#its the way the light from my phone was hitting my arm and the angle i had my arm at

[sweettu1ips]

PAIGE BUECKERS x SINGER!FEM READER

SYNOPSIS: "Between tangled sheets and whispered apologies, they find each other again—lost in heat, regret, and the promise of something new."

WARNING(S): (18+) ⋮ smut ⋮ fuck buddies gone wrong(idfk) ⋮ explicit sexual content ⋮ oral r!recieving ⋮ strap usage ⋮ pnv ⋮ edging(ish) ⋮ overstimulation ⋮ rough(ish) ⋮ dom!Paige ⋮ sub!Reader ⋮ teasing ⋮ praiseing ⋮ light choking (if you squint) ⋮ soft aftercare ⋮ angst ⋮ reconciliation ⋮ aruging ⋮ situationship

WORD COUNT: 18.8k [ yes, I went over board....]

| MAIN MASTER LIST ⋮ PURPLE LACE BRA[P1] |

PAIGE'S POV | THIRD PERSON POV:

THE ECHO OF THE BASKETBALL thudding against the polished wood reverberated through the near-empty gym, a hollow, rhythmic pulse swallowed by the cavernous space. 

Overhead fluorescents flickered faintly, their sterile glow casting elongated shadows across the court, the hum of electricity a quiet, nagging presence. 

The air smelled faintly of sweat, old rubber, and the lingering trace of cleaning solution, a scent so familiar it should have been grounding.

But Paige felt anything but grounded.

Her body moved on autopilot—elbows tucking in, follow-through clean—but the ball clanked against the rim, bouncing off at an awkward angle, a sound that gnawed at her nerves. 

Her rhythm was off. Her mind, untethered. 

Her thoughts stretched thin across miles, pulled toward a place where the lights burned hotter, the air buzzed electric, and a voice—low, raspy, a whisper against her skin—now belonged to a stage, to an audience, to a world that wasn’t hers anymore.

"Paige."

KK’s voice cut through the haze, sharp but laced with the ease of someone who had known her long enough to recognize when she was spiraling. "You look like shit."

Azzi, cross-legged on the floor, barely glanced up from her phone, the glow of the screen illuminating her face, brows drawn in a mix of amusement and mild concern. 

"Like, actually. I was gonna let it slide last week, but we’re two weeks deep now, and you look like a sleep paralysis demon."

Paige exhaled sharply, rolling her eyes, though even that felt exhausting.

 The ball slipped from her hands, bouncing lazily toward the sideline, its rhythmic patter swallowed by the quiet. "Thanks for the support. Really feeling the love tonight."

KK raised a brow, arms crossing over her chest. "Nah, for real. You good? ‘Cause ever since you got back from–�� whatever the hell that trip was, you’ve been off."

Paige dragged a hand down her face, the heel of her palm pressing into her eye socket like she could physically rub away the exhaustion clawing at her. "I’m fine, just tired as fuck."

Azzi snorted, finally looking up. "Tired, my ass. You barely miss free throws, and you’ve bricked, like, five in the last ten minutes."

Paige clenched her jaw, the tension so tight it ached.

She didn’t want to talk about it.

Didn’t want to say that every shot that missed felt like another way she was unraveling. That her head wasn’t in the game because it was still trapped in a dressing room somewhere across the state, waiting for something—someone—that never came back.

KK studied her, eyes narrowing just slightly. "Or maybe this has something to do with Y/N?"

The name hit harder than she expected, like a punch to the ribs, sharp and unexpected. Paige stiffened, her breath hitching for just a fraction of a second—too fast, too subtle for most people to catch.

But KK and Azzi weren’t most people.

Azzi sighed, locking her phone and resting her chin against her knee. "Listen, we don’t need the details. But if you wanna talk—"

"There’s nothing to talk about," Paige cut in, too quick, too clipped. Her hands found her hair, fingers gripping at the roots, grounding herself in the pressure. "We fucked, fought. She left. End of story."

KK let out a low whistle, shaking her head. "Damn, man. Y’all really did a number on each other, huh?"

A bitter laugh scratched its way out of Paige’s throat, short and humorless. "She’s fine. She’s out there, killing it, selling out arenas, living the dream. She’s—" Paige swallowed, forcing the words out like they didn’t taste like ash. "She’s good."

Azzi watched her, her voice quieter now. "And you?"

Paige dragged in a breath, held it, then let it out slow. "I’m playing basketball."

KK clicked her tongue. "That ain’t an answer."

Silence settled between them, thick and heavy, pressing against Paige’s ribs like a weight she couldn’t shake. Her fingers twitched at her sides, aching with the urge to check her phone. 

To see if maybe—maybe—Y/N had left something for her. A text. A call. A sign that she hadn’t imagined it all, that she hadn’t been just another fleeting moment in a life too big, too loud, too unstoppable for someone like her to hold onto.

But she knew better.

She had waited in that dressing room too long, let the seconds drag into minutes, let hope stretch thin and fragile in her chest until it finally snapped.

 She had checked her phone too many times since then, only to be met with silence.

She had never known silence could be so deafening.

"It doesn’t matter," she muttered finally, voice tight. "We’re done. Plus–– it ain’t nothin’ serious anyways."

KK and Azzi exchanged a glance, something unspoken passing between them. They didn’t push, didn’t pry. Instead, KK jerked her chin toward the ball rolling idly near the sideline.

"Well, at least get your head out of your ass before practice tomorrow. Geno’s gonna eat you alive if you play like this."

Paige forced a smirk, but it barely touched her eyes. "Wouldn’t want that."

Azzi stood, stretching. "Let’s head back. Maybe you’ll get some actual sleep tonight."

Paige nodded, trailing behind them as they made their way out of the gym. The moment the doors shut behind her, she yanked her phone from her pocket, her chest tightening at the sight of the notification blinking up at her.

@lexington_y/n

New city. New show. New pictures.

Paige stared, thumb hovering over the post, her pulse thrumming in her ears. The images would be the same as always—Y/N bathed in golden stage lights, a crowd screaming her name, a world that Paige had never been a part of.

She locked her phone before she could look.

Before she could wonder if Y/N ever hesitated the way she did. If she ever hovered over Paige’s name, fingers itching to type something but never following through.

The world thought Y/N had left her behind, untouched and unaffected.

Only Paige knew the truth.

She was wrecked.

… and she knew she needed to do something about it. 

Y/N’S POV:

The hum of the jet was constant, a soft vibration that lived in my bones, steady and unwavering—so unlike the storm inside my head. 

It was the only sound in the dimly lit cabin, save for the occasional clink of my wine glass against the polished wood of the table in front of me. 

The turbulence outside was minimal, but inside me? A different kind of turbulence brewed, thick and relentless, curling around my ribs and refusing to let go.

I leaned back against the cool leather seat, exhaling slowly, willing the tightness in my chest to loosen. 

The rim of my glass pressed against my lips, the deep, velvety notes of the wine resting on my tongue, but I barely tasted it. It was expensive—I knew that much.

 A ridiculous, aged bottle that probably had some sommelier waxing poetic about its oaky finish and hints of blackberry, but to me, it might as well have been water.

My gaze drifted to the window, where the night stretched endlessly, a vast ocean of black speckled with distant city lights and constellations too far away to touch. 

Dallas had been electric, the kind of high only a sold-out stadium could bring, the energy of it still clinging to my skin like static. 

My body still hummed with the aftermath of adrenaline, but the crash had begun. And with it, the thoughts returned.

Her.

Paige.

My jaw clenched.

God, why?

Why did she still live in my mind like this, creeping into the quiet spaces, filling them with echoes of things I swore I had left behind? 

I was the one who finally walked away. The one who ended it. The one who told her we couldn’t keep pretending that this thing between us was something it wasn’t.

So why did it still feel like she was holding all the strings?

I closed my eyes for a moment, pressing my temple against the glass, the cold a stark contrast to the warmth burning beneath my skin. 

The tour was exhausting, an endless loop of flashing lights, deafening screams, and hotel rooms that all started to look the same after a while.

 I had convinced myself that it would be enough—enough to drown out the lingering ghosts, enough to forget the way her name still tasted like something sweet and forbidden on my tongue.

But it hadn’t been.

And now I was here, in the sky, suspended between destinations, trying to outrun a feeling that had already caught up to me.

At least I didn’t have to worry.

Paige wouldn’t be in Connecticut.

The team was in Ohio tonight—some game, some tournament, some obligation that kept her far enough away that I could breathe. 

Far enough that I could let my guard down, even just for a day or two, without the risk of seeing those sharp blue eyes and that maddening smirk that always made me forget what I was supposed to be running from.

I sighed, setting my wine glass down, watching the way the liquid swayed inside it—deep red, rich, curling against the sides of the glass like ink bleeding through water.

 I stared at it, the way the light hit it, the way it moved, fluid and restless, a mirror of the thing inside me that refused to settle.

And then my phone buzzed.

A single vibration against the wood, barely a whisper of sound, but it may as well have been a gunshot in the silence of the cabin.

I flinched.

My eyes dropped to the screen, my fingers hesitating for just a fraction of a second before I reached for it, flipping it over.

And just like that, all the air left my lungs.

@paigebueckers liked your post.

The words were simple, harmless even. Just a meaningless notification. A tap of a finger. A fleeting acknowledgment.

But to me, it was a match dropped in gasoline.

A sharp inhale lodged itself in my throat, something heavy pressing against my ribs, spreading through me like wildfire.

It was nothing. It was everything.

It was a ghost of something unfinished. A whisper of a connection that refused to sever completely.

My fingers tightened around the phone, the pad of my thumb hovering over the screen, as if clicking on it would give me something—an answer, a sign, a reason.

But I already knew better.

I set the phone down, flipping it facedown like that would make it disappear, like it could erase the sudden, all-consuming awareness that I was still tethered to her, still caught in the gravitational pull of something I had spent months trying to escape.

The jet hummed around me, steady, relentless, indifferent.

I closed my eyes, trying to breathe past it.

But all I could see was her.

Laughing. Touching me. Kissing me.

And then—slowly, painfully—turning away.

Her fingers, once tangled with mine, slipping free like grains of sand through my grasp, leaving nothing but an aching absence in their wake. 

Her shoulders, tense at first, then relaxing, as if she had made peace with something I hadn't. The subtle hitch in her breath, the fleeting hesitation in her step, before she forced herself to move.

And then she did.

Walking away with the kind of quiet finality that didn’t need words, her silhouette shrinking with every step, swallowed by distance, by time, by everything I wasn’t ready to let go of.

Not once looking back.

I drifted off without realizing, the hum of the jet and the gentle sway of the clouds lulling me into a soft, unspoken surrender. 

The seat, which had once felt stiff beneath me, had now molded to the curve of my body, and the wine glass I had held in my hand had long since gone forgotten. 

Time slipped through my fingers like water, and before I could even blink, three hours had passed in what felt like mere moments.

The jet, with its pristine leather seats and velvet curtains, became a cocoon, a world that moved at its own pace, indifferent to the world below. 

The city lights of Dallas had long faded from view, and in the haze of sleep, the only thing that anchored me was the weight of my thoughts—the ones that were always there, always waiting in the corners of my mind. Paige. That damn blonde. 

The one who had never truly left me, no matter how much I tried to move on.

And then, just as I was lost in the flicker of half-conscious dreams, a soft voice broke through the fog of my mind.

“Miss Y/N?”

I blinked my eyes open, the sudden rush of reality hitting me like a cool wave. Maddy, the flight attendant, stood beside me, her gentle hand on my shoulder, her face lit by the soft glow of the cabin’s lights. 

She had a warmth about her, a kindness I had grown accustomed to during our flights.

She was always so poised, so effortlessly graceful, but tonight, her expression was a little softer, like she knew I needed a nudge back into the world.

“Sorry to wake you, but we’re almost there. You might want to gather your things.”

I nodded, my body sluggish as I sat up, the remnants of sleep still clinging to my eyelids.

 I glanced out the window, and for the first time in hours, I saw the skyline of Connecticut rising like a beacon. It was surreal, the way it hit me in a wave. Time had passed, and the night was creeping forward, inching into the early hours, a place I wasn’t sure I was ready to be.

The jet had barely touched down before my mind was already rushing ahead. I stood up, gathering my carry-on with clumsy fingers, the exhaustion weighing heavy in my chest. 

The quiet hum of the engines seemed louder now, the finality of it all settling in my bones. Connecticut. An hour ahead of Texas, and now, here I was. 1 AM. The darkness outside the plane felt colder somehow, more real, like it was waiting for me to re-enter it.

The doors to the jet opened, and the cool Connecticut air greeted me like a breath of relief. Maddy followed me down the stairs, offering a final, quiet smile as I made my way to the ground. 

The pilot waved from the front, his face still unreadable in the dim light, but there was a comfort in the routine of it. These people, these small moments—strangers who had become familiar—had woven themselves into the fabric of my life, even for just a brief stretch of time.

“Thanks again, Maddy,” I said, my voice a little hoarse, but sincere. “I’ll see you next time.”

“Of course,” she replied, her tone warm and steady. “Safe travels, Y/N.”

I turned to the pilot, offering a quick nod, my muscles still sluggish as I adjusted my bag over my shoulder. The cool night air wrapped around me, and I made my way toward the awaiting car, the sounds of the airport already starting to fade into the background.

As I reached the car, my phone buzzed in my pocket, the vibration cutting through the stillness of the night. I glanced down, my heart giving a small jolt when I saw the name. 

My mom. Of course.

I answered the call with a soft sigh, trying to steady my breath. “Hey, Mom.”

“Y/N? You made it?”

“Yeah, actually,” I replied, stepping into the car and sliding the door shut behind me. “Just landed.”

“Good. You sound tired, honey. Long flight?”

I let out a small laugh, a touch of irony in my voice. “You could say that. But, yeah, I’m exhausted. Gonna head back to the apartment and crash for a bit. Connecticut’s always a bit of a wake-up call after Texas, you know?”

She chuckled, the sound familiar and comforting. “I bet. Well, take it easy. When you’re up, come on by. I’ll make us something to eat. You know how it is.”

“Mhmm,” I said, leaning back into the seat, letting the warmth of my car wrap around me. “I’ll drive down in the morning. Thought I’d spend a couple of days. Bother you guys.” 

The words felt good, slipping out like a secret I hadn’t realized I needed to share. My laughter came easily then, a lightness I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in too long. 

It was something I hadn’t done in what felt like forever—let myself enjoy the simplicity of being home, of being surrounded by the people who knew me best.

“Alright, honey. I’ll see you in the morning then.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

I ended the call, the quiet hum of the car filling the space between us, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I let myself exhale. 

Tomorrow would come. It would be messy, it would be complicated, but for now, I had this—a moment of peace, a fleeting one, but it was enough. The city skyline of Hartford glowed in the distance, like a soft pulse in the dark, beckoning me home. 

The wheel in my hands felt familiar, grounding me in a way I didn’t realize I needed. I could already feel the fatigue setting in, my mind heavy with the weight of the past few days, but I pushed it down, keeping my focus on the road. 

The late-night quiet was almost too perfect, the night cradling me in its gentle arms.

The tires hummed steadily beneath me as I veered onto the highway, and I let myself drift for a moment. The city lights twinkled like distant stars, each one a promise, a memory of the home I’d come back to. 

There was something about the cities of Connecticut at night—its streets always quieter, its corners always darker, yet the heart of it still pulsing with life. A small comfort, one I didn’t know I needed until now. 

I could almost taste it, the familiarity. The places, the streets, the air—I knew them all, and for some reason, that felt like enough for tonight.

Then, without warning, Frank Ocean poured from the speakers, smooth and haunting, the first notes of Moon River filling the car and curling around my thoughts like smoke.

 The deep, rich timbre of his voice carried me, a lullaby for the restless. I sighed, one hand still steady on the wheel, the other resting against the window, my fingers tracing the cool glass. 

The wind outside caught against the car, brushing through my hair, a soft reminder of the night, of everything I was trying to escape from.

But then it happened.. again.

the ghost of her.

Her presence slipped in beside me like it always did. A whisper of blonde hair floating in the air beside me, the breeze curling around us, carrying her scent with it. 

I could almost feel her hand on my thigh, warm and familiar, the subtle pressure of her touch making my heart skip in a way I hated, a way I had come to both love and resent.

 The memory of her fingers grazing my skin lingered like the faintest shadow, and for a moment, I allowed myself to sink into the feeling.

But then reality slammed into me. I remembered us—or more accurately, what we weren’t. We weren’t the kind of people who could just exist in a space together, letting the quiet stretch between us, letting the little moments settle in. 

No, we were desperate.

 We always had been. Our time together was a series of fleeting touches, stolen moments, like we were always on the edge of something—something that neither of us dared to cross. 

We weren’t in the car to enjoy each other’s presence, to laugh or linger in the warmth of shared smiles. No, we were there to burn, to need—to satiate a hunger that never seemed to quiet.

The thought of it made my chest tighten.

I couldn’t do this anymore. Not the way she wanted, anyway. I had spent so long pretending that the flashes of passion, the late-night rendezvous, were enough. They weren’t. 

And as much as I missed her, as much as I could feel her presence like a phantom beside me, I couldn’t keep lying to myself. I was exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally. 

A year of this, of whatever this was, had drained me more than I realized. And it wasn’t even just the frustration of endless hookups, of empty promises wrapped in lust. It was the ache of wanting more, of needing something that wasn’t just skin-deep. 

I wanted her—not just in the way she would slip into my bed, leaving with the scent of her still clinging to me. I wanted more than just the raw, desperate need that only came in the dark corners of the night.

I wanted the little moments—the ones that didn’t require a bed or an empty apartment. I wanted her to stay past the hour she always slipped out of, her departure as fleeting as she was.

 I wanted to care about her in a way that went beyond wanting her. I wanted to share more than just the surface. I wanted her here. With me. 

For more than a night. I wanted to wake up beside her, talk to her in the morning, laugh with her like the world wasn’t collapsing at the seams.

And yet, here I was, still stuck in this dance, still lying to myself, pretending that the desperate moments we shared were all I needed. 

How did I let myself slip so far into this? Into her? Into the lie that I could pretend this was all I ever wanted?

Why did I bother answering her DM? Why did I keep coming back, every single time? Was it the thrill of the chase? The danger? 

The way she made me feel like I was alive, like I was seen, but only in the ways that made me feel empty in the end? I had promised myself I wouldn’t get attached. 

I had promised that it would be nothing more than a passing thing, something that didn’t ask anything of me.

But somewhere, deep down, I knew that promise had broken the second I let her back into my life. And now, I was the one paying for it.

I glanced at the rearview mirror, my face reflected back at me—tired, confused, a little worn, but still here. Still alive.

The city was growing closer now, and I could feel the weight of the moment pressing against my chest. 

The road stretched out before me, endless and unwavering, but I was no longer sure where I was headed. Hartford? Yes. But even that felt like just another place to run away from the thing I didn’t want to face.

I gripped the wheel tighter, the song in my ears fading into the background as I let the rhythm of the road take me. 

The soft hum of the tires against the asphalt was all I could hear now, my thoughts swirling like storm clouds above a calm sea. One step at a time, I told myself. One step. But the road ahead felt long—too long. 

The city lights on the horizon flickered, a constellation of possibilities that seemed so far away. And yet, they were right there. Within reach, if only I could hold on long enough.

The exit to Hartford appeared in front of me, the sign flickering in the glow of the streetlights. My heart beat a little faster as I veered off the highway, the familiar roads beneath me pulling me closer to home. 

The city wrapped itself around me like a well-worn sweater, the streets I had walked so many times now feeling like an old friend that I hadn’t seen in too long. 

The familiar hum of the city at night filled my ears, but it didn’t feel comforting—it just felt… there. As though the world was moving on around me, and I was stuck in place.

I drove through the streets of Hartford, past the coffee shops and streetlights, past the bars and restaurants that were closing for the night. 

The city was quiet now, save for the occasional car or the distant sound of laughter from a group of friends lingering on the sidewalk. 

It was the calm after the storm, and for a moment, it felt like I was the only one awake, the only one still carrying the weight of the day.

When I finally pulled into my condo building’s parking lot, the security guard waved at me, opening the gate with a press of a button, like it had done a hundred times before. The metallic squeal of the gate echoed in the silence, and I couldn’t help but feel like I was slipping back into the routine of it all. 

The night was supposed to feel different, but it didn’t. The familiar sights—the guard waving, the low hum of the parking lot lights—felt like a song I had heard too many times. And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to turn it off.

I parked my Bronco in its usual spot, taking a slow breath before I opened the door. The air was crisp, cool against my skin as I grabbed my carry-on bags, the familiar weight of my luggage heavy in my hands. It felt like a thousand tiny reminders of where I was—who I was, and what I was running from.

I made my way to the elevator, the soft click of my boots against the concrete echoing in the underground parking garage. 

My hand brushed against the elevator button, pressing the number five without thinking. The elevator doors slid open, the faint hum of the machinery filling the small, quiet space as I rose upward, toward the floor where everything I had been avoiding waited for me.

The door opened to my floor with a soft ding, and I stepped out, the familiar hallway stretching before me. The soft carpet beneath my feet was a small comfort, but it didn’t stop the weight of everything that had been building up inside me. 

My hand shook slightly as I fumbled for my keypad, my fingers lingering for a moment on the numbers. When the door finally clicked open, I stepped into the condo.

Home.

I hadn’t realized how much I had missed the smell of it—the light fragrance of fresh flowers and the faint undertones of something sweeter, something comforting. 

It enveloped me like a hug, familiar and safe. I shut the door behind me, the soft thunk of it closing resounding in the quiet apartment.

I flicked on the kitchen light, the soft glow of the bulb spilling across the counter, casting long shadows in the dimness. The city below seemed far away now, the lights twinkling like stars scattered across the black sky. 

The world seemed small from up here—almost too small. And yet, I felt lost in it.

I stood there for a moment, leaning against the counter, my eyes tracing the outline of the city below. The noise of the world was muted here, in this space that I had made for myself. 

But even now, in the silence, the questions lingered. The uncertainty. The ache. The longing for something more.

I set down my luggage and carry-ons beside counter, my movements slow and deliberate. There was no rush now. No one waiting for me, no one to answer to. 

The weight of the day—the weight of everything—pressed down on me, but I couldn’t bring myself to unpack just yet. I needed a moment. A breath. A chance to feel like I wasn’t drowning in it all.

I took another step, walking to the large windows that framed the city below. The lights sparkled, distant and cold, like a world I was no longer sure I belonged to.

 I stood there for a while, my hands pressed against the cool glass, watching as the night stretched on. It wasn’t enough to make me feel whole again, but it was something. It was a moment of calm. Of clarity.

I sighed deeply, my breath heavy with the weight of everything that had built up inside me during the day, during the months, during the years. 

The familiar hum of the apartment was a dull comfort, but it felt foreign, like a memory I was trying to hold onto but couldn’t quite grasp. 

My hand lingered against the frame of the window for a second longer than necessary, the cool metal grounding me in the present before I moved on.

My feet made the softest sound against the hardwood floor as I walked through the apartment, checking the locks on the front door with automatic precision, as if these rituals could shield me from the restlessness swirling beneath my skin.

 The lights flickered off one by one, leaving the apartment in shadows that wrapped around me like a second skin. My purse hung loosely from my arm, the weight of it so small, yet it felt like an anchor, like everything I carried in it—the past few weeks, the exhaustion, the unfinished conversations—was pressing on my chest.

I moved toward the stairs, my body aching, each step a reminder of the stiffness from the long flight, the hours spent cramped in a chair, the echoes of the concert still hanging in my bones like some distant memory that refused to fade.

 The smell of airplane air, sterile and empty, clung to my clothes, mixing with the faint remnants of the concert—the noise, the people, the rush of adrenaline. It was all too much, too close, too loud. I needed space. I needed silence.

By the time I reached my bedroom, I was already starting to feel the weight of the day melt off of me—just a little, just enough for the edges to blur. 

My room was just as I had left it: neat, untouched, almost too still. It had been two weeks since I had last stepped through the door, and in that time, everything had moved on, yet nothing had changed here. 

The same soft light from the bedside lamp. The same bed, untouched by anything but the fabric of time. The silence was thick with a thousand unsaid things, and for a moment, I just stood in the doorway, letting it all settle around me.

I dropped my bag onto the bed, the soft thud echoing in the quiet room, before letting out a long, exhausted sound, my shoulders sagging with the release of everything I had been holding in for far too long.

 It was like stepping into an old, worn-out pair of shoes—comfortable, yes, but so very, very tired.

My clothes felt too tight, too heavy against my skin. The material clung to me as if reluctant to let go, still holding on to the remnants of the day.

 The air inside my clothes was suffocating, the lingering scent of airplane disinfectant mixed with sweat and the faint traces of the concert—a place where I had poured every ounce of my energy, but now it felt so far removed from the person I was here, in the stillness of my bedroom. 

I needed to shed it all, to strip away the layers of exhaustion and confusion that clung to me like the weight of my thoughts.

With a soft, almost absent gesture, I pulled my clothes off, one piece at a time, until I was standing in the center of the room, my body bare and exposed. 

I felt a fleeting sense of vulnerability, but it was different now—like the vulnerability had been there all along, just waiting for me to acknowledge it. 

I wasn't sure whether it was the weight of the day, the weight of the weeks of silence between Paige and me, or just the constant ache of being too much and never enough, but I couldn’t stand being in my own skin any longer.

I walked into the bathroom, the cool air of the room brushing against my bare skin as I turned the handle of the shower. The sound of the water starting to run was a relief, like the first breath after holding it in for too long. 

I stood there for a moment, just watching as the steam began to rise, filling the small space with the promise of warmth. 

I didn’t know why, but the sound of the water rushing over my skin always made me feel like I could wash away everything that had been holding me back.

I reached for the shower gel, the familiar scent of lavender and vanilla filling the air, soothing the sharpness of my thoughts. 

The rhythm of my routine was mechanical, each motion automatic, as though the very act of cleansing myself would somehow make everything else disappear. I lathered the soap between my hands, letting the bubbles form before running them over my shoulders, down my arms, across my chest. 

The sensation of the warm water and the smooth gel was comforting, but it didn’t erase the tension from my body. The tightness in my chest. The exhaustion in my bones.

As the last streams of water cascaded down my body, I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the day swirl down the drain with the steam. 

My skin was flushed from the heat, my muscles finally unwinding in a way they hadn’t in weeks. With a tired sigh, I reached for the dial and twisted it off, the sudden absence of water leaving behind a silence that felt deafening.

I stepped out onto the soft bath mat, droplets clinging to my skin, catching in the dim glow of the bathroom light. The mirror was fogged over, a blurred reflection of myself barely visible through the condensation.

 I dragged a hand across it, but the moment my fingers left, the fog returned—like it didn’t want me to see myself too clearly. Maybe that was for the best.

Reaching for the plush white towel hanging on the rack, I wrapped it around my body, securing it just above my chest before moving to my sink. 

My fingers worked methodically, reaching for the cleanser on the marble countertop, twisting the cap open with a soft click. 

The cool gel foamed between my palms as I massaged it into my skin, small circles over my cheeks, my forehead, my jawline—washing away the remnants of the day, the exhaustion, the tension buried in my bones.

Patting my face dry with the towel, I reached for my toner, pressing it into my skin with slow, deliberate motions, letting the calming scent of rose water settle my nerves. 

Next was my serum—three drops onto my fingertips, warming them between my hands before pressing them gently into my face, feeling the way my skin drank it in. Finally, moisturizer—rich and thick, sealing everything in.

 A touch of lip balm. A swipe of eye cream. Routine. Predictable. Safe. The only thing I could control in a world that constantly felt like it was slipping through my fingers.

I let my towel drop to the floor, reaching into my dresser for the first set of lingerie I could find.

 My fingers brushed against lace, soft and delicate, a contrast to the quiet storm inside me. Black. Lacy. The kind of set that made me feel something—powerful, maybe, or just put together in a way I hadn’t felt in a while. 

The thong sat high on my hips, the delicate straps hugging my skin, while the matching lace bra fit perfectly against my chest, a teasing hint of sheer fabric that was for no one’s eyes but my own.

I ran a fresh towel through my damp hair, squeezing out the excess water as I padded barefoot to my bedroom. The air was cool against my skin, sending a small shiver down my spine.

 I reached for my body lotion—warm vanilla and sandalwood, something soft yet deep, something that smelled like home. 

My hands moved slowly, spreading the lotion over my arms, my legs, across my stomach, taking my time, savoring the moment, grounding myself in it.

With a sigh, I made my way to my bed, pulling back the plush duvet, already craving the warmth of the sheets. But just as I was about to slip in, the sharp ding of my doorbell sliced through the silence.

I froze.

Every muscle in my body tensed, the sound sending a jolt of adrenaline through my veins. My heart lurched against my ribs, a sudden, erratic rhythm that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with fear.

My breath caught in my throat as I reached for my phone, fingers hovering over the keypad, ready to dial 911. But something inside me hesitated. Who the fuck would show up at my condo at 2:25 a.m.?

My eyes darted to the clock on my bedside table, the glowing numbers confirming what I already knew—this was not the time for casual visits.

I had watched way too much Criminal Minds to take this lightly.

My mind raced with worst-case scenarios as I silently reached for my nightstand drawer, pulling out my taser with steady hands. The weight of it was reassuring, even if my pulse was anything but.

The doorbell rang again.

I flinched. A sharp inhale. My grip tightened around the taser as I moved quietly, my bare feet soundless against the floor. 

The condo was dark, save for the silver slivers of moonlight streaming in through the windows. Shadows stretched across the walls, making everything feel larger, deeper, more uncertain.

Another ring.

Fuck.

I sucked in a breath, slipping into the kitchen. My fingers wrapped around the cool steel of a knife before I even had time to think about it.

 I really need to invest in a Ring cam, I thought bitterly, my grip tightening around the handle as I moved toward the door.

I didn’t plan on entertaining whoever was on the other side. In fact, I wasn’t even sure why I was creeping toward the peephole instead of calling the cops. 

But curiosity—or maybe sheer stupidity—had me stepping forward, pressing onto the tips of my toes, peering through the tiny glass lens.

And the moment I saw her, a breath of relief escaped me, mixed with frustration so thick it almost choked me.

I let out a groan, my head dropping against the wood for half a second before unlocking the door.

I swung it open, eyes narrowing as I glared at the woman standing before me.

“Why the fuck—”

Paige stood in the dim glow of the hallway lights, wrapped in an oversized hoodie and regret. A mess of contradictions. 

Her eyes flickered—hesitation, exhaustion, something unreadable—but it didn’t matter. Not anymore. I swallowed down the bitterness rising in my throat, gripping the doorframe just to keep steady.

"Is this how you open your door now?" Her voice was sharp, but beneath it, something else—softer, unspoken, maybe even shaken. 

Her gaze raked over me, dragging from my damp hair to the black lace barely covering me, lingering a second too long before landing on the knife in my hand. 

Her lips parted slightly, the muscle in her jaw clenching like she wanted to say something, but I was already scoffing, already done with this before it could even start.

I moved to shut the door in her face, the finality of it sweet on my tongue—but then her hand shot out, fingers curling around the edge, voice suddenly quieter.

"Wait."

I stilled. My teeth ground together as I stared at her, waiting, because that was all I had ever done when it came to Paige—waited for her to come around, waited for her to give a damn, waited for her to realize that I was always right here.

This time, she hesitated. Swallowed. Her fingers tightened on the frame, eyes darting over my face like she was searching for something—something I refused to give her.

"Can I—" Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. She exhaled sharply, blinking hard. "Can I come in?"

I scoffed, shifting my weight, exhaustion settling into my bones like a slow ache. "Why are you even here?" I demanded, arms crossing, fingers tapping against my bicep. "Actually, how the fuck did you even know I was here?"

Her gaze faltered. Guilt flashed across her face, quick but unmistakable.

"I—" She exhaled, dropping her shoulders. "I asked Renee."

Of course, she did.

