#but this time he didn't think. he just DID

[3liza]

i said this YEARS ago when the 'vibes based literacy" discussion started because i had been reading about dyslexia to try to help my partner at the time, who was undiagnosed: the book about dyslexia that i was reading described precisely the techniques used in the "contextual guessing" reading education system, but as dysfunctional adaptations by dyslexic children. the contect guessing and memorization thing is a way of teaching entire generations of children to be functionally dyslexic, a profound and devastating disability, when they do not have dyslexia and do not need to have it. it's horrifying. it was how my partner read things, and watching him try to read something out loud was extremely demonstrative of the struggle he was having.

ken goodman probably had dyslexia and didn't know it, it's the most common learning disability in the world, an estimated 20% of all humans on earth have some degree of it.

In the paper, Goodman rejected the idea that reading is a precise process that involves exact or detailed perception of letters or words. Instead, he argued that as people read, they make predictions about the words on the page using these three cues: 1. graphic cues (what do the letters tell you about what the word might be?) 2. syntactic cues (what kind of word could it be, for example, a noun or a verb?) 3. semantic cues (what word would make sense here, based on the context?) Goodman concluded that: Skill in reading involves not greater precision, but more accurate first guesses based on better sampling techniques, greater control over language structure, broadened experiences and increased conceptual development. As the child develops reading skill and speed, he uses increasingly fewer graphic cues.

he's completely wrong, this not how fully literate people read. this is how dyslexic people read. fully literate people are using phonics and the alphabet all the time, that's how we read so fast and so easily, even texts that we're unfamiliar with or that aren't in our native language. i can scan a page of italian, french or norwegian and get the gist of it even though i don't speak the languages. i can sound out those words and pronounce them, even if im pronouncing them incorrectly, just by reading the actual letters and phonemes.

relying on context to predict which word comes next is what leads to the kind of aphasia dyslexics often exhibit not only while reading, but when speaking aloud. my partner would swap words that were contextually correct but not what he actually meant all the time. for example if he wanted me to hand him a blue comb lying nearby on a table, he would say "could you please hand me the green brush?" or if he was describing a cat he saw, he would often swap in another contextually-related word, one that sounded the same, like "bat", or one that was conceptually related but incorrect, like "dog". as a result i had to ask him to clarify or repeat himself many times to figure out what he was trying to say. it created profound problems for him and separated him from me and everyone else. the worst part is that he was barely aware of this. when he was driving it was extremely difficult for him to follow or give directions because he would swap out "left" and 'right" randomly.

you cant actually read like this.

She thinks the students who learned three cueing were actually harmed by the approach. "I did lasting damage to these kids. It was so hard to ever get them to stop looking at a picture to guess what a word would be. It was so hard to ever get them to slow down and sound a word out because they had had this experience of knowing that you predict what you read before you read it."

[cosmictheo]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 | bob reynolds

( gif credits to @springseventeen )

—summary: bob loves you so much that he slowly begins to transform into a house-husband for you. and he loves it. —pairing: bob reynolds x female!avenger!reader —word count: 5k (wow) —content: ultimate husband material boss. pure fluff tbh, bob's insecurity and low self-esteem, his need to be loved and approved. he is literally starting to act like your house-husband. he wears an apron!!! you reassure him as he deserves. bucky is such a dad. love confessions, some intense make-out session but nothing more than that. bob loves the reader so much it's crazy.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

Bob.

He had been quite special since you had met him, really. 

Yelena had told you that he liked you. Then Bucky had told you so too. And so had Ava. And Alexei. And John.

But how could Bob not like you, in all honesty? You'd been unnecessarily nice to him since you'd met. You didn't know him, he was a complete stranger, and yet you still showed him compassion and kindness. You stood by his side when you all together escaped the death trap that Valentina had set for you, and you defended him when Walker was getting especially mean to him. 

How could��anyone not like you? That was the real question. You were perfect. In every sense of the word. Both figurative and literal. From your soul to your mind. You seemed to be an angel fallen from heaven. Something ethereal, something crafted by his own mind, made in the most beautiful dreams.

Bob would normally think of himself as a big idiot, a loser. That he could never have you. A part of him insisted that never, not even in a million other universes could he ever deserve you. He wanted you as his lover or his friend? It didn't really matter, he just wanted you in his life.

And yet, he was flirting with you anyway. Or at least that's what he thought he was doing.

“Here,” he'd told you every morning since you'd set up at the tower as the New Avengers... you insisted that you all should think of a new name. In his hand he held a cup of coffee, your favorite coffee, and on his face there was a sheepish little smile, your favorite smile. His eyes held that softness all over, that slight, hardly visible gleam, that you could always see it anyway, always, you caught a glimpse of it. Every time he looked at you. As if stars were hung from your hands. Well, technically they did, due to your superpower, that is.

“Thank you, Bobby,” you would say, offering him a warm smile, pronouncing that nickname so fondly and gently, that it had become a favorite nickname for his name. After so long hating it, after having caused him so much pain. Sure, now, his heart pounded when he heard it, his breathing quickened as well, but his chest swelled with tenderness. It was a good emotion, coming from a nice place. It didn't make him feel pain or sadness. Quite the opposite.

Bob was used to being an alien, isolated, left behind, to be hurt and broken. But you, you never left him behind. You always turned to look for him, to walk beside him, to gaze at him with those pretty eyes filled with concern and caring. You owed him nothing, you barely knew him, and yet, you were willing to walk in the void, in the darkness that concealed his heart and illuminate through with your light. You had saved him. And since then, you were his anchor.

You were patient. With his mood swings, his stuttering, his lack of confidence and his self-proclamation to inclination to ruin everything. He could never ruin you, you always assured him.

Love.

Bob had never even thought that he would ever have love in his life. That he would never truly grasp the concept of love, of loving. He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve you.

You were the closest thing to love he will ever know. There was love in everything you did, in everything you said, in the way you called his name and in the way you looked at him.

He loved you.

“Relax, kid. You miss your Romeo that much?” Bucky blurted out in a tone that bordered near teasing, giving you an amused glance as you both walked over to the entrance of the Watchtower of the (New) Avengers, your home.

A mission had been assigned to the both of you as a duo. To locate the position of a small but potentially dangerous group of terrorists in the suburbs of New York city. There was an indication of where their base might have been. With your super senses it had been easy enough to just stumble upon it and with Bucky covering your back, you had arrested them all in less than twenty minutes.

It had been a successful mission. But the anxiety of being out in public had never really been something you could ignore, so the urge to go home was always lurking in the back of your mind.

To return to Bob, as well. Bob was a lingering thought in your mind now, an incessant remembrance. Something worth coming home safe and sound for.

“Drop it, Barnes,” you replied to your old friend, mumbling softly.

Bucky cracked a little chuckle, pressing the button to the top floors on the elevator once you were both inside. You could feel his intent gaze on your face and you could also sense all that he was trying to talk to you about.

“Look, I've never seen you like this before, okay? In all the years I've known you." He began to lecture you in a 'fraternal speech' mode, turning around so he could look at you, noticing how your cheeks were slightly flushed. “You're happy. It's been months since I've seen you as happy as you are now. You've been smiling and laughing more, you even started playing the piano again. And that's good, sweetheart,” he offered you a small smile, completely sincere and gentle, “You deserve to be, you know? Happy. You've been through a lot. And you have helped to protect this world longer than all of us. You deserve everything you want.”

You smiled back, but it soon twisted more into an apprehensive grimace, “Yeah, I just—” you heaved a sigh of concern, sensing that Bucky wanted you to talk to him, not from the exterior, but from your inner self, about how you felt. “It scares me....”

Bucky shook his head lightly, extending his flesh-and-blood hand to rest it on your shoulder, expressing sympathy. His fraternal demeanor always managed to make you feel comforted.

“It's normal to feel fear” then he cocked his head, narrowing his eyes as his face grew full of playfulness, “But, sweetheart, have you seen him? He's the strongest guy currently on planet Earth. What I know is that anyone who would try to hurt him or you is the one who should be afraid. He almost wiped out all of us together at once. It was kind of humiliating...”

“That wasn't him” you immediately replied using a low tone, remembering how chaotic and painful that day had been. You had had to fight the Void, you were the strongest among all the others, after Bob of course.

“I know,” Bucky replied, sighing softly, “What I'm trying to say is that you both deserve to be happy. Shit, the guy looks at you as if the stars hung from your hands. You both deserve to have something to fight for and protect. How are you going to protect a place that has nothing to protect?”

“That doesn't even—”

Bucky rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue disapprovingly, “Makes sense, I know—” he shook his head, frowning and gesturing with his hands in exaggerated fashion, “You know what I mean, kid.”

“Yeah... I know” you smiled softly at him, thoughtfully.

Once you had entered into your floor, you had gone straight to your room. You took off your suit, tossed it in the laundry basket, and then changed into more comfortable clothes.

You were combing your hair when you heard three soft knocks on your door. You didn't have to look to know who it was, you had already recognized his racing heartbeat from the moment he had turned around the corner.

“Come in!” you exclaimed, concentrating on combing your hair, letting it loose.

The door opened to reveal Bob. He was wearing a chef's apron, with an adorable cat pattern design. And his face was even more adorable. His cheeks were slightly flushed, his eyes were soft all over, and a sheepish smile graced his thin lips. 

He was wearing that beanie again. 

He had been wearing it for more than two days now, for some unknown reason, making it impossible for you to see his hair. It wasn't even cold in there, the building's heating system was perfect.

“Hi,” he greeted you, raising his hand to wave at you with it, making you smile, “I cooked for you”

He watched you put the hair comb on your vanity desk, his blue eyes fleetingly roaming over all of you. 

Bob thought you always looked beautiful. In the suit or in a shirt of some really old band you'd never heard in your life. But the suit truly looked good on you. The colors were perfect and even though you said the cape was ridiculous and over the top, it made you look magnificent when you flew.

It was like a second skin, the fabric clinging tightly to your body, molding your curves so perfectly. He never thought he would be jealous of a piece of fabric.

Before he kept picturing you in your suit, he let his gaze wander across your room, falling on your record player, playing a Jeff Buckley song, from your favorite albums, he knew. Many times he had listened to it with you, sitting right there on the bed next to you.

His eyes then fell on the pair of small pictures you had on your nightstand next to your bed. In one of the pictures, he could see himself sleeping with his head resting on your shoulder, your self also sleeping on the couch, just having a Disney movie marathon. Alexei had taken the picture, of course, and you had begged him to give him a copy. Bob had also asked for one, keeping the picture next to his bed. It was a cute photo, you looked so cute in it.

“You cooked for me, Bob?” you asked back, your face expressing the tenderness you felt inside. “Again? You know you shouldn't—”

He turned back to you and nodded his head, interrupting you, “I know you like tacos, you said so the other time. I thought you might like to eat them after the mission.”

Realizing you weren't saying a word back and just stared at him, he grew even more nervous under your powerful gaze, his fingers fidgeting at his sides and his gaze dropped to the floor, puffing out a small awkward chuckle.

“But— uh— if you don't want to eat them, it's okay‒ you must‒ you must be tired. I don't think I cook very well either—”

“Why are you wearing that beanie again?” you interrupted his rambling, genuinely confused. 

You had noticed the way he was pulling the edges of the fabric down his forehead, preventing any strands of his hair from slipping out and being seen.

“Uh?” he stammered, his brow furrowing slightly, “Oh, this? It's nothing, it's just—” he gestured with his hands anxiously, making it impossible for him to look you directly in the eye, “It's a bit chilly in here. I don't want to catch a cold.”

You sighed softly, looking at him with concerned eyes, “Bobby, I can literally sense you're lying to me.” You then slightly shook your head, “You can't catch a cold since Project Sentry, honey. And it's almost twenty degrees in here.”

He shifted his body weight down between his two feet, still staring at the ground, resembling a child who was being scolded. When he eventually looked up from the floor, his eyes held a dull, sad look.

“It's just...”

This time he interrupted himself, growing quiet and letting the silence carry his words away. It took him a few moments to reflect on an answer for you, sorting through the words and phrases that were rushing through his head.

You waited so patiently for him. As always.

“The bleach is wearing off and I have a horrible mix of colors. My hair is just a mess now,” he was finally able to express, motioning with his hands, in some way to detract from what he was talking about, but you could see beyond that. You understood that this was something important to him, something that had been troubling him.

You patted the bed, sitting down on it and inviting him to sit down as well, “Come here, Bobby." 

He obeyed you, of course, making his way to your bed, awkwardly tripping over his own feet on the path.

Once he was seated next to you, he made an effort to maintain eye contact with you, but just couldn't, casting his eyes down to his lap, where his hands were fidgeting, revealing sheer nervousness and anxiety.

“You don't want to be seen with your brown hair?” you asked him in a soft tone, intending to seek his gaze and attempting as well to let him allow you to let you see beyond his mask and beyond what he usually pretended to be. “I like your natural hair color.”

“Brown?” he questioned back, appearing genuinely troubled, even more gloomy now. His brow was furrowed and his voice wavered into disbelief, “But it's so.... lame.”

“Let me see” you pleaded and Bob immediately gave in, sighing shakily before raising his hands to his head, tugging the cap off and allowing you to see the, as he put it, mess that was his hair. But it wasn't at all.

Sure, the ends were still affected by the bleach, they were mainly burned and dehydrated, and now most of his hair was brown, gradually returning to its natural color. A couple of wavy strands fell on his forehead, contrasting so beautifully with the color of his skin.

Bob looked embarrassed now. Still gazing down at his lap, his hands clenching the beanie between his fingers. He was expecting you to make fun of him, to make some joking remark about how ugly his hair was or how ridiculous he was for even giving so much thought to how it looked in the first place.

But you, you just offered him a gentle smile. And then your hand ran down the side of his head, picking up a brown lock and brushing it back away from his forehead. That's when he finally looked back up at you, awestruck.

“Your hair is so pretty just the way it is, Bob” you began to tell him and your voice delivered so much reassurance and comfort, it was so soothing. The way you pronounced his name made him feel his heart flip in his chest. “You don't need to change anything about it. You don't have to prove anything. You're not him.”

“I know,” he whispered, holding your gaze, pressing his face against the palm of your hand, clawing desperately for your touch. He didn't want to beg. He didn't have to. He knew you could feel it, his longing, the aching, the need for love, for your love. “I just thought that.... well, they all said that blond was better, to be the Sentry, to look stronger and— and‒ and attractive. I thought, that way you'd like me better—blond, I mean.”

“Does the opinion of others matter much to you?”

Bob shook his head, just barely, so as to avoid under any circumstances straying far out of your hand, and then murmured, shyly, “Only yours.”

“I like you in any way, Bob” you replied, assuring him, and when he placed a kiss on the palm of your hand, you felt your heart halt, “Every side of you. The good side, the bad side. I like you. All of you.”

Bob swallowed saliva, parting his lips to let out a soft shaky sigh, “With you it's only the good side. You bring out the best in me.”

“Can I kiss you?” you even had the audacity to ask. When he was looking at you like that, as if you were the most precious creature in the entire universe. When you had never felt or known love as pure as the love Bob was extending to you through his mere gaze.

“Y‒yes, p‒please” he begged.

You kissed him. 

And the world stopped. All the noise muffled around him, the voices whispering that he'd made a mistake once again hushed. The darkness was succumbing to the light. Your light.

His lips followed yours like an instinct, like something they had been used to in another life, in another universe. Like picking up an old habit. Like second nature, his hands landed on your waist, a tentative but yearning touch.

Your mouth connected with his like old pieces of a puzzle finally coming together, fitting as if they were made for each other. Now, everything seemed to make sense, the whole universe, all the pain, all the suffering, all the mistakes, everything that had brought you there, to that very moment.

“You're everything I've dreamed of” he whispered against your lips once the kiss was over, still with his eyes closed, like it was all a dream, if he dared to open them, you would disappear from his arms. So he held you close, pulling you desperately against him.

You kissed him again. 

Eventually Bob opened his eyes and they instantly softened as they found yours looking back at them. It wasn't a dream, no. It was reality. This was really happening.

He had kissed you- well, you had kissed him. But you were there, in his arms, his hands molding the curve of your waist as if they were made to hold you. All of a sudden, he realized he wasn't really meant to be anyone in this life, not some superhero, some weapon, some asset, no, Bob was meant for you. He was made to be yours. 

His hands were not made to destroy, they were made to hold you. To protect you.

His whole being was made to love you.

Bob loved you.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks, his eyes lowering from yours to your lips again, and again, and again....

His fingers caressed your hips, nudging your bare skin below the hem of your shirt, and the very touch sent shivers down your spine.

“Don't hesitate, just kiss me” you assured him back in a whisper and he savored the breath of your utterance, kissing you again, most passionately this time. 

Your hands embraced his neck and you pulled him close to you, leaning back against one of the many pillows on your bed. He kept kissing you, like a starving man, careful not to crush you with his weight, one of his hands rested on the side of your body against the bed.

His hair brushed against your face, tickling you.

“I'm bad at this, I'm sorry—” he suddenly apologized, as if he just was coming back down to the ground and snapping back to reality, detaching himself from you, only barely, just enough to be able to look at you. Above you he looked like a god. Looking down at you with those eyes, darkened by love and longing. His face was all red and his pupils dilated. Up close, you could distinguish the tiny greenish shades within all the light blue of his orbs. “I haven't kissed anyone in— God, I can't even remember— I'm sorry.”

“Hey, it's okay” you tried to reassure him, looking up at him with doting, soft eyes. He took the moment to just admire you, his lips parted, reddened from all the kissing. “Me neither.”

“What?” Bob displayed his incredulity at your words, his brow furrowing faintly, barely a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. His unoccupied hand trailed up your body, tracing your curves, all the way to your jaw, his fingers fondly caressing your skin, looking down at you with adoration, not even missing a chance to marvel at you to blink, “That makes no sense— You're a good kisser. The best kisser.”

