#biting and chewing and biting and chewing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cumironi · 17 hours ago

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MAY MY SOUL REST IN PEACE, AMENNN f. toji

☆ sum. ever since his wife divorce him for another man, toji never was with anyone, even in having intimacy, he never had any desire to kiss, touch, even fuck anyone, until he have you on his lap, riding him in one of the stall in the club.

warning. non-sorcerer reader, toji is a mess, p sooo good he almost cries, pu$$y-drunk toji, reader having a tats piercing. rough sex, public sex (bathroom stall), unprotected vaginal sex, size kink, praise kink, dirty talk, power imbalance (older man / younger woman), age gap relationship, orgasm denial / delayed climax, handjob, cumplay (internal ejaculation, cum leaking), pu$$y worship, overstimulation, leg folding position, possessive behavior, pussy drunk characterization, public exposure risk, aftercare / caretaking, mild consensual degradation oral fixation (nipple sucking, biting), references to breeding kink (implied), swearing / explicit language.

the club was called gristle, which already told you everything you needed to know: concrete walls painted matte black and lacquered in the sweat of too many strangers, music that sounded like a blender chewing up chrome, a bar lit up like a failed attempt at divine intervention. sticky floors. bodies everywhere. it was the kind of place that made your soul itch in your ribs and your bones hum. it was hell with a cover charge and you were thriving.

you were two tequila sodas deep, blinking rhinestones stuck to your collarbones like sweat-kissed stars, and dancing like your future career depended on it. maybe it did. shoko was three drinks ahead and exactly zero inhibitions behind. she was the kind of girl who never danced to the beat of the song—just the beat of spite. the kind of sway that said fuck you, yes you, i’m smarter than you, and i’ll outdrink you too. her cigarette was tucked behind one ear. a forgotten white flag.

“gojo’s in the dj booth trying to suck off the strobe light again,” she slurred into your shoulder.

you turned just in time to see gojo doing a very illegal-looking worm across the raised platform, flanked by a gaggle of girls who looked like they were filming a live breakdown for instagram. geto was sitting on the edge of the booth, draped in his coat like a tired mob wife, nodding along to whatever existential crisis the beat was currently having.

you laughed until your mascara creased. and then.

then.

a split-second crack in the atmosphere. a slither in your peripheral. someone watching you—not in the usual way, not the club way, the predatory frat-boy way—but something heavier. older. slower. the weight of it hit you somewhere between your stomach and your spine.

you turned.

and there he was.

he looked out of place in the same way a butcher knife looks out of place in a school lunchroom. not wrong, not technically, just... deeply inappropriate. green jacket, black tank, that wide-built way of holding himself like he didn’t trust the world not to jump him at a red light. a thick scar ran down the corner of his mouth like a cruel afterthought. he had a drink in one hand, pinky ring glinting under the lazy spin of a broken disco ball, and he was sucking a tooth with a mouth made for war crimes.

next to him sat another guy—sleek, fox-faced, gold chain and a tattoo that slithered up his neck like a wine stain—but he wasn’t looking at you.

toji fushiguro was.

not like he was checking you out. not like he was undressing you with his eyes. not like a man drunk on his own age gap perversions. he was looking at you like he recognized you. like you’d been a thorn in his side in another life. like you were the sound of the trigger just before it broke.

he didn’t smile.

he didn’t look away.

and you—because you were drunk and stupid and it was the last week of finals and your body was humming from the low voltage burn of too much bass and not enough shame—you didn’t look away either.

you reached up, swiped a smear of glitter from the hollow of your throat, and licked it off your finger.

toji’s jaw flexed.

“you seeing that?” shoko asked beside you, voice dry and amused like she was watching a nature documentary and you were the gazelle about to get railed.

you didn’t answer.

because his eyes—god, his fucking eyes—they were the kind that said i haven’t had sex in years, and i will wreck you like it's penance. he looked like he hadn’t touched anyone since the divorce. like he hated that he still wanted to. like the wanting itself was its own dirty little sin.

he leaned back in the booth, legs spread obscenely wide, the kind of man who made space by taking it. his hand moved, slow, up to his mouth, dragging a thumb along his lower lip.

you felt it like a bruise blooming.

shoko snorted. “bitch, he’s gonna eat you alive.”

“maybe i wanna be eaten.”

she shoved her drink into your hand. “then go get digested.”

you turned back to him.

he was still watching. still calm. like he had all the time in the world to decide whether or not to ruin yours.

and you?

you smiled.

because sometimes, finals week ends with a degree. and sometimes it ends with a man who hasn’t touched a single soul since his wife left him looking at you like you were the last bad decision he’d ever make. but, you don’t know that yet.

the bass dropped again.

so did your common sense.

toji didn’t blink.

not when the lights strobed red-blue-red like a police raid inside your chest. not when someone spilled a drink too close to his boots. not when the fox-faced man beside him leaned in and said something—low and fast and close to his ear.

toji just nodded. lazy. like the nod was a formality. like whatever was said didn’t need his actual attention. his eyes never left you. not even for a second. he exhaled through his nose. slow. and then, with a flick of his wrist, the friend stood and left, disappearing into the crush of the crowd like he’d never been real. no goodbye, no handshake, no dap, no nothing. the seat was empty. the booth swallowed the vacancy like it was always meant for someone else.

the song changed. again. it had probably changed five times. you didn’t know. didn’t care. toji leaned back just a little further. the way a lion does when it’s already decided to pounce but wants to stretch first. his ring tapped the glass once. then he licked his bottom lip.

and that—

that was your fucking cue.

“he’s alone now,” you said to shoko, eyes still locked on his like they were glued to the roof of your own dumb horny brain. “and i just made a terrible decision in my mind that i would like to make worse in person.”

shoko didn’t even look. she just grabbed your cup and said flatly, “you go, sluts.”

“thanks, sluts.”

“godspeed, sluts.”

toji watched your approach like you were a slow car crash. like he didn’t want to stop it.

and then you were gone, cutting through the crowd like a little dumb thirsty dagger, the kind that didn’t kill, just ruined. your path to him wasn’t straight. it wobbled.

hips out of time with your legs, heartbeat too loud in your ears, glitter smudged down one cheek like a finger had already been there. every single person in the club was suddenly nothing but smoke and background static. the music, a dull throb behind the real percussion of your blood.

and when you stopped at the edge of his booth, one hand on the lip of the velvet seat, mouth parted just enough to be accused of thinking nasty things—

he tilted his head.

he looked down, slow, dragging his gaze over your body like a confession, then back up again.

he still hadn’t smiled.

he didn’t need to.

you were already fucked.

the booth was one of those deep, curved ones, made for mafia deals or the kind of drunk makeouts that ended in pregnancy scares and spiritual awakenings. the leather was the kind of cracked that whispered rumors about what had gone down here over the years—piss, blood, cum, cheap perfume, shame, maybe in that order. red vinyl, sticky in a way that suggested the cleaning crew gave up back in 2019. it curved around the edge of the room like the mouth of something hungry, all teeth and shadow and bad ideas.

toji sat dead center. like a throne. like he knew you’d come.

you hovered at the edge a second too long—long enough to register the way his thighs spread under the table, long enough to see the glass in his hand was more ice than liquor, long enough to feel the bass tremble up your calves and settle right behind your teeth. he didn’t say anything. didn’t lean forward. didn’t offer you a seat. didn’t look away.

so you climbed in.

slow. dramatic. like you’d rehearsed it. thigh first, then the swing of your leg over the lip of the booth, one hand braced on the table, the other catching the hem of your skirt as it threatened to ride too high. you slid in beside him, but not next to him. no. you gave him space. gave yourself room to breathe. gave the night a chance to hesitate. you slid in just far enough that your knee could maybe touch his if you angled wrong, just far enough that your perfume would reach him, but your intentions would still look innocent if someone were watching.

he looked at you then.

not a turn of the head. not a shift of his shoulders. just the eyes—those fucking eyes—cutting sideways like a blade, like a car mirror catching you just before it hits. they dropped again. took in your legs. your stomach. your mouth.

slowly.

like he had time. like he wasn’t planning anything. like he absolutely was. he took a sip from his glass. ice clicked against his teeth. “you here with your little boyfriend?” he asked, voice rough, deep, the kind of voice that sounded like it had gravel for breakfast and a grudge for dessert.

you blinked.

