your own damn studio, still straddling Sukuna in the chair, clothes tugged out of place, skin flushed and sticky with sweat and everything you’d been ignoring for way too long.

You shift off him with a wince. “Holy shit. That chair is not designed for fucking.”

He groans and leans back like he’s broken. “Speak for yourself. I’m thriving.”

“You’re gonna walk outta here bow-legged.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’ll limp home with dignity.”

You tug your shirt back down and start reaching for paper towels, the reality of what just happened catching up to your brain.

“Yo—chill,” Sukuna mutters, standing up behind you and gently taking the paper towels from your hand. “I got it.”

You blink, thrown off.

He gives you a flat look. “I just fucked you in your sacred little tattoo chair. Least I can do is wipe you down…and the damn chair down too.”

You snort, but your stomach flips at the way he says it—casual, like it’s no big deal, but not teasing either. 

He gently parts your legs, a grin on his face when he sees himself seeping out of you, wiping the mess clean. You lightly push your foot against his chest when he continues staring and he finally relents, snickering and grabbing your disinfectant spray.

He grabs a fresh towel, sprays down the chair, even gets the floor where one of you knocked over the rinse cup. You watch him for a second—shirtless, pulling on your pants and standing up—shakily— still flushed, watching the glint of his rings on his fingers as he moves. Like this is just part of the routine now.

“Don’t get used to this,” he says, not looking at you. “I just—y’know. Respect the tools.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So what, fucking me is now a line item on your cleaning checklist?”

He grins, tossing the used towel into the bin. “Only if it’s a recurring event.”

You scoff and toss him a water bottle. He catches it midair without flinching, cracks it open like this is just… normal now.

And maybe it kind of is.

He walks back over, presses the cold bottle lightly to your cheek with a smirk. “Still blushing?”

“Still annoying.”

“Still wet?”

You swat him, laughing despite yourself, but you don’t pull away.

There’s a weird quiet after that. Not awkward—just new. Like something’s shifted and neither of you’s pretending otherwise.

You break it first, voice lower now. “So… you still want that piece over your heart?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “If it’s your name? Yeah.”

“You’re so corny. That trend died in 2015.” You roll your eyes, but the smirk tugging at your mouth gives you away.

And when he leans in and kisses you again, actually moving his lips against you with a soft precision, different to how his tongue had been plunged into your mouth just minutes before. He grins—sharp— before uncapping the water bottle.

After a sip of the water, he looks at you over the bottle. “So… you free next week?”

You narrow your eyes. “For what?”

He shrugs. “Tattoo. Fuck. Hang out. Whatever. Don’t pretend you’re not thinking about doing it again.”

You groan. “You are so lucky you’re kinda hot.”

He winks. “And marked up like your own personal sex doll. Admit it—you liked the dick.”

You’re smiling this time. It’s different now. Maybe him being a regular wasn’t so bad at all.

[norrisradio]

SMALL TALK

LINE BY LINE ᝰ.ᐟ “one night he wakes / strange look on his face / pauses, then says / “you’re my best friend” / and you knew what it was / he is in love” + “Morning, his place / burnt toast, Sunday / you keep his shirt / he keeps his word” - Taylor Swift, You Are In Love

ᝰ PAIRING: oscar piastri x reader | ᝰ WC: 1.7K ᝰ GENRE: strangers-to-friends-to-????, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time and other disasters, oscar piastri is a man on a mission ᝰ INCOMING RADIO: my first time dabbling in some mixed media (feat. texts, voice notes, and facetimes)! not entirely happy with it but hopefully it makes sense // sorry for disappearing i am back now i swear ꨄ requested by @princesspiastri007 !

send me an ask for my line by line event .ᐟ

Oscar Piastri ruins your life in a bakery line on a Tuesday.

You’re clutching your paper cup like a lifeline, half-hypnotized by the scent of cardamom buns and the threadbare sweater slung over your frame — navy, elbow-patched, fraying at the seams. It was your dad’s. Maybe even his dad’s. Handed down like a secret. You only wear it on soft days. The kinds that ask for warmth and not much else.

Then someone knocks into you from behind, and the tea goes flying.

A sharp breath. The hiss of liquid on wool.

You freeze. He freezes.

“Shit — God, I’m so sorry.”

The voice is breathless and kind of pretty. You look up, prepared to launch into an eloquent string of swears, but the apology is already in his face. He looks young. Startled. Dimples carved into his cheeks like a question mark.  A lanky frame, messy hair, and a voice that sounds like Sunday morning. And behind him, some tall blonde girl in sunglasses (who you’ll later learn is Hattie, his sister) gives a wince-laugh and says, “Nice one, Oz.”

You look down. The sweater is ruined.

“That’s not just a sweater,” you whisper, throat tight. And somehow, that matters more than yelling.

The stranger — Oscar, apparently — blinks. “Wait — wait, is it special? Oh God. Please let me fix it.”

That’s how it starts: a burnt-sugar Tuesday and a ruined heirloom.

He buys you another tea. Apologizes twenty-seven times. Offers you his hoodie while you shiver on the bakery bench. It smells like laundry detergent and something citrusy, like a life that doesn’t belong to you. When you say he doesn’t need to do anything else, he frowns like you’ve insulted him.

