#but sometimes it’s the minute things that get to you…you know? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kxsagi · 2 days ago

Note

Omg I ran here as soon as I woke up because I’ve got ideas!!!!

I even left this in my notes app but:

https://youtube.com/shorts/nUb7dVadJYA?si=I2ameWw30paQmV8W

But like this with bllk boys??? Or just a one shot with anyone? This is like a friends to lovers thing 😩😩 gonna combust from this because literally (I know it’s an ad but still eienfiejwkdndj)

Anyways sorry for the rant I missed your inbox 🫶🫶

“𝐰𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬… 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬?”

a/n: leaving it in your notes app is true dedication 😭 I LOVE THIS REQUEST

ft. isagi yoichi, shidou ryusei, nagi seishiro, kaiser michael, bachira meguru, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, karasu tabito, ness alexis

isagi yoichi

you’re sitting in his lap. like it’s nothing. like it’s a chair.

he just taps his knee like “seat’s open” and you go “sweet, thanks” and proceed to text like you’re not in each other’s personal space.

he literally feeds you from his bowl at restaurants. you just open your mouth without looking. he doesn’t even question it.

calls you “love” to mess with you but keeps doing it because “haha it’s funny right? unless…?”

once you yawned and he stretched his arms around you at the same time. didn’t move them. you didn’t move either. you were like “comfy.”

everyone thinks you’re dating. you guys are like “nooo we’re besties!” but you wear his hoodies and he kisses your forehead when you’re sad.

shidou ryusei

“you’re literally obsessed with me.”

“shut up, i am not.”

proceeds to send him 3 memes, 5 tik toks, and a voice note that ends in giggling.

has you saved in his phone as “wifey 💍💥” and you never changed it.

shidou: “lemme see your tits.”

you: “get me coffee first.”

shidou: “deal.”

gets the coffee and completely forgets about the bit.

he always leans on you, touches your hair, lays his head in your lap. says you give off “emotional support pet” vibes. you’re like “that’s so rude” while playing with his hair.

once slapped your ass after a game and was like “good job out there, champ 😌”

you: “thanks babe 😘”

cue both of you turning pink and pretending it didn’t happen.

nagi seishiro

you share a bed. literally just knock out next to each other like it’s nothing.

he grabs your waist when he’s gaming so you won’t move from beside him. sometimes rests his chin on your shoulder.

one time you changed in front of him and he didn’t even blink. “bro, we’ve been friends since puberty. what haven’t i seen?”

he calls you “princess” or “pretty thing” when you whine about stuff. it should be illegal how casual he makes it sound.

nags you to cuddle him. “ugh you’re so annoying,” you say, while spooning him.

once said “you’d probably make a good girlfriend” while half-asleep. you said “you’d make a horrible boyfriend” and he just chuckled and went “true.”

kaiser michael

he grabs your face to check your makeup and says “you’re cute today.” you say “just today?”

he goes “so you do like compliments from me.”

you both flirt like it’s a sport. your friends have bets on who will fold first.

you steal his cologne. he wears the bracelet you made at a craft fair. it’s blue. you don’t question it.

the way he picks lint off your clothes and goes “my standards are higher than this.” you respond by poking your tongue at his cheek.

has said “if we’re both still single by 30–”

you: “we’ll be married?”

kaiser: “no, i’ll cry myself to sleep every night.”

you: “same.”

he gets jealous when you flirt with others but masks it with sarcasm. you’re like “jealous much?” and he’s like “you wish. i’m just protective of my property– i mean friend.”

bachira meguru

you’re always touching in some way. pinkies linked, arms around each other, knees bumping.

he sends you selfies captioned “for my #1 fan 😘” and you reply “hottt. send more.”

once made a “fake dating” joke and he was like “you’d like that huh?” and you were like “maybe i would” and then you both went silent for 10 minutes.

draws hearts next to your name when doodling. you steal his hoodie and he acts like you just confessed.

people flirt with him and he immediately goes “haha sorry i have a soulmate” and points at you. you do the same.

one time he accidentally said “i love you” mid-laugh. you blinked. he blinked.

“… cool lol.”

“lol yeah.”

itoshi rin

you know him too well. like dangerously well.

he doesn’t have to say “i’m cold.” you just hand him your jacket.

he glares at anyone who tries to hit on you and says “they’re not your type.”

you: “what is my type then?”

rin: deadpan “me.”

“you look like shit,” he says.

“you still like me though,” you reply.

he doesn’t deny it.

he lets you touch his hair. his hair.

you once called him “baby” by accident and he just responded like it was normal.

he only softens up around you. other people don’t recognize him when he’s being your rin.

sometimes stares at you a little too long. you catch him. he looks away and mutters “shut up.”

itoshi sae

you two look like enemies. emotionless stare vs sarcastic sighs.

but then he wordlessly unties your hoodie strings because “you looked stupid.”

texts you “.” when he wants attention. if you don’t answer, he sends “?”

you call him “baby girl” in public just to piss him off.

he flips you off. still lets you play with his hair later.

he’ll literally insult your taste in music then send you a playlist titled “stuff you’d like.”

“you look gross.”

“thanks. it’s your shirt.”

he says nothing because it actually is.

you fell asleep on him once during a flight. he pretended to be annoyed but didn’t move for four hours.

when you woke up, he just said “you drooled on me.” (but his phone has a picture of it. it’s his lock screen.)

karasu tabito

you flirt like it’s aggressive sparring.

“you missed me?”

“like i’d miss a rash.”

constantly holds your chin when talking to you. it’s his way of annoying you. but your face gets warm every time and he lives for it.

he’s always like “if we kissed right now, would it ruin the friendship?”

you: “yeah.”

him: “... worth it.”

texts you “u up?” and then sends you a picture of your worst fashion crimes with the caption “jail.”

you once dared him to kiss you “as a joke.”

he did. it lasted too long. you were like “... weird.”

him: “yup. wanna do it again?”

he gives you a piggyback ride in public and then tells everyone you’re his emotional support gremlin. but no one else is allowed to say that but him.

ness alexis

you once said “love you” before hanging up. he said “love you more” with no hesitation.

you choked. he was unbothered.

compliments you constantly and never acts like it’s weird. “you look gorgeous today.”

you: “you said that yesterday.”

him: “because it’s still true?”

buys you matching things like mugs, necklaces, keychains. tells everyone you’re soulmates.

when someone asks “are you dating?” he goes “not yet.”

you laugh. he’s serious.

always says “good morning beautiful” with a winky face.

you threaten to block him. then text back “you too 💅”

once asked you to rate his flirting.

you: “4/10.”

ness: “perfect. so you noticed it.”

gets jealous when you mention other guys. won’t admit it. just messages you “i hope you choke” and then sends a heart.

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erwinsvow · 2 days ago

Text

you can tell when your boyfriend's had a long day because before you even hear the door open, you hear a sigh from the other side. a deep, lung-emptying, filled with burdens you cannot imagine kind of sigh.

it's only going to get worse when he comes in and realizes you fell asleep on the couch again (waiting for him, which he hates, wishes you would sleep in the bed and not strain yourself for him, thinks he doesn't deserve that. he also thinks he doesn't deserve you, but you are very keen on making him stop thinking that way. it'll start working soon, you're sure of it.)

back to the couch. the romance book you'd been reading abandoned on the coffee table, your favorite of jack's blankets spread across your feet, and wearing one of his army green shirts, faded and soft and distinctly smelling like him no matter how many times it's been washed. when he comes in, your eyes are still shut, half-asleep, listening for any signs of a continued sigh—trying to assess in your tired state just how bad the shift had been tonight.

there's light pouring in from the curtains in the living room, though you know the bedroom is pitch-black right now, just like he prefers. and when he sets his backpack down on the counter and sighs again, you don't need to open your eyes to see it in front of you—a tired jack, rubbing his temples and his hair messy from how many times he'd probably run a hand through it after whatever stressful event had plagued his night.

you sometimes wish you could do something to make his job easier—though you can't, and never will.

you open your eyes anyways. sitting up, taking some of the blanket with you, you blink sleepily at his tense form, walking from the kitchen back to you. he does this thing when he comes home, running his hand over your hair and kissing your forehead. it's the only thing you like about when he leaves, knowing that you'll get this when he comes back.

he pulls away from you and holds your head in his hands.

"will you ever start listening to me?" jack, not angry, not upset, just tired and gentle, just like how he always is.

you shake your head, wondering if you'll get a smile, a little bit sad that you didn't. he comes over and sits next to you, and you lean in happily to his touch, face smushed into his chest as he finally relaxes, stretching his back and sinking into the couch.

you used to ask him questions—how was your day? was it bad today? are you okay? but now you've learned you don't need so many words to figure out what's going on with him, that there's tell-tale signs in other things. the sigh is one, the lack of his smile is another. he keeps rubbing your back but he doesn't open his eyes, which is another.

you tilt your head up and press a kiss to his cheek, before resting your head back on his shoulder.

"do you want breakfast?" you ask quietly, but jack shakes his head. you stay there in silence for a few minutes, and then he opens his eyes and takes a look at you for the first time since he's walked in through the door—takes a real look at you. your mussed up hair and his shirt hanging off your shoulder, and if he had to guess, no sleep-shorts under. you usually abstained when you were waiting for him.

socks—because the living room gets cold and despite how much he pays—and however much he would pay, everything he made if that's what it took—to keep his bedroom warm and comfortable for you, you still take to sleeping on the couch every time you're waiting.

staring at your sleepy eyes, and then remembering how his home is littered with signs of you everywhere, from the book and the almost-empty cup of tea on the table, to your water bottle on the kitchen counter and your shoes by the door, he remembers something you had told him once. that you'd sleep on the couch every night if you had to, to be able to say hi to him right when he comes home.

you take an idle hand to his hair, running your fingers through his curls, scratching in that way that you do, the way that makes his eyes shut and muscles relax right away. it's hard to resist—your touch is entrancing. and then for a split second, he thinks about it too much, thinks about you too hard, how you wait for him on the couch and text him goodnight even when you know he can't reply, offer to make him breakfast even when you're half asleep yourself.

you take care of him, without being asked, in the ways that he didn't even realize he needed. and then you curl up next to him and stroke his hair like it's nothing to you, like it's just another day. not realizing how this nothing had quickly turned into his everything, that if he opened his eyes right now, you'd be staring at him with so much love in your eyes that he feels...

you lean in closer, pressing a hand against his chest and then a chaste kiss to the skin in the fold of his neck. he can feel your laugh before he can hear it, vibrating against his skin.

"not too tired for that, huh?" you say the words so casually, and jack is confused for about half a second until he realizes that this is why he can't go on his phone during his shift—his wallpaper is a picture of you in his favorite dress and the way you text him makes him nauseous with the realization that there's someone waiting for him at home who loves him in the way that you do, and usually when he starts thinking about that, his mind wanders to other things and then—

jack starts saying something, but you don't let him finish.

"that's okay," you hum, moving though he wishes you wouldn't—he likes how warm you feel slotted against him. you get down on your knees in front of him, though he tries to stop you.

(try being the operative word—he grabs your wrist and you wrangle out of his touch easily, much too easily considering he knows just how strong he can be, knows how little strength it takes to pin you down when you try to run away from it, how you thrash when you finish and he has to use a little bit more to keep you in place so he can keep taking you through it because he just really loves how you sound when—and that's not helping. fuck.)

and when he opens his tightly shut eyes, you've already undone the tie on his pants, taken him out of his boxers and stroking with your hand while your eyes flit up to meet his quickly. and you smile up at him, like there's nothing you'd rather be doing and nowhere you'd rather be, and then you lick a wet strip with the flat of your tongue up the entire length of his shaft and he thinks he's blacked out.

he wants to shut his eyes again but he wouldn't dare—not when he knows what's coming. you drop a dollop of spit on his tip, using both hands to stroke him now, incredibly concentrated. jack thinks it's cute for another five seconds, and then you take as much as you can fit into your mouth and he loses all train of thought. you bob your head up and down, and he's not sure when, but his hand ends up woven through your hair, resting on the top of your head. he's not pushing—not yet, anyways—but taking what you give. his head thuds against the couch when he feels your tongue swirl around the tip, suctioning while your hands keep stroking.

his apartment is quiet in the morning, and right now it's filled with the noise of the squelch of your mouth, how when you take him too far into your mouth, down your throat, you choke and gag and keep him there for as long as you can before letting go and breathing. just for a second though, and then your cheeks are hollow again, mouth filled again, and he bites down on his lip to stop from moaning loud enough to wake up his neighbors.

and he doesn't know how you do it—how do you always know what he needs? his hips buck up, and you put on wet palm on his thigh, over his scrub bottoms, trying to keep yourself steady while you focus on him like it's the most important thing in the world.

jack knows better than to stop you when you get like this. but he still does, using the hand on your head to pull you off briefly, because he thinks he'll die if he can't see what you look like right now. your eyes glassy and wet, lips smeared with his pre-cum and your spit, your mouth and chin shiny too. and you keep stroking him while he looks, resting your head against his thigh while you do it, smiling up at him.

and then you go right back—and you can tell your boyfriend's about to finish. something in your stomach and lower begins to flutter at the realization that your smile is what does it for jack everytime—so you take him into your throat and hollow your cheeks out and then you hear it before you see it.

jack's broken moans. the way he lifts his hips up, bucking into your mouth, how hard he's breathing as he does it. and then the tell-tale fuck, fuck, fuck and the groan that tells you game over. you feel his cum rush into your mouth, covering your tongue, and you keep going, sucking on his tip gently, swallowing it as it comes.

you keep stroking softly, resting your head against his thigh again, staring up at your boyfriend, whose eyes are finally staring down at yours.

"do you want breakfast now?" you ask quietly, hand a little tired and realizing there's spit all over your mouth now. jack doesn't seem to mind, helping you up and onto his lap, leaning in for a kiss that lasts too long.

"no," he says, staring at you with a look that is very familiar. and you smile so he smiles, and you feel a lot better once he does. "got my breakfast right here. your turn."

#hey thanks anon!#jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot smut

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oceane-rei · 21 hours ago

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I don‘t trust our stove because it’s gas, I grew up with induction which is much quicker and more adjustable

Our fridge doesn’t have a thermostat and needs manual adjustment which causes my trust issues (I just set you to 3, why are you too warm again?)

There is no such thing as a trustworthy microwave, they always heat food unevenly

Kettle kinda gets close but lacks versatility

My coffee machine sometimes makes a bigger coffee than I tell it to if it’s the first coffee of the day

I don’t use the toaster enough to judge it but he‘s probably reliable in the same way a construction worker is reliable, he’ll do the job but no one knows after how many beer breaks

We just got a new used dishwasher and it’s a very good model but I haven’t used it yet since I’m not home for a few weeks so I can’t judge him

The airfryer once betrayed me when I tried to use it for reheating rather than the microwave so no thank you

And our deepfryer is very basic but very good but he also once made my fries too dark despite them only being in the beef grease for 3 minutes smh

The oven has enough different modes and I understand and use all of them for different purposes and it never disappoints. Oven my best friend even if you’re a bit old and need a really good cleaning someday.

tell me the appliance that is your best friend ever in the kitchen

#kitchen appliances #I love my coffee machine he’s my favorite but he can’t be trusted to do his job without supervision

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sparrows4bats · 3 days ago

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If Jon falls first, he would be so awkward at first. But the moment Damian reciprocates or shows any sign of feeling the same? All restraint is gone. Jon Kent is a simp and not afraid to let anyone know. He is gonna prove to Damian Wayne that not only is he an amazing boyfriend but he will be an even better husband.

He is giddy. Everything Damian does makes him blush and stutter. It's not just because Damian is cool and smart and handsome. He is all of those things, a degree of gorgeous and competent that leaves Jon in awe.

But he realises he likes Damian when they are arguing, and no matter how angry Jon gets, Damian never flinches at his red eyes. He never wonders for a moment if Jon will hurt him. Because Damian Trusts Him.

Jon thinks it may be a crush when Damian protects him after he is sent flying into a building during a mission, and Jon knows that even if he is Superman, Damian will always see him as Jonathan Kent.

Jon realises he is in love with Damian because of how kind he is, watching him with Lizzie and his pets. Even though Jon knows how hard it can be for him sometimes. It makes his chest ache with sweetness.

He decides to do something about it after he notices he's not the only one who has noticed how amazing Damian is. Kids at school, people at galas, and even other heroes look at his Robin like he's something they can have. It's unacceptable.

So he asks his Dad for help, and Clark explains some of how he convinced Lois Lane to marry him. (Clark Kent still considers it the best and hardest thing he has ever done. It doesn't stop him from laughing at his son for 10 solid minutes when he tells him. Bruce is going to be soooo pissed when Jon succeeds. It'll be hilarious)

Jon starts small. He invites Damian on missions and listens for any animal related emergencies Robin can come to. His Dad helps by distracting Batman while Jon sneaks into the Manor. (Clark trusts his son to call if he needs help, not that he would ever willingly put Damian in any real danger) Damian is confused by his change in behaviour but is happy to come along.

After long missions, Jon invites him to stay the night with him at his apartment or the farm. He delights in Damian wearing his clothes and being all sleepy and vulnerable. They share his bed, and Jon wakes up to Damian asleep on his chest. (Jon wants to wake up like this forever.)

So Jon starts to touch Damian more outside of half conscious cuddling. He hangs around his personal space like a cloud. Jon had thought Damian would hate it, but he accepted the closeness with ease. In fact, he melts. He doesn't hug back as tightly but leans on Jon in a way that makes Jon feel stronger than his powers ever have.

