#this took me longer than it should have. is this anything

[vamptizm]

SNOOZE — p. bueckers v.

pairing: paige bueckers x soraya mensima (oc)

synopsis: rookie paige bueckers enters the league with confidence, charm, and a bad habit of gravitating toward things she shouldn’t want— like soraya mensima, the wings’ respected star and reluctant heartbreaker. soraya’s been here longer, knows better, and refuses to let lines blur... even as paige keeps rewriting them with every smile.

warnings: angst. explicit language. adult themes. kinda toxic!soraya.

word count: 8500

masterlist

♯┆taglist (open) .ᐟ ★ @brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @ekisokay @paige05bby @sierrale8ne @ohmybueckers @pboogerswbb @yailtsv @lilpaigeyherbo @prettygirl-gabi @mariahthealchemist @avvwritesstufff @vintagebueckers @naeswrrldd @thaatdigitaldiary

Soraya woke with a dull throb in the back of her skull, more tension than ache. It wasn’t the weed—that had worn off long ago, leaving no fog or haze behind. This was something different. Something sharper. The result of hours spent turning over the same memories again and again, trying and failing to push them away. Paige’s mouth. Her hands. The sound of her voice between Soraya’s thighs.

She groaned quietly and rolled onto her side, arm draping over Jiggy, who stirred but didn’t move. The ceiling above her was the same as it had always been, but it felt somehow unfamiliar, foreign under the weight of the night before.

Dragging herself upright, Soraya pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes and exhaled through her nose. The air in the room was still warm. Too warm. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, slipped her fuzzy slides on, and stood.

Her chest tightened as she approached the door. Beyond it, Paige was still here. Still in her space. Still a reminder.

Soraya paused outside the guest room, hand hovering over the doorknob. She took a breath and knocked twice, knuckles against wood. No response. She waited, then opened the door just enough to poke her head in.

Paige was fast asleep, sprawled on her back, the covers bunched around her hips. Her hair was a little messy, her cheek creased from the pillow. There was something disarmingly peaceful about her. Unassuming. Soft in a way Soraya had refused to acknowledge until now.

She cleared her throat and stepped inside. “Paige,” she called softly. “Yo, Paige.”

No reaction.

She leaned closer, placing her hand gently on the girl’s warm shoulder. “Wake up.”

Paige stirred, brows furrowing before one eye peeked open. She blinked slowly, the room still unfamiliar to her. “Hm?”

Soraya couldn’t help the small twitch at the corner of her mouth, but it wasn’t a smile. It was something more conflicted, more exhausted. “Wake up. Practice starts in less than two hours.”

She didn’t wait for a reply. She turned and walked out, the door left ajar behind her.

As soon as she was out of sight, Paige groaned softly and dragged both hands down her face. The fog of sleep cleared, replaced by memory. Her body remembered before her mind did—the ache between her legs, the ghost of touch, the taste of Soraya’s skin still somewhere in her mouth.

By the time she emerged from the bathroom, hairline damp from the sink and face freshly washed, Soraya was already in the kitchen. Her back was turned, movements quiet and practiced.

“Tea?” she asked, voice flat.

Paige shook her head automatically. Then she caught herself. “Uh, no thanks.”

Silence followed. Not comfortable. Not angry. Just awkward, heavy in all the spaces where words could have been.

“You should go home to change ‘n stuff,” Soraya said after a moment, pouring the hot water over a tea bag like it meant something. Like it mattered.

Paige’s gaze lingered on her, the subtle tension in her shoulders, the deliberate way she moved like she was trying not to feel anything at all. “What about you? You want me to come back and pick you up?”

There was a beat, then Soraya’s voice cut through it like ice. “No. Nai’s picking me up. Don’t come back.”

It hit harder than it should’ve.

The words weren’t shouted. There was no venom behind them. But they landed like a slap all the same—clean, simple, final.

Paige blinked. “Right,” she said after a pause, swallowing her surprise. “Alright.”

The quiet that followed was colder now. Paige turned and walked back into the guest room, changing slowly, as if moving too fast would break the spell of last night completely. But there was no spell left. Just clothes on skin and the lingering echo of something that no longer felt real.

In the kitchen, Soraya hadn’t moved. She stood over the mug of tea she didn’t want, watching the steam rise and then fade as the water cooled. Her hands rested on the edge of the counter, shoulders tense, breath shallow.

She didn’t look up when Paige reappeared. Didn’t speak. And Paige, for once, didn’t push.

She hovered by the door for a second, keys in hand. She opened her mouth to say something. Anything. But the words didn’t come.

So she left.

The door clicked softly behind her, and it might as well have echoed.

Soraya let out a breath like she’d been holding it in for hours. She leaned forward, bracing herself against the counter with her arms, her head bowed. The kitchen was silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant drip of the still hot kettle.

She closed her eyes and exhaled again. Deep. Measured. Controlled.

But her head still hurt. And the tea still sat there, untouched and bitter.

Dijonai and Nalyssa pulled up just after eight, punctual and freshly caffeinated. Soraya stepped out of her apartment with her gym bag slung over one shoulder, offering a quiet, almost absentminded ‘thanks’ as she slid into the back seat.

The couple chatted softly up front, their easy banter filling the quiet, but Soraya barely registered the words. She leaned her head against the window, eyes fixed on the blur of morning light slicing through trees and traffic. Fifteen minutes of third wheeling wasn’t anything new. She was used to being the quiet one in the backseat, used to sitting in her own head.

But today, the silence was heavier. It clung to her like sweat, like guilt. Like regret.

Practice was strange.

The locker room felt subdued, dulled by poor sleep and the sluggish aftermath of last night. Laces were tied slower, jokes didn’t hit quite as loud, and no one seemed interested in pushing the energy too far. Even with the usual music playing low in the background, everything felt quiet.

Soraya sat in front of her locker, her eyes fixed on the floor as she tightened the straps on her shoes. Paige was right beside her, close enough to touch, and yet she may as well have been a mile away. Not a single word passed between them.

Soraya hadn’t even looked at her.

And Paige felt it like a bruise—slow, tender, and deep.

She snuck glances when she could, trying not to be obvious. Soraya’s face was neutral, unreadable, her body language closed off like she’d built a wall in her sleep. It made Paige’s skin itch. She had no idea what to say, and even less idea what to do. Every attempt she played out in her mind ended in silence or Soraya walking away.

Practice was fine. Routine. No one shouted, no one stumbled. They ran through plays, drills, rotations. The kind of session that looked good on paper. But for Paige, it was agonizing. Every pass that didn’t go Soraya’s way, every moment Soraya didn’t speak or look at her, deepened the pit in her stomach.

She hated this. Hated the feeling that she’d finally touched something so rare, so delicate—and in doing so, had shattered it.

The others didn’t notice. Why would they? There was nothing outwardly wrong. Just two girls who suddenly didn’t have anything to say to each other.

After practice, Dijonai offered Soraya a ride back home, and she accepted with a small nod.

The ride was quiet.

Soraya rested her forehead against the window again, eyes shut, her body heavy from more than just the drills. Her exhaustion wasn’t physical, it was mental. Emotional. The effort it took to avoid Paige, to pretend last night never happened, had worn her thin.

Once back inside her apartment, she dropped her bag at the door and peeled off her hoodie. The silence wrapped around her like a blanket—unforgiving and inescapable.

Jiggy padded out from the hallway, small paws silent against the floor. Soraya bent down and scooped her up, letting the cat rest in her arms as she walked to the couch.

She sat down slowly, exhaling as she leaned back, Jiggy curled on her chest like a quiet comfort. She stared at the ceiling.

Her mind was still spinning. Last night kept replaying in loops—Paige’s hands, her mouth, the way Soraya had let herself forget. Let herself feel something. And now? Now she couldn’t un-feel it.

She rubbed her face with both hands and let out a muffled groan.

Jiggy meowed once, faint and warm, pressing into her cheek.

Soraya closed her eyes and sighed again. She didn’t cry—she never did. She didn’t unravel. But the weight of everything unsaid sat heavy on her chest. She had no idea how long she could keep pretending it hadn’t happened.

That evening, Soraya hadn’t had it in her to do much of anything. Cooking felt like a distant thought, a chore she didn’t have the energy to entertain, not after everything and not with Indiana looming ahead of them. So she ordered takeout. Greasy, probably too salty, definitely not what her body needed before a trip, but she didn’t care. She figured, if she’d already let herself slip up once, what was one more indulgence?

The next morning was worse. The kind of morning where everything felt heavier than it should’ve���her limbs, her mood, her silence. She packed sluggishly, moving from one drawer to the next with no real urgency. What should have taken her an hour took nearly two, and even then, she double-checked everything twice, like muscle memory could override the mental fog.

After booking an Uber and dropping Jiggy off at Carmen’s place for the next two days, Soraya finally made it to the team bus, dragging her duffel behind her and loading it into the trunk with a face that gave nothing away. She looked more distant than usual, if that was even possible. Not cold, just… dulled.

The others had already started boarding. Paige was there, seated halfway down the aisle, and for a second—just a second—she looked up with hope flickering behind tired eyes. Maybe Soraya would sit next to her. Maybe that was something she could fix.

But Soraya barely glanced her way.

She passed by without pause, slipping into the seat beside Mai, the soft spoken Japanese guard who rarely said more than a few words at a time. Soraya didn’t need conversation—especially not from Arike, who would’ve tried to fill the silence with small talk, or Paige, whose presence alone would’ve driven her mad. She needed peace. Or at least the closest thing to it.

The drive to the airport was a blur of noise. Teammates laughing, singing along to someone’s playlist, retelling chaotic stories from past travel days. It grated on Soraya’s nerves more than usual, every peal of laughter like a hammer to her skull. She pressed her cheek against the window and shut her eyes, pretending the rest of them weren’t there.

Security, check-in, boarding—it all passed in a haze. The sort of autopilot routine athletes knew all too well. Still, the weight in her chest didn’t lift. Not when she was crammed into a middle seat on the plane. Not when she realized she didn’t even care enough to ask Maddy to switch so she could have the window.

It was only a two hour flight to Indiana, but by the time they were in the air, Soraya was certain it would feel like five.

By the time they landed in Indiana, Soraya’s mood hadn’t improved. If anything, the plane ride had only deepened her exhaustion. She hadn’t slept. Couldn’t. Just sat there, arms folded, staring blankly at the seat in front of her while her thoughts looped like a broken record. Even Mai, quiet as ever, had glanced at her a couple times with thin concern, but said nothing.

The airport was crowded, the kind of chaos that normally would’ve annoyed Soraya, but today she barely registered it. She trailed behind her teammates with heavy steps, hoodie pulled over her head, earbuds in without music playing. Just noise canceling silence.

Outside, the bus waiting to take them to the hotel was the same kind they always got—too cold, too stiff—but it was better than standing around. She climbed aboard without a word and took a seat at the back this time, away from most of the chatter. Paige was somewhere in the middle, surrounded by a couple of the girls, trying to keep up with a conversation but not really invested. Her eyes flicked to the back of the bus every so often, but Soraya never looked ahead.

At the hotel, check-in was a slow, drawn out process. Room assignments were passed out, and just Soraya’s luck, she was paired with Arike. The girl was all energy and nerves, always needing to talk. Soraya had to remind herself not to snap, as much as she loved the girl, just nodded and offered the occasional ‘mhmm’ as Arike rambled on about room service and who they were playing tomorrow.

As soon as they got into the room, Soraya dropped her bag, slipped off her shoes, and collapsed face first onto the bed. The air conditioning was on too high. The lighting was too sterile. She couldn’t get comfortable. She could hear Arike on the phone with someone—probably her girlfriend—and all Soraya wanted was to disappear into the sheets and not be perceived for the next twelve hours.

But even then, lying still, body heavy from travel and emotional fatigue, her mind wouldn’t quit. Images from two nights ago still haunted her. It played on loop, unwanted and relentless.

She groaned quietly, pulling a pillow over her head.

This trip had barely started, and already, she felt like she was falling apart.

Eventually, sleep overcame Soraya and she napped longer than she meant to. When she finally stirred, the room was dim, the sun nearly gone behind the Indiana skyline, casting long shadows across the floor. Arike had left at some point, her side of the room empty but clearly lived in—a duffel half unzipped, a water bottle on the nightstand, and a box of half eaten Cheez-Its on the dresser.

Soraya blinked against the dry air, rubbing her eyes and sitting up slowly. For the first time all day, her chest didn’t feel quite as heavy. A dull ache still lingered at the back of her head, but after hours of running on fumes, her body had finally forced her to recharge.

She took her time showering, letting the hot water soak into her skin until it was almost too much. The steam somewhat helped clear her thoughts. She still hadn’t looked at her phone, still hadn’t replied to Paige’s short ‘can we talk?’ text from earlier that she’d seen light up her lock screen during the flight. She didn’t know what to say. She still didn’t.

By the time she joined the rest of the team downstairs for dinner in one of the hotel’s meeting rooms, her mood had noticeably leveled out. She wasn’t exactly chipper—she was never chipper—but her usual composed mask had returned, clean and easy to wear. Enough to make her feel in control again.

Dinner was buffet style. Pasta, grilled chicken, some salad trays. The team was in high spirits again. Travel days had that effect, especially with the game still a full day away. People moved between tables, joking and poking fun, half the room laughing at something Dijonai said.

Soraya grabbed a plate and made a beeline for a quieter corner of the room, settling at a table with Mai and Maddy. It was low effort—just enough interaction to not seem standoffish, but not enough to demand emotional labor. She appreciated that about them. Maddy threw an olive at Teaira from across the room, and Mai just quietly scrolled through her phone, occasionally showing Soraya a meme.

She was mid bite when Paige walked in.