“No. I swear — I’ll find a way to replace it.”

You scoff. “What, are you gonna time travel to the '80s?”

He grins. “Not quite. But I travel a lot. I’ll find one like it. You’ll see.”

It’s a joke. You think it’s a joke.

Until he’s in Spain two weeks later, and you get a photo of a sweater from a vintage shop in Barcelona:

from: +61 *** *** *** [Attachment: 1 Image] from: +61 *** *** *** Closer? Still hunting.

Then he’s in Canada. Silverstone. Budapest. Portugal.

from: +61 *** *** *** [Attachment: 1 Image - a blurry photo of a sweater, tagged €35 ] from: +61 *** *** *** Found a jumper in Lisbon. Not quite the right navy, but it has the elbow patches.

to: +61 *** *** *** you don’t have to keep doing this, yk 

from: +61 *** *** *** I know. I want to.

Each time, a picture. A patch. A different shade of blue. An “Almost.” 

You hadn’t expected it to become a thing.

You hadn’t expected him to become a thing.

But there’s a moment, three weeks later, when you're eating leftover curry on the floor of your apartment and your phone lights up with a voice memo. You hesitate. Press play.

Hey. I know it’s probably stupid but I found one in Tokyo today that kinda reminded me of the shape of yours. Didn’t get it though. The color was off. But I thought about you.

There’s a pause. You can hear wind. Traffic. And then:

Anyway. Just wanted to say hi.

You play it twice. Then a third time.

You don’t respond for an hour because you don’t know how to say, you’ve been living in my head since Tuesday.

The voice memos turn into calls. Almost by accident at first. One missed message becomes a call back, and before you know it, you’re dialing his number like muscle memory.

You start calling him after work, when the sky is the color of chamomile tea and the streets hum with the soft ache of winding down. He answers from hotel rooms, his voice low and warm, surrounded by the soft rustle of sheets or the faint murmur of unfamiliar cities outside his window. Sometimes you hear the buzz of neon. The clatter of luggage. The echo of a TV in the next room.

It becomes routine. Sacred, even. A ritual made of static and silence and shared space.

He listens when you talk about your family, about the sweater, about how you’ve always had trouble letting go of things that feel like home. Your voice goes soft when you tell him how your dad used to wear it on cold Sunday mornings, how it always smelled faintly of espresso and cedar. How you kept it on the back of your chair even after he passed.

There’s a pause.

And then: “That makes sense,” Oscar says, quiet enough that you almost miss it. “You feel... anchored. Even when everything else isn’t.”

You blink.

No one’s ever put it like that before.

You want to laugh. Or cry. Or tell him that he’s the first person in months who hasn’t made you feel like you’re too much. Too sentimental. Too attached to the past.

Instead, you murmur, “I like the sound of that.”

“Of what?”

“Being anchored.”

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his smile through the phone. That small, secret one you’ve learned to hear in the silence between words.

And when you hang up, well past midnight, your chest is full of something unfamiliar.

Melbourne - 00:42 / Sao Paulo - 11:42

Oscar’s face is sideways on your screen. He’s lying on a hotel bed, hair a mess, thumb under his cheek like he fell asleep on his own hand.

“I’ve seen twenty sweaters today,” he mumbles. “All of them were wrong.”

You smile, half-asleep yourself. “You’re a menace.”

“I’m determined.”

“Obsessed, maybe.”

He grins. “That too.”

There’s a long silence. Not awkward. Just full.

You whisper, “Why does it matter so much?”

He looks at you like he’s trying to read something written in a language only you speak.

“I think,” he says slowly, “because it mattered to you.”

Melbourne - 10:48 / Monza - 02:48

I found a vendor near the paddock today who hand-knits sweaters. Said she doesn’t repeat patterns but she can make something inspired by yours. I asked her how long it’d take. She said six months. I told her I’d wait.

There’s a long pause.

I don’t think this is about the sweater anymore. 

The FaceTimes start to stretch longer.  Past midnight. Into morning. Sometimes you wake up to a dead phone, his face still ghosting your dreams. He tells you what the gravel in Bahrain smells like. You tell him about your mother’s lasagna recipe. He starts sending you pictures of things that have nothing to do with sweaters.

The sea. His breakfast. A dog in the crowd with a bandana that says Team Oscar. His knees pressed up against the seat in a too-small plane.

You start recognizing hotel ceilings. The texture of his voice when he’s tired. The sound of his toothbrush.

You don’t talk about what it is. But you know.

You fall asleep with your phone tipped sideways, face half offscreen, mouth slack. Oscar snaps a screenshot once (you find it later in a photo dump he sends, sandwiched between two blurry shots of the Monza pitlane and one of a knitwear rack in Milan).

You’re in bed, face crinkled into your pillow.

from: +61 *** *** *** [Attachment: 4 Images] from: +61 *** *** *** I like this one best. 

Melbourne - 03:23 / Abu Dhabi 21:23

from: +61 *** *** *** You awake?