Next, he starts to do little things for him, like drop off coffee, and when Damian starts working to become a doctor, Jon makes sure he eats and sleeps between studying. Jon doesn't take in much information during Damians' study sessions, too focused on how Damians nose scrunches when he's concentrating, and how he blushes whenever Jon praises him.

Jon starts giving Damian little gifts; trinkets from wherever he travels, and pretty daggers he finds thanks to Diana. Damian receives each one with a smile and soon starts giving Jon gifts, too. Pieces of art he drew or food he finds in Gotham that he thinks Jon might enjoy. (Each drawing and painting is carefully framed in heat vision proof glass.)

Surprisingly, It's Damian who kisses him first. After Jon gives him a kitten that Clark saved from a tree. (Bruce said Damian couldn't adopt any more pets he said nothing about accepting them as gifts). The kiss is soft but full of passion, and Jon can't help but deepen it.

"I love you." Jon tells him when they pull back to breathe.

"Good, because if we do this, I couldn't bear it if you left me."

"Never, I'd fight the world to stay with you."

"And I'd defeat death to keep you at my side, Habibi." Jon kisses him again because he finally can. (Damian is even more handsome when he is under him, and Jon sends a silent thank you to whatever God is listening for letting him see it.)

(Clark was right, Bruce was pissed when he found Jon naked in Damians bed the next morning.)

Damian names the cat Clark after his future father in law. (Bruce will get his revenge, he swears, on BOTH Supers.)

#damian wayne #batfamily #jondami #batman #batfam #supersons #jon kent #bruce wayne #clark kent #superman #Clark Kent is petty #Clark Kent is a Menace #So is Jon #like father like son #Clark the Cat #damijon #Lois Lane is a Treasure

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so-i-did-this-thing · 2 days ago

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Hey there! I saw in one of another post of yours that you dealt with hoarding, any tips for de-hoarding the house?

Oh boy, do I have a lot. Here's what has helped me, a hoarder who lived several years at Level 4 (squalor, utilities shut off frequently):

Always be kind to yourself. Hoarding is a disorder and for me it was triggered by accumulated trauma. It will take a while to dig out, and you will likely have to wrestle with hoarding urges all your life.

Mindset tips:

Space is more valuable than stuff. Clear pathways, room to sit & sleep, prepare food, work on crafts -- it is *valuable*

Your home is not an optimization problem for storage. Again, space and clean surfaces are necessary! Not having paralysis of choice is valuable!

Cultivate awareness of when you aquire things and devise ways to break out of a buying pattern - put the phone away, go for a walk, etc.

Make some short-term rules: nothing comes in before two things go out. Only buy things you know you will use in the next month. Etc.

Kill sunk-cost-fallacy. The real value is peace of mind, not the potential of an object.

Decluttering tips

Clean out trash, first. Just get the obvious garbage out so you have space to work in.

Get some bankers boxes or bins. Create a group for sale/donate. Put some "keep" boxes in each room.

Start with 1 room to declutter. Again - trash, first. Then, go through objects in that room, putting in the group sale/donate boxes, or directly into the "keep" box for the room that object should live in. Don't worry about *where* in the room the "keep" items go in -- they go in the box, for now.

Try to get the decluttered room to a point where you can move furniture for a deep clean. And try to avoid putting anything in this room that doesn't belong there. You are focusing on 1 room at a time to fix.

Assess your decluttered room for how it might encourage hoarding. Again, is there not enough space? Do you need to take out or rearrange furniture to encourage living/working surfaces?

Don't be in a rush to sort through any of your boxes. Focus on reclaiming space.

Go through the boxes after you've had time to decompress. Some time should have passed and you now can look at your items more neutrally.

For your possessions, ask: does this spark joy? Do I have something similar already? Why am I holding onto it? Is the potential worth the time and space to hang onto it? If it is sentimental, is there a better way to use or display it? If it is broken or a crafting item, will I really fix/use it?

Get in the habit of giving objects a permanent home. Label shelves, bins, whatever else you need to.

Maintenance tips:

Avoid buying things when you're overly emotional

Designate landing pads for items. They don't have to be in the traditional places -- if you take your shoes off in the kitchen, then buy a boot tray and put it in there. Always put your wallet in the same space. Etc.

If daily clutter overtakes surfaces in your home, consider catch-all baskets. I have some in high traffic areas, like the dining room, staircase, and living room. Go through the baskets on a regular basis to weed out junk and put items away where they live.

Be honest with how much time you have to enjoy your possessions. Will you read that many books? Wear all those clothes? Make all those crafting kits? Are you spending more time aquiring vs enjoying?

Regularly assess your belongings and see what you can let go. If you are not sure yet, put items in a box and see if you can live without for several months. Date the box, and be brutal about dealing with it in the time frame you decide upon.

Get into a chore routine. Sometimes, chores are easier if the cleaning supplies are right there. I have an upstairs vacuum and a downstairs vacuum for this very reason.

A 10 minute "reset" at the end of the day goes really far, especially if you are a crafter.

Find something more benign to collect, if you are a magpie. I collect public domain stuff in digital format, video game items, etc. I'd rather be a hoarder in Skyrim than IRL.

I also "collect" experiences now -- I am currently seeing how many different trails I can hike. Maybe you would like something like birdwatching, to sate your hoarding urges. Redirection can go a long way.

I can go more into specifics, but these are always on my mind when I think about controlling one's hoarding. I hope it helps!

#hoarding

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midnightkennedy · 3 days ago

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𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 || 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋

author's note: i made one for my mouthwashing blog and I was like, fuck yeah i can make one for re too! who's gon stop me??? I'll make one for the ladies maybe

warnings: slight angst, major fluff, slight toxic behaviour.

characters included: 𝗹𝗲𝗼𝗻, 𝗰𝗵𝗿𝗶𝘀, 𝗹𝘂𝗶𝘀, 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗹𝗼𝘀, 𝗮𝗹𝗯𝗲𝗿𝘁, 𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻.

,'✿— 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 —⁠✿,'

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐒. 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐃𝐘

before you guys go to bed he has to make sure all the doors and windows in the house are locked, no exclusions, no excuses. he checks them twice just in case. force of habit.

washes your hair whenever you're too tired, doesn't say a word. has very gentle hands.

he never fully relaxes whenever you hug him from behind, jolts his shoulder as if he's bracing for impact.

insists on knowing your location at all times, you call it 'controlling behaviour' he calls it 'just in case' he knows the world much better than you do.

likes just falling on top of you whenever you're lying down on the couch or the bed.

𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃

works out obsessively and painfully on the days you guys have arguments, he thinks the sweat will burn the guilt out.

brings home protein bars and vitamins instead of flowers, calls it 'survival'.

when he kisses you, it's as if it's the last time, he's so intense and rough that you have to often remind him, 'you don't have to right here's.

gets those 'everything free' pastas and insists that it tastes good.

sometimes accidentally yells and then curses himself out.

𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐓 𝐖𝐄𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐑

has a secret file on you, blood type, health stats, allergies, etc.

has a habit of staring at you out of the blue, as if you're an artifact.

corrects your facts mid conversation or while you're arguing in that same deadpan voice.

reads aloud scientific facts from his encyclopedias or journals, you think it's as close as it's getting to him reading you stories. and he finds your attempt at understanding him cute.

fixes your posture mid hugs and kisses, you reason that it's his way of affection, 'fixing things'.

does NOT let you go anywhere without some form of tracking, you call it paranoia, he calls it protection. It is paranoia.

𝐋𝐔𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐀 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎

you find random notes when he's gone for days, 'i love you' in the sugar jars. 'make sure you have dinner' in your shoe.

he talks to you a lot in spanish when he's drunk, says 'i love you' in spanish a lot.

if you're a smoker, he lights your cigarettes even when he's the one who's trying to quit. he finds it sexy.

checks the locks of the house 3 times before you guys sleep, then makes you check it 3 times. he may not trust the world but he trusts you with all his being.

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒 𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐑𝐀

he freezes up whenever you cry, doesn't move, because he's seen way too many people die while sobbing.

tries to make you dinner every chance he gets but always ends up almost setting the kitchen on fire.

sings while cleaning, whenever you try to record him he pretends to get mad.

gets anxious when you don't reply to his text in under 5 minutes,

makes you laugh whenever he senses you're about to get upset. it's an old habit.

𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

he keeps your voice notes saved, listens to them whenever he feels down.

he has nightmares he doesn't speak to you about. if he gets a nightmare when you're both asleep, he just wraps himself around you as if you're a body pillow.

double knots your shoes whenever you're distracted, he doesn't want you to trip.

fixes everything in the house without you even noticing something was broken.

a very, VERY light sleeper. if you so much as cough, he's awake and by your side.

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆~!

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mortal-ethos · 1 day ago

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I've found that other queer people genuinely don't understand that masc, trans masc people, and trans men struggle with this excessively. Once hegemonic cis people find out you're trans, they rarely treat you the same. You are instantly viewed as a guy with a vagina/a hysterical woman. You are seen only as your genitalia or as mentally ill.

I can't enter many lesbian spaces anymore because they don't see me as a lesbian and they don't care to. Because I can "pass" as a man in my everyday life from HRT, though any possible benefits I get up from that are devalued by how afraid I am everyday. By knowing that the minute someone learns I'm trans, I'm worth less than I was before.

I can't enter gay male spaces (well I'm not a gay man but I know many other gay trans men and trans mascs have struggled with this) because I'm a fucking fetish to many of them and they don't see me as an equal because so many gay men are fucking sexist for some fucking reason.

I can't enter many trans spaces because they only talk about trans women and don't want to hold space for trans mascs, or are dismissive of our issues, or sometimes literally forget we exist.

I've seen so many trans masc people get misgendered constantly in online trans spaces because EVERYONE FORGETS THAT NOT ALL TRANS PEOPLE ARE WOMEN.

I'm not safe in male spaces because I have to perform masculinity that fucking isn't who I am in order to be safe. I have to hide who I am and sometimes lie about who I am in order to keep myself safe.

I have to vet any place I go to extensively online beforehand if I know I will have to be shirtless or possibly using a public locker room or restroom. And many times I just decide not to risk it and I don't go. This includes the gym, public pools, amusement parks, beaches, etc.

Many trans masc people need to wear packers, yes often for dysphoria, but also for safety and there's a reason why many packers say they can pass the "squeeze test." Because transphobes have come up to trans masc people and sexually assaulted them so many times trying to "prove" that they're trans.

When I got my degree, in my final WGS class, I had to out myself as trans because all the other women in the class actively would not engage in discussion with me anytime I tried. Only after I came out in fucking class did they start to respond to me, because I was close enough to a woman to be allowed an opinion. Note, I am nonbinary but transitioned physically and socially and I present male because of my masculine gender expression. I am not bothered and do at times identify with being a woman, my problem is I was alienated for my gender expression and had to out myself in order to not be.

Fuck I CANT EVEN GO TO PLACES FOR SEXUAL ASSAULT SURVIVORS BECAUSE OF THIS.

In order for us to be seen and heard within these communities that we were previously extremely connected to and still feel that connection even as others sever it, we need to often possibly put ourselves in an unsafe position (as other people feel way too fucking comfortable with telling everyone they know that you're trans now) and explain ourselves fully (through not only personal history but also your fucking medical history) while others don't in order to be seen and heard - in order to connect with the communities that we never fucking left. It's the same thing like when parents say their "daughter/son died." I've always fucking been here, and I'm here now, just as the person I've ALWAYS BEEN. The person you accepted at the start but just didn't fucking see. And now you still refuse to see us.

Transmasc transition often involves so much loss of community. Especially if you already were in feminist or queer spaces before your transition. It's not true that we gain relevant social status within patriarchial structures by transitioning (if patriarchy supported the choices of those who they see as women to be anything other than a wife and a mother/to transgress gender-norms we wouldn't have to have most of these conversations) but we do noticeably lose social status within our own community. And along with that access to safe-spaces and ressources that we need for physical and emotional safety and well-being.

#transandrophobia #anti transmasculinity #rant

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uncuredturkeybacon · 17 hours ago

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𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which you are nothing short of everything

It started on a Tuesday.

Paige hadn’t meant to stop. She’d only been cutting through the west wing of the student center to get to the library faster. That shortcut had never led her anywhere interesting before—just past a few empty classrooms and the occasional music practice room. But that day, as her sneakers squeaked across the linoleum floor, she caught the faintest sound of singing.

Not the kind you’d hear through a phone or headphones someone forgot to mute. It was live. Pure. Like honey in tea.

She slowed, head tilting. The notes floated through the cracked door, spilling like light onto the floor. A soft voice, low and aching, wrapped around the lyrics like it was holding something close. Paige’s hand paused on the strap of her backpack. Her heartbeat slowed.

She didn’t recognize the words, didn’t even try to. She just listened. Maybe a minute. Maybe three. Long enough for her chest to feel tight in a way she couldn’t explain. And then—just as suddenly—she left. Shaking it off. She had things to do. Conditioning at four. Film at six.

But the voice stayed.

It happened again. Two days later. Same hallway. Different song.

Again.

And again.

It became routine. Paige would find herself lingering, walking a little slower when she reached that stretch of floor. Sometimes she’d stop completely, standing still like an idiot with her ear tilted just enough toward the door.

She never peeked in. That felt too personal, too much like crossing a line. She didn’t want to know what the singer looked like. Not yet. There was something sacred about the not-knowing.

The voice didn’t just sing—it felt. Like it lived every word.

She started timing her library trips around it.

Azzi nudged her shoulder one day at the dining hall. “You’ve been real quiet this week. What’s going on in that deep brooding brain of yours?”

“Nothing,” Paige mumbled.

“Liar,” KK chimed in, tossing a grape at her.

Aubrey raised a brow but didn’t press. She never did. She just watched Paige like she already knew.

Paige didn’t say it, didn’t want to explain why her chest ached a little every time she walked away from that hallway. Why she kept hearing the same voice when she lay in bed at night, headphones in but volume off, trying to match it in her head.

She didn’t even know the girl’s name.

The open mic night wasn’t her idea.

Azzi found the flyer. “It’s across town. Cute cafe vibe. Candlelight. Coffee. Poetry. Music. Let’s go.”

KK looked at her like she was insane. “You lost me at poetry.”

“You can just sip your overpriced matcha and be hot in the corner,” Azzi said, batting her lashes. “C’mon. It’s Friday. No practice tomorrow.”

Even Aubrey nodded. “Might be fun.”

Paige didn’t argue. She had no reason to. A night out would be good. Distract her. Maybe even help her forget.

The place was packed.

Paige slouched in her seat, hoodie half-zipped, sipping a lukewarm vanilla latte KK swore she’d love. The lights were low, the stage small and intimate. People performed slam poetry, a jazz duet, and someone recited something about the moon and loneliness.

Paige’s attention drifted in and out. Nothing gripped her.

Until she heard it.

The first note.

She straightened. Her latte almost slipped.

There you were.

Stepping onto the stage like you didn’t even know you were changing someone’s life.

A guitar rested in your hands. A simple mic. A shy smile.

“Maybe I came on too strong…”

Paige didn’t breathe.

Her fingers curled tight around the paper sleeve of her cup. The world blurred. The clinking cups, the murmured chatter, the coughs and shifting chairs—they all disappeared. It was you. That voice. That voice. Her voice.

And now you had a face.

Lit soft by the string lights, your lashes low, your expression a mirror of the ache in the song. “Dive” by Ed Sheeran. Paige recognized it now. Had never liked it much before. But you—you made it yours. Every lyric lived in your throat like it belonged there.

When you got to “So don’t call me baby… unless you mean it,” Paige’s chest burned.

You weren’t even looking at anyone in particular, just singing into the dark. But Paige felt like it was only her in that room.

Her mouth went dry.

The song ended too soon.

You strummed the last chord, gave a little smile, and walked off stage like you hadn’t just left someone breathless in the third row.

Paige didn’t move.

Her eyes followed you—wide, stunned, quiet.

Azzi leaned over. “Dude. Are you okay?”

KK squinted. “What happened to her? Her face looks like she just saw God.”

Paige opened her mouth.

No words came out.

Aubrey leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, thoroughly entertained. “She’s in love.”

“I am not,” Paige finally snapped, but it came out too fast. Too defensive.

Azzi laughed. “You’re stuttering.”

KK grinned. “You’ve been bewitched.”

Paige stared across the cafe where you stood by the bar, your guitar now slung across your back, chatting with someone and smiling softly.

“I’ve heard her before,” Paige mumbled, finally. “Like… a bunch of times.”

Azzi blinked. “What?”

“In the student center. Some music room or whatever. I didn’t know what she looked like. I just—heard her. Singing.”

“And you didn’t tell us?” KK practically shouted.

“I didn’t know what to say,” Paige muttered, eyes still on you.

Azzi elbowed her. “Well, say something now. She’s right there.”

“Nope,” Paige said, panicking a little. “No, no, no. I can’t. What would I even say?”

Aubrey raised a brow. “Hi would be a start.”

“I can’t,” Paige repeated, now looking genuinely distressed.

KK laughed so hard she nearly dropped her phone. “Basketball superstar, national icon, but she can’t talk to a girl with a guitar.”

“You don’t get it,” Paige said, still watching you. “I—I’ve been hearing her voice for weeks. I built this whole idea of her in my head and now she’s real and she’s right there and what if she doesn’t live up to it? What if I don’t?”

