#srry for delay x

[0bticeo]

dropping invincible smut tonight yall stay tuned. meanwhile have a lil excerpt

(you can find it here ^^)

[just-someone-in-here]

Request for a user I forgot to do months ago

Sorry for taking this long! Stuff happened in my private life!

Well anyway, hope you enjoy this doodle of your oc x Hermione 🩷

@cerealjam :P

Also, I currently don't take requests just to make myself clear. This one was just asked a long time ago, back when I did accept em, so I felt like I should draw it yknow :<

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

absolutely loved your pt toji fic omg... could you do a gymrat toji with runner reader, since they're both different types of activities it would be fun to know how they adapt to eachothers routines, diets, if they push each other to try gym/running, ect....

My apologies for finally getting to this... 3 months later (falling to my knees—pls forgive me, anon). But I was able to work this ask into PT Toji pt 2—now that I finally finished it!

It's posted [here] ! I wove it into the plot by making Reader a former runner, and had her and Toji reengage in the fic with varying degrees of success, LOL

Thank you sm for this ask—I had fun incorporating it !! <33

[jacksabbotts]

✧ cold and predictable — ❪ part one ❫

pairings .’ jack abbot ( the pitt ) x fem!morguetech!reader summary .’ in which you ( the reader ) are a overworked and under appreciated morgue tech for the pittsburg trauma medical center. you are solely responsible for clearing out the deceased patients from the emergency department. but when there is a delay and all your cold storage lockers are full, jack pays a visit to this morgue tech he's never heard of ( aka you ) and basically tells you to do your job better ;'( trigger warnings .’ lowercase intended!!! | age gap ( reader is late 20s, jack is late 40s ) | jack is kinda mean in this part srry | readers insecurty | a lot of overthinking | NO USE OF Y/N notes .’ jack and shy!reader sign me tf up!!!! this part is very tame in the terms of smut but dont you worry, its gonna get nasty. you gonna need a bible after i am done lmao ( mdi 18+ )

masterlist | series masterlist | dividers by @cafekitsune | join the taglist

you liked the morgue.

that wasn’t something you could say out loud—not even to the handful of people who actually knew your name. but it was true. you liked the quiet hum of the refrigerated walls. the soft thunk of a drawer sliding into place. the hum of the vents. the artificial stillness that wrapped around you like a weighted blanket. it was the only place in the entire hospital that didn’t ask you to be anything other than quiet.

upstairs, the world buzzed. phones rang. radios barked. nurses called to each other across fluorescent hallways and doctors stomped past with clipboards in one hand and coffee in the other. everything moved too fast. everything was too loud.

but down here?

the dead didn’t rush you.

they didn’t care that you wore your scrubs one size too big to hide your hips. they didn’t care that your voice was soft and slow and hard to hear over the hum of machinery. they didn’t ask why you never wore makeup or styled your hair or joined in on break room gossip. they didn’t notice your anxiety. or if they did, they were too far gone to care.

the morgue was a constant. cold and predictable.

you liked that.

your shift started at 6:00 pm, but you always arrived by 5:40. early was better than noticed. being early gave you time to breathe, time to fall into your routine. you changed in the staff locker room, tied your hair back into a low bun, and slipped your badge onto your lanyard—backward. You always wore it backward. the sight of your name and staff photo made you flinch.

there was something about seeing it—your full name, government bold in black and white—that made you feel visible in the worst way. better to leave it unreadable. it feels safer that way.

the other morgue tech on rotation left at 6:15 with a nod and a yawn. you didn’t mind being alone. you preferred it. you’d already checked the autopsy schedule—two expected tonight, maybe three. the overflow drawer was full, but you had room. you always kept it clean, always organized. the medical examiner said you were the best at inventory, and he was old-school—stingy with praise.

it was 6:42 now.

your dinner sat beside you on the break room table: a thermos of reheated lentil soup, a single slice of soft bread, and the green stanley thermos you brought every night with coffee made just the way you liked it. the same thing. every shift. routine was comforting to you.

you weren’t much of a talker. small talk made your palms sweat. eye contact made your pulse spike. you’d been called shy, cold, quiet, even weird—usually by people who didn’t realize you were listening. you always listened. you heard everything. that was your job.

you noticed the smallest fractures in bone. the subtlest bruises beneath the skin. you labeled instruments with care and sketched anatomical details in your private notebook—not because anyone asked, but because it helped you focus. because it gave your hands something to do. because it made you feel useful.

useful was the closest thing to confident you’d ever been.

you stirred your soup, carefully. the fluorescent lights above flickered once, twice, then steadied.

you didn’t eat in the upstairs break room anymore. not since that nurse in green scrubs—jessica, maybe—had looked you up and down and laughed, 'don’t you work with the dead people? what, they let ghosts have lunch breaks now?'

you hadn’t replied. just packed your food and left. she hadn’t meant it cruelly, probably. but the words stuck. most words did.

your thoughts were interrupted by the distant sound of heavy boots on tile. you glanced at the clock.

3:14 am. too early for the medical examiner’s rounds. too late for the janitorial staff. too heavy to be anyone but—

the door slammed open.

you jumped.

a man stormed in—tall, broad, shoulders tensed under navy scrub top and dark wash cargo pants ( different from the normal doctor attire you were used to, but man he could pull it off ).

his chest rose and fell with labored breath, his short sleeves stopped mid bicep, exposing thick meaty forearms. his id badge bounced off his chest with every step, and his eyes—sharp, dark, furious—scanned the room like he was ready to fight someone.

you froze halfway to your mouth with your spoon, soup forgotten. 'can . . . i help you?' the voice was so soft, he almost missed it. like the words had to squeeze through a locked throat.

jack stopped dead. not the sight he expected. not even close.

tiny thing. curled up on a rolling stool, eating a thermos of soup like she was afraid it might fall spill out of your hands. drowned in baggy scrubs. barely looked old enough to drive, let alone be the only morgue tech on duty.

he shook off the flicker of surprise.

'you can explain,' he barked, taking a step in. 'why there are three bodies still in my er taking up beds i don’t have.'

her hands immediately retreated to her lap, soup abandoned. she didn’t even flinch—just… deflated. like someone used to being spoken to like that.

you blinked but otherwise still didn't answer. he advanced two more steps, hands on his hips, jaw clenched. 'can someone explain that to me?;

'i—I know,' she said, not quite looking at him.

'you the tech on tonight?' he asked as if he didn't already know the answer. you nodded. he exhaled through his nose. loud. 'perfect.'

you swallowed hard. 'i’m sorry. 'didn’t mean—'

'don’t apologize,' he snapped. 'just do your job. i’ve got live patients bleeding out in hallway beds while corpses are parked in mine like they’re waiting for the fucking valet.'

you flinched.

'why the hell are they still upstairs?'

his voice was like gravel—low and hoarse and too loud in the cold quiet of the morgue. you looked down, pulse in your throat.

'i can’t bring anyone else down,' you said softly. 'the storage is full. every drawer. every overflow table. i’ve been waiting on the funeral home pickup since midnight. they said morning. i—i sent three emails. no one responded.'

'who’d you email?'

she hesitated, eyes flicking to the badge on clipped to his scrub top pocket, then back down.

'uh, you.'

a beat of silence. just turned on his heel and walked straight out.

didn’t say thank you.

didn’t say sorry.

didn’t even close the morgue door gently behind him.

the door swung shut behind him with a dull clack.

you stared at it. then stared at your soup. then back at the door.

your fingers were still curled around your spoon, but your hand had gone numb. a familiar prickle crawled across your scalp and down your spine—the start of the cold-sweat panic you knew too well. it always came after. after the confrontation. after the humiliation. after the worst-case-scenario played out in real time.

you hadn’t cried. not yet. but your eyes stung.

you pushed your soup away, the smell suddenly sour.

why did you apologize? he told you not to. and you still did.

you always did that.

and of course it had to be him.

of course the first person to raise their voice at you in six months had to be that doctor—the one everyone talked about like he was a war god with a scalpel. jack abbot. trauma attending. king of the fucking er.

you’d seen his name on postmortem charts before, but you’d never met him face-to-face. he was a phantom. a rumor. a string of growled curses through stairwell doors.

but now?

Now he was the man who yelled at you while you held a spoon and shook like a leaf.

your heart wouldn’t settle. it beat in your throat, heavy and wet and fast. you stood slowly, hands trembling as you carried your tray to the small break room sink. dumped the soup. rinsed the mug. mechanical movements. muscle memory.

you didn’t do confrontations. you just weren’t built for them. every sharp word echoed inside you like it was etched into bone. every second of that encounter—his voice, the way he looked at you, the rage on his face—played on repeat, looping again and again with increasing sharpness.

why are there four bodies still taking up beds in my er?

like you’d chosen it. like you wanted the drawers full. like you weren’t down here alone, managing twenty-two corpses in twelve hours with no help and no backup and no one reading your emails for you.

and when you’d finally explained?

he hadn’t even looked at you. just turned around and left.

did that mean he believed you?

or that he just didn’t care?

you stood in the middle of the break room with water dripping off your hands and your badge still flipped backward on your chest. you didn’t move. you couldn’t.

you tried to shake it off. to tell yourself that it didin't matter. that him and his words were nothing to you.

you’d had worse days. you’d heard worse things.

but somehow, this felt different.

because this wasn’t just any doctor. this was jack abbot.

and you hated—hated—that even now, with your pride in pieces and your chest still tight from holding back tears, part of you still cared what he thought of you.

🔖 . @princesssunderworld @mayabbot @imherefordeanandbones @arigoldsblog @oldmanbunnylover @i-mushi @autumnleaves1991-blog @lovelexi717 @peggyofoz @qtmoonies @nfwmb-gvf @britt217 @babybatreads @cheekym8s @bitteroceanlove @spooky-librarian-ghost @dr-yapper @yutasgem @keseqna @gardeniarose13

[thenightmareofyourdrems]

                   ˜”*°•.     Comfort .  It  was  the  other’s  words  that  brought  a  certain  comfort  in  revealing  the  truth .  For  she  was  afraid ;  afraid  that  one  wrong  word  would  be  enough  to  set  everything  on  fire ,  that  she’d  be  once  again  alone .  ❝ It’s  terrifying . ❞  It  was  not  just  creepy ;  it  was  horrifying  and  mocking  at  the  same  time .  ❝ They  will  just  smile  at  me  with  that  creepy  smile  and  they  will  come  closer.  And  then ,  suddenly  they  become  normal,  talk  normal . ❞  Words  that  however  hesitant,  were  still  abounded  with  despair .  For  who  was  to  tell  her  that  the  woman  in  front  of  her  was  not  the  same ?  That  she  wouldn’t  suddenly  stop  talking ,  start  smiling ? 

❝ I  swear  I  am  not  lying. ❞  It  sounded  crazy .  She  was  hearing  herself  and  she  couldn’t  believe  the  words  escaping  her  mouth.   It  felt  surreal ,  almost  like  a  horrible  prank .   Just  like  the  incident  with  him ...  His  face,  that  smile  before  his  self-caused  death ...  It  was  an  image  still  haunting  her  strong .  ❝ I  can’t  even  look  in  the  mirror  without  seeing  it  there.  ❞ 

Was she out of her depth? No of course not. Unusual, unnatural things were a part of life... Her job. There wasn't a lot of facts to go off right now. Yet the young hunter had a sixth sense about these things now. And right now something told her to trust in Skye.... To help and believe her when others wouldn't. Something wasn't right here. Maybe with more questions they could both find the answers they were looking for.

"Er yeah-" Okay how was Alexis supposed to address this without sounding mad. "I've been seeing things others couldn't since I was a kid. Over time I realised these things weren't my imagination, they were real. And typically... Dangerous." Right now Alexis began to realise she might be Skye's only hope. She knew what it was like to not be believed... Especially when the crazy things weren't so crazy after all. "Hey, hey it's okay. Try me. I've been told I'm good listener." Lending a kind ear could go a long way. Whatever they were facing, well she needed as much information as she could get.

"A smile?" Well that was a new one. "What kind of smile? Like inviting or more creepy?" Looking back Alexis asks.

[soapcloth]

CW: 18+ MDNI, soap x reader, unsolicited nudes, pushy behaviour, implied noncon elements - 1K words, semi-edited - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

Anxiously sending in an offer for a kitchen appliance you’re in dire need of via an online social media marketplace, only for the seller- JTav87, to reply instantly.

The notification comes when you’re taking a curious peep at his info. His proflile makes him seem nice enough- real 'the cool uncle’ vibes. The page's display picture is a snap of him grinning ear to ear with one of his big paw-like hands at his chest in a thumbs up gesture, the other being obscured behind the lid of an outdoor grill; a family gathering in full swing behind him.

It's all topped off with the stock photo of a beach at sunset as his header, the poorly stretched image sporting a sprawling near-unreadable quote about resilience smack-dab in the middle, gratuitous high contrast vignette filters over everything as a little banner pops up at the bottom of your screen; a message from the seller.

‘I cn do tht.’

you hastily type out a reply in fear of the purchase somehow getting delayed or cancelled.

‘You’re a lifesaver😊I've been searching high and low for one of these!’

Being too friendly was your first mistake, you just wanted to make a good impression- it seemed harmless at the time.

The pickup goes off without too much of a hitch- you meet up as requested in the well-lit parking lot of a generic chain cafe, puffing out cold breaths from behind your jacket and nursing a warm beverage you had managed to grab. Stepping out of a beat up pickup, you come to find that he’s a lot bigger than his pictures would have you assume, not shockingly tall, but his overall aura and bulk make him seem like a giant. His bare arms splay outwards, stretching the fabric of his ill-fitted tee in a gesture that almost had you worried he was going to go in for a hug- thankfully, a firm handshake seems to suffice. 

“Och! Yer’ hands’re baltic!” he exclaims with a blinding smile, rosy tips of his ears and nose being the only tell he was affected by the weather himself as he claps his other hand around yours, rubbing them together to create heat. It's an action that nearly had you spilling the drink in your free hand as you stagger a bit in response to the contact- something he seemed to either not notice, or not mind.

The real kicker was the way he refused to take your money, hemming and hawing about how you should be saving that money for stuff you need- as if the appliance you were purchasing wasn’t that exactly. “A’hm not gonna take yer’ money- a’hm t’fond of ye’.”

whatever that means. 

It's good you didnt pay, evidently. When he had loaded it into your car- having the gall to laugh after you asked if he needed help, mind you- he had forgotten the cord that made the thing work, offering you a lovely little surprise when you finally got home.

On queue, there's a muffled ding from the device in your pocket. 

‘forgt 2 brng cord. srry x’ 

your eyes could have rolled out of your head; suffice to say, you weren't impressed.

‘I really needed this tonight, had baking I needed to do for a party tomorrow 🫤weather’s too bad for me to go out again tonight.’

‘cn drop off at urs if u wnt?’

Had you been in any other situation, this would have been a hard no- sadly however, your stress and desperation leads you into letting the heavyset man worm his way in through your front door as if he owns the place, cord bunched up and hanging out of his back pocket while he kicks the snow from his boots with a saintly smile.

Surprisingly, the drop off is quick- only interrupted by him asking to use your toilet as you're distracted with pulling out baking supplies. Before you know it, he’s back on the icy roads again. You almost wish you had offered him some coffee or tea-

 Almost.

When the morning sun bleeds through your curtains, you pick up your phone to find a notification from JTav87.

‘Hve a grate day x’ 

You frown and ignore the message as you start your day, but it only seems to embolden him into sending you countless more, the tone of the messages becoming increasingly more romantic as time draws on- some of your work friends at the office party even ask you if there was a new beau in your life when you had made the mistake of leaving your phone face up atop the breakroom table while you ate.

The final straw between you, your peace of mind, and the block button comes that night with a handful of alarmingly explicit voice messages in your inbox, promptly followed by a very-much so unprompted video of him shirtless and moaning while he chokes his swollen dick in a vice grip- all done over a familiar bunched up pair of underwear that you know with certainty had been at the top of the hamper in your bathroom. 

Little is left to the imagination when he snatches up the stolen garment, bringing it to his nose, face just out of frame as his chest expands in response. His audible fist-fucking and jerking hips get more frenzied as he gives one last brutal tug all the way from his base to the head, hand flexing as he aims his shot at his phone, cum coating the counter space directly in view of the camera.

His spent cock bobs and drools, stomach muscles contracting wildly as he leans back into the wall behind him; taking a moment before reaching forward to stop the video, searing the image of his hazy, wolfish grin in your mind.

His free hand gets busy sopping up his mess in your underwear as the screen flashes back to the clip's first frame, offering you the prompt to watch again.

It would later become apparent that blocking could only do so much to seperate you from a mutt like John MacTavish- especially when he's privy to your home address.

[fuddaroundandgetbueckets]

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Warnings: Sexual content (lowkey rated R srry), swearing probably

WC: ~10k

A/N: Apologies for the delay life is lifing blah blah blah. I am headed to Paris on Wednesday for a few days so hopefully this will sedate everyone until I’m back lol shoutout to whoever is still following this!! Also these songs are what I listened to for each part but to each their own!! Lmk what you think xoxoxo

A Long Time Coming Part 11 – Just like the Movies

Summer/Fall – 2022

After they kissed for the first time, the morning after wasn’t awkward like either of them expected. Paige had leaned over and showed her a funny trending TikTok, Azzi had laughed, and then they smiled goofily at each other for an insufferable amount of time before parting ways. Azzi even gave her shoulder a hard punch as she left.

Everything was fine.

They didn’t discuss what the kiss meant or how they felt about each other – the only thing that hung between them was the quiet buzzing of anticipation of when they would kiss again. Which, as it turns out, would be the very next day.

And every day after.

Monday

Get it together, Azzi thought.

The squeaks of shoes against laminated hardwood floors filled her ears. Palms sweaty, Azzi lined herself up to shoot a free throw and…missed.

Missed.

The team was having a late practice. The last of the afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of the practice gym, momentarily blinding her.

