#[ fluttering between drafts and inbox and yeah.. ]

[coldjustness]

what people need to realize about Neve x Bellara is that Neve is not the aggressive one, or the dominant one. She folds like a paper bag next to Bellara, is compliant to he wrong orders, and won't defend herself when her person is attack. Trust. Neve isn't the fighty one here. @vorashvan , tagging just because.

[wordsmeetwbb]

Number One Pick

Word count: 5.6k (never again)

Content: smut (spanking, slight daddy!Paige, edging, idk what else)

Pairing: Pazzi

Notes: The promised and long-awaited Draft Night Smut. Thank you all so much for 500 followers! Consider this my gift to you. I'm never writing over 5k words of only smut ever again. Enjoy and please flood my inbox with your thoughts.

________

Azzi’s eyes have been on Paige all night, unable to look away from the skin of her chest exposed by her low-cut suit jacket, the rings on her long, veiny fingers, and the false lashes fluttering on her eyes. In the car on the way to the afterparty, wandering hands and mouths leave Paige’s shirt just a little wrinkled, Azzi’s lipstick a little smudged. They enter the building with dark eyes and fingers brushing.

Paige immediately gets pulled away by someone Azzi doesn’t recognize. Azzi’s left standing in the doorway by herself, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room. The part is already in full swing, bodies packed onto the dance floor, a line of people at the bar, and music thumping loudly. Usually, just looking at the scene would overwhelm Azzi. Now though, Azzi lets her eyes track Paige’s movements through the crowd, dapping up random people, laughing at a joke someone throws carelessly. Azzi joins the party.

Azzi’s two drinks in when she collides with Paige again. The blonde looks like she’s definitely had more than two drinks. Her cheeks are flushed, a goofy smile plastered on her face.

“Heyyy mama! Look so pretty tonight baby, like, damn,” Paige chatters. Yeah, she’s definitely more than two drinks in. Azzi smiles, tilting her head in an imitation of sweetness.

“Thank you Paige,” she murmurs. Paige’s eyes slide down her body, then make their way back up, locking on Azzi’s lips for a second before she seems to remember she had something to say.

“You wan’ a drink?” Paige asks. Azzi nods, letting Paige lead her to the bar. The older girl’s hand lands on Azzi’s lower back, the light touch making Azzi shiver even though she’s sweating from the warmth of the room. Paige is too tipsy to notice. She just dips her head down to speak into Azzi’s ear.

“You look so fuckin’ fine tonight mama. Wanna tear this dress off you,” Paige murmurs. Her breath is hot against Azzi’s neck. It sends sparks down her spine. She presses herself into Paige’s side a little more firmly as they reach the bar, Paige getting the bartender’s attention and yelling their orders over the music. Azzi lets her arm drift around Paige’s waist while they wait.

It doesn’t take long until they have their drinks and are heading back out into the chaos of the room. The end up over to the side of the dance floor with a good portion of their teammates, who all seem to be either sufficiently intoxicated or absorbing the energy from the girls who are old enough to drink.

“P Boogers! Aaliyah is already telling everybody that she’s gonna crush you when y’all play in the league! You gotta stand up for yourself!” KK is yapping before anyone else has even really noticed they’re there. Azzi sips her drink, content to watch the exchange play out.

Azzi’s eyes are wandering before she even gives them permission, sliding over Paige’s white button-up until her gaze lands on her hands, partially hidden by her oversized sleeves.

She shifts from one foot to the other as her eyes trace over the veins in Paige’s hands. They’re more prominent now from the heat of the room, and a light sheen of sweat is shining on her skin. She’s only started to look at Paige’s fingers curled around her glass, gaze catching on every knuckle of her long fingers, when Paige’s hands move to lift the drink to her lips.

Azzi’s eyes follow the movement, sliding over Paige’s lips, pressed to the edge of the glass, and the smooth bob of her throat as she swallows. It sends a jolt of heat between her thighs.

Then Paige is being whisked away again, this time by someone who looks like they might be in charge here.

When Paige doesn’t return within a few minutes, Nika decides that they’re all going to go dance. Azzi downs the rest of her drink, now feeling decently buzzed, and follows her teammates to the dance floor.

It’s crowded, bodies bumping together, sweat dripping from foreheads, skin sticky from the heat in the room. Some early 2000s song is playing and Azzi feels the bass in her soul. Nika grabs her hands and pulls her further into the throng of people, spinning Azzi around with a dramatic flourish before they start actually dancing.

When Paige appears again, Nokia by Drake is playing and Azzi is significantly drunker than when she left. She’s not sure what half the drinks had been. Nika had just handed them to her and told her to drink, and she did.

Azzi has her head thrown back, hips swaying to the rhythm as she dances with the girls. Then she feels hands on her hips, gripping possessively. It shocks her for a second, her eyes snapping open as she whirls to face the person behind her. Paige smirks.

“Well don’t stop,” she drawls. Azzi grins and runs a finger under Paige’s chin just because she can. Just because she wants to feel her skin. Paige tips her head towards Azzi. “You gonna dance f’me mama?” Azzi doesn’t reply, just loops her arms loosely around Paige’s neck and resumes her earlier rhythm.

Paige is staring at her. She licks her lips and Azzi takes that as her sign to do some teasing. She turns herself in Paige’s hold so that her ass is pressed to Paige’s front. Then she starts grinding. She hears Paige groan into her ear and her grip tightens on Azzi’s hips. It hitches Azzi’s already short dress a little bit higher, showing off more of her thighs.

One of Paige’s hands slips down, dragging over Azzi’s inner thigh and then squeezing, fingertips digging in almost painfully. Her hand is close enough to the heat between Azzi’s thighs that Azzi doesn’t know if she should pull away or try to get her hands where she wants them. As soon as she’s moving though, still unsure of what she’s actually decided to do, Paige is tightening her grip on both her thigh and hip.

“Nuh-uh. Where are you going?” She asks, speaking directly into Azzi’s ear. Azzi’s head falls back against Paige’s shoulder and she grinds her ass into Paige’s hips again. This time when Paige groans, it’s right in Azzi’s ear. She feels the rush of wetness between her thighs, soaking her panties, and that’s all it takes for her to decide she’s had enough.

She spins out of Paige’s grasp, stumbling a wave of dizziness overcomes her. Paige reaches out to steady her, pulling her back into her side. Azzi lets her hang onto her side, keeping their bodies attached as she drags them off the dance floor and to the hallway she’s pretty sure the bathrooms are in.

It takes a few minutes of searching, but Azzi soon finds an empty bathroom, dragging Paige inside by the collar of her shirt.

As soon as the door is shut, Azzi is pushing Paige up against the door and kissing her. She tastes like a confusing mix of tequila, cherry, and vanilla. “What the hell were you drinking?” Azzi mumbles before she can think the words through. Paige laughs against her lips, kissing her again instead of answering.

When Azzi trails kisses down Paige’s neck, smearing lipstick across pale skin as she does, Paige slides her hand into Azzi’s hair and pulls. A whimper escapes her before she can stop it. Paige smirks.

“You like that?” Azzi removes her lips from Paige’s skin.

“You better not mess up my hair,” she threatens. “I haven’t had it straight in years, and I want it to last.” Paige doesn’t look even remotely sorry. In fact, it looks like she’s taking that as a personal challenge. Azzi recognizes the look and fixes her with a serious stare. It’s somewhat undermined by the way her lipstick is smeared over her chin.

“Did you drag me in here to do something, or are we just here to chat?” Paige quips, eyebrows raised in expectation. Annoyance fills Azzi, but that edge of arousal is still hovering on the edge of her awareness.

“Well I had plans, but you pulled my hair and didn’t apologize, so now you don’t get to know what they were,” Azzi deadpans. She steps away from Paige, moving to exit the restroom. Paige’s hands flutter, grabbing Azzi’s arms and pulling her back against her body.

“Az, wait, I’m sorry. Sorry mama,” Paige murmurs, fingers drawing lines over Azzi’s wrists. That distracts Azzi, her gaze darting down to watch Paige’s long fingers move in smooth swirls. She swallows. Paige watches.

“Something got you distracted mama?”

“Mmm. Nope,” Azzi mumbles. Paige hums a noncommittal response and then her hands are sliding down to the hem of Azzi’s sparkly back dress, shoving it up just enough that she can press her fingertips to the front of Azzi’s panties.

“Ooh, lace? Did you get all dressed up for me, baby?” Azzi bites her lip, trying to will her hips to stay still. Then Paige’s fingers slip lower until they meet the slick that’s been gathering between her thighs for hours. And nothing else. Paige’s eyes widen when she realizes the panties are just lace. They’re crotchless.

“Azzi,” she groans. Now it’s Azzi’s turn to smirk. Paige’s fingers swipe through her folds, gathering wetness on her fingertips. Then she brings them up to her mouth, licking them clean. Azzi’s eyes darken. She shoves Paige against the wall again and grabs her wrist, pulling her hand to her own mouth.

Azzi sucks Paige’s fingers into her mouth, tasting herself and Paige’s spit. Paige looks like she might fall over. Azzi feels like she probably looks similar. She drags the tip of her tongue over a knuckle, letting the weight of Paige’s fingers just sit in her mouth until Paige pulls them out.

“You’re so- that was- fuck you’re hot,” Paige finally gets out. Seeing Paige unravel from so little was making Azzi even wetter, which was becoming a little bit of a problem with the lack of fabric between her legs. She squeezed her thighs together and dragged one of her nails over Paige’s jawline, leaning up to press a few sloppy kisses to the area.

“Fuck Az. Gotta lemme fuck you baby,” Paige pleaded. Azzi nodded, suddenly very aware of how the throbbing between her legs was beginning to border on painful.

Paige flipped their positions, shoving Azzi up against the wall and dropping messy kisses to her exposed collarbones. She sucked a little too hard on one spot and Azzi knew it would bruise. Part of her hoped it would be visible when they finally exited the restroom, for everyone at the party to see. So they would know who she belonged to.

Paige’s fingers between her thighs dragged Azzi out of her thoughts.

“Shit. So fuckin’ wet for me,” Paige groaned. Azzi nodded.

“Yeah, now hurry up and fuck me,” she demanded. Paige smirked.

“Bossy.”

“You like it.”

“You know I do.”

Then Paige stopped talking, finally sliding a finger into Azzi’s dripping cunt. They both let out rough breaths. Paige slid her finger out, then back in again slowly. Her eyes were trained on where her hand disappeared under Azzi’s short black dress, as if she could see through the fabric to where her finger was being swallowed up by Azzi’s cunt.

Azzi started to grind her hips down, the heel of Paige’s palm rubbing against her clit. She tossed her head back, skull bumping against the wall gently.

“I can take more than that,” Azzi said. Paige smirked.

“And why should I give you more?” She taunted. Azzi fixed her with a stare that sent a shiver down her spine.

“You can feel how wet I am, can’t you? You want me to go take all this somewhere else?” Azzi threatened. Paige’s hand slammed into her cunt on the next thrust, forcing a moan out of Azzi’s throat.

“You’re not gonna do that,” she said. It wasn’t a threat, wasn’t a question. It was just a statement. They both knew that as much as Azzi loved to tease Paige and be bratty to get what she wanted, they were all empty threats.

“You wanna find out?” Azzi was panting now. Paige hadn’t slowed her thrusts, still filling her with only one finger, but the force with which her hand was moving, her palm slapping Azzi’s clit with every push, had Azzi almost on the edge already.

“I don’t have to find out. Nobody else is gonna fuck you like I do,” Paige bragged. Azzi’s eyes fluttered shut, her body too overwhelmed with the sensations to keep them open anymore.

Paige trailed sloppy kisses over Azzi’s jaw and down her neck, biting at the spot right below her ear that always drove her crazy.

“You’re gonna leave marks,” Azzi breathed. She felt Paige grin against her sternum.

“That’s the whole point, baby. You’re mine. Wanna show you off.” Azzi let out a little whimper and her hips twitched. Paige picked her head up off of Azzi’s skin. “Oh, you want that?” She teased. “Want me to mark you, walk you around for everybody to see how much you liked it? Dirty girl.” Azzi clenches around Paige’s finger.

It only takes a few more moments of Paige’s finger pumping in and out of her soaked cunt before Azzi’s moaning and rocking her hips to meet every thrust.

“Close, so close, don’t stop,” gets mixed in with a chorus of little “ah, ah, ah”s, the sounds echoing off of the bathroom tile. Paige doesn’t listen.

She pulls her finger away, leaving Azzi empty and trembling. Her hips buck, searching out friction that isn’t there anymore.

“Paige,” she whines desperately. Paige smirks, tilting her head. She looks dangerous. Azzi has to close her eyes, trying to calm herself. They fly open again when she feels Paige’s finger prod at her lips, slipping between them and into her mouth. Azzi’s curse gets muffled around the digit pressing down on her tongue.

“Clean my finger off baby. Go ahead,” Paige prompts. Azzi feels like she might pass out, but she does as she’s told, temporarily giving up her bratty attitude.

She drags her finger up the underside of Paige’s finger, feeling all the little bumps and callouses from years and years of hard work with her hands. Then she starts to suck in earnest, hollowing her cheeks because she knows the image will drive Paige crazy.