You blink at the screen, the dim glow of your phone painting soft light across your face.

You shouldn’t be awake. You weren’t. Not really.

to: +61 *** *** *** only if you need me to be 

from: +61 *** *** *** always. 

You stare at it for a beat too long. Something in your chest tightens.

No FaceTime this time. Just voice. Just the warmth of him spilling through the speaker like something secret.

“Hi,” he says, a little breathless. Like he’d been pacing. Like he still is.

“You okay?” you ask, voice scratchy with sleep.

A silence. Not heavy. Just full.

Then: “It’s stupid.”

“Try me.”

Another pause, this one longer. Then he sighs, and it sounds like the beginning of a confession.

“I was at dinner. Team stuff. Everyone talking, laughing, and it was fine. It was good. But then I thought of something you said — about how your dad used to cut his toast diagonally, like it made it taste better.”

You laugh, soft. “Because it does.”

He smiles. You can hear it. But then his voice shifts. Warmer. Quieter.

“And I wanted to tell you. Just that. Just... share that moment with you. And I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted to call. Even though it was nothing. Even though it was everything.”

Your fingers twist in the hem of your blanket. “Oscar-”

He exhales, quiet static against your cheek. “It just– it made me realize something.” 

You hear him shift again, maybe run a hand through his hair. When he speaks next, his voice is quieter. Barely above a whisper.

“I think you’re my best friend.”

And the way he says it — it’s not casual. Not flippant. It lands somewhere low in your chest, blooming slow and steady.

You don’t answer right away.

Because the truth is, you already knew. You’d known for a while now, tucked in the space between time zones and half-laughed voicemails. In the way your day doesn’t feel finished until you’ve heard his voice.

Still, you make a soft sound into the receiver. “I know,” you say, because anything more might break it.

He breathes out a laugh. You can hear him relax, like he was bracing for something bigger.

“I should let you sleep.”

“You should.”

But neither of you hang up.

You don’t say anything else that night. Just let the silence stretch between you like soft thread, pulled taut. Your hand stays curled around the phone long after the call ends, thumb brushing the screen like it might still be warm from his voice. 

And later, when you’re making toast in his kitchen for the first time and burn it so badly the alarm goes off, you both laugh like idiots, wheezing and barefoot. 

You keep his hoodie. He lets you. You wear it when he’s gone. You send him a photo of it hanging beside the ruined sweater, like they’re twin relics of something that matters now. 

He keeps his word. 

He never finds the same sweater. 

But somehow, you stop minding.

Oscar can’t look at a knit sweater without thinking of you, and maybe that’s the best kind of curse—a soft one, stitched with love, pulling him home.

[mintyys-blog]

Mark variants x fem reader on aphrodisiac

Ovulation is beating my ass rn

HEADCANON | mark variants with s/o who took a aphrodisiac

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: sexual themes, swearing, drugging

MAIN MARK

It was supposed to be just a quiet night in—takeout, some old movies, cuddling on the couch. You had picked up something labeled as a “fun couples treat” from a sketchy-looking novelty shop, not really thinking it was real. A few drops in your tea, and you laughed, brushing it off. It was probably a gimmick.

But twenty minutes in, you started feeling warm. Way too warm.

You shifted beside Mark on the couch, trying to ignore the way your thighs were clenching or how your breathing grew a little heavier. He noticed. Of course he did.

“You okay?” he asked, concern on his face as he paused the movie.

“I… think I might’ve taken something I shouldn’t have,” you murmured, cheeks flushed. “There was this dumb bottle I thought was fake—”

Mark blinked. “Wait. What kind of bottle?”

“…It said aphrodisiac.”

There was a pause. He stared at you. You stared back, mortified. Then he smirked—really smirked—just as you buried your burning face in your hands. “You’re serious?”

“I didn’t mean to! I thought it was a joke!” you whined.

Mark’s expression softened even though his eyes darkened just a little. “Okay, okay. Don’t panic. Just… let it pass.”

You nodded, but your skin was tingling, and you were sweating even though the room was cold. You didn’t mean to grab his shirt, but you needed something to ground you. And Mark was nothing if not grounded. He let you press your face into his chest, holding you gently, rubbing soothing circles into your back.

“I’m here. You’re okay.”

“…Mark?”

“Yeah?”

“If I jump your bones, it’s the potion. Not me.”

He laughed lowly into your hair. “Noted. But for the record…” He tilted your chin up, brushing your cheek with a knuckle. “…even if it was you, I wouldn’t complain.”

Your face burned, groaning into his shirt as you smacked him with a pillow. “Not helping!” He kissed the top of your head. “Alright, alright. I’ll go make us some cold drinks and sit on the other side of the couch before you combust.”

You didn’t let go of his shirt. “…Stay, please.”

He stayed. And if you ended up straddling his lap an hour later, flushed and whimpering his name between stolen kisses—well, it was the potion. Right?

SINISTER MARK

Mark was… unsettling, even on the best of days. He didn’t do soft. He didn’t do patience. And he sure as hell didn’t do mercy. But he did do you—thoroughly, possessively, and with every ounce of calculated control he wielded like a blade.