Azzi softened. “Or what if she’s even better?”

Paige didn’t answer.

She just sat there, pulse racing, legs bouncing under the table, until you turned slightly and your eyes scanned the room, then landed on her.

For one second, just one—you smiled.

Right at her.

And Paige smiled back, dazed, like she forgot how to be cool.

You looked away.

She didn’t.

Paige didn’t move for a full five minutes.

Your smile had burned a hole into her brain, and she sat in that little café chair like someone who had just time-traveled. The lights buzzed. The next performer came and went. The chatter picked up again. But Paige only heard the echo of your voice.

KK, predictably, had pulled out her phone and started typing. “I’m making a list of icebreakers. What about… ‘Are you a magician? Because whenever I hear you, everyone else disappears.’”

Azzi groaned. “Please don’t let her say that.”

Aubrey took a sip of her tea, then muttered, “She won’t say anything. She’s gonna sit here and spiral about it for three months.”

“I’m not spiraling,” Paige muttered, eyes still trained on you as you made your way through the crowd with your guitar case, waving at the barista. “I’m… calculating.”

“Calculating?” Azzi echoed, eyebrows raised.

Paige shrugged. “My odds.”

“Your odds of what? Getting her number?” KK grinned.

“My odds of surviving when I get to say hello.”

She stood up before she could overthink it. Hands slightly clammy, hoodie sleeves tugged down over her knuckles. Her sneakers felt too loud as she crossed the room, weaving through chairs and tables, trying not to trip on someone’s tote bag.

You were alone now, leaning against the far wall near the bathroom hallway, on your phone.

Paige slowed. Stopped. Took one shallow breath.

You looked up.

Eyes met.

You smiled again—so effortlessly kind it made her ribs hurt.

“Hey,” she said, voice softer than usual.

“Hey,” you replied, sliding your phone into your pocket. “You’re Paige Bueckers, right?”

Her stomach flipped. “Uh—yeah. Guilty.”

“I thought you looked familiar. I’ve seen you on the court.” Then, with a playful smirk, “Didn’t expect to see you here, though.”

“I didn’t expect to hear you here,” Paige said, and immediately wanted to smack her forehead. “I mean—I did, obviously, you were on stage, but—what I meant is…”

Your head tilted slightly. “You okay?”

“I’ve heard you before,” she blurted. “In the student center. You sing sometimes—room 205, I think? Every Tuesday. Or Thursday. Or both. I wasn’t… I wasn’t being creepy or anything, I just—your voice—it always stopped me. I didn’t know who you were until tonight.”

The words tumbled out of her like they’d been waiting weeks.

You blinked. “You’ve been listening?”

Paige nodded, sheepish. “Yeah. Every time I walked by.”

Something shifted in your eyes—curiosity, then warmth. “That’s kind of sweet.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” Paige said quickly. “You always looked so into it. Like it was just you and the music.”

“It usually is,” you admitted. “It’s kind of my favorite part of the day.”

“Mine too,” Paige said before she could stop herself.

You smiled again, and this time it lingered.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Y/N.”

Paige repeated it under her breath. Like a secret.

You leaned back against the wall and looked at her, fully now. “So. You like Ed Sheeran?”

“I didn’t,” Paige said honestly. “Until you sang that.”

You laughed, and damn—Paige swore she could live off the sound.

“Well,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Thanks for listening. For… noticing.”

Paige rocked on her heels. “Would it be okay if I… came by next time? I mean—on purpose. Not just walking by.”

“Room 205,” you said. “Tuesdays and Thursdays. Four p.m.”

She grinned. “Noted.”

You glanced down at your shoes, then back at her. “You know… if you’re free after this, there’s this late-night taco truck a block away. I always go there after these open mics.”

Paige’s heart flipped. “Really?”

You gave a tiny shrug, smile shy now. “You could come. If you want.”

She nodded—too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, I want.”

From the other side of the room, KK spotted her and dramatically mimed fainting. Azzi and Aubrey gave each other knowing looks.

You followed Paige’s glance and laughed again. “Your friends?”

“The very loud ones,” she deadpanned.

You zipped up your guitar case. “Then let’s sneak out the side door.”

Paige blinked. “I love you.”

You froze, eyebrows raised.

Paige turned red instantly. “I mean—I—not love-love. I mean I love that idea. Sneaking. Not… okay, yeah, I’m gonna shut up now.”

You laughed so hard she thought she might combust and reached over, hand brushing her forearm. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

“I’m never nervous,” Paige lied.

You raised a brow. “You are with me.”

Paige opened the door for you, heart pounding, wondering how it was possible to feel this much after a single song and one very overdue hello.

And just like that, she followed you into the night.

The air was colder outside the café than Paige expected.

She stuffed her hands into her hoodie pockets, trying to ignore the way her heart still hadn’t settled since stepping out with you. The sidewalk was mostly empty—just a few people loitering near parked cars and someone locking up a bike. You walked a step ahead, guitar case slung over your shoulder like it was second nature.

“You sure this taco truck is real?” Paige asked, mostly to fill the silence.

You glanced over your shoulder with a grin. “It’s very real. And very good.”

Paige nodded. “Cool. Cool cool cool.”

You didn’t say anything, just smiled to yourself and kept walking.

The truck was parked on the corner of a quiet intersection, half-lit by a flickering streetlamp. Bright red paint. A little speaker sitting on the counter playing soft reggaeton. The guy running it looked like he’d seen it all and didn’t care anymore.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said without even looking up.

“Hey, Manny.” You stepped up and started reading the chalkboard menu like you didn’t already know what you were getting.

Paige hovered behind you, awkwardly peering over your shoulder. “What’s good?”

“The carnitas,” you said instantly. “Or the lengua. If you’re brave.”

“I’m not brave,” Paige said, then winced. “I mean—like—I could be. If I had to be. But probably not for… tongue.”

You smiled again, but didn’t tease her. “Carnitas it is.”

Manny raised an eyebrow. “For both?”

You glanced at Paige, who nodded. “Yeah.”

Manny scribbled something on the notepad and disappeared inside the truck.

Paige shuffled a little closer to the side of the truck where the heat was spilling out from the open window. “You come here every week?”

“After every open mic,” you said, stepping up beside her. “It’s kind of my thing.”

“That’s cool,” Paige mumbled, unsure of what else to say. “I don’t really… have a thing.”

You looked at her. “Basketball’s not your thing?”

She tilted her head. “I mean—yeah. That’s kind of my whole thing. But it’s… different. It’s not like tacos after singing. That feels more like a… soul thing.”

You were quiet for a second. “Singing is my thing, yeah. But only when no one’s really watching.”

Paige blinked. “You just performed in front of like fifty people.”

“Exactly.” You smirked. “Not enough to feel real. But enough to hide in.”

She didn’t get it—at least not fully—but she liked the way you said it. Like there were layers underneath everything. Paige wasn’t used to layers. Most people just said what they meant. You made her want to ask better questions.

Manny handed you two paper baskets stacked with tacos and napkins.

You walked over to a low brick wall nearby and sat, setting your guitar down beside you. Paige sat a careful foot away. Not too close.

She watched you take a bite and hum in appreciation.

She took a bite too. “Oh, damn.”

You grinned. “Told you.”

The silence wasn’t awkward—but Paige didn’t know how to fill it, either. She picked at her tortilla, chewing slower than usual.

After a while, she asked, “So you majoring in music?”

“Nope,” you said between bites. “Creative writing.”

“Cool. That’s… cool.”

You sipped your drink. “You’re not very good at small talk, huh?”

Paige groaned and flopped backward against the wall. “Is it that obvious?”

“Kinda.”

She covered her face with one hand. “This is why I don’t talk to people.”

“But you walked over,” you said softly.

Paige peeked at you through her fingers. “Yeah. I don’t do that either.”

“Why’d you do it tonight?”

She didn’t have a good answer. Not one that wouldn’t sound stupid.

“I think I just had to,” she said finally. “I heard your voice before I saw you, and it got stuck in my head. Like… really stuck. You made everything else quiet. That’s hard to do.”

You looked down at your basket of tacos. Paige worried she’d overstepped.

But then you said, “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about my singing.”

She flushed and went back to chewing.

“You have a really… still energy,” she said out of nowhere.

“Still?”

“Yeah,” Paige shrugged. “Like… not in a boring way. More like—when I’m near you, I feel like I don’t have to rush. Like I can just sit and not be anyone for a second.”

You blinked. “You’re really bad at flirting.”

“I’m not flirting,” Paige said instantly, then looked horrified. “I mean—not that I wouldn’t—if I was! But I’m not! I just meant that like, platonically… your vibe is chill. Not that I only want it to be platonic. Wait. I’m gonna eat this taco now.”

You buried your face in your hands and shook your head, laughing.

Paige took the biggest bite she could manage just to shut herself up.

You let her flail for a moment before nudging her arm with your elbow.

“You’re weird,” you said gently. “But I like it.”

Her face turned red again. “Thanks.”

“Same time next week?” you asked.

She blinked. “Like, here? After the open mic?”

You gave her a look. “Room 205. Tuesday or Thursday. Four p.m. You listen. I sing.”

Paige nodded too fast. “I’ll be there.”

You stood and tossed your napkin into the nearby trash can, guitar swinging easily over your shoulder again.

“I’ll see you around, Bueckers,” you said, walking off into the cold without needing to look back.

Paige sat there, chewing slowly, staring after you, heart thrumming under her hoodie.

Yeah. She’d definitely be there.

It felt strange walking into Room 205.

She wasn’t used to being on the inside of the door.

Every time Paige had passed by before, it was just a fleeting pause in the hallway. A quiet moment stolen between practice or meetings or pretending like she didn’t hear the music. But now—now she was invited.

She arrived early.

Fifteen minutes early, actually.

She stood outside the room for five of them, pacing the hallway like an indecisive freshman, wondering if she was going to seem too eager. Too intense. Too weird. She considered texting you that she couldn’t make it—just to bail before she embarrassed herself.

But then she heard it.

A strum. A single note. The guitar.

You were already in there.

So she slipped inside.

The room was small—barely more than a practice box with beige walls, a dusty upright piano in the corner, and a few mismatched chairs. You were sitting on the little stool with your guitar, hunched over it, tuning quietly.

Your head lifted when you noticed her. “You came.”

“Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “You said four.”

You smiled. “You’re early.”

“I… like to be on time,” she said, awkward as ever.

You nodded, eyes flicking back to your guitar. “You can sit.”

She took the seat closest to the wall. Sat stiffly. Backpack still on.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Just full.

You played a few chords without singing—simple, steady, like muscle memory. Then your fingers stilled.

“I don’t usually have an audience in here,” you said.

“I don’t usually be the audience,” Paige replied.

You gave her a small look. “Want me to stop?”

“No,” she said quickly. “No. Please don’t.”

You smirked to yourself. “Alright then.”

And you began.

No microphone. No stage. Just you. Your voice.

It was quieter in this space—more intimate. Like you weren’t performing. Like you were just being. Paige hadn’t realized how different it would feel up close. The way your eyes softened when you got lost in a lyric. The tiny creases between your brows as you focused on your fingers. The breath you took before each new line, like it mattered.

She forgot to breathe sometimes.

You sang something she didn’t recognize—a song you wrote, maybe. Paige didn’t ask. She wouldn’t know how.

She just listened.

And when you finished, you didn’t ask for applause. You just looked over.

Paige was staring.

You tilted your head. “What?”

She blinked. “Nothing.”

You laughed lightly, setting the guitar down against the stool. “You look like you’re trying to solve a math problem.”

“I’m just thinking,” she said.

“Dangerous.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “You’re really good.”

“Thanks,” you said, your voice soft this time. The cocky teasing gone. “I don’t usually let people hear this part of me.”

Paige’s smile faded into something more sincere. “That’s kind of how I feel when I play ball.”

You leaned back on your palms. “Is that why you didn’t tell your friends about me? About hearing me sing?”

She shifted in her chair. “Honestly… yeah. It felt… mine.”

Your eyes met hers.

There was a long pause.

Paige suddenly felt like she’d said something too honest, too soon.

But you didn’t flinch.

You nodded. “I get that.”

You didn’t press her. Didn’t make a joke. You just let it be what it was.

And Paige relaxed.

You ended up sitting on the floor, legs crossed, the guitar leaning between you both. The air was still but light. No expectations.

“What kind of music do you usually write?” she asked after a while.

You shrugged. “Sad stuff. Melancholy acoustic girl things.”

Paige laughed. “So you’re the reason people cry in coffee shops.”

You smirked. “Someone’s gotta do it.”

She leaned back against the wall, watching you tap your fingers absentmindedly on your knee like there was always a song playing in your head.

You turned to her suddenly. “Do you sing?”

She choked. “God, no.”

“C’mon,” you nudged. “Just a little?”

“I’m an athlete,” she said defensively. “We don’t do that.”

You smiled. “Tell that to the UConn locker room.”

“Okay, yeah, but that’s different. That’s shouting lyrics in a group of sweaty girls, not—this.”

You gave her a mischievous look. “Afraid I’ll judge you?”

“No,” Paige lied.

You grinned wider, but didn’t push.

Eventually, the sun started to dip through the narrow window, turning the room gold. Paige didn’t realize how much time had passed. She checked her phone—Azzi had texted “where r u???” about 30 minutes ago.

“I should go,” she said, but didn’t move.

You were lying flat on the carpet now, arms spread, eyes closed.

You opened one eye. “Then go.”

She didn’t.

You smirked. “Didn’t think you’d be the one to get attached.”

“I’m not.”

You closed your eyes again. “Mmhm.”

Paige stood slowly. Her legs ached from sitting so long on the hard chair, but she didn’t really mind.

“Same time Thursday?” you asked, eyes still shut.

Paige hesitated. “I don’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not,” you said, quiet now. “It’s nice, having someone listen.”

She looked down at you. Your features soft in the fading light. At peace.

“I’ll be here,” she said.

And she meant it.

Two weeks later, Paige didn’t even need to check the time.

It was just automatic now—Tuesday, Room 205, you.

She still pretended like she wasn’t waiting for it every week, but her body gave her away. She’d get antsy around 3:30, check her phone three times, leave whatever gym or classroom she was in by 3:45. No one questioned her anymore.

Not even Azzi.

She didn’t even knock anymore. Just walked in, gave you a soft nod, and sat down while you tuned your guitar like clockwork.

You’d started calling her your “favorite audience.”

She said she preferred “only audience.”

You said, “Still counts.”

On a random Friday afternoon, Paige texted you:

Paige: “You like Mario Kart?”

“I’m not bad at it.”

Paige: “You just said you’re good without saying you’re good.”

“Do you wanna lose or what?”

She didn’t expect how easily you fit into her living room.

You were curled into the corner of her couch in a hoodie she swore used to be hers, holding the controller like it was part of your hand. Your eyes narrowed at the screen. Paige had just blue-shelled you at the finish line. You threw your head back and groaned.

“I hope your joy-cons drift forever,” you muttered.

Paige cackled. “Don’t hate the player.”

“I do, actually.”

“Wow.”

You smirked and tossed a popcorn kernel at her face. She caught it in her mouth. Show-off.

Eventually, the game was paused and forgotten. The controller batteries started dying. Neither of you bothered to fix them.

Instead, you sprawled across the couch, shoes off, half under a blanket. Paige leaned against the opposite armrest, socked feet crossed near your hip.

“What’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever believed as a kid?” you asked randomly.

Paige blinked. “Uh… that the moon followed me specifically? Like it was my thing.”

You snorted. “Narcissist.”

“You asked!”

You told her yours was that if you swallowed watermelon seeds, a full vine would grow out your throat.

“You were dramatic from the start,” Paige said.

“Still am,” you agreed.

The night drifted on. You didn’t leave until close to 2 a.m. Neither of you realized how late it had gotten. Paige watched the front door close after you, a little stunned at how easy the silence had felt.

The next night, you invited her over.

“Movie night,” you said. “My pick.”

Paige said, “What are we watching?”

You smirked. “It’s a surprise.”

That was the warning. She should’ve known.

It was The Notebook.

Of course it was The Notebook.

You acted like you didn’t care much about it, even made jokes during the early scenes.

“Wow, nothing says romance like threatening to kill yourself if a girl won’t go on a date,” you quipped.

“Yeah,” Paige muttered, “real healthy.”

But somewhere around the boat scene, you stopped talking.

And when Allie’s mom gave her that box of letters, Paige looked over.

You sniffed. Subtly.

She blinked. “Wait… are you crying?”

“No,” you said immediately. Too fast.

You wiped your cheek with your sleeve and kept your eyes glued to the screen like if you just didn’t look at her, she wouldn’t know.

But Paige was already scooting closer.

“You’re crying.”

“I’m not.”

“You said this movie was stupid.”

“It is.” Your voice cracked a little. “It’s manipulative. There’s rain and kissing and Alzheimer’s. They’re cheating on people. It’s a mess.”

Paige didn’t say anything. Just watched as another tear slipped down your cheek.

She reached over slowly, gently brushing it away with her thumb.

Your breath caught slightly, but you didn’t move away.

“Shut up,” you whispered.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Her hand hovered for a second longer. Warm against your skin.

You turned toward her slightly, chin tilted. “You’re enjoying this.”

Paige smirked. “A little.”

You narrowed your eyes, then shifted under the blanket and muttered, “Fine. But I get to pick next time too.”

“And you won’t cry this time?”

You shoved her shoulder lightly. “No promises.”