She’s right. Paige’s eyes roll back from where they had been trained on her finger disappearing into her girlfriend’s mouth. She lets out a little sound that she can’t possibly have meant to let slip, but it just spurs Azzi on. She moves her mouth up and down on the digit, mimicking what she doesn’t when she sucks Paige’s strap.

It takes a few seconds for Paige to collect herself, but when she does, she yanks her finger out of the younger girl’s mouth.

“Dirty little slut,” she tosses at Azzi as she turns to open the door. Azzi feels the rush of warmth between her thighs before she really even registers the words. It’s all she can do to trail after Paige, suddenly very aware of how fucked-out she must look. She hasn’t had a chance to actually look at herself, but she’s sure there’s a few dark marks blooming on the skin of her neck too.

“Paige,” she tries. Paige doesn’t look back. Azzi quickens her steps, slotting herself into Paige’s side as the blonde makes her way back to the party and crosses the room to the bar. “Baby, are you serious? Let’s just go,” Azzi urges. Paige finally does turn to her then.

“You wanna leave already? Baby, I can’t leave yet. It’s my party, that would be rude.” And really, she does have a point. The party is still in full swing. It would definitely come off as odd for the star of the night to leave so early. Even in her desperate state, Azzi understands that Paige might not only be doing this to tease her. But still, part of Azzi knows that the blonde is definitely taking a little too much pleasure in working Azzi up, getting her so close to the edge, and then telling her she has to wait.

“Fine. I need another drink,” Azzi says, a pretty little pout on her lips. Paige has a hard time resisting her when she plays up the innocence, and based on the way her face flushes when she turns to face Azzi, it’s working just as well as ever. She recovers quickly though, asking the bartender for whatever she’s decided they’re drinking now.

________

By the time they make it back to the hotel, Paige and Azzi are both drunk. The short drive from the party doesn’t do anything to sober them up either, just elevates the tension between the two women. In fact, they’ve barely stumbled into the elevator, Paige’s fingers slapping over the button for her floor, before Azzi is shoving her into the wall.

Crowding into her space, Azzi shoves her hands under Paige’s shirt. She’s met with a tank top instead of skin, and in her drunken haze it confuses her more than it should.

“What is this, Antarctica? So many goddamn layers,” she mutters, pushing at the tank top to get it out of the way. By the time she finally has access to bare skin, fingernails clawing over Paige’s toned abs, the elevator is dinging and the doors are opening. Neither of them have the sense to pull apart. Paige wraps an arm around Azzi’s waist, the other resting on the back of her neck, tangling in the hair at the base of her neck as they stumble their way down the hallway as fast as they can.

It takes way too long for Paige to get her door unlocked. Impatient as ever, Azzi takes a quick peek up and down the hallway, sees no one, and starts pressing needy kisses to the side of Paige’s neck.

“Fuck, just… give me a sec Az, damn. Can’t get the fuckin’... card to work,” Paige mumbles, but she tilts her head just a bit to give Azzi better access. She’s rewarded with a bite near her pulse point.

She finally gets the door open, both girls stumbling through the suite until they’re tumbling onto the bed, pulling at clothes. Azzi’s go first, her dress landing on the floor in an unceremonious heap. For a minute, all Paige can do is stand there and stare.

“Damn. Just… damn Az. Fuckin’ gorgeous.” Her eyes roam up and down Azzi’s body, tracing the curves of her bare breasts, her waist, her hips that are still covered with the lacy purple panties that drove her so crazy earlier. “And here I thought you weren’t wearing my favorite color,” Paige jokes. It’s funnier than it should be, Azzi knows, but she can’t help but laugh.

“You want them on?” She asks. Paige immediately shakes her head.

“Fuck no. I want you naked, the hell kind of question is that?” Azzi giggles and starts to strip out of the underwear before Paige’s hands are gripping her wrists to stop her. “Lemme do it,” she demands.

She takes her time dragging the lace over Azzi’s hips, down her thighs, and guiding her to step out of the panties so she can throw them over by her dress on the floor. Paige whistles. “Fuck goin’ number one. This the real prize.” Azzi blushes and something in her chest flares, urging her to give Paige a little something back.

“Gonna leave me naked by myself?” She asks. Paige raises an eyebrow, looking her girlfriend up and down again.

“Yeah. That a problem?” Azzi pushes herself up to sit upright on the bed.

“I don’t know, is it?” She tilts her head, batting her long eyelashes in the way she knows gets Paige a little weak in the knees.

Sure enough, it takes barely a moment for Paige to be crawling over Azzi, pushing her down into the mattress. Azzi goes willingly, content to get what she wants.

“You still wet f’me? You were dripping earlier, do I gotta work you up again?” Azzi’s hips twitch, as if her body is trying to show Paige just how wet she still is. Paige shoves Azzi’s thighs apart, an exhale leaving her as she sees the mess smeared across the skin of her inner thighs.

“Fuck,” Paige mumbles. Azzi spreads her legs wider.

“Are you gonna do something about it?” Azzi taunts. Annoyance flares in Paige’s eyes.

“I haven’t touched you in hours and you’re still this wet, so I don’t think it’s smart for you to keep runnin’ your mouth.” Part of Azzi wants to comply, to shut up and just take whatever Paige gives her, but another, larger part craves the fight.

“I’ll stop runnin’ my mouth when you give me something else to do,” Azzi shoots back. Paige has had enough.

She climbs off the bed, stumbling a little as she yanks her clothes off, throwing them onto the floor to join the pile with Azzi’s clothes. Then she’s back on the bed, crawling up Azzi’s body until her knees are bracketing her chest. She’s mumbling something about “I’ll give you something to do with your mouth,” and it takes Azzi’s brain a minute to catch up, but then her hands are shooting out to grip Paige’s hips.

“You want it?” Paige asks. Azzi nods quickly, all of her previous bratty attitude melting out of her now that she has a goal in sight.

Paige takes that as her sign to scoot the rest of the way up until she’s hovering with her hips just above Azzi’s mouth. Azzi strains, reaching her tongue until she can swipe just the tip through Paige’s folds. It draws a quiet moan from Paige, encouraging Azzi to pull the blonde down forcefully, settling her weight on her face.

Azzi gets to work, licking up from Paige’s hole all the way to her clit, gathering her slick on her tongue and spreading it around her clit. Paige gasps above her, lean fingers gripping the headboard. Azzi doubles down, sliding just the tip of her tongue into Paige’s cunt. It’s not enough to stretch, not deep enough to feel like anything but a tease, but it makes Paige grind her hips down onto Azzi’s mouth, mumbling demands. Azzi doesn’t listen.

She thrusts her tongue in and out for a while until the muscle starts to get sore. Then she returns her attention to Paige’s clit, flicking her tongue over the puffy bundle of nerves just to hear the sounds it elicits. Paige buries a hand in Azzi’s hair again, tilting her head just slightly to get a better angle as she keeps rolling her hips.

“Right there, ah, yes, oh god Az.” Paige is rambling the way she always does when she gets close, spurring Azzi on. She flattens her tongue, shaking her head back and forth to drag it over Paige’s clit. Paige’s thighs tense up, hips twitching as she falls apart.

Azzi doesn’t stop until Paige is pushing herself away from her mouth, shaking slightly from the overstimulation. “So good, fuck, you’re always so good at that for me,” Paige murmurs as she steals a kiss, tasting herself on Azzi’s lips. Azzi shifts on the bed, her hips searching out friction without her permission. Paige feels the movement, that signature smirk sliding onto her face.

“Did that get you worked up, baby? Getting me off got you hot and bothered, huh?” Paige coos. Azzi feels a blush rise to her cheeks.

“Nah, I think I made you cum so good you’re imagining things,” Azzi counters. The excuse doesn’t make any sense. They both know it doesn’t, but the alcohol is still running through their veins, Paige is still riding the blissful high of her orgasm, and Azzi is dripping down her thighs and onto the sheets in a way that’s making it hard to care about things like sentences.

“On your stomach baby,” Paige orders, climbing off of Azzi so she can flip over. Azzi is skeptical, but the ache in her pussy orders her to obey. She lays flat on her stomach, but she jerks up when a harsh slap lands on her left ass cheek.

“Paige!” She yelps. Paige scans her face for a moment, searching for something. Whatever she sees seems to satisfy her, because then her hands are rubbing over the warm flesh she had just hit, both soothing and irritating the skin.

“Ass up. Arch for me. You know how to do this,” Paige instructs. Azzi sticks her ass up for a moment, wiggling teasingly, before she melts back into the bed. Paige clearly isn’t impressed because another harsh slap hits the other side of Azzi’s ass this time. A moan slips out against her will. Paige trails kisses down Azzi’s spine.

“Oh, you liked that, you little slut,” Paige accuses. Azzi can’t even defend herself. She just raises her hips again, silently begging for more. “Nuh-uh. This was supposed to be a punishment, but if you like it, you’re gonna have to be good to get more,” Paige explains. Azzi huffs out a little breath but quickly shifts her body into the position Paige had asked her for, ass up, back arched, weight resting on her elbows. She’s rewarded with a quick, hard slap to her ass, this time over an already red mark. She whimpers and a rush of wetness leaves her, dripping down her thighs.

“Look at you. Shit. So fuckin’ wet f’me.”

“Wellb you didn’t let me fucking cum earlier, so yeah I’m wet,” Azzi complains, a little bit of fight rising in her again. Another slap comes, harder this time. Azzi presses her face into the sheets to stifle her moan.

“Shut the fuck up,” Paige says. Azzi feels the last of the fight drain out of her. She shuts up.

“Gonna be a good girl for me now and do what I tell you to, yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.

Then Paige is sliding two fingers into Azzi’s pussy, watching as they get swallowed up, enveloped by tight, wet heat. She breaths out slowly. Azzi pushes her hips back, trying to press Paige’s fingers deeper.

“Please,” she asks, voice high and desperate. Paige, for once tonight, gives her what she wants.

The thrusts start out rough and only get rougher, fingers slamming into Azzi’s cunt repeatedly, Paige’s other hand coming down to rub messy circles around her clit. The harsh drag of Paige’s fingers builds Azzi up faster than she wants to admit, reducing her to a whiny mess in a matter of minutes. In an attempt to not have the pleasure ripped away from her like in the restroom earlier, Azzi clamps her mouth shut and does not tell Paige how close she is.

Still, Paige knows. This time she doesn’t stop though. Just keeps thrusting her hand, mouthing at the ridges of Azzi’s spine messily, until Azzi rolls over the edge. She grinds her hips back and Paige fucks her through it, fingers still circling her clit until Azzi’s arms are trembling with the effort of holding her body up. Paige doesn’t stop.

“Fuck, oh, Paige, please daddy, too much, I can’t-” The words are spilling from Azzi’s mouth unbidden, edged with a whine as the sensations wracking her body teeter just into the territory of pain.

“You can take it. Give me another.” Azzi whines, high and drawn out, and resigns herself to the pleasure-pain and Paige picks up the pace again.

She slides another finger in next to the first two, and the stretch only adds to the overstimulation Azzi’s feeling. She’s shaking and her face is firmly pressed into the sheets now, her arms having collapsed sometime before the third finger.

the hand on Azzi’s clit leaves, and Azzi finally feels like she might be able to bear another orgasm. Then sparks explode all over her body as Paige’s fingers land back on her clit in a harsh slap. Azzi lets out a cry, a tear slipping down her face and immediately getting soaked up by the comforter.

Paige does it again and again, raining slaps down on Azzi’s clit, and then she’s on the edge again. It’s a particularly harsh slip to the bundle of nerves that does it this time, sending Azzi tumbling into her second orgasm of the night.

The older girl pulls her hands away quicker this time, and Azzi doesn’t even have the brain power to be thankful. She’s too busy trying to get her body to stop quivering.

Paige runs her hands over Azzi’s ass gently. The touch grounds her, even as it reminds her of the red handprints that are surely littering her skin. Paige is curled over Azzi’s back, her arms enveloping her in an embrace that’s immediately soothing. She’s saying something, whispering into Azzi’s ear, but it takes a minute for Azzi to comprehend the words.

“...if you can give me another. Do you want that? Wanna take my strap? You always take my cock so pretty, take me so good. Just wanna fuck you on my cock pretty girl. Can I do that?” Azzi’s hips give another valiant attempt at finding friction.

“Go get it,” Azzi whispers. Paige springs up from the bed, heading to her suitcase and pulling two things out. The strap, and a little black vibrator. They don’t use the vibrator often, mostly because Paige complains that it ruins her “generational strap skills,” but Azzi knows tonight is different. Tonight, Paige needs it just as bad as she does.

Paige gets the strap situated on her hips quickly, sliding the vibrator into its place right over her clit and turning it on.

The soft buzzing sound fills the air, accompanied by a soft gasp from Paige. Her steps back to Azzi on the bed are a little less sure, shakier than her steps away had been. Azzi does her best to shift back into the ass-up arch she had been in earlier, her muscles protesting only slightly. Paige’s hands settle on her waist, stroking her fingertips over her ass lightly.

