#the way he's like 'no one-- *look at me*' cracks me up

[theorist-fox]

Simon makes love to you

Drabble to get me out of the block

Word Count: 1.6k

18+

CW: fluff, smut, contains themes of depression

Simon fucks you hard.

It's an unsaid promise, a sort of bargain. 

You need someone to fuck your head empty, he needs someone who'll let him unload whatever's mess is brewing inside of him. 

You like it hard.

He needs it hard.

Mutual agreement. Everything had clicked so easily you two had never even bothered setting ground rules or whatnot. They flowed naturally, as if you knew, and he did as well.

Whenever you wanted, you just knocked. If he was up for it, you'd spend the night in his bed until your throat would go raw and your limbs would turn floppy.

The same happened when he was on the other side of the door.

Independently on who asked, the outcomes rarely changed. If ever.

Yet Simon now finds himself in front of a crossroads, when you knock on his door with bloodshot eyes and a tiredness so horrible that, for a moment, he feels afraid.

That lasts a swift second, though, because the next thing he registers is complete discomfort. Helplessness.

He doesn't think he can fuck that out of you. Not when your eyes are so chock full of tears yet so hollow.

Your lips look cracked and swollen, like you've spent a while nibbling at the flakes of dry skin. He's sure they'd taste of iron if he were to kiss them.

As he takes in your state, he narrowly misses your sniffle, the tremble of your hands. Or the way your voice, so feeble and strained, as if exhausted from the words themselves, whispers:

"Can you make love to me tonight?"

Simon barely reacts as it reaches his ears. On the outside, he's impassive as ever—inside, on the other hand, he's rattled to the bone.

Because he doesn't know how to do that. 

What he does know, is that he could tell you no, and you wouldn't so much as bat an eye. You're not one to push, and neither is he. It's always been such a balanced thing. 

And yet he'd rather gouge his eyes out than watch you tremble any more than you already are.

Which is why he doesn't answer verbally—doesn't trust himself to do that, to sound as kind as you need him to be. He simply curls his hand at the nape of your neck and pulls you in, lips to lips.

And exactly as he thought, taste of iron they do.

Simon's kiss is not devouring. It's hesitant because he's new to it, soft because you asked. There's no tongue yet, simply lips smacking and a gentle hand on your hips. The white lights of the building's hallway flicker overhead—some old place in which neighbours don't ask much about what's happening in the other flats, which is exactly what he needs.

Gently, he guides you inside, closing the door behind you with the flat of his hand. Feels the salt of your tears on his own lips, like he's cried them as well. 

Your hands cradle his neck, fingers dreadfully cold and rough—callouses you've bitten in anxious habit, perhaps to cause pain so the one inside would quell. 

Simon guides your back against his door, as his hand blindly reaches for the lock. It twists smoothly in his fingers. Clicks. You unravel there, like the sound's given you permission to do so.

Simon is used to drinking up your moans, never your sobs. He tries as you hiccup in his mouth, holding you gently yet firmly, grounding you to where it matters.

Careful as ever, his fingers tug at the zipper of your coat, and then helps you out of it. Similarly, your own lift his shirt up and off his head. And then it's a dance he knows by heart, hands tracing the shape of you the more it gets exposed.

Loose clothes on the floor. Your cold hands holding onto him for dear life. His own guiding you to the bed, steering your body where he needs it—where you do.

But differently from previous times, there's so much softness in his fingers that they tremble almost as much as yours, like he's afraid he'd bruise you when he bloody well knows he's held you far more harshly and you never complained once.

And then you're on his bed, on your back with his own body as an anchor to reality. A big arm snakes in the sliver of space between your bodies to reach your sex.

He kisses your cheeks first, as his fingers draw soft circles at your clit to get you wet. Your chest stutters with hiccups to catch your breath, tired hands threaded through his hair—perhaps to keep him closer, perhaps to ground yourself.

Whatever the reason, he lets you. Feels your breath—thick, heavy, wet—brush his skin. Your lips reciprocate his kisses, landing damp and swollen on his shoulder, on his neck.

That night, Simon fucks you softly.

He doesn't thrust into you until you can't breathe but keeps his hips flush to yours instead. He rolls idle circles that sheath him fully inside and cradles your head to keep you still—to keep you comfortable, to give you what you asked.

Can you make love to me tonight?

Simon is not sure he can, doesn't think he has what it takes.

But still, his hands hold you gently, instead of marking you blue. His mouth draws in your breath, like he's trying to even it out when you can't. 

"That's it," he whispers when he feels the stutters in your chest settle down. "That's it—deep breaths. Good girl, y're doing so good." 

Your hands come to hold him like he is you, and then you cum around him breathing hard and burying your face in his neck instead of moaning and clawing at his skin.

"There it is," he tells you quietly when your pussy clenches around him. His voice chokes on itself because you're not the only one affected by this—not by a long shot. "There it is, swee'heart. Jus' like that."

He keeps his focus on you as you come down from it, satisfied when he notices that the trickles down your temples are of sweat and not tears anymore. 

But there's something in your eyes, he thinks. Something that has been torn to shreds so many times you gave up even trying to fix it. A loneliness so fierce it’s burning you to ashes, an exhaustion so deeply engraved you carry it within your bones.

How a man as attentive as him has never noticed is beyond him, but now he finds himself wanting to see it, to try and help you mend it until you're whole again.

"Fuck, you're lovely, yeah?" He murmurs when your hands come to cradle his cheeks and his do the same. "Sight f'sore eyes."

You smile for the first time since you knocked on his door. 

Can you make love to me tonight?

Simon is not sure he can, but he'll be damned if he doesn't try—if it means you smile like that again.

Your hips start moving to meet him, ankles locked at his tailbone. Simon cums inside of you for the first time since you two started seeing each other, rocking his hips as you caress the back of his head.

He’s always tried his damned hardest to avoid leaving strands of any kind that could tie you to him. He's a dangerous man, one you shouldn't be tangled with. 

But if you look so safe in his arms, enough to seek him at your lowest, enough to smile even when your world seems torn asunder, then there's little he can do to fight it. 

To fight you.

He collapses, chest to chest, knocking the breath out of your lungs—a sound so soft it tickles his ear enough to raise goosebumps.

Simon holds onto you something fierce, arms tucked under the hollow of your spine—inked skin, rough and thickened by a harsh life, against the velvet of yours.

Usually, you’d spare a few moments for the two of you to catch a breath, and then you’d leave, or he would, and life would roll on by. Tonight, he senses your hesitation in the tremble of your arms, and how they’re still holding on tight, wrapped like a silk ribbon around his neck.

Simon finds himself at a crossroads again, but this time it’s so much easier to make a choice.

Can you make love to me tonight?

As he nuzzles your skin, Simon realizes he never even had to try.

“Stay,” he whispers into your neck. 

It’s then that you suck in a deep breath, one that bullies its way into his own lungs too. The curve of your cheek presses into his temple, as if you might be smiling. There, something fills him just right.

He wants to look up and see if he’s fixed a few of those shreds, if he’s managed to at least squeeze a thread in there, within the broken seams. 

Perhaps he has, because your voice quivers less, and there’s that golden touch of hope in it, refreshing and bright—somehow louder than the sobs he’s been striving to take from you all night.

“Okay,” you breathe. “O-okay, I’ll stay.”

Thing is, you never leave. 

If not once or twice, with Simon in tow, carrying a few boxes in his hands with your initials scribbled on one side.

Until your books are on his shelves, your toothbrush on his sink, and your name on the doorbell, right next to his own.

[mariasont]

valentines day with hotch & bimbo reader!!!?

Cuddle Retention Program - A.H

summary: it’s valentine’s day and all bimbo!assistant!reader wants is for hotch to stay in bed a litttttleeee longer pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader warnings: just fluffity fluff, v day fic, established relationship, bimbo!assistant being clingy, morning cuddles & kisses wc: 1.1k

Aaron smelled good in the mornings. Stupidly good. The kind of good that turned your brain into sugar-spun fluff, like slipping into freshly dried sheets or a golden kiss on frostbitten skin. Maybe it was his soap. Maybe it was his skin. Science might have some sort of explanation (Spencer would have pages of them), something about pheromones and chemistry and attraction.

Or maybe it was just him, just the way he existed in the world, the way loving him had rewired your brain to decide that he was your favorite scent, your favorite feeling, your favorite everything. Either way, you were obsessed with it, shameless in the way you pressed yourself closer, nuzzling into his chest like you could evaporate him into your skin, breathing him in as if you could store the feeling somewhere deep inside you.

And really, who could blame you? You were half awake (mind still sleep-soft) and it was Valentine's Day, which meant self-restraint was officially cancelled.

Your only job today was to love Aaron Hotchner with every fiber of your being, to the fullest capacity, and you planned to be relentless about it. You'd smother him in it, drown him in every ridiculous ounce of affection you could muster. You had a pile of silly, heartfelt gifts, things chosen with obscene amounts of thought, things that would earn you that signature Hotchner sigh, half exasperated with how much you had spent, half-somewhere-deep-down-amused. 

And if the universe were feeling generous, if the stars were truly aligned, you'd get the look. That tiny, secret almost-smirk, the one he thought you never noticed, the one that melted you down to nothing but pink, love-struck goo.

You sigh, wriggling a little just to get that much closer. Legs tangled, noses nearly brushing, lips tickling his throat as you exhale, voice sleep-rough and overtly greedy.

"Not letting you go," you murmur with full intent, pressing a semi-conscious kiss to his skin. "Ever, ever, ever."

Aaron exhales slowly, the sound rumbling low in his chest and transferring to yours. His hold on you hardens, not much, but just enough that your stomach does that stupid little flip, the one it always does when he pulls you closer without thinking. When he was somewhere between a dream and waking, but instinctively still reaching for you.

He doesn’t even open his eyes, just tucks his face into your hair and sighs, "Wasn't planning on going anywhere."

Your lips curve into a love-drunk smile as you steal another breath of him. "Better not."

Aaron groans, rolling just enough to squint at the clock before flopping back onto the pillow. His arm stays draped over you, pulling you closer like he's trying to trap you back in sleep with him. 

"Sweet girl," he sighs, "why must you insist on waking up at an ungodly hour?"

"Because I missed you while you were sleeping."

He exhales a quiet laugh, his hands roaming up your back in sleepy strokes. "I was right here."

"Not consciously," you countered, nudging your nose against his throat before pressing an exaggerated bite to his jaw. "You weren't actively showering me in love and affection, and I found that extremely rude."

Aaron huffs out a laugh, barely cracking one eye open as his lips quirk. "That so? Didn't realize I was neglecting my duties"

"Mhm," you sigh, tracing a finger over the firm plane of his chest. "Fortunately for you, I'm very forgiving. You can make it up to me by loving me right now."

"I always love you. Even in my sleep. Some of us don't need to be conscious to be devoted."

His fingers continue to skim idly under your pajama shirt, like touching you wasn't even a decision, just something ingrained, something automatic. A habit. A necessity. (Which it is now, but still, the thought stuns you every time.) Then, as if to personally disintegrate you, he presses a kiss to your forehead, careless in the way only deeply familiar love can be.

Your heart squeezes, affection swelling inside you, spreading like sunlight from the inside out. You want to savor in it, to bask in it, but then you feel the slow stretch of his legs, the unconscious twitch of his fingers, the tense of his body like he was preparing to push himself upright. Because Aaron does not know how to just relax in bed. Once he’s awake, he has to be moving, and that was not okay with you.

You don't mean to whine, it just slips out, an undeniably needy sound that always makes him pause. And predictably, he does. His body hesitates, giving you the perfect opening to wrap yourself around him, draping yourself across his lap. One leg hooks over his thigh, your arms lock around his torso. 

"Sweetheart, I need to—,"

"No," you plead, lower lip jutting out as you tilt up, blinking up at him so sweetly. "Don't leave me. It's warm. You're warm. Just five more minutes?"

Your eyes flicker up just in time to catch the exact moment he scrubs a tired hand down an equally tired face, and your heart trips, stumbles, falls face-first like it has no sense of self-preservation.

Because you love that. Borderline worship it. The way his fingers drag along his jaw, the brief scratch of his knuckles, the way his palm catches on the small stubble that always grows in overnight. You used to watch him do this at work, back when he was still just your boss.

You'd time it, find the right moment to drop off files or refill his coffee just for the purpose of being closer. Just so you could steal a few extra seconds of him, to soak in all the details you weren't supposed to love yet.

Now, you don't have to steal anything. He's yours, and he's not getting out of bed.

He laughs, letting himself sink deeper into the pillows. "You do realize I'm not supposed to negotiate with terrorists, right?"

"That's okay," you sigh, wiggling until you're sprawled completely on top of him, face pressed against his chest. "I don't negotiate either. I take prisoners."

Aaron exhales, shaking his head, but he’s already wrapping an arm around you, tucking you closer like he has no intention of actually getting up. "Of course."

You let out an exaggerated, dreamy sigh. "Ah, yes. A man who knows when to admit defeat. A rare breed. An endangered species."

"Is that so?"

"Mmmhmm. And do you know what happens to rare, precious things, Aaron?"

His fingers twitched. "Dare I ask?"

"They get worshiped." 

You laugh, breathless and helpless, giddy with the sheer force of how much you adore him. And then you're everywhere, littering his face with kisses, pressing your lips to his cheek, his jaw, his absurdly perfect nose, like you can't stand to leave a single inch untouched.

Between kisses, the words spill out, certain, bubbling up in the space of each press of your lips.

"I love you, I love you, I love you."

Like the words belong to him. Like you belong to him. Like you could spend forever saying them and it still wouldn’t scratch the surface of how much.

Aaron sighs, as if he's been personally victimized by your love and affection, but then his fingers press into your ribs, and suddenly you are the victim.

"Aaron!" you shriek, laughter bursting from your chest as you try, and fail, to wriggle away. "You're—ah!—so unfair!"

Before you even register his movement, he flips you onto your back, pinning you down with a ridiculous, infuriatingly smug amount of control.

He smirks, his fingers trailing lazily over your temple as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Oh, I thought we were showing love and affection?"

Your hands fist into his shirt, tugging slightly, refusing to let him tease you with the closeness he’s clearly drawing out on purpose. His lips hover above yours, his breath fanning over your skin.

"Happy Valentine's Day sweetheart," he whispers, before his lips find yours.

"My beautiful," another kiss. "Happy," another, slower this time. "Perfect girl." His lips linger just a second longer. "My girl. My love. Always."

And then he kisses you again, fully, completely, endlessly like he wanted to live in you, in your pulse, in the gaps between every heartbeat, like he wanted to leave traces of himself in every breath you took, every sigh, every second between now and forever.

Yeah. That’ll do it.

You blink up at him, lips still tingling, brain definitely not working. "Oh my god. You should kiss me like that every morning. And every night. And also right now. Just to be safe."

"You'd really let me get away with that?"

His voice is quiet but so sure of you, because he already knows the answer. And then he kisses you again, like he's claiming the privilege anyway.

taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[solxamber]

Giving Them Chocolates on Valentine's Day with: Savanaclaw

Go here for other dorms

Leona Kingscholar

You find Leona sprawled out under his favorite tree, one arm draped over his eyes, looking about two seconds away from a nap.

Typical.

You take a deep breath, shoving down every ounce of nervousness, and step closer, holding out the neatly wrapped box. “Here.”

Leona cracks one eye open, lazily glancing at the chocolates like you just handed him an average Tuesday. With a low hum, he takes them, rolling the box in his hand with a raised brow.

“Hm? What’s this for?”

You narrow your eyes. “What do you think it’s for?”

He stretches, completely unbothered, as if he gets gifted chocolates all the time (which, okay, maybe he does, but that’s not the point right now).

“Dunno," he drawls, clearly messing with you. "You bribing me for something?”

Your eye twitches. “Leona.”

He huffs a laugh, finally looking at you, amusement flickering in his gaze. And then you say it.

"Happy Valentine’s Day."

And oh.

It’s like you hit him with a truck.

His smirk falters for half a second, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around the box. His pupils dilate—a barely-there shift, but you catch it.

He goes quiet. Not his usual lazy, I-don't-care quiet, but the kind that comes when he’s actually processing something.

Then, so smoothly it almost throws you off, he leans back, a slow, pleased grin spreading across his face.

"…Took you long enough," he murmurs, sounding downright smug.

Your heart does a stupid flip. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Leona ignores you, already sitting up properly, one arm resting lazily over his knee. "Pick a nice place for dinner tonight," he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. "On me, of course."

You blink. "What?"

He taps the box. "These chocolates. They’re from you. To me." He tilts his head, all sharp confidence and warmth. "That makes us partners now, doesn’t it?"

Your brain short-circuits. “I—wait, what—"

"Better choose somewhere good," he continues, completely unbothered by your struggling. "I’m not wasting our first date on cheap takeout."

Your heart is going through it.

Leona smirks. "Oh? What’s with that look?"

You swear you see his tail flick just slightly, the only sign of how incredibly pleased he is.

You groan, covering your face with your hands. "You’re doing this on purpose."

He chuckles, leaning in just close enough to murmur, "Yeah, yeah. You still like me, though."

…You’re doomed.

Ruggie Bucchi

You barely get the chance to say anything before Ruggie spots the chocolates in your hands. His sharp eyes flicker to the heart-shaped box, and he immediately grins.

“Oooh, what’s this?” He leans in slightly, tail swishing with interest. “Someone confess to ya?”

You blink. “Huh? No.”

He tilts his head, playful and curious. “Oh? Then, uh… you gonna keep it?”

You narrow your eyes. “Why?”

His grin widens. “Because if ya don’t want it, I can, y’know… dispose of it for ya.”

You snort. “Ruggie, you just wanna eat it.”

“Duh.” He laughs, not even bothering to deny it. “Be a shame to waste good chocolate, right?”

Typical Ruggie.

You shake your head, amused, before finally shoving the box toward him. “Good thing it’s for you, then.”

Ruggie pauses.

It’s subtle, the way his ears perk up, the way his tail stiffens mid-swing. His grip on the box is light at first, almost hesitant, like he’s making sure he heard you right.

“For me?” His voice comes out softer, almost cautious.

You nod, suddenly a little shy under his gaze. “Yeah. I like you. So, you know… Happy Valentine’s Day.”

For the first time, Ruggie looks completely, utterly stunned.

His mouth parts slightly, blinking up at you like his brain just hit a temporary loading screen. And honestly? He looks adorable.

Then—just as quickly as the surprise hit—he recovers.

Ruggie grins, his usual confidence flickering back into place as he shifts the box under one arm. “Well, well. Ain’t this a nice surprise?”

You raise a brow. “You okay there?”

“Pfft. ‘Course I am!” He laughs, shaking his head. “Just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

Then—softer, warmer, but still undeniably Ruggie— “I like you too, y’know.”

Your heart stumbles.

He notices, obviously, because his grin turns downright cheeky. “Heh. Look at you, getting all flustered."

“Oh, shut up.”

He just laughs again, effortlessly slipping his fingers through yours, tugging you along like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “C’mon, let’s go. Can’t let all this romantic energy go to waste, right?”

And just like that—you’re dragged along.

Jack Howl

Jack is not the kind of guy who gets flustered easily. He’s tough, level-headed, always the first to brush things off with that no-nonsense attitude of his.

Which is why seeing him completely short-circuit is so incredibly satisfying.

You hold out the chocolates, your heart hammering as you say, “These are for you. I like you, Jack. Happy Valentine’s.”

His ears shoot straight up. His tail freezes mid-sway. His mouth opens like he’s about to say something, but—nothing.

No words. No sound. Just pure, stunned silence.

