#this took like three drafts to work something out

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Knowing You

Summary: Bucky Barnes x Red Room!Reader -> Bucky knows you better than you know yourself. So, what happened when he starts to notice something is wrong?

Summary: 18+ contains smut (towards the end). Reader was in Red Room so mentions and descriptions of that, swearing, nightmares, Bucky and reader are on some level soulmates, best friends/partners to lovers, brief found/forged family vibes with the rest of the team. Not fully proof read.

You had been trying to get to sleep for hours. And nothing had worked. 

Worst of all, you’d had a long day. Missions for your team had wrapped up around a week ago, but you were yet to have a truly deep sleep since getting back. So, you kept yourself busy. Multiple meetings a day, long paperwork drafts (which usually would make you bored to the point where sleep was the only option left to cure it). 

You even took on training sessions. Both participating and leading. Like today. 

But it had done the complete opposite.

Rather than being relaxed, your body was on high alert. Enough adrenaline pumping and settling in your bones to have you laying away, desperate for sleep but knowing it wouldn’t even come to you for five minutes, let alone five hours. 

But it wasn’t until you started pacing in the dark, the light from the moon outside being your only source of shadow creation for your eyes, that something hit you. 

Or, rather, it starts to tingle. Around your wrist. 

It had been a long time since you’d gone to bed with something secured around it. And, you’d had enough therapy to work away from it. But, you were at your wits end. 

You found them under the trick bottom to one of your drawers. A little rusted near the chain link, but still usable. 

Walking slowly back to your bed, you took a few moments to consider what you were about to actually do. 

Handcuff yourself to your bed, just like they used to do to you. 

When you wake in the morning, you completely forgot about your three-in-the-morning attempt to get to sleep. But it all comes flooding back the minute you go to wipe your eyes, only to be greeted with the sound of metal clanging. 

As you unlocked yourself, you swore to yourself that once you covered them back up, they would never come out again. But, deep down, you knew it was a lie. 

Three days pass before you use them again. Then another two. Before, finally, several weeks have passed and you find it’s the only way for you to fall asleep…again. 

Natasha had been the one to help train you out of it since Clint had been the first to help her. First by holding her hand before she fell asleep, before eventually she found herself so tired she didn’t even lift her hand near her headboard at all. 

But, one night, you had a nightmare. You felt a name fall from your lips as you called out for them in a completely different language. Your breathing was heavy as you looked around, trying to cover your face only to find your wrist still shackled to your bed frame. 

Then you heard footsteps. Familiar ones. You managed to stuff the handcuffs and the key under your pillow before they entered. 

“Are you okay?”

A little breathless, you nodded. “Yeah…yeah, I’m fine. Just a nightmare. Nothing special.”

Bucky stood tall by your bedroom door, the glow from the kitchen light down the hall making him just that little more visible. “Wanna talk about it?”

You shook your head. “No…no. I-I think…”

A brief, sad, smile ghosted across his face. He nodded his head over his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll make you a drink.”

Bucky waited for you to slowly move the sheets from your leg as you stood. However, as you did, the hairs on his neck began to stand. Something was wrong. He didn’t know what, but something was wrong. 

Maybe it was how clean your room was. Spotless. Militarily so. Even his own looked lived in, at least. The only thing that would tell him you still lived there was the fact your sheets were messed up a little. 

The place smelled clean. Something he only noticed as you passed under his arm. He could smell your shampoo. Oranges and…cinnamon, maybe? You smelled warm. Homely. But your room? 

Your room smelled clean. Not even of your laundry detergent. 

Then he spotted the wear on your headboard as he turned to follow you out of the room. His mind ticked over itself all the way back towards the kitchen. 

“Here,” Bucky’s soft voice said. “Take a seat.”

As Bucky started making you a hot drink, his eyes constantly fell back on you. You were looking anywhere but him. The cabinets, the ceiling, the walls, the window – it was almost as if you’d never seen it before. Meanwhile, your fingers mindlessly played with the hem of your sleeve. 

Only when he placed the mug of hot chocolate in front of you, with extra marshmallows, did he notice the redness around your wrist. But he didn’t say anything. 

“Thanks,” you replied in a quiet voice. 

Not until you held the mug in both of your hands did you realise just how cold you were. But Bucky seemed to notice. Barely ten seconds later, you had a weighted blanket over your shoulders. 

His care and tenderness brought a brief smile to your face. 

“Ready to talk about it?”

Taking a sip, letting the heat warm your throat, you laid the mug back down on the counter. “Like I said, nothing special.”

Bucky’s silence let you know he was waiting for you to continue. He wouldn’t press, or pressure you into talking. But he’d stay with you. Through the silence, or through the explanation. Either way, he wasn’t leaving. 

So, you opened up. “I…I was back in the Red Room. Ten years old. Friendless. Training. I never was, but I thought I was getting flogged. They only ever whipped our hands, or our legs. But…I thought I’d let someone go and they punished me for it.”

“Who was she?”

You looked at Bucky with a small swallow. “Her name was Anya. She…” You shifted a little in your seat. “She was inducted a year after me, though she was my age. We were roommates. When you walked into our room, she had the left bed. She was…”

You looked down at the melted marshmallows in your drink, buying time to steady your voice as the memory became louder in your head. 

You took a breath and looked back up. 

“She was my best friend. Until our real training took place. A symbol of our loyalty.” Tears came forward in your eyes. “I had to shoot her, Bucky.”

He reached out and held onto your arm for a moment. “In my dream…I told her to run. And she did. Even if they would have flogged me, I wish I would have told her to run…”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He just stepped forward and wrapped you in his arms. 

“I should have told her to run…”

“They would have only killed you both. And it wasn’t your fault.”

You nodded. You’d been to enough therapy sessions to know. “I know. But it doesn’t change the outcome.”

Bucky stayed up with you for two more hours, talking over everything until he finally walked you back to your room. 

It was the first time in weeks you’d fallen asleep without handcuffs. 

Bucky kept his eye on you for the next month. You seemed to be looking better – less sleep deprived. However, something still didn’t seem right. 

As the sixth week approached, Bucky checked in on you. The clock was a little past midnight by the time he got back. With a week off from work, he’d taken full advantage. Each day, he went somewhere new. A market in upstate New York, the docks down by Brooklyn, a few other places, too. 

Once his jacket and boots were safely in his room, he started making his rounds. Kate had fallen fast asleep, starfished and snoring on her bed whilst the lamp was still on. 

He entered quietly. There was nothing waking her, so he moved her a little before covering her up and switching out the light and finally closed her door. Ava was curled into her pile of blankets on her bed, though she seemed comfortable enough. 

Peter had flopped onto his front as he got into bed, having fallen asleep with his face smushed into his duvet. Bucky covered him with a blanket before moving over to leave his window on the latch compared to being wide open. 

Sam had fallen asleep in the living room, so with a tap against the bottom of his foot, he woke up. 

“You’re gonna get a bad back. Go to bed.”

Sam sat up slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m going. Thanks, Buck.”

“How were they all?”

“In bed by eleven.”

Bucky smiled. “Good. Yelena?”

“Her and Natasha went to see Clint. They’re staying overnight.”

Bucky nodded. At least they were accounted for. 

“Night, man.”

“Night.”

As Sam disappeared down the hall and towards his room, Bucky cleaned up a little before shaking Joaquin awake in the kitchen where he was slumped over his laptop. 

“Bedtime.”

Lazily dragging himself to his feet, Joaquin made his way to his own room. 

With everyone else out on missions or, in Tony’s case, on some kind of five star holiday getaway. The only person left to check in on was you. 

Bucky switched the light off in the kitchen before he made his way to your room. The door was open enough for him to push it with one finger and the door swung open a little more. 

You were fast asleep. 

Then he spotted it. 

And everything clicked into place. 

The wear on your headboard, the redness around your wrist. 

You were handcuffing yourself to your bed like the Red Room used to do to you. His heart broke a little inside. There was only one reason you were doing that, and he needed to make sure that stopped. 

You stirred away, looking around confused as you felt your wrist fall limp a little. A voice close by calmed you as if you were a skittish horse. 

“Hey, hey. It’s just me. It’s Bucky.”

“Bucky?” You opened one of your eyes to see his shadowy frame sitting beside you. “What’s going on?”

Then you heard it. The peel of ridges from the handcuffs as they fell from around your wrist. 

Shit. 

“You don’t need these anymore.”

Bucky folded them and carefully placed them onto your bedside table. You let out a breath as you laid back down, your head hitting your pillow. 

With one arm, Bucky caged you in a little as you laid beneath him. Before you opened your eyes, you felt him brush some of your hair from your face, softly. 

“How long?” Bucky asked. 

“A few weeks, maybe more.” There was no point in lying to him. “One night…I don’t know. I couldn’t sleep. Not from too much coffee or nightmares. I just…couldn’t sleep. I just…I needed something familiar. Something safe.”

Bucky nodded as he watched you. Then he turned his attention to your worn wrist. There was a little bruising with the redness. His thumb traced along the lines indented in your skin. 

“I’m sorry.”

Bucky looked at you for a short moment, his expression unreadable. Shock? Sadness? Something else?

Then he cradled your hand in his as he lifted it and pressed one soft, long kiss to the inside of your wrist. 

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, doll.”

You couldn’t help it, but a small tear rolled from your eyes. 

“Next time you need something familiar…come and find me.”

Another tear fell and you just nodded. Still holding your hand, Bucky lifted you with his other arm until you were fully cradled in his arms. He pressed a gentle kiss under your ear. 

“But I’m gonna stay for tonight, if that’s okay.”

You couldn’t speak, but you nodded. 

Seconds later, Bucky had climbed over you, not letting you go, and held you against him. With one of your hands against his chest, you could feel the outline of his dog tags. Meanwhile, his hand remained around your wrist, rubbing gentle circles over the indents from the handcuff. 

It was the second time you’d fallen asleep almost instantly, without being handcuffed to your bed. And it was the first time you’d slipped into a truly deep sleep. 

“How are you feeling?” Bucky asked you once you were finally awake. 

“Better.”

You watched him for a while. The way his smile curved on his face, the way his adams apple bobbed before he went to talk. You could feel his heartbeat under your palm. Once steady, still steady. Only, a little faster. 

Pulling you a little closer, he pressed a kiss to your forehead before moving back and brushing the hair from the side of your face. 

But the longer you looked at him, the bigger the calm storm became in your stomach. 

You and him had been friends for a long time. A long time. But you’d been partners ever longer. Mostly you worked missions together despite your schedules being a little different. 

But you’d both been there when the other needed help. 

First you when Bucky had been slammed into a truck when fighting the flag smashers – Sam had called you, telling you Bucky was okay but just grumpier than usual. 

Sam saw the change in him when you arrived, though you couldn’t stay. 

Back in Washington, Bucky had rushed to the hospital with you when he turned up at your apartment and found you had busted your stitches from the last mission you’d been assigned. He was listed as your emergency contact which was helpful when getting the nurses and doctors to tell him exactly how you were. 

He didn’t have to lie that time and say he was your husband. Which he’d done more than once. 

You’d lied and said you were his wife first, though. 

Having worked together for six months in the field, Sam had called you to let you know he was taking Bucky to the hospital. He’d been put through the ring a couple of times and the bruises weren’t healing. It had just slipped out when the nurse asked about your relation to him. As far as they were aware, Bucky was already with his work partner. 

It just slipped out. 

The longer you looked at Bucky, feeling his warm gaze flicker over your face, the more the idea of feelings settled over you. 

Of course you had feelings for Bucky. You just couldn’t tell when they had changed, or even started. Maybe since the beginning. There has always been a silent understanding between you both. It even freaked you out, sometimes. The way you knew him better than the others, being able to pick up on the subtle hints he wasn’t aware he was even dropping. 

But he knew you just as well. 

From the way you talked, to how you would look at something, or rather, not look at something. Like a few weeks ago when you had a nightmare. Without looking at him, he knew you wanted to talk but couldn’t. The way you cupped the mug with two hands rather than one. 

Sometimes you wondered if he knew you better than you knew yourself. 

You closed your eyes as you felt his forehead touch yours. “Bucky…”

“Tell me to leave.” 

You felt his heart thump a little louder in his chest. Or maybe it was your own. 

“Tell me to leave…”

You opened your eyes for a moment as you shook your head. “Don’t leave. Don’t leave-”

Barely a second later, his lips captured yours in a searing kiss. The hand on your face held you closer as you kissed him back. 

Maybe there was a chance you would regret it. Maybe there was a chance he would regret it. 

But you highly doubted it. 

The hand you held on his chest curled around the fabric of his top and tangled with the dog tags beneath it as you pulled him closer. The kiss broke for half a second as he rolled you onto your back. Then his lips were back on yours. 

You granted him entrance to taste you as you spread your legs wider so he could slot between them. You whimpered, a little, into his kiss as you felt him against the fabric of your pajama bottoms. 

He left you gasping for breath as he held your jaw steady, his mouth moving under it and down your neck. 

The lower he got, the more your leg tensed as you wrapped it around his thigh. When he moved back up to kiss your lips again, you felt him again. 

“Bucky…” His name fell in a whisper from your lips as his kiss trailed along your collarbone and his hands pushed under your sleep shirt. He lifted you up the bed a little more as his kiss finally reached your stomach. 

You watched as the sheets fell from both of you as his thumb flicked once, twice, over your raised nipples. Meanwhile, his mouth was getting lower and lower and lower…

“Bucky, please…”

He looked up at you through darkened lashes and after what felt like an eternity, he nodded. And your head fell back against your headboard. 

One hand by your hip, he held you steady as he lowered your pants and tossed them over his shoulder. With his other hand, he spread your legs further apart before getting a good look at the last thing that kept him from tasting you. 

“If you want to stop-”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Tell me if you do-”

“I don’t want to stop.”

His gaze focused on yours for a long second, then he nodded again before hooking one finger under your underwear and pulled it to the side. 

You bit your lip and rolled your head back as he tasted you for the first time. Your legs closed a little, but he just pushed them further apart. A choked so caught in your throat as you looked at the ceiling as he sucked at your clit before flicking his tongue across it slowly. 

Bucky could feel your wetness dripping down his chin as he licked you for the first time, back to front before swirling your juices back around your clit. And he kept going. 

You could feel the graze of his stubble against your skin, leaving you with a delicious afterburn that he only seemed to sooth with his tongue. And when he sucked at you again, your body jolted forward with laboured breaths. 

When he felt your fingers grip his hair, the chuckle that left him vibrated throughout your body. A gasp left you as he curled his tongue inside of you, lapping you up as if you were his last meal. 

You moved slowly at first, riding his face in a sweet rhythm. Then he groaned. You watched through hooded eyes as Bucky pushed himself further into the mattress. 

“Fuck,” you moaned before tipping your head back again. His tongue was driving you wild, but the image of him fucking the matress would forever be imprinted in your memory. 

With his thumb spreading you open for him, he curled his tongue around your clit once more before finally slipped his finger inside of you. He heard a breathless gasp leave your mouth by the time he added a second. 

He could feel himself leaking through his underwear as his hips fucked the matress. The taste of you compared to nothing else. 

“Buck- Bucky…please. Fuck. Fuck…”

You were still riding his face as he felt your walls tighten around his fingers. You pulsed against him as he curled them further inside of you. Then, with a plea of his name, your grip tightened in his hair as you rode the high of your orgasm. 

Your lungs were begging for breath as you fell against your headboard, your eyes closed. 

“Fuck.”

You opened your eyes just enough to see Bucky crawl to his knees, licking the last of you from his face. 

“That was hot.”

A small laugh left your lungs as his hands reached for your underwear once more. However, this time, he pulled them down your legs, watching as the consequence of your orgasm dripped down your inner thigh. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful, doll.”

Once you were free from the fabric, you crawled to your knees before pushing Bucky onto his back. He laughed a little, but pulled you closer to him. 

Undoing his zipper, you straddled his hips and pulled his erection free from the restrictive fabric of his own underwear. 

Bucky sat up, kissing you. 

As your thumb swiped over his pre-cum, he jolted in your hand. A groan emptied into your mouth as you took his bottom lip between your teeth. 

With a hard tug of his cock, you shifted yourself. His finger bit into the flesh of your hips as you took him in slowly. 

Bucky’s eyes left your face to look between you both. “Fuck.” Then he watched as you lifted yourself back up, your juices having coated him. 

“Fuck, baby-” His mouth seared a kiss against yours as your rode him slowly at first before the pace started to pick up. “So fucking beautiful.”

With one arm wrapped around you, Bucky pushed his hand between you both and watched a look of ecstasy take over your face. His fingers curled up, flicking against your clit in a steady rhythm with additional pressure. 

Then your movements became erratic. 

“Fuck. Bucky…” You moaned. “Bucky, I’m gonna…” 

Another whimper fell from your lips as your head fell forward and his mouth found your pulse point. His teeth nipped at your skin before he damped the sting and moved to your collarbone. 

“Come for me,” he whispered, hoarsely. “Come for me, baby.”

And you did. 

Ten fold. 

The sound of your moans as you rode out your orgasm with him were dampened by his mouth on yours once more. 

“I want to feel you,” you admitted to him as you tried to catch your breath. “I want to feel you come inside me. I-I’m clean-”

“So am I.”

It was your turn to nod. 

Bucky held you in place as kept an arm around your waist and hips, moving you til you were lying on your back. With your hands on his face, he kissed you tenderly as he started moving inside of you again. 

Your clit already feeling overstimulated, he circled it with enough pressure to draw a desired moan from your lips, the noise joining the wetness between your legs as you felt him finally come inside of you. 

And for a while, you both just laid like that. Still connected, soft and tired kisses being drawn over each other's skin. 

By the time he finally pulled out, he pressed a final long kiss to your lips. 

“Stay there, I’ll be right back.”

And he was. With a warm cloth and a glass of water. By the time he threw the cloth into the washing hamper, you had finished your water. 

“We really should shower,” you told him. 

He sat beside you, his arms caging you in once more. You smiled. 

“And the sheets, too.” 

“Oh, no. Leave the sheets.”

“Leave the sheets?” 

You nodded. “We’ll only make a mess again when we come back.”

Bucky smiled, feeling his cock twitch before he kissed you again, and you pulled him on top of you, finally removing his shirt and running your hands down his body. 

[thebumblebeesworld]

PAPA’S • HERE

part six • annie x smoke (ft. pearline, grace, mary, and stack)

summary: striken with grief after losing his daughter, smoke runs away to chicago. what he doesn’t know is that annie is pregnant with his second child, at home alone, grappling with the grief and joy all at once. she drafts letters that she doesn’t send. she sends out prayers that she knows he won’t hear. but one day as annie opens her back door, she sees smoke, stooped at the grave of their daughter.

cw: grief, death of child, use of the nword

a/n: huge thank you to @ultralspblr @margepimpson @brownskincheyenne @championshipshade for your commentary on my last few chapters!! and thank you @blue4everrsworld for inspiring this part directly!! requested by @lizbehave

part one; part two; part three; part four; part five.

masterlist

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

month seven

"Y'all shol' know how to worry me something crazy," Annie huffed as she riffled through all the notes her friends had written up. Sitting before her were three different hypothetical baby showers written out on lined paper. Each of her three friends had their own plans for how her shower could go, and she just wasn't feeling any of it.

Mary wanted something posh and spectacular: cream-toned colors and light finger foods. Pearline wanted something like a full on party: bright lights contrasting with the night sky and loud music blaring. Grace was the closet to what Annie had imagined: understated and raw, but she didn’t care for Grace’s idea of a saturated color palette.

"How y'all expect me to rest if y'all keep bombardin' me with plans,” Annie argued with them, completely overwhelmed. “All y'all want me to do is sit down and not stress. Then here y'all come stressin' me."

"But Annie," Pearline stood before her, "you gotta have a baby shower."

"It's like mandatory," Mary said matter-of-factly.

"And you ain't got much longer," Grace added on, just continuing the torment. She gazed down at Annie's pregnant belly. "That baby look 'bout ready jump up outta there."

"Ugh," Annie exhaled, jaw tight and hands balled into fists. "I'm 'bout ready for y'all to jump the hell up outta here." Annie had been so irritable lately. At any given moment, her sweet girl was pressing on her bladder, and the closer she got to her birth, the more she missed her Elijah.

"Oh, mamas," Pearline came over, giving her a deep hug to ease some of that frustration she saw resting between Annie's eyebrows. "We love you, and we just want things to be perfect." Annie huffed, pushing down her frustration at the sight of her friend’s remorseful faces. They had done so much for her, filling in for the things Elijah should be doing but not pushing her to contact him. They worked to understand her, and they supported her in all her choices.

Leaning forward, she took a deep breath before telling them exactly how she wanted her baby shower to be.

"Well, first of all," rustling the papers that sat still on her lap, nose turned up as she eyed the plans written across them, "I hate all of this." She pointed to the pages like they were the most disturbing thing she'd ever seen. "I want simple and homely. It's almost fall so that Evenin' Primrose and Goldenrod should be growin' strong. That's all the decoration my sweet girl need. Something honest, light, and pretty. We can have sweet tea and lemonade as refreshments. And I want an array of food 'case folks get hungry."

Her friends nodded their heads, just happy that she had finally given in to the idea of having a baby shower at all. Annie had been against the idea since she still had yet to tell anyone about her pregnancy. The only people who knew for certain were sat in front of her. Bo also knew; Annie had begun opening the door for him when he delivered her groceries.

The hoodoo woman wasn’t nervous about what people would have to say, but she still didn’t want word to get back to Elijah. Bo was her husband’s best friend, but Grace would have threatened him within an inch of his life if he thought to somehow contact the twins.

Planning a baby shower only made Annie think of how she and Elijah planned their baby girl’s shower together. How he was so excited to be a papa. How he dedicated himself to getting everything in order for her arrival.

Him not being there now made her question herself—if she had done the right thing in not writing him back. If keeping this from him was her own kind of sick betrayal. She owed him nothing—that's something she would always stand on—but thinking through all the hypotheticals of how to celebrate this life she was bringing into the world caused her heart to crumble.

"I’m most excited to pick out your outfit for the shower," Pearline postulated, looking dreamily as she imagined all the cute dresses she could find for Annie and her adorable pregnant belly.

“You stay tryin’ to dress me up,” Annie laughed, letting her thoughts rest as she tuned back in to the situation before her. She and her baby were healthy—that she was thankful for—and there was this budding emotion stirring around in her gut.

It was familiar—habitual although it felt as if it hadn’t erupted in her soul for quite some time. She attempted to push it away, but no matter what she did, it weighed heavenly on her body.

~~~~~~~~~~

Smoke and Stack journeyed through wide fields of what li'l ole Clarksdale was known for—cotton. They'd been driving all day at this point. All Smoke wanted was to get back to Annie. Something was calling to him, a familiarity that shook him to his core and lit fire in his belly.

When he told his brother that he was ready to return home, Stack was fully on board. He had been waiting on his brother. Even though it was originally his idea to go to Chicago, he only went because it was what his brother needed. So every day they were there, Stack followed his lead. If Smoke didn't want to be called Elijah, then so be it. If Smoke wanted to cry in silence or erupt with painful anguish, then he'd be there to pick him up afterwards. If Smoke wanted to stop dealing with shady folks in an effort to be a better man, then Stack would try to be better alongside him. If Elijah was ready to return home, then so was Elias.

He wanted to be there for his brother. They'd both experienced so much grief in there lives, but this was the first pain they hadn’t experience together. Of course Stack loved his niece, but this loss was different for Smoke for several reasons.

He felt like he lost his manhood.

Smoke felt that he was unable to protect his family by keeping them safe, happy, and healthy. He blamed himself for being unable to provide for them appropriately. He blamed himself for that light in his life dimming. He had never experienced an ending like that. A light that he had created in love and safety and freedom had been snuffed out.

What Stack saw before him was a broken version of what he knew his brother to be, so he committed himself to being there for him. No questions asked.

Preparing for their departure from Chicago, the Delta twins tied up a few loose ends: finishing the jobs they were tethered to, collecting the money they were owed, and purchasing a car. For the first time, they had the means to own their own vehicle, so they decided to drive back to Mississippi instead of traveling by train.

Now that they were getting closer and closer to town, tension and anxiety began to build in Smoke's heart.

"What if she don't wanna talk to me?" Smoke's voice was low as he avoided Stack's eyes by focusing on his driving. His palms trembled against the steering wheel as he attempted to fight it off. Stack let out an exasperated sigh from the passenger seat, turning his body fully toward his brother.

"Nigga, you need to be worried about her wantin' to shoot yo' ass," he cackled, slapping his knee. "I told you a long time ago not to teach her how to work that shotgun. Then yo' dumb ass went and bought her the nicest piece, too?" He turned his head away from Smoke in disbelief before continuing his rant, "you must wanna die."

"Stop playin', nigga," Smoke grumbled, gripping the wheel tighter.

"I ain't playin'," he continued to laugh. "I ain't even mentioned that li'l blade she keep on her."

"Elias, I'm being serious here," Smoke leveled his tone of voice. His face was cheerless and stern. His brother’s concerns—though draped in hilarity—were valid. Annie wasn’t known as a soft woman who let her scrutiny fall to the way side. Depending on how upset she was, he was sure to be met with the end of a double barrel shotgun.

"Ok, ok," Stack forced out in a subdued manner. "You love Annie, and Annie loves you,” he reasoned, tone turning serious despite his earlier uncouth behavior. “I know you been able to feel her love even with all these miles apart. And now that we gettin' closer and closer, it’s startin' to feel stronger. You gon' be ok. We both know she ain't finna take you back easy. Not wit' how we left. But she ain't gon' turn you away."

Smoke stayed quiet, letting a breath pass while he thought on that feeling that was growing stronger the closer he got to home. It was he and Annie’s love—partially—but it felt like something more. He’d been feeling so strange lately, and the weird cravings and pains he’d been exhibiting hadn’t disappeared. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew that laying his eyes on Annie would clear up all of his confusion.

She had always been his guiding light, the one wading him through the troubled waters of his mind.

He needed her, and he was so upset with himself for believing that leaving Clarksdale for Chicago was his saving grace.

"Thank you, Elias,” he exhaled earnestly. Smoke's face flipped to something full of hidden mischief. He grinned wildly at his brother. “And while you talkin', you need to be worried 'bout Annie shootin' yo' ass too. You know she be ready to cuss you out on a good day.”

“I’m Annie favorite, nigga,” Stack tutted, crossing his arms over his middle. “You know she met me first.”

The air surrounding the twins returned to that of a carefree nature. They were always able to bring that kid out of each other. The ones who hadn’t experienced heartache. The ones that could joke around and laugh with each other, but as they rounded the corner into town, that carefree and hopeful energy died.

"Breathe," Stack spoke as they parked outside of Annie's home. Smoke had been holding his breath since he’d seen the small shack appear in the distance. Everything looked as he had left it seven months ago. The only difference was that the trees were beginning to turn bright oranges and yellows and the magnolia trees were no longer blooming. The pair also noticed a truck outside—recognizing it as the one that belonged to Bo and Grace.

Smoke didn't speak—he couldn’t; He just got out of the car slowly, hand grasping the small bouquet of Baby's Breath in his hands.

Stack jumped over the car door, eyes following his brother as he ventured toward the side of the house. With each step he took, Stack could tell that his breath was laboring more and more. His feet were getting heavier, and his back fought to stay upright. The younger twin fell back and peered away to give his brother privacy as he stooped to his daughter’s grave.

Smoke's quiet resolve crumbled as he let his emotions escape without restraint. He was happy to say that the one good thing that came out of him being away from home was that he learned to accept his emotions. He didn’t fight so hard to bottle things away anymore. He didn’t place arbitrary value to remaining stoic in the face of his sorrow.

So as he fell apart at his daughter’s grave, he didn’t view it as crumbling under the weight of his anguish. He saw it as rising above everything he was taught to be as a man.

His father never showed him a positive example of manhood. All he had learned from him was that he wasn’t going to be a man who took his anger out on his wife and children, but by doing that, Smoke had contended with a life of crime and murder to let off steam.

He no longer wanted to be that man. He wanted to show up for those around him as whole and unmuddled—strong and principled.

"Let me step my ass back 'fore Annie shoot me, man," Stack mumble under his breath, watching as the curtains on the front of the house moved swiftly. He saw shadows pass back and forth in a frenzy and heard floorboards creaking before everything went silent. Too quiet for the rapid toad calls singing around them. Too eerie for the bustling thumps of woodpeckers that echoed through the pines.

"You good, nigga," Stack asked his brother as Smoke strode back over to the front of the car, eyes trained on the house just as Stack’s had been. His body seemed looser—like the emotions he’d let out at the grave of his baby girl had done him a world of good. His face was streaked with tears that he saw no reason in clearing.

He knew that the moment he saw Annie again, he would be back to crying like a fool who'd done his woman wrong.

"I'm alright,” he shook his head, trying to understand the fact that he was standing in front of his home after seven months away. “Just nervous," he admitted, voice low and soft.

"You nervous 'cause you care," Stack said matter-of-factly. He followed his brother’s lead as the older of the two bounded up the weathering porch steps. Neither of them said a word. They just held their breaths and prepared for the inevitable. Smoke had waited for this very moment since the second the door had shut behind him and the Clarksdale air had beckoned him goodbye.

Every night he was away, Smoke had dreamed of meeting Annie’s eyes again. He’d wondered what emotion would be encapsulated behind them.

Betrayal?

Anger?

Love?

Resentment?

He didn't care what version of her he was met with. He adored Annie in all of her forms. But he knew this was a challenge he had never faced before. And he promised to never be faced with it again.

His body ached: back tensing under sharp pains, stomach jumping in a mix of cloudy emotions, feet trembling with each timid step he took.

As Smoke's hand raised to knock on the door, it swung open violently on its hinges. Knocking the wind and held breaths out of both brothers.

What Smoke had expected to be Annie staring back at him was actually three pair of impenetrable eyes: Pearline, Grace, and Mary.

"The fuck you doin' here," Grace rung her neck, seething with an anger that she had reserved especially for him.

Smoke didn’t know how to respond. In all the scenarios he’d dreamt, this certainly wasn’t one of them. He’d imagined being met with one anger woman, but three? He couldn’t handle three. Not with the way they looked like they could cut him from end to tip. Not with how they saw his vulnerability full and on display, not seeming to care how the tears dripped down his face.

"Where Annie at," Stack asked, stepping in where Smoke had gone quiet. He attempted to put his head past the door frame—in search of the woman in question—but Mary put her hand up, stopping his entry.

"Annie ain't y'all business," she spoke, eyes lit up: a bit from the excitement of seeing her man after so long apart, a bit from the outrage of seeing Smoke standing there beside him. "I'm sorry, baby," she pushed her care for the younger to the side. Her eyes drifted toward Smoke in indignation. "You can’t come in."

"Annie don't wanna see you, Smoke," Pearline added, building out this wall of angry-faced women who were not going to be swayed.

"I just wanna talk to her," Smoke's voice tarried, dragging at a slow pace as he pushed through his stress. His tears never stopped and his hands were now trembling in a way that they hadn't in a long time. The anticipation of seeing his woman was causing his entire body to palpitate. Nothing but the sight of her could aid him right now. His journal sat tucked in his back pocket. An item that normally heartened him was doing nothing for his rupturing optimism. "I just wanna talk. Nothing more nothing less."

Each woman let out their own form of opposition to his request: "Not gon' happen;" "Hell naw;" "Fuck you, Smoke."

~~~~~~~~~~

Annie stood against her bedroom door, back pressed against it in an attempt to quell the growing anxiety in her body. When she saw Elijah and Elias drive up, something in her struck like fire. The whole house had seemed to turn into a burning pit of flames that were beginning to swallow her whole. The second she saw him getting out of the car and walking toward the side of her home, Annie had run to her bedroom, locking herself in and the rest of the world out.

She didn't want to send him away, but she didn't know how to stand before him all pregnant: nose wide, feet swollen, skin dripping in that glorious motherly glow. There was no way she could hide it. Annie was so certain that the best course of action was to keep the information of her pregnancy from Elijah, but now that he was actually here, she didn't know what to do with herself.

"Ok, Annie," she took deep breaths, easing herself off the cliff of her emotions. "It's gon' be ok. You ok."

She talked herself down. The stress of planning her baby shower was already too much to handle, but this was sending her into a fit of heart burn.

Annie could hear her friends in the front room, arguing with a disillusioned Elijah. His voice caused a cold stream to wash over her, calming the stoked flames in her body. He sounded gentler than she remembered him to be, but he was certainly somber. She could almost hear tears dripping off of him, but she decided that to be a hallucination brought on by pregnancy. Elijah wasn't a crier. While he had often shown her a softer side of himself, he seldom did cry.

Before she knew what she was doing, that cooling voice of his brought her to turn the door knob. She forced the worn wood open, holding onto her breath as she stepped into the hallway.