Then she’s pressing in, her cock slitting Azzi open. They let out simultaneous moans; Azzi from the stretch, and Paige from the pressure of the vibrator on her clit. Her hips twitch a little bit, making her cock shift just that little bit deeper inside Azzi. She whimpers.

“Fucking move,” Azzi groans, desperate again. Her nerves are still frayed from cumming hard twice, but she’s clenching around Paige’s cock in a way that makes her think her body might actually fall apart if she doesn’t get this.

Paige complies, dragging her cock out all the way to the tip, then pushing back in. It’s not as rough as before, but it’s enough to make Azzi a mess again. Paige presses Azzi’s hips down, forcing her to deepen her arch. The angle allows Paige to press even deeper. She’s stretching Azzi so good she could cry.

Slow thrusts turn into quick, rough movements. Paige slams her cock into Azzi’s cunt, chasing her own high and the pretty moans and whimpers that keep falling from Azzi’s mouth.

“Doin’ so good for me, so good pretty girl. Let me hear those noises. Shit, you’re so tight around me, just suckin’ me up. Goddamn. That’s it, baby,” Paige says. Her voice is low, rough, clearly affected by the vibrator buzzing against her clit.

“Paige!” Azzi cries. Paige’s hand starts rubbing over her clit messily again. Overstimulation shoots through Azzi’s nerves, sending tremors through her body. “So close, so close, please daddy,” Azzi begs. The name tips Paige over the edge, hips thrusting erratically now as she drags Azzi closer and closer to cumming.

Paige’s moans get Azzi there, the tension in her stomach snapping for the third time that night. She cries out, tears slipping down her face as Paige fucks her through it, murmuring praise and sweet words into her ear as the overstimulation becomes too much.

She scrambles to push Paige out of her, blushing at the obscene squelching sound the action makes.

Paige helps ease Azzi down onto her back, the younger girl’s muscles protesting from being left in the same position for so long. Then Paige is tossing the strap onto the floor and flopping onto Azzi.

“God, I needed that,” she sighs dramatically. Azzi’s eyes flick open to stare at her girlfriend incredulously. Paige just shrugs. “What? I’m the number one pick, I’m allowed to celebrate.”

“That’s what the party was for, idiot,” Azzi replies. Her voice is hoarse, and it makes her flush in embarrassment. A grin spreads over Paige’s face.

“I love when you sound like that. It means I did a good job.” Azzi buries her face into Paige’s shoulder.

“First you go number one, now this? You’re gonna be insufferable for the rest of our lives,” she groans. Paige nods, satisfied with the situation.

“Sounds like the dream life if you ask me. Went number one in the draft, got drunk, fucked the love of my life so good she can’t talk, and now we get to cuddle. Literally what else could you want?” Azzi holds back from replying with “peace and quiet,” and instead lets Paige have her moment. She leaves the “I’m proud of you” unsaid too, but they both know that. Instead, Azzi lets the silence and the warmth of Paige’s body lull her into sleep.

[honeyslibrary]

Don’t Stop | Jack Hughes

Pairing; Jack Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Oral sex (M+F receiving), cursing, use of the term 'good girl', situationship, low-key dropped the ball on reader hating Jack (sorry), overuse of the words 'trembling' and 'teasing' (sorry lol), edited only once

Summary; Part two to Arrogant, which can be found HERE

Word Count; 8.3k

Author’s note; I hate this unfortunately, but I spent a bit of time on it, and I really want to get it out of my drafts, so here it is. Keep in mind, I'm still new to writing smut, but I hope you like it at least a little bit. Also, the ending is kind of abrupt, sorry. Writing for Jack doesn't come as naturally as writing for Quinn does, but if you have any Jack requests, feel free to send them through my inbox. Thank you all so much for all the support, I hit 100 followers this morning! Should I do a celly, or should I wait until I hit a higher milestone? -Honey

His hands grip your ass firmly, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he effortlessly lifts you, pulling your body against his. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, locking in place as he straightens up, holding you securely. His lips are still on yours, hungry and demanding, the taste of him lingering as he begins to carry you toward the stairs.

With each step he takes, you can feel the flex of his muscles beneath you, the way his body moves with an easy strength that sends a thrill rushing through you. But the second he starts ascending the stairs, the thought of being dropped flashes through your mind, and you pull away from his lips, breathless, your hands gripping his shoulders.

"Don’t drop me," you warn, your gaze narrowing at him.

Jack pulls back just enough to glance down at you, his blue eyes glinting with amusement as a smirk curls on his lips. He lets out a low chuckle, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip to hide the grin that’s tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Relax, princess," he mutters, the nickname rolling off his tongue with that infuriating mix of affection and mischief that only Jack can pull off.

You roll your eyes at the word, heat flooding your cheeks. "How many times have I told you not to call me that?" You huff, irritated at the way he says the word—"princess"—with that unserious, almost mocking tone always sends a strange flutter through your chest, even if you pretend to hate it.

Jack doesn’t miss a beat. "Yeah, well," he says, his voice low, bordering on exasperation. "you say a lot of things." His grip on you tightens, and the effortless confidence in his movements makes it clear he’s far from concerned about dropping you.

He reaches the top of the stairs, his pace quickening as he makes his way down the hall. By the time he pushes the door open with his foot, the air between you feels charged, every touch sending sparks of heat coursing through your veins. The second you cross the threshold into your room, Jack wastes no time. He walks straight to the bed and drops you onto the mattress—not roughly, but with enough force to make you bounce slightly against the plush comforter.

A surprised gasp escapes your lips as you land, but it’s cut short when Jack is suddenly hovering over you, climbing onto the bed with a swift, predatory grace. His knees sink into the mattress on either side of your hips, caging you in beneath him. The intensity in his gaze shifts, his playful smirk softening into something darker, something laced with the undeniable tension that’s been building since the moment his hands found your body.

You can feel the weight of his body pressing against yours, the heat of him seeping through your clothes, the way his breath brushes against your skin as he leans down, his face inches from yours. His eyes flicker over your features, taking in the way your lips part slightly, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath.

"See?" he murmurs, his voice a rasp, rough around the edges. "Told you I wouldn’t drop you."

You roll your eyes, but it’s mostly for show. The truth is, your heart is racing, your pulse thudding in your ears, and your body is already aching for his touch. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the way his eyes darken with desire as he hovers over you, and it makes your breath hitch. But you won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he’s affecting you—at least, not yet.

"Wow," you quip, your voice laced with sarcasm even as your chest rises and falls more quickly, "you did something right for once." The smirk on your lips is teasing, but it’s your way of holding on to some semblance of control, even though you can feel it slipping with every passing second.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your jab, but there’s something dangerous in the way his lips twitch into a smirk of his own. Without another word, he presses his body against yours, the full weight of him pinning you to the bed, his warmth seeping into your skin. The intensity of the moment sends a jolt of electricity through you, your breath catching as you feel every inch of him against you—hard, unyielding, and incredibly close.

"Careful," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, filled with an edge that makes your stomach flip. "You’ve got a bad mouth on you." His eyes bore into yours, and the heat in his gaze makes your skin flush. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he adds, "Might need to shove something in it to make you be quiet."

His words send a shiver down your spine, the rough edge to his tone making you gasp softly, despite your best efforts to remain defiant. His breath is hot against your ear, his lips brushing your skin just enough to make you want more, even as his hands trail possessively down your sides, claiming you.

"Fuck you," you hiss, though the words come out breathless, your bravado faltering just slightly as his body presses harder against yours. Your hands grip the sheets beneath you, trying to ground yourself as heat pools low in your stomach, your body already reacting to the promise in his words, the tension between you winding tighter and tighter.

He lets out a soft, amused laugh, his lips curling into a grin that’s all arrogance and confidence. "Oh, I’m sure you’d like that," he replies, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. His hips grind against yours for emphasis, his body so close now that you can feel the hard length of him pressing against you through the thin fabric of your clothes, teasing you with what’s to come.

You bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing the small gasp that threatens to escape your throat. He’s so infuriatingly smug, and yet, the way his body moves against yours, the way his hands grip your hips with just the right amount of pressure, it’s enough to make you dizzy with want.

"You’re not as tough as you think, princess," he continues, his voice a dangerous mix of teasing and desire, his lips moving from your ear to your neck, where he begins to trail slow, deliberate kisses along your skin. The heat of his mouth contrasts with the cool air of the room, making you shiver beneath him.

His words are like gasoline to the fire burning inside you, and despite the anger bubbling beneath the surface, you can’t deny how much you want him—how much you’ve been aching for him to touch you. But you’re not about to let him know that. Not yet.

"Don’t call me that," you snap, though the bite in your voice falters when he sucks lightly at a spot on your neck that makes your knees go weak. His lips pull away just long enough for you to catch the flash of mischief in his eyes, a look that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

"Make me stop," he challenges, his tone almost daring you, like he knows you won’t—like he knows that despite your words, your body is already giving him all the permission he needs.

You want to retort, want to snap back with some smart remark, but before you can find the words, his lips crash down on yours. It’s a kiss that’s full of intensity, raw and hungry, leaving no room for anything else. His hand grips your jaw, tilting your head up to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a demanding urgency that makes your head spin.

You groan against his mouth, your hands flying to his hair, tugging at the strands with a mixture of frustration and need. The kiss is messy, all teeth and tongue and heat, as if neither of you can get enough, as if all the tension between you is finally snapping, and you’re both powerless to stop it.

His hips grind harder against yours, his body practically caging you in beneath him, and it’s almost too much—the pressure, the heat, the way every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire. You tug at his hair harder, pulling him away from your lips just long enough to catch your breath, your chest heaving as you meet his gaze.

"Still want me to stop?" he breathes, his forehead resting against yours, his voice rough and strained with the same tension that’s running through your veins.

You meet his eyes, your defiance flickering just beneath the surface, even as your body betrays you with the way it arches into his touch. "Shut up," you whisper, though the breathless tone of your voice takes all the bite out of the words.

He grins, utterly satisfied with himself as he leans back to pull off his shirt, his muscles rippling beneath the skin in that infuriating way that makes your stomach flip no matter how much you try to ignore it. The moment his shirt hits the floor, your eyes involuntarily trail down his chest, over the defined ridges of his abs, and before you can stop yourself, you roll your eyes—hard.

His grin only widens at your reaction, his amusement practically dripping off him as he stands there, all confidence. He knows exactly what he’s doing, knows how much his body affects you, even if you refuse to admit it. And God, he loves it—loves pushing you, teasing you, knowing you’re fighting yourself every step of the way.

"See something you like?" he teases, voice just dripping with that irritating cockiness that makes your blood boil. His eyes gleam with mischief, his lips curling up in a way that dares you to react, dares you to admit what’s already painfully obvious to him—that despite how much he drives you crazy, you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

You let out an exaggerated scoff, forcing your gaze away from his infuriatingly perfect body. Your arms cross over your chest in a gesture meant to convey annoyance, but all it really does is give you something to hold on to as the heat of desire coils low in your belly. It’s maddening—how easily he can get under your skin, how effortlessly he can flip your emotions from anger to... this.

"You wish," you snap, your voice laced with irritation, though it feels more like you’re trying to convince yourself than him.

He lets out a soft, amused laugh, that insufferable smirk never leaving his face as he leans back down, closing the distance between you. His presence feels overwhelming, the heat of his body, the sheer size of him towering over you. You can feel his breath against your skin, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine even though you’re determined not to show it.

"Really?" he murmurs, his voice low, dripping with that maddening confidence. "Because I think you’re lying." His eyes flicker over your face, watching your reaction with that smug intensity that makes you want to slap him—or kiss him. Maybe both.

You huff, your jaw tightening as you refuse to meet his gaze, even though you can feel the weight of it, feel him practically daring you to look at him. "I’m not lying," you bite out, but the words sound weak, even to your own ears.

"Uh-huh," he drawls, his hand coming down to brush a stray strand of hair away from your face. The touch is light, almost gentle, but it sends a bolt of electricity through you that you feel all the way down to your core. "Why do you keep lying to yourself, princess?" he says, his voice a low murmur now, the teasing laced with something darker, more intense. His eyes flick down to your lips, just for a second, before locking back onto yours with that infuriating mix of amusement and desire. "I can feel how much you want me. You’re terrible at hiding it."

"Stop. Calling. Me. That." you snap, trying to regain some sense of control. But it’s hard to focus on anything but how close he is, the heat radiating off him, the way your body seems to hum with awareness of every inch between you.

He laughs again, a deep, rich sound that makes your frustration flare. "You keep saying that," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, sending a shiver straight down your spine. "But we both know you love it."

You clench your jaw, your nails digging into your palms as you fight to maintain the upper hand, but it’s slipping fast. His hand moves lower, grazing your arm, his touch light but purposeful, and you can feel your resolve crumbling, piece by piece. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and that’s what infuriates you the most.

"Tell me to stop," he says, his voice soft now, almost a challenge. His lips hover just a breath away from yours, so close you can feel the warmth of him, and every nerve in your body is screaming at you to give in. "Go ahead. Tell me to stop."