Now it was your turn to blush, shifting your gaze down to his chest, avoiding his, feeling flushed and really hot all of a sudden. But Bob didn't let you stray too far from him, as he kept his hand on your chin, lifting your face so he could gaze directly into your eyes.

“Don't look at me like that” you pleaded in a quiet whisper, locking your gaze with his again. The blue of his eyes sparkled in reflection of yours, all threatening to surround you entirely and pull you into the serene indigo sea they held within them.

Bob soaked his lips with his tongue, catching a glimpse of your gaze dropping to them for just a second. His finger nuzzled up against your cheek, tracing a tender caressing line across your skin. The touch struck an earthquake inside you and your heart thumped unquietly in your chest, menacing to leap out to join his.

“I always look at you like this,” he uttered your name as if it were his own religion, “You are so pretty...”

You are incomparable in his eyes. His love for you is unconditional, even on bad days. His loyalty relies on you blindly, unbreakable.

“Y‒you make me happy” he murmured after a comfortable and serene silence, full of emotions, good emotions. “I'd forgotten what that felt like. But you gave it to me again. Happiness. Belonging. Love.” He breathed out a chuckle, appearing incredulous, “God, I even started cooking. I mean, w‒when had I ever done that?”

You kissed him again, devastatingly gentle, tender, loving, just the way you always addressed him and only him. 

And he drank in everything you gave him, every kiss, every caress and every touch, as if you were the reason he existed, the reason he breathed.

He breathed out a raspy whimper against your lips when you pulled his hair at the nape of his neck, your fingers sinking through the brown locks, pressing him closer to you.

“Do that again, please” Bob pleaded in a husky whisper, in between kisses, nearly in despair, breathing out in a cracked voice.

You tugged on his hair once more and Bob's voice broke into a groan, his eyes squinting, gazing into yours as if they were the center of the universe.

“Can I touch you?” you asked him before kissing his lips once more and you could almost feel him vibrate against you as he nodded his head in a frenzy.

He kissed you again, uttering your name like a prayer, “Please touch me, do whatever you want to me, but don't ever stop touching me.”

You breathed out a little giggle as when you realized that he was in fact wearing an apron. He looked so cute in it.

“The apron looks good on you.” he blushed furiously at your words, if it was even more possible. His skin was now crimson, as red as a tomato. “You would be a fine house husband”

The lights in your room flickered just as you pronounced the words, and you knew it had been him. So powerful, so strong, yet he was melting apart under your touch, completely at your mercy.

His skin was warm, it felt like porcelain under your touch.

The lights faded in and out again.

“I'm d-doing okay?” Bob asked, his hands settled on your hips, digits sinking into the fabric of your shorts. His lips quivered, forming a hint of a nervous smile, looking down at you, searching for your approval,

“You're perfect, baby” you assured him, kissing his chest one last time before beginning to make a path of kisses through all his face, making him smile.

“Perfect, perfect, perfect” you murmured several times against his warm skin.

Bob gasped shakily, his hands groping as much of you as they could, slipping under the thin fabric of your shirt, “Fuck-- you drive me crazy. You're so pretty, so good to me... You make me so happy, baby”

And then you hugged him, pressing him against you close, impossibly close. He carefully rolled you both over on the bed, with him now under you, so that he could hold your whole body, feel your full weight pressed against his.  

Your eyes filled with tears at his statement, fully understanding that it was difficult for him to express his emotions, to say out loud what he was feeling and what was going on inside his head. But anyway, he had done all that for you.

“You make me happy too” you whispered to him, reassured him, promised him back. He hugged you tightly, snuggling close to you, locking his body to yours.

Bob placed a tentative but loving kiss on your shoulder just as you were pulling away from him, gently tugging on his shoulders to make him sit up on the bed as well, in front of you, with your legs entangled.

“You must be tired. Your mission went well?” he asked curiously, releasing one of your hands to run it up the side of your face and you pressed it against his palm as an instinct, closing your eyes and letting yourself feel the warmth and reassurance his touch provided, “I missed feeling you here.”

He was looking at you in awe. The way you pressed yourself against his hand, the same hand that had hurt so many people, that had caused so much pain and destruction. And now it was holding your face as if it were the whole world.

“Feeling me?” you raised your eyebrows, tone of voice growing teasing.

Bob blushed, and let go of your hand to pass it through his hair, “Y‒your presence, your heartbeat, your breathing, y‒you know.”

“My heartbeat?” you asked him another question just to tease him.

He became even more nervous, his hand returned to yours, interlacing his fingers with yours and giving you a gentle squeeze, asking for silent mercy, but you looked at him attentively with a smirk, “All I can think about is you, h‒honestly.” he watched as your smile quivered with his words, “You're everywhere. I just... feel you.”

He left you speechless once again, looking up at him, holding your breath.

“I'm sorry—I'm just saying what comes to mind” Bob rushed to apologize once again, lowering his gaze to your joined hands, feeling your warmth engulf him all over, as your thumb stroked his knuckles soothingly. His own thumb traced your cheekbone as if he were brushing the most magnificent shape in the world. You were. In his eyes. “I'm not being polite right now. It's nothing—”

“Bob,” you called his name, interrupting him and causing him to look up at you, both of your hands going to cup his face. He fell silent, gawking at you, in utter awe, roaming his eyes over every inch of your face, intending to remember every single detail, every fragment of your complexion, “You're everything. Everything.”

His eyes glistened, crystallizing with a couple of tears, not out of sadness or pain, no, they were from happiness, from feeling complete, from feeling that he finally belonged somewhere. By your side.

“Thank you” he then breathed a few times, kissing the palms of your hands pressed against his face, cupping them with his own.

Your fingers caught a lock of his hair that had fallen over his face, brushing it back once again.

“I like it better this way” you commented, smiling sweetly.

“Yeah?” he asked gently, so happy he could leap.

You nodded your head, humming approvingly, “Blond looks good on you too. But I met you with brown hair, so I like you better that way.”

Bob kissed the palm of your hand once more, looking at you tenderly, “You met me at my worst.”

“We all have bad days, Bobby,” you murmured, trying to reassure him, “You've been through so much. And you're still here, still standing. You're so strong”

“Thanks to you,” he replied and hurried to add, blushing, “And to the others— of course. Anyway, you must be hungry. Your stomach is growling.”

He took your hand, and waited for you to put on your shark slippers, still blushing. Then he led you out of your room, 'Lover, you should've come over' playing from your record player as you closed the door behind you. You smiled affectionately, walking beside him.

But your smile was washed off your face once you passed through the threshold of the kitchen, encountering Alexei and John, devouring the tacos that Bob had cooked, especially for you.

Seeing you appear in the kitchen, with both of you looking absolutely terrorized, Alexei took a big sip of his beer, raising his eyebrows, “What happened to you, kids?”

John, sitting next to him, burped, just finishing munching on the last remaining taco, “These were really good.” he wiped his mouth with a napkin and made his way towards the kitchen doorway, patting Bob's shoulder as he passed by him, “Thanks, Bobby.”

Alexei nodded his head enthusiastically, showing agreement, following John, with his half-drunk beer in his hand, “You should be the team cook.”

You turned your face toward Bob, who was staring at the plate, now empty of tacos, with a frown on his face and a small pout curving his lips.

You gave his hand a squeeze, tugging him to walk into the kitchen with you.

“Come on, honey, we can do more tacos” you tried to encourage him, holding back the urge to laugh at the sight of his face all pouty.

“I hope they don't have sex in the kitchen, that would be gross” you heard John say to Alexei with your super hearing.

“I heard that!” you exclaimed, looking toward the open kitchen door.

Then you heard Alexei's guffaw as you turned to look at Bob, pouty and blushing now.

[littledes1re]

Millers Wood Carving

Pairing: Oldman!joel x Fem!reader

Summary: you want to surprise your dad with something new on his birthday and you decide it‘s going to be something carved out of wood. Luckily the owner of ‚Millers Wood Carving‘ shop is there to help.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, inexperienced!reader, very nervous!reader, socially awkward also, just the tip🫣, pinv, unprotected sex, age gap! (Reader is in her 20s, joel in his 60s) finger sucking, size kink, dom/sub undertones, Pet names (including little one!) slight mean!joel, he mocks reader once, praise kink, slight degradation, no outbreak

A/N: So OBVIOUSLY i have no idea about wood carving yall and everything I wrote here is info I gathered off websites so just don’t focus on that😭😭 I randomly got this idea and it stuck for days, I needed to write this.

It was a rather uninteresting present, to buy something carved out of wood for your father’s birthday. It all had been done, countless times. Flannels, shirts, a tie with a suit…a tie without a suit, perfumes, a new grill, new glasses and many many things more. It was all just repeating at this point. But for his 56th birthday in three months you wanted something new. Something that wasn’t the usual way of surprising him.

Carved wood.

You rolled your eyes as you stood in front of the ‚miller‘s wood carving‘ shop. Admittedly, you didn’t really like this idea. You didn‘t even know if your father would enjoy such a gift. It was a structure carved out of wood, something you can decorate with and that was it, nothing useful in any way. Wouldn’t it just sit on his shelf, gathering dust?

A sigh left your lips, as you looked into the display window, many animals, some objects like cars and planes carved out of wood. And through the window you saw shelves with intricate carvings—sturdy bowls, towering figurines lined. You had also absolutely no idea what kind of wood carving he would want. Little figurines, animals or any objects wasn’t in his interest, you knew that. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe a suit would be a better—

“Can I help you, miss?“ your head turned around and you locked eyes with an old man. Old man—he stood tall, had board shoulders and his presence is very commanding. The curly silver hair was slicked back, the glasses he had sitting on top of his nose were slightly dirty. His mustache and beard, patchy with whites. Even if you knew that this man was older, he was still utterly captivating.

So much that you held still, getting nervous under the gaze of the stranger standing there.

„Y’looking for wood carving?“ his eyebrows going up, revealing his beautiful brown orbs.

„Yea. Yea, I think so. A present for my dad.“

“Ah, present for your dad you say. Well, you are just on the right spot, come with me.” He took the key out of his pocket and went to open the door. So he was the owner.

Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea after all, if a man like him was going to help you.

You walked through the shop with your mouth open. It was beautiful. Joel's shop was small but very cosy. Inside, there were even more of his carvings and lots of wooden blocks in every corner. It even smelled of it; as you walked through, it reminded you of a forest. He had occasionally very few customers, but that didn't bother him. He was pursuing a hobby and could do what he loved. More did he love the look on your face as you admired his shop, seemingly taken back and completely mesmerised of the tons of shelves he had with wood carvings.

Admittedly he was also a bit taken back when a young woman like you stood in front of his shop. It was usually the older people who bought his work and who he had more experience in. As he showed you his little work corner with a table, sat down and asked you also to sit down, he didn’t know how to quite act.

“I’m joel, by the way. S’nice meeting you. Would you like a tea?” His voice was sweet, warm, like honey over gravel. You politely denied him and told him your name, getting a little smile from him.

Despite the pleasant atmosphere in his shop, you felt a little tense. You hadn't expected him to be so intriguing; it all caught you off guard. The way he just sat there and tried to organise his things, eyebrows furrowed, legs spread. He wasn’t doing anything but he looked good. Too good for an old man. And you knew he was old, if the wrinkles in his face didn’t tell you, it was his style, if that didn’t tell you then it was the white hair. Yet you couldn’t help but stare, something about him was so gripping.

You didn‘t know what was going on with you.

While it was going to be the most innocent thing you had to do, buy a birthday present for your father, unknowingly and slowly your mind slipped past that and turned it into something naughty. While this seemingly very nice old man just wanted to help you out, you couldn‘t help yourself and started to daydream scenarios about him. And suddenly your body started to react to that too, warmth spreading all over your crotch and your thighs squeezing almost automatically.

“Y’know what you want?” You straightened slightly, focusing in on making your expression into that of someone who wasn’t just checking him out. But he caught you, with the small flicker of his eye, the subtle tension, the way you focused on him.

“Uhm, not really. I—I didn’t really think about that. I just know he doesn’t like animals, objects and uh, other small things.”

Oh great, one thing he loved about customers is that they didn‘t know what they wanted but still came to his shop. Usually he would sigh, shake his head and tell them to come when they know what they want. With that pretty face of yours tho, he couldn‘t bring it over his heart.

„What about a family tree thing? With your families names written on it. S‘just a block of wood, like this one—“ he pointed at the block besides you. „Just carved as a small tree with your names on the middle.“

You liked this idea. It was something your father might like, and even your mother. Something that could be placed over the fireplace, and would be considered decoration. It would gather dust, yes, but it would have a meaning. Joel watched you process this idea; he couldn't help but chuckle low. The way you bit those plump lips with your teeth, going left and right with your pretty eyes.

„S‘a good Idea, huh?“ his left eyebrow arched.

„Yea, yea. It‘s a very good idea.“ you nodded your head eagerly. He was intimidating, the way he looked at you. A smirk on his lips making you blush a little bit on the cheeks.

„Good. Then let‘s to a little consultation and then you can pick it up in like two weeks.“

„Consultation?“

Oh you were so clueless. And it wasn‘t annoying him once again. If you were any other person you would have been out the door immediately. He doesn‘t have the time and nerve to explain to them every single thing. But with you it was different. He could talk for hours, if that means that he has a pretty girl like you sitting there and listen to him.

One part of him felt bad, being attracted to you. You looked like in your early 20s, wasn‘t that okey for him to think about you that way. If he didn’t saw the way you looked at him, he would leave you alone, treat you like a every other customer. But the way you were sitting there concentrating on what to say while he could most certainly see the way your mind slipped away and thought about other things. The little glimpses on his arms and crotch, the lip biting. Desperate and sweet.

That‘s how he liked them.

„Yea, the one where you tell me what kind of wood I have to use, what the names of your family members are.“

Those pretty eyes turned confused once more, his amusement growing every second as you nervously tapped with your leg and cheeks flushing to a deeper red tone. He tried not the break eye contact, he wanted to see you.

You were embarrassed. Embarrassed because you absolutely didn‘t know anything about all of this and you felt like he was making fun of you in his mind or teasing you. The way his smirk not once let up, his intimidating gaze never leaving you.

„Didn‘t do your homework, huh?“ he chuckled.

„No, no. I‘m sorry. Have absolutely no idea what your talking about.“

„S‘okey. Here, this is basswood.“ he took a piece of wood and showed it to you. „S‘a little bit lighter than the other ones. I also have cherry. It‘s darker and can get very pretty brown in the end like this.“

He saw the way your eyes widened as he showed you something carved out of cherry wood. It was absolutely pretty, glossy and looking smooth. The color was beautiful just the way he said it.

„So I suppose, cherry will it be, huh?“ he asked just more amused, finding your reaction cute.

„Yes, cherry. Please.“ and so polite you were, he couldn‘t possibly let you go like this could he?

Normally this was it, after you tell him the names and the wood you want he‘ll had to let you go and make an appointment for next week, where you look at the process and tell him if he needs to do any changes.

But he couldn‘t let you out of his store, not yet. He was selfish, wanting to keep you for himself. It was weird developing a quite possessiveness over you, to a stranger he just met 20 minutes ago. He was out of his mind.

„Okey, then i‘ll make a quick sketch and you‘ll wait here to tell me if it looks like your imagination.“ A lie.

Joel was already more than experienced that he didn‘t even need to sketch anymore. You just nodded your head, no clue about everything and thinking that it just how he works. It wasn‘t a problem for you to stay longer in his shop either. You liked watching him. His lips puckering, whenever he blowed the dust away that was sitting on his table, His big rough hands that looked like he worked them out, no signs of softness. And his pretty curls always moving whenever he moved too.

Your eyes kept moving to his crotch, unbeknownst to yourself even. It wasn‘t something you were used to, you didn‘t know yourself to be this dirty.

The way he patiently explained everything to you made you less embarrassed but intrigued. While you could not get many words out and were nervous under his gaze, you wanted know things about him, so he could talk to you with that raspy and warm voice he had.

„How long have you been doing this?“ Bingo. That‘s what he wanted.

Joels left eyebrow arched as he stopped with whatever he was doing and looked over to you. Legs crossed, hands on your lap, cheeks flushed.

„S‘been like 5 years. Have always done this as a hobby, now I can do it as a business.“

„Wow, that‘s really great. These things are really beautiful, I wish I could also do something like this.“ you wished more that he didn‘t notice the way you had absolutely no idea what the say and how to speak. Asking him was a bold move, you could‘ve just waited until he said something. Oh, but joel noticed. That little stutter and uncertainty in your voice. He was holding himself back from not to chuckle, not to coo at your words. So fucking sweet were you.

„Why, bet you can do also all sorts of stuff.“ he answered, turning his head to the sketch again, awaiting your response, hearing a sigh coming from your lips.

„No, not things like that unfortunately. I don‘t really have anything that I can dedicate myself to.“ it was a tad bit embarrassing to say, basically admitting that you can‘t do anything creatively, or sports wise, or anything else wise when you‘re honest.

„Nonsense. Took me 50 years to realise I can do this. You‘ll find something, I promise, sweetheart.“ he said softly. The pet name he gave you turned your insides to mush, you didn’t except that in any way, it made you almost dizzy, your heartbeat just continued being fast, the tension in the room almost suffocating you.

„50? How old are you?“ bold. So fucking bold.

Joel didn‘t mind that it was bold, in fact, he thought it was cute how slowly and surely you grew to be comfortable in asking him questions. That‘s what he wanted, an conversation with you.

„62. Pretty old to be in business still, huh?“ he joked.

Your eyes widened, you would‘ve never excepted him to be this old. And you didn‘t mean to show it to him, your surprised face and then the slow realisation that you are thirsting over someone who is older than your dad hit you.

With the quick look of his eye, he chuckled, seeing you with wide open eyes.

„No—no. S‘not that old.“

„Not that old, huh? S‘the first time i‘m hearing that.“ Your cheeks flamed up again, a sudden urge to just stand up and walk away came over you. You looked down on the ground, not even wanting to see that smug smirk on his face that you were sure he put on.