Yeah. That’s why she missed her shot.

Not because of a blonde watching her from the sideline, 10 feet away.

Definitely not that.

Azzi let out a deep exhale as Caroline passed her the ball to shoot again, trying her best to refocus. Her periphery worked against her, though, as she caught sight of Paige throwing her head back at something she had said to CD.

Focus, she told herself.

She twirled the ball in her hands, forcing her eyes to zero in on the rim and shot again.

Missed. Again.

Her teammates beside her sprung into motion as they followed the play of the ball, continuing their scrimmage. Azzi felt herself going through the motions with them, but her feet felt slow and her eyes couldn’t help but involuntarily make their way over to the bench. To Paige.

Get it together.

Azzi played on like that for fifteen more minutes before the screech of Geno’s whistle blew, signaling the end of practice. Her teammates and her gave a collective sigh of relief, trudging slowly and out of breath to where Geno stood expectantly to give his post-practice monologue. Her elbows bumped with Amari’s as they shared tired smiles, semi-focused on any reprimanding from their head coach.

Feeling a slight pressure on her back, Azzi felt her spine stiffen as a familiar hand found home there for the huddle. She didn’t have to turn around to know who it belonged to, as she’d somehow grown a sixth sense over the years when it came to Paige. To Azzi’s dismay, their shared kiss the night before may have heightened it even further.

Azzi stood still, stiff as a board. Every part of her wanted to pay attention to her head coach, listen to his words of wisdom and requests to the team, but all her ears could hear were static. Because all she could do was feel.

Feel Paige’s fingers that pressed over her jersey carefully. Feel the tips of Paige’s sneakers tap the back of Azzi’s shoes as she shuffled behind her. Feel Paige’s breath ghosting the back of her neck.

Her chest hammered, and she fidgeted with a loose string at the bottom of her jersey. You need to relax, she told herself. They had shared their first kiss less than twenty hours ago, and she would rather jump out of a moving airplane than out herself for freaking out at being in Paige’s orbit.

Though, there she stood – freaking out about Paige’s chest brushing her back. Embodying the complete opposite of the calm, chill, cool girl she was this morning leaving Paige’s apartment. She released a long exhale through her nose.

When Geno called the huddle and excused everyone, Azzi sidestepped away so fast she nearly knocked Paige over, ignoring the side glances received at her abruptness.

Turning her back to her team as they shuffled to the locker room, she made her way to the rack of basketballs that lined the back wall of the court. Halfway through the scrimmage, she had mentally decided to stay late and shoot around solo as self-punishment for her lower-than-Azzi-Fudd-standards practice. It hadn’t been necessarily pitiful, but it wasn’t pretty either. She knew from the way Geno’s eyes had followed her a little too closely, and how she wanted to kick herself repeatedly for her thinking how goddamn pretty Paige looked in her pink UConn sweatshirt when she was supposed to be shooting a goddamn basketball.

Picking up a ball, she dribbled until her mind cleared and she no longer heard voices echo in the gym. The silence eased the hammering in her chest that hadn’t stopped since the huddle, and she felt something eerily similar to peace. She closed her eyes, letting the ball dribble between her legs, releasing a deep exhale through her nose.

She was in her element.

Well, she was.

“The princess is putting in hours, huh,” she heard from her left side. Immediately, Azzi’s hands stuttered on the ball she had been dribbling and fell out of its rhythm, rolling away from her.

Towards Paige.

Of course she had stayed after practice.

Paige scooped up the ball at her feet slowly, her knee still constricted by her brace. She had been cleared from her crutches by her doctor earlier in the day (resulting in Azzi receiving a video of her doing a crutch-less dougie in celebration). Watching her finding her way back to normalcy made Azzi’s lips quirk reflexively as their eyes met. The hammering in her chest returned.

She feigned a nonchalant smile, “Not my best practice – can’t let Geno down.”

Paige tossed the ball back and forth in her hand, tilting her head to the side. With all the audacity in the world and a smirk, she said, “Something on your mind, Az?”

One second passed. Then another.

Azzi felt her lips part and an incredulous breath escape her. This was their first face-to-face interaction since she left Paige’s apartment this morning, where they had viciously attacked each other’s faces – and enjoyed it. Now, Paige stood several feet away and was teasing her?

A second huff left Azzi’s lips.

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the flush that was creeping up her neck. “Yeah, right,” she mumbled, walking toward her favorite three-point spot. She stuck her hand out, “Ball.”

Paige stared at her a moment before walking toward her leisurely, still tossing the ball back and forth between her hands. As she got close enough to where Azzi could see the freckle that lived on the side of her jaw, she dropped the ball in Azzi’s open palm.

Turning to face the rim, Azzi dribbled once, twice. She realized in that moment that Paige watching her shot so closely was worse than any stadium filled with thousands of screaming fans telling her to airball. And then, she realized missing her shot with Paige so close to her was somehow worse than that. So, her hands were tied.

Dribble.

Swish.

She turned back to Paige, catching the way her eyes lingered below her neck before slowly trailing back to meet her gaze. Azzi tilted her head to the side, feeling like herself again as the thump in her chest became steadier. She smirked, “Something on your mind, P?”

She watched Paige’s eyes flitter up to Geno’s office that watched over the court. Seemingly satisfied, she looked behind her at the exit doors, giving them a nod. As her eyes found Azzi’s again, a smug-looking smile spread across her lips. She stepped closer, hands sliding into the pockets of her joggers. At their proximity, Azzi could see the flecks of grey in her irises.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

After several beats of silence, Paige said simply, “Yeah, there is.”

Azzi’s breath caught as Paige lightly gripped the tip of her chin and kissed her so gently, she felt like she would melt to the ground had Paige’s other hand not been steadying her at her hip.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Paige pulled away momentarily before pressing a second soft kiss to her lips, as if Azzi were made of glass – but more so like she couldn’t help herself. She hovered there, letting the tips of their noses brush.

When she pulled away, she slid her hands off Azzi achingly slow before finding their way back to the pockets of her joggers.

Walking backwards, a lopsided grin grew on her face. “Get your shots in, princess. ‘Imma wait for you in the car ‘til you’re ready to go.”

With that, Paige walked out of the gym.

Azzi didn’t realize her mouth was hanging open until the loud click of the door echoed around her.

Tuesday

Every Tuesday, Azzi had an accounting lecture at 11am.

She always came prepared – hoarding two protein bars in her backpack at all times, pencils and notebook in case her laptop died, and ready to intensely write notes as her professor spoke.

This Tuesday, Azzi found herself daydreaming in class, scribbling soft nonsense in her planner as her eyes lost focus ahead of her. It was an anomaly.

She was, of course, daydreaming about Paige.

About Paige’s lips, specifically. And the way her thumb had gently glided over Azzi’s jaw and guided her face close to hers just yesterday. And also, the day before that. The low noises she had made as their kiss deepened.

She felt herself trace her fingers over her upper lip absently, a flash of white heat growing at the base of her stomach. She pictured Paige laying down, slightly out of breath as she kissed down her neck. She wondered what noises she would make then, how fast her heart would beat if she ran a hand down her chest, or gripped her hips –

The sounds of chairs scraping back brought Azzi out of her haze with a blink, and she was suddenly aware of her classmates getting up to leave around her.

Her mouth quirked in annoyance; she would have to rewatch her accounting lecture online tonight.  

As she rose from her seat, her cheeks flushed as if the people around her could read her thoughts. As if they had any insight on the embarrassment she felt from realizing how far gone she was for her best friend. It was one thing for her to work consciously with her deep adoration for Paige, it was completely different to navigate the apparent sexual deviant she was becoming from their lips touching on Sunday.

Because, Azzi realized, she was deeply, deeply attracted to Paige. In the way that made her want to scream. And blush.

The only thing that waived the fantasies that recently riddled her mind was the taco bar that waited for her at the women’s basketball dining room (it was Taco Tuesday, naturally).

As she trudged across campus, her thoughts fluctuated –

Should I get shrimp or beef today?

Wonder if Paige likes being kissed on the neck.

Stupid – everyone does.

Who can I ask to send me the accounting notes from today?

Wonder if she likes giving kisses on the neck back.

Like obviously, who doesn’t.

I hope they have chips and guac.

Her thoughts carried her all the way into the dining room, her body moving on its own in grabbing a plate as her mind was elsewhere. She hummed happily, the smell of the room lighting up a wave of dopamine only Mexican food could ignite. Beginning to load her plate, she paused at the protein selection: beef… or shrimp.

Beef.

Shrimp.

Beef.

Shrimp.

She felt a tug on her braid and heard a casual, “Yo.”

Paige. Of course.

Azzi turned and gave her a once-over. Her face was bare, with her ponytail loose and low at the base of her neck, strands wisping around her cheeks. Purple glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, blue eyes locked in on Azzi. Following the length of her body that had somehow grown another inch or two on Azzi in the last few months (to Azzi’s annoyance), her left leg adorned its brace. She was the picture of casual and relaxed, while Azzi felt like the snap of a twig would have her dragging her to the nearest closet to kiss her senseless.

“Any day now, Az.”

Azzi blinked. “Hm?”

Paige’s lips lifted in amusement, motioning her hand dramatically toward the buffet.

“Oh.”

Robotically, she grabbed two shrimp tacos and continuing piling on her plate, avoiding the smile she knew was growing on Paige’s face.

“Stop it,” Azzi grumbled.

Azzi could hear the mirth in Paige’s voice as she replied, “I didn’t do anything.”

Without taking her eyes off the options of food, Azzi shouldered her in the chest, eliciting a chuckle from Paige.

They loaded their plates in silence for several beats before Paige said, “I could eat chips and guac every day of my life, swear.”

She sounded so nonchalant. So…Paige. Like she hadn’t thought about their kisses every hour since they happened (like Azzi).

Azzi’s eye wanted to twitch.

She gave a hum in reply, focusing on piling refried beans on her plate. She didn’t even like beans like that.

Her body was acutely aware of Paige hovering next to her. She knew she was staring at her side profile, eyes bouncing from the crown of her head to her seriously full looking plate.

“You think I could make good guac?” Paige asked.

That got a snort out of Azzi. “Paige, you can’t even make eggs.”

“Where’s your faith in me?”

“It’s back at my parent’s house – circa 2020,” Azzi said, finally looking up at her. “When you made our fire alarm go off. Making ramen.”

Their eyes crinkled at each other at the memory, Paige shaking her head with a smile. Azzi felt a blush creep up her neck, and she wasn’t sure at all why.

“Give me some credit – there were no instructions,” Paige paused, eyes locked on hers. “You know with practice I pick up things fast. And I’m good with my hands – as you know.”

Azzi’s mouth fell open slightly, and she was pretty sure she looked like a blowfish.

As you know? Did she have an early death wish?

On paper, there was nothing wrong with what Paige had said – but it was in her tone. Her voice had dropped, like she meant something else. Or maybe Azzi was reading too much into it. Her eyes looked down briefly to Paige’s long fingers that held her plate. Gripping firmly, slender, veiny –

Azzi pursed her lips and wordlessly turned around, joining Nika and Aalyiah at their table. She was definitely blushing now, and this time she knew why. She gave the pair a strained smile in greeting, taking a large gulp of her water.

Paige sat down next to her slowly, scratching her upper lip to hide the smug expression on her face. “Wassup,” Paige said, turning to their friends.

“Aaliyah won’t let me visit her in Canada,” Nika pouted.

Aaliyah rolled her eyes. “I never said that.”

“Why not?” Azzi asked, shoving a taco in her mouth.

“I asked her what the name of that gross cheese thing they eat was.”

Aaliyah scoffed. “It’s poutine. And you asked if I had a pet moose.”

Nika turned to her with a quirked brow. “Well, do you?”

Azzi and Paige snorted at that.

They sat together, close as usual. Azzi’s heart was stammering slightly, which she was chalking up to her coffee from this morning. Because she was absolutely fine being this close to her best friend she made out with less than 48 hours ago, and then again on the practice court less than 24 hours ago.

She shoved a spoonful of beans in her mouth, her knee bouncing.

As Nika and Aaliyah dove into an animated pretend argument over if Canadian or Croatian food was better, Paige pressed her right thigh into Azzi’s.

Azzi looked down at their sweatpants covered legs. The touch wasn’t new by any means – except, yes, it was. Because she knew Paige was doing it on purpose; to make Azzi feel her, feel something.

Fine, she thought.

Azzi pressed her thigh back.

Having been leaned with her forearms over the table, Paige gave her a glance over her shoulder. Her expression was blank, but she looked for one, two, three seconds. Azzi counted.

Wordlessly, Paige shifted her gaze back to their friends and leaned down to scratch her right leg. Azzi stiffened as Paige’s shoulder brushed her chest, and her heart might have actually stopped when she felt her hand lightly touch her calf. Slowly, Paige dragged her hand up her leg to end at her knee, giving it a squeeze. It stayed there for five seconds – Azzi counted that time too.

This is new, she thought.

Paige let her finger brush Azzi’s thigh as she lifted her hand to scratch the underside of her jaw, pretending like nothing happened.

Technically, nothing did happen. They’re best friends. Very comfortable best friends. The flutters in her stomach were from the suspicious looking beans on her plate.  

I am not turned on from a calf touch, she told herself. Or a knee squeeze. I am stronger than this. Resilient.

(She was not).

She got up slowly, patting her stomach appreciatively in the hopes of mimicking fullness. “Gonna take a nap before my next class,” she waved, grabbing her plate with her free hand. “See you guys later.”

Unassuming, her friends waved and chorused goodbyes after her – Paige remaining silent. They locked eyes momentarily, but Azzi knew she had to get home before she did something ridiculous like lay Paige flat on the table and make everyone throw up their lunch.

Suddenly feeling a sense of false urgency, she hurriedly dropped off her plate with the dirty dish pile and left the dining room, feeling unfocused as her thoughts were filled with bed, bed, bed and Paige, Paige, Paige.

So unfocused, she didn’t hear her name being called.

So unfocused, she didn’t realize someone had grabbed her by the arm and shoved her in the nearest janitor’s closet until the smell of Windex invaded her nose.

“What the –” she started but went mute when the light flickered on and she saw who was in front of her.

Paige.

Obviously.

“I was calling after you,” Paige chuckled, already reaching for Azzi’s jaw and rubbing a thumb over her cheek.

“Oh.” Azzi blinked at her, feeling slightly dumbfounded at, well, everything in this moment. Paige’s hand on her cheek, gentle but firm. The dingy janitor’s closet. But mostly that Paige was standing so close, and Azzi could smell the Dove soap she used.

Paige tilted her head, looking down at her with a soft smile. “Stupid,” she whispered as she closed the distance between them, kissing her tenderly – once, twice, three times.

Azzi felt like her brain was short circuiting.

In the span of a few days, Paige and Azzi had gone from never having crossed the boundary of physical intimacy in their several years of friendship to suddenly being unable to keep their hands off each other. And Paige was acting so…calm about it. And it felt unfair.

If steam could come out of Azzi’s ears, they would in this moment.

So, she decided to level the playing field.

Gripping the collar of Paige’s hoodie, she tugged until their lips crashed together.

After a quick grunt of surprise, Paige’s hands instantly found her waist, tugging her closer as their kiss deepened. With their hips touching, Azzi felt like her body was pulsing.

More, more, more.

Azzi let her tongue outline the shape of Paige’s mouth, which she parted eagerly. In a swift motion, Paige moved to hold Azzi against the door, their tongues meeting with a fervor they hadn’t experience together yet.

Paige slid a hand down the side of Azzi’s body, firmly stopping at her hip bone and tugging forward. The move had Azzi feeling dizzy with want, and it was overwhelming. So much so, she gently pushed Paige away before she did something embarrassing like fall to her knees.

Breath's mingling, Paige stared at her with heavy eyelids. She wet her lips, a lopsided smile etching onto her face. “I think you like kissing me.”

Azzi let out a breathy scoff, pushing her back slightly. “You’ve kissed me first every time.”

“Yeah,” Paige agreed, smile still on her lips, “And you kiss me back every time.”

Azzi’s cheeks warmed and she turned her attention to the cleaning supplies that lined the wall next to them. She sniffed, “Next time pick somewhere that doesn’t have us next to a mop bucket.”

If Paige’s grin could get any wider, her face would split in half.

“Next time?”

Azzi feigned annoyance with a roll of her eyes. “Maybe.” Inside, she was screaming.

“You’re obsessed with kissing me.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah. I would.”

Azzi’s blush was beaming now as she tried to cover it with a scratch to her neck. Paige caught her hand there, sliding it down and loosely dangling their fingers together.

Quieter now, she said, “You wanted a nap before class, right?”

Azzi looked up at her from her lashes, nodding.

Paige looked at her fondly, twisting a loose curl that hadn’t made it in Azzi’s braid. “Alright, lemme walk you back. But don’t get any ideas – I’m not just a piece of meat.”

“You couldn’t be more irritating.”

Wednesday

The library was empty for once.

Azzi sat at a table with Caroline, Nika, and Paige, working on their individual assignments. Azzi purposely chose the seat across from Paige instead of next to her as per usual so she could focus, and it almost worked – had Paige not been brushing her foot against Azzi’s ankle. It was almost impressive how good Paige was at getting under Azzi’s skin with little to no effort.

Without looking up from her textbook, Azzi pushed back on Paige’s foot as a warning to stop. Of course, Paige didn’t pay her any mind, and when her foot came back it began tracing up Azzi’s calf.

Azzi closed her eyes briefly, letting herself enjoy the feeling for a single moment before standing up and mumbling something about finding a textbook. She ignored the feeling of Paige’s eyes following her as she walked away. She also ignored the way she liked it.

Walking deep into the shelved rows of the library, her fingers dragged along the spines of books she passed. The row smelled of stale paper and the subtle air freshener spritzed throughout the library. It made her happy.

She paused and her eyes landed on a book covering Latin American history, which would be perfect for the class she planned on taking to fulfill her history elective next year –

A hand landed above her head, and she looked up to see Paige giving her a soft smile. In the quiet of the book-covered shelves surrounding them, she couldn’t help but smile back.