Your heart is pounding, your breath shallow as the tension between you reaches a boiling point. You should tell him to stop. You should shove him away, wipe that arrogant smirk off his face, and storm out of the room. But you don’t. You can’t.

Instead, you tilt your chin up defiantly, meeting his gaze with as much strength as you can muster. "I hate you," you whisper, your voice shaking with the force of your frustration, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

But instead of being hurt, or even fazed, his grin only widens, his eyes gleaming with victory. "No, you don’t," he whispers back, his lips brushing against yours, the touch feather-light but enough to send a wave of heat crashing through you.

His lips press against yours, hot and insistent, as he pins you deeper into the mattress, his weight settling over you like a blanket of heat. The kiss is all-consuming, stealing your breath and scattering your thoughts, but you can’t help the way your body responds—how your hands instinctively clutch at his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. You hate how easily he does this to you, how effortlessly he tears down your defenses with nothing but the sheer force of his presence.

His hands are already moving, sliding beneath the hem of your pajama shirt, the cool air meeting your bare skin for a brief moment before his fingers find you. The second his hands make contact, a jolt of electricity shoots through you, igniting another fire low in your stomach. He doesn’t hesitate, his palms warm and firm as they trail upward, sending goosebumps racing along your skin as they push the fabric higher, higher—until he reaches your breasts.

He cups them, his hands squeezing gently at first, his touch confident, possessive. His lips never leave yours, and you can feel the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he deepens the kiss, knowing exactly what he’s doing to you. You try to hold back a whimper, but it escapes anyway, much to his satisfaction. He groans softly in response, the sound reverberating through you, adding fuel to that fire already building inside you.

Your frustration bubbles up again, a part of you hating how easily he affects you, how he always seems to get what he wants without even trying. But your body isn’t listening to your mind anymore—your heart is racing, and your breath comes out in short, needy gasps as his hands continue their exploration. His thumbs graze over your nipples, and your entire body jerks in response, a gasp spilling from your lips before you can stop it.

He pulls back from the kiss just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and filled with that familiar teasing glint. "Look at you," he murmurs, his voice low and rough with desire. "Already falling apart, and I’ve barely even touched you."

"Shut up," you manage to hiss, though your voice betrays you—too breathless, too shaky to sound convincing. You try to glare at him, but the way his fingers are kneading your breasts, the way he’s rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, makes it impossible to focus. The pleasure is too intense, too overwhelming, and you feel your control slipping with every flick of his fingers, every press of his hands.

He chuckles softly, clearly enjoying how much he’s getting under your skin—both literally and figuratively. "Your wish is my command," he says, his tone full of that infuriating cockiness that makes your blood boil. He leans down, his lips brushing against your neck, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses as they move lower, teasing, grazing your skin with his teeth just enough to send a shiver running down your spine.

His lips trail down your stomach, each kiss soft and unhurried. His breath is hot against you, and every brush of his lips feels like a tease, leaving you trembling with a mixture of anticipation and frustration. You don't want him to know how much he's getting to you, but your body betrays you with every little shiver and breathless gasp that escapes your lips.

He pauses when he reaches the waistband of your sleep shorts, his lips just hovering above the fabric. You grit your teeth, fighting the urge to arch up into his touch, determined to maintain some semblance of control, even as desire coils tightly in your core.

"Hips up, princess," he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, the nickname rolling off his tongue without a care in the world.

You let out grumble, though your voice comes out breathier than you'd like. The complaint lacks any real bite, especially since, despite the irritation burning through you, you're already lifting your hips, obeying his instruction without hesitation.

The second your hips rise, even the slightest bit, his hands are already on you—his fingers gripping the waistband of your shorts and panties, tugging at them. You let out a sharp breath as the cool air hits your now-exposed skin, the sudden contrast sending a shiver racing through your body.

He pulls the fabric down your legs slowly, dragging the moment out just to torment you. You can feel his eyes on you the entire time, that intense, smug gaze that makes your pulse race and your skin flush with anger. Once the shorts and panties are off, he carelessly flings them somewhere behind him—he doesn't even bother to look where they land. His attention is entirely on you now, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as he sits back on his heels, taking in the sight before him.

He whistles softly, a low, appreciative sound that makes your cheeks burn with both embarrassment and desire. You want to tell him to shut up, to wipe that cocky smirk off his face, but you can't seem to form the words. Not when his eyes are locked on your glistening core, his lips parted slightly in awe, like he's seeing you for the first time-even though you've been here before, countless times.

“Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, his eyes darkening with lust as they travel slowly up and down your body, lingering on the slickness between your thighs. “You’re already so wet for me.”

You press your lips together, trying to stifle the embarrassed moan that threatens to spill out, but you can’t stop the way your hips twitch, your body betraying you once again. The throbbing between your legs grows more insistent, more urgent, and you hate that he knows exactly how much power he has over you.

“Such a good girl, even when you’re pretending to hate me,” he adds, his tone dripping with teasing arrogance. His hands slide up the insides of your thighs, the heat of his touch leaving a burning trail on your skin, making you ache for more.

You grit your teeth, trying to hold on to the last shred of defiance you have left. “Asshole,” you snap, but your voice comes out shaky, breathless, and it only seems to make him grin wider.

His fingers brush just shy of where you want him most, deliberately avoiding your slick heat, keeping you on edge. You hate how easily he can work you up, how he seems to know your body better than you do. And you hate that, despite everything, you want him to touch you. You want him to stop teasing and give you what you’re aching for, even if admitting that would mean admitting defeat.

But he’s not done yet. His eyes never leave yours as he leans forward again, his breath hot against your thigh, his lips hovering just an inch from your slick skin. He’s close—so close you can feel the heat of him, the anticipation driving you wild, making your whole body hum with need.

“Tell me how much you want it,” he murmurs, sending shivers down your spine. His lips brush lightly against your skin as he speaks, and it’s enough to make your toes curl in frustration.

You squeeze your eyes shut, refusing to give in, refusing to let him win. But it’s getting harder. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending screaming for his touch, every muscle tensing with the overwhelming desire pulsing through you. You can feel yourself getting wetter, slicker, the arousal practically dripping from you—and he knows it. He’s watching you closely, waiting for you to break.

His fingers slide dangerously close again, brushing the edges of your folds, and you let out a soft, involuntary whimper. Your hips jerk up, your body begging for more, even though you’re trying so hard to resist. You can hear the smirk in his voice as he whispers, “Tell me, princess.”

You open your mouth to snap at him, to throw some biting remark his way, but instead, what comes out is a soft, breathless, “Please.”

His smirk grows even wider, and the satisfaction in his eyes is unmistakable. “That’s all I wanted to hear,” he murmurs.

And then, finally—finally—his mouth is on you.

The moment his lips connect with your slick, aching core, a sharp breath catches in your throat, and your body jerks involuntarily, every muscle tensing as the pleasure surges through you. Your bottom lip is caught painfully between your teeth, your desperate attempt to stifle the moan that threatens to escape. It’s almost unbearable, the way his mouth works against you—hot, firm, and utterly devastating.

He grins against you, and you can feel the smug satisfaction in the curve of his lips as they press against your most sensitive flesh. He knows exactly what he’s doing, knows exactly how hard you’re fighting to keep yourself in check. It drives you crazy that he gets off on it, that he takes so much pleasure in teasing you like this, in watching you struggle to maintain even a shred of control.

His breath is hot and heavy against your skin, sending shivers racing up your spine, and before you can gather your bearings, his tongue dips out to lick a slow, deliberate stripe against your folds.

It’s maddening—the way he takes his time, dragging his tongue slowly, purposefully, from your entrance up to your clit, as if savoring every inch of you. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity through your body, your toes curling in response as heat blooms low in your stomach. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside you, the pleasure building with every excruciatingly slow movement of his tongue.

A muffled whimper slips past your lips, despite your best efforts to keep quiet, and his tongue pauses for just a second. He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your core, making your thighs tremble.

“You’re trying so hard,” he murmurs, his voice teasing as his lips brush lightly against your sensitive skin. “But I can feel it,” His breath fans over your folds, sending another wave of pleasure crashing through you. “How much you want to fall apart.”

You can feel your resolve slipping with every word, your body betraying you with every twitch, every soft whimper. It’s embarrassing, how easily he can unravel you, how his touch, his mouth, his voice, all seem to have complete control over you, even when you’re fighting with everything you have to hold on to some semblance of composure.

Your hands clutch the sheets beneath you, fingers twisting in the fabric as his tongue dips lower again, swirling slowly around your entrance, teasing you, making your hips twitch in response. He’s dragging this out—drawing you closer to the edge but never giving you quite enough to send you over. It’s infuriating, but it’s intoxicating all at once.

You manage to breathe out a shaky, “Just—” but before you can finish, his tongue flicks up again, brushing against your clit in the lightest, most maddening touch you’ve ever felt.

A sharp gasp escapes you, and your back arches off the bed, your hips instinctively bucking toward him, desperate for more. Your body is betraying you in every possible way, and it only seems to fuel him, his movements becoming bolder, more confident.

“Just what?” he murmurs against you, his voice dripping with amusement. His tongue moves in slow, lazy circles now, brushing over your clit with just enough pressure.

“Jack—” you try again, but the words die in your throat as another wave of pleasure crashes through you. Your mind is spinning, a haze of want and frustration clouding your thoughts, making it impossible to focus on anything other than the delicious torment of his mouth against you.

You bite down on your lip harder, trying to keep yourself from begging, but it’s useless. You can feel yourself falling apart under his touch, your control slipping away, bit by bit, with every swirl of his tongue.

“I can stop,” he offers, though you can hear the tilt in his voice. You know he’s just toying with you, enjoying the power he holds over you. His hands slide up your thighs, spreading them wider as his tongue flicks over your clit again, the touch just enough to make your body tremble with need.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you manage to gasp, your voice a ragged mix of frustration and desperation. Your body is on fire, every nerve alight with sensation, and the thought of him stopping now, of leaving you teetering on the edge like this, is unbearable.

He chuckles again, clearly pleased with your response. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs.

Casually—almost too casually—he moves a free hand down between your legs, his fingers brushing against your inner thigh with a featherlight touch that makes you shiver. It’s infuriating how effortless he makes it seem, as if he isn’t already driving you wild, as if your body isn’t already on fire from the way his mouth is working you over. You’re trying to calm yourself down, catch your breath, when he pulls his mouth away from your core, just enough to make you feel the sudden, almost unbearable emptiness.

The cool air hits your slick skin, making you gasp, but before you can even think to complain, his hand is already there. His fingers hover just shy of your entrance, brushing against your folds with an aggrevating slowness that sends a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. You bite your lip hard, trying to keep yourself grounded, trying to hold on to the last bit of control you have left—but it’s slipping, fast.

And then, without warning, he pushes a finger inside you.

A loud, desperate cry escapes your lips before you can stop it, your body arching off the bed as the sudden intrusion sends a shockwave of pleasure straight through you. The sound is raw, uncontrollable, and it only seems to spur him on. You can feel his grin against your inner thigh, smug and satisfied, as his finger sinks deeper into you, curling just enough to make your whole body light up.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice full of that familiar, cocky arrogance that makes you want to scream and kiss him at the same time. His finger begins to move in and out of you, slow and deliberate at first, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. “Let me hear you.”

His words only make the heat pooling in your stomach burn hotter, the sensation of his finger working in and out of you too much and not enough all at once. You can’t help it—every movement of his hand makes another moan slip past your lips, makes your hips buck helplessly against him, your body chasing the pleasure he’s so expertly building inside you. He knows exactly how to push you to the edge, how to make you unravel with nothing but the touch of his fingers, and you hate it.

He thrusts his finger in again, a little harder this time, and a strangled cry escapes you, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you for dear life. Your head falls back against the pillow, your mouth falling open as you gasp for breath, every nerve in your body alight with sensation.

His mouth returns to your core, his tongue flicking out to swirl around your clit just as he thrusts his finger in deeper. The combination of his mouth and his hand working together is lethal—his finger curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot that makes your vision blur, while his tongue works circles over your swollen clit, sending shocks of pleasure through your entire body.

“Fuck—” you manage to gasp, your voice shaking as the tension inside you builds to a near-breaking point. Your hips grind up toward him, desperate for more, your body moving instinctively as the ache between your legs becomes unbearable.

His finger starts moving faster now, thrusting in and out with a steady, relentless rhythm, the slick sounds of your arousal filling the room. His tongue is merciless, flicking and circling over your clit in perfect time with his thrusts, and you can’t hold back the moans anymore. You’re beyond caring how loud you are, beyond caring about anything other than the way he’s making you feel.

He slips a second finger inside you, the stretch making your thighs tremble, and you let out a strangled moan, your hands flying to his hair, tugging hard as your body reacts on instinct. The added pressure, the feeling of his fingers thrusting deeper, curling and pumping inside you—it’s almost too much. Your hips buck wildly, your body overwhelmed with the intensity of it all, and you’re not sure how much longer you can last.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against your core, “Close, aren’t you, princess?”