You wait.

And wait.

Jack still says nothing.

But his tail? His tail is betraying him completely.

It explodes into motion, wagging so fast that you swear he’s about to lift off like a helicopter. NASA is calling. He’s about to reach orbit.

“…Jack?” you prompt, biting back a smile.

He blinks rapidly, as if rebooting, and finally—finally—manages to form words.

“I—” He clears his throat, cheeks flushed, voice a little strained. “I like you too.”

Your heart skips.

Jack rubs the back of his neck, glancing to the side like he’s gathering his courage. “Are you, uh… free tonight?”

You tilt your head. “Why?”

He shifts awkwardly. The tail is still going. “Because I wanna take you on a date.”

Your stomach flips. “Yeah,” you say, smiling. “I’d like that.”

Jack nods, determined, as if locking this in before fate can take it away. “Good. I’ll—I’ll plan something nice.”

You have never seen him this flustered. It is absolutely adorable.

And judging by the way his tail refuses to stop wagging, you’re pretty sure he’s never been this happy, either.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[y3sterdaysproblem]

★ matt loves talking you through it ★

“there’s my good girl.”

matt’s sweet voice filled the air in his bedroom as he stared down at you from where he was propped on his elbow next to you, eyes locked on your face while his fingers moved inside you.

you were fully naked on his bed, legs spread wide for him to have easy access to your drooling pussy. he loved the way you surrendered your body to him, letting him have full access to you whenever he wanted, knowing he’d do everything he could just to see your pretty face twisted up in pleasure.

matt’s two middle fingers slid in and out of you languidly as to drag out the feeling as opposed to rushing it and getting you off as quickly as possible. matt liked to take his time, liked to listen to you for as long as you’d let him until you got too antsy and were begging him to make you cum.

“does it feel good?” he asked you in almost a coo, smiling when your head nodded quickly. your eyes were clenched shut and your hands gripped at the sheets beneath you, the only sound leaving your lips being a trail of whimpers with every exhale. “use your words, baby. you don’t want me to stop, do you?”

“don’t stop,” you rasp out instantly, reaching one of your hands up to grab onto his shirt. you turn your head to face him and open your eyes as much as you can, locking onto his bright blue ones that were already on you. “please don’t stop, feels so good.”

“hmm, I dunno, i’m not convinced,” matt hums, slowing the movement of his fingers. “no!” you cry, grinding your hips down onto the digits buried deep inside you. “please, daddy, need to cum.”

“that’s better,” matt grins at your desperation, feeling his stomach coil at the way your pretty voice begged him to continue. the sound of you pleading for him to do absolutely anything was something he could listen to forever.

he picked up the pace of his fingers again, drinking in the way your moans picked back up. “you’re doing so well, baby, sound so pretty.” matt lets his gaze wander to where your bodies connect, listening to the sound of your pussy squelching every time his fingers drew in and out of you.

“fuuuck,” he groans hungrily. “she’s so wet for me, baby. you love my fingers inside of you this much?”

your eyelids have fluttered shut again, unable to stay open as your tummy started to tighten and your toes began to curl. “come on, angel, you know better. answer me.” matt’s voice makes you groan, the deep tone he adopts sending a shiver down your spine.

“y-yes, I love your fingers!” you cry out, back arching as his thumb moved to rub on your clit, sliding around the nub in circles easily from how soaked you were. “love a-anything you give me, daddy, thank you.”

“good girl,” matt croons. “you wanna cum for me, baby? you’re so close, pretty girl, can feel you squeezin’ my fingers so tight. all y’gotta do is ask and i’ll get you there.”

you let out a loud string of whines as you nodded your head again, knowing he wanted to hear you speak but staying quiet since you loved the way he demanded it from you.

matt fully removed his fingers from you and brought his hand up to your face, gripping your jaw and forcing you to look at him. your eyes cracked open once more to see him staring down at you expectantly, knowing you knew better.

his fingers spread your wetness on your jaw and chin as he gripped onto you tightly, fingers so close you could smell the scent of pure arousal filling your senses. “please make me cum,” you whimpered out, parting your lips slightly as his thumb dragged over them. “please, daddy, i’ve been so good.”

matt grins at your request and slips his thumb into your mouth for a moment before moving his hand back between your legs, dragging the pads of his fingers over your clit gently. “always gotta give my girl what she wants, hm?”

after he speaks, he slips his fingers back inside you and fucks them in and out at a pace faster than before, ripping loud moans out of your parted, pouty lips, your back arching off of the bed.

“go ahead, baby, I got you. wanna feel you cum around my fingers. that’s my pretty girl, let go for me, yeah? there you go.” matt’s voice spoke softly in your ear as his words tipped you over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you intensely, legs slamming shut around matt’s wrist.

“fuck!” you shriek, body trembling from the climax that wracked through you, his fingers inside you still coaxing out the remnants.

matt’s face ducked down to press gentle kisses into your jaw as you tried to catch your breath, chest rising and falling quickly. “good job,” he praises quietly, sliding his fingers out of you so he could drag his hand up your stomach, once again spreading your fluids on your skin. “love making you cum like that, watching you fall apart from my fingers. so fucking pretty.”

you let out a small sigh mixed with a whine at his words, turning your face to meet his lips with your own. he kisses you back sweetly, pulling away after a few seconds to let you keep catching your breath.

“thanks, daddy,” you say in a teasing voice and matt can’t help but laugh, though he shakes his head and pushes himself down the bed slowly. “gonna eat you out til you’re crying now, okay?”

you were never one to refuse.

dedicated to @strnilolover

[kissforyouu]

i love you — a compilation !

warnings : suggestive content + explicit language + mention of substances

authors note : i had so much fun writing the Roblox part lmfao (from personal experience unfortunately😅😅) I hope y’all enjoy the rest of the fic :)) HAPPY V DAY MY LOVES!!!! ❤️❤️

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ giving him a note saying “don’t smile if you want toe curling sucky sucky tonight”

You excitedly giggle over the folded piece of paper held in between your fingers, thinking to yourself of what your boyfriends reaction would be.

You saw people on TikTok do this trend, and here you thought, yeah why not try this on Jungkook. You were gonna give him sucky sucky anyways^^

“Get back in bed…”, Jungkook groans from his room, patting your side of his bed. Your back is turned to him and bent over as you write the little text on the paper. “Nevermind, stay there bent over and you’re getting instant backshots, okay?” He laughs.

You snort, turning around now. You don’t say anything, stay fully silent, but walk towards him.

“Mmf, finally.” Your boyfriend sighs in pleasure from just having you close to him. He blinks rapidly, breathing heavily. You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t geeking a little right now, having already smoked some weed earlier. So he was a little a high, perfect setting for the little bomb you’re gonna drop on him.

You don’t speak, but hand over the neatly folded piece of paper to him. Jungkook looks at you confused, eyebrow raising a little. He adjusts himself on the bed, sitting up to read it. You try holding in your laugh.

Jungkook, high, tries to read the text on the paper. He giggles, reading out loud, “If…you want…toe curling?” He looks at you with a smirk “—sucky sucky? …tonight, don’t…smile…”

He smiles, what I had written not registering in his head yet. He takes a few seconds to process it, and suddenly, his big giddy smile drops. Jungkook’s entire body turns stiff and he straightens himself. He clearly his throat, eyes landing somewhere else in the room.

He sucks in his cheeks, attempting to make a serious face.

“My love, you look like handsome squidward when you do that”, you giggle, holding his face by both of your hands.

Jungkook cracks out a laugh, immediately breaking his composure. It wasn’t even that funny, but he’d always find everything funny when he’s high. He giggles his way through, crumbling the piece of paper in his hand.

“Be for real, that was not funny”, you laugh at the geeked out man in front of you. “You lost the game though. You’re laughing.”

Suddenly, Jungkook stiffens his posture and clears his voice. He’s back to acting serious again, which made you slap his face jokingly.

“You’ve lost already!” But he shakes his head in deny. “Nuh uh.”

“Yuh uh.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Yuh uh.”

“Nuh U”— you shut him up with a kiss.

“I’ll still give you sucky sucky because you’re my good boy, okay?” You palm his hard on through his boxers.

“Hey, I’m the dominant here!”

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ JK getting mad at his girlfriend whenever she buys things with her own money.

“I missed your cute ass room.” He said with a beaming smile on his face.

“You were here last week, idiot.” You slap the back of his head.

“Yeah yeah, whatever.”

“I miss you even when you’re with me, I miss you always, you know that.”

“Corny.” You laugh at him.

“I know you like that shit.” Jungkook pokes your waist, then a small kiss on your shoulder.

He examines your room as if he’s never been there. But then, pauses.

“Where’d you get this from?,” he walks over to your newly bought expensive white fur caught hanging in your closet.

Jungkook had almost each and every single clothing piece of yours memorised. Mainly because he’s bought almost all of them for you. But this one, certainly, he did not buy.

“Uhh, the store…” you bite your lip.

“What store?”

“Heh.” You knew where he was as going with this.

“Heh? Yeah? What store?” He questions again.

“‘Kay, I’m sorry.” You frown.

“I hate when you don’t use my card. I’ve given you my BLACK card, Y/n. You really can buy anything, big or small. Don’t piss me off.” His eyebrows are furrowed as he leans against your wall, staring at you with a big mean glare. You felt like a child being scolded for taking candy.

“I’ve told you about this already—“

“And I’ve told you about this already too.” He cuts you off. “My card is yours, your card is yours, okay?” He examines my face for expressions of defeat, acceptance. But finds none.

“I don’t want to spend your family’s hard earned money. And yours. It just doesn’t feel right. Plus, what am I going to spend my own money on?” Jungkook rolls his eyes at your question, probably finding it utterly stupid and insane. Who wouldn’t accept free money? You, you wouldn’t.

“Don’t give a fuck. Use my card from now on or I’ll get your card disabled.” He shrugs it off and walks out of your room.

What! WHAT!

“What do you mean you’ll disable my card?!”, you shout, “Jungkook!! Stop!! What the fuck!!” You scream.

꩜ .ᐟ ⋆˚࿔ Secretly recording Jungkook who loves to get baby talked

You scroll on your phone absentmindly (lies), while secretly keeping an eye on your boyfriend. His head rests between your thighs, laying there comfortably as he enjoyed whatever anime on the tv.

You think of how you’re going to secretly set up your phone and record him. Hm. Biting your lip, concentrated, you hide the phone behind your pillow and made sure that the camera would be peaking out.

Okay, perfect.

You start by slowly caressing his hair, running your fingers down his locks and massaging his scalp. You made sure to scratch his scalp with your new set of nails, which he paid for. You know he likes that. Like, a lot.

Jungkook moans, his head’s weight fully dropped down to your thigh. You hum back, hands now moving from his scalp to his face. You trace his cheekbones, his nose, his eyebrows, his lips—you even teasingly put a finger in.

Sometimes, you remember he’s your boyfriend and that you could touch him however you wanted and that makes you the happiest girl in the world.

You go on to trace his eyes, his eyelashes then ears. Jungkook hums in relaxation, giving his full body control to you. He looooves when you did this. You go on to pull on his cheeks a couple times, and then ;

“Come up.” You tap his head with the tip of your nail.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything back, but raises himself up from the position below and turns around to lay in between your arms.

Let the fun begin, heh.

“I love you.” You tell him, with a wet kiss on his cheek.

He flashes his boyish smile at you, eyes fully locked on yours as he traced your lips, “I love you more, baby.”

“But you’re my baby.” You soften your voice a little bit, squeezing his nose teasingly. “No, you are.” He argues back. “No, wrong, you’re my baby.” Jungkook cracks a smile again, a small giggle escaping his lips, “Fine. I am.” He finally surrenders.

You squeal, beginning to place kisses all over his sweet face. Lips, nose, cheeks—everywhere. You shut his eyes, just so you could kiss his eyelids.

“I love you so much, my little baby.”

Jungkook groans into your neck, overwhelmed with all the affection as his cheeks took a sudden colour to red.

“Awh, you’re blushing! Who’s making you blush, hm?” You squeeze his cheeks really hard. I know that hurts.

“Ywu.” He manages to say one word.

“What’s my name?”

“Y/n—mmph”

“No. That’s not my name.”

“Mwomwy.”

Wait, LMAO— you weren’t expecting him to call you that right away. You thought it would have to take a lot of convincing, I guess not.

You kiss his glossy lips as a reward, finally letting go of his cheeks. You suffocate the man from hugging him really really tight, chest pressed right to his face. I don’t think he’s having a bad time though. His face was right on your boobs, fully dived in.

“Baby, you’re making me feel less of a man”, he says on a serious note, hands travelling down to rest on top of your booty shorts.

“It’s okay, nobody’s gonna know anyway. They don’t have to know that you’re my babyboy.”

“Stop.” He groans, arms how fully around your waist as he avoids eye contact. He’s shy.

“My baby star candy.” You kiss his hair again. “Look up to me, baby.” You tap his face, raising his chin up. Jungkook hums, making eye contact with you now.

“Who’s mommy’s good boy?”

You are trying so hard not to laugh. It’s so hard. Fuck. You stiffen your face, take in a big gulp and stay still. Jungkook looks at you weird, almost like he’s going to call you weird, but then, he just lets out a big massive gigantic groan and says—

“Uugghhh, me.”

You could see the visible disgust in his face, but also you could tell that he kind of liked it. LMAO. You can’t hold it in anymore, so you burst out laughing. You laugh so much you have to hold your stomach in.

“Yeah, you like that?”

“Maybe—HEY WHAT THE FUCK!”

The idiot finally spots the camera hiding behind the pillow, screaming as he jumps off your body. You can’t stop laughing. You’re still laughing. Holy shit. You hold your stomach tighter, trying to breath.

“Haa—haaa, fuck, I can’t breath, AHAHAHAHA”

Jungkook screams too, grabbing the phone. He clears his voice before speaking.

“What the actual fuck, Y/n? What the fuck?” He stops the recording and throws the phone away. “Not funny.”

You’re still laughing, eyes closed tight with a big smile on your face. Jungkook thinks you look the prettiest like this.

“Never do that ever again. You are also not posting that anywhere.” He says with a stern voice.

“Okay, but you were into it, right?” You wiggle your eyebrows.

“…maybe.”

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 “you’re spinning me around, my feet are off the ground!^^”

You shiver because of the extreme weather (it’s just snowing), hands tightly wrapped around yourself as you squeeze yourself into your boyfriend’s body.

“It’s cold.” You’re shivering.

You tug onto your skirt—yes, skirt in the damn cold—and pull it down to cover your thighs as if it’s going to do anything.

“No shit”, your boyfriend laughs, warm hands rubbing your waist under your shirt. But his hands leave you for a brief moment and sneaks under your skirt and hooks his fingers onto your underwear right on your asscheeks and pulls the stretchy material down. You shriek, hitting his stomach as a reaction.

“This barely covers your ass. Why are you wearing a shortass-barely-a-skirt-skirt in winter? You dumbfuck.” He flicks your forehead.

“It’s for the fashion, Jungkook. At least I look good.” You huff.

“Yeah, sure, you look good but you’re freezing your ass off in this snow. I even feel bad to throw snowballs at you because you’re shivering already.” He squeezes the back of your thighs that were cold as fuck, like meat put in the freezer.

“Let’s do the thing now! The video!” You remind Jungkook, hitting on his chest as a signal.

He nods his head with a groan, placing your phone on the car so that it stands up right.

“What do I do again?” He looks at you with a slightly nervous lip bite.

“Follow the lyrics and then pick me up when it says my feet are off the ground, okay?”

“Yes ma’am.”

You giggle and press the little red button—record—so that the video would start playing.

“ you’re spinning me around ”

Jungkook giggles, pulling you to him by your waist so that your body would smash against his. He grabs your other hand, intertwining it with his and his other hand on your hip, yours on his shoulder, he dances with you, spinning you around along with him.

“ my feet are off the ground ”

With a laugh, his face fully scrunched up, the beautiful man whom you’re in love with hooks his strong arms under your thighs and lifts you up, completely effortlessly. You squeak, feet wiggling and hanging while your upper body clinged to his. You smile at the camera, face heating up fully.

“ I don’t know where I stand

do you have to hold my hand ? ”

He puts you down quickly, hand patting the top of your ass as a way of saying “good job”. You stand next to him with a big smile as the lyric plays. Then he holds your hand really tightly, swinging it back and forth to great lengths.

“ you mystify me

you mystify me

you mystify me ”

As the lyric switches, he pulls you in again and kisses you, hard. Lips smacking against eachother, he pulls you into a deep kiss full of love and passion. At the second mystify me, Jungkook bends you back by your back, deepening the kiss. He put his hand on his cheek, thumb on your jaw as he lifts his face up to kiss you even deeper. By the last mystify me, Jungkook pulls back, a string of saliva connecting your lips together still.

Your cheeks were flushed red, quite literally, and so were his. His lips were glossy and his eyes twinkled like stars. There was a big cheesy smile on your face, you felt like a child who’s just had her first kiss ever. You love him so much.

You shyly take steps forward to stop recording the video on his phone. Jungkook looks at you, proud, because he’s just made his girl shy again.

“Shy? What? Like you weren’t sucking my balls off last night?”

Why does he have to ruin everything.

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ calling him “daddy” as a prank (right in front of your dad)

It took a while for Jungkook to earn your father’s trust. He had to work for it. Bring you home on time, show up and talk to him, engage with the rest of your family—he had to learn to express his love for you really loud in front of your family. Once he fully gained your father’s trust, he was automatically invited to every event your family hosted.

And, that’s no different from right now. Your family was hosting a barbecue. A lot of your family was there, your cousins, uncles and aunts, almost everyone. It was always fun to spend moments together as family. Jungkook was practically family at this point :).

; Which was perfect! For your prank! Of course!

As of now, you were waiting for your boyfriend and dad to end up in the same place.

You were in your kitchen, snacking on some strawberries while being a little bent over on the kitchen isle. Without getting noticed, your boyfriend slithers behind you and creeps his dirty hands up your dress to squeeze your ass cheeks hard. What the fuck! You scream!

“Ack! Jungkook, you scared me!” You whine.

He snickers, places kissing on your shoulder blade while his hands made their way around your waist. “Mmhhhm,” he inhales in the scent of your perfume, letting his full body weight fall onto yours. You ruffle his hair and feed him a strawberry. Jungkook watches the way the juice of the fruit falls onto your neck, so he just lols his tongue out to lick it off, with a smirk of course.

“No, they’ll see.” You warn him.

“Mhm, no.” He murmurs into your neck. His voice was almost inaudible, just audible enough for you to hear it. It was so small and breathy, so needy.

Jungkook breaths into your neck, still kissing you there, leaving light wet pecks on your flesh. “You’re going to get us caught, mh, Jungkook.”

He shakes away your thoughts, fingertips moving lower and lifting up your dress. He taps your clothed clit with the back of his fingers, sending a shiver down your spine.

“No, not in public,” you place your hand on top of his, but don’t move it, and let him do whatever. Jungkook chuckles at your submission, which he expected, of course. But just as he was about to put his hand inside, your little sister screams as she runs into the kitchen.

You both flinch, terrified, screaming! Jungkook withdraws his hand back, covering his actions by just coughing really loud as if he was trying to scratch his throat.

“I want strawberries!” She shouts.

“Yeah, baby? Okay, wait.” You begin cutting up some strawberries for her. In the meantime, your father enters the room, suspiciously eyeing you and Jungkook.

“Daddy, sissy is cutting me strawberries.”

Your dad nods in approval, lifting up your sister and placing her on the kitchen isle.