Their eyes didn’t meet, but Soraya felt her presence instantly. It was like a sudden shift in air pressure. Paige glanced around once, briefly, then joined Aziaha and JJ a few tables over. Her laugh came a few minutes later—soft, but loud enough that Soraya caught it. It was annoying how attuned she was to it.

At one point, Paige stood to get seconds, and as she passed Soraya’s table, their eyes locked for less than two seconds.

Two seconds too long. Soraya looked away first.

After dinner, a few girls mentioned going to check out the pool or walk to the CVS nearby for snacks, but Soraya passed. She took the elevator back up to the room alone, earbuds in, hoodie back over her head. When she walked in, Arike was already back, lounging on her bed with a facemask on and her legs in the air like she was trying to drain all the blood back to her brain.

“You good now?” Arike asked without looking.

“Yeah,” Soraya mumbled, tossing her phone onto the nightstand and sitting on the edge of her bed. “Just a fat nap.”

“You and me both,” Arike said, yawning. “Ty’s been blowing up the groupchat. Said she’s making bets on who’s gonna drop 20 tomorrow.”

Soraya smirked faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Tell her I’m not playing then.”

“Liar.” Arike tossed a pillow at her. “You always say that, and then you go out there and black out on the court.”

Soraya shrugged. “Guess we’ll see.”

That night, as Arike drifted off mid phone call, Soraya stayed up just a little longer, her body tucked beneath the hotel blanket, eyes flicking over her phone screen in the dark. She stared at Paige’s message again. Still unread. Still unanswered.

Her thumb hovered. But she didn’t type anything.

Not yet.

She turned the screen off and rolled over, the cold side of the pillow cooling her cheek.

Tomorrow would come. So would the game.

And maybe, if she was lucky, her mind would finally shut up.

By the time morning rolled around, Soraya felt better than she had in days. Rested. Motivated, even. Her body didn’t feel like it was dragging through cement, and for the first time since that night, her mind wasn’t clouded with noise. The weight of everything hadn’t lifted entirely, but it had dulled enough to let her breathe.

She didn’t expect a win against the Aces—not realistically. It was only their first preseason game, more than half the roster was brand new, and so was the coaching team. Chemistry took time. Practice was one thing, but the real test would be under lights, in front of a crowd, with game pressure choking every possession. She knew better than to expect anything smooth.

Still, there was something comforting about knowing exactly what lay ahead. Tipoff, defense, hustle, rotations, read and react. Basketball, at least, was a constant.

Breakfast at the hotel was mellow, laced with warmth and ease. Plates clinked. Coffee steamed. The team filled the dining room with soft laughter and the kind of chatter that only came when nerves and excitement met in equal parts.

Arike was practically glowing, bouncing in her seat as she recounted stories from her Notre Dame days. The joy in her voice was infectious—well, almost.

“She’s about to make me hate Notre Dame almost as much as those UConn Huskies,” Soraya muttered under her breath to Dijonai, watching Arike tease Paige across the table about having to play at her rival’s home court. Paige didn’t seem too bothered, smiling along and firing back with calm, dry wit.

Still, Soraya kept her eyes on her food. She hadn’t replied to Paige’s text. Still hadn’t acknowledged her at all. And while a small, guilty pang lingered somewhere deep in her gut, it wasn’t loud enough to override her pride. Not yet. Not when she still didn’t know what to do with the mess they’d left hanging in the air between them.

A few hours later, the team was back on the bus, headed to Purcell Pavilion. Soraya wasted no time claiming the seat next to Dijonai, who had already tossed her duffel on the window side. When Nalyssa approached, hopeful, Soraya shot her a flat look and jerked a thumb toward Arike.

“You’ll live,” she said. “Go sit next to Arike.”

Nalyssa groaned dramatically, but relented, shooting Dijonai a betrayed look before trudging down the aisle.

“That was mean,” Dijonai said, snorting.

“She’ll survive.”

The engine started, and the soft rumble of the bus filled the lull in conversation. Outside, the sky was bright and blue, deceptively peaceful for a game day.

Dijonai eventually turned to her with a sidelong glance, her tone casual but observant. “You good? You’re quieter, and pissier, than usual.”

Soraya gave her a look. “You wanna get kicked off this bus?”

“Just sayin’.” She raised her brows. “You been on edge all week. And I know it’s not just game nerves.”

Soraya leaned her head against the window, gaze focused on nothing in particular. “I’m fine. Just exhausted. Too much on my mind.”

“Like?”

She sighed, loudly, as if the air itself were a burden. “Don’t make me regret sitting next to you,” she said, her voice dry with warning, but a hint of a smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.

Dijonai laughed, holding both hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll back off. For now.”

The rest of the ride passed with light conversation and music playing low through someone’s speaker. Soraya didn’t say much, but she didn’t need to. She had her warm-up hoodie draped over her legs, earbuds half in, and her game face on.

Whatever happened, she’d deal with it like she always did—on her terms, in her time.

And maybe—just maybe—Paige would stop looking at her like she was waiting for the sky to fall.

The lights inside Purcell Pavilion burned bright even during warmups, casting a golden hue across the polished hardwood floor. The crowd hadn’t filled in yet, just a few early fans trickling in, but the echo of bouncing balls and squeaking sneakers filled the space with energy.

The team split into groups—half running shooting drills on one end, the rest working on dynamic stretches and short passing sequences. It was routine. Rehearsed. Every player moved with purpose, locked in.

Soraya moved through warmups with sharp, efficient motions. She wasn’t talkative—she rarely was before games—but today she felt more withdrawn than usual. Focused, yes, but with a tightness in her shoulders that never loosened, even as she sank back-to-back threes from the top of the key.

Paige was nearby, paired with one of the rookies for passing drills, but her eyes kept drifting.

To her.

Soraya noticed, of course. She’d always been hyper aware of Paige, even before everything. But now the awareness came with a twist of discomfort in her chest, like a rope pulled taut. It made her pass the ball harder, move faster, smile less.

Paige, for her part, didn’t look away when Soraya caught her staring. She didn’t flinch. Just held the gaze for a second too long, like she wanted to say something with her eyes but didn’t have the guts to say it aloud.

The tension between them wasn’t loud. It didn’t draw attention. It was subtle, lived in the missed eye contact and clipped movements. To everyone else, they were just teammates going through warmups. But to them, everything felt too heavy, too close.

As the buzzer sounded to signal the end of the on-court warmup, the team gathered around the coaches and then filed back into the tunnel. Soraya grabbed her towel, wiped the sweat from her brow, and avoided looking in Paige’s direction altogether.

Paige watched her walk ahead in silence, jaw tight.

The game hadn’t even started yet, but it already felt like they were playing one.

The visiting locker room at Purcell Pavilion was clean, cold, and far too bright for Soraya’s liking. It smelled faintly of floor polish and fresh tape, the kind of sterile environment that never quite felt like home—just a place to pass through before the real work began.

Players moved around casually, some lacing up shoes, others scrolling on their phones or bobbing their heads to music. Arike was still buzzing with energy, cracking jokes with Nalyssa, while Myisha quietly stretched in the corner. The rookies kept to themselves, mentally running through plays, likely too nervous..

And Soraya? She sat on the wooden bench in front of her locker, headphones on but no music playing, trying to keep her expression unreadable as she tugged her jersey down over her sports bra.

Paige was three lockers down. Close enough to feel, far enough to ignore, if she tried hard enough.

The rookie hadn’t said a word to her all day, but Soraya felt her eyes constantly. Little glances. Lingering moments when Paige looked like she wanted to say something but couldn’t figure out how. It was subtle, but not subtle enough. And Soraya refused to feed into it. Not here. Not now.

Let her stew in it.

Dijonai threw her an energy bar from across the room, drawing Soraya out of her thoughts. She caught it without looking. “You eat today?”

“Barely,” Soraya admitted.

“Fix that.” Dijonai gave her a look. “You’re gonna need it.”

A few of the players started whooping and hyping each other up, Arike leading the charge as music pumped louder through a speaker someone had brought in. Paige joined in with her usual calm confidence, but Soraya noticed how her smile faltered every time their eyes almost met.

She turned her attention back to her bag, methodically checking for the things she already knew were in there—knee brace, wrist tape, extra socks. Anything to avoid the weight of Paige’s stare.

Coach came in briefly to give final instructions and reminders. A firm tone, motivational, even tempered, the way they’d all grown used to. He knew the stakes were low tonight, but the pride was real. No one wanted to get embarrassed, even in preseason.

"Focus on the fundamentals. Rotate early. Communicate," he said before heading out toward the tunnel.

One by one, players started filing out to the court, the echo of shoes on tile growing louder.

Soraya waited until most of the others had cleared the room before she stood, tying her hair back into a tighter ponytail. Paige was still at her locker. Still quiet.

Their eyes met for the briefest second. And then Soraya looked away first.

Again.

The starting five sat side by side at the end of the bench, jerseys on, locked in.

It was a lineup Coach wanted to test—NaLyssa slotted in at center, giving the Wings a faster, more versatile starting group. Paige at point guard, Arike at the two, DiJonai at power forward. And Soraya at small forward.

Paige sat with her forearms resting on her knees, locked in. NaLyssa stretched her fingers out, then curled them into fists. Arike bounced her leg like she always did before tip-off, her usual pregame nerves disguised as energy. DiJonai chewed at her bottom lip. And Soraya? She sat perfectly still, hands resting against the edge of her knees, eyes on the hardwood.

This was it—the Wings' first preseason game. A test. A start.

The lights dimmed slightly as the announcer's voice came booming through the arena, clean and electrified.

“Starting at center… number one... NaLyssa Smith!”

NaLyssa stood, clapped once, and turned down the line of her teammates before jogging through the tunnel of high fives, ending with Coach at the baseline before heading toward center court.

“Starting at guard… number twenty four... Arike Ogunbowale!”

Arike popped up with a grin, waving to a few familiar faces in the crowd—Notre Dame fans, no doubt. She slapped hands all the way down the bench, blowing a kiss to no one in particular before striding across the floor.

A beat passed.

“Starting at forward… number thirteen... Soraya Mensima!”

Soraya stood slowly, every movement fluid, controlled. She turned first, instinctively, to her left where DiJonai was still seated beside Paige. One hand slapped into DiJonai’s, and without looking too long, she held her other hand out to Paige.

There was a hesitation. Barely a second.

Paige blinked, surprised, but recovered quick, palm smacking lightly into Soraya’s with a sound that seemed too loud in her ears.

No words. Just the thud of the high five.

Soraya then made her way down the rest of the bench, exchanging handshakes and backpats, the kind of stuff you do before war. Her expression remained blank, unreadable. Even when she crossed the court to where NaLyssa and Arike stood waiting, there was nothing on her face but focus.

She liked playing the three. She liked the versatility it gave her—able to float inside and outside, push the pace when needed, shoot when open, drive when challenged. She just hadn’t expected to be pushed into it.

It wasn’t unfamiliar territory—she’d filled that role back when Satou went down early into the last season with her shoulder injury. But other than that, she’d primarily been used as a guard—switching between the one and two as needed. Now, with Paige on the roster and already owning the point, and Arike locked in at shooting guard, there wasn’t exactly space for Soraya in the backcourt anymore.

She’d be lying if she said it didn’t dig at her pride just a little, knowing a rookie could step in and rearrange the court like that. Not that it was Paige’s fault—not really. Still. It sat there, heavy in her chest like the weight of something unspoken.

But here they were.

“Starting at guard… number five... Paige Bueckers!”

The crowd cheered louder now—more curious than anything. Paige was the name everyone wanted to see in action. The rookie. The wildcard.

She stood and gave quick high fives, but her eyes lingered for a beat on Soraya. Just a beat.

Then came DiJonai’s name. Then the final call.

“Ladies and gentlemen—your Dallas Wings starting five!”

The five of them met near half court. No theatrics. Just the team.

They huddled, arms wrapped around shoulders. Paige’s voice low and quick, tossing out reminders. NaLyssa nodding. Arike tapping her chest. DiJonai chewing her gum like she had something to prove. Soraya? Quiet, tuned in, eyes on the center circle.

She didn’t need to say much. Her game would speak for her.

The buzzer sounded again as they broke the huddle and walked toward their marks.

Across from them, A’ja Wilson stood loose and light on her feet, all business.

The ref approached, whistle at her lips, the ball held between NaLyssa and A’ja.

Then the whistle blew and the ball shot up.

A’ja tipped it before Nalyssa could, and it was game on.

The game had started off smooth—disciplined, fast paced, even promising. The Wings were holding their own better than anyone had expected, given the circumstances. Soraya was locked in, stone faced and focused, tailing Jewell Loyd possession after possession with the kind of locked down defense she was known for. No chatter. No flair. Just grit. The kind of silent killer who didn’t need to remind you she was there, until you were already boxed out and suffocating.

But then, with just over seven minutes left in the first quarter, something shifted.

Jackie Young had the ball, driving toward the paint, and Paige was guarding her—tight. Too tight for a rookie, some might say. But Paige wasn’t backing down. She stuck to Jackie’s hip like glue, her feet sliding perfectly in sync with every pivot.

And then it happened.

Jackie leaned in, elbow sharp and forceful, ramming into Paige’s stomach as she tried to power past her. It wasn’t an egregious move. Nothing the refs hadn’t ignored before. Just physical basketball, they’d say.

To Soraya, at first, it barely registered. She was already moving, already rotating in as DiJonai stepped into the play to double team Jackie and try to strip the ball. A whistle blew.

But then Paige doubled over.

She wasn’t down, not dramatic, not whining or flopping. Just catching her breath, her hand instinctively resting on her midsection where Jackie’s elbow had landed. It was subtle.

But it was enough.

Enough to flip a switch in Soraya’s head so suddenly and violently that it was like a live wire snapping loose.