You nod frantically, unable to form words, your body trembling with the force of your impending release. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside you, the pleasure building to a breaking point, every thrust of his fingers and flick of his tongue pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me,” he commands, his voice low and filled with a quiet intensity that sends a fresh wave of arousal through you. His fingers curl inside you again, pressing against that sweet spot with devastating precision, and it’s all you need.

With a loud cry, your body shatters beneath him, your orgasm ripping through you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping for breath as the pleasure crashes over you in wave after wave. Your thighs tremble violently, your back arching off the bed as your entire body convulses with the force of it. His fingers keep thrusting, his mouth still on you, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you’re left a quivering, breathless mess.

When the last of the aftershocks finally subside, you collapse back against the bed, completely spent, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. He pulls his fingers out of you gently, his touch lingering just long enough to ride you through your climax. His mouth leaves your core, and when you glance down at him, you see him grinning up at you, his lips glistening with your arousal.

“Taste so good,” he murmurs, his voice full of satisfaction as his tongue swipes across the tips of his fingers. He sits back on his heels, his eyes gleaming with that familiar, infuriating mix of arrogance and desire. “So fucking perfect when you fall apart for me.”

You manage to muster enough strength to roll your eyes at him, though the effort is half-hearted at best. Your body is hot, your legs weak, and despite your frustration, you can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corners of your lips. Because as much as he infuriates you, as much as you hate his smug, teasing arrogance... fuck, does his tongue feel good.

Your attention is pulled back to him the moment you hear the sound of his zipper coming undone. The metallic click echoes in the room, and your breath hitches, your pulse quickening as your eyes dart down to him. The sight before you makes your mouth go dry, only for heat to pool low in your stomach as a new wave of desire surges through you.

He’s standing there, his bare chest gleaming in the dim light, and now his pants are sliding down his legs, leaving him in nothing but a pair of snug boxers that cling to his hips. Your gaze locks onto the outline of his cock, already straining against the fabric, and you can’t help but feel your breath catch in your throat, your body reacting instantly to the sight. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, instinctively, as if preparing for what’s to come.

A hunger blooms in your chest—sharp, sudden—and even though you’ve just been wrecked by the intense climax he pulled out of you, your body is already responding to him again, aching for more. It's embarrassing, really.

He watches you, blue eyes of his trailing over your body with that familiar intensity that sends a shudder down your spine. His gaze lingers on your chest, and it’s then that you realize your arms are itching to move, to shed the last barrier of clothing that separates you from him. Your nightshirt suddenly feels too constricting, too hot, and without hesitation, you tug it over your head, tossing it aside in one quick motion.

You’re bare before him now, and the cool air against your flushed skin only heightens the feeling of being utterly exposed to him—but instead of fear, it sends a thrill of excitement coursing through you. You can see the way his jaw clenches slightly, his eyes darkening as they take in the sight of you, and the raw desire in his gaze makes heat flare through your entire body. His eyes flick down to your breasts, lingering there for a moment, and the way he looks at you makes your nipples harden all over again, your body responding to his gaze as if he’s physically touching you.

He doesn’t say a word—he doesn’t need to. His silence speaks volumes. The way his gaze trails down your body, the heat of it making your skin tingle, tells you everything you need to know about what’s going through his mind. He’s savoring this moment, drinking you in like you’re something he can’t get enough of, and the hunger in his eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

You’re so focused on his eyes that you almost don’t notice when his hands move to the waistband of his boxers. But the second he begins to slide them down, your attention snaps to the motion, your mouth going dry as the last of his clothing hits the floor. He steps out of his boxers with that same casual confidence, and your gaze locks onto him—fully, completely bare—and suddenly it feels like every nerve in your body is on fire again.

You can’t help it. Your tongue darts out again, wetting your lips in anticipation as your eyes drink him in. He’s hard, thick, his cock jutting out proudly in front of him, and the sight alone sends a fresh wave of heat flooding through you. Your body clenches in response, the ache between your legs growing more intense, and despite the fact that you just climaxed, your body is already craving more. You feel a new rush of slickness between your thighs, the anticipation building with every passing second as you watch him step closer, the tension in the room thickening with every heartbeat.

He notices, of course—he always does. He sees the way your body reacts to him, the way your thighs press together, trying to alleviate some of the ache, the way your tongue wets your lips in anticipation. His eyes flicker with that familiar cocky glint, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he steps closer to the bed, closing the distance between you.

"Someone’s eager," he murmurs, teasing, as he comes to stand next to you by the bed. He reaches out, his hand brushing a piece of hair out of your face, his touch featherlight but enough to send a jolt of electricity through you. "Greedy, greedy girl..."

Without a word, he grabs your hand—not roughly, but with enough force to let you know exactly what he wants. His touch is firm, guiding you with an unspoken command as he pulls you gently off the bed. Your legs tremble as you rise, but instead of standing, you feel the soft give of the carpet beneath your knees as you sink down in front of him, your body instinctively following his lead.

He takes his place on the edge of the bed, his legs spread wide. Without breaking eye contact, he wraps his hand around his length, lazily stroking himself. Your eyes drop to his hand, watching as he moves nonchalantly, as though he has all the time in the world. You swallow hard, your mouth watering at the sight of him, your body responding to the intensity of the moment. His fingers slide over the smooth, rigid flesh, and you can see the slight glisten of pre-cum at the tip as his grip tightens, making your pulse race even faster.

You don’t wait for his permission—you don’t need it. Your hands reach out, eager but steady, and you gently take his cock from him, your fingers wrapping around him with a sense of ownership. His breath hitches slightly at the change in contact, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension in his muscles as he watches your every move.

Your eyes flick up to meet his, and the look on his face—the hunger, the way his jaw clenches in anticipation—sends a wave of confidence rushing through you. You hold his gaze as you lean forward, your tongue darting out to wet your lips, the tip of your tongue brushing against the corners of your mouth in preparation. His breath comes out in a slow exhale, his chest rising and falling in a way that lets you know you have him where you want him.

Casually, you spit onto the head of his cock, watching the way it glistens in the dim light of the room. The saliva drips down, mixing with the bead of pre-cum already there, and your hand moves instinctively, spreading the moisture along his cock, making each stroke smoother, slicker. The wet sound of your hand sliding over him fills the air, and his body tenses under your touch. You feel him grow harder in your hand, his muscles tightening as he leans back slightly, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress for support. His eyes are half-lidded now, his gaze heavy as he watches you work over him, the lazy strokes of your hand building a steady rhythm.

"Fuck," he murmurs, his voice rough around the edges, the first word he’s spoken since pulling you to your knees. There’s something unfiltered in the way he says it, like he can barely keep the desire out of his voice. His head tips back just slightly, but his eyes never leave yours, his chest rising and falling with deep, controlled breaths as he fights to maintain the upper hand.

You can’t help but smirk, feeling a rush of satisfaction at the way his body is responding to you, at the way he’s losing that unshakable control he’s so good at maintaining. You know you have him now, and the knowledge makes you bolder. Without breaking the rhythm of your hand, you lower your mouth to him, your tongue darting out to swirl over the tip, tasting him. The salty taste of pre-cum meets your tongue, and you hum softly in response, the sound vibrating in your chest as you take him further into your mouth. His sharp inhale fills the room, and you feel his body tense under your touch, his hands gripping the mattress tighter, his knuckles white.

"Good girl," he breathes, the words slipping out in a low, almost involuntary growl. His fingers twitch, like he’s fighting the urge to bury them in your hair and guide you to move faster, harder, but he holds back—for now.

You feel the power shift between you, the balance of control subtly tilting in your favor as you wrap your lips around him, your tongue swirling over his head before sliding further down. His hips jerk up just slightly, his body instinctively chasing the heat of your mouth, and the low groan that escapes him makes your whole body thrum with satisfaction.

You bob your head, slowly at first, taking your time, savoring the feeling of him filling your mouth. Your hand works in tandem with your lips, stroking the base of his length while your mouth moves over the rest, each movement deliberate, slow, teasing. You can feel him trembling slightly beneath you, his restraint slipping as his breath becomes more ragged, more uneven.

"Fuck," he mutters again, his voice tighter this time, strained with the effort of holding back. His hands finally move from the edge of the bed, one of them tangling in your hair, the other resting on your shoulder, his fingers flexing against your skin as he fights to keep from thrusting up into your mouth.

"Don’t stop," he grits out, his voice rough, desperate. His hand tightens in your hair, just enough to guide you, to push you a little deeper.

You hum around him, the sound vibrating through your throat and sending a jolt of pleasure straight up his spine. The soft, needy noise you make seems to unravel him, his grip tightening in your hair as you continue the steady motion of bobbing your head along his cock. The weight of him in your mouth, the taste of him on your tongue—it all builds into a dizzying sense of control and desire that fuels you to push even further.

He’s not forcing, but guiding, applying just enough pressure to help you take him in deeper, pushing you down on his length. Your lips stretch wider as you take him further, the sensation of being filled making your core throb with heat.

You adjust easily to his lead, and the soft sound of his breath hitching above you tells you how much he loves it. A low, guttural moan escapes his lips, and the sound sends a rush of excitement through you. He’s losing control—because of you. And you can feel it, in the way his body tenses, in the slight tremor in his fingers as they flex against your scalp.

Your free hand moves down between his legs, the motion slow as your fingers brush lightly against his balls. You can feel how tight and full they are, and the heat radiating from his skin makes your fingers tingle as you cup him gently in your hand. His reaction is immediate—a sharp intake of breath, his hips jerking slightly upward, pushing himself deeper into your mouth as your fingers squeeze him lightly.

"Fuck," he mutters, the word drawn out, his voice thick with lust. His hips buck slightly again, just enough to let you know how much he’s struggling to keep control. His head tips back, the cords in his neck straining as he fights to maintain the upper hand, but you can tell he’s losing it, bit by bit.

You hum again around him, your fingers stroking and massaging his balls in time with the bobbing of your head. Each time you take him deeper, your throat tightens around him, the soft gagging sounds mixing with the wet, slick noise of your mouth working over him, filling the room with the raw, intimate sounds of pleasure. Your hand continues to stroke gently, massaging him as your mouth moves faster, deeper, the pace building as you sense him drawing closer to the edge.

The way his hands grip your hair tighter, the way his breathing becomes ragged—all of it tells you how close he is, how much he’s holding back. The control you have over him right now sends a thrill coursing through your veins, and it only makes you want to push him further, to make him fall apart completely in your hands.

His groans grow louder, more desperate, and you can feel his hips rocking upward, pushing himself deeper into your mouth with every thrust. The sensation of him filling your throat, of the slight sting of your gag reflex, only spurs you on, your hand squeezing his balls a little firmer as you take him even deeper, your lips pressing against the base of his cock with each motion.

His breath comes out in ragged gasps, his fingers flexing against your scalp, his grip tightening as he guides your head down, pushing you to take him as deep as you can. You can feel the muscles in his thighs tensing beneath your hand, his whole body coiling with the intensity of his impending release. The tension between you is electric, thick and heavy in the air, and you know he’s on the verge of losing it—his control fraying with every stroke of your hand, every movement of your mouth.

"God, you’re—" he starts, his voice tight and strained, but the words are cut off by a low, guttural moan as his body shudders under your touch. He pulls you down harder on his length, his hips rocking up into your mouth with more urgency now, the slow, teasing pace you’d set earlier completely forgotten. His hands guide you faster, harder, as if he can’t get enough, as if he’s chasing that final, explosive release that’s just within reach.

You hollow your cheeks, sucking him deeper, harder, as your hand continues to squeeze and massage his balls, your fingers pressing into the sensitive skin with just the right amount of pressure. The combination of your mouth and hand working in perfect rhythm is driving him wild, and you can feel him trembling beneath you.

"Shit—just like that," he groans. His head falls back, his eyes squeezed shut as he surrenders to the pleasure, his entire body shaking with the effort of holding on for just a little longer. "Don’t stop," he grits out, his hips bucking upward again, pushing himself deeper into your mouth as his grip on your hair tightens even further.

And you don’t stop. You keep going, faster, your mouth moving in time with his ragged breaths, your hand continuing to massage him, coaxing him closer and closer to the edge. You can feel him tensing, his body shaking with the intensity of it all, and you know it’s only a matter of seconds before he breaks.

And then, with one final, deep thrust, his body shudders violently, his hips jerking up as he finally comes undone in your mouth. His release is sudden and overwhelming, his cock twitching as he spills hot and thick down your throat. You take him as deep as you can, swallowing around him as his body convulses, his fingers gripping your hair tightly as he rides out the waves of his orgasm.

A long, broken groan escapes his lips, his entire body trembling as he surrenders to the pleasure. You keep your lips wrapped around him, your hand still gently massaging him, coaxing every last drop from him as he shudders beneath you. His hips rock gently against your mouth, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as he finally starts to come down from the high.

When the last of the tremors finally subside, you pull back slowly, your lips slipping off his length with a soft, wet pop. His chest is heaving, his breath still uneven, and his eyes are half-lidded as he looks down at you, his gaze hazy with the remnants of pleasure. His hands loosen in your hair, sliding down to rest gently on your shoulders, his touch soft now, almost reverent.

"Fuck," he mutters, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. His head tips back, and he lets out a long, slow exhale, his body relaxing as the tension finally leaves him. "That was... incredible."