I shook my head, laughing humorlessly. Disbelief curled in my stomach, bitter and sharp. It was two in the morning.

 I was standing in my damn hallway, barely dressed, exhausted beyond belief, and the girl I had spent the past weeks trying to forget was just standing there like she had every right to be.

I should have slammed the door. Should have told her to go to hell, to find someone else to ruin, to stop haunting me like she didn’t even know she was doing it.

But instead, I exhaled through my nose and widened the door.

Because I was stupid.

Because I was weak.

Because despite everything—despite the ache she had left me with, despite knowing exactly how this night would end—I still wanted her.

Paige stepped inside, slow, careful, but I didn’t miss the way her gaze dragged over my figure, the way her throat bobbed when she caught the scent of my body wash wrapping around her like a taunt.

Her eyes fluttered closed for half a second, inhaling.

I hated that it made my stomach tighten.

Clenching my jaw, I turned and locked the door behind us. The condo was mostly dark, save for the silver glow of the city bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

 Shadows stretched long across the hardwood, over the countertop, over Paige’s silhouette as she stood there, hands stuffed into the pocket of her hoodie like she wasn’t entirely sure what to do with herself.

And for the first time since I opened the door, I became fully aware of how little I was wearing.

It was nothing new—Paige had seen me in far less. Had touched, kissed, devoured. Had mapped out every inch of me like she was the only one who had the right to. 

And yet, standing here now, her eyes flickering between me and the floor, something about it made my skin prickle.

I turned away sharply, scanning the counter for something—anything—to throw on. Placing the knife I had in my palms onto the counter top as I searched.

My lips pressed into a thin line as I grabbed the oversized hoodie draped over the stool, tugging it over my head before facing her again.

Silence.

Thick. Suffocating.

Paige shifted on her feet, glanced at me once before looking away, exhaling like she had something to say but didn’t know where to start.

I broke the silence first.

"Paige," I said, arms crossing over my chest, voice flat. "Why are you here?"

She hesitated. A muscle in her jaw twitched, her lips parting like she was going to say something, then thinking better of it.

"I wanted to talk."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "Seriously? This couldn’t wait until morning?"

Her mouth pressed into a tight line. "Look, I’m sorry for how—"

"There’s nothing to talk about," I cut her off, voice sharp, cold. "You were right, though. I mean, it’s what we agreed to in the beginning, right? No strings attached?" My laugh was bitter, hollow. "It’s my bad for getting too deep."

She exhaled, frustration laced in the breath she let out. "Listen, please."

I shook my head, glaring at her. "Why would I, hm? When all I ever asked was for you to do the same? When all you’ve given me is shit."

Paige winced. Just slightly. But it was enough. Enough to tell me she knew I was right. Enough to tell me that maybe—just maybe—she was feeling it too. Whatever this was.

Her hands twitched at her sides, her tongue running over her bottom lip like she was trying to taste the words before she spoke them.

"I—I don’t know what I’m doing here," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loud would make it real. 

"One second, I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and the next I was…" She sighed, shaking her head. "Standing at your door."

I swallowed down the lump rising in my throat, shoving my hands into the front pocket of my hoodie. "And?"

Her brows furrowed. "And what?"

"And what do you want, Paige?" My voice was quieter now, something softer lurking beneath the edges. Dangerous.

She blinked, looking at me like she didn’t have an answer. Like she hadn’t thought that far ahead. And maybe she hadn’t. 

Maybe she really had just ended up here on autopilot, driven by some force neither of us could name.

The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. Her mouth opened, then closed. Her shoulders rose and fell. My heart hammered in my chest, and for the first time since opening the door, I wished I hadn’t.

"Y/N…" She breathed my name like it hurt, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say it anymore.

I shook my head, stepping back. "No," I said, voice trembling slightly. "You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to show up at my door in the middle of the night and expect me to just—"

"I don’t expect anything," she interrupted, stepping forward, closing the space I’d just put between us. "I just… I don’t know."

I let out a humorless laugh. "That’s your problem, Paige. You never know."

Her breath hitched, and for a split second, I saw something crack behind her eyes. Vulnerability. Uncertainty. Maybe even regret. But I couldn’t let it be my problem anymore.

I turned away, exhaling sharply. "You should go."

Paige hesitated, and I could feel her looking at me, feel the battle waging in her chest. But she didn’t move. Not for a long moment.

And when she finally did, it wasn’t toward the door.

Paige stood there for a heartbeat—just one, but it felt like a thousand years of silence wrapped in a veil of unspoken things. 

Her shoulders hunched as if carrying the weight of the world, the weight of the tension between us, and every single word that hung in the air but never found its way out.

I could feel her eyes on me, tracing the lines of my body like they were searching for something lost. 

She wasn’t looking at me—no, she was looking past me, through me, to the place we used to occupy in each other’s lives. It was suffocating. 

The air thick with memories we’d tried to bury, yet they kept creeping up on us in the quietest moments, like shadows in the corner of a room we couldn’t escape.

She exhaled a shaky breath, as if her lungs had forgotten what it felt like to breathe freely in my presence. I watched her throat work, the muscles in her neck tightening as she swallowed whatever it was she wanted to say but couldn’t. 

And then, with a small, hesitant movement, she stepped forward, closing the gap between us, one inch at a time.

I felt the shift in the air as her presence filled the space around me, the familiar scent of her perfume—something musky, something floral, like fresh rain on dry earth—lingering in the room. 

My heart skipped, once, twice, before sinking, pulling itself back into my chest like a piece of me was being pulled away.

 I wasn’t sure if I hated it or wanted to drown in it.

Paige’s hand reached out, fingers trembling slightly as they hovered in the space between us, a silent invitation, or maybe a plea, for something I wasn’t sure I could give her anymore. 

Her palm wasn’t open, but it wasn’t closed, either—just hovering, a tentative truce waiting to happen, a touch waiting for permission.

My breath hitched in my chest. “Don’t,” I whispered, not trusting my voice, not trusting myself to say the words any louder, any more forcefully. It was a plea and a command all wrapped up in one broken syllable.

But she didn’t stop. Of course, she didn’t.

Her hand gently brushed against my arm, just barely a whisper of skin on skin, but it was enough to send an electric current through my veins, through every nerve I had buried so deep inside me for so long. 

Her touch was a memory—one I had spent months trying to forget—and now it was flooding back, too familiar, too raw, too everything I didn’t want to feel.

I jerked back, but my feet were rooted to the floor, frozen by some invisible force. 

Paige’s face softened, the sharp edges of her expression dissolving into something vulnerable, something real. 

She was searching me, every inch of me, as if she was trying to read the broken lines on my face, the shattered pieces of who I used to be when she was everything to me.

Her voice broke the silence, a whisper that felt like glass, fragile and cutting. “I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d said it, but it felt different this time. It felt like the first time she meant it. “I know I’ve hurt you, Y/N. I—I never meant to, but I did. And I—”

She faltered, and for a moment, she seemed so small, so uncertain, like a shadow of the girl I had once known so well. I opened my mouth to speak, to say anything—don’t apologize, it’s too late—but the words tangled in my throat, too heavy to lift.

I couldn’t do it. Not with her standing here, not with that look in her eyes.

I turned away, needing space, needing distance, needing something to stop the aching, bleeding mess in my chest from spilling out all over the floor.

 I stumbled toward the windows, where the city’s lights flickered below us like distant stars, too far to touch, too far to reach. 

The silence stretched between us again, thick and suffocating, but this time, it felt like an ocean, pulling me under.

I could feel her watching me, feel the weight of her stare on my back like a brand. “Why are you here, Paige?” The words left my mouth before I could stop them, jagged and raw, as if I had been holding them in for far too long.

She didn’t answer at first. She just stood there, her fingers twisting in the hem of her hoodie, unsure, waiting for something, for the right moment to speak. But the right moment never came.

Finally, she spoke, and it wasn’t what I expected. “I came because I wanted to be here. Because I thought… maybe I could fix this. I thought maybe if I could just find the right words…”

Her voice wavered, a tremor in the quiet. “But I don’t even know what I’m supposed to fix.”

It was a punch to the gut, the truth of it, the way she admitted she didn’t know, had never known, that the brokenness between us wasn’t just my fault or hers.

 It was both of us, tangled together in a mess of misunderstandings and mistakes, and now we were just two people standing in the wreckage, pretending we could still build something from the ruins.

My hands balled into fists at my sides. “You can’t fix this, Paige,” I said, the words spilling out sharp, desperate. “You don’t get to waltz back in like suddenly something matters. You don’t get to—”

But I didn’t finish. I couldn’t.

Instead, I turned back toward her, and there she was, standing in the same spot, eyes wide and glistening, her lips trembling like she was trying to keep it together, trying to hold herself together long enough to get through whatever this was.

I wanted to scream. To yell. To do anything to stop this pain from bleeding out of me like a wound I couldn’t close. But there she was, still here, still in front of me.

I stepped closer, closer than I had intended, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I let my gaze soften. “I don’t want this,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, barely even mine anymore. “I don’t want you to hurt me anymore.”

Paige’s breath caught, and the vulnerability in her eyes was enough to break me. “I don’t want to hurt you either.”

But the truth of it, the harsh truth that both of us knew, was that we had already hurt each other too much to ever go back to what we were before. We were too broken, too fractured, too caught in the gravity of our own mistakes.

And as she took a tentative step forward, a single tear slipping from her eye, I knew, deep down, that this was the last time we would ever be standing this close again.

But I couldn’t make her leave. Not yet.

So, we stood there in the silence, the air thick between us, and I hated every single moment of it—yet I couldn’t seem to stop myself from breathing her in once more.

The air felt like it was wrapped in a fine, invisible web, delicate and stretching thin, pulling tighter with every passing second. 

We stood there, both of us, a breath apart, yet separated by miles of unspoken words. The tension between us was a quiet storm, one I could feel pressing in on all sides, suffocating, overwhelming, yet somehow familiar. 

It was the weight of everything we hadn’t said—the things we’d buried underneath layers of silence, of quick kisses, of moments stolen in the dark.

Her eyes never left mine, but there was something different now. A shift, a crack in the armor that had once felt impenetrable. 

Paige’s hand, still hovering in the space between us, slowly fell to her side, like she’d realized the touch she had longed for wasn’t just a reflex anymore. 

It had been something she needed to let go of, something that no longer fit in the puzzle of who we were.

But I wasn’t ready to let go. Not yet. Not when I could still feel her lingering warmth like a bruise on my skin. Not when I had spent the last few weeks pretending I didn’t care—pretending I hadn’t caught feelings, pretending this wasn’t as real as the beating in my chest that seemed to echo every time she said my name.

 “Y/N,” she whispered again, like it was a prayer, like it was a plea, a question she was afraid to ask but couldn’t keep silent anymore.

I looked away, unable to hold her gaze any longer. My heart hammered in my chest, a staccato rhythm that matched the panic clawing its way up my throat.

 I didn’t know how to respond to the weight of her stare, to the question in her eyes that I hadn’t been able to answer before.

 I was supposed to be indifferent, detached, just another name in a long list of names she had danced through. I wasn’t supposed to feel anything. I wasn’t supposed to want anything.

But I did. And that was the part that hurt.

I took a step back, trying to find the space between us, trying to reclaim what was mine before she got too close. “You should have never done this,” I muttered, more to myself than to her, as the words spilled out like regret—too fast, too sharp, too real. “I was fine. I was fine before this. Before you—”

She winced, the pain flashing across her face before she could hide it, before she could shut it down with that same defensive wall she always put up, that wall I had come to recognize but had never wanted to face. 

It had been easier, safer, when we didn’t feel anything—when we were just two bodies in the dark, nothing more than a brief, heated exchange of desire that was never supposed to linger past the morning.

But now, here we were, caught in the aftermath of something that neither of us had planned for.

Paige took a breath, steadying herself, and I could see the fight in her, the fight I knew so well, the one where she refused to let anyone see her break. 

“I know,” she said, her voice tight, rough with emotion she was trying to swallow. “I know I shouldn’t have pushed you away, Y/N. I never should have done that to you. But it was easier to leave before I—”

She stopped, closing her eyes as if the words had cut too deep, too quickly. I could hear the pain in her voice, the rawness that she tried to hide behind her bravado, but it wasn’t enough to cover the cracks. Not anymore.

I couldn’t help it. My chest tightened, the urge to close the distance between us pulling me forward even though every rational part of me screamed to keep my distance.

 “Easier to leave?” I asked, my voice cold, trying to put the distance between us again, trying to keep my emotions wrapped up tight in a box where they belonged. 

“Easier than facing me? Easier than facing what we were?”

She shook her head, her hair falling in waves around her shoulders as she took another step closer, a slow, hesitant movement, as if she was waiting for me to reject her again. 

“It was easier to walk away before I realized I—before I realized how much I was hurting you.”

My breath caught in my throat. I could see it then—the vulnerability in her eyes, the one she never let anyone see. 

“You didn’t think you were hurting me?” I asked, the question dripping with disbelief, the irony of it stinging my tongue. “You didn’t think I’d be hurt when you used me like that?”

The truth was, we were both using each other in ways that pained us both.

She winced again, like my words had pierced something deep inside her. “I didn’t mean to use you. I thought I could handle it. I thought we could just... keep things casual. No strings attached, no feelings.”

Her voice faltered on the last words, and I saw the truth in her eyes. “But then... you kept looking at me like that. Like I was more than just a body. And I—”

Her hands trembled as she reached out again, this time not hovering but fully extending toward me, a plea that wasn’t just physical, wasn’t just the echo of the lust that had driven us together in the first place. It was more than that.

I wanted to pull away. I wanted to step back, keep myself safe, keep my heart locked away from her. But I couldn’t.

Her fingertips brushed against my arm again, this time lingering, as if they were silently asking for something I wasn’t ready to give. But my walls were crumbling, piece by piece, and I could feel it. 

“I don’t know what I want anymore,” I admitted, my voice low, breaking in the middle of the sentence like it was a confession, like it was a sin I couldn’t wash away. 

“I don’t know if I can go back to what we were. But I can’t just—forget, Paige. I can’t just walk away from this.”

She pulled back then, sharply, like I had burned her, like my words had stung too much. But I saw the vulnerability in her eyes. 

The realization that she had messed up, that this was a mess of her own making. And for the first time in this broken dance, I saw her desperate to fix it.

“I wasn’t supposed to care, either,” she said, her voice small now, quieter than I had ever heard it, filled with regret. “I wasn’t supposed to let this get to me. But it did. And now all I want to do is make it right, make you see that I wasn’t playing you, that I—”

I reached for her then, my hand finding her wrist, holding her in place, the skin of my fingers burning where we touched. “I don’t know if you can.”

She swallowed hard, the words so much heavier than either of us had expected. Neither of us was ever supposed to want this, want each other. 

But here we were, tangled in the mess of our own desires, unsure whether we could ever untangle ourselves. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath against the storm between us. “I never meant to hurt you.”

And as the last bit of the distance between us vanished, I couldn’t help but wonder if the damage had already been done. 

Would we be able to fix what we had broken, or were we destined to fall apart in the spaces we had made for each other?

The tension between us was palpable, a charged silence that seemed to stretch out endlessly, heavy with all the things we hadn’t said, all the things we couldn’t say.

 I could feel the weight of her gaze on me, every flicker of emotion she didn’t let herself express—how her eyes betrayed her strength, showing the cracks she thought she could hide, how the uncertainty in them mirrored the chaos in my chest.

I could feel her heart pounding through her chest, the rhythm of her pulse matching the thrum of my own.

 It was as if the air between us was charged, filled with the kind of electricity that made every touch, every glance, every movement feel like an explosion waiting to happen. 

Yet, somehow, it felt fragile—like a delicate thread holding us together, only waiting for one wrong move to snap it in half.

We stood there, locked in an unspoken battle, neither of us willing to give an inch, neither of us knowing where to go from here. 

The weight of everything—of the nights we spent tangled in each other, of the words left unsaid, of the hurt we hadn’t acknowledged—pressed down on us.

 “I didn’t mean to—” she started, her voice shaking slightly, a quiet confession in the space between us.

But I couldn’t hear it anymore. I couldn’t keep listening to her excuses, to her guilt, to the echo of all the things she wished she could take back.

 I was tired of the push and pull, tired of being caught in the back-and-forth, in this constant cycle of wanting something that would never be more than what it was supposed to be. 

Something casual. Something temporary.

I wasn’t sure how we got here, but I knew I was done being patient with the uncertainty. I was done pretending I didn’t care, pretending I didn’t feel the ache in my chest every time I saw her pull away.

 I wasn’t going to let her keep running from this, from me.

I didn’t even realize what I was doing until it was too late. My body moved before my mind could catch up, before I could think it through, before I could stop myself from doing what I knew would hurt but also felt so damned right.

In an instant, we were crashing into each other, the force of it as wild as the storm raging inside me.

 Her lips pressed to mine, barely a whisper at first—clumsy, hesitant—but then it deepened, and I couldn’t stop it. It wasn’t a kiss anymore, not like before. This was something heavier, something realer. 

This was a reckoning.

Her hands, shaking at first, slid over my chest, pressing against the heat of my skin like she was trying to pull herself closer, like she was desperate for something more than just this. 

My hands moved instinctively, fingers tracing over the curve of her waist, feeling the warmth of her body through the thin fabric of her shirt, grounding me in the moment. 

There was no space between us anymore. No distance. We were wrapped up in each other, breathing each other in, every inhale sharp with the need we couldn’t deny any longer.

And yet, even as the kiss deepened, the intensity rising like a tidal wave, I could feel the weight of the past pressing in on me. 

I could feel it in the way her lips trembled against mine, in the way her breath hitched in the space between our kisses. 

We had both been here before—caught in the heat of the moment, tangled in the confusion of everything we had tried to bury—but this time, it was different.

 This time, there was something raw, something unspoken, that neither of us could escape.

Her body pressed against mine, her chest heaving with every breath, and I could feel the frantic urgency in her touch, in the way she grabbed at my hoodie, pulling me closer, as if she was trying to erase all the distance between us, all the walls we had put up. 

Her hands moved over me, frantic and unsteady, like she was searching for something she didn’t know how to find.

I could feel the heat of her skin seeping into mine, every touch igniting something deep inside me, something that felt dangerous, something that felt like it might burn us both. 

But I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop.

We were lost in each other now, lost in the moment, in the intensity of the kiss, in the desperation that had taken over our bodies. 

It was a new kind of intimacy—familiar yet strange, like we were finally seeing each other for the first time in a way we never had before. 

Every movement felt like a step closer to something we hadn’t been ready for, but now couldn’t escape.

My hands roamed over her back, feeling the shudder that rippled through her as if she was trying to ground herself in me, trying to anchor herself in the chaos.

 Her lips left mine, breathless, and before I could think, I found my hands on her neck, pulling her closer, guiding her down to my level. 

She lowered herself to me, her forehead resting gently against mine as we both tried to catch our breath.

For a moment, we were silent. But the silence wasn’t empty. It was full of all the things we hadn’t said, all the things we hadn’t allowed ourselves to feel.

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” I whispered, my voice barely audible in the quiet that surrounded us.

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she tilted her head, eyes searching mine, her breath still coming in uneven gasps.

 “Neither do I,” she confessed, her voice soft but laced with something raw, something vulnerable. “But I know I can’t keep pretending.”

And in that moment, the world outside ceased to exist. There was no more confusion, no more questions. 

Just the two of us, tangled up in the mess we had created, and the quiet realization that we couldn’t go back. The thread between us, fragile as it was, had already snapped.

The moment Paige's lips found mine again, it was as if the world fell away completely.

 My breath hitched, a soft sigh escaping me as her hands tangled in my hair, fingers threading through the strands of my blond locks with a tenderness that belied the tension between us. 

There was a pull to her touch, an urgency, but also a sense of reverence, like she was trying to memorize every moment, every second of our closeness.

Her hands slid beneath the fabric of my oversized hoodie, the warmth of her fingertips brushing against the exposed skin of my hips. 

I couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through me, her touch igniting a fire inside that burned brighter with every second. Her fingers, so deliberate, so careful at first, traced the line of my skin before dipping lower. 

The thin elastic of my black thong caught between her fingers, a whisper of tension that made my heart race. Her touch became more daring, more possessive as she ran her hand farther down, pulling me closer to her. 

I could feel her every movement, the way her hands shifted, finding their way around the curve of my ass, squeezing softly as she groaned into our kiss.

I pulled away slightly, my lips just a centimeter apart from hers, breath mingling heavily in the space between us.

 My chest heaved, the weight of everything crashing down on me, and all I could manage was a quiet, desperate "Fuck me," slipping out of my mouth like a confession, like a plea.

The words hung in the air between us, raw and vulnerable, yet undeniable. Paige’s breath caught, and for a moment, time seemed to stop.

 Her hands paused, her fingers still buried in the fabric of my hoodie, the weight of her touch as heavy as the silence between us. 

But that silence shattered when her lips crashed against mine once more, this time with a hunger that made my knees weak. She pulled me closer, closing the space between us, her body pressing into mine with a force that left no room for doubt, no room for hesitation.

The intensity of her touch sent waves of heat through my skin, every inch of me coming alive beneath her hands. 

She gripped my hips, pulling me against her, and I felt the unmistakable hardness of her body beneath the thin layers separating us. Her hands were everywhere—sliding up my back, cupping the back of my neck, fingers tangling in the strands of my hair like she couldn’t get enough.

 Her lips left mine only to trail down to my jaw, my neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Each kiss felt like an imprint, like she was marking me as hers, like I was hers—trapped in the pull of her gravity, unable to escape even if I wanted to.

I gasped as her hands moved lower, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin just above my waistband before dipping beneath it, slipping past the fabric of my underwear with a smoothness that made my pulse spike.

 Her touch was steady, sure, like she knew exactly how to make me burn without ever needing to ask. 

My breath hitched again as her hand slid over the curve of my ass, groping, squeezing, pulling me closer still, as if she couldn’t get enough of the feel of me, of the way our bodies fit together so perfectly.

I moaned softly, unable to hold it in, my hands falling to her chest, pressing against the hard planes of her body, feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat beneath the fabric of her shirt. 

The sensation of her skin under my fingertips made my thoughts scatter. She was everywhere—her lips, her hands, the heat of her body. I wanted her. I needed her.

"Paige..." My voice was barely a whisper, thick with need, my hands tugging at her shirt as I pulled her even closer, if that was even possible. 

She didn’t wait for me to finish, her lips pressing against mine again, her tongue pushing into my mouth with a force that left no room for anything but her.

"Jump," Paige murmured against my lips, her voice low and filled with intent.

I didn’t hesitate. Without a word, I wrapped my legs around her waist, my arms around her neck, clinging to her as she lifted me effortlessly, her muscles flexing beneath me. 

The air around us felt thick, every movement heavy with the weight of what we were about to do. We didn’t need to speak anymore. 

There was no room for doubt. We were here, caught in the gravity of each other, and nothing else mattered.

As Paige carried me toward the stairs, it was as if our bodies knew the way.

 Even in the pitch black, she navigated her way through my condo with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times before. 

Every step was instinctual, every movement fluid as she guided us toward the bedroom. I could feel her pulse beneath my fingertips, the rhythm of her breath matching the frantic thrum of my own.

 My mind raced, my thoughts scattered, but all I could focus on was the sensation of her touch, of the heat radiating from her body, of the way she made everything else disappear.

Her hands were everywhere—running along my back, sliding down to my hips, her fingers digging into the flesh of my thighs as she carried me. 

Her touch was possessive, as if she was claiming me in a way that left no room for anyone else, as if she needed me in the same way I needed her. 

The world outside of us was nothing but a distant memory, the noise of the city muted by the sound of our heavy breathing, the pounding of our hearts.

The moment we reached the bedroom, she set me down gently on the bed—but as soon as my body met the softness of the mattress, I was back in her arms, her lips crashing into mine, as if even a second apart was unbearable.

 She hovered over me, her breath mingling with mine, her fingers threading through my hair, tugging just enough to make me shiver.

 My hands were frantic, pulling at her clothes, desperate to feel more of her. Every inch of her skin was like fire against mine, every kiss a promise, every touch a declaration.

 I was lost in her, in the pull of her gravity, in the undeniable need that had taken over both of us.

I could feel the world slipping away, unraveling around us as the distance between us closed. The air, thick with the scent of desire, clung to my skin like a second layer. 

Every brush of Paige’s fingers, every press of her lips, sparked something inside me—something primal, something fierce. She was a wildfire, a storm I could never outrun.

 She consumed me, and I let her.

Her hands—strong and sure—were everywhere. Tugging at the fabric of my hoodie with a desperation that mirrored my own, the fabric slipping easily from my body, falling to the floor like leaves caught in a windstorm. 

She kissed me again, harder this time, her lips urgent against mine, as if trying to force me into the same frenzy that was building in her.

Her tongue, hot and demanding, slid against mine in a dance we’d perfected over the months, and I found myself lost in it, in the way our bodies fit together like two halves of a whole.

 My breath hitched as her fingers ghosted over my skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

Then, she pulled away just enough to look at me, her gaze dark, nearly predatory. 

Paige was practically drooling at the sight beneath her—the way the lacey thong clung to my hips, the delicate bra pushing my breasts together so nicely.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, eyes drinking me in like she’d never seen anything so perfect.

I spread my legs just a little more, inviting her in, watching the way her jaw clenched as she moved up the bed, positioning herself between my thighs.

“Look at you,” she whispered, voice thick with hunger. “So damn pretty.”

And then, she was on me again—touching, tasting, making it impossible to think about anything other than her.

"God, I need you," she murmured against my lips, her voice raw and ragged, thick with emotion. Her breath was hot against my ear as she pressed her body into mine, every inch of her warmth seeping through me, setting me ablaze.

I could feel her heartbeat under my fingertips, steady and strong, as my hands moved over her skin, memorizing every curve, every inch of her. 

My fingers trailed down the hard lines of her arms, her sides, grazing the soft skin of her waist, before slipping lower, finding the familiar curve of her hips. 

She was a map of desire, every part of her calling to me, pulling me closer, deeper into the orbit of her body.

"Paige..." I gasped, my voice trembling, my fingers curling around the drawstring of her gray sweatpants. There was no room for hesitation now—only raw, desperate need.

 I wanted her, wanted to feel every part of her, to melt into her completely. Words felt useless when my hands could say so much more.

She let out a low, guttural sound, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she watched me. Her eyes—dark, smoldering with hunger—never wavered. She didn’t stop me, didn’t rush me. 

Just watched, her lips curving into a slow, knowing smile that sent a shiver straight down my spine.

The moment I tugged at the tie, loosening it with deliberate slowness, her breath hitched. I slid the soft fabric down her thighs, my touch lingering, savoring the heat of her skin beneath my fingertips.

Paige exhaled sharply, her own impatience surfacing as she kicked the sweatpants off the rest of the way, tossing them somewhere into the room without a second thought. Her movements were fluid, unbothered, like she knew exactly what she was doing to me.

My hands roamed over her, tracing the curves of her hips, the smooth expanse of her stomach, every inch of warm, inviting skin. 

And when my fingers skimmed the waistband of her boxers, barely brushing the fabric, she gasped—sharp and sudden.

Her eyes met mine then, locked in a silent challenge, an unspoken dare. An invitation.

And I wasn’t about to turn it down

“You’re so beautiful,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion, the weight of the moment pressing into my chest. 

My hands found her again, pulling her closer, desperate to feel every inch of her against me. 

Every touch, every glance, was a promise—a silent confession that neither of us was going anywhere, that we were caught in this storm together.

Her breath hitched as I let my fingers trail lower, slipping past the waistband of her boxers, teasing over the soft warmth between her thighs. 

A quiet gasp left her lips as I traced my fingers through her folds, feeling the heat, the slickness, the way she trembled under my touch.

"Don’t stop," she breathed, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me to her again, her lips crashing into mine in a kiss so intense I thought I might lose myself in it. 

Her hands were everywhere now—pressing against my waist, guiding me closer, urging me to forget the world outside of us, to forget everything but her, but this moment, this feeling that was consuming us both.

I could feel her warmth, the steady pulse of her heart, and the shallow breath she took as it synced with the frantic beat of my own. 

Every inch of her was an electric current running through me, pulling me in closer, as if our bodies were desperate to become one. 

The air between us was thick with the heat of our desire, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid, but still, neither of us could get close enough.

I slowly pulled my hand away from Paige's boxers, my fingers brushing against her skin as if reluctant to let go. She stood before me, her chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths.

 My hands found the familiar curve of her back, my fingers gently gliding up her spine as I pushed both her shirt and her hoodie over her head. 

Her skin was smooth and warm, illuminated by the soft glow of the room's light.

Now standing before me in nothing but her Nike sports bra, Paige's abs were perfectly defined, each muscle a testament to her strength and dedication. 

I couldn't help but trace the subtle lines of her body with my eyes, marveling at how effortlessly beautiful she was.

She let out a soft sigh, and without hesitation, I leaned forward, my lips brushing the curve of her neck.

 I kissed her slowly, savoring the feel of her pulse against my mouth as I moved down to her collarbone, leaving a trail of warmth behind. Each kiss was a mark, a promise, staking my claim on her in the most intimate way possible.

Her hands were back on me, pulling at the waistband of my thong, and I couldn’t stop the moan that slipped from my lips as her fingers skimmed the bare skin of my inner thighs.

 She was always so sure, so confident in everything she did, and I loved it, loved how she knew exactly how to touch me, exactly how to make me lose myself in her.

 She knew my body the way a painter knew their canvas, and each touch, each caress, felt like a stroke of genius.

She paused for a heartbeat, her hands still on me, as though she were savoring the feeling of me beneath her touch. 

Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, a softness in her eyes that only made her intensity more magnetic. 

“Are you sure?” Her voice was a low murmur, a vulnerable question that tugged at something deep within me. Despite the hesitation in her tone, there was an undeniable fierceness in her gaze, a fierce need I could feel just as strongly as she did.

I reached up, my hands trembling slightly as they cupped her face, my thumbs brushing the softness of her cheeks. 

The warmth of her skin burned through me, making my heart race. 

"Yes," I whispered, the word thick with need, with desire, with everything I couldn’t hold back. “Please, baby. I want you.”

Her eyes softened at my words, and I saw the shift—the sudden deepening of the heat between us. It was as though something had cracked wide open, something neither of us could hold back anymore. 

The world seemed to narrow, just the two of us, the air between us charged with the promise of something we both needed desperately.

Then, with an urgency that took my breath away, Paige tore the thong from my body, the fabric tugged roughly from my skin. 

My breath hitched as she widened my legs, a groan escaping her lips as she took in the sight of me laid bare for her– glistening with desperation. 

Her eyes drank me in, hunger evident in every glance, her heat matching my own. I whimpered, the sound slipping from my lips before I could stop it.

“M’gonna take my time with you,” she whispered, her voice thick with raw desire, and there was something about the way she said it, like a promise that sent a shiver down my spine. 

Slowly, deliberately, she lowered herself, never breaking eye contact, her lips trailing over the curve of my body.

 Every touch was a caress, a teasing kiss, a nip that sent jolts of electricity through my veins. I gasped, my body arching toward her as she kissed, licked, and nipped her way down, her lips hot against my skin. 

She paused just above my hips, pressing two gentle kisses against my hip bones, before trailing lower still, teasing me with the lightest touch, until her lips brushed over the most sensitive part of me.

The sensation hit me like a tidal wave, the rush of heat flooding my veins, pulling every breath from my chest, leaving me dizzy with longing.

 Each touch, each kiss, was a jolt of pleasure that surged through my body, igniting every nerve. The intensity was overwhelming—an insatiable craving that I couldn’t escape, couldn’t contain. 

The air around us felt thick, almost suffocating, as the weight of our need pressed in from all sides. My heart raced, my chest tightening as I fought to breathe, and in that singular moment, nothing mattered but her—her touch, her presence, the way she made me feel.