She was already there, stepping forward, posture rigid, her eyes burning holes through Jackie Young. “Aye, chill the fuck out!”

The words cut through the noise, sharp as a slap, biting and unapologetic. It wasn’t the volume that made heads turn—it was the tone. The venom.

Jackie turned immediately, almost as sharp, ready to snap back, but before either of them could escalate, DiJonai had already reached for Soraya’s arm.

“Yo—yo. No. Chill. You’re good. Chill.” She tried to pull her back gently, but with enough strength to stop the inevitable.

Soraya didn’t resist much, but her feet stayed planted a second too long. Her eyes stayed locked on Jackie’s like she was daring her to try it again. Her jaw clenched. Shoulders tight. Her presence was suddenly loud, even without her saying another word.

It was a rare sight—Soraya Mensima snapping.

She wasn’t known for this. Not like this.

No trash talk, no drama. She didn’t stir the pot. She didn’t start shit. She just finished it.

But this? This was personal.

The ref didn’t hesitate. Double tech. Jackie looked annoyed but unsurprised.

Soraya looked disgusted. Like the tech was somehow more offensive than the elbow.

She let herself be pulled back by DiJonai, shaking her head, her voice low but still seething. “Fucking dumbass, doesn’t know how to do his goddamn job so I have to step in. Tech my fucking ass.”

DiJonai gave her a small pat between the shoulder blades—her silent way of saying ‘I got you’. But Soraya shrugged it off, not unkindly, just on edge.

She didn’t even look at Paige. Didn’t ask if she was okay. Didn’t need to.

Because this wasn’t about fussing over a bruised rib or catching her breath. This was about principle. About drawing a line and daring anyone to cross it again.

No one roughhoused her rookie and walked away thinking that shit would fly.

And Paige?

She watched it all.

Watched the way Soraya’s whole body language transformed—how her stillness turned to fire. How the indifference she’d been getting the past few days vanished the moment someone laid a finger on her.

Paige’s heart was still thumping from the hit, sure. But now it was thumping for an entirely different reason.

It wasn’t just that Soraya had gotten in Jackie’s face for her. It wasn’t just the flash of anger or the way she couldn’t even hold it in.

It was what it meant.

That beneath all the silence and distance and avoidance, Soraya somewhat cared. Enough to let her mask slip. Enough to earn a tech. Enough to risk something.

And that realization? That burned through Paige hotter than any pain in her ribs.

Because even if Soraya didn’t say it—didn’t look her way, didn’t speak her name—Paige knew now, without a doubt, that she mattered to her. In some twisted, confusing way that would drive her over the edge of pure insanity some day.

And something about that stuck in Paige’s chest.

The game resumed after the double tech, the tension still hanging in the air, but quickly dissolving into focus as Soraya handed the technical free throw off to Paige. She didn’t even look at her—just jerked her head toward the line and muttered something about not being bothered to shoot it. Paige, composed as ever, stepped up and knocked it down cleanly, nothing but net.

Midway through the first quarter, with the Aces up by five, Paige had the ball again. The rookie hadn’t scored yet—hadn’t even come close. She’d been steady, smart, composed in her passing and patient on the perimeter, but offensively? She hadn’t cracked the seal.

Until now.

She darted past Chelsea, turned as quick as lightning, and exploded toward the rim.

Kiah Stokes was there waiting, arms up, body firm, daring her to finish through contact. Paige didn’t hesitate. She went straight up, let the ball roll off her fingertips just before A’ja’s hand could smack the ball out of hers.

The layup dropped in off the glass. And Paige dropped too.

She tumbled hard to the floor, the arena erupting into cheers for the rookie’s first league points.

She didn’t stay down long. Her back hit the hardwood, and she was already pushing herself up, popping to her feet with that familiar fire in her eyes. The kind that had carried her through an NCAA championship and right into the league like she was built for it.

Cheers echoed from the Wings’ bench, a few players already standing in celebration. Maddy was grinning. Aziaha gave a whoop. Even Myisha clapped loud, her voice cutting through the crowd.

And Soraya—

Soraya had already turned, jogging back to the top of the key to get into position.

But not before a grin tugged at the corner of her mouth.

Small. Barely there. The kind of smile that disappeared just as fast as it came. Her back was to the others, her focus already shifting to defense, but she’d felt it. That spark of pride. That tug of warmth in her chest.

She didn’t let herself look at Paige. Didn’t need to. She just reset her stance, eyes on the Aces, expression wiped clean like nothing had happened.

But it had. And deep down—beneath all the avoidance, the walls, the silence—Soraya was proud of her rookie.

She’d never admit it, but she was.

From there, the Wings found their rhythm.

Soraya had gone off, lighting up the court with four three-pointers—her signature, clean, beautiful. For a stretch in the second quarter, the team surged ahead with an 8 point lead, momentum firmly on their side. The bench was electric, energy pulsing through every high five, every screen, every defensive stop.

But it didn’t last.

The Aces came storming back with A’ja Wilson taking over the paint and Chelsea Gray orchestrating their offense like a surgeon. Once Soraya was subbed out mid-third quarter, the Wings struggled to maintain spacing and defensive communication. The ball moved slower. The gaps closed quicker. The lead evaporated before they could blink.

By the time the fourth quarter rolled around, Soraya, Paige, Arike, and NaLyssa were all seated on the bench, water bottles in hand, watching the rookies and newer signings try to keep the game competitive. It was the expected rotation for a preseason opener—give the untested players minutes to prove themselves.

JJ, a third round pick with something to prove, made her mark with scrappy defense and some surprisingly confident layups. She had caught Soraya’s attention early on, and even Paige had leaned forward more than once, nodding to herself at the way the rookie moved on the floor—reminding her of her old UConn teammate, KK.

Still, the Aces had the advantage in chemistry, size, and experience. The final score reflected that. 92–112. A loss, but not a discouraging one.

Somewhere in the middle of the fourth, as the buzzer felt closer than ever, Paige had finally turned to the woman seated beside her—still locked in, eyes glued to the court like she wanted to will it back in her team’s favor.

“You know you didn’t have to do that, right?” Paige said, her voice soft but clear, gentle but grounded.

Soraya didn’t answer right away. She turned her head slowly, almost like the effort was a chore, like she wanted to make sure Paige knew she didn’t want to give her this moment.

Her gaze flicked over the rookie’s face, impassive and unreadable, she blinked once, twice. Her stare carried no warmth. Just that usual distant indifference. A wall built from years of knowing how and when to keep people out.

Then finally, in a flat and simple tone, she replied, “Okay.”

A pause. A tiny, near imperceptible shake of her head followed. Dismissive, almost annoyed. ‘Okay? But I did. So what now?’

Paige blinked. Her lips parted, then closed again. She didn’t have a follow up. Not one she could say aloud.

Soraya turned back around before Paige could say anything else. Focused. Unbothered. As if nothing had happened. As if she hadn’t snapped at Jackie Young on her behalf. As if her pulse hadn’t spiked when Paige doubled over from the elbow.

And Paige? She just stared at her for a few moments longer, chewing over that interaction, the same way she’d been chewing over every cold shoulder and unanswered text.

It bothered her.

She didn’t know why it bothered her so much, but it did.

Because for all of Soraya’s avoidance and indifference, that moment on the court had meant something. And now, this distance, this cold dismissal—it made her want to understand Soraya even more.

It made her want to break through.

She would. Sooner or later.

The hotel room was dim, lit only by the bedside lamp Soraya had switched on when she got back. Arike wasn’t there—still downstairs, probably grabbing drinks with the others or dissecting the game with Lyss and Myisha. But Soraya? She didn’t have the energy for post game banter. Silence felt like the only thing that made sense after a loss, and she was content in the quiet, stretched across the edge of her bed with one knee up and her phone untouched beside her.

So when a knock sounded at the door, Soraya’s brows drew together. It was too soon for Arike to have forgotten her keycard already.

She padded over lazily, unlocking the door without checking through the peephole—expecting familiarity.

What she got instead was a blonde rookie, freshly showered, hair tied in a messy bun, a worn UConn tee and sweatpants loose around her hips. Paige looked calm. Unbothered. But the tension in her jaw and the heat in her eyes said otherwise.

“We gotta talk,” Paige said, stepping past her before Soraya could get a word in.

Soraya blinked, caught off guard for a millisecond before her usual indifference settled back over her like a well worn hoodie. She closed the door with a soft click.

“Sure,” she muttered flatly, sarcasm curling around the words. “Come in.”

Paige didn’t waste time. She turned toward Soraya, hands still buried in her pockets like she was trying to keep herself from unraveling. “You’ve been ignoring me. Acting like I don’t even exist. Do you know how shitty that is?”

There was no heat in her voice—just disappointed. Tired.

Soraya stood still, arms folding across her lower chest in that subtle way she did when she felt exposed but didn’t want anyone to know. Her expression didn’t change. No flicker of guilt. No twitch of surprise. Just that quiet, unreadable calm.

“What do you want me to say?” she asked, voice even and measured. “You’re not dumb, so don’t act like you don’t know why I’ve kept my distance.”

Paige’s lips parted like she was ready to fight back, like a scoff was sitting right there on the edge of her tongue, but she swallowed it. Her fists curled deeper into her pockets instead, shoulders tight.

“Keeping your distance is one thing,” she said, more firmly now. “Acting like I don’t exist is fucked up, Soraya.”

That name. Her full name. Not Mensima. Not any clipped, playful nickname like the ones the girls tossed around.

It landed heavier than Paige probably meant it to.

For just a second, Soraya looked like she might actually react—like her armor cracked—but the moment passed. She blinked, slow and unaffected, and the indifference came back sharper than before.

“Okay,” she said, and there was something so final, so frustratingly dismissive in her tone it could’ve knocked the wind out of someone. “Is this the part where you want me to apologize and we make up and that shit happens again?”

Paige flinched. Subtly, but visibly. Her breath hitched like she’d been expecting ice, but not the knife buried inside it.

And Soraya knew it. She knew how cruel her words sounded—how cold they felt. But it was easier that way. If she turned her attraction into annoyance, her longing into irritation, then she didn’t have to deal with what scared her most. The want that hadn’t gone away since that night.

Across from her, Paige ran a hand down her face in quiet disbelief, dragging her fingers over her mouth as if trying to stop herself from saying something she’d regret. She stood there like she was staring at a stranger, like she couldn’t believe how wrong she’d gotten this. Her voice had no fight left in it now. Just confusion.

Had she read Soraya completely wrong? Was it all in her head?

And yet—something about the way Soraya wouldn’t look at her directly. The way she’d crossed her arms like a barricade. The way her voice had been flat on purpose, too careful.

This wasn’t who Soraya really was.

Paige could feel it in her gut. Soraya was pushing her away to protect something. Maybe both of them.

And that, somehow, hurt more than anything she’d said out loud.

The silence was deafening—heavy and suffocating. The kind that curled between bodies like smoke, toxic and inescapable. Neither of them spoke for a few seconds, but it felt like minutes. You could hear the hum of the AC. A passing car outside. The dull thud of someone walking down the hall.

Inside the room, the tension wasn’t electric. It was static, suffocating. Stale. Thick in the way that made it hard to breathe.

“You act like it didn’t mean anything,” Paige finally said, voice low but clear, as she took a small step forward. Her gaze never wavered. “But you didn’t look like it meant nothing when it happened.”

Soraya didn’t answer. Didn’t blink. She took a step back without even thinking, like her body knew better than she did. Her heart thundered violently in her chest, but her face betrayed nothing. No flicker of guilt. No softness. Just the same mask she always wore when she wanted people to stop seeing her.

“Was it really that bad?” Paige’s voice came again, softer this time. But vulnerable. Too vulnerable. “What we did?”

It slipped out of her like something she hadn’t meant to say out loud, like something she wished she could take back the second it left her lips. She looked down for a moment, jaw tightening.

And still, Soraya said nothing. She just felt. She felt the pull in her chest, the ache in her throat, the sharpness of regret trying to claw its way up from her gut. She hated this—hated how much it stung to look at Paige and say the things she needed to say.

But she had to. She had to kill it now, before it became something close to real. Before she ruined them both.

“I don't get involved with teammates,” she said finally. Her voice was steady, but it came from a place of practiced control. She shrugged, and the motion looked more forced than casual. “I slipped. That’s on me.”

She should’ve stopped there.

But she didn’t.

“You were good, if that’s what you’re asking. Felt good. Probably some of the best head I’ve had so far. But it was a one time thing.”

The words were cold, despite the praise. Dismissive. Calculated. And they hit their mark.

Paige chuckled softly, bitterly—like someone who didn’t know whether to laugh or snap. She pinched the bridge of her nose, slow and deliberate, trying to breathe through the sting and irritation.

“At least you’re not fully incapable of being real,” she muttered, not even looking at Soraya when she said it.

It was a jab. A small one. But sharp. Soraya took it. Let it land. And didn’t react.

“I’m just tryna be reasonable,” she said, folding her arms again, tighter this time. Guarding herself. “You’re my rookie. I’m your vet. We’re supposed to have chemistry on the court, not in bed, fucking like careless teens.”

Her tone was detached, but the words were cruel, even if she didn’t mean them to be.

Paige didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Her head was spinning—thoughts crashing into each other like waves. Too many questions. Too many things left unsaid. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

So Soraya filled the silence for her.

“C’mon,” she said, softer now, almost gently. “It’s not that hard to move past this. It’s not like you have feelings for me or anything.”

And that—that—was the blow that made Paige freeze.

Her face didn’t change. Not immediately. But her body betrayed her. She stiffened. She hesitated. Did she have feelings for Soraya? No. It was far too soon, too rushed, especially when the older girl acted the way she did in that moment. Careless and indifferent. Paige would never allow herself to fall for someone so cold and selfish—she was too smart for that.