You smirk up at him, wiping the back of your hand across your lips, your body still brimming with the satisfaction of knowing you made him come undone like that. “I know."

Two can play that game, asshole.

[valscigarette]

Meek and the Bold

Warning for Piss

It can be difficult to get work done when Vox’s business partner is too much of a slut to go a single day without fucking Vox specifically. Nevermind that Val has enough whores at his disposal to get off whenever he wants. More than once, Vox has wondered if his partnership with Val is part of his eternal torture, but he always reminds himself that business is better with Valentino. Someone has to run the porn studio. He also makes a pretty office decoration when Vox gets tired of fending off his advances.

As Vox fires off another email, Val’s constant stream of whimpers raise in volume and pitch, garbled like he’s trying to speak behind his gag. Vox rolls his eyes and switches to the next email. “Shut up,” he reminds, too absent to have real bite behind it. “Daddy’s working.”

Val whines indignantly.

“You can take it,” Vox tells him.

He’s only had Val tied up for a couple hours. Since he’s been so insatiable, Vox hoped an afternoon strapped to a fucking machine would remind Val not to bother him while he’s working. Somehow the cameras trained on Val’s face, dick, and ass streaming to Vox’s desktop are less of a distraction than Val whispering obscenities in his ear. He glances to them to make sure nothing’s wrong. But no, Val looks exactly as he had before he started complaining. The fine fur coating his body is shiny with sweat and come, tears cut tracks down to the corners of his stretched mouth, and each thrust of the machine into him noticeably distrends his lower stomach. As far as Vox is concerned, there’s nothing worth indulging Val’s latest attempt to distract him.

Refocusing on his inbox, he discards the warning about a defect in their latest TV line–something about shocking the user if they try to change the channel too frequently–and moves onto a revised budget proposal for season thirty two of Yeah, I Fucked Your Sister, So What? The casting director wants to hire some famous imp to play a new character, but their going rate is far too high for a fucking hellborn. Vox emails back to fire the casting director and figure out a replacement before the end of the day.

Behind him, Val cries loudly and flutters his wings, creating enough of a draft to send Vox’s paperwork flying off his desk in a hundred directions. Fine. Val wants Vox’s attention? He has it.

Vox shoves his chair back and stalks over to Val. A fine tremor has set in across Val’s body, earlier than usual, but far from enough to concern Vox. He tilts his head to the side and adjusts his cameras to study every angle of Val’s body simultaneously.

“You came six times and you’re still this desperate for attention?” he asks.

Val shakes his head and sobs something into his gag.

That’s less like him; he definitely has more rounds left. Vox unbuckles Val’s gag and eases it from between his lips, massaging his jaw for a moment before giving him the chance to speak.

“Now, what’s so important?”

After another wheezing inhale to steady himself, Val looks up at Vox with glassy eyes and whines, “I really have to piss, Vox.”

“Okay,” Vox replies. “And?”

As if Val has ever been gun shy before. More than once, he's fucked up Vox's circuitry because he preferred, for some inexplicable reason, to piss on or in Vox instead of taking a bathroom break or holding it like a normal person. Vox doesn't give a rat's ass whether Valentino has to piss right now.

“Finally into it, are you?” Val goads.

“Not really.”

Vox reaffixes Val's gag and pats him condescendingly on the cheek before returning to his desk. He won't be able to focus on his work but the illusion of dismissal gets Val to whine again.

“It's just good entertainment,” Vox continues, “to see you throw a tantrum about this when I know watersports is in your top five kinks.”

The gag muddles Val's words but not his sardonic tone or the tightening of his abdominal muscles as he fights to keep control of his bladder.

“You can let go any time, Val. I'm the only one watching, and you don't have anything to lose but what, your pride? I'm sure your ego will survive the blow.”

Whatever smart-ass response Val might have had planned dissolves in a moan of relief when he can't hold it back anymore. Both Vox and his computer terminals are far enough from the splash zone to be safe as Val writhes in his bondage, the fucking machine continuing to pound into him even as he pisses all over himself and Vox's office floor, and comes again as soon as the flow begins to taper off.

“Are you going to think twice the next time you feel like interrupting my work?” Vox asks.

Val shakes his head, even as every exhale carries a breathy noise of overstimulation.

“Let me know when you change your mind.”

At that, Vox opens his email to pretend to resume working.

[starlitdumbass]

JEAN JEAN I HAD AN AU IDEA AND I RUSHED TO YOUR INBOX BEFORE IT COULD DISAPPEAR OK SO

Royal au right but specifically arranged marriage so shikaneji's kingdom and gaalee's kingdom have been at war for a long time not with each other just in general. So when their respective wars finally end they're like geez we need allies kinda bad. So shikamaru is like whats the quickest way to make friends in this day and age we dont have any resources to spare so no trade agreement then he looks over at shikarin throwing knives at his dartboard and he's like....sigh and starts drafting up the proposal letter. Now gaalee get the letter and they're hesitant of course cuz like they love their kids but shika is really convincing and they're like you know the other kingdom's capital is only a day and a half away on horseback so our kid would never be far and we really do need the resources. So they take a look at their kids and make the choice almost instantly bc ori is too old at this point iya is too young and out of aika and mako aika is least likely to start an international scandal. So they write back to shikamaru about their choice and how they'll drop by in 2 weeks to make the official proposal and shikamaru is like hell yeah that was easier than i expected but shikarin being shikarin has now gotten word that her dad is trying to marry her off and she's determined to fuck it up bc first of all how dare you and second of all she's never met this kid what do her stupid parents know. Anyway gaalee arrive with aika and the plan is since shikarin and aika are both like 15 they're only gonna get betrothed now and actually marry when they're adults so neji has gotten shikarin as cleaned up as she'll allow and they're waiting for the gaalee delegation and shikarin is so determined to hate this kid and ruin the betrothal but then aika walks into the throne room all cute and excited and shika's like. Oh. So now shikarin can't even go through with her original plan bc this is the cutest girl she's ever seen wtf where were yall hiding her. So long story short they spend the next 5 years going back and forth between their kingdoms and falling in love and everyone thinks theyre the cutest even if their siblings tease them all the time

GALAXY BRAINED AU MY FIREND WOW

Like gosh might I add some things such as designs of course huehue

I'd like to think that the arrangement was more Neji's idea and Shikamaru eventually agrees even tho he wasn't really for it. However, considering him and Neji were an arrangement for political purposes but it turned out better then expected, the same could happen for her.

The only reason Shikarin is even slightly cooperative in this is because Neji has warned her not to embrace her kingdom and at least meet with the person.

Also on Aika's end I'm sure her anxiety is lessened because Lee is constantly telling her all about how Neji is an old good friend of his so she's expecting someone with a similar personality to her his (which shikarin is far from lmfao). So when they meet she's more then a little shocked to see how stiff and stoic they all are. But Shikarin still makes her heart flutter so you know~.

[onceuponaloonatic]

i found this old misamo draft and just felt like sharing since it's so adorable. i edited it a bit to reflect my current writing style !! sorry i've been gone, classes started again and it's been a little overwhelming. i try to work on stuff when i can and have some stuff in the works, so i'll try to get them out soon !! also my inbox is empty again so if you have any lingering ideas i'm happy to listen to them. i may not post much but i do lurk around here a lot. love you guys !!

Mina didn’t know how long she had been there.

Sana and Momo were fast asleep behind her, both of them had passed out the minute they realized they finally had a little bit of time to sleep. Mina had tried to join them at first, but despite her exhaustion, she just couldn’t sleep. Not with the tiny little bundle that had recently taken up residence in their bedroom.

Being a parent was weird, Mina was coming to realize. Before, it had just been her, Sana, and Momo. They had created their own little world, their own perfect life in France. Their careers had been fun while they lasted, even if there were times Mina hated her job more than anything. There were days it was so hard, she was surprised she was able to convince people her smile was real. Days she was surprised she was able to get out of bed. Surprised she was able to keep going, keep performing. There was a period she couldn’t even remember any of her stages, she would just be in the dressing room one minute and suddenly she was in the van pushed up against Jeongyeon or Jihyo and everyone was telling her how good their performance was. Even with all of this though, Mina was happy with her job at the end of the day. She met Sana and Momo. She got to shine as bright as had desired when she was too young to even imagine the life she would have later. She got to see the world, she got to put smiles on people’s faces, and she got to be a role model for people all over the world.

Mina had thought she would be sadder when twice ended. But she didn’t really felt sad. She didn’t really feel anything. They had all known it was coming, and it felt right. They had a good run, but it was time for them all to move on with their lives. For Mina to move on, with the loves of her life.

All their friends were sad when they moved to France, but it felt right. East Asia would always remind them of their careers, retirement couldn’t erase ten years of being the nation’s girl group. They knew if they wanted to start this next chapter of their lives, they had to go somewhere far away. All three of them had moved to another country before, and honestly, France just felt like the right place for them to start their new lives as retired people. Sana laughed when she called them that, saying thirty-three was too young to be retired. But that’s what they were, retired.

It was nice living with just Sana and Momo. Life was a lot simpler now, but Mina loved it. She didn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing or wearing the wrong outfit or her face was bloated. All she had to worry about now was what day to go grocery shopping and if she had hung the laundry up yet. Yes, being an idol was great, but this was great too. In a completely different way.

Mina had been happy with just Sana and Momo, but she also didn’t hate the idea of having a kid. It seemed interesting, and she had always thought about what it would be like to be a mom. Sana and Momo were more outwardly excited, but Mina couldn’t help the mounting internal excitement when they found out they were going to be moms. And now that their baby was actually here, Mina couldn’t help herself from being obsessed with her.

When Momo and Sana fell asleep, Nico was fast asleep too. Sana had just fed her and Nico had fallen asleep on Momo’s chest while Momo swayed her gently. Mina knew from experience that was enough to put anyone to sleep, it was one of the comfiest places on earth. However, just like it had been in the past twenty-four hours since Nico came home, she was awake not long after falling asleep. Mina had been watching her when she woke up. Mina liked watching Nico. She liked memorizing her baby’s features. She always took notes on all the pieces of Sana she saw in Nico. All the pieces of Momo. It was weird, Nico wasn’t biologically related to Mina at all, but she also couldn’t help but see little pieces of herself in Nico too.

When Nico woke up, she didn’t cry. Maybe it’s because she knew Mina was right there, or maybe she just didn’t need anything, but she stayed quiet in her crib. She made eye contact with Mina before yawning and squirming a little. Mina expected her to cry, but she didn’t. Instead, she and Mina started a small staring contest. It wasn’t awkward though, it somehow felt right. Like Mina’s life had been leading up to this moment. It was weird, that something so simple made her feel so happy. Being a parent was weird.

She didn’t know how long they stayed like this, but eventually, her moment was interrupted by the annoying buzz of her phone in her pocket.

She didn’t want to leave Nico, so she picked her up as gently as possible and carried her to the living room. She made sure Nico was comfy against her chest before she answered her phone.

“I knew you would be awake.” Nayeon’s teasing voice came through the phone.

“I could have been asleep.” Mina nodded, drawing small shapes on the back of Nico’s back.

“You're not. You are with her, aren’t you?” Mina nodded, panning the camera down to show Nico on her chest.

“Want to meet her?” Mina smiled. They had been away from their phones all day, wanting to spend every spare second with Nico now that she was home. This meant their friends hadn’t been able to see Nico, in video chat or in photo form.

“I met her when she was born.” Nayeon giggled. “But, that was two months ago, so I’ll meet her again.”

“Okay.” Mina couldn’t wipe the smile from her face if she wanted to. She moved Nico so she was facing the camera, her body being supported by Min. “Nico-ya, this is Auntie Nayeon. She’s your godmother.” Nico made a little noise as she got some spit on her face. Mina laughed, grabbing a spit rag for Nico and kissing her hair. “I think that means she likes you.”

“Hi, sweetheart. I like you too.” Nayeon had tears in her eyes. She had always gotten emotional around babies, but especially any of the twice-member’s kids. Jeongyeon had always teased her relentlessly for it. “It’s nice to finally see you at home.”

“We are happy to have her here. Sana was going a little crazy and Momo has a talent for encouraging her. Everything is okay now though.” Mina took one of Nico’s hands and squeezed it.

“I’m sure it drove all of you crazy. You should have seen Jihyo with Eunmi. She only had a three-week stay and she drove her husband and me absolutely crazy. She vicariously lived through Hyemi to deal with her Eunmi issues. It was kind of nice at first to have someone to take care of her, but it got too much pretty fast.” Nayeon giggled. “Speaking of Hyo, she told me to tell you to text her. She and I were planning on coming out to see Nico soon.”

“Oh, it’s okay. We know you guys are busy.”

“Nah, we both need some time away, especially Hyo. Have you talked to Chae and Tzu yet?”

“They actually have some big trips coming up. But they said they do want to come to see Nico soon. They want to stay for a while.” Mina explained, adjusting Nico in her lap.

“They are both so in love with Nico. It’s sweet.” Nayeon laughed at the thought. “I know they are both pretty against having their own kids, so it’s cute they are latching onto Nico as hard as they have been.”