Now, you never used the nickname “daddy” as much in the bedroom. But whenever you did, Jungkook would be obsessed. He’d beg you to call him that again frequently, but you never did, often finding it ‘cringe’ and ‘weird’. Therefore, you weren’t quite sure whether he would follow the command or not. But heh, worth the try.

“Daddy, can you grab me a bowl?”

In instinct, your father turns around to grab a bowl from the cupboards. But another thing catches his attention, it’s how Jungkook’s reaching for the exact same bowl he was reaching for. They both pause in the moment, looking at eachother’s faces with absolute horror plastered across theirs.

“What the fuck—” your dad exclaims before your sister cuts him off, “—daddy, bad word!”

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He apologises to your sister, swatting Jungkook’s hand away as he grabs the bowl and places it in front of you.

He’s glaring at the two of you as of now. Jungkook is left flustered, and startled, and sort of angry in a way because he knew you planned this. He darts his eyes at you very sharply.

You give him a small smile. Jungkook tries to escape the situation by walking away, but—

“Jungkook, stay.”

Oh fuck.

Your dad was always a strict man. He wasn’t a crazy type strict, but still very much protective over his daughters.

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, you just knew you were going to receive a good scolding from Jungkook later.

Your sister finally walks away, munching on her sweet strawberries. Your father, however, taps his fingers on the table, looking between both of you. You’re both silent, like 2 children having caught doing something really sneaky.

“I’m going to pretend like I didn’t hear and witness that.” He darts his eyes at Jungkook.

“Secondly, I hope you are using protection.”

Then he just leaves.

Fuck, you are so embarrassed. You look at Jungkook with a small smile, while he gives you a death glare.

The thing is, dad, we are not using protection either. #rawnextquestion.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 ༘⋆ ִ ₊⊹ dream blunt rotation

You sigh, watching your boyfriend roll another blunt. You observe each and every one of his moments carefully. The way he rolls his filter paper, the way he licks the end of the paper to seal it all together. He did it so precisely. He always did. Your boyfriend was, like, the master blunt roller. You in the other hand could never master it. He always rolled your blunts for you.

Jungkook taps the almost completely rolled blunt on the table about 10 times so that all the weed would be inside the rolled paper, then fills it to the top with a bit more weed.

“Hm.” He hands the blunt over to you, “you want me to roll more, baby?”

You shake your head, “this is enough.”

You light up the blunt with—heh, your super cute hello kitty lighter which, by the way, Jungkook decorated for you. Yeah, he bought all the little charms and decorated the lighter for you. You’re in love with this man.

You light the end of the blunt, and put the other side in your mouth to take a small inhale. You exhale the air out, snuggling into your boyfriend’s couch. You were staying over at his place, no way in hell would you smoke at yours. Only in your room, that too if your parents weren’t home. Jungkook’s parents didn’t care. They knew he did all sorts of things. They didn’t really care as long as he did his academics well, which he did.

Jungkook takes an inhale out of his joint, head thrown back as he sighs, eyes closed. Suddenly, he starts giggling.

“What?” Your voice comes out as a whisper.

“I love you so much. I get emotional when I’m smoking, I don’t fucking know why, but I love you, you know that.” His cheeks take a shade of light pink.

You’re cheeeeeeezzzziiinnnnggggg. There’s a small giggle out of you, and you scoot closer to kiss his cheek and drag a smoke out of your joint as well.

“I love you more, you know that too. And you’re forever going to be my blunt roller slash plug.” You laugh.

“Jesus, I should start making you pay.”

“That’s so odd for you to say.”

Jungkook laughs, agreeing.

“Jungkook?”

He hums, taking an inhale.

“What’s your dream blunt rotation?” You ask, taking another hint.

“Dream what?” Jungkook laughs, finding the question absolutely ridiculous.

“Like, if you could share your shit with anyone, who? Like, a group of people, mhm?”

He laughs again and grabs your hand that was placed on your thigh and kisses the back of it, “you. Why would I wanna be smoking with anyone else besides you?”

“You smoke with your friends.”

“Well, yeah”—he groans, “but like, you’re my dream, you know? You’re my…dream blunt rotation? Whatever you call it.” He declares his love for you again in rather a more romantic way.

“I’m your dream?,” you giggle, lashes batting. Now it’s your turn to kiss the back of his hand. You stare at your boyfriends big doe eyes as he hummed in response. You take another hit of the joint, keeping the smoke still in your mouth, and pull him into your body. You kiss Jungkook with passion, your saliva mingling together as the smoke transfers down to his mouth. Your boyfriend groans and breaks the kiss to inhale and exhale the smoke.

Both of you were starting to sweat despite the A/C, and the weed was starting to take a toll on you as well. You take another inhale, eyes batting to shut down. “Oh my god,” you moan, head falling against Jungkook’s shoulder.

“What’s your dream blunt rotation?” He asks back.

“Well,” you begin, “Robert Pattinson, Lee Jong-suk, Woo Do-Hwah—”

“Actually shut the fuck up.” Jungkook shuts you up with a harsh slap to your thigh, making you wince, followed by a giggle.

“‘Kay, sorry. They’re hot though.”

“What about me?” There’s a big fat pout on his face.

“You’re hotter, you’re my husband.” You give him a big fat smile, and a big fat wet kiss on his forehead.

“I think I’m hard.”

And you look down and see a big fat monster tent staring right back at you.

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Roblox with your boyfriend / headcannons

Jungkook never played Roblox until you forced him to do so. He first laughed at you and called you childish for still playing Roblox, fast forward sometimes he begs you to play it with him.

You got into Roblox through your little sister Evie of course. She’d always ask you to play dress to impress with her, and who are you to say no? That’s when you felt like dragging Jungkook into this.

He would always supply you an endless amount of robux. You and Evie, of course. His account however would only have like 5 robux left, whilst yours was like 10k all the time. You had access to his Roblox account, so you’d randomly log into his account and change his avatar a bit here and there.

He also only had two friends on Roblox, that would be you and Evie. For some reason, he had a bunch of followers on Roblox. He always wondered why, since he never even played like that. You had about 200 friends on roblox though. And like a bunch of followers. LOL.

Moving onto the games you play, it ranges from cute girly games to horror games. Most of the time, it’s always dress to impress. Jungkook would always call it boring but also yell whenever he doesn’t place.

You’d play arsenal, mm2, doors, mocker, dead silence, hello kitty café, royale high—likewise.

Also, don’t tell anyone, but sometimes whenever you guys are hanging out, you’d ask him “hey, wanna have e sex?” and go on LifeTogether on Roblox and do it there for shits and giggles. You always found it funny, and he just did whatever would make his girlfriend happy. happy wife = happy life. Oh, and of course you have real sex after^^.

Everytime another headless gets deleted, Jungkook would just spend like 800 robux to buy you another. He’s so cute, you love him so much.

You and Jungkook would have cute matching Roblox fits. His would be all pink and cute, he didn’t care since it was Roblox. You guys would deffo get labelled as a “corny Roblox couple” LOL.

Jungkook’s favourite game though, as corny as it sounds, unfortunately, is dahood💔. You hate that game passionately from the bottom of your soul but he loves it. He logs in and starts fights with randos. Sometimes he would kill you and carry you around the place. He’s done some cute things though. Like once, he planted dahood flowers all over the place and wrote ‘I love you’ on the wall using dahood graffiti.

outfit inspo 4 u guys + dti sneak peak :

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . ^ྀི the topic of kids !

“Jungkook?” You ask your boyfriend, who just hums at you. He’s sleepy.

“You ever think of kids?” Your voice is sleepy as you sleep.

There’s a long pause before he speaks again, “with you? Yeah, all the time. Why do you ask?”

It feels nice. It feels really nice to know that he feels the same way about you. He also wants to have children with you. Not now, for sure, but one day.

“I fantasise about our future a lot. You’re not going to leave me, are you? I’ll make chop suey out of your dick and feed it to the sharks if you do.” You threaten him, followed by a yawn. Jungkook just laughs, the sound of his soft laugh echoing from one year to another. You love the sound of it. So, so, so incredibly much.

“You’d have to kill me to make me leave you, my beautiful baby Y/n. Even so, I’d come haunt you as a ghost. ‘M never leaving you alone.”

“You’re gonna make me cry.” You say as your fingers fondle with the gold chain around his neck. “How many kids do you want?”

“Hmm,” he thinks for a moment, “how many does mommy want? I’d like to have as many as you’d want to pop out” ; he ends his sentence with a laugh.

“Mommy wants at least 3.”

He nods, hand patting the crown of your head. “‘Kay, daddy agrees too.”

“You think…I’ll be a good mom?” Your words are a tad bit slurred as the drowsiness is getting to you really bad, but you still ask your question.

“Is that a question? You’re the most patient person I know. You’re the most genuine and kindest person I’ve ever met. Sometimes I don’t understand why you’re still with me because I can be such an asshole sometimes. You’re like, the angel that I was blessed with. You’re the light to my life, the sun to my moon, I don’t know brah”—he pauses and holds you tighter and murmurs, “you know how I feel about you,” into your neck.

You giggle, your grip tightening around your plushy as you blushed. “What are you? A poet?”

“For you, yeah.”

“You’re making me horny. Let’s make a football team.”

[luvergirl-866]

i don’t see what anyone could see in anyone else (but you)

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 6.0k

c/w - fluff, they’re both annoying and sassy, p has adhd highkey (twin)

a/n - inspired by the let’s be honest p annoying a video. i just love the girlfriends but best friends first dynamic iykwim 😣. also took a lot of inspo from some tiktok lives 🩷 anyway yeah this is stupid and late for v day but better than nothing!!

It has been a good week.

On Sunday, Azzi made it a point to spend the day getting ahead on schoolwork as much as she could. Coach had been hinting at a grueling upcoming practice week and Azzi knows herself well enough to know she’d end up putting school on the back burner anyway. And that’s exactly what happened, because come Monday, every time she left a class with homework it would end up in her desk, left there to rot until basketball wasn’t her main priority anymore.

Coach hadn’t been lying—he never is about those things. Practice was torture, often running hours into the night as the girls were made to play again and again until they were good enough in Geno’s eyes. But Azzi had been one of the few on the team who loved it, feeling just as renewed as she was drained after each practice. The more exhausted she got, the longer practice went on, the better she performed. It was unusual for her and it struck up a certain confidence, creating a subtle pep in her step everywhere she went.

The only downside to the week was the lack of Paige Time. It’s been like that for quite some time now—really, ever since basketball season started. After the long summer spent basically attached at the hip, the school year was a rude awakening for them and November was even ruder. They were juggling basketball, school, marketing, and their own personal endeavors—especially Paige’s as she prepares to declare. On top of all that, finding time to love on each other has been difficult, if not impossible. Besides for a few kisses in passing and minor flirting in practice, they really only see each other at bedtime and briefly in the mornings.

Which is why, when Azzi wakes up in her girlfriend’s room, she can’t help but smile a little to herself before she’s even really awake. Because it’s Saturday, and the sun is shining through the curtains, and most importantly, they have nowhere to be today.

She can feel Paige’s presence behind her, and can hear the TikToks playing on her phone, signaling she’s already awake. Actually, TikTok might’ve been what woke Azzi in the first place. Now that she’s really waking up, she realizes that Paige has her phone speakers turned up way too high, and a pang of sleepy irritability goes through her. “Babe,” she mumbles into her pillow, “turn that down.”

Thankfully, the tinny noises stop, but they’re quickly replaced by the familiar teasing tone in her girlfriend’s voice. “Look who’s finally awake.”

“What time is it?” Azzi yawns, eyes still closed.

“9:30,” Paige replies.

At that, Azzi snuggles further into the blankets, the scent of Paige enveloping her. “Not even that early,” she says. “Might go back to sleep.”

“Can I wake you up at ten?” Paige asks. “I’m bored.”

“Yes,” Azzi concedes, used to Paige’s neediness, “you can wake me up at ten.”

“Aight,” Paige says, sounding pleased with herself.

Azzi shifts, feeling a little lonely what with Paige all the way on her side of the bed. They’ve had a whole conversation at this point, yet she’s still yet to receive a good morning kiss. It’s off-putting, to be honest. She expects Paige, ever the affectionate one in their relationship, to sidle up beside her now that she’s semi-awake.

Instead, to her shock, the TikTok sounds start back up again. And they’re just as loud as before.

“Paige,” Azzi exclaims, finally cracking her eyes open, turning over her shoulder to find Paige propped up against the headboard, staring calmly at her.

“Hm?” she asks.

Azzi sighs. She hates having to ask for the things she wants. Usually, Paige just magically knows and provides it for her. She must be too busy on stupid TikTok to remember she has a girlfriend who needs attending to.

In lieu of asking straight-up, Azzi reaches back, grasping for Paige’s thigh and looking up at her with big brown eyes.

Immediately, Paige tosses her phone to the side, chuckling. “Mm. Sorry, princess.” Sliding down under the covers, she situates herself closer until she’s hovering above her, close enough to drop a chaste kiss on her lips. “You wanna cuddle?”

“Obviously,” Azzi mutters, reaching up for one more kiss before turning back over, sighing when Paige snuggles up behind her.

“You gotta little attitude this morning,” Paige helpfully observes, nuzzling into the crook of Azzi’s neck.

Azzi closes her eyes, trying to let sleep call to her as it was just a minute ago. “Just miss you,” she says, a little vulnerable in the way she says it—and maybe that’s also due to the minimal clothes they’re wearing, the skin-on-skin contact always making her feel safe and comforted and exposed all at once.

Paige tuts sympathetically, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. “I know, baby.” There’s a beat of silence as they shift, Paige’s hand running over her stomach, trailing up to one of her breasts. “Missed you, too.”

As much as the touch turns Azzi on, it’s less the sexuality of it and more the sheer domesticity; the way they know each other’s bodies well enough to be comfortable with wandering hands that aren’t meant to lead anywhere. She breathes deep as Paige holds her gently, then clasps a hand over her’s, keeping her in place.

It’s only another minute before she’s drifting off again, Paige’s even breaths in her ear lulling her to sleep.

It’s peaceful—maybe the most relaxed she’s been all week. But as she lays there, trying to get a few more minutes of sleep, Paige’s breathing changes just a split second before she’s speaking too loudly in Azzi’s ear, “I’m hungry.”

Azzi startles a little at the sudden interruption. Her eyes fly open, though only to shoot a glare at her girlfriend. “Paige!”

“What? I am.” Paige frowns, pulling away to sit up and rub her stomach forlornly. “You took too long to wake up.”

Azzi sighs, rolling over onto her back. “I thought you were gonna let me sleep until ten.”

Paige shrugs at that, making big puppy eyes at her, and Azzi resigns to the fact that she will not be getting any more sleep this morning.

“Fine,” she grumbles, sitting up with some effort. “But I’m gonna shower first.”

She stands up, Paige’s eyes tracking her from where she sits on the bed. She whistles lowly as Azzi makes her way to the closet, likely due to the fact that she’s only wearing a pair of sheer panties. Azzi rolls her eyes, pulling on a pair of clothes for the walk down the hall.

Paige, of course, trails her to the bathroom, situating herself on the floor while Azzi starts the water. She watches intently as Azzi undresses, and Azzi catches her pout just as she’s stepping inside.

“What?” Azzi asks when she sees her expression.

“Can I come in with you?” Paige asks.

The offer is tempting, but Azzi is still sore from last night and in all honestly, she’s not in the mood after Paige rudely woke her this morning. “No. I’m only gonna be like five minutes.”

“I can help you.”

“I think I got it,” Azzi laughs, pouring soap onto her washcloth—something she is perfectly capable of doing by herself.

Paige stands up, walking over to Azzi’s phone on the counter. “Okay, then lemme play your music.”

Azzi doesn’t really have time to protest before Bossman Dlow is blasting far too loud over the speakers, and Paige picks up a hairbrush, admiring herself in the mirror as she sings. Azzi rolls her eyes, refocusing her efforts on cleaning up.

Paige looks over and catches the unamused look on her face. “Oh, sorry,” she says sincerely, picking up another hairbrush and holding it out. “You wanted a mic too?”

Azzi sighs. She gets the feeling she’ll be doing a lot of that today.

————————————

It’s not until awhile later that they finally get to the kitchen—mostly due to the fact that Paige kept showing her videos and making commentary while she tried to do her hair, causing the whole endeavor to take a lot longer than it should’ve. Ironically, Paige is the one whining about this by the time they’re finally ready.

“Bro, now I’m really hungry,” she says, continuing to rub her belly a bit like a pregnant lady—which makes Azzi giggle—as she heads to the fridge.

“What should we have, mama?” she asks. Then, as Azzi’s thinking about it, she says, “You’re right, pancakes sound good.”

Azzi hefts herself onto the counter. “Never said that.”

“You took too long to answer,” Paige replies simply. She roots through the fridge for another minute before sighing, turning around to face her. “Do we need milk to make pancakes?”

“Do you have pancake mix?”

“Um…” Paige walks to the pantry at this, taking another minute to search that before once again sighing dramatically. “No.”

“Then, yes. We need milk.”

“Why, though?” Paige asks, frowning. “Shouldn’t water work the same?”

Azzi scrunches her nose up at the thought of water pancakes. “Ew. No.”

Paige shakes her head at her. “Okay, Miss Picky.”

“I know you’re not talking.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Azzi hops off the counter, patting Paige’s chest as she walks past her to the entryway, searching for Paige’s keys. “C’mon, we can go grab some real quick.”

Azzi finds the keys and holds them out expectantly, unsurprised when Paige takes them without hesitation. “I guess. But no fucking around.”

They leave the apartment, and Azzi raises a brow as she watches Paige lock up. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” Paige says, taking her hand and beginning to walk, “we get in, get the milk, and go.”

Azzi swings their hands mindlessly between them. “If I’m remembering right, you’re the one who’s currently unmedicated.”

“Yeah, and I’m chill,” Paige says, pressing the button for the elevator. “My doctors just want my money or sum’, I’m fine without that dumb shit.”

“Paige, you woke me up five times last night because you had things to tell me and didn’t wanna forget.”

“Valid reason to wake you up.” Paige shoves Azzi inside the elevator, and once she follows, Azzi pushes her right back.

“I’m just saying. You’re easily distracted.”

“Nah.”

“We were making out for like an hour yesterday and you interrupted it to tell me a story.”

“It was a funny story,” Paige explains, taking her hand once again when the elevator doors open and dragging her out.

“Debatable,” Azzi quips, even though it was kinda a good story.

“And it’s not like we didn’t continue kissing after that. I just gave us a lil intermission.”

“You never needed intermissions while you were on your meds.”

They’re in the parking lot now, and Paige unlocks her car, nudging Azzi towards it. “Just get in the car.”

“Bossy,” Azzi mumbles.

Believe it or not, the two of them do have days where they don’t fight, argue, or even sass each other. Those days, however, come far and few between—making fun of each other is their love language and thus little spats happen more often than not. And with today being the first day in awhile that they’ve spent together—not to mention Paige’s apparent decision to be more irritating than usual—it’s no surprise that they spend the car ride fighting over music.

By the time they get to the grocery store, Paige is hyperfocused on making sure Azzi stays on track. When Azzi falls behind to smell a candle, she sighs and tugs her away by the wrist: “Bro, why are we going at grandma pace.”

Ironically, Paige, like the hypocrite she is, also finds an abandoned cart in the refrigerated section. Azzi is grabbing milk when Paige bumps her with the cart, getting her attention. When Azzi looks at her, Paige simply says, “Babe, watch,” and proceeds to hop on the cart and ride it down the aisle with the vigor of a small child.