Paige moved slowly, deliberately, settling between my thighs with an ease that was both possessive and tender. She draped my legs over her strong, muscular shoulders, the warmth of her skin radiating against mine.

 I could feel the roughness of her hands as they slid up my thighs, her touch firm but gentle, tracing the sensitive lines of my body like she knew exactly where to make me shiver. 

Her lips were warm against my skin, and as she shifted, I felt her breath against me—soft, almost reverent, before she pressed a long, slow kiss against the inner curve of my leg.

Then her tongue—oh God—her tongue slid up my skin, slow and smooth, until it reached its destination. 

Every inch of me seemed to pulse with the sensation, my body aching with an intensity I couldn’t name. Her groan, deep and guttural, vibrated through me.

 “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered, her voice low and filled with raw, unfiltered desire. It wasn’t just words—it was a confession, a promise, something that was carved into the air between us.

A shiver ran through me at the sound, my entire body responding to her touch, my skin tingling with need. 

“Paige… please,” I begged, my voice barely a whisper, the words thick with desperation.

 I didn’t know if I was asking her to stop or begging her for more; all I knew was that I needed her, needed this, needed her to feel just as consumed as I was.

She didn’t hesitate. 

Her tongue flicked out, teasing me with long, languid strokes that made my back arch and my breath catch in my throat. 

She moved with an expertise that made it feel like time was stretching, each second lasting an eternity as she lavished me with her touch. 

My entire body was alive with sensation—heat pooling low in my stomach, my pulse thrumming in time with her every move. 

When her tongue circled around my clit, the world tilted, spinning out of control. 

My breath hitched, my hips rising instinctively toward her as I felt the first surge of pleasure ripple through me, a wave of warmth that made my body tremble in her grasp.

But she was steady, her hands gripping my thighs, her lips never leaving me, as if she had all the time in the world to make me feel every inch of her. And I wanted it. Needed it. 

Her touch, her breath, the quiet intensity that passed between us, felt like the universe had narrowed down to just this, just us, connected in ways that were raw, beautiful, and endlessly consuming.

Her lips were everywhere, teasing, tasting—each movement calculated but dripping with desire.

 Paige’s hands held my thighs firmly, her fingers pressing into my soft skin as her mouth worked over me, lips wrapping around my sensitive clit, pulling gently, then flicking with quick, precise motions. Each time, I gasped, a desperate sound falling from my lips, my back arching slightly in response.

She alternated between dragging her tongue slowly across my folds and lapping at me with quick, heated strokes, her tongue now darting, now pressing against me, just enough to send tremors through my entire body.

 I tangled my fingers in her hair, my other hand gripping the edge of the bed, barely able to hold on as she continued to drive me wild. I could feel the warmth of her mouth, the sharpness of her movements, and I wanted more.

 "Fuck," I breathed, unable to stop myself as she sucked on my clit, her mouth fully enveloping me. "Don’t stop."

Paige hummed against me, the vibration sending a wave of heat through my core, and I moaned loudly, pushing my hips up in response. 

Her eyes met mine, dark with want, a slow smile curving her lips as she pulled back for just a second.

“You like that, huh?” she asked, her voice dripping with confidence, though it was breathless.

 “You like the way I make you squirm?” Her tongue flicked over my clit, just a quick pass before she pulled back to stare at me, her face inches from mine. She loved watching me unravel.

"God, yes," I gasped, the need coursing through me. "You—" I couldn't finish the thought, my words cut off by the sensation of her tongue plunging deep into me, flicking inside, then pulling back, teasing me just enough to make my head spin. 

My hips bucked, desperate, as she pressed into me, finding the perfect rhythm, sliding in and out with precision, her lips wrapping around my clit, sucking it, pulling it, making me forget everything but her.

Her mouth moved against me like it was an art, a need, every flick, every thrust of her tongue taking me higher. 

"You taste so fucking good," she murmured against my skin, and her voice—low, guttural—sent a fresh wave of heat through me. 

Her tongue flicked back to my entrance, teasing the sensitive area with just enough pressure before pushing in again, her lips kissing my folds as her tongue slipped deeper.

“Shit, Paige," I gasped, my fingers tightening in her hair, pulling her closer. The way she moved, relentless, her tongue flicking in and out of me, then circling my clit with maddening speed... I couldn’t take it much longer. "Please, I need—"

She cut me off with a sharp, deliberate thrust of her tongue, her mouth pressing harder against me as she moved with precision, lips wrapping around the bud once more. 

The tight coil in my stomach tightened, and I couldn’t hold back any longer.

"You're gonna make me cum," I whimpered, my voice rough with need. I felt her smile against me, smug satisfaction radiating from her as she hummed in approval.

“Then do it, baby,” she urged, her words muffled as her tongue flicked across my clit once more, pressure building with every pass. "Let me feel you come all over my face."

And with that, my body gave way. I cried out, my hips jerking as I came undone under her, waves of pleasure crashing over me, my hand gripping her head to keep her against me as my orgasm tore through me. 

Paige didn’t stop, not even when I begged her to. She kept going, her tongue still working against me as I shuddered, my breath coming in gasps. 

Only when I tried to push her away, my hand finally urging her back, did she pull away, her lips glistening with my slick, eyes locked on me with a satisfied grin.

"Fuck," I panted, breathless, utterly wrecked. "You... you know how to make me lose control."

Paige pulled away slowly, her lips still glistening from the mix of my arousal. Her eyes locked onto mine, a smirk spreading across her face as she wiped her thumb over the slick on her chin, collecting it. 

Without breaking eye contact, she slid her thumb into her mouth, sucking it clean, all while keeping that smug, almost predatory grin.

“You taste even better than I remembered,” she purred, her voice thick with satisfaction. “I’ve always known, baby. Jus’ too good.”

Paige hovers over me, her lips finding mine with an urgent heat, a hunger that I can’t help but feel deep in my bones.

 Every kiss she gives me feels like a promise, a slow burn of need that echoes through every part of me. Her mouth on mine is intoxicating, and I feel every inch of it. 

My body is still humming from the pleasure I just felt, the bliss lingering in my core. 

The sensation of her lips against mine only makes it more intense, like a beautiful reminder of what just passed and what’s still to come. 

 My core aches with that emptiness, the quiet pulse that calls for more, even as I try to savor the moment.

When her tongue slides between my lips, I taste myself on her, a raw, sweet flavor that sends another wave of heat through me. 

The realization hits me, and the thought of her carrying my taste on her tongue, the way her lips move against mine, makes my breath hitch. It’s almost too much, the connection, the way it feels like we’re melting into one another.

,Paige’s hands move with purpose, slipping behind my back to unclasp my bra. When the fabric loosens, I feel the heat of her fingertips against my skin, sending shivers all over me. 

The moment my bra falls away, her touch doesn’t stop—it lingers, tracing fire over my skin. But even as the bra drops away, our lips stay locked, refusing to break the connection. 

I feel it in my chest, in my breath, the way she consumes me in every kiss.

I can’t help but return the favor, my hands sliding down to touch her, to feel her. 

My fingers find the waistband of her boxers, already pulling them down, but before I can go any further, she stops me. I look up, confused, and the look on her face is intense. 

Her breath is heavy, and her voice is low, full of desire. “Ride me,” she breathes, her eyes locked on mine with that same hunger, and it shoots straight to my core.

I stare at her for a moment, my brow furrowing. “But what about—”

Before I can finish, she silences me with another kiss, a soft, quick peck that shushes my concerns.

 “Don’t worry about it,” she whispers, her lips brushing against mine as she pulls away. Without another word, she leans over to the bedside drawer, her movements smooth and fluid.

 I watch, feeling my heart race in my chest, my anticipation growing with every motion.

She pulls open the drawer, retrieving the strap-on, and I can’t tear my eyes away from her. 

My breath catches as she begins to slip it on, her legs shifting beneath her as she adjusts the harness, pulling it up her thighs.

 The sound of the strap tightening against her skin fills the room, each deliberate motion heightening the tension between us.

I watch her, feeling my pulse quicken. The heat in the room is thickening, and I can feel the desire between us, an undeniable pull that I can’t escape.

 My body buzzes with the need for her, the ache in my belly growing again as I take in the way she moves, how she looks, how she’s getting ready for what’s to come.

I swallow hard, my breath coming quicker now, my stomach fluttering with excitement and anticipation. I feel that familiar warmth deep within me again, the longing that never seems to fade.

The bed shifts beneath me, the sound of the sheets rustling as Paige settles back onto it, her back sinking against the headboard, her body relaxed but her eyes burning with something dangerous.

 She pats her thigh, the gesture casual but commanding, like she knows exactly what it does to me. “C’mere baby,” she murmurs, the tone rich with unspoken need.

I don’t hesitate. My body moves on instinct, trembling slightly as I climb over her, straddling her thighs.

My skin tingles, the cool air hitting me while the heat between us is palpable, thick enough to taste.

 Paige’s gaze trails over me, from the way my chest rises and falls to the slickness pooling between my legs, and I can feel the pressure of her eyes on me like a physical touch.

She’s watching me carefully, waiting, like she’s savoring the moment before she makes her next move.

 I feel the weight of her gaze as I reach down, my fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the strap. With a quiet breath, I spit into my palm, slicking the strap with my saliva. 

The action feels so simple, yet so intimate, like it's the most natural thing in the world, and yet it stirs something deep inside me.

I stroke it once, twice, feeling the warmth of my hand glide along the silicone, the motion steady and confident. Her breath catches, sharp and shallow, her eyes locked on mine as she watches every movement with hungry anticipation.

“Fuck, ma,” she whispers under her breath, the words thick with desire, sending a shiver down my spine.

"You're so fucking wet," Paige says, voice low and thick. "Look at you baby, want you to ride me." Her words hang heavy in the air, but it's the dark hunger in them that makes my pulse quicken.

My mind spins, a tight knot of desire and uncertainty twisting in my stomach. "Paige, are you sure..." I start to protest, but she cuts me off, her lips brushing over mine in a soft kiss that’s anything but gentle. It’s a claim, a promise.

 Her hand slides up to grip my waist, urging me forward with an urgency that stops any further thought.

"Shh," she whispers against my lips, "don’t worry ‘bout me, baby."

Her hands are everywhere—on my hips, guiding me forward, pulling me closer, and I feel myself obeying without question. 

My breath quickens, the tip of the strap brushing against my entrance. The sensation is already so much, yet it’s nothing compared to the aching emptiness inside me.

 I lower myself slowly, inch by inch, each movement deliberate, as the strap stretches me open.

The fullness is immediate, overwhelming, and I gasp, trying to adjust to the slow, steady pressure. 

Every inch fills me more, deeper, until I’m fully seated on her, and I can't help but moan at the sensation—the way it fills me so completely, the way I feel every inch of the length inside my walls.

“S-shit, baby.”

I stay there for a moment, letting the waves of sensation crash over me, feeling the stretch, the heat, the way my body pulses around her. 

Paige’s hands don’t leave my waist, holding me still as her eyes watch me with a mixture of lust and satisfaction.

“Good girl,” she growls, her hands gripping tighter as I begin to move, rocking my hips slowly at first. "Take it all, baby. Show me how much you need it."

Her words break something in me, and I begin to ride her, the motion slow at first but quickly growing desperate. I feel my brow furrow, the way my jaw slackens as I lose myself in the pleasure. 

My body is responding to her, each movement pushing me closer to the edge. The strap slides in and out, the friction making my insides tighten around it, the sensation of fullness overwhelming me.

 I bite my lip to hold back a moan, but it slips out anyway, quiet and needy.

Paige’s gaze is fixed on me, her eyes dark with hunger, watching every inch of me, every little shiver that runs through me. 

“So fucking perfect. The way you move for me, the way you ride my dick—God, you drive me crazy. You’ve got no idea how good you look right now.” She licks her lips, eyes never leaving mine, her voice low and commanding.

“Could watch you fall apart like this for hours, baby. You're fucking breathtaking."

The words send a thrill through me, and my hips move faster, harder, as I try to chase the feeling, that deep ache in my core that won’t stop building. 

“Fuck, Paige,” I mewled, moaning as I felt every inch of the strap stretch me open, the pressure building inside me. I moved with it, desperate for release, each thrust making my breath hitch. 

My chest rose and fell with the rhythm, my hands gripping her thighs for balance as I rocked against her, craving more of the sensation, more of her.

My body is trembling now, on the verge of losing control, the pressure mounting with every second.

“Look at you,” Paige growls, her voice rough with need. “So fuckin’ wet f’me. So desperate.”  She grips my hips tightly, her fingers digging into my flesh as she helps guide my movements. 

“You love the way I make you feel, hm? Love this pussy, fuck– can’t get enough of you.” 

The rawness in her voice pushes me further, and I feel the wave of heat build between my legs. My body is betraying me, aching for more, moving faster on its own as I reach for the release I’ve been desperately chasing. 

My legs tremble, the tension coiling so tightly inside me that I feel like I’m about to snap. My lips part, desperate to form words, but all that spills out are breathless, broken moans.

Paige’s thumb finds my clit, pressing down in slow, deliberate circles, each one sending a fresh wave of pleasure through me, dragging me deeper into the overwhelming bliss.. 

A low, needy whimper slips from my throat as I press harder onto her, my head tilting back slightly, eyes fluttering closed, overwhelmed by the waves of pleasure crashing through me. 

I can’t stop now, not when I’m this close—my hips grinding desperately, each movement drawing me closer to the edge.

“You’re perfect for me, baby. Just like this,” she pants, her voice dripping with praise, her eyes wild with lust. 

“You take me so fucking well. Keep going.” Paige continued to mewl, her teeth grazing her bottom lip as she groaned at the sight of me clenching around her. 

 “Don’t stop, just like that. I’m never going to get enough of you, not when you’re this fucking beautiful.”

"Paige—I can't," I sigh, my words breaking off as my movements grow more erratic. The sensation of her inside me is overwhelming, too much, too fucking good. My hips grind down harder, chasing the intensity that’s building deep in my core. 

My breath comes in shallow bursts, lost in the frenzy of it all. I can't think, can't focus—only the feeling of her filling me, the sharp edge of desire that pushes me forward, deeper into the bliss I crave. Every inch, every movement is too much, yet I can't stop, can't slow down.

“This dick too much for you, ma?” she mocks with a grin, pressing her lips to one of my nipples before pulling away with a soft pop. The heat of her mouth lingers on my skin, and I shiver, my body reacting before my mind can catch up.

“C’mon, baby,” she growls, her hands tightening on my hips, guiding me as I ride her. “So close, I can feel it. You’re so fucking tight, so perfect." Her voice dips low, sending a shock of pleasure through me. "Be a good girl and keep ridin’ me. Move with me, baby—just like that.”

Her words spill from her lips like a command and a promise, urging me to find the rhythm, to move faster, deeper. 

Every thrust is a jolt of electricity, and her hands help pull me closer, pushing me harder onto her. I feel every inch of her inside me, the heat building, and my breath comes out in soft pants as I chase the pleasure she promises.

I obey, my body responding to her command as if it's the only thing that matters in this world. The air around us seems to vanish, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of her filling me, the stretch of the strap deeper than I ever expected. 

The rhythm of our bodies colliding sends shockwaves of pleasure through me, every thrust pulling me further under her control.

 I can hear the slap of skin against skin, the desperate, breathless gasps that escape my lips, and it only makes me want more.

Each inch of her pushes me closer to the edge, the heat between us like an inferno, smoldering beneath the surface. 

The strap is a thick, unrelenting force inside me, and with every stroke, I feel the pressure build, that tight coil of tension winding inside my belly, threatening to snap. 

My legs shake, trembling with need, my body so close to release I can already taste it. The pleasure is a wave, building higher, and my entire being is focused on that one beautiful moment where I can finally let go.

"Shit—baby, I’m gonna come," I gasp, the words spilling from my lips without any thought as my body burns with the need for release.

Paige groans, her grip tightening on my hips as she thrusts harder, faster, making my whole body jerk with each motion. "Yeah? Gonna come on my dick, ma?" she growls, her voice rough, sending an electric thrill through me.

Before I can answer, just as I’m about to lose myself, to surrender to the bliss that’s been building within me, Paige pulls out with a sharp motion, lifting me effortlessly and tossing me to the side. 

The sudden emptiness inside me is a shock, and I can’t help but whine in protest, my mind hazy, still clinging to the remnants of pleasure. 

I open my mouth to argue, to demand that she finish what she started, but my words dissolve into a breathless moan, high-pitched and desperate.

“Paige, please…” I start, but the words catch in my throat, swallowed by the sensation that still lingers in my core.

Before I can say anything more, Paige’s hands grip my thighs, and in one swift motion, she’s back inside me, sliding deep with a single, forceful thrust. 

My legs are immediately lifted, thrown over her shoulders, and my body trembles beneath her power. A gasp escapes my lips, a primal sound that I can't control.

“Oh my fuck!” I yell, my eyes slamming shut as my jaw slackens, the shock of her re-entering me overwhelming every other thought in my mind. 

My body burns, every inch of me pulsing with the deep, heavy sensation of her inside me again, rearranging my guts.

The new angle has me seeing stars, my vision blurring as pleasure crashes over me in dizzying waves, leaving me breathless and utterly undone.

 My moans become louder, more guttural, rising from the depths of my chest as I feel the delicious ache of fullness. 

The pressure builds again, only this time it’s faster, more frantic. I can feel her deep in me, her movements deliberate and slow at first, but I can’t stop myself from pushing against her, desperate for more, aching for release.

Every snap of her hips slams into that devastatingly perfect spot, the one that has my vision blurring, my mouth falling open in a silent cry, my entire body surrendering to the waves of bliss crashing over me.

"Fuck, Paige!" I whine, my voice strained, filled with need. "Don’t stop, please!"

Paige’s groan fills the room as she picks up the pace, her thrusts deep and relentless. "You feel so fucking good, baby. You’re mine, you hear me?" She growls, each word like a command, making me ache even more. "You’re gonna come all over me. I can feel it, ma."

The pornographic moans echo through the room, and my body arches involuntarily, lifting as if I’m trying to take every inch of her, desperate to lose myself in the sensation. 

Paige keeps me trapped beneath her, driving into me with a relentless precision that leaves me trembling, completely at her mercy—my body hers to command, my pleasure hers to ruin. 

Each thrust drags me deeper into a haze of overwhelming sensation, my mind slipping further as she moves against me like she was made for this, like I was made for her.  

“Come for me, baby,” she grits out, her voice thick with need, her grip on my hips tightening as she drives into me.  

The tension inside me snaps, and I break with a choked sob, my entire body seizing as a rush of pleasure consumes me. 

Liquid spills between us, soaking everything—sheets, skin, her lower abdomen. I barely register the wrecked sound Paige makes, nearly undone herself at the sight of me falling apart for her.  

“Oh, fuck,” she groans, grinding into me as she helps me ride it out, dragging out every last wave of bliss until I’m nothing but a trembling, breathless mess beneath her.

“Shit, ma— look at that. Jus’ squirted everywhere.” 

Paige pulls out slowly, deliberately, as if she knows exactly how fragile I am in this moment. A soft whimper escapes me, melting into a breathless moan, my body still trembling from the aftermath. 

My limbs are useless, boneless, my chest rising and falling in uneven, heavy breaths as I lay beneath her, utterly wrecked—flushed, spent, undone.  

She lingers above me, eyes roaming, drinking me in with something raw and possessive.

 I can feel the heat of her gaze mapping every inch of me, lingering on the way my skin glistens, the way I’m still dripping from her, the way the sheets beneath us are damp with the evidence of her destruction. 

Paige exhales, a low, shaky sound, her fingers trailing over my thigh, barely grazing, teasing—because she can. I twitch beneath her, too sensitive, and her lips curl into a smirk before she leans down, capturing my mouth in a slow, languid kiss.  

It’s teasing, indulgent, her teeth grazing my bottom lip just enough to make me exhale a quiet, breathy laugh against her mouth. 

Paige chuckles too, the sound deep, warm, sending a shiver down my spine as she melts into me, pressing closer, stealing another kiss, and then another—soft, lazy, unhurried.  

And then she pulls back just slightly, lips still brushing against mine, voice nothing more than a hushed murmur.  

“Is it too late to tell you I’m releasing another song about you… in an hour?”  

My words take a second to sink in, her mind too dazed, too hazy, before I force my eyes open and glance at the clock on my bedside table. *3:00 AM.* The realization has me groaning, too exhausted to be annoyed but awake enough to tease her.  

“So “Purple Lace Bra was about me,” she muttered, her voice hoarse, thick with exhaustion.  

Paige’s lips curl into a playful grin, her teeth grazing my jaw with a soft, teasing nip before she presses another kiss there—gentle, featherlight, almost too tender for the intensity we just shared. 

Her eyes flicker with a quiet satisfaction as she pulls back, her hands reaching for the strap-on. 

The movement is slow, deliberate, and somehow reverent as she carefully slips it off, tossing it aside with a casual ease that contrasts the wildness of the moment.

“Obviously,” I hums, my voice laced with amusement as Paige rolls onto her side, pulling me against her chest. Her arms settle around me, warm and firm, her fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns against my damp skin.  

We settle into a quiet lull, our laughter fading into something softer, something more fragile. Paige exhales, her hand reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear before she stills, her touch lingering.  

“Hey,” she murmurs, so soft it’s barely above a whisper, as if anything louder might shatter me completely. “I just want you to know that I’m truly sorry.”  

I blink up at her, my breath catching slightly.  

“I’m sorry I was being a dumbass,” she says, her tone edged with something raw, something real.  

I don’t hesitate. I lean in, capturing her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss, not to distract, not to avoid, but to answer. She melts into it instantly, her fingers tightening on my waist as if grounding herself in me. 

And when I pull back, just enough to press my forehead against hers, I murmur, “Why don’t we—” I pause, considering, letting the thought take shape before I say it aloud. “Why don’t we take this slow?”  

Paige exhales, something deep and unspoken passing between us before she nods. “Yeah,” she breathes. “Slow.”  

The moment lingers, stretching into something infinite, before she pulls me closer, wrapping herself around me completely.

 The tension fades into something softer, something warmer, as her hands continue their slow, soothing exploration—tracing, praising, worshipping.  

She whispers against my skin, her voice a low, reverent murmur. “You were so perfect for me, baby. So good. So fuckin’ beautiful.” Her lips find my temple, my jaw, the shell of my ear. 

I hum in response, too exhausted to do anything more than nuzzle into her warmth, and Paige only holds me tighter, whispering soft praises against my skin—again and again—until we finally drift off, tangled in each other, in the quiet, in the aftermath of something that feels like a beginning.

No note today, I go sleep now.

P.S I haven’t written smut in a shit long time, but I hope you enjoyed <3

xoxo,

J.

© sweettu1ips.tumblr 2025 do not copy, translate or claim any of my writing or works as your own.

[thicccshady]

Mom's Spaghetti...And Dad’s Nose👃

Eminem X Reader

✨️MasterList✨️

Content: Fluff, Cursing

Y/N sat on the couch, scrolling through TikTok filters. It was one of those lazy nights where Marshall was deep in his notebook, pencil scratching against paper as he worked on lyrics. He was locked in, his brow furrowed, lips occasionally moving as he mumbled lines under his breath.

She loved watching him like this—how his focus seemed unbreakable, like nothing else in the world existed except the words on that page. But, she also loved messing with him!

“Hey, Marshall,” she called, trying to keep her tone casual.

“Mhm?” he murmured, not looking up.

“Can I take a picture of you real quick?”

He sighed but waved a hand. “Fine. Just don’t make it a big ass production, alright?” He scribbled a few more words then sat his tools down.

Y/N smirked. “Of course not.”

She flipped to the new TikTok filter she’d found—one that made your nose comically oversized. She adjusted the angle, framing him perfectly as he sat there with his usual serious expression. Y/N thought a video might work better. So, she hit record. The filter did its magic, inflating his nose to cartoonish proportions. Y/N clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

“Y/N?” Marshall raised an eyebrow.

“Almost done,” she said, her voice shaking with suppressed giggles. She quickly stopped the video. Barely keep it together, she watched the clip of him with that ridiculous nose while he was none the wiser.

“Y/N, What’s so fuckin' funny?” he asked, his tone suspicious now.

“Nothing,” she said, snorting as she tried to hide her phone.

Marshall wasn’t buying it. He set down his pencil and gave her a look, finally breaking his concentration. “Let me see.”

“No way!” she said, scrambling to hold the phone out of his reach, but Marshall was faster. He grabbed the phone with one hand and put her in a playful headlock with the other arm. His brows furrowed as he took in the video, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything.

Then he blinked. “What the... fuckin'.. Fuck is this?”

Y/N couldn’t hold it in anymore. She burst into laughter, nearly falling off the couch. “It’s a filter! Look at your nose! Oh my God, you look so serious—like you’re about to drop the hottest diss track!”

Marshall stared at the phone again, his expression deadpan. Then, without warning, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re a dick.”

“I had to! It was too good,” she said between laughs.

He sighed, handing her back the phone. “Just don’t post it anywhere, alright?”

“Of course not,” she promised, still grinning as she uploaded the photo to TikTok (Friends Only, of course.)

---

The next morning, Y/N woke up to her phone vibrating nonstop. She squinted at the screen, groaning at the bright light, only to see a flood of notifications. Her stomach dropped.

“No…” she whispered, sitting up in bed.

“Y/N!” Marshall’s voice echoed from the living room.

In her gut, she already knew what had happened. She hurried out to find him sitting on the couch, holding up his phone. His face was a mix of disbelief and reluctant amusement.

“Care to explain why the internet thinks my pointy ass nose is about to expode?” he asked, tilting the phone toward her.

Y/N peeked at the screen, cringing. The photo had gone viral. Someone had screenshotted it, and now memes were everywhere.

One had the caption: "The way you shake it, I can't believe it. I ain't ever seen a nose like that!" Another read: “Marshall Mathers has Big Honkin Nose Energy.” And, of course, #BigNoseShady was trending.

“Oh my God,” Y/N whispered, her face burning. “I—I only posted it to my friends! I didn’t mean for this to happen!”

Marshall rubbed his face, shaking his head. “Y/N, you can’t be this bad at technology.”

“fuck, I swear it was an accident!” she said, panicking. “I’ll delete it right now!”

He waved her off. “Don’t bother. The internet’s faster than you.”

Y/N sat down beside him, mortified. “I’m so sorry. I’ll fix it somehow.”

Marshall looked at her, and for a moment, she thought he was genuinely upset. But then, "Did I get you?" a grin broke across his face. “payback's a bitch isn’t it.” he said, laughing. “This might actually be the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Look at this one—” He showed her a meme where someone had photoshopped his filter-enhanced nose onto the 8 Mile movie poster. It read: “Mom’s spaghetti…and Dad’s nose.”

Despite herself, Y/N laughed. “Okay, that’s actually pretty good”

Marshall leaned back, scrolling through more memes. “Look at this—they put my nose on the Mount Rushmore presidents. I’m up there with fuckin' Lincoln now.”

Y/N relaxed, her embarrassment easing. “You’re not mad?”

He shook his head. “Nah. it’s giving me ideas.”

“For what?”

“Next album,” he said, smirking. “I’m naming it The Nose Knows.” He joked.

"oh god, please don't!" Y/N groaned, laughing as she buried her face in her hands. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

“Probably not,” he said, pulling her close.

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@crazycat-ladys-blog@ @tomdayaloveforever@ @4-ln4@ @hereforfun-31@

[mysteria157]

Happy Birthday, Lu (@cmdrfupa)

Your soul and humor brightens even the darkest corners, your understanding reaches depths that I cannot ever fathom, and your writing...your writing carries a rare magic and versatility that makes readers feel both seen and transformed. You create stories that show us another side to the characters we love.

This fic is my gift to you--a small offering to someone who gives so much of herself to others through her words and presence. A little piece of you and Toji. Thank you for being such a wonderful friend and a fantastic person.

Thank you for being you--perfectly imperfect.

Enjoy!

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Reader (Lu)

Rating/CW: Mature audiences. Domestic fluff, established romance, mentions of dark past, light angst with a happy ending.

WC: ~7.1K

Summary: What begins as a string of disappointments, turns into a day molded by a love that speaks loudest through perfectly imperfect gestures.

Divider: @saradika-graphics @plum98

You should have known from the way the morning sun hit your eyelids. Like a reluctant apology, casting half-formed shadows across the bedroom walls as you slowly opened your eyes, you can tell from the subtle shift in the air, from the stillness of the world around you, that today is not going to go how you want.

Your phone buzzes against the nightstand—another blaring sign of misfortune because why on earth are you getting messages this early on a Friday? It’s an affront to your plans, an intrusion into what should have been a gentle awakening on your birthday.

Your only steady rock against the rising waters of your mind? The thick arm wrapped around your waist, slightly golden from the sun, scars long healed and milky white, thick and calloused fingers digging into the meat of your stomach. He means to keep you next to him, even in sleep, but the second buzz of your phone pulls you reluctantly from his promising warmth.

The emergency meeting notification glows accusingly on your screen, the blue light harsher than usual. 7 AM, it demands, the entire office, non-negotiable. As if birthdays are mere suggestions that can be overwritten by corporate necessity. Some would think so, but this is your time, your peace, and you deserve to spend it how you want. Despite the fact that you took today off for a chance to relax, the blaring note at the end of the email: “All employees on PTO are required to attend if they are in the area,” should be a crime.

You allow yourself one moment of childish behavior, one second to curl your lip between your teeth and mourn the lazy morning you’d imagined—breakfast in bed (prepared by the man still sleeping soundly next to you), a gentle workout at the gym, the farmers market for ingredients to a lemon tart you’ve been thinking about, dinner, and a satisfying romp between the sheets vigorous enough to have you KO'd by 1030 pm.

Toji’s warmth calls to you as you sit up, the soft sheets pooling around your waist like reluctant waves. You sigh softly, placing your phone back on your nightstand and looking down at him. In sleep, his face has none of its usual hardness, the sharp angles of his jaw softening just enough to remind you of the man beneath the carefully maintained exterior. It took you a long time to get past those walls, to simply rest against them and not press, to reassure him that your love would be steadfast as long as he wanted it. And now, a year into this relationship that feels like forever, he’s in your bones. Just as you are in his.

You press down the urge to trace his jaw, to coax him awake with gentle touches that he usually groans into every morning. But you don’t. You’ve learned to read his different kinds of sleep—the light doze on the couch on a rare day off, the cautious rest when Megumi is sick and he needs to be vigilant, and the rare deep slumber like this one. One too many long shifts at his butcher shop have worn him weary this month. And these peaceful moments are too precious to interrupt.

Despite your good intentions, as soon as you slide your leg from the sheets, pressing your toes to the cold hardwood floor, Toji shifts, mumbling something that might be your name, fingers tightening on your waist. Your heart clenches with a love so fierce it borders on pain—how strange that those around you see him as harsh and unforgiving. When he’s the softest thing you have ever known.

“I have a meeting,” you whisper, brushing the midnight locks from his face. He leans into your touch, his sharp eyebrows dipping in frustration—whether from being denied your warmth or the fact that you are forced into work, you’ll never know.

“You called off,” he grumbles, eyes still closed but fingers loosening from your stomach.

“I won’t be long,” you try to reassure, scratching his scalp. “Go back to sleep.”

He makes a sound—something between acknowledgment and protest—before succumbing to sleep once more. You watch him for one more selfish second, your frustration with corporate life growing quickly as you memorize the way the early light catches on his dark hair, how his hand slides up to rest in the warm hollow you leave behind when you stand.

Time moves unforgivingly slow as you dress, each minute bringing you closer to the unpleasant reality of what this birthday has become. You brush your fingers through your hair—an afro that you still can't decide whether to cut again or let grow out—and sigh. Toji is on you if you're wearing a paper bag, so his opinion hardly helps. Megumi always says, "You look beautiful with whatever you decide, Mom,” so he’s even less helpful.