“Yeah, they’ve never really been like this before. But she got that from Sana, everyone loves her.” Mina had thought about this before. Sana was born to be loved. Her being an idol was like fate. Everyone loved her, and the people who didn’t were either jealous or spiteful. And even then, Sana even loved people like that back. Sana’s heart was so good, she always tried to love people before anything else. Mina had always adored that about her.

“I love her more than I love Sana.” Nayeon shrugged.

“I’ll be sure to tell her that when she wakes up.” Mina giggled. “I’m sure it will make her day.”

“Wait no please don’t do that. I used to live with Sana, I know she will leave me like ten voicemails complaining I don’t love her.” Mina couldn’t help but giggle at the whine in Nayeon’s voice.

“Nope, you said it. Can’t take it back now.” Mina continued laughing until she heard some shuffling around behind her. She turned and found Momo coming towards her with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and her eyes half-closed. “Hello.”

“Mitang.” Momo whined as a response, plopping herself down next to Mina.

“Is that Momo?” Nayeon asked.

“Hi Nayeon-Unnie.” Momo greeted before pressing her face into Mina’s shoulder. “Mitang it’s sleepy time.”

“You were asleep, why did you wake up?” Mina giggled, brushing Momo’s hair out of her face.

“Sana kicked me.” Momo whined. “And it felt too cold.”

“You had Sana and two blankets.” Mina nodded.

“Sana is too warm,” Momo muttered. “Mitang is the perfect temperature.”

“So Sana is too warm, but I’m the perfect temperature?” Mina giggled. “Anyway, We’ll be up in a minute, so go ahead and go back to bed.”

“I’ll wait.” Momo nodded, kissing Mina’s shoulder and laying a hand onto Nico’s back.

“It’s like three am over there, if you guys are tired you really should go to bed. Nico’s awake but she’s quite and honestly with newborns that’s the best your going to get.” Nayeon looked at the two with a fond smile. One that could only come about from watching a romance blossom between some of her favorite people. ‘Besides, she can’t sleep if Mina is fussing over her too much.”

“She has a point.” Momo muttered into Mina’s shoulder.

“Okay.” Mina couldn’t help her heart from fluttering at the little kisses Momo left along her shoulder. When she was younger, they might have been hot, and definitely something she wouldn't let anyone else see. But now they just felt comforting. She knew Momo loved her.

“Have a good day Unnie.” Momo greeted from her spot on Mina's shoulder.

“Nico-ya be good. I’ll see you soon my love.” Nayeon blew kisses at the camera.

“None for us?” Momo whined.

“Nope. Bye Nico!” Nayeon waved as she hung up. Mina rolled her eyes and looked down at Nico, who was already half asleep.

“Looks like someone’s ready for bed.” Mina giggled.

“Can't blame me. I was fast asleep with my Mitang.” Momo pouted.

“Not you.” Mina giggled. “Our lives don't revolve around us anymore.”

No.” Mina felt Momo’s smile without having to look at her. “And are you okay with that?”

“I’m more than okay with it.” Mina nodded. “I love it.”

[just-my-fandom]

The One (Steve Harrington x Byers! Reader)

Drabble

Request; R is Jonathans twin sister who is with Steve and Robin in the stalls at the mall bathroom, and Robin asks Steve if he still loves Nancy and he reveals that he loves the reader

A/N; This one was kinda rushed, and I’m so sorry if I haven’t gotten to your request yet, my inbox is packed. Schools got me in a bundle with me struggling with Algebra 2 and my overflowing art projects so I’m trying to clean out my drafts before starting on my inbox, but, enjoy!

“Try to hold pressure on it,”

“Yeah, I know Steve now stop touching it,”

Steve leans back against the bathroom stall behind him, eyes watching you hold the bundled ball of toilet paper to your nose, wincing visibly in pain,

“Does it hurt?” Robin asks, her voice echoing from the stall next to you and Steve,

“Feels like I got punched,” You mutter, leaning your head back on the wall and shutting your eyes, “You good over there Robin?”

“Peachy,” Robin giggles warily, and you grimace when she hurls a second time into the toilet beside her, “Nope, thought about peaches, not okay,”

“How about,” You sigh, scooting to sit up on the wall and glance down at the bloody cloth in your hand, “We play a game,”

“A game? Really?” Steve lifts his head, eyeing you,

“Robin,” You ignore Steve’s comment, “Have you ever fucked in a bathroom?”

“Wha-?” Robin laughs into the toilet, coughing and lifting her head, “No,” She shifts against her own stall, clearing her throat,

“Steve,” Said boy hums in acknowledgement, “Have you ever been in love?”

Steve exhales through his nose in a laugh, eyes watching you shut your eyes tiredly and continue holding the toilet paper to your bloody nose, “Yeah,” He smacks his lips, “Nancy Wheeler. First semester senior year,”

“She’s such a priss,” Robin mumbles, hearing your snort then groan when you cough up the snorted blood,

“Your twin brother isn’t the one dating her,” You mutter, rolling your eyes,

“Y/N,” Robin calls, “Have you ever been in love?”

You extend your hand to Steve when he pulls out bundles of more toilet paper, tossing your used tissue in the trash nearby, “Nope,” You sigh, “With everything going on with my younger brother, I’ve been too depressed and emotional to keep a relationship,”

Robin hums, turning her head subconsciously as if moving her attention to Steve, “Steve, are you still in love with Nancy?”

“No,”

Your eyes flutter open to look at Steve, watching his eyes look up to meet yours at Robins pause,

“Why?”

“Maybe because I found someone a little better for me,” His eyes remain on yours, your own shown to have black circles beneath and puffiness from tears back when you were punched by the Russian man, “She’s someone who I never talked to in school. Not until we bumped heads,”

You lift your head to stare at the teenager across from you, brows furrowing,

“You know, she’s great,” Steve turns his head in the direction of Robin, but his eyes still against yours, “She’s been through so much shit, but yet she somehow finds a way to smile at everyone, to keep her family in line,”

“She sounds amazing,” Robin smiles, and you can hear the grin in her voice when she realizes his confession,

“She is,” Steve looks down from your gaze, your hand lowering your tissue to blink,

“Steve,” You speak up, waiting for him to look back up at you, “Are you talking about me?”

“...Yes?” Steve exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, “Shit. I made it awkward,”

“How?” You whisper, Steve blinking away the burn in his eyes,

“My ex is dating your twin brother. Us,” He waves a hand between you, “It’ll make it more awkward,”

“But we’re all friends,” You remind, swallowing, “We could make it work,”

“Are you saying?” Steve pauses, and you let your lips pull upwards,

“I like you too, Steve,” You look down when blood drops onto the tissue, raising it back to your nose,

“Can I tell you guys something?” Robin speaks up, guiding your gaze away from Steve’s,

You grunt as you stand up, Steve sitting up when you stumble from the loss of blood, but watches you leave the stall, and enter Robins,

“Anything,” You sit down beside her, watching Steve slide under the stall so he was in front of you both,

Robin pauses, looking between her two friends before sighing, looking at you, “I like girls,” She reveals, voice cracking,

“As in friends?” Steve questions, wincing when you kick his knee and grin at Robin,

“Robin that’s amazing!” You exhale, Robin smiling when you extend an arm, and she accepts your side embrace,

“Guys!” You pull back at Dustins sudden shout, looking over at him and Erica at the door of the restroom, “Why the fuck are y’all hugging on the bathroom floor?”

“Not important,” You huff, standing up and extending a hand to Steve and watching him hesitate, before he takes it and stands up, “Let’s go,”

“Uh, you’re bleeding,” Erica informs, “Bad,”

You wipe your sleeve under your nose, wincing at the dark red stain on your hoodie before shaking your head, grabbing a roll of toilet paper, “I’ll be fine,”

“What the hell happened to her?” Erica asks, Steve wiping his hands on his uniform and walking after you,

“She got punched by a Russian,” Robin answers cooly, Dustin laughing half heartedly,

“Oh Joyce better not find out,”

[jihyosforehead]

can we pls have dubchaetzu fluff please

i like how super polite u were and said please twice omg absolute cutie uwuuu (also im so sorry this has been sitting in my inbox for 72 years)

…

“hey dude, did you need to grab any food?”

chaeyoung looks up from her laptop to peer at nayeon.

“what?” chaeyoung asks, sheepishly.

“i asked if you needed to buy any food. you know, from the line?” she says patiently. she throws a hand behind her, and chaeyoung’s eyes follow the movement; jeongyeon and momo are waving so frantically at them that they’ve begun to cause a scene.

“nah, i brought something from home. it’s leftovers day,” chaeyoung tells her with a bright grin, happiness coating her voice. nayeon is completely unable to help herself from patting chaeyoung’s head affectionately. she leaves with a final head pat, storming over to grab momo from backing into a group of bystanders.

chaeyoung pulls out her lunchbox from her bag and a small blue post-it note flutters down to rest on the table in the most dramatic way possible. black ink lettering the paper in careful, delicate strokes.

chaeyoungie,

i think you’re eggcellent :)

there’s a drawing of three eggs in a sizzling frying pan with smiley faces.

a goofy grin creeps across her face and doesn’t leave even when she’s home in bed, staring at the ceiling.

…

dahyun sighs heavily. she was so run down from assignments and homework. there was a six page essay about like? space or something? a group assignment about pollution. and her personal favourite: studying for the end of unit chemistry test. but for now. dahyun is going to eat some lunch.

sana and mina are sitting across from her chatting. or flirting. who knows with these two sometimes. dahyun is eating in peace. dahyun is chewing. dahyun is enjoying her chicken. dahyun is not thinking about homework -

“what’s that, dahyunnie?” sana asks suddenly, ending her train of thought. dahyun looks up at her mid-chew, making a confused noise.

sana snatches a blue post-it note at dahyun��s elbow and her eyes scan over it quickly and then holds it to her chest and sighs theatrically. mina shaking her head exasperatedly before handing the note over.

dahyunnie,

all you knead is love.

under it, is a drawing of a bag of flour kneading a ball of dough.

dahyun somehow powers through her study guide and gets started on the essay.

…

saturday morning finds chaeyoung two hours into an eight hour shift at the local music shop. it’s been a really hectic day, an almost unending stream of customers keeping her occupied since opening.

“excuse me do you have this poster in stock?” “well, can you check in the back?” “why don’t you carry one direction vinyls?” “by the way, someone knocked down the display stand with all the christmas CDs. yeah i didn’t see.”

she barely had a second to breathe. and plus her co-worker had called in late so now chaeyoung was behind on inventory.

but.

it’s leftovers day again and chaeyoung is looking forward to her ham and cheese sandwich. but mostly she’s interested in the strawberry tart she’s going to eat for dessert. there’s another blue post-it note, this time it’s stuck to her apple.

chaeyoung grins widely at the familiar careful, black lettering.

chaengie!

i’m soy into you. :D

there’s a carefully drawn piece of sushi and a bottle of soy sauce directly under it.

chaeyoung feels her day immediately brighten, warmth tightening across her heart. a shitty customer isn’t a match for a truly solid pun.

…

there isn’t really a word to describe how much dahyun detested group assignments. her team members had all conveniently forgotten to email their drafts by the agreed on date.

“dahyun i’m sorry, i just haven’t had time” “i totally forgot about that my bad” “i had practice all week!”

and now. they were running behind. (not really).

but they were running behind according to dahyun’s very well put together, well-crafted, truly excellent planning board! (they were two days behind). she’d have to completely overhaul it and adjust everything.

(the assignment wasn’t due for another two weeks).

dahyun slumped in her uncomfortable plastic chair, pretending not to look put off by how animatedly her group members discussing something completely irrelevant over their uneaten lunch. she pulls out her juice-box with a huff, stabbing the straw in aggressively. she yanks out her cutlery and a blue post-it note floats out gently behind it. dahyun snatches it out of the air, brows furrowed.

dubu!!

i lava you!

there’s a picture of a volcano with red lava spilling from the top to form a heart. dahyun feels her frustration leave, warm affection in its place. okay so maybe, she could probably loosen up her deadlines. maybe.

dahyun’s definitely seen this pun. it has chaeyoung written all over it. 

…

chaeyoung’s perched at the edge of her seat, munching absentmindedly on carrot stick, occasionally dipping it into an unidentifiable sauce. it tasted vaguely like mayonnaise and pickles but it was kind of good so she’s not really going to question what’s in it. instead she’s typing rapidly at her laptop, sighing every few minutes.

she was so so so behind on the written section of her portfolio. she’s not really sure why she left it last minute knowing full well she had a whole twenty pages of her own work to analyse. she chews more aggressively at her carrot sticks.

jihyo pokes at her shoulder. hard.

“you have to relax.”

“i can’t!” chaeyoung tells her, obscurely aware that she sounded very panicked, “i have so many words to shit out! and so few minutes to shit them out in!!”

jihyo gives her a deeply unamused smile. chaeyoung can’t find in her to care that she’s cursed in front of her mother.

“you’ll be fine,” jihyo says, firmly. “when’s it due anyway?”

“in two days!”