“what?”

toji tilted his chin toward the dance floor. “glitter rat in the booth. blonde. yelling at the DJ.” you glanced back. gojo was on his fourth attempt at beatboxing into a mic that wasn’t even plugged in. “jesus christ,” you muttered, then looked back at toji. “no. he’s just allergic to dignity.”

toji hummed. then his thumb brushed the condensation off the side of his glass, slow, deliberate. you watched the motion, unblinking. he tapped the glass against the table. “what about the girl? the one with the dead fish stare and a vendetta against buttons.” you grinned. “shoko? also not fucking her. though she’d be the one doing the fucking.”

“mm,” he said, not quite smiling, not quite breathing.

your knee brushed his. just barely. enough to count.

“you’re really checking out my whole friend group before you even ask my name?”

toji’s gaze flicked to you, then back to his glass. “don’t need your name,” he said. “i just wanted to make sure no one was gonna cry when i take you into the bathroom.” the air went out of you like someone had lit a match in your lungs. not subtle. not flirty. not pretending.

you swallowed. slowly.

“bold of you to assume i cry after.”

toji smirked then. not wide. not pretty. crooked. mean. like it hurt to do it. like he hadn’t done it in a while and wasn’t sure it was still worth the trouble. but it was a smile. for you. and something about it made your stomach twist like your bones were folding inward.

he reached across the table and stole your drink—no asking, no gesture, just took it from your hand like it already belonged to him—and sipped it. eyes never leaving yours.

“tequila,” he muttered. “figures.”

“and what the fuck does that mean?”

he shrugged. “means you want to do something stupid. something you can’t admit you want. something you’re gonna lie about to your friends in the morning.”

you stared at him.

and hated how right he was.

you leaned in, breath catching just slightly. “okay. and what do you want?” toji leaned back again, arm stretched across the back of the booth. his fingers—long, veined, scarred, absolutely filthy—rested behind your shoulder, not touching, just close enough to feel the heat.

he gave a lazy, brutal smile.

“i want to remember what it feels like to ruin someone.”

instead, you leaned in closer.

your throat went dry. your pulse tried to climb out of your neck.

you swallowed hard. you should’ve left. should’ve said something clever. should’ve laughed and slipped away and found someone safer to flirt with. someone your age. someone with a nice apartment and a philosophy minor.

and whispered, “bathroom’s to the left.”

he didn’t move. not yet. just gave you another look. slow. bottom to top. the kind of look that peeled layers. stripped the glitter off your skin. that set a small, sharp flame behind your belly button and said, “we’re not gonna be gentle. we’re not gonna be kind.”

toji downed the rest of his drink in one go.

and stood.

“don’t fall in love,” he said over his shoulder as he moved toward the hallway.

you followed. because it was already too fucking late.

the hallway to the bathroom was narrow, humid, and alive in the way all bad decisions are—pulsing with leftover bass, lit by flickering red neon that made everything look like it was soaked in blood and bad taste. a warped “EXIT” sign hung above the far end like a lie, like hope, like something god had given up on. the walls were sticky, painted black, smeared with the fingerprints of too many hands that didn’t belong anywhere else. you could hear the music still, like it was coming from inside your chest. or his.

toji walked ahead of you with the kind of gait that didn’t need to check behind him to know you’d follow. wide shoulders, unhurried steps, a slight roll to his hips like he was dragging the entire fucking world behind him and had made peace with it. he didn’t look back. he didn’t say anything.

and you—fucking idiot, slut in progress, full of bad glitter and worse ideas—you followed him like the devil never lied, heels sticking to the floor, chest rising and falling too fast, heat crawling up the backs of your knees like it had teeth.

you passed a couple making out against the wall, faces crushed together like starved dogs. a guy throwing up in a bucket with a girl patting his back like she loved him for it. someone crying into a mirror, mascara smeared down their cheekbones like war paint. all of it faded. all of it backdrop.

your whole body was zeroed in on him.

toji pushed open the bathroom door without ceremony. it creaked. like it had a vendetta.

the club bathroom was exactly what you expected from a place called gristle: a flickering fluorescent above the mirror, one stall door missing entirely, cracked tiles that looked like someone had lost a fight with their reflection. the floor was wet. you didn’t ask with what. the whole place smelled like bleach, piss, and someone’s regretful aftershave.

but the last stall—the farthest one, the only one with a working lock—was open.

he walked straight in.

paused.

turned halfway in the doorway, one hand braced on the chipped frame, and finally looked at you again. like a challenge. like a dare. like he wasn’t gonna pull you in. not unless you stepped forward yourself. “last chance,” he said, voice low, rough, carrying that kind of warmth that only exists inside furnaces and buried trauma. “you got about three seconds to decide whether you’re gonna regret this.”

you laughed.

it came out a little wild. a little cracked.

“bitch, i already regret it.”

and then you stepped in.

he closed the door behind you. it clicked shut like the start of a ritual.

now it was just the two of you, breathing the same stifling, chemical-washed air, shadows cast sharp and ugly across your faces by the single busted light overhead. you could see the sweat beading at his temples, the shine of it along the thick cut of his throat. you could see the scar on his lip, and the deeper one under his jaw, like someone had tried to silence him with a blade and failed. his eyes were even worse up close—mean, ancient, alive in the way fire is alive when it’s out of control. they flicked over you with slow, deliberate weight.

he didn’t touch you.

he didn’t need to.

he just looked.

and it felt like a strip search. like a dissection. like you were standing naked already, ribs cracked open, heart fluttering like it knew what was coming and wanted to hide behind your lungs. “what’s your name?” he asked suddenly, voice pitched like he didn’t care but also like he needed it for something he didn’t want to name.

you hesitated.

then said it.

he rolled it around in his mouth. didn’t repeat it, just tasted it, the way a man might taste a curse or a memory or a prayer he wasn’t allowed to say. “huh,” he said. “too pretty for the kind of shit you’re about to let me do.” you were about to shoot back something equally stupid, something unhinged, something desperate and mean and wet with anticipation—

but he took a step closer.

just one.

and it was enough to send your breath hitching and your back pressing gently against the wall of the stall like you needed to hold the whole building up. you could smell him now—cigarettes, aftershave, sweat, and something else, something feral and tired and male, the kind of scent that made you feel like a house left unlocked.

he raised a hand.

not to grab you. not yet. he just rested it on the wall beside your head, knuckles ghosting the tile, his eyes boring down into yours like he was looking through you. like he was checking for rot.

“you don’t even know how good you look right now,” he murmured, and his voice sounded wrecked—torn at the edges, too old for this, too fucked up to know better, too close to the edge.

you whispered, “then tell me.”

he laughed.

short. breathy. not nice.

“nah,” he said. “gonna show you.”

still—still—he didn’t touch you.

he let the silence wrap around the both of you like plastic, like a vacuum seal, like the breath between the lightning and the thunder. he let you feel the heat crawling up your neck, let your hands twitch at your sides like they wanted something to hold onto before the world caved in.

his eyes didn’t leave yours. not once.

and when he finally, finally leaned in, mouth brushing close enough to yours that you could feel the shape of the words more than you heard them, he said—

“say please.”

you exhaled so sharply it stuttered.

and then—

“no.”

his grin was all teeth. no mirth. no kindness. just hunger dressed up like satisfaction.

“good,” he said. “don’t beg yet.”

and he leaned back.

waited.

waited for you to break first.

and fuck—

you wanted to.

you moved without thinking. or maybe you were thinking too much—just not with the part of your brain responsible for restraint. maybe it was the tequila, or the way his voice slithered under your skin like something hot and reckless, or the way he still hadn’t touched you first, like he was trying to prove a point. you pushed him.

both hands flat against his chest, sudden, hard, more force than you meant but less than he deserved, and he let you, let you shove him back until he stumbled into the closed janitor’s closet behind him. his legs hit the lip of the metal threshold, knees bending with a grunt, and he sank down onto the makeshift seat like he wanted to be there—like he’d planned it all along.

and then his hands—fuck, those hands—were on your thighs.

rough palms, calloused fingers, thick enough to bruise without meaning to. he didn’t trail them up. didn’t tease. he gripped, greedy, dragging you forward like you were already claimed. his touch lit a fuse somewhere behind your sternum. your breath stuttered, caught, and your hips moved before your mind caught up, knees hitting the outside of his legs as you let yourself be pulled between them like gravity was a kink.

your hands landed on his shoulders to steady yourself, fingertips pressing into solid muscle wrapped in cotton and heat. you could feel it—him—beneath the thin fabric of his shirt: the thick slope of his traps, the unforgiving hardness of a man who spent too much time in fights and not enough in therapy.

