#edit: there is SOME meaning in this but only if you squint

[strandedaylily]

starry-eyed fool

[jessiesjaded]

most interesting popular accounts to me are the ones that just post stuff like gifsets or art or writing but never ever say anything, like no tag rambles, no personal posts, no opinions, no rants. im always like surely.... surely you have something to say....

[grabby-smitten]

Concrete Jungle: King of the beasts

Summary: Buying a hybrid was not what you had in mind when you asked for independence. Sylus didn’t like humans but his owner was the exception.

Subjects: Albino lion Hybrid!Sylus x F!Reader

Word count: 4.1k+

Content Warnings: Hybrid AU, smut, owner reader, kissing, cunnilingus, P in V, breeding, cnc if u squint really hard, biting, textured tongue. Use of words like predator/prey, cunt, pussy, kitten. Not edited and no beta.

A.N: I learned that big cats can’t purr and I was so disappointed. Oh, well….ah! I might do one for each li. k bye 💋

“Are you sure, I need one?” You’ve asked your parents that question for the umpteenth time.

“Yes, a hybrid is a good caretaker and it would make us feel better knowing one is protecting you.” Your father answered with a tired smile, understanding your uneasiness but they weren’t going to change their mind.

Moving out and finally becoming independent was just one step away from happening. Your parents were against it at first. Coming from money means someone will always be after your trail, danger and they had overprotected you, their only daughter since… well, even before you were born. They weren’t able to have natural children so you were conceived through artificial methods. Which, according to your parents, was a whole ordeal and suffering. Details that you rather not know.

It was time, though, to deep your toes into a world of your own. You wanted freedom for once. No dozens of bodyguards, no tracking devices and no fear of the unknown.

The part of convincing your parents was hard. No, after no, after no. Until, the head of security, taking pity on you, suggested buying a hybrid for you. Not just any hybrid; one specially made to protect and serve.

Now it was your turn to profoundly refuse. Everyone had one and those who didn’t, desired one… like some kind of accessory. It sickened you and besides, you didn’t want another responsibility. You wanted your own life! Not taking care of some… dog? Cat? Fish?

In the end, you had no other choice but to agree and here you were, in some facility. Breeding facility? Training? You didn’t care enough to pay attention, honestly.

Walking behind your parents in an all-white hall, smelling like antiseptic and gagging at the chemical sensation in your throat, you started to notice how the white walls began to turn into cages. Placards hung in the walls near the tinted glass and steel bars of the cages with descriptions of the… hybrids?

Looking up from the labels, you finally realized you no longer were alone. Each cell was occupied by humanoid-shaped shadows. The tint of the reinforced glass obstructed your vision but it was clear they were there.

So lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize a couple of strangers had joined your family. Paying a bit more attention to their chatter, you concluded they were doctors or scientists from this facility. They were explaining something about their products and that it was the best the market could offer. You frowned at their words. It was like you were buying a car… they even explained the insurance policy.

“And this specimen, right here, is our finest hybrid!” One of the men talking to your parents loudly explained.

You stepped closer to the placard and read the few words it contained. ‘Albino Lion Hybrid (Panthera leo Hybrid, large cat family Felidae). Apex predator (no natural enemy known). Renowned king of the beasts. More active at night. Preferable habitats: grassland, dense scrub, savanna, and open woodland. Nomadic male.’

Your eyes widened once your brain processed the information. This was no guard dog or house cat. Before you could utter a complaint about how obnoxious this all was, the tinted glass cleared and you were looking straight into a pair of scarlet eyes.

Sylus almost laughed at the face of the female standing outside his cell. The little mouse seemed in shock to see him there. What was she expecting? Where else would he be? If not caged and on display here— absurd, he thought. All humans that came here, came for one thing and one thing only; to purchase a wild species, a unique breed to flaunt to their peers. Sylus continuously thought about how weird these humans behaved in society. Their hierarchy dynamics were messed up and he despised that.

You felt his eyes mocking you, such deep red and the only thing you could feel was irritation. Frowning, you turned your head and left him. See how he likes grouching on his own.

Once you were a few steps away, the scientists or doctors stared at the red-eyed big cat hybrid with wonder and… respect? This place was bonkers, you thought to yourself.

“So this is the one?” Your mother asked and marveled at the sight of the lion hybrid. White-silver hair, large, powerful presence, and sharp features.

“Yes, ma’am. Our best subject. Well trained in all the aspects you requested and fairly knowledgeable which is hard to come by with these beats.”

Hearing all that gave you stomach reflux, the acidity burning your esophagus. Your dam was about to break and all your pent-up feelings would end up costing you your freedom if it wasn’t for the red-eyed hybrid. He knocked on the glass and you jumped, startled. You were surprised, he even beckoned you with a finger and again, surprised now with yourself, you automatically obeyed.

It was like a trance. A hypnotic daze of sorts. Both met face to face once again, only separated by the reinforced glass. For a moment you were distracted, the outburst you were about to have laid dormant in the back of your head.

What is this…? Sylus couldn’t help but feel a sense of familiarity. That’s why he was so close to the glass earlier too. He couldn’t see the other side a while ago but something was pulling him there. The whole day he felt restless and on guard as if something resonated within him.

Could this be—

“Ah! Marvelous! Look! They are already interested in each other! Sylus is not showing any signs of hostility or repulsion…” a different scientist exclaimed with eagerness, interrupting whatever connection you had with Sylus at that moment.

Not many words were needed to convince your parents after that show you and Sylus put up. Papers were signed, money transferred and a very confused Sylus was sedated and prepared for shipment.

The big city. Polluted air, noisy streets twenty-four hours a day, and hybrids everywhere. Most people carried one; a human with some animal characteristics, and now you were one of them too. Sylus was scheduled to arrive in a few minutes. All the things you would need to care for him were already in your apartment and even his paperwork. Name, birth, permits and you; listed as his owner.

The melodic tune of your ring bell announced the dreaded moment. You knew Sylus would be escorted here and that most of the traveling time he would have been sedated, but still the long distance between your new home and the facility he was kept in was almost six hours away. You feared a big grumpy cat.

Oh boy… grumpy was an understatement. He didn’t look happy. The moment he stepped foot in and all the straps holding him were taken off, he waited for the delivery people to disappear and he pounced. Surprisingly not on you. He went through all your stuff. According to the guide you received he was scenting. He went through your whole house; rubbing, scratching and overall making a mess.

“Stop! Hey, hmm… Sylus? You don’t have to scent my clothes.” You tried talking to him but he was not interested in your opinion, apparently. He just glanced at you and kept doing whatever he was doing before, like you were the one, not understanding. You had to snatch your underwear from his closed fist in a panic.

He went nonverbal for a week. A week! You were going insane. Yes, he obeyed. Yes, he was extremely independent and didn’t cause any more commotion besides the panty situation on the first day. But God… he was extremely quiet. It wasn’t until you commanded him to that you realized you should have read the manual until the last page; not only the summary.

“Sylus! Say something!” You demanded; going insane was not in your plans for the foreseeable future. They never told you he was mute or anything of that nature.

“Is there anything you need from me, my lady?” His deep and slow voice had your heart leaping out from your chest.

You just stood there, gaping and looking at him like you couldn’t believe he was able to make a sound. Yeah, not even his steps produced sounds. Sylus examined his human with a gleam of humor in his sapphire eyes. This face was a common one for her and he found it… almost endearing. It reminded him of the first time you two met.

“You can talk…” you whispered low and saw how his fluffy round, and white ears twitched. “You can talk!” Again, you exclaimed, pointing a finger at him in disbelief. “Why haven’t you said anything before?!”

“I wasn’t allowed to,” he calmly explained. That mischievous twinkle in his eyes never left, “my owner never requested me to do so until now.”

And that’s how you spend almost three days reading the darn manuals with a now very talkative feline.

You found that Sylus was more than just a pet. He could cook, clean and even force you to exercise which ended up backfiring. You couldn’t keep up with his supposedly healthy routine. A healthy lifestyle means a happy owner, and you would curse under your breath every time he repeated it.

In general, you were happy, he seemed happy and living with him was easier than you thought. Quickly, you two began to build a bond and it was a matter of time before he began to realize why it had been so easy to adapt to this human. His human which is how he referred to you.

Following the manual, you always made sure to have everything Sylus would need. Even his heats. At first, you tried to get him a heat partner and it was a mess. More like you were a mess. Even Sylus was surprised at how you ended up kicking out the poor rental gazelle hybrid in less than five minutes. You didn’t understand what took over you to be so… overprotective.

Oh, but Sylus was not complaining. Watching you almost declare war in his name gave him a deep satisfaction. So much so that he accepted to take suppressants for the time being.

After that incident, things began to change drastically. Sylus in return became a bit more aggressive towards any living creature that was in less than a mile radius of you. Growling, pushing, and even wrapping you with his tail and pulling you towards his body anytime he felt you were in danger. Yeah, you were in so much danger from the tube man… that air dancing balloon from the car wash a couple of blocks away.

“It can be that bad…” you took hold of his arm around your waist in a reassuring manner.

He’s been walking with you in his hold since you crossed paths with the inflatable dancing man.

“It has erratic movements. You never know what he might do next.”

Yeah, it was a recurring situation.

Yeah, he was prepared for everything and anything. Well, except one morning when his nose woke him up.

A sweet intoxicating scent traveled through his nostrils and shook him awake. He felt his mouth water, his canines aching, and his eyes turning into thin lines. The predator in him had been disturbed and its awakening meant trouble.

In all his years in captivity, he had never felt such hunger. Something was clawing in his chest, desperate to come out, each intake of air was pulling his sanity deeper and deeper while the monster surfaced.

Like any good hunter, he let his nose guide him through the house. Following such an intoxicating aroma took him to your door. There he stood—elaborated breathing, sharp fingers encrusted on his palms searching for restrain. You were inside; sleeping soundly in the early hours of the morning. He could hear your soft breathing mixing with his wildly beating heart. Knowing you weren’t aware of the predator outside your door sent a jolt of excitement through his body. Easy prey.

Was it you? Were you the one producing such… inebriant aroma? Why?

He took the handle with a death grip, his rational side fighting against instinct. He felt the urge to hunt, pursue, chase… this… this aroma and make it his own. With an internal battle raging inside him, Sylus felt the door weighed heavy on his palm, the handle burned, but he still stepped in.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room, it made no difference to him that you slept in complete darkness; his ruby-red eyes could see just fine. Then, his gaze focused on your sleeping form, little movement from your steady breathing and you had no idea that a hungry predator stood at the foot of your bed.

But Sylus didn’t move, didn’t pounce on you like he wanted. Torn between instinct and duty, he was frozen in place, sweating and overwhelmed with indecision. Your scent was clouding his every sense, making it even more difficult to do the right thing. It was like time had stopped and the only thing on his mind was the palpitations in his groin for even letting his skin touch the hair surrounding you.

What was the right thing? He asked himself. Neck—cracking as his body suddenly shuddered in pain, Sylus was holding himself back by a fine thread.

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. You were not like his kind who would accept mating just because of a sudden heat. You were human and he had that fact ingrained into his mind. With a whimper of pain and trepidation, Sylus walked over to the side of your bed; every step was excruciating for the hybrid. Once he reached the edge, he did like every other night shared with you. Sylus, silently whining, laid beside you and wrapped his arms tightly, but this time he kept a generous distance between his hips and your back.

He was not a mindless beast. Not to you.

“Sylus… I can’t breathe…” you don’t know when, you don’t know how, but Sylus always ended up sleeping on top of you like a weighted blanket. “Sylus!”

“You don’t wanna know what I did to the last person who woke me up.” Each word came with a little slur at the end, he was barely waking up. No a second goes by and you felt his spiked tongue grooming the nape of your neck and soft growls shaking your whole body.

“Someone’s happy today, hmmm?” You asked in a short breath, reaching for his round and fluffy ear. As you scratched, you heard the deep grumbles of satisfaction increasing.

“Smells good…”

You felt him sniffing all over your chest, deeply inhaling, moving his head downwards. Sylus pulled your covers in a hasty manner and kept descending. Your eyes widened as you realized where he was going and your feet quickly stopped him; placing them on his shoulder and chest.

“Sy-Sylus! S-stop!” Your hands joined your legs and feet, placing your palms on his mouth and the rest of his face. “What do you—“

You stopped mid question as you felt a bit of moisture in between your legs. In a panic, your mind counted the weeks since you moved in and you have forgotten to make an appointment for your birth control replacement… which meant you must be ovulating. How could you forget? It’s been weeks! With everything happening after moving, getting Sylus and adapting to the new city. You had completely forgotten…

A muffled sound came from behind your palm and then a rough tongue pushed against your skin. You slowly retracted your arm, looking at him with apologetic eyes. It was your fault, after all.

“I was saying that you seem to be in need of assistance,” he uttered, arching an eyebrow at your saddened face.

His heavy body was pressing against the sole of your feet, your legs kept him at bay and it surprised you how… physically insistent he was being.

“What do you mean?” You quickly replied, feigning ignorance and he seemed to know your every trick because his first reaction was to give you one of those salacious smiles of his.

“You can’t exactly lie to my nose, kitten.” He almost growled every word, sending shivers through your body. “You’re fertile.”

Before you could even utter a word to contradict his truth, his hands brushed the back of your raised legs for then his fingers gently tapped your skin. You let out a squeak of surprise and swiftly moved your legs, thus giving him an opportunity to nestle in between your thighs.

“If you’re making fun of me, it’s not funny,” you rebuked, but even as you said that the pressure and sudden ache in your lower regions began to increase with the proximity and weight of Sylus.

“I’m not.” He chuckled and it reverberated down your tummy, sending deep palpitations through your core, “you didn’t read the whole manual yet, now did you?” His finger gently tugged your chin, making you stare right into his crimson orbs.

“No…” you sheepishly mumbled, embarrassed of being found again and your lack of knowledge about some stuff still in the encyclopedia-like book you were given.

“Give me the order and I will deliver, Kitten.” He whispered, eyes calling for your surrender. Sylus was pushing the right buttons by being so close, touching you, and having you cornered right where he wanted you.

“You mean…” voicing your hesitation didn’t deter him from destroying your inhibitions, brick by brick. His eyes were hypnotizing, he would give you anything you wanted and you knew you would be safe, right?

He had you caged between his body and the bed, your mind going a mile per second and your heart racing just as fast. No, he wasn’t moving an inch more and you knew he wouldn’t unless you said so.

“Okay…” you sighed finally removing a burden from your shoulders, “h-help me.” You wanted him to alleviate your aching.

“As you wish, Kitten.”

Not soon had those words left his lips, he was on you. You felt the heaviness of the impact of his lips on you. He had seemed calm while talking but his actions spoke differently. Sylus’ kiss was demanding, fiery even. His tongue took no time to slip in between your abused lips, delivering tentative licks to yours; as if tasting and enjoying you.

He kept his low throaty snarls flowing over your body, crushing you against the sheets. You could taste him too, wild, intense, so Sylus. Two bodies lay in the bed, limbs intertwined. Sylus hands traveled up your body, fingers gripping at anything he could find, your moans being greedily swallowed.

His tail kept a steady thumping behind him, lulling you deeper into his embrace. You would let him do anything, be anything if it meant this fire ignited in your chest would never cease to exist.

Sylus grasped the back of your head, fisting strands of your hair for him to pull back and expose your neck to his aching teeth. He felt euphoria ran through his veins as soon as his pearl whites connected with your tender skin. A growl and the stinging stab on your neck made you gasp, hands gripping his collar to bring him even closer as if that was possible.

In a hurry, his other hand began to tear away your pajamas as his teeth continued to gnaw almost painfully at your throat.

In a blink of an eye, you were lifted and bent. Your face harshly met the warmth of pillows. Gone were your clothes. In what moment exactly? You don’t recall and you didn’t really care at that moment.

“I knew it– fuck– the moment I saw you, I knew it.” Sylus rasped out, breath suddenly hitting your nude backside. “This was mine before you even knew it.”

He suddenly lifted your hips, exposing your dripping core to his crimson gaze. You whimpered as the cold hair hit you, hands gripping the bedsheets, and that’s all you could see. Your own fist and abundant white.

“Sy-Sylus!” You shrieked.

Your exposed pussy was invaded by his mouth, and a low vibrating sound joined. His bumpy tongue lapped eagerly, the texture making you mewl and tremble as you unconsciously tried to pull away. Now the chuffing sound changed to a growl of displeasure, his hands quickly moved to your lower tummy and pressed you back against his awaiting lips.

A mess, a wet and sloppy mess. That’s what Sylus was, still holding your body against his face. He couldn’t care less about anything other than your flavor and sounds overtaking his entire being. He slurped, nipped and spit back in just to repeat it all over again.

It took no time to have you trashing and shaking on his grip, cuming on his face, the chuffing sounds intensifying with your moaning.

Skin on skin, no clothes separating him from you, you didn’t register when he freed his body of them. Too lost to care, too much at once to have a sense of anything other than Sylus.

“You take me so well… My kitten—made for me…” he growled as he slipped every inch of him. Your warm walls protested at the intrusion as he mounted you.

Pinning you down, chest pressed against your back and your face shoved into your drool-stained pillows.

“If you keep struggling, kitten… I– fuck, fuck– you’re making it really hard to hold back” he groaned as his eyes zoomed in on your head trashing and shaking. The predator in him just looming around the corner, his female ready for the taking.

“It’s too big!” Your scream was muffled by the pillow. As your wailing reached his ears, his cock throbbed and released a few ropes of white.

“You’re being so good, kitten. Just a… bit longer…” Sylus sighed with pleasure as the creaminess made it easier to thrust into you. Incessantly, hitting that spongy spot, making you cry out as you felt more burning cum filling you up. Both breathless, both panting and an arrange of noises filled the room.

“I feel so full! Sylus! I can’t!” Tears streamed down your face at how bloated you felt, but he kept pushing and bursting inside you. One after the other; face down you had no other option but to take it.

“Not full enough— you need more…” hips slamming into you, the squelching sound of your insides consuming the silence— him bottoming out again and again. “My cunt… will only have my cubs…”

You’re not sure how long it was, you were in and out. Lost a daze, being shoved, pressed and pounded mercilessly… Sylus voice swirled through your mushy brain— satisfaction, and ecstasy running wild through both of your bodies.

Blinking once, twice. You felt heavy and your foggy vision wasn’t helping. You still felt the aftermath of it all. Legs sporadically spamming, lower tummy so heavy and sore.

“You… came so much…” you whispered in between breaths. His cum was dripping from your tender hole, rapidly pooling on the bed. “Why?”

He shrugged, as he caressed your cheek.

“A lion’s thing,” he mumbled softly, pulling you closer and gently holding you.

The rest of the day you were spent. Too exhausted to do anything else. Sylus bathed you, changed the bedding, brought you drinks and food, and gave you the darn manual to finish it for once.

“Sylus!” You slapped his naked chest with indignation. “Here,” you pointed to an article you highlighted, “it says that lion hybrids can copulate for two to three days? Two hundred times in succession? Are you insane?” That explains a lot.

“I am just waiting for you to rest, humans are more delicate than I thought. We’re not moving from this room.” He deadpanned.

Your expression fell as his eyes seemed to show how serious he was being.

“I read that lionesses bite the male’s ballsack when they are upset or something,” you grinned wickedly. “I will do that if you don’t behave!”

“I wouldn’t oppose, sweetie.” He goaded. Your smile slowly faded as your threat was not working as planned. “So… I see you are feeling more… energetic.”

You threw a pillow at him before he pounced on you.

Ah, yes… a gentle protector a trusted guardian, but a beast on the sheets.

[atlabeth]

unadulterated loathing (pt 1)

pt 2

pairing: fiyero tigelaar x fem reader

summary: you are forced to partner up with fiyero on a history project. things don’t go as you imagine.

a/n: wicked was really good, i love jonathan bailey, and we're coming up on finals season which means im writing about how stressed i am. also halfway through this i realized reader is lowkey paris geller coded lmao. this got away from me so im splitting it into 2 parts, i had a lot of fun writing it so enjoy! also im high posting this so if there's any editing issues im sorry lol!!

wc: 5.5k

warning(s): reader is stressed to the max constantly. she is kinda mean to fiyero but he's into it so it's okay. mostly fluff

Your fingers were beginning to cramp. 

You should have been used to this by now with Doctor Dillamond. You’d been in his class for a few months now, and you graded essays for him often. He often had a propensity for verbosity, but this lecture had been an especially hefty one in preparation for your midterm projects.

He would be announcing partners before the end of class—much to your dismay, for you worked far better on your own than with others holding you down—and you figured you would want to have as much of a head start as possible. 

Great Oz, how you hoped you would be paired with one of your friends. Coralie and Ezura were your only contenders for top of the class—Elphaba had potential as well, not because of the magic she couldn’t control but because of the brain she very well could—and anyone else would frankly slow you down. Doing a large research paper with someone who didn’t care as much as you did would be a drag you didn’t care to go through. 

Midterms were only the most important thing, for they set the track towards finals and affirmed your skill with your assignments, and your first midterm was potentially the most important thing for, when completed successfully, set you on the correct track altogether. 

You tried not to think about it too much (though you failed almost immediately), for you were sure Doctor Dillamond would honor all the work you’d done for him by putting you with a suitable partner. 

“I see some of you are getting restless, so I will cut class short today.” Your eyes snapped up from your paper to see the professor smiling, and you could hear sighs of relief around the room. “I’m sure you’re all eager to know your partners for the midterm paper.” 

The sighs of relief turned to groans, and you had to agree. Assigned partners should have been considered archaic at this point in time. 

Doctor Dillamond trotted back to the projector and, with a bit of difficulty, replaced the image with a piece of paper. Everybody in the class was paired off in groups of two—you immediately started searching for your name, squinting slightly to see despite your spot in the front, and the furrow between your brows deepened when you realized you couldn’t find it. 

You searched instead for your hopeful options. Coralie was with Mayara, Ezura was with Nicholas, Elphaba was with Galinda—of course. You let out a slight huff of annoyance, not just at your disappointment but at the continued lack of your name. 

Perhaps he’d merely forgotten. You didn’t know how Dillamond could have forgotten you, seeing as you were only his best student and literal TA, but things happened. Your anxieties only grew as you heard the beginnings of whispers throughout the room as your classmates saw their pairings, either excited or dismal. 

“Class is dismissed,” Doctor Dillamond said. The room began bustling as students gathered their things, already talking with their friends or searching out their project partner—you heard Galinda squeal and saw her grab Elphaba’s hands out of your peripherals. You could only worry your lip between your teeth as you swept everything in your bag, hardly waiting a second before rushing up to Dillamond’s desk. 

“You didn’t call my name, professor,” you said, managing a smile as you tried to act like it wasn’t killing you. How could he have not called your name? Was there something wrong? Great Oz— had you been somehow moved out of the class? Was your work not exemplary enough? Your assistance not assisting enough? “I don’t have a partner.” 

His mouth opened, but you only found yourself continuing, the words practically tumbling out of you.  

“Of course, if you intended for me to be on my own then I am perfectly alright with that!” Your smile widened as your fingertips dangled over his desk. “I— I prefer it, in fact, so if that is it then there is really no issue at all—”

“Mr. Tigelaar!” he interrupted, and your head turned on instinct to see the eponymous boy arm in arm with Galinda (who was arm in arm with Elphaba) just in front of the door. “I hope you are not about to leave.”

Fiyero flashed a look at his companions before offering one of those easy smiles he seemed to always have up his sleeve. “You dismissed the class. I believe I am part of your class, am I not?”

“You are,” he said, “but you were not assigned a partner. Surely you wouldn’t be trying to get out of the project.”

Your free hand clenched as the threads started to connect. Doctor Dillamond wouldn’t do this to you. Would he?

That easy smile remained on his lips as he turned to Galinda and whispered something in her ear. She giggled and pecked him on the cheek before she walked out, pulling Elphaba behind her, and Fiyero sauntered over. 

“Of course I’m not trying to get out of it,” he said. “Whyever would you think so?”

“Your attempt at a quick exit before you could be assigned a partner,” the professor said. “But it is no matter, for your partner is right here.”

You blinked. He would do this to you.

Why would he do this to you?

“Well, pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand. “Fiyero Tigelaar.”

You ignored him, for you couldn’t look away from Doctor Dillamond. Would it be mad for you to strangle a Goat?

“Professor,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “why?”

“Mr. Tigelaar’s grades in my class have not been satisfactory, as I’m sure he is aware.” Dillamond moved away from his desk, prodding the chalkboard with his head to move it out of the way. “I care about all my students, even if they seem not to care for my course. I believe a partnership for the two of you would be beneficial.”

Your jaw clenched. “So you’re forcing me to tutor him because he hasn’t got a brain.”

Fiyero chuckled. “Ouch.”

“Not tutoring, just working on your midterm together,” he said. “And if you end up teaching him a few things along the way, then we would all be better off, wouldn’t we?” 

“Professor, with all due respect, this is ridiculous!” you exclaimed. “Why should I have to risk my grade, my midterm, my standing altogether at Shiz just to help him?” 

“Should you perform the way that is typical of you, there should be no issues.” Doctor Dillamond gave you that professorly look and your teeth grinded against each other. How dare he try to take the moral high ground. “Now, the two of you better hurry off. You haven’t got forever to work on this project.” 

“Professor,” you whispered, determined to not let up, “why are you punishing me like this?”

“I’m not punishing you, my dear.”

“Fiyero couldn’t care less about any of this,” you insisted. “I’m going to fail my midterm and it will be all his fault!”

“If you believe he can make you fail, then you haven’t got as much faith in yourself as I believed.” Doctor Dillamond looked at you. “Trust me—and yourself—that this will all work out.”

You stared back—it was rather difficult to have a staring contest with a Goat. “I don’t suppose I can change your mind on this?”

“You’d be correct.”

You huffed and glanced away. “Fine. But expect those test scores to take an extra day.”

He let out a bleaty sort of laugh while you walked away. You considered it a credit to yourself that you held back the childish tantrum you wanted to throw as you moved back over to your desk to gather the rest of your things. You shoved your books into your bag with a bit more anger than necessary, and you heard footsteps behind you. You glanced over to see Fiyero sidled up beside you, leaning against the desk next to yours. 

“Surely you won’t be this irritated at me the entirety of our project.” He still had that unbothered smile on his lips, and it made you want to hit him. “It might make this a much more miserable partnership.”

You let out a mirthless laugh as you shouldered your bag. “Don’t act like this pains you. You’re just going to ride my coattails the entire time.” 

“You know, I hadn’t even thought of that,” Fiyero mused. “But now that you bring it up, I just may have to.” 

“For the love of Oz,” you muttered to yourself before mustering the strength to look up at him. “I have a myriad of things I need to do today. Why don’t you go bother your girlfriend for the rest of the day, and then you can meet me at the library first thing tomorrow morning so we can discuss all of this.” 

He shrugged. “Sounds alright to me.” 

“Good,” you said. “Because I meant every word I said back there. I will not have you ruining all my progress thus far because of your absolute refusal to think.” 

“It looks as if you could take a page out of my book,” Fiyero said. “You seem awfully stressed.” 