She stayed until the credits rolled.

You didn’t talk about what happened.

You didn’t need to.

But Paige smiled the entire drive home.

It didn’t happen all at once.

There was no sudden realization. No thunderclap. No internal monologue screaming oh my god I’m in love with her. Paige kind of wished it had been like that—quick, clean, definite.

But instead, it was slow.

Annoyingly slow.

Like a song that changes keys so gradually you don’t even notice until you’re standing there, listening, heart in your throat, and everything sounds different.

It was the middle of a Wednesday when she noticed it.

Not a moment, really—just a text from you. No punctuation. No context.

“it’s raining”

That’s it.

Not come outside, not listen to this, not I’m sad and need you.

Paige stared at them for way too long before replying.

“window’s already open”

You sent back a voice memo—just a few seconds of rain hitting the windowsill. A soft hum. Your laugh in the background.

And that was it.

Paige had to sit down.

Azzi was the first to say something.

“You’re smiling at your phone again.”

“I always do that.”

“No you don’t.”

KK chimed in. “You used to smile like that when you watched highlight reels of yourself.”

Aubrey raised an eyebrow. “Now it’s a girl who plays sad songs in practice rooms.”

“I don’t—” Paige started, but even she didn’t sound convincing anymore.

They didn’t tease her the way they usually would. Azzi just looked at her gently, then asked, “Have you told her?”

Paige blinked. “Told her what?”

Aubrey leaned in. “That you like her.”

Paige went quiet.

“Exactly,” KK mumbled.

It’s not that Paige was afraid of feelings.

She was just… unfamiliar with them.

Romance had never been easy for her. She didn’t like being vulnerable. Didn’t like people seeing her shaken. She was used to control. To focus. To knowing the outcome before she took the shot.

But this?

You?

She didn’t know where it was going. Or if it was even going anywhere.

She just knew that things were changing.

Because she started noticing everything.

The way your voice got quiet when you were tired. The way your hoodie sleeves were always a little too long. The way you never asked for help, but always showed up for everyone else.

The way she missed you on the days she didn’t see you.

That was the scariest part.

On Sunday, you came over again. No Mario Kart this time. No movies.

Just you, barefoot on her couch, eating leftover pasta out of a tupperware like you owned the place.

Paige sat on the floor beside the coffee table, legs stretched out, head tilted lazily against the couch cushions.

“What if,” you said suddenly, “you were born in a world where music didn’t exist?”

Paige blinked. “What?”

“No sound. No songs. Nothing but silence. You’d still play basketball, sure. But no rhythm. No hype songs. Just… empty air.”

“That’s depressing,” she muttered.

You nodded. “I think I’d lose my mind.”

“Yeah,” Paige said after a moment. “You would.”

You glanced down at her. “Would you miss music?”

“I’d miss you,” she said.

Then froze.

You looked at her.

And smiled.

But didn’t say anything.

Didn’t tease her. Didn’t make it weird.

Just said, “Good.”

And kept eating your pasta.

That night, Paige laid in bed and stared at the ceiling.

She tried not to think too hard. Tried not to name it.

But every time she blinked, it was you.

Laughing on her couch.

Crying during The Notebook.

Singing in Room 205.

And suddenly… Paige wasn’t so sure if just being friends would ever feel like enough.

Room 205 felt different today.

It wasn’t the weather—though the windows were foggy from the spring drizzle. And it wasn’t the time—4 p.m. sharp, like always. Paige walked in with the same hoodie, the same messy bun, the same slightly anxious energy she always brought when she didn’t know what you were about to play.

But the air felt heavier. Like something was hanging in the corner, waiting.

You sat cross-legged on top of the piano bench, strumming a quiet chord progression you hadn’t played before. Paige closed the door gently behind her, dropped her backpack in the usual spot, and slid into the chair by the wall.

You didn’t look up. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she said, slower than usual.

She watched your fingers move. You were quieter today too—not in a bad way. Just… focused. Like your mind was somewhere far away and also nowhere at all.

“You okay?” she asked, voice soft.

You nodded. “Just… thinking.”

She didn’t press. Just let the silence settle between you.

After a few minutes, you finally looked up. “Can I play you something?”

Paige sat up straighter. “You always play me something.”

“No, I mean—something I haven’t shown anyone. Ever.”

That made her heart beat a little faster.

She nodded.

You exhaled, fingers settling into place.

Then you began.

We'll play Nintendo though I always lose

‘Cause you watch the TV while I'm watching you

There's not many people I'd honestly say I don't mind losing to

But there's nothing like doing nothing with you

The first line hit Paige like a whisper to the chest.

She froze. Eyes fixed on you. Your voice was soft—not performed, just spoken in melody. You weren’t doing anything fancy with the chords. It didn’t need it.

Paige heard every word.

Dumb conversation, we lose track of time

Have I told you lately I'm grateful you're mine

We watch "The Notebook" for the 17th time

I'll say it's stupid, then you catch me crying

Paige’s expression shifts as the song continues. The lyrics are simple, but the meaning is clear. The way the words flow feels like a quiet confession. Each line hits a little harder than the last. Paige, who’s been so used to guarding herself, begins to feel something stir in her chest. Her heartbeat quickens, the truth behind the words sinking in.

You’re not just singing about love, about waiting for something you want but can’t have. You’re singing about her. The way you feel when you’re around her, the longing, the quiet frustration that she’s been unaware of, or maybe avoiding.

She barely noticed when the song ended. You let the last note linger like it didn’t want to leave either.

Then there was silence. A thick, full silence.

You finally looked at her.

“I know it’s not flashy,” you murmured. “But it’s real. For me, at least.”

Paige didn’t speak right away.

Because something had snapped into place.

All this time, she thought maybe she was imagining it. That maybe she wanted it too much to see it clearly. But this song—your song—was proof.

Not a maybe.

Not a coincidence.

It was her.

It was you seeing her.

And loving her in your quiet, unspoken way.

Her chest felt too full. She didn’t know how to hold everything you’d just given her.

You rubbed the back of your neck. “Sorry. I probably made it weird.”

Paige shook her head fast, voice low. “No. You didn’t.”

“You sure?”

She nodded. “It’s just… I didn’t expect to hear myself in it. In your words.”

You smiled, finally letting yourself look directly at her.

“Well,” you said quietly, “you’ve been in my head for weeks now. Felt fair to put you somewhere else too.”

Paige didn’t know what to say to that.

Her brain was screaming: Say something. Do something.

But she just stared at you, heart pounding, realizing…

This isn’t nothing.

The walk back was quieter than usual.

Not awkward. Just... full.

Like something sacred had been left unspoken between them after you played her that song. The words still clung to Paige’s ribs. They echoed every time your hand brushed against hers as you walked side by side on the sidewalk, neither of you talking, both pretending not to notice.

Your guitar case was slung behind you. Paige carried your notebook. She didn’t ask—you just handed it to her like you trusted her not to drop what was inside.

The sky was dark now, the streets humming with distant traffic and warm porch lights.

“Paige,” you said softly as you reached the last block before your building.

“Yeah?”

You didn’t stop walking, but your voice dropped. “You haven’t said much since the song.”

She looked over. You weren’t anxious, just… open. Waiting. You’d handed her something vulnerable, and now you were giving her the space to either hold it or step away.

Paige took a breath.

“I haven’t said much because I’m scared I’m gonna say the wrong thing,” she admitted. Your lips quirked. “You already told me I’m your favorite audience. I think the bar’s pretty low.”

She smiled with you, but then quieted again.

“I meant what I said,” she continued. “Every line of that song—it was like watching us from the outside. It was weird. And beautiful. And a little terrifying.”

You turned toward her slightly, walking slower now.

“Terrifying?”

She nodded. “Because I didn’t know you were seeing me like that. I thought I was the only one…” Her voice softened. “...feeling all this.”

You stopped walking.

So did she.

The streetlamp above you buzzed faintly. The wind picked up. The moment cracked open.

Your voice was quiet. “You’re not the only one.”

Paige looked at you.

And this time, she didn’t flinch from it.

She took one slow step closer. Her voice barely above a whisper. “You make everything quieter, Y/N. And I didn’t know how much I needed that until you.”

You tilted your head, eyes full and soft. “Are you sure?”

Paige nodded, closer now.

“I’m sure.”

Your breath caught.

She looked at your mouth for just a second.

Then she said, like a confession. “Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t answer with words. You leaned in first.

So she did too.

It was soft. Barely even a press at first. Just the meeting of two people who had spent weeks circling something sacred.

Paige moved slowly, gently, like she didn’t want to startle whatever this was. Your hand came up to rest on her wrist, anchoring her.

She deepened the kiss—just a little—and it felt like everything she’d been holding in finally exhaled.

You pulled away first, barely.

Paige kept her forehead resting against yours.

“I was scared,” you whispered. “That if we crossed this line, it’d stop feeling easy.”

Paige smiled. “It still feels easy.”

You nodded. “Yeah. It does.”

You stayed like that for a while. No rush. No pressure.

Just breathing in the space that had finally, finally opened.

Then you said, “Wanna come upstairs?”

Paige blinked.

You grinned. “Just to hang. I wanna write more. You could help.”

She nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

She followed you inside, heart steady, hand brushing yours.

This wasn’t nothing. This never had been.

#paige bueckers x reader #uconn women’s basketball #paige bueckers #paige buckets #paige x reader #wnba x reader #uconn wbb #lesbian #wlw #wuh luh wuh

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cryinggirlnamedhelen · 1 day ago

Text

need to know!

ft; sakura haruka, suo hayato, umemiya hajime, ren kaji

synopsis ; how aware are they of your crush on them?

cw ; gn!reader, violence, some of them are stupid asf

now playing ; need to know by doja cat

sakura haruka

romantic sensor hard at work…! again.

sakura isn’t stupid. well, academically, he certainly is. but he’s aware enough to tell when you’re acting differently around him than with the others. for one, you don’t show up at suo’s doorstep every day with food while proceeding to eat it with him. you sure do that with sakura though. you don’t bombard nirei with texts whenever you can. you sure do that with sakura though.

his stupid little romantic sensor gives it away though. whenever you do anything for him, even if it’s picking up something that he dropped or making a sarcastic compliment about him, he turns bright red and his thoughts begins to ramble a mile a minute. it’s almost as if steam is rushing out of his ears.

his sensor is practically screaming “they have a crush on you! they have a crush on you!”

the biggest problem though? he’s too insecure to realize it.

logically—and even instinctively—it makes completely sense that you’re in love with him. but emotionally, sakura’s senses are completely blocked by his past experiences. i mean, what was there to like about him?

he’s internally aware, but externally too dense to figure it out.

suo hayato

he knows the tea. and he drinks it as well.

aware? oh, suo knows. he can tell. from the slight twitch of your fingers when his hand accidentally grazes yours to the slight, nearly unnoticeable pout on your lips when he leans in ever so closely to your lips only to brush a few strands of hair ever from your face and back away. he sees it all.

of course, he likes you back. a little bit too much, actually. so much that when he closes his eyes, you’re the first thing that he thinks of. that you occupy and consume all of his thoughts. he doesn’t mind confessing first, he just needs to make sure that you’re prepared. you’d probably melt and hyperventilate if he confesses to you in this current state.

you’re so damn obvious about your crush. he thinks it’s cute.

the worst part about suo is that he’s so damn nonchalant and vague about it as well.

when he finally confesses to you, after an excruciating year of crushing on him, it’s almost like an intentional slip of the tongue. “you think no one’s going to ask you to homecoming? well, i like you a lot, and if we went to the same school, i’d ask you out.”

suo is painfully aware. so much so that it’s incredibly annoying to have a crush on him.

umemiya hajime

“yeah, of course 1+1=2!” “how’d you solve it?” “…”

of course he can tell that you have a crush on him! how do you think he leads furin without good observational and emotional skills? he can obviously tell that you’re so genuine with your compliments because of your crush on him!

and yes, he can easily figure out which are the gifts you give him because you have a crush on him and which are the gifts you give him because it’s actually some sort of special day. usually it’s the former. well, at least he’s still getting the gifts at the end of the day.

the catch?

he can’t seem to process the fact that you have a crush on him.

it’s just like how it is with tsubaki’s crush on him. he’s not stupid; he can clearly tell that you have a crush on him. but he can’t seem to process it or act on it. it’s like knowing a formula for math but not knowing what the hell to do with it or where to put the numbers.

you don’t even know if you want to call him stupid or smart.

ren kaji

he’s just as in tune with your emotions as he is with music.

kaji is leagues more normal than the others. he’s keen enough to be in touch with the emotions of others, especially as a grade captain. despite how outwardly rough he can be sometimes, he can definitely take a good read on the emotions on someone else, especially someone he’s close with.

he’s not as cruel as suo or as dumb as umemiya. does he like you back? definitely. he couldn’t even deny it. but at the same time, he’s too awkward to confront you about it. he’s horrified at the thought of coming off of brash or abrasive if he ever confronts you about your crush on him.

so he just sucks on his lollipop, watching your face turn bright red whenever you catch him staring at you a bit too intently.

you’ll be fine. he’s sure that you’ll find out soon.

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strawberrystepmom · 2 days ago

Text

dante x f!reader. established relationship, a minor disagreement that ends up in hurt/comfort. | wc: 1.4k, reading time: ~5 minutes

“I’m coming with you.”

Your remark is firm while you practically chase after Dante who slumps down in the chair behind his desk for the briefest moment, pulling equipment from the drawers of his desk and putting it into his pockets.

“No, you’re not.”

It irritates you how he won’t even look up, preoccupied with getting out of here. Your jaw slackens, eyes narrowing.

“Why not?”

Now he looks up, his own teeth clenched.

“Because I’ve said no ten times and meant it every one.”

He hates fighting with you. In fact, he hates telling you no about anything and you’re all too well aware of it judging by the way you seem to think you can wear his defenses down into a yes right now.

Disengaging by looking down, he loads a few bullets into his guns which further irritates you.

There’s no such thing as a truly unexpected job in his line of work. He gets calls at all hours of the day or night sometimes, reporting to wherever he needs to be to take care of business, but you don’t understand why he won’t let you come. It’s midday and he’s clearly playing coy about the threat level of whatever is out there meaning there may be a need for help.

Laughing sarcastically, you stand in place in front of his desk.

“It amazes me how you are never this serious about a no until it has to do with what I want.”

Whipping his head upward so fast his hair falls out of place against his forehead, the man you love more than any other curls his lip and points all five of his fingers toward you, eyes wide.

“And it amazes me that you’ve never bothered to wonder why I'm so serious about it. How many times have we had this exact conversation?"

There has never been a time where he’s raised his voice at you and he has no plans of starting now but you are seriously testing his patience.

You fold your arms across your torso and raise your brows adversarially high. "I wish you’d just admit it’s because you think I'm weak and can't protect myself. Your little liability."

Finally, you push Dante to the point of a frustrated, humorless chuckle punctures the tense air of the room. You flinch in place, averting your eyes from him to other corners of the room that seem a lot easier to look at. Walls don't have eyes that pierce to your very soul the way his are right now, feeling them even if you don't see them.

"Will you please stop thinking the worst about me? I know better than anyone you can take care of yourself."

He scoffs, another ironic chuckle following it.

"In fact, this isn’t even about you. Have you ever thought for even a second that I keep you away from my jobs because I don't know what I would do if something happened to you? That nobody does?"

You look up and he looks directly at you, brows furrowed.

"Yeah, I've been called out about it before. By Trish and Lady and everyone who has ever seen the way I am when it comes to you." He shakes his head, rising from his seat behind the desk, reaching across it and grabbing your trembling hands. "They’ve all had the same thing to say about how you can't be around because my focus becomes keeping you safe."

He looks away from you, retreating to somewhere distant in his mind.

"I catch myself thinking about a world without you sometimes and it's dark and heavy and...and I know I couldn't do it if I didn't have you."

"Do what?"

"Any of this.” He waves his hand around the waiting room of Devil May Cry dramatically. “Exist."

"Dante..."

You click your tongue, chest aching at his words. They’re well meant but even the faintest insinuation of him stumbling into the bad shape he was when you first met makes you feel hollow.

"I mean it, sweetheart. You could come up with a hundred arguments and probably already have but I wish you wouldn't waste your time arguing with me about what the truth is. It’s not that you're weak, it's that I'm weak for you."

Now you feel like a real problem, pouting like a little girl while he airs out the truth. “Stop it.”

“No, you stop. Let me tell you how I feel and maybe, just maybe, actually listen to me for once.”

Pushing your fists against your eyes, you take a deep breath and allow the pressure of your knuckles to keep the levy holding back your tears from breaking. You probably look as pathetic as you feel standing there like this, shoulders slumped inward and breaths coming in staggered pants.

Merciful man that he is, Dante never lets you suffer for long.

You hear his footsteps round his desk in the same pattern you memorized a long time ago, his warm arms coming to cradle you even if you won’t look at him. Your body naturally leans against his chest, fists pressed against his shirt, face hidden.

“You’ve made me a man, not just someone pretending to be half one.” He unburies your face to kiss the tip of your nose, pulling you against his chest to bury your head beneath his scruffy chin. “And you’re one thing I wanna keep safe forever because of it. Is that so wrong?”

Shaking your head no, you sigh in lighthearted defeat. How can you put up a fight, especially when he is safely nestling his beating heart in your hand? You protect it, he protects you.

It’s not all that bad of a deal when you really think about it.