“jesus,” you breathed, unthinking.

“what?”

your palms slid over the lines of him, feeling the definition like it had something to tell you, like each inch of him was a secret your hands could decode.

“you’re so fucking hot,” you muttered, half to yourself.

toji chuckled. it was low and mean and full of dirt. like he’d heard it before, but it still pleased him in that deeply male, deeply awful way.

“you climbin’ on or just gonna compliment me to death?”

you didn’t answer.

you straddled him.

slow, deliberate, dragging your knees over his thighs until your hips settled down onto his lap, the heat of him pressed tight against the inside of your thighs like a confession he didn’t have to say out loud. you wrapped your arms around his neck, trying not to moan at how fucking big he was—everything about him. wide shoulders. thick neck. those awful, perfect hands still gripping your thighs like he owned them.

your nose brushed against his jaw, and for a second, you didn’t move. didn’t kiss. didn’t speak.

you just inhaled.

his scent hit you in the teeth—spice and sweat and something darker, older, something like woodsmoke and nights without sleep. it wasn’t cologne. it was him. it made your eyes flutter shut for a second longer than you meant to.

then your lips ghosted against the side of his neck, soft, barely there, just enough to taste the salt and heat of him. “what’s your name?” you asked into his skin, voice breathless. he didn’t answer right away. you kissed his neck again, slower this time, tongue just barely tasting him. he exhaled, rough. “toji.”

you hummed like it was a meal, a warm word you could chew on. “toji,” you repeated, testing it, letting it sit on your tongue like liquor.

you kissed just under his jaw. “are you married, toji?”

he huffed. not quite a laugh.

“nah. divorced. long time ago.”

you let your lips linger at his throat, barely touching, feeling his pulse jump just under the skin. “why’d she leave?” his voice was quiet this time. bitter. real. “ran off with some other guy. wanted something better, i guess.” you pulled back a little, just enough to look at him, brushing a stray piece of hair off his forehead with one finger. he was staring at you, eyes darker now, more guarded, but not pulling away.

you tilted your head and said, low and smug and filthy-sweet, “someone’s trash is someone’s treasure, y’know.”

toji snorted. actually snorted, head tilting back slightly, a rough sound in the back of his throat like amusement had caught him off guard. his hands flexed on your thighs, thumbs digging into the meat like he needed an anchor.

“you callin’ me trash, baby?”

you grinned, lips brushing against his cheekbone.

“only if you want me to recycle you.”

his laugh this time was full—short, sharp, almost surprised. you felt it through your whole body, the vibration rolling up his chest into yours. he looked at you like you were an accident he wasn’t sure he regretted yet.

“you’re mouthy,” he muttered.

“you’re old,” you shot back.

“and yet,” his hand slid up, resting heavy against your ass, “you’re in my lap.”

you leaned in again, lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

“so what’re you gonna do about it?”

toji leaned back, just enough to look you in the eyes, a slow, deliberate smirk pulling at the scar on his lip.

“whatever the fuck i want.”

you smiled.

“good.”

your hands started moving before your mouth did—fingers trailing down the slope of his shoulder, slow and shameless, brushing over the tight fabric of his shirt, down across the sharp cut of his chest. you could feel the muscles shift beneath your palms, all dense and unforgiving, like stone that had decided to grow teeth. he wasn’t just strong. he was engineered. like god got horny once and never did it again.

you were still waiting for him to touch you properly.

but you were starting to think the waiting was the whole goddamn point.

you dragged your fingers lower, feeling every groove of him, every inch mapped like sin beneath your hands. his abs were taut, hard, ridiculous—less six-pack, more topographical map of a mountain range you wanted to get lost in. they flexed when you touched them, a subtle twitch under your fingertips like his body was reacting on its own, and it made your thighs clench around his lap.

“jesus christ,” you muttered, reverent and obscene at once. “what the fuck do you do? bench-press small cars? choke people for a living?”

toji smirked without answering. that same little twist of his mouth, one corner pulling up like it wanted to make fun of you, like it knew how dumb you sounded—like he made people talk like that just by existing. you didn’t let him speak. you pushed your palm flat against the cut of his abs, slow circles, down toward his navel, and grinned, breath hot against his jaw.

“i could literally squirt just from humping your stomach,” you said, blunt as a knife. “just grind on these things like a fucking degenerate and ruin your whole shirt.”

toji barked out a short, rough laugh—sharp enough to show teeth, mean enough to make your pulse stutter. “you’re disgusting.”

“and you’re enabling me.”

“you say that like it’s a problem.”

you let your hand drift lower still—not far enough to be a real threat yet, just enough to tease, then slid it back up again, slowly, nails dragging over the ridges of his stomach like you were mapping the way you’d ride him. your other hand stayed locked behind his neck, nails lightly scraping along the curve of his nape, anchoring you there in his lap, where you didn’t belong, where you wanted to live forever.

and then your hand found his chest again.

specifically; his nipple.

you didn’t hesitate. just caught it between your thumb and finger and gave it a little tug.

he flinched.

not big. not obvious. just a twitch—shoulders shifting under your palm, his hips tightening under yours, a low sound catching in his throat like something he hadn’t meant to make. and it lit you up. a flare of heat, sharp and fast, blooming behind your sternum like something you’d swallowed was fighting to get out.

“huh,” you said, grinning like a cat with something twitching between its teeth. “you’re sensitive.”

toji’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, slower than before. darker.

“keep talkin’ like that, baby,” he said, low and warning, “you’re gonna find out how long it’s been since someone made me come.”

your stomach flipped.

not from fear. from anticipation.

you pinched again, slower this time, more curious than cruel, watching the way his chest moved with the pressure, how his breath hitched before he swallowed it down. “i like you like this,” you murmured, leaning in again, lips brushing the underside of his jaw. “all rough and ready to break shit, but twitchy when i touch you just right.”

“nobody touches me like that.”

you kissed just below his ear.

“shame,” you said.

your voice dropped to a whisper, low and mean and sweet at once.

“i’ll fix that.”

he exhaled hard through his nose, chest rising beneath your hand. his fingers dug harder into your thighs, like he wanted to grip bone, like he wanted to see if your skin would remember him tomorrow.

“you’re not scared of me,” he muttered, almost like it was a question.

“should i be?”

his lip twitched. “probably.”

you smiled, letting your lips ghost over the sharp angle of his jaw, thumb brushing lazily across his nipple again, slower now, testing him. “then maybe i want to be a little scared.”

his hands slid higher on your thighs, thumbs pressing in slow circles, rough, patient, menacing, the kind of touch that wasn’t asking for permission—it was letting you pretend you still had a choice.

“you keep teasing like that,” he said, voice lower now, quieter, dead calm, “and i’m gonna stop being polite.” you rolled your hips forward just enough to feel him through his jeans—hot, hard, there. “you’ve been polite?” you said, eyes wide and false, mocking. “this is you being polite?”

he laughed again. slower this time. darker.

“baby,” he said, fingers curling into your skin, “you have no fucking idea.” and still—he hadn’t kissed you. not once. and it was driving you insane.

you were perched in his lap like temptation incarnate, like a sin wrapped in skin and glitter, thighs bracketing his like you were made to ride things that broke people, hands still playing soft and obscene over his chest like you didn’t know what restraint meant, like you were touching something sacred just to see if it bled.

toji hadn’t moved much. not in the obvious way. not in the way most men do when they’ve got someone straddling them, whispering filth into their jaw like a sacrament. no, he was too still, too composed, like a bomb wired too carefully to detonate early. like he wanted to wait. to build it. let it stretch. to hold onto the tension until it snapped in your mouth.

your fingers were still teasing across his chest—idling over the muscle, flicking once more over that sensitive spot just beneath his nipple, watching for the way his stomach flinched or the corners of his mouth twitched. you liked it. you loved it. how it made him twitch, how it made his hands twitch harder against your thighs like they wanted to move but were waiting for your next line, like he wanted to see just how much worse you could get.

you leaned in again, lips hovering by his throat, breath hot and unkind.

“you ever had a girl ride your abs?” you asked, voice like melted sugar poured down someone’s back—sweet, but meant to burn. “like, actually just sit on your stomach and get off like it was nothing? bet they haven’t. bet none of them could handle it.”

his breath stuttered.

“jesus,” he muttered.