You excepted him to say something do something but— a loud sound.

His phone was ringing and he abruptly put down his pen and answered the phone. With the silence of the shop you heard a female voice just faintly talking to him. Was that his wife?

His call ended with him saying ‚love you‘.

„Your wife?“ What the hell are you thinking?

„Daughter. Not having a woman by my side.“ he nodded. Like he was giving you permission. Permission to let those dirty thoughts about him continue, like he was telling you that you can check him out.

And he knew what kind of rollercoaster you were going trough. He knew how he was embarrassing you, but for him it was the cutest fucking thing to see. The prettiest pink on these cheeks, soft skin fingers playing with the hem of your sweet small dress. Heck, he wanted that you get more bolder and start asking even more questions.

„You got someone?“

„Huh?“

„A boyfriend?“ And maybe he wanted permission too.

„Oh, no. No.“ he didn‘t pick up the pen to continue instead sat there watched you. With a slight nod of his head, he run his hand trough his hair.

„Pretty girl like you really don‘t have any boyfriend?“

You didn‘t say anything, nervously swallowed. He just looked at you, observed you, his eyes going up and down your body. You should just look away, even walk away. But you couldn‘t. Everything in the background blurred together as you silently held eye contact with him.

There was this little moment where your lips opened like you wanted to say something but couldn‘t, making his body slightly shift like he was waiting for an answer. And as the small voice in him started to tell him that the question was too much, made you uncomfortable, but your eyes slowly moved from his head to his crotch. And as that wasn‘t surprising enough you took it one step further.

„Old man like you riling up for a young girl like me?“

This time it was his turn to feel embarrassed and be silent. This time it was his turn to feel like he said too much and nothing at once, awkward. His pretty brown eyes widened, but not for too long and he started to smirk again, that smirk turning into a chuckle as he gently put down his glasses, head shaking.

„Apparently you do got a mouth on you, huh?“ he suddenly got up, the heat between your legs now getting unbearable because he knew what was going on and rather than throwing you out of his shop, he played along.

He walked to the door, taking his keys and locking the door. For a second you really thought he was going to throw you out of his shop, but he didn‘t. The wooden floor under his footsteps made cracking sounds as he slowly came to you. One by one, while intensely looking at you. And by standing right in front of you, his bulge right in front of your face, looking up his frame was more massive than you originally thought.

Your tights squeezed together, looking up to him, waiting for him to do something. With those pretty doe eyes he was hardly containing himself. He knew he had to go slow, tease you, if you wanted something from him he had to make you get it.

Breath hitching as his big hand neared your face, landing on your chin, pinching it with his thumb and pointer finger. Obedient.

He parted your lips. Slowly eased two fingers into your warm mouth. Your head was spinning, not breaking eye contact as you slowly closed your lips around him, his jaw was clenched as he watched you intensely. The salty taste of his fingers filling your mouth, he was deep, pulled them out and filled you back in. A whine left your throat making him smile.

You were a good girl. Polite girl.

He pulled his fingers out, making you almost beg to put them in again. The throbbing, pulsing and soaking between your legs were driving you to be bold, grabbing his hand and trying to put his fingers back in again but he pulled away. Hearing him laugh low as he sat down on his chair again. But this time leg spread even wider, his body turned to you and he just looked at you.

While your heart pounded the nervousness left you, making you feel needy. And the way everything turned into this scenario didn‘t made any sense and how it escalated made your blood pump higher. You still devoted yourself to it, you wanted him. There was something aching for him, something deep down, wanting to be filled. You wanted him to take care of you.

His eyes went down his lap, bulge, signalising you something. The new found boldness surprised you once more as you sneakily got on your knees, slowly crawling to him. You sat there between his legs, his face was pleased, you looked up to him, expecting something, but he didn‘t speak.

Joel was enjoying the show. S‘been way too many years since a pretty girl like you did what he told her to do. Way too many years for him to take it slow, enjoy it, tease you even tho he saw the unbearable need behind your eyes. But he couldn‘t bring it over his heart to make you, nervous little thing, take him into your mouth.

Looking up to him with those unsure eyes, trying to act bold—you couldn‘t fool him. Even tho his cock was throbbing inside his jeans, aching for your mouth.

You were unexperienced and he knew that, got them all in their knees, taking his cock whenever he opened his legs in the past. But now he had to be careful, you didn‘t understand what he wanted.

And as he felt your mouth around his fingers he was most certain that you couldn‘t take his cock into your mouth, he was big and you unexperienced.

But he couldn‘t let you down like this could he? Inexperienced or not, he saw the way you bit your lips looking at his bulge. Those desperate eyes. Oh how much he would love for you to take his cock into your mouth.

Instead of unbuckling his belt, he thrusted his fingers into your mouth again. Taking you by surprise but you couldn‘t help but moan around it.

„S‘the only thing you get, ain‘t ready for cock yet.“

Your eyebrows furrowed as you swiftly pulled your mouth away from his fingers, looking up to him with confusion.

„M‘not a virgin, I swear. Been fucked once.“

And he fucking laughs. The abrupt laughter fills the silence ridden room, his voice all raspy, like he had one too many cigarettes, throwing his head back and slapping his knee.

„Once.“ he mocked you, once again the embarrassment washing over you. But you also couldn‘t help with feeling more aroused, his amusement on you being inexperienced.

„S‘a mans cock baby. A bit harder to take down your pretty little throat and to stuff your cunt with. Ain‘t having the time to teach you that shit.“

With that he stuffed your mouth once more with his thick fingers, pumping them in and out making your eyes roll back. He was being mean and in that moment but you didn‘t give a single fuck. You just felt the pleasure between your legs and his fingers in on top of your tongue.

You just took everything he gave you.

While on your knees the ache between your legs was too much to handle, you started to buck your hips up and down, the material of your panties making you release some friction, but it wasn‘t enough.

You were sucking and suckling around his fingers like there was no tomorrow and desperately humping down on the ground. The humiliation was forgotten, you wanted to be fucked. You looked so utterly fucked. Eyes squeezed shut as you enjoyed suckling on his fingers, tits moving up and down, little whines and moans leaving your mouth.

Joel was about to cum in his pants.

„Fuck, there you go.“ he smiled, his other hand coming to your chin collecting the drool that left your mouth and smearing it on your dress, giving your right tit a tight squeeze, making you whine his name incomprehensible between his fingers.

At this point your cunt was soaking, dripping down your thighs. And the agonising five minutes of sucking his fingers and humping basically nothing you came back to your senses now pulling away and begging him.

„Please—please, just. Just do something—please.“ your babbling made him coo, his dry hand coming on top of your head and stroking your hair.

„What am I supposed to do, hm? If you were fucked more than once baby, i would‘ve spread you there, cunt out and fucked you throughly. Don‘t wanna break you in half.“

„No, no— no. Please. Joel, please.“ you shook your head, giving him the best puppy eyes possible, trying to be as obedient as possible.

Been so long, since he had a needy little thing begging for him to fuck her. And even if he wanted to so badly, he knew you couldn‘t take it and his heart couldn‘t take you hurting.

He suddenly stood up, with a grunt grabbed you by the arms and carried you somewhere. You yelped, excepting everything but not this.

You saw a little couch, it was hidden back in his shop, besides some shelves and of course—wood.

His grip on your arm was hard and his breath coming irregular as he finally sat you down on it. He pushed you down the couch, putting a soft cushion behind your head so it was prompt up.

You didn‘t know what he was up to, you just wanted him to fuck you and the position he put you in definitely looked like he wanted to fuck you.

And as he spread your legs gently, pulled down your wet panties, it was more then evident that he was going to fuck you. A rush of adrenaline went trough you again; clenching around nothing, awaiting him to do something.

„prettiest fuckin‘ pussy i‘ve ever seen.“ he murmured, softly spreading your lips revealing your sweet little clit, aching to be touched, pulsing by itself. The cool air hit your cunt, your breathing coming in short. His thumb gently touched your nub, taking his time, rubbing you slowly. Releasing a whine, you laid your head back looking at the ceiling. Joel was concentrating on the way your cunt was reacting to his touch. Sweet hole releasing gush after gush, while your clit throbbed under his thumb. This is what he wanted, seeing you break under his touch, ask for more, be a good girl.

„Please.“ you softly whispered to him, his eyebrows furrowing, he looked at you. Shaking his head.

„Just the tip. Givin‘ you just the tip.“

And you didn‘t had the energy to argue against that, you wanted him as a whole, wanted to feel him. But in this moment again, you took everything he gave you.

Finally you heard his belt unbuckling, jeans hitting the ground, revealing his thick and angry cock to you. A whine left your lips, desperately wanting to kiss him better. The throbbing tip, pre cum releasing slit and his shaky shaft.

He took his cock into his hands and slowly jerked himself up and down, squeezing the tip, taking bit of the leaked from his tip on his finger and rubbed it on your mouth, making you lick it clean. And finally he pushed into you. His head going into your cunt, pausing quickly without pushing the rest of his shaft. While you whined around, already starting to move your hips, he squeezed the flesh on your hip and made you stop.

„didn‘t tell you shit about fucking you either. This or nothing, stay still.“

While your cunt gushed around his head, clenching down and your hips not trying to move you were on the verge of tears because of the frustration.

„Oh poor sweet baby. Ain‘t nothing like old mans cock huh? Already got you on the verge of cummin‘.“ and he was right. His thumb returned with your nub, rubbing once and twice before the orgasm hit you. His tip leaving your cunt, as your legs shook, your mouth dropped open and finally the sweet release washed over you. He made sure to ride out of your orgasm by gently stroking your clit.

„That‘s it, that‘s it little one. Was a good one, yeah?“ He nodded, looking into your fucked out eyes as you came down and nodded your head also. The way you reacted to his touch, so easy, so sweet. Not needing any more work other than having his tip in your cunt and thumb pressed on your nub.

„Fuck me. Can handle it. I promise, promise.“ begging, begging and begging.

„I don‘t know, sweets. Looking like this cunts not gonna take more than the tip, what if we just stay with just the tip, huh? Cum for me one more time and I can release my cum in you, maybe that‘ll make you feel full, yea?“

You were whining. Shaking your head from left to right. Begging.

„No, no— no. Please, just fuck me. Just do it, please.“

And as fate wanted joel had enough and completely pushed himself into you. His grith filling you like you have never felt before, your cunt feeling full and finally relieved.

Joel didn‘t let up, didn‘t make you get used to that feeling, of splitting you in two. He started fucking you. In a gentle but hard rhythm. His hips not even once stopping as you laid under this old man, while he continually pumped his cock into you. Finding that sweet spot of yours and focusing in on hitting it every time.

All the while he held eye contact with you, but you couldn‘t concentrate. Eyes rolling back, squeezing shut and avoiding his gaze.

„C‘mon sweetheart, m‘giving you what you want. The least you can do is look me into my eyes.“

He rasped. His breathing was heavy on top of you, his curls bouncing around. You felt his cock in your cunt pulse.

„Knew you were a good girl, knew it baby. Taking it like a champ. Was wrong about you huh? Pretty—cunt wrapped around me so—fucking—well.“

„Mhm—t-told ya. Told ya.“ you whimpered out, already feeling yourself getting clo— and he pulled out.

You released a whine, your fist banging on his chest repeatedly as your cunt pulsed and pulsed around nothing. His head was bent, he was watching your cunt and suddenly he grabbed you once more on the arm and laid you beside, crawling behind you on the couch. His hand then moved to your thighs, opening it and putting it over his leg, so his cock has access to your cunt.

A wet kiss was left on your temple and you heard him loudly breathing in your ear.

„gonna fill you up, pretty girl, s‘that clear? Wanna see it dripping out of you when i‘m done with you.“ he softly whispered and you nodded your head desperately.

„Want me to rub your pretty little clit, or you wanna try cumming without?“ He asked you, cock slowly entering you, stuffing you full once more. His thrusts started slowly as he waited for a response, leaving sweet small kisses around your neck and temple.

„Rub, please.“

„Oh, sweet girl. Made you so desperate and teased you so bad, am I not a bad old man, huh?“ his voice was soft like he was lulling you to sleep. Just like his thrusts, met the right spots but slowly left your cunt and slowly went in again, while rubbing gently on your clit. The atmosphere changing, his sweet talk was getting in your head.

„cumming—please.“ you whispered.

„Yeah? Good, baby. C‘mon then, I got you.“ he gave your temple one last kiss, as his thrusts slowly started to become more sloppy and quick, deep groans leaving his mouth. His thumb sped up rubbing you just right as you bit down the pillow underneath you and came all over his dick.

„There we go, let it all out.“

He thrusted into you a few more times, making you ride out your orgasm. Your legs already giving up and closing as he hold your thigh up as best as he could, releasing all that he had into you. His thumb stilling on your clit, he thrusted one more time as he slowly filled you, feeling the regular spurts in you.

As you laid there both, exhausted, but peaceful, you came back to your senses and realised what happened. Something so innocent turned so dirty, so fast. And with someone who was older than your dad.

His soft cock slid right out of you. His cum and your release already mixing and dripping down your thigh. He gently scooped it up, holding it in front of your mouth one last time and you took it, gently cleaning him, earning a soft little peck on your forehead. He stood up, putting his jeans back on and put a blanket over you, stroking your hair.

„Gonna work on your gift now. Can tell me if it‘s looking good when ya wake up again.“

Oh my gawd straight to horny jail🤭🤭

Thank you so much for 700 followers, its crazy. Thank you for reading my fics🫶🏻🫶🏻

Keep in mind, english is not my first language so feedback or any correction of mistakes are very welcome

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[muqingslover]

This question is related to the last ask you posted, but what do you think the lads men most unexpected/unconventional turn-on would be?

Your depiction of Zayne got me thinking, what is that shy man gonna do if mc finds his "weak" spot lol. Cuz yeah, obviously he'd be turned on about his beloved sending him risky pictures BUT the moment mc realises one of his unexpected turn ons that maybe he himself wasn't even aware of? Oh lawd.

[ this one had me thinking for days oh my goodness! Just a heads up, I got carried away with some of these...very carried away.....shhh. ]

Your lips.

Alright, alright, i know it sounds confusing but stick with me here.

I've thrown some of my takes on his kinks around but I didn't want to repeat myself so I spent some time stewing over this.

Eventually I landed on the idea that Zayne would be very particular about sharing anything that touched your lips, especially before an official relationship.

Drinking from the same straw, sharing the same spoon, tasting something you already bit into it— It's an instant way of getting his poor mind to go into overdrive.

He is a very proper and respectful man. He doesn't like to have indecent thoughts about you, but the idea that his lips touched something yours did as well make him all tingly and shy.

Massages.

He loooooves the feeling of your weight pressing down on his hips when you straddle him, though that's not even the tip of the iceberg as to why he is so into this.

Your hands are truly magical when it comes to getting rid of the few knots on his body and the further he relaxes, the further Xavier begins to grow more aware of you.

The comforting weight is slowly causing him to grind against the mattress under him each time you shifted on top of him and the way your hands make their way down his bare spine has him biting the pillow sheets.

Not to mention that the minute your fingernails scratch his scalp in an otherwise affectionate gesture he nearly cums in his pants.

His ears and neck feel so hot he decides to bury his face in the pillow to keep you from noticing.

He would either flip the tables on you at some point or (try to) go to sleep in hope everything would be fine once he wakes up again.

Gentleness.

That's right. You heard me. This man will crumble at your feet every time you care for him like he's a pretty princess.

I'm not necessarily talking about grand gestures. Simple and natural ones are the most effective. The type that you wouldn't even notice you are doing it.

Slow caresses on his shoulder or hands, checking to see if he's alright while cradling his face, patiently explaining something to him, wiping his face if there was something on it, running your fingers through his hair... ECT.

He has a distinct memory of you being so worried about him when he scrapped his hand during his daily troubles— It was no different than a paper cut to him, but the blood made it seem worse than it actually was and that caused you to immediately fuss.

He watched with such genuine adoration as you tended to his wounds; Your furrowed eyebrows as you focused, the soft concern in your voice when you asked if the disinfectant stung and how could Sylus not pretend that it hurt? Just a little bit. Just enough to hear more of your encouragement that it was almost done and he was doing well.

Trust me, it will lead to him kissing you without warning, seemingly out of nowhere, once it's done and prepare yourself for the best night ever.

(I cut this short like four times and still ended up being long....oh well.)

Helping him with his clothes.

Each time you fix his crooked, poorly tied necktie (which he absolutely hates to wear) or straighten up his collar for him Rafayel is fighting back demons.

This also applies to you helping him actually dress up (or undress) and picking out his outfits without him having to ask.

The sight of you standing in front of him, hands swiftly buttoning up his shirt, has him weak in the knees. It makes him feel as you're truly his partner. That this is the married life the two of you deserved to have eons ago.

Speaking of undressing, this naughty fish will absolutely tease you about unbuckling his belt.

He would take a seat on a nearby chair with a dramatic sigh before he asked for you to help him with his clothes because he was oh so very tired to do it himself.

He leans back against the chair as if it was his own personal throne, knees slack as he spread comfortably and tilts his head to the side to rest it on his hand.

"I have an early morning tomorrow, you know. Won't you finish helping me so we can head to bed?" It sounds innocent enough, rather playful even, but the expression on his face is anything but. Just look at the volume on his pants, he ain't fooling anybody.

Hearing his own name + Whispering.

Last but most definitely not least, everyone's favorite boy.

It doesn't matter what's happening the second you say his name his full attention is on you. It's like a very well trained dog.

He can tell what you're feeling, sometimes even thinking, based on the way you call him alone. It comes with the years of experience of being your best friend.

It however also comes with the perpetual problem that his body reacts so well to your voice that it ends up being a little *too* well.

You may be in the middle of an argument yet the moment you say his name Caleb would be fighting back a boner. upcoming fic sneakpeek—i mean what

Another odd turn on of his is when you whisper something in his ear.

