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goldfades · 1 month ago

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in her younger days, they called her delta dawn; prettiest woman you ever laid eyes on

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 8.7k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | (requested: Paige Bueckers x Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader reader since she might be going to the Wings) when paige is drafted to the dallas wings, she knows her life is about to change, but she doesn’t expect you. as a dallas cowboys cheerleader with your own set of rules and boundaries, the last thing you need is a distraction—especially not in the form of the star wnba player who seems to turn every gaze in the room. but as the season progresses and paths cross under the texan sun, paige's world of fast breaks and buzzer-beaters collides with yours, leaving neither of you the same.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | fluff! paige teasing the hell out of reader, description of homophobia, the dcc being sweet(? whoa), one mention of man flirting w reader (EUGHHH), nothing else!

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | here's 8k of a tease!paige fic for yall... i hope yall forgive me for the last 3 soulcrushing fics 🫶🏼😘

You’ve always said you’d never date an athlete.

It’s a rule born of practicality, not bitterness. Athletes move fast—on the court, on the field, and in life. Your job as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader already demands a fine balance of composure and charm. The last thing you need is the whirlwind of someone else’s high-stakes career bleeding into your own meticulously crafted routine.

But tonight, standing under the hazy glow of the American Airlines Center lights, that rule wavers.

You’re here for one of those PR crossover events—a meet-and-greet between the Dallas Wings and the Cowboys organization, complete with forced smiles and photo ops. It’s the kind of gig you’ve done a hundred times, one where you’re used to being admired at arm’s length by players who rarely look past the sparkle of your uniform. You’re used to their lingering glances, their empty flirtations, and their assumption that you’ll fall in line with the rest of their carefully constructed narrative.

Paige Bueckers doesn’t look at you like that.

You notice her the moment she walks in, an air of effortless confidence preceding her like a tidal wave. She’s all sharp cheekbones and easy laughter, blending seamlessly into the room while somehow standing apart. Her presence feels unintentional, like she didn’t mean to be so magnetic but couldn’t help it anyway.

You try not to stare, but when her eyes catch yours—crystal-clear and curious—you know you’ve already lost.

"You're with the cheerleaders, right?" she asks, her voice low enough to feel like a secret, despite the bustling crowd around you. There’s no pretense in her tone, no undercurrent of ego or assumption. It’s disarming, the way she asks like she’s genuinely interested, not just making small talk.

"That’s right," you reply, lifting your chin with practiced ease. "And you’re with the Wings."

Her smile tilts, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like you’re the only two people in the room. "Guess that makes us teammates now. Sort of."

You tell yourself it’s just a conversation. Just an introduction. But deep down, you already know—it’s the kind of beginning that doesn’t let you walk away unchanged.

The noise of the event fades into the background, dulled to a steady hum that makes it easier to focus on Paige’s voice—and the way she leans just slightly toward you, as if shielding the moment from the room around you.

“Teammates, huh?” you reply, arching a brow and forcing a practiced indifference into your voice. “I don’t know if standing in the same room counts as teamwork.”

She chuckles, low and warm. “Guess we’ll have to work on our chemistry, then.”

It’s a simple remark, delivered with the kind of ease that shouldn’t make your cheeks feel warm. But it does, and the sensation creeps up faster than you can stop it. You glance to the side, pretending to check on one of your teammates who’s caught in a conversation with a reporter, but the smirk on Paige’s face tells you she’s already noticed.

“You’re blushing,” she says, not bothering to hide her amusement.

“No, I’m not.” You shoot back quickly, the denial sharper than you intend. You straighten your posture, willing the heat in your face to cool. “It’s warm in here. Lights and all.”

“Sure,” Paige says, drawing the word out like she doesn’t believe you for a second. Her grin widens, and she takes a slow sip of her water, somehow managing to make even that look like a calculated move.

You cross your arms, trying to steady yourself. “Do you always do this?”

“Do what?”

“Flirt with strangers at PR events.”

Paige lets out a soft laugh, her head tilting slightly as she considers your words. “Only the ones who pretend not to notice.”

The nerve of her. You fight the urge to look directly at her, keeping your gaze focused on the crowd instead. “I’m not pretending anything.”

“Right. And you’re also not blushing.” She leans in just enough for her voice to lower, her next words meant only for you. “But you are.”

Your resolve cracks slightly, enough for a small, involuntary laugh to escape. You quickly recover, shaking your head as you fix her with a look that you hope reads unimpressed—but the way Paige’s smirk deepens makes you think you’re failing miserably.

“You seem awfully confident for someone who just got here,” you say, trying to steer the conversation back into safer waters.

Paige shrugs, her shoulders moving in an easy rhythm that matches the cadence of her voice. “I’m just observant. And, you know, good at reading plays.”

“Plays?”

“Yeah,” she says, her grin turning almost playful now. “Like how you keep crossing your arms when you talk to me. Defense mechanism.”

You uncross your arms immediately, regretting the move the second her smirk shifts into something closer to triumph.

“See?” she teases. “I was right.”

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, though the words come out more like a laugh.

“And yet,” Paige says, leaning back just enough to give you a moment’s reprieve, “you’re still talking to me.”

She’s not wrong, but you don’t let yourself linger on that thought. Instead, you square your shoulders, offering her a saccharine smile that feels like a small victory. “Maybe I’m just being polite.”

“Maybe,” she agrees, though her tone suggests she doesn’t believe that either.

Before you can respond, one of your teammates waves you over, motioning for you to join the rest of the group as the event shifts into its next stage. You give Paige a tight nod, as if to signal that the conversation is over, and turn to walk away.

“Hey,” she calls after you, her voice cutting through the din like it’s meant just for you.

You glance back, already halfway across the room.

“See you around, teammate.”

It’s casual, almost lazy, the way she says it. But the spark in her eyes as she meets your gaze makes it feel anything but.

You don’t reply. Instead, you turn back toward your teammates, heart pounding against your ribs in a way that you’re certain Paige Bueckers has no right to cause.

The next day dawns like any other—a pale sliver of sunlight spilling through the blinds, the soft hum of your alarm shaking you from sleep. Your phone buzzes with a notification as you swipe to silence the alarm: a practice reminder from the squad captain, a half-hour earlier than usual.

You groan quietly, already feeling the weight of the day settle onto your shoulders. Between your nine-to-five at the PR firm and cheer practice, your days rarely allow room for indulgence, let alone distractions.

Except today, there’s a distraction.

She flits through your mind the way sunbeams catch on the windshield during your drive to work—brief but impossible to ignore. Paige’s teasing smile, the easy way she leaned toward you as if she had all the time in the world to figure you out. You shake your head as you merge onto the freeway, cranking up the music to drown out the thought.

You’re good at focus. You have to be.

By the time you clock in, you’ve managed to push Paige into the back of your mind, hidden behind the mountain of emails that demand your attention. Meetings stretch into the afternoon, punctuated by a working lunch where you barely taste your food. Coworkers buzz about the latest office gossip, but you’re laser-focused on the client presentation you’ve been perfecting for weeks.

The hours blur together, and when you glance at the clock, it’s already 4:45. Just enough time to dart home, change into your uniform, and make it to practice.

The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader practice facility is a world unto itself—bright, sterile, and unforgiving. The walls echo with sharp counts, the squeak of sneakers on polished floors, and the biting critique of your coaches.

“Sharper arms, everyone! This isn’t a yoga class!”

You’ve been here long enough to tune out the tone and focus on the instruction, but it doesn’t mean the sting doesn’t hit when it’s directed at you. “You’re late on the second count, [Y/N]! Fix it, or you’re doing it alone!”

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply automatically, forcing the strain out of your voice. You adjust your footing, throw yourself into the next routine, and pretend you don’t feel your muscles screaming in protest.

Cheerleading at this level is a game of precision and endurance. Perfection isn’t just the expectation—it’s the bare minimum. Your coach’s voice drills into your head like a metronome, keeping you in line as sweat drips down your back.

And yet, even as you push through the routine for the third, fourth, and fifth time, Paige creeps back into your thoughts.

Her smirk, her voice, the way her laugh felt like a secret just for you. You bite your lip, snapping yourself back to the present. Distractions like this could cost you—your spot, your reputation, everything you’ve worked for.

“Alright, that’s enough for today,” the coach finally calls, her sharp tone softening just enough to feel like a reprieve. “Clean up the routine and be ready to run it full-out tomorrow. Dismissed.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and head toward the lockers, shoulders heavy with exhaustion.

“You’re quiet today,” your teammate Dana says as she falls into step beside you.

“I’m always quiet,” you reply, but she shakes her head.

“Not like this. What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” She smirks knowingly, bumping your shoulder with hers. “I saw you talking to Paige Bueckers last night.”

Your heart skips, but you keep your expression neutral. “It was nothing. Just small talk.”

“Oh, really?” Dana drawls, clearly not buying it. “She looked pretty interested for it to be just ‘small talk.’”

“She’s friendly. That’s all.” You tug open your locker, keeping your voice steady, but the blush creeping up your neck betrays you.

Dana’s grin widens. “Uh-huh. Friendly. Right.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “What do you want me to say? She was just being nice.”

“Sure. And you weren’t blushing at all.”

“I wasn’t,” you mutter, brushing past her, but Dana catches your arm, spinning you around just enough to read your face.

“You totally were,” she says, laughing. “I knew it. You’ve got a thing for her.”

“I don’t,” you insist, though the words feel flimsy even to you.

Dana studies you for a moment, her grin softening into something more thoughtful. “Hey, for what it’s worth, I think you should go for it.”

“Go for what?”

“Her. Paige. She seems cool, and you...” She pauses, shrugging. “You deserve to let someone in for once.”

You open your mouth to argue, to insist that you’re too busy, that it’s not practical, that Paige is just a passing thought. But the words don’t come. Instead, you nod absently, murmuring a quick, “See you tomorrow,” before heading out into the cool evening air.

As you drive home, Paige’s voice lingers in your mind, weaving through the cracks of your carefully constructed resolve. You don’t want to admit it—not to Dana, not to yourself—but something about her feels different.

And no matter how hard you try to focus on the road, the echo of her teasing smile keeps pulling you back.

Paige’s day started like most others: early alarms, cold showers, and an endless loop of drills designed to sharpen her skills to a razor’s edge. Practice with the team wasn’t just a routine—it was a second language, something she could move through on instinct alone.

But today, instinct wasn’t enough to keep her mind from wandering.

She tried to focus on the sound of sneakers squeaking on the court, the coach’s whistle cutting through the air, and the weight of the ball in her hands. Still, her thoughts kept drifting—back to the sharpness in your voice, the way your eyes flitted everywhere but her when she leaned in, and that faint blush you tried so hard to hide.

“Paige!”

The sharp call of her name jolted her out of her thoughts, and she turned just in time to see Aariyah toss her the ball. She caught it, but not without a stumble.

“Yo, where’s your head at today?” Aariyah asked, crossing her arms as Paige dribbled toward her.

“Nowhere,” Paige lied, attempting a casual shrug. She passed the ball back, forcing herself to stay in the present.

Her teammates weren’t convinced. Throughout the rest of practice, they kept stealing glances her way, whispering to each other when they thought she wasn’t looking. Paige pretended not to notice, but she could feel the weight of their curiosity as the session dragged on.

By the time practice ended, her nerves were frayed. She slung her bag over her shoulder and followed her team into the locker room, the sound of banter and laughter filling the space.

“So,” Aariyah started, leaning against a row of lockers. “What’s up? You’ve been weird all day.”

“Nothing,” Paige said, but Aariyah raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“It’s not nothing,” Nyla chimed in, pulling her hoodie over her head. “You’ve been distracted since last night. What happened at that PR thing?”

Paige hesitated, debating whether to say anything at all. But the memory of your blush, your quick-witted deflections, and the way you seemed both intrigued and guarded all at once—it was enough to push her over the edge.

“Alright,” she admitted, leaning against the lockers. “There was this cheerleader there.”

“Ohhh, a cheerleader,” Nyla said, grinning. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“She’s… interesting,” Paige said, her voice casual but her mind racing. “What’s her deal?”

“She who?” Aariyah asked, curiosity piqued.

“I don’t know her name,” Paige admitted, running a hand through her hair. “She was there last night. Tall, sharp eyes, kind of guarded. You know her?”

Nyla’s expression shifted slightly, like she was putting pieces together. “You mean [Y/N]?”

“Yeah. That’s her.”

Aariyah let out a low whistle. “You’ve got your sights set on [Y/N]? Good luck with that.”

Paige frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She’s… complicated,” Nyla said, choosing her words carefully. “She’s been with the team for a while, but she’s always kind of kept to herself. No one’s ever seen her with anyone. Ever.”

“Like, dating?” Paige asked, intrigued.

“Yeah,” Aariyah said. “As far as we know, she’s single. Always has been. And, uh… probably straight.”

Paige tilted her head, unconvinced. “You don’t know that.”

“Come on, Bueckers,” Nyla said, rolling her eyes. “Just because you’re into her doesn’t mean she’s into you. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Paige shrugged, though the flicker of doubt in her chest was quickly overruled by something stronger. “Maybe you’re wrong. My gay-dar’s never failed me.”

Aariyah snorted. “Your gay-dar is not a superpower, Paige.”

“Feels like it sometimes,” Paige said with a grin, though her mind was already wandering back to you—your sharp tongue, your quick wit, and the way you seemed to light up just a little when you thought no one was looking.

She couldn’t explain it, but something about you felt… different.

“Alright,” Aariyah said, shaking her head. “You do you. But don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

Paige just smiled, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she headed for the door. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, guys.”

As she stepped out into the cool afternoon air, she felt a spark of determination settle in her chest. You might’ve been guarded, but Paige wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.

And something told her that getting to know you would be worth the effort.

The energy inside AT&T Stadium was electric, a sea of navy and silver filling the stands as the Dallas Cowboys prepared to kick off their first game of the season. The buzz of excitement was contagious, spreading through the crowd and spilling onto the field where you stood, stretching and loosening up with your team in preparation for the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders' first performance of the year.

Your routine was set to "Thunderstruck"—an intense, crowd-pumping track that had been drilled into your muscles and memory over countless rehearsals. The choreography was sharp, demanding, and thrilling, and as the minutes ticked down to showtime, you could feel the adrenaline beginning to build.

Stretching your hamstrings, you focused on controlling your breath, locking in. This was your ritual—shut out the noise, shut out the crowd, shut out everything except the beat and the moves.

But then you saw her.

Paige Bueckers, dressed casually yet effortlessly stylish, strolling into the VIP section with a small entourage. Her golden hair caught the stadium lights just so, and her signature self-assured smirk tugged at the corners of her lips as she scanned the crowd.

Your focus cracked, just a little, as her gaze passed over the field. You could’ve sworn she lingered on you for half a second longer than necessary, though it was probably your imagination.

“Oh, look who it is,” one of your teammates teased, nudging you playfully. “Miss Basketball’s here to watch you.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, trying to refocus.

“Someone’s blushing,” another teammate chimed in with a grin.

“I’m not blushing,” you shot back, but the warmth spreading across your face betrayed you.

“Alright, ladies,” your coach barked, clapping her hands. “Let’s lock in. Showtime in five!”

You nodded, shaking off the distraction as you straightened up. This wasn’t your first time performing on such a massive stage, but tonight felt bigger somehow. Maybe it was the buzz of the first game or the fact that Paige Bueckers was now seated comfortably in the VIP section, her eyes occasionally flicking toward the field.

You couldn’t afford to think about that. Not now.

When it was time to step onto the field, the roar of the crowd hit you like a wave. The drumline started, the booming bass syncing with your heartbeat as you marched into position with your squad. Your eyes locked forward, face set with a determined smile.

As the opening riff of "Thunderstruck" blared through the speakers, the adrenaline hit you full force. Every move was sharp, every beat perfectly timed. The routine was fast and furious, filled with high kicks, sharp turns, and intricate formations designed to wow the crowd.

You didn’t just dance; you performed. You poured everything into every move, channeling weeks of hard work, sweat, and discipline into the routine.

For a moment, you forgot about Paige entirely. You forgot about the teasing, the crowd, and even the VIP section. It was just you and the music, your body moving instinctively with every beat, every accent.

And when the final pose hit—arms stretched high as the crowd erupted into cheers—you felt a rush of pride. You’d nailed it.

As you walked off the field, your teammates high-fived and cheered, hyping each other up. “You killed it out there,” one of them said, slinging an arm around your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you replied with a small smile, glancing toward the VIP section despite yourself.

Paige was still there, leaning back in her seat, clapping along with the rest of the crowd. But unlike the rest, her gaze wasn’t on the team—it was on you.

The Cowboys had won, and with victory came celebration—a tradition as ingrained in the culture as the game itself. Even if it was meant to be a “lowkey” night, the so-called party still overflowed with boisterous laughter, the bass of music vibrating through the room, and the steady clink of glasses.

You stood in the corner of the dimly lit lounge, nursing a sparkling water. The oversized, lavish venue was packed with players, cheerleaders, and a smattering of VIPs. It was a mandatory-unspoken-rule sort of thing; showing face after a win was just part of the job. That didn’t mean you enjoyed it.

The football players were the worst of it. Sure, most of them were decent enough, but there were always a handful of rookies and cocky veterans who treated the cheerleaders like part of their post-game spoils. Your smile was polished and your patience saintly, but the constant attention grated on your nerves.