She had a straight view of him: tweed overcoat, tailored to perfection; the strings of his mojo bag peeking out from his collar; wet tears cascading down his face, beautiful and heartbreaking all at once.

He stirred her in only a way he could. In only a way that seven months apart after a life-shattering grief could. That cooling ease faded away the moment she fully indulged on him, quickly being replaced by her rage.

Elijah met her eyes as soon as he saw her silhouette step into the hallway.

He trailed down her form, starting at the top of her head. He noticed the coilyness of her hair—how she had it tucked neatly into bantu knots with sleek yet natural parts. He observed the slope of her eyes—how they pinched at the corners as she scrunched her face at him. He took in the fullness of her lips—how they were plumper than he remembered them being, her entire face taking on an ampler quality.

Annie fumed quietly as confusion rested between his brows, the wheels turned in his head, and tears of melancholy were perking further up in his eyes.

He'd seen.

His gaze left her face and found home on her stomach.

Elijah wanted to cower on his knees before her and let out a reverent cry. He left the only woman he had ever loved just to realize that he had left more than her and his broken heart behind.

For not one second did he think Annie had laid with another man.

While he was gone, he turned away other women’s advances and remained so closed off that they feared him. Smoke trusted that she’d done the same. Their marital bed was one that they vowed to never let others lie in. So he knew that the child she was carrying was his.

If his faith in her didn’t confirm that, her eyes definitely did. Annie stared into him like she was willing to kill him. She didn’t care that there was an audience—that Stack stood beside him with his mouth pitched open and that the three women shed livid tears for Annie while continuing to block Smoke's entry—if Annie had the opportunity to smite him, she would.

He stepped past Pearline, Grace, and Mary who were momentarily ensnared by that dark look in Annie’s eyes. He swayed on an unsteady and crumbling resolve, feet shuffling across that one creaking floor board.

“Annie,” his voice cracked. He wasn't placing any judgment. Wasn't condemning her for her choices, but he was crestfallen in a way that he hadn't expected to be. Before him was the worst possible scenario that he hadn't even thought to imagine.

“Elijah,” she croaked, his name tasting like hot coals in her mouth.

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

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[wordwizards]

it's that time of the year where i post about the ocs from my secondary story before launching them back into the void for several months

[yua0ra]

𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞™

(𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐲-𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐒𝐥𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐳𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

WARNINGS: downbad!mattheo x slytherin!fem!reader, SFW, english is not my first language. not proofread | fluff ☏

SUMMARY: Mattheo Riddle has a full-system shutdown when you shyly wave at him in the Three Broomsticks. After mumbling something about the weather (??), the Slytherin boys decide intervention is absolutely necessary. Thus, Operation: Matty Falls in Love™ is born.

Spoiler: it’s already working. Spoiler 2: Mattheo wants to vanish into his scarf.

WC: 1.4K AN: Just a silly little draft of an idea I had a few months ago. sorry for the super late post! I've been extremely busy with uni.

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, the kind that practically begged for butterbeer and questionable decisions. The Three Broomsticks was packed with Hogwarts students trying to escape the miserable February wind, their chatter clashing with the clink of mugs and the occasional crash from behind the bar.

Mattheo Riddle was crammed into a booth with Enzo, Theo, Blaise, and Draco, and for once, he wasn’t scowling at the world. He had this far-off, half-smile thing going on—cheeks faintly flushed, fingers tapping a lazy rhythm on the rim of his mug.

And that was all the invitation Enzo needed.

“You’ve got that look again,” Enzo said, stretching his legs out under the table and smirking. “Like you're composing love poetry in your head. Something tragic. Probably rhymes with her name.”

Mattheo didn’t even bother glaring. He just took a long sip of his butterbeer and muttered, “Piss off.”

“Oh no, no—don’t go shy now,” Theo jumped in, eyes gleaming. “Our brooding prince has fallen. Hard. Honestly, at this point I’m expecting you to carve her name into the desk in the Slytherin common room like some medieval madman.”

“Swear he was humming in the shower yesterday,” Blaise added, grinning wide. “Humming. We’re witnessing history.”

Draco leaned in like he was about to deliver the final blow. “He flinched when she said hi last week. And then stared at the spot she stood in for a full minute like it owed him rent.”

Mattheo’s ears betrayed him. Flaming. Absolutely on fire. The kind of red that made it look like they’d been hexed. “You lot are all insufferable,” he muttered, sinking deeper into his seat.

And then—just to prove the universe had no chill—the bell over the door jingled. You walked in with your Slytherin girl gang, all laughing like you owned the damn world. The wind tugged at your scarf, your cheeks were rosy from the cold, and your smile? Devastating. Mattheo tried to pretend he wasn’t looking, but everyone at the table could feel the tension radiating off him like heat.

Blaise leaned out of the booth and squinted toward the door. “Merlin. She really is so fit, though.”

“Ridiculously fit,” Enzo agreed.

Draco let out a low whistle. “Unfair, honestly.”

Mattheo’s smile vanished. Completely gone. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Can you not?” he muttered, voice low and tense.

Theo smirked. “What? You don’t like us noticing that your little crush is objectively hot?”

Mattheo didn’t answer—his glare kind of said it all.

You, meanwhile, had spotted their table and gave a small, hesitant wave, a little shy but still sweet. Mattheo blinked like he couldn’t believe you were actually waving at him. His heart thumped. Hard.

Astoria winked at you. “Go on. Say hi. They’re all here.”

“I don’t know…” you murmured. “They’re probably busy—”

“They’re never busy,” Pansy cut in. “They just sit there being dramatic and drinking warm butterbeer like it’s a coping mechanism.”

“They are dramatic,” Daphne agreed, already nudging you forward.

With an encouraging nudge from Daphne, you walked over, your fingers fidgeting slightly with your scarf. “Hi, boys,” you said, soft but clear.

The effect was instant.

Theo grinned so wide it looked borderline painful and Blaise—because Blaise always had to be that guy—winked slowly like you were starring in your own dramatic black-and-white romance film.

Mattheo looked like someone had hit pause on his entire body.

“Hi,” he finally said, voice rough. “You look... uh. Cold. I mean—you’re here. Hello.”

You giggled quietly. “Hi, Mattheo.”

Enzo leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “You joining us, love?”

You looked at Mattheo, just briefly, before glancing away again. “Oh—no. Just saying hi.”

Theo tilted his head. “Did you know Mattheo writes sonnets about you in his sleep?”

Mattheo groaned audibly. “I do not.”

“Oh, come on,” Blaise said. “We were just talking about how—”

Mattheo cut him off with a sharp look, something dark flickering in his eyes. “Don’t.”

The table went quiet for a beat.

You blinked, clearly sensing the shift. “Is… everything alright?”

“Fine,” Mattheo said a bit too quickly. Then softer, glancing at you: “You look really nice today.”

You ducked your head, hiding the smile blooming on your lips. “Thanks, Matty.”

His ears burned again. Bright red. You didn’t see it, but the rest of the table absolutely did.

As you walked away, practically glowing with shyness and the cutest little smile on your lips, Mattheo sat there—utterly motionless, hands still covering half his face like he could physically hide from the moment that just happened.

No one spoke for a full five seconds. And then—

“I have never,” Enzo said, slamming his mug down, “seen a man malfunction so violently over a single word.”

Theo leaned in, eyes wide. “She called you Matty, mate. Matty. That’s endgame-level intimacy.”

Draco pointed his spoon at him like a wand. “You can’t come back from that. That’s a nickname you get married under.”

Blaise drummed his fingers against the table thoughtfully. “Gentlemen,” he said, voice low and scheming, “I propose a mission.”

Mattheo finally peeked through his fingers. “No. Whatever it is. Absolutely not.”

“Operation: Matty Falls in Love,” Blaise continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Phase one: awareness. You’re already smitten. Step one, complete. Congrats.”

“I hate you all,” Mattheo muttered.

Theo nodded solemnly. “Step two: contact. We increase natural exposure. Sit closer in class. Walk next to her in the corridors. Offer to carry her books.”

Enzo perked up. “Leave little gifts! Like, a chocolate frog on her desk. Maybe a note. Something simple and mysterious. But not creepy. We’re flirting, not hexing.”

Draco snapped his fingers. “Or! Casual compliments. Subtle. Like, ‘That’s a nice ink color.’ Boom. Romantic and scholarly.”

Mattheo was just staring at the ceiling now. “I’m begging you to stop.”

“Step three,” Theo said, now narrating with his butterbeer like it was a microphone. “The accidental study session. You, her, one quiet corner of the library. You pretend to struggle with a concept you’ve already mastered. Boom. Bonding.”

“Step four,” Blaise added, “emotional vulnerability. Get her to talk about her family, childhood dreams, favorite sweets. Then tell her a story about your tragic, misunderstood past.”

“You want me to trauma dump in the library?” Mattheo asked flatly.

Enzo shrugged. “It works on me.”

Theo clapped his hands. “Step five: The Grand Gesture.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Mattheo groaned.

“Nothing crazy,” Theo said. “Just like… serenade her under the Astronomy Tower. Or enchant the hallway to rain rose petals. Maybe a confession in the middle of breakfast? That’s dramatic and unforgettable.”

Draco tapped his quill against the table like a general approving war strategy. “You know, we could do a slow burn angle. Play the long game. Make her fall in love with the idea of you before she even realizes it’s happening.”

“I’m already in love with the idea of him,” Blaise mockingly said, sipping his drink. “And I live with him.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Mattheo said, finally dragging his hands down his face. His entire neck was still pink. “I’m not doing any of that. I’ll just… talk to her. Like a normal person.”

All four of them stared.

“You?” Enzo said slowly. “Talk to her?”

“You just said ‘you’re here, it’s cold’ like you were casting a memory charm with your mouth full,” Theo pointed out.

Mattheo reached for his butterbeer. “I panicked.”

“And now you need structure,” Blaise said. “A plan. A mission.”

“A team,” Draco added.

“Please stop—”

“Operation: Matty Falls in Love is officially a go,” Theo declared, raising his mug like a toast. “By the end of term, you’ll be holding her hand, stargazing, maybe even—dare I say—kissing.”

“I hate every single one of you,” Mattheo mumbled into his drink.

“That's the spirit,” Enzo grinned. “Now. Do you think she likes owls? Because I have a quill set and no self-control.”

And somewhere across the pub, you laughed at something Pansy said—and Mattheo couldn’t help it. He looked over.

Yeah. He was doomed.

And Operation: Matty Falls in Love? Already working.

[babyleostuff]

writer in the dark

you found working on your manuscript in bed a blessing and a curse at the same time. the blessing: warm covers and soft pillows. the curse: your boyfriend.

🖋️ THEME: fluff, late night conversations, pouty and dramatic cheol (nothing new) 🖋️ PAIRING: idol!seungcheol x writer fem!reader 🖋️ WORD COUNT: 1.1k

the gentle, fruity scent of your freshly brewed tea minghao brought seungcheol from his last trip to china filled your bedroom from where it was standing on your bedside table. of course, that would only last only until your boyfriend came out of the shower, thoroughly sprayed with his favourite cologne he wore even to bed. as much as you enjoyed it during the day, sometimes you felt suffocated with the scent at night, especially when your boyfriend went into koala bear mode. which happened at least five out of seven nights. 

you sighed and rubbed your eyes, feeling tiredness settle in your muscles. your fingers felt tense and you’d go as far as to say sore from the hours you spent typing on your keyboard. but the deadlines were quickly approaching, and your agent would not appreciate another delay in the schedule. the second book in your next trilogy was one of the most anticipated books for the upcoming year, so there was no room for tired and sore fingers. 

even though they felt three taps away from falling off your hand. 

“which chapter are you on?” cheol’s head peeked out from the open bathroom door. 

without sparing him a glance, you reached for the cup and took a sip of your tea, careful not to burn yourself. “not telling you,” you said, scanning through your document for any comments from the editor. 

“oh come on,,” he mumbled, and with a towel over his head, walked over to your side of the bed. ”you never tell me anything. i always play you my music. i even let you help with the lyrics.”

“right,” you nodded. “ i’m still waiting for the credits.”

from the corner of your eye you noticed a small pout forming on his cherry lips. you wondered if he’d even learn that you’d never show him anything before the final draft, if he was lucky. writing was such an intimate thing, and you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to show him something that wasn’t nearly perfect in your eyes. 

he’d definitely claw his eyes out if he saw what your first drafts looked like. 

“look, baby, writing songs and books is not the same,” finally, you turned your head, meeting his big, brown eyes. “there’s no point in showing you anything without any context and how would you feel if i told you the plot twist?”

he sighed and pulled the towel over his face. “i hate it when you’re right,” he groaned.

you got back to reading feedback left by your beta readers and editor, while seungcheol busied himself with the rest of his night routine, providing you with a nice background noise. as much as you loved writing with music, it was nice to listen to something else. 

‘what about the characters though?” he plopped on his side of the bed, fully clad in his baby blue PJs. “one of them surely must be extremely handsome, strong, dependable and smart.” 

a giggle escaped you. “are you sure you’re not talking about yourself?”

“no,” he simply said and scooted closer to you. “it’s just that every successful book has a character like that. just making sure you didn’t forget to write one.”

“thank you for informing me, when i’m 90% done with the final draft,” you said and looked down at your boyfriend, who was making himself cozy between all the pillows. he truly was a princess. 

“see, if we’d talk about it sooner you wouldn’t have an issue,” seungcheol grabbed your computer from your lap and pulled the covers to cover your upper body. 

“cheol, darling, how am i supposed to write with my hands under the blanket?”

he whipped his head, eyes distraught and wide, as if you’d just said the most cancelable thing he had heard in his career. 

“writing? we’re going to bed. you’re definitely going to bed,” he said. 

“i’m not,” you laughed and reached for your computer, but before you could grab it he whipped it out of your reach. “baby, what are you doing?” 

seungcheol gently grabbed your chin in his hand. “you’ve been doing nothing but sit at your pretty ass for hours and hours. i get that writing is your job, but it’s not healthy. what about your eyes? your back?”

“what about you and kkuma?” 

“not the point,” he said, unamused. “the most i’ve seen you this week was during breakfast and maybe in the evening if you haven’t already passed out. you need to rest.”

“but-.”

your head crashed against his soft chest, as he wrapped his strong arms around your shoulders and pressed you closer to his body that you knew as well as your own. 

“i honestly don’t care what you have to say, honey,” he said and pressed his lips against your forehead, then reached to switch off the light. “sleep. now.”

“okay, dad,” you mumbled, but draped your arm over his tummy nonetheless. you weren’t made of stone; obviously you missed him as well. you were just better at hiding it. 

a couple of minutes passed and you could feel your eyelids getting heavier with the second. your boyfriend was right in one thing – you really needed that rest, because not even the cologne managed to bother you. 

“you know,” cheol’s voice gently pulled you out from your sleepy state. “if you need to revise any of the sexy scenes we can do that now.” 

you slipped your hand under his PJs and ran your fingers over his tummy, making him shake with laughter. “you cannot be serious, choi seungcheol.” 

“i’m always serious when it comes to sexy time,” he ran his finger over his cheek. 

“first of all, did you just call fucking sexy time? and second, didn’t you tell me to rest?” 

his quiet giggle made your stomach warm with love. you loved writing, words, and imagining magical realms in your head, but if there was one thing you hated about being a writer was that you’d never be able to convey something as beautiful as your boyfriend’s voice on paper.

“yeah, but i figured you’d have an even better sleep, you know?” 

you shook your head. “you’re delusional.”

“oh, sorry for wanting to make my girlfriend feel good.”

“i already feel good. like this,” you said, and nuzzled further up cheol’s neck, placing a small kiss on his jaw.

“yeah, because your extremely handsome, strong, dependable, and smart man is actually real.”  

“one day i’m going to make you sleep on the couch,” you grumbled. “now let me sleep.”

you could feel his lips widen in a smile against your forehead. “i love you,” he whispered, which was the last thing you heard before falling asleep, enveloped in warmth, fluff, and his cologne.

[angelx]

Get Even - Chapter 4

word count: 2.2K

cw: frat prez!katsuki x fem art student!reader, mention of light consensual sexual exploration, loss of innocence (consensual), light power dynamics, angst, emotional manipulation, betrayal, deception revealed, verbal confrontation, emotional fallout, heartbreak, desperation, minor character being an accidental snitch

Three weeks. That’s how long it took.

He could’ve ended the game then—hand over the receipts, claim the win, drive off in his beloved Porsche with the smug satisfaction of victory. But Katsuki Bakugou wasn’t thinking about bets anymore. Not when you were sleeping in his bed, tangled in his sheets, soft skin flushed and vulnerable beneath his calloused hands.

You were always there now. In his room, curled into his side. At his place, stealing clothes you’d never return. Even in the quiet hours while he worked on his mechanical engineering assignments, you were there—sitting cross-legged on his bed, scribbling ideas for your next art project, occasionally sketching him in your sketchbook when your mind wandered elsewhere. The same guy who cornered you at a frat party last month, with a cocky smirk now pressed a kiss to your cheek when you said goodnight, traced circles on your knee while driving, held your hand like it was his lifeline.

And he was always around now.

Studio drop-offs. Post-class pastry runs. Sitting beside you as you finished a charcoal draft while he cranked out engineering formulas, muttering to himself and reaching blindly for the drink you'd gotten him.

It wasn’t official. No one said it out loud. But you were his, and Katsuki didn’t correct anyone who looked at you that way.

He should've walked away. After all, he’d already "won"—in less than a month, no less. But every time he looked at you—really looked—that old smugness cracked, and something softer bled through.

Something guilty. Something real. But you didn’t know that yet.

What you did know was that your body didn’t feel like a stranger’s anymore. Not with the way Katsuki touched you, taught you. Whispered encouragements when you were shy about asking for more. He’d started slow, guiding you through your own pleasure like you were something sacred. He taught you everything.

But the more he gave you, the more you wanted. Craved. Demanded.

It started with soft kisses that turned filthy. With your fingers buried in his hair, your thighs trembling. He would whisper in your ear, telling you how good you were doing, how much he needed you.

Then you changed. bolder. Hungrier. Katsuki taught you everything. Patiently. Obsessively. How to arch your back and press your hips against his to feel just right. How to use your hands, slow and deliberate. How to kiss like a promise and moan like a prayer. How to open your mouth for him—eager, breathless, desperate.

And now? You whispered back, filthier. You learned how to tease him. Torment him. You bit his lip when he teased, you whispered filthy things in his ear that made his cock twitch under his jeans. You’d ride him slow and steady just to watch his composure crack. You’d rake your nails down his chest, then soothe it with kisses, grinning when he gritted his teeth and growled your name. You started talking him through it like he used to do to you—telling him how good he felt, how hard he made you come, how you’d never get enough of him.

One night, you edged him. Pushed him to the brink with your mouth and your hands and your voice, and stopped—just before he could fall. You looked up at him with those wide eyes, lashes wet, lips swollen, your tongue tracing the corner of your mouth like the fucking menace you were becoming. And Katsuki just stared down at you, jaw slack, chest heaving, one hand tangled in your hair like he didn’t know whether to pull you in or push you away before he lost his mind.

He’d created a monster—a pretty little succubus that lived to ruin him. And he was so okay with it.

“Fuck,” he gasped one night, sweat slick between your bodies. “You’re a fuckin’ succubus, y’know that?”

You giggled, all sugar and mischief, brushing your fingers down his abs, and Katsuki was gone. Under your spell. Addicted.

He should’ve stopped. Should’ve told you the truth. But how could he? You smiled at him like he built you a second sun. And maybe… maybe he wanted to be loved like that. Even if it was built on a lie.

The days blurred sweetly after that night.

It wasn’t love—no one dared to say it out loud—but whatever it was, it bled into everything. The way he kissed you like he needed it. The way you leaned into him like he was home. You were always near now, a fixture in his space and mind—wearing his hoodies, curling up on his lap while he worked on a thermodynamics worksheet he half-understood, sneaking bites of his snacks like you had the right.

He still hadn’t told you the truth.

And sometimes, when you smiled too wide or kissed him just because, that guilt threatened to crack open in his chest. But he stuffed it down. Kept pretending. Because pretending felt good. It felt real.

Then came the night of yet another Sigma Vex party.

You didn’t even argue this time. When he offered to pick you up, you said yes. When he threw his varsity jacket over your shoulders before walking into the frat house, you smiled at him so sweetly that his teeth could rot. And when the music thrummed through the walls and neon lights painted your skin, you didn’t leave his side once.

It was like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

You sat curled in his lap on one of the leather couches, your legs draped across his like it was the most natural thing. He had one arm slung over your waist, thumb stroking absent-minded circles into your hip. Your head leaned against his shoulder, warm and light and so real it made his breath catch.

He didn’t care that his brothers watched. Didn’t give a damn about their smirks or side-eyes. You were his. Whether it was fake, temporary, or tangled in lies—right now, it felt true.

You brushed your lips against his jaw. “Need another drink?”

He gave a lazy hum. “Only if you’re gettin’ one too.”

“I’ll be right back,” you teased, slipping off his lap with a soft smile, the weight of you leaving his legs like losing warmth.

And then you were gone—just for a minute. It wasn’t a big deal. You’d come back, sit in his lap again, maybe he'd sneak you into the upstairs bedroom later. That’s what he thought.

But the universe had other plans.

You slipped into the kitchen, fingers curling around two red cups. The music was duller here, muffled behind thick walls. The party felt far away. You poured the drinks without thinking, still smiling to yourself.

Then a presence stumbled up beside you, reeking of cheap tequila and sweat.

“Heyyyy, you're kinda hooot” the guy slurred, squinting. “You’re from the art department, right?”

You turned slightly, confused but polite. “Yeah?”

He blinked. His eyes lit up like he’d just solved a math problem with crayons. “Wait. Wait, wait—you’re that girl. From the last party! Holy shit.”

You froze.

He grinned like this was the funniest thing in the world. “Prez actually did it. I can’t fuckin’ believe it.”

You frowned, your stomach dipping. “...Did what?”

“Oh, y’know—the bet. Back when you ran outta the first party like your ass was on fire? He was gonna lose that fancy-ass Porsche if he didn’t hit it by midterms. But he did! He won! Got in there fast, too—less than a month!”

Your hands shook. Your mouth went dry. The words didn’t compute at first. They sat there, echoing, buzzing around your brain like static. But they didn’t make sense.

“What… bet?” you asked, the words catching in your throat.

Before he could dig the hole any deeper, Kaminari appeared in the doorway like a lifeline. “Oi! Kimura. Shut. Up.”

But Kimura didn’t notice the sharp edge in his tone. “What? I’m just sayin’—it’s crazy, right? Prez really went all in. Said he’d make her beg for it—”

The drink slipped from your hand and crashed to the floor. The silence was immediate.

Kimura blinked. You stood there, the world around you slipping sideways. Kaminari’s jaw was tight, his eyes full of panic, like someone just pulled the fire alarm and everyone else kept dancing.

“Oh, shit-” Kimura muttered. “I fucked up.”

Your vision blurred.

There was a bet. There was a bet. You were the punchline. The game.

And suddenly, every sweet thing he ever did, every kiss, every look, every whispered promise—it all felt like poison sinking into your skin.

He played you. He chose to. And worst of all—you had no idea how much of it had ever been real.

You didn’t mean to storm out like that. But your legs are already moving, fueled by instinct. By betrayal. By the cold slap of reality that hit you like a freight train in that fucking kitchen. The hallway blurs. Laughter and music fade behind you. The buzz of the party becomes background noise to the pounding of your heart.

And then—You pass the living room. He’s still there.

Katsuki sits on that stupid black leather couch like he owns the room, like he owns the night. But when his gaze catches yours—when he sees the fire in your eyes, the betrayal carved into every line of your face—his whole world tilts.

His body tenses. He knows. No, you knew.

And you don’t even stop. You don’t scream. You don’t cry. You just walk past him like he’s nothing—like he never meant anything. And that? That hits harder than any slap could’ve. You slam open the front door.

“Wait—!” his voice tears through the air like thunder.

Then footsteps. Fast. Heavy. You don’t even get two steps into the driveway before he catches up. A warm hand wraps around your wrist, desperate, trembling with panic.

“Baby, wait—let me explain—please—”

You stop. And then you snap. You whirl around, eyes blazing like wildfire, and rip your arm from his grip. The motion is sharp. Violent. Final.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

Your voice splits the night. He stares at you—shell-shocked. He’s never heard you yell like that. Never seen you this raw. This hurt. You’re trembling. Not from fear. From fury. From heartbreak. Your voice cracks but you don’t fall apart. You refuse to fall apart in front of him. Not him. Not now.

“You think you could play me?” you breathe, voice shaking as tears finally sting your eyes. “You think you could lie to my face, touch me however you want, make me feel things—only to laugh about it later with your frat brothers?”

He tries to speak—his mouth opens, closes again like he’s drowning. “No—no, that’s not—baby, I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off. “Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that.”

"After everything... You did all of this for what? To get back at me for rejecting you once? What? Your shitty pride and reputation got the better of you?"

And then the tears start. Hot and slow, streaking your cheeks without permission. You’re not sobbing. You’re not even making a sound. You just look at him like he set fire to everything you’ve ever built.

Like you don’t recognize him anymore.

Like you wish you never met him.

“Was taking my virginity also part of your bet?” You asked him, but he couldn't give you an answer.

It was impossible for you to believe at this point. “Don’t fucking follow me,” you whisper. Your voice is hoarse now. Wrecked. “Just… don’t.”

You turn. You leave. And this time, he doesn’t stop you. He stays there on the pavement, frozen, winded like you just punched him straight in the chest. Because watching you walk away like that—seeing the light go out in your eyes when you looked at him—hurts more than anything else ever has.

Later that night…

Katsuki sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, phone clenched in his hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to this damn world. His thumb hovered over your contact—again.

Call Ended.Missed Call (30).

He tried again. Straight to voicemail.

“Fuck,” he whispered, dragging a hand through his hair, chest rising and falling with a panic that refused to quiet. He keeps on spamming your phone with messages you won't even see.

baby, pleaselet me explainplease answer my callsfuck, i'm sorry. i didn’t mean it like this please baby let me explain i didn’t mean for this to happenbaby, please answer the call

Delivered. Delivered. Delivered.

Your phone sat abandoned on your nightstand—screen facedown, volume turned off. You didn’t even glance at it.

You were curled up in bed, blanket pulled over your head like it could shield you from the ache in your chest. Your pillow was already wet with tears. Your fists were balled against your chest, throat raw from sobbing until your voice gave out.

You weren’t ignoring him. You were just too heartbroken to care.

And in that silence, Katsuki was left to sit alone in his room, fingers clenched around his phone, jaw tight, heart sinking lower with every minute you didn’t pick up.

You didn’t need to say a single word.

Your silence screamed louder than anything else ever could.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Part 5 is in the making! will be finished and posted as soon as possible!

Check the full series here: Get Even

check out my other works here!: MHA MASTERLIST

EMERGENCY WRITING COMMISSION OPEN

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[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-Six

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

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

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, Silverstone 2022 accident

Notes — Do I hear wedding bells......? I am aware, btw, that their wedding song was not actually released yet in 2022. I don’t care. It’s perfect.

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

June 2022 

It was nearly 1am in Monaco, and the apartment was dark except for the soft glow of the TV, which had finished playing the movie they’d put on and was now cycling through the Netflix screensaver. Lando was lying upside down on the couch, legs thrown over the backrest, a blanket over his face. Amelia sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a sea of envelopes, glossy samples, test prints, and a very snuggly cat curled around the printer.

They were cat sitting for Max for a few days. Jimmy was hiding somewhere, probably. But Sassy had imprinted on Amelia and wouldn’t leave her side. 

The dining table was lost beneath swatches of card stock, wax seal stamps, and an alarming number of silver and papaya gel pens.

Lando peeked out from under the blanket. “Have I died? Is this the afterlife? Is this hell?”

“Shh,” Amelia said, clutching a save-the-date draft in both hands. “This one’s almost perfect.”

“You said that about the last four.”

“This one feels better.”

“I am literally having to be upside down to stay engaged in this conversation.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” she muttered, flipping the card-stock over and running her fingers along the raised print. “Do you think it’s too formal?”

Lando rolled off the couch dramatically and landed on his knees beside her with a quiet oof. “Let me see.” He took the card and read aloud, in an overly posh British accent: “‘Save the date for the wedding of Amelia Brown and Lando Norris. July 5th, 2022. Surrey, England.’” He looked up. “Shouldn’t we also mention that there’ll be a bouncy castle?”

“There is not going to be a bouncy castle.” She told him. 

“We don’t know that.” 

“We absolutely do.” She glared at him. 

Lando grinned, pleased to have poked the right nerve. “Fine. But I want there to be a chocolate fountain at the reception.”

“You’re twelve years old.” She muttered. 

“I am your fiancé.” He shot back. 

She snorted, and Lando leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose before glancing back down at the card in his hand. “I like this one,” he said sincerely this time. “It’s very you.”

“I designed it to be us.” She sighed. 

“I know. That’s why it’s good.” He looked up, tilting his head. “When do you want to get them sent out?”

“Soon.” She paused. “I wanted to be sure. I wanted you to be sure.”

Lando’s smile softened. He reached over and pulled her into his lap. “Baby, I’m so sure. Never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was gentle, hidden against his shoulder. “Okay,” she murmured. “Let’s send them.”

Lando pulled out his phone and held it up. “I’m going to start a group chat with every driver on the grid. Call it ‘Wedding of the Year.’”

“Lando, do not—”

But it was too late. He was already typing.

And laughing.

And she was completely, undeniably in love with him.

—

The video call connected with a soft ping, and Amelia barely waited for her mother’s face to load before launching into her current crisis.

“—and I just don’t think the eucalyptus runners will work with the shade of green we’ve picked for the table linens, even if we go with silver flatware, which I’m still not convinced about because it feels cold, and I want something warmer, but gold doesn’t work with the papaya theme, and—”

“Hi, darling,” her mother said, voice gentle and amused. “It’s nice to see your face.”

Amelia blinked. “Sorry. Hi.”

“Are you a bit stressed?” Her mum offered, smiling.

Amelia huffed. “According to Lando? Yes.”

“Well, I don’t think he’s wrong.”

They were both quiet for a moment. Amelia’s mum sat at her kitchen table in England, tea in hand. The late afternoon sun filtered through the windows behind her. On Amelia’s end, the walls were covered in colour swatches, seating charts, spreadsheets open on her laptop. A candle burned on the windowsill — scentless, for her sake.

“I made a new schedule,” Amelia said. “I reordered the to-do list based on dependency flow and deadlines. I think we can shave off six days from what the planner estimated.”

Her mum nodded patiently. “That sounds very efficient.”

“And I found a new calligrapher for the place cards, because the first one had spacing inconsistencies and I couldn’t— I just couldn’t look at it.”

“Of course.”

Amelia didn’t notice the concern in her mother’s eyes until she looked up from her notebook. “What?”

Her mum’s smile didn’t fade. “Nothing. Just… making sure you’re taking care of yourself too.”

“I am,” Amelia said quickly, automatically. Then, after a beat, “This is just… how I take care of things. Planning helps. Lists help.”

“I know.” Her mother’s voice was warm. “I remember the schedule you made for your fifth birthday.”

Amelia smiled faintly. “The magician was late.”

“But you handled it. You always do.”

Silence fell again, this one comfortable.

“I’m not trying to be difficult,” Amelia said quietly, more to the air than anything.

“I know you’re not. You’re trying to make it perfect. Because you love him. And because this is important to you.”

Amelia’s eyes prickled a little. “It is. I don’t want anything to go wrong.”

“And even if something does,” her mum said softly, “you’ll be married to a man who adores you. That’s the part that matters.”

Amelia nodded slowly, eyes dropping to the table. “I don’t mean to be… hard work.”

“You’re not hard work,” her mum said. “You’re you. You’re focused, and you’re thoughtful, and sometimes you hyper-fixate and forget to eat breakfast.”

“I ate lunch.”

“Was it a coffee?”

“...Yes.”

Her mum laughed. “That doesn’t count, honey.”

Amelia leaned back in her chair, a little calmer. “I know.”

“And if you need help, ask.”

“I am asking.”

“I know.” Her mum’s eyes softened. “Now, let’s talk about flatware, shall we?”

—

The boutique in Monaco was a study in elegance. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and white tea, filtered through softly humming vents above. Soft jazz played through the walls. Everything gleamed — mirrored walls, crystal chandeliers, gold accents on ivory hangers.

Amelia and Pietra looked wildly out of place.

Their matching oversized sweatpants and hoodies, Amelia’s in a washed lavender, Pietra’s in charcoal grey, were rumpled and cozy. Amelia was also wearing a pair of trainers, whereas Pietra had opted for a pair of flip-flops. No makeup, no handbags.