Your lips tightened into a mirthless smile. “I’m stressed because of you, Fiyero, and we have hardly even interacted. I dread to think of my mental state after a week of working together. Now, good day. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

You swept past him and walked out of Doctor Dillamond’s classroom. You felt his eyes on you until you turned the corner, and you had to resist the urge to look back. 

Oh, how you loathed group projects. 

-

The rest of your day was far more demanderating than it should have been, and you blamed Fiyero for it. You swore the clock went by half as quick and your lectures twice as long—it didn’t help that you were so distracted in chemistry that you nearly burned your eyebrows off from a potion gone wrong. 

You’d practically thrown yourself onto your bed when you got back to your dorm, and you didn’t get up until your roommate got back and demanded to know what had gotten into you. She didn’t exactly give you the response you wanted. 

“The prince is your partner?” Coralie sighed dreamily. “Oh, you are so lucky.” 

“Lucky is not the way I’d put it,” you mumbled, words muffled by the sheets. You finally tore yourself up off your bed and picked your nightgown up from atop your dresser. You went behind your folding sheet and began to change. “And I didn’t know you had eyes for Fiyero.” 

“I hardly have eyes for him,” she said wryly. “I just have eyes—anyone can see that he’s attractive.” 

“It doesn’t matter how attractive he is if he makes me fail this midterm,” you said. You straightened your nightgown then folded your school uniform while you walked back into the open, passing a glance at your roommate as you placed it on your desk. You then settled on your bed with a huff. “I just don’t understand why Doctor Dillamond is punishing me like this. It makes me reconsider all those late nights spent grading papers for him.” 

Coralie shrugged. “You’re one of his best students, Fiyero is probably one of his worst. I bet Doctor Dillamond figured you would be happy to take him on, what with how happily you take on everything else he throws at you.” 

You grumbled as you laid back against your pillows. “I just don’t know if I can take him on. Fiyero seems to care more about flirting with every student at this school than any actual material.” 

She gave you a mischievous smile. “Maybe he’ll turn the full force of his affections on you in return for your studiousness. Oh, how that would be a sight to see.” 

“Don’t even put that idea into the air, Cora,” you scoffed. “Besides, he’s clearly involved with Galinda. Even if I was interested, which I’m not—” you emphasized with a pointed look at her— “that isn’t something I want to touch.” 

“Well, you can’t deny that he’s dreamy,” she said. “He just showed up at Shiz and people started falling left and right. It’s more impressive that you haven’t.” 

“Because I’m here for one reason,” you said. “His whole… thing doesn’t fit into any of it.” 

“I know,” Coralie mused as she fell back onto her pillows. “You’ve told me your whole plan ten times over. I just think you should also try to enjoy your life instead of bulldozing your way through it.” 

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “I’m enjoying my life just fine, thank you.” 

Interestingly enough, Fiyero was going through something similar a myriad of rooms away. 

He laid on Galinda’s bed, his head in her lap as she trailed her fingers through his hair. She’d been going on about something for the last couple of minutes, but he hadn’t really been able to focus on any of it. 

“Dearest, did you not hear what I said?” 

Fiyero blinked at the sound of Galinda’s voice. He hadn’t indeed. 

“I’m sorry, beloved.” He absentmindedly reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze once he found it. “I was thinking.” 

Elphaba laughed from across the room. She sat on her bed with a book in her lap. “That’s a first for you.” 

“It is,” Galinda said, though with much more concern laced in her voice. Her hand moved from his hair to his forehead. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Just fine,” he assured. “What was it you were saying?” 

“Just lamenting on how awful it is that we’ve been separated for this project,” she sighed. “I’m sure I could persuade Doctor Dillamond to put us in a group of three.”

“You can’t even get him to pronounce your name correctly,” Elphaba said wryly. “How could you get him to do this?” 

“Well,” Galinda huffed, “maybe you could do it. He appears to like you more than me.” 

“I’m sure that really hurts,” she said. 

Galinda placed her hand on her chest. “It does!” 

“It’s fine,” Fiyero interrupted. “I’m alright with my partner. She’s nice.” 

“Nice?” Elphaba scoffed. “I heard her lecturing you the whole time we were out in the hallway.” 

“She’s passionate,” he decided. “Besides, I don’t really care. I haven’t thought about it since she left.” 

That was a complete lie. In truth, Fiyero hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since you left. Very strange for someone who preferred to go through life with less thinking and more doing. 

He honestly didn’t know why his mind was so occupied with you. 

He’d always been aware of you, obviously—all your professors adored you, your name was always brought up when talking about top of the class, and he was sure you held the record for most time spent in the library at once—but he didn’t know anything about you other than your academic record. And for someone with such strong opinions, especially about him, Fiyero found himself with the strange need to know more. 

He would be at the library tomorrow. Maybe not on time, but certainly there. 

Fiyero would make this the beginning of a beautiful partnership, one way or another.

-

True to your word, you were in the library bright and early after a quick stop at the dining hall. You went through the effort of gathering everything you thought you would need—a myriad of textbooks and encyclopedias, your well-weathered notebook and another one for Fiyero because you doubted he had one, and enough writing material for the two of you.

You sighed. You had to do so much just to even the ground between your groups and the others. Coralie was always so prepared whenever you worked together. 

Fiyero, to your surprise, was only ten minutes late. You already had your head buried in a book when he said your name and scared you witless. 

Your eyes widened as they darted up to look at him, and he chuckled. 

“Sorry. You were in the zone.”

“I just wasn’t expecting you,” you said. “You’re late.”

“Hardly.” Fiyero took the seat across from you, his eyes sweeping over everything you had on the table. “You’ve got quite a collection.”

“I doubt you know your way around the library,” you said. 

“I know my way around a lot of things.” 

You leveled your gaze at him. Leave it to Fiyero to make everything an innuendo. “And is a library one of them?”

“I’m sure I could make it one.”

“If you bothered to think at all.”

“Darling, you know I’d never,” he said with a smile. “Now, what are we doing here?”

“Do you really not know what our midterm is?” you marveled. 

“I have more important things to worry about,” he said. 

You scoffed and shook your head. Ridiculous— it was ridiculous that you had to put up with this. Maybe Doctor Dillamond really did hate you.

“Our assignment is an extensively researched ten page paper on any great Ozian,” you said. “Anyone who has contributed to our society in a relevant way and made our lives better for it.”

“A ten page paper?” Fiyero frowned. “That seems a bit much.”

“Between the two of us, it’s just five pages each, and we’ve got two weeks to get it done,” you said. “I’ve written five pages in a few hours of inspiration.”

“Your life truly sounds thrilling,” Fiyero said. “We could do the Wizard.”

“Half the class is going to do the wizard,” you scoffed. 

“Because he’s a great man,” he said. “There’s no shame in it.”

“There is absolutely shame in copying half the class,” you said as you pushed over a sheet of paper to him. “Now, I’ve already got a list going. Look it over; see if there’s anyone you like or anyone worthwhile you want to add.”

You looked back down at your encyclopedia, opened to your personal favorite choice, and continued scribbling down basic notes. You glanced up a few moments later to see Fiyero’s gaze hadn’t wavered from you. 

You frowned. “Is there a problem?”

“You’re awfully prepared,” he said instead. 

“I figured you wouldn’t be,” you responded.

Fiyero’s lips quirked in a smile. “Then I believe that means you deserve to choose our subject.”

Your frown deepened. “Really?”

“Are you always this suspicious of everyone?”

“Just you.”

“Then consider this an olive branch,” he said. He slid the paper back over. “Who’s your top choice?”

“…Ilara Mayfair,” you finally said as you pointed at her on the top of your list. “She was a historical linguist, responsible for half of what we know about Ozian languages and how they connect and differ. She’s…” you cleared your throat and shrugged, trying to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, “she’s kind of my hero.”

“Your hero?” Fiyero’s eyebrows rose. “Is that what you want to do?” 

“…It’s always been my dream,” you admitted. “I grew up helping around my parents’ bookstore and her mark was on nearly everything. I really admire it. I want to make that sort of difference in the world.”

“How noble,” he remarked. What surprised you was how genuine he sounded. “It’s impressive how much of your life you have planned out already. All Galinda knows is that she’s majoring in sorcery—she hasn’t really got anything else worked out.”

“What are you majoring in?” you asked.

“Undecided,” Fiyero said. “I was kicked out of my last school before I could declare, so I figure there’s not really a point in doing it here.”

“Not really a surprise,” you said. 

“Really?”

“On your first day, you snuck off campus with half of Shiz to go dance at Ozdust,” you said. “That’s not exactly a good first impression.” 

“I’d argue the opposite,” he said. Fiyero tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he focused on you for a moment. His gaze made you uncomfortably aware of yourself. “I don’t recall seeing you there.” 

“That’s because I wasn’t there.” You looked back down at your encyclopedia to avoid his eyes. “I had more important things to do.” 

He frowned. “Do you ever take a day off?” 

“Of course,” you said. “There isn’t any class on the weekends.” 

“I mean with this,” he said, gesturing at all the books around you. “It doesn’t seem like you allow yourself a single moment of respite. When you’re not in class, you’re studying. When you’re not studying, you’re doing work. When you’re not doing any of it, you’re probably dreaming of your future assignments.” 

You felt your skin heat. Surely you weren’t that transparent. 

“...I don’t dream of them,” you defended. “Not— not always.” 

He laughed and shook his head. “You’re ridiculous. Do you know that?” 

You frowned. “How am I ridiculous? You’re incapable of taking a single thing seriously.” 

“And you’re incapable of not taking everything seriously,” Fiyero said. “It can’t be good for your health.” 

“I plan to get out of here a year early,” you said, looking back at your books. “I can’t slack off like you do if I want that plan to come to fruition.” 

“Oh, I’ve gotten out of every school I’ve been in a year early,” Fiyero said. “Sometimes two or three— Oz, sometimes I don’t even make it through the first semester.” 

Your eyes snapped back up to him, widened in instinctual panic. “What?” 

He burst out laughing, and it grinded every one of your gears. “Oh, I wish you could see the look on your face! It’s priceless— truly priceless!” 

“You’ve been kicked out of every school you’ve been to and you think it’s a joke?” 

Still laughing, he shrugged. “It is. Nothing bad has happened, and I’m still having the time of my life wherever I go.” 

You just shook your head as you stared at him, eyes still wide. “Are you always like this?”

“Utterly charming?” 

“Entirely insufferable.”

You didn’t understand how he laughed. Everything rolled right off him, like oil off a duck’s back, no matter how many times you insulted him. 

“You know, there are other things to life than your studies,” he said.

“Not while I’m here, there isn’t,” you said. “It’s the whole point of university.” 

“The point of university is to have fun,” he said. “You’ve seen how this place has perked up since I’ve gotten here, haven’t you?” 

“Not really, no,” you said. “I’ve been more focused on other things.” 

“Like?” 

“Like my studies.” 

“It’s like I’m talking to a broken record,” he marveled. “Have you ever had fun in your life?” His eyes widened comically. “Do you even know what the concept of fun is?” 

“Ha ha,” you said dryly. 

He tilted his head. “Do you?” 

You frowned. “Of course I do.” 

“Okay, then.” Fiyero leaned back in his chair. “Tell me about yourself.”

Your frown deepened. “We aren’t doing a research paper on me.”

“We’re working together on this,” he said. “Is it a crime to want to know my partner?”

A muscle worked in your jaw as you stared at him. He stared back, entirely unaffected. 

“If I humor you, will you actually work with me through this?”

Fiyero held up his hand. “Prince’s honor.”

Finally, you broke. You folded your arms with a short sigh then glanced away. “Fine. I’m from a tiny village in Gillikin that you’ve probably never heard of. I’m here on scholarship with the plan to graduate, become a historian, and make a name for myself.” You looked back at him. “Is that good enough for you?”

“It’s excellent,” Fiyero said with a smile. “Dare I say I’ve learned more about you in one short day than I have in the entirety of my time at Shiz?”

You gave him a fake smile as you tapped your book. “Open your textbook. We have a lot to catch up on.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re not going to ask about me?”

“I mean this with all due respect—what could there possibly be to know about you?” You raised an eyebrow as you counted off on your fingers. “You’re from the Vinkus, you’re a prince, and you’ve never read a book a day in your life.” 

“Oh, that’s not true,” he chastised. “I’ve read at least one—I just choose not to.” 

“Well, how about we make that two?” You reached across the table and opened his book for him. “Unless that prince’s honor isn’t worth a thing.” 

“Oh, it’s worth everything,” Fiyero said. 

You raised your eyebrows expectantly. “Then prove it.” 

“Very well,” he nodded. “I believe I can be serious for the next… fifteen minutes.” 

“You won’t even get through a chapter,” you said. “Thirty.” 

Fiyero frowned. “You set awfully high expectations.” 

“Why do you think Doctor Dillamond forced me to help you?” you asked. 

“Because you’re oh so nice and charitable?”

That got a genuine laugh out of you. If you’d been looking closer, you would have seen Fiyero’s smile grow, his eyes soften. 

“Of course. Now, go to the glossary, find Ilara, and start writing. I know practically everything about her already, so you need to catch up.”

“I don’t have—”

You held out your extra notebook and fountain pen and cocked your head. “Don’t have what?”

Fiyero chuckled as he took them from you. “You’re prepared for everything, aren’t you?”

“Always,” you said with a satisfied smile. “Now get reading, my prince.”

He pressed his hand to his chest and bowed his head. “At once, my lady.”

-

You looked at the clock on the wall. Fiyero should have been here by now. 

Granted, he was ten minutes late to your first meeting, but that was before he’d changed your expectations ever so slightly. Almost an hour had passed, and there was still no sign. 

Of course, it wasn’t as if it hindered your progress. You kind of always expected him to fall short—if he showed at all, that was a credit to him—so you already had half the outline done. But a small part of you that you’d never admit to might have actually been looking forward to his presence. 

You enjoyed the bout of verbal sparring he engaged you in. A lot of your classmates thought you were mean, and it never bothered you. Like you told Fiyero, you were here for one reason and one only, and the amount of people that liked you at university didn’t influence that at all. Your professors liked you and your grades were perfect—that was all. 

But you couldn’t lie and say it wasn’t… nice. For Fiyero to take everything you said in stride, with a smile and a retort of equal measure.

It was nice. But that was all. 

You were jarred out of your thoughts by someone calling your name. You looked up to see Fiyero sauntering over, bearing his usual smile and not much else.

“This is a library,” you said once he got closer. “You aren’t supposed to shout.”

He took the seat across from you. “I’d hardly call that shouting.”

“You aren’t meant to be loud,” you decided. “Why are you so late?”

Fiyero shrugged. “I lost track of time?”

“You know, we are partners,” you emphasized your last word, “so it would be helpful if you could try to put in the same amount of effort as me.”

“That seems impossible.” He gestured at your notebook with his head, your current page already nearly full. “You’ve got me beat on nearly everything.”

“It’s not that difficult,” you intoned. “I mean, just do some research outside of class.”

He stared at you expectantly, and you rolled your eyes. “I don’t know what I expect with you, honestly.”

“Exactly what you see, darling. Now,” Fiyero's gaze drifted over to the window, then looked back at you as he stood up, “what do you say we put a hold on things and enjoy this beautiful day?” 

Your brows furrowed. “What, you mean do our research outside?” 

“Is your work truly all you think about?” he asked in exasperation. “I mean leave the books and your notes and your stress here, and take a stroll around campus.” 

“I’ve had my entire life planned out since I was ten years old,” you said. “Of course it is. I am not going to have some— some—”

“Some what?” Fiyero interrupted. He still looked remarkably unaffected by your outburst, that sideways smile of his infuriatingly charming. 

“Some ridiculous, pompous, self-absorbed, lazy Winkie prince ruin it!” you exclaimed. 

“Lazy,” he mused. “That’s a new one.” 

“Of course you’re lazy! Why would we take a break when we have a project to do?” 

Fiyero looked at you like you were crazy— no, like he was worried about you. He shook his head. “You really do have a one track mind.” 

“When we’re in midterm season, yes, I d— what are you doing?”

Fiyero had started stacking all of the books you had on the table away from you, then he grabbed your notebook and your pen out of your hand.

“You need a break,” he said. 

“I don’t need a break, and give that back—”

You reached for your materials but only just grazed his hand before he pulled them back and set them on top of the pile. “When was the last time you saw the sun?” 

You scoffed. “I see the sun all the time.” 

“Not from a window in the library or your dorm.” 

You bit your tongue. Fiyero smiled and held out his hand. 

“You need a break.” 

You stared at his hand. He gave you a cloying look. 

“It’s not a good sign that you’re this against self-care,” he said wryly. 

You sighed and reluctantly placed your hand in his. “Fine.”

Fiyero grinned and he pulled you close. You yelped at the unexpected speed and you tumbled into his chest. Fiyero’s hand dropped to your waist, and for a moment all you could do was stare at him, wide eyed. 

“Shall we?” he murmured. 

You jolted away from him once you came back into yourself, your skin burning where he’d touched you. 

“We shall,” you said, a bit too forcefully as you started walking a bit too fast. 

Fiyero chuckled. He matched your pace easily, soon coming up beside you. “You’re already that excited?”

“Oh, shut up,” you bit out. “You’ve already gotten what you want. No need for more.”

He feigned naivety. “What would I possibly be doing?”

You shook your head with a huff. “I’m not entertaining that with a response.”

Fiyero simply hummed. You glanced over at him, still staying even with you, and then you let out another huff as you stopped. He didn’t miss a beat, pausing at the same time as you, then met your flustered expression with a smile. 

“Yes?”

“You’re the one that wanted to do this,” you said, gesturing in front of you with a hand. “So lead the way.”

“Gladly,” he said. “I’m very good at taking the lead.”

Fiyero started walking and, though you had half a mind to take the opportunity and dart back to the library, you found yourself following him. 

Cora’s words spun around your head as you and Fiyero walked together, about him turning the full force of his flirting on you in return for you being such a stickler for your midterm. 

That was the embarrassing thing; you didn’t even think this was half of it, and he already had you blushing—and for what? It was as if you’d never even talked to a boy before. 

You’d had plenty of experience back home. Village boys coming into your parents’ store to flirt at you, leaving notes in your desk in class, offering to walk you home at night—plenty of experience. 

It didn’t matter that you denied them all and never went anywhere because you had a one track mind even then, and that Fiyero had done what no one else had and gotten you take a break simply because he asked nicely—

You sucked in a sharp breath as Fiyero’s arm suddenly pressed against your chest, stopping you in place. Your head snapped up to look at him, mouth already open with questions loaded, but he gestured with his head before you could ask any of them. 

You’d nearly barreled right down the stairs from being lost in your head, without care nor consideration for actually taking the steps. 

“Mind the gap, darling,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you damaging that brain of yours.”

“…Thank you,” you said once you’d regained the ability to speak words again. “One of us ought to have one.”

Fiyero laughed as he took his arm away. “Certainly.” He used it to gesture down the stairs. “Ladies first—unless you’re unsure of your ability to conquer them.”

“I’ll be just fine, Fiyero.” You started the descent, Fiyero right behind you, and you let out another short sigh. 

There had to be something wrong with you. That was the only explanation for why you were acting this way.

Maybe you really did need to start getting more sleep. 

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Show me where it hurts (part 1)

Miguel O'Hara x spiderwoman!reader

(AO3 Mirror), Part 2, Main Masterlist

summary: Miguel's acting weird, and you make it your mission to find out exactly what's going on.

warnings: no warnings for this chap, pg-13, swearing and canon level violence. smut next chapter xoxo

a/n: this is a combination of 2 asks and this post I saw on here a while ago: flirty/ snarky fem reader, Miguel during a ""rut"" (I don't know if it counts as a rut really, but its to do with his animal instincts/DNA) and Lyla playing matchmaker.  I had so much fun writing this, enjoy :D

(i wrote this pre seeing spiderverse 2, so i think characterisation is a little off, esp for Lyla, apologies! I'll fix it in my upcoming fics)

edit: I use the term "bichita" which I have been informed can be read not as I intended in Spanish. I'm not a native speaker so I want to apologise in advance. I'm doing more research for my future fics and leaving this up as a testament to my stupidity. Spanish speakers, feel free to correct me / clown my ass in the comments. My bad guys :(

wc: 3.6k

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

You think Miguel is avoiding you. 

One of your closest friends, giving you the runaround for months, it seems. Calling the two of you close friends is a little extreme, sure. You've only known O'Hara for two years, and been in love with him for slightly less than that, thank you very much. And yes, he refuses to call you by anything but your last name. And the last time you saw him he wouldn't so much as look at you, but that was besides the point. 

"..the point," You tell Lyla, in between exasperated bites of cereal, "... is that aren't elite forces of spiderpeople supposed to, you know, have some spiderpeople kick ass once in a while? And where exactly is our fearless leader? I haven't seen O'Hara's scary ass in weeks, and I'm starting to miss it."

She gives you a look, one that says this isn't what I'm programmed for , but you pointedly ignore it. 

"His ass, by the way." You clarify. "I very specifically miss his ass. Remind me to get his routine. I know girls that would kill for…"

"How the fuck did you get in here?" A voice croaks. You turn behind you and see Miguel, not in his suit, but wrapped up in a blanket like he's just woken up. And he looks rough, like a train ran him over on the way here: puffy eyes, splotchy skin, tension kneaded into his brow. 

"Wow." Your spoon drops into the milk. "You look like shit.." 

He furrows his brow even deeper, if that was possible. " Mierda. You shouldn't be here." 

"This isn't quite the welcome party I was expecting, man. I'm the only one to actually turn up to one of your meetings, and this is what I get?" 

"I thought I told Lyla to cancel," He mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Cancel? Since when do you miss a chance to talk about rules and protocol?" 

"I don't have time for this-" 

"-and I'm not leaving without a proper explanation. Is everything okay?" 

"It's actually way worse now you're here." He deadpans. 

"Haha ." You turn to Lyla. "You drop everything to travel halfway across the multiverse and this asshole won't even say thanks." 

"Thanks, but this asshole needs you to leave. Now." 

This is the most he's spoken to you in forever, and you hate that you like it. You just want his attention, however it comes. If that means dragging this out so maybe he acknowledges you, touches you, looks at you - then so be it. Squinting, you get closer to him. You scan his face for anything to latch onto. You put a hand on his shoulder, still searching. 

"You sure you're alright? You know you can tell me if-" 

"Si, si." He grits his teeth, looking away. "M'just fine. I'll explain…. later."

"...because I'm your right hand man?" You grin, poking at his brow. "Stop frowning so much Miguel, you're gonna ruin that pretty face of yours."

He flushes, nervous, and swats you away. "-what? N-No. You're not my right hand man and I like my face just the way it is. Now, leave. "

Making your way to the door, you tap your nose teasingly. "You know where to find me!" 

When the door closes with a click, you make your way down the corridor, and stop in your tracks when you hear it. It's muffled, but with the strain of your supersenses you can make out Miguel's voice just beyond the wall. 

"I just…. don't want her to see me like this… Lyla, it's not happening… I can't tell her…." Tell her what, exactly? 

Resolutely, you make up your mind. Miguel O'Hara's got a secret. And before you leave for home, you're gonna do everything in your God given power to wear him down and find out. 

~~~

Despite his insistence otherwise, you liked to think of yourself as O'Hara's right hand man - and most of the other spiderpeople thought so too. You were one of the very first he recruited, after crash landing onto your earth like a spiderman-shaped meteor; the two of you were inseparable. Miguel was stubborn and headstrong and thought he was right all the time. Infuriatingly, he was, but that didn't stop you from telling him to get his head out of his own ass when his ego grew too big. 

He was different around you, you think. Softer, sometimes. Harsher, other times. He told you what you needed to hear whether you wanted to or not; the result of mutual respect and agonising persistence. Slowly, you had chipped away his hard exterior; the one he built because he thought he needed to push people away. In that regard, you were similar, but this need manifested in you like a weed - an awful, awful compulsion to joke and laugh at your own expense, to keep others at an arm's length. You had spent your whole life picking and pruning away at yourself, looking for perfection. Even after all this, multiverse-hopping and fighting alongside people who were the closest things you had to friends , it wasn't enough. There was still something missing. 

Ironically, Miguel had told you something similar the one of the last times you had spoken. You had fucked up a mission, well and truly. In the aftermath, all you can remember is coming back to base, limping on Jessica's arm. 

"She's hurt!" She cries out. Lyla materialises and leads you both to the med bay, inspecting any visible wounds. There's a deep laceration, sticky with blood, at the base of your stomach. You shift onto the bed and hiss with pain. 

Miguel is quick to follow, face twisted with confusion, pain, sadness. Even in your haze, you feel the tension radiating off of him as he drags over a cart of supplies. 

"What happened?" He strains. 

"I don't even�� it happened so fast. We got ambushed, and all of a sudden I'm on the ground. I wasn't thinking straight and… " She sobs. "...she jumped in front of me. God, she saved my life-" 

"-wasn't your fault, Jess." You croak, trying to sit up. "And I'm fine. Just need to walk it off…"

"Sit, bichita," His nickname makes you frown, despite yourself, and you settle back down. "Lyla, what's the damage?"

Your vision goes spotty, and Lyla's voice barely registers. All you can feel is searing pain in your side, but Miguel is warm, oh so warm. You clutch his arms, and force him to look you in the eye. 

"M'ready, Miguel." He nods weakly, but you don't think he understands. "I mean it . I can lead, j-just need another chance and I won't let you down… Jess, tell him that I can-" 

"It's okay. I believe you. You just need to relax for me, hmm?" He clutches at your hand, tight, and it's like you're the only two people in the world. "You did good. I promise."

Faintly, you nod. You feel a pinch at your arm, and Jessica's there, with an empty vial of something in her hands. The pain washes over you, and you fight to keep your eyes open. In those last few moments of light, you swear you feel a shaky kiss pressed to your temple. 

"Sleep, mi bichito amoroso. Sleep."

When you come to, you're still in the medbay, moonlight streaming through. Well, artificial moonlight. Time worked a little differently here, something Miguel explained to you a while ago - God knows what about dilation and quantum interference. It makes you smile now, remembering his frustration as he tried to explain to no avail. You were the only spiderman this side of the multiverse without a degree in quantum tech, you had said with a lopsided smile. 

You move to sit, and pain shoots up your side. Groaning, you push through it, determined to get out of this bed and find the others. As if on cue, Miguel walks in, almost leaping towards you. 

"You should… mierda ! You should be resting in bed."

You pout as you stumble into his chest. He hooks an arm around you and leads you back. You clamber in, sighing. "M'fine, O'Hara."

"Your guts were halfway out of your body less than 24 hours ago. So stay put, or you might give me another heart attack."

You scoff, incredulous. "You were worried?" 

He shrugs. " 'Course I was."

"Why? You know I'm practically indestructible." You give him a shit eating grin, and poke the frown appearing at his brow. He doesn't bat you away like he usually does. 

"Famous last words, bichita." He sighs. You can't speak a lick of Spanish, but you know he only calls you that word when you've frustrated him to his limit. So you take it as a win, for now. 

He drops into the chair next to you. "How are you feeling?" 

"Just peachy, dollface." You wink, and he doesn't so much as groan. 

"I'm being serious. You went through something pretty traumatic…"

"You want me to tell you it hurts, so, so bad, daddy? " You pout and flutter your eyelashes mockingly. Miguel shifts in his seat, unable to make eye contact. 

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, O'Hara? I feel fine. And in a couple of days, I'll feel even better, and I'll be up and about. I can finish what we started and-" 

"-no, absolutely not." He frowns. "A couple of days? I'm sending you home-" 

"You can't do that! On whose fucking authority?"

"On the authority of you almost fucking died ! Keeping you safe is our priority right now-" 

"God, is this my punishment? This is a low blow, O'Hara. You know how hard I've worked for this: months of surveillance and intel a-and I did everything by the book, just like you told me to." You croak. "I fucked up . I know that, and I feel terrible. Give me a chance to make things right; that's all I'm asking. I can do it, I know it. "

He looks at you for a moment, something heavy in his expression. His face contorted, he strips you down to the bone with just his gaze. His voice is so quiet, you almost miss it. 

"....you're still trying to prove yourself, aren't you?"

Honestly, it catches you off guard. You don't even know what the fuck that means, let alone why he said it.

"I don't… I d-don't…?" 

"They all love you. Respect you. More than me I think, sometimes." He chuckles at that. "You're good at what you do. The best . What else are you trying to prove? What else do you need ?" 

Your throat goes dry. You couldn't speak if you wanted to. 

"I'm not punishing you. You made a mistake, but you don't need to be crucified for it. I just want to keep you safe. I can't… we can't lose you."

"Miguel-"

"-this isn't a discussion. And I'm not trying to argue, although I know how much you like to argue." He inches closer, cupping your face gently. You try to move away, blinking back tears. But his hands are steady and he strokes your jaw with so much tenderness you think you hear your heart break. He's pretty, so pretty. You don't deserve him, you think. "There'll be time to fight, bichita. Rest. That's your mission right now."

"C-can't sleep." You breathe. "It hurts." 

Miguel pauses, head tilted like he's thinking. He taps your shoulder. "Scoot over."

You do as he says, and he slips into the bed with you. It's a tight fit, but he manages, placing you on his chest with an arm gently around your shoulders. You bury your face in his hoodie, sniffling and hoping he doesn't notice you choking back sobs. Absentmindedly, he settles into a rhythm, gentle breathing and playing with your hair, soothing you softly. He pretends he can't hear the tears. 

"M'gonna stay here until you're asleep. For as long as you need."

You nod, unable to speak for fear of breaking down. 