It doesn't really matter what you're saying. The sound of your voice so close to him and the way he can feel your warm breath tickling his skin is enough to have this man crossing his legs and praying his bulge is subtle.

You can imagine the nightmare this was during teen years when the two of you would sneak around grandma's house.

[nanamisgirly]

your dilf doesn't need 'perfect'　ྀི　

“w-wait—” you were panting, legs wrapped around his hips where dilf!nanami straddled you on the countertop. you pull back just as his mouth dragged open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

you don't remember how exactly you ended up there, how things turned from soft touches over dinner to a heavy make out session—tongue sliding between your lips, big hands pressing you against his chest. 

it's been months of holding back for both of you—resuming your relation to slow touches, soft kisses, and ‘no pressure sweetheart’ every time things started getting heavy. since you weren't experienced and kind of…scared, dilf!nanami suggested waiting til you're ready. and you've been grateful for it, even when you returned home some night aching and soaked from just making out with him.

and maybe all the courage you gathered to tug him in by his tie tonight and kiss him like you were desperate for it, had drained from your veins the moment you felt one of his hand sliding up your thigh and the other slipping under your shirt—hot, rough, calloused.

“did i go too far?” he asked, one hand still under your shirt, fingers hovering just under the band of your bra, not moving an inch. “it's okay. you don't need to explain. we can stop, sweetheart.” his lips were swollen—covered with spit. his eyes glassy and you could feel the weight of his cock pressing against your shorts.

“no—! no… i want to,” you blurted out too quickly, voice overlapping his, desperate not to be misunderstood. but even as you said it, you couldn't bring yourself to look at him in the eyes, so you turn your head, letting your hands rest on his broad shoulders as you continue, 

“it's just…” you exhaled, shame blooming fast in your chest. “i'm not confident about. . y'know.” you gesture vaguely toward your boobs. “they look nice in a bra and—uh…you've probably seen better. i know they look big in a bra, but they don't, well…stay up. they're soft, and…” your voice tightens. “i just…i've read things. about guys saying they were disappointed. or didn't want to even see them during the act, unless they were covered—” you laugh nervously, voice cracking. “it's so embarrassing. i-i didn't want you to see them and think—think they're…ugly.”

the silence that followed felt unbearable.

it only makes your anxiety grow and you feel so dumb for talking about it, maybe you should just have stopped and that's it…because nanami didn't move an inch since your little monologue, his honey eyes still trying to catch your gaze. 

your stomach drops. you start to shift trying to get off the counter, anything to escape mortification. “look, i'm sorry,” you say, heart pounding, eyes glassy. “i-i shouldn't have brought it up, i—umh—it's ok. i just thought that'd be nice to tell you before hand and huh…fuck i ruined everything didn't i?”

that's when you feel his hands coming to your hips, pinning you in place on the countertop. you gasp as he presses his cock against your core harder than ever—twitching with need.

when you looked up, his eyes had darkened. his brows were furrowed, jaw tight, emotion bleeding into every sharp line of his face. “that,” he said flatly, “is the stupidest fucking thing i've ever heard.”

your breath hitched.

“i'm not a boy with a warped idea of what women are supposed to look like.” he leaned in, cupping your jaw to be sure your eyes stay locked onto his. “i'm a grown man. you think i'm painfully hard, grinding against you, shaking, because i'm waiting for something ‘perfect’? sweetheart, i'm here, aching because it's you. all of you that i want.”

his voice was low, frayed. barely holding together. “let me very clear, sweetheart, i'm going to lose my mind when i see them, i will drop to my knees and thank the gods for putting someone as sweet as you.”

your lips part, trying to breathe through the whirl of embarrassment and affection and…arousal.

“ken—”

“does this—” he rasped, grabbing your wrist and guiding your trembling fingers down to the thick, pulsing shape of his cock straining in his slacks, “feel like someone who's going to be disappointed?”

you whimpered, your smaller fingers squeezing his boner. 

“f-fuck…” he shuddered. “if you want to stop,” he breathed, forehead falling to your shoulder. “i'll stop. if you want to wait, we'll wait. another month. another year. i don't care. anything you want, for you to be comfortable.”

but his voice cracked at the end—like he was hanging by a thread. you felt it too, his body coiled tight, like a beast barely leashed.

“you're too nice, ken.” you say teary-eyed, half laughing, half melting.

“well, k-keep squeezing me like that and i'm afraid i won't be nice any longer.” he groaned, lip brushing your neck.

your thighs wrapped tighter around him. “you can take it off,”

his head snapped up. “you sure?” his gaze held yours as his fingers brushed the hem of your shirt again, and when you nodded, “arms up, sweets,” he said softly, and you obeyed.

when he tosses delicately your shirt to the side, skilled fingers quickly find your bra and unclip it, oh very so slowly.

when your bra hit the floor, everything held still. like the world paused long enough for nanami to lose his mind quietly. his eyes dragged up, heavy-lidded and wrecked. one big hand came up—trembling—cupping your breast with a war raging in his mind : should i worship or ruin them?

“sweets,” he breathed, thumbing over one of your nipple, “they're perfect. so fucking perfect i feel like i'm hallucinating.”

[mallory524]

Oh oh, can I request a sort of alternate ending to the kidnapping headcanons with each of the Thunderbolts where, when they are about to break into the building reader is trapped in, reader appears behind them all bloody and bruised, making them jump and her saying, “Did you guys come to save me? Aww, that’s so sweet, I feel so loved right now!!”

(OMG YES This is sweet and fun I love it)

the thunderbolts come to save you, but you've already handled it yourself

pictures from pinterest

tags- she/her used, mostly just silly and fluffy, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of blood and fighting and minor injuries, some language

Yelena

Yelena knows that you’re tough, but she doesn’t expect you to be able to get yourself out of this one. The group gets to where you’re being held, and you’re just sitting on the ground, with your back up against the doorway. You look like hell, but you’re free. This is not what Yelena had imagined. She thought she’d have to free you herself and toss you over her shoulder or something. She couldn’t be more happy to see that she was wrong about your state. “Oh, hey, guys! This is awfully sweet of you to all come out here. This is a long ways away from the city,” you say as you manage to get back up on your feet. Yelena looks at you, amazed, and runs up to hug you and kiss your temple. Walker mutters to Ava, “At this point we could’ve just called her an Uber.”

Bucky

Bucky did not want to think about what could be happening to you. He’s seen a lot of pain and hurt in his day, so he knows firsthand how ugly these situations can get. Luckily, it never got as bad as it could’ve, because you actually broke yourself out. Bucky did not expect to find you already fighting off your captors on your own when he arrived with the whole team. Bucky wants to help, of course. He gets one punch in. You thank him, like you haven’t just knocked out every other person on your own. “I was just about to look for where they hid my phone so I could call you to give me a ride home, but it looks like I didn’t even need to call! You guys are the best,” you say, as if you’d just been stranded at the airport. Bucky’s never been so proud.

Ava

The fact that the search for you was dragging on for days was only making Ava’s nerves worse. Leaving you in danger for so long made her feel so horrible, and sometimes she’d wonder if it was possible that you’d escaped on your own. She figured it was too much to hope for, but it made her feel a little better. Besides, it wasn’t too far out of the realm of possibility. She’d imagine finally reaching your location, and the people who were supposed to be guarding you would all be just as clueless about your whereabouts as she was. She never considered that they’d all be unconscious on the ground when she got there. “Ava!!” she hears you yell from behind. She spins around and sees you jogging (with a slight limp) down the hall to reach her. She’s astonished. “Aww you guys! Thanks for coming. That means a lot.” After that remarkably chill response, Ava looks at you like you’ve never been so beautiful and cool in her eyes before, and that’s saying something.

John

John was terrified the whole time you were missing. All day long, he panicked and thought about all the horrible things that could be happening to you at any given moment. He didn't sleep, he didn't eat, he led the whole search, and he was ready to do whatever to took to get to you. You can only imagine his surprise when you run out and cut his destructive rampage short. He keeps standing there and looking at you because this is not computing. You're just standing there with your hands on your hips, your clothes all tattered, with bruises and cuts all over you. You're clearly exhausted, but you manage a little smirk. "Awww, Walker! Were you worried about me?" He just tosses his silly folded shield to the ground and pulls you into a tight hug. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." He doesn't even put up a fight when you reach out to affectionately ruffle his hair or pinch his cheek like a grandma. He's just so happy you're safe.

Alexei

When Alexei gets there and realizes you’ve already broken yourself out, he is so shocked. Then he thinks about it for a moment, and he doesn’t know why he’s even surprised. Of course you solved this on your own! You’re such a badass. You always have been. It’s one of the first things he noticed about you, and it’s what initially drew him to you. He feels like he should’ve had more faith in you, but now’s not the time for that. Now’s the time to celebrate the fact that you’re safe. He lets out a loud, jovial laugh and wraps his arms around you, telling you over and over again how proud he is of you while wiping some blood from your forehead. Somehow, you always manage to surprise him. Everyone is thrilled that you’re back, but Alexei is absolutely beaming with pride and relief for the rest of the night.

Bob

Part of why the team originally didn’t want Bob to go on the rescue mission, besides the Void stuff, was because they didn’t know what kind of state you’d be in. Bob’s very new to this line of work, and they know how much you mean to him, so they thought it might be too much for him to handle if he ended up having to see you seriously hurt. Luckily that didn’t happen. Before they have the chance to break the door down, you walk out from the other side of the building, waving your arms. “Hey! I’m right here!” Bob rushes to hug you, and it’s so tight that all your words are kind of muffled. “Guys I got the whole search party? This is actually really flattering.” Bob pulls away after a while and he’s immediately worried again when he sees the bruising all over you. You make a “You should see the other guy” joke, but everyone knows you’re not kidding. They really don’t want to see the other guy.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Bob Reynolds NSFW headcanons ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

+18 MDNI!!

He's incredibly considerate. He's always checking in on you, on whether you're comfortable, on whether you want to continue, on whether he can touch you there, now, like this.

His hands were on your hips, firm but trembling. You could tell he was making an effort not to lose himself in the moment, even though you could feel how much he wanted it. “Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice raspier than usual, as if every syllable cost him. “Yes,” you replied, sliding your fingers along the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Bob closed his eyes for a second. He inhaled deeply. “I need you to tell me if you want to keep going, because I swear if you kiss me again like you did a minute ago, I won't have a head to think.” You smiled a little, but his gaze was intense. It burned. “I want to keep going.” “M'kay…” he exhaled, resting his forehead on yours. His lips barely touched yours, as if he were trying to retain control just out of respect for you. “Is this okay?” he asked, slowly running a hand down your back. “Yes, Bob…” His fingers slid a little lower, his breath ragged against your neck. “Can I…?” he didn’t finish the sentence. But his body spoke for him. His gaze, his breathing, his hands. “You can do anything,” you whispered. So needy And then he let out a low, almost inaudible moan and murmured against your skin: “God, I… You’re killing me.”

He has a thing about touching you with his hands. He loves using them slowly: on your waist, on your neck, on your lower back… as if caressing you were a ritual and not a casual action. He loves using his fingers to make you come. You could swear he likes giving you pleasure more than receiving it.

After sex, he stays silent. Not out of discomfort, but because he's processing everything. He stares at you with half-closed eyes, with a half-smile as if he doesn't know how someone like you can be with someone like him.

He's very verbal, but soft. He doesn't shout, he's not loud, but he whispers things close to your ear that make you lose your train of thought. They're almost always unintelligible grunts or sighs against your neck that make your hair stand on end.

He has a slow, steady pace. He's not rushed. He doesn't need to prove anything. He likes to take his time, explore, learn what you like, and repeat it until you can't take it anymore. Sometimes, he just stands there, looking at you, his fingers tangled in yours, his thrusts constant.

Aftercare is sacred. He covers you, cleans you, holds you. If he notices any part of you trembling, he stays longer. And he doesn't let you sleep without kissing your hair or telling you how important you are to him.

"Was that good for you?" "Of course it was, Bob," you whisper, leaning in to steal a kiss from his lips. "Do you want anything else?" "Just to have you close, sweetie."

Plus, he loves to be pampered.

He likes it when you touch him first. Because, even though he could take you hard if he wanted to, he loves feeling that you choose him. That you want him. That you're also as hot as he is. It gives him security, and when you do… he just goes crazy.

He has a soft spot for seeing you wearing his clothes. Sometimes you forget to do the laundry and steal a sweatshirt, a shirt, or a pair of sweatpants. The moment he sees you, his heart races and the blood pools in his cheeks. If you put your clothes on right out of the shower, with the fabric clinging to your still-wet body, the blood rushes further down his body.

"Is that my shirt?" "This one? Oh, yeah! Sorry, do you need it…?" "No," he says quickly. Suddenly, one of his hands tentatively goes to your waist, slipping under the fabric to your fresh skin. "You look…" His voice broke at the end, and the sentence hung in the air as if he didn't know how to finish it himself. "…too good, actually." You bit your lip, and his expression—that mix of restrained tenderness and ill-disguised desire—disarmed you more than you cared to admit. “You don't mind, do you?” “Huh-uh,” he hummed. With a mischievous, calculating expression, you stood on your toes to kiss him. The way you sucked on his lower lip just before you pulled away was such a lascivious move that he couldn't resist. There was no need for you to take off your shirt. He'd gladly do it for you.

He's a sucker for morning sex. There's something about seeing you with your hair disheveled, or your lips swollen from sleep, that drives him absolutely crazy. If you look at him in that state, he's no longer in control of himself and simply throws at you. The warmth of the sheets, the lethargy from previous sleep, and the softness of your skin are reasons enough for him to need you. After that, you usually take a shower together and although everyone in the tower suspects, no one says anything.

[baby-yongbok]

Could you pleaseeeee keep doing ASD based stuff? 🥹 Maybe a fluff where Fem!reader receives something she has a hyper fixation for from chan and he stands and admires here as she stims and lightly jumps in circles 🙏🏻❤️

A little something

Bang Chan x Autistic!reader

⤷ Fluff ⤷ WC - 0.6k ⤷ a/n - this took me forever but let's pretend it didn't... I'm sorry. It's hard for me to write ASD stuff despite being on the spectrum myself but I finally did it. I used my own special interest for this & this is based off of my experience with autism and not to meant to reflect how every person with ASD may operate. I hope that you enjoy! ♡ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ Masterlist ɞ˚‧｡⋆

You found Chan by the window, sleeves shoved up, wrestling with something in his hands — a tangled mess of clear plastic and suction cups. He muttered under his breath, so focused he didn't notice you come in until you leaned your shoulder against the doorframe with a small, curious hum.

He glanced up, sheepish, and immediately tried to hide the mess behind his back. Which was pointless, because a second later a suction cup popped loose and fell to the floor with a sad little thunk.

You blinked at him, heart already starting to race the way it did when you could feel something good was about to happen. Chan smiled — a real one, the kind that crinkled his eyes, the kind he didn’t use for anyone else.

"I, uh..." He toed the suction cup across the floor with the side of his sock. "Had an idea. For you. For, y'know, spring and stuff."

He crouched down to pick it up, grumbling to himself, before straightening up and holding the whole thing out toward you. Finally letting you see it properly.

A bird feeder.

Clear plastic, simple design, with little perches and trays. Small enough to stick directly onto the glass of your bedroom window.

“So you can see them whenever you want,” he said, voice soft, almost shy. “You shouldn’t have to go looking for them.”

For a second, you just stared. Not because you didn’t get it — no, you got it too much. The thought behind it hit you straight in the chest, so much louder than any words could’ve been. 

Your hands twitched before you could even think. You squeezed them into fists, You rocked on your heels in what slowly progressed into a small bounce, and then you burst — your hands fluttered up, half-formed movements in the air, your feet carried you in excited circles as you tried to get the fuzzy feeling out. A high, shaky noise slipped out of your throat, this bright, raw little laugh you couldn't even contain.

And Chan... God, Chan just looked so stupidly proud. Like he'd just handed you the entire sun.

You didn’t know what to do first — say thank you? set it up? hug him? cry a little because someone thought of you like this?

You did a messy mix of all of it — Chan set the feeder down carefully to catch you when you fling your arms around his waist, laughing and half-crying into his hoodie.

"I love it," you mumbled against him, voice muffled. "I love you." 

He chuckled low against the top of your head, squeezing you so tightly it felt like he was trying to put all the unspoken things into his arms instead.

"Let's stick it up now," he said, pulling back just enough to wipe your cheek with his thumb, grinning like you personally kept the stars lit.

The two of you ended up perched on the windowsill, crammed side by side, sticking the feeder to the glass with too much excitement and not nearly enough coordination. Your hands kept fluttering every time you touched the feeder — tap, tap, tap — a little dance of your fingers against the window, almost like you were coaxing the birds to come faster.

Chan caught you doing it once, and instead of saying anything, he just bumped his knee against yours, soft and understanding.

It didn’t even take an hour. A tiny, brave sparrow fluttered down, landing on one of the perches like it had been waiting for the invitation. You gasped so sharply you clapped your hands over your mouth, then started bouncing where you sat, fists clenching and unclenching in wild, giddy excitement.

Chan watched the bird for maybe two seconds — then he turned to watch you instead. Like he couldn’t imagine a view better than the way you lit up.

And honestly, maybe he was right.