“nah,” you grinned, dragging your teeth just lightly along his neck, not biting—yet—just there, a whisper of promise. “but you can call me that if it helps.” he growled. actually growled. a sound low in his chest like something cornered and annoyed it liked it.

and finally—finally—his hands left your thighs. not far, just sliding up, rough palms dragging over your skin, slow and heated and full of intent. he cupped your hips like he was trying to feel the bones underneath, thumbs pressing into the meat of you with a bruiser’s patience.

you moved against him—barely, just a roll of your hips, a shift that let your weight settle over the thick press of him under his jeans, and god, fuck, it felt obscene. it made your breath hitch and his jaw clench, and the stall felt too small for what was building, the air too thick, like you were breathing in each other’s heat, each other’s worse instincts.

you whispered, lips against the shell of his ear, “you like this?”

toji didn’t answer right away. just let his hands slide down again, gripping tighter, thumbs dipping under the hem of your skirt like they were testing your limits.

“you know how long it’s been since anyone touched me?” he said, voice low, almost flat, like he wasn’t sure why he was telling you. “since anyone looked at me without seeing a mess, a fuckin’ has-been?”

you pulled back, just a little, enough to look at him, eyes meeting his with something like interest wrapped in something darker. not pity. not sympathy. just hunger. focused and real.

“how long?” you asked softly, fingers still on his chest, dragging down again, slow and hungry. he looked past you for a second. somewhere to the side. not even seeing the busted stall wall anymore. something older, in his voice now. broken-glass honesty.

“eight years. almost nine.”

you stared.

and then, with a wicked little smile curling your lips, you whispered, “someone’s trash…”

toji’s mouth twitched.

“…is someone’s treasure,” you finished, breathless, grin wide and smug and so, so stupid.

he barked a laugh, surprised and feral.

“you really just called me trash again.”

you shrugged. “i mean. recycled goods. eco-conscious dick. saving the planet.”

“you’re fucking insane,” he said, voice pitched like he might start laughing again or snap your waistband with his teeth.

you leaned forward, pressed your forehead against his, your lips barely a breath from his. “and you’re letting me sit on your lap in a bathroom stall. so what does that make you?”

he grinned.

all teeth. all bad decisions.

“about to make the worst choice of my goddamn life.”

“good,” you breathed. “i was worried we were on different pages.”

your arms wrapped tighter around his neck, fingers curling into the hair at his nape. his hands slid back up, under your skirt now, warm palms against your ass, fingers flexing like he needed to touch you everywhere before his brain caught up.

and still.

he hadn’t kissed you.

and you were starting to go crazy with it.

your eyes met again. his were darker now. heavy. hungry.

but he waited.

he wanted you to crack first.

“fucking kiss me,” you hissed, voice wrecked.

he smirked.

“say please,” toji said again, like a fucking ritual, and this time—

this time you almost said it.

you held his stare like a dare, like you were trying to outlast a god, both of you locked in this awful, exquisite standoff of breath and blood and the terrible pressure of almost—his hands hot on your hips, your thighs burning around him, the tension between your bodies so taut it felt like it would hum if someone plucked it. and still, no kiss. not yet. like he needed one more act of worship before he let your mouths meet. like he wanted you naked before he let himself feel anything sweet.

fine. fuck it. you’d do it yourself.

you shifted in his lap, slow and deliberate, dragging your hands back from his shoulders to the hem of your top, fingers curling under the fabric like you were peeling off something sacred. you kept your eyes on his—watching the way his pupils swallowed up the green when he realized what you were doing—lifting your shirt up over your ribs, higher, higher, until the fabric slipped past your chin and you tossed it off to the side without ceremony.

no bra. piercings.

because of course not.

just bare skin and pierced nipples, glinting silver in the dirty fluorescent light like jewelry for the kind of girl who knew she wasn’t soft, who never pretended she was.

you didn’t speak.

you just sat there, half-naked in his lap in a goddamn club bathroom, chest heaving, nipples hard in the cold air, the metal rings catching the light like something dangerous, something mean, something that needed to be touched wrong to be touched right. and you watched him, watched how he breathed—just once, just sharp—and how his hands flexed like they didn’t know whether to grab your waist or punch through the stall wall.

“well, fuck me,” toji muttered, voice thick now, ruined with it. “no wonder you’ve been talking like you wanna go to hell. you’re built like you already run the place.”

you smiled, smug and filthy and lit from within.

“told you,” you whispered. “eco-conscious. sustainable. slutty.”

his mouth twitched. not a full smile—he was too gone for that now, too inside-out with the need to play it cool—but it was there. something dangerous and animal moved across his face, and then he leaned in. you thought he was finally going to kiss you. you felt it. the moment before detonation. but instead— his head dropped.

and he latched onto your nipple.

“fuck—”

your back arched like a whip, hands flying to his shoulders again, nails digging in without thinking, mouth falling open with something more breath than sound. toji sucked, slow and heavy, his tongue sliding over the barbell and pressing into the sensitive flesh around it like he wanted to make you cry. his mouth was hot, his stubble scraped, and when his teeth grazed just a little too sharp you gasped, hips rolling down into his lap like it was reflex.

his hands gripped your ass again, anchoring you, holding you down while he switched sides, mouth closing over your other nipple like he was starving and you were something he’d earned by bleeding for it. his groan vibrated through you, low and primal and filthy, and when he pulled back there was spit on your skin, cooling fast, and his face was flushed in a way that made something deep in your belly twist and spark.

“jesus christ,” he said hoarsely. “you’re unreal.”

“you’re the one with your mouth on my tits,” you shot back, voice too high, too tight, shaking a little, “don’t go blaming me now.”

“not blaming,” he muttered, still staring at your chest like he might bite again. “just... christ. you’re like a fuckin’ problem someone dared me to solve with my mouth.”

and then—finally—he moved.

his hand came up, one big palm on the side of your face, warm and rough and steady, and his thumb brushed over your cheek like he was trying to decide if you were real. your breath caught. your whole body tightened.

and then he kissed you.

hard.

not sweet, not gentle, not even patient. just full, just everything, like he was trying to make up for every minute he hadn’t touched you, every year he hadn’t been touched himself. his mouth crashed into yours with the force of someone who’d been starving for too long and had finally been thrown a pulse, all teeth and tongue and hunger, one hand cradling your head and the other gripping your ass like he wanted to fuse you to him.

you moaned into his mouth, loud and broken, grinding down against his lap because your body didn’t know what else to do, because he tasted like heat and fury and something lost, and you never wanted to stop.

“toji,” you gasped against his lips, not even knowing what you were going to say next.

he pulled back just enough to growl, “yeah?”

and you didn’t say anything.

you just kissed him again, harder, because there was no language for this anymore. just mouths. and need. and heat. and the feeling that if you weren’t careful, this man was going to leave fingerprints on your soul.

the kiss was a full-body event, not just mouths but movement, grip, heat, the wild pressure of skin-on-skin with nowhere to go and too much to say. it didn’t matter that you were half-naked in a club bathroom stall where the floor smelled like a crime scene and the walls were so thin you could hear someone vomiting two doors down—none of that mattered, because toji’s mouth was on yours like he was carving something out of you, like he was writing his name behind your teeth, and you were letting him, eagerly, shamelessly, drunk on it, high on it, completely undone.

his tongue pushed past your lips like he belonged there, slow and deep, not searching—claiming, like he’d waited a decade for a mouth that tasted this wrong and this right all at once. you moaned into it, hands tangling in his hair now, that thick, unruly mess of black you wanted to pull until he begged, your body moving without your consent, grinding against his lap like a goddamn heat-seeking missile. every movement made you more desperate, more soaked, more stupid, and the worst part was he knew it—you could feel it in the way he kissed you, like he was humoring your urgency but didn’t need to rush, because he could have you whenever he wanted.

“fuck,” he muttered against your lips, pulling back just enough to look at you—flushed, breathless, pupils blown wide like a blackout curtain had dropped behind his eyes. “look at you. look at you, fuckin’ shaking just from kissing.”

“you kiss like it’s a crime,” you gasped, but it came out half a whimper, too much pleasure in your voice to be convincing. “like—fuck—like you’re trying to make me come with your mouth alone.”

toji grinned, cocky and dangerous and filthy.

“maybe i am. you wet for me already, sweetheart?”

you didn’t answer, because your hips were doing it for you—rocking down against his jeans with so much friction you wanted to cry, the seam catching you just enough, the pressure building, and his cock so hard beneath you it felt like punishment. you were dripping, underwear soaked through, thighs shaking, and his hands weren’t helping—palms wide on your ass, rocking you down, grinding you into him like he wanted to wear you out before he even got your panties off.