Which is why the second he walked through the door and saw you flushed, writhing against the couch cushions, eyes glassy and breath unsteady—he knew something was wrong.

He dropped the bag of groceries without a word, his boots heavy as he crossed the room.

“What happened?” he asked, voice low, but sharp with that familiar danger.

“I-I took something,” you breathed. “I didn’t mean to—I thought it was just for fun—I didn’t know—”

“Breathe,” he interrupted, crouching in front of you. His fingers reached up to brush your cheek, cool against your burning skin. “What did you take?”

“Something from that little magic shop in town. It said aphrodisiac on the label but I thought it was a joke—Mark, I’m burning.”

His smile was slow, tight, cruelly amused.

“Oh, darling… you thought that shit was a joke?” he whispered, grabbing your jaw gently, forcing you to look him in the eye. “You never read fine print, do you?”

You shivered beneath him.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did,” he purred. “And now look at you. Squirming. Needy. Practically begging for someone to take care of you.”

Your lips parted in a whimper. You hadn’t even realized how close he’d gotten until you felt his breath ghosting against your cheek.

He pulled away then—just enough to keep you trembling.

“I could help,” he said, voice dipped in cruel velvet. “Could give you everything you want. Make you forget your own name.”

You let out a quiet gasp.

“But…” His fingers slid down your neck, toying with the strap of your top. “You didn’t ask nicely.”

You blinked at him, confused.

He tilted his head.

“Beg for it.”

Your pride fought it. Just for a second. But then a wave of heat washed through you and all you could think about was how badly you needed him.

“Please, Mark,” you whispered, broken. “Please fuck me.” That was all he needed.

He grabbed you by the hips and threw you over his shoulder like a man who’d waited all day for an excuse to ruin you. “You better hold on, baby,” he muttered, voice already dark and thick with hunger. “Because this ain’t wearing off anytime soon.”

MOHAWK MARK

Mohawk Mark could smell it the moment he walked in.

The air was humid. Sweet. Thick with a heady tension that clung to his skin and made the hair on the back of his neck rise. He paused, his boots thudding lightly against the floor, scanning the apartment like a predator sensing prey.

And then he heard it.

A soft whimper. Breathless. Strangled.

“Y/N?” His voice echoed low, sharp with a flicker of amusement and concern.

You were sprawled on the bed, skin flushed, pupils blown wide and body trembling. The sheets were a mess, and so were you—sweaty, needy, completely overwhelmed. When your eyes found his, they were glassy and wet, your voice weak.

“I-I drank something—this pink vial—I didn’t think it would actually work,” you stammered. “Mark, I—I can’t stop—”

He stepped into the room slowly, grinning like a wolf, the cut of his uniform clinging to him as he dropped onto the edge of the bed, brushing his fingers up your thigh. His voice dropped, low and smooth.

“So you got curious and spiked yourself with some mystery aphrodisiac,” he said, his smirk twitching wider. “You really are something else.”

You whimpered again, grabbing at his wrist.

“Please—Mark, please do something—”

He leaned down close, lips brushing the edge of your jaw. “You need me to fix this, huh?” His tone was teasing, but underneath it, something protective simmered. “Of course you do.”

You nodded desperately, body aching and thrumming with want.

“Alright, alright,” he murmured, kissing the side of your mouth. “You don’t gotta beg—yet.”

He stripped his jacket off, laughing to himself as he looked you over. “Damn, you look like a dream. All fucked out and I haven’t even touched you properly.”

You let out a shaky sound, burying your face in his shoulder from embarrassment.

“Stop looking at me like that…”

He cupped the back of your head, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’m lookin’ at my girl,” he said smoothly, voice velvet. “What, I’m not allowed to appreciate her when she’s begging to be taken care of?”

You mumbled something incoherent, flushed to your ears. He chuckled darkly. “You started it. Guess I’ll be the one to finish it.”

PRISONER MARK

You didn’t mean to.

It was supposed to be a joke—a tiny glass vial in a velvet box, something you picked up from a black market vendor in the ruins for a laugh. You left it on the kitchen counter, unopened. But somehow… somehow, the seal cracked. Maybe the heat, maybe a faulty lid. Whatever it was, the scent was already in your bloodstream by the time Prisoner Mark returned from his run.

You were on the couch, curled up in one of his shirts, trembling. Sweat clung to your skin, breath shallow, eyes half-lidded with embarrassment and a desperate need you didn’t quite understand.

The door opened.

“Y/N?” His voice was rough, always a little gravelly from years of surviving. He froze the second he saw you, setting the cloth-wrapped bundle of stolen groceries on the table.

He took in your flushed skin, your dazed expression, the way your legs shifted like you couldn’t sit still. Slowly, cautiously, he moved toward you.

“You’re burning up,” he muttered, kneeling in front of the couch and pressing the back of his scarred hand to your cheek. “Did someone hurt you?”

You shook your head. “The vial. On the counter. I didn’t drink it. I just—breathed it in.”

His jaw clenched. “Aphrodisiac.”

You nodded.

He exhaled through his nose, trying to keep himself calm. Not because he wasn’t tempted—but because you needed comfort, not pressure.