The woman behind the counter clocked them in an instant. Her name tag said Dominique. She was perfectly coiffed, with a tight bun and blood-red lipstick that hadn’t smudged in hours. Her eyes flicked down and back up. Smile professional, but frosty — which only Pietra noticed.

“Bonjour,” she said crisply. “How may I assist you today?”

Amelia stepped forward with a wide smile. “Hi. I called ahead. I’m looking for a wedding dress. I’ve been looking at your website all week, but my magazines say that sizing can be tricky with wedding dresses, so I thought I’d come in and try a few on in person.”

Dominique blinked. “Yes, of course,” she replied.. “We do recommend a fitting with one of our stylists to ensure your silhouette is… appropriately showcased.” Her voice, just barely, trailed off into doubt.

Pietra’s gaze sharpened instantly. She crossed her arms and took a step closer to Amelia, her protective instincts flaring like a sixth sense. “She likes princess cuts. Sleeveless. Soft fabrics only—anything itchy is a no. Think comfort and sparkle, not scratchy couture.”

Dominique offered a tight-lipped smile and gestured vaguely toward a collection toward the left. “We just received the latest gowns from Milan. I’ll begin pulling some pieces.”

But Amelia was already halfway into the racks. The world of high-end bridal fashion had completely absorbed her. The rich fabrics, the layers, the delicate embroidery—it was a sensory feast. 

Until it wasn’t.

Her fingers brushed over a pale blue chiffon and her entire body jolted. She let out a high-pitched, unhappy squeak and yanked her hand back like she'd been burned. “Awful,” she muttered, stepping well away from the offending texture. “Like sandpaper.”

Pietra snorted and shot Dominique a glance that said, ‘Do not laugh, bitch. Don’t even try it.’

Dominique’s lips parted, perhaps to comment, but then closed again. Wisely.

Amelia drifted across the boutique, her gaze landing on a soft ivory gown with delicate pearl beading along the neckline. “Oh. I like this one.”

She pulled it from the rack, fingers brushing the satin bodice, examining the full skirt with genuine curiosity and care.

Pietra followed her across the floor, glancing at the gown. “It’s beautiful. I—” She reached out and felt the hem between two fingers. Her brows drew together slightly. “Maybe not this one, ‘Melia. Feel here.”

Amelia frowned and mirrored her, pressing the lining between her fingertips. “Oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s a bit... sticky.”

Dominique hovered nearby, clearly itching to say something. Eventually, she broke. “That gown is more of a display piece. Very few clients choose to actually wear it for their ceremony.” Her emphasis was subtle but pointed.

Pietra opened her mouth, but Amelia beat her to it. “Oh, that makes sense,” she said cheerfully, still carefully inspecting the neckline. “It’s really beautiful to look at, though. I like how the beadwork isn’t symmetrical. Feels a little bit like a constellation. Not literal, just... deliberate chaos.”

Dominique blinked. She stared. And something shifted. Her fingers twitched slightly as if resisting the urge to take notes. “Would you be interested in our ‘Altair’ line?” she asked, voice softer, less clipped. “We have a few dresses from that collection still in stock. More tactile-friendly, very unique silhouettes.”

Amelia lit up. “Yes, please!”

Pietra raised a brow but said nothing. She was still watching Dominique carefully. Measuring. 

Within minutes, Dominique returned with a handful of dresses draped over her arms, the fabrics a softer mix of silk and organza, more fluid, less rigid. She handed the first gown over with a tentative sort of reverence.

In the dressing room, Amelia giggled, her voice floating through the velvet curtain. “This one feels like clouds. Actual clouds.”

Dominique even smiled. “That one was worn by a princess in Monaco—though we never reveal which.”

Pietra rolled her eyes but grinned. “Of course.”

The next hour passed in a blur of dresses and giggles. Amelia asked a million questions about seam placements, lining, and how much modification they allowed for — she was short, and she’d want to have some kind of double-lining gin certain areas. 

Dominique became quieter and more attentive with each passing minute, her posture loosening, her voice softening.

Amelia, for all her blunt honesty, was unfailingly kind. She wasn’t fussy or entitled. She didn’t throw her wealth around, didn’t boast about her fiancé, didn’t flinch when told something didn’t quite work on her figure. But she was also specific. Clear. Confident in her own language.

Eventually, Dominique excused herself for a moment. When she returned, she offered them champagne and almond biscuits—“here, we will need some energy.”

Pietra side-eyed her, amused. “Changed your mind about us, have you?”

Dominique gave a small, slightly embarrassed smile. “She’s a very discerning bride. We don’t get many who actually know what they want, much less why. It’s… refreshing.”

Amelia stepped out of the dressing room in the sixth dress, barefoot, the satin scarf trailing behind her like a whisper. It had a delicate, modern silhouette with embroidered thread-work along the spine. Strapless. Soft, pleasant fabric that she could brush her hands back and forth over without any kind of unpleasantness. 

Pietra exhaled. “That’s the one.”

Amelia looked at herself in the mirror, tilting her head. “It feels like me,” she said softly. “It’s perfect.” 

— 

It was nearly midnight, but the windows were still open to the balmy night air and the pleasant smell of the sea. Their living room was a comforting mess—seating charts spread out on the coffee table, empty mugs of tea on coasters, a crumpled note with “NO GRAVEL TRAPS ON THE AISLE” scribbled in Amelia’s handwriting.

Lando sat cross-legged on the rug, wearing grey sweatpants and a hoodie that might’ve once been Fewtrell’s. Amelia was curled up on the sofa in an old oversized Red Bull factory t-shirt with a hole at the collar, laptop on her knees.

“So,” she said, tapping the screen, “we’ve got your family on the left side, mine on the right, McLaren crew grouped here so they can escape to the bar easily, and I put the drivers who don’t get on in opposite corners. Mostly for fun.”

Lando leaned forward to peer at the digital seating chart. “You put Fernando next to Toto.”

“Yeah.” She giggled. 

He reached for the paper menu mock-up next to him. “So… food. Thoughts?”

Amelia stretched her legs out and yawned. “I still think barbecue. Like a proper British summer day. Chicken skewers, burgers, hotdogs, ribs, corn, chips, beers in ice buckets. Strawberry shortcake for dessert. Simple. Good.”

Lando tapped the page thoughtfully. “No little towers of food with sauce painted like abstract art?”

“No. We are not having foamed asparagus or edible air. I’m going to be stressed enough, I need safe foods.”

He laughed. “Alright, baby. Barbecue it is.”

“Good. And it makes sense since it’s an outdoor reception. And I’ve sorted out the fairy lights, where I want the paper lanterns. I want long wooden tables with runners and candles and the candles are all going to be lemon scented to help the people who drink or eat too much.” She bit her lip. “I’ll carry some nose plugs in-case all of the smells get overwhelming.” 

“My future wife. So specific.”

“Your future wife. Incredibly autistic,” she returned flatly, flipping a tab on her browser. 

Lando crawled off the rug and onto the sofa beside her. She adjusted her laptop without looking and let him tuck himself under her arm. His curls smelled faintly like his shampoo. It was a mild scent. She liked it. 

“So,” he murmured against her shoulder. “It’s all going to be a bit crazy, isn’t it? Getting married two days after Silverstone?”

Amelia nodded. “Yeah. But it gives you one full day to recover, which I’m sure you’re going to need since you tend to drive like your life depends on it there.”

He gave her a gentle nudge. “You okay with that timing?”

Amelia shrugged. “I think it’s fine. It’ll feel like a season high, no matter what your finishing position says. So, you’ll make it through without crashing, and then two days later, we get married.”

Lando was quiet for a moment, fingers tracing patterns over the blanket. “You make everything sound so easy.”

“That’s because I overthink everything to the point of perfection.”

He laughed into her shoulder, wrapping an arm around her waist. “And you’re sure about the marquee?”

“Yes. Big white tent, strung with lights. It’s British summer. It’ll rain at some point, and I want everyone dry and happy. Also I want it to smell like cut grass and sunscreen and citronella candles.”

Lando exhaled slowly, his voice low. “It’s going to be good, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said, her tone certain, her thumb stroking the corner of his hand. 

He leaned in and kissed her jaw. “I love you.”

“I know,” she said, grinning as she reached to close her laptop. “Now go and brush your teeth. And remember to floss. You’ve got a dentist appointment tomorrow morning.”

—

July 2022

The Red Bull garage buzzed with activity, a constant undercurrent of shouting, laughter, and hydraulic whines. Engineers wove around each other like ants, methodical and focused. The air smelled like hot metal, tire rubber, and gentle anticipation — it was only Thursday. 

Amelia’s clipboard rested loosely against her hip, dog-eared pages bristling with colour-coded sticky tabs and annotated margins. She was reading something intently when Max appeared beside her, a water bottle dangling from his hand.

“You look tan,” he said without preamble, eyes fixed on the front wing being slotted into place across the garage.

Amelia blinked, not looking up. “I had a spray tan. Hated it. Washed it off after an hour, so the colour didn’t develop as much as it should have.”

Max gave a small nod, considering. “It’s subtle, but noticeable. Looks nice.”

She looked up at him. “Thanks, Max.”

He shrugged. They both watched as a mechanic began fitting a sensor onto the nose cone. Behind them, someone called for torque settings.

“You nervous?” Max asked.

“For the race?” She scrunched her nose slightly. “No, Max.”

He cracked a grin. “I meant the wedding.”

Amelia blinked, then her expression softened immediately. Her entire face changed—lighter, brighter. “We’re finalising the reception seating chart tonight. It’s so much fun. It makes me feel so powerful.”

Max chuckled, low and warm. “I’ve never heard someone say that about a seating chart.”

“It’s like a puzzle.” She told him. “It’s strategic warfare. There’s certain people who can’t share a table, and then other people who’d be upset if they weren’t sharing. It’s like herding Jimmy and Sassy around when they just want to sleep.”

“Awful, then,” Max said dryly. “Celeste bought a new dress,” he offered after a beat, half-distracted as he watched an engineer lift one of the rear suspension arms.

“Oh. Cool. Me too,” Amelia said brightly.

Max turned his head to look at her, deadpan. “…You’re the bride.”

Amelia blinked. “So?”

“So of course you bought a dress. You’re not going to show up in a hoodie and pretend it’s avant-garde.” His tone was flat, but he couldn’t hide the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I did try on a satin jumpsuit with a cape,” she said, unfazed.

Max stared at her like she was deranged. “Of course you did.”

“It was incredibly itchy,” she admitted, pulling a face. “I couldn’t move my arms properly either. I looked like a Bram Stocker vampire.”

“Sounds like a missed opportunity.” He teased. 

She glanced at him. “I don’t want to look like a vampire at my wedding, Max. That’s why I got a spray tan. Lando offered to take me to St. Tropez for a few days to get some natural colour, but we’ve just been too busy to find the time.” She sighed sadly. 

Max made a soft noise of amusement, shaking his head. “Celeste’s worried about the weather. She said if it rains, her hair’s going to be ruined and it’ll be flat in every photo.”

“Oh. That’s fine,” Amelia said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “There’s going to be a marquee. One with fairy lights and wood panel flooring. It’s weatherproofed and temperature controlled.”

“She’ll be glad to hear that,” Max said with a little smile. “I think she’s more very excited.” 

Someone across the bay swore in Dutch. A helmet clinked onto a workbench behind them. Amelia glanced at her clipboard again and made a quick note, then looked back up at Max.

“What did you think of the save-the-dates?”

“Very classy,” he said without hesitation. “Celeste put it up on the fridge.”

Amelia lit up. “She did?”

Max nodded. “Yep. Right next to a magnet shaped like a cat. She made me RSVP twice just to be sure.”

Amelia laughed, soft and full-bodied. “That’s good. I was a bit worried that she might not be impressed by the food options. She’s much fancier than me.”

“Nah,” Max waved it off. “She gets it. Barbecue food is safe. Comforting. No truffle foam bullshit.”

Amelia leaned in conspiratorially. “I hired Lando a bouncy castle. Don’t tell him. It’s a surprise.”

Max arched an eyebrow. “He’s going to cry.”

“Happy tears only,” she agreed. 

Max finished his water and tossed the empty bottle into the bin. Then he looked at her with something a little softer in his eyes. “You’re going to be a very cool wife.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

Max shrugged. “You hired him a bouncy castle, meisje.”

She made a face. “He wanted one. I said no, and he got this sad look on his face.”

“Like I said — good wife.”

She stared at him for a moment, and then smiled, just a little. “Thanks, Max.”

He gave her a casual bump with his shoulder. “Anytime, smarty pants.”

—

Amelia stood just outside the engineers' station, back to the wall, tapping notes onto her tablet with her thumb while sipping from a bottle of water that had long since lost its chill — she wished Lando was around. He would’ve already switched it out for fresh, iced. 

Her headset was slung around her neck. She was overstimulated but functioning — hyper-focused in that Amelia-way, where adrenaline and structure outweighed the noise.

Zak found her during a set-up lull, and approached with something oddly hesitant in his step. He wasn’t in CEO mode — not in the crisp way he carried himself during sponsor walks or team debriefs. He just looked like her dad.

“Got a minute?” He asked, voice quieter than usual.

She blinked up, adjusted her grip on the tablet, and nodded. “Sure. I’m just waiting on the new diff adjustment numbers.”

Zak nodded once and leaned against the wall beside her. For a second, they just watched. Engines turned over. Radios crackled.

Then, “So, your mom tells me you’re about done with all the planning?”

“More or less,” she replied, flipping the tablet shut. “The reception layout’s finalised, catering’s booked. Lando hired a live band — it’s that one he likes from TikTok.”

“Right,” Zak said. He knew the one. “And… it’s still two days after Silverstone?”

“Yes. Lando is driving us up the morning after the race.” She paused. “We hired private transportation for the guests flying into Heathrow.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. She glanced at him sideways. He was fidgeting with the rim of his paper coffee cup, lips pressed together in a line of restrained emotion. Finally, he said, “I was wondering… if you wanted me to walk you down the aisle.”

She blinked. Her brain flicked through five reactions before her mouth caught up. “Oh.”

“You don’t have to say yes,” he added quickly. “Or at all. I know that might feel… too performative for you. And if that’s not what you want—”

“I do want it,” she interrupted, then paused. “But I hadn’t even thought about that. I’m sorry.” 

“That’s okay,” he said. “There’s a lot to think about.”

She looked down, scuffed the toe of her trainer against the concrete. “I haven’t even decided if I want music for the aisle walk yet. It might be too much. Too loud.”

Zak’s voice dropped low. “Have you made other provisions?”

“What type?”

 “Quiet room? Down time? Emergency hoodie and sweatpants?”

She gave a surprised little laugh. “I’m working on that, yeah. Pietra helped me put together a little survival kit. And I’ve already warned the florist; no strong smells. I gave them a list.”

He smiled, but there was still something cautious in his eyes. “Amelia… I want you to really love your wedding day.”

She tilted her head at him curiously.

“You’re brilliant at putting your head down and getting through hard things,” he said. “But this isn’t something to get through. You’re supposed to enjoy it. So just…. Remember that you’re allowed to take breaks. You’re allowed to need silence, or space. It’s your day, nobody else’s. The only person you should be thinking about is yourself, yeah?”

A long pause. Then her voice, quieter, “I want everyone to have a good time.”

Zak exhaled, moved so he was fully facing her. “Bug,” he said — an old nickname, rarely ever used beyond her pre-teen years. “You’re not a burden. You’re my daughter. And you’re marrying someone who knows exactly what you need and loves you for it. This wedding doesn’t have to look like everyone else’s. It just has to feel like you.”

She nodded, once. Then twice more, just to be sure.

“I’d really like it,” she said at last, “if you walked me down the aisle.”

Zak’s smile turned warm and wide. “Then that’s settled.”

There was a call for radio checks across the paddock. Amelia checked her watch.

“I have to get back to Max,” she said, already reaching for her headset. “We’re trialling a new steering calibration.”

Zak stepped back, letting her pass. “Save me a dance,” he called after her.

She turned just long enough to shoot him a look over her shoulder. “Only if they play ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine.’”

He laughed because he knew that she wasn’t joking. “Okay, sweetheart.”

—

Two Weeks Earlier

The floor of the living room was a minefield of tote bags and half-open Amazon parcels.

Amelia sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, surrounded by boxes of earplugs, tinted glasses, noise-cancelling headphones, a fan shaped like a rabbit, and what appeared to be five different brands of lavender-scented balm. She was in a hoodie four sizes too big, sleeves tucked over her hands, brow furrowed with precise concentration.

Pietra lay sprawled on the sofa above her, holding up a checklist written in Amelia’s neatly printed block capitals.

“Okay,” Pietra said, tapping her pen against her lips. “We’ve got the fidget ring, compression vest, emergency gum, chewing straws, and a travel-size tinted moisturiser because we don’t want you to have stress rashes in the photos because you’re overwhelmed.”

Amelia nodded without looking up, stuffing the vest and a weighted scarf into a small ivory backpack. It had her initials embroidered discreetly on the strap, next to the cursive letting of the word bride. Her mom had given it to her as an early wedding-present. 

“We still need your sunglasses,” Pietra said. “And your mint-spray. Where is the mint-spray?”

“Bathroom cabinet,” Amelia replied. “Behind the cough syrup.”

Pietra hopped up to fetch it.

The evening light poured in warm and golden through the windows. The sea sparkled in the distance. There was an open bottle of wine on the coffee table, Pietra’s glass mostly empty. Amelia’s glass was full — untouched. 

From the bathroom, “Do you want to add tissues to the bag or keep those in your purse?”

“Both,” Amelia called. “In case I cry and then get a nosebleed. You know, logically.”

“Obviously.” Pietra reappeared with the mint-spray and handed it over. She sat back down on the couch, legs curled beneath her, watching as Amelia began methodically tucking things into place — familiar, practiced movements. Like muscle memory. “You doing okay?” Pietra asked, not pushing, not heavy.

Amelia didn’t answer right away. She zipped the backpack closed, patted it once for certainty, and then leaned back against the sofa with a sigh. “I just want to be prepared for all eventualities,” she said quietly.

“You are.”

“But what if it’s too much? All those people. The photos. The weather. What if I need to leave and I can’t, because it’s my wedding?” Her eyes were comically wide.

Pietra slid off the couch to sit next to her, shoulder to shoulder on the floor.

“I’ll be there,” she said. “And I’ll try my best to notice before anyone else does. And I’ll say I need help with my lipstick or something and we’ll sneak away to the quiet room for five minutes and whenever you’re ready we can reappear like nothing even happened.”

Amelia swallowed. “You’re really good at this.”

“I love you,” Pietra replied simply. “And I know you quite well. That helps.”

There was a long pause. Then, “Lando tried to convince me to let him DJ our own wedding.”

Pietra rolled her eyes. “Of course he did.” Then she nudged her. “Although, you have hired him a surprise bouncy castle.”

Amelia made a face. “You weren’t supposed to know about the bouncy castle.”

“I didn’t,” Pietra said cheerfully. “Until now.”

Amelia let herself laugh, quiet and real.

The survival kit sat neatly between them. 

“So,” Pietra said. “You want to rehearse putting the kit together again tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Amelia said instantly. “At the time we’d expect to do it on the day. Just in case.”

Pietra smiled. “Perfect.”

— 

Back To Present

Amelia stood just beside the Red Bull hospitality unit, half in the shade, a bottle of electrolyte water in her hand. She had a new colour system for this weekend — blue for weather conditions, red for setup adjustments, green for wedding reminders.

She was scanning a new data report on her iPad when someone stepped into her periphery.

“Amelia,” came a familiar voice, bright but deliberate.

She looked up, blinking against the glare of the sun. “Hi, Susie.”

Susie Wolff was dressed as sharply as always, white blouse tucked into navy trousers, sunglasses perched on her head. “I’ve been meaning to find you this weekend,” She said. “You’ve been impossible to pin down.”

Amelia tilted her head slightly. “Sorry. I’ve been... everywhere.”

Susie laughed. “That’s the word around here.” There was a brief pause before Susie tucked her hands into her pockets. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something — unofficially, for now.”

Amelia adjusted her grip on the iPad, curious. “Go on.”

“You’ve heard about the new series I’m launching next year? The F1 Academy?” Susie asked. “All-women, junior feeder series. The aim is to give young female drivers the platform.”

Amelia nodded slowly. “I read about it. Five teams, three drivers each.”

Susie smiled. “That’s right. We’re doing it properly. Structured development, real brand support. Not just a PR stunt.”

“Is there a technical side you’re looking to build out?” Amelia asked, already moving into that headspace. “Because if it’s a full series, they’ll need engineering support, performance strategists, aero consultants…”

“Exactly,” Susie replied. “And I want the best people. People who actually understand development from the ground up — and people who want to make the system better, not just replicate it.”

Amelia’s eyes narrowed, not in suspicion but focus. “Will the cars be spec-built or adjustable? Because if there’s room for development, I’d want to know the homologation structure. And the tyre compounds—”

Susie held up a hand, laughing lightly. “This is why I wanted to talk to you.”

Amelia flushed slightly. “Sorry. I just… like the details.”

“I know. That’s why you’re good at what you do,” Susie said. “You’re not just talented. You care about doing things the right way.” A quiet pause followed. “I’d like you to consider being part of the technical advisory group. Or even coming onboard in a more embedded role later down the line,” Susie said. “It doesn’t have to happen right away. But when the wedding’s over, and things settle a bit — I’d love to sit down and have a proper conversation with you.”

Amelia blinked. “Okay. Yes. I’d be interested in learning more. A lot more. I’ll want to know about track selection, vehicle specs, budget caps if there are any, team operations, logistics—”

“Send me a list,” Susie grinned. “I’ll send you mine.”

Amelia looked almost shy for a second, then nodded. “It’s nice. Being asked.”

Susie softened. “You’re more than worthy of the ask.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching a flock of engineers move a tyre rack across the tarmac.

“You’re getting married… next week, right?” Susie added, glancing over.

Amelia perked up instantly. “Yes. Two days after the race. Marquee. Barbecue. Fairy lights.” She sighed. “Bouncy castle.” 

Susie laughed. “Sounds like heaven.”

“It will be,” Amelia said simply, and Susie believed her.

—

The energy in the air was unmistakable — British flags, cheers echoing through the grandstands, the buzz of engines winding up to full roar. Amelia stood at the back of the Red Bull pit wall, headphones snug over her ears, clipboard clutched loosely to her chest.

The engines screamed through the first straight. Amelia's fingers clenched tight around her golf ball as the pack charged through the opening corners.

And then it happened.

A thundering impact. A wall of smoke. Screeching. Carbon shattering. Zhou’s Alfa flipped violently, spinning out of control and vanishing between the barriers.

From the pit wall, Amelia couldn’t see the full crash — just flashes of sparks and a puff of sand and tyre smoke. But she heard it. Felt it in her chest. The noise had weight to it. Finality. Silence followed, sharp and sudden, broken only by panicked radio static.

“Red flag, red flag, red flag—”

No immediate updates. Nothing from Zhou’s radio. They couldn’t replay the footage yet: the roll, the fence, the skid on the halo. No camera showed the car afterward. 

It was silent. Then it was loud.

Amelia stood frozen. Then she turned. Walked quickly through the back of Max’s garage, slipping past confused engineers, down the narrow hallway of the Red Bull motorhome. The lights were bright and wrong. Someone tried to talk to her — she didn’t process what they said.

She found a utility room, small and quiet, and closed the door.

She sat on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, breathing shallow. Her fingers twitched. Her chest buzzed. She could still hear the sound of the car skidding, see the halo dragging against the ground. It was all replaying on a loop behind her eyes. She couldn’t stop picturing it — the impossible physics of a car upside down, skidding toward a fence at that speed.

Minutes passed.

And passed.

Nobody came for her. No updates on Zhou’s condition came through her headset.

Nothing.

She pressed her forehead to her knees and tried to focus on the floor. On the cold concrete through her trousers. On anything that was now. But her body wouldn’t settle. Her brain was flying, looping through “what if?” in sharp, screaming bursts.

She didn’t hear the first knock. Or the second.

The third came with a gentle push of the door.

Max.

He stepped inside quietly, closed the door behind him, and crouched. His hands stayed visible. His voice was calm.

“I thought you might be here.”

She didn’t lift her head.

“No news yet,” he said. “But they’ve got people with him.”

Still nothing.

Max sat down slowly, cross-legged on the floor, a few feet away. He didn't touch her. He knew better. He just waited.

A few more minutes passed in silence.

Then the door opened again.

Lando.

He looked rumpled and pale, still in his race suit, balaclava pushed down around his neck. His eyes locked onto her immediately. He crossed the room in three long strides and dropped to his knees in front of her.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She flinched when he touched her arm, but didn’t pull away.

“Can I…?” he asked, and when she gave the barest nod, he wrapped an arm carefully around her shoulders, pulling her close against his chest.

She finally exhaled. A shaky, exhausted sound.

“He hasn’t said anything on the radio,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“I keep seeing it. Over and over.”

“I know, baby.”

Max leaned forward slightly, phone in his hand. “He’s conscious.”

Amelia looked up sharply. “He is?”

Lando glanced at Max’s phone, reading. “Still in the car, but awake. They’re trying to work out how to get him out safely.”

Her eyes flooded. Relief hit her like a brick. “I thought—”

“I know,” Lando said again, holding her tighter. “Me too.”

Her voice cracked. “I didn’t know where to go. I couldn’t—everything was too much.”

“You found a safe space,” Max said. “That’s all that matters.”

The tension finally broke, like a string pulled too tight. She rested her head against Lando’s shoulder and let her breathing slow, her body uncoiling one inch at a time.

“We’re okay,” he said. “He’s okay. And you’re okay.”

“I hate this part,” she murmured.

“I know,” Max said. “We do too.”

They stayed there until her hands stopped shaking. Until the paddock noise calmed. Until the update came through confirming Zhou was being extracted carefully and would be taken to the medical centre — alert, responsive, talking.

Only then did Amelia allow herself to uncurl and nod.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay. I can go back now.”

Lando helped her up gently. Max didn’t say anything — just stood and offered her her clipboard, which he must’ve carried with him.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Lando kissed her temple.

—

The light had shifted by the time Amelia saw him again — Zhou, stepping carefully down the short steps outside the medical centre, surrounded by Alfa staff. His suit had been peeled off hours ago, replaced with team-issue soft-wear, and his gait was still cautious. The bruises were already starting to visibly bloom on his skin.

She didn’t rush to him. Didn’t want to overwhelm him — but she stood nearby, waiting until his eyes found hers. When they did, she offered a small, respectful wave.

He blinked in brief surprise, then shifted course to meet her.

“Hey,” he said first, voice hoarse but clear. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I wanted to,” she said, holding her clipboard tight to her chest. “I just—I was worried.”

He gave her a small, tired smile. “I’m okay. Bit sore. Bit rattled.”

“I’m really glad. That was…” She paused, adjusting her weight from one foot to the other. “That was a bad one.”

He nodded. “Yeah. It felt worse from inside.”

She let out a breath. “I couldn’t find a video feed that showed you after,” she said. “Just the flip, and the gravel. Then nothing. It was…” She trailed off. “Too quiet. Too long. Sorry. I needed to see you for myself, you know?”

Zhou’s expression softened. 

“I hid in a storage room,” she added. 

Zhou raised an eyebrow. “You okay now?”

“I’m fine,” she said. Then corrected, “Better. Now that I have seen you.” There was a pause. “You don’t need to say anything,” she told him. “I just wanted you to know I’m glad you’re still here.”

His smile this time reached his eyes. “Me too.”

Amelia gave a small nod, then looked away. “I won’t keep you. You should go and rest.”

Zhou turned to go, then hesitated. “Hey—Amelia?”

She looked back at him.

“Thanks,” he said, quiet and honest.

She didn’t answer — just nodded once, firmly, and walked back toward the Red Bull garage.

—

The windows were down, letting in the warm July air that smelled faintly of dry grass and dust. Amelia had kicked off her shoes hours ago, legs tucked up on the passenger seat, sunglasses slipping down her nose. Lando drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on her thigh — not possessive, not even really conscious, just there. Like it always was. Like he didn’t need to think about it anymore.

Their wedding playlist played softly through the speakers — a curated collection of songs they’d agonised over for weeks, now serving as the soundtrack to this quiet little interlude between race day chaos and wedding week magic.

“Skip,” Amelia murmured as a twangy country ballad came on. “Too sad.”

Lando tapped the skip button without looking. “Agreed. Save that for the divorce.”

She frowned. “Not funny.”

He smirked, glancing at her. “Kidding.”

“Good.” She said, rolling her eyes. 

He hummed, switching lanes smoothly. A new song started — bright, summery, with the kind of beat you could slow dance to barefoot on the lawn.

Amelia smiled. “This one’s nice.”

Lando glanced sideways. “Reception dance?”

She nodded. “Fairy lights. Warm night. People a little drunk.”

“And us,” he said, squeezing her thigh gently, “a little married.”

She turned to look at him, and he was already smiling.

“I love you,” she said. No preamble, no big swell of emotion. Just a quiet, concrete fact.

He rubbed his thumb against her skin, eyes back on the road but voice soft. “I know, baby. I love you too.”

They drove in silence for a while, letting the song fill the space between them. Outside, the British countryside passed in soft blurs of green and gold.

Amelia reached forward and added a little star emoji to the song title in the playlist. “For the record,” she said. “I think this one’s my favourite.”

“Better than the one we picked for our first dance?” Lando asked, mock scandalised.

“Oh, no. That one’s sacred,” she said quickly. “But this one’s… sunshine.”

He nodded once, firm. “Good. We always need more sunshine.”

They were still holding hands when the song changed again.

—

The gravel crunched under the tires as Lando pulled the car onto the driveway. Amelia reached for the car door, her fingers slow from the comfortable stillness of the journey, and then turned back to look at him.

“This is real,” she said softly.

Lando just smiled, the tired kind that came after a long weekend. “Yeah. We’re here.”

The cottage wasn’t grand. That was the point. It was warm and tucked into the countryside like it had always been there — white roses climbing the gate, ivy twisting up the stone walls, windows that looked out across soft hills.

Inside, the air was cool and smelled faintly of lavender and old wood. Amelia wandered through slowly, running her fingers along the edges of the kitchen table, the old fireplace, the soft cushions stacked high on the window seat. Lando dropped their bags by the door, kicked off his shoes, and followed after her.

“This okay?” He asked, quietly.

She nodded. “It’s perfect. It’s exactly what I wanted.”

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his chin gently to the top of her head. She leaned back into him, eyes closed, breathing in the quiet.

“We’re getting married,” she said, softly.

“In less than forty-eight hours,” he replied. “I’m going to be your husband.”

She hummed. “You’re going to cry.”

“No, you’re going to cry.”

“I don’t cry,” she whispered, turning in his arms. “Not very often. But I might. When you say ‘I do’.” 

He laughed, forehead against hers. “Yeah. Me too.”

The kettle clicked on in the background. A sheep bleated somewhere in the distance. 

They sat out on the back porch with mugs of tea, wrapped in jumpers and blankets, watching the last bit of sun disappear behind the trees.

Tomorrow, family would start arriving. The cottage would be full of voices and laughter and questions. But for tonight, it was just them. 

“I don’t want to forget this part,” Amelia said, her voice quiet. “The before.”

“You won’t,” Lando promised, turning toward her. “This is the part we’ll tell people about one day.”

She leaned into his shoulder. “Yeah. I hope so.”

—

The morning drifted in soft and slow.

Amelia lay in bed with the window open. The countryside smelled of warm grass and honeysuckle, the faint sound of birdsong filtering in. Somewhere downstairs, the kettle clicked on, and she could hear someone, probably her mom, padding softly across the kitchen tiles.

They hadn’t unpacked much. They hadn’t needed to. Just slipped off their clothes, curled up under the covers, and slept dreamlessly until sunlight nudged them awake.

Now, she pressed her cheek to his shoulder, warm and freckled under her palm.“You awake?” she whispered.

He hummed. “Not yet.”

She grinned. “Well, we’re getting married in tomorrow.”

That earned her a low groan and an arm wrapped lazily around her waist. “Good. Don’t wanna to live another day without being your husband.”

Downstairs, their parents were getting acquainted over mugs of Earl Grey and slices of toast. Lando’s mum had brought fresh jam. Amelia’s dad was already halfway through a crossword. It was quiet and easy—no wedding talk yet, no to-do lists. Just two families sharing a calm summer morning in a little stone cottage tucked into a sleepy field.

By mid-morning, everyone had wandered outside. The sun was gentle, filtered through clouds, and the garden was filled with the scent of wildflowers and just-cut grass. Folding chairs were scattered across the lawn, and lemonade clinked in glasses. Pietra and Max hadn’t arrived yet, but they soon would.

Best man. 

Maid of honour. 