Outside, the city is barely awake; its usual commotion subdued to a drowsy murmur, its occupants getting the most out of their Friday morning. You think about your birthday plans again, the quiet celebration you’d hoped for. Toji isn’t one for grand gestures, and you’ve never needed them, his love through action is always more than enough.

Your phone buzzes again, more insistent this time. The world, it seems, has other plans for you today.

3 PM.

Three o’clock in the afternoon is what flashes on your phone when you finally park in the bustling lot of your local farmers market. What should have been an email turned into a meeting, which turned into a team-building exercise, which turned into helping Sheila with her work because ‘you’re the only one who does it right.’

And now…after a missed call from your grandmother in Honduras, which is already difficult to maintain, the lack of Megumi to make you smile, and a simple text from Toji informing you that his supply truck came in early and he would be working late—you’re at your breaking point.

“It’s fine,” you whisper to yourself, grabbing your empty bag from the passenger seat. “You made it to the farmers market. Let’s make this count.”

As it turns out, the farmers market, your safe haven of culturally diverse booths and food trucks, now sprawls before you like a broken promise, too bright and too loud for your already frayed nerves. The afternoon sun beats down mercilessly, the southern heat sticking to the back of your neck and suctioning your blazer to your skin. The usually charming outdoor space now feels hostile and the usual press of Toji’s hand to your lower back to guide you is now blisteringly absent.

You understand his change in plans, of course you do. The butcher shop is his pride, built from nothing but calloused hands and the remnants of a harsh life he willingly shed. But understanding doesn’t stop the hollow ache in your stomach, nor does it ease the weight of expectations crumbling like sand between your fingers.

The crowd moves around you with aggressive indifference—elbows sharp, shoulders rude and unyielding. Someone’s wicker basket catches your hip, their lips devoid of the necessary apology, and you bite back a curse. You’re not shy from letting someone know when they are in the wrong, but that usual fight you have has waned considerably since this morning.

And to make matters worse? The market now mocks you with its abundance. Everywhere you look, there are couples sharing samples of fresh fruit, friends laughing over coffee, families debating dinner plans. All the simple joys you imagined for today, slipping away hour by hour.

Maria’s flower stand, your usual stop, stands robbed of the lilies you’d hoped to bring home.

“Lo siento, mi amor,” she apologizes, her mouse-like voice gentle along your skin, genuine regret on her weathered face. “A wedding planner bought them all this morning.”

You can only hum in reply, the ability to speak lodged in your suddenly tight throat. There’s a burn on the sides of your eyelids, an emotion that you refused to indulge in today creeping to the surface like a bad omen. But you wave it away, offering Maria a wobbly smile as you wipe the sweat from your neck.

“But, because I know today is your birthday.” She offers you sunflowers instead, beautiful dark green stems with golden yellow petals and deep brown eyes in the middle. They’re beautiful, truly. And the fact that Maria remembered this day soothes the burn in your eyes just a little.

You tuck the flowers into your bag, opening the ingredient list on your phone in a last-ditch effort to salvage the dwindling hour you have before the market closes. With a steady breath, you straighten your shoulders, lift your chin slightly to no one in particular, and make your way through the bustling crowd.

But.

No fresh cabbage for the curtido you had in mind, the organic plantains were either too green or too ripe, the fresh lemons that you will only buy here had skin that was too dull for the first time in forever. Even the queso fresco from your favorite Honduran vendor that lingers at the front of the market had sold out within the first hour while you were at work. The universe, it seems, is determined to remind you that some days just aren’t for everyone, birthday or not.

You find yourself at the edge of the market, away from the press of bodies, the heat of a nearby food truck humming along your blazer, trying to gather the scattered vestiges of your composure. A child’s laughter cuts through your inner despair, and you suddenly think of Megumi—how he usually wrinkles his nose at the crowd in that silent disdain he always carries but still helps you carry bags, how he’s grown into the role of son with the same quiet intensity as his father.

Your fingers brush the sweaty skin of your collarbone, the absence of metal lamentably reminding you of the necklace you forgot to put on this morning. A pendant that your grandmother gifted you, one that Toji promised to duplicate so you would have one from him as well. You think of Toji in his shop now, probably elbow-deep in inventory, his own plans for the day disrupted by still chugging forward with that unchanging strength he always has.

A soft breeze carries across your face, the lingering scent of fresh bread and coffee reminding you that not everything is ruined. There’s still the evening ahead, still the possibility of salvaging something. You have a home to return to, a family that has chosen you as firmly as you’ve chosen them.

You take a deep breath, adjusting your bag that only holds the gifted sunflowers, and make your way to your car.

By the time you slide into the seat, your phone is buzzing again, and distantly, you vow that if it’s your job, you’ll quit as soon as you answer. But the caller ID that displays is one that immediately makes your chest fill with untethered love. Megumi Fushiguro, a serene expression on his face as his picture reflects at you, his father’s sharp emerald eyes softened with youth.

“Happy birthday,” he calls softly when you accept the call, his face slightly pixelated but still beaming. It’s a small victory—you are given those bright toothy smiles, his father is given pursed expressions, the corners of his lips fighting to show emotion. Warmth blooms in your chest—this boy who became yours not by birth, but by choice, who shares his father’s lack of words but uses his silence to speak more than enough.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. “How’s your day going?”

He shifts, something uncertain crossing his features, shame and reluctance coloring emerald irises that flicker away from the camera. “Actually…Yuji asked if I could come over. It’s Friday, and he got the new Street Fighter game—and I won’t see him next week, but—” he pauses, stopping himself. The blush on his cheeks is a deep cherry red, his eyes still downcast as he fights the urge to never disappoint you. “But I don’t have to—I shouldn’t have—”

“Go,” you hear yourself say, surprising both of you. “It’s fine.”

And it is. For as much as you would love for Megumi to spend the evening with you, his bond with Yuji is a strong one, especially for a boy who rarely engages with others. And to be honest, the day has already taken its toll. A nice warm bath, a glass of wine, and a good movie sound like the only thing you can tolerate right now.

“But it’s your birthday,” he fights with a fleeting flicker of relief in his eyes. “And Dad’s working late…”

“Baby, I promise. Spend your Friday with Yuji, and you can help me make breakfast this weekend. Today hasn’t been the best.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” There’s a strength to his words, and when he looks back into the camera, you can see that unwavering protection that reflects in Toji’s eyes on any given day. It took less time for this little boy to come around, and when he did, he stuck to you like glue.

But your bad day is not something a child should be aware of, at least not like this, and you refuse to let Megumi feel anything related to guilt. So you shake your head, offering a weak smile. Something passes across his face—a shadow of knowing that reminds you quickly he’s more perceptive than his age might suggest. He opens his mouth as if to speak, something important if the furrow in his eyebrows is anything to go by, but then someone calls his name off-screen.

“One second!” he yells, turning to you apologetically. “Are you sure you don’t wanna—”

“Go, baby,” you say again, softer this time. “Have fun. Be safe. Text me when you make it there.”

Megumi nods, that sort of half smile touching his lips. “Love you.” But before you can respond, another call of his name has him ending the call with a quick goodbye. It’s abrupt, your phone’s background now replacing your son’s face, and you send him a quick ‘I love you too’ text.

You throw your phone on the cushion of the passenger seat, press your head against the headrest to look out the window. And sigh.

The market is practically empty, the dying light painting everything in shades of orange and purple. Vendors are calling out their final orders, their voices carrying across the nearly empty square. Faintly, the vendor who sells your queso fresco plays old music on a radio that drifts down to your car like perfume, making everything feel slightly melancholy.

No text from Toji. No ingredients for dinner. So you sit.

And sit.

And sit.

You sit until the sun dips lower, until the sky morphs into darker colors—purple that flickers with a dark green that reminds you of the way Toji looks at you sometimes when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

By the time the last sliver of sunset orange has disappeared behind the horizon, the clock on your dashboard ticks half past six, and your stomach growls with a deep unabated hunger. You sigh once more, starting your car and pulling out of the lot.

Toji’s truck is in the driveway when you finally pull up to your shared house. That’s not alarming, he normally carpools with Gojo to the shop, and that thought alone is enough to make your mood sour further. He’s probably still gone and—

No.

You’re not going to keep wallowing. You have a bottle of wine—albeit bought from the convenience store on your way home, and the only thing you want is a hot bath.

The lock clicks open with a defeated sort of sound, matching your mood as you nudge your door open with your shoulder. Maria’s sunflowers hang limp in your basket, the wine sloshing at the bottom of the bag from your jutted movements. But before you can fully step into the cool air of your home, strong hands slide over your eyes.

Your body reacts before your mind can catch up—muscle memory from self-defense classes Toji taught has your elbow already rising, ready to strike whoever dared to set foot in your home. But then his voice rumbles against your back, low and amused and achingly familiar.

“Hang on now, girl. It’s just me.”

The tension, your weariness, the disappointment that’s lingered in your bones since you woke up this morning, bleeds from your shoulders immediately, replaced by a different kind of awareness. The warmth of Toji’s chest, solid and strong press against your spine. His calloused palms against your face still concealing you in darkness. He smells like spices and the comfort of home, but there’s the undercurrent of clean clothes and soap—a ritual he has to partake in as soon as he gets off work. The smell of it all makes your heart leap.

“I thought you were working late,” you manage to say, blinking against the darkness of his cupped hands.

“Walk with me. And keep those eyes closed.”

He doesn’t give you much of a choice, guiding you slowly down the hallway of your modest home. The air changes as you move—the air conditioning becomes warmer, your skin prickling with humidity different from the sun you spent most of the afternoon in. There’s the scent of food, something you can’t put your finger on, but it’s overshadowed by the scents of lavender and vanilla from what could be a candle.

“Alright,” he says finally, close enough to your ear that you feel the word down to your stomach.

When his hands fall away, it takes a moment for your eyes to take in what’s in front of you. You blink away against the fading spots and try your best to hold in a gasp. The bathroom glows golden in the light of what must be a dozen candles, their flames dancing across the white tiles like muted stars. The claw foot tub—the one amenity you cherish in this house—is full, steam rising in lazy wisps, rose petals floating across the surface.

“Toji,” you breathe, exhaling disbelief in his name that carries the weight of today, all the disappointment that’s slowly transforming into something else entirely. He helps you undress—something you don’t need but silently welcome—slipping off your blazer, pressing a steady hand to the base of your spine while you slip off your heels, setting your farmers market bag on the counter.

“Long day,” he muses, not a question at all because he knows you.

He knows what you really want to say in those long stretches of silence and knows how you really feel when you plaster a smile on your face around those who make you uncomfortable. So you don’t give him a proper answer as he guides you into the water, sighing softly as the heat embraces you. It’s hot enough to tint your skin a little darker from the rush of blood, but not too hot to burn.

As the rose petals shift from the disruption of the water, you spot the subtle pools of oil against them, hydrophobic but permeating the scent of lavender you keep meaning to replace. Somehow, there’s a new bottle on the ledge of the tub. Of course, he noticed you were out. Of course, he remembered.

Toji collects your clothes and throws them in the hamper, and when he reaches for your market bag, the sunflowers spill out like captured sunshine.

“Want me to put these in water?” he asks, those keen green eyes catching yours in the candlelight. But you can see the other question beneath it, one he’s usually not afraid to ask but lingers today because of your mood: Want me to stay?

Any other time you’d say yes. You’d smirk in that playful way he loves and invite him to slide into the hot water behind you. Or even bask in his quiet presence, the way he’d sit on the floor beside the tub, maybe run his fingers down your arm, or just exist in companionable silence. But today has been a collection of other people’s needs and expectations. Even love, even Toji’s special brand of steady devotion, feels like it might be too much right now.

“I just need…” you start, not quite sure how to voice your want without sounding like rejection for a loving teddy bear like him.

“Some space,” he finishes for you, completely understanding. He collects the sunflowers, throws you an eyebrow lift of ‘really?’ as he looks at the cheap wine you bought, and bends down to press a kiss to your temple. “Don’t fall asleep in there.”

You laugh softly, the sound echoing against the walls. “No promises.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and you sink deeper into the hot water, letting it lap at your collarbones like absolution. Through the door, you can hear him moving in the kitchen—the clatter of pots and pans, the sizzle of something else. He’s a great cook, a pinnacle of the domesticated man, so whatever he makes is going to be amazing. One less thing for you to think about, and that thought slides a level of stress off your shoulders, your chest a little lighter as you sink further into the water.

Half an hour later, you emerge from the bathroom lathered in shea butter and your favorite silk robe caressing your brown skin. Your mood is already considerably lifted and despite the pain of this morning, the growing noise in your stomach reminds you that a nice dinner will make this night a lot better than what you thought.

When you round the corner of your hallway, the open space breaking into the living room and the kitchen, you stop short. Finally able to take in what your eyes were denied when you first walked in, the space has transformed. The kitchen glows like a beacon of memory and love, the sink free of dishes, the refrigerator covered in schedules and Megumi’s drawings. But it’s the island countertop that makes your throat clench.

A perfect spread: baleadas arranged like an offering, the thick stuffed tortillas still steaming, the peek of avocado and melted cheese oozing from the closed seam of the traditional breakfast food. Tajadas con pollo beckoning you silently, the plantains that you couldn’t find at the market are now on your kitchen counter, caramelized to the exact shade of amber that you taught Toji how to achieve. The curtido, bright and fresh, looks absolutely delicious, your tongue tingling with the promise of its acidity.

It’s everything you wanted to make today, everything you couldn’t find the ingredients for, prepared by this man who observes more than others give him credit for. Your throat is tight, your heart hammering in your chest with a level of alarm you can’t be bothered to care about right now.

Before you can find the words for the emotion rising in your throat, the doorbell rings. Toji’s eyes meet yours across the kitchen, wiping his hands idly on a rag as he snorts to himself and makes his way to the door.

Your eyes are still locked on the food, a symbol of who you are cultivated into dishes that mean so much. It isn’t until Toji returns that multiple shuffles of feet follow close by. When you look his way, the sight that greets you breaks whatever composure the bath had restored. Megumi and Yuji stand shoulder to shoulder, Yuji's grin no match for Megumi’s gentle smile, holding up a bouquet of lilies—the very ones that had been sold out at Maria’s stand. Their white petals twinkle at you, streaks of purple and magenta coloring the insides and edges, their fragrance wafting up your nose immediately.

Behind them stands Nanami, his usual stoic expression softened at the edges as he takes in your reaction. Both of his hands rest on his adoptive son’s shoulders. His presence adds another layer to this conspiracy of care—three families woven together through choice, circumstance, and love.

“Happy Birthday, Mom,” Megumi says softly; the term of endearment is not rare for him, but it still strikes a chord in your chest as if it’s always the first time. You can see now why he’d been so distracted during that call, how he couldn’t meet your eyes in an effort to guard whatever this was.

Yuji bounces on his toes beside him, a constant ball of energy, barely containing his excitement at being part of the surprise.

“We were the first ones at the market this morning!” Yuji blurts out, earning an elbow from Megumi. The hit bounces off his soft stomach, his glee no match for Megumi’s constant solemn energy. “Dad had to get involved before the wedding planner snatched them all.”

You step up to the boys, taking the flowers gingerly in your hands and bringing the petals to your nose. You blink the tears back before they can really come, hot and sweet and barely unstoppable. But you do stop them, leveling a quirked eyebrow to the strong blonde man in front of you.

“You threatening people, Kento?”

He sighs that characteristic, weary yet loving sigh, pressing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “I simply asked for two bouquets that would not affect the quantity that the wedding planner was asking for.”

“He stared at the guy so hard he almost pooped his pants!” Yuji translates, bright and giggling as Megumi elbows him again. “Mr. Fushiguro was busy buying bananas.”

“Plantains,” Toji corrects, a proud smirk on his face as he folds his arms across his chest.

“Dad’s been cooking since you left this morning,” Megumi adds, stepping closer to hug your waist. He peers happily up at you with those eyes, catching yours with a hint of mischief. “The supply truck was just an excuse.”

The pieces click into place: the almost cosmic stroke of bad luck that you couldn’t find any plantains, the slow-cooked beans that require hours of patience and definitely not the birthday girl lingering about, the way the entire house smells like your grandmother’s kitchen. Toji had been here the entire time, creating this piece of your heritage with those capable hands of his, probably on the phone with your grandmother to make sure every detail was flawless.

“You absolute liar,” you breathe, almost giddy with the realization, but there’s nothing but love in the accusation.

Toji’s smirk deepens, unrepentant, as he kisses your temple for a second time. “Had to keep you out of the house somehow,” he insists. “You’ll sniff me out otherwise.”

Nanami clears his throat. “He called at six thirty this morning to coordinate.”

“But…I could have left work early?”

“Did Sheila ask you about a quarterly budget that had to get done because ‘only you know how to do it?’

“I—”

You blink in surprise at your own loss for words, the misery of your day quickly being smothered by uninhibited happiness at the turn of events.

“Now,” Toji speaks, cutting off any other attempts of conversation as he guides you to the counter. “I need to know how I did, so let’s eat.”

It’s delicious. All of it. The baleadas are soft when you bite into them, and the refried beans are cooked to perfection. The tajadas con pollo explodes with flavor in your mouth—fried green plantains, shredded cabbage, fried chicken and tomato sauce, chismol and pickled vegetables. The curtido packs the level of acidity that you anticipated, and you can tell from the sharp taste that it was the first thing Toji made this morning.

Toji eats firsts, then seconds, then thirds. As does his son and his son’s best friend. Only you and Nanami can handle a second helping. Yuji's appreciation of each dish earns an eyeroll from Megumi, Nanami’s compliments of the baleadas earns a teasing remark that Nanami ignores, and you eat in silence, still in awe of it all. Because it’s Toji you can’t stop watching.

His eyes track your every reaction, chewing softly as he watches you take that first bite, preening with pulled back shoulders when you groan in approval. You picture him vividly standing in the kitchen all day, testing and adjusting with that deep set in his dark eyebrows, sleeves rolled up to expose muscular and scarred forearms, another hand writing down the recipe that your grandmother probably had to keep repeating.

Conversation flows as easily as the expensive wine Nanami brought (much better than your toilet wine from the convenience store). Yuji regales everyone with his morning, chirping corrected words that his father sprinkles in, his animated gestures making Megumi duck occasionally to avoid being hit.

Just as the dinner plates are being cleared, Toji disappears into the kitchen again. You hear the soft click of the refrigerator but don’t turn around to watch. When he crosses into your field of vision, he’s carrying it. A lemon tart, the exact lemon tart you planned on making from scratch. The surface is glossy and smooth, decorated with thin citrus slices that are arranged like sunburst. A single candle flickers in the center.

Megumi’s eyes light up—he knows this is something you love, has watched you order it at every cafe that offers it. But this one is different. This one is made by his father’s hands, hands that are big enough to snap a neck but delicate enough to raise a child and love a woman.

“Make a wish, Mom,” Megumi urges softly, and even Yuji manages to contain himself for this moment.

The candlelight paints everyone in gentle amber—Toji’s sharp features softened, Megumi’s eyes gleaming with childlike wonder, Yuji practically vibrating with joy, Nanami’s serene gaze warmed by the glow. You close your eyes, though you can hardly think of anything to wish for. You have everything you’ve ever wanted and are working toward the other things you dream about. What you really want is here, around this table, like a constellation of love.

When you blow out the candle and take the first bite of the tart—citrus, and butter with a crust delicate and crisp, you can taste the care in it. The hours that Toji probably spent trying to get it right.

“Dad practiced three times,” Megumi admits, earning a mock stern look from his father that doesn’t quite hurt his pride. “The first one was…” he trails off.

“A disaster,” Toji finishes, unashamed but relaxing with every bite you take. “But I got there."

“My compliments to the chef,” you tease, winking at him across the table.

When the boys prepare to leave, your heart feels full enough to burst. Megumi hugs you tight, that level of tight that mothers always revel in as their children get older. He whispers another ‘Happy Birthday, Mom’ against your shoulder. He’s getting so tall now, his late mother’s beautifully messy locks almost tickling your chin without having to bend over.

Nanami offers you his own happy birthday and presses a kiss to your cheek before ducking out the door with the two boys, casting your home into silence. There’s a different kind of intimacy now, just two people who’ve shared so much, now together without interference. But he pulls you to the couch silently, wraps your favorite fluffy throw blanket around your shoulders, and pours you another glass of wine before he puts a movie on.

You recognize it almost immediately—the grainy resolution of the late 90s, the garden maze and elaborate water fountain, the cluster of men and women that listen to Emma Watson recite poetry.

“Much Ado About Nothing?” you question, rolling your eyes playfully. It’s one of your favorites, but you know Toji will be asleep in the first ten minutes. “You hate Shakespeare,” you accuse softly, even as you curl into his side with your wine glass.

“Hate’s a strong word,” he counters, arm settling behind you over the back of the couch, his fingers tracing idly along your shoulder. "Nonny Nonny."

You can’t help the shriek of laughter you let out, pulling back to look up at his smirking face. “What do you know about Nonny Nonny?"

“You were giggling about it last week with your online friends.”

Your heart flutters from his words, at the thought of him watching you from his side of the bed as you giggled and typed while the movie played on your computer screen. You sink back into his embrace and as the movie plays, as Beatrice and Benedick's verbal sparring begins, their wit as sharp as ever, Toji stays awake. He asks questions at the right pauses so he doesn’t miss anything, he continues the stroke of his fingers on your shoulder as if he needs your touch to stay sane, and you can feel the day’s tensions melting away like sugar in water.

When the credits finally roll across the screen, casting blue light across Toji’s face as he shifts beneath you, there’s something in the way he moves—a contained energy that speaks of anticipation rather than restlessness. That hand that was tracing absent patterns stills before he nudges you to sit up.

“Got something else for you,” he murmurs, and you can’t help but notice that he’s a little shy, eyes shifty as he clears his throat and leans over the couch to pull something from underneath it.

The box he produces is small, wrapped in brown paper that offers no frills or questionable designs. Just like Toji himself, the beauty lies in the authenticity of the gesture rather than any external flourish.

“Toji, you didn’t have to,” you try to say, pulse fluttering on the side of your neck as you look down at the gift.

He simply shakes his head, pressing the package further into your hands, bearing no room for argument. “Open it,” he urges softly, and when you look up at him, there’s a vulnerability in his eyes now, a rare catch behind those carefully maintained walls you are allowed to peek over.

The paper falls away under your hands to reveal a long velvet box, midnight blue and worn soft at the edges like it’s been brushed against something for a while, waiting for the right moment. This moment. Inside, resting against shining silk, lies a necklace that makes you clench your jaw.

It’s not delicate nor dainty—nothing that fragile would suit either of you. Instead, a pendant brushed silver hangs from a sturdy chain, the surface marked with intentional imperfections that catch the low artificial light like battle scars transformed into art. Two pieces appear broken but fit together perfectly, their edges meeting in a union of strength and vulnerability. But it’s the stone that makes you gasp—turquoise, raw and unpolished, its matrix of deeper blue veins creating a galaxy of color against the silver. The stone sits nestled in the joint where the two pieces meet, as if it’s the force holding them together.

“Like us,” Toji says quietly, pulling you out of your musings. The raw honesty in his voice brings that sting back to your eyes like a raging storm, your vision swimming. “Not perfect. Not unmarked. But better together. Now you have something from your grandmother...and something from me."

You trace the pendant’s surface with trembling fingers, blinking away your tears so you can see it better. This is Toji’s love made tangible—strong, enduring, unafraid of showing its scars. Like him, it doesn’t hide its history (at least not anymore) but wears it proudly, morphed into something magnificent and beautiful precisely because of its journey.

He fastens it around your neck, his fingers sliding along the chain to rest over the pendant right above your sternum. The touch settles you both as he draws a breath—it seems heavier than usual, weighed down with something he can only tolerate in small doses.

“You know I’m not good at this,” he starts, low and rough like stones tumbling in deep water. “It’s not an excuse it’s just—words aren’t…they’ve never been my strength.”

“I know,” you offer him softly, covering the hand that rests on your chest.

“But you deserve to hear it. All the time—but especially today.”

That hand beneath yours slides up to cup your face, calloused thumb brushing your cheekbone with a tenderness you lean into.

“You already know about my past. Love was another word for weakness. Something to avoid because every time I tried to let it in, it only left scars.” He presses, swallowing hard, those eyes green as polished jade. “But you…loved me like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like the broken parts of me were worth keeping.”

You ignore the urge at the back of your throat to protest. You’ve never thought of Toji as broken. Scarred and been through a level of trauma no child should ever have to endure, but never broken. In the early days of your relationship, your strength and reassurance for what he deserved was often met with stony silence and deflections, a playful smirk that never met his eyes. And now, a year later, it’s rare to see. But wounds still leave scars, that pain abated and dull, but still there.

But you can tell from the weight of his hand on your cheek, from the storminess in his eyes, that now isn’t the time. Your heart is already beating fast enough for three people.

“You taught Megumi how to smile again. You brought warmth into spaces I didn’t even know were cold.” His voice drops lower, intimate as the shared space between you. “And every morning, I wake up thinking the same thing—that I’ll spend the rest of my damn life trying to love you the way you deserve. The way you’ve loved me. Without condition or fear.”

He presses his forehead to yours, not giving you a moment to think, to breathe, to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“You’re it for me, baby. Always have been, always will be.”

You feel many things, shock, awe, a level of surprise that makes you lightheaded. But beneath it all, there’s something fierce—that familiar fire that drew you to him in the first place, that makes you match his intensity with your own.

“You better be,” you tell him, voice wet as you curl your fingers into his soft shirt, pulling him closer with that boldness he loves from you. “If you leave me and make baleadas for another woman, I will hunt you down, Fushiguro.”

His laugh rumbles through you both, that open-mouth laugh that makes your belly churn with delight.

“I’m not goin' anywhere, I promise. Plus, I’m sure your grandmother would hunt me down herself if I ever thought about leaving.”

You can’t help but giggle, joining in with his laughter. The pride in his voice makes the flame in your chest burn brighter. Because that’s who you are—not just the soft heart that loves what he thinks are broken pieces, but the flame that refuses to let him retreat back into the shadows. The warmth that taught Megumi to smile, yes, but also the spark that taught Toji it was okay to laugh. To love.

The pendant rests against your skin like a promise, a constant reminder of the man who crafted beauty from imperfection, who looked at your fire and, instead of trying to tame it, offered himself as fuel. Who took your heritage and learned to cook it with his own hands, who filled your home with the scents of your childhood. It’s an odd thing, to have a love like this. To have someone in your corner, just as stubborn as you, but would burn the world down to make sure you are happy.

“Happy Birthday, Ma,” he whispers against your lips, and when you kiss him, it tastes like every promise he wishes to keep, like every morning you’ve woken up to find him still there, like every moment he’s chosen to stay and build this life with you. “You relax. I’ll do the dishes real quick.”

It’s far too abrupt, knocking you back. He makes to get up, but you grab his thick wrist, afraid of the intimacy between you both being shattered. “You don’t have to. We can tackle them in the morning. Besides, my birthday isn’t over just yet.”

He leans forward, brushing his lips along your jaw, licking that fire back to life in your stomach as you hitch a stuttered breath from your lungs. “Let me clean up first,” he murmurs, voice pitched low enough that your skin prickles with anticipation. “Then we can watch some Fraser reruns in bed.” His thumb brushes your bottom lip, the calloused tip catching slightly. “After we find other ways to celebrate your birthday.”

The suggestion is loud as hell, electric, and charged with possibility. But for you, it’s the mention of everything else—cleaning up the kitchen, making sure your shared home is acceptable, watching your favorite comfort show after he rocks you ten ways to Sunday. That’s what love looks like to Toji—a blend of passion and understanding, heat and comfort.

“Mm, dishes and Fraser?” You press closer, the silk of your robe falling off one shoulder. His eyes catch the movement, green dilated into a thin ring immediately. “Now you’re speaking my language, Fushiguro.”

“You’re skipping over the best part,” he rambles, absentminded as he watches the thin fabric fall further down your skin.

You shrug, as if it’s of no consequence. “A big man doing domestic work always revs my engine. Maybe you can let me watch you spray the countertops? Roll your hips a little while you wipe and—”

You don’t get to finish your sentence. He snatches you up, a strong arm beneath your knees as he carries you bridal style down the hallway.

“Dishes can wait,” he decides, and the heat in his voice promises you’ll be out like a light by 1030 PM.

Your squeal of delight turns into laughter as he picks up his pace, jogging to the bedroom, his own deep chuckle vibrating against where you’re pressed to his chest.

Your pendant jumps against your collarbone, catching in the hallway light, the turquoise gleaming like a captured piece of the ocean against your skin.

Before he kicks the bedroom door shut, he throws you a wicked smile, rare and beautiful and just for you.

Happy Birthday, dearest Lu!!!

For others reading, I added a few notes for the types of dishes (Lu please put me in a headlock if I get any of these incorrect):

Baleadas: A thick tortilla, often slathered in refried beans and other toppings like crumbled queso, eggs, avocado, and hot sauce.

Tajadas con Pollo: A popular Honduran street food often layered with plantains, fried chicken, shredded cabbage, tomato sauce, chismol, and pickled vegetables.

Curtido: A type of slaw (cabbage, onion, carrot, jalapeno, oregano, and vinegar). The longer you let it sit, the more acidic (and yummy) it is!

[fluentmoviequoter]

1) I’m sorry if I’m spamming you with requests.

2) Take all your time and no rush. We all have lives outside of tumblr

Please Tim Bradford x fem!Cybertronian!shy!reader? What if…….it’s a motorcycle? 👀 like Lucy is curious and ask Tim how shy!reader drives around the city/town/country without Tim driving the motorcycle or being caught, meaning like a motorcycle driving itself, you know what I mean? Before Tim answered, they saw shy!reader transform into alt mode and her hologram appears, saying like “I’m locked and loaded“ https://youtu.be/PEoALXWHuIE?si=0-dNxtFSOu7TRWSL

Locked and Loaded

0.8k+ words of Cybertronian!reader fluff

Lucy slows in TIm’s driveway. The case file is in her bag, ready to be analyzed and prepared. Tim’s truck is in its usual spot, but she had expected to see another vehicle parked beside it.

“What are you doing here?” TIm asks, pulling the door open.

“You said we could go over the case, prep for the UC sting,” Lucy reminds him, pushing past him to enter his home.

“I meant at work in the morning,” he argues as he closes the door.

Lucy looks around the empty house, Kojo sleeping on his bed, and the halftime report on ESPN. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “Because you’re so busy right now.”

Tim shakes his head as he follows her to the table. He checks his phone, opening a tracker app once before he gives Lucy his attention.

When Tim opens the door to walk Lucy out, she gasps.

“What?” he inquires flatly, failing to see anything worthy of her excitement.

She walks down his walkway, then stops beside the driveway. An iridescent black motorcycle that changes color with lights and angles is now parked beside Tim’s truck. Lucy knows about Tim’s involvement with the so-called Autobot, but she’s grown curious about the specifics since she had to drive Tim after his new motorcycle abandoned him to fight something called a Decepticon.

“What’s it like to ride a sentient vehicle, Tim?” Lucy wonders, walking around the bike slowly.

Tim begins to answer, but you rev your engine and interrupt him. Lucy steps back, but you don’t move. Shaking his head, Tim opens the compartment beneath the seat and withdraws two helmets. He passes one to Lucy and complains under his breath as she begins rambling about how excited she is. 

Tim mounts the bike first, resting his hands on the handlebar and his foot over the clutch without actually touching any of the controls. Lucy throws her leg over and slides on behind him. When her arms are around his waist, they’re seated properly, and their helmets are undoubtedly secure, you turn around slowly in Tim’s driveway. You follow every earthly road law as you drive out of the city, but the moment you hit the open road in the desert, you give Tim the ride you know he enjoys and the one you suspect Lucy wants.

She loosens her grip on Tim, leaning up into the wind as she laughs excitedly. The sky grows darker as they leave Los Angeles behind, and Lucy decides that she’s never felt so free. Beneath her, you shift to turn, taking your new human friends to your favorite place on earth.