~~~

The days after felt like a blur. You woke up to Miguel gone, and an ache in your heart. Jess visits as much as she can, and Ben calls you a couple times, to see if you're okay. Peter B brings Mayday, and she clambers all over your bed, bringing some life into the room. Miguel doesn't visit per se - you hear whispers of him, Lyla visiting in his stead for comprehensive status updates. Once, you wake up in the night to see him on the adjacent chair, head lolling in deep sleep. He looks peaceful, calm - one of the first times you haven't seen his brow furrowed with worry. Of course, he's gone by the morning. 

The very last time you saw him, he opened the portal home. It was weird, after everything, but if Miguel felt the same you wouldn't know. Talking at a thousand miles a minute, he alternates between assuring you they'll be fine without you and situation reports from spider people all across the multiverse. Things you'd missed whilst bedbound, asking for advice before you left. He trusted your judgement and the thought warmed your heart, almost making you forget that he completely brushed past the previous nights before. 

You still remember the last thing he had said to you, which would've been weeks ago, now. 

"...and if you need anything, and I mean anything, you call me directly. Not Jess, not Ben, and certainly not Peter B. Call me, and I'll answer, I promise. You need help, you need advice, you just need someone to talk to, then-"

"-I call you. I get it, O'Hara. Will do." He opens the portal, watching as you walk towards it. He can't take his eyes off of you, even though you can't see him. At the last moment you turn, and run towards him. You almost knock him over with a hug. Burying his head in the crook of your shoulder, he hugs you back, ever careful of your injury. Separating, your smile almost knocks him over again. Weakly, he smiles back as you head through the portal, back home. 

You're left with that feeling, of his arms around your body - warm, so warm - as you putter about by the switchboard. After careful deliberation (you were really, really bored ) you'd taken to manage the Multi Modal Multiversal Switchboard - as aptly named by Miguel. Everyone else called it the Big Red Phone of course, but he had insisted on calling it by its proper name . Every. Time. 

The thought makes you chuckle as you call up Peter B. His icon flashes on the screen in front of you. With a click, he picks up the call, his face materialising holographically in front you. A little hand reaches up and tugs at his ear. 

"Ow… ouch … Dad's on the phone, honey."

"Aww! How's my favourite Parker doing?" 

"Not bad, actually! MJ just made us probably the best burger this side of New York-"

"-sorry, Peter? Me and May are trying to have a conversation." You hear her giggle in the background. Her gap toothed grin pops into frame and she babbles excitedly. "...yeah, exactly May. That's literally what I said."

"Okay, okay, that's enough." He puts the toddler down and watches her scurry away. "You're feeling better, I see."

"Yeah, back in action. Thought I'd check in."

"All good here." He squints, trying to take in your surroundings. "You're at HQ?" 

You hum.

"Could've sworn Lyla cancelled…"

"Yeah, didn't get the memo. But I think something's wrong with O'Hara."

He gives you a weird look. "Uhhh, what makes you think that?" 

"He won't even look at me. Was it something I said? Something I did?" Your eyes narrow. "...what do you know, Peter?"

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" He scoffs, a little too quickly, clutching his chest like you've offended him. He's stared down some of the scariest villains around, but the look you give him is truly chilling. "Just… uhhh. You didn't hear this from me." 

"Naturally…"

"We tracked 'em down, the guys that ambushed you and Jessica."

"The Sinister Six? From Earth-215?"

"Yeah, but by the time we got there, it was just Kraven and some of his goons. Miguel got there first, and…." He gulps. "He was pissed. Trashed the whole place looking for the rest of 'em. Beat Kraven half to death and we had to pull him off."

"Shit."

"Yeah, it was pretty rough. Never seen him like that before. And just generally? He'd been weirdly quiet, a little grumpy, more aggressive on missions. I don't know what's gotten into him."

"Hmmm. Thanks, Pete."

"No problem, sweetheart. And if the big guy asks… "

"...this didn't come from you, I know." Weakly, you smile. "Say hi to my favourite Parkers, for me." 

" 'Course I will. We should celebrate, if you're back officially. Mine and MJ's is always open."

"Good to know. I'll see you around."

He waves goodbye, and the hologram clicks off. Sighing, you try to piece together what you've just heard. 

Miguel: acting weird. Well, you knew that already. Aggressive was new. And Lyla? She had canceled, but not for you, for some reason. An honest mistake, perhaps. But Lyla doesn't make mistakes… 

You stew for a couple of hours, puttering about the switchboard, twiddling your thumbs. Something's wrong, and for some reason you're afraid to see him. To have him look straight through you, again, when you ask to do the same. Show me where it hurts. Tell me how to make it better.  

On the way there, you chew your lip in anticipation. In the corridor, you're outside the door to his place, hand hovering above the door. To knock, to call. In the harsh fluorescent light, you hesitate. 

"Lyla?" Nervously, you sink down onto the floor. It's hard to explain, but you don't expect her to actually come; to materialise in front of you. 

"How can I assist you?" She says with a ding. 

"Uhh… hi. Just wanted to talk." You pause, clicking your tongue. "Can you be honest with me?" 

"I can only be honest with you. It is not in my programming to lie, unless specified by my owner."

"Sure. Cool. It's about him, actually. Is Miguel okay?" 

She tilts her head, as if processing your request. "Okay is a subjective term. Is Mr O'Hara alive? Yes. Is Mr O'Hara physically well? Yes. By those terms, he is okay ."

Too vague for your own liking. "I guess I meant more… his emotional state. To the best of your knowledge… in your opinion , Lyla: is Miguel okay?" 

"...I believe Mr O'Hara is experiencing some emotional turmoil."

You frown. "Oh. Do you know why?" 

"Mr O'Hara has instructed me not to disclose that information with you."

"Fair enough. But you don't have to tell me… I could just ask questions?" 

She nods. "There is nothing in my programming that prevents me from answering some questions within certain parameters." 

"Did I do something? Not just today but… last time I was here. Did I say something to hurt or upset him? Is that why he's acting weird?"

"No." She says blankly. "And yes. I suppose it is… complicated." She gestures around that word. 

"I'm a little confused, Lyla."

She sits next to you, on the cool tile. Not that she could feel it, but it feels more intimate - like two friends talking. The extent of Lyla's consciousness, you weren't sure of. Was she alive? To you, she might as well be. Could she think, feel, emote? Maybe, maybe not. You weren't smart enough to understand the nuances of her programming. But you were human enough to see it in her - something glittering beyond the surface. 

It could be projection, but you swear her voice is softer. "He has a name for you. When he speaks about you, and to you. I have it logged in my memory database. Do you know what that is?" You shake your head. 

Lyla opens up her palm and projects videos and images - little Miguel's popping up in her palm, tinny and gruff voices ringing through the hallway. They say your name, shout your name, whisper it. Some say other things in Spanish. Curse words had always been your assumption, and he had given you no reason to think otherwise. Now, having it played back to you, you hear a tenderness in his voice you would've missed. Words and phrases that come up again and again…

"Bichita." She repeats. "Bichito del amor. Mi bichito amoroso. "

You shake your head, still confounded. "...I don't speak Spanish, Lyla." 

"Little bug. Sweetheart. Lovebug. My little lovebug." She clears her throat. "I believe they are terms of endearment."

Steadfast, she directs you towards her palm. Another small Miguel appears, and you think it's him from this morning. 

"I thought I told you not to let anyone in, Lyla?" 

"I did not let her in. She let herself in using the code you previously gave her, Mr O'Hara."

"Yeah, for emergencies. Fuck. Mi bichita, too smart for her own good."

"...If you are in distress, I believe she would understand, Mr O'Hara."

"I just think it's too much. I don't want her to see me like this." 

"According to Alchemax files, previous subjects showing this kind of aggression benefitted from-"

"Lyla, it's not happening, no chance. I can't tell her."

The figure blinks out of her palm. "Mr O'Hara has forbid me from telling you about certain things."

"...but not from showing me." Your eyes meet hers. You give her a watery smile. "Thank you." 

With a hint of a smile, she nods and is gone from the corridor. You are left alone, with nothing but your thoughts of little lovebugs rattling around in your brain.

_

_

_

[rumisgf]

❝ YOUR BEST EATER ! ❞ ╰┈➤ AOT EDITION

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ summary: rating how well aot men would eat you out ! (this is canon because i said so)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ includes: eren yeager, onyankopon, connie springer, jean kirstein, armin arlert

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ warnings: smut of course, crack, cursing, oral f!receiving, mentions of squirting, cum play if you squint, black!reader

EREN YEAGER - 7/10

✮ now i know y’all remember that one ao3 fic with the tongue piercing that went viral…

✮ yeah that was propaganda

✮ now listen listen— i’ll give him his flowers and he is good in bed

✮ but giving head isn’t his specialty

✮ BUTTTTT when he does eat you out, he makes you cum every time

✮ he spits on it :)

✮ in general his speciality? good dick

✮ he’ll eat you before he fucks you, but he can’t last too long cause the sight of you dripping has him rock hard

✮ one time you squirted while he gave you head and he swears he almost came in his pants

“so fuckin’ wet…”

“m-mm~!”

“jus’ a lil longer baby… need you nice and ready for my dick..”

ARMIN ARLERT - 8/10

✮ now him? head is definitely his forte

✮ there’s times he won’t even fuck you he just wants to taste you

✮ he whines.

✮ the vibrations of him moaning on your clit definitely sends chills down your spine

✮ and please, sit on his face

✮ he genuinely gets so pussy drunk and he stopped caring

✮ he just needs to taste you

✮ the feeling of you dripping on his face is addictive to him

✮ he just loves when you’re on top— whether it’s on his dick or his face

“please baby…need to taste you..”

“mhm? lay down for me then.”

JEAN KIRSTEIN - 6/10

✮ don’t shoot me i’m just the messenger

✮ i just feel like he would be too… rough… at first

✮ he generally likes rough sex so it’s just natural instinct to him

✮ butttt, when he does get the hang of it, it does feel good

✮ he just needed some practice

✮ he is good listener, i’ll give props for that

✮ the head is never terrible but he just can’t help but to wanna torment you a little it’s his favorite hobby

✮ he bit your clit once though. you had to smack him for that.

✮ he makes up for it though because the D is FIREEEE🔥🔥🔥!

“o-ow…jean wait..”

“sorry baby, got a little carried away…tell me how you want it, yeah?”

CONNIE SPRINGER - ♾️/10

✮ HE’S AN EATER!!!!

✮ he might as well tattoo ‘proud munch’ on his lip atp

✮ this man has skills that you have never seen before and he will have you whipped from how much you cream and squirt every time he goes down on you

✮ he’s so mean too… but in the best way possible

✮ you have an attitude? he’s eating it. you stressed? he’s eating it. you look good? he’s eating it.

✮ he doesn’t even have to spit on it with how wet you get

✮ he’ll eat it with your legs bent to your ears, from the side, from the back, on his knees, have you sit on his face, all that.

✮ he eats it before he puts it in by the way.

✮ and after. he’s nasty.

“ohmy- fuckkk~”

“i know baby, stay still… i’m not done witchu..”

ONYANKOPON - 9/10

✮ he just likes making you feel good

✮ he takes foreplay very seriously, so he likes taking his time with you

✮ he’ll definitely overstimulate you though, he thinks it’s fun

✮ he likes when you squirm it only turns him on more

✮ in contrary, he’s very sweet with it and does it to make you feel his love

✮ definitely big on body worship

✮ he’ll start off slow and massage your thighs while he tastes you

✮ his favorite thing is licking you clean after he already made you cum on his dick or with his fingers

“mmm~.. baby..”

“so pretty like this..just keep moaning f’ me..”

© rumisgf

[johnpriceslamb]

𝓽 𝓱 𝓻 𝓮 𝓪 𝓭 𝓮 𝓭 𝓮 𝓵 𝓮 𝓰 𝓪 𝓷 𝓬 𝓮

🪡 Before you joined the gang, you used to be a tailor. An event was coming up soon which involved looking fancy, meaning that you had to take his measurements for a new suit.

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓒𝓔𝓔𝓓 ! ⋆ female ! reader ⋆ hyper-feminine ! reader ⋆ very suggestive content w/ javier ⋆ close proximity ⋆ reader is mentioned to be physically smaller than said chars ⋆ poorly google translates spanish >.> ⋆ not proof read nor edited ⋆ wrd count/1.2k

🪡 arthur morgan ⋆ charles smith ⋆ john marston ⋆ javier escuella (sep) x f! reader

🪡 𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓱𝓾𝓻 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓰𝓪𝓷,

“stand still!”

You prattle on for the umpteenth time this evening. The loyal enforcer of the gang grunts at the feeling of the cold tape measure wrapped around his bare waist, as he begrudgingly lifts his arms up to avoid messing up the measurements.

“For someone so little,” He groans at the feeling of the flexible measure tightening deliberately around him, “You sure do have a lot of attitude.”

You ignore him, of course. You scribble down the exact number of his measurement down on a piece of paper with a slight hum. The beads of your delicate necklace hang delicately off your neck as you bend over the edge of the table a bit, elbows propping your demure head for support. Arthur couldn’t help but boredly take a peak of what you were writing down, before ultimately sighing as he hopes for this to go a little quicker.

the cigar in his mouth hangs low on his bottom lip, embers flying out from the tip. He takes another slow drag, before letting it out with a gentle sigh- to your direction. You throw the man a puffed-cheek glare, your little nose scrunching up at the smell.

He wouldn’t admit the fact that he felt warm when your fingers would touch his body so subtly when measuring him. Or when your face was so close to his ragged skin, he could really feel your soft breath. Did you always look that pretty when you’re concentrated?

“Hey, Arthur?” That familiar high-pitched voice catches his attention. His hands lazily grab ahold of his low-hung belt, before leaning in.

“Mh?” He lowly grunts, squinting his eyes at the sight of your beady eyes staring up at him. He chews at the end of his cigarette, letting out a huff when the smoke unexpectedly enters inside his body.

You cheekily smile, tinkering your dewy lashes at him to feign innocence. The pencil in your grip is tapped multiple times on the paper, “Wouldn’t pink be a suitable colour choice for your suit?”

“[name].” You’re lucky you were blessed with a cute little face, otherwise he’d have no issue throwing you in the lake nearby.

🪡 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓵𝓮𝓼 𝓼𝓶𝓲𝓽𝓱,

“..I’m not familiar with getting measured, I apologise if I make anything difficult.” Charles quietly explains to you in that baritone voice he had. You can’t help that sweet fluttering in your chest at the apology.

“Nonsense!” You wave him off with a toothy smile, “All you’ll have to do is stand still.”

The gentle giant in-front of you slowly nods. He’s not uncomfortable, but he’s kind of on the edge since this was new to him. But since it’s you, he can feel some of the tension in him melt. Usually, he tends to avoid interacting with other people at camp.

But you? Something about you made him draw closer.

“Just a matter of standing still? I think I can manage with that. No trouble with me.” A ghost of a smile slowly etches onto his dark skin at your expression. Almost.. puppy like.

You’re about to measure his full height to ensure the exact proportions of the suit are balanced, only to realise..

Your height (lack thereof.. oops.) comes in as a bit of an issue here. For plot purposes, there aren’t any stools around nor could you go on your tippy toes to measure him fully.

“..Ah.” Charles blinks at the situation. Amusement crosses his face, before gesturing to hand over the end of the measuring tape. He holds it just at his head, patiently watching you peak at the number it falls down to at his ankles.

“Oh my..” You let out a tiny squeak at the number, a shy smile appearing on your sweet face before scribbling it down on a piece of paper nearby.

“Oh my?” He repeats you, “What? Is that.. Is that bad?”

“No, no!” You stammer, meekly brushing your hands over your light pink petticoat, “You’re just.. Y’know. You’re tall.”

“Oh?” He smiles lightly, lovingly looking at your light expression, “I hope that won’t be too much of a problem.”

“It’s not a problem. Quite the opposite, actually.” You quietly mumble the last part. Oh dear, you can feel his gaze, practically warming up your soul, staring at you as if you hung the stars. You feel your cheeks heating up.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing!”

🪡 𝓳𝓸𝓱𝓷 𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓷,

never in your life have you wanted to smack a man in the face so badly.

“Woah,” John grins like a newly wet dog from running through a puddle, “Y’here to take my measurements or to feel me up?”

All you did was just wrap the tape around the swell of his hips. Your cheeks puff out, purposefully tightening the tape to get your point behind.

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind either way.” He cheekily smiles, before scoffing at the feeling of the measuring tape deliberately tightening around him.

You swear you can smell the scent of booze. You ignore it, before straightening your back to measure his waist. What you can’t ignore however, was that raspy drawl his voice had which somehow makes you fall for him over and over again.

He may be as dumb as rocks, but his little antics drew you in.

“Hey,” He calls out to catch your attention. You sweetly tilt your head up, and to the side when he looks down at you.

“You gon’ pick the colours of my suit, or do I get to?” He asks curiously.

You ponder, “Well.. Do you want to?”

He thinks about it for a moment, before coming up with an answer. “Nah. Reckon you should. You’re the professional, after all.”

You can’t help but let out a soft giggle, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

When you’ve finished his measurements, you excitedly turn to him to discuss the colour choices which’ll be appropriate for the event coming up soon. Both of your eyes meet and he peers down at you with a loving gaze, it catches your breath a bit before you force yourself to look down at the notes which contained your notes.

“I think your suit should have a low v cut to really show that upper-body of yours. Perhaps a classic navy blue as your primary colour, and— Hey! Are you even listening to me?”

He blinks a few times, a bit sheepish. “I am, I just don’t got a clue on what you’re saying, sweetheart.”

You can feel your hand tighten.

🪡 𝓳𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓮𝓻 𝓮𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓪,

“Ah.. Quite close there, aren’t you?” He has this.. devilishly handsome smile you want to wipe off badly. He peers down at you as if you were nothing but a little dollie while you measured his chest.

“‘M not trying to be!” You whine, going just a bit lower to wrap the measuring tape around his waist now. You hum delightfully as you find the exact number, squinting your eyes to see where the tip of the measurement tape lands on.

While you’re busy with your own little thing, you don’t notice the way Javier admires you from above. He can’t help but comment on it too.

“You know,” He starts of with a slow, lazy smile. Mischievous, even.

“You’re looking very pretty working down there.” He puts a lot of emphasis on the word ‘very’ in his sentence. It’s subtle, but if you were to be paying attention to him you’d get it immediately.

You tilt your head up to innocently thank him with a small smile etched on your pretty little face, before realising what his words were implying. That little..

“Javier!” You scold him with a very high-pitched tone. You feel your dignity fading away as soon as he replies with a mocking laugh to your whining.

“You know I’m just playing around, chica. Don’t take it so seriously.” His hand goes down to cheekily pinch your squishy cheek to get his point through. You frown.

“You’re horrible.” You babble, begrudgingly taking his last measurement. You’re very tempted to give him the cold shoulder, but decided against it.

“You’re too kind.” He sarcastically replies, that same lazy grin on his face from the start as when he sees you scribbling down some notes about his measurements and preferences. You throw a tiny glare at him, “I’m the one creating your suit here, be nice!”

“Mhm? I haven’t gotten to express my gratitude yet have I?” He takes the notepad away from you, setting it aside before easily picking you up by the waist and setting you on the table, your legs dangle off the edge easily as he nears you.

“Permiteme que, querida.”

[lovebugism]

could I request maybe shy!reader trying to play dnd with eddie but she's suuuuuuper nervous and confused and internally panicking about him not liking her anymore if she can't get into it?? Or if you wanna change it up please do!! love you!!

love you! hope you like it! — you get insecure about not liking d&d when a girl joins hellfire (shy!fem!r, hurt/comfort ish, established relationship, 1.4k)

The Hellfire room is void of the boyish bodies that usually fill it. The abandoned classroom, turned freak sanctuary, is now littered with pieces the rogues, clerics, and bards left behind — in half-empty soda cans and crumbled-up bags of potato chips.

While Eddie packs up his binder, filled to the brim with miscellaneous papers, you wander around the long table with a trashcan in hand. The wild-haired boy squints when you chuck Dustin’s crushed Pepsi in the bin. “You don’t have to do that, you know?”

“It’s okay,” you shrug. “I don’t mind.”

Eddie huffs through his nose, feeling too exhausted now to argue. He slides his binder into his bag and watches you rake Gareth’s chip crumbs into the trashcan. The urge to stop you becomes unignorable then. 

“Okay, well, you know what? I mind—” the boy retorts, striding the very short distance to you and snatching the bin from your grip. He smiles a crooked grin and continues in a fantastical accent. “—‘Cause the Dungeon Master’s queen shouldn’t have to clean up after a bunch of lowborns, alright?”

You roll your eyes with a subdued giggle. “Someone’s gotta do it, Eds,” you insist as you reach for the plastic container he took. You exhale sharply when he hides it further behind him, pulling it further out of your way. “I wanna be of some use around here!”

Eddie’s face twists. “Don’t say that.”

You cower beneath his stare. “Well… It’s not like I actually play or anything. I just kinda… sit around… And watch you guys do everything…”

“Well, why would you play?” he laughs. “You don’t even like D&D.”

Something in the way he says it makes you ache. You’ve always felt distantly horrible about it — failing to take interest in something he holds so close to his heart. Hearing him reiterate that fact twists the knife lodged in your chest.

“That doesn’t bother you?” you wonder, impossibly shy. “That I don’t play?”

Eddie shrugs and sits the bin down again. “Why would that bother me?” he scoffs.

“I don’t know… ‘Cause you like it. And it’s your favorite thing to do in the whole world.”

“Well… Maybe not my favorite thing,” he croons with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Your nose scrunches in disdain. His laughter fills the empty room as his ringed hands spread warm along your sides. “I just feel bad,” you confess, gaze averted to the scuffed tile beneath your feet. “You know, that I can’t get into or whatever.”

Eddie meets your subtle pout with an unbothered grin. “There’s nothing to feel bad about. People like different things, babe. That’s life,” he assures you, squeezing softly at your sides. “I mean, it’s no different than me hating The Smiths, right? I still let you play their cassettes in the van, and you still sit in on all my campaigns— and that, sweetheart, is the meaning of true love…”

Unswayed, you jerk softly back when he leans down to kiss you. You frown up at him with your arms crossed between your bodies. “But Rory loves D&D. And she’s super pretty…”

Aurora Edwards was the newest edition to the Hellfire gang. She goes by Rory for short, though, ‘cause she’s cool like that and everything. Her dyed blonde hair is as wild as Eddie’s, cut into a makeshift mullet that sits sort of shaggy on her head — intentionally messy in a way only she can pull off. 

She likes cool music and cool clothes and cool hobbies — because everything she does seems to have some sort of subverted flair to it. She’s smart and she’s nerdy and she’s beautiful. None of which seem fair. You’ve been stirring with feelings of inadequacy since you met her. 

And Eddie doesn’t seem to get any of it. His brows furrow at your words, like none of them have any sort of meaning to him.

“She’s way more your type than I am,” you blurt.

A laugh sputters from his plush mouth. “You think my love for you is contingent on some stupid game?” he chuckles.

The way he says it makes you shrink. You feel sort of stupid about it now. “I don’t know…”

“Well, then, I have done a very shit job of being your boyfriend.”

Your chest stings. “No, you haven’t, Eddie—”

“Mm,” he hums, half playful, as he tilts his pretty head to his shoulder. “I have, though. ‘Cause if you think some other girl liking Dungeons and Dragons is gonna make me love you any less, then I have done something horribly, horribly wrong.”

You bite back a smile at his words, pursing your lips to the side of your mouth until the beam becomes impossible to ignore.

“‘Cause you’re kinda stuck with me, turns out,” the boy continues. “Unfortunately for you.”

“Unfortunately?” you echo with a scoff.

“Yeah. ‘Cause if some other schmuck comes around who likes listening to The Smiths and sitting in the sunshine, he’s gonna have to go through me.”

You breathe sharply through your nose in place of a laugh. “I don’t want another guy, Eds…” you confess, going shy all over again.

His nose scrunches as he plays coy. “Even if he doesn’t smoke?” he wonders in a sheepish murmur.

“Even if he doesn’t smoke.”

“Good,” he beams, pulling you into him by your belt loops. His breath fans over your jaw in a minty-nicotine concoction as he ducks his face closer to yours. “‘Cause I don’t want anyone else, either, alright? Even if they are almost as good as me at D&D… Actually, it’s kinda a turn-off, now that I’m thinking about it…”

“Is it?”

“Yeah… ‘Cause, like, I love teaching you about it and everything.”