“Thought you got lost,” Paige murmured.

Azzi leaned on the shelf to her side, letting her body fall slightly under the umbrella of Paige’s arm that was still extended. “Right,” Azzi murmured back, “Makes sense.”

In their hushed tones, Azzi felt a different kind of unsteady thumping of her heart. This one was accompanied by less anxiety and more of a pull towards Paige, butterflies at the pit of her stomach. It was addicting, honestly.

Paige let her eyes drag across Azzi’s face languidly before leaning her head down to speak quietly, “You look nice today.”

A familiar blush creeped up Azzi’s neck as her chest bloomed with the compliment. Maybe she had purposely put on mascara and blush this morning, along with wearing Paige’s favorite purple hoodie because she knew they would be together later.

Who’s to say, really.

“Thanks, Boogers.”

Paige winced, replying loudly, “Bad nickname.”

Azzi’s eyes widened at her volume, “Paige, shush.”

A goofy grin grew across Paige’s face. Her level of volume stayed the same as she replied, “What? I’m not talking loud.”

“Yes, you are. Stupid.”

“Shut me up then.”

They stared at one another, unblinking. An unspoken challenge flashed in Paige’s eyes. Azzi cocked her head to the side, thinking.

Paige loved to push Azzi; it might be time for her to push back.

“Fine.”

Stepping forward, Azzi placed a hand on Paige’s chest and a lingering kiss on her left cheek. She could feel the long exhale Paige released through her nose as it hit her neck. Ghosting her nose along Paige’s cheek, she leaned over and placed a second long kiss on the opposite side of her face. Dragging her nose along the underside of her jaw, Azzi placed a kiss there as well.

Paige exhaled through her nose again, and Azzi could feel the swallow of her throat as she gave the column of her a neck an open-mouth kiss.

Finally, Azzi brushed her lips so lightly over Paige’s, it was like she was never there at all.

Stepping back, Azzi smiled ruefully at Paige’s closed eyes and parted lips. She patted the center of Paige’s chest, whispering, “Don’t get lost on the way back.”

Paige peeked an eye open in time to catch Azzi’s grin as she stalked away.

Thursday

Paige and Azzi had been shopping for hours in the Storrs mall.

Prior to this, Azzi had called Paige complaining that she had nothing to wear to their annual team dinner tomorrow night.

At hearing her distress, Paige mumbled into the speaker, already lacing up her shoes, “Be ready to go in five.”

Now, in the Nordstrom changing room, Azzi was trying on dress number four. Paige sat on the cushioned bench outside her stall, hunched over with her elbows on her knees, fingers tapping her cheekbones patiently.

Azzi stepped out of her dressing stall, her curly bun slightly frizzy from tugging the simple olive dress over her head. Her cheeks looked flushed from the fluorescent lights of the room.

She twirled, arms extended, “Well?”

Unmoving from her position, Paige smiled, “Looks nice.”

Azzi pouted. “You said that about the last one.”

“And I meant it then too.”

Azzi huffed, spinning back to the stall, yanking the curtain. Her eyes landed on the last dress she had picked out to try – It was black, simple, figure-hugging. She could wear it a million times for any occasion.

Practical, pretty, and $200.

Meaning, too expensive.

She would just try it on for fun and wouldn’t get sad that she wasn’t buying it. Definitely.

Slipping the dress over her head, her bun grew more lopsided. Staring in the mirror, the dress was unfortunately…perfect.

She turned to the side, taking in the way it hugged her in the all the right places and still looked modest at the same time. She felt mature. Pretty. Confident. She sighed, yanking the curtain back to let Paige see.

Paige’s eyes perked up as she came into view, sitting up straight. She was smiling so fondly at her, Azzi thought her heart might split open.

“That’s the one, Az.”

Azzi looked down and slid a hand down her side, pursing her lips. “I know. I wish it wasn’t so expensive.”

“You want it?”

Azzi didn’t look up as she let her fingers caress the fabric. “Yeah, but I can’t justify spending that much.”

“Get it.”

She looked up then, caught off guard by the intensity in Paige’s eyes. Azzi’s brows scrunched as she said, “I just said –”

“You look good,” Paige said, sounding slightly in pain. “If you’re not going to buy it, ‘Imma buy it for you.”

Azzi let out a burst of a laugh at that. “Paige, that’s ridiculous. I can’t let you do that.”

Paige stood then, walking towards her slowly with her hands in her pockets. She stopped when their chests nearly touched and leaned her head down. In a soft voice, she said, “I think you look really pretty in the dress – and it’s the first one today you’ve tried on I can tell you feel good in.”

Paige leaned her face closer and gave a gentle peck to Azzi’s cheek. Azzi felt the kiss like an electric shock to her system, goosebumps rising on her skin everywhere. Her eyes wanted to flutter shut, but she refrained to take in the tender way Paige was looking at her.

“’Imma buy you this dress,” Paige muttered low, “And we can go get dinner. ‘M starving and know you are too.”

Azzi looked at her through her eyelashes. “I’m paying you back.”

Paige gave her a lopsided smile and turned her around by the hips, her fingers trailing along her lower back as she gave her a gentle push towards the changing room. “Sure,” she said lightly, like it was funny of her to even suggest that. “Go change.”

As Azzi tugged the curtain closed, she put a hand on the wall beside her for a moment. She had known for however many months about her feelings for Paige, but the way Paige stared at her and took care of her had her genuinely weak in the knees. She would almost be embarrassed if she heard anyone else describe this feeling but living it herself was entirely different. Her crush on her best friend wasn’t just growing – it felt nuclear.

When Azzi emerged from the changing room sheepishly, Paige tugged the dress out of her hands before she could hide it from her.

As promised, Paige bought her the dress.

And refused to let Azzi carry the bag.

Azzi tried to stop the heart eyes she was giving the back of Paige’s head; she really did.

————————-

Soft R&B filled the quiet space of Paige’s car as the girls rode back to campus. The sky was pitch black, and Azzi leaned her head back in the seat, stealing glances at Paige’s profile illuminated by her dashboard. Their Chick-fil-A order sat protected in Azzi’s lap, the smell wafting throughout the car.

“Bro, I’m starving,” Paige grumbled.

“We’re almost home.”

“But I am so hungry. It’s painful.”

“The dramatics.”

Paige looked over and pouted at her, making Azzi smile.

“Do you want to find a spot and pull over?” Azzi relented.

Paige pumped a fist. “Thank god – yes.”

The next thing Azzi knew, Paige was swerving into a nearby bank parking lot, quickly putting the car in park.

Paige snatched the bag from Azzi’s lap, finding her chicken sandwich before handing Azzi her own without tomatoes. Before Paige could open her sandwich, Azzi grabbed her hand and poured hand sanitizer in her palm. Paige nodded silently, rubbing it in as Azzi poured it in her own hand. They ate in comfortable silence for several minutes, watching the cars pass on the busy road next to them.

Besides the constant whirring noise of passing cars, the quiet of the car offered a sort of stillness and feeling of solitude Azzi couldn’t remember the last time she felt with Paige. There were no walls shared with roommates here, no janitor’s closet down the hall from where their friends sat, no eyes to see them.

Just them. Alone. Ten miles from campus.

The quiet felt vulnerable. In this moment, they felt vulnerable.

With a mouthful of chicken, Paige said, “I like kissing you.”

Azzi snorted, answering back with similar amounts of chicken in her mouth, “Me too.”

They sat in comfortable silence again for several minutes, before being interrupted by Paige once more, “Like, I really like kissing you.”

Azzi gave her a sidelong glance. “I figured.”

“Alright, cocky.”

“What? You kissed me first.”

“Yeah, but you kissed me back.”

“Yeah, I think that’s how making out works.”

“So, you admit you like it too.”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“Just making sure we’re on the same page. You know, in case you want to stop.”

Azzi looked at her fully then, wiping her face and fingers with her napkin as she finished her sandwich. Softly, she said, “No, I don’t want to stop.”

Paige glanced at her, taking a sip of her diet coke. “Cool. Me neither.”

Silence ensued again. Cars whirred by. Paige’s hand rested dangerously close to Azzi’s on the center console.

Azzi looked at her again. “You know you can kiss me now, right?”

Paige turned her head and blinked at her. Wordlessly, she leaned her forearm on the console. Azzi leaned forward as well, her hands sliding on her thighs. They stared at each other for a moment, as if soaking the other in. Memorizing each other. Like they hadn’t already, secretly.

Paige angled her face, letting her eyes fall to Azzi’s lips. “C’mere,” she whispered, pulling Azzi in by where her jaw and neck connected.

The kiss was languid and slow in the best way. Azzi felt herself falling into it, her stomach doing flips at the way Paige caressed her mouth so carefully with hers, like she could do this forever. Kissing Paige felt like a drug to her, inducing a craving at her core she never knew she had.

And when their tongues traced each other, Azzi wanted to sigh into her mouth. Maybe she did, because she felt Paige smile against her, clearly amused. Azzi pulled back a centimeter.

“What’s so funny,” Azzi mumbled against her lips. Paige gave her a peck, not moving back.

“You’re crazy,” Paige said, making Azzi’s lips vibrate with each word.

Azzi let the back of her knuckles trace the edge of Paige’s neck. “Not very nice,” Azzi said into her mouth.

She could feel Paige’s smirk grow again, “I’ll make it up to you.”

Friday

Fridays were supposed to be Azzi’s easiest class day. Her accounting pop quiz had other plans.

She walked solemnly into her apartment late that afternoon, giving a disheartened hello without looking up.

From her living room couch, she received a chorus of Hey’s back, one standing out in particular. Her head snapped up to see Amari, who was painting Ines’ nails, and Paige. Her gaze locked with Paige’s for a beat too long, something unspoken flashing between them.

“What’s wrong?” Paige asked, preparing to stand. Azzi noticed her hair was down, slightly wavy from braids she wore yesterday. Light was catching on her blonde strands through the window, making some pieces look almost white. The tops of her high cheekbones looked rosy in the way Azzi knew she must have spent some time outside today, catching the last of Connecticut warmth.

She’s so pretty, Azzi sighed internally.

Shifting her backpack on her shoulder, she said, “Nothing, Accounting just kicked my ass today.” She walked past the living room, ready to lay down for the foreseeable future until she had to get ready for Geno’s dinner.

Entering her room, she dropped her backpack in the corner, immediately flopping on the side of her bed, letting her legs dangle and back decompress. She knew without saying anything that Paige would follow her there, and she smiled to herself as she heard a dramatic grunt and the drag of her slippers over the vinyl apartment flooring.

Like clockwork, Paige entered her room a second later. She tapped her foot against the door, letting it close enough to give them privacy. 

“Hey,” she said, letting out a breath as she mirrored Azzi and laid next to her. With their necks turned and ears flat against the comforter, there was nowhere else to look other than into each other’s eyes.

Azzi’s lips quirked. “You already said Hey.”

“Yeah, well,” Azzi watched as Paige’s cheeks got rosier. “Whatever.”

They watched each other as seconds ticked by. Paige’s eyes flickered to the soft smile playing on Azzi’s lips. Azzi caught the tension in Paige’s jaw, looking like she was restraining herself from something. From her.

“Class wasn’t so good?” Paige asked, but her eyes were following Azzi’s tongue as she licked the corner of her mouth.

Without answering, Azzi propped herself on her elbow and leaned over. She slowly slid a hand along Paige’s waist under her shirt, letting her fingers drag lightly over her stomach near her belly button. She watched as goosebumps raised along the skin she touched, the contrast of Paige’s warmth and her cold hands leaving her own fingertips tingling. Azzi wasn’t sure when she had become so bold, but she just couldn’t stop.

Her eyes flicked up and saw Paige watching her with lips parted. She inched closer, letting her head tilt as she took in Paige’s blue eyes and fanned out hair under her.

Azzi leaned down and gave her a slow kiss on the cheek. With her lips staying there, she whispered, “You look so pretty.”

Azzi knew she probably shouldn’t be acting like this, especially with their friends and them only being separated by the thin connected wall of her bedroom and living room. But she felt like a girl possessed as she nudged Paige’s nose with her own, and captured her lips in a kiss. Their lips pressed together firmly, eliciting a quiet guttural groan from Paige as she instantly wrapped her arms low around Azzi’s waist.

They kissed slowly; tortuously so. As their tongues connected, Azzi let her knee slide over Paige’s leg, to which Paige let her hand drag over her sides and under her thigh, holding her there. Azzi’s lower stomach fluttered

“You guys getting ready for dinner?” They heard Amari call from the living room.

The two girls pulled apart and stared at one another, eyes crinkling as they gently touched foreheads. The look they exchanged held a promise – they’d find time to be alone again soon.

-------———-

Geno held his annual team dinner at Storrs Country Club as a final hoorah before preseason crept up.

Although originally arriving together, as the group of girls shuffled in, Azzi and Paige were separated. They found themselves sneaking glances from across the room, wishing they were sat next to each other instead of two tables apart.

Instead, Azzi sat next to Caroline, who was animatedly discussing her aversion to the grey jerseys they would have to wear this fall.

“It’s just so unflattering,” Caroline continued, unaware of Azzi’s wandering eye to a nearby polo-wearing blonde.

“Totally,” Azzi mindlessly agreed, this time catching Paige’s eye as they made prolonged eye contact. Azzi smirked, whipping out her phone to text quickly You’re staring.

She was too, but that’s besides the point.

Watching Paige look down at her phone, they locked eyes again.

Azzi, trying to hide her smile, mouthed, what?

Paige bit her lower lip and shook her head slightly as she scratched the underside of her jaw in an attempt to cover up the blush that was creeping up her neck.

Satisfied, Azzi turned back to Caroline now, attempting to be an active participant of the conversation.

“And, who even looks good in cellblock grey,” Caroline said, sounding disgusted.

Azzi nodded, “You’re so right, absolutely no one.”

Well, she thought, maybe one person.

They continued back and forth for several minutes before Azzi saw Paige approach Caroline from behind and tap her on the back. “Hey, switch seats with me?” Paige asked her.

Caroline stared at her with furrowed brows, “Uh, no?”

Paige leaned her forearms on the back of her chair, sighing quietly. She leaned down and whispered something in Caroline’s ear, causing her to roll her eyes and scoot the seat back. Standing now, she turned to Azzi, “See you, Az.”

At the sight of Caroline leaving and finding Paige’s original seat, Azzi couldn’t help but laugh at the abruptness of it all. She turned to Paige, who was making herself comfortable next to her. “What was that?” she asked, confused but entertained.

“Wanted to be closer to Geno’s podium,” Paige deadpanned, “Bad eyesight, you know.”

Azzi huffed a laugh. “Right. And I’m the princess.”

“You are,” Paige agreed, taking a sip of water.

Azzi rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself.

When the dinner started to roll out, Azzi felt her mouth water. That is, until a platter of roasted brussels sprouts landed in front of her as an appetizer. She stared at it, scrunching her nose as she pushed it away from her.

“Gross,” she mumbled to herself. The memory of her throwing up the night before last year’s championship game flashed through her mind, making her frown subconsciously.

Paige caught it all, pausing before flagging down a waiter. One came quickly, leaning his head down to listen as Paige requested, “Can you take this away, please?”

She pointed to the platters of brussels sprouts in front of herself and Azzi.

Wordlessly, the waiter nodded and lifted the plates away from the pair. Azzi looked at her from the side, offering a small smile as a thank you. Paige stared at her, letting her hand rest on her knee under the table.

She squeezed three times. Azzi counted.

She thought then, if it wasn’t obvious before, Paige Bueckers was her person.

Saturday

Paige had asked her to come over and watch the Aces versus Sparks game. The game being on West Coast time had it starting at 10pm in Connecticut. Translation: a sleepover was inevitable.

Azzi and Paige had had so many sleepovers it was easier to track the times they didn’t sleep together than not.

But that was before, and Azzi found herself shaving her legs thirty minutes before embarking for Paige’s apartment. For what – she didn’t know. But there she was, doing it anyway.

Now, she lay on Paige’s bed with her with baby-smooth-dolphin legs, feeling like an idiot because Paige had barely touched her. Fully invested in watching A’ja Wilson dominate, the blonde had her right hand in a permanent fist, pumping every five minutes as she said, “My GOAT.”

They lay side by side; shoulders attached like Velcro. Azzi had her neck craned down, playing Smurfs on Paige’s Ipad.

“You’re not even paying attention.”

“Yes, I am.” Azzi’s eyes never lifted from the tablet.

“You don’t even know what’s goin–”

“A’ja has seven assists and four blocks. Rae has six points. Chennedy has eleven. The Sparks need to stop handing out turnovers.” Azzi gave her Smurfette a cute little purple hat to wear.

Paige was staring at her with her mouth slightly agape, looking unnerved.

Azzi gave her a glance out of the corner of her eye. “You were saying?”

Paige’s lips split into a grin as she hooked her arm around her shoulders. Azzi felt a cheek land on the top of her head.

Azzi smiled to herself, leaning further into Paige’s warmth.

Eventually the game concluded, with the Aces winning 98 to 87. The girls went through their nighttime routine, as it was somewhat a science at this point. They brushed their teeth together, Azzi flicking Paige in between the eyes after she hit her in the thigh with her good leg. Azzi slipped a pimple patch on Paige’s cheek because she claimed she was too tired. They jointly stacked Paige’s extra pillows off her bed and onto her desk chair. Paige grabbed the extra throw blanket she kept for Azzi when she got cold at night.

It was all so routine, Azzi had accepted tonight would be the first day of the week the pair did not share a kiss. Part of her felt relief in the fact that her and Paige could still maintain a level of normalcy after the week they had had, and another part of her craved their newfound intimacy. Craved Paige’s affection. Her unsubtle tenderness.

They laid in the dark now, both facing the ceiling with eyes wide open. The pipe outside Paige’s window rattled slightly with the wind. It made Azzi want to fidget.