“fuckin’ soaked, aren’t you?” he said, voice a rasp now, low and hot in your ear. “you’re gonna leave a mark on my fuckin’ jeans, baby. ruin me before i even get my dick out.”

“then do it,” you snapped, voice wrecked. “let me. let me ruin you.”

toji groaned, head dropping to your shoulder as he laughed, low and obscene.

“shit. listen to you. needy little brat.”

you tightened your grip on his shoulders, biting down on a gasp as he rocked you harder against him, the rhythm slow but filthy, your clit catching against the fabric with every pass, the wetness between your legs making your thighs slick where they touched his jeans.

“look at you,” he said again, voice softer now but still thick with want. “grinding like a fuckin’ bitch in heat. that what you need, baby? someone to tell you how good you are while you ride his lap in a public bathroom like a fuckin’ slut?”

“yes,” you breathed, and there was no dignity in it, no irony, just raw honesty. “yes, yes, fuck, say it again.”

he sat up straighter, one hand sliding up your back, warm and steady, the other gripping your hip tight enough to leave bruises. his lips were back on your throat now, trailing kisses—no, bites, little sharp things that made you twitch and gasp and roll your hips harder.

“you’re so good,” he growled. “so fuckin’ pretty like this. filthy little thing. bet no one’s ever let you get this messy before.”

“they haven’t,” you whispered, high and wild and broken.

“of course they haven’t,” he muttered, hand sliding between your bodies now, cupping your pussy through your soaked panties. “’cause they’re not me.”

you cried out when his fingers pressed down, through the fabric, right against your clit, and he just held them there, didn’t move yet, just the pressure of it, the presence of it, as if to say i can give you everything, but only if i want to.

“you’re shaking,” he said again, almost in awe. “look at you. fuck. look how bad you want it.”

you nodded, frantic, rolling your hips, chasing the friction.

“please,” you whispered. “please, please—”

toji leaned in, mouth on your jaw, lips dragging across your ear.

“there it is,” he said, dark and triumphant. “that’s what i wanted. beg for it, baby. you want me to make you come like this? just from grinding?”

“yes, yes—i can—i will—”

“fuckin’ right you will,” he growled. “’cause you’re perfect. you’re fuckin’ perfect, and this pussy—fuck, this pussy’s gonna soak me right through, isn’t it?”

you moaned—high and desperate and completely gone—because he was right, he was so right, and your body was already pulling taut, everything tingling, building, the whole world narrowing to the heat between your legs and the sound of his voice and the rock of your hips on his lap, friction blurring into pleasure so loud it drowned out thought.

and still—he hadn’t taken your panties off. still—he hadn’t even kissed your neck where you needed it. still—he wasn’t fucking you. not yet. because this was just the beginning. and he wanted to see how far you’d fall before he even let you come.

your cunt was throbbing. soaked through the sheer cotton of your underwear, the whole front of it stuck tight to your slit like second skin, every slow, cruel grind against the thick bulge in toji’s jeans shooting sparks up your spine, dragging friction across your clit so hot it felt like electricity, like punishment, like prayer—but no salvation was coming. not here. not yet.

toji wasn’t letting you have it easy.

no, he was watching you come apart, eyes hooded, lips parted, one hand on your ass, the other flat against the small of your back like he was holding you in place just to observe the mess you were making of yourself. and you were making a fucking mess—your hips rolling in slow, stuttering circles, breath hitching every time your clit caught just right, every time the angle hit that spot that made your vision spark at the edges. his jeans were dark with your slick now. it had soaked clean through, turned the rough denim into something humid and hot and obscene, and he hadn’t even moved.

he grinned, teeth bared, voice dragging out of his chest like it was dipped in smoke and sin.

“look at you,” he murmured, so low it didn’t sound real. “fuckin’ drooling on my lap. like you don’t even know how to behave.”

you whimpered, not even trying to deny it, not even trying to stop your hips anymore, just grinding down harder, faster, more desperate, using him like he was a thing, like a toy, and he loved it—you could tell, could feel how hard he was under you, thick and unyielding, the heat of him seeping through denim and cotton and skin like he was burning from the inside out.

“you hear that?” he whispered, mouth brushing your ear now, lips hot and damp and cruel. “you’re so wet, baby, i can hear you. hear this pretty pussy workin’ for it. tryin’ so hard to come on me like you need it.”

“i do,” you gasped, voice shaking. “i need it, toji, please—”

“i know you do,” he said, thumb dragging up your spine, slow and firm, like he was petting something wild and ready to snap. “you need it so bad you’d hump my fuckin’ abs if i let you. you’d sit on my chest like a good little toy and make yourself come.”

you whined, high-pitched and helpless, hips stuttering now, every pass over his cock sending your body into convulsions, little aftershocks building toward something brutal. your hands were shaking against his chest, nails digging in, trying to anchor yourself before your own body betrayed you.

“that’s it,” toji growled, voice thick, breath warm on your neck. “grind on me, baby. come for me. come just like this, messy little thing, fuckin’ beautiful.”

and that word—beautiful—punched through you like a nail through soft wood, splitting you open. it was too much. it broke something.

you gasped again, mouth falling open, eyes rolling back just a little, because your orgasm hit you like a freight train, fast and catastrophic and undeniable, hips jerking, thighs shaking around him as your whole body locked up, tight and twitching and slick. your clit pulsed against the rough drag of his jeans, and for a second all you could hear was static, breath and heartbeat and the hot wet sound of your soaked underwear sticking to your cunt like your body wanted to keep the memory.

“fuck,” toji groaned, voice dark and ragged, eyes glued to your face as you came. “that’s it. just like that. god damn, look at you—so good, baby. so fuckin’ good for me.”

you were barely breathing, shaking like a leaf in a storm, your whole body undone on top of him, and still, his hands held you steady, let you ride it out, let you grind through the aftershocks like he wanted to feel every single second of your ruin. his hand came up to your cheek, fingers curling around your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip as you gasped, stunned and half-feral.

“you ever come like that before?” he asked, low and smug and so, so filthy.

you shook your head, dazed.

“thought so,” he said. “’cause no one else knows what to do with a pussy like yours, baby. they don’t know how to look at you, let alone fuck you right.”

you whimpered, half-laughing, tears stinging your eyes now, overstimulated and shaking and so full of want it was making you stupid.

“you’re a fuckin’ dream,” he said, quieter now, voice warmer, almost reverent. “you know that? filthy little mouth, perfect tits, pussy that sings for me—you were made for this. for me.”

you nodded, breath catching. “say it again.”

toji smirked, eyes glinting, one hand sliding back down to your waist as he pulled you forward again.

“you were made for me.”

and god help you, you believed him.

your hands were trembling, still shaky from the wreck of that first orgasm, your thighs twitching around his lap, soaked panties clinging to your slit like a brand, like shame, like proof—and toji hadn’t even fucked you yet. he was still fully dressed, his shirt damp with sweat from where your chest had pressed against him, his jeans dark from your slick, and his cock—fuck, you could feel it, all of it—was still locked away like a weapon waiting for deployment.

and it was time. it was fucking time.

you leaned back just enough to give yourself space, your palms still braced on his chest, steadying you as your breath came hot and uneven through your nose, mouth parted, your lips still wet from kissing, from moaning, and you looked down between your bodies like it was something sacred. his belt was half-undone already, buckle hanging open from where your desperate grinding had loosened it—like even the metal couldn’t handle what was coming.

“fuck, baby,” you breathed, fingers fumbling at the leather, dragging it the rest of the way through the loops. “your cock’s been pressing into me like it’s got its own fuckin’ mind.”

toji let out a low chuckle, something dark and frayed around the edges.

“it does,” he said. “it’s been waitin’. patient. even though you’ve been bouncin’ on it like a fuckin’ toy.”

you popped the button, pulled down the zipper with a long, slow zzzzrrk that felt like it echoed in the stall, louder than the bass outside, louder than the sound of your own heart trying to punch through your ribs. your fingers dipped into the waistband of his boxers, dragging them low enough to see the top of it—veins, thick and pulsing, and just so much of him already visible before you’d even freed it. your eyes widened.