“Even when I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

“Especially when you have no idea what I’m talking about,” he laughs, smiling so hard his cheeks speckle pink. “‘Cause you know how much I like it, so… You let me talk all the shit I want.”

“’S just because you’re so pretty when you talk about things you like,” you confess.

His face twists. “Am I?”

“Well, you’re pretty all the time, but…”

“You flatter me,” he huffs and pulls you closer. He smirks and goes quieter when he says, “And flattery goes a long way with me.”

“Does it?” you hum with a sunshine-coated giggle.

Eddie doesn’t answer you with words. He just presses his lips to your mouth and hopes you get the gist. His tongue swipes against yours, soft and sudden, as he guides you towards the table. You run into a rogue chair before he can get you on top of it. It screeches against the linoleum tile. 

With his face in your hands, you giggle against his mouth. His denim-clad knee slips between your thighs.

The door squeaks softly open then. Rory enters, swift and unthinking. You and Eddie pull apart — one looking much more horrified than the other — as the blonde girl stands frozen in the doorway. Drowning in her sweatshirt and baggy jeans, she points a lanky finger towards the table.

“Sorry,” she apologizes, voice gritty and deep. “I just left my girlfriend’s jacket here, and she doesn’t know I stole it, so… She’d definitely kill me if I forgot it.”

“That’s okay. Come in,” Eddie shrugs with a tightlipped smile, nodding his head in a silent invitation. When Rory plucks the coat from the back of her chair, he says, “Tell Jess I said hi, yeah?”

The girl scoffs as she heads back towards the door again, leaving just as quickly as she came. “She still hates you, you know that, right?” she laughs. ‘Cause Jess was a cheerleader — pretty and sometimes kind, but dreadfully conservative. Her uptight nature often clashed with Eddie’s much more chaotic one. 

“Well, tell her to get in line,” Eddie chuckles.

Before Rory leaves the room, she glances at the two of you over her shoulder. She winks with an eye smudged with black liner. “Have fun, you two,” she croons in a pretty voice before shutting the door behind her.

You stand, still and silent in place, wringing your anxious hands into a knot. Feeling like a total idiot, you refuse to meet Eddie’s gaze. You know he’s got a smug look on his face. You can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “See? Not my type at all.”

[minminbunny]

Best Friends to Lovers AU - Big Cock Singer! Bang Chan/Virgin Writer Gender Neutral! Reader

*smut part - AFAB/AMAB

💕Drabble Masterlist

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

"Chris, are you bitchless?" you asked, biting the ends of your pencil. Chan furrowed his eyebrows, "If you mean single then, yeah?" he said, setting his headphones down. "What brought this up?" he asked, leaning back against his chair. You purse your lips, "It's just your new song for the talent show. It's very intimate," you said, pointing the pencil at him. Chan chuckled, rubbing the back of his nape, "I didn't write that, Changbin helped," he said, gulping down the denial. You squint your eyes, "Damn so your co-writer was the one that was getting laid?" you said, tilting your head. 

Chan nodded, "Exactly, I don't have time for a one night stand. I work at night," he said, defending himself. "Was it Changbin's idea to be topless too?" you asked, seeing through his lies. Chan gulped, "That wasn't me. It was a stunt devil. That looked exactly like me," he said, his ears heating. You nodded your head, "Ah. Is that so? He sounded just like you, too. That's amazing," you said, your tone heavy with sarcasm. Chan bit his bottom lip and nodded, "Ahm, very amazing," he replied, having the same tone of sarcasm. 

You sighed and smiled, "Bestie between the both of us. You're the one who needs to get bitches," you said, faux sobbing. Chan blinked, "Wha- Why?" he asked, his face in disbelief. You faux a frown, "Because if you're writing imaginary sexual songs. Then you're basically me just song edition. One of us gotta not be a virgin in this friendship," you said, wiping your faux tears. Chan scoffed, his eyes wavering, "Of course. The stuff I write is definitely about someone, not creative freedom at all," he said, nervously laughing. 

You gave him a deadpan look, "You're a terrible liar," you said, cupping his cheeks. Chan frowned and looked up from his seat, "You're one to say," he grumbled, rolling his eyes. You pulled away, "So, you really want someone to ride you, huh?" you asked, crossing your arms. Chan gulped, "Writing about riding is easier in terms of metaphors!" he exclaimed, shaking his fist. You scoffed, "Sure, if it were one song. I'm pretty sure you made like three," you said, squinting at him. 

Chan pressed his tongue against his inner cheek, "Fine! You fucking cunt, yes! Maybe I fantasize about myself getting rode . It makes a good song and it spurs the fans on. Are you happy now?" he huffed, cheeks flushed with blush. You nodded, "Pleased. When's the last time you got some anyway?" you asked, setting your stuff aside. Clearly, this was more important than assignments. Chan nibbled his lip, "Months ago? I don't remember, I woke up the next day alone with no note," he sighed, brushing his hair back. 

You licked your lips, "What if I rode you? Would you allow that?" you asked, shuddering at his icy look. Chan tilted his head back, "You're tempting a dangerous game, little one," he said, his voice husky and low. You gulped, "I didn't know you have this side," you said, feeling intimidated. Chan chuckled, "Well, you were always my bratty little dongsaeng. There wasn't a need to overpower you," he said, standing up to pet your head. Your breath turned shallow and heavy, "Chris," you whispered, not knowing how to proceed. Chan noticed your dilemma, "Say please if you want me to take care of you, baby. Say no if you want me to stop. It's up to you, little one. I'm only here to provide," he reassured, stroking your hair. His fingers lightly brush against your cheek. You shuddered, looking up, "Please. Please take care of me," you said, your voice breathy and needy. Chan smirked, holding your chin, "Of course, anything for you, baby," he said, booping your nose. 

NSFW BELOW CUT

AFAB

"You're too big in this position," you whined, trying to ease yourself down his cock but it kept slipping between your dripping folds. Chan chuckled, "Baby, I already fingered your cunt open with four fingers, I'm pretty sure you're letting it slip away on purpose," he teases, lightly tapping his cockhead on your clit. You're mewling at the stimulation, "Help me? It's scary on my own," you sniffled, arching for his cock to fill up your ribbed walls after the long dragging foreplay his fingers teased to loosen your tight cunt. Chan hummed, aligning his leaking cockhead with your slightly gaping hole, "Deep breaths, little girl," he growled, hearing the audible crude pop of your cunt accepting his girthy tip. 

You whimpered against his chest, slowly easing yourself lower and lower down his hot veiny shaft. Chan kissed your hair, "That's it. You're so close, baby. Another half more," he said, rubbing your waist. You lifted your head, "This is only half?" you whined, feeling so full. Chan cooed, gripping your hips, "Let me help," he chuckled, bucking his hips upwards. "Hah, ah, hah," you moaned, arching your chest towards him. Chan hissed, rolling his hips, "There we go. Down to the hilt," he groaned, stroking your thighs as searing hot walls engulfed his throbbing hard cock. 

You hiccuped, your walls fluttering around his curved length, "Hah, fuck, fuck, fuck. It feels so good," you mewled, feeling the obvious tummy bulge when you leaned back. Chan growled at the sight, “Ah, shit. You took me so well, babygirl. Look at that bulge, so perfect for me," he rambled, his hair matting to his forehead as hot breaths escaped his lips. You lifted your hips, and gripped his shoulders, "Oh, yes. Hah, hah, ah," you whimpered, feeling his cockhead messaged against your sensitive bundle of nerves. Chan growled, watching your thigh trembled each time to fucked yourself down his cock. 

Your bounce's were deep and through, his cockhead kissed your cervix every time you rode. Chan huffed, gripping your hips firmer, "I'm sorry, little one. I know it feels good but fuck are you slow," he groaned, thrusting his hips upwards in tandem with your bounces. You cried out at the sudden thrust, tears dripping down your cheek, "Chris, chris, hah, fuck!" You cried, burrowing your face into his chest as he fucked up into your needy cunt at a relentless pace. Chan nosed your neck, he licked and kissed your skin, "That feels way better, yeah? My big fucking cock pounding your tiny little cunt," he groaned, thrusting harder and faster. 

"Hhgh, hah, more please, ah," you moaned, your eyes rolling back at the constant pleasure buzzing through your body. Chan chuckled, kissing your forehead, "Cum for me, little girl. I can feel your needy cunt milk my cock. Your walls are fluttering so fucking much," he said, his voice husky and low. "There, there, fuck!" You cried, dragging your nails down his chest as your orgasm broke. Chan hissed at your scratches, your walls squeezing around his girthy cock, "Good girl," he praised, thrusting through your orgasm. You sniffled, whimpering when he continued, "Too much, Chris," you whined, feeling his rough fingers rub your clit in tandem. 

Chan groaned against your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin, "Shit, shit, hah. I'm cumming," he groaned, thrusting deeply one last time before pumping deep within your walls. Another climax broke from you, your ears buzzed from the pleasure. Chan rubbed your back, stroking your cheek, "I'm never letting you go now, little one. The moment you said please means you agreed to the casualties," he whispered, nuzzling your hair. You sniffled, burrowing yourself into his chest. Chan chuckled, "You're alright, baby. It's safe. It's just you and me," he hummed, slowly thrusting his cock in and out of your dripping cunt

AMAB

"You're too big in this position," you whined, trying to ease yourself down his cock but it kept slipping between your dripping ass. Chan chuckled, "Baby, I already fingered your hole open with four fingers, I'm pretty sure you're letting it slip away on purpose," he teases, lightly tapping his cockhead on your rim. You're mewling at the stimulation, "Help me? It's scary on my own," you sniffled, arching for his cock to fill up your ribbed walls after the long dragging foreplay his fingers teased to loosen your tight hole. Chan hummed, aligning his leaking cockhead with your slightly gaping hole, "Deep breaths, little boy," he growled, hearing the audible crude pop of your hole accepting his girthy tip.

You whimpered against his chest, slowly easing yourself lower and lower down his hot veiny shaft. Chan kissed your hair, "That's it. You're so close, baby. Another half more," he said, rubbing your waist. You lifted your head, "This is only half?" you whined, feeling so full. Chan cooed, gripping your hips, "Let me help," he chuckled, bucking his hips upwards. "Hah, ah, hah," you moaned, arching your chest towards him. Chan hissed, rolling his hips, "There we go. Down to the hilt," he groaned, stroking your thighs as searing hot walls engulfed his throbbing hard cock.

You hiccuped, your walls fluttering around his curved length, "Hah, fuck, fuck, fuck. It feels so good," you mewled, feeling the obvious tummy bulge when you leaned back. Chan growled at the sight, “Ah, shit. You took me so well, babyboy. Look at that bulge, so perfect for me," he rambled, his hair matting to his forehead as hot breaths escaped his lips. You lifted your hips, and gripped his shoulders, "Oh, yes. Hah, hah, ah," you whimpered, feeling his cockhead messaged against your sensitive bundle of nerves. Chan growled, watching your thigh trembled each time to fucked yourself down his cock.

Your bounce's were deep and through, his cockhead kissed your prostate every time you rode. Chan huffed, gripping your hips firmer, "I'm sorry, little one. I know it feels good but fuck are you slow," he groaned, thrusting his hips upwards in tandem with your bounces. You cried out at the sudden thrust, tears dripping down your cheek, "Chris, chris, hah, fuck!" You cried, burrowing your face into his chest as he fucked up into your needy hole at a relentless pace. Chan nosed your neck, he licked and kissed your skin, "That feels way better, yeah? My big fucking cock pounding your tiny little hole," he groaned, thrusting harder and faster.

"Hhgh, hah, more please, ah," you moaned, your eyes rolling back at the constant pleasure buzzing through your body. Chan chuckled, kissing your forehead, "Cum for me, little boy. I can feel your needy hole milk my cock. Your walls are fluttering so fucking much," he said, his voice husky and low. "There, there, fuck!" You cried, dragging your nails down his chest as your orgasm broke. Chan hissed at your scratches, your walls squeezing around his girthy cock, "Good boy," he praised, thrusting through your orgasm. You sniffled, whimpering when he continued, "Too much, Chris," you whined, feeling his rough fingers stroke your cock in tandem.

Chan groaned against your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin, "Shit, shit, hah. I'm cumming," he groaned, thrusting deeply one last time before pumping deep within your walls. Another climax broke from you, your ears buzzed from the pleasure. Chan rubbed your back, stroking your cheek, "I'm never letting you go now, little one. The moment you said please means you agreed to the casualties," he whispered, nuzzling your hair. You sniffled, burrowing yourself into his chest. Chan chuckled, "You're alright, baby. It's safe. It's just you and me," he hummed, slowly thrusting his cock in and out of your dripping hole.

[moonieandi]

snapshots pt. 2 | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: a quick look through concerning the early months of your life “married” to stanley pines, particularly centered around moments in the car

warnings (TW): swearing, illegal activities (of course), descriptions of panic/panic attack or general anxiety, alcohol consumption

tags: fluff, early relationship described, pining, very slight angst, affection

notes: i mean, i liked writing part one? so … i’m just gonna keep writing? do what brings you joy and all that jazz. alsooooo im currently unemployed and have too much time on my hands. any feedback is appreciated, seeing as this is the first (second) time i’m publishing online !

edit 8/27/24: hello! below i have linked my new masterlist that contains updated parts to this series, thank you and hope you enjoy!

word count: 3.7k

| masterlist | part iii |

When you reside within the same place as another, you begin to notice particular behaviors. Of course, Stanley had resided in an unquantifiable number of places in the last decade, but he had forgotten what it was like to live alongside someone. 

Forgot about the consideration of messes and manners, and forgot about his socks in corners and cans on bedside tables. These were things he never had to consider when he was confined to a single room and a shared bunk with his brother, but she was different. 

The first couple months he found himself stumbling around her at times. Let her lead through doorways, ask her what she would like for dinner, using odds and ends as a coaster here and there. 

But she was much the same in that way. 

She hadn’t ever had to share her space like this, much less with a man. She fumbled with answers concerning dinner, forgot her delicates in the washer routinely, and had a habit of throwing her feet up on Stanley’s chair when he sat across from her at their poor excuse of a dinner table. 

But this was months ago. 

No, they both had noticed these intricacies about the other and had more or less adapted around them. Laundry was done half-heartedly, a quick combination of their socks and delicates. A calendar made its home on the fridge with scribbles of dinner plans, and her feet were shuffled onto his lap every night, adjusted to fit across his hips. 

But she still leads through most doorways. He would never admit to why. 

There were other, smaller things too. These things made him ache somewhere behind his sternum, and he usually shook them off. 

Small things like how she curled at her end of the couch, or how she brought her face to any page she was scribbling on, always squinting. How she tidied the living room every morning like they would be having guests. How she came to the kitchen every morning, hand outstretched for the mug he had deemed hers. 

He decided to forget about these things. At least some of them that is. 

He knew for a fact that she loved it when he drove the most. She enjoyed the movement of the trees out the window, enjoyed stretching her feet up to his dash (despite his initial protest), and she loved the radio in particular. 

Common law says to keep your eyes on the road, and both hands on the wheel. But it was very hard to conduct when she leaned forward towards the radio, singing under her breath. She was so relaxed here beside him on the long bench in the front of his long-loved car. 

The car had been through hell and back, but he was sure it’d never encountered anything as enchanting as her bellowing singing. It would ring through the car, only ever on the way home, and only ever after a bar visit. The buzz would stray his eyes from wheel and headlights to her, head thrown back singing. 

He swerved on the road more than he cared to admit when she was in the car. The reminder of her safety usually woke him up from his fantasies of her with her head thrown back, with her hair spilling around her, and a flush on her cheeks.

But he rarely kept both hands on the wheel, to begin with anyway. His right arm always flung behind, scrunched on the back part of her seat, itching to find the soft back of her neck. 

Clearing his throat, he adjusted himself in his seat, both hands returning to the wheel. A smile never leaving his face, a laugh rising as she scooted closer, incoherent 70’s BABBA lyrics sung into his right ear. 

He’d admit he likes driving her, in particular, around. 

They had made for town for a handful of differing supplies that day. 

Stanley, Stan, had a bright idea to earn some seasonal money by making the front half of the shack into a tourist attraction. After an explanation of his initial encounter with a group of town folk upon his first couple days in the shack, she had nodded along in agreement. 

They needed money, and the need was only growing of course. 

She was the farthest from a financial advisor, but she knew the reserve of money she had come to town with was dwindling, and with them both diving head-first into Ford’s basement business, the idea of money had seemed trivial, at least to her, those first couple months. 

She knew though that money wasn’t a trivial thing for Stan (Stanley). That he hadn’t had a successful last decade, and that her life strayed from his own background astronomically. 

That was one thing that grated her slightly. How flippantly he spoke of Ford to her, but how he had not shared himself as willingly. It didn’t make him a liar to withhold said information, but the state of Stanley’s (Stan’s) car backseat that first month spoke of a man on the run. 

But he had lit up so differently when he dragged her to the front of the shack's cluttered room. Explaining where things would go, a cash register, a display case, and certain merchandise. She’ll admit to perhaps not completely listening to him at the time, but later she would look back and reflect on how he was unsurprisingly a great salesman. 

He had been so happy, dragging her from corner to corner, painting pictures with words, but he had looked too enchanting for her to really hear it. One hand in his pocket, the other gesturing, and a smile upon his handsome figure. He had reached back out, dragging her back to the front door, hand on the small of her back as he ushered her around. 

It was a dump up here, truly. The one place in the house she hadn’t gotten to scouring for clues yet. She was unsure as to why she left the room untouched at the moment, but she thinks it had a lot to do with the panicked memory of meeting Stan (Stanley), and how the glow of the backroom reflected on his face made her wander in through the front door like a madwoman. 

She made for the car very soon after his explanation, eager to get the supplies he would need to renovate the front of the room. He had beaten her of course, opening and closing the passenger door without so much as a prompt, and making his way to the driver's side. 

The drive into town had been great as always. It was one of those mid-spring days. Wet on the windshield and crisp until 10 a.m. The hardware store served its purpose, as they wandered from aisle to aisle, looking for particular wood stains and sandpaper. 

“Here it is Stanl-” He had come up behind her abruptly. Hand coming up to her mouth, stopping her sentence, flicking his eyes up and down the aisle. 

She turned to face him, an apology already on her lips. But he was already looking down at her, a hidden heat behind his eyes. 

“What did I tell ya, hun?” He whispered it in the space between them. “I told ya, I can’t be that here.” 

He couldn’t be him anywhere anymore, at least not in the light of day. She had tried to shake the old him, but somewhere in the far reaches of her mind, she had a hard time calling him Stan. 

Because she knew it meant he was being Ford, not Lee. And it was hard to lie about anything concerning him, concerning Stanley. 

He sighed, his hand leaving her lips and running through his long hair. “We gotta get outta here anyways. Come along, hun.” A practiced smile reached the corners of his mouth, another lie. 

Unfortunately for his psyche, the cashier wanted to talk their ear off also. 

“Oh hiya, Stanford!” And of course, they knew his brother. 

A smile crawled up his face anyway, making nice like he figured his brother may have done all those months ago. 

“Getting supplies? Any new projects?” 

“Uh nah nah, not at the moment. Looking into renovating parts of the shack for some business right now.” 

“Business? Really? Never took you for much of a businessman.” The cashier continued to bag their samplings of wood stains. “But hey, life takes ya in odd directions sometimes!” 

He tisked. “Don’t I know it buddy.” He shook his head a little, grabbing the bag, peering over his shoulder checking for his smaller shadow. She followed in his wake, slightly downtrodden to have cut their store visit short with her stupid mouth. 

“Oh, Stanford!” The cashier called, but he didn’t turn until she reached for his jacket’s dirty red sleeve, tugging to turn him back. Flushed, he meets the cashier's outstretched hand. 

“The receipt! You always want the receipt.” 

He crushed the receipt in his hand. “Right… right ya, thanks.” 

She followed him back to the car, her hand never leaving his sleeve, brushing her warmth against his slightly shaking palm. He doesn’t forget to open her door or to slam the wood stains and sandpaper into the back of the car. 

The ride back was tense, and not of its usual bravado and fanfare.  He had peeled out of the parking lot all too quickly and regretted it the next moment as he looked over and watched her pale in the passenger seat. 

She didn’t reach for the radio, hands folded on her lap. She didn’t look out her window, as the trees blurred differently under Stanley’s hasty speed. 

Under Stan’s hasty speed. 

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of this mess. And he definitely didn’t want to upset her. His arm never met the back of her seat, his knuckles tight around the steering wheel. 

He didn’t think of pulling over until he looked at her halfway home. Ram-rod straight, pale as all hell, and eyes blurry with undescribed grief. 

He cursed under his breath, pulling the car off to the side of the road, gravel underfoot. 

She got like this at times, at his temper. He knew at times he could be loud, that he raised his voice at inconveniences and the T.V. Knew that her lip curled in a particular way when on a very off day, his frustration explodes in her face. He was quick to anger at times, and she was quick to cover. 

He made himself so big in the face of things, but she folded into a different shape when he did. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he prayed she knew that he would never turn his anger to her. That he had raised fists before and spilled blood, but he’d never raise them again unless it was for her, if she would allow it. 

But he doesn't want her to get small in the face of his, well, everything. Because he had been angry at so many things in succession in his life he lost count, and he doesn’t want to lose the part of himself that cared for her in his anger, and he doesn't want her to fold into odd shapes and shadows in the face of him anymore. But above all, he didn’t want the reminder of his father to taint whatever the hell this was. It was bad enough he saw glimpses of him in the passing reflections from time to time.

He loved the fight in her eyes when they spat back and forth sometimes, a sarcastic, fake fight brewing between them. That’s how they both always ended up laughing at the dinner table most nights, and how he felt closer to her most days. His anger was never her responsibility, or her doing. She had never truly upset him once, and the way they played with words back and forth over a meal like an old married couple rattled a few rusty cogs in his brain from time to time. That his anger could at least be amusing, because when she smiled he forgot all about it anyway. 

So he parks the car in Spring and turns to her with his guts in his lap for the first time since he spoke to her that Winter night when he thought his prayers had been answered when she plowed through the shack’s door like a tidal wave. 

“I hate this.” He sighed. “And I can’t stand when you fucking look at me like that.” 

Her lip curled. Fuck fuck fuck. 

“I know.” It wobbled out her mouth. “I ruined the day, I’m sorry.” 

He leans back, his hand meeting the back of her seat. A beat, before he turns to her completely, like he does every night across the dinner table with her feet propped across the entirety of his lap. 

“I don’t want you to apologize to me. You should never have to apologize to me. I don’t want you to, ever fucking think you gotta hand that over to me again. Because you’ve never done anything to upset me doll, not ever.” 

She sniffles, a moment of crisp silence. Spring rain beats on the windows in a mist. A smile comes to her lips, and he sags in relief, anger fading.

“Except when I forget the laundry on the line.” She’s cracking jokes now? 

“Except that ya, because I kinda need socks and underwear mmk?” He laughs only slightly, a tiredness seeping into his posture. 

“I didn’t used to be like this.” 

“Like what?” 

“A bad liar.” He admits. He hadn’t disclosed much of his past to her. He wasn’t ashamed of it much when it came to disclosing his long resume to others, but she made him nervous. And he hadn’t been really, truly, honestly nervous in a long time. So he did what he does best, and he lied. 

“I could buy the shirt off your back from ya in under 10 minutes I swear.” He readjusts in his seat again, hand slowly creeping up the back of her seat still. “I’m a great liar, it’s how I made it from state to state, and the reason I’m not allowed back in Pennsylvania.” 

She laughs truly now. She had figured that was what he was used to. Long trips and longer fibs. She didn’t care much about the morality of it, because when she imagined him somehow corrupt in her mind's eye she remembered him bent over her on the couch, and how it felt to listen to the T.V. fade into the background as he carried her up the stairs. The faintness of her sheets, and the brush of his hand on her hairline. 

“But I can’t lie about this, or at least I'm really fucking bad at it.” He interrupts her thought. “I’m the farthest thing from Stanford Pines.”

“Perhaps you are, Lee.” A name she hadn’t used out loud fell between them. “But no one ever asked you to be him.” 

She realized quickly in her desperation to reassure him that she was also being a hypocrite. It was hard to call him Stan, she realized, but only because she was afraid of hurting him. The memory of Stanford still lived between them, and although they tried to shutter his existence in the basement they both weren’t very good at playing pretend yet. 

But they would need to be. It’d need to be the best con he’d ever pulled, that they had ever pulled. He just wasn’t used to having a partner quite yet. But they needed to be honest now if they were gonna pull it off and bring Stanford home. 

“You don’t need to be him. I know you aren’t him Stanley, and I don’t want you to be.” She paused, considering. “If we are going to do all this though, we need to work together. I-I need to get better, I need to call you Stan, and you need to believe me when I tell you I’m staying for the long haul.” 

He sighs again, readjusting to look over at her. 

“I lived a long time trying to be something great like I thought he was, like I know he is. But I haven’t, I hadn’t, seen him in so long. I don’t know who he is anymore.”

“You both have a surprising lot in common, actually.” She shrugs, a smile coming to her lips in memory. “You both smile the same, and you both doodle the same way, and you both tilt your head to the left when I ask a dumbass question.” 

He laughs at this, a memory of passing scribbles and doodles in class back and forth, and the comic books he would spend all night drawing in their shared room’s lamplight. Some things always stick, at least. 

She bridged the gap of some odd ten years, and he could at least be thankful about that. 

“I just want you to know… Stan. That when I do call you Stan, I mean Stanley- not Stanford.” She shrugs again, nervous. “Because you’re not him, you're right, and if you don’t want me to lie about this one small detail, it can be between us.” 

She had somehow come to the heart of his predicament without much digging. He had worn many hats in his time bouncing from state to state, a conman, a businessman, a thief, and a liar. But he didn’t wanna make her one of those things, and he knew by associating with him she would need to be. Just in the blur of it all, he didn't want to be someone else to her. Not even in name. He wanted there to be honesty between them because otherwise, it wouldn't work. What wouldn’t work? 

He finds resolution in her answer. That he will always be Stanley to her, and Stanford to others, at least for the time being. Oddly intimate, closely personal. He wouldn't linger on the thought.

“You’re right as usual, doll.” A smirk comes to his lips. “Team?” He questions, fist uncurling from the back of her seat, brushing between them to meet for a bump. 

She smiles brightly now, meeting him in the middle. “Team.” 

He sinks in the seat, beat from the emotions of the last hour already. “Okay we need to do something fucking fun now.” 

“Like what?” Amused, she reaches between them to turn the radio back on, sick of the silence in the shell of the car. A hum already on her lips. 

He smiles, a scheme on his lips, a memory playing in his head when he looks at her. 

She flushes, a quick shake of her head. “No, no, no Stan, no I am not doing it no.”

He loves how she fights it but he knows how to get his way with her already, even if it has only been a short six months. Flushed in her seat, and begging him. Fuck. 

All he has to do is fucking smile, with that stupid glint in his eyes. “Yes, ya are!” He taunts, a laugh already bellowing. “You’re driving!” 