Once the milk is secured, Azzi decides she deserves some remuneration for the taxing work of going out in public with her girlfriend. Stopping Paige on their way to checkout, Azzi looks up at her with big, brown eyes and says, “Can we stop in the books? Just really quick.”

Paige avoids her gaze. “Nah, I wanna leave.”

“Aw,” Azzi coos, running a hand down Paige’s arm somewhat seductively, “please, Paigey? I need new books.”

Still, Paige refuses to make eye contact as she says, “Aren’t you working on, like, two right now?”

Azzi doesn’t usually get this much pushback from her. She wonders exactly why Paige woke up and decided to annoy her today. Still, she knows Paige can’t say no to her. Placing her hand on Paige’s cheek, she turns her face, forcing her to look at her: the slight pout of her lips, the way her eyes widen enough to be convincing. “C’mon, baby,” she says. “I promise I’ll be fast.”

That’s the breaking point. With a sigh, Paige nods, allowing herself to be excitedly led to the book section.

Azzi decides that she’s no longer annoyed with Paige as she searches through the books, reading over the synopses of every one that looks interesting. She’s desperate for something new, even though Paige is right—she already has plenty.

Paige stays miraculously quiet for a solid five minutes, allowing Azzi to take her time and even browsing through a few books of her own.

Those five minutes, however, are as long as she gets before she happens to pick up a romance novel. Paige glances at her in that moment and she barely has time to hide the cover before Paige is gagging, most likely at the straight couple pictured embracing on the front of it. “That’s so gross.”

Azzi puts the book back on the shelf. “It’s no different than when we kiss.”

“Lowkey super offensive thing to say,” Paige replies. Azzi rolls her eyes, watching as Paige reaches down to grab a large book with colorful dragons on the cover. “This looks way cooler.”

Azzi takes a few steps closer to read the bold lettering on the cover, and then snorts. “Paige, that is a coloring book.”

By the time they get back home, Azzi has officially rescinded her earlier decision—she is definitely still annoyed with Paige.

—————————————

When they return to the dorms, despite Azzi’s oddly low patience for Paige’s annoying nature today, she still wants nothing more than to cozy up in bed with her and read her new book. They make the pancakes first, Paige doing nothing to help her case by arguing about how exactly to make pancakes. Once the two of them—plus half the team, who heard from Jana in the group chat that there would be pancakes—are fed, Azzi is ready to retreat back into Paige’s room.

However, most of the team is still there, and Paige’s oblivious ass is refusing to take Azzi’s hints, too busy chatting with their friends.

She’s tried everything: muttering to Paige that she’s tired (“I see a lil’ napski in our future,” is what Paige responds with), sitting herself on Paige’s lap in an unusual display of affection (“We run out of chairs or sum’?” Paige asks), and even aggressively cleaning everybody’s dishes (“I can do that, mama, you go hang,” Paige says, taking over).

At this point, it’s all she can do not to just yell at her girlfriend. She sits on the couch, listening a little sleepily as KK tells her some crazy story. The team is far too raucous for noon on a Saturday, probably in part to the ridiculous amounts of whipped cream and syrup they all used on their pancakes. In the kitchen, Aubrey and Paige start wrestling, and KK stops yapping to go join them. She jumps on Paige’s back, knocking her over and losing her balance in the process until they’re a heap on the floor. Aubrey steps on their backs, flexing, and the girls cheer rowdily.

Azzi is overstimulated.

Refraining from covering her ears, Azzi stands, giving up on the Paige aspect of her afternoon plans. She’s not sure she even wants Paige—who is hysterically laughing as she gets up from the floor—to be with her anymore. It’d be like forcing a hyper dog to cuddle. She’d probably end up getting bitten.

She’s hoping nobody will notice her slipping away, but Kayla does, tugging on a curl as she heads to the hallway. “Where ya going, babe?”

“Paige’s room,” Azzi says simply.

“She’s gonna notice you’re gone.”

Azzi glances at the scene behind them. Someone’s turned on ‘Kung Fu Fighting’ and Ice has now joined the kitchen boxing match. Paige just barely ducks a fist to the face before barreling into Ice’s stomach, once again ending up on the floor, giggling deliriously. The other girls have mostly lost interest at this point, which is fair—this isn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence.

Azzi turns back to Kayla. “I doubt it.”

“Give her five minutes,” Kayla insists.

“She’s too busy being a little boy.” Azzi rolls her eyes, patting Kayla affectionately as she walks past.

In Paige’s room, she breathes a sigh of relief, the closed door offering some solace from the noise outside. Even better, Paige’s airpods sit on her bedside table; Azzi takes them and connects them to her phone, turning on the noise-cancelling setting. Pleased with the results, she settles into her side of the bed, picking up her book and beginning to read.

She gets maybe two pages in before a tap on the shoulder scares the shit out of her.

Jumping, she whirls around, to find Paige standing beside the bed with a sheepish smile on her face.

Azzi takes out an airpod. “Paige, what?”

Her tone comes out more exasperated than she means to and feels a little guilty about the confused look she gets in return. “I noticed you left. Kay told me you were in here.”

“Yeah, just reading.”

“I see,” Paige replies. She hovers awkwardly, then says, “why didn’t you bring me with you?”

Despite her irritability, affection blossoms in Azzi’s chest at her girlfriend’s clinginess, her need to be around her 24/7 if they’re together. And Azzi reminds herself that this is the first day they’ve really had with each other in a while, and Paige is missing her too. Gently, she says, “I tried, but it seemed like you were having too much fun.”

“I mean, I was having fun,” Paige says. “But I’d rather hang out with you than fuck around with those dumbasses.”

“You’re as much of a dumbass as they are,” Azzi quips. “Actually, they probably learned it from you.”

“Like father, like sons,” Paige nods solemnly. Then, unceremoniously, she throws herself on top of Azzi, nearly knocking the wind out of her and crushing her book between them.

“Ow, Paige!” she says, freeing her hands and book as Paige wriggles like a happy little worm on top of her.

“I missed you,” Paige mumbles into her neck.

“We’ve been together all day.”

“You left me alone out there.”

“I’ve been in here for like five minutes.”

Paige lifts her head to pout at her. “Five minutes too long.”

Unable to help herself, she leans forward, kissing the pout off Paige’s lips. When she pulls back, Paige chases after her, trying to deepen the kiss, but Azzi pushes at her chest. “I still wanna read my book.”

“Okay,” Paige says.

“I wanna snuggle with you,” Azzi continues. “But only if you let me read.“

“Okay,” she repeats. She’s staring at Azzi’s lips, though, which doesn’t spark a lot of confidence that she’s actually listening.

“Which means,” Azzi emphasizes, getting Paige’s eyes to snap back up to her’s, “no talking, no showing me TikToks. And no distracting me with sex.”

Paige pouts again at that, batting her eyelashes stupidly. “What, you mean I can’t eat you out while you’re reading?” Azzi flicks her forehead, and she snickers, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. “Joking. I’ll be good, don’t worry.”

Azzi actually believes her, crazy enough. It’s mostly due to the fact that she and Paige have been together for nearly seven years, so she has her pretty house-trained at this point.

Satisfied, she flashes a smile, picking her book back up. Paige scoots down the length of her body until she’s settled between Azzi’s legs, head resting comfortably on the soft expanse of her tummy. Once they’re situated, Azzi frees up a hand to scratch Paige’s scalp, which’ll keep her happy for a while.

They sit like that for around thirty minutes. The noise of their teammates has died down enough to know that some of them have left, though it’s obvious by the extra chatter that a handful is still hanging around. Paige actually falls asleep within the first ten minutes, which Azzi guesses is probably why she gets so much quiet time.

It still doesn’t feel like enough, though, when a knock sounds at the door. “Y’all decent?”

Azzi glances down at Paige—still fast asleep—and quietly calls out, “We’re good.”

The door swings open and Jana steps inside, followed closely by Ayanna. “We’re going to Chick-Fil-A,” Yanna says, “you wanna come?”

“No, that’s okay.” Azzi pats Paige’s head in a silent explanation. “I’m nap-trapped.”

“Aww, parents.” Jana pulls her phone out, taking a hilariously unflattering close-up of Paige practically drooling on Azzi’s stomach. Azzi giggles as Jana shows her the picture, and she’s distracted enough that there’s nothing she can do when Yanna approaches and jostles Paige awake.

“No, wait—!” Azzi exclaims, reaching out to try and stop her, but it’s too late: the damage is already done. Paige cracks her eyes open with a little groan.

Ayanna scratches the back of her neck sheepishly. Azzi glares at her, then strokes Paige’s hair, trying to coax her back to sleep. “It’s ok, P.”

“Mm,” Paige hums, lifting her head to blink sleepily at them. “Why’d you wake me up?”

“My bad,” Yanna says guiltily. “We just thought you might wanna get Chick-Fil-A with us.”

“Nah, I’m good.” Paige nuzzles back into Azzi’s tummy, surprisingly chill considering she hates being woken from her naps. “Thanks though.”

“Uh-huh,” Jana replies, already heading out the room while she smiles at her phone—Azzi assumes she’s uploading that picture to her close friends.

“Sorry,” Yanna says once again, more to Azzi than anything, before following.

Paige yawns, her warm breath fanning over Azzi’s stomach. As she cuddles back in, Azzi thinks maybe she’ll go back to sleep. She holds onto that hope and resumes her book, threading her fingers through Paige’s hair gently.

This time, it doesn’t work. Which is evident based on the way she lifts herself up on her elbows, giving herself just enough room to press a few kisses around Azzi’s stomach. At first, Azzi tries to ignore it, hoping maybe it’s a casual gesture.

But it’s not long before the kisses slow down as she takes more time on each one, mouth opening so that it leaves the skin of her tummy just a little wet. Of course, it’s out of Azzi’s control the way her thighs tense up, blood rushing straight to her core as her body reacts to her girlfriend’s touch.

Paige curls her fingers around the hem of her top, lips following her hands as they bunch the fabric up to give herself more space, stopping underneath her breasts. She looks up at Azzi, whose gaze is now focused intently on the top of her girlfriend’s head, and flashes a devious little smile before licking a stripe between her ribcage.

Azzi tosses the book to the side, not even bothering to mark her page, freeing her hands so she can use them to pull her girlfriend up by the shoulders, meeting her in the middle for a kiss that’s nowhere near chaste.

Paige is still lying heavily atop her, their chests pressed close together, but it’s still second nature the way Azzi wraps her arms around Paige’s waist in an attempt to get her closer. Paige grins against her mouth at the feeling, their hips coming flush together which makes Azzi gasp despite herself.

“Mm,” Paige hums, beginning a slow, wet trail of kisses down her jawline. “Missed you, baby.”

Azzi can’t help but laugh at that. “We just had sex last night.”

“‘S been way too long since then,” Paige mutters into the crook of her neck. Her teeth graze gently over the sensitive skin and Azzi grips her tighter, thinking she might actually agree with Paige for the first time today.

Paige is obviously building her up, apparently horny after her power nap, and Azzi doesn’t plan on stopping her. This is usually how it goes, anyway, Paige being the initiator nine out of ten times. As Paige pushes her top up above her tits, she knows she has no problem with that.

Her hands are a little cold against Azzi’s warm flesh, nipples pebbled from the temperature change mixed with her arousal. Paige just begins to tweak one of them, making Azzi moan softly—her nipples have always been sensitive—when there’s a sharp knock on the door.

The two of them groan, Paige’s forehead falling against her shoulder.

“Y’all decent?” It is, once again, Jana.

Paige lifts her head, pausing to glance down at her hands where they palm Azzi’s bare tits, and keeping her gaze there as she says, “Not really.”

“Already?” Jana calls, sounding somewhere between amused and disgusted. “You’ve been alone for like five minutes!”

“What do you want, Jana?” Azzi asks before Paige can let out the cocky response she definitely wants to say. Her voice is a little breathy, thanks to Paige absentmindedly rolling a nipple between her thumb and forefinger, and she hopes Jana doesn’t notice.

“We’re not going out anymore. Too much work. I was gonna ask if you wanna watch a movie with us, but…”

“No,” Paige and Azzi yell at the same time.

“Okay, damn,” Jana sighs. “Just being polite. Don’t get pregnant in there.”

Her footsteps trail off, and they make eye contact and laugh, Paige leaning forward to press an amused kiss to her lips. “We have trifling teammates.”

“Don’t talk about our kids like that,” Azzi says.

“They’re some bad ass kids.” Paige gives her another kiss. This time, it’s Azzi who gives chase when she pulls away, but Paige sighs, and to Azzi’s disappointment, pulls her shirt back down.

Azzi pouts, arms traveling up to loop around the back of her neck. “Why’d you stop?”

“They’re still here,” Paige replies. “I’on want them to hear us.”

“They won’t,” Azzi insists. “I’ll be quiet.”

“No, you won’t,” Paige snorts. She kisses Azzi tenderly on the cheek. “Sorry, mama.”

As Paige scoots back down to her original spot, Azzi crosses her arms, feeling a little like a defiant child as she says, “You shouldn’t start something you can’t finish.”

“I know, baby.” Paige nuzzles against Azzi’s navel, doing nothing to help the heat between her legs. “When Jana and Allie are asleep tonight, I’ll get you right, I promise.”

Azzi huffs.

Paige chuckles softly at her, only making her more annoyed. “Thought you wanted to read your book, hm?”

“That was before you touched my tits,” Azzi replies.

Paige lays her head down. “Poor Azzi-Wazzi,” she tuts with faux sympathy.

“You’re a dick,” Azzi mumbles, picking up her book more out of spite than anything, sure she won’t be able to focus on it. She tries valiantly, though.

Her efforts are interrupted at the feeling of fingers dancing across her stomach.

Peering over her book, Azzi sees Paige walking her pointer and middle finger across the length of her tummy, an amused smile on her face as she watches herself. “‘I’m Azzi Fudd’,” she says, voice quiet and high-pitched, “‘and I have a big ol’ head’.”

Taking a deep, shaky breath to calm herself, Azzi returns to her book, pointedly ignoring her.

“‘Babe, do these pants make me look big?’” Paige continues, jumping her hand-Azzi around dramatically as she badly impersonates her.

“No, you look good,” she replies in her normal voice.

“‘You’re supposed to say that,’” Hand-Azzi whines. “‘Tell me for real’.”

“I’m not lying, I love those pants.”

“‘Babe, stop lying to me!’”

Paige sighs dramatically, as if she were actually arguing with somebody else. “I’m not.”

“‘Yes you are. And you’re probably cheating too.’”

“Baby, you know I’d never—“

Slamming her book down, Azzi grabs Paige’s hand, stilling her excessive finger movements. “Paige!”

Paige laughs, probably at herself, sitting up and stretching out. “What?”

“You are stupid,” Azzi replies a little vehemently. With Paige no longer on top of her, she gathers her things and gets out of bed, officially done.

“Where you goin’, mami?” Paige asks, getting up to follow.

Azzi holds a hand up. “I’m going to sit on the couch, so I can read.”

“You’ve been reading for so long,” Paige groans.

Azzi rolls her eyes, turning away and leaving the room.

Paige trails behind her. “They’re watching a movie in there.”

“Okay, then I’ll watch with them.”

“Cool. Wanna sit with me?”

“No,” Azzi says.

Paige grabs her by the waist, holding her against her front, leaning around to kiss her cheek. “C’mon, baby, you know I was just playin’.”

“Okay, and I don’t wanna be played with.” Azzi pulls out of her grasp, shooting a glare over her shoulder.

Paige raises an eyebrow. “Aight, sassy.”

Azzi doesn’t dignify that with a response. She just heads to the living room, flopping down beside Ice to join the movie. She’s relieved (and maybe a little disappointed) when Paige doesn’t follow her.

—————————————

Paige has left her alone for a good amount of time, maybe an hour. Azzi has KK to thank for that: the two of them have been fucking around, playing Fort, and making TiKToks while Azzi enjoys her peace and quiet. She stays in Paige’s apartment, knowing she’s still going to bed with her tonight. Just as long as Paige continues to keep her distance for awhile.

She’s lying on the couch, book held above her, glasses perched over her nose as she reads. The movie ended a while ago, and Morgan and Sarah still linger around, hanging with Jana, and Allie’s in her room. She sort of hopes they don’t hang around too long. As much as she loves her kids, they’re a lot.

Still, it’s manageable. That is, until Paige and KK come barreling into the room, laughing their asses off. Azzi squeezes her eyes shut, hoping they’re going to pass her, but to her dismay, they stop right in front of the couch.

“Babe,” Paige says.

“Yes,” Azzi monotones.

“We need your opinion.” KK cackles as Paige promptly turns around before starting to twerk—or at least, something that looks like it could be twerking—right in front of Azzi’s poor face. “It’s moving, right? There’s motion?”

On any other day, Azzi might sugarcoat it to be nice, but today she just says, “There is absolutely not motion.”

KK clutches her stomach, laughing so hard she almost wheezes.

Paige whips around, hands on her chest. If there were pearls there, she’d be clutching them. “Babe!”

“I told you!” KK yells, pushing Paige out of the way. Azzi groans as she, too, turns around and begins shaking ass. It is admittedly better than Paige’s attempt. “What about me?”

“Mm, it’s a little better.”

“You gotta teach us,” KK says, tugging at Azzi’s hand.

“Ooh, yeah, teach us,” Paige agrees, wiggling her eyebrows. “I’m a visual learner, by the way.”

Azzi scoffs. As if. She pulls herself free from KK’s grasp, then stands. “Absolutely not.”

“Why?” they both frown.

“Because I’m trying to relax and y’all are being weird,” she quips.

“Why don’t you come hang with us?” Paige offers, a little more gently, obviously realizing Azzi is actually a little annoyed.

“No, thanks,” Azzi says. “I’m already overstimulated enough just from listening to you guys.”

Paige furrows her eyebrows. “Where you going, then?”

Azzi sighs, glancing at the door, then to her girlfriend, then back again. “I think I’m gonna head to my room, Paige.”

KK gasps. “Oh, mom and dad fighting?”

“We are not,” Paige insists. Then she turns to Azzi with an exaggerated sad face. “Are we?”

“No,” Azzi says, which is true. They’re not fighting; she just needs a break. “I’ll be back later, okay?”

“Why’re you leaving?” Paige asks, stepping toward her.

“I just…I’m a little grumpy today. Not as patient as usual. I need a few minutes.”

Paige frowns, but KK, never one to read a social situation, laughs. “She really said she has a low Paige threshold,” she giggles, pushing Paige’s shoulder.

“We barely saw each other this week,” Paige says, ignoring KK as she reaches out to hold Azzi’s hands. “We’ve already been apart today.”

“I know, honey,” Azzi says. She decides against pointing out that all in all, they’ve only been apart for around an hour total this entire day. “I promise I’ll be back.”

“Like, soon, right?” Paige says, giving her big puppy eyes that she’s never been able to resist.

“Yes, soon,” she promises. She leans forward for a kiss, KK averting her gaze with an eye roll. “Play Fort with KK or something. You’ll be okay.”

“I won’t,” Paige insists, sounding genuinely worried.

“You will. We have tomorrow, too, remember?” With one last kiss, Azzi releases her hands, grabbing her things to go downstairs. She just barely catches KK making fun of Paige for being a simp before she gets out the door.

————————————

“Open the doooor.”

“Az, c’mon, bro, lemme in!”

“Bitch, you’ve had plenty alone time, pleaseeee.”

Azzi stands by the door, laughing silently at her girlfriend’s pleading—which has been going on, unanswered on her part, for about five minutes now—until her face drops at the last sentence. “What did you just call me?”