In a large clearing, the sky above you clear and star-filled, you stop. Tim offers his hand to Lucy as she dismounts, and then he places their helmets on the ground so you can transform. 

You tower above Lucy, and she stares up at you in awe until you point to a small dark spot between two red stars.

“That is where my home is,” you say. “Or would be.”

“What happened?” Lucy asks, breathless from the view.

“There was a war. We were stranded amongst the stars before we found our way here. We’re not sure if there’s a way home, or a home to return to.”

“That’s so sad.”

“They’re still fighting,” Tim adds, watching you.

“Right,” you agree, avoiding looking at him. “The war is far from over, even lightyears from where it began. When - or if - the war concludes, and we save all the lives we can, we will try to go home.”

“Maybe not too fast,” Tim says.

Lucy’s brows pinch at his flirtatious comment, but when she notices how you shift, your heavy pedes kicking up dust, she understands. Tim pushes you a little because he knows it affects you. She’s been there, she thinks, but there’s something different about the look in his eyes when he does it to you.

“So,” she begins, turning toward TIm. “How can she drive around LA without getting caught? She doesn’t have a rider, and I haven’t seen any AI-driven cycles recently.”

Lucy hears your metal shift before Tim gestures toward you. When she turns, you snap your final piece into place, transformed into your alt mode. Then, a hologram of a female rider appears, her helmet moving in the shadows as she nods.

“I’m locked and loaded,” you say, revving the engine.

“Whoa!” Lucy exclaims, leaning closer. “That is incredible!”

Tim smiles, and the hologram shifts briefly before you decide to focus on Lucy instead.

“Hey, is the hologram a rider only?” Tim asks.

“Tim, are you asking out a hologram?” Lucy inquires incredulously.

“Yeah, I’m an alien robot, and even I think that’s weird,” you answer, using your hologram to send a thumbs up to him.

“Forget I asked,” he grumbles, content to watch you with Lucy.

“For a while,” you reply.

[sc0tters]

His Caretaker | Jamie Drysdale

summary: after Jamie has too much to drink you get called to help get your boyfriend home.

request: yes/no

warnings: mentions of being drunk, tooth rottingly sweet couple.

word count: 1.54

authors note: Jamie gives me such soft vibes and this is fully what this piece is based off on. The baseball fan in me loves that picture of him (not even an angles fan but I’m willing to look past that). Fluff is not my forte so I’m gonna hope that this isn’t shit and sorry that you’ve had to wait so long for your request to be filled!

Somehow you should have known you wouldn’t be getting your own way tonight.

A relaxing evening was what you had planned for yourself after you turned Jamie’s offer of joining him and the boys at the bar. Sure you wanted to spend time with your boyfriend but going out was the last thing you felt like doing after the hectic day of college classes that you had been through all you wanted was a nice bubble bath.

Sure Jamie was a little upset that you didn’t want to come but when you told him to have a good night for the two of you, he seemed to take that a little bit more literally than you intended.

A groan fell from your lips when your phone began to ring ���yes?” You tried to act like Jamie hadn’t just interrupted the movie you were watching.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you thought you heard your boyfriend in the background of the call “y/n you gotta come get Jamie,” Trevor explained as he was somewhat panicked “I wanna say hi!” Jamie whined as his eyes lit up at the mention of you.

You were quick to get up as you grabbed your shoes “I’ll be there in like fifteen?” Anaheim wasn’t usually known for its traffic but you knew that it would be longer for a weekend on what was bar central street “I want her now,” it was the complaint in Jamie’s voice that made you know he was doing his puppy dog face that he would do whenever he would want to get his way in something that you two were planning “and tell Jamie to stop pouting because I’m coming,” you pointed out as you shut the front door to the apartment.

It wasn’t hard to find the boys, Trevor had sent you a message saying that they were going to sit out front as some of the other boys were now also waiting for their girlfriends “y/n!” Jamie cheered as he saw you get out of your car.

A smile formed on your lips as you couldn’t help but laugh “hi baby,” he almost knocked you off of your feet as he wrapped his arms around you “missed you,” he confessed now making all of the boys laugh.

You kissed his cheek as he nuzzled his head in crook of your neck “you can let go of me,” despite the fact that the hug felt really nice you sort of needed to look at his friends to talk to them “never,” Jamie shook his head not liking your idea.

Somehow you managed to position yourself to actually see them whilst not letting go of Jamie “I’m going to get this man child home,” you announced drawing a scoff from your boyfriends lips.

Jamie furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at you “I’m not a man child!” He complained as he let his lips form a pout again “you’re my man child,” you spoke in a duh tone as you pecked his lips. It was that gesture that almost made him melt as his irritated look turned soft and smiley “let’s go,” he nodded as he sent a wave to his friends. The boys all couldn’t help but shake their heads as they waved back knowing that the Canadian was not going to remember this tomorrow.

It seemed that the second Jamie’s head hit the headrest of his seat he was out. In all honesty you couldn’t help but look over to him occasionally to smile at yourself, you found yourself the cutest boyfriend you could have asked for “baby?” Jamie mumbled as he looked at you when the car stopped at a red light.

His eyes fluttered open as he had woken himself up “hi love,” you felt giddy as he reached out to grab your right hand. Usually whoever was driving only got one hand for the steering wheel as the other was usually being held by the passenger, Jamie’s real favourite place to put his hand though was actually on your knee when he drove you two through the streets of California.

The soft sounds of the engine rumbling seemed to help Jamie fall back asleep but not before he could remind you “I love you,” it was like each time he said it you fell more and more in love with him.

Even though he was asleep you still responded “I love you too,” as you kissed his hand before you continued the rest of the drive back to your apartment.

The only real thing that you had felt on the way up to your apartment was the warmth of Jamie’s hand, he had this smug looking smile on his face too “what’s got you all happy?” You asked as the elevator doors opened up to your floor.

Jamie threw his arm around you “you love me,” he slurred as he tapped his finger on your nose.

It drew a laugh from your lips “yeah I do,” you nodded in amusement as he repeated that you loved him all the way until the two of you reached your door.

Thankfully you hadn’t locked it so it meant that you two could just walk right back in “I’m gonna need you to strip baby,” you cooed as you realised that the front of his white shirt had beer spilt on it.

The comment only made Jamie smirk “didn’t know you were so horny,” he teased as he placed his hands on your hips.

You shook your head “don’t want you sleeping in this,” you explained causing him to look down at his outfit, those denim shorts really weren’t ideal to sleep in.

All the boy could do was mutter an “oh” as he began to walk to your room. As drunk as he was he still seemed to have that clear thinking part of him.

He pulled the shirt over his head letting you get a moment to look at his naked chest “you like what you see?” Jamie asked as he began to unzip his pants. You smiled as you nodded “got me a cute boyfriend,” you announced as you placed a peck on his lips.

With his clothes now on the floor you picked them up “let’s go brush your teeth,” on the way to the bathroom you had the chance to drop his clothes into the hamper.

It seemed like Jamie remembered the few times that he had taken care of you in the bathroom as he walked over to the sink “sit on that,” you shook your head as the height difference between you two was not going to make brushing his teeth easy if he was stood up.

Jamie sat on the lid of the toilet as you had him open his mouth “you’re so bossy,” he mumbled as you placed his toothbrush in his mouth.

You sent him a thoughtful look as you contemplated entertaining his conversation “I’m just helping you.” You pointed out as you continued to brush his teeth “it’s hot,” you were surprised that you heard what he said between the toothpaste and the toothbrush in his mouth.

A smile formed on your lips “thank you,” you bit your lip as you tried to not let your cheeks turn pink.

His hands trailed up your legs before they wrapped around behind you to squeeze your ass “keep your hands to yourself mister,” you warned causing him to giggle as he raised his hands in surrender.

These cute moments in your bathroom weren’t usually a thing as you both had very different morning schedules and not to mention that Jamie didn’t live with you, he just had a lot of his clothes there “go spit and rinse,” you reminded him as you took the toothbrush out of his mouth.

He followed your request as he dried his face before he looked up to you with an over exaggerated grin “nice and shiny,” he spoke as you nodded before you motioned to him to go back to your bedroom.

Your walk back to your bed was short as you watched Jamie plop onto the mattress “oh my god you’re taking up the whole bed!” You complained with a laugh as you watched him sprawl out on his back “there’s space for you,” Jamie nodded to himself as he smiled.

You played your hands on your hips “where?” You waited for him to answer but instead you were met with his hands on your hips as he pulled you onto him “J!” You squealed as he wrapped his arms around you practically trapping your body on top of his.

The boy let out a giggle as he kissed your forehead “isn’t this nice,” he confessed causing you to look up at him “I have to go brush my teeth,” you reminded him as he groaned “nope,” Jamie shook his head sending you a grin in the process.

You furrowed your eyebrows “what do you mean no?” In all honesty you thought he was kidding “I love you and your smelly breath,” the hockey player confessed as it was now your turn to laugh.

You used to say that you were lucky he loved you.

But that made you think it was possibly the other way around tonight.

[siawritez]

Can you write a G!P Wonyoung x fem! reader fiction where Wonyoung has to be away from reader because of her work? Then they have a phone sex or smth like that.. 😳😳😳

Hi anon,here is your requested fic and i tried to wrote it as you requested, and it turns towards fluff at end,i just feel like adding it,cuz after being seperated from your pretty girlfriend, you need sex and ofc some comfort too,so why not

TITLE: DISTANCE MAKES IT HARDER

Genre: Smut,and a little fluff at end🙏😔

Warnings: Mutual masturbation,phone sex,dirty talk,Orgasm control

─━━━━━━⊱༻༺⊰━━━━━━─

The room felt colder without her.

You turned on the lamp by the bed, its amber light spilling across the mattress where you’d curled up, phone in hand. A sweatshirt far too big for you hung off your shoulders—it still smelled faintly like her. Wonyoung.

She'd left three days ago. Three painfully slow, emotionally dry, insufferably lonely days. Spain, of all places. Her boss had said it was urgent—something about presentations and high-profile pitches. But why her? Why not anyone else?

You had tried to be supportive. You kissed her goodbye at the airport and watched her walk away with her carry-on and her black leather jacket draped over her arm. She looked back once. That was the part that killed you. She looked back and smiled, soft and apologetic. You didn’t want her to go, and she didn’t want to either.

Now, it was 11:42 PM. You were alone in bed, restless, needy, still in that sweatshirt and nothing else. The urge to call her had been nagging you since dinner, and finally, you gave in.

You hit video call.

The ring echoed. Once. Twice. Three—

Then she picked up.

Her face filled the screen, framed by the rich hotel lighting. Her long brown hair was damp, slightly curled at the ends, like she’d just stepped out of the shower. A white robe clung to her figure, tied lazily at the waist. Her plump lips curved immediately into a smile when she saw you.

“Hey, baby,” she said, voice low and soft, like she was already tired.

Your heart clenched.

“Hi,” you whispered. You sat up slightly, pressing your knees to your chest. “You look… really good.”

Wonyoung tilted her head, her smile growing as she tucked some hair behind her ear. “You miss me that bad already?”

You pouted, but it wasn’t playful. “Yeah. Like, it’s actually bad.”

“God, you’re so cute,” she said, leaning forward as if she could reach through the screen. “I miss you too. So much.”

You watched her. The way the robe dipped slightly as she shifted, the subtle reveal of her collarbone, the soft shadows cast by her hotel room’s lighting. Her skin still glowed faintly from the shower. You imagined what her body looked like beneath the robe—tall, slim, with long legs and strong thighs. And you knew, intimately, what else was under there.

“I wish I was there with you,” you murmured.

She let out a breath. “Me too. I swear, I was useless in the meeting today. All I could think about was you in my clothes. Touching yourself. Missing me.”

Your thighs pressed together. “Wonyoung…”

“You are wearing my sweatshirt, right?” she asked, eyes narrowing slightly, tone dropping an octave.

You bit your lip and angled the camera down just enough to show the oversized grey fabric draped over your bare thighs. Nothing underneath.

Wonyoung hissed softly. “Fuck. That’s so unfair.”

“You’re the one who left me,” you teased.

“I know. And I’m going crazy without you,” she admitted. “I can’t stop thinking about how warm you are. How you moan when I press you down and grind into you—”

You whimpered, fingers curling against your thigh.

“Are you wet already?” she asked. Her voice was lower now, almost a growl. “You are, aren’t you?”

You nodded slowly, heat crawling up your neck. “Been wet all night.”

“Show me,” she said.

Your pulse spiked. You hesitated, then shifted the camera. You slid the hem of her sweatshirt up your thighs slowly, revealing soft skin, until your fingers grazed between your legs and you spread them slightly. Glimmering, swollen, needful.

Wonyoung’s breath hitched on the other end. Her free hand disappeared from view, and you could hear the faint shift of the robe’s fabric.

“I should be there,” she murmured. “I should be the one spreading you open.”

“I wish you were,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I miss the way you tighten around me,” she growled, her voice thick with lust. “How you look up at me when you’re begging for more. That soft, fucked-out expression.”

You gasped, hips twitching. “I need you so bad, Wonyoung…”

Her eyes burned into you through the screen. “Then touch yourself, baby. I want to hear everything.”

You reached down, your fingers trembling slightly—not from nerves, but from sheer anticipation. The screen glowed between your thighs, Wonyoung’s hungry gaze watching every move. Her breathing had quickened. You could hear the shift of fabric—she was loosening her robe. She hadn’t even touched herself yet, and already the room felt unbearably hot.

“Just two fingers,” she instructed, her voice firm but low, like she was physically holding herself back. “Start slow.”

You obeyed.

The moment your fingers slipped between your folds, you gasped. Slick, warm, needy. The pressure of your own touch made your legs tremble. You rubbed slow, tight circles around your clit, just the way Wonyoung would do with her thumb before pushing inside you.

“Oh my god…” you moaned.

Wonyoung's eyes darkened. “That’s it, baby. Keep going. Let me hear you.”

You whimpered softly, keeping the camera angled between your legs. Your fingers moved faster now, guided by instinct and by her gaze. You imagined her hands instead—her long, elegant fingers, the way she’d hold your hips down and whisper filth into your ear while rocking into you, slow and deep.

“Do you think about me when you touch yourself?” she asked.

“Yes,” you panted, biting your lip. “Every time.”

“Tell me what you imagine.”

You swallowed hard. “I imagine your cock inside me. The way you stretch me out. How deep you go. How it aches in the best way.”

Wonyoung groaned, and you heard the unmistakable sound of her stroking herself. The slick movement of her hand, slow and deliberate. Your heart fluttered at the sound.

“Fuck,” she hissed. “I’m so hard right now, baby. You make me this way. Every time.”

“Show me,” you begged.

Without hesitation, the camera angle shifted. Wonyoung’s robe had fallen open, revealing the full length of her chest, her toned stomach, and the thick, veiny shaft standing proudly between her thighs. Her fingers wrapped around it, pumping slowly. The sight made your mouth go dry.

“Oh… fuck…”

She smirked. “You like what you see, princess?”

You nodded quickly, breathless. “I want it. I need it.”

She grunted softly as her hand sped up. “You’d be taking it so well right now if I was there. Bent over. Or riding me. Your little cunt dripping all over my cock.”

You moaned so loud it startled you. Your fingers were slick now, moving faster, desperate to match her rhythm. The ache between your legs was unbearable.

“Wonyoung… I’m close…”

“Don’t cum yet,” she growled. “Not until I tell you.”

You whimpered, your thighs shaking. Your whole body buzzed with need.

“Imagine me there,” she rasped. “My hands gripping your hips. My cock sliding into you, inch by inch. You stretching so tight around me. You crying out because it feels so good. You love how big I am, don’t you?”

“Yes!” you cried out. “You’re perfect. You fill me up so good—every time…”

“I’d fuck you deep. Slow first. Just to hear those pretty whimpers. Then I’d pound you until your legs give out.”

You arched into the mattress, gasping. “Wonyoung—!”

“Say my name when you cum,” she ordered, voice shaking with need. “Let me hear how much you want it.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore.

Your hips bucked as your orgasm crashed over you, powerful and raw. “W-Wonyoung—fuck—oh my god—!”

Your body trembled, pleasure flooding every nerve ending. Your fingers slowed, too sensitive to keep going. You let your head fall back against the pillows, chest rising and falling, breath ragged.

But Wonyoung wasn’t done.

Her eyes were locked on you, jaw clenched as her hand moved faster around her cock. Her abs flexed with every breath, the muscles in her arm straining.

“God, you’re so hot when you cum,” she groaned. “I’m gonna finish too. Wanna cover your thighs with it. Paint your stomach. Fill you up, baby.”

Your lips parted, dazed. “Do it for me, Wonyoung. Cum for me.”

Her body tensed—hips jerking slightly, her hand gripping tighter.

Then she let out a low, desperate moan. “F-fuck, I’m—ah—!”

She came hard, thick spurts of white spilling over her hand, dripping down her shaft and stomach. You watched, mesmerized, heart racing again.

You both went quiet for a moment. Just the sound of panting, the distant hum of a hotel air conditioner, and the deep intimacy of silence between lovers.

Wonyoung wiped herself off with a towel off-camera, then looked back at you, softer now. Her smile was small, tired, but full of affection.

“I needed that,” she said. “So fucking bad.”

“Me too,” you whispered, still dazed. “God… I wish you were here.”

“I’ll be home soon,” she promised, voice gentle now. “And when I am, I’m not letting you out of bed for days.”

You smiled sleepily. “Deal.”

You stayed quiet for a while. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel awkward or heavy—it just felt full. The tension between you had melted, leaving behind something even warmer, something gentle and fragile.

Wonyoung had leaned back against the headboard of her hotel bed, robe draped around her waist, chest still rising and falling slowly. Her face was flushed, but she looked peaceful now, even with strands of damp brown hair sticking to her cheeks.

“You okay, baby?” she asked softly, still watching you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

You nodded, lips curled into a sleepy smile. “Yeah. Just… kind of overwhelmed. That was… intense.”

Wonyoung chuckled low in her throat. “Yeah? Did I fuck you that good from halfway across the world?”

You blushed and rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “You always do. But this time felt different.”

“Different how?”

You hesitated for a second, fingers curling slightly around the hem of her sweatshirt still covering your chest. “I think I just miss you more than I let myself admit. I mean, the sex was—obviously amazing—but I really just… wanted to be with you.”

Wonyoung’s face softened completely. She reached for her phone with both hands and brought it closer to her face. You could see the emotion in her eyes now—not just desire, but love. Need. Yearning.

“I miss you like crazy,” she whispered. “Spain’s beautiful, the team’s great, but none of it means anything without you here. Every time I come back to this room, I wish you were in my bed, whining about how cold the sheets are, or stealing all the pillows.”

You sniffled a little, trying not to let the heat in your chest turn into tears. “I do hog the pillows.”

“You do,” she grinned. “And I love it. Just like I love how you always brush your teeth for too long when you're nervous. Or how you sleep curled up like a cat. Or how you moan my name like it’s the only word you remember.”

You laughed softly through your nose. “Stop. You’re gonna make me cry.”

“I mean it,” she said, leaning in. “I miss everything about you. Your scent. Your skin. The way you cling to me when we’re tangled together after… you know. All of it.”

A silence bloomed again—this one softer, a moment to breathe. You let the phone rest on the pillow next to your face, curling your body around it like she was lying beside you.

“Tell me something,” you murmured.

“Anything.”

“What are you gonna do to me when you get back?”

You heard her breath hitch slightly.

“Oh, baby…”

Her voice was velvet again—slow, low, dangerous.

“I’m going to absolutely ruin you.”

Your thighs clenched on instinct, even though your body was still recovering.

She continued, voice syrup-smooth.

“First, I’m going to kiss every inch of your body. Take my time. Make you feel like you’ve never been touched before. Then I’m going to lay you down and slide inside you slow—so slow it drives you insane.”

You whimpered, biting your lip.

“I’ll take care of you,” she whispered. “Kiss you while I fuck you. Hold your hand. Look into your eyes while I fill you up so deep. You’ll feel every inch, baby. I’ll make sure of it.”

“And then?” you asked, barely a whisper.

She smirked. “And then I won’t stop until you’re shaking. Until you’re crying my name and begging me not to stop.”

“Jesus, Wonyoung…”

“You started it,” she teased, her smile softening again. “God, I can’t wait to be inside you. But even more than that, I can’t wait to fall asleep with you wrapped around me. Wake up with you curled against my chest. Come home to you.”

You swallowed, heart aching.

“I love you,” you said, finally.

It came out small but steady. You hadn’t said it yet—not like this. You’d both danced around it, held it in your mouths during afterglow or kisses that lasted too long. But tonight, it came out without hesitation.

Wonyoung froze for a beat.

Then her eyes went wide. Her lips parted. And then—

“I love you too.”

It came out rushed, almost like she was afraid you’d disappear if she didn’t say it fast enough. But her smile was pure. Her voice cracked slightly.

“I’ve been wanting to say that for so long,” she added.

You both just… smiled. Grinning like idiots, flushed, naked, thousands of miles apart—but still somehow wrapped up in each other.

“I’ll be home in four days,” Wonyoung said, like a promise.

“I’ll be waiting,” you replied.

“And horny,” she added with a wink.

You laughed. “Very.”

She blew a kiss through the screen.

You caught it.

And for the first time since she left, your bed didn’t feel quite so empty.

[strawberrystepmom]

a trick, a treat, a few tweaks later and i am proud to present...demon ichigo kurosaki for @weird-dere! happy halloween and thank you for participating!

contains: NSFW, MDNI. demon!ichigo x afab!reader. ichigo is issekai'ed thanks to a ritual reader performs. vaginal fingering, foreplay. light pleasure dom ichigo dynamic.

You’ve always been a person who follows the rules. From your first steps, your first day of school, and what has lied beyond it you’ve taken the path encouraged, the one straight and narrow and full of the sweetness of what life has to offer rather than the darkness that looms lest you venture into an alley. Everyone knows alleys contain the darkest parts of life, the little pockets where depravity can cower and grow, but even a rule follower has to venture off of their path every now and then. 

At least that’s your reasoning as you lean over your phone, one eye squinting to see if you can perfectly replicate the markings drawn on the screen in front of you. The squeak of dry erase marker fills your small bathroom as you draw on the mirror, angles and swirls you don’t recognize coming into what the video is calling a summoning circle.

How you ended up here isn’t a funny story or one you feel like contemplating, boredom is the only good answer, and you cock your head to the side and pause the video to examine your handiwork again. Reaching toward the mirror, you wipe away a smudged corner with your thumb and smile at the sight.

It’s perfect, just as you’ve been your whole life, and you’re impressed at how easy it has been so far for you to pull this off. Your first foray off that golden path, the one gleaming and lined with pretty trees and shrubs, into the darkness you’ve always been warned about.

All you can do now is hope that it’s successful as you light a match, holding it to the wick of the candles in front of you. Blowing it out, you place the match down on the counter next to you and flick the lights off, reciting the incantation written in the comments of the video you still have pulled up. 

“Darkness is my friend and I shall mold it to my whims,” you chant, eyes watching the seal on the mirror shimmer as it infuses with magic. “Darkness shall embrace me with its arms, sheltering me from all that can harm.”

You aren’t certain what the incantation means lest where it came from, but the glimmer happening before your widened eyes tells you that this one is a success. Giggling, you blow out the candles and listen for what is coming next if the comments on the now darkened screen that sits on your counter are further proven correct.

A loud bump coming from the other side of your bathroom door, the sound of something hitting the ground and a man’s voice you don’t recognize. 

“What the fu-,” the voice cuts itself off as you swing open the bathroom door, the dim flickering of candlelight behind you casting your silhouette in a glow that Ichigo immediately finds himself drawn to. The demon sorts himself out, rising from sitting cross legged on your floor, and folds his arms over his chest. 

You aren’t someone that would regularly intimidate the entity standing before you, especially given his impressive stature and physical status - broad chested, big armed, taller than you by a head - but he feels…intrigued by you. As if he stumbled upon someone too pure and perfect for him to even be around. The opposite of him in every way.

Eyes roving over his form, you offer a polite smile and admire the red hair atop his head. This experiment has ended up better than you could’ve imagined and you offer your hand out to the demon.

“I know this is probably really weird for you but hi,” you grin and give him your name, teeth gleaming beautifully even in the low light of your bedroom. He’s enchanted, of course, drawn by your warm smile and how warm your skin looks and your body but he’s apprehensive to give in, wondering what you could possibly need him for. “I summoned you here.”

“I can see that.”

You laugh, a little nervously this time, and his guard falls a bit more. The way you sound is akin to sweet music, something he has always wondered from afar what it feels like to have directed at him. This is the struggle of living in the shadows, whether it’s your choice or not, you miss out on the delight that the golden path offers. You miss out on the laughter of a beautiful woman and the way that her body shifts as she balls her hands together anxiously.

Thankfully, the lighter path has beckoned him tonight and he won’t have to wonder what he’s missing out on for much longer.

“I’m Ichigo,” he offers to ease your nerves. You nod, repeating his name and savoring the feeling of it across your tongue. You stretch the syllables and he laughs, looking away and feeling his cheeks heat, shocked at how shy a human is making him feel.

He hasn’t been at this for very long, in case it isn’t obvious, but fuck if he isn’t trying. Exchanging his place in the land between the living and the dead came as second nature to the brave man before you, easy for him to make that split second decision, but the demonhood thing is proving to be far harder than he expected. 

So instead he does what all demons are to do when summoned by humans. He asks.

“Is there something I can do for you?”

You giggle, worrying your lower lip between your teeth, and a sigh escapes. He hates seeing your shoulders slouch in uncertainty and he approaches, closing the gap between the two of you but waits for further permission before proceeding. 

“I,” you start, laughing again and shaking your head. “I didn’t really know if I would get this far so excuse me for being a little nervous.”

He shrugs and nods, understanding that this isn’t exactly the most conventional way to meet anyone much less a being such as himself. Despite this, though, he finds the way you look away from him and sneak another glance more alluring than he’d like to admit so he clears his throat, capturing your attention again and he revels in the way your eyes rest upon him.

“I could make some suggestions, you know, if you need?”

A nod is his permission to continue and he moves closer, tension in the room thickening. He swallows, wearing robes that leave little to the imagination with straps that cross over his strong torso and nothing else.

“Do you need me to kill someone for you?”

You shake your head with another laugh and he loves it, grinning and laughing alongside you the way he used to with others when he was still human. He misses it, feeling more in touch with himself than he has in a long time in your presence. 

“Do you need me to make someone fall in love with you? Because we don’t do that, you may have called the wrong person to your house.”

Another laugh and he laughs along, smile on his face when you reach out and bravely touch his forearm to feel it under your palm. His skin is cool to the touch but warm after you let your hand rest atop it for a moment. He doesn’t smell of sulfur or whatever else you were worried about nor does he appear to wish ill toward you. 

So you take a chance and tell the truth.

“I wanted to know what it’s like to be lov-,” you stop yourself from taking the easy way out, swallowing and looking up to meet his eyes, to ask for what you really want. “Fucked. I want to know what it’s like to be fucked by demon.”

Your earnestness is as endearing as it is concerning and he smiles down at you, eyes darkening. 

“You aren’t afraid you’ve bitten off more than you can chew?”

You shrug, the same sweet little smile on your face.

“How will I ever know if I don’t take a bite?”

In the blink of an eye, you make sense to him. A good girl who just wants to get a little bit bad for once without putting much else on the line. He wishes the thought didn’t roll straight from his brain to his thickening cock, his robes shifting as it hardens.

“Care to let me help you find out?”

You shake your head and without another word, he approaches you far more tenderly than you ever expected. Ichigo cups your face between his palms, thumbs smoothing over your cheeks and your mouth and your sweet eyelids, and he kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before. It’s full of forbidden want, a longing he just developed for your taste, and you allow him to be greedy. To take his tongue across as much of your mouth as he wants, to familiarize himself with your teeth and your cheeks and your lips.

You allow him to take, the advice of the commenters proving yet again to be more accurate than you expected, his hands moving from your cheeks to your shoulders and finally to your hands where he drags you toward your half made bed, entranced by how the entire pile of blankets and pillows smells like you. 

It’s divine, something far too holy for him, but he does as he’s been asked. He’s going to give you exactly what you want.

He crowds you back onto your bed and your legs fall open naturally, allowing him to slot between them and press his thigh against the searing heat of your cunt. He groans at the sensation, present even through his robes, and leans over you to continue the unexpectedly intense tangle of your tongues in your mouth.

Backing away to catch his breath, he slips his arms out of the harness of his robes and lets them fall down his torso, discarding all of his clothing with it. You gasp looking down and spotting the red head of his cock resting against his belly, the tip already glistening with silky pre-cum. This moment, one he’ll recall forever, is the first time he hears you moan. 

If your laughter was music, this is a symphony. He vows to do whatever he can to hear you make that noise as much as possible while you’re in his care, hands helping you shrug off the nightgown and panties you were wearing while performing the ritual that brought him here.

The more of you that gets exposed, the more excited he can feel himself become. You are beautiful, an utter vision and more than he expected to stumble upon tonight, hands smoothing over your breasts, your stomach, your gorgeous thighs. He can hardly hold himself back but he bites back his own desires, knowing his role tonight is to give in to you and not the other way around.

“Tell me if you like it, yeah?”

You never expected a demon to be asking you to praise him but you nod, watching his hands slip further and further down your body until they’re toying with your needy and aching pussy, one set of fingers spreading you open while the other spreads the wetness from your hole across your lips and clit and sensitive inner thighs.

“Feels good,” you gasp when his thumb grazes your clit and he smirks. It’s sinful to see him between your legs like this, handsome face twisted into a pleased smile while those pretty brown eyes flit between your drooling cunt and your face that does little to hide how he’s making you feel. 

“I can make it even better,” he promises and you don’t question it when one of his thick fingers enters your pussy and you moan. Just one finger is enough to make you stretch to accommodate it, the slick squelching of his ministrations making you tip your head back to look away but he stops as soon as you do.

“Keep lookin’ at me, yeah? Might as well watch me make you feel good since you were so curious.”

You obey, as you always have, looking down at him through pretty lashes with big doe eyes and he’s hooked. There’s no way he can simply have his fill of you tonight, his finger now joined by another to express how pleased he is at how well you listen.

“There we go, you’re so good for me,” his words are syrupy sweet and you grasp onto them for dear life as pleasure courses through your veins, the thumb of his free hand rubbing circles around your clit that make you dizzy. He starts to rut against the bed below him to get some relief for his aching, angry cock and you ride out the remnants of your orgasm by bucking against his fingers that still sit inside of you, chest heaving with how heavily you’re breathing.

“Ready for more?”

Your eyes widen as he rises to his knees between your legs, heavy cock in his hand and pointed straight for your needy cunt. He’s beautiful just like this, flushed from his cheeks and down his chest, and your walls spasm in anticipation for just how he’ll feel inside of you. Nodding, you spread your legs further and smile as the head of that pretty cock slips past any resistance you may have.

He leans over you, chest pressed to yours and forearm resting above your head, daring to kiss your pretty lips a final time before he shows you what he’s really capable of. You smile up at him, eyes glazed over and face slackened in pleasure, and he drinks in every ounce of you he’s able to.

“Good, because we’re just getting started.”

[now-or-then]

Seek • jhs

Summary: Longing after your childhood best friend who’s moved away, one mundane afternoon at a grocery store turns into something more when you spot a familiar face you never thought you’d see.

Pairings: Jung Hoseok x reader

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: none

♡ Enjoy ♡

.

.

My eyes stayed on the screen as I scrolled down the instagram feed, looking for anything that'd catch my interest.

And then I saw him, again...

His white unbuttoned shirt showed off his revealing collarbone, a smirk ghosting its way over his pink lips; wild looking bangs had framed the top of his forehead.

It's clearly been a while.

We've chatted at first, but years has passed and there was no signal of how he was doing. Admittedly, there's blame on me for never seeking out to him neither; I'd always played it safe and lurked on his socials for updates. It sounded creepy, but what would I say once faced with him now?