“I can help you,” he said, brushing the hair from your face. “But only if you tell me it’s what you want.”

Your fingers curled into the collar of his shirt. “I want you,” you whispered. “I just—I don’t want you to think I’m gross for needing it like this.”

His eyes softened, just a little. “You could never be gross,” he said hoarsely. “You don’t need some chemical to make me want you. You already have me.”

He climbed up beside you, pulling you into his lap, cradling you like you were made of glass. You whimpered as your skin met his, your body sensitive to every shift, every brush.

He kissed your temple, murmuring low against your hair.

“I got you, sweetheart. I’m here. Let’s take care of you.”

His fingers trailed down your back, slow and deliberate, as if grounding you to reality. “You’re safe with me. Always.”

SHIESTY MARK

It started as a joke.

Some offhand dare when you found that stupid little bottle in an abandoned underground market—dusty and labeled with crude Viltrumite script. “You wouldn’t,” he said with a smirk, leaning against the shelf.

But you did. One drop on your tongue. Just to tease him.

Big mistake.

By the time you got home, you were flushed, legs shaky, gripping the kitchen counter as you tried to catch your breath. Your skin burned, not with pain—but with want.

He was on you before you could even call for him.

“…You seriously took that sh*t?” Shiesty Mark stood in the doorway, jaw locked, fists balled like he was trying not to make this worse. “The hell’s wrong with you?”

“I thought it’d be funny,” you mumbled, gripping the countertop harder. “But now I can’t—think. I’m so—”

He was in front of you in a flash, snatching your chin in his hand, tilting your head up to meet his eyes.

“Yeah, I know what you are.” His eyes roamed your flushed face, the tremble in your thighs. “Can feel it comin’ off you.”

You whimpered. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Shhh,” he whispered, thumb brushing your lip. “You don’t gotta talk right now. Just breathe.”

He didn’t push. Didn’t throw you down or pin you to the wall. No, Shiesty Mark leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“Just say the word, and I’ll give you every inch of what you’re beggin’ for,” he said low, voice like warm smoke. “But if you say no… I’ll sit here with you all night. Just like this. Keepin’ you company ‘til it fades.”

Your chest heaved. “Mark…”

“Yeah?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Please.”

His mouth broke into a grin, but not his usual cocky one. This one had teeth. “You got it, mama.”

He picked you up in one smooth motion, carrying you to the bed like a man possessed—but careful. His touch was greedy and reverent, his voice a near-growl at your ear.

“You don’t play with sh*t like that,” he muttered against your neck. “But if you do… you better be ready for me to take care of it properly.”

OMNI MARK

You hadn’t meant to take it. You really hadn’t.

The label was written in a language you barely understood—something you picked up in a little trade shop, tucked into a crevice on a planet Omni Mark never liked you going to. But it was cheap, said something about “scent enhancement” and “skin purification.” You were excited. You wanted to smell nice for him. You wanted to feel soft when he kissed you goodnight.

Instead? Instead, you were burning alive from the inside out. You were pacing the room now—your room, shared with him, big enough to be a palace suite. You tugged at the sleeves of your shirt, your cheeks flushed, body hypersensitive to the faintest brush of air. It was unbearable.

“Mark…” you called, voice high and trembling. “Something’s… wrong.”

He arrived within seconds, his silhouette framed by the open door, sharp gaze scanning your frame before you even had to explain.

His nose twitched. He smelled it. Immediately.

The shift in the air. The ache. The desperation rolling off of you in waves.

His face was unreadable.

“What did you take?” he asked, calm and even, arms folded behind his back.

“I—it was a bottle. From that vendor. It said it was for skin. And scent. I thought—” you stopped when his eyes narrowed. “I didn’t know it was—”

“It’s an aphrodisiac,” he cut in coldly. “Viltrumite in composition, likely hyper-concentrated. They mislabeled it.”

You looked up at him with wide eyes, desperate. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“I know.”

That simple admission stopped your spiral.

Omni Mark sighed, removing his gloves slowly, placing them on the dresser before striding toward you. He touched your forehead lightly, then your cheeks, brushing hair from your damp skin.

“Your body is reacting the way it should,” he murmured, clinically, like he was diagnosing an injury. “It’s in heat now. And your brain won’t clear up until it’s resolved.”

You blinked up at him, practically vibrating in place. “What do I do?” you asked, nearly a whisper.

He leaned down until his face was level with yours, eyes unblinking. “You will sit down,” he said softly, almost sternly. “And let me take care of you. You are not to do anything that will further distress your body. Is that understood?”

You nodded. A flush climbed your cheeks as he bent to lift you effortlessly, placing you on the bed. He knelt before you, calloused hand settling on your thigh—gentle despite the strength beneath it. “This is not how I prefer to see you,” he murmured, brushing a kiss against your knee. “But if this is what you need, then I will give it to you. I will not leave you like this.”

A small noise escaped you, overwhelmed. “I just wanted to smell nice,” you whispered. At that, his eyes softened—if only a fraction. “You always do.”

MASKLESS MARK

You didn’t know what was wrong with you at first.