There’s a distinctly panicked silence before Paige starts backtracking. “I mean, my beautiful wife who I love and respect. For real, let me in. We can be alone together!”

“Very poetic,” Azzi remarks.

Paige groans, and there’s a thunk that sounds a lot like a forehead hitting a door. “Dawg.”

Once again, Azzi goes quiet, and she can tell the exact moment Paige realizes this because there’s another thunk.

“Azzi, please, babe.”

Still, she doesn’t respond, and that’s when the singing starts.

“Pleaseeee, open the dooorrr,” she sings quite horribly. Azzi quiets her giggle behind a hand.

“Pleaseeee,” she continues, completely off-key. Sza level, my ass.

“No, Paige.”

“Baby, please! It’s almost dinner time.”

“For who? It’s barely four.”

There’s another beat of silence. Then, “Azzi, I’m gonna cry. Please.”

Obviously, Paige is bullshitting her. She’s not going to cry. But still, Azzi’s never been able to be stern with Paige. (And Paige calling her her wife earlier certainly helped matters.)

As soon as she cracks the door open, Paige is trying to barge through, but Azzi stops her with a foot in the door. “Hold on.”

Paige, obediently, stops.

“I’m still a little grumpy,” Azzi admits.

Paige nods. “Okay.”

“So…be gentle, okay? I don’t like being mad at you.”

“I don’t like you being at me,” Paige agrees.

“We’re in agreement, then.”

“A hundred percent.” Paige pushes at the door. “Now, can I come in, please?”

Azzi opens the door all the way, allowing herself to be tackled onto the bed in a very non-gentle way, but still, she laughs. Even when she needs space from Paige, even when she chooses it—she still just ends up missing her the whole time.

“Hey,” Paige says once she’s effectively pinned her to the bed. “Noticed your dorm’s empty.”

Azzi raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

“I can finish what I started earlier,” Paige offers, suggestive smile on her face before she says, “unless you don’t want that, obviously.”

Azzi’s pulling her down before she can finish her sentence.

(“We’re getting a sweet treat later,” she says a little while later.

“Okay, princess,” Paige says, situating herself between her legs. “Whatever you want.” And then, she drops a kiss on the inside of her thigh before spreading her open, dipping her head down, and going beautifully quiet for the first time all day. They stay in bed for quite some time.)

When Azzi starts her period the next day, she proudly says to herself, “I knew I wasn’t going crazy.”

[kashverse]

𝒴our first encounter with the 呪術廻戦 men 

⪩⪨ ✶ implied f!reader but can be read otherwise (use of "pretty" in choso's version), strangers to lovers, fluff, featuring ♡ canon! gojo, canon! geto, single dad! toji, modern au! choso, canon! sukuna in a modern au, corporate! nanami ✿ ⪩⪨ tried a new formatting style..! ib my dear @norikuna (∩˃o˂∩)♡

gojo doesn’t see you coming. not because he’s oblivious—though, sure, that’s part of it—but because he’s too busy making himself miserable, listening to some poor bastard on the phone cry about their ex. it’s barely noon, the sun’s out, people are living their lives, and this guy’s talking about how he let “the one” slip through his fingers. “bro, just get another one,” gojo had said, dead-eyed, waiting for the crosswalk light to change. the response was more crying. he sighed, hanging up.

and then he smacked straight into you.

not a polite bump, not even a nudge—full-on body collision, your forehead meeting his chin with a sharp crack. the impact was enough to send you both stumbling, but while gojo’s built like a brick wall, you had all the misfortune of being knocked back a few steps. “ow—what the fuck?!” your voice came first, and then, through the dizzying pain, you saw him. tall, white-haired, stupidly good-looking in an insufferable way, dressed like he was on some model’s off-day. sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose, and even through the slight daze, you could see the sharp glint of his blue eyes peering down at you.

“ah, my bad—”

“your bad?” your voice rose, disbelieving. the pain hadn’t even settled yet, but your temper had. “you nearly took my head off!”

gojo blinked. “well, technically, if i took your head off, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he pointed out. “unless you’re a talking head, which would be—"

“are you serious?” you cut him off, hands flying up in exasperation. “you’re just standing in the middle of the damn sidewalk—”

“crosswalk,” he corrected.

“—like a fucking lamppost,” you barreled on, ignoring him. “and then you hit me. no, actually, you collided with me like a fucking train, and now you’re just standing there?”

you looked ready to kill him. gojo thought you looked radiant. people don’t really yell at him. they get nervous, flustered, awkward. maybe they complain a little, but they don’t yell. not like this—not with this kind of raw, unfiltered rage that was directed solely at him.

and he was loving it.

“ohhh, you’re mad mad,” he said, grinning.

“no shit?” you spat, rubbing your forehead. “you’re huge! why do you walk like you don’t know how to control your own size?”

“i’m huge? that’s a compliment,” he mused. “also, you ran into me.”

“i did not—"

“you did, but it’s okay,” he waved off. “i forgive you.”

your mouth dropped open. your jaw clenched so hard you swore you heard it click. “i don’t need your forgiveness,” you snapped. “i need you to watch where the hell you’re going!” gojo just smiled. “i can do that,” he said. “but only if you tell me your name first.”

you squinted at him. “why?”

“so i know what to say in my apology,” he said smoothly. “y’know, something heartfelt, real personal. ‘i’m so sorry, dear stranger, for running into you with my big, strong, muscular body—’”

your scowl deepened. “forget it,” you turned to leave, shaking your head.

gojo grabbed your wrist. lightly, like he was afraid you’d shake him off (which you probably would). “wait,” he said, less teasing this time, more curious.

you stopped, staring at him warily. “what?”

he grinned. “you’re fun.”

you yanked your arm out of his grip. “you’re annoying.”

but you weren’t yelling anymore. and maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.

toji doesn't believe in love—at least, not in the way people like to romanticize it. to him, love has always been transactional. people want things: security, pleasure, a warm body to cling to at night. he provides, they take. simple.

commitment? fuck no. he’s been there, done that, and all it got him was a headache and a kid who looks at him like he’s a walking disappointment. not that he blames megumi—he knows exactly the kind of man he is. relationships, from what he's seen, are just another job. another obligation. more shit to deal with when he's already stretched thin making sure megumi doesn't starve or turn into a little menace. and he's already got enough on his plate. 

raising megumi is work. the kid is sharp, stubborn, and way too perceptive for his own good. keeping up with him is exhausting. fulfilling someone else’s expectations on top of that? hell no.

people ask if he’s lonely. he laughs. lonely? he’s got freedom. no nagging, no obligations, no answering to anyone but himself and, on the worst days, a grumpy eight-year-old who somehow thinks he’s smarter than him. love, in his experience, is just a distraction. and toji fushiguro doesn’t do distractions.

and toji swears he only looked away for a second.

he was just checking the damn price tag on some overpriced brand of instant noodles, and when he looked back, megumi was gone. poof. like a magic trick, except it wasn’t a trick, and the rising panic in his chest was very, very real. “shit,” he muttered, scanning the aisles. nothing. just a bunch of old ladies and college kids looking for cheap meals. no messy black hair, no tiny scowl. he ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep calm. he didn’t want to make a scene. people lost their kids all the time, right? it wasn’t a big deal. he just had to—

and then he saw him.

megumi was at the end of the next aisle, small hands clenched at his sides, his mouth pressed in a thin, stubborn line, like he wasn’t scared, even though he definitely was. and right next to him, crouched down to his level, was you. “you’re really good at this,” you said. megumi blinked up at you. “huh?”

“the whole ‘not panicking’ thing,” you smiled at him. “most kids freak out when they lose their parents. you’re staying calm. that’s cool.” megumi looked away, like he wasn’t sure if that was actually a compliment or not. “i don’t wanna cause trouble,” he muttered.

“aw, but that’s what parents are for,” you teased. “causing them trouble.” megumi almost smiled. almost. toji, still frozen in place, narrowed his eyes. who the hell were you?

“c’mon, let’s go find your dad,” you said, standing up and holding out a hand. megumi didn’t take it, but he followed you anyway, his short legs working hard to keep up with your pace. and toji? well. he wasn’t sure why, but instead of stepping forward, he let you find him.

he let you do the whole thing, watching as you walked with megumi, asking him questions—where he last saw his dad, what his name was, what he looked like.

“he’s really tall,” megumi said. you hummed. “tall, huh? that helps.”

“and he’s got a scar on his mouth,” he added.

“even better. anyone who looks scary is easier to spot.”

megumi frowned a little. “he’s not scary.” you smiled, ruffling his hair. “i bet he isn’t.”

toji snorted under his breath.

by the time you turned the corner and finally spotted him, megumi exhaled in relief. toji pretended not to notice how fast he ran up to him, grabbing the fabric of his shirt like he wasn’t just saying how calm he was. you, on the other hand, stopped a few steps away, hands on your hips. “you must be the scary, not-scary dad,” you said.

toji raised an eyebrow. “and you’re just a random saint, huh?” you shrugged. “not a saint. just someone who doesn’t like seeing kids upset.”

he looked at you, really looked at you. you didn’t seem put out by any of this, like helping some stranger’s kid wasn’t an inconvenience, but just another part of your day. like it was normal. toji let out a breath, then tilted his head down at megumi. “you good, kid?”

megumi nodded, though he still wasn’t letting go of toji’s shirt. toji sighed, glancing back at you. “guess i owe you, huh?”

you waved him off. “don’t worry about it. just keep an eye on him next time.”

toji huffed a laugh. “easier said than done.”

you grinned, giving megumi one last look before turning to leave. and toji? well. maybe being responsible for two people wouldn’t be so bad after all.

nanami never thought much about being single. it wasn’t a matter of pride or principle—just reality. his job was time-consuming, his patience was thin, and the thought of entertaining someone else’s needs after a long workday felt exhausting. he wasn’t lonely, just… fine. indifferent.

until he got sick of his office food.

“this is inedible,” he said flatly, staring at the sad excuse of a meal on his plate. his colleague, barely looking up from his own tray, mumbled, “it’s fine.”

nanami’s eye twitched. it was not fine. rubbery chicken, dry rice, and a soup that tasted more like dishwater than anything edible. this was not a meal—it was a punishment.

so, he made a change.

he found a small business that delivered homemade meals, something personal but convenient. it promised variety, quality ingredients, and, most importantly, flavor.

what he didn’t expect were the notes.

the first one came tucked under the neatly packed meal.

“hope today isn’t too exhausting! eat well!”

nanami stared at it for longer than he should have. then, at the food—real food. properly cooked, properly seasoned, steaming with warmth that no canteen meal could ever replicate. he didn’t think about it much. a kind gesture, that was all. but the notes kept coming.

“long meetings? i packed extra today.”

“rainy day! hope this brings some warmth.”

“rough week? your food will always be good at least.”

and then—

“your order is always so precise. you must be someone who likes routine.”

nanami paused mid-bite. he did like routine. he thrived on it. and yet, this—this unexpected kindness, these little messages—was beginning to throw him off in a way he couldn’t explain. weeks passed, meals came, and nanami found himself looking forward to them—not just for the food, but for the words that came with it. one afternoon, after another insufferable meeting, he opened his meal to find:

“do you ever take breaks? hope you’re not working too hard.”

he let out a breath, something between a sigh and a laugh. he was working too hard. but how did you—someone he’d never met—seem to know that better than the people around him? finally, curiosity got the better of him. he grabbed a pen and, for the first time, wrote back.

“who are you?”

the next day, his meal came with a note, just like always.

“just someone who wants you to eat well. but i wouldn’t mind knowing who you are too.”

and for the first time in a long time, nanami thought—maybe being single wasn’t so fine after all.

geto doesn’t believe in love. not in the way people romanticize it, anyway. he’s known desire—used it, wielded it like a tool, a means to an end. a well-timed smile, a hand grazing a wrist, a whispered promise—all of it was just another step in expanding his cause. people were easy to sway when you made them feel special. and being single? it wasn’t something he mourned. it was efficient. no attachments, no complications, no wasted energy. everything he did, every conversation, every encounter—it all served a purpose.

until you.

“you’ve been talking for a while,” you said, tilting your head at him. geto smiled. “am i boring you?”

“not at all. just wondering if you’re going to get to the point.”

he chuckled, swirling his drink. clever. impatient. interesting.

“what do you think my point is?”

you leaned back, thoughtful. “well, you’re charming, you have that practiced ease of someone who’s very used to getting what they want, and yet…” you narrowed your eyes. “you haven’t tried to get anything from me yet.”

his smile twitched. perceptive too. “maybe i’m just enjoying the conversation.”

“hmm.” you didn’t look convinced. “i doubt you talk to people without a reason.”

he laughed, shaking his head. “you wound me. am i not allowed to simply appreciate good company?”

you smirked. “do you?”

and that was the problem, wasn’t it? he did.

he was supposed to be recruiting you. that was why he approached you in the first place—he had assessed, observed, picked you out for your potential. another piece in his grander vision. but now? now, he was talking to you about books, about philosophy, about things that had nothing to do with his cause.

he liked your sharp tongue, your quick comebacks, the way you saw through people but humored them anyway. and he was enjoying this. more than he should.

“you’re thinking too hard,” you noted.

“am i?”

“yeah. for someone who flirts so easily, you seem oddly distracted.”

he chuckled, shaking his head. you had no idea. for the first time in a long time, geto suguru had forgotten his purpose. and strangely enough, he didn’t mind.

choso doesn’t really get love. it’s not that he doesn’t feel it—he does, deeply, messily, all-consuming in the way only someone who has lived too long without it can. it’s just that he doesn’t understand how it’s supposed to work. his friends talk about relationships like they’re puzzles, like you’re supposed to fit into someone else’s life piece by piece, no gaps, no edges sticking out. but choso? he keeps forcing the wrong pieces together. he’s had his heart broken by so many situationships, and he doesn’t even know what that word means. all he knows is that people like him enough to stay for a while, but not enough to stay forever. and when someone ghosts him? it’s over.

“why would they do that?” he asks yuuji, completely distraught. “i thought we were getting along.” yuuji winces. “yeah, but… sometimes people just disappear, man. it’s not your fault.”

“but why not just say they don’t like me?”

“because people suck.”

choso frowns. love is confusing. people are confusing. nothing makes sense.

until he meets you.

more specifically, until you send a pug flying in his direction. one second, he’s minding his own business, sipping a coffee, staring blankly at nothing. the next—

“watch out!”

and then—THUD.

a very round, very squishy pug collides with his chest, knocking the air out of him. he blinks. looks down. the pug is fine. choso, however, is shaken.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry,” you pant, running up to him, looking horrified. “he’s got the speed of a missile and the weight distribution of a sack of potatoes. are you okay?”

choso is still holding the pug. he has not processed a single thing except that you’re talking to him, and you’re really pretty. you snap your fingers in front of his face.

“hello? earth to guy who just got body slammed by my dog?”

he swallows. “i—i’m okay.”

you sigh in relief. “good. i don’t think my insurance covers ‘pug-related assaults.’”

he stares. then—

he laughs.

it’s an awkward, slightly delayed laugh, but it’s real. it bubbles out of him, because suddenly, everything is just… simple. you’re still talking, apologizing, trying to pry your dog from his grip, and he realizes—love doesn’t have to be this big, complicated thing. it can be a stranger, a runaway pug, and a stupidly perfect moment where he thinks, 'oh. this is it.'

sukuna has never cared for love. love is mortal, fleeting, an indulgence for the weak. he has lived for centuries without it, conquered, destroyed, thrived—all on his own. why bother with attachment? why waste time on something that promises nothing but vulnerability? he’s always been perfectly fine like this.

until the night he meets you at the bar.

he doesn’t even mean to notice you at first—just another human in a crowded room, laughing, talking, lighting up the space with an ease he’s never possessed. 

and then he hears you speak. your voice is smooth, effortless, like you’re meant to be heard. every sentence flows into the next, words never fumbling, never uncertain. you make people laugh, pull them in, keep them hanging on to every syllable. sukuna watches, listens, enthralled, before someone leans in and calls you by name—your full name. followed by—

“aren’t you that talk show host?”

and it clicks. you are. he’s seen your face before, flickering on a television screen, a passing glimpse at a life so far removed from his own.

and now he’s irritated. because you talk so easily with everyone but him. and that won’t do.

so he tries. for the first time in centuries, he tries to talk to someone—like a normal person, like it’s something he’s done before, like it’s as easy as you make it look.

but it’s not. it’s a disaster.

he waits until the crowd around you has thinned, takes the seat next to you, and—

“so.” he clears his throat. “you talk to people for a living.”

you turn, blinking, mildly amused. “i do.”

he nods, confident. good start. then nothing. his mind goes blank. shit.

you raise a brow, waiting. sukuna glares at his drink like it’s betrayed him. “how do you do it?”

you tilt your head. “do what?” he gestures vaguely. “talk. keep people engaged.”

you blink. “are you asking me how to hold a conversation?”

his jaw tenses. “no.”

you laugh. he scowls.

he tries again. “what makes a good interview?”

“oh, that’s easy,” you hum. “you have to be genuinely interested in the other person.”

he deadpans.

you smirk. “which means you have to actually listen to what they’re saying.”

“i listen,” he grumbles.

“really?” you lean in. “then what were we just talking about?”

silence. your smirk widens. “you weren’t listening.”

he groans, dragging a hand down his face. this is hell.

but he keeps trying. keeps failing, keeps making an idiot of himself, keeps suffering through every one of your knowing smiles—because for the first time in his miserable, ancient existence, he actually wants to learn.

he wants to talk to you.

and maybe, just maybe, he wants you to talk to him, too.

[cinnamqnx]

virtually yours ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆

pairing. seishiro nagi x f!reader

summary. you’re not a usually a gamer girl, occasionally playing the sims or roblox, so imagine your surprise when a clip of you & your best friend goes viral for talking shit to who you imagined was a 12 year old kid, but actually a popular streamer with a territorial fan base and of all place, on dress to impress.

warnings. basically just crack & fluff, nagi is a lil toxic at the start, swearing

15 | virtually yours

☁︎. one week later

your heart was beating out your chest, your palms sweaty as you stood in the hallway, waiting for seishiro nagi. he had just finished his football game, and to no one’s surprise, winning the match.

you would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous to meet the rest of his friends, but you couldn’t help if you and nagi wouldn’t click like you had online.

“y/n?”, you whip around, seeing nagi, his hair messy and disheveled after clearly having a shower. and damn, was 10x more attractive in person.

“hi.”, you say breathlessly, not expecting him to literally come up behind you, “where are your friends?”,, you ask, nervously.

he gives you a small smile, “are you more excited to see them than me?”

you raise your brows, “what? no. sorry, i’m just-“, you breathe, “i’m just really nervous.”

“i’ve been nervous all day, too.”, he mutters, running his hand through the side of his hair, “i was worried i wasn’t gonna perform well.”

“are you kidding? you did so well, sei. i’ve never been so invested in football.”, you laugh.

“really?”, he smiles.

you nod, looking up at him. hearing everything you did about nagi, you assumed he might come across more nonchalant, maybe even a bit quiet. that was your main worry when it came to meeting him and thinking your relationship might be different in person.

but, looking up and seeing the pure adoration in his eyes and the nervous expression he had on his face, you knew you never had a thing to worry about.

“so yeah, i don’t really know why i was so worried.”, you say to nagi, sitting across from him on a bench table at the fair, biting into a greasy hotdog he had just bought you.

you didn’t get a reply, looking over to see him staring at you, his hand on his cheek, “what?”

“hm?”, he asks.

“you’re just staring at me, is my rambling boring you?” you smile.