“I thought about you a lot this week,” Paige spoke first, still facing the ceiling. Azzi felt her heartrate pick up.

“Like what?”

Azzi felt Paige’s shrug as their shoulders were pressed together. “Just how much I liked what we were doing.”

The rattle of the pipe filled the quiet of the room for a moment before Azzi replied, “Me too.”

A beat passed. And then another.

“Do you ever think about doing more than kissing?”

Paige laid quietly next to her, staring up at the ceiling, seemingly unprovoked by Azzi’s question. “Yeah.”

Azzi’s heart thumped faster. “With me?”

“No, with Geno.”

Silence stretched between them for several moments before Paige continued softly, “Yes, with you.”

“Oh.”

Azzi turned her head to face Paige slowly, taking in her profile. “You know you can, right?”

She watched Paige pinch the bridge of her nose. “Can what, Azzi.”

“You can do other things with me.”

A long breath left Paige’s mouth. Several seconds passed.

In a fluid motion, Paige turned on her side and tugged Azzi towards her, slanting their lips together.

Finally, Azzi sighed in her head, a smile dancing on her lips.

Attempting to hide the immediate glee she felt from their mouths being attached again, Azzi pressed into her harder. They kissed like they were trying to prove something; to themselves, each other – it was unclear. What was obvious, was that Azzi was getting turned on. Quickly.

She sighed softly as Paige kissed across her cheek and over her jaw, her tongue darting out with the movement of her lips. Azzi tilted her head to give her better access to her neck, a breathy short moan escaping her as Paige simultaneously hooked Azzi’s leg over her hip, slotting their legs together, and leaving a trail of kisses down the column of her throat.

Azzi felt her core tightening as Paige glided a firmly gripped hand over the side of her butt, down her thigh and all the way down to her calf.

Thank God she shaved.

Paige repeated this motion several times, her fingers trailing along the inside of Azzi’s thigh as she gripped her hamstring. Their lips found each other again, tongue clashing instantly.

The way Paige held her made Azzi feel like the sexiest woman alive. Paige kissed her like a woman starved, like Azzi was the only woman to ever exist. That made her feel a little bold.

Unbreaking the kiss, Azzi reached for Paige’s hand that rested on the underside of her thigh and dragged it until it rested on her ass. She smirked at Paige’s groan she felt against her lips.

Paige squeezed her hand, dragging her by the ass until their hips were firmly pressed together. With the way Paige was holding onto her, Azzi thought she was going to have indents on her left butt cheek in the morning.

Not that she minded.

It turned Azzi on to the point where she let her hand dragged across Paige’s jaw, roughly down her chest, and reaching to grab her hand again. This time towards the front waistband of her boxers.

Paige groaned again, and Azzi felt her core pulse as her fingers skimmed underneath the band, teasing the top of her underwear. Azzi didn’t know if she wanted to squeeze her legs together or let them fall apart – everything felt so good and Paige hadn’t even touched her yet.

Paige broke their kiss, the pair breathing raggedly. She glanced down at where her hand was resting on Azzi’s stomach. Her eyes glanced back up at Azzi’s, an unspoken question hanging between them.

Azzi realized Paige was leaving the ball in her court to decide her next move; that in itself made her heart flutter. Suddenly, the weight of what could happen next hit Azzi like a truck.

Maintaining her eye contact with Paige, she nodded slowly. She watched Paige swallow.

In a shuddering breath, Paige let her fingers slowly drag under the waistband of Azzi’s boxers, gliding over the top seam of her underwear. Her fingers moved, finding the crevice of where Azzi’s hip and inner thigh met.

Azzi felt like the skin Paige touched was on fire. Their mouths hung open, close, and they breathed raggedly. Paige touched her like she was a landmine; careful and like she was memorizing every point that made Azzi’s breath hitch.

Finally, Paige dragged a single finger down the front of Azzi’s underwear and over her folds, where she had begun to get wet thirty minutes ago.

Paige’s lips parted, her breathing coming out soft but uneven as her and Azzi stared at each other with half-lidded eyes. “Is this okay?” She whispered, voice low. She circled two fingers on Azzi’s clit over her underwear, pressing lightly to feel the wetness starting to seep through. 

Azzi swallowed. “Yeah,” she said breathily. She spread her legs a little wider, which Paige took as invitation to press her fingers a little harder as she continued her ministrations. 

Paige dragged her nose along Azzi’s neck, her lips only brushing faintly over her skin. She gave a feather-light kiss right below Azzi’s ear, her lips staying on her skin as she asked in a low voice, “Does it feel good?” 

Azzi slid her hand up Paige’s cheek, slightly digging her fingertips into her hairline. She watched as Paige’s eyes rolled back slightly. “Yes,” Azzi said, her lips barely parting. Good didn’t even begin to cover it; she thought if Paige kept it up long enough, she could finish just from this.

Paige used three fingers to rub slowly up and down the front of her underwear, circling her clit when she got back to the top. She pressed as her underwear dragged into her folds, feeling wetter every time she rubbed up and down. 

Azzi was panting quietly now, her eyes fluttering. Paige leaned down to ghost her lips over hers, their unsteady breaths intertwining.

“Do you want me to touch you?” She asked, but it sounded more like a plea. Azzi nodded, gasping as Paige made it back to her clit. 

“Tell me.” 

Azzi was starting to involuntarily lift her hips up, her body following Paige’s movements. She dragged her fingertips to the underside of Paige’s scalp and pressed. “Please,” she breathed. 

Paige hooked a finger, dragged Azzi’s underwear to the side. They both released a shuddering breath as Paige finally circled her fingers there.

Azzi was rocking her hips up now, wetting her lips as their husky eyes met. Paige leaned over, kissing below her ear as she slipped a finger inside her, pumping in and out.

Azzi’s mouth dropped open.

“You like that?” Paige asked her in her ear. She licked along her neck.

Azzi tried to respond, but it became incoherent as Paige slipped a second finger inside her, alternating between circling her clit and pumping her.

“What’re you tryna say,” Paige mumbled huskily. “Lemme hear you.”

Azzi turned her head, lips falling open and resting on Paige’s as she moaned as quietly as she could. “Feels so good,” she breathed into Paige’s mouth. At the praise, she felt Paige work faster, press a little harder.

Azzi’s head fell back, mouth open. She was so close.

Paige stared at her in awe, her eyes looking drugged. “You’re so fucking hot, Az.”

Azzi croaked, her mouth unable to close. Her brows furrowed as Paige picked up her pace – circling, pumping, crooking her finger and –

Oh.

My.

God.

“Paige,” Azzi breathed, trying desperately to stay quiet. She was fully panting now, and Paige was staring at her like she was the last piece of food on Earth.

“Fuck,” Paige groaned, kissing Azzi hard. She mumbled against her lips, “So fucking pretty.”

Azzi was on fire. Her entire body pulsed, and she felt like she was gasping for air when suddenly Paige’s thumb pressed over the most sensitive part of her in that way and –

She fell apart.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes.”

Her head fell back on the pillow, her mouth open in a silent moan as her eyes squeezed shut. She covered her mouth to not wake anyone up, her body shaking in the peak of her orgasm. But Paige kept going.

“Paige, I –” Azzi saw stars. Her whole body had chills as she felt herself building up again and –

She pressed her hand into her mouth again, feeling a second orgasm course through her, shaking her to her core. Her body was twitching, writhing, all of the above. Her mind was blank as the pleasure coursed through her, apart from Paige, Paige, Paige.

“You’re so perfect,” Paige whispered, finally easing the pressure of her hand. “So perfect.”

Azzi’s hipa twitched, her hand finding her chest as she took in large breaths. Paige removed her hand from Azzi’s underwear, their eyes locking. Their expressions mirrored each other; euphoric, wild, scared.

“Holy fuck,” Azzi whispered.

Paige tucked a piece of Azzi’s hair behind her ear, letting her hand drag down the side of her face. “That was okay?”

Azzi nodded, her lips slightly parted. “Very much more than okay.”

A beat passed before they grinned at one another. Paige leaned over and cupped her jaw, giving her a soft kiss, rubbing her thumb across her cheek. She leaned her forehead against Azzi’s as she pulled away. Azzi closed her eyes in content, a small smile playing on her lips as their bodies tangled.

“Two times, huh?”

She popped an eye open to see Paige’s shit-eating grin.

“Shut up.”

Sunday

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The pipe outside Paige’s bedroom window sounded louder than usual. She sat at her desk, iPad open to an assignment she’d lost focus on thirty minutes ago. She turned to the window, shooting the darkening clouds outside and the pipe she couldn’t see a glare.

The drip was distracting her.

She stood then, letting out a low grunt as her joints adjusted. She unconsciously reached for her left knee – a precautionary reflex. Her hands found her hips, and she began a slow pace around her room.

Her eyes glided along the wall above her bed, decorated in her favorite album covers.

Music.

Yes, she should put on some music.

Pause, she thought.

She couldn’t put on music, because that would require going on her phone. And if she went on her phone, she would find herself staring at her text thread with Azzi, whom she hadn’t spoken to the entire day.

It wasn’t on purpose. Azzi had spent most of the morning lounging with Paige in bed, their fingers loosely hooked and laughing over something stupid. When she’d left at noon, shooting Paige a coy smile through the door as she stepped out, Paige thought it was in both their best interests to go about their days (primarily before Paige’s heart jumped out of her chest, or she never let Azzi leave her room again).

But now in the solidarity of her room, where Azzi was just taking up space eight hours ago, Paige was starting to pace.

Her mind was running like an engine; back to Azzi’s soft lips. The way her breaths came out short when Paige touched her there. The way she had been fantasizing about doing everything they did last night for months, and it was somehow better than how she imagined. Azzi was more beautiful, more perfect, softer, breathier, firmer, than in her dreams.

Paige was fucked.

Because it wasn’t even just that now she knew what got Azzi going – it was the fact that over the course of this week, Paige had a taste of what it was like to be with Azzi. Stealing kisses, subtle touches, quiet words no one else had to hear. Her rock. Her best friend. The girl she was falling for.

Paige was ruined for anyone else.

Roughly, she dragged both hands down her cheeks, squeezing.

She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. 9:37pm.

Yeah. She was going over to Azzi’s apartment.

She slipped on her slides and grabbed her hoodie off her desk chair, putting it on haphazardly as she blindly reached for her keys and nearly bolted out the door.

Azzi’s apartment was only down the block, so as light droplets of rain covered her, she didn’t mind. Honestly, the cool of the rain helped combat the steam that was surely rolling off her head from overuse.

Then, the rain picked up. Paige blinked, and suddenly she was in a torrential downpour.

“Of course,” She mumbled to herself, not fighting the water that pelted on her in every direction. She walked, no, stomped, for five minutes, eventually making it to Azzi’s front door. She banged her fist on the door twice before stuffing her hands in the pocket of her hoodie.

She heard shuffling and laughter, and like a beacon Azzi opened the door with the living room lights illuminating behind her.

Paige could imagine how ridiculous she looked standing in front of this damn near angel, sopping wet as the storm raged on behind her. Feeling water in every crevice of her body, her heart pounded as hard as the thunder outside as Azzi gave her a wide-eyed stare. Glasses were perched at the bridge of her nose; her hair was in a messy bun at the top of her head, and she wore an oversized Nickelodeon shirt with boxers that were probably a decade old. Poop emoji slippers adorned her feet.

Fuck me, Paige thought. I love her.

After the initial shock of seeing her in her soaked state, Azzi immediately stood aside and ushered her in. “Oh my gosh, what is wrong with–” Azzi started. Before she could finish, Paige was fisting her shirt collar with both hands and kissed her.

Azzi gave a small noise of shock but quickly grabbed Paige’s shirt in her own hands and kissed her back with equal fervor.

They kissed like they were starved.

Deprived.

Hungry.

Paige’s hands went to Azzi’s jaw as she cupped her face, their lips finding each other like they had done this their entire lives instead of just one week. Her lips tasted like the mint chocolate chip ice cream Paige knew she had after dinner. It made her smile as she broke the kiss, leaning her forehead against Azzi’s.

Their chests moved in unison as they regained their breaths, eyes crinkling at one another like a joke was being told that only they knew.

“Hi,” Azzi beamed, a breathy laugh escaping her.

“Hi,” Paige smiled back, only loud enough for the two of them to hear.

“You’re drenched,” Azzi snorted, pulling away slightly.

Paige grabbed her biceps before she could get too far, leaning in to mumble against her lips, “Didn’t notice.”

“Oh my god?”

Paige and Azzi turned their heads slowly to the side, as neither of them had spoken. Staring at the pair, unblinking, with mouths dropped was Amari and Aaliyah on the couch.

Paige blinked once.

And then again.

She took a large step to her right away from Azzi, leaning one hand on the nearby kitchen island and the other on her hip.

“Hey guys,” Paige said, voice cracking. “What’s up?”

[araybiaaa]

❝ homecoming, d. starkey. ❞  ‎

ooo. 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈… drew starkey & original black!female character. (third person only; no first or second person perspective.)

ooo. 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔… black!fem reader, original black character, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, oral sex, orgasm delay, edging (kinda), soft!drew starkey, soft!boyfriend.

ooo. 𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔… where she shows her boyfriend just how much she missed him while he was away.

ooo. 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔… decided to write my first drew x original character fic! it’s kinda long because it seems like it’s damn nearly impossible for me to write anything short (i love excessive details srry). 18+ readers only! i hope you guys enjoy! likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated ᝰ.ᐟ

she slips her tongue between his lips, swallowing the guttural groan that he breathes into her mouth. he slacks his jaw wider, deepening the kiss and reveling in the intrusion as his tongue intertwines languidly within hers. her hands reach up, sliding against the slender curve of his neck and sinking into the luscious tufts of his hair as she tugs him closer until their bodies are aligned.

with their mouths still preoccupied, drew toes off his shoes and absentmindedly kicks them aside before he begins discarding his clothing — undoing the buttons on his collard shirt until the fabric loosens around his shoulders. he shrugs out of the shirt until it falls to the floor with a soft thud.

“missed you,” she murmurs.

drew crouches at the knees, sliding a hand over the curve of her hip as he hefts her into the air. he barres her legs around his torso, his hands holding her up by her ass as he maneuvers them from the front entrance towards the living room.

“i missed you more,” he breathes softly, never once halting the onslaught on her mouth through the maneuver. 

it was pathetic really; drew was only gone for two weeks for yet it felt like an eternity for the both of them. it was two weeks without kissing, touching or holding each other. they attempted to make up for the loss of contact through their nightly phone sex conversations but it didn’t elicit the same unbridled pleasure as it did when they were the one’s milking their orgasms from each other rather than on their own accord.

they fall onto the couch as drew sits down. his hands slide over the embowed cupping of her ass as she straddles him — rubbing and kneading the soft flesh through her jeans.

“you’re not allowed to go out of town ever again,” she laments, though only halfhearted in her reprimand as she knew it was a requirement with his job. 

(which she was sometimes able to reap the benefits from when he was allowed to bring a guest along to accompany him. in the instances where he wasn’t — she would spend time at home missing him and impatiently counting the days until his return home.)

drew brushes the bridge of his nose against hers as he smirks, “i don’t know…if me leaving means that i’m greeted like this every time i come home then maybe—ah—fuck—”he’s biting down roughly on the skin of his lower lip, eyes rolling to the back of his head in pleasure when he feels her purse his lips in a pucker as she imprinted open mouthed kisses against his neck. 

she arches her hips and fluctuates a slow teasing grind, chafing dryly against his groin. their pants still being on creates a frustrating barrier between them but the fabric of drew’s slacks are thin enough to where she’s still able to feel the outline of his protruding cock that’s rapidly swelling in its girth against both of their thighs.

his head falls backwards, leaning over the edge of the couch. she leans forward, pressing feverish kisses along the column of his throat, still thrusting and whimpering softly.

a tug stirs in her abdomen; her toes curl in anticipation as she feels her bottom lip tremble at the delicious friction between their bodies. it all feels too good; their pelvises nudging against each other’s like this, with drew’s hands still squeezing her ass while she oscillated her working hips on top of him.

her cunt throbs at the friction; the gusset of her underwear slicks stickily with her arousal. 