Amelia and Lando sat together under an old pear tree, her bare feet in his lap, his thumb tracing absentminded circles along her ankle. They were listening to Lando’s dad’s playlist. The music washed over them gently, familiar and warm. 

“Still happy with our first dance song?” Lando asked, eyes closed, tipping his head back to the breeze.

“Of course,” she murmured. “Listened to it almost fifty times to make sure.”

He smiled. “And the reception playlist?”

She nodded, then paused. “Actually… maybe we bump that Arctic Monkeys song to earlier in the night. People will be drunker later, and I don’t want anyone butchering the lyrics.”

Lando laughed, light and free. “Good thinking, baby.”

They spent the early afternoon touring the venue with their parents, pointing out where the fairy lights would go, where the marquee would sit. Amelia’s dad was already asking where the power cables were going to run, and Lando’s mum wanted to know if it might be chilly enough in the evening to need shawls.

“There’ll be blankets,” Amelia promised, thoughtful. “Soft ones. I’ve already washed them with lavender laundry detergent.”

Later, they sprawled in the shade, Amelia with her head in Lando’s lap, her fingers skimming the grass. The light filtered through the trees like dappled gold, and everything smelled like home. Her mum brought out a plate of biscuits. Her dad had made a weak attempt at swatting a bee away from his lemonade and muttered something about never having a day off.

“Do you think it’ll stay like this?” Amelia asked quietly.

Lando looked down at her. “The weather?”

“The feeling.”

He stroked her hair gently, smiling with something steady and private. “Yeah,” he said. “I think it might.”

She let herself close her eyes.

Almost married.

—

The world was just beginning to wake-up. 

So was Amelia.

She stirred slowly, wrapped in a cocoon of linen and warmth, blinking into the blur of morning. Lando’s hand was already curled over her hip, grounding. She turned her head. His eyes were closed, lashes fanned across his cheek, breath even and deep.

“Lando,” she whispered, not wanting to say it too loud. “It’s today.”

He didn’t open his eyes, just smiled, the kind that made her stomach flip like it was 2018 all over again. “Mmm,” he hummed. “I know. I dreamt it.”

She inhaled softly. “Was it good?”

“Yeah baby,” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep. “Except when Max interrupted the ceremony to ask you about his DRS strategy.”

She hummed. “Sounds like Max.”

Lando tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his thumb tracing gently along her cheekbone.

Amelia considered the question carefully. She could feel the usual thrum of her thoughts beneath the surface — a thousand logistical notes, backup plans, sensory considerations. But none of it felt too heavy. Not today.

“I feel ready,” she said. “Really ready.”

Lando kissed her forehead. “Me too.”

They lay there a little longer, curled into each other as the light grew warmer. Eventually, someone knocked gently at the bedroom door.

“Amelia?” Pietra’s voice, soft but excited. “Time to start glam time, babe.”

Lando groaned dramatically. “Oh no. I’m losing you.”

Amelia smiled and kissed him once, brief and sure, before slipping out from under the duvet. “You’ll get me back in a few hours,” she promised, already halfway to the ensuite.

“I should hope so,” he called after her. “Don’t ghost me at the altar, wifey.”

—

Two hours later, Pietra was kneeling on the floor beside Amelia, gently fastening a thin silver anklet around her left ankle. Amelia sat in a chair by the window, her robe tied in a precise knot, the lace sleeves brushing her wrists. Her hair was half done—soft waves pinned back with little pearlescent clips—and the morning light painted everything a warm yellow.

“You’re very quiet,” Pietra said gently, adjusting the clasp.

“I’m concentrating,” Amelia murmured. “And I’m… regulating. A lot of people are going to be looking at me soon.”

“You’re doing really well,” Pietra said, sitting back on her heels to look up at her best friend. “And you look… holy shit, Amelia.”

Amelia blinked. “Do I look okay? I haven’t seen it yet.”

“You look like the exact midpoint between goddess and fairy queen,” Pietra said, voice thick. “Honestly.”

That made Amelia smile; a little bashfully, her eyes dropping to her hands in her lap. “I think I thought I’d be scared today,” she admitted softly. “Or overwhelmed. But it’s just… calm.”

Pietra nodded. “Because it’s meant to be.”

Amelia exhaled. “Yeah. Maybe.”

They sat like that for a few more minutes, sunlight warming their skin, the soft sound of distant birds and shuffling feet below. Then Pietra stood and held out her hand.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s get the dress on. We need to leave in twenty minutes — Max texted me, said everything at the venue is perfect.”

Amelia took her hand without hesitation.

“I’m getting married,” she whispered, almost like she needed to hear it aloud again.

“You really are,” Pietra grinned. 

—

Zak was pacing in front of the reception marquee, holding the tie he hadn’t yet figured out how to knot. When he saw Amelia approaching, dress flowing, expression soft, he stopped mid-step.

“Hi, Dad.”

Zak stared at her for a second too long. “You look beautiful,” he said thickly.

She smiled, coming to stand in front of him. “Thank you. Do you need help with that?”

He handed her the tie wordlessly. She stepped close and began looping the fabric around his collar. Her fingers were steady. He swallowed once.

“You sure about all this?” he asked, gently. “Really sure?”

Amelia paused. “You mean the wedding?”

“I mean everything,” Zak clarified. “You’re so good at looking after other people. I just want to be sure someone’s making sure you’re okay.”

“I am okay,” she said simply. “I’m in love. And I’m safe.”

He nodded slowly, eyes shining. “I’m really proud of you.”

“I know,” she said.

He blinked hard. “You want me to walk you down there now?”

She made a face at him. “I want to walk beside you. I’ll hold onto your arm.” She lifted her dress to show him her shoes. Flat, no heels, comfortable. “I’m not a trip hazard.”

Zak pursed his lips to hide a smile at her deadpan words before he offered his arm. “Then let’s go do this, honey.”

—

Mitski’s ‘My Love Mine All Mine’ was the song that was playing, echoing and ethereal. 

The guests were sat beneath the fairy lights and butter yellow bunting. Matching yellow satin drapes sat on every chair, lined the aisle, and decorated Lando’s pocket and neck. 

A yellow tie. A yellow handkerchief. 

When Amelia stepped onto the grass, everything fell silent.

Her dress shimmered faintly with movement, the delicate beading catching the light. The neck train draped behind her. Pietra was waiting at the right of the alter with Max Fewtrell standing opposite her, both beaming.

And at the far end, in front of the white wooden arch draped in green and yellow florals, Lando was already crying.

Not loud, not messy—just tears slipping down his cheeks in silent, reverent awe. Like she was something holy. Like he couldn’t believe she was real.

Amelia didn’t look away from him. Her fingers tightened gently on her dads arm, and then loosened again. 

When she reached him, Lando let out a laugh that broke into a breathless, teary smile. “You came,” he whispered, almost stunned.

“Of course I came,” Amelia whispered back, brushing a tear from his cheek. “You cried.” She smiled. 

“I love you,” he leaned in, forehead against hers.

She got up on her tiptoes, brushed her lips against his in a teasing brush. “I know. Prove it by marrying me.”

—

Their guests, family and a few friends, most of the drivers who’s been available, were hushed, reverent. Somewhere in the background, a bee buzzed near a flower. Lando’s hands were shaking.

Pietra handed Amelia her bouquet. Her fingers brushed Amelia’s for a moment, grounding her. Max gave Lando a nod from his place at his side, full of quiet reassurance.

The celebrant, a family friend with a calm, steady voice, began to speak, but Amelia barely heard her. Her eyes were fixed on Lando, his on her. Everything else dulled to a blur.

When the moment for vows came, the officiant stepped back slightly.

“Lando?” She prompted.

He took a breath, folded the note he’d brought, and looked at Amelia instead.

“I wrote something down,” he admitted, “but it doesn’t cover it. So I’m just going to say it.”

Amelia’s hands were steady, clasped around her bouquet. Her eyes never left his.

“You are the most brilliant person I’ve ever met,” Lando said. “You make me laugh even when I’m miserable. You know every single version of me, even the ones I don’t like, and you stay. You stay and you care and you see me.” He smiled, a little watery. “I thought that love had to be complicated. Dramatic. Loud. But loving you isn’t like that. It’s quiet and constant and safe. And it makes sense all the time.” 

A few sniffles rippled from the front row. 

“I promise to make space for you,” Lando continued, his voice cracking just slightly. “I promise to honour what you need, even when it’s different from what I need. I promise to soundproof every room if I have to—”

Amelia laughed through her tears.

“—and I promise to never stop choosing you. Not for a day. Not for a second.”

The officiant turned to Amelia. “And you, Amelia?”

She nodded, cleared her throat once, and began. Her voice was quiet, but sure.

“I love you, Lando Norris. You see me in a way that nobody else ever has,” she said. “You never try to fix me, and you always know when to listen. You let me be exactly who I am, even when it’s hard.”

Lando was crying again.

“You love me in a way I didn’t know was possible,” Amelia said. “Not despite the parts of me that are different—but because of them. You’ve never made me feel like I had to be smaller, or easier, or quieter.” She smiled, her hands tight around the bouquet. “I promise to always tell you the truth, even when it’s inconvenient. I promise to make spreadsheets for our holidays and set reminders for the laundry. I promise to protect your peace as fiercely as you protect mine. And I promise to be your home. Always.”

Lando made a small, helpless noise. Max gave his shoulder a hard pat.

The rings were passed forward by Max and Pietra, both watery eyed and sniffly. The metal was matte gold—simple, unflashy, chosen after hours of quiet discussion and Amelia’s very specific pros and cons list.

They slid the bands onto each other’s fingers with shaking hands.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiant said warmly. “You may kiss—”

But Lando didn’t wait.

He leaned in and kissed Amelia like it was the only thing in the world that made sense. She kissed him back, anchoring him, grounding him. Their hands remained linked between them.

Applause rose up around them, soft and full of joy.

But Amelia didn’t really hear it.

All of her attention was on him. 

Her Lando. 

Her husband. 

NEXT CHAPTER

[ghostedgwen]

but I knew you | j.potter [part two]

note : I am so happy with the positive response to the first part, I had struggled drafting it up for months because I felt lacking. I hadn't written in so long that I was beginning to doubt if I could still do it like before and the answer is 'no', but this way, I can keep improving. Thank you all so much for the support as always <3

warnings : just pure angst, James is very ouchie on this one, some hints of Lily hate sorry, graphic mention of violence but just briefly, enemies to lovers maybe, james is an asshole, keep in mind he was 14 in the flashbacks pls, angst ouch ouchie

James gets into an accident during a Quidditch game and develop amnesia - he doesn't remember the past 2 and a half years, and he currently has the mentality of fourth-year James. This doesn't bode well for you that your boyfriend of 2 years now currently thinks he's still  in love with Lily.

└——————— - [ 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝚃𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚝 - 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚗 ]. +

An absolute bloody nightmare is a light way of putting it. You barley remember how you reacted and digested the whole situation, well enough to stumble back to your dormitory and act like everything is fine in front of your dorm mates.

You could guess you acted like a big, brave girl and smiled while nodding. “James here needs some more rest, so do I, I’ve been here since last night - I need to go get changed and everything.”

The boys tried to cut in but you didn’t let them. Getting up to pat down your uniform nonchalantly. “He’s all yours, take care of him for me.”

As you walked out, you pretended like your heart wasn’t breaking into pieces, leaving behind a shard with every step you took.

To make it worse, you heard your lovely boyfriend’s voice again. “Who the bloody hell was that? Are you lot pissing on me again?”

.

You couldn’t sleep a wink. You got up with bags under your eyes and Mary gasping at the sight of you.

“I guess your boyfriend falling 500 feet in the air would do that to you.” Marlene shrugged as she was putting on her tie.

“Perhaps you should skip class for now?” Lily suggested. Oh Merlin, it is not her fault but you can’t help feeling irritated at her voice.

Your boyfriend’s injury and sudden amnesia is not her fault but you can’t push back the bitter thoughts beginning to surface. It was bad enough how much you and James went through when you were starting out because of the history he had with Lily, but now there’s this.

You give her a small smile instead and willed your thoughts to fade. “I don’t think skipping classes and putting my grades at risk would contribute in any way to the situation.”

Lily gives you a sympathetic smile and a curt nod.

“Thank you, Lils. But I need the distraction anyway.”

.

You should have known it won’t be so easy. You always considered yourself to be strong, in mind and in heart.

But there are things you never prepare for because how could you have possibly foreseen them to ever happen anyway?

You walked into potions class all hopeful that your favorite subject could take your mind off the way James looked at you.

That was quick to die down when he stormed inside during the middle of class with his fellow Marauders running after him.

He burst through the doors looking fresh out of the infirmary. He was lucky Slurghorn left to go do something leaving you all to quietly work when he came in or this would be another 5 points off Gryffindor.

You half expected him to run to you, a smile instinctively forming on your lips until you saw the look of panic on the three boys’ faces.

James walked past you and right up to Lily. You slowly turn your head to watch him smile so brightly at her, in great contrast to how he treated you.

Bloody fuck, you shouldn’t watch. Sirius appeared beside you, an arm around you as he also watched James who they obviously failed to stop from coming here.

“My darling Lily-Flower, how - you cut your hair?” James frowned, eyeing the way Lily’s usually long red curls are now framing her face in a neat bob cut. “Since when?”

Lily was shocked at the nickname. Her eyes darting to you right away as she dodged the hand James was gonna use to touch her hair. The sight made you want to throw up.

“Potter, what is with you? This isn’t funny.” Lily stepped back and he closed the gap, she did it again and he closed the gap again.

“Oi Potter,is this why our ____ looked like shite this morning?” Marlene stepped in, pushing James away from Lily. “This joke isn’t funny for either Lily or____!”

James glared at her “Watch it, McKinnon. I don’t know why you lot think I’m joking. If anything, you bloody wankers keep insisting that that -“ he turns to point at you “person is my girlfriend.”

Oh bloody fuck. It’s a good thing Sirius was holding you or you would have collapsed to the floor with the way your knees gave out. You lean into him for support, and his hold on you tightens.

You look up to see that he is visibly upset at James, he's never looked at his best friend that way before.

"What is up with this tosser?" Marlene asked, beginning to raise her voice as she turned to Remus and Peter watching the scene unfold in horror. "Has your friend gone mental from the accident yesterday?"

"It's okay, Marlene." You tell her, but she would not budge.

"Why is he bothering Lily again and pretending like he doesn't know you? This is pissing me off."

Remus lets out a heavy sigh. "The accident caused him to forget about ____."

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. All their eyes turned to you and you try your best to look brave. Even when you could also feel James' unfamiliar gaze on you.

"Is that true?" Lily asked, a look of shock painted on her face. "____, I don't even know what to say."

You almost laughed. Of course she doesn't, no one would. Would apologizing make you feel better? Of course not, what would she even apologize for? "Sorry your boyfriend got amnesia so now he's in love with me again."

"Prongs, let's not do this here." Remus grabbed James by the arm and nudged him to get out. "Please."

James is very confused why everyone is acting the way they are but they let him drag him out this time, only Sirius brought you as well. He eyes you curiously, you seem familiar but he has never seen you before until yesterday when you hugged him.

Something about the action was familiar and it felt oddly warm but he did not know you. You look at him and could tell he was examining you.

"Who are you, really?" He asked.

You give him a bitter smile. "Let's talk."

.

The boys left you alone in the common room and has decided to stand guard outside to ensure no one would be walking in to disrupt the conversation.

He sat on the couch across the one where you sat, he watched your every move intently, trying so hard to understand who you are and what role you played in his life.

They say you're his girlfriend but just yesterday he was professing his love to Lily in the Great Hall during breakfast when he woke up in the infirmary all of a sudden.

He can't even begin to explain the weird feeling swirling all over him, like his body isn't his and he's just a visitor stopping by.

You cleared your throat. "James," his gaze unwavered, remained on you. "My name is ____, I'm in my sixth-year at Hogwarts. I transferred here during our fourth-year."

James' brow slowly stitched into a frown, he doesn't know you at all. In his current memories, you have not transferred yet.

He didn't speak yet. "You pestered me endlessly during my first week, until I gave you a taste of your own medicine -" You can't help the grin from forming, recalling the memory.

"What?" He asked.

.

You had no clue why James bloody Potter thought it would be the funniest thing to make your first week in Hogwarts horrible. From the moment you transferred, he's had his eyes set on you.

It even made the other three boys wonder just what has got him so taken with you. Enough so that he's not once bothered Lily like usual, which was a great surprise to everyone - not great for you.

"Potter, I'd be willing to give you everything in my trust fund if you would just sod off for the rest of our lives." You were only joking, not that you'd pay him a dime to piss off.

He smirks at that. "You forget I'm rich, ____."

Your eye twitch irritably. Right. Rich pretty boy thinks he can mess with anyone because he's a pure blood wizard from a well-off family, what a big man he is.

You smile sarcastically. "Oh my bad, I forget how rich you are that you can probably buy me."

James' brow perked at that, "Can I?"

You almost swung your entire arm to give his right cheek everything you've got but you kept your cool, sighing while biting the insides of your cheek to will yourself to calm down.

"You are a dog - no, worse than a dog. You are a cockroach. You disgust me, James Potter. Every single second spent knowing you has been a hellish nightmare. I hope that should lightning strike me dead right this very moment, I never get to fucking meet you again in my next unfortunate life or Merlin help me I would take a rock and break my own skull with it just to escape you."

Yeah you weren’t keeping your cool at all.

James stood dumbfounded at your words, barely registering them when you actually finally decided to swing. Your whole body twisting to deliver a blow to his face, it echoed in the empty halls and left a big red imprint on his cheek.

To say he was shocked was an understatement. "Don't bother telling on me unless you want people to know a little girl smacked the shit out of you."

You turned around, not bothering to wait for an answer and began strutting away. Ignoring the way your palm tingled from the slap, it hurt a lot but you kept walking away confidently.

James Potter stood still, cheek hurting while his heart remained pounding. In a way it never has around Lily before. "Bloody hell," he muttered with a devilish grin. "Bloody fucking hell."

.

"You beat me?" James asked, you fight the urge to think how cute he looks all clueless - like a baby. "Why would I start courting you after that."

"No clue, you are a weirdo." You roll your eyes at him. "But you were my weirdo. Unfortunately."

James couldn't comprehend it. He's 16 now and yet in his mind, he is still 14. "It doesn't make sense."

You shake your head. "No, it doesn't. But can you try? Isn't there a tiniest bit of you that recognizes me? Not in the slightest?" You ask him, running a desperate hand through your hair. "They say the mind can forget but the heart doesn't."

James stared at you, he could tell how much it hurts you. From the way his friends acted, even the other classmates - it was obvious that this was reality.

He's a visitor in his own body, two years has passed and he doesn't remember a single moment from them.

"I'm sorry . . .for not knowing you." James hesitantly apologized. He could tell, you were important to him, with how his body craved to run up to you and hug you - but his mind sees you as a stranger.

You smile bitterly at that. "So right now, it's still her?"

James didn't answer, something in him instinctively telling him not to. You waited, but he didn't say anything. "When you started courting me, everyone had thought it was a grand prank. Like some big joke you were pulling, so did I."

James remained silent.

"How could we honestly expect a James Potter who has pestered Lily Evans for 4 years to just suddenly fall for the new girl? It was a whole commotion, I wanted everything to stop. I couldn't focus on my studies with how much everyone buzzed whenever I walked into a room."

James slowly nodded. "Why did you say 'yes', then? You said we have been together for two years."

You chuckle at the question, you ask yourself the same thing every day. "Because I got to know a James Potter that no one ever has before. A James Potter that I could have all to myself. . ." you heaved a heavy sigh, shaking as you let out your breath. Looking up to smile up at him sadly, so familiar yet so strange. "But you're not mine. You're not my James, are you?"

He couldn't answer as the lump in his throat got bigger and bigger and bigger. His body hurts, his stomach kept dropping and his hands twitched to reach out to you.

His legs are begging him to run to you, his skin is crawling to meet yours. Every part of his body wanted you, except in his head - you remain a stranger.

"I. . .don't know."

to be continued . . .

part three | masterlist

[alisonwritesimagines]

Grounded ~Batman Imagine~

Summary: Bruce is grounded.

Author's Note: I had this in a draft so I figured I should publish it.

BatFamily Masterlist

Reader's Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: none

Do not repost this anywhere!

It wasn’t unusual for Batman not to be at the Justice League headquarters. But it was also usual for him to be there when the team needed him there. And he would always be on time unless he stated otherwise.

So when they called him and asked him to meet them at the headquarters, the league grew suspicious when he didn't show up or explain he was running late.

“Where is he?” Superman asked as he stared at the door.

“Wow! For once, the Batman is late!” Flash called out with a gasp.

“I’m sure he has a good reason,” Wonder Woman mentioned.

Two hours had passed and nothing. 

“We should check on him,” Superman said.

“Agreed,” Wonder Woman nodded.

Barry, Diana, and Clark rushed over to the Batcave to see if he was still here while the rest stayed behind. To their surprise, they only saw Alfred cleaning.

“Hello. How May I help you?” Alfred greeted.

“Where’s Bruce?”

“I’m sorry to say but Master Bruce is currently grounded at the moment,” Alfred said, trying to hide his smirk.

“I’m sorry. Grounded?” Clark asked with confusion.

“He and the children had deeply upset Ms. Y/n so she grounded all of them,” Alfred said.

“All of them?”

“All of them,” Alfred said, now smirking.

“What did they do to make her upset that bad?” Barry asked.

“Why don’t you ask him about it? He’s allowed visitors according to Ms. Y/n,” Alfred said as he led the team upstairs.

“What are you guys doing here?” Bruce asked as the three came into his home office. 

It was rare sometimes for Bruce to use the home office. You mainly used it for when you had to plan charity events but since he was grounded, he had to work in his home office.

Many people would label this as extreme. Given that Bruce and almost all the kids were adults, but the grip you had over them was life threatening.

"We thought something happened to you," Clark explained.

“You didn’t show up to the meeting today,” Diana told him.

“Oh. Right. Y/n took my communications away,” Bruce explained in a nonchalant tone.

“I’m sure she could’ve understood for one message,” Diana told him.

“She’s in no mood or any negotiations. The children and I made her extremely upset,” Bruce told them.

“How so?”

“We forgot about her parents coming to visit and we didn’t spend time with them like we were suppose to. She gave us the warnings ahead of time and we promised her that we would spend time with them with her.”  

“None of you showed up?”

“Only Alfred and Martha were with her.”

“Have you tried apologizing or making it up to her?” Clark asked.

“She’s not budging. She made all the kids do the cleaning and took away all of their leisure activities."

"And you?"

"No Batman duties for a few nights."

"We'll talk to her," Clark said. "Where is she?"

"Backyard with Martha. Good luck," Bruce said.

Clark, Barry, and Diana walked to the backyard where you sat under a tree with some of the kids by your side. You watched as Martha played with some toys while the kids kept her entertained.

"Y/n! May we have a word?" Diana asked. You stood up and walked up to them.

"Hello. How are you all doing?" You asked sweetly. You didn't seem like you were in a bad mood. Maybe you were ready to forgive Bruce?

"Y/n, we need Batman for a meeting. Is there anyway you can get Bruce resume his Batman duties for just a day?" Clark asked.

"No," you responded without hesitation.

"Y/n, this is important-"

"No, Let me tell you what's important. I have spent months warning my family about my parents' arrival. I have made sure we were going to have fun activities, have nice meals together, and I had even gone to the point to make sure Gotham was going to be okay for a week without any hesitation. I had to bribe so many people to lay low for a week. And you know what my family did? They went on missions outside of Gotham for that week after I even warned them not to. So I had to deal with my parents with just Martha and Alfred to the point where my parents had to ask me when I planned on getting a divorce from Bruce," you explain to them calmly. You took in a deep breath before continuing. "The embarrassment I felt during that week cannot be undone. Even if you all came here on your knees begging for Bruce or Batman, I am still not allowing it. Now, please leave for now and please wait until Bruce and the kids are done with their grounding."

You walked back over to your children and sat down. The older kids gave the adult a shrug, acknowledging their efforts to get Bruce out. Barry, Clark, and Diana walked back over to Bruce's office who had his arms crossed.

"Told you she's not budging," Bruce sighed.

"How much longer of your grounding do you have?" Barry asked with a slight chuckle.

"Till the end of the week. Then after that, we can resume our duties before we have to go to Addison's hometown to spend time with her parents to make it up to them," Bruce said.

"She seems like she's getting in a better mood," Clark said.

"I wouldn't underestimate her," Bruce warned.

"Wait, if you're all grounded, then who's protecting Gotham?" Barry asked.

"We're not questioning it. Y/n said she'll deal with it and somehow she did," Bruce said.

"How much power does she have here in Gotham?" Clark asked Bruce.

"I stopped questioning it a while ago."

"Have you looked into her? Just in case?" Clark asked.

"No. I trust my wife. I've betrayed her enough times. So whatever she is doing, I will let it slide," Bruce tells them.

"You must really love your wife if you're willing to look the other way," Diana said.

"I do. So whatever she doing, I trust her," Bruce tells them.

"Aren't you afraid you're going to regret it?" Barry asked. Bruce looked over at the family photo of you all together.

"No. As long as she is still with me, I don't care. She can do whatever she wants now as long as I have her in my life," Bruce said.

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

Everybody’s on the Call Line (Jason todd x gn!reader)

Humor, fluff, established relationship. whole batfam gets involved. Reader is a hacker

This happened because I read the latest coffee shop au from @jjenthusee (and you should too!) and I remembered that I can also write cute fluff. So here this fic is, straight from my drafts where it’s been languishing for months. Anyway.

Swearing, as always. No use of y/n. I don’t know how long this is

———

Jason eases himself carefully onto the fire escape, metal creaking beneath his boots. He stifles a groan. He’s taking a risk sneaking into your apartment like this, he knows he is. If you wake up and see Red Hood snooping around outside your window, you’ll probably call the cops. But he’s tired as all hell, patrol was long and stupid, and your apartment was closer. Jason will just slide in while you’re sleeping, stow his gear where you won’t find it, and collapse into your bed. In the morning, he’ll just say he let himself in with the spare key you gave him. Easy. All he has to do is disable the window alarm he’d gotten for you, and then he’s home free.

The alarm trips, and Jason moves to silence it but then realized it doesn’t matter, you’re still up, working at your computer.

He freezes as you glance over your shoulder, then turn around to face him. He still has his gear on. Shit.

“Uh, hi,” you offer, looking at him with a curious glance as he races to figure out an excuse. “I don’t think we’ve met before?”

This throws him for a loop. You’re reacting very well to a vigilante crawling through your window at 2:30 in the fucking morning. But you’ve given him an opening, and he’s going to take it.

“No,” he says shortly, wincing behind the helmet. He’s never spoken to you like this and instantly hates the tone he’s using, but he’s got a persona to keep up. Or something.

You nod, seemingly unfazed. “No worries. Do you work with Red Robin?”

What? Why are you asking about Tim? Do you have some secret Red Robin crush that he’s going to have to push Tim off a building for?

Dumbfounded, Jason answers, “Uh, sometimes?”

You nod again. “Do you think you could give something to him for me?”

What the shit is happening right now?

As if to help tip Jason’s world off its axis, you’re interrupted by a tap at the window. Jason looks to see Red Robin crouched on your fire escape. You wave him inside.

“Hey, Escher,” Tim says. “Hood.” Jason has no idea what the fuck is going on.

“I’ve got the script,” you say, holding out a flash drive to him, but Tim shakes his head. “No good. They updated the security.”

“Well, shit.” You turn and dump the USB stick into a glass of water on your desk. “It’s a paperweight now. Only took me five hours to figure out.”

“I know,” Tim says, clearly frustrated. “They keep outmaneuvering us.”

Wait, wait. Jason’s still three steps behind you. “Escher?” he demands.

Both you and Tim turn to look at him, frowning. “Like, M.C. Escher? But, spelled ‘emcee,’” you say, as if that explains anything. “It’s my screen name.”

“You two know each other?”

“Yeah, we work together.” Tim raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t know that?”

Jason shakes his head, and Tim looks at you for a flash of a moment before turning back to Jason. “Sorry,” he mouths, shrugging. Jason waves him off. He’ll deal with that later.

Tim turns back to your computer screen, but your eyes stay on Jason, narrowing. “What does it matter if we work together? Do I know you from somewhere?”

Shit. You were always too sharp for your own good. Jason’s tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth. “Uhh…”

You fold your arms over your chest. Behind you, out of your field of vision, Tim grins at Jason, delighted. Asshole.

“We don’t normally work with civilians,” Jason says, fishing for an excuse.

You sniff, rolling your eyes. “And yet, here you are. Which, the way, you haven’t explained. What are you doing in my bedroom?”

Fair. What is he doing in your bedroom? Would it freak you out if he said he was a burglar? Too late for that now.

“I told him to meet me here,” Tim says, pulling Jason’s ass out of the fire. “Sorry I didn’t tell you first.”

You shrug. “S’okay,” you say, spinning back around in your desk chair to face the screen.

Over your shoulder, Tim mouths, “you owe me.” Jason gives him the finger.

“Do you have a safe copy of the new security system?” you ask, looking at Tim intently.

He shakes his head. “Not yet, Oracle is working on duplicating it.”

You slump down in your chair. “Drat. I hate waiting.”

“Yeah,” Tim sits on the floor next to your bed, knees to his chest. “She said it’d be ready in a few hours.”

“Balls.” You fidget with a pen on your desk.

“Hold on. How did you start working with Red over here?” Jason asks. He knows you work in tech, that you’re a programmer, but he didn’t realize you were building code for fucking Batman.

Tim laughs. “I found them solving random problems on a Swedish forum.”

Jason blinks. Okay.

“Well, yeah. You found me there. Oracle found me hacking your comm links,” you grin, pleased with yourself.

Holy shit. “You got into the comm links?”

“Yeah,” you nod, satisfied. “I’ve done it twice now,” you add smugly.

“Don’t tell B,” Tim warns. “He doesn’t know. Oracle said she wouldn’t tell.”

Wow. You must be the real deal. He wonders if he can get you to fuck with Bruce’s plans, just to be a shit. "How long have you been working for the Caped Crusader, then?"

"I don't work for Batman," you say primly, as Tim sighs. "I help him out when you guys can't get your shit together."

Jason snickers under his breath. "Sore subject, huh?"

"They don’t like B," Tim confirms from the floor. "If you did it would make everything easier," he grumbles.

"It's stupid," you insist. "Come on, how is this a viable solution to any long-term problem?"

Jason laughs outright as Tim sputters. "He's a detective! He detects!"

"Then why does he have to dress up like that?" you point out. “You can be a detective in normal clothes, you know.”

"He needs armor, he keeps getting shot at!"

"Explain the cape, then," you shoot back. "Justify that monstrosity."

"It's fucking idiotic," Jason adds, piling on gleefully. "It'd be different if he could fly, but he just hops around."

Tim gasps, affronted, while you crack up in your chair. "Thank you. I mean, look at yourself, Red. You're sitting on my bedroom floor in a goddamn cape."

"It looks cool," Tim says defensively.

"No," you counter, "that looks cool." You point your finger in Jason's direction, and he feels his face heat up.

"Oh, come on," Tim scoffs. "You think his costume is cool?"

"Uh, yeah," you say, eyes taking Jason in as you nod. "Very cool. Very hot."

"Oh my god," Tim mutters. "It's tactically stupid. Why are his forearms exposed?"

"So I can see how muscley they are." You stare at them, eyes wide. Jason coughs awkwardly, and your eyes flit back up. "Sorry," you say, not sounding sorry at all. "I like leather."

"Of course you like his costume," Tim mutters under his breath.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you shoot at him, and Tim flusters. "Why do you care if I don't like your costume?"

"Yeah," Jason adds, letting some menace fall into his voice. "Why do you care if they don’t like your costume?"

"I didn't—I wasn't trying to—"

"I have a boyfriend," you interrupt, looking at Tim scornfully.

"They have a boyfriend," Jason parrots, grinning behind the helmet.

"Oh my god. I know you have a boyfriend. Relax," Tim pacifies you. "Relax," he adds, nodding at Jason. Jason grunts.

Before you can argue further, there’s another tap at your window, and Cass slips softly into the room. You light up. “Hello, my love!” you greet her excitedly. Cass raps you on the top of your head, and you beam up at her. Your hands twitch toward her before you stop yourself, folding them in your lap. Cass turns to Jason, placing her hand carefully on his arm. He bumps against her, waiting until she pushes back lightly. She then moves onto Tim, tugging gently on a lock of his hair, before depositing a flash drive on the desk. You snatch it up eagerly.

From Oracle, Cass signs.

“It’s O’s duplicate!” Tim plucks it from your fingers, driving it into your desktop.