“no, you just look really pretty right now.”, he states as a matter of fact.

“i look pretty stuffing my face with this hotdog?@, you laugh.

“mhmm, you do.”, he smiles.

“shut up.”, you roll your eyes, smiling.

“i was really worried too. i’ve not really ever spoken to a girl like this before.”

“like, at all?”, you ask, surprised. he was a good looking boy, and he’s had no experience?

he shakes his head, “never been interested in anyone, and it always seemed like a hassle when i saw it.”

“and what do you think now?”, you smile, tilting your head at him.

“i still think it’s a hassle.”, he pauses, “but in a good way.”

“a hassle in a good way, hm.”, you repeat, finishing off the rest of your hotdog.

“what do you wanna do next?”, he asks, looking at you intently.

“i wanna go on the rides, obviously.”

“but they make me feel nauseous.”, he whines.

“uh huh, and who asked who to a fun fair?”, you smile at his whiny expression.

he simply sighs, looking back at you. how could he deny you when you’re smiling at him like that?

“now, cmon.”, you stress, getting up and grabbing nagi’s hand, “i don’t wanna wait around in the lines.”, you say, looking up at him with an eager glint in your eye, pulling him with you.

nagi couldn’t help but smile to himself, a month ago he would have never thought he’d be spending valentines with a gorgeous girl who he met on roblox, talking shit to him.

and while it may have caused him a great amount of hassle, he couldn’t be more grateful for it.

navigation. virtually yours

author’s note. i can’t believe this series is finished 😭 i’ve had so much fun writing this and seeing ur comments even if i didn’t get chance to reply :) ur all so funny and have me in hysterics 😭 if you enjoyed this series im hoping you’ll enjoy more fics i have coming in the future!!

taglist: @nensi @yuiearyi @mi2ukiss @pookalicious-hq @shumeow-h @solaqes @jellychannie @kermitbbg69 @pctterheadd @mizuwki @simpingmyassoff @karasu4life @crispynutella @stwberri @lilwx @suksatoru @rwura @ibyobi @renchai @nuhahani @digitaltrippers @natsukicookies @meekydeeks @ursafehaven @tamimemo @yukari1k @chaoslibra @mochiii-sama @cookielovesbook-akie @ningninjas @wallflowerdowned @hannimissesherbackbone @dinnersyummy @appalost @mbyy00 @asteraslvrr @kaz-0e @kascar-chronicle @arwawawa2 @rwbie @haruhi269 @lovessen @kaiserlvr @azharyy @hwaassaa @mikaru0 @sobbangchan @thenightsflower @chuurinnie @appl3-0rchard (closed)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Captain's Orders 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, controlling behaviour, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The Captain takes it upon himself to change your life.

Characters: Steve Rogers

Note: I am still dizzy her and there but feeling a bit better.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You wouldn’t call it doom scrolling. That’s not what this is. You try not to search out the depressing headlines or the studies of the human character assuring you of your race’s inherent flaws. Yet, all those boastful posts about engagements, weddings, and promotions still make you feel crummy. 

Jealous? Sure. You don’t have any of those things and it isn’t as if you can hope for as much, either. You’re in a dead-end job, living in cramped apartment with your sister and her irresponsible friend, and your romantic life is next to non-existent; not that you’ve been looking. None of that is meant for you, otherwise, you’d have had some glimmer of interest by now. 

It’s like quicksand. Not very quick but it pulls you down lower and lower. Sinking and sinking until all you can see is the muck. There’s no way out now, you’re waist deep in it. 

You click under your favourite communities and start a new post. You don’t make many. Mostly you read and judge silently. You’re a lurker. Like in many facets of your life. You watch, you don’t do. But you’ve had a shitty day and you need to just let it out. 

Your fingers move as your thoughts boil in your head; your nagging manager, your lazy landlord, and your immature roommates. Nothing ever goes your way. Everyone else has it figured out and you’re just left to rot. You try! You do. Resumes, profiles on friendship apps, online courses; free, of course, it’s all you can afford, but you do try to improve yourself. It just doesn’t work. 

You hit ‘post’ and close the lid of your ancient laptop. It’s as thick as a book. The battery doesn’t hold a charge and the fan is as loud as a jet. You fall back onto your bed and look around your tiny room. That’s all you have. This space is as much as you can call your own and not really. You rent it, it can be taken away with one of those red stamped notices. 

You yawn and drag yourself up. A whole shift and you didn’t bother to have more than the bland break room coffee spewed from the off-brand pod machine and a couple sticks of gum. Tia got herself sushi before her shift but she can just ask her parents to send her money to cover her Door Dash addiction. 

You plod out to the kitchen. Your sister closes the fridge and cracks the tab of a beer can. You’re sure it isn’t her first.  

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Shea bobbles her head. 

Funny since Donna pretty much hollered at you for interrupting her TV show. You all pitched in on the flat screen yet it’s never your turn with it. You shrug and go to the cupboard. It’s not sushi but the spicy shrimp ramen isn’t too bad... 

“You work?” You ask. 

“Pfft, no. Didn’t I say I was going to lunch with Mason?” 

“Did you?” You take down at bowl. She probably did. You never remember. She’s always got a date or a party or a fall back. If she can’t make rent, she’ll smile a cute guy and get some money. 

“He bought me some shoes! You’ll never believe.” 

“Right,” you try not to seethe. 

You’re scraping the bottom of the barrel. You’re eating sodium-laced noodles and holding back tears against old people wanting to print out their life story from a corrupt PDF. She’s pretty. She doesn’t have to try. Shea is all the proof you need that some people are just lucky. 

You put the electric kettle onto boil and the smell of burnt—something makes your lip curl. You pop the lid and look inside. It’s brown. What the hell? 

“What’s wrong with this?” You ask as you flip off the switch. 

“Donna!” Shea yells, “what did you do to the kettle?” No answer. Your sister hollers again. 

A door swings open and Donna stomps out with a huff. Her face is green as she has a mask spread over it and eye masks pasted beneath her lashes. 

“I’m getting ready--” 

“The kettle stinks,” you reach for a pot and find none. They’re all stacked and waiting to be washed. You snatch one off the top and flip on the faucet. 

“Oh, I heated up some bone broth in it. I’m doing a cleanse,” she smirks. “Tasted kinda weird.” 

“Bone broth?” You scoff. See. You try, they can’t even clean dishes. “Great.” 

“I’m sure it’s fine, just rinse it out,” Shea says. 

You scrub the pan and ignore her. You glance up as she slurps noisily from the can. Pre-drinks. Her and Donna are going out. Again. They can afford to because they don’t buy their own drinks. They don’t need to. You went out with them once and paid for all of your own, even though you’d have been happy enough with a single round. 

“Have fun,” you dry out the pan and slam it on the burner. 

“Jeez, maybe you should loosen up?” Donna chides. 

“Yeah, come with us. Dance it out,” Shea drawls. 

“No thanks,” you twist the knob and light the burner. “I have work tomorrow.” 

“Call innnnn,” Shea insists. 

“I can’t,” you sniff and step back to wait for the water to boil. 

“Boring,” she chirps. 

“Yep, I am,” you cross your arms. Your annoyed. When the go out, you’ll have to clean up this mess. You can’t handle another bout of fruit flies. 

You put the noodles in and let them soften. You stir in the oil and powder then retreat to your room with the bowl of boiling cholesterol. You let it cool and put a video on your phone. You don’t want to think. 

You eat deliberately. You savour the processed flavouring. You can’t go out sneak a midnight snack; Donna ate all your cookies. You label all your stuff in thick marker and she apparently can’t read. 

You hear them leave. They’re loud. They leave the television on. At high volume. 

You go out and shut it off. You need to sleep soon. Opening always comes after a late shift. Otherwise, how else would the corporation keep you disempowered. 

You open your laptop. You’ll but on some lo-fi while you charge your phone. Heck, the fan is like white noise on its own. 

The little red number at the bottom of the page stops you. You left the browser open. Someone actually responded to your post. You click and your stomach drops as you read the first sentence. 

‘Sounds like you cause a lot of your own problems. Maybe try some mindful exercises and get out more. You should also consider making some friends.’ 

You read it over and over. You’re angry. Hurt, too. But most that first thing. You can’t stop from replying. 

‘You got all that from me venting? I wasn’t asking for advice. I walk to and from work and I have friends.’ 

It’s mostly true. You do walk. Most days. And your sister is a friend, isn’t she? By association, so is Donna. 

Before you can look up your favourite twelve-hour lo-fi, another notification pops up. 

‘Looking at your post history, your diet could use some improvements. More veggies. And walking is a good starting point but you need to increase your endorphins. I’d be happy to send you some helpful guides. They’re easily searchable on the internet. We live in the age of information, you should consider taking advantage of that.’ 

Wow, what an asshole. He’s smug and obviously better than you. You click on his username and scroll through. Just as you expect. He posts in fitness communities. Not any videos of him but sharing tutorials and recipes for high-protein smoothies and fibre-laced juices. He wouldn’t know flavour if it puked in his mouth. 

You his ‘esc’ and go back to your own post; ‘thanks for the advice. Have a good one.; 

That’s it. You’re not arguing with some faceless douche on the internet. His response is as quick as the first. 

‘A helpful link.’ He hyperlinks the words. ‘You should at least stretch in the morning and go outside on your breaks at work. You might work long shifts but it’s no excuse to be lazy. If you’ve been in that role for so long, you should have more than enough references to move on to something that doesn’t make you miserable.’ 

You don’t answer. You know if you do, you’ll just embarrass yourself. Judging by the few pics of his real life and his cadence, he’s got everything. He just thinks it’s a matter of mindset. There can’t possibly be anything else which could make things more difficult for people. You just don’t work hard enough. Duh, everyone always says so. 

You close out of the page. If he replies again, you’ll block him. Simple as. You put on a lo-fi track and dim the screen. You roll over and tuck into bed. You fall asleep in a ball of stress; you have to wake up, shower, do all that human stuff, then make yourself face another eight hours of hell. 

⭐

“I hate working at the fucking copy desk,” you hiss as you take your bag from the cubby in the break room. “Good luck.” 

Darcy gives you a look as she sits at one of the tables, waiting for her shift to start. You grit your teeth as you should your purse and grip your jacket tight. You punch your employee number into the clock then head out. 

As you march down the aisle of toner, a customer tries to stop you. “I’m off duty.” 

“But I need a keyboard.” 

You ignore them and keep going. 

“I’m going to tell a manager, young lady!” 

You don’t care. Besides, why are they looking for a keyboard in the toner aisle. The signs above with the giant letters clearly show that the computer accessories are in the opposite corner. 

People are stupid. They might be able to read, technically, but they definitely lack comprehension. Just like Donna who can’t keep her hands off your snacks. 

You walk home in a simmer. If you let your temper get away from you, you won’t be able to hold back when you walk into the inevitable shit show waiting for you at home. Shea and Donna hungover, probably having got into more of your sparse groceries, and amidst a brand new mess for you to tidy. You won’t not this time. 

You have a mission. Go to your room and don’t come out. 

As you enter your building, you find the elevator non-responsive. A tiny post-it is stuck to the doors. ‘Out of Order’. Couldn’t have made something a bit more legible? 

You take the stairs. The hallway smells like onion and dirty clothes. You take out your keys as you get to your door, ignoring the rabble coming from the apartment next to yours. Before you can get your key in the slot, the door opens. 

“Heyyyy, she’s back,” Shea greets. You blink at her in confusion. Is she already drunk again? 

“Starting already?” You ask as you try to get past her. 

“Hm, no,” she says tritely, “you have a guest.” 

You roll your eyes, “don’t be a bitch, alright?” 

“No, really,” she grins. You stop and look her up and down. She isn’t falling apart like usual after a Friday night. Her hair is done, her makeup too, and she’s not in her sweats.  

“Is it mom?” You whisper. 

She snorts, “you’re stupid. No, it’s your friend. Steve.” She backs up with a shimmy, “I think some people call him Captain.” 

You make a face. What? 

“Who...” 

“Ahem,” a figure appears by the corner of the kitchen counter, “I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

You crane to see over Shea’s shoulder. The man behind her is tall. And familiar. Steve Rogers. Your expression contorts as your lashes flutter in confusion. 

“Not at all, Stevie,” Shea spins, “I’ll give you two the room. So nice to meet you.” 

She squeezes by him and touches his forearm as she does. He doesn’t react. She giggles and flits off. Her door shuts but you can tell that the latch didn’t catch. She’s listening. 

“Should we go outside? Get some sun?” He asks. 

You glance at him again. You’re lost. 

“Do I know you?” You grimace. 

“After all day under fluorescent, you should really get out--” 

“I-- I’m sorry, can you slow down and explain--” 

“Outside. Privately,” he says. 

You peek past him then look into the hallway behind you. You search your mind for an explanation. The only place you know him from is the internet or a history book. 

“Like I said before, going outside can really help with mood issues.” 

You hesitate and your mouth falls open. It can’t be... 

“Was that you? Last night?” You shake your head. 

“How about I buy you a smoothie?” He offers. 

You snap your mouth shut. He can’t be serious. This can’t be real. 

[clockwayswrites]

The Haunting of Danny Fenton, p5

masterpost please no crit or editing, I know there are mistakes. this migraine is on day 7 and killing me <3

Danny swiped his finger over one of the hanging crystals in the waiting room window of Marvelous Mina’s Spiritual Nexus: or, in other words, the old, tiny, craftsman building that was crammed between two mid rises that Wilhelmina Aleshire had inherited from her grandmother several years ago.

There wasn’t any sort of spiritual nexus in the place. Mina was actually completely inept at conversing with the dead (Danny excluded). What Mina was unusually skilled at lay in the realm of psychic readings, specifically those involving divination such as tarot and oracle cards. She was also quite good at reading living people.

(Danny might have been a little jealous of that.)

Danny had first stumbled upon Mina and her ‘nexus’ when they were both dealing with the same ghost: him from the spirit itself and her from the bereaved widower of the man. Working together had wrapped things up quite quickly. It had also actually been enjoyable.

Mina was weird, energetic, and curious. It was an overwhelming combination at times, but other times it was just perfect. It was especially welcome when Danny got into a slump of some sort, usually between jobs or partners or when he wanted to kill and then end an annoying new roommate.

Not that he would ever do that.

(But Brad came damn close.)

A crying woman came dashing out through the curtain that separated the foyer waiting room from the sitting room that Mina used for her readings. She wiped dramatically at her eyes as she got to the door, heaved a massive sigh, tossed her hair back, and headed back out into the world.

“Wow. What did you tell her?” Danny asked, not even turning to look at Mina yet, though he knew she would be standing at the open curtain on the edge between the two spaces where old, cracked black and white tiles met darkly stained hardwood painted with hena style flowers.

“Oh, you know, the usual thing people hate to hear; it won’t work out between her and her current boyfriend,” Mina said. She dropped into the seat next to Danny, and he finally turned to look at her. Her mass of dark blond hair was piled up on top of her head in a sort of gibson girl bun that looked effortlessly, messily stylish. Mina was good at that—being effortlessly stylish in a disheveled sort of way. She brushed back her bangs and continued. “He’s actually already being set to be engaged by his family to ‘someone proper’, which he’ll give into for the inheritance—which is all she was after anyways. She’ll get over it.”

“Something something fish in the sea,” Danny said. He reached out and plucked a petal from Mina’s hair. It was from a bright orange zinnia. Mina’s favorite.

Mina hummed. “And how is your fishing going, Mr. Fenton?”

“Currently in an absolute drought, no where to fish around here.”

“Danny, you live in San Francisco. A bi man such as yourself is not allowed to say there is no fish around.”

Danny scowled, “No fish that don’t want to eat me and spit me out.”

“I mean…”

“Not like that!” Danny explained, a quick blush rising on in his cheeks. “I meant like, viciously.”

“I mean…” Mina repeated with a lascivious smirk.

“I regret coming to you for help.”

“No,” Mina whined, drawing out the word. “What help? Do you have a new ghost problem? What sort of help do you need? Danny, let me help!”

Danny managed to glare at her, but only for a few moments before he relented with an over wrought sigh. “Fine, you can help. Can we go talk now or do you have another appointment?”

“Not until four,” she said. She took Danny’s hand and practically dragged him through the door to the right and into the private section of the once stately home. “Which tea do you want?”

“Dealer's choice. Whatever tea you think is best for a weird talk about a weird ghost,” Danny said. He had his favorites of Mina's diverse tea selection, sure, but she had a way of always choosing the best blend foe the day if he left the choice to her.

She narrowed her eyes as she studied Danny in a way that always made the back of his neck itch. He put up with it dutifully, but relaxed noticeably when she nodded and continued them on to the kitchen.

The room was painted a warm, coral orange. The color should have clashed with the the pale blue cabinets and pale butcher top counters, but instead it just worked. It was very Mina.

Danny sat at the table and idly scratched Hubris on the head.

Hubris was Mina’s ancient grey cat. He had one single golden eye left and used it to glare pitifully at whoever was near until the pet him. He also purred like a wood chipper.

“So give me the deets,” Mina demanded once she had set down the two cups of tea.

Danny sighed and took a sip of his tea. “They’re different. It’s not like they’re made of smoke or mist, it’s like they’re full of static. And they don’t look dead either. I actually—I finally got a got a good look at them this last episode.”

���I don’t like the way you say ‘episode’,” Mina said. Her eyes narrowed over the top of her tea cup.

“You shouldn't,” Danny said with a frown as pulled out the sketch and unfolded it. “They’re seizures, I think? Not like I’ve gone to a doctor about them. I don’t think ‘the ghost person touches me and the world goes technicolor kaleidoscope’ would go over well with a medical professional.”

Hubris opened his one eye with a snort as Mina’s cup clanged down onto her saucer.

“Seizures?! Danny! What the f! You can’t just mess around with seizures.”

“You can say fuck, Mina, we’re both adults,” Danny said dryly.

She leaned forward. “I will throw my tea at you, Danny, unless you explain.”

“But I can’t exactly. They’re not a regular ghost, and I’ve never had anything like this happen before. Mina, look. They look alive.” He turned the drawing around to face her and slid it her way. “I drew this after the episode yesterday. I saw them so clearly. Their eyes had a spark, their skin was healthy skin with a flush and everything, and I even think they breathed. I don’t… Mina, I’m worried that they’re not a ghost.”

Mina picked up the sketch carefully. Her brows were furrowed. “But if they’re not a ghost, why are they contacting you?”

Danny shook his head. “No, if they’re not a ghost, how are they contacting me. And why am I their only option?”

“Fuck.”

“Pretty much. But that’s why I’m here. I want to try things a different way. I want you to try and read for them, Mina.”

[mahyuume]

CAPABLE OF LOVE!

— synopsis. the ways he proofs being capable of showing love!

pairing. various!haikyuu, jjk, bllk, mha x reader | genre. romance, fluff, crack.

reminders. I’m posting after a suuuper long break, hope you guys like this! | mlist

I THINK I NEED I NEED A PICTURE, is something you’ve said countless times to your boyfriend (who will one day be your husband) then proceeding to whip out any kind of device capable of taking a photo. Currently, is happening right now.

“Baby, we need a picture, again!” You gleam at him, the look on his face already dreading the next fifty photos going to be taken; exhausted from taking the last hundred— or maybe more than that photos. But, reluctantly, he agrees. “Fine, but this is the last time,” the boy sighs then flashes his award winning smile. Just in time for- click! that. Now holding the freshly printed Polaroid, he takes a look at your face instead of the physical copy of you both.