Your skin tingled. Your breath came out fast and shaky. The air felt too heavy, your clothes too tight. And when you looked at Maskless Mark, your body reacted like it needed him. Not wanted. Needed.

You hadn’t told him yet. You didn’t want to seem needy. Or worse—clingy. But he noticed. He always noticed.

You were pacing the hallway near the kitchen, pretending to look for something on the shelf when he stepped in behind you, quiet as a shadow. His voice was low, almost lazy.

“…What’s got you so worked up?”

You turned too fast and nearly ran into his chest. His brown eyes were half-lidded, flicking lazily over you, then stopping. Narrowing.

“You smell weird.”

You blinked up at him, confused. Embarrassed. “I—what?”

He leaned down. Inhaled. And his expression twitched—just a little.

“…Oh.”

You tried to take a step back, but he caught your chin in his fingers, his grip firm but not cruel. “What the fuck did you take?”

“I—I didn’t know, okay? It was this thing I bought from one of the vendors. They said it was perfume. It smelled nice. I thought it was just for skin but—” you swallowed, sweating now. “I think it was laced with something.”

He stared at you. Quiet. Processing. Then he huffed a breath out of his nose and dragged a hand down his face. “Of course it was.” You tried to say something else, but your voice broke—half from shame, half from how badly you were burning up inside. You turned your head, avoiding his eyes.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen…” He said nothing. Not at first.

Then, he stepped closer. You flinched, but not out of fear—just raw, aching sensitivity. “…You don’t even know how you look right now,” he muttered, voice rough. “All flushed. Eyes big. Shaking.”

You looked up at him, and for a moment—just a second—you saw it. Hunger. But he didn’t touch you. Not yet. “You’re lucky it was me who found you first,” he murmured. “You wouldn’t survive five minutes around anyone else with that scent on you.”

You swallowed hard. “What… what do I do?” He tilted his head, expression unreadable. “…You let me take the edge off. Or you stay like this for hours.”

You hesitated—then nodded. And just like that, his arms were around you, pulling you in tight. But his voice, low against your ear, reminded you: “I’m not gentle. Not even when you’re like this.”

VILTRUMITE MARK

You had only been married to him for a few weeks.

Things were quiet between you and Mark—not cold, just… new. He never pressured you. Not for children, not for anything. He wasn’t the kind of man who pushed. He gave you space, time. He respected your limits.

Which was exactly why you didn’t tell him what the woman in the market gave you. “It’ll help with connection,” she had said, smiling as she placed the glass bottle in your palm. “Emotional and physical. You’re not broken. You just need a little spark.”

The scent was warm, sweet. You hadn’t even taken a full dose. Just a few drops on your skin. You thought it would help ease your nerves, maybe open you up to something more intimate with Mark.

But it wasn’t perfume.

Not even close.

Ten minutes later, you were crawling into the bathroom and locking the door, heat prickling across your skin like fire, your thighs trembling, your entire body begging—screaming—for something you couldn’t name out loud. Your breath came in shallow, fast little pants. Your mouth was dry, tongue heavy, and your hands shook violently.

You couldn’t think. Only feel.

The ache between your legs grew unbearable, your fingertips digging into your skin in a desperate attempt to stay grounded. You tried to drink from the faucet, but even that wasn’t enough.

Then there was a knock.

“Y/N?” Mark’s voice. Calm. Curious. A little confused.

You moaned—moaned—instead of answering properly. Your legs gave out beneath you, and you slumped down to the floor with your back against the tub.

Another knock. This time, firmer.

“…Are you hurt?”

“N-No—yes—I don’t know!” you choked out, voice high and hoarse.

The door clicked open.

Mark stepped in, towering, expression shifting the second his eyes landed on you.

You were flushed from head to toe, lips swollen from biting them, hands fisting the fabric of your dress. You were on the tile floor, trembling, your pupils blown wide.

His nostrils flared slightly. He could smell it now.

His jaw tensed. “What. Did. You. Take.” Your lips wobbled. “I—I thought it was perfume—I didn’t know, Mark, I swear—” He was kneeling before you before you could finish, hands cupping your face gently but firmly, golden eyes sharp, scanning you for injury. “Who gave it to you?”

You could barely remember. You mumbled the market stall’s name, and he growled low in his throat—not at you, but at the thought of someone drugging you this way. You gripped his arms, nails digging into his skin. “It hurts. I can’t—Mark, please—” He shushed you softly, stroking your cheek, trying to soothe the panic.

“I wasn’t going to rush you,” he murmured, voice low. “Wasn’t gonna touch you until you were ready.” You whimpered, eyes glassy.

“But now,” he said, brushing your hair behind your ear, “you need me to make it stop. Don’t you?” You nodded frantically, tears spilling. His thumb ran across your lower lip as he whispered: “Then I will.”

He lifted you like you weighed nothing, carrying you to the bed. Because Viltrumite or not, you were his wife. And no one else would ever touch you this way.