“you’ll be fine.” jihyo says, sounding completely unconvincing. chaeyoung leans back in her chair and stares at the ceiling. “here, eat something.”

she’s digging in chaeyoung’s bag and then holds out a banana and a neatly packaged container of salad. there’s a blue post-it note stuck to the lid.

chaeng

i’m always thinking a bao you :P

there’s a picture of three baos, lined up in a row, with tiny pink hearts between each one. jihyo’s lips are twitching into a smile at chaeyoung’s enamoured expression. chaeyoung thinks dahyun’s really outdone herself this time.

(chaeyoung hands in her portfolio in on time and also gets a 97%).

…

dahyun’s aware of the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. she’s in the bathroom, back against the door, breathing heavily. like she’s escaped a murderer or something. She catches her reflection in the mirror and her hair is sticking up in sixteen different directions, she’s got a weird green stain on her collar and she’s holding a bar of chocolate protectively against her chest.

she’s locked herself in a room away from screaming children. okay. so the children were her cousins. but. they were screaming and she needed a break. there were only so many times she could watch the elmo’s world theme song on repeat. it’s ingrained so deeply in her brain that if aliens kidnapped her and wiped her memory completely, she’s sure that the elmo song would still be embedded in there somewhere. like a sesame street sleeper agent.

and also she wanted to eat her chocolate in secret. if she’d learnt anything, is that kids take the sharing lesson very seriously. especially when it comes to chocolate. especially when it comes to dahyun not sharing her chocolate. there’s a blue post-it note stuck to the back of the packaging.

dubuuu !

you always make me hap-pea :o

there’s a drawing of three peas in a pod and an almost ridiculous amount of emoji faces surrounding the picture. dahyun feels her heart swell at least three sizes. the kids are somehow easier to face.

…

tzuyu watches chaeyoung stick another blue post-it note into her journal, gluing it down to the page carefully, tongue sticking out in concentration. she tries not to notice the intensely deep affection warm her entire body when she notices that the entire page are those post-it puns she’s been giving secretly. chaeyoung’s filling in the blank spaces, seemingly at random with pops of purple and green and little drawings of cookies and yoda.

dahyun is tilting her head to one side, blonde hair falling down her back with her movements; kind of like a puppy, tzuyu thinks, her nose scrunching up at how adorable the sight is. and she tries not to notice the affection grow when dahyun holds both hands up, her index fingers and thumbs forming an L-shape, lips jutted out dramatically, one eye closed, she’s crouching on the floor.

dahyun’s spent the whole afternoon rearranging her blue post-it note collection, and blue-tacking her favourites to her wall.

tzuyu’s aware that dahyun thinks chaeyoung’s been giving her the post-its. and vice versa.

(but she’s completely unaware that dahyun and chaeyoung have known it was her from the second a dopey, proud smile crossed her face when they first showed her their post-it notes.)

they think tzuyu’s proud, dopey smile is their new favourite thing.

right up there with tzuyu’s heart.

[wordsdrippinginink]

Modern Pokemon Go Au, anyone?  (*-_-) I can’t believe I forgot this was in my drafts, oops.

Marco gets Pokemon GO downloaded onto his phone three hours after midnight the night it comes out while he asleep.

He wakes up to a post it note on his screen and 20% battery, already knowing it’s Ace’s fault.

‘That Pokémon game that I’ve been waiting for finally came out, but my phone doesn’t support it. :(.’ Ace’s scrawl is even harder to read early in the morning. ‘Our starter is Charmander.’

Marco blinks slowly at the note and understands less than he normally does. Instead, he stumbles to the bathroom to get ready for work, putting the game out of his mind until he’s at the office.

The start-up music is loud, enough so that Marco slaps his hand over the speakers and shakes his head as he thumbs down the volume. He blinks at the tiny person that appears on screen, his head tipped to the side.

The username isn’t AceOspades like Ace normally uses in games, the name FireBirb in the corner by the bar that measured how far away from the next level they were.

Marco backs out the app and pulls up messenger, hoping to get up message to Ace before he went to sleep.

'FireBirb?’

'Fire for me and Birb for you.’ Ace answers almost instantly. 'We are the mighty FireBirb.’

Marco rolls his eyes and goes back in, prodding a button that pulls up the list of Pokémon that Ace had caught the night before.

The highest level is 1350 and it belongs to a fire unicorn named Striker. Beside it is a fire cat, maybe a fox, called Flareon only a hundred points under that. The weakest is a fire lizard with 55 called Phoenix.

He scrolls through the fifty-something Pokémon that Ace caught in the course of the night, a disproportionate amount of them were something that Marco would use the word fire to describe.

Marco jolts when his phone buzzes, bouncing in horror and exiting back to the map to find a fire dog, like the one that Ace had named Stephan, on the map before him. He taps and startles when it appears closer and he throws the balls that appear at the bottom of the screen and catches it. Marco grins.

There’s a strange thing at the front of the building in yellow, Marco taps it and blinks as he appears to get himself in the middle of something, tapping at the screen until he wins. When he gets back to the map, the things is gray and empty, he taps it again and next thing he knows the thing belongs to him?

“Morning,” Izo says breezing past only half an hour late, “Has Pops come in yet?”

“No.” Marco answers as a purple rat looking thing appears on screen. “Neither has Thatch. Or Curiel.”

Izo sighs, “Thatch is always late,” He pulls out his own phone and starts doing something. “Ugh.”

“Ugh?”

“The gym at the office is held by Valor.” Izo pulls a face. “Who is FireBirb?”

Marco blinks, already knowing what he has to do, “We have a gym?”

“In the Pokémon GO app,” Izo answers, “We have a gym and two convenient PokeStops. Played a bit last night.”

“That’s what Ace downloaded onto my phone.” Marco says slowly.

Izo laughs, “Ace needs to get a new phone.”

-

Ace lounges over Marco’s bed, phone in his hand and Pokémon music loud in Marco’s room. His feet kicking back and forth.

“Sabo said that FireBirb took over the gym at your work,” Ace says going through everything that Marco caught at work. “Good job.”

“I didn’t know what I was doing. I just tapped the screen. FireBirb?”

Ace hums, “Yeah. Normally you don’t play any of the games that I play, so I figured it wouldn’t be cool to use my personal username and you were sleeping. So the FireBirb came to life.”

“You’re ridiculous. And a fox appeared.”

“Eebee!” Ace shouts tapping horrified and relaxing only after it was caught. “I need all the Eebees, Marco.”

“Eebees?”

Ace nods, “E-e-v-e-e. Eebee.”

“Wouldn’t that be Eevee?”

“Shush, they are Eebees. They are cute little Eebees, Marco, the cutest.” Ace insists.

Marco rolls his eyes, “ So Eebees. Why do you need all the Eebees?”

Ace bounces upright on the bed, eyes glowing, “The Eebee, Marco, is the very best Pokémon to have because it will evolve into any of three Pokémon.”

“Wait, what’s evolving?”

“Most Pokémon can change into other Pokémon,” Ace pulls up Flareon. “This was once an innocent Eebee.”

Huh, Marco tilts his head to the side and stares at it, the Eevee was pretty cool.

“And in later games, the Eebee gained five more evolutions. But don’t worry about them,” Ace assures. “They aren’t in the game.”

Marco nods and understands nothing.

-

Pokémon is fun, for all that Marco isn’t too sure about what happens in the game. It doesn’t always make much sense but it isn’t the worst time.

Besides, it means that Ace is around more and Marco can get behind that.

“FireBirb is going down today!” Izo declares throwing his fist up. “Today, I, Flintlock, shall take this gym!”

Marco ignores Izo’s shouts and checks the paperwork in his inbox. There’s a file that Pops wants double checked for errors before they send it to the customer.

“No!” Thatch shouts rolling his chair into the walk space between Marco and Izo’s cubicles. “Team Mystic can’t take down this menace. I, seachef, will lay claim to this gym."

Marco rolls his eyes and checks the gym curiously. The Flareon in the gym is over 1000 cp and there's a second one that Ace set up that's bordering on 2000 that he can use to wipe them out with or put in. The gym won't leave his hands.

He wins.

He doesn't even have to change the Flareons out. Which is nice. There's another gym down by Ace's station that he wanted to take over.

'How r the kids' Ace texts later after both Izo and Thatch have lost horribly.

It’s a joke of a sentence, something said for a laugh, but it makes Marco’s heart clench and something warm curl in his chest.

‘Fine, we still own the gym.’

‘My eebees?’

Marco smiles, taking the time to take a snapshot of the Eevees and send them to him, having caught two more of them because of the Poke-stop that is just at the edge of his building and his character is well within the range of. It’s kept well lured by the Pizza place that it represents.

‘EEBEES!’ Ace exclaims. ‘Look at all of them!’

‘They’re fine,’

Ace sends him a text that’s full of random letters and symbols, as if he tapped random buttons and then hit send.

‘Yes, they’ll be ready to go when you get home dear.’

‘Thks Darling!’

Marco drops his phone onto his desk and groans.

~

“Kids!” Ace shouts taking Marco’s phone before he’s gotten through the door. “How are you, babies?”

“I evolved the weird crab, now it is a bigger, weirder crab,” Marco says tugging off his shoes and dropping his sweater over the back of the couch.

Ace bounces excitedly, “Aw, one of you grew up!”

“I don’t think they can understand you,” Marco resists the urge to call Ace sweetheart because that would be going too far.

“Don’t listen to him, dad’s just cranky because he’s been at work all day.”

Marco bites the inside of his cheek, “Hungry?”

“I am ashamed that you even thought to ask that,” Ace returns sliding Marco’s phone into his back pocket. “How was your day?”

“Long, Izo tried to take over our gym and I beat them horribly, you?”

Ace slides into one of the stools at the breakfast nook, “Slept, harassed Luffy into doing the dishes, actually saw Sabo while he was also awake. Worried about our children.”

Marco ignores the flutter of his heart, the butterflies in his stomach as they eat and Ace launches into some story about something. Marco misses out on the point of it and doesn’t bother to ask.

“I love your bed,” Ace groans, flopping down on it as Marco moves to his desk, dishes in the dishwasher and kitchen cleaned. “It’s the best.”

“Shoes!” Marco warns, turning to catch Ace spread out over his sheets and turning to his computer quickly.

It’s Ace’s fault, all of this because now Marco is imagining them as married and he can’t. He’s spent years shoving aside this stupid crush and he won’t have this ruined because of a joking comment.

~

Ace frowns at Marco’s phone, the Poke-stops closest to the station are all lured and there’s plenty of Pokemon around to keep him from going crazy since his other duties are done.

“You okay?” Jiru asks, dropping into a seat. “Brought you dinner, courtesy of Thatch.”

“Thanks,” Ace grins, “I’m good. Just running on less sleep than normal, I wanted to see Sabo today, you know?”

Jiru laughs, “That’s what you get for working such polar opposite work hours. He’s still working for that Politician, ain’t he?”

“Yeah, Lu’s dad.”

“That is not a tired face, however, I would know I have more siblings than you have fingers. That’s a mooning face.” Jiru states with the ease of a man who knows he is right. “Tell me.”

“I might have made a joke about family, or about us being together, and he played along.”

Jiru stares at him, “You are adorable. That is adorable. I need to tell Marco about this,” Ace pales. “Oh,” Jiru grins, looking far too pleased with himself, “but you mean Marco, don’t you?”

“Hate you,” Ace mutters. “Should ban you from the station.”

“You can try,” Jiru promises, “But I think you’ll break in under a week, you like the lunches too much.”

Ace doesn’t deny it, it’s not inaccurate after all.

“Are you here to harass me too? Because I’m gonna have to take my lunch and tell you to leave.”

Jiru grins, “You could, or you could let me stay and tease you about your crush.”

“It’s not a crush!” Ace shouts, ducking his head as the rest of the station glances down to them. “It’s not,” He hisses softly.

“It’s not?” Jiru asks. “Then what is it?”

Ace doesn’t have an answer and Jiru doesn’t push. He waves Jiru off, staring at the screen of Marco’s phone as he waits for his shift to finish.

~

Marco groans when Ace bounces onto his bed, “I’m suppose to have the day off, which means sleeping in, not being woken up by you.”

“I wanted to show you what I caught at work!”

Marco holds his hand out for his phone, thumbing down the brightness and blinking sleepily at the screen as he scrolls through to look at whatever it was that Ace had caught.

He blinks, reordering the Pokemon when he catches changes to some of their names. He laughs, dragging Ace closer, grinning.

“Really?”

Ace grins hopefully, “So?”

“I think we have to date before I marry you,” Marco answers, kissing him. “But if you want, you can try again after dinner tonight?”

“It’s a date,” Ace agrees, “Tonight.”

“Tonight. Now let me sleep, some of us are still tired,” Marco yawns throwing a blanket over Ace’s face.

“I’m taking the kids for the morning!” Ace laughs taking Marco’s phone as he rolls off the bed. “Expect them back by noon!”

“They better be well rested!” Marco shouts after him. “I don’t want to have to deal with cranky kids!”

Ace shouts something affirmative back as Marco sighs and stares at the wall of his room. There was no way he was getting back to sleep anytime soon.