“baby,”

she proceeded with her ministrations until she nears drew to his edge. when she feels his hands tighten their grip around her and hears the shaky exhale of his breath, that’s when she scoots off of his lap and lowers to her knees before her hands begin to work at his pants. 

he lifts his hips up so that she’s able to tug them all the way down until they’re pooled around his feet. he moans loudly in content when feels her fingers wrap firmly around his cock. “hnn,” he widens his legs open; allowing her to settle in between his thighs.

drew’s body nearly disintegrates into the cushions the moment he feels her wet lips purse around his cock. his mouth gapes, eyes flutter hazily, nostrils flare as he breathes ruggedly with his chest heaving. she looked like a vision—her perfectly succulent, pink, prim bow lips were wrapped around his cock; her eyes were lulled over in lust, giving her this coquettish seductive look that nearly had drew cuming at the sight—she had a way of doing that, looking so innocent while doing the most vulgar things.

his little tiana was deceptive like that.

she had the face of an angel; beautiful and effervescent in her appearance. but ravenously lascivious when it comes to sex.

a common misconception would be that he was the dominant one in bed, but more times than not, tiana was the one who fucked him into submission, having him cumming mercilessly at her onslaught until his body’s wilt and limp with exhaustion.

his cock lurches in anticipation at the thought of being inside of her again.

she looks up at him again; her eyes doe, feigning innocence, eyelashes sitting high as they shadowed over her chiseled cheekbones, saliva messily dribbling down her chin. her cheeks were hollowed as her mouth puckered around his dick. she maintains eye contact with drew, slacking her jaw wider as she swallows him down inch by inch.

tears sting in the back of her eyes and she nearly gags at the girth of drew stretching against the back of her throat. tiana continues her feat until it’s just a few inches of drew’s cock remaining, too big to stretch further.

she croons at the sight of her lovestruck boyfriend as he sits there, reveled in content and enamor as he watched her. drew always looked beautiful; but it’s moments like this, where his skin’s flushed, eyes are lidded, lips are red and raw and kiss-swollen, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, that he looks the most breathtaking.

and it excites her to know that she’s the reason behind these lovestruck looks and has these breathy sounds coming from him. he looks deliciously disheveled and debauched and she can’t wait until he’s finally inside of her again so he can fuck her until they’re both creaming messily all over each other.

her hand squeezes and tugs while her mouth sucks at the swollen flesh. her mouth accommodates to his thickness, repeatedly sucking as her tongue flattens to lick up all of the precum that skeeted from his tip. drew’s hips thrust upward off of the couch, his hand wraps around the back of her neck as he licked his lips, murmuring blubbering appraisals.

she hums at the praises; stroking drew with her hand, fucking him with her mouth as she fluttered her eyes at him. she traced her tongue along the underside of his cock, hearing him gasp a sharp breath.

he mewls, thrusting his hips as he pushed himself further against the back of her throat. “fuck, baby,” she moaned, her throat clicking as she swallowed around the head of his cock.

she inhaled deeply and took him all the way into her throat, until her nose was tickled by his pubic hair. “oh, shit!” drew releases a prolonged moan, his body shivers as she hastens her speed and wraps her hand around the base of his cock, making a tight ring.

his orgasm arrives quick.

the wet warmth of her mouth along with the flirtatious looks and firm tugs on his dick has him conceding to his arousal. his breathing quickens and he’s biting down roughly on his lower lip, leveling his eyes down at her. “i’m close—” he forewarns, his throat clicking as pleasure spreads in his bones. “i’m so fucking close,”

she nods, reaching underneath his thighs as she fondles his swollen balls, prying his orgasm out of him. that’s all it takes before he’s moaning loudly and shuddering as the thick, warm, milky, fluids spill into her mouth. he slumps languidly against the couch, eyes flutter close as he hauls down from his orgasm.

she releases drew’s cock with a loud wet pop, her jaw loosens and she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand after she swallowed all of the remnants of his cum.

watching and listening to his visceral reaction stirred a carnal arousal within tiana; whose cunt was throbbing achingly for him to be inside of her. she stands shakily to her feet, hurriedly shrugging off her clothing until she’s left fully nude. she crouched over drew’s languid body, straddling his lap again.

her wetness drags up his thigh as she adjusts herself in his perch so that she’s seated directly on top of drew’s cock again; this time sans any barrier of clothes.

“i love you,” he murmurs sheepishly, still disoriented and dazed from the post fellacio release.

“well, we’ve been together for two years now so i’d hope that you would.” she teases, brushing her fingers through his sweat slicked hair.

“two years, eight months, sixteen weeks, thirty two days,” drew says, reaching down and grabbing her hand, pressing soft kisses against her knuckles.

“i’m surprised that I haven’t tired of you yet.” her smile widens in mirth at his playful offense; he’s got his hand over his chest feigning a wounded heart and his lips jut downward in a pout with his expression reflecting one of a petulant child.

she rolls his eyes at the exaggerated expression, her features softening in awe as she stared adoringly at her boyfriend.

“you know that i love you more than anything,”

her love for him extended beyond any definition. what she feels for him is so much more than just love — it’s everything, infatuation, admiration, content, happiness. and there hasn’t been one instance where those feelings faltered even in the slightest, it’s always been drew that’s had her heart since the first day that they met and they both know it will remain as such until the end of time. it’s the kind of love that she’s always wished for, easy, kind and worthy of fighting for. drew was her life; her everything.

“i do,” he murmurs, reaching his hand up to cradle the side of her face. “it’s why i’m the luckiest man on earth.”

the sentiment makes tiana’s heart swell in enamor and all the teasing is suddenly forgotten as she embraces drew into another kiss, deep and vehement with their tongues messily intertwining and their noses bumping clumsily against each other’s.

his hands tighten around her waist as he leans them backwards on the couch.

regret is only brief as they realize how tightly fitted the couch is with the two of them sprawled out across it like this, but they disregard the hassle and absentmindedly throw the pillows onto the floor and settle towards the middle of the couch still with their limbs entangled. the cushions are soft against drew’s back and shoulders, he’s got his head tucked on the arm of the sofa with his long legs hanging off the ends.

she steadies one hand to grip the arm of the couch while the other slid in between their burning bodies. her fingers caress against the chisel of muscles along his chest, descending lower until she’s got a firmed grip on the engorged flesh of his aching cock. drew shivers, murmuring a soft curse in her mouth at the warmth of her fingers wrapped around him.

she leverages herself off of his hips and angles him at her center. she holds his gaze, nudging her hips forward so that he’s caught at her entrance. 

they both choke on a groan, feeling their throats click in pleasure.

then, finally, it’s a reconciliation of their bodies as she withdraws her hand from around the base of his cock and lowers herself down onto him. the tip clefts her open without preamble, the wetness of her arousal makes it an easy intrusion. she tucks her face in his neck, biting down on her lower lip as she feels the pleasure of his entrance licking up her spine. “drew,” she murmurs, already feeling delirious and full of him when he hadn’t even done anything yet.

he nods against her shoulder, needing his own moment of adjustment. “i know, baby, i know,” he murmurs, half-dazed himself as he rubbed a hand down her back. 

she arches her hips, feeling drew’s hands guiding the movements as she continued to lower herself until her cunt’s swallowing down more inches of his cock. there’s a painful twinge that spreads through her at the intrusion, his girth stretches her inch by inch, continuing its primal penetration.

the pain is immediately substituted with pleasure as she accommodates to the swell of him inside of her. she exhaled a loud sob when feels him bottoming her out. “okay?” he asks, the question soft as he murmurs it into her hair. 

she nods, feeling her cunt squeeze around him, a tell that she was fully adjusted and ready. she lifts her head from its perch and looks down at him; seeing a combined look of mesmerization and sheepishness. she leans in to kiss him; soft, slow and sensual. 

drew mimics the delicacy of her pecks, holding her chin between the grasp of his forefinger and thumb, getting lost in her kisses. it’s her that initiates the first move as she wiggled her hips and lifted herself off of him until his cock was halfway spilled out of her cunt. and when it’s just the tip and a few inches of him teasing her, she reclaims her perch on top of him — lowering herself until he’s caught at her hilt again. 

“fuck,” he murmurs, feeling his body reverberate at the stimulation. 

she whimpers, nudging her pelvis against his as she feels the base of his cock brush against her sensitive clit. 

“tiana,” he chokes on a groan barely keeping himself contained.

she moves slowly and deliberately, wanting to feel every inch of him everywhere until her whole body’s trembling with pleasure. she breathes ruggedly, her eyes holding the smothering weight of his stare as she looks down at him watching him unravel helplessly underneath her. her cunt gapes and stretches around the shape of his cock; pulling and suctioning him back in until he’s buried at the hilt.

“sweetheart, you, fuck, you feel so good," he’s a blubbering mess again, his fingers are shaky as they held tightly on her gyrating body while she pistons full body rolls.

it’s a catch and release of him stretching her until he’s caught at her hilt and left with no choice but to withdraw. she relishes in the tremors of his body as he writhed beneath her; how he reverberates whenever she tugs in response, clenching wantonly around him. his breathing labors, dropping a few octaves as he murmurs low expletives under his breath.

her pussy pulls him back in every time he slips out of her; it’s perfect the way they move in tandem, both reciprocating the emphasized movements of their hips, fucking each other into oblivion until their minds are delirious from the clouded pleasure.

he rolls his hips up into her, repeatedly brushing against her g-spot that makes her croon and nearly melt right there in his arms.

she looks beautiful with her skin sheened in perspiration, tits sitting high on her chest with her nipples erected, light stretch marks decorated on her hips, pussy glistening and swollen from his intrusion. her eyes are glossy as tears of pleasure lined in her pupils, her mouth’s parted ajar, throat clicks as choked up sobs and breathy mewls falls off of her kiss swollen lips. 

she furrows her eyebrows, catching her trembling bottom lip between the grip of her teeth as she cants her hips, chafing her pelvis against his as she chased her orgasm. 

“like that, baby, just like that.” drew purrs encouragingly. his hands round to her ass, shoving her further down onto his cock to where she nearly feels him curled inside of her belly. she clenches wantonly around him; the lewd and noisy sounds of their sweaty skin intermingling ricochets throughout the room.

his fingernails are carving indention marks into the skin on her thighs, but that caring, along with anything else except for the delicious stroke of drew’s cock penetrating her in languorous thrusts is absentmindedly disregarded from her mind.

“baby,” he shudders, his movements are becoming more lethargic in their attempts, indicating that his release was approaching.

she knows that he’s prolonging his own orgasm’s release so that she’s fully satiated first; he persevered through the edging, heeding his virility as he fucks her to her release. “come on, come on,” he urges, desperate and shaking in need.

she arches her back; changing the angle a bit so that she feels every penetration of drew fucking into her deep in her bones. she alternates between bouncing and rolling her hips, desperate to feel him cum inside of her.

on a low, keening whine, her spine tingles, the onset of an orgasm that feels almost too big for her body to contain.

and drew just as needy too, because when he feels the pressure of his balls tightening, he groans gutturally against her throat before sliding a hand in between her thighs. his thumb fondles her clitoris lip, lifting it up just enough so that he’s able to press his thumb against her clit. she moans loudly, tossing her head back as she feels the overstimulating pleasure spread through her.

that’s all it takes before she’s cuming messily, her chest heaves as she feels her body succumb to her orgasm. she continues to fuck herself against him, hearing the timbre of his breathing lower as a tightness tugged in his balls again and his cock lurched inside of her. 

“i love you,” she whispers against his lips, hearing his soft whimper of retort. 

“i love you too,” he murmurs, choking on a groan as he feels the warmth of his cum leaking from his body as it spills inside of her.

[mixolya]

I honestly have no idea how tumblr works so idk if this is where I make requests...

Anyways idea/request for an itoshi sae x reader short story where reader is a well known k-pop idol who was recently caught in a scandal that she took no part in and received lots of hate as a result! She starts losing her appetite and becoming visibly skinnier bc of the hate and sae notices and becomes rlly worried for her!

Srry this is honestly so cringy I js had a random idea and needed someone to write it 😔😔

ᓚᘏᗢ — sae itoshi: stay with me !

synopsis: when a brutal scandal leaves you drowning in public hate and self-doubt, your secret boyfriend sae itoshi refuses to let you face it alone.

sae itoshi x reader ⭑ angst / secret relationship / hurt & comfort cw!!! eating disorder, mentions of suicide + likes & reblogs are appreciated <3

note: this took me a bit long sorry if my writing is washed

sae noticed it first in your texts. the usual stream of messages, your excited ramblings, blurry selfies with a kiss face, little voice notes you sent when you couldn't type fast enough, started to shrink. your replies became shorter, sometimes delayed, sometimes missing altogether. then came the photos, or rather, the lack of them.

you used to send him everything. outfit checks, dance practice clips, the view from your hotel room window when you were touring. now, your camera roll seemed locked away.

he knew why. the scandal, the one you had no part in.

a baseless accusation from an anonymous post had spiraled into trending hashtags overnight. the internet had latched onto your name, twisting narratives, pulling you under with no proof, no defense that seemed loud enough.

he kept waiting for you to fight back. for the usual fire in your voice to return. but it didn't.

and when he finally got you alone on a rare day when your schedules aligned, you were already smaller. not just in weight, but in presence. you looked like you'd folded yourself in, like you were trying to take up less space in the world.

"did you eat?" he asked bluntly, sitting across from you in his apartment. you nodded, picking at the edge of your sleeve. " a little, before practice."

"you're lying," his chest tightened.

you glanced away, lips pressing into a faint smile that didn't belong to you. "i'm fine, sae."

"you're not," he stood, crossed the room in two steps and knelt in front of you. "look at me."

reluctantly, you did. your eyes were tired, rimmed faintly with exhaustion, but it wasn't that which broke him. it was the way you looked afraid. of disappointing him. of being weak in front of him.

"you think i care about some fake scandal?" his thumb brushed over your knee. "you think i'd believe a word of that shit?"

you shook your head quickly. "it's not that. i know you don't believe it. it's just-" your voice cracked. you swallowed it down. "...everyone else does."

"they're just people behind a screen."

"they're people behind a screen who tell me to die."

it hit him like a gut punch. not because you were wrong, but because you said it so.. calmly. like you'd gotten used to hearing it.

you laughed breathless and broken. "isn't it funny? i've spent my whole career trying to make people happy, and now they can't stand me. i can't even remember the last time i finished a meal without thinking about what they'd say about my weight after the whole scandal thing."

his stomach twisted. you'd always been careful with your diet because of your career, but this wasn't careful at all. this was self-destruction. and it terrified him.

"you don't have to finish it for them," he said quietly. "you don't have to do anything for them."

you shook your head. "it's not that simple. i can't just-" you gestured vaguely, frustration rising. "i can't just stop caring. it's my job. my face, my body- it's my brand."

sae's grip on your knee tightened just slightly. "fuck your brand."

your breath caught.

"fuck the people who don't know you. fuck the ones who think they can control you." his voice was low. it was the same tone he used when shutting down reporters. "if you lose yourself chasing their approval, what's the point?"

your lips trembled. "i don't want to lose myself."

"then don't."

"i'm trying-" your voice cracked again. you buried your face in your hands, shoulders shaking. "i'm really trying, sae."

carefully, he reached up, coaxing your hands away from your face. his thumb traced the corner of your eye, catching a stray tear. without another word, sae slid his arms around you, lifting you effortlessly into his chest. you let out a soft gasp, instinctively curling into him as he sat down the couch, settling you on his lap, one hand firm on your back, the other smoothing down your hair.

"you don't have to try alone," he murmured, his voice steady against the storm inside you. "i'm here. i'm not going anywhere."

your fingers clutched at his shirt, desperate for something solid, something that wouldn't slip away like the rest of your world seemed to be doing.

"i'm sorry," you whispered, breath trembling against his neck. "i just.. i don't know how to fix this."

"then don't fix it all at once." he pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering there. "just stay. stay with me tonight. start there."

"i don't feel like eating though."

"doesn't matter." his hand rubbed slow circles on your back. "you need to. for yourself, not for them."

you swallowed thickly, the quiet weight of his words breaking down your walls. sae itoshi didn't plead. he didn't chase. but here he was, holding you close, asking you to fight for yourself.

so you nodded, barely, but it was enough for him to pull you even closer, like he was trying to shield you from the world.

"i'll cook."

"you can't cook," you mumbled, your tears warm against his skin.

"i can cook enough," his thumb brushed over your cheekbone. "enough to keep you here."

you gave a small, tired laugh. "you're sooo bad at this."

"at what?"

"comforting people."

he smirked faintly. "never comforted someone, what did you expect?"

his hand slid down, interlacing his fingers with yours.

and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself lean into him. into his warmth, his steadiness, his quiet refusal to let you disappear.

right now, you were safe. you were staying. and sae wasn't letting you go.

© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[anisespice]

“ the fuck-it list ” || hq! pt. 3

one || two || four || five

synopsis: there’s a list going around consisting of hot guys on campus that are deemed “fuckable” with theories as to what they’d be like in bed. it’s all fun and games until somehow your boyfriend ends up on this list. 

pairing: various x gn!reader [ osamu, sakusa ]

warnings: cursing, suggestive language, MDI. literally can’t be bothered to think of anything else, but feel free to let me know lol

notes: sooo i lied <333 i’ve decided to give suna his own chapter later on (srry suna lovers !!!!) i just wasn’t satisfied with how his was turning out, and it was the only roadblock delaying my progress soooo figured we’d just put a pin in his for now lol especially for those who were FROTHING for these two in particular (this for y'all ✨) hope you enjoy :)))

notes ii: nobody LOOK AT ME, this took me an embarrassingly long time lol. i’m not familiar with them, personality-wise, but i tried ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

notes iii: this one’s got atsumu written all over it LMAOOO

tagged: @daedaep69 , @ahahadumbo , @viktoryn , @mdsb , @ourgoddessathena , @ushygushybaby , @hyori2 , @lumpywolf , @fantasycantasy

“Aht-CHOO!”

The bowl of popcorn nearly flew out your lap when you shrieked bloody-murder, body in fight or flight from the abrupt sound happening moments before a jumpscare in the movie you were watching. Head on a swivel, you soon realized the culprit wasn’t a psycho-killer in a ghost mask, but your darling OSAMU with his lawnmower of a sneeze coming through your front door.

You exhaled, relieved, but scared shitless. After pausing the movie, you glared down the hall leading to the door. “Seriously? You had to do that with your entire chest?”

Osamu sniffled, then muttered. “…Y’supposed to say bless ya before scoldin’ at your sweet and thoughtful boyfriend, y’know…”

“Aw, bless you, my love. And, fuck you.”

The brunette snorted, no doubt rolling his eyes as he toed off his shoes. Coming down the hall to soon reveal his handsome face, illuminated only by the bright tv screen, Osamu held up a large plastic bag filled with something greasy and delicious as the smell traveled up your nose. He grinned smugly at you intently eyeing the bag. “Fuck me, huh?”

You immediately doubled down, waving your hands. “Waitwaitwait I didn’t mean it like that. I meant it as in…fuck you’RE so sweet and thoughtful, and I love you so much..?”

Osamu hummed, taking off his ball cap to place it on your head. Shaking it a little by the brim, he winked. “Nice save, darlin’.”

He made way for your inspace kitchen to get dinner assorted with you trailing not too far behind. Your eyes eagerly ate up the widespread of all your favorites displayed on the countertop, practically hanging off his back since there was barely any room for the both of you in the tiny space. Popcorn long forgotten, your stomach sang a symphony for some real food, Osamu saving you the trouble of eating instant noodles for dinner yet again.

And without you even having to ask him for any of it, too.