Tonight was no different. A rookie wide receiver with a too-white smile and a swagger far outpacing his résumé sidled up to you as if you’d been waiting your entire life for this moment.

“Hey,” he drawled, leaning in too close. The smell of his cologne—something aggressively woody—made your nose twitch. “You look incredible tonight.”

“Thank you,” you replied politely, sipping your drink and taking a half-step back.

He didn’t notice, or he chose not to. “So, what’s a girl like you doing standing all alone at a party like this?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “Just enjoying the night.”

He took that as an invitation to lean closer, his grin widening. “Well, maybe you need someone to enjoy it with. How about I—”

The hand on your arm made your skin crawl.

You turned, polite facade dropping as you said firmly, “Back off.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, his grin faltering but still holding onto a thread of misplaced confidence. “Don’t be like that. I’m just being friendly.”

“I said, back off,” you repeated, stepping out of his reach.

“Hey, no need to get all uptight—”

“Is there a problem here?”

The voice sliced through the noise, cool and edged with steel. You turned your head, and there she was. Paige Bueckers, hands tucked casually into the pockets of her jeans, exuding an aura of calm dominance that was impossible to ignore.

“Who the hell are you?” the rookie asked, puffing up slightly, his bravado clashing with her unbothered demeanor.

“Doesn’t matter,” Paige said, her eyes narrowing. “What matters is she told you to back off. Twice.”

The rookie opened his mouth to retort, but Paige cut him off, her voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “I suggest you listen, or I’ll be happy to explain it louder.”

The rookie hesitated, looking between you and Paige before finally muttering something under his breath and slinking away into the crowd.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Paige smirked, her hands still in her pockets as she leaned casually against the bar beside you. “Yeah, I did. Looked like you were about to throw a drink in his face.”

You snorted, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Would’ve been satisfying.”

“Bet it would’ve,” Paige replied, her grin widening. “But then you’d have to deal with the PR fallout. Figured I’d save you the trouble.”

“Chivalrous,” you teased, trying to hide the fact that your cheeks were burning.

Paige tilted her head, her grin softening into something quieter, more genuine. “You alright?”

The question caught you off guard. You nodded, still holding her gaze. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

“Anytime.” She glanced at the drink in your hand, then back at you. “So, are you always the life of the party, or is tonight a special occasion?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “Definitely a special occasion.”

Paige’s smile deepened, her gaze lingering just long enough to make your heart race. “Well, in that case, consider me honored to witness it.”

Paige stayed by your side after the rookie incident, the two of you easing into a conversation that felt refreshingly unforced. For the first time that evening, you didn’t feel the need to wear the polished, ever-smiling Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader mask. You didn’t have to calculate every word, every laugh, every polite sidestep.

It surprised you how quickly you relaxed around Paige. Her humor was sharp but warm, and the way she listened made you feel... seen. The kind of seen that wasn’t about the uniform or the role you played. She wasn’t looking at the cheerleader. She was looking at you.

“You seem different,” Paige said at one point, leaning on the bar beside you, her fingers tracing the edge of a napkin.

You quirked an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Different? Is that your way of saying I’m weird?”

She laughed, her head tipping back slightly. “Not what I meant. You’re... real. It’s nice.”

That comment stuck with you, warming you from the inside. You weren’t used to people looking past the glossy, larger-than-life image you were expected to maintain.

As the conversation flowed, you found yourself craving something sweet and light to cut through the night. You turned to the bartender. “Can I get a Shirley Temple, please?”

Paige’s eyes lit up. “No way. That’s my favorite.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Really?”

“Swear on it.” She held up two fingers in a mock scout’s honor pose. “No judgment, but it’s kind of perfect. Sweet, nostalgic, doesn’t try too hard. Exactly my vibe.”

You smirked, shaking your head as the bartender slid the drink over. “Didn’t peg you for the Shirley Temple type.”

“What can I say? I’m full of surprises,” she said, flashing a grin that made your stomach flip.

By the time the party began winding down, the room thinning out, you realized just how much you’d enjoyed yourself. You weren’t even sure when the usual edge of tension had melted away, replaced by a lightness that felt foreign yet welcome.

Paige cleared her throat, her hands slipping into her jean pockets. “Hey, um... before you go.”

You looked up at her, noticing a slight shift in her demeanor. She wasn’t the effortlessly confident star athlete now. There was something endearingly hesitant about the way she scratched the back of her neck.

“Can I, uh, get your number?” she asked, her voice dropping just a fraction, as if saying it too loud might scare you off.

You tilted your head, lips curving into a teasing smile. “You? Nervous?”

She chuckled, the faintest hint of pink coloring her cheeks. “Is it working?”

With a laugh, you pulled your phone out and handed it over. Paige entered her number quickly, double-checking it before passing it back. “Don’t leave me hanging, alright? Text me sometime.”

You nodded, feeling a strange flutter in your chest as her fingers brushed yours during the exchange.

As you turned to leave, you glanced back and caught Paige walking toward her teammates. She glanced over her shoulder at you, a cocky smirk spreading across her face as she mouthed, “Told you so.”

One of her teammates groaned and swatted at her shoulder, while another rolled their eyes, clearly unimpressed with Paige’s triumphant swagger.

You shook your head, grinning despite yourself. Somehow, you had a feeling this was going to get interesting.

A few weeks had passed since that night at the party, and in the time since, Paige had somehow woven her way into the fabric of your life in ways you hadn’t expected. It wasn’t anything dramatic, nothing earth-shattering. But you couldn’t deny it: she had become part of your routine.

Despite the whirlwind of your schedule—DCC practices, games, and the usual duties that came with being in the spotlight—the texts from Paige came often, little moments of respite during your otherwise hectic days. Sometimes it was a simple check-in: “How’s practice?” or “How’s the Shirley Temple holding up today?” Sometimes it was just something random, like a meme or a quote that had made her think of you. Every time you saw her name pop up, your heart did that little flip again, that same flutter that had been there since the first night you met.

The dates were simple and casual, which was just how you liked it. A quiet dinner, a walk in the park, the occasional movie, and for the first time in a long time, you could just be yourself. You weren’t the cheerleader. You were just you. No performance. No expectations.

You thought you had the balance down, figuring out how to make it work despite the craziness of both of your lives. Paige was patient, always understanding when you had to cancel last minute or cut the night short. She didn’t pressure you. And, for once, you didn’t feel like you had to live up to an image for anyone, especially her.

It surprised you how easy it was to be with her. You hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected her—but Paige was like a steady rhythm in the cacophony of your life. You found yourself looking forward to her texts, the way she’d always send a good luck message before your performances or a stupid meme to make you laugh on a rough day.

You didn’t mean to, but Paige was quickly becoming part of your routine.

But then came the photograph.

You hadn’t noticed the photographer—probably a fan at the café where you and Paige had been sitting, sipping iced coffee and laughing about some story she was telling. You only found out when the photo popped up on social media, your notifications blowing up with tags and mentions.

The picture was innocent enough: Paige leaning back in her chair, mid-laugh, while you rested your chin in your hand, looking at her like she was the funniest person alive. It was candid and warm, the kind of photo that screamed chemistry.

The next thing you knew, the photo of the two of you smiling, laughing, and holding hands was all over social media. The caption? "Paige Bueckers and the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader: New Couple Alert!"

You didn’t think it was that big of a deal at first. After all, both of you were public figures in your own rights, and being seen together wasn’t exactly a crime. But as the hours passed, the post went viral. Comments flooded in. Some were supportive, some not so much. And as the days went on, you started seeing more articles and posts about the two of you, your names being linked in headlines everywhere.

It felt like a dream at first—something light, playful. But then reality sank in.

The next morning, as you walked into the DCC practice facility, you could feel the weight of it. You hadn’t even spoken to your coach yet, but you could tell. She was watching you as you walked in, her gaze sharp, calculating.

Coach Anderson didn’t waste any time. After practice, she called you into her office, her expression hardening as soon as the door clicked shut behind you.

“Close the door, please.”

You did as instructed, your heart beginning to race as you tried to brace for whatever was coming.

“Listen,” she started, her tone measured but firm, “you’re one of our best, and I don’t want this to come off as harsh. But... the photo. It’s everywhere. And it’s not great for the team’s image.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Not great?”

She leaned forward, her elbows on the desk. “You know how this works. The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders represent a certain... ideal. We have an image to maintain, and this? People are already making assumptions. It’s distracting.”

The knot in your stomach tightened, anger starting to bubble beneath the surface. “What assumptions?” you asked, your voice steady but edged.

She hesitated. “You know what I mean. People are speculating. And it’s not... on-brand.”

You stared at her, disbelief mingling with frustration. This was exactly what you’d feared—the constant balancing act of being what everyone expected you to be. But as much as you hated confrontation, something inside you refused to back down this time.

“I’m not straight,” you said, the words clear and unwavering.

Your coach froze, clearly not expecting you to address it so directly.

“And I’m not going to pretend to be,” you added, leaning forward slightly. “I’ve given everything to this team. I’ve worked my ass off to be here, to be the best. My personal life doesn’t change that.”

She blinked, visibly stunned. You’d always been a “yes, ma’am” kind of girl—polite, compliant, eager to please. But now, your voice was steady and your gaze unyielding.

“This.” She sighed, gesturing vaguely, her lips curling into a tight line. “The public—our fans—they have an image of you. And this”—she motioned to the photos on her phone—“does not fit that image. You’re part of the Dallas Cowboys brand now, and I need you to understand that.”

You felt your stomach drop. You knew where this was going. This wasn’t just about the photos. It was about the implications.

“You’re a cheerleader, and you’re expected to maintain a certain image. You can’t just… throw that away because of a relationship,” Coach Anderson continued, her voice harder now, almost condescending. “This is about professionalism. Your image. Do you understand?”

You stared at her for a moment, feeling the familiar, suffocating weight of expectations pressing in on you. For a second, you almost nodded, almost let yourself fall back into that mold of obedience, that role you were supposed to play.

But then, you remembered something. You remembered what Paige had told you about being real, about not pretending. You remembered the feeling of being yourself in her presence.

And suddenly, you couldn’t stay silent any longer.

“No,” you said, the word sharper than you intended. Your heart was pounding now, but there was no going back. “I don’t think I do understand.”

Coach Anderson blinked, clearly taken aback by your tone. You took a step forward, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not going to pretend. Not for the team, not for anyone. If you think I’m going to sit here and fake being something I’m not for the sake of image, you’re wrong.”

Her eyes widened slightly, clearly shocked by your response. You were the quiet, obedient one. The one who never rocked the boat. The one who followed orders. To see you—to hear you—talk back like this was completely foreign to her.

“You’re talking about who I am,” you continued, your voice gaining strength. “And I’m not going to apologize for it. I’m not straight, Coach. I don’t owe you, or anyone else, an explanation for who I’m dating. If this”—you pointed at the photos again—“is a problem, then I guess I’ll have to deal with that.”

Coach Anderson stared at you, open-mouthed, for a moment, as if processing what you had just said. She blinked a few times, her face hardening into a tight, inscrutable mask. You could feel the weight of her gaze on you, assessing, perhaps judging, but you didn’t flinch.

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader. You felt like you.

Finally, she spoke, her voice cold. “I never thought I’d hear those words from you. You’ve always been… so compliant.”

“Well, not anymore,” you said firmly, not backing down. “I’m not going to play by your rules if they’re going to make me pretend to be something I’m not. I’m sorry if that’s a problem, but that’s who I am.”

The silence that followed was heavy, your coach’s face unreadable as she regarded you. For a moment, you wondered if you’d gone too far, if you’d just tanked your entire career with a few sentences.

But then she sighed, rubbing her temples. “Just... keep it low-key, alright? We can’t afford unnecessary drama.”

You nodded once, standing. “I always do.”

And when you left her office, you felt lighter than you had in ages, like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. The familiar tension that had always been there when you wore that uniform was gone.

You weren’t just a cheerleader anymore. You were you.

The soft glow of the TV illuminated the room as you curled into the plush couch, a blanket thrown lazily over both your legs. Paige sat at the other end, her legs stretched out, socked feet occasionally brushing against yours. Some random movie was playing, one neither of you had really been paying attention to. The kind that served as background noise more than entertainment. It had been a long day, and this—just sitting together, the world quiet—was exactly what you needed.

You hadn't mentioned the conversation with your coach earlier. It wasn’t worth souring the moment, and besides, the heaviness from earlier had already lifted, replaced by the comfort of Paige’s presence. She had a way of making everything else feel smaller, less significant, like her calm confidence could shield you from anything outside these four walls.

She reached for the bowl of popcorn sitting between you, tossing a piece in the air and catching it expertly in her mouth. She smirked, satisfied, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at her playful display.

“Show-off,” you teased, nudging her foot with yours.

“What can I say?” she replied, her grin wide and unabashed. “Natural talent.”

The movie’s dialogue droned on in the background, but Paige muted it with a flick of the remote, letting the quiet settle over you. She shifted slightly, resting her head against the arm of the couch, and looked over at you with a soft expression that made your chest feel warm.

“You know,” she began, her voice casual but carrying that undertone of something deeper, “when I was a kid, I used to think being good at basketball was enough. Like, if I could just be the best, everything else would fall into place.” She laughed softly, a self-deprecating sound. “Turns out, it’s a little more complicated than that.”

You tilted your head, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I guess… I started realizing that it’s not just about being good. It’s about how people see the game. Women’s basketball doesn’t get the respect it deserves, you know? I want to change that. I want little girls to grow up seeing us on TV, in the spotlight, and thinking, I want to do that too. Not as some second-tier option, but as the dream.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment, and you felt your heart do that stupid fluttering thing again. There was something so earnest, so fiercely passionate in the way she spoke, like the sheer force of her determination could bend the world to her will. You could see it—the little girl Paige, dribbling a ball on some driveway somewhere, dreaming of being a trailblazer, not just a player.

“That’s…” you started, struggling to find the right words. “That’s incredible. You’re incredible.”

Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she smiled, brushing it off with a wave of her hand. “It’s just a dream.”

“Yeah, but you’re living it,” you insisted. “You’re out there, doing exactly what you said. You’re making it happen.”

She looked at you for a moment, her smile softening into something more vulnerable. “Thanks,” she murmured, her voice quieter now. “That means a lot.”

The conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence, and after a moment, Paige nudged you with her foot. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Your dream,” she clarified. “What was it? Little you, running around in pigtails or whatever, what did she want to do?”

You laughed, leaning back into the couch cushions as you thought about it. “I always loved dancing. I think I was four when I begged my mom to put me in ballet classes. I was obsessed. And when I got older, it wasn’t just about the dancing anymore—it was about the performing, you know? The way it felt to be on stage, like for those few minutes, nothing else mattered.”

Paige listened intently, her gaze fixed on you in that way that made you feel like the most important person in the world.

“The DCC gave me a place to do that,” you continued, your voice softening. “I know it’s not perfect—God knows they’re not exactly progressive—but it’s still a dream. Getting to do what I love, to perform for a crowd… it’s everything I wanted.”

Paige smiled, a small, thoughtful curve of her lips. “You’re good at it,” she said simply.

You raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t even seen me dance.”

“I’ve seen enough,” she countered, her tone teasing but warm. “And besides, you wouldn’t be where you are if you weren’t incredible.”

You felt your cheeks heat, and you ducked your head, pretending to adjust the blanket so she wouldn’t see. “You’re just saying that.”

“Maybe,” she said with a grin, leaning back against the couch. “But I mean it.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything, the quiet between you filled with an unspoken understanding. It was rare, you realized, to have a moment like this—where everything felt easy, natural. Where you could just be.

As the credits rolled on the muted movie, Paige stretched, her arm brushing against yours, and you felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the blanket draped over you.

“You know,” she said, her voice light but with a playful edge, “I think little-you and little-me would’ve been friends. Or at least rivals.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling up before you could stop it. “Oh, definitely rivals. I would’ve wiped the floor with you in a dance-off.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, her smirk returning. “Bold claim, cheerleader.”

“True claim,” you shot back, grinning.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, and as the night stretched on, you found yourself leaning into the comfort of her presence, the weight of the world falling away, if only for a little while.

Paige grinned, leaning back against the couch cushions with a kind of effortless charm that made your stomach do somersaults. “What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents.” She winked, and it was ridiculous how easily she could fluster you with the smallest gestures.

You shook your head, a soft laugh escaping before you could help it. “That’s what you’re going to lead with? Popcorn tricks?”

“Hey, don’t knock it,” she shot back, her grin widening. “This could’ve been my party trick if basketball didn’t work out.”

You raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Oh yeah? And where does ‘world-class popcorn catcher’ rank next to WNBA superstar?”

She pretended to think, tapping her chin dramatically. “Probably right under future Hall of Famer and your biggest fan.”

That last bit caught you off guard. Paige said it so casually, like it wasn’t the kind of thing that could make your heart skip a beat. She didn’t even look at you after, just grabbed another handful of popcorn like she hadn’t just said something that would live rent-free in your mind for days.

You tried to play it cool, focusing on the screen and not the way your cheeks felt like they were on fire. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you like it,” she teased, nudging your leg lightly with her foot.

And damn it, she wasn’t wrong.