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[thbbie]

༄ true form sukuna x f!reader

you're coming down from it all. the hours and hours you had been subject of pleasurable torture. he teased and edged and stretched and stimulated you as though you weren't going to feel it.

watching your expression as you experience each one, each drag of his cocks against your walls, each lick of his tongues on your body, every tight circle to your clit. sukuna didn't miss a moment, his eyes trained on you the whole time — until the curse decided you've had enough; for now, and released you from his tight hold. letting your spamming body flop against him.

you're too tired too drained to even bother worrying if that would upset him, if it would set him off. he'd killed people for much less than that in the past. and he cannot help but admire that, not quite thing you think of when you hear courage but it's close enough.

sukuna is not yet used to have to treat something so tenderly. his grip on you never tightens enough for him to consider it tight — he might pop you like a balloon; so instead his touch is feather light. just grazing the surface of you. it can be frustrating and requires patience he does not afford to anyone but it remains a meaningful change.

one that promises he gets to keep you by his side longer.

only one pair of hands is touching you now, the other resting at his side. you're already so sensitive, the unnecessary touch would only make it worse, make it uncomfortable. when did he get so considerate?

sukuna shushes your cries as soft as he could manage, it's strange but he doesn't let him limit him. the low deep sound of his voice is being stored somewhere safe in the back of your brain.

he drappes you in one of his robes, carefully moving your body to slip the large silken fabric on before he carries you in his harms himself to drover you to the baths. but sukuna doesn't leave you in the care of the maid or the servants, he washes you himself. only his rough hardened hands know the delicacy you need to be handled with, now especially.

ordering everyone out the room, sukuna wipes your bare body clean. clean of yourself, of himself, of sweat, of tears, evething. the net wash cloth running over your skin, cooling the heated skin there. oh it's so nice.

he holds you close you him when you're back on his chambers, hair damp and skin still dewy. tou feels relaxed but the exhaustion only feels more important.

sukuna keeps you in his lap, your head resting against his bare chest. es found that you like when he presses kisses to the side of your head, and do he does. pressing warm gentle kisses to you temple, your hair, your forehead. his other hand is resting against your tummy.

sukunas calloused hands, one that has crushed skulls between his bare hands, cradles your soft belly, rubbing circles on it with warm palm to sooth your body.

strangely , his movements feel unfamiliar but they come to him naturally as if by nature.

sukuna holds you like that for however long you may need, feeding you freshly cut fruit by hand, rocking you slightly and rubbing his warm hands over you until your trembling halts, and you fall asleep in his arm. with your skin clean, stomach full and your mind blissfully satiated

he thinks to himself how brave you are for allowing yourself to rest so peacefully in the arms of a beast. he watches you, tranquil and serene, as he's shifting you under the covers of his own bed. laying you on you back so he doesn't miss the soft smile playing at your slumbering face.

sukuna is at peace when he sees you like this. the feeling of your comfortable sleep contagious. he watches for as long as he can, committing you his archive of a mind; you won't live forever, not nearly as long as he will, so at the moment all he could do was cherish you like you would.

[harunayuuka2060]

Solomon: You were gone for so long. I’m glad to see you’re okay.

Solomon: Hmm… But are you eating well? You look like you've lost weight. I should come over ASAP and cook you some of my special recipes. *chuckles*

Luke: Is that a threat?

Solomon: No?

MC: *laughs awkwardly* By the way, Solomon, how are things going?

Solomon: Not so good, haha. Ever since you disappeared, we've all been on edge. We tried not to dwell on negative thoughts, but somehow, we ended up becoming suspicious of each other, thinking we'd finally lost it.

MC: Solomon...

Solomon: Surprisingly, Luke going missing actually gave us a lead!

Luke: And you're so happy about it, huh? *pouts*

Solomon: *chuckles* Of course not. Anyway, I’ll have to end the conversation for now. I’ll study the coordinates to that world, and hopefully, I’ll be there by the next morning with Simeon.

MC: Wait, Solomon! Will that be a good idea? *obviously worried*

Solomon: *smiles* You know I’m an expert at infiltrating worlds. This is nothing to me.

MC: ...

MC: *feeling reassured* Okay. I'll wait for your arrival.

Grim: *is sulking in the corner*

MC: ...

MC: *turns to Ace* Did something happen?

Ace: He cried, lol. I think he's having some abandonment issues.

MC: Eh?

Deuce: Anyway, Ace said you had an emergency.

MC: Ah, yes. *smiles* Two of my friends—

Luke: *clears his throat*

MC: ...

Luke: "Spouses".

Ace and Deuce: ...

Ace: YOU'RE MARRIED?!

MC: I wouldn't really say that, but yes. I'm in a relationship.

Ace: Dang, bruh! I didn't expect that from you!

Luke: *frowns* What do you mean?

Ace: I mean, sure, they're cute. But that's just it.

Deuce: That's a boldfaced lie.

Ace: Dude, what?

Malleus: Is there an occasion I’m not aware of?

Lilia: Hm? Oh. Is it because the Prefect is busy decorating the Ramshackle Dorm?

Malleus: Yes. I wonder if they'll invite me.

Lilia: I can ask them.

Malleus: *smiles* Please do. I want to prepare something, just in case.

Lilia: Deuce told me that two of their husbands will arrive tomorrow.

Malleus: ...

Malleus: The child of man is married?

Lilia: Yes. Shocking, isn't it?

Malleus: ...

Malleus: I always assumed they were innocent to the world.

Lilia: *chuckles* But Malleus, haven’t they proven to you time and time again that they know things you don’t?

[lanadelspray02]

A BEAUTIFUL MISTAKE: CHAPTER 1

paige x azzi

warning: sexual content !!

hey guys! an anon on tumblr requested a friends with benefits series, so here it is. I will still be mainly focusing on hold me anyway, but i will every now and then release a chapter for this series. let me know what you think or if you even want me to continue it :) I honestly dont know how i feel about this.

crossposted ao3 here

masterlist here

wc: 7370

--------------------

The AC in Azzi’s dorm apartment had been broken for two weeks, but neither of them seemed to mind tonight. The windows were cracked just wide enough to let in a breeze that barely touched the edges of the room, fluttering the corner of a Kobe Bryant poster on the wall.

Azzi was sprawled across the couch in biker shorts and a too-big UConn shirt, one bare leg tucked beneath her and the other brushing against Paige’s thigh. Paige pretended not to notice — or maybe she just didn’t want to admit how badly she did.

The music playing was a mellow, late-night playlist Azzi had made on Spotify — mostly H.E.R. and SZA, with a little bit of Brent Faiyaz thrown in. It pulsed soft and low from a speaker on the windowsill, fading into the quiet hum of the room.

Paige leaned back against the armrest, one socked foot propped on the coffee table, an almost-empty can of spiked seltzer dangling from her fingertips. She looked relaxed, but Azzi could feel the shift in the air. The slow burn of eye contact that held too long, the laugh that stuck in her throat half a second after Paige’s smile.

This had been happening for weeks. Maybe longer. Paige wasn’t subtle when she flirted — and Azzi wasn’t stupid.

“You're actually insane if you think Bryson Tiller clears Summer Walker,” Azzi said, grinning around the lip of her glass as she took another sip.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “He’s literally heartbreak personified. She’s great, but you can’t tell me Exchange didn’t wreck you in 2017.”

“I was fourteen in 2017.”

“Exactly. Prime wreckable age.”

Azzi snorted, shaking her head as she leaned over to refill her drink. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun, a few curls sticking to the back of her neck. Paige’s gaze followed the movement of her arm, the dip of her shirt collar as she reached for the bottle. She didn't say anything. Just sipped her seltzer and tried to pretend she hadn’t noticed the way Azzi’s thigh pressed a little closer to hers when she sat back down.

“You’re quiet,” Azzi said after a beat, tilting her head toward her.

Paige shrugged, lips twitching at the corner. “Just taking it all in.”

“Oh yeah?” Azzi asked, amused. “What exactly is there to take in?”

“You,” Paige said, and her voice wasn’t teasing this time. It was low and easy, like it had just slipped out — honest without asking for anything in return.

Azzi blinked, her expression flickering for a moment into something unreadable. Then she gave a lazy smile, one brow arching as she leaned in just a little closer. “You trying to be smooth right now?”

“Do I have to try?”

That earned a laugh — soft, close to genuine — and then Azzi reached out and flicked Paige’s shoulder. “Cocky.”

Paige didn’t move away. “Confident.”

“Same thing.”

“Nope.” Paige leaned forward, bracing one arm on the back of the couch behind Azzi’s shoulders. “Confidence means I know what I want.”

Azzi’s smile faltered just enough to make the air between them shift again. Paige’s fingers brushed lightly against the back of Azzi’s neck — not quite a touch, more like a suggestion. The music dipped into a new song, something with a slow bass line and lyrics they weren’t really listening to anymore.

Azzi swallowed. “And what is it you want, exactly?”

Paige didn’t answer with words. She just reached down, slowly, and curled her fingers around Azzi’s waist — firm but careful — and pulled her into her lap.

Azzi made a quiet sound, surprised more than anything, her knees folding on either side of Paige’s hips as she adjusted her balance. She was warm. Solid. Close in a way that erased the space between flirting and something heavier.

“That’s bold,” Azzi murmured, but her voice had dropped half an octave.

Paige looked up at her, hands still resting low on her waist. “You gonna stop me?”

Azzi’s hands landed on Paige’s shoulders, fingers curling slightly in the fabric of her t-shirt. Her smile turned sharp. “I didn’t say that.”

The kiss happened like an exhale — slow at first, then deeper, more deliberate. Azzi shifted her weight forward, pressing Paige back into the couch as her hips settled into the space between Paige’s legs. Paige let out a soft sound that might’ve been a groan, her hands sliding up Azzi’s back and pulling her closer until there was nothing between them but heat and history and the kind of want that had been building for months.

Azzi’s hair brushed Paige’s cheek. Paige kissed her harder. Azzi answered without hesitation.

They didn’t say anything for a long time.

Only moved — lips and hands and the slight, rhythmic push of Azzi’s body against Paige’s lap as tension coiled tighter between them like something inevitable.

 --------------------

Azzi’s mouth was on hers again, open and wanting, all soft lips and sharp edges. Paige couldn’t remember the last time she’d been kissed like this — like someone had been waiting for permission. Azzi shifted her hips in Paige’s lap, slow at first, testing, and Paige exhaled hard, fingers digging into Azzi’s waist. Her t-shirt had ridden up just enough to bare skin, and Paige’s hands found it greedily — warm, smooth, real.

Azzi pulled back just enough to breathe, just enough to look down at her with something dangerous flickering in her eyes. “Still think you’re in control?” she asked, her voice low and uneven, her hands slipping up under Paige’s shirt, palms dragging over her ribs, thumbs brushing just under the swell of her chest.

Paige licked her lips, leaned forward until her mouth was at Azzi’s ear. “Not yet,” she murmured, and then stood.

Azzi yelped softly in surprise as Paige rose to her feet, her arms instinctively winding around Paige’s neck, legs still locked around her waist. Paige held her easily, one hand under her thighs, the other braced across her back, guiding them through the small dorm apartment like it was muscle memory. The hallway was short, but the tension between them stretched it long — every second taut with heat, with the way Azzi’s breath caught against Paige’s neck, with the way Paige pressed her a little tighter against the wall as they passed, just to feel the gasp that slipped out.

Paige’s mouth found Azzi’s jaw, her throat, the place just beneath her ear that made Azzi twitch in her arms. Her grip tightened, and Azzi let her head fall back, lips parted, fingers threading through Paige’s hair as her body arched toward the contact.

By the time they reached the bedroom, they were both flushed, breathing uneven, teeth flashing between kisses that turned rough in the way that only happened when restraint finally snapped.

Paige set Azzi down gently on the edge of the bed, but Azzi didn’t let go. She pulled Paige down with her, dragged her into the sheets with urgency, and their mouths found each other again like they were starving.

Paige kissed her again, then shifted downward, dragging her mouth along Azzi’s chest — slow and open-mouthed — until she caught one nipple between her lips. Azzi gasped, her back arching, fingers tightening in Paige’s hair. Paige swirled her tongue around it, then sucked hard, just to see how Azzi would react. She wasn’t disappointed.

“Fuck—Paige,” Azzi breathed, hips twitching upward as she tried to anchor herself to something. Paige moved to the other breast, repeating the same hungry attention, and Azzi whimpered beneath her, pulling at her shoulders, trying to get her closer, deeper, more.

Paige smiled against her skin. “You’re already so sensitive,” she murmured. “Bet you’ve been thinking about this, huh?”

Azzi opened her mouth to respond but couldn’t find anything but another moan as Paige’s hand slipped lower, past the curve of her waist, fingers teasing the waistband of her underwear.

“Say it,” Paige said, her lips ghosting against Azzi’s stomach now, moving lower. “Say you’ve been thinking about me.”

“I—” Azzi’s voice cracked, half a breath, half a confession. “I have.”

“Good,” Paige whispered.

She hooked her fingers in Azzi’s underwear and dragged them down, slow and deliberate, exposing her inch by inch. Azzi tried to close her thighs, overwhelmed, but Paige pressed a firm hand to the inside of one, pushing her open again. She kissed along the inside of her knee, then up, slow and hot and teasing, until she could feel the tremble in Azzi’s legs. Paige looked up — and Azzi was already watching her, eyes glazed over, lips parted.

“Don’t look away,” Paige said, and then lowered her mouth to her.

Azzi’s reaction was instant — a choked gasp, her hips jerking up into Paige’s face, one hand flying to the headboard, the other fisting in Paige’s hair. Paige groaned against her, tongue parting her folds and licking through them like she already knew every part. She was warm and wet and tasted like every fantasy Paige had tried not to let herself have.

Paige flattened her tongue, dragged it slow from bottom to top, then circled her clit — gentle at first, then faster, firmer, until Azzi was panting above her, thighs squeezing tight around her head. Paige moaned at the pressure, loving it, letting Azzi ride her face as she worked her tongue in tight, rhythmic circles.

Azzi’s voice broke on a curse. “Oh my God, don’t stop—”

She didn’t.

Paige reached up, slipping one hand beneath Azzi’s ass and lifting her just enough to keep her in place, the other hand slipping between Azzi’s thighs to tease her entrance. She pressed a single finger inside, slow and deep, and Azzi’s whole body arched like she’d been hit with electricity.

“Paige—” It came out broken. Begging.

Paige added a second finger and started moving — curling with every thrust, tongue never stopping on her clit. Azzi was losing it, gasping, cursing, her heels digging into the mattress as her body fought to keep up with how good it felt.

Her voice was ragged. “Gonna—fuck, Paige, I—”

“Let go,” Paige murmured, barely pulling back enough to speak. “I got you.”

That did it.

Azzi came hard, thighs trembling around Paige’s head, her whole body tensing, breath catching in her throat before breaking into a long, desperate moan. Paige didn’t stop — kept licking her through it, fingers working her slow and deep until Azzi was shaking, overstimulated, pleading softly through clenched teeth.

When Paige finally pulled back, her mouth and chin slick, she crawled back up Azzi’s body and kissed her. Azzi tasted herself on Paige’s lips, and groaned into her mouth, grabbing her face like she couldn’t stand to be any farther away.

“You’re fucking unreal,” Azzi whispered when they finally broke apart, voice hoarse.

Paige smirked, brushing sweat-damp curls away from her forehead. “Told you I knew what I wanted.”

Azzi pulled her in again, rolling them so Paige was beneath her this time, and kissed her until her legs started shaking again — until wanting turned into needing all over again.

Azzi kissed her like she was making up for all the time they'd spent pretending they didn’t want this — deep and dizzying, tongue sliding against Paige’s as her hand skimmed down her chest. Paige was still panting, the aftershocks of what she’d just done vibrating through her muscles, but she didn’t resist as Azzi shifted on top of her, dragging her leg over and straddling her waist.

Paige’s hands found Azzi’s hips, still trembling slightly, and Azzi grinned against her mouth. “You good?” she asked, but the glint in her eyes said she already knew the answer.

“I will be,” Paige rasped, “once you stop teasing.”

Azzi leaned down, her mouth trailing a path along Paige’s jaw, her throat, across the collarbone already marked by a few of Paige’s earlier bites. “Then shut up and let me focus.”

Her hands were everywhere — confident but reverent, like she was still wrapping her head around the fact that she was allowed to touch Paige like this. She cupped her breasts, brushed her thumbs across her nipples, then bent down to take one into her mouth, sucking just hard enough to make Paige gasp. Paige arched into her with a sharp inhale, her fingers digging into Azzi’s back.

Azzi moved slow at first — kissing down the center of her chest, then her stomach, tongue sliding along the ridges of muscle as Paige tensed beneath her. When she reached the waistband of Paige’s shorts, she hooked her fingers there and looked up.

“Can I?”

“Azzi,” Paige groaned, “if you don’t—”

That was all the permission she needed. She pulled them down quickly, underwear with them, then tossed them off the side of the bed. She paused for half a second to just look — at Paige laid out beneath her, lips kiss-swollen, chest rising fast, legs spread open and slick with arousal.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Azzi whispered, more to herself than anything.

Paige opened her mouth to fire back something cocky — probably a joke, probably a tease — but then Azzi’s mouth was on her, and nothing clever came out.

She licked her slowly first, just to watch Paige react — the twitch in her thighs, the way her hand flew up to grip the sheets. Then she flattened her tongue and dragged it through her folds, savoring the taste, before closing her lips around her clit and sucking hard.

Paige cursed loud and bucked her hips, one hand reaching down to grab Azzi’s hair. “Holy fuck—”

Azzi smiled against her and kept going — her tongue worked in tight, steady circles, her hand sliding up to press down gently on Paige’s stomach, grounding her. Every now and then she’d back off just to tease, to flick her tongue lightly or drag it maddeningly slow, only to suck again harder when Paige started to whine.

When she felt Paige getting close — her hips rolling, her thighs starting to shake — she slipped a finger inside her. Paige choked on a moan, eyes flying open, head falling back against the pillow.

Azzi curled her finger, then added a second, pumping them in deep, slow thrusts while her mouth never let up. Paige was falling apart under her — cursing, gasping, hand tight in her curls as if she couldn’t stand the thought of Azzi stopping for even a second.

Azzi loved it — loved the sound of Paige breaking for her, the way she’d gone from cocky to wrecked in minutes. “That’s it,” she murmured against her, voice low and thick with arousal. “Come for me, Paige.”

And Paige did — hard. Her whole body tensed, her breath caught in her throat, her hips stuttered. She let out a broken sound, deep and raw, as she fell over the edge. Azzi kept her mouth on her until Paige physically tugged her up, dragging her in for a kiss with the little strength she had left.