Your gaze eventually locked onto the former volleyball player, eyeing him up with a newfound hunger that he was quick to pick up on while he popped a piece of fried chicken in his mouth. Looking down at you with a raised brow he patiently waited for you to voice your thoughts, a boyish grin growing on his face as he chewed.

You blinked. He blinked back, then chuckled lightly. “We communicatin’ telepathically, or somethin’?”

“If we were, you’d know I wanna suck you dry right now.”

Osamu.exe—E R R O R.

Man straight up inhaled the little that was still in his mouth, hurling him into a fit of hacks as he turned away from the food to fight for his life at your sink. Coughing up what he could into the drain with you behind him hitting his back for support, you couldn’t stop the evil, little laugh from slipping out seeing this as a form of karma for the scare earlier. Osamu fixed you with a weak glare once he calmed down, reaching over to pinch your cheek. “A warnin’ next time, would’ya?…”

You winced, but mirth still swam in your eyes. “Your only warning would’ve been your pants around your ankles-”

“Oi, quit that.” He gently grabbed your jaw to squish up your mouth, though it didn’t repress the cheeky grin you wore. The brunette did his best to remain unfazed, but the flush across his face was evident, your words clearly effecting him. “…Jeez, at least ask me how m’day was before ya slut me out. Soundin’ like all them thirsty-ass comments floodin’ my socials all damn day.”

Osamu let go of your face to grab plates from your cabinet, leaving you standing there, dumbfounded. Pursing your lips, you crossed your arms with a raised brow. “‘m sorry…the what flooding your socials?”

He busied himself with fixing your plate, nonchalantly recalling the very incident that occurred the other day, “That dumb fuck-list or whatever, mixed up me ‘nd ‘tsumu in their little post. Had his ugly mug front ‘nd center, but had my name attached to this long-winded thread ‘bout me basically being better in the sack than him. Shit’s wild.”

“The fuck-what now?” Osamu handed over a healthy plate full of food, you absentmindedly took it but made no move to eat. He started fixing his own, acting as if he didn’t just delay your appetite with this information. “Y—…you’re joking right? There’s no way something like that exists.”

“Oh, t’s very much real. Read it with my own eyes,” he licked the spoon he used to spread sauce across his chicken. “What, ya sayin’ ya haven’t heard of it? Seriously?”

“You know I don’t care enough to keep up with the trends that go on around here. And with good reason, clearly. What’s even the purpose?”

He shrugged. “Beats me. But it’s got ‘tsumu givin’ me the silent treatment, so maybe it’s not that bad after all.”

“Pfft. He’s pissy because some random on the internet said you’re the better lay? How would they know?? You’re both happily taken, and I wish a bitch would.” You smugly declared, bringing your food to the living room.

Osamu grinned at your possessive tone, trailing behind you holding plate and soda cans in either hand. “Damn straight. But, wasn’t just some random, babe. We’re talkin’ millions.”

Had you not already gotten situated on the couch, you would’ve surely spilled food all over yourself. Jaw nearly to the floor, you blinked up at him, bewildered. “Nuh uh.”

“Yuh huh.”

“Holy shit.”

Osamu took his usual spot next to you, large frame nearly taking up most of the couch. With bellies empty, knee knocking against knee, and elbow nudging elbow, the brunette hummed contently as he soaked in his favorite atmosphere—Your voice, your warmth, you. Though too busy monologuing about the absurdity of such a thing going viral to notice his fond gaze, Osamu silently listened to every word as he began eating from his plate. Although, all that mushiness is soon pushed to the back of his mind when the next sentence fell from your lips. After you eventually found said post to see it for yourself, needless to say you had some…hot takes.

“How could someone write this and not cringe? I mean, I love you ‘samu, but a Dom? If only they knew how nervous you were our first time, it was so adorable.” You giggled, tossing some chicken into your mouth. “You are not that guy.”

Osamu’s chewing paused. Your laughter eventually died down.

You didn’t feel his stare earlier…but you were definitely feeling it now, Mr. Krabs. Suddenly, the same dread you got when anticipating a jumpscare resurfaced. A sinking pit in your stomach like a rabbit stumbling upon a fox—Cliché aside, you fucked up. And you knew it in your bones the second your eyes locked with his, void of fondness and full of hunger despite his plate being half-eaten.

He swallowed the bit in his mouth, then spoke. “Sure ‘bout that?”

You mouth moved, floundered even, but nothing would come out. And Osamu didn’t rush you either, if anything he gladly watched you struggle while he continued munching away. “I—..I-I mean..I was just saying. Because…y’know, you never…we never really-”

“Mm. Jus’ cause we usually take things slow doesn’t mean you can’t get a hole fucked into your mattress, sweetheart. Keep tryin’ ya luck, ‘nd ya just might. Finish eatin’ first, though. Ya gonna need your energy.”

SAKUSA couldn’t give a flying fuck about the list. He would literally walk away from someone mid-conversation if said topic got brought up. And don’t think that you’re the exception, either—Man parked and got out of his OWN CAR during the drive back to his place, refusing to get back in until you dropped the subject entirely.

“Omi-”

“No.”

“C’monnnn.”

“No.”

You giggled, “I won’t talk about it anymore, I promise.”

He had his back to you as you spoke through the rolled down, driver’s side window, trying to ‘pspspsps’ him back into the car like a stubborn cat. Sakusa knew he was being ridiculous, but he just couldn’t stomach anymore nonsense. Plus, there’s a bit of suspicion on his end whenever it came to talking about the accursed list—Sakusa saw it as a bad omen.

Anyone who talked about it within his circle, be it teammates or personal friends, miraculously found themselves posted up the following day like fresh meat on the market. Once he caught wind that not even taken people were spared from being thirsted over, his disdain merely amplified, as did his precaution.

“Baby, I’ll burn some sage back at your apartment to scare away the bad energy from my filthy words. Would that make you feel better?”

Sakusa huffed, looking over his shoulder to give you a good ole stank face—One you barely paid any mind to as you batted your lashes at him. He glitched. Had it not been for the mask he was wearing, you’d see the harsh flush that spread across his face. Too bad his neck was exposed, giving him away as you grinned knowingly. But, you weren’t about to distract him from the issue at hand, you temptress.

“Don’t patronize me. Besides, you didn’t say it at my apartment, you said it in the car. Would completely defeat the purpose.”

You blinked.

There was no stopping the laughing fit you fell into when his words eventually processed, borderline cackling. “I-I’ll sage the car then, how ‘bout that?”

The ravenette squinted, marching up to the car to stick his head in before pulling his mask down so you could see his heavy frown through your tearful hysterics.

“You’re laughing. You’ve doomed me to becoming targeted by perverts, and you’re laughing.”

“‘yoomi, PLEASE.” You wheezed, waving a hand at him for mercy. With a couple stuttered intakes of air, you did your best to pull it together. “Don’t you think…you’re being a little paranoid?”

Amusement colored your features when you made eye contact with the outside hitter. Sakusa rolled his, tugging his mask back on before re-entering the car. “We’ll see how funny you find it when we can’t be seen together in public anymore.”

“And why not?” You raised a brow, still giggly.

Sakusa buckled in, taking the car out of park. “Because. When I do get posted, I won’t be leaving the safety of my room until that shit gets banned.”

“Oh my god, honey, I promise. You’re worrying over nothing. If you were gonna be on the list, don’t you think you would’ve by now? I mean, c’mon, even Hinata got on it before you. Majority of your teammates did!”

“That’s exactly my point. I’m the only one left.”

The two of you continued a playful back and forth pretty much the whole drive, more so you teasing him than anything else. After a while, having had your fun, you gave it a rest much to Sakusa’s relief. “Can still burn some sage, if you want-” “You’re not funny.”

Your evening continued on as normal, him taking a shower while you busied yourself by looking for a show the two of you could binge. Although, even after the discussion from earlier had been dropped, your boyfriend’s words still echoed in the back of your mind like a mantra. ‘I’m the only one left.’

As much as you’d hate to admit, though never to his face, your over-suspicious companion had a point. Without the safety net of his more extroverted teammates being in the spotlight of rabid fans, what’s delaying the swarm of unsolicited desires now? Even with his sourtude, Sakusa was an attractive individual—The dark curls that frame his face perfectly, his piercing pools of obsidian that shred through you like paper, the beauty marks above his brow, his THIGHS. And those were just surface-level things.

Being one of the privileged few who’ve seen all layers of Sakusa, you couldn’t blame them for wanting to explore deeper into who he was beyond that cold exterior…in more ways than one. Who better to fill those burning questions than some horny randos with too much time on their hands?

But, he’s made it this far without issue, what’s there to worry about now?—*Bzzzzt*

You jolt slightly, the harsh vibration coming from the sofa table breaking you out of your thoughts. With a short glance at your phone, the lit screen revealed an incoming call from Sakusa’s cousin, Komori. You exhale a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, reaching over to grab the device and answer it. However, as your thumb hovered over the green button, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder…why would he be calling you?

You shook your head, answering the call before your mind could wander. He probably just wanted to catch up, make small talk. A smile graced your face as you happily greeted him, “Mori! Hi, what can I do ya for-?”

“Has he seen it?? Am I too late??”

You froze, blinking widely in stunned confusion. Your silence must have been loud enough for the man to grow more anxious, calling out your name to regain your attention. “Uh…has who seen what?”

Komori exhaled, in what you could only assume was relief. “Thank God…you sound blissfully unaware. That means there’s still time. You’re at his place, right?”

You blinked, eyes looking around as if he could see you.

“Kiyoomi’s? Yeah, I am. He’s in the shower at the moment if you were trying to reach him. Is everything okay?”

Now it was him who turned silent. You waited with bated breath, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt as you wracked your brain for every worst case scenario…but a small part of you already had an idea.

“It’s the complete opposite, I’m afraid.”

‘Kiyoomi Sakusa. 6’2ft of ?????. An enigma. We had to take our time this one. This tall, personification of a hand sanitizer bottle may appear to be disgusted and disinterested, but once you get past those disinfectant defenses of his…Lady in the streets, but a freak in the bed. Why else would he keep so clean all the time? It’s ‘cause he’s hiding an absolute FILTHY ANIMAL behind his mask (literally and figuratively) you cannot convince me otherwise. Definitely a Hard Dom, would degrade you for making a mess all over him even though he’s the one to blame; THRIVES when you get messy for him tho. Firm believer that he’d spit in your mouth, both as punishment and a reward. He won’t make much noise, you’ll think he’s doing taxes while deep in your guts, but just watch his face; homie is EXPRESSIVE. Aftercare could go either way, but he’d probably focus more on getting the sheets changed than cleaning you up. 7/10.’

You clenched the phone in disbelief, eyes watering due to the sexual word-vomit burning them the more you read on. It didn’t even take you long to find the dreaded post you were convinced would never manifest, refreshing the page multiple times just to confirm its existence. “Shit. I really did doom him to being targeted by perverts…”

“Huh??” Komori voiced. You merely brushed it off.

“Nothing,” you sighed. Taking the conversation out on the balcony in case Sakusa overheard, you had Komori on speaker as you attempted to do damage control. “Do the others know about this? Oh God, does Atsumu?? Knowing him, he’d surely jump at the chance to tease Omi with something like this.”

“Dunno. Just found out myself, and you were the first person I thought to call.”

You looked over your shoulder, peeking inside to see if the outside hitter was roaming around. There didn’t appear to be any movement, but there’s no doubt he finished showering by now.

Exhaling, you began sifting through your contacts. “We need to do whatever it takes to make sure he never finds out about the post. I’ll text everyone I know to help flag it down, but I’m not sure how long it’ll take before-”

“Who’re you talking to?”

Startled, phone nearly tossed off the balcony, you turned toward the sudden appearance of your freshly washed boyfriend, towel around his neck and adorned in lounge wear. Komori held his breath, as if he also were caught in the act even though he could easily escape with a mere press of a button. “Um…your cousin.”

“Okay, but…why’d you come out here? You wouldn’t have disturbed me if you took the call inside.” Sakusa raised a brow at your stiff posture, perplexed but concerned. “Something the matter?”

“No!” You winced at your own volume. His eyes widened slightly, making you nervously chuckle. Clearing your throat, you attempted to play it cool. “No, uh…just wanted to get some air while catching up with Komori, that’s all. W-why d’you ask?”

Sakusa squinted at you. “You’re jumpy.”

“J-Jumpy? Me? Uh.. that’s because…” Searching your brain for an excuse, luckily Komori had your back with his quick thinking.

“B-Because! We’re talking about the list! And t-they figured you wouldn’t wanna hear us, so-” SLAM!

Before he could even get the rest of the explanation out, Sakusa had already closed the sliding door. You and Komori shared a sigh of relief. You watched Sakusa’s back retreat into the living room as he sat on the couch, flickering around for something to put on to pass the time.

Just as suspected…still paranoid.

“That was close…”

“Super close. Think he bought it?”

You groaned, hesitant to take your eyes off him. “Won’t matter if he decides to check his phone at some point…”

It didn’t appear to be anywhere in sight, hopefully charging in another room. But, there was no point in wasting time worrying about that. You had some flagging to do. And as long as he had no reason to look at it, you’d be fine.

Sakusa, now bored with you occupied by something else, couldn’t help but to watch you longingly from the couch. You were speaking so animatedly, using your free hand to gesture, pacing back and forth. He frowned—How can that stupid list be more important than snuggling up with him? Yet another reason to hate it.

Exhaling through his nose he leaned back on the sofa, remote in hand as he looked for something to help pass the time. However, before he could get very far in his search, his phone rings.

Confused, he reached into his pocket. Instantly, his mood went from neutral to shriveled when he read the caller ID—Miya.

He had half a mind to ignore it, but knowing Atsumu he’d probably just keep calling until the inevitable happened with him turning up on his doorstep. Sakusa gave an annoyed huff, reluctantly answering the phone.

“Better have a good reason to be calling me this late, idiot.”

“Oh ho ho. Believe me, Omi-Omi. You’ll wanna see this.”

Back on the balcony, after the sixth time flagging the post for misinformation and harassment, you suddenly felt a shift in the atmosphere that wasn’t there moments before. Halting your frantic thumbs, you slowly looked up from the screen as a cold chill ran up your spine; something didn’t feel right in the force.

You weren’t sure what made you turn back to look inside the room, but the moment you did…it was like the world had gone into slow motion—Komori’s voice faded into the background as he called out your name, drowned out by the sound of your heart pounding through your ribs at the sight of Sakusa on his phone, face contorted into what could only be described as pure humiliation as he stared into the endless abyss while on his knees.

Probably should’ve burned that sage when you had the chance.

© 2023-2024 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[julicat1203]

I have a couple recommendations!

I think you should draw the ship Glitterhugs (goob x glisten, Dandy’s world)

Or

Habitsmal (Dr.Habit x Kamal, smile for me).

Srry if I’m late I just saw your pinned post

Th :D

Hi sweetie! Sorry for the delay... I ended up choosing the first one because I don't really know the characters below 😅 I know it's from a game... anyway, here you go!

[whymzzz]

can you draw dipbert x popee he performer?

WU-HAAA, HERE'S UR ORDER 🦜🦜⚓⚓🔥💥💥

im srry for the delay and inactivity , i had a kind of artistic block and all my inspiration went out the windw🙏🙏 but anywayd, ily 'iluvferretsandsouthpark', you mentioned my two favorite things and i enjoyed drawing this!

ANDDDDD, I ALMOST FORGOT TO PUT DIS DAMIEN DESIGNNXBXB

I wnted to put Pip and Pocket next 2 him but ok........ um, ihate Damien's stupid hair, yeah

AND BTW, I DRAW PIP AS KEDAMONO BUT AS KEDAMONO IN HIS HALFF-HUMAN FORM CUZZ I WAS LIKE "bruhwhat the sigma idk how i'll draw hhim🙏" BUT THEN I WAS LIKE "waitwaitwait, KEDAMONO HAS A CANONICAL HALF-HUMAN FORM" and ok

also, If I had drawn Pip as Kedamono but Kedamono Kedamono the Kedamono woof woof, it would have been something like this 🙏:

anyway, bye gays

[mlqueen89]

... This Thing Tuesday

finally finished chapter four of my jake seresin x ofc fic.

beta reader is getting that one read through! so, in the meantime, while i write entirely too much of this fic without having an ending fully figured out... here you go (a few days late - srry). definitely inspired by glen's appearance at the fashion awards in london in december and adam brody/leighton meester at the golden globes. if anyone is curious about aimee's dress inspo - look no further than rachel mcadams' dress at the 2016 oscars.

i can do it with a broken heart - glen powell x ofc (wip)

The car ride to the event was relatively short from Glen’s rented place, full of an easy back and forth banter about how Aimee felt like Rachel Leigh Cook in She’s All That and other choice 90s classics, but Aimee’s nerves were still frayed at best.  

As they neared the event and she sat beside Glen, hands clasped in her lap, her mind whirled as their handler rattled off instructions about where to walk, when to stop, and how long to hold a pose. Monica, Glen’s agent, mentioned a few entertainment channels he might want to stop at and say a few words about Beneath the Surface, since Aimee was with him.  

It was all a well-rehearsed machine—one she had absolutely no experience navigating. Meaning, it was all going over her head.  

No matter how hard she tried to concentrate on the handler’s instructions, Aimee couldn’t stop her eyes from glazing over. Her thoughts a sudden jumble of if she’d given Allie the stuffed animal Noah needed for bed, or if she had sent her agent, Nicole, the outline for the next novel, or if the stove had been turned off before she—  

“Aimee?” Glen asked, glancing at her as their car pulled closer to the venue, his voice drawing Aimee back to the present. “You okay?” 

Aimee blew out a breath that was more laugh than anything. “Yeah. Fine. Just, you know, trying not to spontaneously combust.” 

Glen smirked. “Try to hold off until after the photos.”   

Aimee groaned, tilting her head back against the seat as Glen’s agent went back to her phone, tapping out a message, the bright blue light lighting up her face. “I think you’re going to realize pretty quickly that this is a terrible idea. Writers are notoriously racoon-esque. We avoid bright lights and unnecessary attention, love pizza crusts, though.” 