The sound of her phone vibrating against the coffee table pulled both of you out of the easy rhythm of banter. Paige reached for it, glancing at the screen. The shift in her expression was subtle, but you caught it—the way her brows furrowed just slightly, the ghost of a smirk softening into something more reserved.

“Press conference clips,” she muttered, tossing the phone back onto the table without opening the notification. “Guess they’re making a thing out of it.”

It didn’t take a genius to know what “it” was. The photo, the headlines, the endless speculation. You felt the weight of it again, creeping in at the edges of this quiet moment. But before you could say anything, Paige turned her attention back to you, her expression steady.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, her voice firm but warm. “People are going to talk. Let them. It’s not going to change anything.”

You studied her, the way she always seemed so sure of herself, so unshaken by the noise. It was one of the things you admired most about her—the way she carried herself with this quiet confidence, like she knew exactly who she was and didn’t owe anyone an explanation.

“Doesn’t bother you?” you asked softly, the words coming out before you could second-guess them.

She shrugged, her lips curving into that easy, self-assured smile that felt like a safety net. “Why would it? I get to date you. Let ‘em be jealous.”

And just like that, the tension dissolved, replaced by the warmth of her words and the steady, unflinching way she looked at you. Paige Bueckers, always cool under pressure, had a way of making everything else fade into the background.

The next couple of weeks pass surprisingly smoothly, at least on the surface. Coach Anderson hasn’t said a word about the photos since your last meeting, and it’s not hard to figure out why. You’re the top cheerleader, the face of the squad, and the one she relies on to land those impossible stunts and lead the team’s routines. Letting you go now would only create a whirlwind of drama she clearly wants to avoid.

But that doesn’t mean everything is perfect.

Your teammates—most of them, anyway—don’t go out of their way to make life easy for you. There’s no outright hostility; it’s all subtle, quiet, passive-aggressive. Like when you’re practicing the pyramid, and someone “accidentally” tightens their grip too much on your ankle, or when you call for a run-through and the response is a too-sweet “Of course, captain,” followed by exaggerated sighs and barely concealed eye-rolls.

It doesn’t happen all the time, but often enough that you can feel the weight of it. Even when no one’s saying anything, the whispers just outside of earshot, the exchanged glances, and the forced smiles remind you that the photos are still fresh in their minds.

You grit your teeth and keep going. Every time you land a clean tumble or nail the timing on a routine, you know you’re proving them wrong. Performance after performance, you remind everyone why you’re the one leading this team.

Then, one Friday night after a big game, the dam breaks—but not where you expect it.

The team’s win had been huge, a tight match that came down to the final seconds. The cheer squad had been flawless, their chants and stunts keeping the crowd alive and electric. As you gather with your squad on the sidelines, still buzzing from the game’s energy, the reporters swarm in.

The questions start innocent enough. Someone asks about the routine, another about the game’s atmosphere. You answer them like you always do—polished and professional.

But then a reporter steps forward. A man with a smirk that makes your skin crawl, and a voice dripping with fake politeness. "Great work tonight," he starts, holding his mic out to you. "But I have to ask—given all the controversy around those photos recently, do you really think you’re the right person to represent this team?"

The question catches you off guard, even though maybe it shouldn’t. You feel the weight of it settle like a rock in your chest, heavy and sharp. Around you, the other girls stiffen, and the camera lenses zoom in, waiting for your reaction.

You take a breath, keeping your expression calm even as irritation simmers just beneath the surface. "Well," you say, your voice steady, "those photos have nothing to do with my role here. What matters is the work we put into this team—on and off the field. And if you watched tonight’s game, I think the results speak for themselves."

Your response is measured, professional. But it’s not enough for him. "Still," he presses, his smirk widening, "don’t you think it sets a... questionable example for young girls watching?"

It’s such a loaded, condescending question that the irritation flares into anger. Before you can reply, though, one of your teammates steps forward. "Excuse me," she says sharply, her voice cutting through the tension. "What kind of example are you setting by asking that question? Maybe focus on our performance instead of gossip."

The reporter’s smirk falters, and another cheerleader speaks up, her arms crossed. "Yeah, seriously. We just worked our butts off out there, and this is what you want to talk about? Seems like a ‘you’ problem."

A few of the others chime in, their voices firm and united. For the first time in weeks, you don’t feel like you’re standing on shaky ground. The reporter stumbles over his words, trying to regain control, but someone from the PR team steps in and quickly ends the interview.

When the chaos dies down, and you’re gathering your things, one of your teammates catches your eye. "We’ve got your back," she says simply, offering you a small smile.

The others nod in agreement, and it’s all you can do to keep your voice steady when you reply. "Thanks. That means a lot."

It’s not a perfect resolution, but as you leave the field that night, you feel lighter. For the first time, it feels like you’re not fighting this battle alone.

The atmosphere shifts after the interview ends. The biting coldness that had lingered for weeks, the pointed whispers and passive-aggressive smiles, seems to melt away. For the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel like an outsider among your own team.

One by one, the girls gather around you. At first, it’s tentative—an awkward shuffle of sneakers on the turf as if they’re testing the waters. Then someone breaks the tension by stepping closer and wrapping their arms around you.

It’s unexpected, but the gesture cracks something open inside you. Before you can process it, another cheerleader joins in, and then another, until you’re at the center of a warm, chaotic huddle.

The hug isn’t perfect. Arms bump into shoulders, someone’s pom-poms tickle your cheek, and there’s a faint whiff of sweat and body spray mingling in the air. But none of that matters. What matters is the sincerity in the way they hold you, the murmured “We’ve got you” and “Don’t let them get to you” that make your throat tighten with unexpected emotion.

“Look,” one of them says with a grin as the group hug breaks apart, “we may not always be the easiest people to deal with, but you’re our captain. No reporter or stupid photos are gonna change that.”

Another girl chimes in, smirking. “And if they ask anything dumb again, we’ll handle it. You just focus on flipping in midair like it’s nothing.”

The laughter that ripples through the group is light, genuine, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like part of the team again. The weight of their support, of their acceptance, feels like armor you didn’t know you needed.

When the moment starts to fade and the team begins gathering their things, you feel a familiar hand slip into yours. Paige is there, her grip warm and steady, her smile soft in a way that’s meant just for you.

“Ready to go?” she asks, her voice low enough that only you can hear.

You nod, glancing around at the others. The team is still buzzing, joking and chatting as they trail toward the locker rooms, but a few of them shoot you quick, encouraging smiles.

As you and Paige step out of the arena, hand-in-hand, the crisp night air greets you. The world outside is buzzing, reporters still milling about, cameras flashing as fans cheer and chatter. You know they’re looking. You can feel the weight of their stares, the subtle tilt of a camera lens in your direction, the whispers that follow wherever you go.

But tonight, for once, you don’t care.

You hold Paige’s hand tighter, her fingers lacing through yours in a way that feels unshakable, grounding. You catch her eye, and there’s something fierce in her smile, a kind of defiance that mirrors your own.

“Let them look,” she says, her voice firm but laced with humor. “What are they gonna do? Take more photos?”

The words make you laugh, a sound that feels freer than it has in weeks. Together, you walk through the crowd, the world around you blurring into the background as you focus on each step forward.

People snap pictures, murmur among themselves, and even call out questions, but none of it matters. Not the flashes of cameras, not the speculative headlines that will follow. What matters is the solid warmth of Paige’s hand in yours and the knowledge that, for the first time in a long time, you’re not walking alone.

As the two of you disappear into the night, you feel lighter. Stronger. You’re still the same person who weathered the worst of the storm, but now, you have people at your side who will weather it with you. And that makes all the difference.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

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sesamenom-misc · 3 months ago

Text

adding these additions from @vaspider in the reblogs in because yes, allergies/celiac CAN actually be That Sensitive. two weeks ago I nearly had to go to the ER because I was in the same building as a popcorn machine dispensing buttered popcorn, using "dairy free" butter with artificial flavoring vaguely derived from casein/dairy butter for two minutes. i am allergic to the flu vaccine because the viruses are grown in chicken eggs. i am allergic to the very air in starbucks. my immune system can detect egg and dairy contamination in concentrations too small to be legally required to be labeled.

polyculture crops definitely are an improvement for the vast majority of people, but the impact on the minority people consists of symptoms ranging from "miserable and unable to work for a week" to "death". personally, I do support finding better/more sustainable agricultural practices to replace the Corn Monoculture TM, but it is in some cases a literal matter of life and death for products such as walnut-grown wheat and wheat-grown walnut to be clearly and properly labeled, and for those products to not be the only available and/or affordable options at any given grocery store.

#text posts #agriculture #allergies #food allergies #problems #for non allergy people (or at least non-off-the-charts-anaphylactic allergy people) of whom i assume OP is one #imagine there is a field of lets say. lettuce #and in order to combat an infestation the farmer has decided to cover the field in rat poison pellets 24/7 for the entirety of its growth #and by cover i mean those poor lettuces are barely poking out of the sea of poison. every small animal within a two mile radius is dead.#and then the farmer harvests it #and *separating large leafy plants from poison pellets is easy enough right?*#and now you're at the grocery store. you see the Rat Poison Lettuces.#there aren't any poison pellets in the display box as far as you can see #but would you really still eat the Rat Poison Lettuce -_-#'there is functionally no danger of cross contamination' and yet there is 'functionally' no danger of half the situations i have reacted to #IF YOU CANNOT SAY THERE IS *NO DANGER AT ALL* YOU NEED TO TREAT IT LIKE A POTENTIALLY DANGEROUS SITUATION #it is approximately a one in a million chance last i checked to have *any* reaction to flu virus egg protein residue #meanwhile i had Instant Anaphylaxis #nobody i live with can eat eggs or anything overly cheesy in the house.#i have my own set of dishes and if you use a pot for eggs or dairy that is forever an Allergy Pot #which must be washed and stored separately from everythign else and never again used for anything in proximity to my food #not to mention that ops second post focuses entirely on wheat-contaminated walnuts and not walnut-contaminated wheat #when celiac can be one of the most sensitive food related immune disorders #AND every subsequent allergic reaction can increase the severity of your next one.#within ten years i went from 'stomachache from eating a full plate of contaminated food'#to 'i breathed in One Oxygen that touched a cheese once and i am trying very hard not to die in the middle of the sidewalk'#if youre going to dismiss every single person in the reblogs mentioning severe allergy risks please go inhale rat poison /s #apologies if this comes off as overly aggressive. cross contamination keeps nearly killing me and i feel overly aggressive right now

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jamminvroomvroom · 9 months ago

Note

Hey girlll I love your blog so so so much! Congrats on the 4k bc you absolutely deserve it🫶🏼

I just had a little angsty request for Charles lando or Oscar (you can pick any you’re feeling more atm, I eat up anything ab my boys)

I saw this prompt maybe you could use - - "I can be there when you need me!" "But I did, and you weren't."

late night talking.

op x fem norris!reader

in which lando’s little sister has been sneaking around with his teammate, but it’s starting to have its challenges…

hiiiii thank u sm anon! love this request love you MWAH! so appreciative of this request and all of the others and that y’all trust me to bring your ideas to life!! i hope this hits the way you wanted it to! let me know what you think, big love 🤍

songs to set the mood: late night talking by harry styles, i love you by billie eilish, over my head by james marriott, if these walls could talk by 5sos

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, angst, fluff, a bit of hurt/comfort, secret relationship, brothers teammate trope (r is lando’s sister), fingering, morning sex, angsty needy sex, lando being an embarrassing little shit

4.1k words

sex and talking. sex and talking. sex and talking.

that’s what you do, oscar and you.

you watch him all weekend, eyes trailing his lean frame, the way his body moves under papaya fabric. then, when your brother finally leaves you alone, you sneak into oscar’s arms, room, bed, whatever’s closest.

you have your way with one another, nothing untouched, unexplored, and then you talk and talk until your lips hurt from stretched out grins and a satisfying ache sets into your spent limbs. you sneak out when the sun comes up the next day and join lando for breakfast in whatever hotel you’re in that weekend.

rinse, repeat.

you can remember the first time you saw him in real life, way back in early 2023, clear as day. you were in bahrain with your brother for testing, the sun in your eyes, and there he was. awkward, stocky, hands buried deep in his mclaren administered slacks. he was littered with moles, mousey brown hair catching the rays of light, chocolate eyes conveying cool confidence that didn’t at all match up with his uncomfortable stance. you could kiss over those moles like a game of dot to dot, tug on his strands that looked like smooth chocolate frosting, sink into his brown irises until you drowned.

lando had caught you staring, sending his elbow into your ribs, and when you turned to glare at him, cuss him out, you saw a look of warning. his eyes said: don’t you fucking dare.

and you didn’t dare, not for a while at least.

“o-osc.” you whine, panting through the waves of eye-watering pleasure.

he’s got you laid out across his massage table, two fingers scissoring into your sodden cunt as his thumb bumps your clit in messy circles.

it’s rare that you sneak away so brazenly like this during a race weekend.

“you gotta be quiet.” oscar shushes you, eyes flitting between your own watery pair and his fingers where they’re working you open.

“trying.” you breathe, slapping your own hand over your mouth when your belly tightens one last time. one wrong move and the entirety of the hospitality suite will know. lando will know. perhaps all of china will know. that’s how good he fucking feels.

you sob into your palm, bucking your hips wildly as you fall apart, spilling all around his relentless fingers. he fucks you through it, grinning coyly as your muffled cries subside.

“c’mere.” oscar lulls, pulling you back towards him. he kisses you deeply, smiling against your lips.

“i should go.” you mumble, pushing his hair back and raking your fingers through his hair.

oscar nods apathetically, reserved all of the sudden. you frown, stealing another quick kiss. you stumble to your feet fixing your underwear and your skirt, and grab your bag from the small sofa.

“we need to be more careful.” his words make your blood run cold.

“more careful?”

you sneak in and out of hotel rooms under the cover of night, you have his name disguised in your phone, you never speak to him in public.

“this was risky.” oscar shrugs. he looks antsy, his entire demeanour changing in a matter of minutes, the ecstasy of watching you writhe all for him worn off.

“this- i- you’re the one who dragged me in here, piastri.” you accuse. ‘piastri’ is reserved for when you’re pissed off, a cagey step back from the affection ‘osc�� that you usually called him. “whatever, i’ve got to go.”

“i’ll see you later?” he poses it as a question, uncertain that you’ll show. he has never been uncertain before, not with you, not with a lot of things. bile rises in your throat, and you scoff.

you can’t reply. the door slams behind you.

“where’ve you been?” lando ruffles your hair, a single eyebrow raised suspiciously.

“got bored with watching you look at data so i went for a walk.” you reply nonchalantly, pushing his hand away.

he hums in response, nodding slowly. it’s like he doesn’t quite believe you but he quickly moves on.

“you coming out with us after the race tomorrow?” lando asks.

“depends on who ‘us’ is.” you reply curtly. you don’t wanna look at oscar’s stupid, handsome face for a second longer than you have to. a familiar sadness sinks into your bones.

“couple of the drivers, alex, carlos, oh and oscar might even be swayed.” you grit your teeth, suddenly frustrated. “anyway, since when do you have beef with drivers? little miss sunshine fallen out with someone?” lando sounds confused, accusatory.

you stay silent, walking into the back of the garage, praying someone will come and steal your brother away.

“hey, you gonna tell me what the problem i-?”

“lando, we need you to look at this.” your brother gets cut off by a frantic engineer, your prayers answered, and is quickly lost to the chaos of the garage.

a pair of warm eyes burn into the side of your head. you turn to see oscar watching you, his eyebrows furrowed as if he’s studying you. he’s fidgeting, playing with his fingers, something strange for the man as cool as a cucumber. you look away as quickly as you can, managing to tear your eyes away from him, a lump forming in your throat which you swallow down.

it’s painful, really. sex and talking, it’s not enough, never has been for even a second. oscar piastri, australian f1 driver, number 81, quickly became your oscar, somewhat against your will.

somewhere in hungary, about 8 months ago

“are we really doing this, piastri?” you giggle, throwing your head back as his lips work your neck.

“need you.” he groans into your skin, low and needy. you’ve never heard him sound so disheveled, so desperate, a far cry from his usual, monotonous self.

“want you, osc.” you pant when his lips find your sweet spot, the feeling of him so delicious on your body.

“have me.” he whispers, falling into bed with you in his lap.

you lay there basking in stunned silence afterwards, a layer of sweat coating your knackered body. your shoulder is pressed flush with oscar’s, not an inch of space between you while you both stare at the ceiling, sporting matching lazy grins.

“i can’t believe we did that.” oscar mutters, a layer of disbelief in his voice.

“i think we should do it again.” you tease, except you are deadly serious.

“agreed.” he breathes.

“this stays between us, right?” you whisper, shyly.

“always.”

always makes your skin crawl now. you’re sick of having him in the dark, of having to avoid him in public for fear of turning into a lovesick fool. it’s embarrassing, really, unrequited love.

you can barely follow qualifying, staring blankly at the empty space in the garage where oscar’s car resides. you manage to catch the radio message through the headset you have on, the one where oscar’s muttering about a stupid mistake that’s just knocked him out. he’s limping back to the pits, licking his wounds.

you feel a pang in your chest, sympathetic and disappointed for him. you wonder what his mistake was, where his mind was. you’ll wait for the right moment, swallow the ache in your heart and your pride, and you’ll comfort him. he gets led away by frustrated engineers immediately, studying lines of data with furrowed eyebrows. you watch from afar, but then your heart sinks to your feet when four words sound through your headphones.