They kissed for a long time, still half-naked, chests slick with sweat, legs tangled. Neither of them said anything for a while — not because there was nothing to say, but because whatever they’d just done wasn’t the kind of thing you could explain out loud.

--------------------

The room was quiet, save for the low hum of the fan spinning unevenly in the corner. Outside, campus had gone still — no more late-night stragglers, no more music bleeding through the walls. Just the soft sound of breathing and the occasional creak of the mattress when one of them shifted.

Paige lay on her back, arm curled under her head, eyes fixed on a faint crack in the ceiling she’d never noticed before. Azzi was on her side, the sheet tangled around her legs, her bare shoulder brushing Paige’s lightly. They hadn’t spoken in almost five minutes. The kind of silence that wasn’t just tired — it was loaded. Something was shifting between them. They both felt it.

Azzi cleared her throat, voice still hoarse from earlier. “So… are we gonna talk about it?”

Paige didn’t look at her. “Talk about what?”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “You know what.”

A pause. Then Paige exhaled and turned her head just enough to glance at her. “You mean the part where you came on my face and then pretended nothing happened?”

Azzi blinked, caught between a laugh and a glare. “Jesus.”

Paige smirked, just a little, but it faded quickly. “Fine. Yeah. We should talk.”

Azzi sat up, hugging her knees to her chest, hair a mess around her shoulders. Paige pushed herself upright more slowly, the sheet pooling at her hips. They didn’t look at each other at first.

“So what is this?” Azzi asked, voice quieter now.

Paige rubbed a hand over her face. “It was… good sex.”

Azzi shot her a look.

“What?” Paige asked. “It was. Really good. Possibly illegal in some states.”

Azzi snorted, but the laugh didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re deflecting.”

Paige looked at her for a long moment. “Okay. Yeah. I am.”

More silence. Not heavy. Not yet. Just cautious.

Azzi hesitated before saying, “I’m not looking for a relationship.”

Paige’s stomach twisted — not because she didn’t expect it, but because hearing it out loud still stung. She nodded slowly. “Me neither.”

Azzi raised a brow. “You sure?”

“I wouldn’t have pulled you onto my lap if I wasn’t.”

Azzi squinted at her. “That logic makes zero sense.”

Paige shrugged, voice dry. “Welcome to my brain.”

They stared at each other for a beat longer, then Azzi finally leaned back against the headboard. “So… rules?”

“Sure,” Paige said, though her chest already felt tight. “Rules are good. Rules are smart.”

Azzi started counting off on her fingers. “No catching feelings.”

Paige gave her a look. “Obvious, but okay.”

“No sleepovers.”

Paige gestured vaguely at the bed. “Failing spectacularly already.”

Azzi shrugged. “Exceptions can be made for post-orgasm comas.”

“Noted.”

They were both quiet for a moment, then Paige said, “No texting at weird hours.”

Azzi frowned. “Why?”

Paige glanced away. “Because 2 a.m. texts start to feel like something else.”

Azzi chewed on her bottom lip, nodding slowly. “Okay. No late-night texts unless it’s strictly logistical.”

Paige snorted. “What, like ‘meet me in ten, bring ice packs’?”

“Exactly.”

She was trying to make it funny. They both were. But the edges were too sharp, too close to something real. Paige shifted uncomfortably and added, “No telling the team.”

Azzi nodded. “God, no. You know they’d never shut up.”

“KK would start a countdown for how fast we’d catch feelings.”

“And Nika would have a betting pool by breakfast.”

They both smiled at that, a flicker of ease sliding into the space between them. But it didn’t last.

Azzi leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling. “What about… seeing other people?”

Paige froze.

Azzi looked at her. “Like… we can. Right?”

Paige forced her jaw to unclench. “Of course. Yeah. This isn’t exclusive.”

Azzi nodded quickly, like she was reassuring herself. “Right. Just sex. That’s it.”

“Exactly.” Paige laid back down again, staring at the ceiling. “Just stress relief. A mutual favor.”

Azzi laughed once. “You’re so bad at pretending you don’t care.”

Paige’s smile was tight. “So are you.”

Another silence. This one stretched.

Azzi laid back down beside her, not quite touching. “It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

“It already is,” Paige said quietly.

Neither of them said anything for a long time after that.

Eventually, Azzi rolled to her side and said, voice soft, “You’re still staying, though, right?”

Paige looked over. “Thought we weren’t doing sleepovers.”

Azzi shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “There’s an exception for post-orgasm comas, remember?”

Paige chuckled, but it didn’t quite reach her chest. “Right.”

She reached out under the sheets and found Azzi’s hand. Their fingers laced automatically.

No more words. Just that fragile, unspoken thing growing between them.

They fell asleep like that — not touching, but tethered.

And neither of them dreamed about anyone else.

--------------------

Azzi woke slowly, the way you do when your body wants more sleep but your mind has already decided it’s over. The light coming in through the blinds was soft and diluted, just enough to tint the room in a pale gray that made everything look quieter than it was. She blinked up at the ceiling, adjusting to the stillness, and only when she reached out on instinct did she realize Paige wasn’t there.

Her arm stretched across the mattress, fingers brushing the sheet, but the spot where Paige had been hours ago was already cold.

Azzi didn’t move for a moment. Her hand stayed there, resting against the empty space, and she stared up at the ceiling like maybe if she stayed still long enough, the world would shift backward. Just a little. Just to last night.

The room smelled like her shampoo and Paige’s deodorant. There was a sweatshirt on the floor that didn’t belong to her, one sleeve turned inside out like it had been taken off in a rush. Her nightstand drawer was half-open — she didn’t remember opening it. Her phone was face down. And on the chair by the closet, her clothes were folded neatly, but the edge of Paige’s t-shirt was gone.

No text. No note. Not even a missed call.

Azzi exhaled slowly, more habit than feeling, and rolled onto her back, dragging the sheet up to her chest like it might hold something together. It didn’t. Her body was still sore in places she hadn’t been touched in months — tender reminders of a night she wasn’t supposed to hold onto. But it was hard to forget. Her skin still buzzed with the shape of Paige’s hands, the echo of her mouth, the weight of how it felt to be wanted like that.

She closed her eyes for a second longer, pressing the heel of her hand gently against her sternum. It wasn’t heartbreak. It wasn’t even disappointment. It was just… that slow, empty pull. The reminder that she’d made the rules. That Paige was just following them.

Azzi finally sat up, legs swinging over the edge of the bed. Her bare feet hit the floor with a dull thud. The air was cooler than it had been last night. Her window was cracked open an inch, letting in the distant sound of someone on a skateboard and a few birds that wouldn’t shut up. She pulled her robe off the back of her desk chair, slipped it on, and padded into the kitchen without turning on the lights.

The apartment was still. Caroline and Ice were probably still asleep, their doors shut. Azzi moved on autopilot — kettle, mug, instant coffee, a splash of oat milk. Her hands moved like they were used to distraction, like they’d memorized the steps of pretending everything was normal.

She sat at the small dining table, one leg pulled up under her robe, cradling her mug with both hands. The first sip burned her tongue slightly. She didn’t care.

Her phone lit up on the counter — not a message from Paige. Just Caroline: “Brunch? I’m starving and bored.”

Azzi stared at the screen for a second, then typed back: “Sure. Let me shower.”

No mention of last night. No questions. No confessions.

She locked her phone, sipped her coffee, and kept her face blank as the mug warmed her fingers.

Just sex, she reminded herself.

She didn’t believe it either.

--------------------

The brunch spot was barely a five-minute walk off campus, one of those places that always smelled like cinnamon and espresso no matter what time of day it was. The windows were fogged slightly from the heat of the kitchen, and the patio seating was already half full of students in sweats and sunglasses nursing iced lattes like hangover remedies. Azzi spotted Caroline immediately — tucked in the far corner under an umbrella, one foot propped on the empty chair across from her, sunglasses perched in her hair and a nearly empty mimosa in her hand.

Azzi approached quietly, adjusting the strap of her crossbody bag across her chest. She’d tied her curls up into a high bun after her shower, loose strands escaping around her face. Oversized hoodie. Leggings. Big black sunglasses she hadn’t bothered to take off even though the sun wasn’t that bright.

Caroline looked up as she approached and dropped her foot from the chair with a grin. “There she is. I was about to order for you and pretend we were dating.”

Azzi huffed a soft laugh, sliding into the seat. “As if they’d believe you could land me.”

“Ouch,” Caroline said, clutching her chest. “See if I order you the good pancakes now.”

Azzi let herself smile — small, easy — and picked up the menu, even though she already knew what she wanted. Something about pretending to think helped slow the morning down.

“You look like shit,” Caroline added after a beat, not unkindly. “Rough night?”

Azzi’s eyes stayed on the menu. “Didn’t sleep much.”

Caroline hummed, stirring the last inch of her mimosa with the straw. “Doing what?”

Azzi looked up briefly, then back down. “Just… thinking. Trying to reset.”

“Sure,” Caroline said, tone casual but eyes sharp. “You know you ghosted me last night, right? Whole team was in the group chat. You just vanished.”

“I wasn’t feeling it.” Azzi folded the menu closed and placed it on the edge of the table. “Needed a quiet night.”

“You always need a quiet night,” Caroline said, but it wasn’t an accusation — just an observation. She leaned forward, rested her chin on her hand. “You weren’t alone, though.”

Azzi didn’t flinch, but she didn’t meet her eyes either.

Caroline watched her for another second, then leaned back as the server arrived to take their order. Azzi asked for a green smoothie and banana pancakes. Caroline ordered eggs and hashbrowns, another mimosa. The server smiled and left. The silence returned.

“I’m not trying to pry,” Caroline said finally. “Just… checking in.”

Azzi nodded once. “I appreciate that.”

“But also,” Caroline added, tapping her fingers lightly against her glass, “if you’re going to sneak around and act mysterious, at least let me pretend to be supportive.”

Azzi laughed under her breath, and this time, it sounded real. “There’s nothing to support. It’s not a thing.”

Caroline tilted her head. “Uh-huh.”

“I mean it.” Azzi picked up her water, took a sip. “It was just… whatever. Not a big deal.”

“You’re talking like I asked for a ring size.”

Azzi gave her a look.

Caroline held up her hands. “Okay. Not a big deal. Totally normal to disappear for a night and show up looking like you wrestled a fever dream.”

Azzi smirked. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re deflecting.”

Their food arrived, giving Azzi a moment of reprieve. She busied herself with syrup, focusing a little too hard on pouring it evenly. Caroline didn’t push further, but the silence between them stretched in that familiar way — not uncomfortable, just heavy with what neither of them was saying.

Azzi stabbed a piece of pancake, chewed slowly, then asked, “What’s the group chat say this morning?”

Caroline shrugged. “Mostly nonsense. Nika wants to go out tonight. KK’s being KK. Someone made a joke about Mia again, which I still don’t understand.”

Azzi’s fork froze halfway to her mouth.

Caroline clocked it.

But Azzi just said, “Mia’s a freshman. Paige tutors her sometimes.”

“Interesting.”

“Not really,” Azzi muttered, setting her fork down. “She’s just loud.”

Caroline didn’t say anything else. She just picked at her eggs, let Azzi sit in her own quiet.

They finished the meal without circling back. But when the check came, Caroline paid for both of them without comment, and Azzi didn’t argue. As they stood to leave, Caroline bumped her shoulder lightly and said, “Just don’t shut me out, okay?”

Azzi adjusted her sunglasses and gave her a small nod. “I won’t.”

She already had.

--------------------

The gym was half-lit and echoing when Paige pushed through the back doors, a worn-out hoodie tugged over her tank top, earbuds already in. The playlist was old — one of her summer grind mixes — all bass-heavy and wordless enough to drown things out. She liked the gym this way, still waking up, not yet buzzing with team chatter or Coach’s whistle. It gave her space to move without thinking. Just repetition and sweat.

She dropped her bag, tied her shoes tight, and picked up a ball without stretching. The first few jumpers were lazy, loose-wristed, just enough arc to feel it again. The fourth clanged off the rim and bounced hard. She chased it down, jaw already tight. Fifth went in. Sixth rattled, but fell. Seventh — smooth.

It was muscle memory. The one thing she could trust to not get complicated.

She didn’t hear the door open, didn’t notice Nika until she was standing at half court, spinning a ball on one finger like she’d been there all morning.

“You work out in silence now?” Nika called out.

Paige popped her earbuds out. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“You’re not that hard to find. Also, you missed breakfast.”

Paige caught the ball off a bounce and wiped her wrist across her forehead. “Didn’t feel like a crowd.”

Nika cocked her head. “You always feel like a crowd.”

Paige smirked. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Doesn’t have to. You get my point.”

They moved into a rhythm without really talking about it — Nika rebounding, Paige shooting, the kind of flow that came from years of knowing each other’s timing. But even with the ease of it, Nika was watching her. Paige could feel it. The too-long silences. The way Nika let her miss four shots in a row without a comment. That wasn’t normal.

After the next make, Paige said, “You’re being weird.”

“I’m being observant.”

“Same thing.”

Nika tossed her the ball, then crossed her arms. “You’ve been quiet lately. Like, Paige quiet. Which is worse than regular quiet because it means you’re either overthinking or actively self-destructing.”

Paige let the ball bounce once before catching it again. “I’m fine.”

Nika gave her a flat look. “You disappeared last night. Didn’t answer the group chat. And now you’re here at nine in the morning like it’s therapy hour.”

“I just needed to shoot.”

“Uh-huh.”

Paige took another jumper. Swish.

Nika walked closer, dropped the ball she was holding. “Look. I’m not asking for a diary entry, but you know you can tell me shit, right?”

Paige exhaled slowly. “I know.”

“Then tell me why you’re acting like you got hit by an emotional semi-truck.”

“I’m not.”

“You only dodge like this when there’s a girl involved.”

Paige hesitated — just for a second — and that was all Nika needed.

“Oh my god,” she said, eyes lighting up. “Who is she?”

“There’s no girl.”

“Lie better.”

“There’s no relationship.” Paige corrected, catching her own slip too late.

Nika’s eyebrows went up. “So there is a girl. And something happened.”

Paige shook her head, turned back toward the hoop. “It’s not a big deal.”

Nika folded her arms. “You know, I was gonna invite you to Ted’s tonight. Whole crew’s going.”

Paige hesitated again, then said, “I don’t know if I’m up for—”

“That’s exactly why you’re coming.”

Paige shot again. Missed.

Nika grinned like she’d just won a bet.

They didn’t say anything for a while. Just the rhythm of ball on hardwood, sneakers squeaking, the low hum of music still leaking from Paige’s phone speaker in her pocket. But then Nika pulled her own phone out and tapped into the group chat with a mischievous gleam in her eye.

“Just to let the people know,” she said.

--------------------

Group Chat – “UConn Fam”

9:04 AM

Nika:

Ted’s tonight. 9PM. I expect chaos. No excuses.

—

1:57 PM

Aaliyah:

I'm in. who’s trying to black out responsibly

Aubrey: 

Im 100% in

Ines:

Only if someone keeps KK away from the DJ booth this time

Ice:

Can’t promise anything

KK:

Is Paige even alive??? girl’s been dodging us like we’re taxes

Aaliyah:

Fr she’s been in stealth mode all week

KK:

She was probably with Mia again 👀👀

Caroline:

Who the hell is Mia???

Nika:

Freshman Paige tutors. loud. confident. definitely crushing.

KK:

Tutoring. suuure 😏

Ice:

Here we go again 💀

Paige is typing…

Paige is typing…

Paige is typing…

Nothing sent.

POV: Paige

She’d been lying on her bed, hair still damp from her post-gym shower, phone face up on her chest. She hadn’t opened the group chat when the first message came through that morning — just saw Nika’s Ted’s invite flash across her lock screen and ignored it. But this? She read through the thread three times.

Mia. Of course they brought her up.

Her thumbs hovered above the keyboard. She could’ve joked it off. Said something dumb. Given them the reaction they wanted.

But the idea of Azzi seeing her name tied to someone else made her stomach twist — not because of guilt. Because she didn’t want Azzi thinking it meant anything. Because it didn’t. Not even close.

She typed, “you’re all sick” — then deleted it. Locked the screen.

Let them think what they wanted.

POV: Azzi

Azzi had just gotten back from brunch and dumped her bag on the floor, hair still in a half-undone bun, hoodie sleeves pushed to her elbows. She wasn’t even hungry, but she’d eaten anyway. Smiled at the right times. Lied when it counted.

She hadn’t opened the group chat until the notifications stacked. Her eyes skimmed the thread. Then froze.

Paige was probably with Mia again 👀👀

The name hit harder than it should have. Azzi stared at it, thumb trembling just slightly over the screen. The kind of joke that wasn't really a joke. The kind of thing that clung.

Her jaw tensed. She exited the app. Turned her phone face-down on the windowsill.

She wouldn’t ask. She wouldn’t care. She wouldn’t let herself care.

But her chest still felt hollow.

--------------------

POV: Azzi

Azzi adjusted her crop top in the mirror for the third time, smoothing her palms over her ribs as if the fabric would magically shift into something more comfortable. It was tight — on purpose. The kind of top she usually reserved for nights she needed to feel in control of something. Paired with high-waisted jean shorts and the same black sneakers she always wore when she wanted to look casual but still hot, it was… a choice.

“You sure you don’t want to bring a hoodie?” Caroline called from the kitchen.

Azzi looked down at herself. “No.”

Caroline popped her head into the room and let out a low whistle. “Okay, damn. You’re showing up tonight.”

Azzi turned slightly, checking her profile in the mirror. “Too much?”

“For a regular night? Maybe. For seeing your almost-hookup-you’re-trying-not-to-have-feelings-for? Perfect.”

Azzi gave her a look. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Caroline said sweetly, already walking away.