[inkdrinkerworld]

could you pretty please write a reader meeting james' parents with like two versions: the first time where she's shit scared and nervous, and the time where she's completely blended in with the family and is talking like a family member, helping effy in the kitchen nd everything pretty please? (sorry if this was too specific, i love love love ur writing! <3)

This was such a cute ask! I’m sorry that it’s taken me this long to get to it, but I hope you enjoy it

The first time you meet Fleamont and Euphemia Potter you’re literally on the verge of passing out from how bad your anxiety is.

You want them to like you.

James does his best to keep you calm but the second he parks his car in their driveway your heart rate picks up again.

“James, what if I mess this up and they hate me?” You turn to him in the passenger seat, staring at him with wide eyes.

James cups your cheeks, “You’re not gonna mess anything up, lovie. They’ll adore you, I promise.”

The minute he knocks on the door Euphemia is there, her apron still on and her gray hair combed back in a French twist.

“Jamie,” she envelops him in her arms and as he hugs her back she meets your eyes. “Oh you’re just gorgeous.”

James pulls away from her to introduce you. Euphemia shushes him with a wave of her hand. “Hi darling,” she pulls you into an equally enthusiastic hug and your fears start to melt. “I’ve heard so much about you. But come in and tell me everything.”

Fleamont brews tea for everyone, you and Euphemia finish dinner in the kitchen together, but it’s not as nerve wracking as you’d thought it’d be.

She’s made a roast dinner, beef, potatoes, salad, and broccoli cheese. You’d brought an apple crisp and ice cream for dessert.

By the end of the night, your fears are all gone. James can’t help but he smug on the drive home.

After a year of dating James, he swears you and his parents speak more than they do to him.

You don’t even have to knock anymore when you get there, you have a key to their house now.

Euphemia beams when she sees you, James rolls his eyes fondly when you wrap your arms around her.

“Hi mum, nice to see you too.” He says sarcastically and Fleamont laughs from his spot in the kitchen.

“Jamie boy, help out your old man.” Fleamont and James are one and the same, you know Euphemia cooked, but her husband and her son don’t let her pull the hot trays from the oven. James never lets you do it either.

James pulls a tray of scones out, Fleamont gets the iced tea from the fridge and the clotted cream and jam.

You and Euphemia are doing puzzle, a spring river one you’d gotten her last time you’d come by.

“Do you think the heat will disrupt the flowers too much?” You ask as you take a peek into her garden. Euphemia has the loveliest flowers you’ve ever seen.

“I’m hoping they won’t, but if it comes to it, I’ll set the sprinklers on.”

James comes in just then, two glasses of iced tea in hand.

“Did you add berries to this one mum?” He asks as he sets the glasses down.

“Some of the blackberries came out early, so I just threw those in before the heat could get to them.”

James smiles, “It’s delicious.”

You take a sip and can’t help but agree. “Do I smell scones?” You ask and Euphemia beams, she loves feeding people.

“The last of the oranges were out there so I made plain scones and orange jelly.”

They’re perfect, and what makes it even more perfect is the sun and breeze coming in through the windows.

[jaesblogstuff]

Attitude, no problem pt.2, ~pt.1~

oral (f receiving), choking (light + consensual)...smut all around man

The door shuts behind you with a soft click. You toe off your boots, still tasting the spice of red curry on your tongue, and Simon’s jacket brushes your back as he follows close—too close. You barely get your coat half-off before his voice cuts in from behind, low and guttural.

“Been watchin’ you pick at your food all night,” he says. “Figured you’d either start talkin’… or you’d need to be reminded how to use that mouth.” The coat slips from your shoulders and hits the floor. You sigh, just feeling the weight of him behind you. “Simon just forge-“

“You were quiet,” he interrupted, fixing your eyes to him. “Not in a way I like, thought I told you to fix that.” Then his hand wraps around your throat, not tight. Just there. A promise. A warning.

He drops—drops—to his knees like he’s being called, like worship’s second nature. His hands grip behind your thighs, lips already parting as he yanks your pants halfway down your legs. “We're gonna have a little talk, isn't that right?” is he talking to my-

You choke on a moan when his tongue slides up your cunt in one long, filthy stroke. His groan vibrates into you like it pisses him off how good you taste. He tongues your clit with slow, brutal circles. Just enough pressure to drive you insane. No hesitation. No restraint.

You gasp, hips jerking, and his hands tighten, yanking one of your thighs over his shoulders. “You always get quiet when you’re like this?” he mutters into you. “Or just when you’re tryin’ to pretend nothin’s wrong?”

You tremble. Fingers in his hair. His tongue flicks just right and your head thumps back against the wall. “I—I wasn’t pretending,” you manage, breathless.

He hums, like he doesn’t believe you. Lips slick with you, tongue working in slow, punishing strokes. “Don’t lie to me,” he growls, voice nearly lost between your thighs. “You forget who the fuck you’re dealin’ with?” He sucks your clit hard and you cry out, back arching off the wall. Your hands claw at his scalp, and it only makes him groan louder, like he likes being pulled apart.

“I didn’t want you to see me like that,” you whisper, broken and raw. “Was just a rough morning” His mouth pauses. Just a second. That’s all it takes. He feels the shift—the hesitation. Feels you go quiet. And he stops, just enough to make you notice. He licks once, slow and deep, then breathes against you:

“Say the rest.”