“lando, are you okay?”

will sounds stressed, repeating the four words that make your world stop spinning on its axis. everyone in the garage is staring at the tv screen, breaths held, stomachs tight.

your brothers car sits in tatters, carbon fibre littering the track. you can see the fluorescents of his helmet burrowed in the cockpit, still. your mouth hangs open, one hand clutching your chest, the other covering your quivering lips. you’re numb.

that feeling returns, the one of eyes burning into your weathered features. your wide eyes flit to the australian boy watching you from across the garage, and you beg silently for him to just come to you, pull you close, tell you that lando is okay and that he loves you back.

and lando is okay, his winded voice reassuring you over the radio.

but you stand there alone.

just like always.

somewhere in brazil, about 5 months ago

“what’s your favourite colour?” oscar mumbles lazily, lips bumping your cheekbone.

you’re curled up on his lap watching the sunset from his balcony. he was well behind lando after qualifying, and he’d craved a moment alone with you all day.

the air was thick, humid, the hot orange sun sinking far off in the horizon. you turn to face him, his features illuminated by the hazy glow. the sunlight makes his chocolate eyes sparkle warmly, so pretty.

“brown.” you whisper, scanning his face.

he laughs lowly, his chest rumbling.

“brown?” he questions teasingly.

“yep.” you grin, pecking his lips softly.

“why?”

“go look at those pretty eyes of yours in the mirror.” you retort smoothly, threading your fingers through his shower-damp strands.

“you flirting with me?”

“you bet i am.”

you twist back around, facing the view once more, moulding into his body. he kisses over your shoulder, resting his chin. you stay there content until the sun is gone and the stars twinkle.

the air in the room is thick, awkwardly silent.

he stands leaning against the desk, opposite where you sit on your bed. the lights are low in your hotel room, the imprint of your body still fresh against the mattress. you’d been crying when he knocked, eyes rimmed red, skin flushed raw.

“you just stood there.” you croak.

“love, i-“

“don’t call me that. please.”

hurt flashes across his features, but like he knows it’s not fair of him to complain, he buries it immediately.

“i just… will you hear me out?” oscar pleads quietly.

you nod feebly.

“it’s impossible. this, us. i wanted to go to you but i- i couldn’t, i didn’t know how that would look and i didn’t want to jeopardise this.”

“but you did.” you whisper. his face shatters, falling fast.

“no, no, i can be there when you need me-“

“but you weren’t!” you cry, your body physically sinking, your shoulders drooping.

“i can fix this, i will.”

“i think we need to stop this, osc. it’s too painful for me. i’ve tried to move past the hurt but after today…” your voice shakes and you crumble, the first tear falling.

“i’m not trying to hurt you.” he crosses the space between you in two rushed steps, collapsing to his knees before you.

“that’s not good enough.” you bite back. “i’m not going to be some guys dirty little secret. i won’t do it anymore oscar.”

“i was trying to protect you… this.” he gestures between you desperately

“i know, oscar. i know! but i never asked you to do that. i can’t love you in a hotel room for the rest of my life.” the words slip from your tongue, abrasive and messy, before your brain can catch up.

you grimace, biting your tongue, but oscar’s reaction couldn’t be further from your own. his watery eyes widen, pink lips pulling into a boyish grin.

“i don’t want to love you in a hotel room for the rest of my life either.” oscar whispers, tentatively taking your hands. you stare down at your slowly intertwining fingers, a familiar warmth oozing through your body. “i wanna love you everywhere.”

“show me.” you murmur through shaky breath.

“i will.” he leans in, leaning in to kiss your shoulder. “for as long as you let me, i will.”

“just come here.” your fingers find the hairs at the nape of his neck, pulling him into a kiss, one born of frustration, and longing, and a year of late night talking about everything except how much you love each other.

oscar pushes you back onto the bed, crawling over you, starving. you pull him flush against you, leaving no room between your bodies. you crave the feel of his entire weight pressing you into the mattress and as he does, you feel at home. when you pull apart, catching your breaths, he says it properly, for the first time, and the world gets lighter.

“i love you.” oscar cups your jaw, those chocolate eyes boring into yours, the intensity of it knocking you for six. “always.” he adds.

the meaning of the word changes. always doesn’t mean a shameful, taboo secret anymore. life is breathed into the six lettered word; always means you and him, together, finally out of the shadows.

“i love you, osc.” you whisper.

he’s smiling when he kisses you again, unbuttoning your blouse like he’ll die if he doesn’t get the offending item off of your frame. you retaliate by shoving his t-shirt up his back, tugging greedily at it to strip him bare. the material comes off easily and as he sits up to throw it away, you shrug off your blouse and it meets his shirt on the floor. his hands smooth over your curves, brushing the pudge of your belly as he finds the zip of your skirt, ruining the fasten in his state of haste. you barely notice the way he’s ruined the item of clothing, urgently unbuttoning his jeans. your underwear is gone too, nothing separating you but your bra, restless hands on heated skin.

“we need to be quiet.” you breathe. “lando’s next door.” oscar giggles, tinged pink.

“get on top, love.” he drawls, flipping onto his back and taking you with him.

he sits up with you in his lap, nothing anchoring either of you in the middle of the bed. the imprint of your devastated form is gone, replaced by the shape of him. you can feel the head of his cock nudging through your folds, slicking him up so that he can slide nice and deep. he trails his fingers between your legs, thumbing at your clit in deft circles, just the way he knows you like it. you’re mewling in his lap, grinding down on the pad of his thumb; it’s so good but it’s not enough.

“please, osc.” you pant, urging him to let you sink down on his cock. you can see how red it is, feel the way it throbs for you, and the need to be full of him is almost paralysing.

“come on, pretty girl. fill yourself up.” oscar mutters against the shell of your ear.

he kisses down your throat as you slide down on him, dropping your hips firm against his.

“fuck.” you cry, your forehead falling against his shoulder.

“you okay, sweetheart? feel so good for me.” oscar coos, his fingertips digging hard into your hips.

“so good, baby.” your head rolls back, feeling him hit that spot tucked away within your walls.

your breaths mingle, your breasts flush against his chest, and as if he realises that he never stripped you of your pesky bra, he grunts, unclasping the black lace and flinging it somewhere far away. he gently mumbles an awestruck “fuck”, as if he hasn’t seen your tits a million and one times before, and latches onto your nipple. his tongue works in slow circles, matching the pace of your hips working languidly on his cock, and you keen further into his body.

“prettiest girl for me.” oscar grits out, his eyes squeezing shut when you clamp down on him, hard.

you’re both trying so hard to be quiet, overwhelmed by touch and taste, love. you’re growing tired, hurtling towards a desperate release, and oscar can sense it, the feel of your quivering thighs tightening around his hips spurring him on. he grinds up into you, maintaining your pace, but he’s fucking you harder now, the anticipation of your release sending shivers down his spine.

“you gonna cum for me?” oscar grunts, holding your hips down against him. you can’t move, his hold too tight and your body too tired, all you can do is wait for your orgasm to hit like a ton of bricks. you nod frantically.

“yes, oscar, please baby.” you beg for it, and like the true gentleman he is, the calloused pad of his pointer finger finds its home on your clit, sending you into an upwards spiral.

it’s as if you’re levitating when you let go, in a dreamlike state, your teeth sinking hard into his pale shoulder to muffle a surefire whine of his name. he’s rutting into you, prolonging the bliss.

“cum inside of me.” you urge, voice barely above a whisper. well, you’ve certainly never done this before.

oscar’s eyes roll into the back of his head, tears pricking his lash line. a guttural gasp of your name spills from his lips when he lets go, painting your insides warm and white. you stare at the tiny indents your teeth had left on his thick shoulder, his breath hitting the crook of your neck warm and wet as he comes down.

“‘m yours, and i’m here. i’m always gonna be here, i promise.” oscar speaks so quietly that you wonder if you’ve imagined it.

“when i made that mistake today, i was thinking about you.”

you’ve been laying there in silence for a while now, tucked under his arm when he speaks. you turn to look at him, perplexed.

“what?”

“i felt so awful about what i said after we, you know. you looked so upset with me, and i don’t blame you.” oscar sighs.

“i just don’t want to feel like a shameful secret, osc.” you tell him quietly, the words heavy on your tongue.

“you won’t, not anymore. ‘m so sorry, sweetheart.” he lulls, kissing over your hairline.

“how do we make this work? and how are we ever gonna explain this to-“

“lando.” oscar cuts you off, shifting uncomfortable. “he’s going to murder me and my entire bloodline.” he chuckles nervously.

“he won’t murder you. he might put you in a gravel trap, though.” you roll onto your side, smiling teasingly up at him and he rolls his eyes.

“i’ll take the heat. you’re worth it.”

“promise me.” you pant, his hips grinding into you. you’re curled into his chest, still spooning and barely awake. he’d woken up needy, and you were even needier, the faint glow of early morning sunshine washing over you through a crack in the beige curtains.

“anything.” oscar stutters, his breath warm against the back of your neck. his nose bumps your skin, teeth scraping the shell of your ear.

you stop meeting his thrusts. he whines low, wordlessly pleading for you to resume. he ruts his hips against your ass, chasing friction.

“tell me it’s all gonna be different now.”

“i already told you, i-“ oscar grunts.

“promise me.” you purposely clamp down on him, a hiss sounding from between his gritted teeth.

“promise, i promise, i love you.”

you giggle, rocking your hips again, fucking yourself onto him once more.

“i know.”

“you gonna let me off the hook?” oscar pants in your ear, tugging on your earlobe with his teeth.

“still gotta prove yourself, piastri.” you moan.

he feels deeper like this and he knows it, revelling in the way he’s filled you up so perfectly. he rolls into you slowly, sliding against each and every spot that makes you squirm. you drop your guard, going limp in his arms to let him finish you off.

“you nearly there, sweetheart? you gonna cum for me, love?” his accents thickens in the mornings, husky and intoxicating. you fall apart, then, and he stays buried inside of you, the only sounds in the room your matching heavy breathing.

“i need you to get dressed.” oscar kisses your cheek.

“kicking me out already?” you feign offence, looking at him over your shoulder.

his fingers come to cup your chin, his forehead resting against yours.

“there’s something we gotta do.”

you’re wearing your skirt from the day before, the waistband rolled over to make up for the oscar-destroyed zipper. his hoodie that you’ve stolen almost completely covers the short skirt, and your messy hair and poorly removed makeup don’t do much to convince anyone that you’d actually slept in your own room last night.

still rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you don’t really comprehend where oscar is leading you, but when the elevator dings, signalling that you’ve reached the restaurant floor, you’re suddenly painfully awake. time seems to move in slow motion, your tummy twisting as you realise what’s about to happen.

ahead of you, tucked into the corner of the restaurant is your brother, jon, and ashley. lando is already draped in team kit, the papaya of his hoodie blaring obnoxiously for once, a warning sign.

“oscar, what-“

“i’m doing this.” he affirms, speeding up his stride.

oh my god oh my god oh my fucking god.

your heart speeds up, dropping to the pit in your belly when lando notices you, eyebrows furrowed, jaw clenched, eyes taking in the bewildering sight before him. his baby sister, disheveled and wide-eyed, and his teammate holding her hand, on a mission.

“what the fuck am i looking at?” lando doesn’t sound angry, per say, more perplexed than anything. there is an edge to his voice that you don’t particularly like, but he hasn’t started swinging yet, you suppose.

“i’m in love with your sister. like, for real. you deserve to know that.” oscar says confidently, somewhat monotonously.

lando opens his mouth, closes it. opens it again, closes it. he repeats the process a few more times, going through the motions of an emotional rollercoaster.

but then, he sighs deeply, a grin of disbelief stretching across his face. jon bangs on the table excitedly, and ash is shaking his head.

“you owe us so much money.” jon laughs, his head tipping back.

“pay up, boss.” ash sticks his hand out expectantly, smirking across the table.

“what… what?” you exclaim, narrowing your eyes in confusion.

“i didn’t wanna believe them.” lando shrugs.

“don’t blame you.” oscar chimes in, and you stare between the two mclaren drivers in bewilderment.

“are you okay with this?” you question, staring your brother in the eyes, still a bit disoriented by the entire situation. his face softens, a genuine smile lingering small on his lips.

“if you’re happy, i’ll make my peace with it.” lando’s eyes flit between you and oscar.

all of the sudden, a look of horror crosses his face, and his voice turns stern.

“but,” he inhales shakily. “if i ever, ever, hear again what i think i heard last night,” he glares at oscar, pointing one firm finger at the australian, who stands up a bit straighter. “you’re dead, piastri.”

jon and ash bite back giggles at the empty threat, and you take it upon yourself to put an end to the situation before it gets any more awkward.

“well, on that note!” you sing-song, dragging oscar away.

“and make sure you’re using protection!” lando calls out, panic stricken, big brother mode activated.

“oh my god.” you blush dark pink, speeding up, the elevator in your sights.

“that went well.” oscar quips sarcastically. he looks rather happy with himself.

you kiss him as soon as the metal doors shut.

you do go out after the race, but for once it’s not to drink away the memories of a weekend in oscar’s arms. this time, it’s to celebrate the fact that you can love him out loud, and he’ll do the same right back.

you’re dancing in his arms, bright lights in shades of blues and purples streaming over your bodies. oscar holds you close, keeps you wrapped in his arms, despite the shock on the faces of others at the sight of lando norris’s baby sister publicly besotted with his teammate.

when oscar kisses you deep, smiling against your lips that taste like cherry liquor, you know that this last year of your life wasn’t in vain.

you and oscar, you’re built to last.

“how did you not see it, mate?” charles beams, crinkles by his eyes from the wide smile he’s sporting. he’s clearly drunk, but lando is too.

it appears he’s clocked the brits sister and her australian suitor on the dance floor.

the monagasque has rocked up to the bar with alex and pierre in tow, the three of them slapping lando on the back as they arrive.

“i guess there were signs.” lando shrugs, dragging his finger over the rim of the crystal glass.

“signs? mate it was obvious.” pierre chuckles, pushing lando’s shoulder.

“wait, you all knew?” lando splutters.

yeah. duh. come on, man.

“why didn’t you tell me?”

“it’s funnier.” charles… winks? it’s hard to tell with him.

lando finds you in the crowd, grinning up at oscar like he hung the stars in the sky. the younger mclaren driver returns your look, and it sparks warmth in lando’s chest.

you’re gonna be okay.

hehe

taglist

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megalony · 12 days ago

Text

He Can't Have You- Part 2

Thank you all for the amazing feedback on this Evan Buckley imagine, I hope you will like this follow up.

Please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

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Evan Buckley Masterlist

Part 1

Summary: (Y/n) and Evan's baby is due any day now, therefore (Y/n) hangs around the station a lot so she isn't alone. But things take a bad turn when her ex finds her. And kidnaps her.

Enjoy.

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

A groan tumbled past Evan's lips as he hopped down from the truck, feeling like his legs were about to turn to jelly. Both hands moved to press against his back as he leaned his chest back and clicked his spine into place like a neon glowstick.

He was ready to go home. He didn't want to be back on the ladders for a week at least; he didn't want to look at those ladders for what remained of his shift today. Not after he had almost fallen down them and had been running up and down those ladders more times than a yoyo.

His boots thudded against the floor as he trudged towards the lockers and shrugged off his helmet and jacket. He slung the jacket on the hanger and dumped the hat on the shelf before he turned and walked towards the stairs.

If the bell went off within the next hour, Evan was going to scream. They had been on that call for over three hours; he wanted something to eat and a chance to rest before another call had them running around and burning what little energy each of them had left.

His head tilted back and he tried to plaster a smile on his face and make himself look a bit more lively as he jogged up the stairs towards the annex.

He wanted to see (Y/n). She had been here for a bit over three hours now so Evan wanted to make sure she was alright and see what she had been up to. When she stayed at the station last week during a long call, they all came back to find she had done some baking in their absence.

Evan trudged towards the sofas in the right hand corner, but the tv was off and the area was vacant. His shoulders sagged a little and he twisted to the left instead to head into the kitchen.

He could see two new starters lounging around the pool table, chittering away while the radio played an eighties station in the background. But no one else was in the kitchen. There was no one else up here. He walked past the kitchen towards the pole at the far end, just to mae sure that (Y/n) wasn't hanging around anywhere, but his wife wasn't anywhere in sight.

Maybe she was in the toilet, after all the toilets and the showers were all downstairs at the far back of the station. Evan highly doubted she would be in the bunker room, he knew his wife and he knew she would be much too anxious to try and take a nap here at the station. Especially if Evan was out on a call.

His boots sounded even heavier as he stomped down the stairs and made his way down the corridor instead. But when he walked by the locker room, he paused and peered his head in the doorway at the sight of a familiar face.

"Alex, have you seen (Y/n) around?"

He knew Alex, Johnny and Amber were all on the back up shift, they stayed at the station in case any other calls happened while the rest of them were already out in the first truck. Evan figured Alex would have been milling about the station, going to the gym and tidying up while he waited for a call. He should have seen (Y/n) at some point.

The blond turned around and cast a familiar grin over his shoulder in Evan's direction. Although he did narrow his eyes a like he thought Evan was asking a stupid question."