That split second of hesitation was enough, though.

Soraya saw it. Felt it. It was like being punched in the stomach. A sick, twisting feeling that crept through her veins like poison. Her palms started to sweat. Her mouth tasted like regret.

So she said the only thing she knew would end it.

“It was a stupid mistake.”

And that was all it took.

Paige nodded once, just enough to show she’d heard. Her face was blank, lips parted like she wanted to say something—anything—but she didn’t trust her voice. Instead, she inhaled slowly, quietly, lifting her chin the way someone did when they refused to show any further vulnerability.

Paige Bueckers could have anyone she wanted. UConn’s golden girl, the new face of the team and perhaps even the league. She was at the peak of her career, the talk of the basketball world, and even outside of it. Why would she worry about one girl? Over one ‘mistake’ as Soraya called it.

“Right,” she said, biting back the lump in her throat. “Cool.”

She nodded again, this time a little more definitive, like she was convincing herself. “I’ll let you go to sleep, then. Goodnight, Soraya.”

And just like that, she turned and walked to the door. Hands tucked in her pockets. Shoulders square. Head high.

She passed Arike on her way out, barely acknowledging her. Just a silent nod of recognition before slipping past and disappearing down the hall.

Arike blinked, confused, glancing back toward the door as it closed.

Inside, Soraya stood rooted to the spot. Her heart pounded violently, echoing in her ears like a warning. She felt sick. Physically sick with guilt. Her throat burned with the weight of what she’d said—what she’d done.

It was the right thing. That’s what she told herself.

“Y’all good?” Arike asked slowly, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. She looked over her shoulder once more, her tone curious but cautious.

Soraya didn’t flinch. Her voice was cool. Unbothered. Laced with just enough nonchalance to make it believable.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “She was asking stuff about the game.”

And thankfully, Arike didn’t question it.

extended taglist 🐆 — @thelightknight21 @private-but-not-a-secret @angryflowerwitch @jieysiee @angelliicc @paigebaby5 @ttytttt-gndgnvbm @syraxbigfanfr @forward1212 @niya500 @wosolipa @enchantingesme @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @ksimsplayer @hggbiijj @pupbistro

[vaporclan]

I know this is my comic account but it's the account that has the most followers on it and I'm really scared for my cat and don't want to be alone right now.

I'm at a loss. He's been to the vet 3 times this month, and I'm completely drained of money.

I suspect there's something wrong with my cats mouth, and paid for a vet visit. The vet had a quick look at his mouth and told us to drop it, and that his teeth are fine. But...

I just. It's the only conclusion I can come to after witnessing his symptoms.

He's throwing up - usually bile. He's gone so skinny because he just won't eat anything even remotely solid. If it's got bits in it, he won't eat it.

He's not lethargic. There's NO DIARRHEA. His pooping is 100% normal, doesn't strain or anything. Completely solid poops.

His appetite is NOT gone - he TRIES to eat food and struggles. He tries solid food and immediately gives up because it's too crunchy. He TRIES to eat his wet food and gives up once getting to the chunks. HE TRIES!!! It's not a lack of appetite! He's starving!

Just 5 minutes ago I saw him walk over to the bowl of dry food, try to eat it and immediately give up. Its not an appetite issue! He is *struggling* to eat it! This is his favourite dry food, btw.

A couple weeks ago, I gave him one of his favourite treats - he was Excited when I opened the packet. He tried to chew it, failed and gave up. This was my first suspicion.

He is 13 years old and has a snaggletooth and has had it for as long as I've known him, but was not born with it. He got it back when he was my sister's cat and was attacked by her dog (He no longer lives with dogs!). They never took him to the vet for this.

I vividly remember taking him to get a checkup last year, and the (more expensive, might I add!) vet saying he could possibly have some dental issues.

So why would this second (cheaper) vet, after a quick look at his mouth, tell me it's 100% not dental and it's likely a gut issue? And then jump straight to "it could be CANCER" after a less than 2 minute long inspection? They barely looked at him!

(I went to the cheaper vet because I ran out of money this month, and they've been good in the past...?)

Why is he trying and failing to eat solid food? If he was turning his nose up at any and all food, I'd agree with the idea that he's got a lack of appetite. But he's trying *so* hard to eat.

I dunno, I get a lot of mouth pain myself and I can attest it is very difficult to eat solid food when it gets painful. Maybe it's confirmation bias, but....

‼️ I heard a CRUNCHY noise coming from his mouth when he was eating KITTY YOGURT 2 days ago.

The way the cheaper vet looked at him for less than 2 minutes and immediately shut us down, told us it's 100% not dental issues and he might have CANCER instead and immediately gave us some meds without explaining what the medication even does makes my stomach feel a little queezy. My gut is telling me something is not right here.

He has a heart murmur. I looked up the medication given to us by the vet - prednisolone - and after some impulsive Googling found out it can make heart conditions worse and should be given with caution after an ecg. They didn't even SUGGEST an ecg. They didn't take his heart murmur into account at all. Again, the appointment lasted *2 minutes*.

Am I crazy? I feel all sorts of crazy.

I get paid like, £600 in a few days. The cost of a dental x-ray is anywhere from £200 to £400. And that's Just The X-Ray. If he needs teeth out, that's an extra £400, and where am I gonna pull that money from?

I get paid another £600 or so on the 28th.

He's so fucking skinny, man..

I don't want to make another donation post and I really truly do not have it in me to draw commissions right now. I don't know what to do.

[copinghex]

Somebody else | T.S

Summary: During a wedding party, Tommy invades the bride's bedroom with a proposal to make.

She kept her eyes down in the mirror when Tommy entered the bedroom, he shouldn't be allowed in there, none of the guests were allowed in the private areas of the house, it was obvious he bribed the guards to get his way.

His expensive cologne spread through the place as well as the smoke of his cigarette. A gray, well fitting suit covered his toned body, it was hard to not give him a peek, but she knew better, he no longer deserved the attention. From her silence, raised his first strike, "You look ridiculous," 

"That's not a very nice thing to say," she answered.

"You look ridiculous trying to play the excited bride," 

"Why should I not be excited on my own wedding day?" she finally glanced at him.

"'Cause I know what you're like when you're in love and that's not it," 

"Ah," she scoffed, "should I be kicking my feet in the air and twirling curls on my hair? Do I think I'm still a kid?" 

Tommy sighed, running his eyes through the bedroom, he looked bothered by the view, he should be the one occupating that place, it should be his clothes on the wardrobe and his name on the wedding certificate.

"Why did you get in here, Thomas?" she asked.

Thomas, from all the people in the house, she was the only one to call him like this, everyone else contented themselves with Tommy or Mr. Shelby, however, she claimed to enjoy the sound of it a long time ago. 

"You invited me," 

"My husband invited you," 

"Oh?" 

"He said it'd be better to keep good relations with the businessman around, that unfortunately, included you," 

"Unfortunately, yeah," 

An awkward silence fell over, she went back to doing her makeup and Tommy sat down at the end of her bed.

"Do you love him?" Tommy asked and she gulped, the second strike was much stronger than the first.

"He loves me and he takes care of me, he was never in jail or involved in anything illegal-"

"That's logical then?" 

"No, he's always near, Thomas," she explained, "always, he never spends the night out or locks himself away, he's by my side, I have no doubt of that," 

"You didn't answer my question, are you in love with him?" 

"Don't," she scolded.

"Or are you still in love with me?" 

She teared up and covered her face, hating him for being so selfish, "Thomas, please, not now, not on my wedding day," 

"There'll be no other day," he argued.

"Why are you here? Why today of all the days? You had so many opportunities," Tommy didn't answer, so she continued, "it's because you can't stand it, can you? You can't stand not getting what you want and you want everything," 

He took a drag of his cigarette and considered his next words, "I told Arthur to wait outside with the car on,"

"You're mad," 

"And you're tempted,"

"I'm not,"

"You are," he insisted and she frowned, "because if you weren't you'd have told me to leave as soon I entered the room, you'd have finished your makeup and you'd be downstairs entertaining your fucking fancy guests and yet here you are, fifteen minutes late," he finished checking his pocket watch.

"You're being mean, Thomas," 

"Am I? I'm not the one fooling a man into thinking I'm in love with him," the last strike was almost strong enough to make the tears run down her face, "you know, love, I'm not the somebody else, he is," 

"You've got the devil's tongue but that's not enough," she harshly stated, "you had your chance and you wasted it, I moved on," 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, so you can get out of my bedroom, tell Arthur to turn the car off and make a fucking toast like everyone else," 

"Right, then I wish you all the happiness in the world," looking disappointed, Tommy stood up and walked to the exit, "you're gonna regret this for the rest of your life," 

"Get out, Thomas," she hissed.

"I hope we can share a dance later, love." he said at last and left the bedroom.

[y4-mama]

Bucky Barnes request?

Paradise

Bucky Barnes (TFATWS) x reader

Summary: After everything went down with the flag smashers you guys finally had a chance to relax

Content: Gender isn’t specified but the pet name Doll is used, fluff, Bucky being down BAD for you, Bucky making fun of sam

A/N: sorry for getting this out so late i didn’t mean to ignore the request

WC: 1.2K

Life Couldn’t get any better.

You, Sam, and Bucky finally got a well-deserved vacation, as you would call it, after finishing all the Flag Smasher stuff.

Which is how you found yourself sitting on Sam’s boat, with a glass of wine in your hand, watching the sunset.

You watching the sunset led Bucky to not be able to take his eyes off you as you sat there, though this has become a regular occurrence. He watched the way your eyes glittered with the setting sun, the way your hands tightened ever so slightly around your glass of wine, how your lips were curled into a soft, content smile, and the way your hair perfectly framed your face.

How could he not look at you?

You, having a sixth sense, felt someone’s eyes on you. You turn your head and see Bucky staring right at you. When he noticed you caught him, he quickly snapped his gaze away from you, busying himself by taking a drink of his beer. He had been caught red-handed. He suddenly found his boots extremely interesting.

That whole reaction he just had confused you, but you didn’t think much of it and looked back at the sunset. Bucky stole a glance at you and noticed the confusion written all over your face. He internally groaned, knowing he hadn’t been doing the best job of hiding the fact that he was staring at you for the past couple of minutes.

Get it together, Barnes.

You kept your eyes on the sunset. “Is there something on my face, or is there another reason you keep staring at me?” Bucky's mouth suddenly felt very dry. He didn’t expect you to call him out like that. He decided that playing it off nonchalantly was the move. “There might be.”

“And what reason is that?” Bucky mentally curses himself because if he was being honest, he wasn’t thinking of anything PG. He obviously wouldn’t tell you that, so he went with the next thing he thought of. “You just look good in the reflection of the sunset.” Real Smooth, Bucky.

You honestly weren’t expecting that, especially coming from him. It made you nervous, but you masked that with a soft smile, “Thank you, Bucky.”

Bucky swore he died, then came back to life when you gave him that smile. He gulped his beer to try and seem unaffected. “No problem, Doll…” Could he be more obvious?

You giggle at his reaction.

Your giggling was gonna be the death of him. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the fact that his stomach thought it was a good idea to start doing somersaults. “Uh- You have a pretty laugh.” He mentally slapped himself. Out of all the things he could’ve said. He chose that?

The compliment shocked you, “Thank you…” He nodded and took another drink of his beer, trying to calm himself a little. It was getting increasingly harder the longer he talked to you. “Of course, you should do it more often.” Seriously? Who says that?

“I should…laugh more often?” Bucky cleared his throat once again. He suddenly found it hard to look you in the eye, so he decided staring at the sunset was much easier. “Y-yeah, it suits you. The way it just lights up your face…it’s adorable…or whatever…”

You definitely didn’t see that coming. So naturally, you got flustered and let out a quiet ‘thank you’.

If it weren’t for Bucky’s super senses, he would’ve missed it. He melted at your flustered expression. “Of course…” He couldn’t help himself from thinking about how he wouldn’t mind seeing a different flustered expression on your face entirely. Get it together, Barnes. He took another long drink of his beer and tried to focus on the sunset once again. “So uh… how are things going, other than the whole Flag Smashers fiasco?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” He nodded in response, drumming his fingers against the beer bottle. He found it hard to sit there and have normal small talk with you when what he really wanted to do was kiss you senseless. Stop it, Barnes! Down boy! “What about you?” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, “Other than just trying to keep Sam from getting his face beat in by someone? Nothing out of the ordinary for me either. Guess that’s kind of a good thing, huh?”

You nodded at him, "That's a great thing, besides the Sam part.” Bucky chuckled in response to that. “ Yeah… the Sam part definitely isn’t a great thing. That man couldn’t hold his own in a fight to save his life. I swear he needs me to watch him every two seconds.”

You laughed at his comment, and Bucky’s stomach did somersaults for the millionth time that night when he heard you laugh again. He shook his head, a soft smile on his face. “ You know it’s true, Doll. I’m forever saving him.” You couldn’t help but smile when Bucky smiled, even though it was barely there it was something. “Y’know, if I were to ask Sam, he’d say it’s the other way around.” Bucky scoffed knowingly. “Of course he would! I’m telling you he’d get it handed to him every day if it wasn’t for me. He’s delusional, I tell you. Delusional.” You chuckled, “No doubt about that.”

Bucky nodded in agreement. He couldn’t tell you the amount of times he’s had to dive in and save Sam. “Honestly, it’s a miracle he’s still alive.” “Well, he has the amazing White Wolf there to always save him.” Bucky chuckled at that, shaking his head. “Of course, I’m always at his disposal. White Wolf, of all the nicknames they could’ve saddled me with…”

“It’s cute.” Bucky’s heart started doing somersaults again. “Cute isn’t the word I’d use for that name…” He muttered under his breath, taking another drink of his beer. You shrugged in response, “Well, I like it.”