Staring at the facial features adorned on you, he sees no flaws whatsoever. He stares at your eyes; shiny but with the hints of clear joy. Lips— he’s kissed them multiple times, but never got over how soft and plush they felt. Always wondered how you do it.

“Are you even listening to me?” You turned your head to him, giving him a small frown. He snaps back into his senses from you cutting his train if thought; now darting back at your eyes, then lips again. “Sorry,” he clears his throat, trying to get rid of all the mushy thoughts in his head. “What were you saying?” Giving a small huff, you re-explain why you both need so many photos. But truth be told, he wasn’t listening one bit. Okay, just a little, but your face is something he could look at for hours. The look of love is real when it comes to him, due to the fact that he always manages to accidentally ignore you; all while adoring you.

As voices drown out, he thinks about adding this new photo to the heart shaped Polaroid collection in his room. Cracks out a stupid smile, then further proves to be undeniably whipped for you.

TOBIO KAGEYAMA, MEGUMI FUSHIGURO, NAGI SEISHIRO, RIN ITOSHI, KUNIGAMI RENSUKE, SHOTO TODOROKI, NEITO MONOMA.

‘CAUSE IT’S NEVER ENOUGH! Is what your boyfriend says almost if not every-time he gifts you things. His reasoning is always “just because” and that he truly meant it when he said if he could give you the whole world, he would. And what I just relayed out for you to process, plays out in your daily life. And is, right now.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Repeated sounds of the doorbell chiming in your ear, you smile as you already know who’s behind the door while opening it for your love. But this time like most, it’s not your love facing you. It’s a big teddy bear that’s twice his size. You’re even surprised a thing like that could fit into his car!

“And who is this for?” You question him, a silly one at that. “Some cute girl I met.” He responds but not so clearly since the bear completely hides his figure besides the arms of his holding it up, drowning in the big fluffy stuffy. You roll your eyes at his answer, “Oh? Come in and tell me all about her.” Entertaining him, you take the legs of the bear and help him inside. And oh my, it was pretty heavy. But no surprise your super strong fiancé could lift it without a sweat.

“I would but…” “But?” “I have more things for the pretty girl inside my car,” he looks over at you with a stupid smile. “If you don’t mind.” He says while walking away back to the front door in a seemingly rush.

Coming back, his hands and arms are full of designer goods, and some even being valentine gifts. Talk about a man who can treat!

“You got me all this?” A gasp leaves your pretty lips as he stares at them, it making him smile in return too. “Yup.” Helping him get the bags, he watches you with a dumb look that makes you wanna slap him for being such a mushy lover. Of course, in a good way!

Opening your early valentine gifts, each one never failed to surprise you and leave you even more grateful for the man watching and recording your reactions. He points to the Nekta bag next to you. In the video, you’re surrounded by countless luxury brands but he decides to point out a specific one.

“Open that one baby.” He smirks behind the camera, watching your face twist into one of excitement and shying away from the camera. “Why? What’s in here?” You say as your paid for nails on hands reach for the Nekta bag. Opening it, there’s many boxes to choose from. You’re not sure which he meant. “Which one?” He points to a small one, the tiniest out of the bunch.

Unraveling the box and seeing the message, cluelessly, you didn’t notice how your boyfriend set down the phone and got down on one knee.

‘Look in front of you dummy.’ You read aloud then looked up. And there he was, holding the missing ring from the box, proposing to you with it.

“Will you marry me?”

HAJIME IWAIZUMI, SATORU GOJO, SAE ITOSHI, REO MIKAGE, KATSUKI BAKUGOU.

TO SEE YOU SMILING IN MY MIND is a memory you often hear being told over and over again by your boyfriend. His dreams of you both are beyond romantic or very dramatic, there’s really no in between.

By far the most exaggerated thing he’d ever say is something about how you two turned into fishes and lived a happy life together swimming around the ocean, avoiding sharks and fishermen. But this time, it’s quite different.

Ding! Ding! Your phone goes off at 7:35pm, right as you’re getting ready for bed or doing whatever it is. Checking what notified you, a smile lit across your face as you read your boyfriend’s display name.

Weird random: Babe

Weird random: I had another dream call me rn it’s so important

Giggling and mentally calling him a weirdo, you read the messages in-app then click the Video Call option.

“Oh my gosh baby, you won’t believe what I dreamt of.” Is what you hear your boyfriend say from the audio of your phone that’s now prompt up on a water glass as a substitute for a stand. “What’d you predict this time?” You cheekily asked him as he closes the space between his device and face; now a super close up of him is in your screen.

You’re not complaining though. He’s in one of those hoodies you promised yourself to ‘borrow’ one of these days and has messy bed hair, which tells you he just woke up from a nap.

“Okay so like, it’s me and you right,” he settles his phone down somewhere around his house, now making hand motions like a story teller. “Mhm.” “We’re having this cute date and stuff right.” “And?” “And then like, you look so beautiful. Like so, like, just so beautiful that flowers bloom when you walk near them type of beautiful!”

Laughing at his silly compliment, it doesn’t fail to make your cheeks turn a pink hue. “You’re so corny I swear…” it’s his turn to laugh at your comment, “Come on girl, don’t tease me like that.” His voice suddenly turns into one more of a softer beat, “hurts my feelings.” He says as he puts a hand on his heart, seemingly clutching it. Rolling your eyes at your favorite boy, he continues on with his story- dream. His dream.

“Then boom, some random dude comes up to you and goes like ‘hey you’re pretty’ and I’m like ‘dude back off’ and then we get into a fight in order to see who wins your love.” At this point he was just background music as you did your night routine. “Babe, are you even listening?” Or maybe not.

“Of course I am.” You look at him from the side of your eye, noticing how he’s now closer than earlier. “Doesn’t seem like it.” From the looks of it, it seems like you’re plain out ignoring him. But you’e not, really! “Promise I am.” Adjusting the camera to face you fully now, he focuses on you rather than talking about his hefty dream storyline.

“What if I just married you, like, tomorrow?”

What a nice question he asked, and your answer is…

“I don’t know?” You stop doing whatever you’re doing and look at him. “Why’re you asking?” “No reason.” Liar. “Stop lying!” His hands go up in protest, “I’m not!” He looks away for a bit then returns to stare at you. “Just… just had a dream about it.” And it clicks.

“So that’s what you were trying to tell me?” And like that, it’s as if a lightbulb went off in his head. “Ah, I guess so…” he muttered, hand on his nape as he realizes he’s not the best at lying when it comes to you. “I mean, come on!” He finally breaks, “you looked so good in the wedding dress and we…” his voice trails off the second you were getting invested.

“We?” You omit him to continue, but it comes out hurriedly. “We had a big, happy family. Like seriously happy.” He admits with a smile, clearly smitten about you. This makes you innerly gush about him.

“Yeah?” “Yeah. We did.” He sighs, “If only it were true.” He fake pouts, an ugly thing he does that makes you laugh horribly. “I mean, it can be.” You nonchalantly said, as if you weren’t wishing for the same thing. His eyes light up from your sentence, lips curling into a smile. “You can’t take that back!” You laugh at his antics, “as if I would ever.”

SHOYO HINATA, TOORU OIKAWA, YUUJI ITADORI, MEGURU BACHIRA, YOICHI ISAGI, KEIGO TAKAMI (HAWKS).

​৻ꪆ. Happy valentines everyone! I hope you like this one. (It’s been planned ever since December.) there were supposed to be two more lines added but I seriously ran out of time and didn’T know who else to write for… so, take this??

[solxamber]

Giving Them Chocolates on Valentine's Day with: Octavinelle

Go here for other dorms

Azul Ashengrotto

You approach Azul in the Mostro Lounge, your heart pounding against your ribs. He’s behind the counter, meticulously checking over inventory, looking as polished and composed as ever.

At least, until he notices the neatly wrapped heart-shaped box in your hands.

His sharp eyes narrow slightly in suspicion. “What’s this?” he asks, adjusting his glasses as he peers at the chocolates like they might explode.

You blink. “It’s chocolate.”

“I can see that,” he says, ever the businessman. “What I mean is—why?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Typical Azul. Always thinking there’s some hidden clause, some kind of catch. You hold out the box a little more insistently. “Because it’s Valentine’s Day. And because I like you.”

The effect is instantaneous.

Azul’s expression shatters. His carefully maintained composure cracks like glass. His fingers twitch where they rest on the counter, and for the first time, he seems completely, utterly lost.

“You…” He blinks rapidly, his voice quieter now. “You like me?”

You tilt your head, watching his face turn a shade of pink you didn’t even know he was capable of. “Yeah. I thought that was obvious.”

Azul makes a sound. You’re not sure if it’s a laugh or a quiet gasp of disbelief. Either way, he clearly doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He exhales sharply, adjusts his glasses again—completely unnecessarily—and shifts his weight like he’s trying to ground himself. Then, as if desperately grasping onto something familiar, he clears his throat and straightens up, the businessman in him taking over.

“Well,” he says, smoothing a hand over his coat, “in that case, it would be highly inappropriate of me not to offer you a proper date.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “Oh?”

Azul nods, trying so hard to appear composed despite his ears still burning red. “Mostro Lounge serves only the finest cuisine. Allow me to treat you to dinner tonight. Naturally, I’ll cover all expenses.”

Your lips twitch. “You’re really making a date sound like a business transaction.”

Azul scowls immediately, crossing his arms as he actively fights for his dignity. “That’s not—! I just meant that it would be—! Ugh.” He sighs, pressing his fingers against his temple before looking at you again, this time softer.

“…I’d like to take you to dinner,” he amends, quieter now. “Because I like you too.”

Your chest warms.

Now you’re the one who feels a little breathless, your heart stuttering at the rare sincerity in his voice.

You smile. “Then I’d love to go.”

Azul exhales, as if he’s been holding his breath this whole time. He nods, then quickly busies himself with setting out a reserved sign for the best table in the lounge—as if planning everything right this second will keep him from combusting.

You watch him, amused, and so, so fond.

For all his smooth talk and confidence, he’s just as flustered as you are.

Jade Leech

You really should have prepared for this better.

Jade Leech was not the kind of person you could just walk up to, hand over chocolates, and expect a normal reaction. You knew that. And yet, here you were, clutching a heart-shaped box like it was a live grenade, stumbling through your words as his ever-present, knowing smile grew sharper with every passing second.

“So, um,” you start, regretting every life choice that led to this moment. “I—I made these for you. Because it’s, uh, Valentine’s Day. And also because I—uh—”

You stop.

Jade is watching you way too intently, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he waits so, so patiently for you to finish your sentence.

You take a steadying breath and just force it out. “Because I like you.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he hums, soft and thoughtful, as he takes the chocolates from your hands—his fingers brushing against yours, just barely. Then, without warning, he leans in.

Way too close.

Your breath catches.

Jade tilts his head, studying you like he’s greatly enjoying the way your face is rapidly heating up. “How interesting,” he murmurs, his voice low and far too entertained. “You’re quite adorable when you’re nervous.”

Your stomach flips.

Jade watches your reaction for a moment longer—dragging this out on purpose, the menace—before finally pulling back. And even then, not by much.

His smile softens, and there’s something almost warm beneath the teasing glint in his eyes. “I accept,” he says simply.

It takes your brain a full three seconds to catch up. “Wait—you—”

“I like you too,” he continues, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You blink, still thoroughly disoriented, and Jade laughs quietly, clearly enjoying himself. “Shall I take you to dinner tonight?” he muses, tapping the box lightly. “It would only be fair, since you’ve already given me such a lovely gift.”

Your heart is fighting for its life.

“…Yeah,” you manage. “That sounds nice.”

Jade grins. “Perfect.”

And just like that, you know you’ve fallen right into his trap.

Floyd Leech

You’re pretty sure you’re about to die.

Because the second Floyd spots the chocolates in your hands, his entire mood plummets.

One moment, he’s just existing—normal Floyd behavior, a little lazy, a little restless. And the next? Oh. Oh no.

His grin disappears. His eyes darken. His whole posture shifts, and suddenly, he looks one wrong move away from squashing the nearest person to death.

“…Whatcha got there, Shrimpy?” His voice is low, slow, and dangerous, like a predator catching the scent of something it doesn’t like.

Your fight-or-flight instincts scream at you to run.

But you don’t.

You force yourself to stay put, lifting the chocolates a little higher in a silent please don’t kill me gesture.

“…They’re for you,” you manage.

Instant. Mood. Whiplash.

Floyd blinks. And then—all at once—he’s grinning again.

“Ehhh? Really?!” His entire demeanor flips so fast it gives you whiplash. Suddenly, he’s giggling, practically bouncing as he snatches the chocolates from your hands and leans in so, so close.

No personal space. Not even a little.

It’s our space now.

Floyd hums, inspecting the box like he’s debating whether to eat the chocolates first or eat you. “Y’know,” he drawls, tilting his head, “if these were for someone else, I probably would’ve squeezed ‘em real, real hard.”

Your stomach drops. “I—uh—”

“But they’re for me!” he interrupts, all teeth and delight, pressing the chocolates against his chest like a prized possession. “So it’s fine~!”

You exhale, shaky. “Great. Love that.”

Floyd chuckles, and before you can react, his arms are around you. Tight. Secure. Warm. He leans in close enough that you can feel his breath against your skin.

“Mmm… you’re mine now, though.”

Your heart short-circuits.

Floyd giggles again, sing-song and sweet, but his grip is firm, unyielding. “Forever n’ ever, right, Shrimpy?”

You swallow hard, helplessly flustered. “…Yeah.”

His eyes glint with satisfaction.

“Good,” he purrs, and somehow, you just know—

You’re not gonna regret this. (probably)

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[takes1]

Been thinking about Kyotani stealing Oikawa’s ex girlfriend after Oikawa is being an egotistical douche

are we interlinked or something? what the fffffuck i had this idea in the shower two days before this request came in? i'm trippin

accidentally falling for kyoutani (maddog)

warnings. nsfw to follow, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / angsty, smutty / jealous!oikawa / possessive!maddog / loneliness theme / pervy!maddog / light?coercion / popular x loser trope / 1.4k words / reply to be added for smutty part two.

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It was the first time you had seen Tooru since he ditched you.

Three days, compared to one year of dating, wasn't enough for you to be ready to see his pretty face, his perfect hair, to hear his laugh ringing off the buildings outside, down the corridor.

You weren't wearing any make up, you had opted for your loose uniform sweater, and chose the ugliest, comfiest shoes possible this morning when you rolled out of bed. The desire to become invisible was fiction to start and fading regardless.

He would have to see how far you had fallen, if you didn't come up with an idea right away.

The Perfect Opportunity sat to your left, by himself, as usual. He was reading a book, an arm relaxed over open spot next to him.

Kyoutani was a bomb that needed to be handled carefully -- everybody knew that. This time you had to risk it.

You slid into that spot, right under his arm, faked the most genuine giggle you possibly could, pulled his hand in yours and leaned onto his chest to 'read' with him.

Your ex's reaction would have to remain a mystery, because you didn't look away from Kyoutani, in an effort to make this look truly genuine.

When you figured he was gone, completely out of earshot, you glanced away to watch his little group disappear around the corner.

"What are you doing."

You thought you'd be prepared for whatever -inevitably- negative reaction Kyoutani threw at you. But his interrogative tone alone was enough for you to jerk your hand back into the safety of your own lap.

Then the unhinged stare, a step under something you might find on a wild hyena, sent enough adrenaline through you to scoot away.

"I'm--," You swallowed your voice crack down, heat all over the back of your neck, "It's not personal. Promise."

You weren't faultless. It was a form of bullying.

After going to enough of those games, you judged him, too. Dating Tooru had been the pinnacle of social immunity as far as your class structure went.

In fact, dating that boy made you into a worse person. But his attention? It was a drug. And you felt like an addict, coming down, burning bridges to get back to that feeling again.

This bridge though- you didn't care much about it. Kyoutani was one of those guys you didn't spare your breath on; he was weird, and alone, and everybody shared a mutual understanding to not test him. Pointing it out or making fun of him was useless. A little dangerous, too.

His fury was all over his face. You lit the fuse, and now he was tick, tick, ticking if you didn't tread lightly.

"Then get the fuck off of me."

Even though Tooru ranted plenty of times about his anger issues, his explosive habits, and frustrating team-destroying temperament, you were still not expecting him to be so mean. Lonely people were usually nice to pretty girls, at least.

You tried to explain the whole break-up in as few words as you could, but realized part of the way through that he was the first person you told, so you naturally started rambling about how sad you were. Most of your friends sided with Oikawa, so you dumped it all on this stranger in a slew of emotional rationale and stutter-y, half-correct memory. It was a natural loss of inhibition, being this profoundly sad.

He rolled his deep-set eyes with a groan that almost made you scoff. He stood up to leave you by yourself, not even wanting to share the bench at a distance. You had nobody else to sit with. Nobody to talk to.

"Sounds like the dumbest shit I've ever heard."

You clutched your uniform, spiraling, emptier than ever. It was staggering how much worse you could possibly feel, even after the shock wore off.

A desperate, thankfully quiet, tone left your mouth: "Please."

Kyoutani stood over you, bag in his clenched fist, searching. You were broken, and needy; a far cry from your bitchy, entitled snickering he caught countless times from across the gym, or class. He liked this new groveling-look on you. It fit surprisingly well. It made him feel big.

"Please help me."

He shoved a hand in his pocket, head cocked at your begging.

Prissy-Little-Miss-Oikawa, now widowed, all alone? The thought was enough to make a degenerate like him hesitate.

A grumbly, 'disinterested' question, "'nd what's in it for me?"

Just entertaining the idea had you looking up at him with those big, glossy eyes. Tears looked so good with your natural complexion.

"Anything- I'll literally do anything--," You wiped the stubborn tears from your eyes before they could fall and stood with a sniffle, "Whatever, as long as it makes him jealous."

-

The bench became your 'spot' during breaks. Being in Kyoutani's class was helpful, because you were never really separated. Tooru came around for the first few days, on his usual stroll with his giant group of friends, but started to become unreliable once he spotted who you were there for.

Today you caught the last of his double-take. It was perfect. The longing in his eyes, the slack in his jaw as he finally saw your body cuddling up to his least-favorite person in the world. You were lost in the implication for a good, quiet minute.

"Ow-!" You wrenched your hand back from a hydraulic-press-like squeeze.

It throbbed, as you rubbed it.

"He's gone." He spat.

That was true, Tooru was well and far away by now. You cleared your throat and got off of him, adjusting your uniform, as you put enough 'normal' distance between you again.

"There's no need to be so rough-," You squeezed and splayed your aching fingers a few times with a huff.

Kyoutani relaxed on the back of the bench, chin tilted up, but staring at the curve in your spine, how you sat on the edge.

He mumbled and watched you fix your hair, "What? You not into that?"

"No," You spat, arms crossed, defensive at his weird tone.

If anything, you liked when he was more reserved. Quiet. He couldn't freak you out if he didn't speak.

He caught onto your little maneuver and decided to remind you, for the third time today, that you made a pretty embarrassing deal with him. You were no longer a Queen. Just a pawn, like him.

Now, under the current conversation, you pieced together his suggestion. "You said anything, didn't ya?"

"Oh my gosh!" You were warm, caught off-guard by his dirty intentions all out in the open. You twisted to look at him, but he was just checking you out. It looked like he was proud of making you blush, too. You went to scold him, but turned to face forward and bit it back with a sigh.

"What's wrong, Princess?" He teased, "Old Tooru wasn't givin' it to ya right?"

Your hand clasped over your mouth, the other gripped the hem of your skirt. He loved when you got all quiet, like that- now he was voluntarily putting his heavy arm around your shoulders, his thumb rubbing against the outline of your bra strap.