"Your wife?" When Evan nodded, Alex shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "Nah I haven't seen her in a couple hours. Her car alarm went off and she went to sort it out, haven't seen her since. She's probably headed home."

With a deflated 'thanks' and his fingers drumming on the doorframe, Evan pushed off the door and briskly walked down the corridor towards the back doors.

Why would (Y/n) leave without telling him? Why would she leave at all when she was here specifically so she wouldn't be home alone?

She was nine months pregnant, Evan had cleared it with Bobby for (Y/n) to come down to the station so he could be nearby and so (Y/n) would always be with someone if she went into labour. And Evan knew for a fact that his sister was working today so (Y/n) wouldn't have left to go and spend time with Maddie. She should still be here. She shouldn't have gone anywhere, (Y/n) promised she would stay and hang around until Evan got back.

A frown etched deep into his features as he wrangled in his pocket to find his phone.

He had no messages and no missed calls from (Y/n), surely if she left she would have told him she was going so he wouldn't be confused or worried.

He scrolled down and clicked on (Y/n)'s contact, raising the phone to his ear while it rung out and he headed out into the car park. But as he pushed open the back door, a horrible twisting feeling ignited in his gut when he heard a familiar sound.

(Y/n)'s ringtone. Her phone was outside.

Evan stormed out into the car park, his eyes frantically searching around but there was no one out here. He was alone, and yet he could still hear (Y/n)'s phone, the ringtone was getting louder. His blue eyes deepened as he tried to locate (Y/n)'s car. It was dead ahead of him.

She wouldn't have walked home, it was too far to walk especially when she had clearly been in discomfort earlier. There was no reason why (Y/n) would walk home and leave her car stranded here at the station.

When something crunched beneath his boot, Evan lowered his phone from his ear and took a step back as he looked down.

Oh God.

(Y/n)'s car keys. (Y/n)'s phone. (Y/n)'s bag. All three articles were cascaded on the floor in an odd pattern like they had been dropped in a hurry.

He numbly slid his phone back into his pocket after ending the pointless call and reached down to pick up her things. Her phone and keys were stone cold, they had been out here for a while.

Dread dwelled in the pit of Evan's stomach that was now churning like a washing machine and he could scarcely catch a single breath. His features began to turn a deep shade of red and his chest began to tighten and twitch until he had to gasp to get a proper mouthful of air.

Something had happened to (Y/n), he just knew it. He could feel it, like melted silver hardening to steel in his bones that now felt heavy and weighed down. It took all the effort Evan had to get his legs moving and scramble back inside when he simply wanted to collapse down to his knees and wallow in his own bubble of panic.

He began to suffer tunnel vision, only seeing the imagine of Bobby stood far ahead at the other end of the corridor. Blackness started to creep in around the edges of his sight and one hand had to plaster along the wall to keep himself upright as he continued to struggle for air.

The moment Bobby was within reach, Evan clamped his hand down on his Captain's shoulder and leaned against him like he was about to pass out. He felt Hen quickly reach out to grab his arm, trying her best to steady him and assess him in case he had suddenly taken a bad turn or felt sick.

"Buck. what's the matter?" The concern in Hen's voice did nothing to make Evan feel any better. If anything, it brought tears to his eyes as he sucked in a deep breath and moved his hands, motioning to (Y/n)'s phone and bag that were trembling in his grip.

"Something's wrong with (Y/n)."

"Where is she, did her waters break?"

"She's- fuck, she's not here. Her car's still parked up, but I- I found her bag and keys on the floor outside, no one's seen her in a few hours. She's not okay."

Bobby's hand stayed on Evan's shoulder but he leaned back to cast his eyes around the station floor and look up towards the annex like he expected (Y/n) to suddenly appear and tell them otherwise. If her things were left outside but her car was still here then that suggested that something had happened. She had been caught up in some kind of emergency. She had witnessed something outside and tried to help. She had felt unwell and tried to leave or find someone to help her.

None of those explanations made sense to any of them and when Bobby let go of Evan in favour of going to gather the rest of the team, Evan leaned towards Hen. He felt faint. Something was wrong, he knew it, but he had no idea what had happened or if (Y/n) was okay or harmed or suffering or somewhere unsafe.

What had happened to his wife?

***

"(Y/n) honey tell me what's happened."

Maddie pressed her microphone closer to her mouth and tried to secure the ear piece around the back of her ear a little better. She wanted to make sure she heard every word her sister in law spoke, she had to get every detail and find out what exactly was going on.

Her sister said she didn't know where she was and that she was in labour, two horrible combinations that shouldn't be put together. But Maddie couldn't fathom how (Y/n) didn't know where she was. Surely if she had been driving and got lost she would use the apps on her phone to find her location or look for signs or ask around. And why would she be driving somewhere unfamiliar? Where had she been going?

She scooted her chair closer to the desk while her feet tapped against the floor to rid herself of the nervous energy building up inside of her. She had no idea what was happening.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard and she typed in a few codes, but her eyes narrowed and she leaned closer to the screen.

Why couldn't the computer get an accurate location from (Y/n)'s phone? Why wasn't the signal working properly?

"(Y/n), talk to me."

Bowing her head down, (Y/n) tried to stop the tears that were furiously drenching her face like rainfall in the Amazon. Her shoulders were quaking and her body was hunched over, trying her best to make herself as small as possible. Not that there was anyone around, anyway.

"Caleb, he- oh, he made me go with him… I don't- I don't know where I am. I had to hurt him, he had a knife."

More tears continued to spill down her face as she gasped and snivelled through her words. She didn't have a choice. Hurting Caleb, getting hurt herself, it was all necessary to get away from him. He had done this, (Y/n) didn't have a choice or a chance against him.

Her palm pressed against the side of her stomach when another contraction tore through her and she sobbed, trying her best to hold herself together and make sure she didn't drop the phone. Her only connection to Maddie; to the rest of the world; to safety.

It had taken long enough for (Y/n) to find an area in this vast, stupid landscape where she had enough signal to hear Maddie rather than listening to a crackling, distant sound. It had been like trying to work out Morse Code without any training or information.

At least while (Y/n) was hunched down near a wall with the road still within sight, (Y/n) was safe and she had a signal. She wasn't willing to move from this spot until someone came to help her.

"Oh my God, is he still trying to hurt you? Are you outside or inside somewhere?" Leaning back in her chair, Maddie waved her hand until she gained Josh's attention and beckoned him towards her.

He murmured a soft "Okay?" as his brows furrowed and he looked between her and the computer screen to try and see what call she was taking.

"It's (Y/n)," Maddie covered her hand over her microphone so her sister wouldn't hear. "Her ex kidnapped her and now she's in labour. I can't get a good signal and she doesn't know where she is."

The agony in Maddie's voice was clear. She needed help. She needed Josh to get the police on the line and get eyes in the sky. They needed to pinpoint (Y/n)'s location so they could send help to her and make sure she and the baby were okay. No one wanted her to have this baby alone and Maddie knew her brother would suffer a breakdown if he wasn't there for the birth. If he wasn't there to look after (Y/n) and hold her hand.

With a nod of his head, Josh took a few steps away so he could start making the necessary calls. They would find (Y/n). They would make sure help got sent to her. They wouldn't leave her there alone.

"(Y/n), is he still trying to hurt you?"

"No, I h-hit him, with a rock and tried to get a-away- oow, Maddie it hurts."

It hurt so much.

(Y/n) didn't want to be here. She wanted to be back at the station, back where she was safe. Where she was with Evan and his colleagues and people who would look after her and protect her rather than try to harm her. She wished she had let Alex go out and turn off her car alarm rather than insisting on doing it herself. She wished she had asked him to go with her or that someone else had been around to see what happened and stop Caleb from taking her the way he did.

She wished a lot of things, but the biggest one playing on her mind was wishing Evan would suddenly appear out of nowhere. She wanted him here. She needed him here.

"That's good. I'm trying to get a location on your phone, as soon as I have that I can send help to you but don't worry, I'm staying on the line with you."

Why didn't Maddie know where she was? Why couldn't she find the location quicker and help? Why couldn't someone be right around the corner who was able to come and help her?

Her chin tucked down into her chest when another contraction burned through her abdomen and split her skin apart. A pitiful cry escaped her lips and her free hand moved down to clench around her thigh until her nails were cutting into her skin. At least the pain in her abdomen was taking her mind off the open cut in her knee and the gash in her left arm just above her elbow. Her whole body was pulsing and aching with each heartbeat that resounded beneath her skin like a drumbeat.

She couldn't stop another groan from tumbling past her lips and her body started to shake as she tried to shift around until she was sat up on her knees rather than sat down on the floor. She shakily put the phone on speaker and laid it in front of her as carefully as she could to make sure she didn't lose what little, precious signal she had on Caleb's phone.

With her free hand plastered to the side of her stomach, (Y/n) smothered down another groan that left her shaking when the contraction seemed to last longer and become more direct.

"I think… oh, I think I need to push soon. Get Evan, please!" The desperation in her voice made her wince but it broke Maddie's heart.

She needed Evan to know. She needed someone to get hold of him and tell him that (Y/n) was suffering and needed his help. Now. If he didn't get to her fast, she was going to have their baby without him. That wasn't something they had contemplated, that wasn't on the cards. It couldn't happen.

"Okay. (Y/n), honey I'm just going to put you on hold just for one minute so I can talk to Buck, okay?"

When (Y/n) hummed, Maddie clicked the on-hold button and swiped her own phone from her bag that was resting by her feet beneath her desk. It would be easier to call Evan directly rather than go through the station and try to ask people to put him on the line.

She just prayed he had his phone handy and that he wasn't in the middle of a call right now, or he wouldn't be able to answer the phone.

"Mads, you okay, you're at work aren't you?" Evan's voice was distant and his eyes kept glancing around the station, his mind preoccupied and somewhere else entirely.

He watched as Chimney and Eddie darted about the station floor on orders from Bobby who was currently in his office, trying to find out what was going on and where (Y/n) was. No one in the station had seen her since just after the team left on their call and that meant (Y/n) could have been gone for hours.

Evan's foot started to tap against the floor and his free hand moved to grip the back of his neck as he tried to keep himself calm and steady. He wasn't sure why his sister was calling, she never rang when she was at work and Evan knew she was on shift today. He prayed nothing was wrong with her too, he couldn't handle any more stress right now.

"Yeah, listen… (Y/n)'s called 911-"

"What? Where is she? She was supposed to be here with us but she left-" Rambles spluttered past Evan's lips while his heart hammered against his chest and his body surged forward like he was about to set off into a pelting run.

She had called for help. Why had she done that? Where was she? What had happened to her? She should have been here at the station, safe and unharmed and out of any sort of danger.

"Buck, Buck just take a breath and let me explain. Caleb found her, she said he kidnapped her. She managed to hit him and get away, but she doesn't know where she is, and she's gone into labour."

His worst nightmare had come to life.

When (Y/n) found the courage to explain to Evan what had gone on between her and her ex and how it had affected her, he had been riled up and stunned and angered all at once. He hated the fact that Caleb had attacked her, he had traumatised her and frightened her and tried to control her in every aspect of her life.

And the few times they had bumped into Caleb out in the street, Evan had made sure (Y/n) was hidden behind him and that her ex couldn't get within ten feet of her.

He didn't think he would have to worry about Caleb anymore. (Y/n) had mentioned him in over a year.

She and Evan had gotten married and they were having a daughter, they were moving on with their lives and Caleb should have been a distant memory. Why would he come back now? Why would he take (Y/n) like this and try to hurt her after all this time?

A low whine burned at the back of Evan's throat and he tossed his head back as his free hand moved round to smother his face. But it did nothing to stop the tears from trickling down his face.

And he couldn't stop himself from twisting to the right and pummelling his fist into the wall harsh enough to knock the kitchen clock off the wall and into the sink. He didn't feel one ounce of pain in his knuckles that were quickly turning a bright shade of red as one or two layers of skin started to split apart from the force.

All he could feel was unbridled rage.

"Did- did he hurt her?" He almost didn't dare ask.

He wasn't sure what he would do if the answer was yes. How would he cope if he learned that Caleb had hurt (Y/n)- again, while she was pregnant? If he knew she was gravely injured or that something was wrong with the baby, Evan wouldn't be able to breathe. He wouldn't be able to put one foot in front of the other if his sister told him news like that.

He knew how spiteful and vindictive Caleb could be and he knew (Y/n)'s ex wasn't opposed to hurting her. Evan doubted (Y/n) being pregnant would sway Caleb very much or make him change his attitude, he would probably still hurt her and he might want to try and hurt the baby too.

Evan couldn't have that. He couldn't hear that kind of news, he needed to know that (Y/n) was alright, despite being somewhere unfamiliar and going into labour, presumably on her own.

"Not from what she's told me. I'm trying to get a location from the phone she's calling on, but it looks like she's out of town. I'll send over some coordinates, you and the team need to head on out there and if I find any responders closer to her I'll divert them to her. Okay?"

"Okay. Don't let her off the line, not until someone's with her and- and tell her I'll be there soon."

***

"(Y/n), Buck's on his way to you and we're trying to get a precise location on you. Someone will be with you soon honey."

Those words were like music to (Y/n)'s ears, but it seemed too little too late. It wasn't going to be enough. Evan wasn't going to make it on time. (Y/n) didn't feel well, things were progressing and she just knew that Evan- nor anyone else- were going to get to her before she had this baby.

"Ooh, I don't think h-he's gonna make it… Mads I need to push!"

Terror pooled deep within (Y/n)'s gut as she tilted her head down and wound her arms tightly around her waist as if she were trying to give herself a comforting hug. But it did nothing to stop the cries from bubbling past her lips and wracking her body. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be somewhere safe, somewhere with Evan.

Why did Caleb have to do this to her? Why did he have to ruin everything? Was it not enough that he had destroyed so much of (Y/n)'s life already? Now he was trying to ruin her future and taint her life with the memory of him. There was nothing in her life that was hers anymore, everything was painted with the image, memory and torture of Caleb.

With a deep breath, Maddie inched closer to her desk and began drumming her fingers down on the keys, adding notes to her call log. Female in distress. In labour. Starting to have the baby alone. Needs urgent assistance.

None of her notes were going to do anything. Maddie couldn't get anyone to (Y/n) any faster than this, she had sent the 118 in (Y/n)'s direction, giving them rough coordinates and telling them with a heavy heart that they would have to search for her around that area. Maddie would stay on the line and give them any landmarks or houses or things that (Y/n) could see to narrow down their search for her.

But help was still out of reach just now and Maddie was all that (Y/n) had to help her through this.

"If you think you're ready to push then that's what we'll do. You've got me, I'll coach you through this. An over the phone birthing partner, hm?"

"I wanna g-go home!" (Y/n)'s wail had her sister in law cringing and coiling in on herself.

She didn't want to do this alone, not like this. Not somewhere unfamiliar with nothing to use, nothing to help her, no one present with her in case things went wrong.

But what other choice did she have?

"Buck will be with you soon, but until then, we need to get ready if the baby is coming. Where exactly are you, are you outside?"

"Hm. I c- I left the car." (Y/n) groaned through another contraction and tried to straighten up. Kneeling up like this felt better than sitting or lying down and she was glad she was near a wall for stability and closure and the fact that there were seemingly no houses or other people nearby. She needed medical help, not the help of any strangers who could be passing by.

"It might be safer to go back to the car, to sit in there while you have the baby-"

"No! No, Caleb could wake up. I can't!"

There was no chance of (Y/n) trudging back towards the car. She might not have stumbled too far away, but she had gotten far enough away that the car was only vaguely in her sight and she couldn't see any glimpse of Caleb. (Y/n) couldn't risk him seeing her.

If he woke up from the concussion (Y/n) gave him, she couldn't get away again in her state. It was unlikely that Caleb would wake up and be able to move about, not with the injuries he had sustained. But (Y/n) didn't want to be near him. She couldn't have him witnessing her in labour.

Caleb had already stolen this moment from her, she wouldn't let him taint it any further by witnessing or trying to comment or hurt her and ruin what was left of this moment. This memory.

It wouldn't be tainted by Caleb's hands.

"Okay, okay. Do you feel ready to push on the next contraction? If you do, then you sit however you like and take a deep breath. Big pushes."

(Y/n) found herself nodding until she realised she was still alone and Maddie couldn't see her. She hummed, bracing her hands on her thighs as she pushed up on her knees while her legs began to tremble. She tried her best to intake a deep breath but it came out in a low grumbling scream when the contraction hit and she tried to push.

Her ears started to ring with static and she didn't hear whatever Maddie tried to say to her until she repeated herself. Twice.

"(Y/n), I need you to feel and make sure baby is coming head first."

That was enough to send (Y/n)'s system shaking and she didn't feel able to kneel any longer, no matter how much she wanted to. She shifted around with a grunt until she was sat down with her back propped up against the wall and her eyes rolling until they could find some sense of focus once again.

Her chin tucked down into her chest as she brought her knees up and tried to feel for the baby as another contraction rumbled through her frame and she started to push again.

"Head's coming," She muttered weakly towards the phone that was now resting on her right side.

Thank God the baby wasn't breach, (Y/n) wasn't sure she would of been able to get through that on her own without someone to coach her in person and help if the baby got stuck or began to struggle.