Bucky’s heart skipped another beat at the fact that you liked the nickname. “You’re the only one who does.” He shook his head again, still trying to act nonchalant about it. Even though his heart was doing cartwheels at the fact that you liked it. Seriously Bucky? Get it together. All reason and common sense seemed to have left him at this point. Why couldn’t he just get his brain to shut up? “You… You actually like that dumb nickname?”

“I don’t think it's dumb.” Bucky raised an eyebrow in suprise, his heart beating a mile a minute in his chest. “You… You don’t?” You shook your head in response. Bucky found himself unable to form words for a moment. Here he was thinking no one liked that nickname-especially not with the way Sam’s made fun of it. “Really? You’re not just messing with me?”

You chuckle at his silly question, “Why would I mess with you Bucky?” Bucky shrugged suddenly feeling very awkward. “…I don’t know. I’m just used to people finding it ridiculous.” He took another gulp of his beer as you took a sip of your wine, “Those people are just lame.”

Bucky couldn’t help the small smile that started to form on his face as he listened to you call the people who disliked his nickname “lame.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” He couldn’t deny the way his heart started fluttering when he glanced at you, trying his best to keep his feelings under control. It didn’t help that you were currently looking at him in adoration with a gentle smile on your face.

“I’m always right.”

———————————

A/N: Does anyone know how to get divider images on here without the background? Each time I try putting one in the background is white

[10ava01]

The rules we break

Bob Floyd x F!reader

MASTERLIST

Summary: It was supposed to be just physical—no feelings, no complications. You and Bob knew the rules, and breaking them wasn’t part of the plan. But secrets have a way of slipping through the cracks, and so do feelings. Now the quiet glances linger too long, the touches mean too much, and pretending it’s nothing is getting harder by the day. Bob’s falling. You’re falling. But you’re also hiding something. And when the truth finally comes out, it might not just break the rules—it might break him.

Tropes: Age gap · Forbidden desire · Addiction · Slow burn yearning · Smut with soft edges

Author’s Note: Top Gun owns a piece of my soul—I’ve watched it more times than I can admit without blushing. And Bob? Bob is everything. I needed to write something messy and soft, just like him. Let me know if you want Part 2.

-

You arrived ahead of time.  

Of fucking course you are.  

You only agreed to come to the party because of the open bar, but you couldn’t tell your dad that. He would be so disappointed if he found out about your so called ‘needs’ and disappointing him would be the last thing you can do. He deserved better and if pretending to be the perfect daughter he raised you to be, then you have to keep forcing yourself to do that. Not only that, but he raised you all by himself when your mother took off. She didn’t glance back or intend to include you. Selfish. That’s the extent of your understanding of her; therefore, as you developed, you aspired to be anything but self-centered. If she wanted nothing to do with you, then so be it. She made her choice, and you made yours, even when it sometimes kills you. Not telling is sometimes better.  

Your dad is a man of military. Order, structure and discipline, and you can’t bear to be seen as a failure, especially with his reputation. You already make yourself feel bad for what you desire, but your only loving parent looking at you in disgust makes you want to burn yourself alive. So you do anything that rescues him that you’re a well-behaved girl. More like women, but in his eyes you’re always going to say the little girl. Only if he knew how much you’ve grown. If only.

But here you are in a mini cocktail dress that shows a little too much skin for your own good. The fabric is cool, smooth and clings to your body just like you want it to be. Every inch of your curve is an on display that makes you feel sexier. The hem brushes mid-thigh, short enough to expose yourself, but long enough to leave little room for imagination. High heels match your outfit and make your legs look longer. Your hair is perfectly styled, which flows with every step you take, and your makeup looks exactly how you wanted it to be. Clean and glowing. And you know you look good. You got the confident part from your father and also the cocky side, which only adds to your charm.  

Apparently, everyone other than your father knows that showing up to the party early is a Disaster. To make the most of it, you go up to the bartender. “What can I get you started with, Miss?” The bartender asks. “Vodka martini,” you say hesitantly. You probably should get something less heavy than a vodka martini, and god knows it’s effective as hell. The only thing in that drink is vodka and dry vermouth, but it’s your go-to drink for the past few years. For the price of it you can get easily tipsy with a few of them, and overall that is the whole point of drinking, right? As the bartender prepares your drink, you look around the beach house.  

It’s large and not only does it look expressive but also is. Jake Seresin bragged about it on one night in the hard deck while you only half listened to him because your system was full of gin and tonic, but apparently you didn’t have any signs of being drunk that Jake gave you the honor to listen to him about his new living investment.  

You must give Hangman credits because he may be an asshole, but his taste is marvelous. The beach house looks out of a lifestyle magazine, all glass walls and clean angels. The salt air clings to everything and reminds you of the ocean. The massive bar caught your eyes when you walked in, and you made it your destination. There are stocks with every kind of liquor you could imagine, and the thought of getting yourself one drink after another makes your heart race with excitement.  

While looking at this place, you can easily imagine yourself living here. All quiet and utterly beautiful and a drink in your hand as you make your way through the jacuzzi. Wearing nothing under your rope. The water on your bare skin relaxes your muscles as you watch the sunset.  

Before you can have any sexual thoughts about how you would like to have sex in the large bedrooms with the wide windows and an open view to the ocean, you are pulled back to reality. Your drink is freshly done.  

The first sip of the cold vodka martini tastes like heaven. You only admire the first few sips because after that you gulp everything down just to order one after another till you start feeling something. It didn’t take you more than five minutes to finish it, and you’re already on your third drink.  

Board of your mind, you text Bobby to see how long it will take for him to be here. At least you would have company while drinking, and there is no harm in being admired by him. You know the shy, sweet and innocent persona he puts on is only a disguise. Underneath all that, there is a man no one knows about but you. “Almost there, lovely, are you not having fun?” You know he is genuinely asking but no one in their right mind should leave you alone near Alcohol, but he doesn’t know, so you cannot blame him for that. “No one is here, and I just want to have a little fun with you,” you probably sound like needy, but what is a girl to do in this situation? There is no answer from Bob which frustrates you more. Is it so hard to text back?  

The drink in your hand is gone. If you go up to the bar and get another one, that will be your fifth or sixth drink by now and surely even the bartender will look suspicious by a twenty-year-old drinking like a frat guy. Truth to be told, you can handle liquor very well and that might be a negative aspect to your situation, but before you can make yourself go and get another drink you feel hands around your waist.  

You know these hands. Your body memorized these hands and the slightest feeling reacts towards them like a firework. You don’t need to turn around to know who these long, vein, smooth- but rough on the edges hands belong to. “Finally you’re here,” you try to sound annoyed but know that when you look at his face any feeling other than admiring, caring feeling of warmth just withers away before it ever fully forms. “I’m sorry, baby, let me make it up to you in any way you want.” You turn around at the sound of that. A smirk forms on your face. It’s only been over a day since you saw Bob in his apartment, covered in sweat and pleasure from the mind-blowing sex you had, but a tiny part of you missed his presence. “Any way I want, huh?” You ask curiosity because once a promise has been made you tend to not forget about it. Bob knows he is in for it. An adorable smile forms his face and nods softly to your teasing. Sometimes you believe that he cannot do anything but admire you, and somehow that makes you feel guilty.  

While you did agree to concentrate on your ‘needs’ only, which means sleeping together. The situation between you is complicated enough since you’re way younger than him and to top that off, your dad aka Maverick is Bob’s mentor. Sure the thought of being caught creeps from time to time in your head but at least you choose Bob and not Hangman or others from the group which would probably make your dad more furious. There is a tiny hope inside of you that he would be approved by Mav, but you’re not near dating and the situation you are in is far from acceptable.  

So there are clear rules to this ‘fuck buddy situation’, no sleepovers, not going on dates, no relationship and no falling in love. A few of these rules have been broken a little over the time. You could scratch the sleepover part because it was more like no sleepover at your house rather than his and technically hanging out in the hard deck can’t be called a date, so you were safe. No strings attached, just how you want it. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself over and over again.  

His hands squeeze your waist softly to pull your attention back to him. Bob notices often that you zone out, and a sad look comes on your face. His eyes wander around your body shamelessly, practically addressing you with his eyes. You don’t know if behind those blue ocean eyes you get lost of yourself are admiration or lust, maybe a little bit of both. “I can’t wait to rip this dress off of you,” he whispers into your ear so casually that if anyone heard him they would probably have to double check if it’s this sweet, innocent Bob talking. You know that man is long gone now. You smirk as you look up at him, obviously you know the moment you put on this so-called ‘dress’ was only to make him feral. “How about you put some action to your words.” You say in a low voice. It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. You know that but the head filled with Alcohol just gives you ideas that will definitely get you two caught. Before Bob can make a sneaky comment about it, no other than your dad walks up to you. 

He immediately puts his hands away from you and a tiny part of you is hurt that it’s so easy to let go of you. Logically, you know why he did it, but you can’t help but feel the aching in your heart. In those moments you try to remember that there is no you and him, no relationship, no romantically involved in emotions running through his veins, no part of him that wants you to be his. You swallow hard. Pushing down your emotions to not let the urge to cry out and beg him to love you, want you, see you, be with you, but you do neither of these.  

“You made it, Bob.” Mav greets him by petting his shoulder. There’s no hint of suspiciousness, no hint of awkwardness, nothing at all. There is no surprise when Bob puts his act back on, as if you weren’t about to take you right here in front of all people. To make you his to show you that you’re the only one that exists in his eyes to show you that every part of you so body and mind belongs to him to make you understand that the need of you is bigger than anything, but none of that is there.  

With every single day, Bob surprises you, and you cannot help but be amused by this situation. If only your dad knew how unreal that act is, and underneath his cover is a man that takes everything like he owns it. Only if he knew. Maybe a part of him owns you as well. 

While they chat, you sneak a champagne glass from the waiter. If you want to make it through this, you need more than champagne or maybe pure vodka will do at some point. “Bob keep an eye on her for me,” your dad says jokingly as you look annoyed at him. Now it’s time for you to act. The tables have turned. You're annoyed at his teasing because you’re not some bratty little girl that needs babysitting, even if your dad shouldn’t let him babysit you from all the people. Mav laughs at your huff and makes his way to Bradly. Thanks to their father son relationship bond, you can enjoy living in your life in secret.  

While looking around, you see no one paying attention to you two, you pull Bobby towards the house. You need some action, and looking at him in a casual button-down outfit fills your head with images that you tend to experience in real life. The blue shirt he is wearing clings to his body perfectly, and you know the perfect abs that are hidden underneath it. Waiting to be touched by you. Bob’s sleeves are rolled up to the arms, with every move his muscles flex, and you want to lick every vein.  Put one finger after another in your mouth and lick them clean, have his fingers inside of you or tease you with little touches. Bob Floyd could do anything to you. His pants hug his slutty waist, you’re mine makes up fantasies where you rub your legs around him and pull him close to you and at the same time make him dive his dick inside of you. This is getting way out of your hand. But you don’t care as the adrenaline flows through your veins and your mind is clouded with dirty thoughts. 

If you don’t get fucked in a matter of seconds, you’re gonna lose your mind, that’s for sure. You pull Bob to the farthest room you can find. No one would be looking for you, and you can moan as loud as you want since the music outside is so loud. Probably Jake's doing you think. Your mind has only one goal, and that is getting your Bain fucked out by this man.  

You lock the door from the inside and look up to him. He is hovering over you, and the desperate look on your face tells him everything he needs to know. You want him, and it needs to be rough and dirty. 

Within seconds, he puts his mouth onto yours. Nothing about this is romantic, and you both know it. He pushes your body to the door and deepens the kiss. All tongue and teeth.  Devouring you like a starved man.  

His large hands sneak onto your waist as you moan into his mouth. He takes this chance and pushes his tongue. Tongues dancing for dominance.  

Bob is a very good kisser and with your experience you know it. The hungry kiss turns into a full make out scene. You pull him by his collar as if you can’t have even the tiniest space between you two. You need him. Not only that, but you need every part of him. You need him like you need air.  

He pulls away from you to take a breath. You feel his warm breath on your face, and he looks stunning lips swollen cheeks burning, desperate look on his face, all in all the look is your guilty pleasure.  

You’re both heavy on breath. He kisses you again from the corner of your mouth down to your neck. Biting, nipping and leaving little bruises as a reminder. It doesn’t take him long to find your sweet spot. He knows you from the inside and out. He took his sweet time over the past months to get to know you, and he would call himself an expert by now. Bob knows where to touch you to get a shaky breath out of you, where to kiss you to make you feel breathless, how to look at you to make you feel seen and how to treat you just the way you deserve.  

You moan as he sucks on your neck. Attacking your soft spot. The love bites make you permanently his. And his only. “B-Bobby pleasee,” you try to form a sentence but your thoughts are mushed by him. His scent, his hands, his body, his mouth. All you can fell is him. “Tell me what you want, sweet girl,” he demands, and he still nips at your neck. “Fuck, please please fuck me sir,” you blurt out anything that comes to your mind. “Hmm, you want my cock inside of you, honey?” You know that he teases you, but you cannot help but nod dumbly at him.  

You know that you sound desperate, but you don’t care as long as he gives you mind-blowing orgasms. You are willing to beg for him. “P-please I-i ugh please Bobby I need you.” He didn’t even touch you, and you turned into a mess, but the Alcohol in your system is making you more desperate than usual.  

“Alight my sweet girl.” He pulls away from your neck to lay you down on the bed. His gaze in burning your skin and lustful eyes of his tell you that he wants you as much as you want him. The difference is that you need this. The sex. Him as well but getting fucked out more. But that’s a topic you don’t want to think about right now. Not while having the time of your life.  