“Nah,” Glen said, voice warm with amusement. “It’s a great idea. Besides, some racoons come out in the day. What about that Toronto racoon, the one with the—” Glen snapped his fingers, trying to summon the memory.  

“—rabies? That racoon had rabies, Glen.” Aimee barely held back a laugh; she knew what he was trying to do, and it was working. 

“Yeah. That’s the one!” 

Aimee rolled her eyes, but before she could argue her point further, the car came to a stop. Outside the door on Glen’s side, a blur of flashing lights lit up the inside of the car despite the tint of the windows, the muffled noise of the crowd and photographers already pressing in. 

“Ready?” Glen asked, his hand pausing on the door handle as he turned back to her.  

“Nope.” Aimee popped the ‘p’ like it offended her personally and grasped the small clutch in her lap like it was her buoy in a dark and endless sea. “Not even a little bit.”  

“Perfect.” He grinned, opening the door and stepping out before turning back to offer her his hand. 

There were moments when Aimee found herself observing her life from a distance, an outside voyeur taking notes. She once described it to Allie as an almost out of body experience, where she felt removed, seeing her own actions as if on a delayed loop, the miser Ebenezer Scrooge on tour with the Three Ghosts. It made her a stronger writer, someone able to keenly witness from an outside position.

Now, sitting on the soft leather back seat of the town car, staring up at Glen, his broad shoulders, outlined by the flash of cameras, taking in the way he looked at her, like she was someone worth holding doors for, or being helped out of cars, she felt herself slipping into one of those moments. 

Aimee reached up and took his hand, the heat of his palm against her cool skin grounding her, a small reassurance, as she emerged into the chaos. Stepping out of the car, immediately voices started calling out from every direction, some directed at them, others distant. Cameras flashed in a relentless barrage down the carpet, the red runway feeling more like a path of doomed procession instead of a lead into an awards ceremony venue.  

Glen gave her hand a quick, reassuring squeeze before letting go once he was sure she was steady, his fingers dragging across her palm. Aimee was thankful that, if he noticed the way her skin raised in goosebumps, he didn’t say anything.  

“Alright,” he said, lowering his voice so only she could hear as he stood in front of her, an assistant she didn’t recognize adjusting her dress as Glen buttoned the jacket of his tux. “This is where they tell us what to do, and we pretend like we have no idea.”  

Aimee exhaled a laugh, trying not to look too dazed, but her eyes were already flicking over the crowd, analyzing. Maybe Allie was wrong when they’d picked out this dress, maybe she would need to run after all, and this material was entirely the wrong one for running. Simultaneously, Aimee felt out of place, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi, stuck in a glitched mode between fight and flight.   

“You’re walking after Lily Collins.” The assistant tapped Aimee’s shoulder and motioned to Glen to step in beside her. 

It took Aimee a second to bring herself back to the moment, and when she did, Glen had slid in beside her. Even in her heels, he was at least a head taller than her. How was this her life? It all suddenly felt like a dream she teetered on the edge of waking up from at any moment, the shrill sound of her phone alarm breaking her out of sleep, leaving her wishing for sleep again to chase the feelings she felt now. 

Glen leaned in slightly. “Is it okay if I put my hand on your waist?”  

Aimee arched a brow at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “We are supposed to be dating,” Aimee carefully avoided the word girlfriend or any indication of that being what she was to him. “Might be weird if you didn’t.”  

Glen smirked down at her, adjusting his cufflinks, but he didn’t move until she added, softer this time, a nod dipping her chin just once. “Yeah. It’s okay.”  

His broad hand found its place on her waist, then, without further hesitation, his palm warm against the bare skin where the dress dipped low. The silky green material was just a breadth away from revealing too much, cascading gracefully around her figure. Aimee swallowed hard.  

With one last swish of her dress, an assistant threw up two thumbs up and they started walking, the handlers, stationed strategically to keep the traffic flowing, motioned them forward. Then, abruptly, Aimee stopped.  

Glen immediately did the same, turning to her, and throwing a one-minute gesture at an exasperated handler who looked as if she was questioning her life choices. “You okay?”  

She hesitated, second-guessing herself before she spoke. Well, better to sound stupid now than to look stupid later. “What happens if I fall?”  

Glen huffed a small laugh, his green eyes twinkling with something akin to mischief. “You won’t.”   

Aimee bit back a laugh but resisted the urge to tell him about the time she tried clubbing with Allie and had snapped the heel off a particularly expensive pair of shoes she’d borrowed from her Pilates instructor friend while stepping off a curb. Or about the time she nearly died tumbling down a set of stairs at her brother’s wedding even though his firefighter co-workers (in attendance) had told her she would survive, albeit with less ego intact. Aimee's track record with heels was less than stellar. 

Glen, a relative newbie to all things Aimee, had entirely too much faith in her ability to hold it together in the green Jimmy Choos that cost more than her monthly mortgage payments, while blinded by camera flashes, and contending with a high thigh split that could, at any moment, with the wrong step, reveal she wasn’t wearing underwear.  

This was a gauntlet that threatened to not only drag her into the abyss if she failed, but also Glen. Sweet, gentlemanly Glen who made her insides do strange things. She was a writer. If she fell on the red carpet, legs akimbo, birthday suit bared for all to see, she could hibernate for the rest of eternity and never leave the house again on pain of embarrassment. Glen on the other hand... linking himself to Aimee, even if only for a fake-dating scenario, was doomed, and he didn’t even know it.  

“You don’t know that. These shoes are a hazard.”   

Glen tilted his head, like he was considering her words for the briefest of moments and Aimee caught the way his eyes traveled down her leg to study the offending green shoes before they flicked back up to hers and held them. “Fair. But if you do fall, I’ll catch you. Trust me.”   

Something about the certainty in his voice, calm and steady, made her chest tighten, made her insides do the strange things. God dammit. He had to know, know that there was this undeniable something between them, or at least between her and the idea of him and he was just fucking with her now.  

“…Okay,” she murmured. She trusted him, somehow, inexplicably, she trusted Glen Powell to catch her if she fell. If she’d told herself she’d be in this situation even a few months ago, she would have called herself delusional, would have scheduled at least several months’ worth of therapy appointments to talk it through. She would have told Allie over their “Wine Wednesday” hangouts that she was officially broken mentally by the divorce. Allie would have insisted that she was delulu, but maybe delulu was the selulu. 

As if he were acting on muscle memory, Glen reached out, his hand grasping hers, fingers twining easily as if his hand was always meant to be in hers. And then they were moving again, stepping onto the beginning of the red carpet, just behind a woman in a silver dress with a beaded train that swished in a shushing sound as she moved.   

The cameras exploded in a frenzy, a cacophony of voices yelling for their attention. Aimee felt as if she were a gladiator, entering an arena. They stopped, pausing to pose as the lights flashed around them, bright, unrelenting.

“Aimee! Glen! Look here!” 

“Can you turn this way?” 

“Glen, put your arm around her—pull her closer!” 

Aimee tensed, overwhelmed, but suddenly, Glen’s voice was in her ear, tone laced with amusement as he murmured under his breath, eyes never straying from the crowd ahead. “Bald guy, two o’clock.”  

Aimee blinked momentarily, confused. “What?”  

“Photographer. Bald guy. Two o’clock.” He tilted his head ever so slightly before he smiled widely, perfectly for the cameras.  

She followed his lead, shifting subtly toward the indicated camera as his hand found her waist, tugging her gently to his side, fitting her perfectly against him as she leaned into one of the poses Monica had suggested before they’d left Glen’s place.   

“Now lady in red, straight ahead,” Glen continued, guiding her with ease.  

Aimee bit her lip to keep from laughing her usual too loud laugh. This was ridiculous. But somehow, it helped. 

“See? You’re a natural.” Glen chuckled and the sound distracted her from the yelling momentarily, instead choosing to focus on the deep tone of his voice close to her side. “Uh—Penguin guy, over by the lion statue.” 

And then she felt it. The slow, absent brush of Glen’s thumb against the bare skin at her low back. 

It wasn’t intentional—at least, she didn’t think it was. But the light, absent-minded stroke sent warmth flooding through her, setting every nerve ending on high alert. 

She might float away, a balloon untethered from a toddler’s wrist at a fairground. Up, up and away, unreachable, never to come down. 

Glen’s grip was steady, effortless, anchoring her in the sea of chaos, like he’d done this a million times. Like this was easy. 

Aimee, on the other hand? She was barely holding it together, a warmth coiling low in her abdomen, hyper aware of every part of Glen that was touching her very bare lower back. 

They weren’t even inside yet, the night hadn't even truly begun. How she’d survive the hard launch of her “relationship” with him was beyond her.

i can do it with a broken heart - glen powell x ofc

a/n: here's some of that fake dating trope i teased last time. i'm realizing how much i love writing this. so excited to get this one out there. as always, lemme know if you want to be tagged!

tags for this wip: @readingislife @marrianena @dizzybee03 @lunatygerqueen @mrsevans90

@avengersfan25 @obsessed-fan-alert @khouse712 @yuckosworld @marvelouslyme96

@writergirl28 @tgmreader @qutequeersstuff @cardi-bre91 @queenslandlover-93

@stoneyggirl2

[ladybirdswritings]

Silken Webs & Pirouettes - Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary: Miguel comes up with a plan to make your time together much more tolerable. Ballerina!Reader & CEO!Miguel. Alternate Universe with most of the characters included as seen in "Across the Spiderverse." Many cameos ahead. Miguel is a successful business owner but personality is canon. This is a steamy reader insert, Miguel x You! Enjoy and pls leave me lots of love and comments as it keeps me motivated <333

notes: tysm for reading and i’m so srry for the delay but i hope this steamy chapter makes the wait worth it <33

chapter 10

Gold. Suffocating and blinding as it cascades upon the pale mounds and curves of your vessel. Your eyes a hue of darkness behind the shielding lids, your temples a pounding rhythm parallel to the beats you once waltzed amongst.

Your lips part, slumber’s dance with you slowly cascading into nothingness as luminous rays return to greet you. To tug your soft palms back into your reality.

Your lashes, fanned against your flushed skin now fan apart as your gaze is greeted with unavoidable radiance. The morning.

A breath leaves you, trembling as it greets the cool air. You force yourself upright and it is then that blood rushes from where it once lay dormant and pooled to spread itself evenly throughout you— enticing pins and needles from the tips of your fingers and toes.

You feel like a creature undead, following the actions as you would normally but in an imposter’s stance. Your feet drag you to the dimmer kitchen, and your temples are grateful to be secluded from the sun and its warmth.

A yawn overtakes your exhausted features as you open the russet metal of your refrigerator door. You must be dreaming still. It’s stocked with fresh fruits and produce bagged in tan wrappings. Your eyes wander over each welcoming color in the once vacant and lonesome, cold and gray space.

It’s lively now.

A burst of red peeking through behind awful greens piques your interest, and you bury your hands in the tufts of healthy emerald to pull the sweet basket filled to brim with blossomed strawberries. They are fresh and plentiful.

You truly are dreaming.

No longer do you notice the ache pounding at you. You only see red in the purest of ways. You shut the door with your foot and examine the seeded berry with hungry eyes before encasing your teeth round the plumpness of it.

It isn’t long before you part the ripe treat with pearly teeth, and you moan gratefully when you do. Juice drops from each corner of your mouth, down your chin as your lips suckle the nectar and swallow it in quick motion.

It’s the best one you’ve ever had.

Another bite, then another berry and another. You can only hear the soft chews of fresh fruit and sharp seed alongside the blood pumping in your ears.

You don’t hear the scorching water cascading to drain halt, and you don’t hear the rest until your eyes can register what your ears cannot.

As you munch upon the berries, you blink when a phantom creature turns the knob of your dilapidated washroom door and creaks the shield open. Steam rolls out into your living space like the waves of Poseidon’s great seas— but the only god to greet you beyond the mist is not one of oceans and pretty things.

It’s the evil one.

Hades.

Miguel.

A soft gasp leaves you as you swallow in the sight with dazed eyes, tufts of chocolate locks are coiled and dripping water all over your wooden floors. His suit pants are there as always, but his jacket is not present. No, not now. Only a white undershirt, tight to the body and tucked away into where a belt constricts is all he wears.

You gulp down the remainder of fruit you forgot to swallow and allow the severed berry to drop into its basket.

The man sighs, scrunching at his hair with the towel before tossing it on your couch. That would annoy you if you weren’t so baffled right here.

His eyes search the couch for you, and when he finds you vacant from your waltz with slumber— he scans the room quickly before settling on your frozen stance in the kitchen.

He locks eyes with you.

“Good morning.”

He says it with amusement, you’re certain. Laced behind his throat.

It is eerie, it is polar opposite.

He looks— calm.

Your mouth is ajar, you remind yourself to close it.

“I- what?”

He pays your confusion no mind as he approaches, weaving through your pathetic and unimportant home like he’s become comfortable with it— like he’s learned it.

He towers over all your trinkets and furniture, and the singular stool is bound to collapse under his weight. He eyes the broken thing then decides to lean forward against the counter instead.

You gulp, remnants of strawberry juice staining the newfound dryness in your throat. And the enigma of a man, he just studies you for a moment before turning over his palm. Waiting.

You gaze at it in confusion, wondering if he’s pointing out something upon you that you can’t see. Yet his eyes are on the basket.

Oh.

You pluck one from its leafy stem and shakily place it upon his calloused palm. His eyes lock back upon yours and he clears the tart berry in one bite— licking the juice from his lips with an eager tongue.

You squirm— knowing not what to do other than just slide over the basket. The silence is suffocating, reminding you of only two weeks prior when you practically begged the man before you for a place of employment alongside er— below him.

“I didn’t buy these!” You blurt out. Because you don’t know what else to say to break the quiet and because the thought only now crossed your mind. You know now. No appearance with him is any possibility of a dream.

The smell of palo santo is muted now. He smells of your floral soaps.

He indulges in another.

“I know. I did. Your fridge was pathetic.”

Oh.

Your eyes fall to the countertop, unwilling to meet his own. It’s far too tense, and far too confusing. You’re far too dazed.

“Why are you-?”

He interrupts you as if he had been expecting the question, “You were acting drunk, and stupid. I brought you home.”

You’d scowl at his description of you if you weren’t still coming to, searching the chilled air for answers you’d rather not be forced to ask of him. You knew well that you’d have to— he wouldn’t offer them any other way.

He must enjoy the torture. Inflicting it.

You narrow your eyes and the expression may seem devoid to most— but something tells you there’s more within it.

Fine, then.

Christ.

You shake your head, hearing him chew upon another berry as you greet your newly stocked fridge and steal a water from its stomach. Your back is to him as you swallow down heavy sips. You sigh after, and when the coolness has shocked you awake enough and you are satisfied- you turn.

A cool breath of air kisses your breast as result of the motion, and your eyes widen, shooting down to find a silken robe of powder pink all but you have clad on alongside your panties. It’s slipping.

Your eyes dart up to find him staring intensely at the spot where it does slip, and you twirl back away to harshly tug at it and fix it.

Your breasts are bare— your dress is gone.

Your jaw ticks and you turn again— taking quick strides toward the counter where he resides on the opposite side of.

“Did you fuck me?”

He is silent, eyes glazed over as if he’s lost in thoughts you cannot see or be apart of. He takes a moment to absorb your words, fingers twitching against the berry they clasp before he blinks and his dark orbs lock against your again.

They send an inferno against your flushed cheeks.

He hums.

You don’t know what at, but you have a strong feeling it’s at the thought.

You know, the thought of fucking you.

He stares on at you as he takes a bite of the berry, and slowly shakes his head back and forth.

It’s a no.

You sigh, but you’re not relieved.

You’re silent again, shakily taking a seat upon your creaky stool across from him. You fear if you stand for any longer under the brunt of his gaze, you’ll faint.

You bury your face in your hands, and you feel his eyes against your golden locks. The place where he stares, your scalp prickles.

Wood slides against chipped countertop.

“Eat these. You haven’t eaten.”

He seems to know a lot, right now. It makes you anxious.

And yet?

He tells you not a word of it.

It infuriates you.

This morning is odd enough, so you won’t stand for secrets. You force your head up and you’re unsurprised to find his gaze already locked upon your own.

“What happened?”

Your voice is firm, it sounds like more of a command than question and you’re certain he notes it. He studies you for a moment, and you don’t know why; but his eyes fan over your upturned lashes and the soft bridge of your nose. Down to your lips then back up to your eyes, again.

He takes his sweet, frustrating time to think his answer through. Just maybe though, your night was as rough as your morning has greeted you. Because he takes pity on you— he answers.

“You went out dancing. Made a big show at my club, drank all my good alcohol from every man willing to hand it to you, then you vanished without your things. Out my back door. Cindy came to me, and we went after you. There was a man out back. He was planning to— how did you put it? Fuck you, cariño… not me.”

You flush the color of persephone’s sweetest pomegranates— eyes wide as the images flash like some mortifying movie in your mind.

Oh my god.

“Oh my god…” you whisper in repetition of your horrified thoughts, pressing the coolness of your palms against the heat of your cheeks.

He hums again, but this time in agreement. It far from helps. You press two fingers against each temple, shaking your head as you search for suitable words.

“I don’t do this often or- at all, really. I just— I needed…”

“I know.” He cuts you off in the middle of your search for an end to your sentence, and it’s the first thing he’s done that you’re grateful for. Apart from the fridge full of food.

You remember now that you blew all your grocery money, so.

You feel ridiculous, mortified. He must think of you as some obsessed idiot who showed up at his club because you couldn’t be at his workplace.

God.

You can’t stand the thought.

Only you would chose there of all the clubs in New York.

You don’t even offer him any further explanation, you know well that it will be a mess you dig further and further. Deeper and deeper until you babble and stutter, you stay silent to avoid it.