“You’re starting to give me a stomach ache,” you joke, lifting yourself up on the tips of your toes to kiss him. It’s a little brush of lips against lips, far less searing then how you usually approach.

Still, it says everything. The pair of you remain locked together - two bodies and one shared soul - refusing to part even to continue the conversation.

“Sorry for thinking the worst.”

Your apology is only slightly muffled, mashed between his mouth and yours. He parts his lips to reply but chooses to kiss you instead, tongue dipping between lips he could not successfully exist without. You’ve given his world more than color, you’ve breathed life into every last corner of it. The least he can do is tell you so once in a while.

Smiling against your lips, he stops for a breath and backs away enough to look down at you.

“Let me know next time that happens so I can get ahead of it, okay?”

A lighthearted reminder, sealed with another small kiss. The tension in the room gradually soothes itself, minute by passing minute. The safety of his arms even improves your mood slightly, your fists pressed against the center of his chest rather than over your eyes.

“Please stay behind and let me come home to you in one piece.”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you fight the urge to insist you need to continue fighting for your place in his life. He’s telling you clearly that you’ve earned it.

“Alright,” you acquiesce, raising yourself up on tippy toes to kiss him again.

Opening your mouth to continue speaking he shoots you a look, not venomous or dangerous, but serious. He doesn’t wanna argue about this again.

You lean into him, big eyes staring. “Fine, God, okay. But you need to call me as soon as you’re done because I don’t know what I’d do without you either and cannot think about it so please don’t make me.”

Dante nods, chuckling.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Later on, after you’re less emotional and he’s home safe and sound, you’ll admit he’s right. You’ll mutter against his hair that he’s not merely a good man but the best one for thinking of you the way he does and that you constantly question if you deserve it or not. He’ll whisper to you that nobody has ever deserved it more, rocking you gently until you fall into a fitful sleep and leaving him awake for a little longer.

Only then will he find himself alone enough to silently thank whatever force brought you, this stubborn, beautiful woman, into his life to save him. He’ll insist to this same force that he’s only making up for lost time by protecting you from danger to begin with.

It happens every time.

#dante x you #dante x reader #dante sparda x you #dante sparda x reader #kendall writes #danken

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pukefactory · 9 hours ago

Note

You know, I'm constantly curious about this. Because everybody makes it where the reader comes to and gets stuck in ENA's world...but what if it was the other way around? What if BBQ ENA was stuck in our world instead?? •-•

•☽────✧˖°˖ LEARNING THE ROPES ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Salesperson ENA Stuck In The Human World With The Reader

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ),

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @crepeurie

☆ ENA appeared in your world unannounced, as if dropped between seconds. The air crackled like radio static and then there she was: standing in your apartment hallway, glittering with casino dust, holding a charred mannequin head in one hand and a coupon for “half off your existential fate” in the other. Salesperson side blinked first, then grinned. “Say, is this your realm? I hope I’m not trespassing on your… emotional lease.” The Meanie side groaned. “WHAT THE HELL KIND OF DIMENSION HAS CARPETED WALLS?! WHERE’S THE BOSS??” You didn’t know whether to give her tea or a tetanus shot.

☆ She doesn’t understand your technology. Your phone? A cursed slab of mirror-glass that steals your soul when you tap it too fast. “Wait, why does the cat keep changing expressions?! Is it mocking me?” She attempts to argue with your Amazon Alexa. “WHO IS THIS DISEMBODIED WOMAN?! WHAT AUTHORITY DOES SHE HOLD?! Why doesn’t she tell us where the BATHROOM is?!” You mute the speaker. She puts a sticky note over it labeled: DO NOT TRUST THE ECHO LADY.

☆ You took her outside once. She stood on the curb and stared at the streetlight like it was a divine omen. “The lights here… blink in coded confessions. I think I saw one say ‘you’re being watched.’ Is that true?” “Don’t tell me your reality uses coloured bulbs as government signals! That’s genius. Absolutely evil. I admire it.” Then she ran into traffic to chase a squirrel. You had to drag her back by her suspenders. “I was bartering a soul exchange!”

☆ She tried coffee. You made the grave mistake of giving her espresso. Within minutes, Meanie was arguing with a ceiling fan while Salesperson rewrote your résumé, your will, and a five-year business plan to “dominate the underground liquorice economy.” You had to lock her in the bathroom for twenty minutes just so she wouldn’t take apart your microwave. “I NEED TO SEE THE INSIDES. DOES IT BLEED? DOES IT SING?” You’ve since switched her to chamomile tea.

☆ She found out about streaming services and hasn’t recovered. She watched 14 hours of reality TV and now believes that “marriage” is a televised punishment ritual. “These contestants keep kissing under duress! Why?! Is that how you humans survive the culling?” Later, she rewrote the concept of television into a tragic art form. She talks about “reruns” like they’re ghost stories. You caught her whispering to the Netflix home screen: “I KNOW HOW THIS ENDS… BUT I’LL WATCH YOU SUFFER AGAIN.”

☆ She doesn’t sleep. Not because she can’t, but because she doesn’t trust unconsciousness. “You’re telling me your consciousness vanishes nightly and that’s… normal? I can’t even trust my limbs!” Still, she gets bored in the hours you’re asleep. You once woke up at 3 a.m. to find her sitting on your chest, watching your eyelids like TV static. “You twitch when you’re dreaming. Does that mean you’re buffering?” She didn’t get off until you said “please.”

☆ She began attending your workplace with you like it was a mission briefing. At first, she was polite. Helpful, even. She made coffee for your coworkers and tried to network. “So tell me—are you also being exploited under the guise of capitalist productivity, or is it more of a consensual subjugation thing?” Then she shouted at your boss. “YOU’RE THE NEW BOSS?! You don’t even SMELL like authority!” You were asked to “take your cousin back to the psych ward.”

☆ She tries cooking. Sometimes it goes well. Most of the time it doesn’t. She once baked you a cake that bled orange juice and screamed in binary when sliced. “It’s avant-garde! A little post-mortem pastry!” She gets very quiet when you eat her food without flinching. Meanie narrows her eyes, suspicious. “You… actually like it?” The Salesperson side stares for a beat, then whispers, “My dividends… are emotional.”

☆ You took her to the park once. She watched the ducks like they were religious figures. “They know something. Something lost to time. Do you think they’ve seen the Genie?” She picked dandelions and declared them “low-tier magical implements.” You watched her tie them together and mutter prayers. When you asked who she was praying to, she shrugged. “To this world. To the idea that maybe I’m allowed to stay in it. That it won’t swallow me back into code and craters.” You sat beside her and held her sharp, clawed hand. It trembled once. Then didn’t let go.

☆ One night, after too much laughing and not enough sleep, she looked at you—really looked. “I think this place is terrifying,” she admitted. “It’s heavy and slow and filled with people who look at me like I’m… not real. But then you—you laugh at me when I’m ridiculous and smile like I’m worth staying here for.” Her voice broke into both tones. Both sides. “If I’m stuck in your world, I think it’s okay. I’m not looking for the BATHROOM anymore.” She paused. “I’m looking for your hand.”

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wbbfannnnnn13 · 2 days ago

Text

Almost Always - Chapter 16

A/N: Finally finished this chapter, low key was just feeling some type of way, so this is a pretty steamy chapter... but there is still plot I promise! We're getting close to the end of the series, probably going to make the next 2 chapters a little longer to close it out at 18, but we'll see, sometimes I'll get random ideas while writing. Also shoutout to the anon who came up with the idea for the end of this chapter :)

WC: 5.7K+

Warnings: Minors DNI, Smut (like most of this chapter is just that so sorry if you aren't into that -- I haven't written it much, but sometimes it just be fun to so yeah), Cussing

Chapter 16: Always Been Yours

The food containers were still open, their contents half-finished, crumpled napkins and wooden chopsticks strewn across Paige’s coffee table like soft remnants of a night that hadn’t rushed. A half-burned candle flickered beside an empty water glass, its wax pooling slow and lazy in the dish. The playlist hummed low in the background—smooth, crackling R&B threading beneath the city noise outside, like the room had found its own pulse.

The TV was off. Phones untouched. No distractions left—just the two of them, curled into the couch like gravity had drawn them back together on instinct. Their legs were tangled in that effortless, familiar way. The scent of sesame, jasmine rice, and melted candle wax clung to the air like memory. Everything around them felt lived-in again. Like the pause had ended and they were finally letting themselves press play.

Azzi leaned back against the armrest, her legs stretched across the couch and tangled with Paige’s. A half-laugh slipped from her lips—soft, easy, like the echo of something funny Paige had said a minute ago. But it didn’t reach her eyes. Not fully. There was a flicker there, something too alert, like her mind hadn’t let go of the last thread of silence between them.

“So…” Paige started, voice low, thumb rubbing over Azzi’s knee like she was grounding them both. “The press conference.”

Azzi’s jaw tensed. “You watched the whole thing?”

Paige nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I saw it when it started making the rounds. You were a little fired up, but nothing wrong with that.

Azzi let out a short laugh. “Tell that to the media.”

“I’m not talking about them,” Paige said quietly. “I’m talking about me.”

That gave Azzi pause. Her gaze dropped to her hands. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I wasn’t trying to cause anything… it just happened. I was tired and frustrated, and the question hit harder than I thought. And then it was everywhere.”

“They always ask about me,” Paige said, quieter this time. “Even when it’s not about me.”

Azzi let out a short laugh, no humor in it. “Story of my life, right?”

Paige’s voice dropped. “I wish it wasn’t. I really do.”

Azzi studied her for a moment. “It gets tiring, you know? Always feeling like I’m the afterthought. Like I have to push just to be noticed. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that… but maybe I needed to let it out.”

Paige nodded again, slower this time. “I know. And for what it’s worth, I think the people who matter understood…”

Azzi chewed on her lip. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be upset. Like I threw shade at you or something.”

“You didn’t,” Paige said firmly. “You were telling your truth. I can respect that, even if it stings a little.”

Azzi tilted her head. “It stung?”

Paige exhaled. “Not because of what you said. Because it reminded me how much I’ve taken for granted. I’m always saying I’ve got your back, but I haven’t always stepped out of the spotlight when I should have.”

“That’s not your fault,” Azzi said, her voice softening. “People gravitate to you naturally. You’ve always had that kind of light. And I love that about you.”

“I don’t want my light to dim yours,” Paige said.

Azzi shook her head, voice steady now. “It doesn’t. But I think I needed to say it out loud to believe that. And maybe to remind you too.”

They let the silence stretch, not awkward, just full—like the air between them needed time to recalibrate. Outside, a siren wailed faintly in the distance, and somewhere below, a dog barked once, sharp and distant. Paige’s thumb was still tracing lazy circles against Azzi’s knee.

Azzi leaned her head back, eyes on the ceiling. “You know… I used to think being next to you meant I had to shrink a little. Make space.”

Paige turned, her brows drawing together.

“But tonight?” Azzi said, glancing at her with the faintest smile. “Doesn’t feel like that.”

Paige’s hand stilled. A slow smile tugged at her mouth, something quiet and grateful blooming in her chest.

“I’m really proud of you,” she said.

Azzi bumped her knee against Paige’s. “Even after I completely crashed out?”

Paige snorted. “Especially after that.”

Azzi laughed, the sound finally real. Paige grinned, the tension between them softening into something easier, lighter.

And then Paige leaned back, resting her arm behind Azzi’s shoulders, a teasing glint in her eye.

“Well,” she said, “guess it’s official. I’m in my WAG era now.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, amused. “Your what?”

Paige grinned. “WAG era. You know—wives and girlfriends. Courtside fits. Sappy Instagram captions. Giving unsolicited but elite game notes between film sessions.”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head as she leaned into Paige’s side. “You really giving me notes now?”

“Oh, I’ve got a whole doc saved,” Paige said, grinning. “Stuff your coaches don’t even see.”

Azzi tilted her head. “You been watching my film like that?”

Paige nodded, her voice dropping just slightly. “Every game. Can’t help it. I see things. Like when your shot’s just a little off because your balance is too front-loaded. Or how you hesitate when your defender goes under the screen—but you shouldn’t. You’ve got the range.”

Azzi stilled, the smile lingering, but her eyes softening. “You really do that?”

“I know your game,” Paige said. “I’ve always known it. Probably better than I know my own.”

Azzi didn’t respond right away, but her hand found Paige’s where it rested on her leg. She laced their fingers together, slow and intentional.

“You know how hot that is, right?”

Paige’s laugh was low, surprised. “Giving scouting tips?”

Azzi leaned in, their foreheads nearly brushing. “Yeah. That. You believing in me like that.”

Paige’s thumb brushed over the back of her hand. “Always have.”

Azzi’s eyes dropped, just for a second—to the faded TEAM AZZI jersey hanging loose on Paige’s frame, like it belonged there all along. Her breath hitched.

“I can’t believe you still have that,” she said, her voice soft, touched.

Paige glanced down, then back up, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Couldn’t get rid of this.”

Azzi shook her head, smile growing. “You’re unreal.”

Paige leaned in, her voice warm and low. “Only when it comes to you.”

The space between them pulsed with something heavier now—tender, sure, but charged, like a current they’d both stopped trying to resist. Time felt slower, quieter, like the world beyond Paige’s living room had slipped into another frequency.

Paige’s free hand drifted to Azzi’s waist, her touch feather-light, deliberate. Not rushed. Like she was learning the shape of her all over again, memorizing muscle and breath and warmth. Her fingertips traced just beneath the hem of Azzi’s sweatshirt, brushing against skin—soft, electric, familiar.

Azzi inhaled, slow and shallow, her eyes never leaving Paige’s. Her heart thudded in her chest, not from surprise but from the gravity of it—how every inch closer felt like something she’d been aching toward for months.

Paige leaned in, their knees still touching, her forehead nearly resting against Azzi’s. She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. Everything was in her touch, in the way her thumb circled slow and steady over Azzi’s side, grounding and inviting all at once.

The silence between them wasn’t empty. It was full of heat and history and want.

Azzi tilted her head, her voice barely a whisper. “So what’s the next play?”

Paige leaned in until her lips nearly brushed Azzi’s. “Pretty sure it starts with this.”

Azzi’s hand lifted, fingers finding the curve of Paige’s jaw, anchoring there like she needed something solid. Her thumb brushed over Paige’s cheekbone.

Paige turned her head just enough to press a kiss against Azzi’s palm, a breath of contact that made Azzi’s stomach twist in that aching, familiar way. Like falling, but steadier. Like breathing, but deeper.

Azzi leaned in first, closing the last sliver of space between them, her lips brushing against Paige’s—tentative, testing. A question asked in touch rather than words.

Paige answered without hesitation, tilting her head and pressing in with a slow, deliberate kiss that sent a shiver sliding down Azzi’s spine. It was nothing like urgency. It was a slow burn, the kind of kiss that deepened with every heartbeat, with every tiny shift closer.

Paige’s hand splayed wider at Azzi’s waist, tugging her gently across the couch until Azzi was half-straddling her, knees bracketing Paige’s hips. Their bodies slotted together like they were made for it. Because they were.

Azzi pulled back just enough to look at her, their foreheads brushing, breaths mingling in the slivered space between them.

“I missed you,” she whispered, voice raw around the edges.

Paige’s hands were already moving, slow and deliberate, gliding up her back beneath the loose hem of her shirt. Her touch sparked across Azzi’s skin like memory made real. “I’m right here, baby,” she whispered back.

Azzi kissed her again—deeper this time. It was messier now, more certain, like neither of them wanted to waste another second pretending they didn’t need this. Her hands slipped beneath Paige’s jersey, dragging up the fabric until her fingers brushed bare skin.

Paige let out a soft, breathy laugh against her mouth. “Wait,” she murmured, smiling. “Aren’t we supposed to be working through our emotional baggage or something?”

Azzi pulled back just far enough to smirk. “You wanna pause and unpack feelings while I’m on top of you?”

Paige tilted her head, grinning. “I mean... no… but we gotta talk about all the feelings and shit at some point.”

Azzi laughed, low and warm. “Okay, well... here’s one feeling I can definitely name.”

She shifted her hips, slow and deliberate, until her body pressed flush against Paige’s. Paige inhaled sharply, her grin faltering into something needier.

“Thought so,” Azzi said, voice soft and smug.

Paige’s hands flexed at her waist, pulling her closer. “You’re a menace,” she murmured.

“And you love it.”

“Yeah,” Paige whispered, just before Azzi kissed her again—longer this time, deeper, tongue brushing against hers in a way that made her head fall back against the cushions.

Their laughter dissolved into something heavier, the space between them folding in until there was nothing left to hold back. The conversation could wait.

Azzi leaned back to take her in—bare skin, steady eyes, that open, unguarded smile that was only ever for her.

Paige let her look, let her linger, her hands gliding slow and steady up Azzi’s thighs, under her sweatshirt now, mapping familiar territory.

Azzi shivered at the contact, not from cold but from how easily Paige made her feel known. Undone.

“You’re so beautiful,” Paige said, voice hoarse with it.

Azzi bent down and kissed her again, harder this time, pouring all the months of missed moments and the weight of uncertainty into the press of her mouth. Paige’s hands found their way under her shirt, pushing it higher until Azzi had to pull back just long enough to yank it off over her head, tossing it somewhere behind the couch.

They kissed like they had time to make up for. Like they had something to prove and something to promise all at once.

Paige’s hands explored without hurry, fingers trailing down Azzi’s back, over the curve of her hips, savoring. Azzi’s breath hitched as Paige's mouth moved from her lips to her jaw, to the pulse point just beneath her ear, each kiss a quiet vow.