Bobby presses a little kiss on the corner of your mouth before he starts to take your shoes off. One foot after the other. Bob leaves trails of kisses on your tights and his hands wander to your dress. You gulp in excitement, but he flips you over to your stomach.  

You’re weightless to him, and he almost treats you like a rag doll. You feel him unzipping your dress slowly to a point that it pains you that he is taking his sweet time while you’re suffering. “STOP squirming, or I will leave you like this.” You know he means it. The use of harsh tone makes you stay still. Your dress falls off your body so easily, and you look behind to see what’s going to happen next.  

Your patience is running out, but you cannot do anything but wait. “Ass up baby,” he says in a deep raspy tone as you command. Ass up and face down. Probably one of your favorite positions and Bob knows how much you enjoy it.  

The noise of his belt picks up your heart rate. This isn’t your first time, obviously, but every time it feels like that.  

You see that he is fully dressed while you are laying naked, in front of him. Bare and ready to be taken however he pleases. You feel like a present of his that he gets to unwrap and can play with.  

Bobby pulls his pants and underwear down but not completely off and pumps his dick a few times in his hands. His eyes are on you. “I’m begging you pleaseee just fuck m-.” You are cut off by him pushing his dick inside of you. Your eyes roll back. He does not stop to give you time to adjust. Manhandling by pumping his dick into you. Hard.  

The room fills with the sound of skin slapping, grunts, means and hard breaths.  

You moan at the feeling of being full. All you can feel is him. Every vein, length, thickness.  

There is a guarantee that your waist will get bruised by the tight grip he has on you.  

“T-thank fuck, thank you, ahh.” Bob only thrust faster as the sound of your fucked up voice. * thrust * “can” *thrust* “you” *thrust* “feel” *thrust* “my” *thrust* “cock” *thrust* “inside” *thrust* “your stomach baby?” 

 Every thrust is so forceful that at this point you don’t even know your name. You weakly node. Mind blurred out. A hand sneaks around your neck and pulls you hard towards his body. “I asked you a question, brat,” he tightens his hand around your neck.  

He doesn’t stop abusing his dick inside of you. “Ye-yess lieutenant.” He groans. You know it drives him insane when you call him that’s especially in bed.  

As a reward, he puts his other hand to your clit and makes a figure eight motion. “Hmm fuck fu-uck yes, yes pleasee don’t sto-op,” you whisper.  

The pleasure is building up, and you’re about to burst. He doesn’t stop him, only speeds up his peace and puts sloppy kisses on your jaw. 

You know he’s almost there as you are not far away from cum so hard. “SIR, I-I NEED TO CUM,” you scream in overstimulation. “Need huh angel?”  

You can’t hold it any longer, and your moans are only getting louder with every figure eight on your clit and the sloppy thrust. “Cum for me, baby.” With that, you let go. Your insides are burning and the pleasure that had built up has finally been released.  

With a low groan and few thrusts, he cums inside of you. A chill goes down your neck as you feel his warm breath.  

You’re both out of breath, and Bob slowly pulls out of you as you collapse into the bed. Your limbs are numb. Your heart is beating so fast. 

 Bob puts his pants on as you lay down. The adrenaline that had formed inside of you is finally gone now. Your energy is gone.  

This is exactly what you needed, and he provided you exactly what you asked for. You close your eyes for a second, enjoying the peace that comes after sex. At least with Bob, there is calm and quiet after your daily routines. You’re so glad he isn’t one of those guys that feel the need to say something after sex. It annoys you to death.  

You hear footsteps and moving, and you don’t even need to open your eyes to know that after-care is essential to him. Maybe not for most guys, but Bob isn’t one of them.  

He cleans you up with a soft rug so gentle that you can already imagine what it would be like being with him. Sharing a life. The simplest tasks could become the easiest. There would be nothing like your parents’ relationship, but you cannot let yourself think that way. There are situations where after sleeping together you get yourself home just so you can lie down and feel empty, broken and helpless. You cry yourself to sleep because of huge reasons you cannot have him. Not romantically, not as a friend, not even as a partner. You do this to yourself over and over again. While it’s convenient for a time. But the illusion wears off, and you build yourself up over and over again. Sure, it can be easy if you only tell him about it. But every time you try to bring yourself to do that, you just stop.  

“Do you wane go back downstairs?” His soft voice pulls you out of your depressive thoughts. You open your eyes to see him staring down at you with those puppy dog eyes. You feel him stare at your face, almost admiring you in the most innocent way possible. Only if he knew that your face is a disguise for the odd habits, and desires you have. Just like they say, ‘the devil makes itself look beautiful to decide humans’. You’re sure he could accept you the way you are. You know it.  

“Yeah, sure before they notice we’re gone too long,” you say jokingly, the meaning behind your words are far from it. You know it and he knows it. “Y/N you know that not I mean.” oh sweet Bob. He believes in good, even though there’s a dark part inside of them. So you smile softly up at him. Kiss his mouth softly. Just a light touch nothing more, nothing less. It shows him you understand what he means.

Ever the gentleman he is, he helps you put on your dress. Put your shoes onto your feet and kisses the soft part of your inner thigh. He admires you from the kneeling position. You look like a goddess to him. A beautiful creature that is destined for more. Your eternal beauty takes the breath away every time he looks like you. With the simplest look on your face, you take his breath away. Quite literally. Your mouth on his makes him drunk on you. No liquor could do that for him, but you do to him. The feeling of your touch on a skin awakens a part of himself that he never lets anyone see. The sound of your angelic voice could wake him from a coma. He is certain of it. Clearly he’s in love with you and anyone can see that by looking at his face.  

Everyone might be blinded by your beauty to see that you hold back yourself. That you don’t let anyone come near you. And Bob desperately wants to know why that is. Why do you pull away from him? Why do you run off after sleeping with him? Why do you hide yourself? Why can’t you face the fact that he loves you? Just why?

[maddie-dog-story-blog]

The Birthday - 8

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Given everything that had transpired over the last few days, I shouldn't have been surprised by the sight that greeted me in the kitchen. However, despite everything, I still was.

As I waddled behind Melody, still dressed in the abhorrently sexy blue nightie and matching lingerie she woke up in, and entered the dining room, I couldn't help but grimace at the sight. Beside our normal dining room set up, a large, adult-sized high chair was looming in the middle of the room.

"Mommy," I lisped out in frustration and terror, "Pwease, no!"

Melody turned and glared at me as she pulled the tray off of the chair, revealing the white wooden seat underneath as well as the ankle and wrist restraints attached to it.

"You didn't just say, 'No,' to Mommy, did you baby boy?" She crooned with a warning tone. "Maybe I should just take away your ability to use that word at all?"

I felt my bladder release involuntarily at the thought of my wife using her new-found power to remove my ability to even voice the word, 'No.'

"Mommy, no… I mean… Pwease… I'll be good!"

The smile my wife threw me as I pathetically acquiesced to her threats caused me to shuffle submissively on my bare feet. What was I becoming, that I could so easily be cowed by her. Was I really just the male version of the pathetic little diaper girls from my stories?

Before I could ruminate on that thought longer, the sound of flesh on wood snapped my consciousness back into the real world.

"Come here, baby boy! Climb on up your highchair! Mommy's got all sorts of num-nums to feed you this morning!" Melody slapped the seat of the chair, urging me to comply with her command.

Without a word, I waddled over to the childish throne and little Melody help me up. As I climbed into the seat, she took the opportunity to squeeze the soaked padding between my legs.

"Maybe I should have bought you thicker diapers? Hm… I wonder how you'd look in two? You seem to love making those poor little things in your stories wear padding so thick that they can't walk. I know that my itty-bitty little hubby would absolutely love that!"

I felt my face turn bright red at my wife's words. The thought of wearing even thicker diapers overwhelming me. But, I didn't say anything to contradict her. I wasn't going to risk losing my ability to refuse her so near to when the threat had been made.

"But, first things first! Let's get my hungry little man fed!"

Melody strapped my wrists and ankles into the surprisingly comfortable cuffs before sliding the highchair's tray back into place. I pulled against the restraints slightly, testing their strength, only to confirm what I already knew: I was well and truly stuck.

"Sweet pea, I know it's your birthday weekend. And I know you love a big, yummy breakfast. But, it's been more than 24-hours since you made a stinky."

I nearly died inside as I watched my drop dead gorgeous wife sashay into the kitchen as she discussed my bowel movements (or lack there of) like I was an infant. I felt my manhood grow in my soggy pants, betraying the dignity I was so desperately trying to cling to.

"So, unfortunately, instead of the tasty pancakes and bacon, I was going to make you, Mommy's got to make you something that'll help get the poo-poo express moving instead."

I whimper in response, hating the fact I can't use my hands to hide my face from the embarrassment of my situation.

"Luckily for you, I have just the thing."

I watched nervously from my perch, suckling my paci, as Melody got to work making my breakfast. From my vantage point, I couldn't see much until she turned around.

I almost spit out my paci as I stared at what was in her hand. A gigantic bowl of oatmeal topped with prunes, a large spoon, and a bottle full of a purple liquid that could only be prune juice.

I wiggled futilely in my seat as she approached.

Yes, I had wet myself. I had nursed on her tit. I had even debased myself in my sleep in front of her. But, I wouldn't--I couldn't--bring myself to shit in a diaper just for her own, petty amusement. However, with the terror that filled my body at just the thought of a toilet and knowledge of what that meal would do to my guts, I couldn't see how I was escaping this.

So, I did the next best thing I could--well, at least the next best thing that came to my mind at the time. Really, it was the only thing I could think to do. I threw what was, in retrospect, a tantrum.

"No, no, no, no, no! Please, Mommy, please! No! I'll be good! I'll be good! Don't make me eat that! I don't want to poop my pants! I'm not a baby!"

My words flowed from me in a rush as I shook desperately in my seat. Melody shook her head.

"What did Mommy say about telling her no? Such a naughty baby. Mommy says you don't know how to use that naughty word anymore!"

My brain and tongue felt like it shorted out as I tried to continue my cries.

"N… Nnnn… NnNnNnNNn… Mommy… Nnnnn! Not a baby!" Spit dribbled from my lips rather than the end of the word I was suddenly unable to say.

In my highchair, drool dribbling down my chin, babbling like an infant, while throwing a tantrum in a soggy diaper, I couldn't believe my own words. Tears started to stream down my face as I let my body go slack against my restraints.

Melody gently caressed the side of my face soothingly as she set the bowl and bottle down in front of me.

"Hush, baby, it's not so bad being Mommy's good boy. You'll see. Now, let's get you fed."

Defeated, I put up little resistance to my wife when she began to feed me the disgusting mix of fiber and fruit from the bowl in front of me. I opened my mouth and ate spoonful after spoonful of the messy concoction, Melody teasing me the whole time and making sure to insure my face and chest were as messy as possible by making me miss the spoon and overfilling my mouth with the mush.

"Such a messy eater! Look at you! I wonder how long it'll be until your little tushy is as messy as your face?"

I closed my eyes and tried to pretend I was anywhere else when, as if in answer to my wife's question, a cramp rocked my stomach, causing me to bend over in my seat.

"Mommy," I chirped out pathetically, "please, nnnnn…"

Tears ran down my face anew as I realized I physically couldn't say no and emotionally couldn't bring myself to ask to use the toilet. I was fucked.

"What, baby?" She responded with a knowing smirk, "Are you thirsty? Here, drink your baba!"

She shoved the nipple of the bottle in my mouth, shutting down my pathetic protests. And I moaned as another cramp hit me.

I didn't want to drink. My stomach suddenly felt too full to take any more. I looked up at Melody with big, pathetic eyes, blushing again as I thought about just how adult and sexy she must look compared to how disgusting and little I felt.

"Mommy says drink."

That's all it took. Reflectively, I began to suckle the sweet juice. I drank so quickly, the prune juice started to dribble down my cheek, joining the remains of the oatmeal.

At the same time, the cramps in my stomach intensified, becoming unbearable. My tears increased as I realized I had no choice. I was going to shit myself for the first time as an adult.

With an audible grunt and a squint of my eyes, I gave in. A torrent of warm, sticky mess exploded from my ass, filling the already soggy diaper. The sticky mess, squishing around my ass, made it feel like I was sitting on a pile of warm playdough. The knowledge of what it was, caused me to get a little, but, despite my disgust, I couldn't stop suckling.

"That's my good boy, making Mommy a big, stinky present!"

The bottle between my lips finally emptied, leaving me sucking air as Melody took it from me.

"Don't you just look like the most pathetic little thing! Why don't I take a picture commemorating this moment!"

She crooned, stepping back and taking out her phone.

"Mommy says smile! Mommy says say, 'Stinky Diapers!'"

Involuntarily, I could feel a huge, stupid grin cross my face. Staring right at the camera, with an embarassingly cheery tone, I yelled, "Stinky Diapers," as my wife took a picture of me in my humiliating state.

She walked back over me, phone in hand, and showed me the photo of myself. I almost felt like my brain broke in that moment.

The person staring back at me with the big stupid grin on his face couldn't be me. His face and chest were covered in oatmeal and juice like a messy toddler. He was strapped into a highchair like an infant. And the white diaper between his legs? It was tinted a suspicious shade of brown and yellow.

Worst of all though, he appeared to be enjoying all of it.

However, as much as I wanted to deny that was me, staring back from the phone, I couldn't.

You can't make someone do something they don't want to with hypnosis.

The phrase ran throw my mind, and I visibly shuddered.

"Let's get my baby boy cleaned up! Mommy's got one more big birthday surprise for you this weekend!" Melody's voice cut through the din of my thoughts.

I nearly wet myself again, horrified to see what new terrors she had in store for me.