You torture yourself in another way, reliving the night prior in quick flashes… piecing them together like a parted jigsaw. They weave in place swiftly, but there’s something missing…

You rack your brain, yet nothing comes of it in its crowded closet. You’re blank, baffled. You’re in a robe, a new robe and you’re topless underneath. Sitting across from Miguel O’Hara in your own pathetic kitchen.

Christ.

“You are a dancer.” He observes, making your head spin.

The conversation takes a left turn. Sharp, quick. Perhaps he’s not so used to seeing you this silent, perhaps he knows just the subject to get you talking again. It’s the most normal you both have ever talked, in fact.

“Was.” You correct in a shameful whisper, and you’re grateful when he doesn’t ask about it further. Your eyes drift to the framed photo he stares at behind you. It’s you, pretty as you are with one leg bent up to the heavens and the other firmly planted on tip toe into the ground. Your pale pink mesh cascaded from your hips and your golden locks were tamed into a perfected bun.

You adore that picture.

Yet as admirable as the memory is, it’s also sad. You don’t spare it another moment, your eyes fall to the surface below where it hangs. The Daily Bugle. It’s new, dewdrops of rain kissing the ink, bleeding some of it away. He must have gathered it for you.

Christ. He stayed here.

You wince at the thought, too plagued with headache to analyze his intentions— rushing forward to gather the fresh paper in your hands so you don’t have to worry about it any longer.

You’ll read the newspaper in silence or at least pretend to to avoid telling the three-headed Cerberus to leave and never return. He watches on at you, quiet and emotionless as you skim past the front page that speaks of sports nonsense. Further down, spending more time on the fashion column before reaching the golden page, the hot spot of Daily Bugle. Drama.

In all your years of consuming the horrid paper, you never leave this page unread. You feel slimey as you absorb, and yet it’s addictive. Miguel is still here, you remember. He must think even worse of you if it’s possible.

Just the girl who keeps reminding him of his dead daughter at every chance she gets. You wince, letting out a shaky breath as you smooth out the paper of the next page and finally see it.

In black and white proud, long curls cascading down a sequined number with heels higher than you’ve ever worn. Small, back flush against him. Your face is tilted to the side, captured blurred as it was in motion. Yet to you, it’s clear and recognizable. It’s a memory.

The puzzle piece, served up to you by the universe on a stupid, golden platter.

You’re on the front pages.

So is he.

You’re on the front pages, together.

CEO MIGUEL O’HARA ENJOYS A NIGHT OUT ON THE DANCE FLOOR WITH MYSTERIOUS PROCLAIMED “DANCING QUEEN”

You look— horrified, and he looks to be brushing his curled fingers against his tanned lips to stifle his amused grin. He can’t risk any other emotion than stoic, of course. Your eyes are wide as they snap up to him.

“You’re good publicity.” He offers.

His voice. It isn’t cold. It isn’t lifeless.

It’s as if something has laced itself within it. Something you don’t like.

Humor.

At the expense of you.

You’re angry. You’re confused and it makes you angry.

The puzzle is a painted picture now. The dance, the music, the heat, the grinding— god you’d just about melt if you weren’t so baffled and preoccupied right now.

You practically crush the paper in your hands. You look like a slutty girl taking her chance with the richest man readily available. How on earth will you ever work anywhere else again?

You’ll have to chop off your locks, you’ll have to—

He clears his throat as a weak attempt to conceal the amusement itching at his tongue.

You narrow your eyes at him.

“This is funny to you?”

This man. This mind fuck of a man has gone from towering over you with fury foaming at his mouth to forcing your hips to brush back against him to finding humor in your suffering in your own kitchen.

He narrows his eyes back,

“Very, cariño. Very funny to me.” His voice is dark, cold again.

You part your pink lips to curse him, but he interrupts the process before it even begins. He straightens his back, returning to the tower he is before rounding the counter till he’s right in front of you. You shrink again, your attitude melting as you remember the events of the week prior. His screaming, the ornament.

You shift, breath thinning as you turn your head away from him. He moves his head so his eyes may follow yours, when it doesn’t work— his jaw ticks.

“Mírame.”

You do, eyes snapping back to meet his gaze.

It’s soft, yet still commands your attention. You don’t have any other choice but to look on at him, you’ve noticed he has an odd thing for eye contact. You’d squirm, but your head is spinning.

No possibility to delay and procrastinate calling home now, it seems.

He sees your mind fogged with preoccupations, and you can’t keep like this any longer.

“What is going on, what are you doing?” You whisper, eyes darting to the paper then back to him. The question. It means far more than just now.

What is he doing?

Does he feel guilty? Is this how he’s apologizing?

You’re not sure, it’s impossible to know— to understand. Enigma doesn’t seem to be enough to describe him, nor does mystery.

He’s infuriating as he is simple, and maddening as he is tolerable. He’s back and he’s forth, up and he’s down and he’s killing you.

Why did he yell?

Why did he dance with you after it?

Why is he here now?

He sighs, his hands caging you up against the counter as he rests his palms on either side, grasping at the chipped marble and dipping his head to search for an answer.

It takes him a long moment, but when he’s satisfied? He lifts his head.

“I’m a good boss. A great one. I pay my girls generously, I would have done the same for you if you were capable of just following orders.”

You frown at that, he ignores it— continuing.

“You’re a shit employee.” He says it with conviction. As if his word is etched into stone at the birth of all life and creation. Your jaw nearly drops, but you allow tension to blossom like spring poppies within it instead.

“You’re an asshole.” You snap, gasping after the word leaves you. Your cheeks flush the color rose, and his expression remains cold and devoid as he tilts his head at you.

But his brows arch. Questioning.

You await for what seems like ages for him to respond, to snap, to scream— honestly you’re half expecting him to snatch the knife from the countertop and jab it into your gut to shut you up for good.

He does none of those things.

Warmth trails like caramel down a chasing tongue, rough and calloused palm sliding up the length of silken coverage from your knee and upward. Higher, higher. Your breath hitches in your throat, and his eyes burn furious holes into your face— your wide-eyed, pretty face.

The soft, small netting of nerves between your thighs jumps in excitement, and you’re certain your cheeks burn hotter than the sun. He reaches your hip, he halts— straightening his head. Almost unnoticed.

“I’m an asshole?”

A shiver overtakes you now, and you feel betrayal constrict you like that of a serpent as your pink nipples pucker themselves up for attention.

Don’t look, don’t look. You beg within the confines of your own mind.

The asshole…

His eyes flicker down immediately, as if he sensed your body calling to him.

It’s the first flash of emotion you’ve ever seen beyond anger. You can’t name it, you can’t understand it—you can’t even process it. You’re frozen here.

A noise, guttural— like that of a forest creature restraining itself from its natural instincts to slaughter a helpless lamb. It becomes him. From the very back of his throat.

You blink, tense, back straight and pushed firmly against the wall. His eyes find yours again and you’re certain then that you’ve bursted up in flames.

“You were saying?” He whispers, eyes wandering down. Past your puckered nipples and the bumps upon your skin. Down. Lower. To— there.

The action, it’s enough to shake you out of this trance. You push him back, he doesn’t protest the move and plays into it— you’re sure. You stumble from that suffocating wall and take a breath of air that feels awfully fresh even in your stuffy apartment.

His hand, where it once grazed you is a memorized motion replaying like a record shattered upon your leg.

He’s toying with you.

Getting his payment for his generosity, that must be it.

Or maybe he’s not. Maybe it was the dance…

Maybe— you don’t know which it is.

Now you’re angry.

Frustrated.

He’s put you through hell in the short amount of time he’s known you. Then suddenly, he does one good deed and takes it as a free ticket to fuck you?

You’re livid.

You turn on your heel, slamming your finger into the firmness of his chest.

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

His hand, warm as fresh laundry wraps around your wrist. He tilts his head low like a charred olive branch extending, leveling with you.

“Testing my theory.”

It’s all he offers. You narrow your eyes to cold slits, electricity still buzzing between your thighs in opposition to your anger.

“What theory?” You sound exasperated, and you are.

The tick in his jaw is back. It jumps. He’s frustrated again.

How is it possible?

A man so stoic and cold, and yet so capable of flipping through emotions like an old scrapbook buried away from years past.

He breathes slowly through his nose, and when you nudge his chest again with your finger as hopes to provoke an answer? He moves. Quick.

In a flash moment, he walks you back against the countertop— caging you again.

He must like that.

Making you feel small.

He wastes no time once you are caged there, happy to be in control again.

“It seems like the only way I can stand you is when I respond with lust, and not logic… Dios mío…” he breathes the last part. It allows a chill to creep up the base of your spine, paralyzing you.

Silence blankets you both again and he bows his head once more. You breathe, shakily but nonetheless.

Lust?

For you?

Hair unruly and unkept, frizzed and wild. Too loud for your liking and too sharp of a tongue for his.

Maybe he’s truly lost it.

Maybe it’s been there all along.

Although the thought excites you, you know it’s silly. Men of his status and power— they don’t busy themselves with pretty things like you. It’s impossible. It’s a movie, a picture made for fantasy.

But here he his.

Toying with you.

You’re certain now.

It clicks then, his game with you. Revenge sweetly. Play pretend, get you to fall but not catch you when you do. It’s cruel. It’s like him.

You’ve been at the harsh hand of a man vengeful before. You won’t do it again.

Tears sting at your eyes.

“Don’t do this to me again.” You mean it to sound like a demand, yet it floats from your petal pink lips like a weak and pathetic sound. You speak to him, and you speak to the man before him. In your eyes, now, they’re the same. All your interactions before this were so inhuman and cold, and yet here you are— feeling all the colors of the damned sky before him. Interacting like humans do. Only, he’s got a motive behind his emotion. Not you. Never you.

He hears the weakness, the falter. His head snaps up again.

You avert your eyes, playing a balance game with the swelled tears threatening to parachute onto your cheeks. He straightens his back at the sight of them, he gives you space. You relax.

His eyes, they find a map upon your face and they wander amongst it. Observing, analyzing. When he’s satisfied, after you’ve swiped away at your tears, he speaks again.

“I have a job for you.”

You’re certain he’s lost it now.

Completely thrown himself off the deep end and into the insane asylum. How can he lust you and loathe you and employ you all at the same time? All within the same hour?

You need to rest, you’re exhausted.

“No.” It’s all you offer, turning your back on him. Hoping he will take it and leave you be. Silly you. A firm palm spins you back around, right back to where you were.

“Listen to me.”

It’s not a question, it’s a command; and as much as you hate him and his arrogance… you comply.

“Fuck… there’s more to you. Something that I can find behind my frustrations with you. A hunger… Last night was an annoyance, an amusing one no less. I just can’t get rid of you no matter how hard I try… but I think sometimes that this game we’re all playing is at someone’s hand. I need morale, you’ve made the front covers now. Jameson can eat shit for all I care but for the sake of my girls— I need to fix the mess I’m in…”

He muses the last part to himself, and baffled as you are at the events that have taken place in one morning alone… you straighten your back and cross your arms over your chest. Curious. Listening.

“I’ve been here all morning because I have been thinking close to the source. Thinking about what it is about you that is so fucking infuriating. I didn’t find an answer. But what I did find was a solution. After— fuck… after Gabi…”

Oh…

Oh.

He’s talking about her, and not because of your snappy mouth.

Like a fresh petal, you unfurl.

“Jameson. He wants to slander me. He wants my girls to read his bullshit and believe it and as much as I hate to admit it, the cabrón could manage it. And fucking morale… it can’t function when my morale girl is only working hard at pissing me off.”

It’s an insult, but you’re far too glued on the edge of your seat to interrupt his train of thought. You scowl softly and let him continue,

“I don’t want you in my office, I don’t want you talking about things you don’t get to talk about. I don’t want you to anger me with your stupidity because I don’t want to yell at you like that again. I won’t. But I am glad your idiocy brought us here last night, because I can see how much of a shithole you’re in.”

You flush again at that, nervous eyes glancing around your dainty apartment and its rotted walls.

“I’m in one too, in a different way. The tabloid is a good thing. When you were dancing, I tolerated you. I enjoyed you, even. And your presence made for a good paper with a headline not involving my baby girl. I— need that. I need these people to stay distracted and fuck, sweetheart. Soy la respuesta...”

Cruel as he is, you find your heart constrict— just for a small moment. You can’t imagine it. Losing your life, your whole sun, moon and stars and being constantly reminded of it on every newsstand and broadcast because of some awfully obsessed vampire.

So much so that it leaks into your glass tower in the sky and makes it crack, each new story another stone thrown until it cracks under the pressure.

But you… you stopped it.

Just once, at least.

Even so….

It amazes you.

Makes you feel powerful.

He is watching you close, gauging your reactions. You challenge his eyes, imploring him to continue. He does.

“I want you to play pretend with me, just like you did last night. Dos desconocidos bailando por primera vez, like two strangers dancing on the floor. I wanna feed them the shit they want to be fed and keep their mouths shut and satisfied. Only for a few months until I find a way to buy out the Bugle and bankrupt the hijo de puta… We can help each other. You’ll live in my suite and do whatever the hell you want all day. You’ll get a monthly allowance on top of your big check. You’ll help me keep them quiet.”

He speaks slow. Calculated and measured. In a way one would immediately understand. But somehow, you don’t.

You don’t get it.

Beyond the words for what they are, you’re baffled.

He wants you to play pretend, and it all seems perfect and fine except?

“You hate me…” it’s meant for yourself, truly. Yet it parts from your lips nonetheless. Your brows are furrowed and soft as you search the space beside him for an invisible answer with your eyes.

He sighs.

“No. I don’t. I don’t like you, but I don’t hate you. How could I when you move the way you do? So pretty under my lights, I like her a lot. Maybe we have to get you drunk more often, hmm?”

He means it to lighten the tension, to slice it with silver blade and yet all it does s quiet you further. He sees this, and a warmth floating within his very fingertips meets your chin. He turns you to him again.

“Dime que sí, cariño. Tell me yes. Stop letting yourself think about it.”

You have a million loose and frayed ends that you cannot seem to knit together on your own. You’re certain he won’t offer you any assistance either.

There’s a plague in the air, a sickness. One that causes nothing short of pure insanity. Why? Well because of what you see now.

Money.

No more debt.

Food plentiful.

A door that actually locks. A heater that will keep you warm on harsh winter nights.

No going home.

Another chance… another opportunity to dance again.

Only for a little while will you have to bare him. Only for a little while and then all your troubles get tossed upon the burning pile. You could start again. You could fix what you ruined. You could be her, again.

Your eyes wander to the gold trimmed frame with a girl that seems so unrecognizable and unreachable now.

But what if he— this cruel and baffling creature with all the money, power and influence in all of New York City and maybe beyond could help you reach her.

All you have to do is play pretend..

That’s it, right?

You gulp.

And Christ…

You whisper it like it’s a gruesome sin on the tip of your tongue. Like it poisonous and repulsive. Sealing the deal with the devil himself before it is too late to think it over again…

“Yes…”

🏷️’s: @reirain @needybitez @migueloharastruelove @laysmt @maomaimao @daisy-artfield @poutysprouty @chorizobeets @bimb00000 @tabalittlelong @iitangerine @queenb27sblog-blog @dprmooni @neptunieesworld @cyd2301 @amelialysm @justanothers-things @heartfeltlonging @coralreefses @knightowl019 @justanothers-things

[kiddotarot]

hello kiddo srry for the late feedback because i just got off from my exam rot ʕ •̥ ˕ ก ʔ anyways

ෆ⸒⸒ my feedback

i've remember receiving a reading a long time ago as to how my fs is very much a talker + very persistent in trying to work things out , can be witty at times and how you're reading about my chart confirms it lmao XD i'm into the whole reverse grumpy x sunshine trope and how my fs is going to be the extroverted one makes me feel hopeful and at the same time , it definitely made me giggle. i'm glad to hear that my fs will heal some parts of myself :') i know this feedback is short but i don't want to delay things further TT and i gotta make it pg-friendly hihih :'D thank you so much kiddo for taking the time and energy to read my chart ! i'm wishing for you to have tons of blessings ahead <3

Hi Thank you for feedback ✨️. Oh your future spouse love to use his mouth ( ahem ahem ) but i am sure the chemistry between you and him is going to be book like king of sloth ( its have same trope 🤧🤧) my favorite and i am into grumpy ans sunshine trope tottaly opposite 💖. But hope you are ready for love of your life.

[jaeheeism]

request guidelines

what you can request:

drabbles

lil concept headcanon lists

+18

literally anything lmao except multi chapter

how to request

via ask or DM, whichever is fine!

Please specify pairing or characters, concept, and approximate length.

also if you'd like the request sent to you personally or published.

fandoms/charactes/pairings I'll write for:

mysme:

pairings: mc/everyone, reader/everyone, juminv, zensung, yooseven, yooran, juzen, everyone except those on the "don't write for" list.

characters: everyone, basically, though i don't feel very confident writing saeran lmao

genshin:

pairings: jeanlisa, zhongluc, eulamber, beigguang, eimiko, ayalumi, lumine x any girl really, ganqing, huxiao, jeanluc, clorivia, alberose, there's many more those are just the ones I like most.

characters: jean, lisa, keqing, ningguang, navia, mona, sucrose, albedo, yanfei, hu tao, yae miko, raiden ei, ayaka, yoimiya, kokomi, arlecchino, furina, dehya, xilonen, mualani, zhongli, venti. Again, almost everyone, those are just my favorites.

18+ things I'll write

dom/sub, cunnilingus, fingering, butt sex, strap-ons, butt plugs, gagging, spanking, orgasm delay/denial, praise and humiliation, bondage, some forms of CNC (somnophilia and free use), some cg/l.

I will NOT write:

incest. yes that includes kaeluc

jaehee x any man (unless they're... not a man... i. e. butch!zen, genderfluid!seven, yknow).

Rika x Yoosung, V, or any of the twins

anything gore

daddy dom jumin (don't like him srry)

anything with piss, scat, diapers, or blood in a sexual content.

sexual age regression

anything that is "dark romance."