“I don’t fucking know how and you know it!” She had been embarrassed to admit it to him that one night, that she had made it this long without a driver’s license, but he had all but said please that night, vying for blackmail from her. He had told her about his kiddy comic books, so she had to fess up to something stupid of equal measure he felt. 

“I’ll teach ya!” 

He was already out his door and around the front of the car, opening her own, and reaching across her lap to unbuckle her from her seat when she continued to shake her head. 

She moved only when he began slipping his hand under her thigh and around her back to move her across the long bench to the front of the wheel. He sometimes forgot about where he put his hands on her, when he was giddy like this. She never minded, though. 

She was still shaking her head when he reached back over her to buckle her into her new spot behind the wheel, laughing all the way. Amused by her protest of this simple thing. Only amused, because he knew deep down she was actually okay with it. Another fake fight ongoing between them, some old cogs moving in his head. 

He moved back some, but resided half in the passenger seat and half in the middle, his big hand on her thigh. Fuck. 

He leaned down (Fuck), his other hand pointing at things she should have been paying attention to. This is like the shack all over again. 

He looked back at her, even more amused by her flustered face, and repeated himself like he knew what was going on in her head. Because, well, he kinda did. 

“This is the petal to the right, and the break to the left, doll.” He brings his hand back to the wheel. “This stick on the left is the turn signal, and this stick on the right is the shifter.” 

She began to breath again when he moved away, but he was still chuckling through ever sentence of course. Too handsome for his own good.

“Now all ya gotta do, doll, is shift from park to drive, but put ur foot on the break first.” 

“Uh… this one?” She put her left foot on the left most pedal. 

He squeezed her thigh, goddamnit, leaning back into her to basically physically move her foot. 

“No, no, ya gotta only use your right foot. You can’t use both.” 

“Why not?” 

He shrugs, tilting his head left at her dumbass question. “Because I said so.” He laughs again, hand still very warm and very present. 

“Okay, okay… okay.”

He nods. “Okay okay okay, now just shift the right rod up here.” He grabs her hand, bringing it up and showing her the different gears and how to count through them. Forgetting himself in his amusement, hand still on her fucking thigh. 

He laughs all the way home, and she thinks it’s worth the constant breaking she does in the middle of the road when she gets spooked by the speed of the car. The road is luckily empty, and the radio is drowned out by Stan’s commentary. She doesn’t mind the jabs at her newfound skill, and he takes jabs right back when she slams the break particularly hard and his head gets precariously close to the dash. She doubles over at that one, amused by the sudden shock on his face, but quickly distracted by the hand still on her fucking thigh. He thinks she looks nice like that, behind his wheel. 

They make it back to the shack in one piece, but he’s the one that has to reach over to shift the car back into park. 

He realizes when he looks back over at her, that he had forgotten his anger a while ago, and that his hand had made a new home on the soft of the back of her neck, moving from her thigh when he shifted gears. 

He would let her drive again, if it meant this. 

She’d admit she likes driving him, in particular, around. 

He’d just need to stock up on brake pads. 

[imaginespazzi]

Our Merry Eternity

And she swears that every Christmas season, it feels like they fall deeper and deeper in love with each other.

(In which a writer would like to argue that a day after Christmas, is a perfectly reasonable time to release a Christmas fic)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Fluff, fluff, fluff with some hurt/comfort and angst if you squint

Words: 9.4K (if I could write things shorter maybe y'all would get things faster but alas)

TW: Implied sexual content/suggestive content, mentions of divorce, mentions of injuries, swearing

A/N: MERRY (one day after) CHRISTMAS MY LOVIES <3 It seems like everyone wanted domestic fluff and who am I to deny the people what they want (even if it is a little later than I intended it to be) and I didn't realize how much I missed eternity-verse till I wrote this. I'mma keep this short and sweet and go through the basics. Such as the fact that I did not edit. I eventually will but for now, feel free to let me know about any grammar/spelling/formatting issues. And even though I haven't had the time to go through my inbox in a hot second, I promise I will soon so as always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't and what you'd like to see in the future. Have a lovely rest of your holidays my angels <3

It’s beginning (to look a lot like Christmas) 

Paige isn’t the biggest fan of Christmas; she doesn’t dislike it by any means but she’s never understood the fascination everyone else seems to have with it. Perhaps it’s because when she was younger, Christmas had been her parents’ favorite holiday to try and one-up each other. They’d competed in everything, from how big the tree was to how evenly spread the icing on the cookies were. Eventually the excitement of getting a big expensive present from one parent that would only be rivaled by an even bigger, more expensive present from the other wore off and all that was left was this hollow feeling of being torn in two. Her parents have matured now -no longer in a constant battle for her approval now that they had other kids to focus on as well- but the magic of Christmas had long worn off and Paige hadn’t bothered trying to rediscover it. 

Until now. 

Because right now, watching -through a facetime call that’s been running for almost four hours now- Azzi run around Walmart, searching for decorations and presents with her exasperated family in tow, almost feels a little magical. The way the younger girl’s eyes twinkle when she finds the perfect gift, the way her dimples deepen when she triumphantly wins an argument against her mother for an ornament her tree needs, makes Paige think that it would be so easy to fall in love with Christmas, if she got to spend it with Azzi. 

And it’s like Azzi’s reading her mind because suddenly the younger girl’s face is filling all of Paige’s screen as she holds the phone close to her face, lips pouting in a way that has the blonde feelings decidedly unfriendly feelings toward a girl she’s barely known for six months, but feels like a best friend she’s known all her life. 

“I wish we could spend Christmas together,” Azzi says with a slight whine, “and then you could help me with all of this. They’re absolutely no help-” her last sentence is cut off by her family and Paige laughs as the Fudds break out into a series of indignant protests. 

“Oh so you just want me for manual labor or something huh?” Paige teases, leaning back against her bed and folding her arms across her chest, “and here I thought it’s cause you missed me.”

“I do miss you,” Azzi says matter-of-factly.

“Nah,” Paige shakes her head, “sounds like you just need another person to slave around for you.”

Azzi's mouth falls open at the accusation as the Fudds break into laughter behind her, the sound of it making something impossibly warm bloom in Paige’s chest. 

“I do not make people slave around for me.”

“Yeah you do. You’re the princess. You order us around and we do as we’re told.”

“Here, here-ow!” Jon’s noise of agreement is cut off by his sister elbowing him in the stomach, “do all that work and get rewarded by violence too.”

“I tell you I miss you and this is how you repay me?” Azzi asks, her voice tinged with drama. 

“Nah I still don’t believe you miss me,” it’s a lie; Paige is fully aware Azzi misses her -thinks that the younger girl has to feel at least a semblance of the emptiness she feels herself at the distance between them- but she likes making Azzi repeat it; likes the constant confirmation that Azzi misses her too. 

“Of course I miss you P, after all,” Azzi’s eyes glint with mischief, “we’re engaged aren’t we? A girl’s gotta miss her fiancé.”

The cavalier use of the tone of endearment makes Paige freeze. It’s a joke; a callback to the fact that Paige had practically threatened Azzi that she’d have to marry her if the younger girl won their little pop-a-shot competition last summer at the Minnesota State fair. Paige hadn’t been thinking, it had just slipped out but then Azzi had won the game and then there were rings being exchanged and somehow the whole thing had become one big running joke between the two of them. Except, the idea of forever with Azzi doesn’t feel much like a joke to Paige. It feels like a wish, a hope, a want, a need  something she’s not quite ready to admit to herself yet. 

“I miss you too Az,” Paige says softly as they grin at each other through the phone, “can’t wait to see my best friend soon.”

Thirteen days to be exact -they’d planned to spend the last half of winter break together- but it’s not like Paige is crossing the days off of her calendar or anything. 

“Fiancé,” Azzi corrects and Paige’s heart flutters despite her brain trying to remind her that this is just a bit they’re playing at. 

“Right, so fiancé,” the word tastes like sugar cookies and marshmallows on the tip of her tongue, “you get my present yet?”

“You know I have and before you ask,” Azzi gives her a knowing look when Paige excitedly opens her mouth, “no I won’t give you a hint about what it is.”

“But Azziiiiiii-”

“Absolutely not Paige,” Azzi says firmly, “presents are meant to be surprises.”

“Aren’t fiancés meant to tell each other everything?” Paige scrunches her nose. 

“Not this. Christmas presents are a sacred secret,” the younger girl replies gravely. 

“And who made you an expert on all things Christmas presents?”

“Santa did,” Azzi retorts haughtily. 

Paige snorts, “well Santa doesn’t ex-”

“PAIGE MADISON BUECKERS,” Azzi yells and the blonde can tell by the way she winces immediately that the younger girl’s little outburst had gotten her more than a couple of wary looks, “Paige Madison Bueckers,” she hisses again, her voice much quieter this time, “you take that back right now!”

“Az-”

“Take it back!”

“Bro you’re fifteen years old,” Paige argues. 

“Believing has no age,” Azzi hums airily, “now take it back.”

“Nope!”

“Take it back or I’ll end our engagement,” Azzi threatens and Paige blanches at ultimatum. 

“You wouldn’t,” she gasps. 

“Try me.”

Paige is sixteen and she’s only really just started to learn what love is, but she thinks, as she sits on her bed bickering on facetime over the most ridiculous of topics with a girl who makes her feel things she’s never felt before, that maybe love is just something as simple and crazy as pretending admitting Santa is real so she can prevent her fake engagement, that’s almost beginning to feel a little much like a real promise, from being called off.

2. With you (under the mistletoe)

The truth is that neither of them quite remember what started the fight or even really why it had continued after. All they know is that one minute everything had been fine and then the next minute, they were fuming at each other and their plane ride back to the DMV for Christmas had passed in uncharacteristic silence. They'd parted ways at the airport -glumly sauntering over to their waiting families while decidedly avoiding looking over in each other’s directions- with a dreadful mixture of regret, guilt and the feeling of missing each other. But despite the fact that they were both clearly miserable, Paige and Azzi were both too stubborn and too eager to prove which one of them could be more stubborn. This was their first true fight after they’d gotten together earlier this year, and they were both adamant that the other one would apologize first. 

But Azzi can feel the urge to cave in grow stronger and stronger by the minute as she feels Paige’s body against her own as the blonde reaches over the younger girl to grab something from the shelf. The contact is unnecessary and she knows Paige is doing it on purpose, trying to get a reaction and it takes every inch of self-control Azzi has to not shiver as the older girl presses herself against her back, acting like whatever she’s grabbing isn’t right at the front of the shelf. Azzi tries to focus on the cookies she’s icing, tries to keep her hands still as she traces the outline of a star in royal icing, tries to do anything but focus on the way Paige’s warm breath is tickling against the back of her neck. 

It’s two days till Christmas and the Fudd family and friends have gathered to do their annual cookie baking and decorating tradition. And Katie had been clear that no matter what issues Paige and Azzi were having, they wouldn’t interfere with the open invitation that Paige had always had -since she’d moved to the DMV but even before that really- to join them throughout the Christmas festivities. Azzi had pretended to be a little miffed by it but secretly she’d been hoping that her girlfriend -god she still got such a thrill out of being able to call her that- would show up. They’d only really been apart for a day, but since they’d met, Paige and Azzi hadn’t gone often without talking to each other -whether it was in person or through text or on the phone- and so 24 hours had felt a little bit like 24 years and Azzi had spent every second missing the girl who’d long since become a part of her soul. And even though Paige had grunted about only being here for Drew’s sake, Azzi knows -by the way the blonde’s eyes had drunk in the sight of her when she’d let her into the house, by the way her stiff shoulders had relaxed just by being near her again- that Paige had missed her just as much. 

But neither of them are quite ready to admit it yet, and so, as they bustle around the confined space of the Fudd’s kitchen, Paige continues to find ways to light Azzi’s skin on fire and Azzi continues to pretend it isn’t making her burn with want. 

“Noooooooo,” a drawled out whine from the kitchen table has Azzi and Paige jumping away from each other as they both turn to look at Drew. 

Azzi’s eyes widen and Paige bursts into laughter as they take in the scene in front of them. Clearly the little boy had overestimated his strength and the piping bag had burst and now Drew stands by the table, his lips slightly parted in shock, as the red icing -originally intended for the Santa hat cookies- drips down the front of his shirt. Jon and José are doubled down in their chairs, tears practically streaming down their faces as the sound of their laughter echoes through the walls. 

“Oh my god,” Paige manages to get out between her giggles, “what did you do Drewskie.”

“Nothing,” her little brother immediately defends himself, “it literally burst out of nowhere.”

“Sure it did little Hulk, sure it did,” José teases as he swipes his finger over Drew’s ruined shirt and then licks the icing off of it, the casualness of it causing Jon and Paige to burst into another round of laughter while Azzi tries as hard as she can to keep her own giggles contained but a smile slips through the cracks. 

“It’s not funny,” Drew stomps his feet petulantly, “I’m all sticky and icky and gross. Azzi,” he looks at the brunette with imploring eyes, “tell them to stop- OH MY GOD ARE YOU LAUGHING AT ME TOO.”

Azzi's eyes widen as she tries to protest, “no of course not. C’mon let’s get you a new-”

But before she can put her plan into action, clearly Drew has a different idea and before Azzi can stop it from happening, the little boy is grabbing another piping bag -this one with green icing- and aiming it straight at Jose. There’s a split second of silence as the green icing arcs through the air, almost in slow motion, before landing with a splat on Jose’s newly bought t-shirt. And then the room bursts into chaos as Drew immediately dives behind Azzi’s legs, Paige and Jon continue to lose their minds laughing and José lets out a loud scream. 

“WHAT THE FU-”

“José language,” both Paige and Azzi reprimand immediately and José glares at them but corrects himself anyways. 

“What the fudge dude,” José scowls at Drew, “this is a brand new shirt.”

For his part, the little boy shrugs, “I thought you liked eating icing off of shirts. I figured I’d make it easier and let you eat it off of your own shirt. 

If it’s possible this somehow makes Jon and Paige laugh harder and instead of focusing his wrath on Drew who’s still nestled behind Azzi’s legs, José turns on the two of them instead. 

“You guys think this is SO funny don’t you,” he says menacingly, grabbing for two more piping bags. 

“José no,” Paige is the first one to recover as she tries to turn away from the mess but it’s too late, and just as she’s trying to bolt out the door, she’s stopped by a glob of pink icing landing with a splat on the back of her plain white shirt. 

“Oh you’re so dead,” Paige whispers angrily as she turns around, grabbing another bag of icing and aiming it directly at José’s face. 

And then there’s no stopping anyone as Azzi watches as all the beautiful icing she’d painstakingly made and dyed into different colors begins to be thrown all over the kitchen, a rainbow painting itself all over the walls and floors. Drew darts out from behind her legs, joining into the mayhem as he starts to pelt Jon with all sorts of colors. 

Seeing them all distracted and knowing it’s only a matter of time before she gets sucked into all of it, Azzi slowly tiptoes backwards, wanting nothing to do with the mess, and she’s just about to turn around and run up the stairs when a low voice echoes behind her. 

“And where do you think you’re going,” because of course Paige had noticed her trying to escape; Paige always noticed when it came to Azzi. 

“Paige,” Azzi warns slowly, trying to move away from the other girl, her eyes fixated on the purple icing in the blonde’s hands, “please.”

Paige smirks as she takes another step towards Azzi, “this is a little unfair isn’t it?”

“Hey I didn’t start any of this,” Azzi puts her hands up in surrender, choosing to back away from the stairs and towards the living room instead, “go fight the people who did.”

Paige shakes her head as she takes another step, “I already got ‘em all. Amateurs,” she says cockily, “they think they can beat me in a food fight.”

Azzi rolls her eyes, “is there anything you’re not arrogant about?”

“Can’t help that I’m good at everything,” Paige shrugs and Azzi’s about to come up with a snarky retort when the blonde’s eyes soften, “except I guess- I guess I’m not too great at apologizing.”

Gone is the air of overconfidence that had surrounded the older girl just a second before and in her place is that soft, vulnerable Paige that Azzi is so desperately in love with and she can’t help but take a step towards the blonde. 

“We should both probably apologize huh,” she says quietly, “think we both said some petty shit we didn’t mean.” 

It’s true; they’d known each other so long and so deeply that they knew exactly how to push each other’s buttons, how to say the exact wrong thing to rile each other up when they were frustrated. The fight had been inevitable; an explosion of all the angst that existed between two athletes who were both fighting injuries and watching their team struggle without them. It had started with something little that Azzi can’t quite remember but then they were yelling about other things -Paige’s grievances about how Azzi had an irritating habit of hovering and Azzi’s issues with Paige’s tendency to close herself off- and it had ended with both of them near tears as they’d frustratedly stomped into their rooms. 

“I’m sorry,” Paige says it first, as she loops her arm around Azzi’s waist, bringing the younger girl as close to her as she can, “I love you. I miss you.”

Azzi smiles, her hands finding their rightful place around Paige’s neck, not caring that the other girl is still covered in sticky icing,  “don’t gotta miss me baby. I’m right here,” she says softly, resting her forehead against the blonde’s, “I’m sorry too. I love you so much.”

“Look up,” Paige says softly, as she strokes Azzi’s cheek and the younger girl does as she’s told, laughing when she notices the mistletoe hanging above them. 

“Kissing under the mistletoe? You’re so cliché Bueckers.”

“Clichés are clichés for a reason Az,” Paige hums faintly before she’s pulling Azzi into a searing kiss, holding her as tightly as she physically can. 

And yet Azzi still finds a way to tug her closer, trying to find a way to meld their bodies into one as she presses herself as close to Paige as possible. She’s just about to suggest they take this upstairs -because god has she missed being with Paige- when instead she feels the older girl pull away and before she can even react, she’s being hit in the face with a stream of bright purple icing. 

“PAIGE WHAT THE FUCK,”

“Sorry baby. Just couldn’t help myself,” Paige grins as she steps back into Azzi’s space, gently attaching her lips to Azzi’s cheeks as her tongue languidly licks away at the icing and this time the younger girl doesn’t even try to hide the way her body reacts to it, “I promise I’ll clean you up though.”

3. I’ll be home (for Christmas)

“I’m good I swear,” Azzi’s voice is raw and hoarse like it often gets when she’s been crying and despite the younger girl’s best efforts to put on a brave front, Paige can hear right through it. 

She cocks an eyebrow, shifting from her back onto her elbows and placing her phone -with the facetime call- against the headboard, “then why won’t you let me see your face?”

“It’s not me. Something’s up with my camera. I don’t know what,” and if it was anyone else, even someone else who also knew that Azzi had literally just gotten a new phone, maybe the attempted sincerity in the brunette’s voice would be enough to convince them that she was telling the truth. 

But Paige has every line of the Azzi Fudd façade memorized, knows exactly how to discern the little cadences in her girlfriend’s voice and read between the lines. She knows Azzi’s purposely refusing to show her face; knows that it’s probably because it would take Paige one glance at said beautiful, gorgeous, stunning face to know that there had been tears running down it just a little bit ago. 

The blonde sighs, choosing to let the lie go and instead focus on the precious few minutes she’s got to speak to her girlfriend in peace. This is the first time Paige and Azzi have truly been apart for an extended amount of time since the latter had gotten to UConn and somehow the past few weeks have felt worse than when they’d spent months and months apart. With Paige trying to lead an injury-riddled team and Azzi rehabbing another torn ACL, the opportunities to indulge in a proper facetimes call had been few and far between. And when they did finally find the team, it wasn’t just that they were physically tired; they were both emotionally drained too. It was hard recharging when their batteries -each other- were so far away and every call felt hollow; like something was missing. 

“I miss you,” Paige says finally, feet digging into her bed as she musters up a soft smile, wishing that she could see Azzi return it with one of her own instead of staring at a black screen with only her own face in the corner. 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” the younger girl says lightly and something uncomfortable churns in Paige’s stomach. 

“You uh- you haven’t said it back in a while,” she says slowly, trying to keep her voice casual. 

“Said what?”

Paige gulps, “that you miss me,” she gives Azzi a second to respond before her nerves have her speaking a mile per minute, “I mean not that you- not that you have to say it back or anything it’s just- you usually do- or like you always did and you just- you just haven’t said it back. And I mean I don’t say I miss you just so you’ll say it back or anything. I mean I do- you know- miss you and so that why I say it- because- because I miss you- I miss you so fucking much baby and I just- I just want you to know that but you haven’t- you haven’t said it back in a little bit and I just- Azzi,” her voice cracks as she tries not to let the tears slip through, “you do miss me don’t you?”

The other girl is quiet for so long that Paige thinks maybe she’s said too much; her mind rushes to the worst possibilities because what if Azzi really doesn’t miss her? What if her insecurities are right and the time apart has made Azzi realize that she wants something other than Paige?

“Of course I miss you Paige,” Azzi’s voice is thick with tears and all of Paige’s previous fears are replaced with worry instead, “god baby I miss you so fucking much. I miss you all the time and I’m sorry, fuck Paige, I’m sorry if I ever made you think I didn’t but baby- I-,” she’s heaving through her tears and Paige wishes she was with her; wishes she could wipe away her tears and hold her forever. 

“Azzi-”

“I haven’t been saying it back because- because-” Azzi pushes on, still struggling to speak but determined to say her piece, “I can’t okay? I can’t keep saying it Paige- I can’t keep telling you I miss you and hearing that you miss me when we can’t do anything about it. And I get it- okay- I get it. I get that you have to be with the team and I have to be here and do my rehab and we can’t- we can’t be together right but fuck- I hate it. I hate it so much.”

“Azzi,” Paige says again helplessly. 

She hates it too; hates that it’s so close to Christmas, so close to Azzi’s favorite holiday and her girlfriend is sobbing. 

“Shit. I’m being a terrible girlfriend aren’t I? You have a game in a couple of hours and here I am being a fucking selfish wet wipe instead of wishing you luck. Fucking hell,” Azzi curses and Paige can picture her frantically pulling herself together as she tries to change her tone. 

“You could never be a terrible girlfriend,” Paige reassures softly. 

Azzi ignores her, “besides, we’ll see each other soon right? You’re gonna fly home from Toronto to Connecticut tomorrow and then come home to me after right? Just a couple more days,” and it sounds like she’s saying it more to herself than Paige, “just a few more days- few more hours really. We can do this.”

“Yeah,” Paige agrees but she can’t help but feel like even that’s too long and there’s a plan starting to form in her mind; a good use of all that NIL money she’s been earning. 

“I love you P,” Azzi says softly, and despite the heaviness from before, Paige can hear the smile in her voice, “see you soon baby.”

“I love you too Az. I’ll be home soon,” Paige replies, a large grin settling onto her face as she gets ready to bring her idea to fruition; knowing that for now, their soons don’t quite mean the same thing. 

***

Azzi thinks her parents and brother must have the patience of a saint. She’s acutely aware that she’s been a miserable grinch to be around; either ignoring them or answering them with tight one-word sentences. Since she’d come down to Virginia for her rehab, she’s kept herself holed down in her room, only coming out when absolutely necessary. The worst part of it, is that it’s her favorite time of the year and Azzi’s barely participated in all the little Christmas traditions -half of which had really been created by her- that she’d normally be excited to indulge in. 

She sighs, burrowing herself further into her pillows to block out the chatter of her family upstairs. In a couple of minutes, she’s sure one of them will come rushing downstairs, pleading for her to come join them as they make Christmas themed pancakes. And she’ll refuse -just as she has with every other fun little activity- and all though whoever’s been tasked with getting her out of her cave will persist a little longer, eventually they’ll give up, that awful look, tinged in both disappointment and pity, on their face as they go back upstairs with a promise to bring her a plate in a little bit. It’s a terrible routine that’s been on rinse and repeat and Azzi thinks she’d really like to break herself out of it, but it feels like she’s drowning in it instead, and there’s not a lifeboat in sight to pull her out of her misery. 

Turning on her side, Azzi reaches for her phone, flipping to Paige’s contact and her heart aches from their last conversation last night. God she’d been so selfish, venting like that knowing her girlfriend had a game in a couple of hours; knowing how stressful each game -no matter how easy the opponent- was with an injury-riddled team. But Paige had sounded so miserable when asking if Azzi still missed her that in a way it had been infectious and suddenly Azzi found herself letting her own hurt waterfall out of her lips. 

She scrunches her nose, eyebrows crinkling in confusion when she realizes that the last text she’d sent Paige before going to sleep  -a simple you did really good today baby, i’m proud of you right after the game- had gone unanswered. Azzi frowns, looking down at her phone as if her staring harder at it might just conjure up a message from her girlfriend. She’d fallen asleep almost right after sending it and it was unlike Paige to not have answered her by the time she woke up. Azzi rattles her brain, trying to remember if the blonde had mentioned any other plans -beyond a dinner with Aaliyah’s parents that wouldn’t have kept her from her phone- but she can’t remember anything. Briefly glancing at the time and knowing that Paige’s flight to Connectcut wasn’t supposed to leave for at least another three hours, Azzi hastily texts her girlfriend again, crossing her fingers behind her back in anticipation of a quick reply. 

Good morning Paigey <3 

She gives it exactly three minutes, stomach churning when she doesn’t get a reply. 

I miss you baby. 

Another four minutes and still no reply and Azzi starts to feel her head getting heavy with that familiar weight of over thinking. What if she’d overstepped last night? What if it was too much? What if Paige had decided that she couldn’t deal with Azzi and her crap anymore?

She can hear someone starting to hurry down the steps, the quickness making her think it’s probably one of her brother’s who’s been tasked with getting her out of her room this time. But Azzi keeps her focus on her phone, ready to reject whatever offer is about to be made. The door creaks open and she doesn’t look up, typing another message instead. 

I love you Paige. 

“I love you too Azzi.”

Azzi freezes at the sound of the oh so familiar voice, her gaze moving from her phone to the doorway in slow-motion. She blinks in disbelief, mouth falling open as she stares at the figure in her doorway, taking in the sight of a disheveled blonde ponytail, the custom UConn sweats draped on a body that’s radiating exhaustion but more than anything her eyes fixates on that smile, the one that’s always been just for her. 

“Paige,” she breathes out slowly, almost as if she’s scared that saying it will make the girl in front of her disappear like a dream. 

“Hi baby,” Paige says softly, casually pointing to her phone, “I got your message.”

“You’re here,” Azzi chokes out and then, louder, “you’re here oh my god, you’re really here,” she repeats, rushing to get out of bed, desperate to wrap her arms around Paige, to hold her and be held in return. 

“Hey, hey, hey wait baby careful,” Paige chides, her focus immediately on Azzi’s knee, “stay where you are-”

“What? Why?” Azzi pouts and that elicits a little laugh from Paige as she walks over to the brunette. 

“Because,” the older girl says quietly, as she crawls onto the bed and pulls Azzi onto her lap so the younger girl is straddling Paige’s hips, “I’m here.”

Azzi looks at her in awe, hand tracing the curves of Paige’s face like she still can’t quite believe this is real, “yeah,” she whispers, “you’re here.”

And then she’s kissing every inch of Paige’s skin that she can, memorizing the way it feels soft and smooth under her lips, trying to make up for all the lost time of the past few weeks and perhaps even for when she knows they’ll inevitably have to be separated again. Paige’s grip on her waist is tight, fingers gripping her like they’re scared to let go as she shivers under Azzi’s featherlight touch. 