“holy shit,” you muttered.

he grinned, teeth flashing under the sick overhead light. “what?”

you didn’t answer right away. your hands moved again, both of them, pushing the waistband down further, and then—

you let him out.

his cock slapped against his lower stomach, heavy, dark and flushed, slick already at the tip, a thick drop of precum glistening like it belonged in your mouth. it was obscene—long, fat, veiny as hell, the kind of dick that looked like it needed its own leash, its own warning label, its own space. the veins ran thick up the shaft, winding under skin pulled tight like leather, like the blood barely fit inside him. his head was broad, a little darker than the rest, flushed near purple, and leaking like it was angry he hadn’t buried it yet.

you stared.

for a long second, you just stared.

then—quiet, reverent, slightly terrified—you said, “i fuckin’ knew it.”

toji raised an eyebrow, cocky, smug, delicious.

“knew what, sweetheart?”

you swallowed, one hand wrapping around the base—your fingers not meeting—and your other sliding up from the middle to the head, both hands now working together to hold him. “you’re built like a fuckin’ war crime,” you said, voice shaking somewhere between awe and horny delirium. “of course your cock’s this big. stupid big. like—jesus—i should call a priest. or a contractor. fuckin’ get structural support.”

toji moaned.

not soft. not gentle. not theatrical.

a real moan—gut-deep, choked out of him, like your words had done something, like the way your hands moved up and down his shaft, slow and reverent, was too much.

“fuck, you’re perfect,” he rasped, hips twitching once into your grip. “both hands and you still can’t hold all of me? fuckin’ look at that. look at how pretty you are, baby. jerkin’ me off like you wanna worship it.”

you grinned, dazed, breath catching as your thumbs swept over the head, spreading the precum, watching the way his abs flexed every time you touched him right. “i do wanna worship it,” you said. “fuckin’ temple-level. build a church around this dick and let me live in it.”

toji laughed again—short, loud, fucked.

“gonna make me come just from talkin’, baby,” he muttered, voice frayed and sharp. “keep goin’. keep fuckin’ sayin’ that shit.”

you stroked him harder now, slow and tight, twisting a little near the head just to hear the way he groaned, to feel the twitch in your hands.

“you know what this looks like?” you whispered, leaning close again, mouth brushing his jaw as your hand kept working. “like something that ruins girls. like something that splits ‘em open, wrecks ‘em, makes ‘em talk in tongues. you ever see a girl cry while sittin’ on your dick, toji?”

“more than once,” he said, hoarse, hips jerking again. “none of ‘em sounded as fuckin’ good as you, though. jesus—your voice, baby—gonna ruin me.”

“i wanna ruin you.”

your thumb brushed the tip again, slow and teasing.

“wanna fuckin’ sit on it till i can’t talk. ride you till my legs give out. wanna let you fuck the brat outta me.” he hissed through his teeth, hips bucking, precum now sliding slick over your hands, warm and messy.

“sayin’ all that while jerkin’ me off in a stall,” he panted, head falling back against the wall. “fuck, you’re filthy. filthy and so fuckin’ good, baby. look at you. makin’ me feel like this without even sittin’ on it yet.”

you leaned in, voice low, breath hot against his ear.

“you’re gonna fuck me with this, toji?”

“yeah,” he growled, breath hot and shaking. “gonna fuck you stupid. gonna split you open nice and slow, make you feel every inch. make you remember it for the rest of your life.”

your cunt clenched so hard your knees almost gave out.

and you were still holding his cock like it was the goddamn holy grail.

and you hadn’t even put it in yet.

your hands kept moving, steady now, smooth and slick and reverent like you’d done this a thousand times in a dream and were only now getting the holy chance to do it for real. both palms wrapped around the base of him, moving slow, tight, twisting slightly as you reached the top, thumbs spreading the precum over the flushed head, watching it glisten like something sacrilegious, like something stolen from a shrine. your fingers couldn’t meet even at the base—he was that thick, obscene, heavy in your hands like a weapon built for ruin, and fuck, you wanted to ruin yourself with it.

toji was watching you with a look that should’ve been illegal. half-lidded eyes dark as molasses, lips parted, panting through his teeth like your touch was pulling him apart vein by vein. his chest was heaving under his shirt, soaked with sweat at the collar, and his hips kept twitching just barely into your grip, like he wanted to fuck your fists but was too caught up in the sight of you doing it so willingly, so hungrily, like you loved it. like you were meant for it.

and you did. you fucking did.

you leaned down, let your mouth hover over his cock, eyes never leaving his, and spat.

a long string of it, wet and glistening, landing right on the swollen tip with a lewd little splat, mixing with the precum already smeared across the head, and your hands caught it, smeared it all over, rubbing it in with a filthy grin like you were lotioning up something that lived in hell.

toji hissed—low and feral and wrecked.

“fuck, baby—”

you giggled, soft and wicked, your voice a little hoarse now from all the moaning, but still steady enough to say the worst thing you’d been thinking since the second you saw his cock, “no offense, toji,” you said sweetly, rubbing both hands up and down his shaft, slow and tight, watching him twitch with every pass, “but your ex-wife’s a stupid cunt.”

his eyes widened a little, surprised, maybe delighted.

you kept going, dragging your fist up to just below the head and twisting it there, circling with your thumb while you talked.

“like—look at this fucking dick. are you serious?” you laughed, breathless, bouncing slightly in his lap as your strokes sped up, hot slick sounds echoing in the tiny, awful stall. “you were sittin’ on this at home, and she cheated? left you for some guy with a fuckin’ linkedin account? is she brain-dead?”

toji let out a choked laugh, a single short bark of disbelief before it collapsed into a groan, head tipping back as his hands flexed hard on your waist.

“you’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, breathless, fucked-out already. “fuckin’ mouth on you—goddamn.”

you leaned in, kissed his throat, then licked a stripe up the side of it just to feel him shudder. “i’m serious,” you whispered, licking the shell of his ear now. “if i had a dick like this at home, i’d quit my job. stop seeing my friends. stop eating solid food. i’d be on it twenty-four seven. dick-drunk. knees sore. brain empty. happy.”

he was groaning now, full-bodied, desperate, the veins on his cock standing out like corded rope, the tip leaking freely, your spit and his precum slicking your hands, dripping down his shaft onto his jeans like a signature.

you pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, still stroking, still rubbing your thumb over the head, still letting him feel how good your hands were, how attentive, like you were worshipping something carved out of divine filth.

“i’m gonna put it in now.”

toji’s eyes snapped to yours, wild and almost scared—not of you, not of the act, but of what it was going to do to him.

“you sure?” he rasped. “you’re still fuckin’—you just came once, you’re already twitchin’, baby—i’m big, you know that. i’ll fuckin’ split you open.”

you smiled, slow and sweet and full of madness.

“i want you to.”

his breath caught. his hips twitched.

“fuck,” he groaned. “you’re gonna make me blow just from that. you’re gonna make me lose my fuckin’ mind.”

you rocked forward in his lap, pressing your soaked panties against the head of his cock, and gasped, because even that—even through cotton—felt like it shouldn’t fit. like your body wasn’t made for this kind of sin. but you were going to do it anyway. you were going to take it.

you reached down, dragged the tip against your slit, up and down through your panties, slow, teasing, not slipping him in yet, just letting him feel how soaked you were, how ready, how stupid you were for him.

“feel that?” you whispered, lips brushing his. “that’s all for you. no one else’s ever made me this wet. not even close.”

toji groaned—loud, desperate, unhinged—and his hands gripped your hips like he was holding back the apocalypse.

“jesus fuckin’ christ,” he muttered.

and you smiled.

because you hadn’t even started.

you were still straddling him, thighs shaking slightly from the aftershocks of your orgasm and from the slow, throbbing ache that had taken root deep between your legs—the kind of ache that didn’t want relief, just more. the kind of ache that whispered take it, take it all, it’s supposed to hurt a little. and now, with your hands trembling where they rested against his stomach, and his cock leaking against the soaked crotch of your panties, thick and flushed and too much, you knew it wasn’t going to be simple. this wasn’t gonna be easy. this wasn’t something you could laugh through.

and still—you pushed your panties aside.

fingers hooking under the soaked elastic, dragging the thin cotton to the side, just enough to expose the wet, swollen mess between your thighs, your lips slick and shining, your hole already fluttering like it knew, like your body was trying to brace for the sheer obscenity of what you were about to force inside it.

“fuck,” toji rasped, eyes dropping like a gravitational pull to your cunt, the way it glistened, twitching right there in front of him. “jesus fucking christ. you’re dripping down your thighs.”

you laughed, high and breathless, reaching down with one hand to angle his cock upright, the other gripping his shoulder so tight your nails left little white crescents in his skin.