Azzi pulled her even closer, no space left between them, her hands threading through Paige’s hair as Paige mapped a slow, aching path down her neck.

She was dizzy from it—in the best way. Like Paige was everywhere at once: hands, mouth, breath, heartbeat.

“Paige,” Azzi whispered, like a prayer, a plea, a homecoming.

Paige pulled back just enough to look at her, her thumb brushing Azzi’s lower lip.

“I still can’t believe you’re mine,” she murmured, voice thick with awe.

Azzi smiled, soft and sure, pressing her forehead to Paige’s. “I’ve always been yours.”

Paige kissed her again, and then they were moving together—shedding the last of the space, the last of the clothes—until it was only skin and breath and the quiet symphony of two hearts finally, finally beating in rhythm.

Azzi was the first to lean back, just far enough to let her eyes trail over Paige—bare, warm, flushed from neck to hip in candlelight. She traced her fingers lightly down the center of her chest, watching the goosebumps rise in their wake.

“God, you’re unreal,” Azzi murmured.

Paige’s hands slid along the backs of her thighs, pulling her closer again, until Azzi was straddling her completely, pressed flush and trembling in all the right ways. “So are you,” Paige whispered, voice husky. “You always have been.”

Azzi leaned in to kiss her again—deeper this time, more searching. Her hips rolled, instinctive and aching, and Paige’s breath caught, fingers digging gently into her skin.

Paige’s mouth broke from hers only to move lower, dragging slow, open-mouthed kisses along Azzi’s throat, her collarbone, her chest—each one softer than the last, like she was marking every inch with devotion, not desperation.

Azzi’s head tipped back, a shaky breath catching in her chest, her whole body attuned to every point where Paige touched her. Paige’s hands moved deliberately, one sliding up to cup the swell of her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple in slow, teasing circles that made Azzi’s stomach tighten. The other hand gripped her hip, firm but coaxing, guiding her into a slow, grinding rhythm against her lap. Azzi gasped, a low, helpless sound rising from the back of her throat, her hands threading into Paige’s hair, tugging just enough to ground herself as her body arched into Paige’s touch. Heat pooled low in her belly, each roll of her hips sending sparks skittering up her spine, each brush of Paige’s thumb setting her nerves alight like a fuse burning closer and closer to detonation.

“You feel so good,” Paige breathed, her voice barely more than air.

Azzi nodded, too far gone for words. She could only feel—Paige’s mouth closing around her nipple, warm and wet and consuming, her tongue flicking in slow strokes before her teeth scraped lightly against the sensitive peak. The jolt of pleasure ripped through Azzi’s body, making her hips stutter against Paige’s lap.

Paige groaned low in her throat at the reaction, the sound vibrating through Azzi’s chest and making her whimper. Her hand never stopped moving, gripping Azzi’s waist, guiding her grinding rhythm harder, slower, deeper… anchoring her even as she came undone. Every suck, every graze of teeth, every slow, punishing roll of her hips dragged Azzi closer to the edge, her thighs trembling.

When Paige laid her back on the couch cushions, Azzi went willingly, pulling her down with her. They moved together like muscle memory, like instinct honed over the years spent together. Her thighs fell open instinctively, wide and wanting, her body practically pulling her under. She wrapped her legs around Paige’s hips, the motion fluid—her heels digging in like she couldn’t stand to be apart for even a second.

“Fuck,” Azzi breathed, head falling back, fingers twisting into the couch cushion, chest rising and falling like she’d just sprinted the length of the court.

Paige groaned against her neck, the sound low and wrecked. Her hands slid up Azzi’s legs, slow and firm, thumbs brushing dangerously close to the heat between her thighs. Every movement was intentional. Focused. Like Paige knew exactly what Azzi needed and was going to make her feel every second of it.

Paige shifted lower between Azzi’s legs, the couch dipping with her movement. Nothing between them now—no fabric, no friction lost in layers—just bare skin and the kind of tension that tasted like electricity in the air. Azzi was open beneath her, thighs already slick and parted around Paige’s shoulders like her body had been waiting for this.

Paige dragged her palms up Azzi’s thighs again, slower this time, fingers curling just slightly to grip and ground her, to hold her there. She pressed a kiss to the crease where thigh met hip, then another—so close it made Azzi gasp, hips twitching up, needing more.

“Paige,” she breathed, not even a plea—just her name, wrecked and wanting.

Paige didn’t make her wait anymore.

She leaned in and dragged her tongue through Azzi’s folds in one slow, unbroken stroke—flat, deliberate, claiming. A low moan vibrated from Paige’s throat at the taste, like it knocked the air from her lungs. Azzi cried out, sharp and unguarded, her hips jerking up into the contact. Her fingers flew to Paige’s hair, fisting tight, not to guide her—just to hold on. To feel.

But Paige didn’t stop. Didn’t flinch. She ate like she was starving, slow and thorough, her tongue exploring every inch of Azzi’s slick heat. She circled her clit with maddening patience, then flattened her tongue and licked harder, deeper, drawing out each sound that fell from Azzi’s mouth with ruthless precision. Her mouth moved like she knew every response before Azzi gave it—like she'd memorized the way her body spiraled toward climax and was in no rush to get her there.

Azzi was soaked, her thighs trembling on either side of Paige’s head, her whole body tensed and straining. Every flick of Paige’s tongue, every shift in pressure made her moan louder, higher, until she was panting, broken open beneath her.

Paige groaned and sealed her mouth around Azzi’s clit, sucking her in deep, her lips and tongue working in sync—wet, focused, relentless. Her grip on Azzi’s thighs tightened, fingers digging in as she held her still, letting Azzi grind against her face with helpless, desperate rhythm.

Azzi was losing it.

Her head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut, one hand still tangled in Paige’s hair while the other reached back, scrabbling for something to anchor her. “F-fuck, Paige—don't stop—please—”

Paige didn’t. Instead, she groaned against her, voice husky and reverent. “God, you taste so fucking good…”

Saying it out loud only seemed to spur her on more, flicking her tongue faster now, humming softly against her until Azzi’s entire body shook, legs quivering around her ears, every muscle tight and ready to snap. Paige kept her there, right on the edge, until Azzi gasped her name again, raw and shaking, and then—

Paige slid one hand from Azzi’s trembling thigh to between her legs, her fingers slick immediately from how wet she was. She teased her entrance with two fingers, slow and deliberate, feeling Azzi’s body flutter and clench at the anticipation. Then, with a steady, devastating pressure, she pushed inside.

Azzi broke.

A raw, helpless sob escaped her throat as her walls tightened around Paige’s fingers, her whole body bowing up off the couch. Paige didn’t give her time to recover—she found a rhythm immediately, firm and sure, thrusting deep and curling her fingers just right, dragging against that spot that made Azzi see stars.

“Oh my god—Paige—" Azzi gasped, voice cracking as her hips rolled in frantic, uneven circles, chasing the pressure, the pleasure.

Paige’s mouth stayed locked to her clit, tongue circling in slow spirals that matched the rhythm of her fingers—press, curl, retreat—over and over until Azzi was spiraling, caught between the overwhelming drag of her mouth and the relentless thrust of her hand.

Azzi was gone.

Her back arched violently, thighs shaking around Paige’s head, heels digging into the couch cushions as if she could anchor herself against the onslaught. One hand yanked Paige’s hair, hard enough to make her groan into her, the other grabbing at the edge of the sofa, knuckles white with the effort of holding on.

The heat inside her coiled tighter, impossibly tight, until it felt like every nerve ending in her body was on fire, every breath a broken moan.

“Paige—fuck—I’m gonna—” she cried, voice wrecked, desperate.

Paige moaned against her, the sound sending vibrations straight through Azzi’s core, and that was it.

Azzi shattered.

Her orgasm slammed into her, fast and brutal, ripping a ragged scream from her chest. Her body convulsed, thighs squeezing tight around Paige’s head, spine arching like a drawn bow before collapsing back into the cushions. She came hard, clenching around Paige’s fingers, her whole body trembling, helpless against the waves tearing through her.

Paige didn’t stop. She rode it out with her, fingers still thrusting slow and deep, tongue still dragging lazy, grounding circles against her clit, coaxing every last aftershock until Azzi was sobbing into the crook of her arm, too wrecked to speak, too full to breathe.

Only when Azzi’s legs finally went limp around her did Paige ease her mouth away, withdrawing her fingers with a slow, careful slide that left Azzi whimpering at the sudden loss.

When Paige finally pulled back, her mouth was wet, her lips swollen and parted, her eyes glazed with heat and something deeper, something that felt dangerously close to reverence. She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, slow and sure, then tilted her head with a crooked smile. “Did I do okay?” she asked, voice low and teasing—like she didn’t need the answer, but wanted to hear it anyway.

Azzi let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-moan, her fingers still tangled in the sheets. “You know damn well you did,” she said, her voice wrecked and full of wonder. “Stop fishing for compliments and come back here.”

Slowly, Paige crawled back up her body, dragging open-mouthed kisses along Azzi’s stomach, her ribs, the underside of her breasts. She kissed every inch like she couldn’t stand the thought of leaving any part of her untouched, like she was stitching her back together one kiss at a time.

Azzi threaded her fingers through Paige’s hair the second she was close enough, tugging her up the rest of the way, pulling her into a kiss that was messy and all-consuming. She could taste herself on Paige’s tongue—salty, slick, electric—but it only made her moan into her mouth, deepening it, needing her closer, needing all of her.

Paige kissed her back just as hungrily, her hands cradling Azzi’s face, like she was something too precious to hold roughly. Azzi could feel the tremble still running through Paige’s body—the leftover tension, the want—and it only made her heart beat harder against her ribs.

When they finally broke apart, breathless, their foreheads pressed together, noses brushing in the smallest, sweetest touch.

“God, I love you,” Azzi whispered, her voice thick with everything she couldn’t say out loud.

Paige’s smile was soft and wrecked and impossibly full of love. She tucked a hand into her curls and kissed the side of her head. “I love you. So much.”

They stayed like that, tangled and breathless, until Azzi’s hands began to wander again, slow and sure and full of promise.

And Paige let her.

She lay back, one arm still loosely around Azzi’s shoulders, the other sliding across her lower back. Her chest rose and fell beneath Azzi’s touch, soft breaths that caught slightly as Azzi kissed her collarbone, then lower, retracing the path Paige had taken not long before, but with her own rhythm. Her own intent.

Azzi shifted until she was hovering over her, eyes locked with Paige’s, lips brushing just beneath her jaw. “I want to take my time,” she whispered, voice low and steady. “I want to memorize you.”

“You already have,” Paige murmured back, dazed and aching. “But I won’t stop you.” Then, grinning, she added, “Just don’t take too long, you know patience isn’t my strong suit.”

Azzi smiled—barely there, soft and wrecked—and then kissed her. Slow. Deep. Like she was trying to carve herself into Paige’s memory cell by cell.

She kissed down her neck, her chest, her stomach, dragging her hands along the curve of Paige’s sides, pausing only to drink in the way Paige moved under her touch—how her fingers flexed against the fabric of the couch, how her breath hitched when Azzi’s tongue flicked against her skin.

Azzi didn’t rush. She worshipped.

When she reached Paige’s thighs, she kissed the inside of one, then the other, and smiled against the skin when Paige whispered something half-sounded, half-broken.

She looked up, eyes meeting Paige’s. “You good?”

Paige gave a shaky laugh, her hand threading through Azzi’s curls. “If I wasn’t, that’d be on me.”

Azzi kissed the inside of her thigh again, slower this time, higher. “Just checking.”

And then she moved.

Azzi’s tongue met Paige’s center in one long, slow stroke—broad, heavy, deliberate—dragging through her folds with a pressure that made Paige’s hips jerk violently off the couch. A ragged gasp tore from Paige’s mouth, and her hand flew to Azzi’s hair, not just holding, but gripping hard, yanking her closer with a rough, desperate pull like she couldn’t stand even an inch of distance between them.

Azzi groaned into her, the sound vibrating right through Paige’s body, making her legs tremble around Azzi’s shoulders. Without hesitation, Azzi dipped her tongue lower, teasing at Paige’s entrance, swirling and pressing in, shallow and slow, until Paige let out a broken sob, her whole body shaking beneath her. She pulled back just enough to flatten her tongue and lick up through her folds again, relentless, savoring every slick, needy reaction she coaxed out of her.

She knew Paige too well—every sharp inhale, every arch of her back, the way her thighs would start to tremble before she completely lost control. And Azzi was merciless now. She built it slow and brutal: teasing flicks, then firmer, deeper strokes. Her hand slid under Paige’s thigh, gripping hard, tilting her hips higher, giving herself even better access.

She never looked away. Not once.

Azzi locked eyes with her, tongue lashing over her clit now, sucking her into her mouth with a deep, greedy pull that made Paige’s head fall back hard against the cushions.

“Azzi—fuck—” Paige gasped, the sound wrecked, guttural, her hips bucking helplessly against Azzi’s mouth.

Azzi moaned low and obscene against her, holding her hips down as Paige thrashed beneath her. Her other hand slid up Paige’s stomach, rough and claiming, splaying across her ribs, pinning her there, forcing her to feel every second of it.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” Azzi growled against her, her voice thick and wrecked.

Paige couldn’t answer. Couldn’t think. Her body was locking up, hips stuttering wildly, moans turning into breathless, broken whimpers. Her legs trembled uncontrollably, her muscles seizing under the brutal, unrelenting pressure building higher and higher inside her.

And then she broke.

Paige came with a sob that ripped straight from her chest, her body snapping taut like a wire, one hand still yanking Azzi’s hair with shaking, brutal force as the other clung uselessly to the cushions. Pleasure crashed over her, drowning her, her whole body writhing through every wave Azzi pulled from her with her mouth, her tongue, her hands still holding her steady, grounding her while she shattered.

Azzi didn’t stop—just stayed with her, easing her down, kissing her through the aftershocks until Paige finally collapsed back into the couch, gasping, wrecked, her body trembling with every shallow, unsteady breath.

Azzi kissed her thigh one last time, then climbed back up slowly, gently, brushing sweaty strands away from Paige’s temple as she curled against her.

They stayed like that, tangled and warm, breathing each other in.

Paige opened her eyes, dazed and still catching her breath. “That was—”

Azzi kissed her. “Yeah,” she said. “I know.”

Paige blinked, then let out a slow, contented laugh. “You trying to kill me?”

Azzi grinned, brushing her nose against hers. “Little bit.”

They lay in silence after that—bare, glowing, the candlelight flickering low and soft. The world outside felt far away. All that existed was this—skin, breath, heartbeats synced again after too long apart.

Eventually, they stirred, limbs slow and heavy, like moving through water. Still dazed from the gravity of being back in each other’s orbit, they crawled beneath the sheets, laughter soft and breath hitching when their skin brushed again. Paige pulled Azzi in close, foreheads touching, fingers laced at their chests.

Nothing else was said. Just the quiet settling of something whole.

Sleep took them like that—warm, wrapped in each other, the ache finally quiet.

********

Morning came slow.

Light filtered in through the half-open blinds, painting soft golden stripes across the bedroom. The air felt still, warm, thick with the lingering haze of last night—skin, sweat, something sweeter in the spaces between.

Azzi woke first.

Paige was still curled beside her, facing the window, one arm draped loosely across the sheets, her face half-buried in the pillow. Her hair was a mess—soft and wild from sleep, still tangled from Azzi’s hands the night before. There were marks, too—small, pink, fading already, but hers. Evidence of everything they’d said with touch before words caught up.

She looked peaceful. Like sleep was holding her gently.

Azzi blinked slowly, the morning light soft against her face, her body still heavy with afterglow. Her thighs ached. So did her jaw. Her skin felt warm in all the places Paige had kissed, had held, had taken her apart. But it wasn’t discomfort—it was something she wanted to hold onto. A lived-in ache. The kind that made the night before feel more real, more permanent. Like a page turned down in a book, she didn’t want to lose her place in.

Careful not to wake her, Azzi slipped out of bed. Paige stirred a little, mumbling something that never formed into words before settling again. Azzi smiled to herself, tugging on the white T-shirt draped over the chair—Paige’s shirt, soft from too many washes—and padded quietly through the apartment.

The plan wasn’t much. Just something small.

She’d grab coffee from the shop around the corner—Paige’s usual, maybe one of those buttery croissants she always claimed were “too much” and then somehow still finished. Something thoughtful. Something normal.

Her steps were quiet against the wood floors, the rhythm of her movement careful, like she didn’t want to disturb the tenderness still hanging in the air. The apartment was dim, lit only by the soft wash of morning light spilling in from the kitchen window, catching on dust motes and the edge of a candle left half-melted. It smelled like citrus and clean laundry—Paige’s scent woven into the air now, too. It was domestic. Lived-in. The kind of warmth that wrapped around you without asking. And something about that—about how right it felt—made Azzi’s chest pull tight in ways she couldn’t name.

She crossed to the dresser, tugging open the top drawer in search of clean underwear.

And then she saw it.

Tucked beneath a folded pair of socks, subtle but undeniably there—

Azzi froze.

Her hand hovered above it, fingers trembling slightly, caught in the hesitation between instinct and wonder. The air around her felt different—charged, like the pause before a question is asked that could change everything. The quiet of the apartment wasn’t hollow, but full—weighted with the echo of last night, of closeness still lingering in the sheets and on her skin. Everything else—the dresser, the soft hum of morning, the golden light bleeding in through the window—faded just enough to make space for this one suspended moment. One she hadn’t expected, but couldn’t look away from.