[fr4ctvredm1nd]

Seeing Ghosts

Tags: transmasc reader, sexting, denial, scent, bloodied aftercare, slight littlespace

You and Ghost have been dating for a few years. Most recently, Ghost had been summoned on a mission that was taking longer than it should. You grew anxious and couldn't help but wear his shirts and sleep with one of his spare masks clutched to your chest. One night in particular, the anxiety turned into longing. Longing for his touch, and his cock.

You lay in your shared bed, staring at his empty side of the bed and an empty mask lying on his pillow. For some reason, your mind kept going back to the night he left. He had taken you on pretty much every surface in the house. Left your neck bruised and lips swollen. Your body ached for days after and you were sated for a while.

Your mind kept wandering back to the feeling of his fingertips dancing across your skin, barely touching it so it elicited goosebumps with every stroke of his finger. The look in his eyes screamed devotion to you, and you alone, but also held an insatiable hunger for you and your body. He had kissed every inch of your body, praising and telling you how handsome you were.

Absentmindedly, your fingers began that same trail he did all those weeks ago. Your body shuddered in response and arousal flooded to your core. You pulled his mask on and inhaled deeply. His scent was intoxicating, a mixture of amber whiskey, gun smoke, and his natural musk. Your hand wandered lower on your body, your fingers gliding just underneath the hem of your boxers. His shirt swamped your figure, but you didn't care, it was his.

You rolled onto your back as your hand slipped under and a finger grazed your swollen baby cock. It was already slick and boiling, no surprise there. You drew slow circles around your sensitive bud as your free hand reached for your phone. You shot a text to Ghost.

"Thinking of you. Are you safe?"

An almost immediate response from him followed. It took you off guard. Usually he didn't respond for hours due to his duties, it took you a minute to register the tone coming from your phone. Your hand paused for a moment as you read the text.

"Ay, lovie. Just made it to a safe house. I'll be free for a little bit. Was thinking of you, too."

A smile made its way to your lips as your fingers resumed their ministrations. The lazy and slow circles made soft sighs escape your mouth, coupled with his scent assaulting your nose. You risked a quick plunge into your far too tight hole he loved too much. Your finger went in with little resistance. You're slick had made it like a damn water slide.

"I miss you. Really bad."

You responded with a gasp leaving your lips as your finger pushed in and back out again. Your finger tip circled your clit once more as you waited for his reply. Your eyes drifted closed as you remembered how he had done the exact thing to you. His scent and the vivid memory almost made you cum right then and there.

"I miss you too, Lovie. I really miss you."

The tone of his second "i miss you" suggested something else. You pulled your hand from your shorts and pushed them down, tossing them to the floor to allow yourself to spread wider. Your hand immediately found its way to your swollen cock once more and stroked it softly. It was so sensitive at this point it was nearly painful and it pulled a groan from your lips, causing your voice to crack.

"I'm wearing your shirt."

You responded, your finger diving back into your molten core and curling up to stroke your g-spot. You groaned and cursed under your breath. You were a needy puddle right now and you desperately wanted him to fill you up, it felt far too empty without his cock. You pulled your hand from your cunt and pulled his shirt back down before taking a picture and sending it.

"Bloody hell. You're not wearing anything else, are you? You miss me that much, or is it just my cock you miss?"

You smirked at his response, knowing that photo had made him just as needy as you were. You pressed your finger inside once again, this time adding another. You let out a gutteral moan as you contemplated your response. You were far too needy to lie.

"I miss your cock more than you right now. My fingers aren't enough. I need you."

You huffed out as you pumped your fingers in and out. You felt your orgasm rise but just as quickly fell back down. It was getting frustrating at this point, painful even.

"Straight to the point. I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel the same. Miss that tight cunt of yours and your baby cock too."

His response caused butterflies to erupt in your stomach. He always knew how to push your buttons, even from far away. Your fingers moved faster now, pumping in and out furiously, chasing your orgasm. Your thumb even joined in, rubbing against your swollen cock with every pump.

"I wish you were home right now. I can't take it anymore."

Almost on cue, instead of a text response. Your bedroom door opened and there he stood. What he didn't tell you was that he was on his way home, but there he stood. The sudden intrusion made you jump to cover yourself, yanking your fingers from your core.

"I-its not what it looks like!"

You stammered out, remembering you were wearing his mask still. He was stripping away his gear, discarding it on the floor as he walked towards you. His boxers were the last to fall as he climbed on top of you, instantly taking one of your sensitive nipples into his mouth. He grunted at how hard they were for him. He nipped before he pulled away.

"That's a shame cause it looks like to me, it's exactly what I was looking for."

You went to pull his mask off but his much stronger one grasped your wrist tightly and pinned it above your head. His eyes locked with yours as he grabbed your other hand and brought it to his still clothed mouth. He slipped your fingers under his mask and his hot tongue lapped and swirled around your fingers, licking them clean of your slick. He separated your legs and pressed his cock against your folds.

His eyes remained on yours as he coated himself in your fluids. He brought your hand up to match the other pinned above your head as he pressed his tip into your entrance. It was far too easy for him to slip in entirely. The sheer fullness you felt was enough to drag his name from your lips.

"Call me Ghost."

He growled out, bottoming out inside you. A shudder crashed through your body as you realized what he had in store. He only referred to himself as Ghost when he would go hard, no limits. He pulled back before slamming into you again, ripping a moan mixed with a sob from your throat.

"Say it."

He demanded, slamming into you again. His strokes are far too slow for what you need right now, but far too hard to take with your sensitivity. He slammed into you again, his grip on your wrists tightening as his eyes darkened with sadistic pleasure.

"G-ghost!"

You managed out in between sobs and panted moans. A visible switch flipped in his eyes as his strokes grew faster. Your legs hung limp in the air as his force alone rocked the bed. He released his grip on your wrist for a moment, pulling your legs to his shoulders and pinning them there with his body as his grip returned to your wrists.

This new position drove him deeper. He was already slamming against your cervix, but now it was pushed through the tight tunnel. You screamed out in pain as he continued, his eyes never leaving your face even as you screwed your eyes shut. He continued his brutal thrusts staring intensely, making sure to watch for any signs he needed to stop.

Seeing none, he quickened his pace. The pain began to subside, what was once beyond painful was a new sense of pleasure. It still felt painful, but you could focus on his movement through it. Your pained screams became gutteral moans mixed with calling out his name, echoing through the house. His grunts and the creaking of the bed created a symphony of lust.

You shuddered as an orgasm ripped through your body, making his thrusts painful once more. Your walls clenched tightly around him like a vice grip. You gasped as all the air was stripped from your chest and your body tensed entirely. He kept his pace for a moment longer until he buried himself in you entirely, spilling his release into your cavernous center.

He released his grip on your arms and let your legs fall at his sides. He eased himself out of you, his arms planted on the bed beside your head before he rolled off of you and pulled you into his chest. Through your hazy vision and swimming head, you noticed his now flaccid dick was covered in crimson. This cleared your head enough to elicit a gasp and a sluggish sit up.

"Si, I'm bleeding..."

You looked down and noticed your thighs were covered as well. He grunted and sat up, his nerves on high alert as he tore his balaclava off to get a better view. He calmly lifted you off the bed and carried you to the bathroom, sitting you on the lip of the bathtub. He ran a warm bath, while he wiped your legs down with a washcloth. He shushed you softly as he worked.

He eased you into the bath and cleaned himself off with a fresh washcloth. He watched intently as you sank into the bath. Once you were settled, he changed the bedding and got a warm towel ready. He climbed in with you once he was satisfied that the bleeding had stopped.

"Seems I went a bit too rough with you tonight, lovie."

He whispered in your ear as he pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around your chest.

"You did so well for me, little prince. Rest now. Let daddy take care of you."

[sxnshinebowz]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚"I can wait, As long as it takes.“🥀˚:

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Banner made by @surfknow 💕

pairings: BadBoy/Troublemaker-hyunjin x Daddygirl/religious-FemReader.

Warning: Swearing?(not really tho..), Suggestive dialogue, Soft!DomHyun! VirginReader?. Not full smut. not extensively tagging in order to preserve the whole reason of a story.

Authors Note: First fic i've written this year. Writers block had me in a headlock (not that I mind being in headlocks) Recommended song: Blind Eyes Red by MINNIE (for the sake of the tention yk)

Word count: 2,569 words!

Y/n: “You shouldn’t have come. You can’t be-”

Hyunjin: “So? What’s your dad gonna do?” he interrupted, climbing through your window.

Your heart raced as you watched him gracefully hop down into your from the windowsill, his dark eyes gleaming with a hint of defiance. You knew that look all too well. it was the same one he had when he’d convinced you to sneak out of the house for the first time, the same one that had led you both into countless late-night adventures and near-misses with trouble. But this was different. you had a boy in your room, your father would flip out if he ever found out about this.

Hyunjin sauntered over to the bed, a cocky smirk playing on his lips as he plopped down on the fluffy, white comforter. His black hoodie and ripped jeans starkly contrasted with the room's soft decor, making it feel like a scene from a rebellious teen movie. You couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and anxiety as he surveyed the space, his eyes lingering on the frilly pillows and the collection of teddy bears neatly arranged at the head of the bed.

"You still sleep with those?" he teased, reaching out to poke at the nearest bear.

The light from the moon streamed in through the window, casting a silver glow over the room. It was a stark contrast to the warm, yellow light that usually filled the space. The shadows played across Hyunjin's face, highlighting his sharp features. His eyes went back to you, resting on your thin nightgown that barely covered your legs. You felt a flush rise to your cheeks as he took in the sight of you, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than it should have.

"Hyunjin," you whispered, "you can't just show up here like this."

He leaned back, his hands behind his head, stretching out on the bed. "Why not?"

You sat on the bed, pulling the comforter closer to your chest, subtly covering yourself. "You know why. What if my dad hears you?"

Hyunjin's smirk grew wider. "It's not like I've never been here before."

The words hung in the air, a reminder of the countless nights he had snuck into your room in the past, bringing with him a taste of freedom that had always seemed just out of reach in the confines of your strict household. But this time, it felt like there was something else behind this visit.

"What do you want?" you asked, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

Hyunjin's expression grew serious, his eyes locking onto yours. "You've been avoiding me."

You felt your stomach clench. It was true. Since you had both started dating, you had been pulling away from your him, afraid your father would find out.

"I just…it's complicated," you finally managed to say, your voice small.

Hyunjin sat up, his expression softening. He reached out and took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Look, I know your dad's not exactly thrilled about me being around. But you can't just push me away because of him."

You sighed, looking down at your intertwined fingers. "It's not just him. I don't want to lose you, if he finds out…"

Hyunjin's thumb traced small circles on the back of your hand, the touch soothing. "We'll figure it out" he said, his voice a quiet promise.

He leaned in closer, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. Before you could say anything more, Hyunjin's lips pressed against yours, the warmth of his breath mixing with the coolness of the night air. His kiss was soft and gentle, but it sent a jolt of electricity through your body, reminding you of all the reasons you had fallen for him in the first place. It was as if he could feel your fears and hesitations, and he was trying to chase them away with the sweetness of his touch.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you found yourself leaning into the kiss, allowing the familiar feeling of his arms around you to wash over you like a comforting wave. His hand moved from yours to the small of your back, pulling you closer. The fabric of his hoodie brushed against your bare skin of your arms, sending goosebumps along them.

As the kiss deepened, you could feel the tension in your body slowly dissipate. You had missed this, missed him. The way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered. The way his touch could silence the million thoughts racing through your mind.

But before reality could begin to creep back in, he slowly laid your back into the bed, his body hovering over yours. The plush mattress enveloped you, and the cool fabric of your comforter sent a shiver down your spine as it grazed your skin.

Hyunjin's hand slid from your back to your neck, gently cradling your head as he deepened the kiss. His other hand trailed down the curve of your side, the lightest of touches leaving a trail of fire behind it. Your breaths grew shallower, and you felt your heart pounding in your chest like a drum.

You knew you should stop this, knew the potential consequences if your father caught you, but the warmth of Hyunjin's embrace was like a sedative, making you feel safe and loved in a way you hadn't felt. You had been so caught up in the fear of discovery that you hadn't realized how much you craved his closeness, how much you had missed the way he made you feel alive.

As his hand moved higher up your thigh, the fabric of your nightgown riding up, you clenched your thighs together involuntarily.

Hyunjin paused for a moment, his hand resting on the soft skin of your leg He looked into your eyes, questioningly, as if asking for permission to go further. You bit your lower lip, the throb in your core growing stronger. The silence between you was deafening, filled only with the sound of your heart beating and the occasional rustle of the leaves outside.

"It's okay," he whispered against your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "I've got you."

You nodded, the weight of your fears momentarily lifted by his comforting words. He kissed you again, his hands moving with a gentle urgency that sent a thrill through your veins. Each touch, each kiss felt like a declaration, a promise that he was here, that you weren't alone in this.

As your hands roamed under his hoodie, feeling the firmness of his back and the warmth of his skin, he began to whisper sweet nothings in your ear. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice a soothing melody that sent shivers down your spine. "You're mine, and I'll always protect you."

You felt yourself relaxing, your body responding to his gentle coaxing. His words were a balm to your soul, easing the ache of loneliness that had been growing since you had started hiding your relationship from your father. With Hyunjin, you felt seen, heard, and cherished.

Hyunjin's lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of tender kisses that sent your pulse racing. His hands moved with care, exploring the curves of your body with a reverence that made you feel like the most precious thing in the world. His touch was a silent reassurance that no matter what happened, he would be there for you.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured, his voice a gentle rumble against your skin. His fingers danced along the hem of your nightgown, hinting at the desire to explore further.

You took a deep, shaky breath and nodded. "I trust you.." you whispered, more to yourself then him.