“you’ve been talking like you’re a curse, toji,” you whispered, guiding the thick, throbbing head to your entrance. “but i didn’t know you were a goddamn plague.”

he grinned—hungry and crooked and wild—but then his breath caught when the head pressed right up against your pussy, just resting there, the blunt heat of it right there on your soaked little opening.

and even that was too much.

you tried to push down, slowly—just your weight alone, just letting gravity and desperation carry you—and your face immediately twisted, eyes fluttering shut, mouth falling open in a gasp so choked it was almost silent. the stretch was unbearable. hot. wrong. like you were trying to take something not built for human use. like your cunt was clenching out of protest instead of pleasure.

you managed maybe half an inch before your body stopped.

“oh—oh my god,” you whined, already breathless, head tipping forward onto his shoulder. “fuck, fuck, fuck, i didn’t—i didn’t know it would be this hard—”

toji’s hands were on your hips, steadying you, holding you like you were fragile, like you were made of wet glass and sin. he let out a low, strained chuckle, but it wasn’t cruel—it was soft, disbelieving, tender in the kind of filthy way only he could be.

“yeah,” he murmured against your temple, kissing the side of your head as you shuddered, “yeah, baby, i know. it’s a lot. ‘course it’s a lot. fuckin’ told you, didn’t i? said i’d split you open.”

“you are,” you moaned, and your voice cracked near the end, tight with frustration and arousal and the aching urge to take more. “you’re huge, toji, i can’t—fuck, i’m trying—”

his lips brushed your cheekbone, hot and steady.

“you’re doin’ perfect,” he murmured, voice barely a breath. “so good for me. such a good girl. fuckin’ takin’ it, even when it hurts. fuck, you feel how tight you are? grippin’ just the tip, baby—like you don’t wanna let go.”

you whimpered, nails dragging down his chest now, trying to breathe, trying to focus, trying to push through the burn, but your eyes stung and you blinked, and then—

tears spilled.

not sobbing, not dramatic—just the sting of it, the overwhelm, the deep wanting that had nowhere to go but out. “hey,” toji said softly, tilting your face toward him, his thumb brushing the corner of your eye. “what’s this? cryin’ on my cock already?”

he kissed the tear before it could slide down your cheek, then another, his mouth gentle, reverent, filthy in the way it held you. not mocking. not laughing.

just there. with you.

“fuckin’ beautiful,” he whispered, voice hot against your skin. “you’re so pretty when you cry. so perfect when you fall apart for me. you’re takin’ me so good, sweetheart, fuck—look at you. you’re stretchin’ so fuckin’ sweet around me.”

you nodded, teeth clenched, moaning as you lowered yourself another inch, the stretch burning now, unbearable and addictive, your body split wide around the sheer girth of him, your cunt fluttering, clenching, trying to make room where there wasn’t any.

your voice cracked again.

“hurts—fuck—it hurts so good, toji—”

“that’s it,” he breathed, hips shifting just slightly, just enough to make you feel it deeper, wider, more. “that’s what i like. feelin’ you break yourself open for it. god damn, you’re made for this.”

“you keep—keep saying that,” you whimpered, tears slipping down again, dripping onto his shoulder, “like i was built for your dick.”

his grin returned—soft and sharp and filthy.

“you were. this pussy was made to take me. look how tight you are, baby—like you never needed anyone else but me.”

and slowly—inch by agonizing, glorious inch—you sank down further.

and further.

and still—he wasn’t all the way in. not yet. but you were going to take every inch. even if it killed you. especially if it killed you.

your body gave in before your mind did—hips twitching, thighs trembling, breath shuddering out of your lungs as the last brutal stretch of him finally slid in, your cunt choking around the thick base of his cock with a helpless, involuntary clench, like it didn’t want to let him go, like it didn’t know how to survive him.

you gasped—mouth wide, head tipped back, neck exposed like something sacrificial, your whole body tensed and arching, and then relaxing, melting into it, as the blunt weight of him bottomed out inside you, seat to base, thick and pulsing, plugged so deep your belly felt full, your muscles trembling around the stretch like they didn’t believe it was over.

and toji—fucking toji—just exhaled through his teeth, mouth parted in some stunned version of a smile that looked like it might unhinge him, watching your face with something close to awe.

“shit,” he murmured, low and hoarse and broken. “you fuckin’ took it.”

you whined. actually whined, because that fullness, that delicious, unbearable pressure, that raw-cored feeling of being too full and still wanting more had you dizzy and aching and grinding down on him like your body was possessed by the shape of him.

“you’re all the way in,” you whispered, voice thin and stretched out over the edge of a sob, eyes half-lidded, lips swollen. “i feel you—i feel you so fucking deep, toji—”

his hands flexed hard around your waist, dragging your hips flush to his one last time, grinding your cunt against the root of his cock, the pressure unbearable, making you gasp and shudder in his lap.

“yeah, baby,” he said, voice pure filth now, that teasing rasp that lived somewhere between worship and cruelty. “you feel that? that’s my cock in your stomach. you’re so fuckin’ tight around me, it’s like your pussy was starving.”

you moaned again, incoherent, your fingers curling in his shirt like it was the only thing tethering you to gravity.

he rocked his hips.

once.

slow.

and your whole body convulsed.

“fuck—toji—”

“easy, sweetheart,” he muttered, mouth brushing your neck, tongue flicking the sweat from your skin. “gonna take care of you. just breathe. you’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me.”

and then he did it again.

slower this time. dragging out of you just an inch, then pushing back in, letting you feel every fucking vein, the throb of him inside your walls like a second heartbeat, like a warning.

your moans were high and shaking now, rhythmic, falling apart on each pass of his hips as he built the rhythm slow—careful, almost tender, not out of mercy but because he wanted you to feel every inch, every second, every millimeter of him splitting you open like a promise.

“you like that?” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw, hands cradling your ass now, helping you roll with him, take it better. “like bein’ split slow? like knowin’ you can barely take it, but you’re takin’ it anyway, ‘cause you’re a good fuckin’ girl?”

you nodded so fast you almost lost your balance.

“i love it—fuck, i love it, i can’t—I didn’t know it could feel this good—”

and then his rhythm shifted.

the slow grind turned to a deeper snap, hips punching up into you with just a little more power, and you wailed, your voice bouncing off the cracked tile walls of the stall, your thighs trembling around him, your breath caught in your throat.

“that’s it,” toji growled. “that’s my girl.”

you barely had time to respond—barely had time to process—before he was grabbing you, shifting your weight suddenly, and your hands shot to his shoulders in a panic.

“toji—what—?”

he didn’t answer.

he moved you.

one hand sliding under your thigh, lifting it with the ease of someone used to manhandling, the other bracing your back as he pushed your knee up—higher, higher—until it was resting on his shoulder, bent awkwardly. and then the other leg followed, and before you could blink, both of your legs were slung over his shoulders, your hips tilted back, exposed, cunt stretched wide around him at a new angle, one that made your breath catch and your vision blur.

“fuckin’ hell,” he groaned, staring down at where your bodies met, his cock glistening, half-shiny with slick, with spit, your cunt so wet it sounded indecent.

“you’re flexible, baby,” he purred, eyes glittering with smug, filthy heat. “gonna keep you folded like this all night. good fuckin’ stretch, huh? how’s that feel?”

you cried out as he thrust—deep, sudden, rough, punching the air from your lungs and making your pussy clench so tight he growled.

“toji! oh my god—”

“nah,” he grunted, smirking now, sweat slick at his brow, “just toji, baby.”

and then he started to fuck you.

no more tenderness. no more slow burn.

just pace—hard and deep and ruthless, each stroke shoving you up the stall door, the slap of your slick against his thighs filthy and fast, the sound of his cock wrecking you echoing louder than your breathless little moans, louder than the club outside, louder than the entire goddamn city.

and through it all—through the rhythm, through the overstimulation, through the fucking stretch—

you held onto him like he was the end of the world.

and maybe he was.

you didn’t know where your body ended and his began anymore—your thighs thrown over his broad shoulders, calves hanging limp behind his back, cunt stretched impossibly wide around his cock, and your spine arched into the peeling tile wall like it was the only thing holding you together. everything below your waist was pulsing. drenched. trembling. you were stuffed so full your hips had gone numb and your nerves were lit up like flares, every thrust from toji dragging a sound from you that wasn’t even human anymore. choked sobs, half-screams, shattered moans—nothing made sense but the feeling of being split open and used like your pussy had a goddamn purpose.

and toji—toji was lost in it.

his grip was iron on your hips, pulling you down onto each thrust like he needed to be deeper, like it wasn’t enough to be inside you—he wanted to live there, drown there, die there. his head was dipped low now, dark hair slicked back from sweat, jaw clenched, lips parted like he was drunk off something heavy and pure. but it wasn’t the club. it wasn’t the drink. it was you. it was your pussy, clenching around him with every rough pump, spasming with every moan he dragged out of your throat, and it was making him lose it.

he thrust again—hard, brutal, the head of his cock punching your cervix—and you screamed, nails digging into his shoulders, tears slipping down your cheeks as your legs twitched around his neck.