There it was.

A box small enough to hide, yet heavy with possibility. And all at once, Azzi wasn’t sure if she was afraid… or if she was just stunned by the shape of a future she hadn’t let herself imagine until now.

She didn’t need to open it. Her fingers didn’t even graze the lid. She already knew what it was.

She knew from the shape. She knew from the weight in her chest. She knew from the way every single part of her started buzzing, like her body was trying to have six reactions at once.

Her heart picked up speed. She glanced over her shoulder toward the bed, half-expecting Paige to be standing there, watching her. But she was still asleep. Still quiet.

It’s probably not even what I think, she told herself. It could be earrings. It could be something from her mom. Could be anything.

But she knew better.

She reached out and picked it up, slowly, carefully, like it might burn her. It was light. The light blue velvet soft against her palm. Her thumb brushed the edge of the lid, not opening it, but thinking about opening it—fighting herself with every second that passed.

She didn’t want to overthink it.

Didn’t want to pick it apart or rush toward some answer she wasn’t meant to have yet.

So she set the box back exactly where she found it, tucking it beneath the socks with gentle, almost reverent fingers. Then she closed the drawer—softly, firmly—like sealing a secret she wasn’t ready to open.

Not yet.

Because maybe it was what she thought it was. And maybe that wasn’t terrifying. Maybe it was just… a lot. A future pressed into velvet. A truth still waiting for its right moment.

She stood there for a beat, steadying herself. Then smoothed the hem of Paige’s shirt down over her thighs and turned toward the bathroom, moving on instinct. She brushed her hair back into a loose bun, splashed cold water on her face, and dabbed the corners of her eyes where sleep still lingered. No makeup, no real effort—just enough to feel like herself again.

She found clean underwear, tugged on leggings, slipped into Paige’s slides by the door. Everything was a little too big, a little too lived-in, and somehow perfect.

When she finally stepped outside, the cool morning air met her with a kind of clarity she hadn’t expected—crisp, grounding, alive. It helped.

#pazzi #paige x azzi #pazzi fics #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #almost always book club

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satsugacafe · 2 days ago

Text

𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐨 𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

➳❥ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: Heyy if it's okay with you and not too much of a burden since im probs sure you already have alot of pending requests,i would like to request soft husbandichigo!! moments. It could be soft nsfw or sfw, i don't mind whatever you choose since i know you will do it amazingly as you have done with your other works 😋🤭. It's just that there are barely any ff of my precious baby🩷💮🌸

➳❥ 𝐀/𝐍: This was indeed a pleasure to write after placing it so far to post. Hope you all enjoy!!

➳❥ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ content, husband!Ichigo, fem!reader, breeding, public sex, fingering, oral (f and m), a little anal play (f receiving), breeding kink, rough sex, video tapping, taking pictures

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

SFW Headcanons

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...still acts like your boyfriend half the time, tugging you by the wrist and muttering, “Oi, you’re my wife, not my roommate. Come here and sit with me, I missed you,” like you didn’t just come back from a ten-minute shower.

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...tries to act nonchalant when you wear his clothes but always ends up with a faint blush and a grumble like, “You could at least let me wear the shirt first, woman,” while staring at you like you’re the only person alive.

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...gets irrationally proud when someone calls you Mrs Kurosaki, even though he acts like the surname thing isn’t a big deal. You caught him once testing how it sounded out loud when he thought you were asleep— “Mrs Kurosaki... tch, sounds too posh for you. You’re more trouble than the name’s worth.” Then he kissed your forehead.

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...hides behind sarcasm whenever he’s doing something sweet, like packing your lunch and tossing it to you with, “Try not to starve or cause international incidents today, yeah?”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...absolutely pretends he’s not worried sick when you get injured, pacing around the room and biting the inside of his cheek, but the moment you stir, he snaps, “You’ve got some bloody nerve scaring me like that. Don’t do that again. Ever.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...still gets flustered every time you kiss him first, even years into the marriage. He’ll blink like an idiot and then mutter, “You’re not supposed to catch me off guard. That’s cheating.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...always hogs the covers and acts like you’re committing war crimes when you try to take them back. “I’m cold, you’ve got your own body heat, share properly, don’t be greedy!”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...genuinely does laundry like a war general, sorting everything like it’s classified intel and lecturing you if you mess up the system. “Do not put whites with reds unless you’re trying to dye everything pink and make me wear it to work like some clown.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...insists he doesn’t like fancy restaurants but will still take you just to see you dress up—he’ll sit there with his hands in his pockets, muttering, “Damn, you look nice. Hurry up and eat before I change my mind and take you straight home.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...doesn’t get social cues sometimes and once tried to fight someone at a wedding because they said, “You really married up, huh?” and he didn’t realise it was a compliment. “What d’you mean by that? You saying she’s outta my league? ‘Cause she is, but you can fuck off anyway.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...gets incredibly soft when you’re sick—he’s all bark and no bite, tucking you in with furrowed brows and snapping, “Oi, don’t get up. You’re not dying on me, but I will tie you to the bed if you keep pushing yourself.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...fake complains every time your cold feet touch him at night but still lets them stay tucked under his legs like a warm, grumbling furnace. “You could’ve warned me. Feels like sleeping with an ice demon.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...gets into petty arguments over who makes better tea and always ends up losing, then dramatically sips your cup and groans, “Fine. Yours is better. Happy now, Your Majesty?”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...always has a hand on you—your back, your wrist, your pinky hooked with his—especially in public, not because he’s possessive, but because you calm him down.

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...doesn’t say I love you all the time, but when he does, it’s low, rough, and right into your neck, like a secret he doesn’t want the universe to overhear. “Oi... I love you, alright? So don’t do anything stupid without me.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...leaves you little notes when he’s on long patrols—messy handwriting scribbled on the back of receipts or paper napkins, like “Eat properly or I’ll haunt your ass. Love, your favourite and only substitute shinigami.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...can’t cook for shit but tries anyway, ruining your pans and setting off the smoke alarm with a defiant “It’s edible! Barely. Just scrape off the black bits.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who…is absurdly competitive over board games and will absolutely flip the board if you beat him at Monopoly. “That’s it. I’m divorcing you. This is betrayal of the highest order.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...keeps a photo of you both in his wallet like a total softie, even though the photo’s crumpled and faded because he takes it out too often.

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...gets shy about compliments but melts when you tell him he looks good— “Shut up. You’re the one who’s always staring. I see you. Don’t act like I’m the only one obsessed.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...carries all the bags when you go shopping and complains loudly the whole time, “You buying the entire damn shop?”—but you know he’s just glad to spend the day with you.

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...always keeps one of your hairbands around his wrist, says it’s for when you forget yours, but really just likes having a part of you on him.

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...absolutely loses his mind when you call him your husband in public. His ears go red and he starts coughing like he swallowed a swordfish.

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...acts like a grump in the mornings but makes you tea before you even get out of bed. He says it’s to keep you quiet, but the smug look on his face says otherwise.

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...always tries to intimidate the blokes who flirt with you and ends up looking more like a flustered tomato than a threat. “What? I wasn’t glaring. My face just does that.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...listens to your rants about absolutely everything and always says, “You done? Okay. You want me to punch someone or make you tea?”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...acts all tough until he sees you crying, then immediately turns into a frantic wreck. “What did I do? Who do I kill? No, wait, just—just come here.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...sneaks glances at you when you’re not looking like he still can’t believe he gets to call you his. He still kisses you like a teenager in love when you’re alone, pushing you gently against the wall with a murmured, “Come here, lemme remind you you’re mine.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...yells at you to put on a coat like a fussy granddad anytime it’s even mildly chilly. “You’ll catch a bloody cold and then complain all week. Not worth the drama, love.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who…is allergic to expressing feelings like a normal person and ends up doing it with blunt, chaotic affection instead, like buying you snacks he says he definitely didn’t get just for you.

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...keeps quiet during arguments but later comes back with an apology in the form of back hugs and very awkward mumbling. “...Sorry. I was being an ass.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...always offers you the last bite of anything he’s eating, then acts surprised when you take it, like “I didn’t think you’d actually take it, greedy munchkin!”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...pulls you into his side when you’re walking home at night, muttering like it’s no big deal, “Stay close. I don’t like you walking in the dark alone. Makes me nervous.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...gets jealous when your attention’s not on him, especially when you’re on your phone. “Who’s got you smiling like that, huh? Better be me.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who…will never admit he tried to learn how to knit because he overheard you say you’d like a scarf made by someone you love. It’s an ugly scarf. You wear it every winter.

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...wakes you up on your birthday with a grumpy kiss and a muttered, “Happy birthday, pain in my ass. I made breakfast. Try not to cry from joy.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...never lets anyone disrespect you, even if it’s someone important. “She’s my wife. Talk to her like that again and I’ll rearrange your jaw, don’t care who you are.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...has no idea how to handle your mood swings and ends up just stuffing chocolate in your hands and hoping for the best.

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...never forgets anniversaries, not because he’s sentimental, but because he sets reminders three months in advance, so he doesn’t screw up.

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...pretends he doesn’t like cuddling but ends up wrapped around you like a human blanket every night, snoring right into your ear like it’s payback for stealing the pillow.

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...looks at you like you hung the moon whenever you laugh, even if he never says it aloud.

NSFW Headcanons

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...acts like he’s too gruff for sweet talk but says the filthiest things in bed with that low, rough voice right against your ear— “You like being fucked by your husband, huh? ‘Course you do. Look at this greedy pussy—she’s dripping.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...groans whenever you sit in his lap and grind, his hands already on your hips before you even start moving— “You start this, you’d better be ready to finish it. I’m not lettin’ you off with one.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...wakes you up with morning head, face buried between your thighs, messy hair tickling your inner thighs as he mutters against your cunt, “Mornin’, love. Figured I’d have breakfast before you started running your mouth.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...loves when you tug his hair and moan his name, hips snapping harder as he growls, “Say it again. Louder. Wanna hear you scream it so the whole bloody street knows who’s makin’ you cum.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...bites at your shoulder while he’s fucking you from behind, voice ragged with restraint, “Can’t believe this ass is mine. Fuckin’ obsessed with it. D’you know what you do to me?”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...fingers you while you’re both in public—at a boring dinner, behind a closed door, at a family gathering—completely composed except for that smug little smirk when you squeeze his arm to stop, “If you didn’t want attention, you shouldn’t’ve worn this little number, love.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...fucks you hard after patrols, sweat still clinging to his chest, pinning your wrists down and panting into your mouth, “Been thinking about this all night—fuck, missed this pussy.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...loves when you’re on top but refuses to let you keep control for long—hands clamping down on your waist as he starts thrusting up hard, “You thought you were in charge? That’s cute.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...gets turned on the moment you so much as sit on his face, eyes hazy and pupils blown wide, licking you slow just to hear you beg— “You’re not getting up ‘til you cum, love. Might keep you here all bloody day.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...loves eating your ass and your cunt together, spreading you open with both thumbs as he dives in, groaning, “Filthy little wife. Look at this hole twitching. She missed my tongue, didn’t she?”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...slaps your pussy lightly when you’re being a tease, the sound wet and obscene as he growls, “You gonna keep misbehaving, or am I gonna have to fuck the attitude outta you again?”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...loves when you wear nothing but his shirt—especially if he finds you lounging like that in the kitchen—he’ll grab your thighs and lift you onto the counter with a smirk, “Hope you weren’t planning on finishing breakfast, ‘cause I’ve got other ideas.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...gets possessive when you’re out together and spends the whole ride home with his hand down your undies in the car, murmuring, “Mine. All fucking mine. Say it while my fingers are inside you.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...keeps you on his cock for ages, refusing to let you pull away, whispering, “Nah, stay just like that. Wanna feel you clenching while you talk. Go on. Keep actin’ like you’re not coming again.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...fucks you into the mattress when he’s jealous—not angry, just needy—holding your ankles wide open and watching his cock slide in deep, “No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to wreck you.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...loves when you ride him in reverse cowgirl, palms spreading your ass cheeks as he watches himself disappear inside you, panting, “This is my favourite view. Don’t you dare stop.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...pushes your face into the pillow and pounds you so deep you see stars, one hand tangled in your hair as he grits out, “So fuckin’ tight...still sucking me in like you’re starved.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...loves breeding you, especially after seeing you play with children—whispers filth about knocking you up even when he knows you’re not fertile, “This cunt’s made to take it. Gonna fill you ‘til you’re round and stuffed.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...holds your legs up by your shoulders while he fucks you slow and deep, his eyes locked on your face as he mutters, “There she is. My good girl. You take me so fuckin’ well.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...makes you cum on his fingers before every proper fuck, licking his fingers after like it’s dessert, “You taste better than anything I’ve ever had, love. Never gonna get tired of this.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...marks you with his teeth during sex—your neck, your thighs, your tits—all of them with bruises shaped like his mouth, muttering, “No one else touches you. They see these, they’ll know.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...can’t resist your cunt when you’re half-asleep, crawling down between your legs and spreading you with careful fingers, whispering, “Just a quick one, promise. Wanna feel you fall apart on my tongue.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who….let you use his face like a toy if you ask nicely, holding your hips steady while you ride his mouth, his voice muffled, “That’s it, baby. Use me. Cum for me.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...loves filming or taking a picture when you’re falling apart on his cock—his phone shaky in one hand while he pounds you from behind, “You look so good like this, love. Gonna watch this later.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...fucks you in front of the mirror sometimes, chin on your shoulder, voice husky as he whispers, “Look at yourself. Look how pretty you are, stuffed full of my cock. That’s all you, baby.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...can’t stop himself from cumming inside you every time—condoms be damned—he just loves the way you twitch and whimper when he fills you up, “There. Take it. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...gets addicted to the taste of your pussy before a workout and kneeling down with a grin, “Favourite little protein shake.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...has a favourite spot in your house just for bending you over—the kitchen table, the sofa arm, the hallway console—and he always says, “Get up there. Wanna ruin your cunt somewhere new today.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...praises you like filth, cupping your face as he fucks you stupid, “That’s it, good girl. So full of cock you can’t think. My perfect fuckin’ wife.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...can’t keep his hands to himself when you wear dresses—pulls you into corners, lifts the hem, fucks you standing while covering your mouth, “Shh, don’t want anyone hearing, do we? Be good for me.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...holds you still when he eats you out, no teasing, no escape, just relentless tongue and growls of, “You’re not going anywhere. Gonna make you cum till you forget your own name.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...tugs your hair and growls when you deepthroat him, hips jerking as he warns, “Fuck—don’t stop. That’s it. Gonna cum down your throat if you keep looking at me like that.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who...makes you cum with just his voice sometimes—phone calls when he’s away, whispering what he’s going to do when he gets back, “Miss my cock, baby? D’you want me to make a mess of you the second I get home?”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who…always finishes inside, presses your legs up and watches his cum drip out, pushing it back in with two fingers and a low, smug, “Not wasting a drop. Stay like this. Let it settle.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who…mutters your name like a prayer when he cums—fingers digging into your skin, forehead pressed to yours, voice cracking on the last thrust.

˚₊‧꒰ა Husband!Ichigo who…always kisses you after, arms tight around your waist as he grumbles, “Hey, don’t fall asleep yet. Still gotta hold you, don’t I?”

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @spellboundsuguru @kennys-partner @cookielovesbook-akie @villainsrtasty @foxycrafterofgreenwood @carnationdoe @darthwhorecrux @sovl-society

#˚₊‧꒰ა satsugasweets ໒꒱ ‧₊˚#bleach smut #kurosaki ichigo smut #kurosaki ichigo x reader #kurosaki ichigo imagine #kurosaki ichigo headcanons #kurosaki ichigo scenario #ichigo x reader #ichigo smut #ichigo x y/n #ichigo x you #bleach x reader #bleach x you #bleach x y/n #bleach imagines #bleach headcanons

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otakudragones · 2 days ago

Text

Bakugo Katsuki

As a boyfriend

• He’s the kind of boyfriend who won’t say “I love you,” but will fight the waiter if your order’s wrong. His love language is: acts of service + passive-aggressive violence.

• If he finds out someone made you cry, he’s already taking his gloves off. “WHO WAS IT? WHERE ARE THEY? DO THEY EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE TO ME?”

• Takes care of you without admitting it. If you’re sick: “I don’t need you dying in my house, so take this medicine and sleep in my bed. And don’t move, dumbass.”

• Gets mad if you don’t ask for help. “What the hell am I here for then, huh? You stubborn idiot.”

• He hates PDA, but looks at you like you’re the sun — and then flat-out denies it.

• Jealous? Oh, definitely. “Who was that, huh? Why’d he smile at you?” You: “The Walmart cashier, Katsuki.”

IMAGINE:

You’re at a party with your friends, and Bakugou hasn’t stopped frowning at you from across the room because you’re dancing without him. When you finally walk over, he says, “What, done trying to get attention or what?” But he takes your hand and doesn’t let go the rest of the night.

As a husband

• The wedding is simple, but he bakes the cake himself (with strawberry filling, because it’s your favorite).

• Says he won’t cry. Cries. Gets embarrassed. Gets mad about crying.

• Makes breakfast for you every morning, even if the toast’s a little burnt.

• He never goes to sleep without making sure you’re okay. Sometimes he gets up just to check if you’re still breathing — just in case.