“I’m here,” Paige repeats again before she guides Azzi’s lips onto her own into a feverish kiss that has both of them letting out a long-kept sigh of relief. 

It starts off innocent enough, the two of them savoring the moment, savoring the feeling of finally being in each other’s arms. But then Paige’s tongue is licking into Azzi’s mouth and the younger girl is grinding her hips in the way she knows will drive the blonde a little insane as Paige’s own hands find themselves roaming underneath Azzi’s pajama shirt, rubbing circles dangerously close to the edge of her sleep shorts. 

“Missed you- missed you so fucking much,” Azzi babbles as Paige’s mouth moves away from her lips to trail a series of kisses down her jaw, to her neck before nipping at her collarbone. 

“Me too- me fucking too,” Paige mutters between kisses as she soothes her tongue over the mark she’d just tattooed into Azzi’s skin with her teeth, eyes glazing over when it elicits a barely-concealed moan from the brunette’s lips. 

“Missed this,” Azzi groans, continuing to roll her body against Paige’s, and she thinks she could fall off the edge just like this, untouched and fully clothed. 

“I know, baby. I know,” Paige pants as she continues her assault on the young girl’s skin, “gonna take care of you. I swear. Gonna make up for everything tonight-”

“No now,” Azzi whines, hands tangling in Paige’s hair and pulling in a way that has the older girl groaning into the crook of her neck, “I need you now. I’ll be quiet, I swear. Paige please.”

“Fuck baby don’t say that. You know I can’t say no to you.”

“Then don’t say no to me,” Azzi responds with a smirk, one hand trailing down to gently flick against Paige’s nipples causing the blonde to let out a conflicted noise somewhere between pure arousal and reluctant protest. 

“I can’t,” she says finally, resting her head against Azzi’s shoulder as she purposefully grips the younger girl’s waist to keep her still. 

Azzi pouts, “why not?”

When Paige finally looks up at her, there’s a sheepish look on her face, “I made a bet with your brothers.”

“What?” 

“They said they hadn’t been able to get you out of your room and I said I could do it in ten minutes and they said it would take me a lot longer,” Paige says, hands moving animatedly and Azzi can’t help the fond smile that flitters onto her face. 

“So let me get this straight,” she says slowly, “we haven’t seen each other in weeks, haven’t fucked,” she purposefully grinds her hips down onto the other girl, “in weeks and you wanna delay it longer because you wanna win a bet against my brothers?”

Paige has the decency to look at least a little ashamed as she nods before giving Azzi a goofy grin, “yes? I love you?”

Azzi rolls her eyes as she slips off of Paige’s lap, already missing the warmth of being on top of the other girl, “can’t believe you’d rather win a bet than fuck me.”

“Nah,” Paige smirks as she stands up, her hands immediately inching themselves around Azzi’s waist, “I’d rather win a bet, use that money to get us a hotel tonight and then fuck you.”

“You’ve really thought this through haven’t you?” Azzi shakes her head, trying to hide her excitement at the idea of being in a hotel room -being alone, just the two of them- with Paige tonight. 

“Ten steps ahead always baby,” Paige grins as she presses her lips against Azzi’s, ending it quicker than either of them would like, “now hurry up so I can win this bet.”

But Azzi doesn’t move, instead she pulls Paige back into her, resting their foreheads together as she breathes in the scent of her girlfriend. 

“I’m really glad you’re home P,” she whispers and Paige smiles, gently rubbing her back, “didn’t feel like Christmas season without you.”

4. You’re all I need (underneath the tree) 

Azzi’s just putting on the finishing touches to her outfit -dangly gold hoops that Paige had gotten her just because- when she feels a pair of arms wrap around her middle, a warm body being pressed against her chest. She smiles, letting herself melt into her wife’s -God she loves being able to say that- touch, leaning her head back against Paige’s shoulder. 

“You look so pretty in that dress,” the older woman whispers into her ear as she runs her hands up and down the velvety red material covering Azzi’s body, “but you sure we have to go to your parents’ right now? Cause I think you’d look even better out of it.”

Azzi giggles; they’ve been together for almost nine years -known each other for even longer-  and yet every time Paige gives her a compliment, she feels her insides swooning, cheeks going red like she’s still a teenager whose crush is flirting with her. And she thinks this feeling will never go away, that the halo-like glow Paige’s mere presence casts around her will never fade because this love -this all-consuming sense of you’re it for me between them- is going to last forever. She’s sure of it. 

“Do you ever think of anything but sex?” Azzi rolls her eyes as she turns around in Paige’s arms, fingers immediately reaching up to fix the collar of Paige’s matching red shirt. 

Paige grins, “nah cause I’m always thinking about you and so by default I’m always thinking about sex.”

“You’re insatiable,” Azzi shakes her head. 

“Can you blame me when my wife looks like that?” Paige makes a show of looking up and down Azzi’s body, letting out a low appreciative whistle at the way the dress hugs her figure, the neckline dipping just low enough to stay respectable yet sexy. 

“You look pretty good yourself Bueckers,” Azzi hums as she grazes her teeth lightly against Paige’s neck, making the older woman shudder. 

“Careful Az,” Paige warns, the sultry lilt in her voice saying the exact opposite, “I might start getting the wrong idea.”

Azzi shrugs cheekily, “and what idea would that be?”

Paige smirks, gently tugging at Azzi’s dress to expose a shoulder before she’s attaching her lips to the newly uncovered patch of skin, “that maybe you want us to be late. Or better yet, maybe you don’t want us to go at all.”

Keening under the softness of Paige’s touch, Azzi reluctantly pushes the older woman away, and that might be worse because now she can see her eyes and the lust swimming in them makes her want to give into temptation. But they’re already running late and she has no desire to give their brother’s any teasing material, so she settles on stealing another kiss from Paige’s lips. 

“Go warm up the car,” she mutters against the blonde’s lips, gently squeezing her waist before she detaches from Paige and starts to fix her dress, “I’mma just do a quick double check and then be out.”

“Yes your highness,” Paige teases with a slight roll of her eyes before she’s grabbing both her and Azzi’s packed overnight bags and heading towards the car.  

Azzi smiles as she watches her go. As much as they joked about not going at all, both of them loved spending Christmas with their families, especially considering how the Fudds, Bueckers and everything in between had melded into one big one. Despite the fact that living in the DMV now meant that they saw at least someone in their family once a week, the idea of having everyone under the same roof was still thrilling nonetheless. 

Life had a funny way of working out. The plan had been set in motion since Azzi had been drafted to DC and although Paige had been tempted to stay in Minnesota -after all being the hometown hero picked with the no.1 pick had served her and the. team well for her first four rookie years, considering she’d helped them return to their former championship glory- they had ultimately decided that with most of their family in the DMV area, it made more sense for Paige to ask for a trade to DC than it did for Azzi to move to Minnesota. It hadn’t been the smoothest transition -they’d had their fair share of fights while making the decision and then adjusting to it- but they’d figure it out. They always did. Because as good as Paige and Azzi were at fighting with each other, they were even better at fighting for each other. 

Quickly going through the to-do-list in her brain, Azzi nods to herself as she silently checks off everything. She does a quick glance of her room, making sure that they’re not leaving anything they’d need, before reaching to grab her phone, just to text her parents that they were on their own way. Instead her eyes catch on an email notification, her heart beating erratically when she reads the name of the sender. 

Fingers fidgeting with the heart necklace Paige had gotten her years ago, Azzi slowly clicks on the notification as anticipation burns throughout her whole body. She tries to steady her breathing as she scans through it, reading each line carefully and she almost drops her phone, large hot tears dripping down her cheeks as she reaches the end of it. Her chest feels heavy with an unknown feeling and she knows she needs to get to Paige, but her feet are rooted to their spot. 

“Baby,” she hears her wife call out, followed by the sound of Paige’s footsteps climbing up the stairs, “you ready yet? The car’s already- oh my god baby what’s wrong?”

Azzi looks up from her phone to find Paige standing in the doorway. Concern floods the older woman’s sharp features as she rushes over to her, hands running all over Azzi’s body as she tries to figure out what’s wrong. 

“Az? Baby? What’s going on? What happened,” Paige asks urgently, “baby please you’re scaring me. What’s wrong,” her eyes drop to the phone in Azzi’s hands as her voice gets desperate, “did someone say something? Do I need to go kill somebody? Fuck baby please don’t cry. Tell me what’s wrong? I swear I’ll fix it but you gotta tell me baby. Please.”

Wordlessly, Azzi hands over her phone. Paige’s expression is confused and apprehensive -maybe even a little preemptively angry- as she takes the device from her wife’s hand. Azzi watches as recognition dawn of the blonde’s face when she spots the familiar e-mail address; watches as her wife goes through the same emotions she had reading through the email. When Paige finally looks back at her, her own eyes are brimming with tears. 

“Baby,” she says breathlessly, “this- I- we-,” she chokes back a sob, her voice so quiet in comparison to the loud enigma that is Paige Bueckers-Fudd, “we’re gonna be Moms?”

Azzi nods, tears continuing to spill down her cheeks as she finally manages to open her mouth, “yeah- yeah we are. Paige, we’re gonna have a baby. No two,” she corrects herself, remembering the exact words of the e-mail, ��we’re gonna have two babies. Twins.”

And it’s unclear who moves first -it doesn’t really matter- but then they’re in each other’s arms, trying to hold each other as tightly as physically possible as their tears and smiles begin to blend into one. It had been a couple of months since they’d started the adoption process and they’d gone through every stage, slightly scared that something would go wrong. But they’d passed every background and family and personality check rather easily and it was this last part, the wait to hear about a child -well children- that needed them that had been the hardest of it. And now here it was, the last brushstroke that would complete the picture they’d started painting when they were fifteen. Two babies that would complete them. 

“You’re gonna be such a good Mom,” Paige mutters against Azzi’s hair, “god Azzi, baby I can’t wait to see you with our babies -fuck- our babies. Fuck baby I don’t know what you got me but I’m afraid it’s gonna have to be second best Christmas present I’m getting this year. 

Azzi laughs breathlessly, her face still buried in Paige’s neck, “think it’s gonna be the best Christmas present ever,” she slowly lifts her head so she can brush away the tears from under her wife’s eyes, “I love you. I wouldn’t wanna do this with anyone but you.”

Paige presses her lips against Azzi’s forehead, “me too baby. I love you so fucking much. You, me and our babies. It’s all I’m ever gonna want, all I’m ever gonna need.”

5. All I want (for Christmas is you) 

There’s a lot going on in her house right now -the chatter of family and friends mingling with the sounds of Christmas Carols blaring from the speakers, the mixed aroma of a well-cooked meal and freshly baked desserts, the twinkly lights strung all around the house blinking in different colors- but Paige’s entire attention is across the room where both of her two children are hanging off of her wife like baubles on a Christmas tree. Miles is situated on her lap, his head buried in his favorite place, between Azzi’s neck and shoulder. Sienna, always slightly more independent, has one hand wrapped around her mother’s ankle while she sits on the floor, her focus squarely on a princess coloring book. It’s a sight that will never stop making Paige’s heart swell with pride and happiness, her wife with their kids. 

Slowly excusing herself from the conversation she’d been having with a relative, Paige makes her way over to her family -to her whole world- with a soft smile on her face. She sits down next to her wife, placing a kiss to her temple that makes Azzi smile, before pressing one to her son’s forehead over the younger woman’s shoulder, before finally picking her daughter off the floor onto her lap and giving Sienna a kiss on her cheek. 

“Hi family,” she whispers and she thinks that if she could choose to have one picture ingrained in her mind forever, it would be a picture of the three smiles she gets in return. Miles’s is sleepy yet so sincere, Sienna’s is toothy and wide and Azzi’s- we’ll Azzi’s is exactly like it’s been since they were fifteen. It’s her Paige smile, one that is bright and beautiful and magnificent and filled with the promise of i’ll love you forever. 

“Mama look,” Sienna coos, shoving her picture in front of Paige’s face, “I color a p-incess.”

“It’s beautiful Si-Si,” Paige says warmly, “I think it should probably go on the fridge once everybody’s gone home yeah?”

Azzi snorts, her voice dropping so only her wife can hear, “baby, I don’t think there’s any more space left on the fridge considering you’ve been putting up every single thing they’ve ever colored or made.”

“I’ll make space,” Paige says haughtily, “everything they make is fridge-worthy.”

Azzi shakes her head fondly but Paige knows that despite her words, she’ll be right there by her side tonight to help her make space on their rather cluttered fridge so that they could hang Sienna’s new masterpiece somewhere on it. 

“Mi’s close to falling asleep,” Azzi gestures to the little boy in her arms who’s clearly struggling to keep his eyes open, “I think we should probably let them open their Christmas Eve presents now.”

Despite Azzi trying to keep her tone to a whisper, Sienna’s ears perk up at the word “present” and she turns on Paige’s lap to face her Moms with large, hopeful eyes, “it’s pwesent time?”

“Yeah sweetheart. It's present time, but only one okay?” Paige taps Sienna’s nose gently, laughing when the little girl nods diligently and then squeals with excitement, rushing off of her mother’s lap so she can tell anyone within earshot that it’s time to open presents. 

“I was gonna tell you to get everybody but I think she’s got it. She’s got your vocal chords for sure,” Azzi nudges Paige’s shoulder teasingly before coaxing Miles’ head out her neck, “you ready to open a present Mi?”

Miles yawns and Paige can’t help but coo at how cute he looks as he stretches in his mother’s arms. It fascinates her, how despite being twins, Miles and Sienna sometimes feel like they’re years apart. And she knows they're only 3 years old, and she knows that they’ll both change over time but Paige thinks that the difference in their personalities makes them fit together even more beautifully. Sienna had a protective streak, always ready to shield her demure brother and Miles had a knack from calming Sienna down, always ready to comfort his boisterous sister. 

“MI,” Sienna yells as she tugs on her twin brother’s arm, having somehow already gathered their family into the living room, “wake up Mi. Time to open a Ch-istmas Eve pwesent.”

“I coming Si-Si,” Miles says softly as he finally waddles off of Azzi’s lap, tiredly rubbing his eyes as he follows his sister towards the barrage of Christmas presents underneath the tree. Their mothers scooch off of the couch to stand closer to the tree, Paige wrapping her arms around Azzi from behind as she hooks her chin over her wife’s shoulder. 

“Alright Si-Si,” Tim says, his eyes twinkling as he looks down at his granddaughter, “remember, you should always pick the biggest present to open on Christmas Eve!”

Sienna’s eyes widen as she takes in her grandfather’s words before her gaze drifts towards the presents, scouting for the biggest one of them all. Paige drinks in the joy on her daughter’s face when she finally spots a large box that might just be taller than she is. 

“That one!” Sienna says gleefully as she practically climbs over the rest of the gifts to get to her chosen one. 

“Careful sweetheart,” Azzi calls out, her voice laced with hints of worry as she watches her daughter try to pick up the present that’s clearly heavier than she is. 

“Uncle Drew,” Sienna croaks out, turning to Paige’s brother as she realizes just how big the present she’d chosen is, “help me pease!”

Drew laughs, wading through the sea of presents to get to his niece as he sedulously sits down to help her unwrap the gift. Paige tightens her grip around Azzi in anticipation as she watches for her daughter’s reaction. The twins are old enough this year to really understand their gifts and even though Paige is sure she knows them well enough -they’re her babies for fuck’s sake- to have gotten them present they’d love, she’s still a little scared they wouldn’t.

“Relax baby,” Azzi leans her head back to whisper into the blonde’s ear, having noticed the way Paige is fidgeting with the sleeve of the brunette’s sweater, “she’s gonna love it. She’s our daughter. We know her.”

Paige presses a delicate kiss against the back of her wife’s neck, “you always say the right thing.”

“Because I know you,” Azzi says softly, eyes crinkling in the corner as she smiles at Paige.

They’re broken out of their reverie by their daughter screaming in excitement as she finally uncovers her present -a barbie basketball court-, and just like Azzi had predicted she would, she says, “I love it, I love it, I love it. Thank you Mama, thank you Mommy!”

Paige and Azzi laugh, opening their arms in tandem for Sienna to rush into, “we’re glad you like it Si-Si.”

“I love it,” Sienna corrects as she gives each of them a sloppy kiss on the cheek. 

“My turn now?” a meek voice cuts in and everyone's eyes fall onto Miles, who cowers slightly at having everyone’s attention. 

“Yeah it is,” Paige grins at her son, tickling him lightly in the stomach before pushing him towards the presents, “pick whichever one you want to open Mi.”

Miles chews at his bottom lip, cautiously observing the huge pile of presents before turning to his Mothers’ with a way expression and Paige has to hide her grin, knowing exactly what he’s about to ask. 

“Too many,” Miles says, bouncing nervously on his tiny little feet, “you help me pick pease Mama.”

Paige laughs as she gathers the little boy in her arms but not before she’s whispering in Azzi’s ear, “think he might be more indecisive than you baby,” which earns her a slight elbow to the stomach before she nods at her son, “of course I’ll help you pick sweetheart.”

She pretends to make a big show of searching for the right present, observing her son’s facial expression before she sees his eyes light up a little when she grabs a medium-sized blue one. 

“Aha!” Paige yells triumphantly, causing all the adults in the room to snicker at her antiques, “think you should open this one Mi.”

Miles grins as he makes grabby hands towards the present in his mother’s hand. It takes him approximately four and a half seconds to rip off all the wrapping paper and his eyes marvel at the gift in his hands. 

“Teddy,” Miles says in awe as he clutches the cuddly stuffed toy to his chest. 

“Yeah it is baby,” Azzi nods as she kneels down next to the little boy, “here,” she points towards the blue heart on his chest, “how about you squeeze it?”

Miles does as he is told, squeezing the teddy-bear’s heart as tightly as he can and it starts to glow. Paige and Azzi’s voices ring out through the room, singing -slightly off-key- Miles’s favorite lullaby. The little boy’s eyes widen when he realizes the sound isn’t coming from his Mothers', both of whom have their mouths closed, but from the teddy-bear’s heart. 

“Now, whenever you’re scared at night in your big boy bed, you can just squeeze teddy and it’ll be like Mommy and Mama are already there with you,” Azzi says softly as she brushes her hands through her son’s hair, “you like it Mi?”

“I’m gonna call it MoMa,” Miles says in lieu of an answer as he beams up at Paige and Azzi, “like Mommy and Mama but MoMa.”

Paige laughs, her eyes suddenly starting to feel a little wet, as she wraps an arm around Azzi’s waist, watching her children fawn over the presents they’d just opened. There’s plenty more left and she’s excited to watch their reaction to opening the others but the first ones are always just a little more special. And whether it was giving Sienna a basketball court, or giving Miles a version of their voices, through these gifts they’d tried to give their children a part of themselves. 

“Hey,” Azzi snaps Paige out of her trance, her hand reaching down to intertwine with Paige’s as she begins to pull her away from their family, “come with me for a second.”

“Azzi Fudd,” Paige puts a dramatic hand to her chest, smirking as she follows her wife upstairs, “are you sneaking me into our bedroom to have a quickie? While our family and our children are right downstairs?”

Azzi  turns to her with a cheeky grin as they enter their bedroom, tracing a finger down Paige’s arm, “would you object if I was?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not. Let’s do it,” Paige waggles her eyebrows, pulling Azzi into her chest but the younger woman immediately shrugs herself out of it as she goes into their closet instead, “oh okay then, leave me high and dry on fucking Christmas Eve.”

“Shut up,” Azzi chides, still rummaging through drawers before she finally emerges from the mahogany doors with a small silver box, walking back to Paige with a small smile on her face, “I figured you should get to open a present tonight too.”

“Well the present I was hoping to unwrap was you-” her joke is cut off by Azzi laughing. 

“Baby please, you are way too old to be saying that shit.”

“Hey,” Paige says with mock offense, “first of all, I’m not that old and second of all, you’re never too old to be flirting with your wife.”

“First of all, it’s okay that you’re old baby, I like them a little older,” Azzi smirks, “and second of all, you are if the flirting's that corny and third of all,” she gives Paige a pointed look when the other woman open her mouth to counter, “shut up and open your present.”

“Still so bossy aren’t you princess?” Paige shakes her head but she does as she told, delicately removing the lid from the box and gasping when she sees the necklace inside, “baby, it’s beautiful.”

The necklace is similar to the engagement ring she’d gotten for Azzi, not the one from the fair all those years ago, but the real one. It’s a simple enough chain with a heart shaped diamond-encrusted locket, except on either side of the heart, the chain is looped into two infinity symbols. 

“Open it,” Azzi says softly. 

“What?” Paige asks, still staring dazedly at the dainty jewelry in her hands. 

“The heart,” Azzi points to the locket, “it opens.”

Paige does as she’s told, delicately using her nails to pull apart the locket and a fresh set of tears brim in her eyes when she sees what’s inside. On one side of the heart is a picture of Miles and Sienna, the twins grinning at the camera and Paige remembers the exact moment she’d taken it. On the other side, is a picture of Paige and Azzi; specifically a picture of their kiss at their wedding. 

“Baby,” Paige says again, uncannily lost for words. 

“You’re really fucking hard to shop for you know that?” Azzi says slowly, her own eyes glistening with moisture  “like what do you even get someone who basically has everything because you know- like you always say- we’re your everything -all you could ever want is me, Miles and Sienna- and we’re already yours, just like you’re already ours. And so I figured I’d just give you a reminder of it, something you can always keep with you so you always know.” 

“It’s perfect,” Paige breathes out as she holds the locker out towards Azzi, “put it on me?”

Azzi grins as Paige turns around and the blonde watches through the mirror as the chain is placed carefully around her neck and her wife firmly clasps it together before placing a soft kiss to the back of her neck. 

“I love you,” Azzi whispers when Paige turns back around, “for eternity.”

“I love you,” Paige whispers back, pulling her wife flush against her chest, the locket with her world hanging between them, “to eternity and beyond.”

[sincerelybubbles]

It's a Date part 2

warnings: fluff, descriptions of being touch starved (? idk) not really edited oopsies

synopsis: things go well after f!reader and spencer's date, spencer helps reader see that she's wanted and deserving of affection

part 1

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

“Sorry, it’s messy,” you say, wringing your hands as you walk through the door. You hear Spencer laugh out through his nose, a quick burst of air that has you spinning around to watch him latch the door. 

He’s shaking his head, hair falling in front of his eyes, nose bridge crinkled. 

“What?”

“You’re acting like I’ve never been here before.” He twists the deadbolt and walks over to you, shaking his head one more time before slipping off his shoes and heading into the kitchen. 

“I don’t know, I guess it feels different, somehow, now that …” Neither of you has tried to put a label on this. It’s been weeks, coffee dates squished between hectic work schedules, yawning absences while he chases cases with the team, and one movie night at his place that had you listening to him rant about the inaccuracies of a historical drama you picked out. It’s been lovely, you adore his tendencies to go off on tangents, enjoying simply watching him light up and trip over his own words to get everything out. It feels like he’s racing to say whatever he can before you interrupt him. You never have, something he commented on during your second date. 

“You know you can just tell me to shut up when I go off about stupid stuff like that. Everyone does, I’m used to it, I don’t want to bore you.” “Why would I? It’s not boring or stupid — it’s stuff you care about and I like hearing what you care about.”

“Now that, what?” Spencer asks, settling his back against your counter and resting his hands on the edge behind him. 

He’s still in his work clothes, tie loose, gun at his hip, hair behind his ears. 

One thing you didn’t expect from him? Confidence. You knew he had to be confident in some ways — he’s never doubted his intellectual ability that you could tell — but it only took a short time for him to gain his comfort around you. No longer did he blush and bumble his way through sentences, struggling to meet your eye. Your first kiss actually seemed to clear that up quickly. 

It happened feet away from where you’re standing, outside of your door, after dinner. He reached forward to brush an eyelash on your cheek as you said goodbye, you leaned into his hand and, after a moment and with a burst of adrenaline that fueled your forwardness, you leaned up and toward him, a hand on his arm, and brought your lips to his.  He was hesitant, fingertips brushing your cheekbone, but he came to life as you pulled away to ask him if this was alright, palm meeting your cheek fully and bringing you in for a proper kiss.  Excitement was evident by the way he pressed closer to you, stepping nearer and putting another hand on your waist, locking you in place. Under the excitement was a tenderness you’ve never felt before. He kissed like he wanted to take all the air from your lungs but he held you with the sort of care that made your lungs ache for a reason entirely seperate from the kissing. 

“I don’t know,” you say, chickening out from asking for the hundredth time, going to meet him in the kitchen. 

“Hey,” Spencer says, catching you by the waist and pulling you to come stand near him with one hand on your hip. “Ask,” he says, tucking his chin to grin down at you, nudging your foot with his.

“Why don’t you?”

“I’m afraid to scare you off,” he says with a smile. Behind his eyes, though, you can see the truth in it. 

He called you the morning after your date. Young sunlight caught in your eyes and caused you to squint as you searched for your forgotten phone, spots dancing and dust creating a kaleidoscope as you pressed answer.  “Hello?” you asked, confused. It was Spencer, wishing you a good morning. He went quiet when you asked why he called, if everything was okay.  “Everything is fine, sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.” “It’s okay, I need to be up soon anyway. Why’d you call, though?” “I just couldn’t get the thought out of my head last night that I must have done something to mess it all up. I wanted to call and make sure I hadn’t.” “You could never, Spencer.”

You know the uncertainty still rears its head, even with the confidence that’s fostered with time. 

“It feels incredibly juvenile,” you say, rolling your eyes and smoothing your hands up his chest to rest on his shoulders. 

“Ask,” he whispers, “I’ll say yes. All you have to do is ask.”

The week after your first date, Spencer showed up at your office, panting, a bag in his hand. You stood up, shocked to see him at the station, and hurried out to meet him in the lobby.  “You said you wanted lunch from the Chinese place down the road because you forgot to pack something,” Spencer said by way of explanation. You had mentioned it, briefly, in a text. “I was just complaining, you didn’t have to spend your lunch break on this,” you said, eyes welling up with tears. You reached forward, ignoring the bags, and pulled him into a hug. “You’re entirely too sweet to me. This was too much.” “Nothing is too much, all you have to do is ask.” 

“When I call back my friend later,” you start, determined to ask while looking in his eyes, drowning as you do it, face heating, “can I tell her my boyfriend came to spend some time with me?”

It’s sort of a cop-out, of course, and Spencer catches it — you’re not directly asking, but he nods anyway, then laughs, leaning forward to kiss you. 

The kiss is messy, he’s laughing and you’re smiling, but you appreciate it all the same. 

“Why are you laughing?” You ask, leaning back and catching another kiss on your nose and then your cheek. 

“There’s a few reasons. I never thought I would have this, for one, and I guess I’m just happy.”

“You guess?”

“I know.”

You wind up in bed. Nothing nefarious, not yet — both of you understand that space to breathe and grow together is much more important and that awkwardness needs to settle into comfortable familiarity before crossing that specific line. 

Spencer drags his finger across your cheek, tracing your bone structure. His other hand is tucked under your side, holding your hip and keeping you close. 