His face was close to your own. You struggled to meet his eyes, but managed.

"You're lonely, aren't you? That's why you're like that?"

His breath stalled. Surprise took over, his expression lighter, as he looked around your face. He was kind of cute, if he could stay like that.

It, of course, fell, and he was all grumpy, dissatisfied, again.

His arms fell off of you, crossed lazily over his chest, and he leaned back onto the bench, muttering to himself like the crazy, angry, loner he was, "Fuckin'... whatever... stupid... fuckin'- prude..."

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[splishfish]

︵‿︵‿୨♡Be Mine!♡୧‿︵‿︵

♡Summary: How MHA men make you theirs!

♡Characters: Tomura Shigaraki, Dabi, Keigo Takami, Aizawa Shouta

♡WC: 1.3k

♡A/N: Pure Fluff, Happy Valentines Day!!

❥ Tomura Shigaraki

If you’re not already Tomura’s lover, you’ll bet your ass he’s gonna spend all day getting there. The moment you wake up, you find a poorly written letter under your door, someone having slit it under the crack of under your door during the night. The letter had blunt yet cute advances written on it, your favorite being… ‘You’re so pretty, and out of everyone here, you’re the most useful one.’

It was very obvious who sent you the letter, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t find it adorable. Just imagining your boss staying up at night to write you a love letter had your cheeks hurting from the giddy smile on your face.

But it didn’t end there. Throughout the day, he had even become more vocal. Every passing glance or conversation, he tried to discreetly compliment you. Of course, it wasn’t discreet at all.

’You smell good today.’ ‘You did really good on that last mission…uh, you look good too.’ ‘Your hair is…pretty. Looks good…today.’

He was oh so sweet, his red eyes landing on you whenever he thought you weren’t looking, his eyes lidded with affection as he watched you interact with everyone. It was nearing night when he finally pulled you aside, scratching his neck as he stared at you, his expression far softer than you’ve ever seen before…

The chilly air pricked at your skin as Tomura dragged you out of the bar and away from everyone else, his excuse being ‘It’s regarding your last mission’...sure. It wasn’t until he turned around to face you, damaged nails idly scratching his neck as his lips pulled into a nervous pout. He grunted as he spoke bluntly.

“It’s Valentine's day.” “Well, it’s the end of Valentin-”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s Valentine's day…So be mine.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

❥ Dabi

Dabi is far less shy about his advances, but he isn’t blunt about it either. Like Tomura, he’s gonna spend the whole day leading up to his confession, starting with handing you a mug of hot chocolate. It was sweet, a little too sweet in your opinion, but it was so easy to look past it the moment you saw his blue eyes glance in your direction for even the smallest semblance of approval.

He stays close to you throughout the day, sliding into the chair next to you at the bar and making idle chatter, plopping himself down on the empty space of the couch besides you and boldly throwing his arm around your shoulders. He even tugs you a little closer despite avoiding eye contact the whole time <3

Typically so confident and arrogant, it nearly gives you whiplash when he starts telling you such sweet compliments and comments with the most nervous and uneven tone. Really, it damn near makes you giggle whenever he starts, but you’re pretty sure he’d burn you into a crisp, no matter his feelings for you.

’You got pretty eyes…keep ‘em on me…?’ ‘You uh…you look good in that outfit…really good.’ ‘You’re cold…i’ll heat you up…if you uh…c’mere…?’

By the time Dabi even asks you to be his Valentine, it’s already past midnight, well past the appropriate time to confess, but it was never his goal to make you his Valentine. No, he wanted you to be his, entirely, and forever. That's why he forced you to stay up, drinks in hand as you both sat in a comfortable silence.

The amber glow of the bar created a warm air around you both, the silence making way for the soft breathing you two shared. His scarred hand held onto an old fashioned bourbon, swirling it as he stared ahead into the wall of drinks. A glass of your preferred drink was sitting idle next to your hand, your eyes lidded as a wave of exhaustion slowly overtook you. It was only when he spoke that you tried to force your eyes to open again.

“Hey.” “Hm?” “You’re all mine, y’know that?”

“Mhm…”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

❥ Shouta Aizawa

Shouta was never one to be ‘sweet’. He’s blunt and apathetic, and he finds the concept of valentines day, to be blunt, stupid. Why should there be a day to show your love for someone, when you could do that any other day of the week? What makes Valentines day so special?

…is what he thought until he met you. Truly, if his past self had met himself now, he was sure he’d try to slap himself straight. Now, however, you had entered his life, ruining all his previous thoughts and theories. Now, he found himself with a handful of your favorite flowers wrapped so pretty, and a heart shaped box of chocolates in his other hand.

Shouta isn’t a shy man, he never has been. So when he makes his way to your apartment this beautiful Valentine's evening, he finds it hard to believe that as he balls his fist to knock on your door, he’s clenching his fist so tightly his knuckles have turned white. He could feel his palms begin to form beads of sweat, and his brows furrow as he takes a deep breath, eyes locking onto yours instantly as you opened the door.

’I got these for you…you told me you liked these flowers a while back…’ ‘I also got these chocolates…they uh…only sold them in these boxes..’ ‘Can I…come inside?’

And when he steps foot into your home, he finally relaxes, finding himself far more comfortable knowing that this was going well. He doesn’t even notice how late it is hours later, the sun slowly lowering past the horizon, causing a pink colored hue to grace the sky. He thinks to himself that now, now is the time.

You sat across from him at your dinner table, your face sore from smiling, his blunt nature far more humorous than intimidating. You don’t even notice the way he’s staring at you until he taps his index finger on the table three times, discreetly calling for your attention. It startles you when your eyes meet, a small smile gracing his typically blank face, and his eyes soft as he murmured.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?”

“Huh..? Oh, thank you…” “Yeah…I’m glad I spent today with you.”

“Y-Yeah…me too!”

“We could do this more often, if you were mine.”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

❥ Keigo Takami

Keigo is bold, that's for sure. He’s not shy about pursuing you, especially during Valentine's day. Your day starts with a burrage of knocks on your door, rustling of feathers just barely audible through the wood. When you open the door, you’re greeted with a wide smile and golden eyes before suddenly a bouquet of flowers is shoved into your face.

And that's not all! No, Keigo takes Valentine's day very seriously. He gently shoves you further into your apartment before plopping you down onto your own couch, his wings fluffed up as sprinted back to your front door. When he comes back, he returns with chocolates, a stuffed toy of your favorite animal, and…a limited edition plushie of himself.

He hands it all to you, sitting down besides you before quickly slinging his arm over you, tugging you closer. Keigo’s not shy about his affection at all, but its no surprise to you. He was always affectionate, always so flirty and casual, you honestly didn’t think much of it until his words began to linger in your brain.

’You’re so pretty y’know? Why don’t you got a partner yet huh? You waitin’ for me?’ ‘Oh c’mon, you know you’re the only one I’m like this with right?’ ‘Hey, you’ll be my Valentines right? I’m already here after all!’

Maybe it was just you, but he felt much more clingy today. His hand holding yours tightly, his wing wrapping around you like a makeshift blanket, and his head leaning against yours affectionately. Now, what was weirder was the chirping he seemed to be letting out, small tweets of affection leaving him. Maybe it was all in your head, but that was quickly thrown out the window as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips.

“Wh-? What was that for?”

“What, I can't kiss my lover~?”

“LOVER??”

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[hy6erion]

𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧! 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐝𝐨𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠/ 𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫)

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 (╥╯^╰╥) 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢'𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐦𝐠.

Viktor had always been terrified of this moment. He could lecture for hours about the intricacies of hextech, dissect complex equations in his sleep, and manipulate delicate machinery with perfect precision. But this? This was an entirely different realm of knowledge—one he had never properly studied, never experienced.

And yet, here you were. Naked, warm, and soft beneath him, looking at him with so much love and want that it made his head spin. His heart pounded so violently against his ribs that he was sure you could hear it.

His fingers trembled as they traced the curve of your hip, his touch featherlight as if he were afraid you’d disappear. His golden eyes roamed your body, lingering on the swell of your breasts, the softness of your stomach, the way your legs were spread just for him.

“I—I do not know if I can do this properly,” he admitted, his voice breathless, shaky. “I do not want to disappoint you.”

You smiled, reaching up to cradle his face. “You won’t, baby,” you whispered, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips. “We’ll go at your pace.”

His cock—hard and aching, flushed a deep, desperate red—throbbed against your thigh, leaking precum onto your skin. He twitched every time he shifted, overwhelmed by even the slightest friction. You hadn’t even touched him properly yet, and he was already panting, already trembling like a leaf.

Your hand slid down between your bodies, wrapping around the base of his cock, and Viktor whined.

A high, broken sound punched out of his chest, his hips jerking forward on instinct. His cock twitched violently in your grasp, so sensitive that just the slightest movement had him gasping.

“Oh—ohhh,” he choked out, forehead pressing against your shoulder as he struggled to hold himself together. “I—I do not—ahhh—”

You stroked him slowly, teasing his tip with your thumb, smearing his precum over the flushed head. He twitched again, another helpless little whimper spilling from his lips.

“Feels good, baby?” you cooed, kissing the side of his face.

Viktor could only nod frantically, breath coming in quick, desperate pants. “T-too good,” he admitted, his voice wrecked, almost pained with how much he needed more.

You guided him between your legs, his cock pressed against your soaked entrance. The moment he felt your slickness, his entire body shuddered, another whimper escaping him.

“You wanna be inside me, don’t you, Vik?” you whispered, voice dripping with sweetness, teasing.

He groaned, hips jerking forward on instinct. “Yes—yes, please,” he gasped. “I need—”

You lined him up and guided his cock forward, pressing his tip just barely inside your cunt. The sensation was immediate, electric—hot, wet, tight.

Viktor sobbed.

A loud, broken moan tore from his throat, his body convulsing as pleasure crashed over him like a tidal wave. His fingers dug into your hips, his thighs shaking so hard you thought they might give out.

“Ohhh—ahhh—fuck—” His voice cracked, his body tensing. “It—it is too much—I cannot—”

“Shhh, baby,” you soothed, running your fingers through his damp curls. “Breathe for me.”

He gasped against your neck, struggling for control, but the heat of your cunt was unbearable. You were gripping him so perfectly, pulling him deeper, sucking him in, and he was so fucking sensitive.

His hips twitched, his cock sliding another inch inside, and he whined—high-pitched, desperate, needy. “Ohh—ohhh, I am going to—”

“Not yet, baby,” you cooed, gripping his waist, steadying him. “You can take it, I know you can.”

Viktor clenched his jaw, shaking as he pushed in deeper, inch by inch, his thighs trembling with effort. “I—it feels—” His breath hitched, another broken moan slipping out. “I do not—ahhh—”

You stroked his back, whispering soft reassurances. “You’re doing so good, baby. Just relax.”

He let out a shaky breath, finally burying himself to the hilt inside you, his cock pulsing wildly, twitching like he was already on the edge. His forehead pressed against yours, his eyes squeezed shut, his body tense with the effort of holding himself back.

And then you clenched around him—just a little, just enough to tease—

And Viktor broke.

“Ohhh—ohh, fuck—” His entire body spasmed, and before he could stop it, before he could even think, he was cumming.

Hard.

His hips jerked forward uncontrollably, burying himself even deeper as his cock throbbed violently inside you. A desperate, strangled sob tore from his throat as he spilled, hot spurts of cum flooding your cunt, painting your insides with thick, messy ropes.

He tried to keep moving, tried to fuck you through it, but his body betrayed him, his strength giving out as he collapsed against you, panting, trembling, his cock still twitching, still pulsing inside your warm heat.

“I—I did not mean to—” His voice was high, weak, breathless. “I—it was too much—”

You kissed the top of his head, still stroking his back, soothing him. “It’s okay, baby,” you murmured. “You did so good.”

Viktor groaned softly, still catching his breath, but when he shifted, when he felt the wetness between your thighs—his own cum spilling out, mixing with your slick—he whimpered.

“I can go again,” he mumbled, voice wrecked, needy. “Please—I need to—”

You smiled, already feeling his cock harden inside you again.

“Good,” you whispered, nipping at his jaw. “Because we’re not done yet.”

Viktor was still trembling, still trying to catch his breath, but his cock was already hardening inside you again, twitching with oversensitivity. His golden eyes were glassy, his curls damp with sweat, his face still flushed a deep, helpless red.

“I—I can do better,” he murmured against your skin, voice hoarse, wrecked. “I can—I can make you cum“

“You will make me cum, baby,” you whispered, kissing his temple, your fingers running through his curls, tugging gently at the roots. He whimpered at the sensation, his hips twitching instinctively, pushing deeper inside your still-soaked cunt.

He gasped, gripping your waist tighter, trying to keep himself steady. “Fuck—I do not know how.”

You smiled, shifting beneath him, grinding your hips up against him. He sobbed, his entire body jolting, his cock throbbing violently inside you.

“I’ll teach you, baby,” you cooed, wrapping your legs around his waist, locking him in place. “You’re gonna fuck me, and I’m gonna show you how to do it right.”

Viktor nodded frantically, desperate to please, to learn, to be good for you. He braced himself on shaking arms, his fingers digging into the sheets beside your head.

“Move, baby,” you urged, guiding his hips with your hands. “Slow at first.”

He let out a shuddering breath, pulling back slightly, his cock dragging against your soaked walls. The sensation made him whimper, his thighs shaking, his body instinctively wanting to rut deeper, faster—

But he listened.

He thrust forward again—slow, tentative, testing.

Then again.

“Ohhh—fuck—” His breath hitched, his voice cracking on the last syllable. “You are so—so tight—so warm—”

His rhythm was shaky, unsteady, but he was trying. His brow furrowed in concentration, his lips parted as he focused on the feeling of your pussy gripping his cock, the way you clenched around him, the wet, obscene sounds filling the room.

You kissed his jaw, whispering encouragements. “Just like that, baby. That’s so good. Give me more.”

His hips snapped forward, a little harder this time, and you moaned—really moaned.

Viktor’s eyes widened, his entire body jolting at the sound. His breath hitched, his cock throbbing at the realization that he had made you do that.

He wanted to hear it again.

He did it again.

Harder.

Your moan was louder this time, your fingers tightening in his hair, your nails dragging down his back. Viktor whined, his body shuddering as pleasure coiled tight in his stomach.

“Oh—ohhh,” he choked out, his hips moving faster now, more desperate, more eager. “You—you sound so perfect“

You clenched around him, and Viktor yelped, his rhythm faltering as he nearly came again right then and there.

You smiled against his neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to his damp skin. “Faster, baby,” you urged. “Fuck me harder.”

Viktor groaned, dropping his forehead to your shoulder, his hips snapping into you, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the air. His cock was so thick inside you, stretching you perfectly, hitting deep with every messy thrust.

“Like—like this?” he gasped, voice high, desperate.

“Yes, baby,” you moaned, rolling your hips up to meet his. “Just like that. You feel so fucking good, Viktor.”

He let out a breathy, needy moan, his pace stuttering, his body already on the verge of unraveling. He was learning, but he was still so fucking sensitive, and every squeeze of your cunt made his eyes roll back, made him whimper and shake.

“I—I am—I cannot—” He let out a frantic little sob, his cock twitching violently inside you. “I will—ahhh—will not last—”

“You’re gonna make me cum first, baby,” you purred, reaching down to guide his hand to your clit. “Rub me right here—just like this.”

He obeyed immediately, his fingers moving in hesitant little circles. The moment he felt the way you jerked, the way your breath hitched, he whimpered, his cock twitching at the knowledge that he was finally making you feel good.

“Ohh—Gods” he gasped, rubbing faster, trying so hard to be perfect for you.

“Yes, baby, just like that—don’t stop—”

He didn’t.

His hips stuttered, his thrusts turning messy, frantic, desperate as he chased both your pleasure and his own. His whimpers became full-fledged whines, his body shaking, his fingers clumsy but eager as he worked your clit, his cock pounding into you so deep—

And then you clenched around him—

And Viktor lost his mind.

He sobbed, his entire body convulsing, his cock throbbing violently inside you. “I—I—ohhh, fuck—”

His hips faltered, and you took over, gripping his waist, forcing him to keep fucking you, forcing him deeper, faster.

“Don’t stop, baby,” you commanded, your voice tight, on the edge. “I’m almost there.”

Viktor whimpered, completely at your mercy, letting you use him, letting you take what you needed. His body was too weak, too fucked out to resist, his arms barely holding him up.

And then— “Fuck—Viktor—”

You came. Your walls squeezed him so tight, so wet, so perfect, and Viktor screamed, his hips jerking wildly as he came with you, his body locking up, his cum spilling deep inside you in thick, desperate ropes.

His vision blurred, his ears ringing, his mind blanking as waves of unbearable pleasure overtook him.

He barely registered himself whimpering, barely noticed how he collapsed onto you, his body completely boneless, his arms too weak to support himself.

All he knew was you.

Your arms wrapped around him, your fingers running through his damp hair, your lips pressing soft, soothing kisses to his temple.

“You did so good, baby,” you whispered, voice filled with love. “So good for me.”

Viktor sobbed softly against your skin, his entire body twitching, overstimulated, wrecked. “I—I can’t—” His words slurred together, his breath coming in short, shallow pants. “Too—too much—I—”

“Shhh,” you soothed, cradling him close, rocking him gently. “I’ve got you, baby. Just breathe.”

Viktor clung to you, whimpering, his cock still buried inside your fluttering cunt, his body completely spent.

And for the first time in his life, he felt truly, utterly satisfied.

[obito-in-disguise]

| Helping Toji shave |

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Yes, for the eighth time. Relax, I've done this before"

From your perch on the cool tiles of the bathroom counter, you gently tug him closer, drawing his large frame between your thighs so you can evenly spread the shaving cream across his face.

You can’t help but giggle at the sight, he looked like if Santa Claus and Jason Statham had a baby.

He scowls and swats your hand away when you start shaping the edges of his shaving cream mustache into pointy ends. "I know you’ve shaved your legs before doll, but this is different. This is my face" he sighs.

"Legs, face, same thing" you shrug, picking up the razor. The shiny blade catches the light, glimmering with dark promise at Toji.

"Hardly..." he grimaces as you bring the razor a bit too quickly to his cheek, the metal gliding over his skin a touch too fast for his liking.

He grips your hips, his expression softening as he watches you tackle his stubble like it’s the most important task in the world. That tenderness quickly gives way to alarm when you tilt the razor at an awkward angle against his skin.

"Careful...careful!" he warns, feeling the razor tug more than it should.

"Oh my gosh, relax your titties..." you mumble, your eyes locked on your task. Your hand continues making haphazard strokes with the razor while the other one casually drifts to cup said titties, for reassurance of course.

He scoffs and pulls your hand away from his chest, 'titties?' these were rock hard pecs.

"I got this, okay?" you add, locking in.

-----

Toji stands in front of the mirror, a scowl etched across his face that was now dotted with little squares of bandages from the numerous nicks you managed to give him.

"You definitely didn't have it" he sighs, glancing at you. His expression softens when he sees you standing to the side like a kicked puppy, disappointment in your eyes at your work.

"It’s okay, doll. Better luck next time" he says, stepping closer and gently lifting your chin with a tender grasp.

You sniffle as you study your monstrosity of a shave job, then crack a small hopeful smile. "You'll let me do it next time?"

He snorts. "Fuck no, I just said that so you'd feel better"

You squeal as he leans forward, scooping you up over his shoulder. He playfully pinches your thigh, chuckling as you reflexively bump your knee against his chest.

"Let's get something to eat"

Toji can put them titties in my face any day he wants.

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