“Be nice to her,” you warn, running a hand over your computer as the file loads. Strings of code write themselves across your screen. Jason moves forward to get a better look at you. He can’t help it, he wants to see you in action. Your face is scrunched up, tongue between your teeth as your eyes flash back and forth, following the cursor. “It’s incomplete.” You squint at Tim. “What gives?”

Tim tsks. “I don’t know. Let me get Oracle.” He puts a hand to his ear. “Oracle, come in.”

Barbara’s voice answers in Jason’s ear. “Here. I know, I know, it’s not all there,” she says, annoyed. “Let Escher know that I had to reverse engineer it from what we found.”

“She says she has to reverse engineer it,” Tim repeats.

You drum your fingers on the desk. “Okay, what else does she know?”

“What else do you—”

“Hold on, this is stupid,” you interrupt. “Can you, like, put her on speaker? Actually,” you click over to another screen, enter a command. “You’re broadcasting live, O.” Jason hears Barbara’s sigh through the speakers of your computer. “That’s three times,” you add smugly.

Jason let’s out a low whistle. Damn. You’re really good at this.

“We've got to stop meeting like this, Escher.” Barbara almost sounds amused. “How did you get in this time?”

“Hiya, babe.” You click back to your project. “That’s for me to know and you to never find out. I don’t want you closing your back door.”

Barbara chuckles. “Red and I will shut you out.”

“But for how long? I’m too slippery, baby.” Jason almost blushes underneath his helmet. It always trips him up when you talk like this.

“I had to reverse engineer the code from what it spit out when I tried to get in this time,” Barbara explains. “Can you fill in the gaps?”

“Some of them.” You type quickly, deleting code as you get error messages and retyping just as fast.

“Wait, here��” Tim points to something on the screen.

“Yeah, okay,” you back up to where he’s pointing and add something.

“There’s something about the updated security,” Barbara adds. “I think there’s a pattern somewhere.”

“Where?” you demand.

“I don’t know. Gut feeling. But I think I’m right.”

“Do you think there’s something generating new code?” Tim asks. “Like, a program that’s spitting out new security?”

“Oh.” Your fingers still on the keys, face relaxing. “Yeah. Good call, Red.” You scan the code again, scrolling back to the top. “Okay. This changes things.” You start from the beginning, erasing whole sections of Barbara’s work and typing out new code. “Well, shit,” you laugh under your breath. “This is some sexy-ass code we’re looking at.”

“You can fill in the blanks?” Jason asks.

You glance up at him. “Of course I can. I wrote it.”

“What?” Tim shouts. “This is you?”

“It’s me,” you confirm. “Guilty.” A small smile plays around your lips. “Sorry.” Cass steps forward, pinching your ear until you yelp.

“Fuck, Escher.” Tim rubs the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t know you were a traitor.”

“Chill, bird brain,” you say defensively, leaning out of Cass’ reach. “This was from, like, five years ago. I needed some cash.”

“You could be on B’s payroll,” Tim offers.

You snort as Barbara huffs a laugh over the comm line. “Fat chance, I’ve been trying to convince them for months.”

“I’m not a fucking lapdog. I play by my own rules,” you insist.

“Yeah?” Jason can’t help but push you. “And what rules are those?”

You cock an eye at him warily. “The rule of not tying my kite to some lunatic.”

Jason nods. Can’t argue with that one.

“Anyway,” you turn back to the computer. “Because I wrote it, I can build you the malware.”

“To get past the security or to neutralize the program spitting out new code?” Barbara asks over the line.

“Dealer’s choice,” you say, then stick your tongue between your teeth as you squint at the screen. “I can make both happen.”

The comm crackles in Jason’s ear. “Oracle, come in,” Bruce barks.

Tim whips his head toward you with a crack. “Nothing from you now, Escher,” Barbara warns. “I’m patching him through.”

You grin, eagerly pretending to zip your lips.

“Here,” Barbara answers.

“I heard from one of my informants,” Bruce’s monotone growl fills the room. Jason catches you roll your eyes and almost bursts out laughing. “They’re going to get into the controls for Blackgate prison.”

“This is Black Mask?” Barbara clarifies.

Bruce grunts as your eyebrows shoot up. “This is Black Mask?” you whisper, except you’ve never been very good at whispering. Tim slices a hand over his neck to silence you as Jason moves to your computer. He’s been eyeing the program you’re using to broadcast the comm connection, and he thinks he’s found the mute button. He taps a key and then turns his head toward you. “Off?”

You nod. “Off. Thanks. This is Black Mask’s security?”

“Yeah, he’s making a move against the jail. He’s going to get some of his guys out,” Tim explains.

“Hmm. Hmm hmm hmm.” You tap your fingers against your chin.

“What?” Tim folds his arms over his chest.

“I originally sold it to the Falcones.” You flick your hair out of your face. “Guess they sold me out behind my back.”

A security program that’s making its way through the mob? That’s…really useful, actually.

“Can you get in and stop them?” Bruce asks.

“Maybe,” Oracle hedges. “Hold on, I have to call in reinforcements.” She mutes Bruce’s line. “Escher, you’re up.”

“Wait, you want it now?” you say, aghast. “Christ, how long do I have?”

“Act quickly.” Bruce orders. “My intel says they’re moving at 3:45am.”

Your eyes fly to the clock on your monitor. “What the fuck!” you screech. “That’s in forty minutes! I can’t do it in forty minutes! I have to break through my own walls!”

“Escher,” Barbara starts, just as Tim says “listen, you have to—”

“I can’t, it’s not enough time!” you wail.

“Hey, hey,” Jason cuts in. “Easy. Don’t worry, love. You can do it.”

You look at him fearfully. “You haven’t even told me what to do!”

“Just get past the security,” Jason says patiently. “Don’t worry about shutting down the whole program.”

You nod at him, eyes wide.

“Deep breaths, now,” he instructs. “Come on, in for two, hold, out for four. We’ll do it together. Ready?”

You nod again.

“Okay.” Jason sucks in a breath, loudly so it’ll register over the modulator. You copy him, inhaling, holding, and exhaling on his rhythm. After a few breaths you shake your head, turning back to the computer.

“Alright. I can make it happen.” You resume typing, eyes narrowed as you focus.

“We’re alright, B, I’ve got someone on it,” Oracle says, satisfied.

Tim turns to Jason, clearly impressed. Jason shrugs. You’ve been together for a while now, he knows how to pull you out of a spiral.

He turns back to you. You’re ripping through code at a hundred miles an hour, hunched over the keyboard. Jason grimaces, he’s always trying to get you to sit up straight to help your tech neck. He’ll have to rub out the knots in your shoulders later.

Jason feels Cass’ eyes on him, and he tilts his head toward her. Less than forty minutes, she signs to him. I’ll have to take it back to the Clocktower.

Jason’s thought of that. He evenly points his chin in your direction. You can handle it, he knows you can. Cass nods.

Tim coughs quietly, and Jason raises his head to look at him. “You want the keys to the castle?” he mutters.

He means code you built that generates new security programs. Jason nods. “But that’s just between us, yeah?” It would be loads easier for Jason if he keeps the code out of Bruce’s hands. Black Mask has been operating in Jason’s territory, and Jason has a long string of investigations against him, well-beyond the scope of this Blackgate shit. Bruce needs to keep his nose out of it.

Tim scoffs. “Fine. Seems like you should get first dibs anyway.” He nods towards your desk where you’re still working stubbornly.

The room is silent, all three of them letting you work. After a few minutes, Tim steps toward you. “Here, you need any hel—”

Jason throws an arm out to stop him, just as Cass grabs his wrist and tugs him backwards, shaking her head. He holds up his hands in surrender.

Fifteen minutes later, you rap your knuckles on your desk. “Oi, peanut gallery!” You spin around in your chair, smiling wickedly. “I solved your case for you!”

“It’s not a case,” Tim mutters, and Jason scoffs.

“Don’t be jealous, RR,” Babs says over the line. “You can both be the prettiest.” Tim splutters as you laugh delightedly.

“Nice job,” Jason says, placing a hand on your shoulder. You grin up at him. He catches Cass and Tim share a look, sees her sign something too fast for his eyes to follow.

“Batgirl’s bringing it to you now, Oracle,” Tim says as you unplug the flash drive and hand it to Cass. You wave to her as she slips through the window.

“My backup came through,” Babs reports to Bruce. “They’ll be obsolete in a few minutes.”

“Copy.” The line fizzles as Babs cuts him off.

“Fuck yeah,” you grin in satisfaction. “Nothing like hearing that overgrown Bat say ‘copy.’”

Jason cackles as Tim rolls his eyes. “Oracle,” he says loudly. “Hood was in the dark about our friend here.” His eyes flick to you before he looks at Jason meaningfully.

And just what the fuck does he think he’s doing? Jason all but snarls at him.

“Huh. I could’ve sworn you were smarter than that, Hood,” Barbara admonishes.

“Shut up, O,” he grumbles. Jason glances at you to make sure you haven’t caught on to what they’re talking about, but you don’t seem to be paying attention; you’ve pulled up Steam and are scrolling through your game library.

“Maybe it’s time to clue them in. Take off your party hat,” Barbara says meaningfully. Tim nods forcefully.

“Butt out,” Jason says half-heartedly, but it doesn’t stick. He’s been thinking about telling you about Red Hood anyway; you’ve been together for a year and a half. He’s been…well, he’s scared. But maybe he shouldn’t be.

“We’d have to vote on it,” he says gruffly. Tim pumps his fist in the air. “In person,” he says meaningfully. Comm links aren’t safe, apparently.

“You have my vote,” Babs says confidently. “And Batgirl’s, too, she’s here.” Barbara pauses meaningfully. “I’m happy for you, Hood.”

“Me too!” Tim pipes up immediately.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason waves them off, like his heart isn’t pounding. “Can you call everyone over?”

“Roger that.” Barbara seems pleased. “Hood is asking us all to meet near him,” she broadcasts aloud. “Sending you coordinates.”

Dick, Steph, Bruce, and Damian all copy. Jason steels himself. “Alright, RR, time to go.”

You glance at him as he moves toward the window. “Heading out?”

“Yeah,” Tim answers. “Got a big family meeting to get to.” He grins at Jason.

“Okay. See you around. Nice meeting you,” you say to Jason, before turning back to your screen.

“Uh, yeah,” he says uncomfortably, while Tim snickers. “See you later.”

The troops have already assembled two rooftops over. “Hood, what’s the situation?” Bruce asks sternly.

“The situation,” Tim starts happily, “is—”

“Hold on,” Jason cuts him off. “Disconnect comm links.” He watches warily as everyone takes them out of their ears.

“Compromised?” Dick asks with concern.

“Uh, yeah.” Jason scratches the back of his neck. “Listen, uh…” he looks at Tim helplessly.

“Jason’s dating Escher.”

“What!” Dick screams as Steph claps her hands together excitedly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were dating anyone?”

“Uh—”

“Fuck, yeah!” Steph interrupts. “This is great! Escher’s the freaking best!”

“Language,” Bruce says as Jason takes off the helmet to glare at Steph accusingly.

“We play Minecraft together,” she explains. “I didn’t know you two were dating!”

“Wait, hold on. I thought you all knew about that.” Jason shifts his glare to Tim.

Tim shrugs. “Only me and Babs knew,” he says.

“Timmy, why didn’t you share!” Dick groans, bounding over to ruffle Jason’s hair.

Jason pushes him away, trying to swipe his feet out from under him. Dick dodges easily, throwing a light right hook in return. “Wasn’t any of your business, now was it?” Jason says gruffly.

Tim looks at Dick, raising his eyebrows. “Didn’t want to get on his bad side.”

“Fair.” Dick grins softly at Jason, bumping shoulders with him. “Nice job, Little Wing.”

Jason blushes. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Congrats, Todd, but why are we all here?” Damian interrupts.

“I’m gonna tell ‘em,” Jason says simply. “About this. If it’s cool.”

“Fine with me,” Steph says instantly.

Tim nods, “seconded. Babs and Cass say it’s fine with them, we asked before we went dark.”

“Well, who am I to stand in their way,” Dick half-jokes, but he’s looking at Bruce with serious eyes. So is Jason.

“I’ll follow Father’s ruling,” Damian says stoutly.

That leaves the big man himself. Bruce smiles gently. “Of course, Jaylad. We’re all happy for you.”

Jason blushes all over again. “Thanks, old man.” He lets out a breath.

“But we have to ask Duke,” Bruce adds meaningfully.

“I texted him, he says it’s fine,” Tim says quickly. “But also, uh—” he holds his hand to his ear.

Warily, Jason puts his comm back in. “Jason, what the fuck!” you shriek. “What the fucking fuck is this!”

“I forgot to disconnect,” Babs says sheepishly.

“Jason, you ass! Why didn’t you tell me you ran around in a fucking costume?” you shout down the line. Steph and Dick keel over laughing. Jason realizes everyone has taken the liberty of putting their comm back in.

“Baby, please,” he says resignedly.

“Baby?” Dick mouths, beaming.

“Don’t you fucking ‘baby’ me!” you holler.

“Babe, you are a hacker,” he points out. “How come you didn’t share that with the class?”

That makes you pause. “Fair fucking point, I guess,” you mutter. Jason sees Bruce try to tug the comm out of Damian’s ear, but Damian dances out of reach.

“Uh, also, can you cool it with the swearing?” Jason asks. “There’s a kid here.”

“…if it’s Robin I am going to throw up.”

“Hello,” Damian says helpfully.

Your end of the line is silent.

“Hey, Escher, it’s Spoiler!” Steph cuts in. “Nice job shacking up with Hood.” She eyes Jason evilly.

“This is a fucking ambush,” you grind out. “Jason, you fucking ambushed me.”

“Language,” Bruce orders gently. Tim just about busts a gut while Jason waves frantically at Bruce, shaking his head rapidly. “Nice to meet you over the phone,” Bruce adds. Dick gives him a thumbs up.

“…likewise,” you say eventually. “I hope you’ll excuse me, but this has been insane, and I’m disconnecting. Jason, get your as— get back here after you’ve finished your family dinner.” Your end goes dead.

“They seem nice,” Bruce says after a moment. “We’ll have to talk about how they got into the comm links,” he looks at Tim reproachfully.

“See you later, Hood,” Dick says easily, nodding at your building.

Jason turns back to your apartment. He can already see you in the window, arms crossed over your chest. You’re trying to scowl at him, but he can see the smile trying to escape.

He shrugs his shoulders, grinning. You throw up your hands but beckon him anyway. Come on, come back.

Don’t worry, Jason’s coming.

[wonderjanga]

au where billy and mary were friends w a teen patrick wayne before everything went down in the 40's and they both think that bruce is patrick and that hes shy cuz hes a hero now

I think Billy, Mary, and Patrick’s dynamic would’ve basically been two little kids and the older kid who hang out. Patrick would also have no problem treating them like his little siblings and would casually give them money in exchange for them helping him with experiments. He’d rather just give them the money but they won’t just accept it for free so he’d resigned to making them do little tasks instead.

Patrick: “Alright, I need three fairy wings, dried unicorn blood, sixteen siren scales, and dryad bark! Go! Go! Go!”

Mary and Billy: *salute before running off*

You might be wondering what he needs any of that for. You’ll know later.

Anyways, as for how Patrick found out about Billy and Mary being Captain Marvel and Mary Marvel…

Patrick: *talking to someone in Fawcett and trying to get siren scales because his usual suppliers (Billy and Mary) said they were busy with something at the moment (meeting with magical delegates)*

Seller: “Boy, you do realize how difficult it is to get siren scales, right? As far as I know, none of the shops in Fawcett sell it. Who is your dealer?”

Patrick: “My friends?”

Seller: “Your friends?! You know kids your age going after sirens so you can get scales?! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?!”

Patrick: “It’s dangerous?! I had no idea??? They never come back hurt or complaining??”

Seller: “They’re coming back unscathed?? Who are your friends???!?”

Yeah… so that’s how Patrick found out about Captain and Mary Marvel being his two little suppliers/siblings. It took much poking and prodding and bribing, but eventually the two spilled. After that, they were just forced to take the money from Patrick anyways. He wasn’t gonna send them on those trips anymore. No siree. Doesn’t matter that they have superpowers.

Anyways, time moves on and unfortunately, Patrick was eventually old enough to be drafted into the war. He said bye to the kiddos went and came back, kept in contact with the kiddos up until the sixties when the time bubble appeared. By that time, Patrick was at least 30 and the twins had strangely not aged at all, not that he minded because Fawcett was weird like that. Thomas was a toddler at the time of it appearing. The time bubble caused Thomas to have a rather unfortunate early childhood as his father was always locked up in his study researching and wondering what the hell happened to the town, to the people, and to his friends. Fawcett was just gone. Practically overnight. Eventually though, he gave up and started focusing on his family again. He died thinking everyone in that little down had been erased.

Fast forward 50 something odd years and BAM the bubble pops! Billy and Mary are now in the present. They got to meet all of the new heroes, including Batman.

Marvel: “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Batman Si- Patrick?”

Batman: “Pardon?”

Mary: “Holy shoot, Patrick really is you!”

Batman: “My name is not Patrick-”

Marvel: “You’re so…” *looks him up and down* “Youthful! Did you finally make that elixir thingy?”

Batman: “What?”

Marvel: “You know? The elixir you always talk about. It was an elixir, right?”

Mary: “Wasn’t it called the elixir of life?”

Batman: “No…? I haven’t worked on an elixir at any point in time.”

Marvel: “Yeah, you have. We saw you! You’d always read that little book and do a little experiments!”

Mary: “And then the experiment would fail, and then you’d come to us covered in ash because nine times out of ten it exploded. Then, you’d slap twenty dollars in our hand and ask for us to find more ingredients so you could do more experiments.”

Batman: “I’ve never done that in my life. I assure you I’ve never met you before this moment.”

Now you know what all those mystical ingredients were for. Patrick Wayne was casually doing Alchemy. Everyone in Fawcett is at least somewhat magical after all. He didn’t even know he was doing it too. He’d still worked on normal human gadgets though, which still allowed him to contribute to Wayne Enterprises.

Bruce later went to his study (once Patrick’s study) as he remembered one of the books on his shelves was related to Alchemy. When he eventually found it and pulled it from the shelf, a photo slipped out. It was a photo of a younger version of his Grandpa and two kids which he both had in headlocks. When Bruce flipped the photo over, scrawled on the back was a date. After getting sidetracked and deciding to dig up some information on his Grandfather, Bruce came to the startling realization that this was when Patrick left for the war. This was a commemoration photo. Interesting. It was also interesting that the other two people- children in the photo looked suspiciously like the Captain and his daughter. Was this Mary and another brother, one that didn’t dabble in heroics? It made sense now why the Captain and Mary talked to him like they knew him. They both must’ve thought he was his grandfather. Oh well, Bruce isn’t gonna spoil the surprise. He can find out more information on them if he lets them think he’s his grandfather.

Marvel: “The war really toughened you up, huh? Did you inhale chlorine gas and somehow survive?”

Mary: “No silly.” *elbows him* “He didn’t sound like this when he came back from the war so something else must’ve messed up his throat.”

Batman: “My throat isn’t messed up in any way, shape, or form.”

Mary: “It isn’t? So you talk like that on purpose…?”

Batman: *doesn’t want to give away he isn’t Patrick* “…Yes.”

Mary and Marvel: *share a look before pointing and laughing at him*

Any nearby Justice League member was visibly surprised that Batman didn’t glare at them. Bruce himself was surprised he didn’t as well.

Robin!Dick: *standing beside Bruce as Bruce works at a computer*

Marvel: “Oh Tommy! Wait, Pat, this is Tommy right?”

Mary: “Of course it’s not Tommy. He wouldn’t feed the elixir to him while he was a kid. But then again, you can be a little stupid…”

Robin!Dick: “Did you just call him stupid?” *sounds like he wants to laugh* “Also no I’m not Tommy.”

Marvel: “Then are you a grandson…?”

Robin!Dick: “N-”

Batman: “Yes, he is. This is Bruce.”

Robin!Dick: *extremely confused* “What?”

Marvel: “Oh cool!”

[yazmarina]

in my drafts

for the love circuit series

—that message wasn't for you but paul doesn't mind as long as you don't, either.

paul aron (f2) x gn!social media admin reader

warnings/notes: smut, unprotected sex, lewd photography, office sex, fingering, creampie, accidental nude sending, mild dirty talk

a/n: sorry i disappeared again!!! pls take this as my apology

It was supposed to be just pictures of him during the break. You expected innocent, somewhat average snapshots of how Paul spent his past two months. You knew he took that trip to Italy, attended his sister's graduation, did some training. It was your job to be at least a little updated on the drivers' whereabouts, in case the head of comms needed you to capitalize on it for content.

So when you received a few photos from Paul through iMessage of all his fall whereabouts, you didn't think much of it. You messaged him a few days earlier asking if he could send a few more unreleased pictures that he hadn't posted on his personal account yet, stating that it was for a post you were putting together for the Hitech Instagram. He was delayed in his reply, as usual, but that's something you expected. He was busy, after all.

Perhaps too busy to notice the outlier in the stack of photos displayed in your message thread. Everything seemed to be normal at first; Italian architecture, gym photos, the cheesecake he made. Typical day in the life photos.

And lastly, a photo of him in dim lighting, taken in front of a mirror, with nothing but shadows covering most of his naked body.

You stare at your phone, dumbfounded. Your first instinct is to wait to see if Paul has anything to say, an apology, maybe, or a half-assed excuse. Anything to indicate that he noticed how he sent you a full-on nude. You prepare yourself for the three dots that show he's typing, the frantic scramble to delete the photo from your exchange, but it never comes. Heat rises up your neck as you realize you're going to have to confront him about it. This was, after all, a professional exchange and you'd hate for HR to come knocking at either one of your doors.

-Paul, please review the photos you sent. Thanks.

You regret it as soon as you send it. Was that perhaps too snippy? Too callous? It was as embarrassing for him as it was for you, maybe even more. But come on, how hard is it to distinguish your nudes from your vacation photos?

The loud throb of your heartbeat reverberates in your ears as you wait, cursing under your breath as a full minute passes and then another. You lock your phone, getting up to pace around your room. You're most likely going to see him tomorrow as he'll be at HQ for sim work and other things and you just so happen to have a lineup of meetings at the very same time. You're going to have to face the fact that you'll have to look each other in the eye after you've seen the outline of his dick.

Wonderful.

You unlock your phone, resigning to just delete the photo from your side. You can claim plausible deniability or whatever legal term it is, if it comes down to it.

Just then, Paul starts typing.

You yelp, setting your phone down on the desk harder than intended.

You realize belatedly that you're holding your breath, fingers pressed into your mouth as if suppressing any more potential noises. He stops then starts again then stops, as if he's unsure of what he's typing out.

-I'M SO SORRY!!!! It was an accident I promise 🥹 Don't report me

-Please I'm so sorry it's totally my fault ______ 😭😭😭

-______ please I'm so sorry

Somehow, despite everything, this coaxes a chuckle out of you. Paul was always open and easy around you, and you know he knows you won't report him for an honest mistake. He's probably just red in the face right now, fighting his inner demons.

You type out a reply to ease his nerves.

-I'll just delete it off my phone so no one can say we were fraternizing inappropriately 🥲

The response from Paul is almost instant.

-YES please I'm sorry again

Your finger hovers over the photos when another message comes in.

-Unless you want to save it for a rainy day that's okay too

-I WAS JOKING its a joke I'm sorry I'm sorry

You groan, throwing your head back against the backrest of your office chair.

He's done this on occasion. Flirt. Compliment you on your hair, your outfit (despite it being the team uniform), your smile, even. You brushed it off as typical driver behavior. Nearly all of them had that kind of nerve about them, a confidence that only comes with driving cars that are closer to rockets than actual cars on the street.

Bringing the phone up to your face, you gingerly scroll back up to the photos Paul sent, opening the accursed photo. Your breath hitches as you take it in more carefully, the light cutting sharply between the shadows of whatever hotel room Paul was in. Your eyes trail down and your fingers pinch at the screen, zooming in.

"No! No, no, absolutely not," you admonish yourself, swiping the photo away and typing back a slightly crazed reply.

-Whoever that photo was meant for might not like it if I do

-

"________!"

You freeze on your way out the door from the conference room, Paul's figure jogging toward you from the other end of the hall. The presence of some execs and the head of comms looms from behind you and you quickly shuffle out of the way to let them pass, all of them greeting Paul as he sidles up to you.

"Hi!" You say a little too brightly, turning to Paul, arms coming up mechanically then stopping, your brain reminding you that a hug might be too awkward but standing around without greeting him in some way would be just as weird. A flurry of butterflies erupt in your stomach as Paul stops in front of you, his cologne coming off strong as always. Just the way you liked it.

"How's the meeting?" Paul asks, gesturing to the room. He's bouncing on the balls of his feet, a nervous habit he has that you've observed over the time you've worked with him. He has his hands shoved deep in his jeans, too.

You shrug, forcing out a laugh. "Same old, just going over social media plans and PR."

Paul nods, a little too eagerly perhaps. His eyes shift to the retreating personnel, all of them turning a corner, leaving you and Paul alone in the vicinity.

"Were you waiting for me?" You ask before he can say anything else.

Paul swallows. "Yeah. Look–"

"Paul," you cut him off, raising a hand between the two of you. "It's okay. It's no big deal. Happens to the best of us."

He raises an eyebrow at that. "Have you ever sent a nude to the wrong person before?"

Your cheeks flare up in a violent blush.

"Well, no. And keep your voice down," you berate lightly. Paul looks around and shrugs as if to say, 'Nobody's here'.

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "But what I meant was, like, messages are sent to the wrong people all the time, I'm sure you didn't mean any harm, and besides, no one else knows. I promise I haven't told anyo–"

"Okay." It was Paul's turn to cut you off. "Okay, I believe you."

He smiles at you good-naturedly, opening his arms and coaxing you into a hug. It takes you a second, but eventually, you let yourself laugh in relief, wrapping your arms around his strong frame.

"I missed you over the break," Paul admits, pulling away and holding you at arm's length. You blush again, masking it with a chuckle.

"Well, the break isn't over yet. We still have three weeks to go," you remind, your own hands coming up to settle on Paul's outstretched arms, making it look as if you're holding him in place. To anyone who didn't know, you two would look like a couple deep in discussion.

"At least you get to see me more," Paul offers with an easy smile. nudging you lightly.

You scoff. "I think I've seen enough of you, thank you very much."

A heavy silence settles over the two of you as you realize what you just said. Paul lets his arms drop from where they held you, an apology ready at your lips but Paul gets to it first. He runs a hand through his unkempt hair, blonde strands tugged between his fingers.

"You haven't deleted it, have you?"

No, you haven't.

"I was going to, but I got distracted with other things." Not entirely a lie. You really meant to do so, but thoughts you'd rather not share took hold and there were matters you needed to attend to. Matters that could only be solved with your fingers and a vibrator.

You should feel guilty, getting off to a picture of a coworker that wasn't even meant to be sent to you in the first place. Maybe you're terrible, maybe you should be fired, sued by the Aron family.

Memories of you gasping out Paul's name in the quiet of your room come flooding back and you pray that Paul doesn't notice the irregularity in your breathing.

"I'll delete it now, in front of you, so you can see that I did," you offer, fishing your phone out of your pocket.

Paul shakes his head, catching you by the wrist, his hand large and warm against your own skin.

"I mean if I was going to send it to anyone, it would have been you," Paul says lowly, as if afraid someone would hear him, despite the entire expanse of the hallway void of any people other than yourselves.

"Consensually, of course," Paul adds in a hurry, eyes widening. "If you wanted to receive them. It. Receive it."

Your eyebrows shoot up, your mouth curling into a smirk. "You have more you want to send?"

Paul's lower lip slips between his teeth and it seems the two of you are finally on the same page. You try to suppress the smile threatening to break out, clearing your throat and avoiding his eyes.

"Until when are you staying here?" You ask casually. You didn't mean 'here' as HQ. Here as in, in town, close to you.

"Next week," Paul replies, stepping closer. "I won't see you until Qatar after that."

"Shame," you mutter, tilting your head as you meet his gaze once more.

"Maybe," Paul begins, slipping his hand into yours and twining your fingers together. "I can add one more thing to my break to-do list."

"Now?" You ask incredulously. Paul nods immediately.

"You know that one storage closet inside the sim room?" He asks, winking at you.

"What? Paul!" You whisper-shout, but he's already leading you down the hallway. The two of you make a sharp turn to the right where big blocky letters spell out 'SIMULATOR' on the large double doors of the sim room.

You squint, immediately plunged into darkness as the only source of light inside is the curved screen, dimmed as well as it sits on standby.

"What if your engineer walks in? Your teammate? Doesn't he have a session soon?" You continue to protest, even when Paul gently pushes you toward the storage room door at the very corner. He flings the door open and you see that it's filled mostly with spare sim components and monitors.

"Babe, that's why they call it a quickie," Paul reasons, flipping the light switch on inside. The lightbulb offers little respite in the darkness and shadows still play along the lines of Paul's face. He shuts the door behind him.

"It doesn't lock? Paul, I swear–"

You gasp but barely any sound comes out as Paul presses his lips to yours, hands settling on your hips. He maneuvers you toward a shelf, pushing you against it and pressing himself fully on you.

You can feel how hard he is through his jeans.

"Did you like it?" Paul asks as he breaks away for a second. He kisses your jaw, tracing its outline as you sigh, your head falling back. He takes his opportunity to kiss along the column of your neck, his tongue smoothing over your skin.

"Did you get off to it?" Paul asks again and your breath catches in your throat. It's as if he knew all the dirty, deplorable things you did over that one picture.

"I know you did," Paul concludes with a breathy laugh, reclaiming your lips and driving a knee between your legs. You groan in response, grinding against his thigh while your fingers tug at his belt.

Paul pulls away and takes over for you, undoing his jeans and slipping them down to his knees. You silently thank whatever god is listening for the fact that you so conveniently decided to wear those easy cotton office pants, slipping them off in one quick swoop along with your underwear.

"I'm tempted to get on my knees right now so I can eat you out," Paul teases, hiking your shirt up and exposing your chest.

A snide remark forms in your brain but it's cut off when you feel the cold press of fingers on your clit. You clamp a hand down on your mouth as Paul gently flicks at it, feeling yourself getting wetter by the second.

"Maybe later after work," Paul says, rubbing harder. Your elbow spasms at the sensation, hitting the shelf behind you.

"Ow, fuck," you curse, meeting Paul's eyes. You two burst into muffled laughter just as Paul slips a finger in.

"What happened to a quickie?" You demand, hips moving along with Paul's hand. He adds a second finger and you whine, fingers digging into Paul's shoulders.

"I have manners," Paul informs with an easy smile, face impossibly close to yours. You can see the shift in his bright blue eyes. "I need you wet and ready for me, no?"

You bite down on your lip, eyes rolling into the back of your head as Paul curls his fingers inside you. A shiver runs through you and you feel yourself clenching down and around his digits.

Paul retracts his hand, much to your dismay, but you don't get to complain before Paul kisses you again, rough and heated. His tongue dances against yours and you grip at his Hitech team kit for purchase.

"Bend over," Paul commands and you're more than happy to oblige, turning around to do just that.

You brace yourself against the shelf behind you, gripping at the wood as you lower the front of your body. Paul grabs your hips and your back arches almost automatically. You can feel him pressing up against you and you sneak a peek behind you to see Paul with his phone in hand.

"So I can 'accidentally' send you another one," Paul jests before slowly sinking in. You whine, head dropping down between your shoulders. The thought of him documenting your little tryst sends a shiver up your spine which only intensifies as Paul grabs one side of your hips. He sets up a hard, steady pace that has the shelf in front of you creaking.

"Paul," you gasp out, your whole body shuddering at the force of how hard he's fucking you.

Both of his hands grip at your sides now so you can assume his phone has been put away. You try to stay upright which proves challenging considering Paul is ramming into you ferociously.

Contradictory to it all, you feel the soft touch of fingers through your scalp, smoothing over your hair. In a moment's turn, your head is yanked back as Paul tugs at your hair, arching your back even more.

A garbled sound escapes you, part moan, part sob as the sting in your scalp shoots straight down to your core, pushing you ever so closer to your release.

"The social media person," Paul begins through gritted teeth. "Always so pretty behind the camera. Making me do trend after trend. I'd do anything for you, baby."

You mewl in response, reaching back to grip at Paul's wrist, pushing back against him, urging him to go faster. Paul gets the memo.

"Funny how that photo was taken only because I was about to jack off to the thought of you," Paul continues. "You sent me a message and I was missing that pretty face of yours so I went through your Instagram. Looks like you had fun in Mallorca, tiny swimsuit and all."

"Sorry, baby," Paul says close to your ear. "Couldn't help it."

"Inside," you plead. "P-Please, I'm close. N-Need you to cum inside me."