I halted on the spot in time from an incoming grocery cart wheeling out of nowhere. Looking up from my phone and in the direction of the cart, I go back to staring at the screen again.

Oh no!

My eyes went to the heart pressed onto the corner of his photo.

He wouldn't notice it compared to the amount of likes, I was sure he'd be too busy. Trying to convince that to myself, I refocused onto grocery shopping which was essentials at the moment.

I hummed to the music playing above me, then headed towards a different aisle. But I stopped, having to gawk at the too recognizable face from across the store, his hair was tucked underneath the hat he wore.

Hoseok.

At least, I think it's him.

Blanking out I'm stuck in my spot, and nerves ran through me along with tingling excitement beneath it. Slowly, I break out my state, going to another aisle but my sight lingered onto him curiously.

This could be my last chance, who knows if he'll come back.

Mentally preparing my courage, it was weird walking up to Hoseok normally as if it hasn't been years without physically seeing or hearing from each other. But I gulped down my anxiety, and glanced at him again before doing a double take; furrowing my eyebrows in confusion. He's not there anymore.

A new worry landed in my mind that I'm beginning to imagine him here now, but I knew that was an outreach.

Huh.

I pretended like nothing happened, proceeding with shopping. Frowning at his sudden disappearance, I strolled over to the aisle with the items I needed.

Finished with the short list I rush to the checkout—or I was planning to, until my arm collided against another shopper's. The items in my handheld basket spilled out and over the grocery store floor, loudly. Grimacing at the scene I avoided the stranger face, embarrassed by my reckless mistake as I quickly reach down to gather everything.

"I'm so sorry! Let me help you..." He sounded genuine, distress in his tone while they picked up my items too. Not that I was furious or anything, but the friendliness in his voice made me feel a little better.

"Are you okay?"

"Um," I searched for my words "I'm fine. Don't worry, it's my fault for being-"

I'm sidetracked by the gleam of the strangers expensive watch around his slim wrist. The light hits it in a perfect angle making me distracted, my eyes trailing down to his hands. It was familiar, minus the watch.

His face struck me the most.

Speaking in a hurry, a cheerful expression graced his face "No, no, you're fine."

Unaware of me frozen he helped put my stuff back into the basket. It's until Hoseok eyes met mine for a brief second and mirrored its shock, but before I can react—I'm pulled into a hug as he exclaimed my name in glee.

Oh!

Hesitant, my arms wrapped around his figure. Closing my eyes from our warmth, I relax into his embrace; the comforting hug made me want us to stay like this. I had missed my humanized ray of sunshine.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ✎-

"I don't know...maybe I bumped my head onto something." I walked beside him.

Hoseok playfully glared at me, then gave a gentle nudged the side of my waist.

"Then don't do it again. How could you forget about me?" He asked for the fifty-seventh time since we had left the store.

I cracked and stopped in place, releasing my withheld laughter at his innocent attempt at scolding me. Hoseok continued walking, not noticing my actions as I caught up to match his pace; tugging the handle of my grocery bag.

"Can you believe how much has changed?"

"Of course," A cool breeze brushed by "look at how much you've..."

Gesturing at him I didn't want to state the obvious: he's gotten more attractive and successful. I hoped he'll understand what I'm hinting, but Hoseok simply shrugs, the little frown on his face made me ditch the charades.

"You've turn into an amazing person."

His mouth stretched into a heart shaped grin, he then adjusted his baseball cap.

Hoseok cleared his throat, "I'm not sure if I should say this or not, and I don't want to creep you out but...I noticed you've discovered my profile."

There it is.

Overwhelming heat draped itself over my face, my mind racing with excuses. Of course he'd see the like eventually.

I darted my eyes away from him, "I was just—"

"Why didn't you send me a message?"

"I thought you'd be too busy to notice it." My head dipped to the sidewalk ground.

Hoseok voice is full of surprise, "No way! I would've responded back." he seemed to want to add more but doesn't.

Wondering what else he was going to say, I looked forward to in front of us. My view goes up to the trees; its hanging green leaves swayed along with the soft wind, leaving room for sunlight to peek through it. Afar cars and bird chirps substituted the silence between us.

Breathing in the fresh air I listened to the sounds around us, and started to speak again but he beats me to that.

"Oh, look!" Hoseok halted, pointing at something and glancing back at me "We used to hang out there when we were younger."

Tilting my head I looked at where he pointed: an empty playground, it was abandoned but not in a creepy way. As I stared at it longer I began to remember now, the current state of it contrasted so much from the last time we've visited.

But then again that was years ago.

We automatically go towards the playground. Lost in the memories of our time there, I studied all of the aged playground sets that we might've been a little too old to play on at the time.

"Wow," Hoseok turned around, taking a seat on the grasses "it has gotten...it's use. After school it's like we were the only ones always here."

"Yeah, I guess this was our secret spot." I do the same and crossed my legs, fixated on the swings.

He noticed, "We used to like playing on them on a lot, remember?"

We?

"You can say me, Hoseok." I smiled " I forced you push me on the swings a lot."

The once tension from the situation earlier faded, replaced with light teasing between us while I continued.

"Actually, I played while you were always brooding on the bench." More vivid memories entered my mind.

Hoseok got flustered, waving his hands defensively.

"That's not true!" He denied.

Sure.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ✎-

We erupted into another round of laughter at our childhood memories. I watched Hoseok clapped his hands in joy, a huge grin on his face as he giggled. His little habits made me stare at him in adoration, despite everything else he hasn't changed.

I brought up another embarrassing memory.

"That was so long ago." He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"I know, but-"

"Don't-"

"When-"

Hoseok faced me completely "Stop. Or else.."

There's subtle redness on his face. With his arms crossed his cheeks are puffed out; a pout was displayed.

Maybe I shouldn't have, but his cute reaction had pushed me to say more. Was it the laidback atmosphere motivating the confidence in me? I wasn't sure and I took the harmless risk.

Okay, I definitely shouldn't had done that.

Attacked by his tickles, uncontrollable laughter filled the playground.

Begging for Hoseok to stop, our legs tangle together through the silly tickle fight and I tried to push away him away. Barely doing so, the thoughtless decision left me exposed to more tickles.

Just as I assumed that didn't work out, and I'm left with no choice but to give in. It's only when Hoseok reached my specific ticklish spot that I dodged his hands, but fell backwards onto the prickly grass with him landing on top of me. Our laughter faltered and I realized how close we are to each other faces, my breath hitched as my heartbeat thudded against my chest—shifting my eyes anywhere except on him.

I knew I'd melt under his stare if I looked.

Unclear thoughts jumbled in my head at our current position. I did not expect this at all.

My eyes finally connected to Hoseok eyes and I'm lost in them. He focused on me intently with a calm expression, but his eyes showed fondness while the tips of his lips curved up to a flirtatious smile. It summoned a swarm of butterflies inside my stomach, but then a thought hits me.

"What made you come here?"

"I...wanted to find you." He spoke slowly, "We left suddenly, and I regretted the way we did. I tried for years to see you but never could, until I remembered this place, deciding to try again."

Speechless by his confession, I stumbled out an "Oh"

All this time while I was avoiding him he's been searching for me. Wanting to hit my anxiety ridden self from earlier, I breathed in deeply feeling guilt on my part.

That's why came here: me. My reaction seemed mundane, but there was overwhelm mixed with gratitude by Hoseok considerable actions.

Watching him lay beside my figure, I then peer upwards at the sunset and the words slipped out my mouth.

"I'm sorry."

He sounded confused, "From what?"

"I should've done the same for you, but unfortunately, my overthinking thoughts prevented that. Again, I'm—"

My hand is suddenly held and given a gentle squeeze. Looking at Hoseok, I glanced down to our hands locked together then moved my eyes to the blue sky above us, it leaked into an orange hue whereas streaks of white clouds went across the horizon.

"It's okay," he said.

I nod, appreciating his reassurance.

Out the corner of my eyes I see Hoseok stare at me, my face grows warm.

"The weather feels nice," I commented out loud after a few minutes.

He chuckled and it made me turn my head at in confusion, amusement was written over his face.

"You never changed."

I spluttered, "Wait, h-how?"

"You're still awkward at times."

Blinking, I think about it. I am? Wanting to disagree with him, I was self aware of my awkwardness in tense moments. It's to the point where I can barely handle confrontation, or complications around other people but I was working on it.

In other words: it was true.

Not saying anything, I let out an hmph before facing the opposite way. He knew me too well.

It caused Hoseok to laugh and I break into a smile.

The rest of day went by smoothly, later we'd share our own stories, achievements, and the things we worked on. Telling him bits of my current lifestyle, Hoseok beamed that he'll visit me whenever he can; and I did the same for him.

And to think I feared approaching him. But coincidentally, we did anyway.

I didn't want to think otherwise if we hadn't.

[charbend]

System Overflow Chapter 3

In the few moments before contact, he realized that thinking of it as a squirrel had been a rather hasty choice on his part. He could hardly be blamed for that, given the circumstances.

It wasn’t a squirrel, but it likely had been one at some point. Probably this morning. Possibly just before noon. Maybe it had stepped out for an early lunch, and got more than it bargained for.

Is this what that message talked about with terraforming? Frank thought dimly, as the once-squirrel bit his arm that he barely remembered raising. The clarity the pain brought helped him get a better look at the creature.

It had the same general shape of a squirrel, and would be easy to mistake for one at a distance. The proportions and the body were all wrong, however. Its snout had extended beyond the norm, and it had teeth protruding from its jaw at odd angles, a mess of snaggle-y spikes. Its spine was warped, and he watched in amazement and horror as it seemed to grow hard, calcified plates out of its back.

The poor, twisted creature let out a screech of pain as this happened, releasing its grip on his arm. He stepped back as it hit the ground, writhing. He made brief eye contact with it as it cried in distress.

His heart sank, but his body spun with adrenaline. “Ohh, I’m sorry about this buddy. I wish I could help you.” Without giving himself time to have doubts, he put the creature out of its misery.

Ding!

Warning! Unrefined aether absorbed. Unrefined aether is not suitable for living beings. Avoid coming into contact with sources of such aether, or contaminated creatures. It is advised to expel unrefined aether before reaching toxic levels.

Frank sighed. “Great. Another thing to worry about.” He glanced at the ex-squirrel, still releasing slight blue light into the air. “I’m sorry buddy. I would bury you, but that feels like a bad idea now. Besides, I have more pressing concerns right now.” With that said, and the surprise encounter bested, he made his way back into the office.

<O/%%%%%/O/%%%%%/O>

Tugging at the bandage on his arm, he tossed the first aid kit on his desk. Finding it had been fairly simple; the building was required to have first aid kits available and marked on their maps. It had always just been one of those things that you know, but never think about. He took a moment to thank everyone who’d ever pushed for safety regulations as he sat down.

“Okay, first order of business: see if I can reach my family.”

He slid open the drawer he put his phone in during work hours, and checked its charge. 73%. More than enough to call whoever he needed. Putting in his password, he quickly navigated through to his address book. With bated breath, he hit ‘Mom’.

As it rang, he couldn’t help but imagine his mom’s phone sitting on the freeway on the other side of the country, playing a song from her boyfriend's band, his name on the screen.

It rang.

And rang.

“The person you are trying to call cannot be reached right now. Feel free to leave a message after the beep.”

Frank paused for a few beats, disappointed. “Hey mom. I don’t know if you’re going to get this, but I just wanted to let you know I’m okay. If you can, please call, or leave a message. With everything going on, I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep my phone going, but I promise to check regularly. Stay safe. I love you.”

He stared at his phone for a few seconds, almost hoping for a call to come through. None did. “Well, that leaves me right back where I was, plus a bit of disappointment. Alex is still living with mom, so I can probably expect about the same result.”

Nevertheless, he clicked on his sister's name. The phone rang a few times.

A robotic voice came through. “The number you have dialed is unable to be reached at this time. It may be off or out of service range. Please try again later.”

“Damn,” he sighed, tossing his phone on the desk. “What use is a phone if no one is around to call?”

Frank tapped idly on his desk. “Ok. I’m alone in the office. I can’t reach my family. I still need to find a way to meet people, and try to figure out this system stuff. But, first things first: Let’s get some supplies together.”

He pulled his backpack out from under his desk, and started packing up anything useful he could find. The first aid kit, of course. Some office supplies, for taking notes, and as much food as he could find in the office. Jason’s desk was, as expected, a treasure trove for supplies.

“Talking about squirrels… Man loved to hide snacks everywhere,” Frank muttered as he shoved a bag of jerky in his pack. “Chips, ramen, jerky… Won’t be clean eating, but at least it’s something.”

A quiet ping pulled his attention. He looked up from his position kneeling on the floor of Jason’s cubicle.

Ping!

It was coming from Jason’s headset. Curious, Frank put the headset on and woke the computer to see what was causing it. “Why is he getting browser notifications?”

He scrolled through Jason’s tabs, ignoring the ones he was familiar with. “Wait, is this- How’d he get around the firewall?” Frank clicked into the suspect page: Reddit, still live and, evidently, still populated with actual people.

There on the front page, pinned at the top was a post. “The end of the world: a megathread.”

Frank clapped his hands together reverentially. “Thank you, honored ancestors, for blessing my generation with social media. Let’s see here… ‘Where did everyone go?’ ‘What does it mean to be a [Native]?’ ‘What is this System?’- That’s the one.” He expanded the comment thread, eager to see what others had figured out.

There were a lot of opinions.

‘Checkmate atheists.’

‘Does this mean we live in a simulation?’

‘Aliens finally decided we were ready to join real civilization.’

And so on. There were a few people who had actually found ways to access some information and menus in the System, so he took notes on those.

‘... It’s unclear exactly how to raise these ‘stats’ so far, but likely training or acquiring and allocating the ‘aether’ mentioned in System notes would be a way to do so. Likewise with Skills and Spells.’

‘Actually, I know how you can pick up a few of those! I was in the library when everyone vanished, and a bunch of books are showing up as Skill-books now! I think there’s a limit to how many Skills you can get from books though… I only managed to get 3. Now I’m stuck with [Beekeeping], [Charcuterie], and [Tactics] =(‘

‘Also, I’ve seen a few weird looking animals… Do you think we can get aether from them?’

Frank quickly responded to that comment. “Definitely do not go after the blue ones. The System doesn’t like when you pick up the aether they have, for some reason.”

Almost as soon as he posted it, someone replied. ‘Lots of animals are getting aggressive. It’s very dangerous to go outside. Definitely stay away from the blue ones, but they’re all bad right now.’

Well. Not great news, but he’d managed to warn people. Good deed done, he leaned back, looking over his notepad. He now had some information on how to navigate his new HUD, pulling up menus in the System that quantified how the System viewed him. Stats, Skills, Spells, and the like. There wasn’t much of interest for him there yet.

“Actually…” He stood, walking around toward Sanjay’s cubicle, “I’m pretty sure he had a book in here somewhere…” After opening a few drawers, he found it. A worn and bookmarked copy of Programming for Dummies.

As soon as he touched it, a notice popped up.

Consume Skill-book to learn [Programming]?

Y/N

Error! Skill [Programming] incompatible with System implementation.

Generalizing Skill…

Consume Skill-book to learn [Enchanting]?

Y/N

He sucked in a breath. “Magic? Oh man, am I about to learn magic? Sanjay, wherever you are, thank you for being career motivated. I forgive you for being a bit prickly.” He turned back to the book. “Yes!”

Instantly, it burst into small, dense particles of white light that landed on him, absorbing into his skin. As soon as the last bit of light was gone, Frank felt a rush as the energy implanted itself in his being. “Huh.”

He tapped his chin, looking around. “I think I’ve got what I need to test this out around here… Let’s see…”

***

You can find this on Royal Road (https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/83902)

[moby-writing-and-stuff]

Champion Role Models (NSFW)

Victor smiled as he sat down on the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table as he finally let himself rest.

The 21-year-old young man had been training like crazy for these past few months, getting himself ready for the biggest challenge of his young life to date. 

“Feels right to treat ourselves, doesn't it Cinderace?” he asked his partner. The large rabbit-like pokemon nodded as it sat on the recliner on the other side of the hotel room, chowing down on the Poke-Chow his trainer had bought.

“Cinde!” it chirped as he chowed down on the food

“This beats camping out in the woods that’s for sure,” Victor said as he grabbed the TV remote, turning on said device. 

“And in other news” came the voice from the anchor of the New’s Station “Chairman Rose is currently under investigation for allegations of misappropriation of funds and trespassing in protected sites. The Chairman claims he was working on a large program to help the region, but the Wydon police department…”

“Wow, come into town right as shit hits the fan” Victor muttered as he muted the TV and pulled out his phone.

“Ace?”

“Yeah I know it's annoying” Victor muttered as he flicked through the text messages he had “Come to Wydon for the league, end up stuck due to politics…” he shook his head “Months collecting badges and the entire league gets the shaft thanks to Rose pulling some stupid move… You know, I can actually believe he saw himself in Bede. Apparently, both of them don’t give a crap about historical artifacts”

The Fire-Type pokemon shrugged as it shoved more food into its gullet, getting a chuckle from Victor.

“Right, probably not the smartest idea to talk politics to a Pokemon” he chuckled, turning his attention back to the TV, his eyebrows shooting up as he saw a familiar person on screen. “Is that Leon?” he muttered, grabbing the remote and unmuting it.

“-othes worn by the best of the best”, a soft-spoken voice said as Leon smirked at the camera in a way that made Victor blink. 

“That’s….a suggestive wink” he muttered, leaning back into the sofa “Never thought I’d see Leon do that…”

On-screen, Leon threw the cape he was wearing off, revealing he was clad in nothing but a pair of tight shorts. The young galarian trainer felt his cheeks light up red as Leon turned around and presented his shapely ass to the camera, running his hand over it.

“Damn…. Guess the League closing left him a bit bored…” Victor muttered, his face a bright red as he felt heat running down his loins. Right as the camera moved onto another angle of the great champion of Galar in a jockstrap, a loud knocking on the door made the young man on the couch jump. He quickly turned the TV off and got up, slowly walking to the hotel’s door.

KNOCK KNOCK

“Right right, bloody calm down, I’m coming” Victor muttered, still blushing a bit at the mast in his pants as he unlocked the door. He cracked it open a bit, his eyebrows shooting up as he saw a tanned young man with a carefully maintained mop of royal purple hair and a pair of soft yellow eyes. “Hop? That you mate?”

“Course it's me,” the young man on the other side said, crossing his arms as he looked into the creak between the door and the wall “You gonna let me in?”

“Right right, gimme a second…” Victor muttered as he closed the door and removed the bolt, opening it properly for his friend “Good to see you mate”

“Same” Hop said with a friendly smile, giving his friend a quick hug “So…. you gonna let me in?”

“Heh, yeah sure” Victor said with a chuckle as he stepped aside. Hop gave him a wink as he stepped inside, dumping his bag onto the floor.

“Bloody hell, how much did you spend on this place” Hop muttered as he plopped down on the couch “This place is about the size of my house!”

“I know it's ridiculous!” Victor said as he sat down next to his best friend, silently recalling his Cinderace into the Pokeball “The League didn't skimp on the rooms. I’m guessing they used the money from the pay-per-view to get us these places.”

“Most likely” Hop said as he rested his head on the cushions, groaning

“What’s wrong?” Victor asked as he dropped the Pokeball onto the coffee table “I thought you’d be happy to spend time in your brother’s flat”

“I would… if he was ever fucking home!” Hop groaned “Like… I think I’ve seen him twice. In the two weeks, I’ve been here!”

“Seriously?” Victor asked, frowning as he looked at this friend’s splayed-out form “What, was there some kind of emergency back home?”

“No! That’s the thing, he’s never around! And the one time I caught him, he looked really out of it, like he just woke up and had to get a drink of water or something. And then there’s those ADS!”

“Ah, yeah….” Victor muttered, his face going a bit red as he glanced at the black screen of the television “Those….”

“I mean…. I know that he doesn't have anything to do with the league shut down, but why that!?” Hop groaned

“I mean,... Your brother isn’t too bad on the eyes” Victor said, his face a bit red as he looked at his friend.

“Isn’t… MATE DON’T” Hop shouted as he threw a cushion right at Victor’s face, getting a chuckle out of the other boy “It’s bad enough I have to deal with Rahain getting lovey-dovey with him, don’t you start too!”

“Heh, sorry pal. I’m not gonna deny the truth when I see it” Victor said with a wink

“Bloody hell, stop!” Hop groaned, covering his ears as his whole face lit up bright red, getting a chuckle “Arceus stop for the love of all that’s good!”

“Alright alright! Take a bloody breath” Victor said with a laugh, giving his friend a light slap on the shoulder as he smiled at him.

“Screw you, wanker….” Hop muttered as he removed his hands

“Hey, you’ll have to buy me dinner first,” the brown-haired young man said with a wink

“Pffft” Hop chuckled, biting into his fist “Arceus Victor, don’t joke around now please”

“What? I’m not the one panicking over my brother taking a job. You need to relax a bit” Victor said as he grabbed the remote

“Mate, I’m not gonna relax!” Hop said, swiping the remote from his friend’s hand “This shit isn’t right ok? Something weird is going on”

“Hop, I know you love your brother, but I think you're being a bit paranoid”

“I’m not being paranoid! Rahain is freaking out too! He’s been pretty much camping out on the couch for the past week and Leon has barely looked at him!”

“Ok….” Victor muttered, blinking “That is a bit weird…”

“Yeah ignoring your fiancee is a bit weird, ain’t it?” Hop asked, sarcasm dripping off every word.

“Fuck, you really are worried aren’t you?” Victor muttered, looking at his friend in concern

“Fuck yes I am!” Hop said, leaning forwards and resting his arms on his legs “Look, Leon isn’t the type to do stuff like this. He’s not the kind to just drop everything for some dumb modeling job, no matter how well it pays. Plus, what kind of modeling job requires you to be at the studio so fucking long?”

“Yeah, that’s true….” Victor muttered, his eyes going a bit wider as Hop’s arguments began to make sense, “so what do you want to do about it?”

“Right so my plan is we go down to this studio, sneak inside somehow and then we can snoop around for evidence to prove this company up to no good” the passion was clear in his voice as Hop laid out his plan which he was obviously very proud of.

“Then we take the proof we need to officer Jenny and she’ll kick in the door and save my big bro,” Hop said with a fire in his eye as he rounded off his plan by karate kicking the air “It’s the perfect plan mate”.

“Mate that's the worst plan I’ve ever heard” Victor replied with a deadpan grimace on his face.

“Yeah well, what do you think you should do then smartypants,” Hop asked sarcastically as he crossed his arms over his chest with a humph. 

“Well how about we just go do there ask to see your brother” Victor suggested off the top of his head and clearly being the more sensible of the two “That we can look around a bit and ask Leon directly what's going on?”

“Victor you're a genius!” Hop shouted, grabbing his friend by the shoulders and staking him in his excitement “It’ll be like we’re undercover, they won’t suspect a thing, and that way we can bust them from the inside!”

“Ok fine you’ve convinced me, let’s go do some digging” Victor groaned at his friend, thinking even his own plan sounds a bit ridiculous, but he was getting tired from the constant needling.

“Fucking finally!” Hop screamed, getting up from the couch and giving his friend a smirk

“Wait, you wanna go now?” Victor asked, blinking as he looked up at his friend

“Course I do! Not like your doing anything” Hop said as he grabbed his backpack and headed for the door

“Hey!”

“Oh don’t pretend you were gonna do anything other than sitting there and eat pizza,” Hop said, crossing his arms. Victor felt his cheeks light up red, his unconsciously going to his phone

“Maybe…” he muttered, getting a sigh from his friend.

“Come on,” Hop said, tossing the fellow trainer his shoes.

“Fine fine….” Victor muttered as he caught the footwear and slipped them on quickly. He hopped to his feet and nodded at this friend. “Let’s go”

“Awesome!” Hop said with a big smile as he headed outside the room, Victor following right behind him, making sure to lock the suite’s door before catching up with Hop.

“Okay, so what do you know about this company?” the brown-haired trainer as he hit the call button for the elevator

“Huh?” 

“I mean, if we’re gonna go check out what’s going on, I need to know something about this. I kinda shut the ad off before the name of the company could come up, so I need to know exactly is going on”

“Right right right…” Hop muttered, shaking his head “Um….”

“You do know what the company is called, don’t you?” Victor asked as the elevator arrived

“C-Course I do!” Hop said, his face lighting up red as the two got into the elevator “I just….forgot for a minute….”

“Sure you did…” Victor muttered, pulling out his phone and opening the browser. A few seconds later, he smiled and showed the screen to Hop. “Here”

“Wallace’s Sport and Fashion?” Hop read, seeing the blue logo in the shape of some snake-like pokemon he didn’t recognize. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“Because Wallace was the champion of the Hoenn region for a few months. He’s the shortest titleholder in the world, and he’s the only one who didn’t lose the title, instead, he retired and gave it up to his chosen successor. He then went to open a men’s wears company”

“Huh…” Hop blinked, clearly not expecting that dump of information

“Says here that the company is just recently expanding into international markets….” Victor read from his phone as the elevator door slid open “They’re putting out calls for models all over the planet. And they're pushing it hard. Looks like Leon isn’t the only famous guy to sign up to work for them.”

“How so?” Hop asked as the two walked through the lobby

“It says here that former gym leader and actor Brysen signed up to be a model in Unova. In Kanto, former league competitor and gym leader Blue is one too.”

“Damn, so they're going for famous people to advertise these, aren’t they?” Hop muttered as they stepped out of the hotel into the rather chilly streets of Wyndon. 

“Yeah. They're doing some aggressive advertising” Victor muttered as he used his phone to call over a taxi. “And by the looks of it, their studio is on the other side of the city”

“Right, so I’m guessin’ that’s we-”

“CORVO!” a shriek interrupted the conversation as the Corvo Taxi landed in front of the two, a plume of dust escaping from the bottom. The large pokemon that carried it stared down at the two, the doors unlocking and swinging open automatically.

“That will never not be scary…” Hop muttered as he climbed inside the cab, barely looking at the Corvoknight.

“Oh don’t be a wuss,” Victor said as he showed the Corvoknight their destination on his phone. The large pokemon nodded, getting in position to take off.

“Shut up and get in here” Hop muttered, getting a giggle from his friend as he climbed inside and shut the door. A click rang out through the cab as they locked and the Corviknight began flapping its wings, slowly lifting them off the ground and towards their destination.

==================

The two grunted as they felt the taxi come to a sudden stop, a loud bang ringing out as the cab landed, rather roughly, on the ground.

“I hate flying on these things…” Hop muttered as the doors unlocked and swung open. “Thank Arceus I didn’t eat lunch beforehand…”

“Oh don’t bitch, this was your idea,” Victor said as he handed the Corvoknight a bill. The Flying Type grabbed it with its beak before taking off, flapping its massive wings and blasting the two boys in the face with a gust of wind before it disappeared into the clouds. 

“Just…. Come on, let’s go find my brother” Hop muttered, putting his hands into his pockets and walking up to the door, huffing the whole way.

“Fine fine” Victor said, trying not to giggle at his friend’s actions as he followed right behind him. The building was quite large, and it stood out slightly from the rest of the city. Wyndon had a particular style to it, and this building with its modern full glass walls, clean white metal around said glass, and well-kept lawn outside clashed hard with it. 

“Looks like an office building from Unova…” Victor muttered as they stepped inside, a blast of cold air hitting the two. The lobby was pretty much what they expected after seeing the outside. Sparsely decorated with a few couches, a pile of magazines, and the company’s logo right in front of them, displayed for all to see. Said logo was a Wailord jumping over a stylized W.

“Huh, not a bad symbol, I’ve got to say” Hop muttered as he looked at the carving on the wall.

“Oh hello!” a voice rang out from the right of the room, getting the attention of both young men. They turned and saw a young man, probably about a year older than them, holding a tablet and giving them a friendly smile. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Um…” Victor blinked as he looked over the guy, a bit taken aback by his outfit. He was wearing a pair of shorts, a shirt that was open to show a well-chiseled chest and a necklace with the company’s logo hanging loosely around his neck “N-No…We-”

“What are you wearing?” Hop said, his face a bit red

“HOP!” Victor shouted, his own face going bright red as he glared at his best friend before turning back to the guy quickly “S-Sorry about that….”

“Oh no need to apologize,” the guy said with a laugh, a quite nice melodic sounding laugh “I get that a lot.”

“Yeah well, given how the building looks you except someone wearing a stuffy business suit,” Hop said with a friendly smile

“Heh, well Mr. Wallace does want us to show exactly what we’re about. Wouldn’t do to wear some ugly suit if we don’t make them, now wouldn’t it?”

“Heh, yeah that makes sense!” Hop said with a grin and a nod, while Victor just stared at the two.

“Heh, anyways. You said you didn’t have an appointment?” the guy said, going back to the original topic

“Um, no we don’t,” Victor said, giving Hop a light elbow to the side as he was about to speak again “We’re actually looking for one of the models”

“Oh? One of the models?” the guy asked, looking up from his tablet “That’s rare. Most people don’t care about that.”

“Well, he’s my brother,” Hop said “And I’ve been a bit worried about him”

“Ah I see” the guy said with a smile “What’s your brother’s name?”

“Leon,” Victor and Hop said at the same time

“He’s kind of well known,” Victor said, crossing his arms “Given he’s the champion and all that”

“Ah yes. I think he’s currently doing a shoot. Please follow me” the guy said, turning around and leading them further inside.

“Well that wasn’t so hard,” Hop said as he followed the guy

“Don’t jinx us yet, mate” Victor muttered as he kept up with them. The two were led through the halls of the building, pictures of Wallace hanging on the walls, each of them with him wearing a different outfit. Victor’s eyes were drawn to some of the outfits the guy modeled, some being a bit more risque than others.

“Our founder does have great fashion sense, doesn't he?” the guy leading them said

“That’s your founder?” Hop muttered, his cheeks red as he tried to not look at the risque outfits

“Yup. That’s Wallace” the guy explained “Our namesake and big icon”

“It’s one heck of a leap from Gym Leader to Fashion business, isn’t it?” Victor asked, his eyes still on the multiple pictures of Wallace that decorated the entire hall.

“Well yes,” their guide said as they finally reached an elevator at the back of the hall “But he didn’t do it all on his own.”

“I thought he was the founder” 

“Technically he’s the co-founder” their guide cleared up “He was approached by a former Elite 4 member from Johto who had the idea for the company. Wallace would be the image and he’d be the money man”

“Interesting. Why isn’t his name on the company then?” Hop asked as the elevator doors slid open

“From what I understand he’s a very private person” the guy explained as he pushed a button for one of the top floors “He’s a lot like Alistair actually. Wears a mask all the time and doesn't like going in public that often.”

“Wears a mask?” Victor muttered, trying to think who their guide could be referring to

“Yeah. Though it's not like the one our local Ghost Specliasist wears. It's more of a carnival mask, like those you’d see at Nimbassa City during a parade. He’s actually the one who does the negotiating for the models”

“Really?” the brown-haired young man asked

“Yup. It was his idea to have big names be the models for the brand. And he has a silver tongue! We haven’t had a single person he’s talked to turn down the job offer!”

“That’s….interesting…” Hop said, looking at his friend with a bit of concern clear in his face

“So… have you met this silent partner?” Victor asked as they approached the floor that was selected earlier

“One time,” their guide said with a smile “It was my first day here actually. I remember I was really nervous for some reason. I was also wearing some butt-ugly business suit thing, but then he took me aside and….” he blinked and scratched his head

“And then what?” Hop asked

“Can’t remember” the guy said, with a shrug “Oh well, details probably aren’t all that important. What I do remember is that afterward, I felt like, loads better. Way more relaxed and at home. And I started wearing much more fitting things” he gave the two a big smile as the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open “Ah good! Come on, I’ll show ya where Leon is!”

He stepped outside without hesitation, but the two young men hung back for a moment.