Azzi sprayed perfume lightly over her neck and wrists, then pulled her curls over one shoulder. Her lip gloss was subtle. Her earrings matched the thin chain around her throat. She looked effortless.

She didn’t feel it.

Ice was already by the door in camo pants and a tiny halter top. “We going or what?”

Azzi grabbed her phone, glanced at the lock screen. Nothing.

She wasn’t expecting anything. That’s what they’d agreed.

Still, she lingered for a beat before answering. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

POV: Paige

The mirror above her desk was streaked at the edges, but Paige leaned in close anyway, swiping on a quick coat of mascara with practiced ease. It was the only thing she ever wore — just enough to make her eyes stand out without looking like she cared. Her hair was freshly straightened, parted down the middle and tucked behind her ears, still warm from the flat iron.

She pulled her oversized white tee over her head, the cotton soft and slouchy against her skin. The neckline hung a little loose, just wide enough to show the strap of her sports bra and a peek of her collarbone. She adjusted it without thinking, then grabbed her black cargo pants from the back of her desk chair and stepped into them, cinching the waist tight. They sat low on her hips and hung just right — baggy, but not shapeless. She checked herself in the mirror. Oversized shirt, cargos, fresh sneakers, silver cross chain glinting at her collarbone.

Casual. Comfortable. Still hot.

“You look like the kind of girl that ruins lives,” Nika said from the doorway, one brow raised.

Paige smirked. “That’s the goal.”

KK piped up from where she was sprawled on the futon, holding her phone over her head. “Mia’s gonna combust if she sees you in that.”

Paige rolled her eyes, grabbing her phone from the windowsill. “She’s not going.”

“You sure?” KK grinned. “Girl looked ready to fake an ID just to find you.”

“I’m not going for Mia,” Paige said, shoving her phone into her pocket.

“Didn’t say you were,” KK sing-songed. “But she’s definitely going for you.”

Nika gave Paige a look, but kept her mouth shut. Just handed her the hoodie Paige had left crumpled on the chair. “Take this. In case you want to hide your shame.”

“I don’t have any shame,” Paige said, pulling it on but leaving it unzipped.

KK cackled. “Lies. But she looks fine as hell.”

Paige didn’t respond. Just grabbed her keys and nodded toward the door. “Let’s go.”

But as they left the dorm, she tugged the hem of her shirt down once more, fingertips brushing her hips — like she was already thinking about who might be looking.

--------------------

POV Azzi

Ted’s was packed — low ceilings, sweaty walls, and music that hit harder than it had any right to on a Thursday. The bass rattled through her ribs, all synth and bassline and bodies packed too close together. Azzi stuck near the front with Caroline and Ice at first, drink in hand, eyes scanning through the blur of familiar heads and half-lit faces.

Then she saw her.

Paige.

Standing across the room near the back wall, just a little outside the crowd, lit by the dull red glow of the overhead lights. Oversized white tee, black cargos, silver chain catching the flicker from the DJ booth. Straight hair tucked behind her ears, her posture loose like she didn’t care — but Azzi knew that look. It was curated. Paige looked relaxed, cool, unfazed.

She looked hot.

Azzi took a slow sip of her drink, already half warm in her hand. She wasn’t going to stare. She wasn’t.

Paige turned at the same moment, eyes locking with hers like it was choreographed. Azzi didn’t look away. Neither did Paige. The corner of Paige’s mouth lifted — not a full smirk. Just enough to say yeah, I see you too.

Azzi’s stomach dipped.

Then someone stepped into Paige’s space. A girl. Shorter, brunette, loud in the way freshmen always were. She leaned in close, too close, her hand brushing Paige’s arm in a way that made Azzi blink.

Mia.

Of course it was Mia.

She said something that made Paige laugh, head ducking slightly. Azzi’s jaw clenched. She didn’t wait for more. Just turned, walking straight toward the bar without a word.

POV Paige

She felt Azzi’s eyes before she saw her.

Across the room, tight black crop top, denim shorts, thighs out, curls framing her face like it was personal. Her skin glowed under the lights — bronze and smooth and soft in a way Paige remembered way too well. She couldn’t stop looking. Wouldn’t. Azzi looked unreal. And Paige knew she was doing it on purpose.

Paige’s fingers curled into her pocket, trying to keep cool.

Then Mia appeared out of nowhere — all perfume and confidence, brushing against Paige’s arm like it was nothing.

“Didn’t expect to see you out tonight,” she said, already half shouting over the music.

Paige kept her tone casual. “Didn’t expect to be here.”

“You look good,” Mia said, eyes flicking down. “Dangerous. In a fun way.”

Paige forced a laugh, but it didn’t land. Her eyes drifted back across the room — only Azzi was gone. A flash of dark curls weaving through the crowd, headed toward the bar.

Something tugged in her chest. Harder than she wanted it to.

“Hey, you want a drink?” Mia asked, still touching her.

Paige stepped back a half-step. “I’m good. I gotta—yeah. One sec.”

She didn’t wait. Just moved — slow but direct — slipping through the crowd until she found Azzi leaning against the bar, waiting for the bartender, arms crossed under her chest like she was trying not to look annoyed.

“You ran off,” Paige said, sliding in beside her.

Azzi didn’t look at her right away. “Didn’t realize I owed you a debrief.”

Paige smirked. “You looked good tonight.”

Azzi finally turned to face her. “You looked busy.”

“That wasn’t—” Paige sighed. “I didn’t ask her to come up to me.”

“Didn’t stop her from touching you.”

Paige leaned in a little closer. Her voice dropped low, just for her. “I didn’t want her.”

Azzi’s brow arched. “And who do you want?”

Paige’s mouth hovered near her ear, breath warm. “When can I fuck you again?”

Azzi didn’t flinch. Just tilted her head slightly, lips brushing a smile against the rim of her glass. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“How tonight goes.”

Paige chuckled, low and quiet. “So I need to be on my best behavior?”

Azzi turned to face her fully now, her voice sweet but loaded. “No, Paige. You need to be interesting.”

The bartender arrived. Azzi ordered another vodka soda. Didn’t ask if Paige wanted one.

Then she turned and walked back into the crowd — leaving Paige standing there, smirking to herself, aroused and entirely off-balance.

--------------------

POV Paige

She watched Azzi disappear into the crowd, glass in hand, hips moving like she didn’t know she was being watched — or worse, like she did.

Paige stayed at the bar for another minute, pretending to care about nothing. Then she turned, rejoined Nika and KK near the edge of the dance floor, trying to act like her pulse wasn’t jackhammering in her throat.

The lights were low and hazy now, flickering between violet and red as the DJ dropped into something grimy and bass-heavy. Around her, everyone was moving. Laughing. Drunk.

Paige wasn’t.

She let KK shove a cup into her hand, took a sip without tasting it, eyes scanning through the blur of bodies. She found her fast.

Azzi was near the center of the floor now, surrounded by people but not with any of them — just dancing, head tipped back, curls sticking slightly to her neck. Her crop top rode high as her hands moved up, hair bouncing with the beat, the curve of her waist catching every flash of light like a fucking magnet.

Paige didn’t realize she’d stopped breathing until Nika nudged her. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Paige said, eyes still locked.

Nika grinned like she already knew. “You’re about to do something stupid, huh?”

“Very.”

And then she moved.

It wasn’t a rush. Just a slow weave through the crowd — casual, discreet, like the music pulled her in. She let herself get swallowed by the pulse of it, drifting close, close, until Azzi’s back was just inches away.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t give a warning.

She just slid a hand low on Azzi’s hip and pulled her gently back into her front.

Azzi didn’t flinch. Didn’t turn.

She leaned into it.

Pressed her ass into Paige’s pelvis with a slow grind that matched the beat — one hand lifting to rest lightly behind Paige’s neck, the other snaking back to guide Paige’s grip lower.

Paige’s mouth parted slightly, breath catching. She moved with her, bodies aligned, letting herself get lost in it. Her hand flattened against Azzi’s stomach, anchoring them together as they moved.

It was heat. Friction. Payback.

No one around them noticed — or if they did, no one would remember. Not in this crowd. Not in this chaos.

Azzi tilted her head back, mouth grazing the curve of Paige’s jaw.

Then, her lips at Paige’s ear, low and breathless:

“Let’s get out of here.”

Paige didn’t answer.

She just grabbed Azzi’s hand and led her through the crowd — fast, deliberate, like she already knew how the night was going to end.

[greersarchive]

This is a really interesting analysis for me, because it highlights something that interests me, and that I think is worth talking about, because it becomes a sticking point in a lot of conversations about how to achieve social justice. See, if you'd asked me if Data resorted to violence in this episode, I would have said no; he resolved the situation peacefully. He didn't hurt anyone, he didn't use physical force to make anyone leave the planet, all he did was destroy an object. Data even emphasizes that fact, saying that the aqueduct he destroyed was a thing, and that things, unlike people, can be replaced. I grew up with a mother who once chained herself to a post office to protest the Vietnam war. To me, disruption, civil disobedience, etc, have always been tools in the toolbox of non-violent protest, the way you fight back without going straight to shooting people or planting car bombs or whatnot. I'm not sure if I was just out of touch, or if the idea of non-violent protest was warped over time into this milquetoast shadow of itself (but I suspect it's the second one, and it was done deliberately). I don't call for non-violent protest anymore because I know it doesn't get read the way I mean it. But I wonder, sometimes, how much needless infighting this difference in definition has caused.

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

wicked game

chapter 11 - here comes the bride

synopsis: y/n is sarah’s roommate and the embodiment of sunshine. rafe, on the other hand, is her complete opposite. when the boys place a bet that he can't win her over, rafe takes the challenge without hesitation. after all, he never backs down from a dare. the closer rafe gets to y/n, he finds himself drawn to her warmth in a way he never expected, and for the first time, he wants to be more than just the guy with a bad reputation.

but secrets don’t stay hidden for long, and when y/n finds out the truth, rafe is left to face the consequences. now, he has to prove that somewhere along the way, the bet stopped mattering, because losing her was never part of the plan.

masterlist

cw: language

you couldn't figure out why this stupid fake frat wedding was making you feel things. negative things.

you dragged sarah back to your room after the grilling the girls had given you, all certain you had feelings for rafe.

"so wait, who is rafe even getting fake married to?" you asked her.

sarah grinned. "emily reed, president of zeta delta phi. you already hate her don't you?"

you threw a pillow at her, "for fucks sake sarah let it go!"

she burst into laughter, "i'm joking i'm joking! wait." she paused, "rafe has that jumper. oh my god is that rafe's jumper? when the fuck did you get that?"

you looked down. shit.

you immediately started peeling it off. "no. no! ok, it's not like that i swear. stop. i picked it up when i was leaving his room in a rush to pick up lucas."

"and you're wearing it right now?" sarah could not hide the excitement on her face.

"it's soft. that's all. it's cosy and i like it and that is the only reason. for comfort." you collapsed onto your bed, hiding your face.

"come on y/n you're not fooling anyone." sarah smirked.

"look, it's not like that okay? we just had a moment in the garden the other day at the party. it was quiet, and maybe kinda... nice? and now everything feels... i don't know. weird."

"and now you want to be his frat bride." sarah teased you once again.

"stop!" you groaned into your pillow.

sarah flopped down next to you, voice suddenly gentler. "hey. it’s okay if you like him, you know. even if he is a dick. and my brother."

"i don’t," you said again.

sarah raised an eyebrow.

"i don’t!" you repeated, defensive now.

"well, if you did, i wouldn't be mad. and part of me thinks he likes you too."

your ears perked at that, "really?"

"i don't know, it's rafe." she shrugged like it didn't matter.

you paused. that name alone came with so many contradictions.

yeah. it was rafe.

the same rafe who was cocky and infuriating and said things like "maybe it's a sign" when you kept bumping into each other and called you 'princess' with a stupid half-smirk.

but also the same rafe who sat with you in the garden while the party raged on, letting you hold his hand like it meant something. the same rafe who protected you when you got roofied and looked after you all night.

you bit your lip, sarah staring at you like she was trying to figure you out. "what's going through that pretty head of yours?"

"it's just. he was...nice. the other night i mean. like, weirdly nice. it just doesn't seem like the same guy everyone talks about."

sarah sat up "how weirdly?"

"i mean," you mumbled, "it wasn’t just banter. it felt different. he just sat and we talked and he held my hand and-"

"pause. he held your hand?" her eyes lit up in shock.

"yes but not like that." you spoke quickly

sarah’s jaw dropped. "not like that? y/n, babe, this is rafe we’re talking about. he doesn’t even high-five people unless there’s a crowd watching."

you rolled your eyes but your cheeks were already warm. "it wasn’t romantic. it was just… quiet."

"okay, sure," she said, still clearly unconvinced, "he quietly held your hand in the garden under the stars while you had a vulnerable moment and now you’re wearing his hoodie and getting jealous about a fake wedding. totally platonic."

you sighed, falling back onto your bed. "i hate you."

she laughed, "no you don’t. you hate that i’m right."

you stared up at the ceiling. "it’s just confusing. i didn’t feel like this with lucas. not even close. and now rafe’s getting fake married and i can’t stop thinking about how stupidly annoying that makes me feel."

sarah’s voice softened. "it’s not stupid. you like him. that’s okay."

you didn’t say anything for a moment. then quietly, "do you really think he likes me too?"

she hesitated, not teasing now, "yeah. i think he does. i think he’s just as confused about it as you are."

you nodded slowly, letting her words sink in.

a/n: AHHHHHH i am screaming at this and i wrote it

🏷️: @heartzshiftamy @hoefordrewstarkey @luvrclub  @leleee3 @yktayy9669 @miumiuestmoi @anacamofficial @cokewithcameron @bloodofadoll @shorttandsweett @mysticbby2009 @emmiesummers @wintercrows @drewrry @starkeyxcameron @xxbirkindoll2 @stoned-writer @drewstarkeyslover @hannieskzzz @verycherryblossomhideout @letstryagaintomorrow @@jjsbbg7 @mariamadison6-blog @laniirackssss @xeneasworld @countryclubwhore @drewsphswife @mattyskies @moonywhisp3rs @starkeygirls @lmaolmaos @thereallifebambi @emeloyy @vcnillafairy @rafecameronswhoore @st8rkey @angeldiaryy @therealfairybatman @drewsephrry @vanessa-rafesgirl @dreamybabbyy @pogueprincesa @happy-mushrooms @hannaa20002000 @whoismxtti @darlingstarkey @mattssweetheart @wuluhwuhmaster @harringtonsbowgirl @my-name-is-baby @rrosiitas @davinashifts333@cinnamqnnlatte @fastlovela @stelleduarte @fastlovela @deeninadream @moond0llie @dylsdaily @nonbeliever1

[flofaiiry]

sick day ; michael robinavitch x reader

synopsis: robby coming home sick one day from work and reader who just wants to take care of him but this man is so STUBBORN and hates accepting help.

warnings: established relationship, robby is sick & stubborn, immense amounts of fluff and domestic reader & robby

wc: ~1500

note: thank u to everyone who voted in the poll! the people yearn for robby fluff so that is what they will receive 🤲 this was supposed to be just a teeny tiny blurb but i got a little carried away. anyways!!! someone needs to take care of this man pls.

you knew he wasn't well when he got home from work last night but he insists he's fine and just needs to sleep it off but from the amount of tossing and turning you felt last night you don't think he did a whole lot of that.

you take it upon yourself to call the hospital from his phone to tell them he wouldn't be coming in today. you know he probably wouldn't want you to do that but you also know that this man DESPERATELY needs a day off, especially today, but will never take it upon himself to make that happen. you turn off his alarm in hopes that he'll sleep a little more but what you didn't account for was his internal alarm clock, refined through years of waking up at 6am or earlier.

like clockwork his eyes open right when his alarm would normally be blaring. he winces and turns over to see you already staring at him. "my alarm didn't go off," he says, voice raspy from a mix of sleep and sickness. "i know, i turned it off," you reply simply, hand going to his forehead to feel if he's warm. he is. robby squints & rubs his eyes, "you turned it off? why?"

"because you're sick," you say like it's fact (because it is). "i also called the hospital and told them you wouldn't be coming today, so you should try and get some more sleep." your voice is soft, expecting pushback from this stubborn boyfriend of yours. "baby..." he sighs, rolling onto his back and rubbing his eyes. "i know, i know, i shouldn't have done that, but look at you robby. you're miserable, you're in no condition to take care of anyone else today."

robby is nothing if not headstrong.

"i have to go to work, baby," he sighs and tries to sit up. immediately overcome with muscle aches, he flops back down onto the mattress. "if you can't even get out of bed what makes you think you're going to be able to be on your feet all day, huh?" he doesn't say anything, just sighs, looking back to you, "i can get out of bed, i'm fine just... a little sore."

you raise your eyebrows, not buying any of that for a second, "ok then, stand up." he scoffs, "oh, i can stand up." he says, but doesn't make any effort to. you watch him for a second, then shrug, "then do it." you say again, blank expression on your face.

he takes a deep breath before attempting to get up again, getting a teeny bit further than last time, but eventually collapsing back into bed again. he sighs. "ok. maybe i can't get up." you lean over and kiss his forehead, "i know. go back to sleep, let me take care of you today."

"ok," he breathes, finally accepting defeat, "fine." you smile, pleased that your efforts were coming to fruition. his eyes fall shut again and before you can say anything else, you swear he's already out. you run your hands through his hair once before pressing one more kiss to his abnormally warm forehead.

it isn't until around 11:00am that robby wakes up, the sleep ridding his body of the muscle aches and actually allowing him to get up. you're sitting in the living room, watching the news on low volume when he walks in, hoodie and sweatpants on as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. "god, i needed that." he sighs, making his way over to you on the couch. you smile, having to physically resist the urge to say 'i told you so,' and opt for wordlessly leaning your head onto his shoulder.