Paul merely grunts, letting go of your hair so he can pull you flush against him. His thrusts grow erratic, barely pulling out of you each time. He pulls you back to him, your back against his front as he bites down on your shoulder.

"Yes, yes, right there." Your voice comes out raspy, walls squeezing around Paul's throbbing cock. He reaches over and resumes his movements from a while ago on your clit and you yelp, hips spasming pathetically.

You cum with Paul deep inside you, his groans filling your ear as he follows soon after. He stills and pulls you even closer to him, arms encircling your torso. He kisses the spot where he had bitten you, pressing his lips almost reverently to the indented skin.

You're both breathing hard and you're perfectly content to stand around while the two of you gather your bearings. But Paul momentarily disentangles himself from you and reaches down. You see him pull his phone out from his jeans from where they've presumably fallen down to his ankles.

"Smile," Paul prompts, his lips planting a soft kiss behind your ear as he angles the camera toward the two of you.

He snaps a blurry photo, just in time to capture your hand coming up to rest against his cheek as he grins into your skin. Emboldened by the somewhat artsy, flirtatious nature of the photo, you turn around and land a proper kiss on Paul's lips, savoring each second his tongue passes over your mouth.

"Send all the photos you want," you whisper, smiling up at him.

"Or we could just take them together," Paul offers, kissing the tip of your nose.

[arbitrarykiwi]

Hyiaa, I just say I'm absolutely OBSESSEDDDD with your Thanos and Nam-gyu fics, seriously you're amazing and I CAN'T stop smiling at the screen whenever I read them like??? You're way of writing if fucking immaculate wtf?? Girl you better keep up with the good work🫶🏽

But now I'm wondering how the boys react during reader's menstrual cycle... OR EVEN BETTER... HEAR ME OUT

When she's OVULATING

BAM I said it

I AM SO FUCKING SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!??? totally didn’t get started then get lost in my drafts….and I also didn’t totally revamp it once I found it again. This is literally such a good ask. Also thank you for the kind words??? I LOVE KNOWIN I MAKE YEW SMILE WHEN YOU READ MY THINKS ON THANGYUUU <333

I went with a headcannon style for writing this one (I hope you don’t mind)

Warnings: 18+ , nsfw / sfw themes

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Okay so…admittedly at first they were both so ass with anything to do with periods or ovulation or anything to do with period products- completely oblivious

They both know what a period is, they just don’t particularly realize how much of an effect it has on someone who experiences a period until you’ve come along

Thanos 100% though a ‘heavy flow’ was a new way of saying a rapper had good bars in their raps

When you first told them you had cramps they straight up asked if if you overdid it with a workout or something

When you had to ask them to get you pads or tampons for the first time…fucking hell it was a challenge

They just need to be trained </3

The group chat you had with the three of them was blowing up nonstop. As much as you loved them, this only made your headache worse.

‘Why is there so fucking many’

‘I’ve lost Nam-Gyu. Do I call 911?!’

‘No don’t call 911, you’re in a small store you’ll find him’

‘I told you the brand I needed.’

‘Okay yeah, you told me the brand but you didn’t tell me that brand would have so many fucking products. Like I mean come on…there’s like 70 different options here.’

‘Found Nam-Gyu! :D What does “with wings” mean?’

‘I want the ones with the wings. Just get any brand at this point idc.’

‘Wings for my angel’

‘Wait are you mad now?! :( I swear I’m trying here can’t say the same for shit-for-brains’

‘You’re too pussy to say it out loud that’s why you text it :P’

‘Not mad ‘Gyu…just tired and hurting. Get ones with wings and the overnight kind.’

‘What size pussy you wear?’

Once they got back from that trip you explained to them why there was so many options and how you had a specific favorite brand and even more specific product from that brand

They then took pictures of all four sides of the pad or tampon box to save or for the next time they tried to find your items

After seeing how it affected you, the way you’re more lethargic and in pain, they begin to take your menstrual cycle more seriously than you do.

Nam-Gyu then has your cycle in his calendar and shares it with Thanos as well as you

The second that calendar reminder goes off, you’re getting texts from both of them to confirm if it came on that day

They also can’t seem to grasp that although your period sucks and it’s worse on some days and not others- it’s something you’ve been dealing with for a long while and you know how to cope with everything- you’re not dying.

You falter in your steps when a sharp pain hits? They’re asking if they need to take you to the hospital. You get up to change your pad or tampon a little sooner than normal? They’re both convinced you’re bleeding out

After learning about what you need and what your period is like, they’re both attentive in their own ways.

“Here you go, girlie.” Nam-Gyu says tapping your shoulder and passing a hot bowl of homemade Ramen over your shoulder from behind the couch.

Your eyes widen and you turn around, smiling at him with a wide but tired smile. This has been a particularly tough day, horrible cramps, heavy flow, headaches, the whole lot. “Ohhhh!! You’re the fucking best.” You say, taking the warm bowl from his hands.

“Mhm, I know~” he says, leaning over the back of the couch and bending down to kiss the crown of your head, he’s ruffling your hair before grabbing a bottle of water out of his apron pocket and placing it against your legs on the couch, “You better fuckin’ drink this, you can’t only drink soda- you’ll get dehydrated.”

Your attention is turned away from Nam-Gyu when the front door opens. “I’m back!!” Thanos calls out, wide grin becoming impossibly wider when he sees you sitting on the couch. “Ahhh!! My baby! Perfect, I come bearing gifts.”

Thanos walks towards you, dropping a couple plastic bags down on the couch and sifting through them, beginning to hand you things one by one. “Okay so I got you more of those pain meds you like…” he’s placing the bottle in your lap.

“Got you some chocolates…they unfortunately didn’t have your favorite so I got literally every other one they had in store so we can now decide on a second one to have as a backup for next time…” he’s lifting one of the plastic bags, now identified as being solely chocolate.

“And got you more pads like you requested, the exact ones you requested.” He always says that now after the first pad incident.

You smile wide and lean to reach him, “Thank you!!” You say holding your bowl of ramen steady, “gimme kiss, handsome!” Thanos leans in happily, connecting his lips with yours in a slow kiss.

“Take your meds.” Nam-Gyu calls from the kitchen. Thanos is pulling away, realizing the Ramen in your hand then quickly making his way into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Nam-Gyu from behind and hooking his chin over the household cook’s shoulder.

“Ramen for dinner?”

“Mhm…she requested it.”

“I’ll take them in a bit!” You’re calling out over your shoulder to Nam-Gyu, too engrossed in the level of the video game you’re playing to pause to take the pain medication

“I will come over there and shove them down your throat, princess- don’t test me.”

“Ooooo, so hot when you scold her ‘Gyu.” Thanos coos, squeezing Nam-Gyu tighter.

Now when you’re ovulating?

Those two freaks just know

It’s something about how you hold yourself, how you walk, the little purr that takes over you voice- they just can tell

Almost like dogs, they can smell when you’re ovulating. It’s not that they can smell your arousal- they always say it’s your skin. It’s something uniquely you that almost makes their ears ring.

Pheromones. What they’re smelling is pheromones.

Being in a relationship with the both of them, being near each other almost all hours of almost every day, being intimate- they’re so in tune with you that they can pick up on the slight hints your body gives them.

Also…with living with the both of them…With those two fine ass men around ready to do whatever you ask?- you don’t have to do much to get whatever you need

Wanna watch them fuck each other just while you use your favorite little vibrator on yourself? Done!

Want to just spend hours sucking them both off because there’s just something about the weight of their cocks in your mouth that makes your mind go numb? Lol! Easy money!

It’s when you’re ovulating that they realized they might actually not be able to keep up with you in terms of sex- you’re making them fuck you over and over until both of them are twitching and damn near crying from overstimulation while you’re crying for another round

They end up developing a fucking system where they’re practically tagging each other in and out of the ‘ring’ like some wwe fighters or something (the ring being your pussy)

Also- they’re both so whipped they give you whatever you want when you want it

It’s 3am… and here you were, waking up randomly with a huge throbbing in your lower stomach and damp panties. You do try to get back to sleep, but you mind is flashing with images of the little session that put you to sleep to begin with.

Stuffed so full of both their cocks, begging them to cum inside you over and over until you were fucked stupid- yeah…you weren’t getting back to sleep anytime soon.

You wiggle a bit, loosening yourself out of the mess of limbs that was currently the cuddle pile. Nam-Gyu was to your right, facing you with his arms lightly draped over your stomach. Thanos was to your left, curled into you with one hand arched over your head on the pillows and tangled in Nam-Gyu’s hair.

You’re huffing, tossing and turning trying to ease yourself of the heat that is taking over your entire body. You need them.

Whining, you’re turning your head to press your forehead against Thanos’ and rub your nose against his, your hand tracing up his bare torso- he doesn’t wake up. He rouses, his face twitching into a blissed out smile and his cock begins to grow in his boxers- but he’s not away.

“C’monn.” You whine louder, but still nothing. You’re about to turn over and begin to try and wake Nam-Gyu but you can already feel his side of the bed shift.

Nam-Gyu’s arm removes itself from holding you as he flops down on his back, his eyes still closed- you almost think he’s asleep. You then see his hand fish out his hardening cock.

“C’mon, take what you need, girlie.” His voice is soft, laced with sleep, and creaky- it only makes you wetter. His hand is lazily pumping his cock, getting himself hard as you straddle his thighs.

You’re huffing and whining, removing his hand from his cock and replacing it with yours. The second you drag his fat cock head through your folds you’re nearly falling over on top of him. You’re still so fucking sensitive but you need it.

Sinking down onto him, you’re spearing your cunt open on his thick length, a wanton cry ripping from your throat.

Apparently all you needed to do was moan out all nice and pretty to wake up Thanos because now he’s up and beginning to make his way behind you.

“How rude…” he scoffs, his voice deep and rough. Thanos’ tattooed hands push your down forward on Nam-Gyu, hand staying on your lower back to push you into that deep arch he love sooo much, “Didn’t wanna invite me?”

Thanos is prodding his already hard cock at your stuffed pussy, “I-I tried! You didn’t wake up!” You whine, beginning to feel the wide stretch of having both their cocks deep inside you. You’re pressing your hips back eagerly, seeking more.

“Hmm didn’t try hard enough…must not want it that bad…” He’s drawing his hips back and pulling out, his cock dragging deliciously against Nam-Gyu’s who is now wide awake.

“No I do! I tried- I swear- you sleep so fucking hard. I wan’ both of you!” You’re pleading, trying to press your hips back but it’s not working with how they hold you.

“Don’t be so mean to her…” Nam-Gyu coos like he’s not the one holding your hips in place, “…she’s a needy thing and you’re just mad I woke up first.”

“Well now neither of you are going back to sleep anytime soon.” Thanos says, plunging his cock deep inside you, ripping a high pitched moan from both you and Nam-Gyu

All in all, the two boyfriends are better than one applies here because they both know exactly how to take care of you during those times!!

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Taglist: @namsgyu @nuttybeans @namgyucat @g1rlonthe3internet @reilapse @yuuumeee @thanosspills

((Lmk if you wanna be added to my main tag list <3))

[snowseasonmademe]

A Lesson Learned

word count: 5,027

warning ‼️: smut!!! very dominant lewis. slight mention of weed/smoking

pairing: lewis hamilton x black female reader

summary: all you wanted was some attention and you sure did get it

tag list: @sucredreamer @irishmanwhore @dexastres @coffeevacation @goldenngt @btslover117 @kennaskorner

@leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro

@jessnotwiththemess @thepointlessideas

note: hello everyone! here’s something for my lewis girls that i promised a while ago. i wrote this like three or four months ago and it’s been collecting dust in my drafts for ages lol. get ready, it’s hot❤️‍🔥. as always, enjoy and tell em what you think!!!!

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This kind of relationship was new to you. Three and a half months in, and you were still adjusting to the way things worked with Lewis. How he set the rules, how he took care of you, how effortlessly he slipped into the role of the man in control. It wasn’t new to him. Not in the slightest. He was used to women who needed guidance, who needed to be reminded of their place. But not you. From the very beginning, you had been a good girl for him, and he never had to put you in check. You didn’t push boundaries because you loved the way he treated you when you behaved. You loved the gifts, the whispered praise, the way his hands—gentle but possessive—held your waist in public, letting everyone know you belonged to him.

And because you were good for him, he was obsessed with you. Wrapped around your finger and, metaphorically speaking, stuck inside you any chance he got. You were his indulgence, his soft spot, and you knew it. You didn’t just enjoy pleasing him, you craved it. That was what made today such a mistake. You had never tested him before, never given him a reason to remind you how things worked between you. But today, you let your attitude get the best of you, and worse—you put on a little show just to get a reaction out of him.

All you wanted was to go home. You had told him how needy you were before you even left the house, had curled up in his lap that morning and whispered about how desperate you were for him, how you needed him to take care of you. He had promised it would be a quick trip, had kissed the side of your neck and murmured something about how you wouldn’t even have to wait long. But instead, you had spent hours watching him roam around Ferrari headquarters, talking and laughing with engineers, shaking hands, entertaining whatever conversations they threw at him while you sat there, simmering.

By the time he finally wrapped up his last conversation, you were seething. You had been so patient, so good, and yet he had ignored what you needed. So, in a reckless moment of frustration, you let your irritation spill over into something else. Something that would make him notice.

The Ferrari engineer hadn’t done anything wrong, not really. He was just there—available, friendly, and perfectly positioned for you to unleash your frustration. You leaned in close as he spoke, your eyes locked on his like he was the most fascinating person in the paddock. You touched his arm when you laughed, dragging your fingers down the toned muscle like it was an accident, like you weren’t fully aware of what you were doing. And when you noticed the way he glanced down at the small but prominent curve of your cleavage, you made sure to arch your back just enough to emphasize it.

It was petty. It was reckless. And Lewis saw every second of it.

But he didn’t react. Didn’t call you out. Didn’t shoot you a warning look or pull you away like you half-expected him to. No, he did something far worse. He ignored you. He let you have your moment, let you think you were getting away with it, and that infuriated you more than anything. Because deep down, you knew. You knew he was fuming. You knew he was letting you dig yourself into a deeper hole, just waiting for the moment when you were alone—when he had you all to himself—to show you just how wrong you were to test him.

And now, as your heels clicked sharply against the marble floors of his penthouse, your arms crossed and your attitude still simmering, you could feel it, his presence behind you, heavy and unshakable. The air was thick, the tension unbearable, and you didn’t even have to look at him to know he was tense—his jaw clenched, his breathing measured, the sheer dominance radiating off him like heat.

“You’ve had an attitude all day” he finally said, his voice deep, controlled. “And then you go and pull that stunt with that engineer?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you tossed your purse onto the couch, already heated. “Fuck off Lewis” you snapped, spinning around to face him. “I wanted to come home earlier, but instead, you wanted to stay there all fucking day. Don’t get mad at him for giving me the attention you wouldn’t give me”

The silence between you was thick. Dangerous.

Lewis didn’t move at first. Didn’t say a word. Just stood there, eyes dark, tongue pressed against his cheek, hands slipping casually into his pockets like he wasn’t two seconds away from putting you in your place. Like he was giving you the space to dig your own grave.

That should’ve been your first warning.

But you were pissed. So you kept talking.

“You sure you wanna play this game with me?” His voice was low, calm in a way that made your pulse quicken.

You lifted your chin, defiant, even as your stomach twisted. “Maybe I do”

Lewis let out a slow breath, shaking his head slightly like he was disappointed. “Alright then” he murmured. “Keep digging”

Your arms folded as the two of you slowly made your way toward the dining room, step by step, like neither of you realized you were moving. Like you were drawn toward the tension thickening between you, neither willing to back down. The large wooden table loomed beside you, the perfect height, the perfect size—perfect for bending you over. But your pride wouldn’t let you recognize that yet.

“Oh, what? Now you care?” You let out a dry laugh, rolling your eyes, shifting your weight to one hip. “Where was all this energy earlier, sir? Oh wait, I forgot—you were too busy making friends while I sat there looking stupid.”

His jaw ticked, but still—he didn’t take his hands out of his pockets. Didn’t move.

“Watch yourself”

You threw your hands up, stepping closer. “Or what? You gonna ignore me some more?” You let out a bitter laugh. “Maybe I should go text that Ferrari engineer, see if—”

That was it.

Faster than you could react, Lewis grabbed your wrist and snatched you around, pressing your chest against the cool, solid surface of the dining table. A sharp gasp left your lips as your hands splayed against the wood, heat rushing through your body as his strong, steady hand pressed between your shoulder blades, keeping you right there.

“Oh” you breathed quietly, your stomach flipping at the realization of what just happened.

“Oh?” Lewis mocked, voice thick with dark amusement. His grip on your hip tightened. “Now you wanna think before you speak?”

You knew then, you’d really fucked up.

His other hand gripped your hip, holding you in place, his presence towering over you. You felt exposed, your little mini skirt doing nothing to shield you from him. He ran a slow, hand down your spine before—

Smack.

The first spank landed sharp against your backside. You jerked, gripping the edge of the table.

The second was harder. The third sent a shockwave through your entire body, the force of it making you press forward, your fingers scrambling against the polished wood.

Then, he stilled.

A beat of silence. Then—a low, dangerous, almost annoyed chuckle.

“What the fuck is this?” he muttered, fingers hooking beneath the thin waistband of your panties.

Shit.

“Did you really put these on?” His voice was thick with amusement, but you could feel the warning beneath it.

Your stomach twisted. You knew exactly what he was talking about.

And the worst part? He was the one who bought these damn panties. Expensive as hell. Soft, lace-trimmed, the kind that made you feel like luxury every time they slid over your thighs.

But that didn’t matter.

You knew the rule. No panties. Ever. Not under skirts, not under dresses, not when you were with him. He never had to remind you. Until now.

Before you could even open your mouth—

Smack. Another one. Even harder.

Your nails scraped against the table as you sucked in a sharp breath, eyes squeezing shut.

“I should make you count these” he mused, gripping your hip tighter as he landed another.

Smack.

Your back arched. “I—” You swallowed a whimper, fingers curling into fists.

“No, don’t go quiet now”

Smack.

Each one was deliberate. Hard. Unforgiving. By the time he paused, your skin was hot, burning under his touch. You knew your ass was as red as your eyes were after a smoke break. Your breath came out ragged, your nails pressing so hard into the table you were sure there’d be marks.

Then, in a whisper, you muttered, “I’m sorry Lewis”

The second the name left your lips, you knew.

A sharp breath. A dangerous silence.

Then—his fingers tangled into your afro, gripping at the roots, yanking your head back.

Your mouth parted in a breathless gasp as your scalp tingled, your neck arching under the force.

“What the hell you just say?” His voice was deadly quiet, the words brushing hot against your ear.

Your eyes fluttered shut, anticipation lacing your breath. “I—”

Smack.

“You know better than that”

Another.

“What’s my name darling?” His accent heavy

Another.

Your lips trembled. “S-Sir—”

Smack.

“There we go” he praised, loosening his grip just enough to let you breathe—but not enough to free you.

Your scalp was tingling, your chest rising and falling against the table as you caught your breath.

“Damn, you’re messing up my hair” you muttered, voice breathless but still full of attitude.

Lewis let out a dark chuckle. “I don’t care” he murmured, fingers tightening in your coils. “And I’m gonna mess it up even more”

His hand dragged down your spine, lingering at your hips.

“This was cute” he murmured. “You had your fun.”

His grip tightened.

“Now you have to learn to not play stupid games like that”

Before you could catch your breath, Lewis grabbed you by the arm, pulling you up from the table without a word. His grip was firm, commanding, but never cruel. He didn’t have to say anything—you knew where this was going.

Your pulse pounded as he led you through the penthouse, straight to the bedroom. The air between you was thick—too thick—but you didn’t dare speak first.

When he reached the edge of the bed, he let go, stepping back just slightly. His dark eyes flicked over you, still dressed but barely holding yourself together.

“Undress. All of it. Now.”

You hesitated, just for a second, before reaching for your clothes, stripping yourself bare under the weight of his gaze. Your shoes slipped off first, then your mini skirt slipped down, then your top, your panties, your bra, leaving you standing there in the middle of the room, completely exposed.

Lewis didn’t move at first. Didn’t speak. He just let the silence stretch, letting the anticipation build before he finally took a slow step forward.

Your eyes flickered downward as he bent slightly, picking up your discarded panties from the floor. The soft lace dangled from his fingers as he turned them over, inspecting them like they were evidence of a crime.

A low, unimpressed hum left his lips. Then, slowly, he licked the fabric up the length, his tongue dragging over the delicate lace before he held them up in front of your face.

“I know you know better than this”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “I—” You hesitated, then whispered, “I thought you would like it”

Lewis’s brows lifted slightly, like he almost found that amusing. Almost.

“Aw, you thought I would like it?” His voice was calm, smooth—but full of something dangerous.

He took another step closer, his aura towering over yours, heat rolling off him in waves.

“I said. No. Panties.”

Your breath hitched, shame curling in your stomach as you forced yourself to stand still under his scrutiny.

His head tilted slightly as he studied you, his voice dipping lower.

“You’ve never had a problem being good before. What’s the problem now?”

A long pause.

You couldn’t answer—not because you didn’t have words, but because you knew whatever came out of your mouth would get you into more trouble.

You dropped your gaze, staring at the floor instead of meeting his intense, unwavering stare.

Lewis let the silence stretch. Then, with quiet authority, he said:

“Feel free to answer any time”

Your lips parted, just barely—

But before a single word could leave your mouth, he shoved the panties between your lips, stuffing them in without hesitation.

Your muffled gasp filled the room as your eyes widened, the taste of lace and your own arousal spreading across your tongue.

Lewis exhaled slowly, shaking his head like he was disappointed.

“See? You had your chance to explain. Too late now.”

Before you could even process it, he pushed you down onto the bed, forcing you into the one position you hated the most.

“Since you wanna be bad, you’re gonna get treated exactly how you hate the most”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Your stomach flipped.

No. Not that.

He knew. Of course, he knew.

Face down, ass up—your least favorite position.

It made you feel too vulnerable, too helpless, too completely at his mercy.

And that was exactly why he put you there.

Your arms stretched in front of you, your cheek pressing against the sheets as you felt him settle behind you, his presence heavy, all-consuming.

And just like that, you realized—

This lesson was far from over.

The only sound in the dimly lit bedroom was the quiet rustling of fabric. You couldn’t see him behind you, but you could hear him. The soft clink of a belt unfastening. The smooth glide of a zipper being drawn down. The faint sound of clothes being shrugged off and discarded onto the floor.

Each noise sent a new wave of anticipation thrumming through your body.

Your breathing was uneven, your fingers gripping the sheets, waiting—helpless.

Then, warmth.

His hands.

Calloused, strong. Trailing over your thighs, tracing over the places he had just punished. His fingertips brushed the sensitive skin, almost gentle—but you knew better than to expect mercy.

His palm dragged over the curve of your ass, his thumb pressing into the places where he had left his mark. You hissed at the sensitivity, your body twitching involuntarily.

Lewis let out a hum, pleased. “Look at you. You know you need this, don’t you?”

You bit down, trying not to make a sound.

That was a mistake.

A sharp slap to your already-sensitive skin made you gasp, your nails clawing at the sheets.

“You need to answer me when I speak to you”

Your voice came out breathy, trembling and muffled. “Y-yes, sir.”

Another hum of approval. Then, his hands slid further down, gripping the backs of your thighs before smoothing their way up again.

“What’s your safe word?”

The question sent a shiver through your spine. It wasn’t just a formality—it was a reminder.

Chanel.

The first designer bag he ever bought you. The one you had been dreaming of for years, the one that made you feel spoiled and special.

The name alone was a symbol of what you meant to him.

And right now? It was the only thing standing between you and complete surrender.

You swallowed hard, barely able to get the word out through the tension sitting heavy in your chest and the fabric in your mouth

“Chanel…”

A slow hum. “Good”

But then, his voice dropped lower, full of warning.

“And I hope you don’t expect to cum tonight”

Your stomach dropped.

A flash of pure, immediate regret shot through you, replacing every ounce of defiance. You spit the panties out of your mouth quickly.

“Wait, no, I—”

The desperation in your voice was instant. Your lips parted, breath quickening, panic settling deep in your bones.

Your voice was small, shaky, pleading.

“I’m sorry, sir, I—I’m s-sorry, please, I need you to make me cum”

Lewis let out a slow, dark chuckle—like you had just said something funny.

“No, no, no… don’t be sorry now babygirl”

The way he said it sent a violent shiver down your spine.

The anxiety in your chest distracted you from him teasing his tip on your entrance this whole time. And then—he moved.

Your body jolted under the pressure, fingers digging into the sheets, your toes curling against the mattress.

Lewis held you in place with ease, like you weren’t even putting up a fight.

“You love this, don’t you?” His voice was low, teasing, dragging out the words as his grip tightened around your hips.

Your lips parted, a strangled sound leaving you.

“N—yes. Yes, sir, I do.”

Lewis chuckled, but his movements didn’t slow.

He felt how much you were struggling to handle him, your thighs trembling, your breath coming out in sharp little gasps. You weren’t pushing him away—not really—but your fingers gripped the sheets so tight it felt like your nails would rip through them.

Then, when the pressure became too much, your hand instinctively flew back to his hip, trying to brace yourself.

That was a mistake.

His large hands wrapped around both of your wrists, yanking them behind your back.

Now you had no control.

Now you were completely at his mercy.

“You can take it, right?” His voice was deep, unrelenting, a challenge you couldn’t back down from.

Your head sank more into the mattress, sweat dampening your skin. Your body was on fire, every inch of you shaking.

“This is what you wanted all day. Be a good girl and take it.”

A deep, broken moan slipped from your lips as you nodded furiously, voice trembling.

“Yes, sir, I can take it.”

But Lord, you didn’t know how much longer you could hold yourself up.

Your legs felt weak. Your body was trembling. Your breathing was ragged, uneven, and every part of you was on the verge of collapse.

Lewis, however, showed no signs of letting up.

Your arms ached from being held back, your nails clenched into useless fists.

Your body was overwhelmed, exhausted, but the fire never stopped burning.

And God help you, you loved every second of it.

Lewis wasn’t usually this ruthless.

Even in the moments when he was in complete control, he always left you with a little bit of power—just a sliver. A grip on his arms, the chance to shift your hips to meet him, the ability to pull away if it got too intense.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he gave you nothing.

And what surprised you the most—what neither of you expected—was how much you loved it.

Your fingers twitched helplessly against the sheets, your body trapped, completely under him. You should’ve hated this. The lack of control. The way he wasn’t letting you move, wasn’t letting you do anything except take it.

But the truth was, you were dripping for him.

You could hear it.

The filthy, wet sounds of your arousal coating both of you, making every movement slick and obscene.

Lewis felt it, too. He could feel the way your body clenched around him, your walls fluttering, pulling him deeper.

His grip on your wrists tightened.

Your breath hitched—you knew what was coming.

And then—he pulled out.

Your body jerked forward, an embarrassing, desperate whimper spilling from your lips. Your thighs trembled, your body aching at the loss of him.

Lewis chuckled. Low, smug, knowing.

“So you do like when I fuck you like that?”

There was no answer this time.

Because you couldn’t even form words.

At this point, the panties that had gotten you deeper into this mess were long forgotten. You had flipped yourself onto your back to try and breathe better, you were panting, gasping, still moaning from the aftershocks, still twitching, still throbbing from the way he had ruined you.

But your lack of words didn’t go unnoticed.

Lewis let out a hum, his hands coasting up your body, slowly, possessively. His touch left a trail of fire over your skin as he moved up the bed, shifting his position.

Until suddenly—his length was right above your mouth.

You barely had a second to prepare before he thrust forward, filling the space between your lips with the same ruthless pace he had just used on your body.

No mercy.

Your fingers scrambled against his thighs, gripping onto anything you could, desperate for some control, some leverage.

Lewis didn’t give it to you.

Instead, his hand fisted into your tight curls, gripping the roots, holding you in place.

Tears prickled in the corners of your eyes. The sounds were filthy—gagging, choking, the slick noises of spit and heat and desperation. The taste of yourself not only on your tongue but down your throat at this angle was something you’d never thought you would experience.

Your gloss-stained lips stretched around him, the evidence of your submission smeared over his skin.

He groaned, the deep sound vibrating in his chest.

Your watery, dazed eyes flickered up to meet his, and what you saw made your stomach flip.

His pupils were blown wide, his gaze dark and intense—completely focused on you, every inch of him consumed with the sight of you. The way you were trembling, the way you struggled to keep your breath steady—he loved it.

As you gagged again, the thick, wet pressure overwhelming you, you felt the saliva pooling in your mouth, slipping down your chin in a slow, relentless stream. The taste was sharp and salty, and the sight of it dripping down your lips made his breath catch. Every movement of his only made you more desperate, more determined to take everything he gave.

Your fingers dug into his thighs, the muscle beneath your fingertips tightening as you gripped him for support, feeling the strength in his legs as he anchored himself above you. You were so lost in the sensation, so overwhelmed by the weight of his body, that you didn’t even realize how much you were gripping him until the pressure sent a shudder through him.

Your lips were stretched around him, your mouth fighting to take him deeper, to adjust to the overwhelming sensation of him filling you. But the more you tried, the more he pushed. And each time you gagged, your throat tightening, it only made him more driven, his eyes growing darker, hungrier, as he watched you struggle—and enjoy it.

The way you couldn’t escape, the way you let him push past your limits, made him tremble with need. His breath came in sharp gasps, pupils wide with lust as he pushed you deeper, each thrust more forceful than the last. You could feel the heat building, his hands gripping your head even tighter, holding you in place.

Your mouth was a mess, spit bubbling at the corners of your lips, dripping down onto your chin and chest. The sight of it—of you, so completely undone—made his pulse quicken. Every inch of you was trembling, your body weak from the intensity, but the fire inside you only grew hotter. You loved how he felt, how he controlled every inch of you.

And then, with one final, forceful thrust, he pushed deep, and you felt it—his hot release flooding your throat. You didn’t even need to swallow. He was already there, filling you completely, and his body shook as he held you there, taking everything he wanted from you.

You gasped for air when he pulled away, your breath ragged and shallow. The cough that escaped you was soft, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to steady yourself. You were dizzy, lightheaded, your mind a haze of pleasure and need, still feeling the warmth of him deep inside you.

His eyes were still locked on you, his expression intense as he took in the sight of you, lips swollen and glistening, face flushed. Without a word, he leaned down, brushing his thumb over your swollen lips, then kissed you deeply, tasting the remnants of his release on your tongue. Your spit still connecting the two of you as he pulled away.

You weren’t in control tonight.

And realized you never wanted to be.

The room still pulsed with the weight of everything that had already happened, your skin burning from the reminder of it. Every inch of your body felt hypersensitive, your ass still aching from the sharp, relentless spanking he had given you earlier. You had thought flirting with the engineer would be harmless—just a bit of playful teasing. But now, pressed against mattress, legs trembling, mind spiraling, you regretted every second of it.

Lewis sat back, taking his time to admire you—your smudged makeup, the dazed look in your eyes, the way your lips parted, still swollen from him. His grip on your chin was firm yet deliberate, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed against your mouth before slipping past your lips, and instinctively, you closed around it.

“You look so beautiful like this” he murmured, voice thick and rough, heavy with satisfaction. His eyes darkened as he leaned in, pressing a slow, possessive kiss against your lips, making sure you felt just how much he enjoyed seeing you like this—how much he enjoyed you.

Then, just as quickly, he pulled away, leaving you lightheaded, floating somewhere between exhaustion and overwhelming need, your body still humming from the intensity.

You barely had time to collect yourself before he commanded, his voice low and steady, “Lean against the headboard”

You obeyed instantly, the cool wood pressing into your back, grounding you for just a moment. Your legs instinctively shifted together, seeking some sort of relief, but Lewis saw it, his eyes sharp and knowing.

His chuckle was soft, almost a whisper, but it was filled with command. “And don’t touch yourself”

Your stomach clenched at his words. You knew exactly what that meant—he wanted you completely vulnerable, entirely at his mercy.

Your fingers dug into the sheets, the cool fabric a contrast to the heat pooling in your body, the anticipation thick in the air. The soft hum of the vibrator echoed through the room, the sound sending a shiver of electricity down your spine.

You held your breath, feeling the excitement coil tightly in your chest, waiting for him to make his move. “Eyes on me, baby,” he commanded, and you immediately obeyed, locking your gaze with his, unable to look away from the dark intensity in his eyes.

And then, the vibrator was against you. The vibration against your sensitive clit sent a sharp moan slipping from your lips, your body jerking in reaction, your hips instinctively pushing toward it, chasing the sudden rush of pleasure.

“Ugh—fuck” you gasped, your body instinctively trying to close, your legs trembling with the intensity of the sensation. But before you could even think to move, Lewis’ hand was there, smooth and reassuring as it slid over your thigh, keeping you open, vulnerable.