“I have a really bad feeling about this secret partner thing” Hop muttered as he watched the guide walking into the hallway “Like….really bloody bad”

“Same” Victor whispered back “I get the feeling there’s more to him than just being really good at contract negotiations”

“Agreed,” the violet-haired boy said with a nod “Does the description he gave ring any bells?”

“Not really,” Victor said with a shrug “The Kanto and Johto Elite 4 aren’t exactly the most chatty. And if one of them wears a mask, then I doubt he goes out of his way to get pictures taken…”

“Hey you two coming or what?” the guy called out to them

“Coming!” Victor called back before turning to Hop “Either way, keep your guard up”

“Agreed” Hop muttered back as the two stepped off the elevator and followed their guide deeper into the building.

The two were led to a large double door with a sign on it that said

Warning. Shoot could be in process. Enter with care

“Here we are!” their guide said with a big smile “This is the photo studio. Please be quiet as you go in, they could be in the middle of something”

“Wait, you're not coming in?” Hop asked, frowning a little

“Wish I could, but I need to head back to the front desk,” he said with a big smile that didn’t seem quite so innocent to the pair anymore. “Not really supposed to leave it. So I should head back before I get in trouble. See you guys later!” he turned around with that and walked off.

“Well, crap” Victor muttered as the guy disappeared into the hallway

“Not like he’d be that much help, to be honest mate,” Hop said as he slowly turned the nob of the door

“True” Victor muttered as he peeked in through the small opening Hop made. Most of the room seemed to be dark, with some light creeping out from further inside “Let’s just hope it’s Leon and a photographer in there”

“Yeah….” the violet-haired young man pushed the door, the two creeping inside.

“Is this a locker room?” Hop muttered as he pulled out his phone for some light. Victor blinked as Hop turned on the flashlight, and indeed, the place looked less like a fancy studio and more like a High School Locker room. On the back wall was a line of lockers, some benches nearby, and a shower. 

“The hell?” Victor muttered, walking over to the lockers. There were about four of them, though only one had a name on it and none had locks of any kind

Frowning, Victor put his hand on the nearest locker, opening it slightly before reading the name stamped on it. “L. Dande….”

“Dande?” Hop muttered as he walked over “That’s my last name….”

“Guess this is Leon’s locker” Victor muttered as he fully opened the thing. Inside was a Rotom Phone, a pair of pants, a shirt and sandals. “That’s a bit bare, isn’t it?”

“That’s what Leon was wearing every time I saw him back home” Hop muttered “He hasn’t worn his champion cape ever since he started working for this place. Or even shoes. He always looked like that”

“It’s not exactly something very fashionable either” Victor muttered as he ran his fingers over the sweatpants “I’d wear something like this if I woke up in the middle of the night…”

“Yeah…” Hop muttered “And he was acting like he was half asleep those few times I saw him”

“And then he stopped coming home…” Victor muttered, closing the locker and turning around, frowning slightly. “Come on, let’s go find him”

“Yeah…” Hop muttered as the two-headed through the opening where the light was coming from. The small hallway that led the two through had pictures hanging on the walls, all of them of Leon and Wallace. All of them showing off various types of underwear, like jockstraps and boxers in various very provocative poses.

“Whoever this secret partner is, they're really into guys in their underpants…” Hop mumbled

“Really into them,” Victor said as they finally reached the source of the light.

The two walked into a white room, with two people inside. One was a purple-haired young man standing behind a camera. And in the middle of the room, was Leon.

Hop’s eyes went wide as he saw his older brother bending over to show off his bare ass, as the jockstrap that was wrapped around his groin trembled as it was moved around.

“Good!” the photographer said, clapping “Now on your knees. Show us both your ass and your feet!”

“Yes sir!” Leon said, his voice sounding a lot slower and deeper than Victor remembered. It sounded like each word was a struggle to form without moaning. He got into the position the photographer asked for without hesitation “This good?”

“That’s perfect!” the photographer said, his cheery voice echoing through the mostly empty room. The snapping of the camera rang out shortly afterward. “Now, show us the bulge. We want the guys watching to see how good it will make them look!”

“Heh yeah!” Leon giggled, a sound that sounded weird to Victor. He got up and turned around, thrusting out his hips to make the bulge on the jockstrap stand out. Victor’s own bulge twitched at the sight, despite his best efforts.

“Good boy!” the photographer said as he started taking pictures.

“What the hell?” Hop whispered “We need to get him out of there”

“Shh!” Victor hissed, putting his finger over Hop’s mouth to shut him up. The two stayed there for a few seconds. 

“Perfect…. Now I think we need a good shot of your whole body” the photographer said, apparently not hearing the two. Victor sighed and gave his best friend a glare, getting a nervous smile in return. “Don’t you two agree?”

Victor’s eyes went wide as he heard that, quickly turning his head. The photographer was looking at the two of them, his purple eyes seemingly glowing in the lighting of the studio

“Shit” Victor cursed as he got up, grabbing a Pokeball from his belt, Hop doing the same.

“What the hell did you do to my brother!?” Hop shouted as he gripped the ball tightly

“Oh you mean L?” the photographer asked, a smirk on his face “I just made him a perfect model”

“L?! His name is Leon!” Hop shouted

“Oh, it is. Problem is, he’s a bit too dumb to remember a complicated name like that” the photographer chuckled “Isn't that right L?”

“Uh? Oh yeah!” Leon chuckled, clearly not paying attention to what was happening around him until he was called out. He smiled at the photographer as he just sat there, not even seeing Victor or Hop

“Leon! Bro look at me!” Hop shouted to him, only to be ignored as the muscular man turned to the photographer

“We taking more pics sir?” he asked calmly as if sitting there nearly nude was totally normal to him

“Not today L. Go ahead and take a break”

“Yes sir!” the champion said, a dumb chuckle escaping his lips as he got to his feet and headed off in the opposite direction

“L, remember. No wearing merchandise during break” the photographer said

“Oooh right! Sorry boss!” Leon said with a chuckle as he took off the jockstrap without hesitation and threw it to a pile in the corner. Then he just walked to the other side of the room, falling onto a beanbag chair and grabbing his cock, not caring that he had an audience in the slightest.

“H-How….W-Why…?” Victor stammered out, a bit flummoxed at seeing the charismatic champion he’d met a few months ago acting like a dumbass college bro.

“Part of the job,” the photographer said calmly as he looked at the two, his glowing eyes never blinking “See, it's a lot easier to get the models to agree to risque shots when they're too dumb and horny to refuse. Makes my job much, much easier”

“That’s it… Go Cinder-” Victor’s word’s died in his throat as he suddenly felt his entire body seize up, including his mouth. His tongue stopped mid-motion as a soft purple glow surrounded his body. Only his eyes remained free to move, and he saw that Hop was in a very similar position.

“Now, I don’t think calling out Pokemon would be beneficial here,” the photographer said, walking closer to the two, and grabbing the pokeballs from their hands. “This studio is not exactly a place built for fire types after all”

“H-How….” Hop managed to stammer out through the psychic holding them down.

“Heh, come on. I expect that our receptionist spilled the beans about a partner?” the photographer said “I should have made him more silent…. Too bad I have a thing for hot chatterboxes”

“Y-You're….partner……” Victor managed to spit out “Not….just….photo…..”

“Heh, yup. My name is Will” the guy said, taking a little bow to the two “Former Psychic expert of the Johto Elite 4. And current owner and photographer of a very successful company”

“W-Why….” Hop grunted out

“Shhhh,” Will said, patting Hop’s head as he took his belt. “Don’t you worry about that. It's not like you’ll be able to retain the answers”

“W-What……?” Victor spat out as Will walked over to him and took his own belt, and all his pokemon along with it.

“Oh, what do you think I’m just gonna let you walk out?” Will asked, a glimmer in his eyes “Please, I can’t let anyone who knows how I get my models leave the building. Can you imagine the drama that will come out of that? And all the police officers I’d have to deal with?” he shook his headache “Just a total mess”

“So……make…..forget?” Hop stammered out

“I could do that,” Will said with a nod “But the thing is, we have been getting complaints recently. Our customers keep telling us we’re missing some models for the 18-23 age demographic”.”

Victor’s eyes went wide as he realized what Will was saying. The psychic noticed that and gave him a grin

“Yup. I think you’ll two will make very good models for our company” Will said with a big smile

“N-No…..” Hop stammered out

“Oh don’t worry,” Will said, giving Hop a pat on the head “When I’m done, you’ll be very, very happy in this job” he walked over to Victor, using his powers to bring a chair over that came to a stop right in front of the brown-haired young man. The former member of the Elite 4 grinned and sat down, looking right at Victor.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” he said, putting his hand on the galarian’s forehead and sending a blast of energy into Victor’s mind.

Victor braced himself, but it didn’t do him any good, as it felt like his head was smothered in cotton. Everything around him began to go fuzzy. His fingers tingled as he couldn’t feel much, his eyes drooped slightly as everything became a hazy unfocused mess. Even his sense of smell began to fail him, as the smell of Will’s perfume became nothing.

That’s it a voice cut through the cotton, coming right from inside his head. Let go of all that unimportant stuff. Just focus on my voice.

“N-No!” Victor thought, closing his eyes as he tried to push the influence out

Oh not bad the voice said, followed by a laugh that sent shivers through Victor’s spine at the alien sensation of someone talking inside his brain There’s potential there. Oh well, I’ll make sure that the rest of you doesn't go to waste

“G-Get out!” Victor screamed in his mind “G-GET OUT!” he thought, putting all his energy into it. He saw Will visibly wince a bit, which sent some pride through his body. 

“Fine…. Let’s try something a bit….stronger” Will put both his hands on Victor’s temples and his eyes glowed bright purple. Victor barely had time to react as he felt energy course through his skull and into his mind

“S-STOP!”

Shhh. Don’t fight it. Just listen

That one word carried power as it blasted through the cotton and into Victor’s head. His eyes went wide as he felt it tear through. He shivered as the sensation ran through his body, the tent in pants returning as waves of pleasure rang out from his head down to his loins.

There we go….. That feels great, doesn't it?

Victor blinked, feeling a wave of pleasure run through his whole body with each word that Will whispered into his brain. 

“Y-Yes….” he muttered, his mouth suddenly free of the psychic hold. It was hard to muster up any real emotion, as the moment he tried to focus on anything except Will’s voice, another blast to his groin broke the line of thought with nothing but pure ecstasy.

Good. See, it wasn’t so hard to answer my question, was it? Will asked each word is like a shock straight to the young man’s pleasure centers

“N-No…” Victor moaned out, his whole body shivering as the tent in his pants grew harder

Good. Now, tell me. Are you happy?

“A-Am I happy?” Victor blinked, a bit confused by the question, but another blast of pleasure stopped him from

Are you happy?

“Yeah, I’m happy,” Victor said “I’m about to compete in the league!”

The league that was canned? Will’s voice asked, making the young man blink

“W-Wait…. I-It’s still gonna happen” he muttered, his eyes drooping slightly as Will sent more energy through his temples, blocking out any thoughts that didn’t pertain to what they were talking about.

Is it? With all this drama, chaos, stress. Do you really want that?

“W-What….C-Course I do!” Victor muttered, blinking as he felt more of Will’s influence wash over him with every spoken word

Do you? Look at Leon. He’s so happy now. So relaxed and calm, free of all stress and worries. All that he worries about now is looking good and feeling pleasure. Do you think he was that happy as champion?

“C-Course he was!” Victor said, frowning as the words wormed inside his mind

Was he? Look at him Will stepped aside, his hands never leaving the young man’s head. He got a good view at Leon sitting on a beanbag, staring ahead at seemingly nothing and giggling, his hands down in his privates. No shame. Now stresses, no worries. Nothing but happiness and pleasure. Doesn't that sound nice?

“B-But…..” Victor muttered, blinking as Will stepped back in front of him, a smile on his face

Is being a trainer worth all this hassle? Will asked All the stress of traveling. Of sleeping in the woods for days on end, on the cold hard ground?

“B-But….” Victor blinked, moaning as Will sent another blast of psychic energy through him. His cock twitched as his thoughts were muddled

Living from battle to battle just so you can scrounge up enough cash for supplies and to look after your Mons.  All those potions, all that food. While you wash your clothes in a stream. Isn’t all of that just so stressful?

“Y-Yeah….b-but” Victor stammered out, his eyes going hazy slowly as Will’s words went deeper and deeper into his mind

Its tyring thinking all the time isn’t it? Knowing all that stuff that stresses you out. Dangers of pokemon. Stresses of money. All that stuff comes with intelligence. All that stuff that comes from beinging a trainer. And its tiring isnt it?

As Will said those words, his eyes briefly flashed and Victor felt a wave of lethargy wash over him. His frozen arms ached, his eyes drooped slightly and he felt the urge to yawn.

“I-It is….” Victor agreed

I can take all that away. I can take all those stresses, all those worries, all that exhaustion away. I can leave nothing but pleasure and happiness inside of your head

“Y-You can?” Victor blinked, as the cotton in his head made it impossible to focus on anything except what Will was saying “W-Why?”

Because I want you to be happy. People being happy is a good thing, isn’t it?

“Y-Yeah it is…” Victor muttered, seeing the logic there as he felt another shiver of pleasure

All you need to do is agree to it Will’s voice said Just say yes, and all that stress, all that worry will be gone. Expelled from your mind in a wave of pure bliss. Do you want that?

“Y-Yes!” Victor moaned, his eyes going wide as he felt a smile form on his face “I want that!”

“Good answer!” Will said, not in his head this time, but with his mouth. He moved his hands, taking one off the guy’s head and moving the other to his forehead. The tip of his finger glowed a bright pink. 

Victor was about to ask what he was doing, but then he was hit the greatest wave of pleasure he had ever flet in his life. All the nerves in his body were screaming in pure ecstasy as Will put on finger on his forehead.

“You feel that, right?” he saked with a smirk, to which Victor weakly nodded “That’s all those thoughts keeping you stressed and unhappy. All of them are moving to were my finger is, out of your brain and into this specific spot”

Victor gasped in pleasure as he felt everything drain out of his brain. It felt like bubbles popping inside of his skull as each thought, each shred of his IQ, flew out of his neurons and right below Will’s finger. The psychic began to slowly move it downwards, past his nose and face and down his throat. 

Victor’s eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head as pleasure just flowed through his entire body. Each slight motion sent even more arousal through his body. His cock was straining aginst his jeans, as hard as rock and twitching with need every second. 

Will just smirked and kept moving the thoughts further and further down, across his chest, his abs his waist. Until he finally reached the strained tent in the front of Victor’s pants. He grinned and gave his cock a light tap, before the cotton fuzz suddenly cleared from the trainers mind as he momentarily broke his hold on Victor.

The young man gasped and fell to his knees, panting and sweating as the pleasure rushed through his entire body, and he groaned as he felt his cock strain and twitch inside his pants

“Now listen carefully,” Will said, his finger not leaving Victor’s cock “When I count back from three, you’ll cum. You’ll cum harder then you ever have in your life. And as you cum, all that stuff will drain out of your head. It will leave as a big sticky blob, and you’ll be free of those thoughts. That sounds great, doesn't it?”

“Y-YES!” Victor panted, a dumb smile on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Hop was staring at him in confusion, but he couldn't understand why. He’d never felt this good before, he’d do anything to get this to be permanent

“Good boy.” Will gave him one last strong poke on the dick, getting one giant moan from Victor. “Three”

Hearing that, Victor’s hands flew down to his pants, not even bothering to unbutton them, instead ripping the button off as he tore them in half and threw them downwards to his knees. 

“Two”

He grabbed his boxers and pulled them down in a split second, his cock bouncing up in the cold air of the studio, letting slip another moan 

“Fuuuuuck” he moaned as his bright red cock bounced up and down, twitching desperately for release.

“One” Will said and suddenly and it was like a floodgate opened. Victor’s eyes went wide as he felt what felt like a dam breaking in his loins. 

“GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOH!” he both shouted and moaned as his cock blasted out its load. It shot out like a hose, as thick white cum blasted out by the gallon. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, his mouth hanging open in a dumb smile as he not only felt his cock drain but also his brain. Mathematics, science, geography, understanding of pokemon battling, typing, rasing, all of that was drained out of him.

“OH FUCK YES!” he gasped out, thrusting his hips and humping the empty air as waves of arousal shot through him, more and more of his brain-draining out his cock. Memories of his travels, of his pokemon. Of spending money, of worrying about getting enough from battles to buy enough supplies for the next week, stressing out about getting his pokemon to the Center, all of this disappeared. 

As he finished cumming, a few drops falling from his now permanently hard cock as his eyes looked around, lacking the light of intelligence that was present there just a few moments ago. Panting, he looked to his left, seeing Will, poking Hop’s member through his equally tented pants. Right as Will said three, Victor fell face-first to the ground, into the puddle of cum he had just blasted out, and fell asleep, the effort of cumming out his brains leaving him totally exhausted.

==================

Two Weeks Later

Vic yawned as he opened his eyes, a dumb smile on his face as he felt the sunlight trickle in from the one window that rested right above his bed.

“Man that was a good sleep….” he mumbled, his voice sounding much slower and deeper than it had two weeks ago. He grabbed the snow-white sheets he slept on and threw them aside, hopping off the mattress and onto the cold tiled floor. He shivered as he felt his bare feet hit it, but that didn’t bother him much. The dumb smile still on his face, he walked over to the full-length mirror that made up the inside of his door. 

He smiled as he struck a pose, something that had become reflex whenever he saw a reflective surface of any kind and looked over his body. The twig of a trainer he’d been two weeks ago was gone, and he now had a body that most professional swimmers lusted after. The lithe muscle in his legs and arms, with his chest, well-sculpted with muscles, but not the over-the-top abs that L had, and no body hair to speak off. His cock bounced up, instantly growing hard at the thought of his fellow model. He moaned and giggled, wrapping a hand around it as he opened the door and started to slowly pump it up and down. Right before he could really get going, the door to his room was thrown open, his fellow stud standing on the other end.

“Morning Vic!” Hop said, his hands on his waist as his member stood up twitching and hard for all to see. His body was almost an exact copy of Vic’s, same muscles, same lack of body hair, the only difference was his natural darker skin color. He walked in and kissed Vic on the cheek and gave his cock a quick poke

“Heh, morning Hop” Vic giggled, his head feeling like fireworks were going off inside at the mere sight of his fellow model. He leaned in and kissed him too. Any memories relating to their time as rivals were long gone from the head of the two models, along with most of the knowledge that once was in there. As far as the two were concerned, they were just hot models who worked for their master and have been like that their whole lives. “Is master ready for us?”

“Just about!” Hop said with a dumb smile, giving Vic’s dick a tug as he led him out of the room. Vic moaned and followed with a dumb chuckle. The two exited the room, and onto the carpeted hallways of the studio that was the entire world to the two dumb, horny models. “He’s just wrapping up some shoot with L and then we’re up”

“Heh perfect!” Vic moaned, pulling his dick free of his partner’s grasp. He smiled and stared at the toned ass of the young man leading him through the complex halls of the studio “How the fuck can you get around here anyway? I get lost aaaaalll the fucking time!”

“Hehehe, so does L!” Hop chuckled 

“And you did too, don’t try and pretend your some smart-ass,” Vic said, giving him a poke in the butt, earning a horny chuckle from the other model “You're as dumb as the rest of us”

“Fuck yeah I am!” Hop chuckled “I’d never want to be smart! Being smart is master’s job!”

“Exactly!” Vic said, not removing his finger, instead of moving it over to the other model’s hole “Still haven’t answered the question, mate”

“Oh riiiiiiight!” Hop moaned as he felt the finger slip inside. Despite that the two kept walking, being so used to feeling pleasure that they had grown numb enough to walk and fuck at the same time “Heh, master explained the carpet has a line to follow”

“Huh?” Vic muttered, looking down. Indeed their bare feet were walking over a yellow line in the center of the red carpet. Each turn they took was Hop following the line “Wow, I’m such  a fucking dumbass!” Vic giggled, pulling his finger out of Hop.

“Heh, course you are!” Hop giggled back as they finally reached the studio proper. The brown-haired model had to bite his tongue not to moan at the sight of L leaning over, showing his perky ass in the lycra running tights he was wearing as Master Will took pictures of it.

“Good! That was perfect L” Master said as he stepped away from the camera.

“Thank you, sir!” L said with a dumb laugh as he stripped the tights off and threw them aside, letting his massive member swing between his legs. Vic’s eyes locked onto it and he began to drool a little.

“Mate, your hard-on is showing” Hop whispered, making  Vic turn red as he winked at this partner

“When isn’t it?” he whispered back as L strode by, fist-bumping both his bros with a “sup” as he passed the two, giving Vic a full view of his member in the process, “and it’s not like your any better”. 

“Heh, yeah true,” said the purple-haired hunk with a horny grin on his face as he reached down with one hand to give his hard dick a few quick strokes. The sight of L working the camera clearly having the same effect on both young models. 

“Ah good! You're both here!” Master Will said, snapping Vic’s attention back to him “Rested up and ready I hope?”

“Of course sir!” Hop said with a big smile as he walked over to the set, Vic right behind him

“Heh, good answer. Now, get dressed boys” Master Will threw them some speedos. Vic grabbed a bright blue one and smiled while got a slick black pair

“We doing swimsuits today?” he asked, despite the obvious answer being in his hands

“Yep. Summer is almost here, so we need some good shots of the new range of speedos” Master Will said. Vic grinned and slipped on the tight rubbery swimwear up his smooth toned legs, moaning as he felt it squish his erection flat. “Perfect. Let’s get started. Get over there Vic and bend over, we need some ass shots”

“Heh, yes sir!” Vic said as he turned around and bent over, showing his well-tuned ass to the camera. Each time he heard the camera click, those fireworks went off in his empty head and he couldn’t help but giggle. 

Click, click, click.

“Ok great work Vic,” Master Willl said as he checked over the last few shots on the camera’s view screen “Right your turn Hop, I want you boys to swap so I can get some more solo shots before I move on to the more fun stuff”. 

Like the obedient models, they were the two traded places just like their master ordered, Hop stepping onto the set and Vic moving out of frame to watch his hot partner work.  

“I fucking love my job” he muttered as he got a good look at Hop’s ass while the other model got into position for their master.

“Perfect stay right there Hop, but I want you down on your knees” Will directed his model around while checking the shot through the viewfinder “Good, now put hands behind your head, spread your legs a bit, flex for me and look sexy for the camera”.  

“Oh yeah, I really fucking love my job” Vic declared as he watched Hop flex and show off his sexy abs under their Master’s instruction.

==================

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[milf-harrington]

completely forgot about my tattoo and thought i had dirt smudged on my arm and you can imagine my frustration when it wouldnt come off

[foreverindreamlandd]

Whatever Happens, Wherever I Go....

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

WC: 1.2k

Summary: You wake up to a voicemail from Bucky, and suddenly your worst nightmare has become a reality.