"thank you," he says quietly into your hair, after pressing a kiss to the top of your head, "for making me stay home." you smile, "i may not be a doctor, but i know when people need rest. and you my love, need rest." he laughs quietly and drapes his arm over your shoulder, pulling you into him. the faint smell of his cologne on the sweater filling the air around you. "i love you," he says simply, like it's the easiest thing in the world, your smile grows.

"i know, now let me love you."

you place your hand on his cheek and gently pull his face towards yours, pressing your lips together in a soft kiss.

" 'm gonna make you sick," he says when you pull away, but you just shake your head.

"don't care," you kiss him again, this time for a little longer. the high pitched noise of the kettle coming to a boil snaps you both out of it.

"mmm, coffee?" robby hums, only to be met with the shake of your head, "no, i read that it's not good when you're sick, makes you dehydrated because of the caffeine or something." he groans when you stand up, walking over to the kitchen. "that can't be true, coffee makes everything better."

you shrug, "not according to web m.d. it doesn't"

"according to michael robinavitch m.d. it most certainly does." he teases, turning around to watch you move through the kitchen.

you smile. "nice try, but no medical license for you today. i'll be doing the doctoring for now." he raises his eyebrows, amused smirk coming on his face now, "oh really?"

you nod, "yup. and this doctor's prescription is peppermint tea, watching movies, and cuddling with your girlfriend all day." you take a teabag from the box and place it into his usual mug, paint chipped from years of wear and tear.

"hard to argue with that logic," you hear the tiniest bit of rasp in his voice from the germs. "oh and tylenol," you add, looking up from pouring the water, "tylenol would probably help too."

"tylenol would definitely help," he corrects, "do we even have any of that? i thought you finished it last time you were sick."

"we do now, i went out." you reply, walking back over to the couch to hand him the mug now full of steaming hot tea. he accepts the mug from you, mouthing a 'thank you,' before taking a sip. "you went somewhere? god, i must have been out because i did not hear a thing."

you nod, taking a seat on the couch again next to him. "yup. got meds and stuff to make soup."

he raises his eyebrows through a sip, "make soup? no canned stuff?" you shake your head, "only the best for my patients."

the rest of the day is slow. robby ends up napping for a majority of the time. you make him the soup you promised and watch some history documentary netflix recommended.

as the sun falls and the moon comes up, robby's got his head on your lap, your hands are in his hair, the gentlest scratch of your nails lulling him into yet another nap. it's getting late, and you know he's gonna want to go to work tomorrow. if there's anyway that's going to happen he's going to need a good night's sleep.

"i know when i'm the sick one you'd just carry me to bed but... i don't think that's gonna work out well for me if i try." you say, voice quiet as you run your hand along his arm to slowly wake him up.

"just fireman carry me," he teases, "throw me over your shoulder like a bag of potatoes or something."

"if you want to be responsible for all my broken bones, then sure, i'll give it my best shot." you smile down at him before he sits up. rubbing his eyes and mentally preparing to stand up.

"come on, you know you'll be more comfortable in bed." you say, standing up now and pulling gently at his hand.

"yeah, i know," he hums, standing up. once he's fully straight, he snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you into him. your head falls to rest on his chest like it's where it belongs. like it's natural.

"thank you," he whispers into your hair. if there were anyone else in the room, they wouldn't even know he said anything. he presses a kiss to the top of your head, before pulling away to look down at you, "for taking care of me."

you smile, "of course."

"seriously, i know i'm an ass about accepting help. i know i'm stubborn as hell but... thank you for not giving up."

you just smile. not sure what to say. there's no world in which you'd give up on taking care of the man you love who neglects himself all too often.

"let's go to bed," you nod towards the bedroom, "sleep is part of my treatment plan too."

he returns your smile, "lead the way, doctor."

as always send me any feedback / thoughts / ideas / requests u have!!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

[screamlet]

”Buck is not a friend you can bust balls with” !!! This just unlocked something inside me, wow, yes. That’s the mismatch that’s happening here because Chimney is a ball buster, too! Hen and Athena bust each other’s balls! Ohhh, I feel like I’m seeing this “found family” with new eyes.

yes ok i'm not alone!! the ball busting comment is about this gifset about eddie accusing buck of making things "about him" and specifically the bachelor party set in the middle. the bachelor party set isn't as bad as the other ones, but it's still a personality mismatch! because some people? you just can't bust their balls. (bust balls = fuck around with someone, like jodere in spanish)

a good example is THIS VERY SCENE where tommy arrives at the bachelor party in 7x06 - it's not that deep, but it still shows the difference (and why i wanted eddietommy friendship so fucking bad):

EDDIE, SASSILY: Didn't know you could bring a date to a bachelor party. TOMMY, EASILY: Hey, I knew Chimney before he was Chimney.

BUCK, EARNESTLY: Yeah, also, he's not officially my date until the wedding tomorrow. Tonight is about Chimney. EDDIE, SASSILY: But his wedding is about you?

and buck's reaction:

buck's not like. MORTALLY WOUNDED. he's not SCARRED FOR LIFE. but that lighthearted little jab kinda hurt! if not hurt, at least made him think: "oh wow, why DID i invite this guy i like romantically to my future brother-in-law's bachelor party, i mean yeah they're old friends, yeah he and eddie and everyone else coming get along great, but am i the jerk because i wanted him here?? what's gonna happen when everyone realizes he's also here because he's MY DATE tomorrow??? are people gonna say stuff because he's MY DATE and he's A GUY and A GUY THEY KNOW??? it's gonna take away from chimney isn't it!!!! shit, i did make it all about me!!! just because i liked a guy and couldn't control myself!!! shit. shit."

and that's not what eddie meant!!! it's not that deep!!! i don't think people tell jokes expecting them to land with a thud like that, buuuuuut. buck is not a ball busting friend. it's not infantilizing to point that out and respect that boundary when it comes to the earnest people in our lives. some people don't like to be teased! he is a big earnest guy who wants to be handled sweetly, and Once Upon a Time his best friend and his boyfriend could have been each other's bitchy teasing besties and they all could have been happy together, but fuck this show we can't have nice things, apparently. god forbid anyone HAVE A FRIEND on the DISASTERS, EMERGENCIES, AND FRIENDSHIPS SHOW.

[jinjoohaa]

PROFESSOR TOJI X READER !!

Private Lessons

He said he wouldn’t tolerate distractions in his class—but you became his favorite one to fail, punish, and keep after hours.

You weren’t late on purpose — not really. Maybe just a little.

The last thing you expected was a new tutor. Let alone him.

You burst into the classroom, breath caught in your throat, winded from your sprint up the stairs. You hadn’t even fixed your hair before walking in, muttering an apology as you brushed past rows of chairs.

And that’s when your eyes landed on him.

He stood at the front — tall, broad-shouldered, built like a man who did more than just lift pens and scold students. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal thick forearms, veins like wires under taut skin. His shirt, fitted and black, clung to his chest in a way that felt unfair to existence. A hint of tattoo ink teased from beneath the cuff. And his eyes… cold, sharp, unforgiving.

You nearly tripped.

He didn’t flinch. “Seat. Now.”

You obeyed faster than your pride allowed.

“I’m Toji Fushiguro,” he said, not bothering with a smile.

“Newly assigned to handle criminology until the board finds someone better. You’re all in final year, so I don’t expect to babysit. You’re adults. Act like it.”

Silence.

One boy cleared his throat. Toji turned to him. “Got something to say?”

The boy shrank.

Toji’s gaze swept across the room. “I don’t tolerate cheating, laziness, or idiotic questions. Don’t waste my time — and I won’t waste yours.”

He didn’t look at you again. But you were already hooked.

Something about him — the deep voice, the no-nonsense glare, the sheer dominance of his presence — settled into your skin like a fever.

You were old enough, a college girl who’d dated enough men to know none of them ever made you feel. Not like this. Not even close.

The rest of the class? They hated him by week two.

He was harsh, brutal with his words, and didn’t hesitate to call people out for late submissions or low marks. But you? You adored it.

You found excuses to stay back after class. Asked questions that didn’t even relate to criminology. You leaned over his desk too often. Let your hand linger too long when handing in assignments. You knew what you were doing — and you didn’t care.

Toji barely acknowledged it. Sometimes he’d sigh and mutter, “Try harder,” like he wasn’t noticing how your skirt rode up just a little too high when you crossed your legs.

But behind that indifference, you saw it — the flicker in his eyes. The strain in his jaw.

You were testing him. And you were going to win.

You failed the mock test on purpose.

Every answer you bubbled in was deliberate — not completely wrong, but just enough to tank your grade. Everyone else passed.

Toji’s expression when he flipped through your paper was priceless — a mix of fury and disbelief. You caught it from your seat near the back. His eyes flicked up, locking on yours. You smirked. He didn’t.

The next day, right as class started, he tossed the graded papers onto the desk.

“Everyone passed,” he said, tone sharp. “Except one.”

The room went silent. You didn’t flinch.

“To the one who thinks this is funny — who thinks playing games is cute — congratulations.” His voice boomed across the classroom like a slap. “You just bought yourself extra time with me.”

He picked up your test, red circles and question marks bleeding over the paper.

“Y/N,” he called. “Front. Now.”

You stood, hips swinging just a little too much as you walked down the aisle. Toji didn't bother hiding the disdain in his face.

He held up your paper between two fingers like it was something foul.

“This? This isn’t a joke. You want to fail in front of your father, your future employers, and anyone with half a brain? Go ahead. But not under my watch.”

You bit your lip, eyes gleaming.

“Are you done scolding me, sir?” you said, voice just shy of mocking. “Or should I get on my knees too?”

The classroom gasped. A few students looked away.

Toji’s jaw clenched.

“Library,” he said coldly. “Tomorrow. Six PM. You’re retaking this in front of me. Don’t show up dressed like you’re going to a party.”

He walked back to the board, dismissing the room with a wave of his hand.

You’d never felt more alive than when you put on that little black crop top. Thin, clingy, low-cut. The skirt barely covered your thighs. But you wore a jacket over it — modest enough to pass the day unnoticed.

Evening fell. You walked into the library with your books in hand, your jacket zipped high.

Toji was already seated at the far end of a long wooden table, a mock test in front of him and a single pen beside it.

He didn’t look up when you entered.

“Sit.”

You obeyed, heart pounding.

He passed you the paper. “You have an hour. No bullshit.”

You clicked your pen. “Of course, sir.”

Thirty minutes in, the library had thinned out. Students packed up and filtered out as the evening darkened.

You kept writing — and slowly, slowly, you reached up and unzipped your jacket.

Toji didn’t react at first. But when the fabric slipped off your shoulders, revealing your tight top, bare arms, and the deep swell of your cleavage…

He stilled.

You shifted in your seat, chest rising as you leaned forward to write. The bounce was deliberate. So was the way you tilted your head just enough to let your lips part.

Toji’s eyes darkened.

You kept writing, pretending not to notice the way his hand dropped beneath the table — slow, rough — palming the hard bulge in his pants.

Minutes passed. You watched him from the corner of your eye.

“Sir,” you finally said, voice saccharine, “I’m done with the test. You can finish playing with yourself at home.”

His hand froze.

He stood abruptly, slamming your paper shut. You barely had time to smirk before he grabbed your wrist.

“Sir—?”

He dragged you between the towering library shelves, deeper, darker — where the cameras couldn’t see.

He turned on you, eyes blazing. “You think this is a game?”

“I think,” you said breathlessly, “you’ve been waiting to fuck me since the moment I walked into class.”

Toji’s nostrils flared. “You little—”

His hand slammed above your head against the shelf. “You’ve been teasing me all semester. Dressing like that. Talking like that.”

“I just wanted your attention, sir.”

“Well,” he growled, “now you’ve got it.”

His body towered over you, heat pouring off him like smoke. You could barely breathe with how close he stood — the scent of musk, the sharpness of cologne, the raw fury in his eyes as his arm caged you in against the shelf.

“You’ve got my attention now?” he echoed, voice low and rough, like gravel grinding between teeth.

“You think flashing your tits and failing tests makes you special?”

You swallowed, lips parted, trying to speak — but your throat was tight, your breath shallow. His hand dropped from the shelf and caught your jaw instead, thumb pressing into your cheek just hard enough to make your eyes sting.

“I should make you kneel right here,” he muttered, dragging your face up so your eyes locked.

“Let every fucking book in this place witness what a desperate little brat you are.”

Your thighs clenched. “Then do it.”

Something snapped.

His hand flew down, grabbing the back of your neck, and spun you around so fast your jacket slid off your arms. He bent you forward over the shelf, the hard edge biting into your ribs as your cheek met the wood.

“You don’t get to give me orders,” he snarled into your ear.

“You gave up that right the second you walked into class with those fuck-me eyes.”

You moaned — softly, involuntarily — and he laughed, dark and dangerous.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s what I thought.”

His hand slid under your skirt, fingers trailing up your thigh, rough palms dragging goosebumps in their wake. You gasped when his thumb brushed your soaked panties.

“So fucking wet already?” he mocked. “Whoring for your professor now, huh?”

“Only for you,” you whispered, pushing your hips back, begging for more.

“Say it louder.”

“Only for you, Sir,” you said again, voice trembling.

That earned you a slap — not to your ass, but to your cunt, right through the fabric. Your knees nearly buckled.

“You don’t even know what you’re asking for,” he hissed.

He yanked your panties down to your knees and ran two fingers along your folds, spreading your slick across your entrance. He leaned in again, pressing his chest to your back.

“I could ruin you,” he said, lips brushing your ear.

“Use you. Fill you so deep you won’t stop dripping me for days.”

Your mouth dropped open, a moan escaping.

“Please—”

“Please what?”

“Please do it.”

His fingers stilled at your entrance. You were shaking now — with anticipation, with heat, with the ache of being so close to something you’d craved for weeks.

Toji chuckled darkly. “Beg for it.”

You whimpered. “Sir—please.”

“That’s not begging.”

His fingers slipped just barely inside you — a tease, a ghost of what you needed — then disappeared completely. You almost sobbed.

“I want your cock,” you said shakily.

“I want you to use me, right here, right now. I want you to fuck me--- please.”

He hissed through his teeth.

“Good girl.”

He unbuckled his belt with one hand, the sound sharp and final in the quiet of the library. You heard the zipper next — felt the thud of something heavy against the back of your thigh. Then his fingers returned, this time rougher, pushing deep inside you without warning.

You gasped, hands clawing at the shelf.

“Fuck,” he muttered, curling his fingers, watching your body twitch.

“Tight. Of course you are.”

He pumped them in and out, quick and deep, until your thighs shook and your knees went weak. Then, without a word, he pulled them out — and replaced them with his cock.

You cried out. He didn’t give you time to adjust. Just bottomed out, one long, ruthless thrust that knocked the air from your lungs.

“That what you wanted, slut?” he growled into your ear, pulling back to slam into you again.

“Me fucking you like a toy? Is that it?"

“Yes,” you breathed, tears prickling at your lashes from the intensity. “God, yes—!”

He grabbed your hair and yanked your head back as he fucked into you, hard and fast, the sounds of skin slapping echoing between the bookshelves.

“You’re so fucking desperate,” he said.

“Acting innocent in front of your friends, but all it takes is one cock to make you fall apart.”

You could barely respond. The way he filled you — thick and unrelenting — made it impossible to think. He angled his hips, hitting that spot deep inside that made your whole body jolt.

You clawed at the shelf. "Sir—gonna—!”

He slapped your ass, hard. “Not yet.”

Your moan broke off into a gasp.

“You don’t get to come,” he said through clenched teeth, still pounding into you. “Not until I say so.”

Your legs trembled, thighs soaked and shaking under the force of each thrust. The shelf rattled with every movement, your cheek pressed to the cool wood as you whimpered for him, breath fogging against the books you’d long forgotten.

“Sir—please,” you sobbed. “Please let me—”

He yanked your head back again, forcing you to look over your shoulder at him. His expression was furious — not with anger, but restraint. His jaw tight, eyes darker than you’d ever seen, chest rising like a man barely hanging on.

“Beg like you mean it.”

You swallowed hard, voice cracking. “I need to come, sir. Please. I’ll do anything, just—please. I can’t take it—”

He groaned low, like your desperation hit him somewhere deep. “Fucking brat.”

Then he flipped you.

In one swift motion, he pulled out and spun you around, hoisting you up by your thighs and pressing your back to the shelf. Books toppled behind you, forgotten. He entered you again — deeper, somehow rougher in this new angle, forcing you to wrap your legs around him as he filled you to the hilt.

You cried out, hands flying to his shoulders.

“I should ruin you for this,” he growled, thrusting up into you with a pace that made your mind blur.

“I should fuck you so hard you forget your goddamn name.”

“I already have,” you whispered.

His head dropped to your shoulder, teeth grazing your skin. “Fuck.”

His hand found your throat, squeezing just enough to remind you who was in control. Not hard — not cruel — but commanding. Possessive.

“This cock,” he muttered against your ear. “This what you wanted, doll?”

“Yes,” you gasped.

He pulled back just enough to stare down at you, sweat at his brow, lip curled. “Then take it. Take all of it.”

And he fucked you like he meant it — brutal, deep, possessive. You bounced in his arms, moaning into the crook of his neck, nails digging into his back as your orgasm coiled like fire in your belly.

“I’m gonna come,” you whispered brokenly. “Please—please, Sir—”

“Come for me.”

That was all it took.

Your whole body tensed, then shattered around him — wave after wave of pleasure crashing down. Your vision blurred, mouth open in a silent cry as you clenched around his cock.

He cursed loudly, slamming into you once, twice more before spilling inside with a growl, his whole body seizing with release.

Silence.

Only your ragged breaths filled the air, your limbs shaking, your forehead resting against his.

Then Toji pulled out slowly, setting you down on shaky legs.

His eyes lingered on your ruined expression, the mess between your thighs, the flush on your chest.

“Library’s closed,” he muttered, tucking himself back into his pants.

“Let’s get you cleaned up before someone catches us.”

You blinked up at him. “That’s it?”

He smirked. “Oh no, doll. That was just the first lesson. And i'mma teach you a whole semester."

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