And then his fingers—two of them—slipped inside you. The stretch was slow as though he wanted you to feel every inch of it, every movement. His fingers slid easily, coated in your slickness, pushing deeper, twisting, curling just right, filling you in ways that had your body trembling, your breath catching. You were so sensitive, every touch of his sending ripples of pleasure through you, your back arching, trying to meet him with every stroke.

Your head fell back against the headboard, the coolness of it in stark contrast to the fire building in your core, and you couldn’t stop the small whimper that escaped you as his fingers worked in perfect rhythm with the vibrator.

His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. “Don’t cum” he murmured, his voice dripping with teasing dominance.

Your entire body tensed in response, your mind spinning, trying to hold on. You were right there, your pleasure so close you could almost taste it, but he knew exactly how to make you wait, how to stretch the anticipation until it felt like you might shatter.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin as his fingers continued to pump inside you, the vibrator pressing relentlessly, pushing you higher and higher with every second. “Be my good girl and don’t cum”

It was impossible. The pressure was unbearable, your body trembling, your thighs shaking under his control. The pleasure was building inside you like a coil, winding tighter and tighter until you thought you might snap—

And then, just as quickly, he stopped.

The vibrator lifted away. His fingers slipped out of you, leaving you gasping, shuddering in frustration, your body aching with need. You whimpered, your hands gripping the sheets, your mind clouded with a mix of frustration and desperation.

Lewis only smirked, watching you with amusement and something darker in his gaze. “Are you sorry now, Y/N?”

You nodded frantically, words tumbling out in a breathless, tears slowly falling from your eyes, a desperate plea. “Yes, yes, yes—I’m sorry, sir, I’m so sorry. Please, I’m sorry”

His eyes flickered with amusement, and he leaned down, his fingers still glistening with your wetness, hovering near your lips. “Mmm, I don’t think you are”

Before you could answer, his fingers pressed against your lips, and you instinctively opened your mouth, taking him in. You licked and sucked at his fingers, your tongue swirling around them, tasting the remnants of yourself as he watched, dark eyes never leaving yours. The control he held over you was absolute, and there was nothing you could do but submit, surrendering to him completely, letting him dictate every moment of your pleasure.

And just as you finished cleaning him off, he started again.

This time, he didn’t stop until you were crying—pleading, broken, overwhelmed with everything he’d done to you, with the need to be completely, utterly consumed by him.

[rafeplay]

ADA ADORE !

ft. di!leon s. kennedy x gn!reader x ada wong

tags. toxic relationship, divorce sorry idk how to tag this, smut mentions, age gap mention, character study..? oral happens a little, dub-con

note. HAIIII IO HAPPY EARLY BDAY! @girlfridged this is a year and many months overdue it’s been in my drafts for so long I wanted to write it so bad for ages but I couldnt n I thought I’d finally do it before I get busy w exams ILYSMMMMM I HOPE THIS IS WHAT U NEED ilysm and I just want u to have fun and be happy and I hope ada brings that to u 💔🤍 unedited + clunky n disjointed per usual .. io I accidentally made this more ab aeon I’m so sorry I will make it up to u LMFAKDKFK feedback n rbs always appreciated

It’s not working out.

It hasn’t been working out since they tied the knot. 

There’s no honeymoon phase when you marry a woman like Ada Wong. In fact, there is no phase at all. There were no rings and no ceremony and when they went to bed that night Leon realised they both ran cold—Two cold bodies in a bed is just a shared grave. 

They both work a lot so they’re married on vacation days, but Leon’s not around on Christmas, and Ada’s busy on New Years so they settle for birthdays. Easter is out of the question - Ada doesn’t have time to believe in trivial things like god and Leon still ducks like the devil anytime he sees a cross. 

They remember they’ve chosen each other between global collapse and political demise and the occasional personal trauma—AKA Leon’s birthday. Not hers. Never hers.

It’s the one day in the whole entire year they pretend the world doesn’t need saving. 

(In Ada’s case, ruining.) 

She gives him a pretty little present, fucks him like it’s a threat, and sometimes, only sometimes, Leon gets to fall asleep in the same timezone as her. 

Leon thought about getting a dog. Something warm, loyal, friendly, something to come home to. When he told her she teased him. And he let her—Of course he did, he would let her push him flat on his back in an active minefield. 

“You want me to be a dog, Leon?” She got on her knees and crawled towards him and it was really sexy, but he took his meds before they got in bed and any chance of a boner had been deemed impossible. 

“I just want you to come home,” he had let out by mistake, and then Ada dried up because she doesn’t really feel anything that isn’t lust or some cruel type of need to have him squashed under her thumb and him getting needy outside of the bedroom is her number one turn-off. 

As of how they’re doing right now? 

Ada’s current location is unknown. He sent a message three days ago. He wasn’t even sure if it was the correct number. 

Leon: Alive? 

She left him on read. Whatever. Pretty generous for Ada. Means she’s not causing any trouble. Maybe she’s just taking time away from him. He understands. Leon often needs space from himself. And somehow from her considering how little she is home. One day with Ada stretches on for an eternity, it wrings him out, hangs him up to dry. It’s like the whole entire world is put on pause because she said so. He can’t get away from himself and not from Ada either—he sees her in the mirror everyday because they have the same goddamn haircut. 

He goes to work. Sits on his chair purposely hard. Stares at the ceiling like he’s waiting for god to send a memo. 

To: l.kennedy@dsoperations.gov.usa

Subject: Leave her. Fix your marriage. Get a dog. 

Attachment: Miracle. 

Leon wishes he knew how to talk to her. Like, actually like, talk—Like not in his head, but with his mouth and from his heart. Open up about all those big, big feelings he keeps having. But he’s not stupid, he knows Ada would probably smile at him, and in that smile he would see the exact moment she would decide not to want him. Because she doesn’t do feelings or emotions or therapy or any of the sissy bullshit Leon has really gotten into in these past few years. 

“Good morning, Leon.” Hunnigan rarely says it first, only when he’s brooding.

Leon sighs deeply. He pretends he doesn’t see Helena roll her eyes in his peripheral. “Yeah…” He nods slowly—forlornly. “Good morning.” 

“What’s wrong with you today?” She asks flatly. “Will you let me know by lunch so I can file the appropriate forms?” 

Helena snorts. Leon sighs again. Deeper. Sadder. Like, please fawn over me, at least offer to make me a coffee I won’t drink and let me rest my head on your bosom while you do all this complicated big boy paperwork for me. 

“I’m having girl trouble, put that on my file if you want.” Leon sniffs, crossing his arms and wondering if his marriage would benefit from whatever him and Hunnigan have going on; they have been work-wife and work-husband for eleven years now. It could be the back and forth. Sarcasm. But no. His therapist says sarcasm is hiding, which to be completely honest is true, he is hiding. Always has been. 

They don’t know about Ada—Not really. They know of her. That she goes up like smoke. That he keeps her compact in his drawer. That she is probably still wanted for treason by the country he lives and dies for. That she killed Helena’s sister and all. First by proxy and then by hand. They certainly don’t know her and Leon are quote-unquote married. 

“Maybe she’s seeing someone else,” Helena offers unhelpfully. 

“Why the hell would you say that?” He shakes his head, pointing a finger at her. “You don’t even know who she is.”

“I’m statistically speaking - based on all of your dates,” she adds, also unhelpfully. 

“Mm,” Hunnigan hums in agreement, “how old is this one?”

“Older than me,” Leon says proudly, like it’s some sort of accomplishment—but it is, for a moment he really did forget about himself, all his morals, he fucked a twenty-one year old and everything. A mid-life crisis, but he’s all better now. 

“How old?” Helena sits up, interested. “Your age kind of old?“

“I’m not even forty, Helena.” Leon doesn’t look up from the floor, pouting at the scuff marks on his shoes.

“Fifty?”

“God, I wish, but no.” 

 “Sixty?” Hunnigan chimes in without looking away from her monitor. 

“No.”

“Is she as old as that lunch lady you flirt with?” Helena scoots her chair closer. 

“Hey! First of all, her name is Hazel, and she is not just the lunch lady, she’s the head and she rotates the menu by season, runs the whole thing…” He trails off. 

Silence. 

“…But no, not that old, Jesus.” Ada is a cougar not a fucking sabretooth. “She’s got a couple years on me, like forty-something I guess.” He doesn’t even know her fucking birthday. Some husband he is. 

“Is it serious?” 

Leon looks at Helena like she’s stupid. Like anything could ever be fully serious with Ada. Everything is a sick joke to her, but it’s not. It’s not a joke—this is his fucking life. His stupid, sad life. ”Kind of, yeah, I guess—For me it is.” 

“But not for her, huh?” Helena clicks her tongue, giving him a sympathetic look. 

An hour or so later when they’re all in a meeting, Leon is too busy wondering how they fit such a big table through such a small door, why he is destined for so much fucking pain, whether or not Helena and Hunnigan are playing footsie right under his nose. Maybe if Ada was a man-eater with teeth the size of his head he wouldn’t like her so much. Maybe if his dick was bigger she wouldn’t be so inclined to leave. Maybe if it was nicer—No…No. it couldn't be that. His dick is nice. Nicer than most. Neatly trimmed pubes, nice shape, nice length, tasteful curvature, he’s got some lovely gradient going on. Jesus Christ, this table is huge. Did they build the room around it? Is that a thing people can do? It couldn’t come in parts it’s literally fucking solid oak. Does it fold? Everything folds eventually. Helena shifts beside him—Is she making eyes at Hunnigan? Is she seriously…Can Hunnigan even see all the way over on the opposite side of this huge-ass table? 

“Agent Kennedy?”

Leon’s eyes shoot up, going from bigwig to bigwig until he finds the speaker. A senator of some kind with a tarmac grey suit. “Yes… Yes, sir?”

“Some input on the current strategy?” It’s not unkind, more wanting of guidance from someone who’s been in the game as long as Leon has.

“My dick is fine,” Leon says on autopilot. 

Everyone is looking at him. That pretty intern he got a coffee for stifles a laugh into her hand, Hunnigan is staring him down, Helena is trying not to smile. 

“Sorry, thought I was on mute.” 

“You’re…You’re not on call, Agent Kennedy.” 

“Right.” Leon nods. “Obviously. 

He looks back down at the table.

It’s still too big for the room.

Leon comes home late. Which is usual. So he guesses he’s coming home on time. He isn’t over how big the table is, he isn't over talking about his dick in front of presidential advisors, and he isn’t over Ada like he would really like to be. 

He aims to throw his jacket on the wooden coat she bought. Gothic. Curling arms, and a mahogany base. He misses and his jacket slumps to the ground like a wounded animal. 

She’s cheating on me. Helena is right. She’s with someone else. She left me on read so that means she’s not even doing fieldwork, she’s just ignoring me on purpose. 

Leon blinks at his reflection in the oval mirror Ada placed in the entrance hall. 

But she can’t be. Look at him. Look at him. Look at those eyes. Look at that nose. Don’t look at the chin. She’s not cheating. She’s just Ada. Sexy, career-driven, free, independent—Oh god. But what if she is? What if she is cheating on him? With some hunk like Chris. Not because Leon thinks Chris is hot, but maybe Ada thinks he is. 

And then he sees them.

Her heels kicked off in the corner. The ones she wears on date nights. The one she wears to see other men probably. Leon crouches down to study them, running a finger over the patent leather, flipping them upside down to see the weathered red bottoms. He has kissed these a thousand times.

“Are you talking to my shoes, Leon?” 

Leon’s heart thumps out of his chest. 

“You're home,” he breathes out, waiting for someone to step out from behind her, freshly showered, using his towel. Taller, stronger, bigger—

“I wanted to see you.” She’s not wearing any makeup and she looks her age and it’s so fucking sexy. 

“Are you cheating on me?” Leon blurts out. 

Ada smiles at him like What if I am? What will you do about it? You’d stay with me anyway, wouldn’t you? You pathetic excuse of a man. “What makes you think that?”

“You left me on read.”

“You asked me if I was alive, Leon.” 

“Yeah—Yeah, and you never said yes.”

“I read it.” 

“Still—“

Ada cuts in, “Why don’t you come to bed, babe, I was so lonely waiting up for you.” She leaves no room for argument so he follows her into the bedroom, he lets her take off his clothes and wash his face and kiss him on the head as she tucks him in.

“Why did you call me babe?” Leon mumbles as he tucks his face into her neck, breathing her in. 

“What’s wrong with babe?” Ada asks him, falsely tender, antiseptic affection. 

“I dunno…It’s, like, it reminds me of the pig.” 

She laughs. He wants to hear her do that again. Make a fool out of himself to make her smile or snort. “Fine, you’re my baby.” 

He settles down after that as Ada traces shapes into his skin with the points of her manicured nails. It would be nice if she wasn’t pressing so hard. “Too hard,” Leon complains, twisting in discomfort. 

“Lingchi, pressure massage,” Ada explains, “ancient technique.” 

He rolls over while she lingchis his back to Google it. 

Lingchi

Lingchi, usually translated "slow slicing" or "death by a thousand cuts", was a form of torture and execution used in China from roughly 900 until it was banned in 1905. It was also used in Vietnam and Korea.

Source: Wikipedia

Leon is still rubbing sleep out of his eyes when Ada says it. Buttering her toast casually. Red dress. Red lips. Red heels. “By the way, I’m sleeping with someone.”

Just like that. There’s no ‘we need to talk’ or ‘I’m leaving you’. Nope. Not at all. 

“I’m sorry?” He blinks. 

She doesn’t look up from her toast. Dipping the knife into a pot of strawberry jam he didn’t even know they had. “It’s just sex, Leon.”

“I thought you…I love you, Ada.” He blinks again. Maybe thrice. 

“I know you do, baby.” She smiles. “You're still my husband.”

“How could you—I don’t…I don’t understand, Ada.” 

She places the toast on the counter in front of him. “I have to go now, I don’t have time to talk about it today, baby.” She kisses his cheek. Grabs her bag. “I’m very busy, why don’t you tell your journal all about it?”

“I don’t have a—“

“Drive safe, baby!” Her heels click-clack as she leaves.

Leon sits in traffic that morning thinking about it. 

By the way, I’m sleeping with someone. 

It’s just sex, Leon.

You’re still my husband. 

It’s not raining, but the wipers are going off, and he flips off a man in the car next to him without thinking. 

How could she? How could she just say that? Who fucking does that? Ada would. Ada can. Ada does. 

He thinks about crashing his car into the lobby of the DSO. 

He zones out during a meeting. For the second time. Hunnigan gives him a look that says If you’re thinking about killing yourself, please do it after this meeting.

He eats lunch alone in the break room. He opens his phone six times in five minutes and there’s nothing. 

What does this guy even look like? What does he do—What could he do to get her attention? Ada’s attention. To get her to want him, fuck him, leave Leon on read for three days to be with him. What is it about him? Taller? Blonder? Younger? Sweeter? Stupider? No…There’s no one stupider than Leon. No one is more pathetic than Leon. It can’t be. 

He drives home, clammy, hands slipping off the wheel thinking about this man. Thinking about finding out who the fuck he is, finding his address, sizing him up and ultimately leaving when he realises Ada has found herself someone that isn’t shorter than her when she puts on heels. And Ada is always wearing heels. 

He steps inside, holding his breathing, for once he is hoping she isn’t home so he has time to pace, drink, contemplate and repeat.

But her shoes are kicked off in the same spot, and there’s an open bottle of wine on the countertop. The balcony door is open, Ada is leaning against the railing watching the city beneath them, the ballet of life, cars passing by, people rushing home from work, young girls going out for the night.

She doesn’t even look at him when she speaks, fixing the fallen shoulder of her silk robe. “I want you to meet someone.” Then she turns, bare-faced, beautiful, gazing at him over the rim of her wine glass. 

“What..?”

“Oh, Leon, don’t pout.” Ada sighs, placing her glass down beside the unused ashtray. 

“I’m not—“

“Come here, baby, come give me a kiss.” She points at her heart-shaped mouth and he stumbles closer like a zombie, pawing at her robe as she cups his cheeks to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Good boy.” Ada smiles at him. That same smile she always has. “Tomorrow at seven, okay? Clear your schedule.”

And Leon does. He always does. He leaves work at four to get cucked at seven. 

Ada gives an address to the driver who keeps making eye contact with Leon in the rear view mirror. She keeps her hand on Leon’s thigh the entire time. She tells him how handsome he looks in that suit - his only suit - he rushed to dry clean this very morning. He looks the part of her husband. A very well-kept man on a very short leash. They don’t need rings because Leon is already wrapped around her finger. 

They pull up in front of this great, sprawling building, stone steps, bustling crowds, a sign that says something about an exhibition—Ada is walking too fast for him to read it properly, and she’s in fucking heels too. He catches up with her in the cool hush of the gallery lobby, thank god there’s air conditioning, he’s about to sweat right through this jacket. 

She looks effortless like always, he’s seen her naked and he still finds it hard to believe she even exists. Women are just something else. Ada has sexy legs, and painted toes, and she even has sexy fucking ankles—

“Come on, baby.” She leads him like a duckling, and it raises the question—

“What are we doing here?” Leon asks, clearing his throat, trying not to look at her ass in that high-necked, jewel-toned dress. Jesus. What if her boyfriend is an art dealer? What if he’s fucking loaded? What if this is all a trick? A ploy. A fucking joke. She’s trying to rope him into something bad.

“I told you, I want you to meet someone, Leon,” she answers simply. “Oh, look at that piece.” She waves her hand in the direction of a blank canvas. 

“Brilliant, really, I could never pull that off,” he mumbles, a deep pout settling on his face as he follows her past paint splattered canvases, statuettes, and a man who she humours for exactly fifty-nine seconds before she says:

“Leon, why don’t you tell this nice man how many times you came this morning?”

Leon doesn’t even fucking trip on a single word. “Four,” he says, loud and proud, but he’s more just loud than proud. This is really quite fucking humiliating and he’s thinking of throwing himself down that gorgeous spiral staircase as some act of artistic vengeance, become part of the exhibition, y’know? 

“There you are!” Ada smiles, and it’s the same sort of smile she gives Leon, but different. Like. Sweeter. Luring. Pure fucking Evil. Like I want to fatten you up and eat you. 

He scans the room for the suspect. Which fucking bastard is fucking his fucking wife? There’s a curator on one side, but he’s much too old for Ada. The few in the turtlenecks—Never. Velvet suit? Moustache? Oh, it’s got to be that one. Baby blues, wheatish hair, hands in his pockets like he doesn’t quite fit in. That’s him. Pft. Leon could take him easy—Oh, they’re not even walking in his direction—

“Ada!” 

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. Oh no. No. This is so much worse. He can’t beat up a little kid. You’re like shorter than both of them, she leans down to kiss both your cheeks, and you're smiling at her like she has the key to your heart—She probably does, she has the key to his cock cage. 

(Not that he actually has one. Leon hasn’t gone that far yet, he likes to believe he has standards.) 

“Leon,” she beckons him closer with a finger, introduces the two of you.

You put out your hand for him to shake, clearly a little nervous as you tell him, “I’ve heard so much about you.” 

“Wish I could say the same,” he mutters, loosely taking your hand, making sure to wipe it on his trousers when you let go of him. He can’t beat you up, but he sure as hell can be petty.

“Leon.” Ada laughs like a mother does when she’s trying to play down her child’s petulance. “Be nice, baby.” 

She’s insane. She has got to be crazy if she thinks Leon is going to put up with this. She’s talking to you all nice like We have dinner soon, but I just had to come and see your art. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. I really am. You’re so much more accomplished than my loser husband. My snooty little angel, look at your beautifully useless art, my tactically skilled, special agent husband could never be as talented as you. Oh no, he could never. And she thinks he’s going to stay? Yeah right. Never. 

Leon has standards. He does. He’s going to leave right now, he’s going to block her number, put her minimal shit in a bag, and toss it over the balcony. He’s going to hand her over to the President on a silver platter. He’s going to leave a bad review on your art. Is there a website for that? There’s gotta be. There’s a website for everything now. Ugh—Ugh. You’re not even anything special. Not the kind of beauty that offends women or intimidates men, but to Leon it does both. 

“The reservation is soon, we should head over,” Ada says, looping her arm with yours and waiting for Leon to follow.

He does follow. Glaring at your back. A threesome has been on his bucket list for years, sure, but not like this. It was meant to be sexy. Not cheating. 

Leon fumes silently all the way over to the restaurant, while the waiter leads the three of you to the cushioned booth at the back, when Ada slips into the booth beside you, when your foot knocks his under the table, when the waiter hands over the menus. 

The two of you are talking, it sounds like noise to him, like he’s underwater. You keep looking at him with these great, big eyes. Like you're waiting for him to say something. Or maybe you’re testing him. Maybe you want him to leave. He wants you to leave. 

Ada is too sneaky. She’s like a cat, they're nifty little things—Ada is twice as sly. She’s cunning. Like a fox. Yeah. That sounds right. A fox. A beautiful, red fairytale fox that talks its way out of dirty work. Leon is some stupid, hysterical damsel that needs a kiss to snap out of it. And you’re a wretched little toad and you’re going to get what’s coming for you, for being a part of this, for being her side piece, for making her smile like that. 

“So,” Leon finally cuts into the conversation you’ve been having without him for a good twenty minutes, “when were going to tell me you had a partner, Ada.”

She scoffs at him lightly, a smile playing on her red lips. “I don’t do boyfriends or girlfriends, Leon, I’m forty.” 

“What does that even—“

“It’s just sex, Leon, I told you that before, I wish you would listen.” 

It’s always just sex with Ada. All he gets is sex. All you get is sex. Maybe the two of you aren't so different. Maybe you’re both little mice and Ada is going to eat you both up. 

“Leon is so sentimental,” Ada sighs, shaking her head like he’s such a hassle. 

You smile at him awkwardly. He just stares. Ada takes her fork, holding it up so the tines bar his face like she’s putting him in public timeout, in jail. “He’s just so emotional, I mean, really, you know how men get.”

You shift in your seat, unsticking your thighs from the leather booth. “Uh, yeah, I guess so.” You smile at him again, nervous, fraying, like he isn’t what you expected—It’s Ada. It’s all Ada she probably marketed this as some fucking chic ménage á trois. 

Leon just sits there like he’s just been hit by a train and is trying to be casual about it. Of course she did. Of course she did and that’s why he goes on a second date with you and her. That’s why he drives the two of you home a week later. His wife and the person she’s fucking. 

This week has been tense. Dinner was tense. This drive is tense. You clear your throat in the back seat. “Um…Honestly, you could drop me a couple blocks away from home, it’s actually right down there—“

“No, no, sweetheart,” Ada gasps, like a really fake gasp, “we couldn’t do that to you, it’s so dark out.”

“It’s fine,” you insist, he watches you through the rear view mirror, how your hands twitch in your lap, the way you lick your dry lips, “I just don’t want to be intruding on anything.”

“You’re not intruding, sweetheart.” 

Yes you are. 

“It’s just that…Mommy and daddy are fighting, honey.” Ada sighs a long-suffering sigh.

Impressively, Leon doesn’t swerve off the road, but the car does jerk and sputter. You look like you’re about to cry, or jump out of the moving vehicle, or like you’ve been told Santa isn’t real, or that he’s in jail for indecent exposure. 

“Ada…” Leon mumbles, shaking his head at her, “don’t.” 

“Why, Leon?” She huffs like this is it not some psychosexual hostage situation. “Children should know when their mommies and daddies aren't doing well, communication is very healthy.” It’s all a game to her. She’s so callous and insincere and awful and frighteningly beautiful. 

“Stop it, Ada.” He white-knuckles the steering wheel, does a red light, thinks about taking both of you down with him.

“Oh my god,” you mumble from the back, sinking into your seat like you want to disappear. Poor kid. You don’t even know what you’ve gotten yourself into. 

“Just take us home now, Leon,” Ada says, sniffing dramatically as she gazes out of the window. 

So he drives. Pedal to the metal. Reverse parks in record time. Kills the engine. Ada’s already out the door, leaving behind a cloud of perfume, heels clicking on the concrete, you’re following like a ghost, footsteps barely audible. 

“Shoes off,” Ada hums as she floats into the apartment she has never once called home. 

You won’t meet his eye. Not even Ada’s. Just standing there all small. Breakable. Looking at the ground—It’s not like there’s much to take in. Underfurnished. Empty glasses litter every flat surface. Leon’s leather jacket is draped over the sofa. 

“You two are the same,” she laughs, it echoes down the hall as she leaves a trail of clothes leading to the bedroom, and look at you two. So easily led. Hansel and fucking Gretel over here.  “So dramatic, so sentimental, so hysterical—I mean at least you’re quiet about it, sweetheart, Leon throws a tantrum,” she muses as she edges her panties off her ankles. “God, don’t just stand there, help each other out.” 

Leon makes the first move. He feels bad. Doesn’t know if he wants this, if he wants you, but he does it ‘cause she said so. You’re nervous, heart like a hummingbird in your chest, he feels it when he rather unfeelingly unbuttons your shirt. He nudges you onto the bed gently, you have nice hips, nice legs, nothing about you is wrong—It’s just him that’s wrong. What he’s gotten himself into. 

“You need help down there, Leon?” Ada tilts her head to the side as he spreads your thighs, leant on her elbow, busy mouthing at your neck, kissing your jaw, tweaking your nipple every few seconds like it’s a fidget toy. 

“I know my way around, thanks” he mumbles, and if there’s one thing he can focus on it’s eating pussy. He likes the way it tastes, the way it smells, how soft it is on his tongue. Pussy would never hurt him. 

You arch when he kisses your clit, you whine when he pushes a second finger in, when his lips close around your clit and he sucks. You don’t scroll through your phone waiting to be impressed like Ada would. 

He wipes his mouth when you cum, sitting up, breathless. “You happy now?” 

“Oh, Leon, why don’t you come here, handsome?” Ada pats the space between you and her. He doesn’t move. Not this time. She purses her lips. “Leon has such a dangerous job,” she starts.

You blink the fog from your mind, turning to face her, spine straightening like every hair on your body stands to attention when she speaks. Even if you don’t want it to you—She’s magnetic. 

“He’s a hero, really, he does so much to keep everyone safe—He’s not allowed to talk about it, but he does so much for all of us.” Ada trails a hand down the front of his jeans, cupping his dick. “I’m just so glad this is all in one piece.” 

“Are you really, Ada?” He asks, staring at her. 

“Yes, Leon, I am.” She smiles, practiced. 

“I think we should take a break, Ada,” he says, dick still rock fucking hard.

“I really…I really think I should go,” you murmur, rubbing your eyes—He respects it. You got to cum, and now you’re leaving. “I really appreciate the invite—“

“Well, Leon.” Ada dusts herself off, still smiling. “If that’s what you think is right.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Hm.” She nods, then she looks to you, patting your head, smiling, cooing so you can’t get out of her fucking trap. “I get to keep you, and daddy gets to keep the office and the printer.”

You scratch the back of your neck. “…I mean okay—I didn’t really, I mean…Okay.” 

“Then I guess I’ll print the fucking papers,” Leon confirms, and it’s over like that. He sees his grief over to the door. Doesn’t kiss her goodnight. Just passes her onto you. 

[pbaz7]

ONE SHOT: CHASING FOREVER

paige x azzi

word count: 7.5k

A/N: This is just something cute to start the week off because I might be a little busy this week!! A couple of people requested a one shot of them in the future so this is my attempt at that.

—————————————————————————

Paige and Azzi had been best friends since they were teenagers, long before they ever set foot on UConn’s campus. Their bond had always been special, the kind of connection that felt easy from the jump, but somewhere along the way, friendship turned into something more. By the time they were dominating college basketball together, they weren’t just two stars—they were each other’s everything.

Winning a championship at UConn in 2025 was supposed to be their peak but their lives together were just getting started. The WNBA draft forced them to figure each other out more. Paige was taken first overall by the Dallas Wings, the future of their franchise, while Azzi landed with the Washington Mystics that same year, a dream come true for the hometown kid. It was exciting, but it was also a little heartbreaking. They were used to spending everyday together, sharing everything—practices, late-night talks, the weight of everything together with the other by their side. Then they were in different cities, on different teams, with different schedules.

For two seasons, they made the distance work. Texts, FaceTimes, and living together in the offseason and playing unrivaled together kept them connected, but it wasn’t enough. Paige tried to convince herself she could handle it, but the truth was, she couldn’t imagine building her future with Azzi from halfway across the country. She didn’t want to go half the year being away from the woman she loved anymore.

Requesting a trade and being adamant it was to Washington wasn’t an easy decision. Paige knew what it would look like. She wasn’t just any player—she was the former ROY, an Allstar, one of the centerpieces of a team that had just made it to the semi-finals. She knew there’d be backlash, that the media would question her loyalty, maybe even call her selfish. But none of that mattered to her. Azzi mattered. She always had. And Paige wasn’t going to let fear or criticism from people who didn’t know her stop her from choosing the person she loved more than anything in the world.

Present Day

The final buzzer echoed through Capital One Arena, signaling the end of the game: Mystics 78, Sky 70. The crowd erupted in cheers as the team playfully celebrated another win. After being ushered by the media personnel Paige and Azzi walked off the court, exchanging a quick smile before heading to the press room.

Now seated at the long table, microphones in front of them, the two of them fielded the usual postgame questions.

“Azzi, you really took over in the fourth quarter with those back-to-back threes. Can you talk about what was going through your mind in those moments?”

Azzi nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Honestly, I was just focused on staying in rhythm. Aaliyah and Shakira set some good screens, and I knew if I got the ball in my spots it was as simple as shooting in rhythm.”

“Paige,” another reporter chimed in, “you had a double-double tonight and were pretty dominant on the defensive end. How does it feel to be able to make such an impact on both sides of the floor?”

Paige leaned forward slightly. “Defense has always been something I take a lot of pride in. Azzi and I talked before the game about how we needed to lock down their guards, especially in transition, and I think we executed that really well as a team tonight.”

Another hand shot up. “This team has been on fire lately, winning six in a row. What do you think is clicking for you right now?”

Azzi glanced at Paige, letting her take this one. Paige smiled, shaking her head slightly used to Azzi’s interview antics at this point. “I think it’s just trust. We’re trusting each other, moving the ball, and staying disciplined on defense. Everyone knows their role, and when we play like that, we’re tough to beat.”

As the questions kept coming, Paige and Azzi fell into an easy rhythm. Years of playing together had made them naturals at complementing each other in every space they were in. Paige handled the deep technical breakdowns, always more of a nerd when it came to basketball, while Azzi added lighthearted quips that explained what Paige’s complicated breakdowns meant that drew quiet chuckles from the room.

It was in the middle of another question—one about the chemistry on the court of the young winning team who had a lot of noise surrounding them about being contenders—when a tiny voice cut through the air:

“Mommy!”

Both of their heads turned instantly, their attention snapping toward the sound like a reflex. Standing off to the side with one of the team managers was their daughter, Aliana, her custom Mystics jersey fitting her perfectly. Her curls were slightly messy, and her big, brown eyes—an exact replica of Azzi’s—were wide with impatience.

Azzi laughed softly, her expression melting. “One second, baby. Mommy’s almost done,” she said gently, her tone completely different from the way she was talking with the reporters.

Aliana’s lip jutted out in a pout, and Paige, never able to resist her soft spot for her daughter that looked exactly like her wife, sighed quietly. “Come here,” she said, her arms outstretched.

Aliana didn’t hesitate, rushing forward as fast as her little legs could carry her. Paige scooped her up, settling the toddler into her lap. Aliana immediately tucked her face into Paige’s neck, her tiny hands gripping her mom’s jersey for comfort.

The reporters murmured and smiled at the unexpected moment, some of them jotting down notes while others simply watched the family interaction. Paige adjusted the microphone slightly and continued answering questions, as if having a toddler nestled against her was the most natural thing in the world.

Throughout the rest of the press conference, Aliana stayed quiet, her big eyes peeking out from Paige’s shoulder as she watched Azzi’s every movement. The look of pure adoration on her face didn’t go unnoticed by the reporters, or by Paige, who couldn’t help but smile.

When the session finally wrapped up, Aliana started to squirm, her little arms reaching toward Azzi. Azzi took her without hesitation, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Hi, baby girl,” she murmured.

As the three of them began walking toward the locker room, Aliana’s excitement bubbled over as she was finally able to talk to her parents. “Mommy, Mama! You both did so good!” she exclaimed, her tiny hands clutching Azzi’s jersey.

Azzi smiled down at her, gently correcting, “We played well, sweetheart. But thank you.”

Paige rolled her eyes with a laugh. “Az, she’s three. I don’t think she cares about grammar right now.”

Aliana tilted her head curiously. “What’s...gramma, mama?”