Note: This fic is for @pellucid-constellations Love Letters Writing Challenge! Thank you for putting this together Kathie. :) No warnings except that this is an angsty one folks….

~~~~~

It started out as a particularly lovely morning.

You had slept in, allowing whatever pleasant dream you were having pull you under for a few extra hours until a soft, warm ray of sunlight hit your eyelids at just the right angle, gently easing you from your peaceful slumber.

You were thankful for the extra time that had passed while you slept, because it meant that there were less painful hours to endure until Bucky would return from his latest mission tonight.

Just a few more hours until his arms would be around yours, and you’d feel your heart set back into place, the ache of missing him the past few weeks dissipating as his lips brushed over your skin.

A small smile curved its way up your lips as you turned over to your bedside table, grabbing your phone to check the time so that the countdown could officially begin.

You frowned when you were met with a black screen, and you realized that your charger hadn’t been plugged in and your phone was dead.

A small bubble of nerves formed in your stomach at the idea of unknowingly being unreachable to Bucky for hours.

Plugging in your phone and staring at it as it powered on at an excruciatingly slow pace, the nerves increased tenfold when you saw the voicemail notification from Bucky Bae Barnes.

You quickly unlocked your phone and opened the message, putting the device to your ear as nerves slowly turned to dread.

“Hey baby.”

His voice was a low whisper, strained as if in pain, and you shot up to sitting. Something was wrong.

“I uh, I’m not gonna lie. Things are lookin’ pretty shitty where I am right now. Don’t have time to go into details, but I’m in some serious trouble. It’s late, so you’re probably asleep, which is good. I’d honestly be concerned if I had to say this to you right now because knowing you, you’d haul ass to try to save me like the amazing tough broad you are-” a soft chuckle turned into a hiss of pain that echoed in your ear as you choked back a small sob. “Anyways, I uh…unfortunately I don’t think I’m gonna make it out of this one. I’m so sorry, baby. I swear I tried my best, but there were these kids that we didn’t anticipate being there and I needed to get them out and…and now I’m stuck.

“I’m gonna try my best to get home to you, sweetheart, but right now the only thing I can focus on is the need to just tell ya how much I fucking love you.” There was a sudden bang on the other side that made you jump even though you weren’t in danger, and Bucky groaned in pain. He started talking more quickly as if there were a clock in front of him saying his time was running out. “Shit. Okay, listen, I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life, and been haunted by so many fucking demons that it got to the point where I never thought I would find anything good in this world ever again. And then, suddenly, there you were, this shining star in a sea of darkness. You are my light, my heart, my everything, and being by your side for as long as I’ve been able to has been an absolute privilege. I’ll never know what I did to get so lucky, but know that whatever happens to me and…wherever I go, I’ll always be thankful for your love. You are my entire heart, everything I have is yours.”

Tears streamed down your face as more commotion echoed in the background of wherever Bucky had been. There were yells, and you heard the sound of gunshots.

“Shit. Okay baby I have to go. I-” his voice broke, “I love you. Forever and alwa-”

The line cut out, the unfinished statement of Bucky’s last words consuming you as gross, wet sobs forced their way out of you.

Your whole body shook as pain ripped through your entire being. No longer possessing any strength to hold it, the phone fell onto the bed and you curled into a ball completely overwhelmed by the anguish coursing through your veins.

A chaotic stream of thoughts ran through your brain, half-formed and crazed.

He can’t be gone there’s no way-

How can one phone call be the end of what should have been a lifetime of happiness-

I should have told him to stay home-

He should be here with me-

My Bucky. My Bucky. My Bucky.

Nonononononono-

No.

“No,” you said out loud finally, sitting up, wiping your tears away and picking up your phone.

You got out of bed, determination taking over and you called Bucky’s phone. The line went dead - as you figured it would but still it couldn’t hurt to check. Your next call was Steve as you threw on a hoodie and stormed to the front door of your apartment.

If anyone was going to have answers and do whatever it takes to find Bucky, it would be Steve.

He answered after the first ring, breathless. “Y/n, I’ve been trying to reach you-”

“We have to find Bucky-” you said over him as you threw the door open-

You stopped short, mouth open and eyes wide with shock.

“Y/n,” Steve continue, “Bucky’s okay he’s heading over now-”

He didn’t need to convey that information, though.

You saw that for yourself.

Bucky stood before you, body covered with grime and blood, chest rising and falling as he gasped for air as if he had run from whatever country he had been in last night to your doorstep.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” he panted, hands reaching out to cradle your face, frantic eyes piercing yours to gauge your reaction. “My phone got blasted and I tried to get here as soon as I could and I feel like a dick for leaving you that message and making you worry-”

Unable to control yourself, you grabbed the back of his head and crashed your lips against his. Bucky groaned in relief and he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, his hands moving to your waist to pull you closer.

He tasted like iron and dirt and salt (wait, that last one was you and the fresh tears falling down your face), but above all that, he tasted like Bucky. The familiarity of his touch rushed through you and suddenly your kiss was interrupted by the returning sobs.

Bucky pulled away so he could kiss the wetness from your cheeks, his lips moving in a random pattern all over your face as he murmured more I’m sorrys and I love you so much before placing your head to his chest, one hand running over your hair and the other roaming over your body as if reassuring himself that you were here with him.

Through the fabric of his Kevlar suit, Bucky’s heart beat in a steady rhythm against your cheek, slowly easing all of the nerves you had felt moments ago.

The two of you stood that way in silence for a few minutes, swaying from side to side as you clung to each other. There were a million questions tucked somewhere in the back of your mind, but those didn’t matter right now.

Whatever had happened, wherever he had gone, none of that was important.

All that mattered was that Bucky was here, and your heart had finally set back into place.

~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! Feel free to check out my other stuff here. :)

No pressure at all, but if you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me through my kofi account!

Tags: @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @eclipses-and-moondust @itsdawnashlie @peaches1958 @blackwidownat2814 @barnesafterglow @sweetascanbee @amazingangelaaa @mymindslabyrinth @fictional-l0v3r @emi11ie @spideysimpossiblegirl

[spacecadet-ticklesinspace]

Prompt idea!

Peter 2, Peter 3, and Harry have a competition to see who can make Peter 1 laugh the most! Peter 2 makes him smile but I see Peter 3 or Harry being the winner because i think they are the funniest. This can include some tickles but doesn't have to! Either way its cute. Hope you like this prompt idea!

(I love this, this is so precious! ❤️ Thank you Anon! Enjoy!)

Whose the Funniest?

Summary: See prompt above :)

"There he is."

Peter 1 snapped his head up. "Hm?"

In the doorway of the living room was a line of grinning faces all directed toward the youngest. Two was in front followed by Three and Harry in the back.

"Um . . . Hi? Did---Did you guys need something?"

Two took the lead forward. "You to keep being your adorable self."

"What?"

Three stepped in next. "It's simple Bug. You keep being cute."

Peter 2 smirked at his younger brother. "Meanwhile, some of us will have to do some heavy lifting."

Peter 1 set his phone aside. "What do you mean heavy lifting?"

"You and Harry are going down Two."

"No way! We've got this in the bag."

One's eyes widened as his legs curled inward. The youngest began scooting back across the couch until he hit the arm of the couch. As he watched his older two brothers bicker, a shadow passed over him.

Peter 1 looked up to see Harry grinning down at him.

"Hiya."

With a squeak, One jumped away. "What has gotten into you three?"

"Oh, just a small challenge."

Peter 3 stepped around his baby brother and ruffled his hair as he plopped next to him on the couch. "A teeny tiny itty-bitty challenge."

The youngest leaned away from the other two before he bumped into a solid surface. "Eep!"

Two's arms wrapped around Peter 1 before pulling him into his lap. "A teeny tiny itty-bitty challenge with the best itty-bitty baby brother around."

A blush spread across One's cheek. "Wh-what d-do you want w-with me?"

"Simple." Peter 2 readjusted his hold. "You be you and we have to get you to laugh without tickling."

"What!"

"We all think we can make you laugh easily with no tickles required." Two squeezed him close. "So of course we had to test it."

"Why me?"

"Because we also think we're each funnier than the others. So you have to be the decider," Peter 3 added.

Harry joined the trio on the couch. "This'll be easy, the kid practically giggles at everything we do."

The youngest Peter blushed. "No I don't!"

"Yesterday you were laughing at Peter 3 pouring a bowl of cereal."

Peter 1 blushed. "I was tired!"

"Sleep deprivation does help," Two commented. "But can you do it when he's well rested?"

"Oho yes I can." Three held out his hands. "Gimme!"

The youngest squeaked.

Two angled him away from the tallest. "No! We agreed I'd go first!"

The oldest Peter crossed his arms with a pout. "Awww, fine."

"Yay!"

As Two pulled the youngest back upright, One blushed bright red with a small smile on his face.

"You got a minute Pete. No more than that," Harry reminded.

"I know."

Three smirked. "Then let the best man win."

"Alright Peanut, let's show off those giggles."

Before One could respond, two hands came up to squish his face.

"Of course, with this wittwe face, who couwldnt hewp but wove youw."

The small grin on the youngest's face slowly grew bigger.

"I could just eat you uwp, but then I'd have tow be tested fowr diabetes."

The blush on One's face grew even darker, but he knew if he opened his mouth to protest, he'd trip over his words.

The hands on his face switched to light pinches along his cheeks. "Whose a pweciouws baby? Is it youw? Are youw the pweciouws baby?"

"N-no!"

"That was a stutter." Two playfully pinched and shook One's nose. "Do those giggles just need help getting out?"

The youngest grinned like an idiot and playfully pushed against Two's hand.

"Aww, is the baby getting flustered?"

One's grin brightened as he shook his head.

"No?" Two put a hand on his hip. "Is my owdest bwothewr magic not wowking?"

Peter 1 shook his head again. His brother was such a loving idiot.

Two wrapped his arms around his brother in a firm squeeze. "Well, good thing I have the best baby brother in the wold tow hewp me practice. I'm gonna hold you forever and tell you how cuwte you are."

Peter 1 really wished he could pull his hands up to bury his face in them.

Suddenly, a timer went off nearby.

"No!" Two whined. "I was so close!"

"You got him grinning Pete, but you were no where near getting him to laugh." Harry stood. "Besides, it's my turn now."

Peter 2 pouted as he released the youngest. "Okay."

The next thing One knew, he was scooped up into Harry's arms.

The tallest of the trio sat back on the couch. "There we go. You're lighter than I thought you'd be."

Peter 1's blush darkened again. "Hey!"

"Times ticking Harry."

Harry readjusted his hold so he was cradling the youngest Peter in his arms. "Seriously, I don't have your brothers' super strength, but I don't need much of my own to hold you."

One's face was beet red.

"Check this out." Harry tipped the youngest back. "Allyoop! And now you're upside down with ease."

"Eeep!"

"Ah!" Harry grinned. "I got a squeal!"

Two crossed his arms. "It has to be laughter to count."

"Really?" Harry gently shook Peter 1. "Maybe I have to shake them loose."

"Ahh!"

"Where are they hiding?"

"N-no where!"

Harry pulled the youngest back up to kiss his forehead. "Hmm, I just don't think I'm looking in the right places."

One was grinning even brighter. He hadn't had time to recover from the smother fest from Two so his cheeks were still aflame and he was getting close to giggling.

Harry pulled the youngest close. "Are they hiding in your ear?"

"No."

Harry booped his nose. "Are they hiding in your nose?"

One shook his head.

Harry pinched his cheek. "Are they hiding in these wittwe cheeks?"

The youngest gently pushed on his hand. "N-no!"

"Oh, I think they are." Harry tapped the youngest's cheek. "I think there's a bunch of giggles hiding under here, but someone's to stubborn to let them out. Maybe I just need too---."

Suddenly, a timer interrupted Harry's statement.

The older man groaned. "Come on! Seriously!"

"That's what I thought too," Two replied with a smirk.

"But I was closer than you!"

"But you still didn't get him to break."

While the other two were bickering, One started to slide out of Harry's lap. He almost slid all the way to the floor before Peter 3 piped up. "Now it's my turn!"

Harry scooped the youngest back up. "Here ya go."

The youngest Peter squeaked as he was passed to his older brother.

"Aww, were youw twying tow hide fwom me?" Three cooed.

Peter 1 smiled. "No!"

"Mmm, kind of wooked wike youw wewe." Three's finger poked along his face.

Peter 1 could feel the giggles building up in the back of his throat. For whatever reason, the middle Peter could have him laughing easily.

"Your time is a ticking Three."

The middle Peter smirked. "Oh I have just the thing."

Before One could respond, a hand was placed over his eyes.

"Uh-oh."

The hand was pulled back. "Peekaboo!"

One hid his mouth behind his hands.

Three repeated the movements. "Peekaboo!"

The youngest could feel his shoulders shaking from suppressed giggles. He did not want to break this early.

Until Peter 3 repeated the actions once again. "Peekaboooo!"

A squeak slipped out.

"Oooh, what was that?"

One shook his head.

Three grinned. Then he crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. "Blech!"

Peter 1's eyes widened. The giggles were quickly traveling up his throat.

Peter 3 lifted up the tip of his nose and stuck his tongue back out. "Blech!"

The youngest bit his tongue and tried to keep them at bay.

Then Peter 3 recovered One's eyes. He pulled them back and had a new silly face. "Blech!"

And then the giggles slipped out.

"Oop!" The older brother pulled the youngest's hands back down. "What was that?"

Peter 1 tried to stifle them, but he couldn't keep them at bay with his brother looking at him like that. And he broke down into a ball of giggles.

"Ha!" Three cheered.

Harry's jaw dropped. "No!"

Peter 2 placed a palm on his forehead. "How! How!"

"Doesn't matter." Peter 3 stood and tossed his baby brother into the air. "I win!"

Meanwhile, Peter 1 was a blushy ball of squealy giggles. Yeah, Peter 3 had a way of making him laugh on command. He was just too goofy.

When Three finished spinning in a circle, Peter 2 was standing. "I declare a rematch!"

"You can have a rematch, but I'll still win!" Three held the youngest up by his armpits. "We just have that connection."

Peter 2 smiled at the look of pure joy and innocence on One's face. He looked even more like a little kid when he smiled like that. "Aww, what's got you all smiley?"

One hid behind his hands. "Nohothihing."

To give his brother a break, Peter 3 set One in a nearby chair. He turned back around to the oldest. "If you want to do a rematch, I declare hide and seek."

"What do you mean?"

"We get one chance to find him and one chance to make him laugh without tickles." Three crossed his arms. "That way it's more spread out and fair."

Peter 2 shrugged. "I think that's fair. What do you think Harry?"

When the two Peters turned to where Harry had been sitting, they found he had disappeared.

"Harry?"

Both older Peters turned to ask One if he had seen him, but the youngest was gone as well.

"Did they---?"

"I think they did."

Peter 2 smirked. "Shall we find them?"

Three smirked back. "Let's."

And the older two Peters scurried off to find where the hidden duo had disappeared too.

[occasionalhumor]

Jealousy

Dom!Hawks drabble that my friends and I noodled around!

Art by RatedKiki - Age Verfied Twitter

[cw: semi-public sex, jealousy, AFAB, light mentions of breeding and pregnancy]

1042 words/4 min read

It’d been a few months since you and Hawks went public with your relationship. The Heroes had won the war and with his newfound time he was able to relax a little and toy around with a relationship.

But with him being a public figure, fan outcry was bound to happen. You had been called everything under the sun by jealous fans. But Hawks wasn’t without his fair share of male discourse.

Hawks snagged your phone after you scoff in frustration. He examines the wall of text on your Instagram from an account under, "Hawks.Aint.Shit"

"Babe, it's really nothing. I get hit on all the time, since we went public." you say, holding out your palm to collect your phone, "I'll just block him like the rest."

Hawks scoffed, "I don't know, he's pretty descriptive, Dove." 

He scrolls up, reading previous attempts and his feathers fluff in agitation. His eyes pinned when he read across, 'he's probably small, can't even fuck a girl like you right. Why don't you let daddy come make you feel real good.'

Hawks' brows furrow and he sits up from your side, placing his arm around your shoulder and leans into you.

"Please give me my phone back." You ask, reaching for it, but Hawks extends his arm, reading on.

"Let me deal with it." Hawks growls.

"Babe, no! Really, let me just block them."

Hawks darts a feather that collects your phone from his hand and turns back to you. He cupped your face in his hand and forcefully planted a kiss on your lips.

"I'll show both of you then." He growled into your bottom lip before nipping it.

You let out a soft moan as he trails his hand between your legs, rubbing over the zipper of your jeans. He made quick work of the clothing on both of you, discarding them over the living room and dove onto your clit.

He sucked with rigor, sliding his digits into you impatiently. With his free hand, he rubbed himself, his knuckles beating against the back of your thigh.

You were too caught up in the feelings to notice that a feather drifted its way to the table and collected your phone, bringing it into Hawks' pre-covered palm.

"Sing just the way I like, baby." he coos, pressing his cockhead down with his thumb, angling his phone camera down.

As he sheathed himself into you, you let out a deep, guttural moan.

"Yeah, just like that, baby."  He encouraged, bringing one foot down from the side of the couch, the other tucked tightly between your hip and back cushions.

He pulls his length from you, slowly, the camera catching the glistening slick on his shaft. He pulls your hips up, curving your lower back as he glides himself inside again, rubbing it’s head over the plush nerves that sent shivers up your spine.

"Atta girl." He coos in your ecstasy, "you like that, huh? That's your favorite spot?"

He thrusts into you at a quick pace, turning his head to the floor length mirror on the other side of the room.

"No one can fuck you like I can, right, Dove?" He asks, holding the camera up to show himself, balls deep with each thrust and you gripping at the pillow behind your head.

You moan a no as he sped up, brushing his head over your spongey pocket.

"Hawks..." you stumble over the word.

"ah, ah, say my name." He coaxes, never breaking the camera angle from the mirror.

You gave him large eyes that rolled back as he rubbed your clit. He never uses his name, even after the war, he almost exclusively goes by Hawks.

"Say it. Who fucks you right without even using their quirk, hm?" He thrusts to each word.

"You...you Keigo!" You moan his name like honey as he pinches your clit.

"That's right, baby." He stares into the lens in the mirror, "and this is the best these creeps are gonna get right?"

"Mhmph..." You moan as your orgasm grows closer.

"Yeah, you're in her DMs and I'm fucking her raw. We're not the same." He says before ending the video and pressing send. He tossed the phone back on the table as he leaned over you, sloppily kissing your lips. He shoved his tongue into your mouth, and huffed as you gasped at his last thrust. He let his cock throb inside your walls, pumping his hips lightly.

“Fuck, I don’t care what I have to do to get these guys to stop messaging you.” He trailed kisses down your neck to your ear, “maybe a viral leaked sex video will do.”

Your body quaked at the thought of people watching you getting fucked on your couch by the Number 2 Pro Hero. But you’d be lying if it didn’t excite you.

You moan against his shoulder as he pulls his hips back and continues to explore your cunt. Hawks huffed into your shoulder before getting frustrated and sitting up.

“Or I could get you pregnant, cum so deep that the baby looks just like me?” He chuckled thrusting harshly into you.

A wave of electricity came over you as he pulled your hips up again, and vigorously rubbed your clit, “Oooo, you like that?”

He teased as he thrusted with every word, “Like the thought of carrying a baby just like me? Huh?”

You clench on his cock as your orgasm takes over. He continued to rub your puffy clit causing your legs to shake in stimulation, “Honestly, I’d want them to look like you. Either way, our child, oh fuck, is gonna be one fine baby.”

Hawks quickly pumped his head into you a few times before inserting his entire length in again and finishing inside you. He let himself cock warm as he laid over you, flopping his wings one over the back of the couch and the other to the floor.

He cradled his face on your collarbone and ran fingers through your hair and hummed.

Your phone buzzed and his quickly followed with an onslaught of chimes. He sent feathers to collect them and the notifications clearly explained the video had made its way to the gossip news.

“Pro Hero Hawks Porn Leak!”

[1tad0ri]

OKAY hey girl lemme j say how invested in this blog i am going to be . okay . so uh yuuji being the horny shit he is and texting you late at night to come to his room n you barely get through the door b4 he’s grabbing at you n telling you how much he missed your body n how he was *thinking* of you before n j URGH lemme get dat pls 🤲🤲

warning: body worship, eating out

itadori yuuji x fem!reader

AHDHSJJS FIRST OF ALL THANK YOUUU that’s so sweet!!! <3 second of all, girl i gotchu

“for fuck’s sake.” the shuffle of your sneakers along the corridor was almost too loud in the otherwise quiet space, phone screen lit up and reflecting back at you as you scrolled through the text messages that had gotten you into this situation in the first place.

one peaceful night was what you wanted. one goddamn full night’s rest. oh... but it was so hard to ignore him, no matter what time he texted you.

the amount of times you wanted to pretend to be asleep was outshone by the fact that you always wanted to talk to yuuji. eccentric and playful, he hit all the points on your ‘boyfriend checklist.’

arriving in front of his door, you sighed, clicking your phone screen off and stuffing the device into your back pocket—you hoped that he hadn’t asked you to come over to play uno at 2 a.m. again. the “can you please come over?” text had been fairly ominous, but truthfully you wouldn’t mind just cuddling up to him and falling asleep if he wanted.

you twisted the doorknob—he always left his room unlocked like a dummy (a cute dummy) and by this point you knew to spare yourself the knocking, knowing a reply of “it’s open!” would just reach you from inside.

the door creaked open under a single push and you stepped inside the familiar room, the movement already rehearsed in your mind during the walk from your dorm over to his.

“yuuji, what do you-”

heavy lips against the corner of your mouth interrupted you when someone pulled you into their chest—they’d missed your own lips in their haste but your mouth fell open in shock all the same, you squeaking as you stumbled into their arms, trying to find something to grab ahold of. your hands found warm shoulders to dig into as your regained your balance and you barely registered the click of the door shut behind you.

steady now, you untangled yourself from the person, pulling back to find yuuji staring back at you—of course it was him, this was his room after all.

he was already diving back into your lips before you could speak, and you know what? you let him. his mouth was hot when it pressed to yours and when his hand on your back pushed your waist closer to him and you felt the nudge of something hard against your leg, you decided he could do whatever he wanted to you at that point.

your arms travelled up from his shoulders to loop around his neck properly and he held you against him, so sweet and boyish when his tongue hungrily nudged between your lips, asking for entrance.

yuuji tilted his head back from yours enough to speak once he’d had his fill of shoving his tongue down your throat, hands wandering down to rub at you through your shorts. “do you know how long i’ve been thinking about this?” his voice was husky, eyes glazed over—he was lost to his desires already.

his fingers cupped your mound, shoving the pads of them against your cunt through the fabric, making you whine. “fuck, you’re so perfect.” a quick kiss to your lips. “always so much better than what i imagine.” another kiss, but this time, when he tried to pull away, you tugged him back.

you ground down on his fingers, nipping at his lips, legs shaking. “yuuji, h-harder.” he did as he was told, pressing along your underside blindly until he found your clit, knowing it was the right spot when you let out a surprised, “oh—”

then his hands were back on your sides (despite how much he loved the feeling of you melting against his chest from barely anything at all, the heat radiating from your pussy evident even without him directly touching it) and when he whispered, “jump,” into your ear, you did as you were told, his arms catching you easily and hoisting you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist, grinding your cores together. once again, you were thanking the universe for blessing you with such a strong boyfriend.

yuuji was pushing his face into your neck, breathing you in, babbling, tasting the skin—everything. “i’ve missed you. missed you so, so much.” his lips tickled, leaving behind a trail of fire and goosebumps in their wake, and you were holding onto him for dear life—it was as though sometimes he didn’t realize what he did to you (actually, you were sure that was the case now that you thought about it). he was always so needy, just a few hours apart seeming to drive him wild. it was flattering and you also maybe found it a little more hot than you probably should.

“couldn’t cum without you. mmm... needed your pretty pussy.” fuck. he just kept talking and talking, and the thought of him laying on his bed, frustrated, cock gripped in his palm as he fantasized about you only a few doors down was filling your mind, your wild imagination going straight to the building heat in your body.

from this angle, your head was just a little above his and you pushed lightly on the back of his neck to bury his face further into you, breath hitching when he bit at your collarbone. “don’t worry, i’m here now, baby. you can do whatever you want,” you cooed, finding it hard to keep your voice steady.

his movements paused for a moment, only his warm breath continuing to fan against you, and then he looked up, eyes wide. “really?”

leaning down to peck his nose, you swallowed thickly at the look in his eyes, nodding. “really.”

your head spun when he immediately turned on his heels away from the door and instead walked further into the room, dropping you onto the bed not far away. you bounced when you landed on the soft surface and tried to sit up, but yuuji was already crawling between your legs, hands planted on the covers as he leaned up to kiss you, gently pushing you to lay down. you allowed yourself to fall completely back, heart beating as you stared at the ceiling. yeah, you had ended up on his bed like you thought you were going to but... it seemed like your plans of cuddling had gone completely out the window.

a tug at your shorts had you glancing downwards, seeing that he had wasted no time settling in front of you, nipping at your thighs and tugging at your bottoms. yuuji met your burning gaze when he felt it on him, his lips attached to your upper thigh—it was a pretty sight, the blooming reds resulting from none other than your own handiwork on his mouth. his eyes were wide and lustful—cute yet making your stomach do flips as only he could.

“let me taste you, please.” hoarse voice begging, he was already running a finger close to your still-covered crotch, blinking up at you and waiting for permission. he was desperate, eyes flicking down momentarily to work your shorts down just over your hip bones as he placed a lopsided kiss to your clit through them. his eyes were back on yours. “can i? you want to cum on my tongue, don’t you? you’re going to let me tongue fuck you, yeah?”

fuck, fuck, fuck. “oh my god,” you whispered, taking in his wide blown pupils. you frantically nodded at his words, if only to shut him up before you came from that.

yuuji grinned and you were absolutely done with him because it was the same cheesy smile he always gave you and, quite frankly, it wasn’t fair if he was doing it while slick dripped out of you and onto his fingers holding your underwear to the side. you wanted to hate him for driving you wild by just being him, but it turns out you were incapable of that as well.

he buried his face in your clothed cunt, pressing light kisses to it and murmuring praise about how you were so perfect, fingers working to blindly pull your bottoms down. you helped him by shimming out of them and kicking them off to the side (shoes tumbling off when you pressed them off at the heel—you’d also pulled your phone out of your pocket and chucked it somewhere further up the bed for safe keeping in a single moment of clarity), spreading your legs for him to lean down between again, knees bent and feet planted firmly on the bed.

he took a moment to admire your pussy, the dripping lips fully on display before him, and for once he was quiet, nearly drooling.

“yuu-”

his tongue was on the folds and licking a stripe up, your thighs closing in to squeeze his head closer in surprise and you pulling on his hair, your grip so strong you were almost afraid of some of the strands coming loose (or you would be if you could think straight that is).

his hands locked around your thighs and he slid you closer to him, licking and sucking as though he were starved. you yelped and clung to the bed sheets as he dragged you closer, completely caught off guard by everything and legs burning as they bounced from the onslaught at your core. “yuuji-”

“such a good girl, opening yourself up to me.” he kissed your clit, lips so soft, and humming praise. “love it when you spread open for me. fuck, love it so much, always thinking about it.”

when yuuji’s tongue poked at your heat and then wiggled its way past the entrance, slipping in with little resistance from your wet hole, curses and whines fell from your lips. he worked the muscle in and out of you, curling it perfectly against your walls to hit the weak spots inside of you before he removed it to speak again, caught up in his own thoughts, saying anything that came to mind. his lack of filter had you pressing your fingers into the back of his head with a death grip, mind reeling.

“you’re perfect, so perfect. i love this pretty pussy.” yuuji flattened his tongue against your slit, words vibrating into you. “gonna make you cum from just my tongue. going to make this pretty pussy cum from just my tongue.” and that he did. if there was anything yuuji was, it was someone who could deliver on his promises. “it’s what my pretty baby deserves.”

you don’t know how long it took him, whether it be a few short minutes or long hours that had flashed by (you had your bet on the former considering you were already ready to cum for him as soon as he’d set to work kissing and grinding against you as soon as you’d walked in the door, although you truthfully wouldn’t be surprised at either option), but yuuji hadn’t let up once on you until you were coming undone all over his tongue, too fucked out of your mind to try to last any longer. his tongue just kept going, sliding along your folds to take up everything, relishing the taste of your jucies.

your legs were jumping at the feeling, chest heaving, and you tugged at his hair to pull him up—it was so good, yet almost too much—

when he finally emerged, lower half of his face covered in slick, he was on you again, pinning you to the mattress and kissing you—he’d quickly swiped the back of his hand across his face so it wasn’t too wet, but you could still taste yourself on his tongue, mumbling around him at the taste.

“yuuji—”

even though he had finally left your cunt alone, you still felt overwhelmed as his hands drew shapes over your skin, tracing up your sides and running over your curves. “perfect—fuck—you’re so perfect. your body is perfect, perfect, perfect. want you so baddd.”

you whimpered into his mouth, unable to reply in any other way. yuuji was nuzzling his face against yours, lips landing everywhere and no where at once. “you tasted so good,” he practically moaned at the memory. he licked his lips to taste you all over again and you could feel the wetness against the side of your mouth when he did so, your faces pressed so close together you could feel every little pull of his facial muscles.

“yuuji— ugh, fuck.” you shoved your hand in front of his mouth to stop him for a moment, his latest kiss landing on your palm and still somehow making you shiver.

his eyes were wide as he blinked down at you, hands stilled on your stomach. “babe?” his voice was muffled around your hand. “did i... did i do something wrong?”

“wha- yuuji, what? baby, no, of course not.” he let you pull him to rest on your chest and you stroked his hair soothingly as he tried to peer up at you, straining his neck. “you did so well. made me cum so well.” you kissed his forehead and he squeezed one eye closed when you did so, melting at the feeling. “i just think it’s time to help you out a little, hm?”

you cut off the protest he was surely about to make about how getting you off was enough for him when your leg purposefully brushed against the front of him, his dick solid on you even under the layers. he groaned and buried his face further into your chest. the opening and closing of his lips in silent pants rubbed on your breasts still hidden under your t-shirt—you didn’t even think he was aware of it, but you sure were—and he nodded meekly in reply when you mumbled out a quiet, “okay, baby?” into his hair.

[allywritesforfun]

hey i really enjoyed your nightly routine post with wilbur? i was wondering if you could do something similar but in the morning instead?

awe my love! I'm glad that you enjoyed the nightly the routine... here is the morning routine!

{Morning Routine} Wilbur Soot x Reader

summary: you and wilbur made a nightly routine video that blew up more than you have thought, so now its time to do a morning routine!

pronouns: not mentioned

word count: 2280

trigger warnings: swearing, mention of a knife for going chop chop, this was too cute for even me to handle and it came from my hands

a/n: my god is this long! I really got carried away. I could've made this into two parts but whatevs

a/n pt 2: takes place after the “Nightly Routines” but not directly connected 

regular masterlist

wilbur masterlist

You deeply groaned as you fluttered your eyes open. This was not a great time to wake up. You really wanted another hour of sleep, but you knew you had work to get done today.

You looked behind you. You smiled at the sight of Wilbur in his sweet slumber, his arm lazily draped over your waist. Wilbur very much loved to be in bed with you. If he could, he would spend all day there, just you in his arms and some soft lofi in the background. 

That was something very rare to get. Being a streamer and musician, Wilbur was busy almost all the time and rarely took a day off. Mornings and nights were dedicated to you. However, there were times that you would stream with him, or stop by the office to give him food, but nothing was compared to waking up with him.

“Oh shit,” You whispered, “We’re supposed to do morning vlog today.”

You looked around for Wilbur’s camera, which was no where to be found. You settled on stretching over to nightstand and unplugging your phone. You looked back at Wilbur to make sure he was still sleeping. You could tell he was by the gentle raise and fall of his chest and subtle “Ah-woo”. You just knew that was the perfect way to start the vlog. You recored him for about ten seconds of him doing his ‘not really a snore but definitely something’ and giggled almost the whole way through.

You would think that after living with him for two months and the multiple sleepovers that you’ve had with him, that you would be used to it by now. But even today you still giggled just like you did when you first woke up with him. 

You snuck yourself out of bed and made your way to the kitchen. Once arrived you did the intro, “Good morning chat! It is currently about 6:30 in the morning, and as you realize, I am the only one awake. As you saw, Wilbur is still sound asleep and that how it is every morning. So we’re going to vlog our morning routine today, which I promise is way more interesting than the nightly routine vlog. So, Wilbur is literally the best person ever and deserves the world. And his world, besides me of course, is his morning coffee. So I’m going to use our Keurig to get his coffee started.” 

You stopped the recording and decided to get some of your creativity out. You weren’t musical like Wilbur and can't draw for shit, so videography was your way of being creative. You set your phone the in the corner and opened up the blind to let a little bit of light through. It still looked basic so you moved your plant to the background, which added the perfect look. You started brewing and hit record. 

While that was going, you measured out the creamer and syrup and grabbed your sippy cup for your chocolate milk. No judgement here. We all know chocolate milk tastes better in sippy cups. 

The brew came to a slow stop and you grabbed the camera, “Wasn't that a satisfactory angle chat? Now, I am more of an iced coffee person, so in the morning I have water or chocolate milk, and today is definitely a chocolate milk day.” You raised your cup to the camera and fake ‘clinked’ it, cutting the recording when it was closest to the camera. You finished up making Wilbur’s coffee and set it on the living room table. 

You looked at the time, 6:50 am, now was a good time to get Wilbur up. You always let his coffee sit out for a little bit, that way he could drink it the second that he woke up. You threw some napkins under your drinks and moved another plant over there. You wanted your place to look aesthetically pleasing, even if it was a little bit staged. You did a transition with your cup, this time now on the table.

“Okay chat, we all now mr. simpbur is a snuggler so we don't have breakfast in the kitchen, instead we share on the couch, that way we can get all of our snuggles in before he has to leave for the office. I have everything set up, normally I would prepare breakfast too, but I feel like cooking with Wilbur this morning. We’ll do this about once a week for some bonding time, so let's go get him up,” You decided to keep recording, just in case Wilbur woke up from your loss of presence. 

You creaked the door open, Wilbur was still asleep. He adjusted his body for that he was hugging a pillow, who you assumed was your replacement. You laid down next to him and just took a moment to admire him. It was moments like this that you forgot that you were internet personalities. This was you. This was Wilbur. Both of you living your life without needing to exaggerate yourself. This was Wilbur at his purest form. He was all relaxed, not even aware that he was being recorded.

You scooted closer to him and intertwined your legs with him. You brushed his bangs with the back of your hands and gently placed your lips on your forehead. He stirred a little bit, but not enough to wake him up. You took the pillow from him and wrapped your body around his, “Wilbur, my love, it's about seven, you need to get up.”

You could tell he woke up by him pulling you closer and burying his head only you neck. You gently massaged his head and twirled his curls between your fingers, “Come on Will, I got your coffee made already. We need to start breakfast.”

He shook his head and kissed your shoulder, “Mine.”

You laughed, “Yes Will, and ‘yours’ is hungry, let’s get up and eat.”

He slowly nodded and pulled you closer, “Mmmm... I love you.”

“I love you too, simpbur.”

He snapped his head up at the nickname and saw the camera, “Fuck-that’s today?”

You giggled and detached yourself from, “Say good morning to chat.”

He shook his head and buried it in his pillow out of embarrassment. You stop recording and put your phone on the stand. Just seeing Wilbur all flustered was enough to make you go back to bed. You laid back down with him and pulled him on top of you.

“We’re gonna have to re-record that part,” Wilbur mentioned.

You rubbed his cheek with your thumb, which he happily leaned into, “No bubs, we gotta keep it in. It was a very cute moment.”

He shook his head aggressively, “No! That was embarrassing!”

“Too bad, it’s on my phone so I get to chose what goes in.”

He huffed and grabbed your hand, accepting defeat, “You said you made my coffee?”

You two got up and sat down on the couch. Wilbur took you into his arms the second he took his first sip, his personal way of saying ‘thank you, you’re the best person to ever exist’. 

“What are you feeling for breakfast?” You asked.

“You,” Wilbur joked, kissing your temple. 

You gently pushed him, “No actually, I really want yogurt, so pick something that goes well with that.”

“Can we just make a fruit plate?”

You excitedly nodded, if it wasn't for Wilbur, you would not be eating healthy. He really made sure that you were going to live as long as he did. Neither of you could live without the other. If something crazy didn't happen to you, you were going to die from a broken heart.

Wilbur grabbed your phone and started recording, “So um, good morning chat, I’ve had some coffee and more awake now. What you just saw- no you fucking didn't. We’re on the sofa right now and we decided on a fruit plate with yogurt this morning, trying to be a little healthier considering we had ice cream at one am last night. So we’re gonna make that off camera, because if you guys get us to six million subs, we’ll do a cooking stream!”

“Oh we are now?” You questioned. “I was never told about this.”

Wilbur laughed and kissed your temple, “Well you know now, that's good enough innit?”

You shook your head and placed your hand over the camera, Wilbur stopped the recording. You go the fruit out while Wilbur prepared the sink for rinsing and knives for chopping. 

You made the plate look all nice and took it back to the couch. Wilbur placed his arm back over you and grabbed the remote with is free hand while you centered your phone.

“Okay chat, we’re gonna eat and watch tv for a bit, then you're gonna get ready with us. Wilbur has a test shoot at the office today, so we gotta make him look all pretty and obviously personal hygiene is a must... so yeah, brb.”

You two set up another game show to watch, it sorta became your go to show. Especially because there was no storyline and you could talk when you wanted. This was a pretty chill morning, you two enjoyed each other's presence. 

When you finished up, Wilbur took the dishes and you went to the bathroom and cleaned up a little bit. You heard Wilbur go into his closet, so you started recording, “Okay chat, last thing we do before he leaves is actually get ready. Wilbur is getting changed right now so I’m gonna brush my hair out. I can get a little aggressive with the snarls and Wilbur always thinks I'm ripping my hair out so I always do it when he's not around to make sure he doesn't get worried.”

You set the phone in the corner and set it up to record a time lapse. You heard off in distance some light pop type of music, so you knew that Wilbur got his speaker out.

“Are you playing copyrighted music?” You called.

“It’s released Lovejoy!”

You smiled, you always got giddy seeing how happy Wilbur was able to make himself with his own music. You set your brush down and started to wet your toothbrush, Wilbur slid into frame, already jamming out to his own music.

You covered your mouth with your hand stifled your laughter. Wilbur laughed with you and tugged on your waist, trying to get you to dance with him. You aggressively shook your head no, you hated dancing. You would think by now that you would be used to Wilbur and his random dance breaks, but you never came around. 

You looked down in shame as Wilbur attempted to get you to spin around. Once you made it clear that you were not in the mood to dance, Wilbur turned down the music and waddle over to the counter.

You grabbed the camera, “If someone wants a very tall British man, you can come get him. Warning: not fun dance outbreaks.”

“Oh come on now, y/n!” Wilbur wrapped his arms around your waist and placed his head on yours, “Stop pretending like you don't like to dance.” “You know I hate dancing,” You reminded him.

“Well chat, apparently I’m not allowed to have any fun in the morning? But anyway, that was a joke, but- we do really have to get ready. Should we do this Disney Channel style?”

You laughed and shook your head, “No, I think I just want to make sure you don't miss your meeting.”

“That’s at nine! We have time! Please let me have fun with you! It’s going to be such a stressful day!” He pouted with the cutest puppy dogs eyes.

There was no way that you could say no to him, “Alright, what fun we having?”

Wilbur said nothing and prepared his toothbrush like yours, “Last one to finish brushing their teeth has to do the dishes tonight.”

You hated dishes. You were winning this one. You didn't even wait for a countdown. You instantly grabbed your toothbrush and turned on the water with lightening speed. 

“What?!” Wilbur yelled. “That’s not fair!”

You did your best to bump him away, but it literally did nothing. Both of you were laughing very hard but Wilbur quickly caught up. You both fought with your hands, trying to cup a decent amount water. You both managed to get the water into your mouth and you turned to face Wilbur, it came down to who could rinse the fastest. You two just stared at each other, wishing the water around. You were dead serious. You were not doing the dishes tonight. Wilbur kept flaunting his hands around trying get himself to go faster, which ended up in him completely breaking out in laughter and spitting all over your face. It took you by surprise and all that you could you do was laugh to yourself, you eventually spit the water out in the sink, raising your hands in victory. 

“I am so sorry, love!” Wilbur took your hand and guided you into his arms, gently running his hand up and down your back, “I didn't think that would be that hilarious.” “It’s okay,” You laughed and looked back in the mirror. You were completely drenched shoulder up, “It was fun. Better to happen to me than you, you look really nice today for the shoot.” “Thank you,” Wilbur blushed and turned you around, “I think that is enough recording for today. All that we have left to do is leave so... thank you for watching! Subscribe now and remember, cooking stream at six mil! Bye guys!”