"That's good. Keep pushing, big deep breaths for me." With a click of her hand, Maddie put (Y/n) on hold and patched through to the fire station radio frequency. "Dispatch to one-eighteen, are you any closer to (Y/n) yet?"

"We're almost at the coordinates but we don't see a road or a car yet."

"Once you find the car (Y/n) won't be too far away. She's starting to push, you'll need to take the medic bags with you and assist."

"Copy."

Maddie disconnected the call and switched back to (Y/n)'s frequency just as she heard her brother swear in fury. She couldn't listen to his howling cries or his infuriated screams at not being there sooner. That would only cause Maddie heartbreak and distract her. She couldn't calm down her brother, his team would have to do that. (Y/n) was her first priority.

"Maddie, I- I can't do this,"

"Yes you can, I'm right here and Buck is almost there. You can do this, you can have this little girl."

"There! There, stop the truck!" Evan's voice rattled through the speakers and his belt swung back and hit the window with a thud.

He scrambled out of the truck the moment Bobby stepped on the brakes and he hurried down the steps, aiming for the silver car parked up in the middle of nowhere. It was a deserted road, there was no one around and nothing out here. This was in the area code Maddie gave them and they hadn't passed any other cars around here.

That had to be it.

That had to be the car that Caleb drove when he decided to kidnap Evan's wife. The nerve.

Evan could feel his nerves igniting like sparklers had been woven into his veins and his hands started to tremble at his sides when he rushed towards the car but stopped dead in his tracks.

Oh dear.

He couldn't fathom how to take a proper breath when he saw the crumpled sight of Caleb before him.

Evan hadn't seen Caleb that many times. Only a few times he had bumped into him in the street and each time, (Y/n) had clung to Evan and pointed her ex out. Each time, Evan had pushed (Y/n) behind him or guided her away and he had only spoken to Caleb to tell him to back off and get the Hell away from (Y/n).

But there was no mistaking who it was on the floor and Evan didn't know what to do about that sight. The sight of his wife's ex, crumpled on one side on the floor, lying in his own dirty puddle of blood. He had a knife imbedded in his abdomen and a lot of dried blood caked on the side of his face. There were a few streaks of blood running down the side of his head and mingling in with his hair, trickling towards his eyes and across the bridge of his nose.

But Evan started to gasp for air when he contemplated what had happened to (Y/n). If Caleb looked like this, how did (Y/n) look? If Caleb had that knife on him, did he use that on (Y/n) before she managed to get away?

Did she have any injuries that she had neglected to tell Maddie about?

"Oh my God." Hen cast her eyes around the scene as her upper lip curled in distaste. But when she went to step towards Caleb, Evan's hand curled around her arm and pulled her back.

"We need to find (Y/n)."

"Buck, we still need to check on him too-"

"He fucking did this! If he's not already dead I'll kill him myself. (Y/n) needs help. Not him."

Evan didn't want anyone going near Caleb. If he hadn't already bled out then Evan wanted everyone to leave him to it. He wanted them to walk away and ignore Caleb like he was nothing more than an ant on the road. A speck of dirt that they didn't need to bother with.

It was more humane to let him bleed out and disappear right there than risking him living and Evan going over to finish the job. He didn't want Caleb to be treated or have the decency of living after what he had done today.

The contemplation was clear on Hen's face and she looked over to Bobby for guidance. If any of them could convince Evan, it would be their Captain. They were still firefighters, they were here to protect and help anyone, even the bad guys. They couldn't neglect Caleb when he needed medical treatment.

"Eddie, Chim, go check on him and call for a second ambulance to this location. We'll take the gurney and find (Y/n), she is our priority."

The contemplation was clear on Evan's face. He wanted to argue, he wanted to disagree and order everyone to go with him to find (Y/n) and leave this creep here. But he couldn't. He didn't have time to stand around and argue when he needed to find and help his wife. She needed him.

At least Bobby agreed (Y/n) was their priority. She was the one they would take to hospital, they wouldn't take Caleb, he could wait for a second ambulance to come down and sort him out. They needed to look after (Y/n).

Evan's boots stomped against the gravel and his hands fisted at his sides as he hurried back towards the truck and hastily snatched one of the medic bags. He slung it on his shoulder, walking in silent fury as he looked around for his wife. Maddie said she couldn't be too far away from the car. He hoped she was right.

He set off into a jog, hearing Bobby hurrying behind him while Hen moved to get the gurney to wheel it along behind them.

"(Y/n)?!"

Her name clawed past Evan's lips on repeat as he scoured round the endless landscape that was practically bare and void of anything and anyone.

But then he saw her. His eyes set on her in the distance, near a high rise wall, and Evan could feel his heart physically dropping from his chest down to the pit of his gut. His shoulders sagged and his hand clenched around the handle of the medic bag as he set off into a sprint, screaming her name until his face turned a bright shade of red and his lungs began to shrivel up.

"No, no no!"

Evan dropped, breathless, to his knees when he was close enough to (Y/n). His knees hit the floor with so much force that his body began to shake and shockwaves rattled through his system. And his arms were reaching out for her immediately.

His shaking hands grasped her arms as his jaw dropped, useless and broken as he couldn't fathom how to speak any other words.

She was crying. Her back was pressed against the wall, her head was dropped forward with tears drenching her features and silent cries tearing past her lips. Her knees were pulled up near her chest, but it was the sight of her arms cocooning a baby to her chest that made Evan cry.

He had missed it. He knew, deep within his gut that he wouldn't make it. Somehow, after Maddie's phone call everything seemed to settle in Evan's system before he could even process it. He just knew this wasn't going to work out in his favour and that despite the past nine months of him preparing himself and waiting anxiously for this moment, he knew Caleb had ruined it. That phone call assured Evan that he wouldn't make it for this moment and (Y/n) would be alone when she needed him the most.

"Sh- she's not breathing!" (Y/n)'s lips were drenched with tears as she thrust her trembling arms out towards Evan.

Nothing Maddie had suggested had worked. (Y/n) couldn't get her baby to breathe and she was starting to panic. She needed someone to do something because she was all out of options and energy and willpower.

Evan sank back on his heels as his lungs squeezed and screeched for oxygen when his daughter was placed into his arms.

He didn't think twice before he turned towards Bobby who knelt down beside Evan and ransacked the medic bag Evan had dropped to the floor.

"Let's take a look, okay sweetie, here we go." Bobby's voice was tender as he found a pipette and carefully squeezed it into the newborn's nose to make sure her airways weren't clogged and to remove any fluids she might have inhaled.

He then pressed his finger to her chin and opened her mouth so he could try and do the same to her mouth to clear her airways. While Bobby did that, Evan cradled her in his left arm and moved his right hand to start rubbing up and down her chest to stimulate her because she wasn't moving. She wasn't wriggling or kicking or making one subtle movement to indicate that she was okay.

Evan could barely see her due to the tears streaming down his face, but he tried to blink rapidly to clear his vision and took a deep breath to stimulate his lungs a bit more.

He kept running his hand forcefully across the newborn's chest while Bobby extracted a good amount of fluid from her lungs which started to terrify Evan. But the moment her little arm bashed against his chest and a strangled sound emitted from her lips, Evan felt like collapsing on the floor in a heap.

"(Y/n)? (Y/n) what's happening?"

"Mads, it's me. We're here a-and she's breathing now. It's okay." Evan wasn't sure he trusted his voice and when his words started to crackle and break up, he felt like dropping his head down and sobbing furiously.

He could hear the relief in Maddie's sighs that came through the phone that Evan was almost knelt on since he hadn't noticed it earlier or bothered to look at anything except (Y/n).

As soon as Hen aimed their way with the gurney, Bobby snagged the blanket from the end of the gurney and made quick work of swaddling it around the newborn. He didn't quibble when Evan eased his daughter over into Bobby's arms and shakily looked through the medic bag.

Once Evan found some clamps, he secured them around the cord and cut it, making sure there was enough cord still attached to the newborn in case there were any complications at the hospital. He knew sometimes things were injected or fed through the cord in emergencies and therefore it had to be long.

Tears continued to stream down (Y/n)'s face and she couldn't stop herself from shaking.

What would she have done if Evan hadn't arrived when he did? How would she have gotten their baby girl breathing? She had done everything Maddie suggested but nothing had worked. She couldn't clear the newborn's airways manually like she tried to do, she couldn't stimulate her, nothing worked.

A round of trembling set in (Y/n)'s system and she let her feet skid against the floor so her legs could flop down. She didn't have the energy to hold them up any longer.

Her shaking hands reached out until they were curled around Evan's arm and she found the strength to push forward and smother her face into his bicep. Allowing her cries to vibrate through his arm. She didn't care how loud she was or who heard her anymore, she just wanted everything to stop.

Twisting to the side, Evan carefully pulled his arm out of (Y/n)'s grasp so he could wind it around her waist instead. He reeled her closer until she was pressing into his chest with her face smothered in his shirt. He felt each cry vibrate through to his heart and the way she was shaking made him feel sick.

This was supposed to be a happy moment, one of the best moments of their lives. Now it had turned into one of the worst memories each of them would ever remember.

His right hand moved to cradle the back of (Y/n)'s neck and he brushed his thumb up and down her skin while his lips meshed with the top of her head.

"It's okay baby. Ooh, you did it, you did it." Evan hadn't wanted her to do it alone. He expected to be holding her hand, coaxing her through contractions, sitting in the hospital by her side.

He didn't expect or ever wish for (Y/n) to be sat in the middle of nowhere, alone and frightened and clearly hurt. Evan wasn't stupid, he had noticed that her knee was bleeding, so was one of her arms and when he peered over her shoulder, he could see a large cut in the back of her dress.

She hadn't gotten away from Caleb unscathed and that riled Evan up like nothing else. Both his girls had been hurt and threatened and traumatised. His daughter's life had been in jeopardy because of some sick, jealous idiot who didn't know when to leave (Y/n) alone.

"I wanna go home."

Evan almost didn't hear her quiet pleas muttered into his chest but when he did, his heart tried to beat out of his chest to reach (Y/n). He coiled around her tighter with his chin on top of her head and he began to sway them from side to side while he felt (Y/n)'s arms secure around his chest. Her hands scratched into his back and she clutched at him like she was afraid he was about to disappear or be taken away from her.

He wasn't going anywhere. He wasn't about to let her go either. Nothing was going to tear him away from either of his girls. He was here and he wasn't letting anything else happen to them, he was going to make sure they were safe.

"I know, I know sweetheart. It's okay, I'm not gonna let anything else happen to you. You're both safe now."

Evan hoped there was nothing Chimney or Eddie could do for Caleb. He hoped they were far too late to do anything for him, and he hoped Caleb had been lying in agony out there.

But if he wasn't dead, Evan was going to make sure he paid the price for what he had done today.

#imagine #911 imagine #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #pregnant! reader #evan buckley imagine #buck x reader #buck imagine #he can't have you #bobby nash #eddie diaz

366 notes · View notes

penkura · 3 months ago

Note

Hi x

I love your writing. If you're not too busy could I make a request for some OP men (Zoro, Law, Penguin - you've made me love Penguin) x reader in Wano.

Where Kin'emon (due to the crew's meddling) makes them and Y/n pretend to be a married couple as part of their undercover roles.

Yes wonderful, the Penguin agenda continues to expand! I really love fake marriage plots (*cough* last forever fanfic *cough*), so this was a lot of fun to do!! I hope you like it! :)

Law

Heavily against the idea, Law doesn’t understand how he ended up having to pretend to be married you, a Straw Hat member, in the first place.

Well, okay, yes he does. You’d gotten yourself into trouble, like your crew always does, when one of Kaido’s Gifters got a little handsy with you, instead of running you started to fight him, almost getting captured before Law intervened. You agreed with him afterwards that you would’ve been just fine, though he didn’t believe you and argued back at you.

“Oh so you wanted to get captured and potentially used by those men?!”

“That’s not what I said!”

When he heard about it, Kin’emon said others heard you two arguing as well and assumed you were a married couple having a fight, so that would have to be your role now to keep up appearances. You both are against it even as it’s fully explained to you, but you don’t have much of a choice and end up putting on a façade around the people of Wano. For the first couple days, you begrudgingly let Law walk you back to your base of operation, just so the ruse is kept up. Law keeps his arm around your shoulders until you’re far enough away from the citizens, then removes it before you step away to keep distance.

More often than not you both argue when Law comes to get you from the teahouse you’ve been working at, a few of the patrons and other employees wondering if they should step in to stop you both from saying anything you shouldn’t.

One day, when you’re both arguing, your boss at the teahouse calls you back inside, thought you continue to argue with Law for a few more minutes. It’s not even about anything important, you had agreed to taking him to another couple’s home for dinner and he’s not happy about the idea.

“You could’ve waited and asked me first!”

“Well I wasn’t sure when you’d come by, and I know you well enough that you’d just say no!”

Before Law can say anything more, your boss calls you back inside, saying immediately or your pay would be docked. Law takes your arm before you go inside, making you glare at him just a bit, expecting him to keep arguing.

“We’ll talk about this when you’re off work. For now—”

Law doesn’t even get to finish his thought before you grab him by the back of the head and kiss him, just wanting him to shut up for once. He's so stunned that he can’t even finish his sentence when you pull away, looking embarrassed but annoyed with something else there that he’s not sure about. You almost look flustered but also happy?

“Just be quiet and go, Traffy. I don’t want anyone thinking you’re an abusive husband or something.”

Law doesn’t even say anything as you turn back to the teahouse, instead pulling his hat over his face and leaving, trying to hide the blush you’ve caused to cover his face. You’re as stubborn as he is, but he’s finding he doesn’t mind it, he doesn’t even care that you’re pretending to be married anymore. You’re getting under his skin and he doesn’t think it’s a bad thing, because it seems he’s done the same to you considering the smile you have the rest of the day.

Penguin

Penguin has dreamed of the chance to take you on a date in the first place, so the moment it’s suggested two of you from the Heart Pirates pretend to be married, he’s throwing his hand up to volunteer as soon as he hears you’ve agreed to it yourself. Law knows very well how much Penguin likes you so he rolls his eyes and says fine, you and Penguin are now pretend married for the time being.

“Just don’t do anything suspicious.”

Penguin promises that he won’t, and makes good on it, just treating the way he would if you two were actually together. You pretend to be a housewife while Penguin finds a job at a pawn shop to help pass out the fliers Kin’emon had made up to recruit samurai. Anytime someone invites the two of you over, you both do your best to make everyone believe you’re happily married, Penguin isn’t even faking how happy he is to be able to hold your hand and tell people you’re married, even if it’s fake. You can’t say you mind it, the thought of really being his wife starts to take over your mind especially at night when you can’t sleep, sometimes even dreaming about it being reality.

If he runs into you during the day, while you’re talking with other housewives of Wano, Penguin has to stop and give you a hug and kiss on the cheek, making your face feel warm as you greet him, hugging him back while he grins at you. The other women whisper or giggle seeing such a display of affection, most of them aren’t used to seeing that in public.

“I hope you ladies are having a good chat with my wife!”

Every time Penguin calls you his wife it makes your heart race and you can’t help but feel like he’s meant to say that, like it’s so natural for him to call you that. When he needs to go back to the pawn shop, he’ll hug you again but this time you give him a kiss on the cheek that makes him blush bright red.

“I’ll see you tonight, husband.”

While you take off again with the other housewives, Penguin is frozen in place with the blush still on his face, to the point Shachi has go drag him away.

“Come on, lover boy, we got work to do!”

Penguin is determined to ask you out on a proper date after everything is settled.

Zoro

Zoro is very neutral about having to fake a marriage with you. Considering you are his girlfriend already, it’s not a big deal, you just have to call each other husband and wife when talking about the other to anyone who asks, but he does believe this will help keep you safe from Kaido and his men while you’re in Wano. If people hear you’re married to a ronin, it might make them think twice before messing with or attacking you.

Of course, you could defend yourself no problem, that’s not what Zoro is even a little bit concerned about.

He’s more concerned about how you seem to lose yourself in your thoughts and want to help people when they ask for it, even if they’re obviously lying to try and kidnap or steal from you. It’s happened so many times that he’s become your designated buddy to keep you from getting into trouble, like how you became his to keep Zoro from getting lost every time you go somewhere.

It's a good trade of you have going with each other, even with your relationship, and keeping it up in Wano is the safest option. No one questions you about it really, the Straw Hats and Heart Pirates keep up the ruse too along with their placements in the country and recruiting all the Samurai you can.

You end up working at a small café that’s frequented, unfortunately, by Kaido’s men who seem unable to keep their hands to themselves most of the time. Zoro has asked every day if any of them tried anything with you, but you’ve denied it every time, the second they heard you’re ‘married’, most of them leave you alone though a few try to convince you to leave your ‘husband’ for them.

Zoro stops there one night to watch and make sure you’re okay, staying in a corner where you don’t notice him as he orders from another waitress and watches when you take an order from a Gifter. He sees you acting nervously but can’t hear what’s being said between you and the man, but he can guess it’s not anything good once the guy grabs your wrist and tries to pull you into his lap, Zoro’s about to jump up to protect you when he sees that.

“Come off, you’re off soon right? You should come have some fun with us!”

“No, thank you, I’m married,” you pull your arm away, giving a fake smile, “Will the two drinks be all for you?”