Paige smirked, exchanging a playful glance with Azzi. “See? Exactly my point.”

Azzi chuckled, adjusting Aliana in her arms. “Grammar is something we’ll talk about later. But for now, what was your favorite part of the game?”

Aliana’s eyes lit up. “When you made the big basket! And then everweone clapped so loud!”

“That’s because she’s a sharpshooter baby,” Paige said. She reached over to brush her fingers through Aliana’s curls. “What about Mama? Did you see my block in the second quarter?”

Aliana gasped as if she’d been waiting for this moment. “Oh! I saw it! You were so tall, Mama! The other lady was like—” She mimicked someone getting blocked, throwing her hands in the air dramatically before collapsing back into Azzi’s arms with a giggle.

Paige laughed, her chest warming at the sight. “Exactly! They tried to say I wasn’t a shot blocker. Can you believe that?.”

Azzi grinned, jumping in to tease Paige. “But who was it that tipped the ball back to you to finish your highlight?”

Paige smirked, her tone matching Azzi’s. “Oh, you mean your assist? Don’t worry, sexy, we’ll make sure your highlight reel is just as good as mine.”

Aliana, not quite following the playful banter but enjoying the energy, threw her hands in the air. “Mommy and Mama are the best ever!”

Paige and Azzi both laughed as they reached the locker room. Azzi pressed a kiss to Aliana’s forehead, her heart full as she looked between her wife and daughter.

“You know what?” Azzi said, shifting Aliana slightly so Paige could open the locker room door. “She might be right.”

Paige grinned as she held the door open for them. “Can’t argue with that.”

…

After a quick clean-up in the locker room and changing into their clothes, they were finally ready to head out. At the car, Paige buckled Aliana into her car seat, making sure everything was secure while Azzi put their bags in the trunk. They both closed their respective doors at the same time and turned toward each other, smiling as their eyes met.

For a moment, the world around them seemed to pause, the two of them always taking time for just one another in their hectic lives. Without a word, they stepped closer, and Azzi’s arms slid up to wrap around Paige’s neck. Their kiss was slow and lingered for some time as they sighed into each other.

The sound of tiny hands knocking on the window broke their spell. It was barely audible, but they both heard it. Azzi turned her head, laughing softly as Paige glanced over her shoulder. The tented windows of her car made it hard to see inside, but they both knew who it was.

“Guess we’ve got an audience,” Paige murmured with a chuckle, reluctantly stepping back.

Azzi grinned, her fingers trailing lightly down Paige’s arm and squeezing her hand before letting go. “She’s impatient, just like her mother,” she teased.

Paige rolled her eyes again but couldn’t help smiling. She opened the passenger door for Azzi, who slid in with a quiet “Thank you,” before making her way to the driver’s side.

As Paige climbed into the car and started the engine, Aliana’s little voice piped up from the backseat. “Are we going to get ice cream now?”

Paige glanced at Azzi, raising an eyebrow in silent amusement at their daughter’s never ending energy. Before Paige could say anything, Azzi turned toward the backseat, grinning. “How can we say no to that pretty face?” Azzi said, making the little girl smile.

Paige shook her head with a small laugh, glancing at her daughter through the rearview mirror. “Ice cream it is,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips as Aliana let out an excited squeal.

When they pulled up to the ice cream shop, Paige backed the car into a parking spot and immediately noticed the small crowd spilling outside of the shop. A few fans, still wearing Mystics jerseys with the numbers 5 and 35 displayed, were chatting animatedly and glancing at their phones as they ate their ice cream. Azzi followed Paige’s gaze and gave a soft sigh.

“You in the mood for interactions today?” Azzi asked, as she watched Paige look down and scroll through something on her phone.

Paige paused, letting out a small breath. “Not really,” she admitted, rubbing her temple briefly. “I have a bit of a headache so I’m looking for–” she was interrupted as Aliana’s excited voice rang out from the backseat.

“We’re here, we’re here!” she exclaimed, her face lighting up as she looked out the window.

Paige chuckled softly, shaking her head. “I’ll be fine. C’mon,” she said, giving Azzi a reassuring smile as she unbuckled her seatbelt.

Azzi reached over to give Paige’s hand a quick squeeze. “Let me know if it gets too much,” she said, her gaze lingering on Paige’s face.

“I will,” Paige replied. “You worry too much.”

Azzi just smiled before stepping out of the car. Paige followed, walking to the backseat to unbuckle Aliana from her car seat. Their daughter immediately wrapped her small arms around Paige’s neck as Paige lifted her out, planting a quick kiss on her cheek.

“Mama, hurry!” Aliana called to Azzi, who was near the open trunk of the car, adjusting her jacket.

“I’m coming bossy, I’m coming,” Azzi replied, laughing as she closed the trunk and joined them.

The three of them began walking toward the ice cream shop, hand in hand—Aliana happily swinging her legs as Paige carried her. Almost instantly, murmurs rippled through the small crowd outside as people recognized them. Phones came out, fans whispering excitedly to each other and pointing.

Paige leaned closer to Azzi and muttered under her breath, “Here we go.”

Azzi stifled a laugh, leaning slightly into Paige’s side as she whispered back, “You’re a people person, remember?”

“I said that one time,” Paige replied, rolling her eyes playfully. But she adjusted Aliana in her arms and smiled warmly at the fans as they approached, giving a small wave.

Fans immediately began to gather around them, their excitement clear as they approached the couple. A young girl wearing Paige’s #5 Mystics jersey held out a Sharpie. “Paige, can you sign this for me? You’re my favorite player ever!” she gushed, her voice trembling slightly with excitement.

Paige smiled warmly, shifting Aliana in her arms before taking the marker. “Of course. Thank you for coming to the game,” she said, as she quickly leaned down and scribbled her signature on the jersey.

The same fan asked for a picture so Paige handed Aliana off to Azzi so she could take a few pictures while Azzi signed things.

After a moment of this a teenage boy wearing Azzi’s #35 jersey held out his phone.

Azzi, can I get a picture with you? You’re a DMV legend, seriously!”

Azzi grinned, passing Aliana over to Paige and stepping closer to the boy. “Legend, huh? Big shoes to fill,” she joked, posing with him for a quick photo.

In Paige’s arms, Aliana giggled as she clung to her mom’s neck, watching the behavior of the fans curiously. After Azzi returned from taking a few pictures, Paige handed Aliana over, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead. “Your turn,” Paige said with a playful smirk.

Aliana squealed happily as Azzi lifted her, settling her on her hip. A group of women in their twenties approached, each holding printed out action shots of Paige and Azzi. “You two are literally couple goals! Can we all get a picture of you together?” one of them asked excitedly.

Paige gave a polite smile, gesturing subtly toward Aliana. “We’d love to, but we’re keeping this one out of fan pictures for now,” she said, nodding at her daughter.

“Totally understandable, we can do single pictures if that’s ok” one of the women said, her tone genuine. “But you two are amazing together—on and off the court.”

“Thank you,” Azzi replied, her smile widening as Aliana reached up to mess with her hair, giggling again. “We appreciate you guys supporting us.”

The interactions continued for a few minutes, with fans asking for autographs and photos, Paige and Azzi trading Aliana back and forth every so often so she wouldn’t be in any random instagram pictures they couldn’t control. Each time they exchanged her, Aliana burst into giggles, delighted by the little game they seemed to be playing.

Eventually, Aliana leaned in close to Paige’s ear, her tiny fingers tugging at her mom’s face to push it towards her. “Mama, I want ice cream now,” she whispered.

Paige chuckled, nodding slightly before looking over at Azzi. “We’re on borrowed time with the princess here,” she said, flashing her wife a look.

Azzi turned to the fans with an apologetic smile. “Thanks so much, everyone, but we’ve got one very impatient ice cream lover here,” she said, gesturing to Aliana, who was now laying her head dramatically against Paige’s shoulder.

The fans laughed, stepping aside to let the family through. “Enjoy your ice cream!” one of them called out as Paige and Azzi finally made their way into the shop, Aliana perking up instantly at the sight of the brightly lit display of colorful scoops.

As soon as they reached the counter, Aliana wiggled excitedly in Paige’s arms, her big brown eyes lighting up as she pointed at the rainbow sprinkles on display. “Mommy, I want rainbow sprinkles!” she yelled with the kind of enthusiasm only a three-year-old could muster.

Azzi laughed softly. “Whatever you want, baby girl,” she said warmly, glancing at Paige with a smile.

When they reached the front of the line, the teenage boy behind the counter greeted them with wide eyes, clearly recognizing Paige and Azzi. “Oh wow, you’re… uh, you’re Paige Bueckers and Azzi Fudd, right?” he stammered, barely able to keep his composure.

Paige smiled politely, nodding. “That’s us,” she said.

As the boy’s gaze lingered on Azzi a little too long, Paige subtly shifted closer to her, sliding her free arm around Azzi’s waist. Azzi smirked at the gesture, her eyes sparkling with amusement at Paige’s antics as she leaned into Paige slightly.

“What can I get for you?” the boy asked, his voice cracking just a bit as he tore his eyes away from Azzi and focused on the display.

Azzi laughed softly before answering. “We’ll take one vanilla cone with rainbow sprinkles for her,” she said, gesturing to Aliana, who was practically bouncing in Paige’s arms. “And…” She glanced at Paige, raising an eyebrow. “What are you in the mood for, baby?”

Paige gave her a playful side-eye before turning to the boy. “Just a scoop of chocolate for me, in a cup.”

“And I’ll take a scoop of strawberry in a waffle cone,” Azzi added, her smirk widening as she glanced at Paige. “Anything else, love? Maybe some whipped cream for your jealousy?” she teased quietly for her to hear.

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her. “Just order the ice cream, Azzi,” she said, shaking her head as the boy quickly began preparing their order but he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from her.

Paige noticed, her eyes catching the way he fumbled slightly with the scoop in his hand, his gaze still lingering on Azzi a little too long for her liking.

Azzi, oblivious—or perhaps simply unfazed—continued speaking to Aliana. “Rainbow sprinkles, huh? Great choice, baby girl,” she said, her lips curving into a smile that made the boy freeze mid-motion.

Paige shifted her weight slightly, stepping closer to Azzi. As she did, her left hand casually rested on the counter, the silver band adorned with sparkling diamonds catching the light perfectly. She pretended to adjust her watch with her other hand, ensuring the boy’s eyes couldn’t miss the ring gleaming on her finger.

“Everything okay over there?” Paige asked as her gaze flicked to the boy, who quickly snapped back to attention.

“Oh—uh—yeah!” he stammered, now flustered as he scrambled to scoop Aliana’s ice cream. “Sorry, uh, what flavor did you want again?”

Azzi glanced at Paige out of the corner of her eye, biting back a smirk as she caught on to what was happening. “Vanilla,” she said smoothly. “With rainbow sprinkles, please.”

The boy nodded quickly, focusing entirely on the task at hand now. Meanwhile, Paige leaned a little closer to Azzi, her arm brushing against hers. “You know,” she said, “it’s funny how some people forget to focus on their job and not a pretty married woman.”

Azzi laughed under her breath, her hand instinctively resting on Paige’s lower back. “Jealous of a teenage boy, are we?” she teased quietly, glancing at Paige with a raised brow.

“Not jealous,” Paige replied, though the playfulness in her eyes betrayed her. “Just making sure everyone knows what’s off-limits.”

Azzi laughed at that, her own left hand rising to brush a stray hair from Pagie’s face, conveniently flashing her stacked engagement and wedding ring in the process. The hard to miss diamond caught the light, and the boy’s face flushed an even deeper shade of red as he hurriedly finished their order.

“Here you go!” he said, setting all the ice cream down on the counter. “Enjoy your day!”

“Thanks,” Paige said, her smile sweet but tinged with satisfaction as she took the cone and handed it to Aliana, who squealed in delight as Paige handed the boy a $50.

As they walked toward a nearby table, Azzi leaned into Paige, her voice low and teasing. “You’re ridiculous for being jealous of a teenage boy, you know that right?”

Paige grinned, slipping her arm around Azzi’s waist. “I wasn’t jealous. Just appalled.”

Azzi shook her head, laughing as they settled at their table.

As they sat in the booth, Aliana was perched comfortably on Azzi’s lap, her small hands carefully clutching her cone, she was completely engrossed in devouring her ice cream. Paige sat beside them, her arm draped over the back of the booth. She chuckled as she noticed ice cream starting to drip down Aliana’s chin.

“Hold still, baby girl,” Paige said, grabbing a napkin and leaning over to gently wipe Aliana’s face. “You’re making a mess.”

Azzi laughed softly, glancing at Paige as she swiped her spoon into Paige’s barely-touched bowl of ice cream. “You know, if you’re not going to eat this, I might as well.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Help yourself, thief. I didn’t realize you ordered two desserts.”

Azzi took a dramatic bite, savoring it. “What can I say? Your ice cream always tastes better than mine.”

“That’s because it’s mine,” Paige shot back. “If I wanted to share, I would’ve gotten a bigger bowl.”

Azzi shrugged, unbothered, and took another bite. “Guess you’ll just have to stop me then.”

Paige leaned closer, her voice lowering. “Oh, trust me, I will.”

Azzi leaned in and the rest of the world seemed to fade away. Paige’s smirk deepened as her eyes flicked down to Azzi’s lips licking her own. Azzi raised an eyebrow silently asking her what she was going to do about it. Before their game could escalate, a small voice broke through their moment.

“Mama... Mommy,” Aliana said, her voice drawing their attention. Both women turned to look at her, their teasing forgotten.

Aliana tilted her head up, her big brown eyes wide and innocent, her dimple peeking through as she smiled up at them. Her face was smeared with vanilla ice cream, and a tiny portion sat on the tip of her nose.

Paige couldn’t help but laugh as she reached out to gently swipe the ice cream from her daughter’s nose. “What is it, princess?”

Aliana grinned, holding up her sticky cone proudly. “This is the best ice cream ever!”

Azzi chuckled, pulling back her daughter’s curls into a ponytail so she wouldn’t get ice cream in her hair. “Yeah? You think so, huh?”

Aliana nodded enthusiastically, her giggles bubbling as she looked between her moms. “But... I think you love each other more than ice cream.”

Paige and Azzi exchanged a look, both breaking into warm laughter. Paige leaned over, pressing a kiss to Aliana’s sticky cheek. “You’re not wrong, pretty girl.”

Azzi smiled, wrapping her arms more securely around Aliana and resting her chin lightly on her daughter’s head. “But you’re our favorite, even more than ice cream.”

Aliana beamed, her dimple deepening. “Good! ’Cause I love you both more than ice cream too.”

Paige’s eyes widened in playful surprise, her blue eyes sparkling as she leaned in closer. “Oh wow, that’s a big deal. You sure you can commit to that?”

Aliana nodded enthusiastically, her face lighting up with pride. “You guys are my favorite-est!”

Azzi shook her head in amusement as she reached down to wipe Aliana’s face. “Ana, baby, you don’t have to add the -est at the end.”

Paige chuckled, her hand resting on Azzi’s as she teased, “Maybe she’s just really emphasizing it for dramatic effect.”

Aliana giggled, her little face scrunching up with the effort to understand. “I just really reawly love you guys!”

Paige smiled warmly, pulling Aliana closer to kiss the top of her head. “We really really love you too, princess.”

Azzi kissed the other side of Aliana’s head, her voice soft. “You’re our whole world, baby.”

Aliana snuggled into her moms, her ice cream temporarily forgotten, a happy contentment washing over her. “I love you soooo much,” she murmured, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment.

…

Later that night, the house was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. Paige had just finished putting Aliana to bed while Azzi was in the shower, taking some extra time to wash her hair. The bathroom door opened, and steam flowed out as Azzi stepped into the bedroom, her hair still damp.

Paige, already sprawled out on the bed in her pajamas, let out a low, playful whistle. “Well, damn,” she teased, a smirk tugging at her lips.

Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “Shut up hornball,” she muttered, though her tone was affectionate.

“Is she asleep?” Azzi asked, rubbing a towel through her curls as she made her way to the dresser.

Paige nodded, her eyes following Azzi’s every move. “Out like a light,” she replied, leaning back against the pillows.

Azzi finally tossed the towel aside and turned toward the bed. The warm glow from the bedside lamp bathed the room in a soft light as she climbed onto the bed, settling herself over Paige to straddle her hips resting her hands on Paige’s stomach.

Paige’s gaze softened, her hands instinctively resting on Azzi’s waist. It always amazed Azzi how her wife looked at her as if she were the most breathtaking thing in the world, even after all these years.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, the silence filled with a comfortable warmth as they took in each other’s presence after their long day. Then Azzi leaned down, her damp curls cascading to one side as her lips met Paige’s in a kiss.

Paige sighed into the kiss, her thumbs brushing lightly over the fabric of Azzi’s shirt where it rested on her hips. Azzi pulled back slightly, her brown eyes meeting Paige’s. “Are you tired?” she asked softly.

Paige shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “No. You?”

Azzi mirrored her response with a small shake of her head. “No,” she murmured, leaning back down to plant soft, lingering kisses along Paige’s neck.

Paige closed her eyes, her breath hitching as Azzi’s lips trailed over her skin. Her hands instinctively tightened their hold on Azzi’s waist, pulling her just a little closer.

When Azzi found a particularly sensitive spot, she bit down gently, eliciting a low groan from Paige. Azzi chuckled softly against her skin, her breath warm as she said, “You gotta be quiet.”

Paige mumbled, “Yeah, yeah I will.”

Azzi smirked, pressing another kiss to the same spot she’d bitten, satisfied with the way Paige’s body responded. “You always say that,” she mumbled, her lips brushing against Paige’s skin as she continued kissing her neck, “but then you’re not.”

Paige let out a soft scoff, her hands gliding up Azzi’s sides. “You don’t really have room to talk.”

Azzi rolled her eyes playfully, lifting her head just enough to shoot Paige a look. “Whatever,” she muttered before trailing more kisses down Paige’s neck, taking her time to savor the moment but also moving with a little quickness having been interrupted the last few times.

Paige’s breathing grew heavier as Azzi moved lower. Paige’s hands slid to rest on Azzi’s shoulders, grounding herself as the warmth between them grew.

Azzi paused, sitting up briefly to tug off her shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Her damp curls framed her face as she leaned back down, her lips now traveling further down Paige’s body.

Paige let out a shaky breath, her fingers tangling in Azzi’s curls as she tried to keep herself composed. Her jaw tightened, her chest rising and falling a little more rapidly as she fought to stay quiet.

But just as Azzi reached Paige’s waistband, a small, sleepy voice called out from the other side of the door. “Mama?”

Paige froze, her eyes snapping open as her hands flew up to cover her face. She groaned quietly, the sound muffled by her palms.

Azzi stilled, dropping her forehead to Paige’s stomach with an exasperated laugh. “Of course,” she mumbled, her voice tinged with slight amusement.

Azzi sighed, still resting her forehead on Paige’s stomach, reluctant to move and completely let go of the moment. She stayed where she was, just in case whatever was happening on the other side of the door resolved itself quickly.

Without lifting her head, Azzi called out, “Yes, sweetheart?” her voice is gentle but carries through the room. She knew Paige might need a few more seconds to gather herself before speaking.

There was a pause before Aliana’s voice called back, recognizing Azzi’s voice. “No, I want Mama!”

Paige let out a soft laugh, running her hands over her face one last time before lowering them to her sides. She looked down at Azzi, who was still sprawled against her with a small grin.

They both chuckled before Paige finally yelled, “What’s wrong, baby?”

The answer came almost immediately, and they could practically hear the pout in Aliana’s voice as she replied, “I wanna sleep with you.”

Azzi sighed again, this time with a mixture of amusement and defeat, her lips curling into a smile. She leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Paige’s lips before sitting up. “We tried,” she muttered, a playfulness in her eyes.

Paige smiled, watching as Azzi stood and moved to open the door. Azzi scooped Aliana up effortlessly, cradling her against her chest as she walked back toward the bed. Aliana, as if on cue, practically threw herself into Paige’s arms, a loud giggle escaping her.

It was always amusing to Paige and Azzi how, at times, their daughter would make up her mind so suddenly about who she wanted to hold her. One moment she’d reach for Azzi relentlessly, the next, she’d be crying over Paige, with no rhyme or reason.

“Mommy, where’s your shirt?” Aliana asked innocently, her wide brown eyes filled with curiosity.

Azzi couldn’t help but laugh. “Mommy was hot,” she replied easily, raising an eyebrow as she climbed back into the bed with them.

Aliana scrunched up her little face and pouted slightly, “It’s cold in here.”

Paige grinned at her daughter’s observation. Without warning, she tickled Aliana’s sides, causing the little girl to burst into uncontrollable giggles. The playful sound filled the room as Aliana squirmed in Paige’s arms, losing her train of thought.

Paige laughed along, her heart swelling with the simple joy of the moment, before she finally relented and stopped. “Alright, alright time to go to bed, smartie pants,” she teased, kissing the top of Aliana’s head before leaning over to kiss Azzi softly.

Azzi, smiling at the interaction, reached over and turned off the lamp, the soft glow of the room now replaced by the darkness of the night.

Aliana, still giggling a little, settled onto Paige’s chest, her tiny body relaxing as she snuggled in. Paige gently pulled her thumb out of her mouth, trying to encourage her to break the habit early.

After a moment, Paige pulled Azzi closer, wrapping an arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her lips. The softness of Azzi’s body against hers was grounding, like a constant she never wanted to let go of.

Aliana, not to be left out these days, huffed in a mock-disgruntled way, pulling Paige’s face toward hers and giving her a small pout. “No kissing, Mama. Only for me” she said, making Paige and Azzi laugh softly at the interruption.

“Goodnight, princess,” Paige whispered, talking to Azzi but kissing Aliana’s forehead.

“Goodnight, my love,” Azzi added softly, leaning over to place a quick kiss on Paige’s cheek.

The room fell quiet, except for the soft breaths of their daughter as she drifted off to sleep while Paige and Azzi laid there mumbling to each other quietly about everything and nothing.

…

The next morning, Paige woke up alone, the large bed beside her empty. She stretched, groggily pulling the blankets around her as she lay there for a moment, her hair sprawled across the pillow in soft tangles. The quiet morning settled around her until the sound of Aliana’s voice reached her ears from downstairs.

“I want Mama!” her daughter’s voice rang out, followed by Azzi’s, a little gentler, “Mama’s sleeping, baby. Patience, remember.”

Paige smiled to herself at the sound, but then a sudden clatter broke the peace, and Azzi’s voice, a little louder now, called out, “Aliana Bueckers you know better!” Paige couldn't help but chuckle softly under her breath at her wife’s tone.

Paige groaned softly and stretched again, dragging herself out of bed. She quickly pulled her hair into a messy bun and shuffled to the bathroom to brush her teeth before heading downstairs.

When she walked into the kitchen, the first thing she noticed was Aliana, sitting in her high chair with tears streaming down her face, clearly upset. Azzi was standing by the stove, holding a spatula, her back slightly turned toward the table.

Before she could process much else, Aliana’s arms shot out toward her, wailing, “Mama!”

Paige’s heart twisted but she immediately moved toward Azzi first, gently taking the spatula from her hand. “I got it, baby,” she said softly, planting a quick kiss on Azzi’s lips, “And good morning, beautiful.”

Azzi smiled at the affection, her eyes soft, but Aliana’s whine grew louder, impatient at the attention between them. The little girl reached for Paige desperately, her arms outstretched. Lately, whenever Paige showed Azzi any affection, Aliana seemed to try and push Azzi away, saying, “No, Mommy!” as if she couldn’t stand the idea of sharing Paige’s attention.

Paige couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound of Aliana’s jealousy endearing despite the chaos it created.

Azzi sighed and smiled, stepping back slightly. “You don’t have to baby. I got it.”

Paige kissed Azzi one more time, murmuring, “Go, relax. I got this.” Azzi didn’t argue this time, offering Paige a smile before walking out of the kitchen.

Paige turned back to the stove and flipped the pancake before going over to Aliana, her arms opening to gather the little girl into her arms. “Hey, baby girl,” Paige whispered softly, kissing the top of her head and calming her down with gentle rocking.

It took a few moments, but soon enough, Aliana’s tears subsided, and she relaxed in Paige’s arms. Paige smiled down at her daughter, brushing a stray curl from her forehead before speaking again.

“You need to apologize to Mommy, pretty girl,” Paige said softly, her tone a little more serious.

Aliana whined at the idea, her lower lip trembling, but Paige’s voice remained firm. “Aliana.”

Reluctantly, Aliana stopped whining, looking up at Paige with big, innocent eyes.

“You love Mommy, don’t you?” Paige asked gently.

Aliana’s eyes immediately brightened, and she nodded enthusiastically, her dimple popping out as she grinned. Paige’s heart melted, and she gave her daughter another kiss on the forehead.

“Exactly,” Paige replied. “And you did something you weren’t supposed to, baby.”

Aliana’s face fell, a small pout forming on her lips as she looked down at her hands.

Paige’s voice was gentle but insistent as she continued, “What did you do wrong, sweet girl? Can you tell me?”

Aliana’s pout deepened, and her little eyes glistened with the start of more tears thinking about it. In her three-year-old words, she hesitated for a moment before speaking up, her voice tiny. “Threw fruit... momma made me... and I’m not posed to…”

Paige hummed, nodding as she listened. “And why is that bad, baby?”

Aliana looked up at Paige, her bottom lip quivering as she answered in her best logic, “I need to be gwateful... and use my words…”

Paige’s heart swelled with pride as she listened to her daughter’s simple but important understanding. She nodded, her smile tender. “Exactly, baby.”

She gently wiped away Aliana’s wet cheeks, smoothing her hair back. “You don’t need to cry, sweet girl. You’re not in trouble. You just need to understand why what you did was wrong.”

Paige carefully lifted Aliana onto the counter. Aliana’s small face remained serious for a moment before it softened into a look of understanding.

“There’s no need to cry, okay?” Paige reassured her gently, resting a hand on her daughter’s back. “We just want you to learn, so you can be the best girl you can be.”

Aliana gave a small nod, her lips still pouting but her little body relaxing into Paige’s touch.

Paige helped Aliana down from the counter. The moment her feet hit the ground, Aliana ran, her little legs moving fast as she darted toward the living room. Paige smiled as she watched her daughter, the sound of her bare feet slapping against the floor filling the house.

Azzi was sitting on the couch, a book in her hands, but she immediately looked up when she heard Aliana’s excited giggles. She put the book down and smiled, watching Aliana’s wild morning hair bounce with each step.

Aliana clumsily climbed up onto the couch, her tiny hands grabbing at the cushion before she scrambled into Azzi’s lap, her eyes wide and sincere.

“I’m sorry for doin’ somethin’ I’m not posed to,” Aliana said, her voice a little jumbled as she tried to get the words out. “I love fruit... I pwomise I’m gwateful mommy.”

Azzi’s heart melted as she smoothed out Aliana’s wild curls. “It’s okay, sweet girl,” she whispered, kissing the top of Aliana’s head.

Aliana’s face lit up at the words, her little dimple popping out as she looked up at Azzi with wide eyes. “You not mad at me?” she asked, her voice full of hope.

Azzi couldn’t help but laugh softly, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s cheek. “I could never be mad at you.”

The two of them stayed there for a while, Aliana nestled comfortably in Azzi’s lap, watching her as Azzi continued reading. Every so often, Aliana would try to “read” the book too, her eyes tracing the words, but it was clear she was more focused on mimicking Azzi than actually recognizing the text. She’d point at random words, saying them as if she understood, but it was all just part of her little pretend game.

The warmth of the moment wrapped around them both until Paige’s voice cut through the quiet. She stood at the entrance of the living room with a smile.

“Breakfast is ready, bookworms,” Paige called out.

Azzi and Aliana both looked up, Aliana’s face breaking into a grin. “We coming, Mama!” she giggled.

Azzi smiled at Paige, before giving Aliana a gentle squeeze. “Come on, baby, let’s go eat,” she said, helping Aliana slide off her lap and stand up.

Aliana, still holding onto Azzi’s hand, ran ahead toward the kitchen, giggling all the way. Paige watched them go, her eyes full of love, before she followed them into the kitchen,

They sat down at the kitchen table, the morning light streaming through the windows, casting a soft glow over the scene. Aliana, sat between her two mothers, clasped her hands together in front of her. Her small voice was a little jumbled as she started her prayer, mimicking the words Paige had taught her.

"Th-thank you for mommy, and mama... and... food..." Aliana stumbled through the words, her little brow furrowing as she focused hard, trying to remember everything. Paige and Azzi both smiled down at her, their hearts swelling at the sight of their daughter trying so earnestly.

When Aliana finished, she looked up at them with her big brown eyes, full of innocence and pride for having made it through her prayer. There was a brief pause before, with no warning, Aliana grabbed both of their heads and pulled them together in a surprise move.

Paige and Azzi blinked in shock, but before they could react, Aliana giggled, her tiny hands pushing their faces together. “Kiss!” she demanded with a smile.

Caught off guard but amused, Paige leaned in and kissed Azzi softly, the light touch between them full of affection. Aliana beamed at the sight, her dimple deepening as she witnessed her parents sharing the love she had so often seen and now randomly enjoyed.

With the kiss over, Aliana clapped her hands together, clearly satisfied with the result, before turning her attention to the food on the table.

"Yay!" she cheered, reaching for a fork, eager to dive into her breakfast.

Paige and Azzi laughed softly, their hearts light as they both picked up their utensils.

…

Later that day as they walked back into the house, the weight of a long practice settled around them. Both Paige and Azzi had already showered, their muscles still buzzing with the remnants of the workout.

Aliana, as usual, had run herself ragged in the practice facility. The little girl had spent the better part of the session darting around, mimicking the moves of the older players, laughing as she tried to keep up with them. By the time they’d made it home, she had passed out cold in Paige’s arms, her tiny body nestled against her mom’s shoulder. Paige walked carefully, trying not to disturb her, the soft weight of Aliana’s breath against her neck lulling her into a sense of peace.

They reached Aliana's room, and Paige gently laid her down on the bed, pulling off her shoes and tucking the blankets around her. She lingered for a moment, brushing a few stray hairs from Aliana’s face and kissing her forehead softly.

Turning to Azzi, Paige smiled softly. “I’ll grab our bags from the car, baby you can go relax,” she said, her voice warm, filled with the ease of being home.

Azzi returned the smile, but before Paige could step away, Azzi pulled her closer, cupping her face with both hands and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. The kiss started slow, tender, but quickly deepened as Azzi shifted the energy between them. Paige’s lips parted in surprise as Azzi’s hand slid down her back, pulling her closer, the heat of their bodies radiating through the air.

Azzi’s lips hovered against Paige’s, breath warm as she whispered, “Meet me in the room when you’re done.”

Paige’s breath caught in her throat as Azzi pulled back, her hands moving to strip off her shirt, revealing the toned muscles of her back. She turned around swaying her hips with an effortless confidence as she walked toward their bedroom.

Paige stood frozen for a moment, eyes wide as her mind raced to catch up with the sight before her. The sight of Azzi’s back, the way her body moved with such natural grace, sent a jolt of desire through Paige. She blinked, her heart pounding, before shaking herself out of her daze.

Without a second thought, Paige turned and practically ran down the stairs, eager to finish what she'd started.

By the time Paige reached the top of the stairs again, her breath still uneven from her run, her eyes searched the room for Azzi. She found her, of course, sitting on the bed. The sight of her wife in their private space, in their sanctuary, made the rest of the world feel distant. Paige closed the door behind her, her voice slipping into the room with. “Can’t wait, huh?”

Azzi, hearing the door close, looked up slowly. Her eyes locked onto Paige’s, a mischievous smile curving her lips. "You better hurry up," she teased, her tone drenched in that sultry, warmth that always made Paige’s pulse quicken.

Paige couldn’t help but smile, a gleam in her eyes. “Trust me I’m taking my time with you today,” she murmured.

Paige’s fingers brushed against the hem of her shirt, swiftly yanking it over her head, her eyes never leaving Azzi's. Paige lingered for just a moment, hovering inches away from Azzi, the heat between them building as if the room itself could feel the anticipation.

Without warning, Paige grinned, using her strength to roll them both to the side, pulling Azzi on top of her. Azzi’s laughter bubbled up, a sound Paige adored. The weight of Azzi’s body on hers sent a surge of warmth through Paige’s chest as she didn’t hesitate to pull Azzi closer, her hands sliding firmly to her wife’s hips, giving her a playful tug. Azzi’s lips met hers in an urgent, desperate kiss, their mouths moving together in sync, catching up on all the little moments they'd missed.

They slowed the pace, savoring each kiss, each touch, as if they had all the time in the world, and for the night, they did. The world outside their bedroom felt far away, and even though their daughter slept soundly just down the hall, Paige and Azzi had carved out their own world in that moment just like they promised to always do when they said their vows.