• Talks to you about money, decisions, the future. He doesn’t run from adulthood. He’s the kind of husband who wants to do things right because you give him your all.

• Gets offended if you don’t lean on him. “What’s the point of having me if you’re gonna carry everything yourself, huh?”

IMAGINE:

You’ve got a headache and are lying on the couch. Bakugou covers you with a blanket, dims the lights, sets water on the table. He doesn’t say much — just strokes your hair and murmurs, “Rest, woman…” like he isn’t completely in love.

As a father

• Overprotective dad to the max. He’s freaking out during labor, but the moment he hears that first cry, something in him shifts. “Oh… This is real now.”

• Teaches his kid to defend themselves from kindergarten. Enrolls them in combat classes before soccer.

• But also: sings lullabies in a whisper, like his voice might break the baby if he gets too loud.

• He’s scared of hurting the baby at first, but soon becomes a pro at changing diapers and carrying without fear.

• Does homework, plays, reads bedtime stories (with full-on villain voices), and gets offended if his kid doesn’t draw him with enough muscles.

• His kid’s first “I love you” leaves him speechless for three minutes. Then he just says, “I love you too,” wiping his eyes.

In general, a relationship with Katsuki is…

• Like dating an emotional grenade who learned how to love gently.

• He doesn’t know how to be tender, but he tries. He tries so hard it hurts from how beautiful it is.

• You argue, but never go to bed angry. He always comes back to say: “I don’t care about being right with the world if I’m not right with you.”

• He has anxiety about not being enough, and you are his safe place. He won’t say it, but you see it in the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching.

MINI ONE-SHOT: “Only You”

“Why are you with me?” you ask one night, staring at the ceiling while he strokes your back with one hand.

Katsuki doesn’t answer right away. He breathes. Hesitates. Then says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world:

—“Because you make me want to be a better person… without even asking me to.”

Then, softer, almost afraid:

—“Because you calm me down, damn it. You make me feel like I’m not broken.”

You look at him. And with glossy eyes and a clenched jaw, he just whispers:

—“And if you ever doubt it again, just remember there’s no one else I’d do all of this for… only you.”

Traducción

Como novio

• Es el tipo de novio que no te dice "te amo", pero pelea con el mesero si no trae bien tu orden. Su lenguaje del amor es: servicio + violencia pasiva-agresiva.

• Si se entera de que alguien te hizo llorar, ya está quitándose los guantes. “¿QUIÉN FUE? ¿DÓNDE ESTÁ? ¿TIENE IDEA DE QUIÉN ERES TÚ PARA MÍ?”

• Te cuida sin admitirlo. Si estás enfermo: “no necesito que te mueras en mi casa, así que tómate esta medicina y duerme en mi cama. Y no te muevas, pendeja.”

• Se enoja si no le pides ayuda con algo porque “para eso estoy aquí, ¿no? pinche necia”.

• No le gusta el PDA (afecto en público), pero te mira como si fueras el sol y lo niega rotundamente.

• Es celoso. Tipo: “¿y ese quién era, eh? ¿por qué te sonrió?” Tú: “el de Walmart, Katsuki.”

IMAGINA:

"Estás en una fiesta con tus amigos, y Bakugou no ha dejado de hacerte ceño desde la esquina del cuarto porque estás bailando sin él. Cuando te acercas, te dice: ‘qué, ¿ya te cansaste de llamar la atención o qué?’. Pero se deja tomar de la mano y no te suelta por el resto de la noche."

Como esposo

• Su boda es simple, pero el pastel lo horneó él (con relleno de fresa porque sabe que es tu favorito).

• Te dice que no va a llorar. Llora. Le da pena. Se enoja por haber llorado.

• Cada mañana te prepara desayuno aunque se le queme un poco el pan tostado.

• Nunca se va a dormir sin asegurarse de que tú estés bien. A veces se levanta a revisar si respiras, justo en caso.

• Habla contigo de gastos, decisiones y futuro. No huye de la vida adulta. Es el tipo de esposo que quiere hacer las cosas bien porque lo das todo por él.

• Se ofende si no te apoyas en él. “¿Para qué me tienes si vas a cargar sola todo, ah?”

IMAGINA:

Te duele la cabeza y estás acostada en el sillón. Bakugou te tapa, apaga las luces, te pone agua en la mesa. No dice nada, solo te acaricia el cabello y murmura: "descansa, mujer..."como si no estuviera enamoradísimo.

Como padre

• Es papá gallina nivel Dios. Te ayuda en el parto con un susto épico, pero cuando escucha el primer llanto, su cara cambia por completo. “Ah no....Esto va en serio.”

• Enseña a su hijo a defenderse desde el kínder. Lo inscribe a clases de combate antes que a fútbol.

• Pero también: le canta canciones de cuna a lo bajito, como si su voz pudiera romper al bebé si sube de tono.

• Le da miedo lastimar, pero poco a poco se vuelve experto en cambiar pañales y cargar sin miedo.

• Hace tareas, juega, lee cuentos (con voz de villano incluida), y se ofende si su hijo no lo dibuja con suficiente musculatura.

• El primer "te amo" de su hijo lo deja en silencio 3 minutos. Luego solo dice: “yo también te amo”, mientras se limpia los ojos.

En general, una relación con Katsuki es…

• Como salir con una granada emocional que aprendió a amar con cuidado.

• Él no sabe cómo ser tierno, pero lo intenta. Lo intenta tanto que duele de lo hermoso.

• Discuten, pero nunca se acuestan peleados. Siempre regresa a decirte: “no quiero estar bien con el mundo si no estoy bien contigo.”

• Tiene ansiedad por no ser suficiente, y tú eres su refugio. No lo dice, pero se le nota en cómo te mira cuando cree que no estás viendo.

MINI ONE-SHOT: “Solo tú”

—¿Por qué estás conmigo? —preguntas una noche, mientras ves el techo y él acaricia tu espalda con una sola mano.

Katsuki no responde al instante. Respira. Duda. Luego dice, como si fuera obvio:

—Porque me haces querer ser una mejor persona… sin que me lo pidas.

Y después de un segundo añade, más bajo, casi temeroso:

—Porque me calmas, cabrón. Me haces sentir que no estoy roto.

Lo miras. Y él, con los ojos brillosos y la mandíbula apretada, solo te susurra:

—Y si algún día dudas otra vez, solo recuérdate que no hay nadie más con quien haría todo esto… solo tú.

#bnha x reader #bnha #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #anime and manga

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sapphicswph · 1 day ago

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Lottie x anxious fem reader ideas :))

pairing: lottie x anxious!reader

warnings: fluff fluff fluff! anxiety, overthinking, body dysmorphia, smut, fingering in front of mirror (r!receiving), praising, explicit language, suggestive themes, mentions of forgetting to eat, nail biting, mentions of abandonment issues, not proofread, 18+!

─ .✦ lottie learned quick that you need reassurance often. she'd always make a point to give tiny kisses on your temple or forehead throughout the day, just to remind you that you’re loved.

─ .✦ every time you overthink about being annoying or unwanted, lottie's default response is "stop. you're literally the person i want to come home to every day, dumbass." (always said with love.)

─ .✦ you have a tendency to apologize for everything - bumping into things, existing too much, overthinking too loud. lottie hates this habit. she'd often pull you into tight hugs and mutter, "stop apologizing for breathing, baby." she knows you can't help your anxiety, but she wishes you'd give yourself a break sometimes.

─ .✦ beneath lottie’s tough exterior lies a nerdy heart, particularly a love for sylvanian families. she collects them religiously, displaying them proudly in her room. she keeps this hobby a secret from most people, fearing they might tease her. however, she shares this secret with no one but her girlfriend, you. you both often spend cozy evenings together, setting up new sylvanian families and creating silly backstories for them.

─ .✦ on one of your particularly bad anxiety days, where you can barely get out of bed, lottie comes home from practice with a small bag hidden behind her back. she finds you curled up under the blankets, looking miserable. she sits down beside you. "hey," she whispers, "i got you something." she pulls out the small bag and reveals a new sylvanian family set. "i thought maybe setting up new families would cheer you up a little."

you look up at her with red eyes, touched that she got you this, again. she knows you need something to distract you from your anxious thoughts. "here," she passes you the new rabbit family set, "you name them." she knows how much you love naming the tiny sylvanians.

─ .✦ you need to be physically connected to lottie in public. not like full-on pda, but you need to hold her hand. sometimes it's intertwined fingers, your hands swinging slightly between you. other times, it's just your pinkies hooked together lazily while walking. if she's driving, her hand is on your thigh. you can't help it - you need that constant connection to feel calm and safe. lottie understands and never minds it, she just finds it adorable.

─ .✦ lottie has a habit of leaving little notes for you around the apartment, knowing that you need the reassurance. sometimes they're on the fridge, sometimes tucked into your textbook, and other times stuck to the bathroom mirror. they range from sweet "you're cute" to silly "stop stealing my socks" to reassuring, a simple "i love you.” you find them throughout the day and they always make you smile, even on your worst days.

─ .✦ when lottie is busy with her soccer training or hanging out with friends, you often sit on the couch with your laptop, scrolling through social media or watching your favorite show. however, every few minutes, you'll glance at your phone, checking if lottie has texted you. it's not that you're insecure or need constant attention, but the silence can feel deafening when lottie is not around. a simple "hey babe" or "i miss you" text from her can calm your anxiety immediately.

─ .✦ when you're having a particularly bad panic attack, lottie knows exactly what to do. she'll sit behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you back against her chest. she'll start rubbing your belly in slow, soothing circles, humming softly into your ear. sometimes she'll whisper silly things or soccer updates just to make you laugh and break the tension. she knows that physical contact and distraction are the best ways to calm you down.

─ .✦ you're a master at overthinking and self-deprecation. after an argument (even a small one), you'll spiral. "she hates me. she's going to dump me." lottie hates this. she'll try to snap you out of it by being extra sweet - giving unnecessary amounts of physical affection when she sees you, or cooking your favorite meal without you asking.

─ .✦ you have a habit of sleeping with a stuffed animal every night. you just find comfort in it and it is your childhood animal. lottie finds it adorable. she always kisses the top of your stuffed animal's head before kissing you goodnight, just to make you laugh.

─ .✦ lottie always makes sure you eat breakfast before she goes to practice or classes. she'll also leave lunch notes in your bag - "eat this, don't starve yourself", "love you, feed yourself". she knows you tend to forget to eat when you're deep in your thoughts or anxiety.

─ .✦ you hate making decisions. it causes you so much anxiety - "what if i choose wrong? what if everyone hates my choice?" lottie knows this. she always asks "do you want pizza or burger?" instead of "what do you want for dinner?" she knows small decisions stress you out too. she also knows that you need control over some aspects of your life, so she lets you handle the apartment bills and grocery shopping without question.

─ .✦ you have a strange ritual before bed - you need to double-check the door in the apartment is locked, the windows are closed, and the stove is off. lottie always checks them with you every night, because you’re too scared wandering alone in the dark. she'll double-check the stove with you, just to make you feel at ease. "see? it's off," she'll say half asleep, because you made her get up just as you were about to go to slep.

she have to stop you after checking multiple times, pulling you into a hug. "baby, everything is locked. you've checked four times. come to bed now before you make yourself more anxious." she understands your need for routine but sometimes worries it makes your anxiety worse. “you're safe here, we’re in a safe neighborhood. i promise." then she'll kiss your forehead, leading you back to bed.

─ .✦ you have a habit of biting your nails when you're anxious, and lottie hates it. she keeps a small bottle of bitter nail polish in her bag just for you, always reminding you to use it. sometimes, when she sees you chewing on your nails, she'll gently pull your hand away from your mouth and replace it with a kiss on your fingertips. "stop that," she'll say softly, "you're going to ruin those pretty hands."

─ .✦ you have a fear of being alone. not just physically alone, but emotionally too. you need constant reassurance and affection. lottie understands this deeply. she'll text you random "i love you’s” throughout the day, or selfies with silly faces just to make you smile. if she's out with friends and you’re not with, she'll check in every hour - "having fun? miss you". she knows your fear of abandonment runs deep, even if it's irrational.

─ .✦ you and lottie are out with a group of friends at a local cafe. lottie is sitting next to you, her arm casually draped over the back of your chair. she's laughing at something one of your mutual friend just said, her eyes crinkling at the corners. she starts telling a story, her hand absentmindedly playing with the ends of your hair as she talks. you don’t talk much, afraid you’ll say something wrong in front of so many people.

─ .✦ lottie keeps finding excuses to touch you - a hand on your knee under the table, a gentle squeeze of your shoulder, a kiss on your temple. she knows you're uncomfortable in large social settings, and her touches are her way of reminding you that you're not alone, that you're safe with her.

─ .✦ you’re very soft spoken. sometimes when you’re too quiet during conversations, especially in groups, you dread those "speak up, we can't hear you" comments. lottie on the other hand, handles it beautifully. instead of telling you to speak up, she'll lean in closer, tilting her head slightly to catch your words, or she'll whisper "can you repeat that, baby? i couldn’t quite catch it." she makes you feel respected and understood, not annoyed.

─ .✦ when you're having a bad anxiety day and can't leave the house, lottie will get creative. she'll set up blankets and pillows in the apartment’s cute backyard, making a cozy nook for you two. she'll sit there with you, reading or doing homework, just being present. she knows you need fresh air but sometimes can't handle crowds or loud noises. this way, you can feel the sun on your face and the breeze in your hair without feeling overwhelmed.

─ .✦ you have a deep-seated insecurity about your body. you often catch yourself in the mirror, picking apart every flaw and imperfection. lottie, on the other hand, worships every inch of you. she'll run her hands over your curves, kissing your stomach gently, and whispering how beautiful you are until you feel confident again. she knows that your anxiety feeds off these insecurities.

─ .✦ bonus!— one night, as you're getting ready for bed, you stand in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection with a critical eye. you turn this way and that, examining your arms, your stomach, your legs. you sigh heavily, feeling insecure and unattractive. lottie walks in, seeing you standing there. "what are you doing?" she asks softly, leaning against the doorframe. "nothing," you mutter, avoiding her gaze.

lottie steps closer, wrapping her arms around your waist from behind and resting her chin on your shoulder. "baby, turn around," she murmurs, her voice gentle but firm. you hesitate, biting your lip nervously. she turns you to face her, her hands resting on your hips. "look at me," she says softly. "you always look at yourself like you hate what you see." she pulls you closer. "i want you to look at yourself the way i see you." she turns you back around, facing the mirror.

she presses her body against yours, her hands sliding up your sides to cup your breasts gently. "see these?" she asks softly, her eyes meeting yours in the mirror. "i love them." she leans down, kissing your neck and shoulder. "and this soft belly," she continues, her hands moving lower to caress your stomach. "i worship it." you blush deeply, trying to look away but lottie turns your face back towards the mirror. "look at your legs," she whispers, sliding her hands down your thighs. "you think they're not perfect? i could write poetry about how much i love your legs." she continues her gentle assault on your insecurities, her hands and words working in tandem to make you see yourself through her eyes. "and your ass," she says with a playful smirk, giving it a soft squeeze. "it's perfect.”

lottie, seeing that her words are starting to have an effect but knowing you need more than just compliments, decides to take it a step further. she wants you to see your beauty, feel your pleasure, and understand how desirable she finds you. she slowly slides one hand down your stomach, slipping it into your panties. "watch yourself in the mirror," she whispers softly against your ear.

“i… lottie, you don’t have-“ you start, but lottie interrupts you. "shh," she hushes you gently, her fingers already finding your clit. "just let me, okay? watch how beautiful you look when i touch you." you nod and she starts moving her fingers slowly, her other arm wrapping around your waist to hold you against her as she works between your legs in front of the mirror.

you bite your lip, your eyes fluttering closed briefly before lottie’s soft "open your eyes" makes you look back at the mirror. you watch as her skilled fingers play with you, spreading your lips and circling your clit. you’re so wet already, and the sight of her fingers coated with your juices has you blushing deeply.

lottie watches you watch yourself. your cheeks are pink, your breasts rise and fall with each breath, your stomach tightens with each touch. "god, baby," she mutters softly, her fingers moving faster. "you're so sexy." she pushes two fingers inside you suddenly, making you moan softly. she keeps whispering sweet nothings, making sure you're focused on your reflection, pushing you closer to climax with every word and movement. you whimper, leaning back against lottie as you feel your orgasm building. you’re so close, and the sight of her fingers moving in and out of your pussy is too much.

"fuck..." you whisper, one hand gripping the sink counter for support, the other reaching behind lottie’s head. "oh god... lottie..." your breathing is becoming ragged, your reflection showing your flushed cheeks and glazed eyes. “i'm gonna..." you can't even finish the sentence before your orgasm washes over you. you throw your head back against lottie's shoulder with a soft moan, your pussy clenching tightly around her fingers as you come. "fuck... lottie..." you pant, your whole body trembling with pleasure.

lottie smiles softly against your neck, her fingers slowing down but not stopping completely. she wants to draw out every last bit of pleasure for you. "that's it, baby," she murmurs, kissing your shoulder gently. "so pretty." she keeps her fingers inside you, moving them slowly. as you come down from your high, lottie carefully lifts you, sitting you down on the edge of the counter. she gently cleans her fingers on a nearby washcloth before wrapping her arms around you protectively. "my beautiful girl… i love you so much," she whispers softly, running her fingers through your hair.

sorry, got carried away oops. i myself got anxiety, so i found comfort in writing this 🤓

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