“Hey, come on now, wouldn’t want your boss to he—”

The Gifter trying to get you to go with him shuts up as a sword touches his neck, you being pushed behind Zoro while he glares the man.

“She said no, and you’re asking in front of her husband, ya know.”

“Love, you can’t use your sword here!”

You end up getting kicked out by the Café owner, Kin’emon only sighing when you tell him what happened.

You are glad to know that if you do end up getting married one day, that Zoro will continue to protect you always.

#one piece x reader #reader insert #fem!reader #zoro x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #penguin x reader #op penguin x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #request

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jkateel · 6 days ago

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hobbies include but are not limited to:

Painting

Reading

Learning several new instruments

Composing songs and compositions in Elven that are mostly about his love for Lavellan. Orlais picks up a few and Lavellan cannot attend a concert for some time because the second-hand embarrassment is too much.

Writing scathing letters to the College of Enchanters/Circle of Magi (or both, depending on your world state), with criticism of their, in his opinion, subpar curriculum and rigid magical theories based far too heavily on Chantry dogma, until finally they write back to say "well you come teach then."

In contrast, he starts a friendly correspondence with one Professor Emmrich Volkarin, a fellow Fade expert and author of several tomes Solas found fascinating. The debates between them are lively and spirited and cover a broad range of subjects. One day, their letters will be published and become the foundation of several groundbreaking magical theories.

Cooking, but he's terrible at it because his tastes are so eclectic, and Lavellan finally says, "Solas, I'm rich, we can hire a chef already."

Occasionally joining Lavellan on her many trips across Thedas with a map of all the ruins he wants to stop at to sleep in

Teaching the Dalish clans that camp near their home about their history and language (that he was once Fen'Harel is still shocking to them, but thanks to the efforts of the Inquisition scholars and the Veil Jumpers, they have learned his past and understand he is not as the stories claim). He is especially fond of two Dalish in particular: a talented mage who rebuilt an Eluvian with just a fragment of the mirror, and the other an engineer who can take a millennia-old artifact and get it functioning again

Visiting the place in the Fade where his friend once roamed, and crying the day he finds a young spirit forming from its essence

Napping

Eating Lavellan out

I think Solas would really have loved being The Inquisitor’s funky little apostate hobo boyfriend. Like, he gets to offer advice but he’s not the driving force of anything. If he had been brave in Crestwood, he would’ve lived his dreams of being a house husband who does little hobbies and rubs Lavellan’s shoulders after a long day

#dragon age #solas #sorry i had to add the last one because it's his favorite past time apart from writing those letters to the college and circle #also he'd probably go through his eluvian to head to Tevinter and just spends a day or two freeing slaves and causing general havoc #he probably also writes books #but its hard to cite his sources until the veil jumpers start finding artifacts with more archive spirits #or technology that is the elven equivalent of the internet #i have way too many thoughts about this #thank you for the inspiration OP #solavellan #solas x female lavellan #solas x inquisitor

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cjlouwho · 5 months ago

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gimme buck and tommy meeting during a call and getting the chance to squeeze in a lil bantering and a goodbye smooch. i need it like i need air

“Well, fancy seeing you here.”

Buck turned around at the familiar voice, eyebrows furrowed in confusion even as the smile grew on his face. “Wha- I thought you were in the chopper?”

Tommy shook his head. “Parker's up there today. I may have asked if I could work ground ops when I heard the 118 was responding to the call too.”

It was a pretty intense fire that started on the roof of an apartment complex. With the wind, and the closeness of nearby buildings, there was worry it would spread fast if not quickly contained.

Thankfully, everything went smoothly. The building had been cleared and the fire was out. The crews from each department were now working on getting all their gear back in order so they could leave.

A blush rose on Buck's cheeks. “And why would you do that?”

“Oh, you know,” Tommy took a step closer to Buck, “I haven't seen Howie in a few weeks so I thought I'd catch u-”

Buck reached out and gave Tommy a playful push before he could finish the sentence. “Asshole,” he muttered.

Tommy laughed, face scrunching up tight. God, Buck loved that face.

“I wanted to see you, Evan,” he admitted. “It's been almost two weeks of opposite schedules. I'm about to file a report accusing the LAFD of being homophobic for keeping us apart.”

“I'd sign my name to it,” Buck agreed.

“So, not an overreaction?”

Buck moved even closer to Tommy. “If anything we should be doing more.”

Tommy's eyes moved to Buck's lips. “Anything specific in mind?”

“Guys, I'm seriously so close to throwing up,” Chimney interrupted, carrying the ax back to the truck. “Get a room.”

“In fifteen hours we will be in a room!” Buck yelled out to him, then quietly added for only Tommy to hear, “And we will not be leaving the room for forty-eight hours.”

Tommy smirked. “What if we get hungry?”

“Our lube is edible.”

“You know, Athena and I have made out between a firetruck or two,” Bobby mentioned as he passed by, patting Buck on the shoulder. “We leave in five.”

Years ago, Bobby would have been trying to steer Buck away from inappropriate workplace behavior, and maybe he still should be, but Buck had spent his last couple shifts becoming increasingly pouty. Plus, Tommy wasn't a one night- or, better yet, a one shift- stand. They were coming up on eight months together and apparently still couldn't get enough of each other.

Tommy would have laughed at the shocked look on Evan's face, but the go ahead from Bobby was all that he needed to be grabbing Evan's hand and leading him to a space between a fire truck and an ambulance. Tommy pushed him against the ambulance, brought his hands to Buck's waist, and practically smashed their lips together. Buck moaned, happily surprised as Tommy's tongue licked into his mouth. He wrapped his arms around Tommy's shoulders, bringing him closer.

“Where were you?” Buck asked when they pulled apart for air.

“West stairwell. You?” Tommy kissed him again before he could give an answer.

“East, mmm, east stairwell,” he gasped, Tommy working his way down Buck's jaw to his neck. “God, Tommy. We just m- missed each other.”

“Hmm,” Tommy hummed against the top of his collarbone, the vibrations giving Buck chills. He had never even felt Tommy undo his turnout jacket for better access. “Seems like we did that for quite a few years.”

Tommy knew how Buck felt about all their missed connections. He'd spent so much time going over all the events throughout the years where they could have or should have met, or almost did meet. While Buck did get bummed that they didn't know each other all those years ago, the fact that they finally did meet at what seemed to be the perfect time for them both was one of his biggest turn ons.

He reached up and got ahold of Tommy's face, bringing him back to his lips. “I love you... so much,” he mumbled out between kisses.

“I love... you more.”

“Amazing what you can see when you've got a bird's eye view,” a voice rang out over the radio. Tommy pulled back from their kiss, and they both looked up at the chopper hovering above them, giving a wave. “Parker will never let me hear the end of this,” Tommy laughed out.

Buck rolled his eyes playfully, then pressed the button on his radio. “I'm sure it's beautiful. I hope you took pictures.”

A few seconds passed before Parker got back on the radio. “Oh, don't you worry about that,” he said, laughter evident in his voice. The helicopter began to move away from above them. “Pilot Parker heading back to Harbor Station.”

Buck was starting to lean back in when the radio came to life again.

“Captain Nash to Buckley, we're heading out in one minute. I repeat, heading out in one minute.”

“Got it, Cap,” Buck answered. “On my way.”

Tommy sighed, gazing deeply into Evan's eyes. “I'll see you soon, okay? Be safe.”

“Fifteen hours?”

Tommy ran his hands up and down Evan's waist, pressing a final kiss to his lips before they had to part ways. “Fifteen hours.”

#bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911 #tevan #kinley #prompt #sorry it took me so long to give you the air you needed

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chukys-mouthguard · 5 months ago

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Could you do where the reader is a singer and dating Luke hughes and if you are a taylor swift fan you know how she said karma is the guy on the chiefs instead of on the screen you you do where Lukes family and friends are at the readers concert and karma is a song she wrote and she changes to karma is the guy on the deviles and the whole tent where his family and friends are goes wild and making him blush. If that makes since.

my muse

1.5k words

genre: fluff

featuring: luke hughes x famous singer girlfriend

summary: your world tour makes a stop in New Jersey the same weekend as the hughes bowl, so you seize the opportunity to reveal your relationship with Luke to the world

note: i just made up lyrics versus using an actual artists lyrics, but that is really the only thing i changed regarding this request 🫶🏼🩵 i am not super thrilled with how this turned out, but i still wanted to post this because i thought the request/idea was super cute with luke

You weren’t sure how the universe smiled on you when your schedule magically aligned with the annual Hughes Bowl, but it meant that the Hughes could all attend your show together. And while your relationship with Luke wasn’t yet public, you knew there were some rumors going around that their presence certainly wouldn’t help to silence.

As you got the finishing touches done to your hair and makeup, you headed off to do some pre-show photo ops. Having invited a few local friends backstage, along with Luke and his family.

“Hey guys!”

Greeting the Hughes you hugged both Ellen and Jim before moving to Quinn and Jack. Saving Luke for last as you gave him a kiss before you invited them all to get a photo with you.

“Thank you so much for the tickets, you really didn’t have to do that honey. You know we would’ve gladly bought our seats to support you!”

Ellen wrapped you in another hug, going on to tell you how nervous Luke was to have them all here with him for your show.

“Oh stop, it’s the least I could do for you all. You’ve always been so supportive of me and my career, as well as me and Luke.”

Looking over Ellen’s shoulder you watched Luke and his brothers talking with some of your friends they’d be sharing their suite with for the night.

“Is he really nervous?”

Ellen nodded with a smile, taking your hands as she pulled you to the side to talk.

“He said he’s nervous because you two aren’t officially public, and he knows that all of us being here is probably going to fuel those rumors even more. So he just doesn’t want all of us being here to stir anything up.”

“Oh my gosh, I’m not even worried about that! I want you all here one hundred percent! Maybe I should talk to him? Calm him down a bit?”

With a chuckle you headed over to steal Luke away, taking his hands in yours as you found a seat across the room. A smile on his face as he hadn’t stopped staring at you since you’d walked in the room.

“How are you?”

Luke chuckled at the question, a bit shocked that you were asking him those words.

“Well, you’re the one about to go perform for thousands of people and you’re asking me? I’m pretty good, can’t complain.”

Rolling your eyes you laughed at him, his sarcasm always being something you appreciated no matter the situation.

“Are you nervous of people finding out about us?”

He immediately shook his head, giving your hands a reassuring squeeze as he could sense in your voice you were a bit discouraged at the idea of him being scared. But it was the furthest thing from the case. Luke wanted to scream from the rooftops that you were his, he’d always been so proud to have you as his girlfriend. But he knew that your world was so different from his, and the media could be brutal and unruly. So he wasn’t sure what they’d potentially do with the story once it broke.

“I don’t care who knows that you’re my girlfriend, let them all know. I just don’t want you to ever feel like we have to tell people our business, or feel forced to confirm anything. I think it would obviously make things easier. Like being able to come here tonight and support the most talented girl on the planet without being nervous about photos leaking online and rumors spreading.”

He smirked as his lips peppered your neck with kisses. Making sure to avoid your face so as to not mess up your makeup. He’d learned quickly that the makeup artists were not a fan of having to fix smudges from his kisses. His arms snaking around your waist as he pulled you close to him, placing a quick peck on your lips before he rested his chin on your shoulder, whispering into your ear so no one around overheard.

“If you want to tell everyone, then do it. It’s not like they don’t already have an idea right?”

“Tonight?”

Pulling away you rested your hands on his cheeks as you looked at him, slightly shocked at his sudden boldness and want to go public.

“Why not? It would be the perfect time to do it. You’re in Jersey, I’m in the crowd. People are most likely going to figure it out so why not beat them to it?”

You raised an eyebrow at the idea, thinking to yourself how you might be able to work such an announcement into the show without explicitly calling it. Whispering to Luke your idea, you waited for his approval, which he gave in the form of a smile and a kiss.

“It’s going to be great, I love you.”

He wrapped you in one final hug before you had to bid farewell to everyone, the show set to start soon and you needed to go through your vocal warmups.

As you finished off yet another song it was time for the show to slow down, the next few songs being acoustics or ballads as one of the dancers brought you out your guitar.

Slipping it over your shoulder you tried to catch your breath as your heart was still racing from the previous number, the fans all screaming as you waved to a few in the front row.

“How’s everyone doing?”

You smiled as you looked out to scan the crowd, your eyes eventually falling on the sectioned off seating where Luke was sitting with his family and your friends. He gave you a reassuring smile as he knew you were about to sing the song that would contain the announcement you’d be nervous for all night.

“This next song is one off of my latest album. And while I know you all love it exactly how it is, I thought we might change up the words a little bit. It’s a special night here in New Jersey, there’s some special people in attendance. So I hope you don’t mind, but let’s see if anyone can catch it. This song is called, ‘Momma I think I love him’.”

You winked to the crowd before you heard the countdown begin to play in your in-ears. Strumming only the first few chords your fans instantly erupted over the song, all of them singing the words along with you, only making you even more nervous for the lyric change you’d barely had a chance to practice before you’d perform it live.

Looking out to Luke you caught him singing along with you, a smile on his face as he was in awe of you. No matter how many times he’d seen you perform live, he could never get over how talented you were. Loving that he was able to be here to cheer you on, just like you’d done for him so many times before.

Coming up on the ending of the song, you could feel your palms sweating, praying you didn’t drop your guitar pick or goof up the notes. Your heart was practically beating through your chest as you knew that once you sang the different lyrics, there was no turning back, and your relationship with Luke would be confirmed within minutes of the song's final chords.

The crowd watched in anticipation, knowing this was the moment of the lyric change. Their phones all pointed at you, unsure as to what you’d be saying but wanting to be sure to capture it on camera.

“He’s, six foot two with hazel eyes. But I promise you he ain’t like them other guys. He’s a, bit of a rebel. And he, plays for the Devils. Jersey 43, and he’s perfect for me. Oh momma, I think I love him.”

The roar throughout the arena made you blush as you shyly covered your face with the song coming to an end, hearing the screams over the reveal from those close enough to you. The word must have traveled fast as the crowd had begun chanting Luke’s name, your eyes immediately looking at him as you were nervous whether or not you’d done the right thing.

But Luke immediately washed those fears away, holding his hands up to you in a heart as you reciprocated. The camera men at the concert not letting the moment go unnoticed to anyone else as they quickly flashed the image of Luke up on the screen. He’d gotten a bit shy, but waved to the crowd before he forced Jack and Quinn to get on camera with him. The fans screamed louder and louder as each of the Hughes’ boys were shown.

“Well, surprise!”

You playfully spoke as you’d handed your guitar off to one of the stage attendants, fanning your face to try and calm your blush. The fans still obsessing over the news as you walked down the long runway towards the main stage to get ready for your next song.

“Hopefully the rest of the show will be just as exciting as seeing the Hughes’ brothers all in attendance, maybe if we are lucky I can get them to come on stage with me.”

You sarcastically spoke as you looked towards their section, immediately seeing them shaking their heads no as they waved their arms in disagreement. Rolling your eyes you laughed as they fans tried to encourage them.

“Trust me, you do not wanna see them dance. They are much better on skates!”

#luke hughes fluff #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes fic #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes #nhl imagine #nhl fics #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl blurb #nhl au

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bunny-jpeg · 3 months ago

Text

kink-o-ween - day three

lance stroll - toys

cw: smut/pwp, mutual masturbation, sex toys, teasing/dirty talk, lance in love, (slight) jealousy

a/n: come as you are a real shop in toronto, and they're a co-op and very cool! so if you're in the canadian region and want some place to buy special toys. i'd suggest checking them out!

kink-o-ween: formula one edition - call of duty edition

you enjoyed montreal, since you started seeing lance it had become a second city in the way. you obviously knew that it wasn't covered in snow all year, but to see the city in a sweltering heat of late summer was something else. but it was nice, being in the house that lance owned to spend the last days of summer break together.

but you knew that in the final days before the next leg of races, your boyfriend had a surprise for you. it came in a little pink box, unmarked of any logos, but what was inside sure excited you.

"i think most people just have sex." you remarked as you looked to your boyfriend. you were kneeling on the bed you shared all summer with a toy by your knees. it wasn't anything too special, even though the name of it made your ears hot. g-spot vibrator. this was supposed to hit in all the right places.

"i wanted yo try something different." he chuckled as he laid out on the foot of the bed, propped up on his elbow on his side. he was in loose sweatpants and a t-shirt from some promotion, "came all the way from toronto. from one of the best sex shops in the city." he chuckled. as if there weren't a million stores on st. catherines' alone.

come as you are was the name of the place. they were even nice enough to throw in information about how to use the toy and how to clean it. they seemed like nice people there.

"plus, i'm going to be gone soon and i don't need you getting cramps in your wrists from missing me too much." he chuckled, those dark eyes lingered on you barely clothed body.

nothing but panties and a shirt that made his logo stretch across your pretty titties. you looked at him and took the toy off the bed, "i guess i should get you something, so you don't pull something from jerking off so much during off time."

lance sat up and got his shirt off, "just fill a photo album of pretty pictures of you, babe. and i'll be set for the rest of the season." the toy laid between you two as you got undressed.

it felt weird to lie back with your legs spread out, practically in your boyfriend's lap with a pink silicon toy in your hand. you made eye contact with him before you slowly rubbed the toy up against your pussy. when you managed to get it on you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

lance was laid back at the foot of the bed his legs on either side of yours as he stroked his hard cock. this was a sight to see. his precious girlfriend, the one who he adored. he couldn't stop talking about you most of the time, now you were sinking a pretty toy into your sweet pussy.

while this wasn't traditional sex, it felt really good. your cheeks heated up as you moved the toy in and out of you. the vibrations made you nipples hard which only made lance's mouth water.