The feeling in your chest is heavy, pressing up into your throat and capturing any words you could dare to think. 

“Are you okay?” Spencer asks, voice a whisper, breath fanning across your face and causing little hairs to prick up across your arms. 

You nod, looking him in the eye and signaling the truth. His nearness wasn’t causing you distress but the unfamiliarity of it is hard to not become consumed by. 

You squeeze your eyes closed, nose scrunching and fight tears. 

“Are you sure?” Spencer asks, voice hesitant, fingers leaving your face and arms pushing to give you space. Space you don’t want. Space that makes your eyes snap open, searching for him, afraid he might waltz off any moment. 

“Yes,” you say, voice certain and hand snapping out to grab him before he can go too far. 

Tears well up in your eyes, against your internal fighting. You huff out an embarrassed laugh, leaning forward to press your forehead into his shoulder. His arms tighten around you, hesitant around your waist and cradling the back of your head. 

“Tell me what’s wrong, please,” he asks, voice soft, begging, an undertone of a demand that you adore. The sense that he would do anything to ensure that you feel better washes over you. It makes the sweetly-sick feeling well up into you further, drowning your senses. 

“Nothing is wrong,” you say, cuddling into him, slipping a foot inbetween his and tangling yourself tighter, “it’s just been a while since I’ve felt … wanted. And I do, now, with you — feel wanted. At least, I hope I am.”

“You are,” Spencer interrupts, reassuring. 

“It’s nice but I don’t really know what to do with it.”

“It?”

“The feeling, I guess.” You shrug. “I suppose touch starved is the right word, but it feels like more than that.”

His grip tightens as your tears come with a faster frequency, to your own annoyance. 

“I’m sorry, this is a really nice moment, I’m beyond happy, I don’t mean to ruin it.” You attempt to pull away to wipe your face but Spencer doesn’t let you. 

“Did you know that some studies show that a lack of connection socially is more detrimental than obesity or smoking? We literally need to feel connected to other people. And that’s just social connection — when left alone without any type of physical connection, specifically physical connection from someone you care about, depression, stress, and physical health can deteriorate. It’s natural to feel overwhelmed when you’re finally getting what you need — what everyone needs.”

“Touch starved,” you whisper, allowing him to hold you tight, relaxing further into his hold.

“Sorry?”

“Touch starved — I’ve heard people call it touch starved.”

Spencers hand moves to stroke your hair, picking up strands and twisting them before smoothing it down again. 

“That feels like an apt term for it.”You fall asleep like that, warm and pressed into his side, listening to him softly tell you about his week, feeling secure and wanted in a way you never have before.

taglist: @0108s22m @bowerfeithwk @screechingphantommaker @cultish-corner @doigettokeepyou @izukuwus

note: i really intended on this being more so please forgive me -- let me know what you think! i welcome constructive criticism as well as any and all thoughts you have!!

now that i've finished this, i might attempt another part to give u guys more but i also am taking requests/thinkin' of new things to write!! more spencer to come, as well as possibly some hotch, so keep an eye out

ily all and tysm for the support <3

[itstheghostofmypast]

Big Spoon

Non-Idol Choi San x (F)Reader

Summary: Who knew he'd wake up bleary-eyed to find her a mess, one that was out of her control and his - or so he thought.

Genre: Fluffish

Warnings: None (just mentions of sad puppies)

Word Count: 1.3 k

Est.Read Time: 10 min

Rating: PG-13

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @san-network

Banner: @cafekitsune

"What are you doing?" He sat up, squinting at his lover who was sitting with her headphones on, blasting God knows what at 2 am. Good lord, no wonder the bed seemed so lonely and-

"Why are you awake?" She snapped at him, causing him to flinch, his little pout and amusing bed hair had her mentally scolding herself for the outburst, he was sitting there half asleep, half awake, though completely ready to get to the bottom of this mystery. She took a deep breath before biting her lip and mumbling, "S-sorry, I didn't mean to sound mean, client called and Hongjoong needed more photos so I uh...got up to do it now so I won't have to do it later- just because that lady's rich. " Turning the chair to face him she winced slightly, hoping he wouldn't notice it, though how would it be Choi San if he didn't?

"What's wrong?" He asked pushing the covers off as he sat at the edge of the bed, feet planted on the cold floor. The moment of clarity allowed him to notice the small hot water bottle on her lap, and the cup of green tea in front of her beside a giant flask and a tissue box- "Were you crying?" He cooed, getting up to go closer only for her to whine and roll her chair back, keeping her distance.

"Hey, come on." He pouted before jumping at her causing her to gasp, only to realise he had held onto the armrests of her chair, locking her in place, "What happened?"

"I-it...nothing." She mumbled, averting her gaze, in no real mood for anything at the moment, she just wanted to finish editing these photos and- "Does it hurt here?" He asked, gently placing his palm against her belly, causing her to whine and try to push it away, only for him to shake his head  and remove his hand, instead using it to cup her cheek, "Let me guess, you got the call, they asked you for something that makes no sense, and shark week hit mid brooding session?"

Her eyes widened by the end of his little monologue, as she nodded, staring at him in awe like a little girl who had just met a fairy, well, he was a fairy, a rather feline-looking fairy she could call her own. Elegant, yet endearing, soft and warm yet as solid as a rock, smart yet, just a little dumb- either way, he was her pretty, cute, little fairy- though if he heard this analogy he'd probably be throwing a fit for days, claiming he was anything BUT A FAIRY- he was, as he'd like to call himself and his bros (minus Wooyoung because frankly she had realised he was the only sensible one in the lot)  A KING!

"How did you know?" Her lips quirked upwards when he leaned closer to place a soft kiss atop her head, a gesture that would oddly make her all putty in his hands.

"Because I'm the world's best boyfriend." His voice boomed across the quiet room causing her to cover her ears due to heightened sensitivity, before frowning up at him

"The world's best boyfriend missed one thing though."

His shoulders deflated at the statement, and he flopped backwards on the bed dramatically, his back landing with a loud huff, "And what is that?"

"I was crying cause- " her breath hitched as the memories resurfaced,  "Some dogs go through depression and this puppy did too- I was watching the video and it was so sad...Sannie" she whined, calling him out for God knows but the flashing images of the puppy and the stupid client's appeal just bothered her even more, the cherry on top was the excruciating pain that was a constant reminder of how the world is too cruel to women.

Not a moment later she was gently pulled out of her chair, engulfed in a warm embrace as his familiar scent enveloped her senses, work left behind, as she felt the soft, warm pillow- nope that was his arm, "My head's heavy," with a small mumble she tried to move, but he clicked his tongue and pulled her closer, resting his chin on her head, "And my heart is heavy....my poor baby is in so much physical and emotional pain and I can't do anything about it-"

"We're never getting a puppy."

"I- um...okay?" He mused, giving her a gentle squeeze, of course, that one video of the sad puppies would make her come up with this verdict, possibly fuelled by her hormones. Making her laugh right now probably wasn't the easiest task, which is why he resorted to asking her the real question, though gentle toned and carefully curated, using his other hand to rub soothing circles on her back as he approached the topic, "I thought you sent the client all they asked for, did they want something out of the contract?"

With a loud huff she began, only to pause for a moment when another cramp hit, her fingers gripping his shirt as she took a deep breath before speaking (venting), "Apparently some of the guests, who refused to take solos then, now want their solo pics because the others who did get their solos taken got good results- like flattery will get you nowhere, I can't pull out your solo pics from my as-ah shit, " she hissed, trying to move, "I need my heating pad." He was quicker than her, jumping over her, letting out a hearty laugh when he heard her squeak and let out a few vulgar words. As quick and agile as a cat he hopped back on the bed, turning her on her back as he placed it on her lower belly, "There, all better?"

Nodding she placed her hands on the pad, pressing it against her skin before sighing, continuing, "Anyway, someone was like oh can you like crop us out and put us somewhere to turn it into our logo- you mean cut you out and paste the image, spend time blending, shading, fixing the highlights- no, because its not in the contract and I'm not being paid more for this."

"I...wow..." he mumbled, running his fingers through her hair soothingly as he sat beside her, looking down at her only to notice her trembling power lip and glossy eyes, "What's...wrong...baby, you don't have to do anything that wasn't under your contract." He hummed, tracing his fingertips over the slightly warmer skin of her forehead absentmindedly, "You want me to talk to -"

"That puppy was so sad, he looked like he wanted to cry and..." Turning to her side, as she closed her eyes, the rush of emotions getting a bit to strong, the tears leaking through her clenched eyes, hugging herself. This was stupid, she had ruined his sleep, woke him up in the middle of the night, snapped at him, told him stories that were irrelevant and then ended up crying about a video on puppies.

"I like being the big spoon."

Oh- that's why she felt so warm, and-

"How is laying on top of me the bigger spoon, you're crushing me."

"I'm protecting you from the bad vibes. Told you Hongjoong as a boss sucks, man's a capitalist monster."

With a sigh she relaxed in his hold, the added weight actually helping with the pain, both, physical and psychological.

"To sleep, you should stop thinking, leave your worries, for tomorrow's you." He sighed, giving her another squeeze, though he didn't recieve any response to his wise words, he could get them printed, "You asleep?" He whispered peeking over her shoulder only to smile,  two hours, they'd been awake for two hours, listening to God knows what she was going through, biological and induced. Either way, he was glad that she had the world's best boyfriend, he'd probably boast about this tomorrow to her, when she's in a better mood, when she's well rested and probably complaining once again, about how Hongjoong finding the dumbest, but richest clients. Need not worry, she'd always have someone loyal, sincere and the best big spoon out there- all her's.

Taglist: @edenesth @yessa-vie @the-kpop-simp @mlysalt @spooo00oky

[f0ofishies]

You were the little sister of Julian Loki. And you were also deaf, not that it mattered anyway. You've been using a hearing aid to help with that. Being Loki's sibling, you've also grown to love football. He'd teach you how to kick, pass, and even score against him. Notably, you also look similar to him– some may think you're twins.

Being a part of PXG, too, just like your brother came as a surprise. You were the only woman there who could actually keep up with more teenage boys. So, when fans found your interactions with other players, they couldn't help but fantasize if you were at least into some of them.

So when your big brother, Loki, was scrolling through his phone. He sat, watching a ship edit between you and the other guys, others have fantasized. Immediately springing up to action, yelling out your name. "Tell me what's the meaning of this..?!"

Itoshi Rin

You were lazily chatting up with Rin in a call. Occasionally, you two have been decent friends, even with how awkward this man is. Your eyes finally widened, the way your brother was yelling must've been important. Feeling atleast a groan coming up, you've quickly signed to him like you do in sign language.

Loki was immediately a bit fired up, the usual calm brother you know was a bit annoyed. "You're talking with Rin again?" The way he said it felt like it was something personal, and spoken in french too. "Yeah? is that alright?–"

"Not really, I just needed a talk with you." A talk? Now, this was serious, none of you were going to have a siblings quarrel even.. You were just so confused until he pulled out his phone.

"Look at this..!" The phone illuminated to show some tiktok edit going viral– even Rin from the camera could see it if he squinted. As you watched in anticipation– you realized it was an edit with both you and Rin. Then, let out a small gasp, Rin was even more alarmed now.

"Oh my God, bro..??" You let out a small voice after the edit ended, and it started replaying. "So, are you two keeping something from me?" He finally let out the question in English.

"Absolutely not!"

Charles Chevalier

He usually visited you and your brother quite often, considering how him and Loki had been training him to be his own passer. It's a bit weird, but you didn't mind not being at the field much anyway. Charles was a weird guy to, he's lounging on the sofa like a kid.

Loki didn't understand why he was even here, hanging out with them on an off day. But he decided to just scroll his phone. When you finally reached the living room, Loki was already scolding Charles for God knows how long. Charles just hummed closing his ears with his palms.

"Big bro?" His mouth immediately shut up at the sound of your voice. "Oi..! Your brother has been scolding me..!" Charles quickly whipped to your direction as Loki let out a small sigh. Straying past your brother quickly, over to your side.

Loki looked absolutely disappointed at Charles. "Did you know that these people like the edits of you two?" Now that made you confused. You were just grabbing a cup of tea, and now your brother was talking nonsense. "These people are thinking you both are dating!"

Then the phone's brightness casted onto your eyes, even glaring the light on you. Eyes widening infact– as the video played. It's a really lovey dovey song on that too, "Brother what are you on about!"

"Are you sure he's getting too close–" "I'm sure!"

Isagi Yoichi

Now you've only met him through the match between PXG and Bastard Munchen. Exchanging phone numbers, and you've grown to actually appreciate him. So, in a day off, you eventually met up with Isagi. No, what you both didn't know is that some fans recognized you, and it's gone viral.

Loki was just scrolling through his feed for the day, and his thumb stopped on a certain post. It was pictures of you and Isagi displayed on a thread. Investigating further, he found an edit of you two. Even the PXG boys asked Loki on the matter–

Let's just say you came home, with an investigating Loki. Your brother had never usually been this invasive in your space. Not when he's literally right by your shoulder as you had a call session with Isagi.

"Uhm, big bro..?" Your voice low, his head finally tilted downwards to meet your level. You heard his loud voice booming across the house already. "You and that Isagi.. are you guys together?" Certainly, you could hear Isagi coughing.

Even the other voices perked up in Isagi's end. Looks like the Bastard Munchen's dorm was alive and up to hear onto Isagi. "No?–" You were immediately questioned and even showed the evidence on Loki's phone. "Brother, we're just friends?" Loki's mouth pressed to a flat line.

"I swear– we have nothing like that."

[mingi-s-dimples]

Under their control - sanhwa

KINKTOBER DAY 22, REQ. BY anon

~"Would love a mommy!hwa x female reader x daddy!San fic! Hwa's not female, he just has a maternal vibe/ aura. The reader lives with them and is their (human)pet. They like to dress the reader in cute lingerie and collar and leash. A fic where the reader is getting punished for something (you can decide what) and they keep denying her orgasm. Some size kink, double penetration, fake sympathy, pet names. Thank you!"

pairing: mommy soft dom!seonghwa x fem reader x daddy rough dom!san

genre: 18+, filth, mommy/daddy bdsm trope

summary: you get on San's nerves again... which has always proved to not be a good idea.

wc: 7.1k

warnings: harsh/rough dom!san, soft dom!seonghwa, daddy!san, mommy!seonghwa, denied orgasms, pussy eating, marking, making out, double penetration, collar and leash, slight size kink, fake sympathy, lots of cum in the end, a crumb of aftecare in the end, teasing, pet names (kitten, darling, sweetheart..), ass spanking, unprotected, completely consensual, blowjob, handjob, for sure forgot something.. will edit 'warnings' later.

Author's Note: I looveeed writing this one... you can tell by the number of words LMAO. I hope you like it anon.. I'm sorry it took me fucking ages (I'm sorry to everyone ajsnda). I hope y'all like it <3 i love youuu

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent in any way the reality of the members.

The sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains of the shared bedroom, casting soft golden streaks across the plush duvet. The atmosphere was a mixture of warmth and tranquility, the faint scent of lavender lingering from the candle Seonghwa had lit the previous night. You stirred, shifting against the soft bedding, your cheek brushing the smooth pillowcase.

“Good morning, baby,” came Seonghwa’s voice, gentle and melodic, as he entered the room. His arms cradled a tray holding a cup of tea and a small plate with neatly arranged fruit slices. “It’s time to wake up.”  

You blinked, squinting against the morning light, and smiled sleepily at the sight of him. He was always the first to greet you in the mornings, his nurturing presence like a soothing balm. He set the tray down on the nightstand, leaning in to press a feather-light kiss to your forehead.  

“How did my little one sleep?” he asked, brushing stray strands of hair from your face.  

“Good,” you murmured, your voice still groggy. You nuzzled into his touch, relishing the tenderness he always exuded.  

“You have a busy day ahead,” he reminded, his lips curving into a small smile. “San wants you ready and downstairs in half an hour. You know how he feels about being late.”  

San. Just the mention of him sent a small shiver down your spine—not entirely out of fear, but because of the way his presence filled every room he walked into. Where Seonghwa was soft and soothing, San was sharp, commanding. You felt the dichotomy of their dynamics every day, a constant interplay of comfort and authority.  

“I’ll get up,” you promised, sitting up slowly and letting the blankets pool around your waist.  

Seonghwa nodded, pleased with your obedience. “Good girl,” he said softly.  

—

By the time you reached the kitchen, the smell of coffee had filled the space. San was already there, standing by the counter in a crisp black shirt that fit him a little too perfectly. He glanced up when you entered, his dark eyes immediately locking onto you.  

“You’re late,” he said, his tone even but with that familiar edge of authority.  

Your heart sank. You’d only taken a few extra minutes, but with San, those small delays were never overlooked.  

“I—I didn’t mean to,” you stammered, casting a quick glance at Seonghwa, who had taken a seat by the table and was watching the interaction unfold with a faint smile.  

San’s brow arched, and he stepped closer, his presence looming in a way that made your pulse quicken. “Didn’t mean to?” he repeated, his voice laced with mock sympathy. “Sweetheart, how many times have we talked about this?”  

You fidgeted, your fingers twisting together. “A lot,” you admitted quietly.  

“And yet here you are.” He reached out, lifting your chin with two fingers so that you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “What am I supposed to do with you, kitten? Hmm?”  

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. “I’m sorry,” you offered weakly.  

San’s lips curved into a smirk that was anything but kind. “Oh, darling. You’ll be sorry, alright?”  

Seonghwa let out a soft chuckle from his seat, his voice lilting with amusement. “Be gentle, San. You know how sensitive she is.”  

San shot him a look, but it was devoid of any real irritation. “Oh, I’ll be gentle,” he said, his attention returning to you. “At least at first.”  

— 

The mistake had been minor in the grand scheme of things, but San never let the small things slide. It was his way of keeping you in line, as he so often reminded you.  

“Upstairs. Now,” he ordered, his voice firm.  

You hesitated for a split second, but the sharpness in his eyes spurred you into motion. You turned and hurried up the stairs, your heart pounding in anticipation.  

By the time you reached the bedroom, you could already hear his measured footsteps behind you. Seonghwa had stayed behind in the kitchen, but you knew he would come up eventually. He always liked to play the role of the sympathetic observer or maybe join in, offering soft words of comfort after San was done.  

San closed the door behind him with a deliberate click, the sound sending a jolt of nervous energy through you.  

“On the bed,” he instructed, his voice low.  

You obeyed, climbing onto the bed and sitting back on your heels. Your collar—a delicate, silver chain adorned with a small charm—felt heavier around your neck under his intense gaze. You'd always wear it whenever you were at home for a couple of days, free of work.

“Do you know why you’re being punished?” he asked, crossing his arms as he stood at the foot of the bed.  

“Yes,” you replied softly.  

“Yes, what?”  

“Yes, Daddy.”  

His smirk widened, pleased by your submission. “That’s right, baby girl.”  

He moved closer, his hand reaching out to trail a finger along the edge of your collar. “This little thing,” he murmured, his tone deceptively soft, “means you follow the rules. Doesn’t it?”  

You nodded, your breath hitching as his finger traced down to the hollow of your throat.  

“And what happens when you break the rules?” he pulls you by yourbneck

“I get punished,” you whispered.  

“That’s my good girl,” he said, his voice dripping with false affection. “At least you remember that much.”

San’s hand moved down to your waist, his grip firm but not harsh. He turned you slightly, positioning you so that you were kneeling on the bed with your back to him. Before you could anticipate his next move, the sharp sound of his palm meeting your ass filled the room, making you gasp.  

“Late again,” he said, his tone a mixture of mock exasperation and amusement. “You never learn, do you?”  

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling.  

“Sorry?” San repeated, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on the spot he’d just slapped. “Do you think that makes up for wasting my time, kitten?”  

Your head hung low, shame and guilt swirling in your chest. “No, Daddy.”  

“Hmm, no, it doesn’t,” he agreed, the false sympathy in his voice sending shivers down your spine. His other hand gripped your chin, tilting your face back toward him. “But I’ll humor you. Tell me why you think you deserve my forgiveness.”  

The words caught in your throat, your eyes darting toward the door as if silently begging for intervention. As if on cue, the door opened, and Seonghwa stepped in, his presence a balm to the tension that had built in the room.  

“San,” he said softly, his melodic voice breaking through the thick atmosphere. “Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh on her?”  

San didn’t loosen his grip on you, but his lips twitched in a faint smirk. “A little harsh? Maybe. But I like to think it gets the point across.”  

Seonghwa crossed the room, his movements slow and deliberate, like he was trying not to spook you. He came up behind you, his warm hands resting gently on your shoulders. “Our little one just needs guidance,” he murmured, leaning down so that his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “Not to be broken.”  

The contrast between them was striking. Where San’s touch was firm and commanding, Seonghwa’s was a soothing, grounding you even as your nerves buzzed. His arms slid around your waist, pulling you back into his chest from San's grip and you felt a small measure of safety return.  

San clicked his tongue, his amusement clear. “You spoil her too much, Hwa. That’s why she thinks she can get away with being late.”  

Seonghwa chuckled, his voice vibrating against your back. “Or maybe you’re too quick to punish, San. Have you thought of that?”  

San’s smirk widened, and he stepped closer, his hands slipping to your thighs, squeezing just enough to draw your attention back to him. “I think you’re too soft,” he teased, his gaze meeting Seonghwa’s over your shoulder. “But if you think you can handle her better, why don’t you join me?”  

Your eyes widened, your breath hitching as Seonghwa’s grip around you tightened, his chest pressing more firmly against your back.  

“Join you?” Seonghwa repeated, his tone deceptively light. “You mean to help her, not overwhelm her, right?”  

San shrugged, his hands roaming up your sides with an air of nonchalance. “Depends on how much help she needs.”  

Seonghwa’s lips brushed your temple as he whispered, “Do you trust me, little one?”  

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice barely audible.  

“Good,” he said, his hands now guiding yours to rest on your thighs, keeping you still. “Let’s remind you how much you’re cared for.”  

San leaned in, his gaze softening just enough to show a flicker of affection beneath his teasing. His hand cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek. “You’re lucky we’re patient,” he said, though his smirk made it clear he wasn’t entirely serious.  

San’s fingers found the hem of your oversized shirt, his grip impatient as he tugged it over your head. The motion was swift, almost rough, leaving you exposed to the cool air of the room. You gasped softly, instinctively moving to cover yourself, but San’s firm hand stopped you.  

“Ah, ah,” he chided, his dark eyes glittering with authority. “Don’t you dare hide from me.”  

You swallowed hard, your hands falling back to your sides as you trembled under his gaze. His fingers brushed against your skin, cold against the heat that seemed to radiate from you. With deliberate slowness, he reached behind you to unhook your bra, the straps slipping down your shoulders like a whisper.  

Seonghwa, still behind you, caught the discarded garment and leaned down to pick up a delicate, semi-transparent lingerie set that had been neatly laid out on the dresser. His touch was in stark contrast to San’s—gentle, almost reverent, as he guided the soft fabric up your arms.  

“This suits her,” Seonghwa said, his voice low and melodic, as he adjusted the straps on your shoulders with care. The material clung to your body in a way that felt both innocent and intimate, the faint pink hue of the lingerie complementing the flush spreading across your skin.  

San stepped back slightly, his sharp gaze roaming over you, taking in every detail. A low chuckle escaped him as his eyes traveled downward. “Well, well,” he drawled, his voice laced with amusement, “looks like someone’s enjoying herself a little too much.”  

Your face burned as you followed his gaze, horrified to see the evidence of your arousal dampening the linen beneath you.  

“Tell me, kitten,” San teased, kneeling down so his face was level with yours, his smirk growing wider, “is this because of me?” He tilted his head, his voice a mocking coo. “Are you turned on by how rough I am with you?”  

You bit your lip, your body betraying you as another wave of heat pooled in your belly. “Y-Yes,” you admitted, your voice small and shaky, tinged with a whiny neediness you couldn’t control.  

“Of course you are,” San said, his laughter quiet but sharp, as though the answer had only confirmed what he already knew. He leaned in, brushing his lips against your ear as he murmured, “You like being my good little toy, don’t you?”  

Before you could respond, Seonghwa’s warm lips pressed against the back of your neck, trailing down to your shoulders. His movements were slow, deliberate, like he was trying to soothe the trembling mess San had made of you.  

“You’re beautiful,” Seonghwa whispered against your skin, his hands coming to rest gently on your waist. “You don’t have to be afraid, little one. I’ve got you.”  

San stood, his presence still looming even as he moved away. The rustling of fabric drew your attention, and you peeked through lowered lashes to see him unbuttoning his shirt. His movements were unhurried, calculated, the sharp lines of his body coming into view with every undone button.  

“Don’t get too comfortable,” San said, his tone laced with warning as he tossed the shirt aside. “I’m not done with you yet.”  

But even as he spoke, Seonghwa’s soothing touch and soft murmurs anchored you, his lips never ceasing their gentle exploration of your back. The contrast between them—San’s rough edges and Seonghwa’s tender warmth—left you suspended in a whirlwind of sensations, utterly at their mercy.

San's intense gaze darkened as he stepped forward. In one fluid motion, he lifted you effortlessly, his strong arms wrapping around you as though you weighed nothing. A surprised gasp escaped your lips, but San gave you no time to process. He pressed you against the cool wall, the hard surface grounding you against the heat of his body.  

Leaning in, he captured your mouth in a sloppy, possessive kiss, his lips demanding as they moved against yours. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, and his tongue claimed you with a roughness that made your head spin. You whimpered softly into the kiss, your hands clutching at his shoulders as if anchoring yourself to him. His muscular body made you feel to tiny and insignificant in front of him… which you absolutely loved.

Behind you, Seonghwa had risen from the bed. His dark eyes lingered on you, and there was no mistaking the tension in his posture—or the strain evident against the fabric of his pants. 

San broke the kiss, his breath hot against your lips as he spoke. “You’re shaking, kitten,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “Is this what you wanted? To feel me like this?”  

Before you could answer, he shifted his hold on you, lowering you slowly against him. The hard line of his arousal pressed into you, even through the layers of fabric separating you, drawing a soft, involuntary whine from your throat.  

“Look at you,” he continued, his tone mocking but laced with something deeper. “You can’t even control yourself, can you?”  

“I…” You tried to form words, but the sensation of him, combined with the lingering warmth of Seonghwa’s gaze, made coherent thought impossible.  

As if sensing your overwhelmed state, Seonghwa stepped closer, his hands resting lightly on your arms before trailing down to your sides. His lips found the sensitive curve of your shoulder, pressing soft kisses there that sent shivers through your body.  

San’s smirk widened as his hand began to wander, sliding down between your legs with deliberate slowness. The anticipation built with every second, your breath hitching as he teased you with light, fleeting touches.  

“You’re so sensitive,” he observed, his tone equal parts amusement and pride. “Does this drive you crazy, kitten?”  

You nodded weakly, your knees threatening to buckle under the combined assault of San’s rough, confident movements and Seonghwa’s tender, reassuring touch.  