“there’s nothing more…” he fucking stops. With a forceful suck before he lets go and looks up at you.

“I—” You swallow; he continues.“Fuck—I’m… I’m drowning in reports. Price just keeps dropping shit on my desk like I’m his fucking secretary, and Soap—Christ—he keeps asking me to do his tasks ‘cause—fuck, Simon, slow down—‘cause his ego’s too fucking big to admit he can’t handle them”

Simon groans. Deep. Wrecked. Like your honesty just shattered something in him.

“That’s it,” he mutters, voice rough with something between hunger and satisfaction, like he’s been waiting for that. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

But then, He pulls back again. great. Just enough. Fingers still buried in you, but his mouth gone, heat gone, the drag of his tongue gone, and it’s a betrayal so sharp you actually whine, hips bucking, chasing the friction he just ripped away.

“Simon,” you gasp, dizzy, frantic. “What the fuck—”

“You think you get to come after the way you talked to me today?” His voice is low. Dangerous. Almost smug. “You think I forgot that fuckin’ tone? That little attitude you’ve been throwin’ around all goddamn day? Nah, sweetheart.” His fingers curl deep, just once, slow and devastating. “You’re gonna sit with it.”

“Are you…” You bite back a sob, thighs shaking. “You’re seriously punishing me?”

“Not punishin’.” His lips brush your inner thigh, featherlight, maddening. “Just remindin’ you who’s in charge of that pretty little cunt.” You glare down at him, wrecked and furious and dripping for him. “You’re a fucking asshole.” He grins. Licks his lips like he tastes your fury. “Maybe.”

And then he’s kissing you. Filthy. Deep. Letting you taste yourself on his tongue while he lays you back across the sheets, eyes dark, full of something too big for words. He doesn’t stop. Not until you’ve said it all. Not until you’ve come again with his name in your throat and your fears on your lips. You don’t even remember when he stripped— just the heat of his skin against yours now, the weight of him between your thighs, the thick slide of his cock dragging across your slit, smearing you open.

He doesn’t press in right away. He waits. Watches your eyes. Palm still cupping your jaw. Like this part—this slow unraveling—is what he’s been craving all along. “You sure?” he murmurs, voice pitched low, thumb brushing your cheek like he’s grounding you to the moment. “I need to hear it.” (a man of consent yes)

You breathe, shaky. Still wrecked. Still open. “Yes,” you whisper. “Please, Simon.” His name sounds small on your tongue. He groans, like it guts him. And then he presses in.

Thick, slow, unrelenting.

You gasp, hips twitching, legs spreading wider to take him. He moves like he’s afraid to break you, but desperate to fill you, to feel every inch of you wrapped around him. “Fuck,” he breathes. “So tight—still fuckin’ twitchin’”

He sinks deeper. You claw at his shoulders, mouth parting in a soundless moan as he bottoms out, your walls clenching around him like you don’t want to let go. And he just stays there. Not moving. Just breathing against your throat. Letting you feel the weight of him. Letting you get used to it—to him.

Then his lips find your ear. “You don’t need to ask for help,” he murmurs, voice low and burning. “You need to take it. From me. Always.”

He rolls his hips. Once. Deep.

It knocks the air from your lungs. And then again. Slow, deliberate thrusts that drag against every swollen, sensitive nerve he already unraveled with his mouth. He fucks you like he’s trying to build you back up one stroke at a time- steady, grounding, anchored in something real.

Your nails dig into his back. You whimper. He groans, mouth at your throat.

“You needed this, didn’t you?” he rasps. “Needed me to shut your head up for you.” You nod, barely, eyes rolling back as your body tightens around him. “Yeah,” he mutters, leaning closer, lips brushing your ear. “I know. I fuckin’ know.”

Your hips buck. Your eyes burn.

“Simon…”

You sob into his mouth when he kisses you again. This time deeper, tongue claiming yours like he’s desperate to steal your silence, your sorrow, your shame.

His thrusts grow harder, never fast, Just deep. Measured. Every one a promise.

“I’ve got you,” he breathes, over and over, like a prayer. “You hear me? You’re not goin’ anywhere. Not leavin’ you to drown in it.” Your body starts to quake again. The pressure builds fast—your cunt fluttering around him, oversensitive from his mouth, your second orgasm rising like a flood. And he feels it. Of course he does.

“Let go,” he groans. “Don’t hold back this time.”

You fall apart with a cry. Clenching around him, back arching, fingers gripping his forearms like a lifeline as your body spasms through another high, softer than before, but deeper. Devastating. It leaves you wrung out, voice caught in your throat, chest heaving.

He buries himself to the hilt, head tucked against your neck, groaning like it splits him open. Warmth floods you, and he doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe—just holds you like the world outside the bed doesn’t exist.

Minutes pass. His hand cradles your jaw. He kisses your temple, once, slow. “Next time,” he murmurs, breath still catching, “you ask for what you need, yeah?” You nod, wrecked. Quiet. And you don’t miss the way he holds you tighter after. Like he already knows it’ll take time. Like he’s not going anywhere until you believe it.