Hyunjin's eyes searched yours, looking for any signs of doubt. Finding none, he leaned back down to kiss you again, his movements deliberate and tender. He knew this was new territory for you, and he didn't want to rush you. He had always been the one to take the lead in your adventures, but this was different. This was something that required patience, something that required his complete and utter respect.

As his hand slid up your thigh again, you felt your body respond with an anticipation that was both thrilling and terrifying. His touch was featherlight, as if he could feel the tremble in your muscles, the racing of your heart. He took his time, kissing you deeply, letting you set the pace as his thumb grazed the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

You could feel your resolve wavering, the heat pooling in your lower stomach begging for more. You parted your legs slightly, the fabric of your nightgown sliding up as Hyunjin's hand followed, tracing the curve of your thigh. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of hesitation. You swallowed hard, nodding slightly, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a knowing smile.

His touch grew bolder, his fingertips brushing against your panties. A soft gasp escaped your lips, and he took it as an invitation to press his thumb against the fabric, feeling the dampness that had gathered there. The fabric was a thin barrier between his hand and your need, and you could feel the heat of his skin even through the material.

He whispered, his voice thick with desire. "Do you want me to keep going?"

You nodded, unable to form words as his thumb began to make slow, deliberate circles, teasing the sensitive skin beneath your underwear. He was so attentive, so focused on giving you pleasure that you felt your body begin to unravel. The tension coiled tight in your stomach started to spread, a warm, pulsing ache that grew with every stroke of his thumb

He leaned down to kiss you again, his tongue delving into your mouth as his hand continued to work magic between your legs. His other hand slipped up to cup your breast, his thumb flicking over the peak of your nipple. You arched into his touch, your breathing becoming ragged. Hyunjin was a master at reading your silent cues, and he knew you were ready for more.

"Do you want me to go harder?" he asked, his voice a gruff whisper against your ear. "I'll give you whatever you need, just tell me."

You nodded, "Please.." Biting down on your lower lip to keep from crying out too loudly. His touch grew stronger, more insistent, as he worked your clit with a firm pressure that had your toes curling into the bed. The feeling was overwhelming, a delicious mix of pleasure and pain that made your body quiver with need.

Hyunjin's eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of distress. Seeing only passion, he leaned down to kiss you harder, his tongue dancing with yours as his hand continued to move between your legs. The sensation was intense, and you found yourself moaning into his mouth when he kissed you, your nails digging into his shoulders. He groaned in response, his own arousal evident in the way he pushed against you, his erection pressing through the fabric of his jeans.

But he remained focused on you, his touch gentle even as he increased the pressure. He whispered sweet nothings in your ear, reassuring you that he would stop if you needed him to. His words were a gentle reminder that you were in control, that this was about your pleasure, not just his. It was a stark contrast to the aggressive persona he had cultivated over the years, but it was one that you had always known was there, hidden beneath the layers of rebellion and bravado.

Your breath coming in pants as you whispered, "i want this so bad…"

Hyunjin's eyes lit up with a fierce hunger, but he kept his promise, his touch remaining gentle and measured. He kissed you harder, his tongue exploring your mouth as if he could taste your desire. His hand moved to your other thigh, lifting it slightly to give him better access. His thumb circled your clit in a slow, steady rhythm that had you writhing against him, desperately seeking more.

He whispered in your ear, "You're so wet, so beautiful… all you need to do is tell me when you're ready." His words were a gentle command that made your stomach flip with excitement. You could feel the tension building, each stroke of his thumb pushing you closer to the edge. You clung to him, your body trembling as you approached climax.

As you reached the peak, he slowed down, his touch featherlight, not wanting to overwhelm you. His eyes searched yours, looking for the final sign. your breath hitching in your throat, and with that, he began to move his thumb in quick, firm circles, the pressure just right.

"Hyunjin," you gasped, your voice shaking. The room was spinning, the pleasure building so high you thought you might shatter.

"Shhh, baby. That's it," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through your entire body. "Let go, I've got you."

And with that, you did. Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, your body convulsing in his arms as he held you through it all. The world outside your bedroom faded away, leaving only the two of you in the warm cocoon of your love.

As the aftershocks of pleasure subsided, you felt his hand slow, his touch gentle and soothing. He kissed your forehead, his warmth enveloping you like a blanket. "Are you okay?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice.

You nodded, your eyes still closed, a soft smile playing on your lips. "More than okay," you murmured. You had never felt so cherished, so desired.

He leaned back, his eyes still on you, watching the way the moonlight painted your skin. "I've wanted to do that for so long," he said, his voice filled with wonder. "To make you feel good, to be the one to make you come."

You opened your eyes to find him looking down at you, his gaze filled with a mix of lust and admiration that made your cheeks flush an even deeper shade of red at the sight of his erection. "I can wait," he murmured, his thumb still tracing lazy circles on your skin. "As long as it takes."

You nodded, feeling the warmth of his body pressing into yours. His words were a gentle reminder of his patience, his willingness to go slow even when the fire between you burned hotter than ever. "Thank you," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hyunjin leaned down to kiss you again, his lips soft and tender as they brushed against yours. His hand slid out from under your nightgown, the absence of his touch leaving a trail of longing in its wake. "We'll take it slow," he promised. "As slow as you want."

He laid beside you, his arm draped over your waist, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your skin. His eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of discomfort or regret. But all he found was a soft smile, one that grew wider as his hand slid up to cup your cheek. "You're so gorgeous," he whispered, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had escaped your lashes.

Constructive criticism Is welcome.��

Thank you for your time.💕

[tumbling-through-deepspace]

Respite

This one is a bit heavy. Mentions of DV, panic attack, helplessness. Some experiences should never happen. Unfortunately, life can be a bitch.

Zayne to the rescue. Mention of Sylus, Luke and Kieran.

Genre: hurt/comfort, angst.

Image: link

The sound of static was loud even though they were the only one that could hear it.

The room felt suffocating, lackluster, and humid, making it hard to breathe.

Where did the brightness of the room go? Everything was vibrant moments ago.

They've experienced this before, more times than they could count. It never ended well; hyperventilation, spotted vision, and that sharp pain to the chest where the heart lay, pumping away like it's running a marathon.

This was an unwelcomed and hated experience. It left them feeling angry, vulnerable, and a shell of themselves.

Gods! All they wanted was to curl up into a corner and detach. It's hurts so much. The memories that won't stop flashing, that won't go away; that creeps up at unsuspecting times. They hated the memories above anything else and the person associated with them.

The memories are a reminder of how broken they are, how alone it can be, and the painful truth that cruelty can come at the hands of someone you hold dear.

Sometimes, she just wanted to die.

This was how Zayne found her a few minutes later. He had stepped out to retrieve a package, which took longer than intended because the mail carrier wanted his medical opinion about something.

He never expected to return to Bree having an episode. There were broken pieces of glass at her feet from the cup she had her pomegranate juice, trembling hands gripping her clothing.

The heaving breathing and unblinking gaze; the scares and haunted look in her eyes as she stared at the television.

Something she saw triggered her. He needed to bring her back from whatever headspace she was in.

Approaching carefully, Zayne lowered the volume of the TV before blocking its view from her.

He spoke in a soft, clear tone, "Bree. It's me, Zayne. You're currently in Linkon, at my home for the weekend. You're safe. We were talking a few minutes ago before I had to step out for a package. I'm back now. You're not alone... Lyssa and Sylus are coming over later for dinner. The twins are picking up Bon-bon from the play center in a few hours."

He could see she was slowly coming out of her headspace.

"Listen to my voice. Nothing is going to hurt you, not while I'm around... breathe in and out for me... good, just like that."

This carried on for a while until Bree recognized her surroundings. She let out a shaky breath as she swayed slightly.

Zayne had to catch her as her knees buckled. The grip she had on his shirt was strong as she buried her face in it and sobbed.

Being mindful of the glass, he relocated them to the couch, sitting down and carefully placing her on his lap.

He continued to softly provide words of safety while rubbing his thumbs on her trembling hands.

"S--rry"

"Shh. Don't apologize."

"I keep seeing him... the TV... trigger... the knife... feeling helpless... I almost couldn't get away."

"Don't force yourself to tell me. What's important now is that you're safe. I've got you, im not going anywhere."

She buried her face further in his shirt. "I'm scared that one day he'll find me."

"Shh. You're not alone anymore, Bree. Lean on me... you don't have to do this by yourself."

He didn't know how long they sat there, but it was of little concern. Zayne could feel her finally starting to relax.The tension in her shoulders slowly left. The weight of her body resting more against his.

Bree could hear Zayne's heartbeat against her ear, acting as a lullaby as she felt her eyes close from exhaustion.

"I broke your cup."

Zayne gave a light chuckle. "I can get it replaced."

"I've got tears and snot on your shirt."

"I'll be fine, and so will the shirt. You should get some rest. Doctor's orders."

"Stay with me, Zayne?"

"Always," He whispered as she dozed off.

[squid-de]

DRACULA, THE COUNT — "I'm shivering different. This shit ain't nothing to me, man. I'm a black hound. I'm licking my wounds in the grass. We smoking opportunistic microorganisms. Smoking that Roustame Diodore south Advesperascit page-three girl deluxe cryptozoological protoplasmic kush. We smoking Col Do Ma Ma Daqua. I'm on twelve Pyrholidons, smoking on phasmatodean dick. We smoking that Boogie Street boogers? We snorting that good Franconigerian cavalry jibbies. They must have retrograde amnesia, they forgot that I'm *Raphaël Ambrosius Costeau*. That Pox pack hittin' that pussy smell, like a Coupris Kineema. We smoking shit in apricot faïence, blowing Her Innocence's bubbles. I'm sick in the head. I'm on them Coal City tic-tacs. I'm on them Yekokataa apple nibblers. I'm on them Tioumoutiri geronimos. I left my prybar in the lorry, I'll have to can-open them next time. I don't give a fuck if I go hobo. I don't need to see the hostel bill anyway. We s-- ...I'm high on twelve Dick Mullens looking to beat the viscous goo out of a fresh Puta peone. We smoking spirit bombs, you stupid piece of shit! I'll fucking eat your mind! Call that pussy the Coalition Government, 'cause I'm in this bitch, and I *can't get out*. Last guy who ran off on the precinct got choked out by some Fairweather T-500 gauntlets. The last thing he ever saw was the kinetic redistributors on them. Slowly faded into the pale, and I let the Angel of History take him. I need some Boogie Street boogers! Don't be shy girl, *I want to have fuck with you*. I'm shivering like Arno van Eyck. Bwee?! Welcome to the Apricot Suzerainty, bitch, open up! Guillaume le Million, I suck his cocaine out of another man's eyeballs. My hetero-sexual life partner a speedfreak, he look like Guillaume Bevy. You ain't seen ten centims in your life, bino! Reach for my wrist and you'll get turned into a Game Over. Y'all gotta stop playing with me, man. I threw the Filippian crown jewels at Le Petit Rat catacombs under Corpus Mundi. I have built 0.000% of Communism. This shit ain't *nothing* to me, man. Tied the SKULLS to the back of a motor carriage and dragged 'em around Rue de Saint Ghislaine for twenty-four hours. Motherfucker! Looked like a pinball goat after we was done with him. SKULLS wanted some initiative, blew up their entire tenement. I'm shivering like Franconegro. She drop that ass on me from an internally coherent angle, they thought I was Kras Mazov. Top-shelf pilsner, disrupted my infra-materialism. I have seen the March decree, I have seen *le Retour*. I was Jamrock shuffling for the Perikarnassian before you all even became an isola. This shit ain't nothing to me, you stupid piece of shit. Drive the Motorway South and you will *dither*. That pussy feel like Samaran butter. You think I care about this shit? Ask me if I care about this shit, 'cause I don't give a shit. If I had a reál for every time they said I gave a shit, I'd be broke, 'cause I don't give a shit. My ex-something look like Dolores Dei. I grooved so hard they thought I was Ostentatious Orchestrations. This shit ain't *nothing* to me, man, I'll pale-bomb you, you stupid piece of shit!"

[romidoes]

“...how many more days again?” And for once, that’s a really easy one. No need for brain cells here. “None.” Change of plans. “Comin’ home in the mornin’.” Mickey laughs, and it’s music to his ears.  “Yeah, you fuckin’ are…” inspired by kinktober 2022 by @whatthebodygraspsnot chapter 2

leave it to me to focus on the 'romantic' bit in a fic focused on sex. i've been reading and re-reading this one so much and kept thinking of their eventual dramatic reunion which led me to draw them hugging. the reference comes from the same paparazzi shot as this other drawingi made. thought it would be cool to mention

[skullfragments]

soooo i've been real busy this past month and change working on this monster of a painting! it was originally for the GO Ref library study club but clearly took much longer than i anticipated😅

for those of you who don't recognize it, this is based on one of my favorite historical paintings, Judith Beheading Holofernes (1620) by Artemisia Gentileschi. i love the Baroque period and this painting (as well as her other works) makes me insane. here it is Good Omens style so maybe all of you can be insane with me <3

"Aziraphale (and Crowley) Beheading the Metatron"

(non-bloody and non-glowy versions under the cut)

[weirdglassthing]

Probably all of the thirteen beers at the local cheese drawings I’ll do but these two are so funnnnn

[cerealforkart]

Guess who played up to the end of the forest temple and once again lost the battle of not making a new AU last night?

Lark’s existence complicates some things in a lot of fun interesting ways let me cook on this one

I still haven’t cast a Zelda, this AU is all about Sparrow with a wolf curse, anything else is secondary

[activatebutterflyshield]

Drew up a new ref for Prelude to Abbadon as I revisit my endless pile of abandoned characters

It gets real teef now, and will probably end up with more eyes somewhere

[a-finnish-janitor]

Really like how he actually changes his voice for those couple of lines in this narration.