San’s fingers pressed inside your cunt more firmly now, the motion drawing soft, breathy sounds from you. “Of course, it does,” he said, his voice a low growl. “You love when I take control, don’t you?”  

“Yes,” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling as the sensations began to overwhelm you.  

San's smirk deepened as he leaned in, his lips latching onto the soft skin of your collarbone. He kissed with purpose, his mouth warm and insistent, leaving behind marks that you knew would bloom into faint bruises later. Each kiss was a deliberate claim, his teeth grazing your skin, tongue soothing over where he’d nipped.  

You gasped, tilting your head instinctively to give him more access, but San wasn’t gentle—he didn’t need to be. His hands gripped your hips firmly, keeping you in place as his lips trailed upwards to the curve of your neck. Each mark he left ignited sparks that coursed through your body, a reminder of his overwhelming presence.  

“Don’t squirm,” San muttered against your skin, his voice low and commanding. His teeth scraped lightly over the sensitive spot just below your ear, making you shudder.  

In your haze, you barely registered the soft rustle of fabric as San’s hand moved lower. With calculated ease, he discarded the last barrier between his body and yours, the subtle shift in his stance making his actions unmistakable.  

Seonghwa’s lips pressed softly to the top of your head, his voice like silk as he whispered, “Breathe, let him take care of you.”  

But San’s idea of care was far from gentle. He straightened, his chest brushing against yours as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. His dark eyes burned with intensity, the smirk on his lips equal parts teasing and predatory.  

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his tone rough but quiet, meant only for you. His hands tightened their grip on your hips, holding you securely against him.  

San's hand traveled between your legs and as his fingers found their way to your folds, he pumped them in a couple of times, your head lolling back at the feeling. When he decided that you were prepped enough - which you weren't, but he was damn impatient - he lowered you on his cock, fully thrusting it in.  

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and dripping with mockery. “Barely holding yourself together, aren’t you, kitten?”  

You whimpered softly, your lips parted as you tried to form words, but the overwhelming sensations left you mute.  

“Come on,” San coaxed, his tone sharp yet teasing. “Use your words. What’s the matter? Too much for you already?”  

“D-Daddy…” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling as you gazed up at him, your hands weakly clutching at his shoulders.  

San let out a low chuckle, leaning back just enough to look you over, his smirk widening as he saw the dazed, almost helpless expression on your face. “Daddy, huh?” he repeated mockingly. “You think that’s going to make me go easy on you?”  

Your breath hitched, and you shook your head weakly, earning another sharp laugh from him.  

“That’s what I thought,” he said, his tone dripping with authority. He tilted your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You like this, don’t you? Being so completely at my mercy?”  

You nodded hesitantly, and his smirk grew even more wicked.  

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice taking on a harder edge. “Tell me how much you love it when Daddy takes control.”  

“I-I love it,” you stammered, your voice breaking under the weight of his dominance.  

“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed, his tone mockingly sweet as he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. “You’re such a mess for me, aren’t you? Completely ruined, and we’re not even done yet.”  

You whimpered again, your body trembling under his touch.  

“Pathetic,” he said with a smirk, though there was a hint of pride in his voice. “Completely pathetic, and yet you’re still begging for more. Aren’t you?”  

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice barely audible, but he heard it nonetheless.  

San leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Good. Because I’m nowhere near finished with you, kitten.” 

Seonghwa’s quiet observation eventually broke, his low, velvety voice cutting through the room. “What exactly do you have planned for her, San?” he asked, his tone calm and curious, though there was an underlying edge of amusement.  

San didn’t stop, his movements as deliberate and sharp as his personality. His grip tightened on your hips as he responded, his voice coming out in low, ragged breaths between his thrusts. “Oh, I have plans,” he said, his smirk audible even without seeing his face.  

Seonghwa raised a brow, stepping closer now, his own hand still lazily tracing over himself, watching you keenly. “Care to elaborate?”  

San let out a soft chuckle, his breath ghosting against your ear as he answered, “I plan to ruin her.” His words were teasing, almost cruel in their intent. “She’s going to beg for me, for everything. More than she’s ever begged before.”  

Your body trembled at his words, the promise in them sending a fresh wave of tension through you. San leaned down slightly, his lips brushing against your ear as he continued, his voice dropping lower. “And just when she thinks I’ll give her what she wants…” He paused, his grip on you tightening briefly for emphasis. “…I won’t.”  

Seonghwa’s smirk grew, his gaze flicking between you and San with quiet interest. “Cruel, as always,” 

San chuckled again, this time with more satisfaction, his rhythm unrelenting as he added, “She likes it. Don’t you, kitten?”  

Your response was a breathless whimper, your head lolling against San’s shoulder as your body surrendered to the overwhelming mix of sensations. 

“Let’s see how patient are you, my love… are you going to be more patient than I was?” San cooed, holding you close to him as he pulled out and dropped you in the bed powerfully, towering over you. “Let’s see if it was worth being late, darling.” he leaned in for a kiss, then raised your hips above his, letting them rest. 

San’s gaze bore into yours, the stormy intensity in his eyes enough to make your breath hitch. He didn’t move right away, letting the tension stretch thin in the air between you, his hand firm on your hip as he held you in place. His lips, so close to yours, hovered without touching, teasing you with the ghost of a promise.  

“You’ve been testing me all week, haven’t you?” San murmured, his voice a low growl that sent shivers racing down your spine.

He trailed his hand down, the roughness of his palm against your skin a stark contrast to the tenderness of his words. But just as you leaned into him, aching for more, San pulled back slightly, his smirk sharp and deliberate.  

Seonghwa’s soft chuckle reached your ears, his tone laced with amused approval. “You’re relentless, San,” he remarked, though his attention never strayed far from you. There was an edge of curiosity to his voice, as if he was enjoying watching the dynamic unfold.  

San glanced at Seonghwa briefly, his lips quirking in a sly grin before his focus returned to you. “Relentless,” he echoed, his tone filled with dark satisfaction. “But that’s what she likes, isn’t it?” His fingers tightened against your skin just enough to make your pulse quicken. 

You barely managed a breathy response, your body trembling with anticipation. San tilted his head, his lips finally brushing yours in a kiss that was as fleeting as it was intoxicating.  

“Patience, kitten,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and commanding. “You’ll get what you want... but only when I decide you’ve earned it.”

San’s smirk deepened as he glanced at Seonghwa, his sharp gaze glinting with mischief. “Why don’t you join us?” he murmured, his voice dripping with invitation and challenge. 

Seonghwa hesitated for only a moment, his piercing eyes locking with San’s before sliding down to meet yours. There was something almost reverent in his expression as he moved closer, his hand brushing over your arm to guide you gently yet firmly.  

“Lean back,” Seonghwa instructed softly, his voice a rich contrast to San’s rough edges. His hands guided you until you were resting against him, his firm chest a solid support behind you. His thighs framed yours, his presence grounding you even as your heart raced.  

San hummed approvingly, his smirk never faltering as he knelt between your legs, his gaze intense as it roamed over you. “Perfect,” he muttered, his hands tracing up your thighs with deliberate slowness, his touch a stark contrast to Seonghwa’s steady, grounding hold.  

Seonghwa’s fingers brushed over your shoulders, his breath warm against your temple as he murmured, “Relax, love.” The soothing timbre of his voice made it impossible not to sink into him, even as San’s movements sent sparks racing through you.  

San’s lips found your thighs, his kisses starting feather-light before growing more deliberate. His chin grazed your skin as he nipped at the sensitive flesh, each touch both a tease and a promise. He looked up at you, his dark eyes meeting yours as he whispered, “I’ll make sure you don’t forget this.”  

Your breath hitched as Seonghwa’s hands slid down your arms, his grip firm yet reassuring. “Breathe,” he murmured, his voice steady, as though coaxing you to surrender completely to the moment.  

San’s lips moved closer to your cunt, but he paused just before reaching where you wanted him most, his smirk widening at your involuntary whimper. “Not so fast, kitten,” he teased, his voice a rough purr. “I’m just getting started.”

When his mouth finally started to suck on your clit, a sharp gasp escaped you, your back arching instinctively against Seonghwa’s chest. San didn’t hold back, his lips moving with deliberate, hungry intent as he ate you out, sending shockwaves through your entire body.  

His roughness was intoxicating, every motion designed to pull you deeper into the haze he was creating. He groaned softly against you, the vibration adding an unexpected layer of pleasure that made you tremble.  

Seonghwa’s breath hitched behind you, his hard cock, undeniable where you were pressed against him. His hands gripped your hips, steadying you as you writhed under San’s relentless attention. “You’re driving her mad,” Seonghwa murmured, his voice thick with something between awe and desire.  

San pulled back just enough to respond, his lips glistening as he looked up at you with a wicked grin. “That’s the point,” he said, his voice rough with satisfaction. Without waiting for a reply, he delved back in, his tongue pressing against you with a roughness that had your fingers clawing at Seonghwa’s thighs for purchase.  

Every flick, every deliberate drag of San’s tongue against your clit, sent you spiraling further. He alternated between sucking on it and licking with a ferocity that made it impossible to hold still. Seonghwa’s grip tightened on you as if anchoring you to reality, his lips brushing your temple in an attempt to soothe the chaos San was stirring within you.  

“You’re so responsive,” San rasped against you between movements, his tone full of pride and teasing affection. “Just look at you… falling apart already.”  

You could barely process his words, the sensations too overwhelming, too consuming. The heat of Seonghwa’s body behind you and the rough, unrelenting intensity of San in front of you created a heady mix that left you utterly at their mercy.  

San abruptly pulled back, his lips glistening, leaving you teetering on the edge of your orgasm. The sudden absence of his touch was a shock, and you whimpered, your hips instinctively tilting forward to chase the sensation. His smirk was devastatingly smug as he leaned back on his knees, wiping the corner of his mouth with a thumb.  

“Not yet, kitten,” he drawled, his voice thick with command. “I told you, you don’t get to have it until I decide you’ve earned it.” His gaze flickered up to yours, dark and unyielding.  

You shook your head, defiance flickering through the haze of desire. “N-no,” you murmured, a stubborn edge creeping into your voice, even as your body trembled with need.  

San chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “No?” he repeated, his tone mocking, his grin widening as though you’d just issued him a delightful challenge. “How adorable. You think you’re in control here?”  

He reached out, his hand gripping your chin firmly, tilting your face toward him as he loomed closer. “Say it again,” he commanded softly, his tone laced with dangerous amusement.  

Before you could respond, San turned to Seonghwa, his voice shifting to a calm authority. “Seonghwa, get undressed and take her.”  

Seonghwa nodded without hesitation, his movements smooth and fluid as he stripped off his shirt and then his pants. Unlike San’s intensity, there was a softness to him, a gentler energy that eased the tension coursing through you.  

“Come here,” Seonghwa murmured, his hands reaching for you as he effortlessly lifted you onto his lap. His touch was steady, his hands warm and soothing against your skin. Seated against him, his bare chest pressing into your back, the stark contrast between his tenderness and San’s roughness was grounding.  

San sat back on his heels, watching with a smirk that told you he wasn’t done playing with you yet. “Let’s see if she behaves better for you,” he teased, his tone dripping with dominance as his eyes stayed locked on yours. “But don’t go too soft, Hwa. She needs to learn what happens when she tries to defy me.”  

Seonghwa shifted beneath you, his hands steady on your hips as he aligned himself with your hole. His lips brushed against your shoulder, soft and reassuring, a stark contrast to the tension crackling in the air. “Relax for me, love,” he murmured, his voice calm yet filled with anticipation.  

San, seated to the side, leaned back slightly, his hand lazily stroking himself, cock dripping with precum as his sharp eyes stayed glued to the scene in front of him. “That’s it, Hwa,” he purred.“Show her how gentle can still make her squirm.”  

Seonghwa’s movements were slow, deliberate, as though savoring every second of the moment. You shuddered at the sensation, your body caught between his tenderness and San’s burning gaze. San’s breath hitched audibly, a low groan escaping him as he watched, the sight clearly fueling his own pleasure.  

“You look so pretty like this,” San teased, his voice dripping with dominance. “Caught between us… exactly where you’re meant to be.”

Seonghwa’s pace grew more measured, his lips grazing your ear as he whispered, “You’re doing so well.” His fingers pressed into your hips, grounding you, his every movement pulling you closer to the edge. Your body trembled, anticipation building as you surrendered to the steady rhythm he set.  

Just as the high began to crest, San’s voice cut through the haze. “Stop.”  

The word was sharp, commanding, and immediate. Seonghwa stilled instantly, his hands retreating as he pulled out, leaving you gasping and teetering on the brink.  

“No, please,” you begged, turning your desperate gaze to San. “Don’t stop now. Let me—please, I need to—”  

San leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he brushed his fingers along your cheek. “Need to?” he mused, his tone deceptively soft. “That’s rich, coming from someone who spent all week defying me. Do you think you’ve earned the right to finish?”  

You shook your head, swallowing the lump of frustration and desire in your throat. “I’ll do better, I swear.”  

San smirked, his hand tangling in your hair as he guided you to kneel on the edge of the bed. “You’ll prove that now,” he said smoothly, his thumb grazing your lower lip. “Open up.”  

You obeyed, lips parting as he slid himself past them, his cock heavy on your tongue. San’s groan was low, a sound of satisfaction as his hand held you steady. “Good girl,” he murmured, his hips rolling forward just enough to test your limits.  

Behind you, the bed shifted as Seonghwa moved into position, his hands caressing your waist before sliding lower, his warmth against you unmistakable. “Seonghwa… fuck her” San instructed, his voice deepening. “I want her to feel you stretch her out while she sucks me off”  

Seonghwa hummed in acknowledgment, his lips brushing the nape of your neck as he moved against you, his presence filling the space San had left. 

San tilted your chin up slightly, his movements patient but firm. “Keep your eyes on me,” he said, his voice a gentle command. “I want to see how much you enjoy this. How much you’re willing to give.”  

Your muffled whine vibrated against San’s cock as you tried to keep your focus, but the overwhelming combination of sensations was too much to bear. 

San smirked, clearly noticing your struggle, and his grip in your hair tightened slightly, tilting your head for better leverage. “You’re distracted,” he growled. “Let me help you focus.”  

Without warning, San thrust his hips forward, sliding himself deeper into your throat. The sudden intrusion made you gag, your throat tightening reflexively around him as your hands gripped his thighs for stability. San groaned low and deep, the sound vibrating through the room.  

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Taking me so well, even when you’re choking on it. Maybe you’re learning after all.”  

Behind you, Seonghwa’s hands on your hips tightened, his movements stuttering as he felt your body react to San’s forcefulness. Your whimper against San’s cock sent a shiver through Seonghwa, but he stilled himself, obeying the unspoken command to pause until San decided you’d earned more.  

Your throat burned as San held himself deep, his hand flexing against the back of your head, keeping you exactly where he wanted. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you didn’t dare pull away. His dominance was intoxicating, even in its intensity.  

When San finally relented, pulling back just enough to let you gasp for air, his thumb stroked your cheek. “Not bad,” he mused, tilting his head. “But you’re not there yet.”  

Seonghwa’s soft whisper reached your ear, grounding you as your chest heaved. “You’re doing so well,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your shoulder.  

San’s sharp gaze flicked to Seonghwa, and he gave a single, measured nod. “Now.”  

Seonghwa didn’t need further instruction. He resumed his movements, his hips rolling forward in a rhythm that made your toes curl. His groan was soft, almost reverent, as he leaned closer, his chest pressed against your back.  

San’s grip in your hair loosened slightly, guiding you back to him. “You’re going to make up for every moment you disobeyed this week,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “And if you’re good enough, maybe—just maybe—I’ll let you finish this time.” 

“M-ngh, San!” your moan revrebrating through his cock. You steadied yourself and held onto his hips, catching your breath as Seonghwa started to fully thrust into you again. 

“What?” he stopped for a second. 

You pulled off San, tears streaming down your cheeks, voice trembling and high-pitched, “Please, San, please! I can’t—please don’t stop again—I need it so bad, I’m begging you!”  

San, gripping your jaw firmly, forcing you to look up at him, his eyes sharp and unyielding, “You’re begging now? After everything this week? After all the times you ignored me, pushed me, defied me?” he lets out a low, mocking laugh, “And now you think whining like this will get you what you want?”  

“I’ll do anything—anything! I swear! Just don’t stop again, please, please!” you begged abd begged, looking up at him in the eyes.

He brushed his thumb over your trembling lips, “Anything, huh? You’re pathetic, you know that? Look at you—crying, shaking, acting like you have no control. But fine. You want a chance? Let’s make a deal.”  

“Yes—yes! Anything..."

“Then.. you’ve got two minutes to make me finish. Two minutes. If you can do that, maybe, just maybe, I’ll let you finish, too. But if you fail? You’ll go the rest of the night without cumming. Do you understand me?”  

"Y-yes...yes!" you whined out.

“Good. Then stop wasting time and prove to me you’re worth it.”  San then grabbed you by your hair, tangling his head and pulling you harshly to his cock.

You position yourself between San’s legs, wasting no time as your hand wraps firmly around his base. Without hesitation, you take his cock into your mouth, deep and fast, like it’s the only thing you’ve ever needed. The warmth and wetness make him groan immediately, his head tilting back as he struggles to keep up with the sheer intensity of your actions.  

Your lips tighten around him, sliding down as far as you can go, your tongue pressing firmly against the underside, hitting the sensitive spots that makes his thighs tense. You don’t hold back..  your movements are fast, relentless, and filled with purpose. Your hand follows where your mouth leaves off, stroking him with a slick, twisting motion, matching the rhythm as your head bobs in a steady, fervent pace.  

You hollow your cheeks, creating a tight suction that pulls another deep groan from him, his hands gripping your hair as his control slips. The sounds you make are shamelessly messy—wet, eager, and desperate—as you take him in deeper with every motion, your throat flexing to handle more.  

His breathing is ragged now, his hips shifting, but you keep control, doubling down as you focus on the sensitive head, swirling your tongue around it in quick, firm strokes before sliding down again, taking him to the base, choking on the tip. You whine softly, the vibrations sending a jolt through him, his voice breaking as he whines out, his body tightening.  

“Ah, fuck… “ he moaned out, his back lolling back in pleasure. 

Let's not forget that Seonghwa was fucking you relentlessly from behind, your walls clenching onto him as he gripped your waist. He was close, you knew it. Breaths ragged near your ear and his hands were holding tight on your skin, but you needed to focus on San… Seonghwa would cum by himself only by fucking you. But San.. oh god, he'd always destroy you before his pleasure. 

“Just like that, kitten..” he said and gripped his hands better in your hair, pulling you as close as possible. Your nose hit his pelvis, throat sore and gagging on his cock. He stood like that for a couple of moments and thrusted slightly even deeper, to which he came right down your throat. You choked on his huge load and pulled back, his cock resting in your tongue as silky white cum was still dripping heavily from the tip. When he was done, he pulled back and lifted your chin, to make you look at him.

“Swallow. Everything.” you did as told and then as he hummed in satisfaction. 

“Now now… Seonghwa, would you mind switching places? Your thrusts are not roug enough, I'm afraid…” San said and lifted you up. In one swift motion he sat you onto his lap, your chest against his. 

Seonghwa’s hands slid down your back as he stepped behind you, his movements deliberate and steady. His grip settled firmly on your hips, fingers splaying over your flushed skin before drifting lower to your ass. He kneaded the soft flesh with a firm but gentle touch, his lips grazing the back of your neck in contrast to San’s unrelenting dominance.

San, already seated with you straddling his lap, tightened his hold on your waist. His fingers pressed into the soft, reddened skin, a mark of his earlier fervor. His eyes burned into yours as he shifted slightly, his voice low and commanding. “Don’t forget who you’re really here for,” he growled, his tone sending shivers down your spine.

With a single, precise motion, San thrust into you fully, his body melding with yours as a broken cry escaped your lips. Seonghwa, aligning himself carefully, followed suit, his movements smoother but no less intense. The contrast between them was electrifying—San’s rough, possessive thrusts pairing with Seonghwa’s controlled rhythm to drive you higher, the two of them moving in tandem as if sharing one unspoken goal.  

San tilted your chin up with one hand, his lips brushing against yours briefly before he spoke. “You’re doing so well, kitten,” he murmured, though his words carried a teasing edge. “But you’re not done yet.”  

Seonghwa groaned behind you, his fingers digging into your skin as his thrusts became sharper, his restraint slipping. The three of you moved in perfect synchronicity, the overwhelming sensations building rapidly until you could no longer hold back. Your cries filled the room as the tension snapped, your body trembling violently as the release overtook you.  

Seonghwa followed closely, his grip tightening as he buried himself fully, his soft groan of pleasure vibrating against your shoulder. He kissed the back of your neck tenderly, his breath warm against your skin, a grounding contrast to the whirlwind you were caught in.  

But San wasn’t finished. His grip on your waist grew firmer as he quickened his pace, chasing his own high even as your overstimulated body quivered against him. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as he pushed you further, your senses overwhelmed.  

“That’s it,” he growled, his voice rough with satisfaction as his movements became erratic. “Give me everything.”  

With one final, deep thrust, San found his release, his second high hitting him harder than the first. The intensity of the moment pushed you over the edge again, a sudden, powerful wave washing over you as your body reacted uncontrollably. You gasped as the sensation hit, your body trembling as you squirted, the overstimulation wringing every last drop of energy from you.  

San held you close, his hands firm but steady as he rode out his high, his breath ragged against your neck. “Perfect,” he murmured finally, his tone softening as he kissed your temple. 

As Seonghwa finally pulled out, a soft groan leaving his lips, he shifted to gather you into his arms. His movements were gentle, cradling you as though you were made of glass, his lips pressing against your temple with quiet affection. “You did so well,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.  

San leaned forward, his hand stroking down your back in deliberate, slow motions. A light pat followed, though it carried a teasing edge as he smirked. “Let this be a lesson, kitten,” he said, his tone playful yet firm. “If you ever decide to test me like that again… this is exactly what will happen. Only next time, I won’t go so easy on you.”  

You gave a soft whimper of acknowledgment, too exhausted to do much else, and Seonghwa chuckled behind you. “You’re relentless, San,” he said, though his words carried a fond amusement. His gaze flicked between you and San. “She needs some care now, not another lecture. Why don’t you take her to get cleaned up?”  

San hummed, his grin softening just a fraction as he leaned in to press a kiss against your damp hair. “Fair enough,” he replied before slipping his arms around you, seamlessly lifting you from Seonghwa’s hold and pulling you against his chest. His grip was firm yet comforting, holding you close as he stood.  

“You were perfect today, kitten,” San murmured, his tone uncharacteristically tender as he carried you toward the bathroom. His fingers traced gentle patterns against your back as he continued, “Every second of it. You have no idea how proud I am of you.”  

The warmth of his words and his embrace cocooned you, easing the lingering tension in your body. As San carried you, you caught Seonghwa’s soft smile in the corner of your vision, his quiet presence a steady reassurance even as exhaustion began to pull you under.

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[iamgonnagetyouback]

Heyy! Happy late Halloween 🎃 I looooveee your writing !! Could you do headcanons for how marauders would react if the reader could do legilimacy? They're muggleborn so they didn't think it was that big a deal bc they thougjg all wizards could do it and casually mention it

headcanons for marauders reacting to reader knowing legitimacy

𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 tries to brush it off as if he’s totally unfazed, but internally, he's panicking.

➯His first instinct is denial—surely, you’re just perceptive, right? But as soon as you respond to something he hasn’t said out loud, he’s rattled.

➯He’ll keep "testing" you, thinking ridiculous things like "I bet you can’t hear this" on a loop, only to break into a fit of laughter when you answer with an exasperated eye-roll.

➯When he finally accepts that you can actually read his mind, he goes into full-blown soulmate mode, convinced this is destiny.

➯James decides he’s above needing to verbalize “I love you” and will start giving you overly dramatic, lovesick looks whenever he thinks it, just to see if you’ll respond.

James is deep in thought about a prank idea. You: “Exploding ink? You know McGonagall’s going to see right through that.” James: choking “H-how did you know that?” You: “Because you were thinking about it.” James: “No, seriously, who told you? Sirius?! Remus? Who's the traitor?” You: “None of them. Just your brain.” James stares at you with a mix of awe and panic. James: “Brilliant. Terrifying, but brilliant.”

𝐒𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 jumps out of his skin when you first respond to his thoughts, staring at you like you’ve just sprouted horns.

➯He immediately calls you a demon and insists you’re here to haunt him specifically, but secretly, he finds it oddly thrilling.

➯Within minutes, he’s running around thinking of the most absurd things he can just to throw you off, like mentally chanting "I am an irresistible god of charm" to see if you’ll break.

➯Over time, he gets used to it and will sometimes think cute things at you, but never admit it if you notice.

➯Deep down, though, he’s convinced your Legilimency is proof that you’re some kind of witchy soulmate sent from the beyond to torture him, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sirius is debating in his head whether he should wear his leather jacket to breakfast. You: “Leather jacket? Again?” Sirius: whipping around “What?! I didn’t say anything!” You: smirking “You didn’t have to.” Sirius: “I’m being haunted. This is it. You’re a witchy ghost sent to expose my every cool thought.” You: “What cool thoughts?” Sirius gasps dramatically. Sirius: “Betrayed by my own mind!”

𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬, initially skeptical, quickly connects the dots when you casually respond to one of his unspoken worries.

➯His brain goes straight to over-analysis, and he spirals just a bit, convinced you’re both a prodigy and incredibly dangerous.

➯While he finds it fascinating, he's low-key embarrassed every time you catch his stray thoughts—he didn't mean for you to hear that, really!

➯He starts to watch his thoughts around you, editing his internal monologue as if he’s writing an essay for you to "read."

➯Every now and then, he’ll test the limits by thinking random trivia or book recommendations at you, silently thrilled every time you respond.

➯He’s careful but secretly loves that you can understand him on this completely new level.

Remus is mentally debating whether he should get more coffee or just stick with tea. You: “Coffee.” Remus: startles “I—pardon?” You: “Just get the coffee, Remus. You’re going to regret the tea halfway through.” Remus: nervously laughing “Are… are you reading my mind?” You: “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫, the most openly freaked out, will start squinting at you like you’re the strangest creature he’s ever seen.

➯For days, he’s looking over his shoulder, convinced you’re pulling pranks on him somehow.

➯Every time you respond to his thoughts, he jolts and gives you a suspicious look, half-afraid and half-impressed.

➯It only takes one incident of you responding to something he really didn’t want to say out loud for him to become almost paranoid.

➯After a while, though, he’ll start to use it to his advantage, asking for silent reassurance when he's worried or seeking encouragement without having to say it—though he’ll always look a bit jittery when you respond, as if he still can’t quite believe it.

Peter is internally freaking out about his Potions essay, wondering if he should ask you for help. You: “I’ll help you with Potions later, don’t worry.” Peter: jumps “How did you…?” You: “You looked like you needed it.” Peter: “But… I didn’t… I didn’t even look at you!” You: “You don’t have to.” Peter stares at you, eyes wide, before finally mumbling. Peter: “...are you like… always in there?” You: grinning “Only sometimes.”