"how does it feel?" he asked as he continued to stroke his cock, "you look so good." he chuckled, "i hope he takes care of you while i'm gone. keeps you nice and busy while i'm winning for us."

you smiled a little, hiding your face with your other arm for a moment, "it feels good. i haven't had a sex toy since we started dating." you had fond memories of a lovely rabbit toy that you bought cheap in college. you peeked under your arm and said, "you became my favourite toy after that."

he chuckled before he spat in his hand and continued to stroke his cock. well, weren't you the romantic. he asked, "ah, so i guess i should toss it out then. don't want any competition."

you smiled at him before you let out another moan. you curled into yourself a little as you continued to work the toy against your g-spot. it made your toys curl. you replied, "no, no. sadly, as lovely as this toy is. i can't spend late nights talking to it, or have it cuddle me. it's a fat cry from you."

he leaned a little further back, bracing himself with his other hand while he pleasured himself. you looked beautiful. how your lips moved when the toy hit the right spot, how you jolted when you pulled it out and rubbed it against your clit. it was cute almost seeing you kick out your legs from the vibrations against your clit.

you could only put it on par with the time lance blew on your achy clit after what felt like hours of over-stimulation. it was the only time you almost kicked your boyfriend.

the two of you continued to pleasure yourselves. the toy felt really good, it was good quality that made you toys curl. you didn't want to think about the cost of it. lance liked to spend his money on you, something that made you frown. you didn't want to be the girlfriend who mooched off her successful man. but that was neither here nor there as you rubbed the toy up against your clit once more. stimulating and making your body grow more tense.

you could feel lance's hungry eyes on you as you dragged the toy back inside of you. allowing it to pleasure you in other ways. you moaned, "fuck, lance."

he chuckled softly as he felt the sweat on his neck from his own motions, "that's what you better say when you're playing with yourself." his voice was tinged with a little envy. but you only blushed more, you were the last person that would ever cheat. you were such the perfect girlfriend that lance could only get jealous of silicon and wiring.

you smiled at him, "don't worry, you'll both be called lance." you arched your back a little at the feeling. the pleasure was deep in your gut and moving through your blood. it left you feeling needy all over and you continued to pleasure yourself.

"you're such a-" he beamed at you.

you replied, "whatever you may call me, i'm still yours. through and through. and no little toy could ever prevent me from loving you. when you come back home, he'll be put back in the drawer. because i'll be too busy having the real thing." you then let out a sweet moan which only enticed your boyfriend more.

that was what he liked to hear. your love for him. it was something he yearned for at all times. he wanted to feel his beloved in every way he could have you. if he didn't give you the love and appreciation you deserved then he'd be a fool like no other. why fuck up perfection.

he held onto his cock a little tighter, pre-cum drooled all over his fist and he continued to masturbate in front of you. he drank in the sight of you like fine wine. you made his cock leaky and painfully hard, the sight of you pleasuring yourself.

"i love you." he said.

"i love you too." you giggled, your legs tensed up as you felt pleasure start to really circulate through you. you could feel your boyfriend's hungry gaze across your body. you wanted to shy away for a moment, but the intensity of his gaze on you made you excited.

you liked how lance looked at you, you didn't often feel like a goddess for worship (why would you?), but in the quietness of alone time with your boyfriend. you felt as beautiful as marble statues in a museum. a softness that could only be created with such delicate craftsmanship.

"you're beautiful." he said, "you better send me photos every day. doesn't even have to be of you naked. i just want to see you. you're my good luck charm." he attributed his better performance on the track to you being around him. when you hugged him and kissed him, you got your good luck all over him. you found it endearing, just like many other parts of him.

you tensed up a little more and felt yourself reach the peak of your climax. there was something different about getting to that high on your own. while lance did amazing work when he pleasured you. you knew your body better than he could so there climax was different. you arched your back a little and let out a sweet moan.

it only spurred your boyfriend to keep pleasuring himself as you rode out your orgasmic high. the sight of you was hot and left himself needy. he groaned at the sight of you climaxing. and he soon followed. he came all over his fist, cum dripping down his hand as he felt the tension course through him. when he finally relaxed and shakily exhaled.

"holy shit." he panted.

you chuckled and took the toy out of you. and laid there out on the bed. you drifted off for a moment and heard the tap run in the bathroom. but it wasn't long before you felt movement on the bed and when you opened your eyes, you were met with your boyfriend's big brown eyes looking down at you. he tossed the toy off the bed to be cleaned later.

"hey!" you said as he crowded your space.

"now." your boyfriend said as he kissed at your jaw, "let's see if i can one-up that toy." he rubbed his hardened cock up against your thigh, "don't want to get replaced."

you kissed him on the lips and said, "hmm, i don't know. it really did feel nice against my g-spot."

he licked his lips, "well then." he got between your legs and threw your ankles to your head, exposing your soaked cunt to him. he kissed at your slit and said, "i guess i better start now." <3

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solxamber · 3 months ago

Text

Coughing up Love - Idia Shroud x reader

You don't think much of it when Idia starts acting weird because let's be real, that seems to be his default around you. Wait are those flowers he's coughing up?

There’s something odd about Idia lately. He’s acting weird—well, weirder than usual, and that’s saying a lot for someone who’s mastered the art of avoiding people for weeks at a time. It’s subtle at first. His normally snarky, rapid-fire commentary seems more hesitant, his usual screen-lit complexion a bit paler, and he’s excusing himself mid-game way more often than usual.

And, most bizarre of all, every time you hang out, he always seems to keep something in his mouth. Gum, candy, or, more suspiciously, a fist pressed against his lips like he’s hiding something. You know Idia— he's socially awkward, sure, but when it’s just the two of you gaming or chatting, he’s rarely this strange.

Today, the two of you are halfway through an intense raid when he suddenly stands up, his chair creaking violently as he jerks upward.

“Pause! Time out, emergency bathroom break,” he blurts out, yanking his headset off with lightning speed and scrambling for the door.

You frown, watching his character get obliterated on screen. “Dude, you could’ve at least—”

“BRB!” he shouts, voice trailing off as he disappears into the hall. He’s gone in a flash, leaving you blinking at the door, wondering what just happened.

But that’s not the first time, nor will it be the last. Over the next few days, Idia pulls more disappearing acts than a badly programmed NPC. Mid-conversation? Poof, gone. Halfway through a snack? Vanished.

It takes a while, but eventually, the pieces staet to click together. You catch him out of the corner of your eye, face flushed pink, a hand pressed firmly to his mouth as he stifles a coughing fit during one of your game nights. At first, you’re concerned—it’s not like him to get sick, not seriously anyway. You suggest getting him medicine or a trip to the infirmary, but Idia adamantly waves it off.

“I-it’s nothing!” he stammers, trying to hold it together while choking down the coughs. “Just, uh, allergies! Y’know, dust and stuff. Old consoles… gotta, uh, clean them more…”

Suspicious. Old consoles? In Ignihyde? Yeah, right. You narrow your eyes, but drop the subject—at least for now. It’s not until later, when you see something float from his mouth—something blue and oddly petal-like—that you realize what’s happening.

You’ve heard of Hanahaki before. It’s practically a meme among some circles—an outdated trope, really. People coughing up flowers because of unrequited love? What is this, a 2000s anime fanfic? But now, watching a crumpled blue petal fall to the floor in slow motion, you realize that your very own shut-in gamer might be the rare exception to the rule.

The worst part? He’s really, really bad at hiding it.

A few days later, you invite him to hang out at Ramshackle, hoping the quiet environment will calm whatever’s been causing his weird behavior. Things seem fine at first—until you notice him coughing into his sleeve again.

This time, he has a backup plan.

“Are you okay?” you ask, brow raised as he muffles yet another cough.

“Yeah, totally! Just, um…” He rifles through his bag and pulls out a—oh dear sevens, is that a mask?

You can’t help it—you burst out laughing. “You’re… you’re seriously wearing a mask now?”

“It’s for—” He coughs violently again, eyes darting around as if looking for an escape. “For, uh, germs! You know, flu season! Gotta… gotta be prepared…”

You squint at him. “We’re indoors. And it’s summer.”

“Exactly!” he says, as if that makes sense. “The germs are, like, in the air! Sneaky buggers!”

The mask stays on for the rest of the evening, and every time you glance at him, you see his eyes flick away like he’s hiding something worse than a little cough.

His next attempt is, frankly, genius in its stupidity. You’re in his dorm, playing a co-op game, when the inevitable happens: he starts hacking up petals. At first, he plays it off with a hurried gulp of water, but soon the coughing becomes too much. With a gasp, he fumbles for something on his desk—a box of tissues? No, it’s a full-on dust mask this time.

“Idia, what the fu—”

“Pro-gamer tip,” he interrupts, voice muffled behind the mask. “Always be prepared for, uh… dust allergies! It’s, uh, a top-tier strat. Totally not s-suspicious.”

Dust? When he has Ortho making sure that he doesn’t perish? You stare, absolutely dumbfounded. “I’m starting to think you’re more allergic to honesty than dust.”

He laughs—well, tries to. It comes out as a garbled mix of coughing and awkward chuckles. “W-what are you talking about? I’m fine! Really!”

“Fine?” You raise an eyebrow, watching as more petals spill out of his sleeve. “You’re literally falling apart, dude.”

At this, his face burns bright pink, and his hair flares up, turning from it's usual blue to a mortified rosy hue. “N-no I’m not!” he protests weakly. “J-just a little springtime cold, that’s all.”

“Yeah, sure,” you say, crossing your arms. “Because spring colds definitely involve coughing up whole bouquets.”

There’s a brief pause as you both stare at the mess of petals on the floor. Idia winces, clearly defeated, and slumps back into his chair.

“...Crap.”

The look of his face tells you to let it go and you do, believing that it'll probably resolve itself. You weren't from this world, maybe it was common here and you were the one that's overreacting?

After another week of weird excuses, mask-related antics, and watching him suffer through increasingly ridiculous attempts to hide his Hanahaki, you’ve had enough. You’re going to get to the bottom of this once and for all.

You catch him mid-cough during one of his solo raids, bursting into his room without warning. Idia practically jumps out of his seat, slamming the pause button and whirling around with wide eyes.

“W-what are you doing here!?” he yelps, trying (and failing) to hide the petals littering his desk. “I—uh—this isn’t what it looks like!”

“Really? Because it looks like you’ve been coughing up whole flowers,” you say, deadpan, as you point to the pile of blue petals strewn across his keyboard. “Seriously, Idia. What’s going on?”

He freezes. For a moment, the room is deadly silent—except for the faint sound of digital gunfire in the background. His face, already pale, turns ghostly white, and his flames flicker pink in embarrassment.

“I…” He stammers, looking everywhere but at you. “I didn’t… It’s not…”

You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Spit it out. Or should I say, ‘cough it out?’”

It’s the worst joke you’ve ever made, and yet, somehow, it breaks the tension. Idia lets out a wheezing, awkward laugh, though it quickly dissolves into another coughing fit. This time, he doesn’t even try to hide it—just pulls his knees up to his chest and buries his face in his arms, defeated.

“I’m such a loser,” he mumbles, voice muffled. “I thought maybe… maybe if I ignored it, it’d just go away. Y’know, like a glitch or something.”

Your heart clenches at the sight of him, all curled up and vulnerable. It’s so unlike the cocky, trash-talking gamer you’ve come to know. You crouch down beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Idia,” you say softly, “you’re not a loser.”

He peeks out from behind his arms, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Y-yeah, right. I’m just the guy who gets Hanahaki because I can’t even confess like a normal person.”

You blink. “Wait—Hanahaki? Like actually?”

You did not expect that. You expected it to be some weird disease that was native to twisted wonderland and not actually Hanahaki of all things.

Idia winces, his hair turning a bright shade of pink as he realizes what he’s just admitted. He looks away, fiddling nervously with the edge of his sleeve. “...Yeah. It’s stupid, I know.”

For a moment, you’re speechless. All those strange behaviors, the coughing, the flowers—it all makes sense now. He’s got Hanahaki, and he’s been trying to hide it because…

“Idia…” you whisper, heart pounding. “You love me?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, his whole body trembling. “I-I mean, i-it’s not like I expect you to feel the same! I know I’m not, like, Vil-level handsome or anything. I just… didn’t want to ruin things.”

You feel a warmth spreading through your chest, and before you can stop yourself, you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Idia goes completely still. His hair flares up, a brilliant pink, as he slowly opens his eyes in disbelief.

“Y-you…” he stammers, voice barely a whisper.

You smile softly. “I love you too, you dork.”

For a second, he just stares at you, as if he can’t quite process what you’ve said. Then, with a choked sob, he flings himself into your arms, burying his face in your shoulder as the last of the petals fall away.

“I’m such an idiot,” he mutters, but there’s a hint of relief in his voice. His arms tighten around you, and you can feel the rapid thumping of his heart against your chest.

"You’re not an idiot," you murmur, gently running your fingers through his hair. The flames have cooled down to a soft, warm pink, flickering faintly in the dim light of the room. "And you don’t need to be Vil-level handsome. You’re just you, and that’s more than enough."

Idia snorts, though it’s more out of disbelief than amusement. "Yeah, right. I’m just the weirdo who plays video games all day and coughs up flowers. Super attractive."

You pull back slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes. "Hey, I don’t care about that. Do you think I’d be hanging out with you all the time if I didn’t like you? I’m here because I care about you, Idia."

For a moment, Idia just stares at you, his mouth slightly open like he’s trying to come up with some kind of retort, but nothing comes out. He looks… overwhelmed, his usual sarcastic defense mechanisms short-circuiting under the weight of your words. His eyes dart away, then back to you, and finally, with a shaky breath, he mutters, "I don’t get it… Why me?"

You smile, brushing a stray petal from his hair. "Because you’re kind, even if you don’t realize it. You’re funny, you make me laugh all the time—even when you’re not trying. And you’re smart, way smarter than you give yourself credit for. I like being with you, Idia. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t."

His face flushes a deeper pink, his flames flickering erratically as he shifts nervously in your arms. "I-I… I don’t know what to say…" he stammers, his voice cracking slightly. "I thought for sure you’d think I was a weirdo or something."

You chuckle softly, resting your forehead against his. "Well, you’re my weirdo, then."

That earns a shaky laugh from him, though it quickly turns into another coughing fit. You gently rub his back as he coughs, but this time, instead of petals, there’s just the sound of his breath gradually evening out. He looks at you, wide-eyed, as if expecting to see more flowers—more proof of his self-doubt.

But the petals are gone. The weight that’s been crushing his chest, suffocating him with every breath, has finally lifted.

Idia stares at you for a long moment, his expression softening as the reality of the situation settles in. His arms loosen around you, but he doesn’t pull away—he stays close, resting his head on your shoulder with a sigh that’s both relieved and exhausted.

"Does this mean…" He hesitates, his voice barely above a whisper. "Does this mean we’re… together now?"

You grin, tilting his chin up so he has no choice but to meet your gaze. "If you want us to be."

Idia’s face erupts into a brilliant shade of pink, and for a moment, you think his face might actually catch fire. He quickly looks away, fiddling nervously with the hem of his shirt, but there’s a small, shy smile playing on his lips.

"I-I guess that’d be… kinda nice," he mumbles, almost inaudible.

You laugh softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. "It’s more than nice, Idia. It’s perfect."

For the first time since you’ve known him, Idia doesn’t argue. He doesn’t self-deprecate or brush off your words with sarcasm. Instead, he lets out a soft, content sigh, resting his head against you again, his flames warm and steady.

"Yeah," he whispers, his voice filled with quiet relief. "I think it is."

And for once, Idia Shroud—the boy who always felt like he didn’t deserve happiness—finally lets himself believe it.

You stay like that for a while, curled up together in the quiet of his room, the low hum of his gaming console filling the background. It’s peaceful in a way you never expected with Idia, who’s usually so frantic and anxious. But now, with the weight of unspoken feelings finally lifted, he’s calm. Happy, even.

After a long moment, he pulls back slightly, glancing at the screen. "Uh… w-we left the raid halfway through," he mumbles, as if the thought had just occurred to him. "My bad. We probably wiped the whole party by now."

You laugh, ruffling his hair. "I think they’ll survive without us for a bit. But we can jump back in if you’re up for it."

Idia hesitates for a second, then shakes his head. "Nah… I’d rather just… stay here. With you."

The admission is so soft, so vulnerable, that it makes your heart ache in the best possible way. You smile, pulling him close again, and this time, he doesn’t flinch or make any excuses. He just rests his head on your shoulder, his pink flames flickering contentedly.

Maybe it’s not the typical "fairy tale" kind of love. It’s awkward and a little messy, filled with gaming mishaps and coughing up flowers. But it’s real. And for Idia, that’s more than enough.

he's reminds me of a pathetic wet cat left in the rain but god do I love him

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #idia x reader #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud #idia #hanahaki #hanahaki au

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