“f-fuck, toji—”

“shhh, baby,” he muttered, slurring the word like his mouth was broken. “shhh, fuck—you hear that?”

you were crying, gasping, mouth open and useless.

“listen.”

he slammed into you again, and this time he slowed the drag back out, watching your cunt cling to him with a slick, obscene sound that made him moan, deep and raw. “jesus christ, listen to this fuckin’ pussy,” he breathed, almost in awe. “she doesn’t wanna let go. holdin’ on like she needs me.”

you couldn’t speak.

your mouth was open but all you could do was pant and sob and clench and take it.

“so fuckin’ wet,” he groaned, eyes locked to the place where you stretched around him, watching the mess he was making of you, the glossy ring of slick around the base of his cock, the sticky strings clinging to his thighs. “she’s so greedy, baby. you feel that? your cunt wants it. she’s suckin’ me in like she never got dick before.”

you whimpered, head falling back against the wall, voice high and thin and wrecked.

“i haven’t,” you said, and it wasn’t even a lie. not really. “not like this. not—fuck, not like you.”

toji’s face twitched.

something broke behind his eyes.

“yeah?” he rasped, voice dipping into something darker. “no one ever fucked you like this before? no one ever got you cryin’ and twitchin’ and beggin’ on their cock?”

you shook your head, tears streaking down your cheeks, spit slicking your chin. “no, toji, i swear—n-no one’s ever—fuck—”

he growled, hips snapping into you again, rough and greedy, the sound of your skin slapping echoing in the filthy stall, drowning out the throb of music beyond the door.

“fuckin’ right they haven’t,” he spat. “’cause they couldn’t handle you. you needed a real man to wreck this pussy. needed someone who could fill you up proper.”

you sobbed, legs shaking, whole body shuddering under the weight of his cock, the sheer intensity of being used like that, worshipped and ruined at once. “say it,” he snarled, burying himself to the hilt again, hips grinding against you like he was branding you from the inside out. “say whose pussy this is.”

“y-yours,” you gasped, voice cracking into a high, desperate wail. “yours, toji, it’s—fuck—yours, it’s always been—”

he moaned—head tipping back, eyes fluttering shut, cock twitching inside you—and then leaned forward until his face was buried in your neck, licking at your skin like a starving man, teeth scraping over your pulse.

“god damn, baby,” he breathed, hips stuttering, pace breaking down as his body gave in. “you’re squeezin’ me so tight, you’re gonna milk me—you want that? want me to come inside this tight little hole?”

“yes—yes, please—want it—”

“i know you do,” he hissed, voice pure lust, drunk and filthy. “know you want me to fill you up, breed you stupid, fuck this pussy till she knows who she belongs to.”

you were sobbing now, clawing at his shirt, drooling down your chin, mind unraveling with every thick thrust. he didn’t stop. couldn’t. hips pumping faster now, sharper, more erratic, and his mouth was on your chest, your throat, kissing tears off your face like they were his, like your pain made him harder.

“you’re perfect,” he panted, kissing your lips—sloppy, deep, desperate. “my perfect little fucktoy. so pretty, so tight, so good for me. pussy was made for this.” and in the haze of sweat and moans and overstimulation, you felt him twitch inside you, a growl rising from deep in his chest as his thrusts turned jerky, his whole body tensing—

and you knew he was about to come.

and you wanted to feel it. wanted to break with him.

you felt him get close—too close—his rhythm stuttering for just a moment, not quite breaking, not quite giving in, but it was there, coiled tight and twitching in the way his hips bucked just a little harder, how his grip on your hips turned brutal, fingers digging deep into your flesh like he was anchoring himself to something, like if he didn’t hold on, he’d fall apart.

but he didn’t let go.

he didn’t come.

you felt it in the way his whole body tensed, trembling like a held breath, jaw clenched tight against the curve of your throat, a low, ragged growl rumbling up from his chest as he stopped, buried deep, cock throbbing inside your overstretched pussy—but he held it back, kept it leashed like an animal snapping at the edge of a cage.

and it made you insane.

you whimpered—high, desperate, aching—trying to roll your hips, to chase it, to drag him over the edge with you because your walls were clenching around him like a vice, slick and messy and soaked, milking him like your body knew what it needed.

“toji—fuck—please, why’d you stop—?” you gasped, voice breaking, face twisted with the frustration of being right there on the edge with him and feeling him deny it.

he didn’t answer at first.

just breathed through his teeth, his nose pressed to your neck, his body stiff and trembling, cock twitching inside you like it was fighting him, like it was begging to give in. “’cause if i come right now,” he finally gritted, low and dark and wrecked, “i’m not gonna stop.”

your breath hitched.

he pulled back just enough to look at you—his eyes glassy, almost glazed, jaw tight, sweat beading down his temples. his mouth was open like he’d forgotten how to breathe right. he looked completely undone. ruined. like he’d been drinking your pussy down like liquor and now he couldn’t see straight.

“i’ll break you if i let go now, baby,” he whispered, voice hoarse, shaking. “i’ll fuckin’ ruin this little cunt. you feel how close i am? feel it? i’ve never had pussy like this—never—fuck, i can’t even think.”

you moaned, clenching around him again just to feel that twitch, to feel his restraint crack another inch.

“then do it,” you whispered, licking the sweat from his jaw. “ruin it. fuckin’ break me, toji, i want it—i can take it—”

his expression twisted, something feral rising behind his eyes like a wave.

“you sayin’ that now, sweetheart,” he growled, grinding slow and deep just once, making you cry out, “but you’re already twitchin’. already drippin’ down my fuckin’ balls. this tight little pussy can barely handle one load—what’re you gonna do when i keep goin’?”

“i’ll take it,” you gasped, legs tightening around his shoulders, back arching into him like an offering. “you can come when you want—just don’t stop. please. don’t fucking stop—”

he grinned then—barely, teeth bared like something dangerous—but the pride in his eyes was molten.

“fuckin’ perfect, baby,” he whispered. “you’re my perfect little toy, aren’t you? lettin’ me stretch you like this, fold you up like it’s normal—look at these legs, fuck, look at you—you were made for this.”

and then—

he moved again.

slow at first, just the roll of his hips pulling back a few inches and pushing in deep, grinding that thick cock against the spots inside you that made you cry out and grab his shoulders like a lifeline. his eyes stayed on your face, his jaw tight, his mouth parted, and the way he watched you—hungry, worshipful, starved—it made you feel more naked than his cock ever could.

“this pussy’s got me fuckin’ high,” he said, voice rough. “you hear me? fuckin’ drunk on you. i’ve never felt anything like this—like your body’s pullin’ me in, squeezin’ like she knows me.”

you moaned—pitiful and overwhelmed—as his rhythm picked up again, deeper now, harder, dragging slick, filthy sounds out of you both as your bodies collided.

“i could fuck you for hours,” he growled, one hand sliding down to your thigh, gripping tight as he adjusted your position, pulled your hips forward even more, tilting your pelvis just to angle his cock deeper. “i will. i’ll keep you like this all fuckin’ night, split open and twitchin’, until you’re beggin’ me to come just so i’ll stop.”

you tried to speak but nothing came—just another cry, another desperate whimper as your walls fluttered again, soaked and swollen and full of him.

“hold me tighter,” he said suddenly, grabbing behind your knees and pushing your legs up higher, folding you more, pressing your knees toward your chest as he braced his weight over you. “there we go. good girl. stretch just like that—fuckin’ hell, look how deep i am.”

you felt it.

felt the new angle bury him right against something devastating, something that made your entire vision white out for a second, a sob punched out of your lungs.

“toji—fuck—fuck—”

“that’s it,” he groaned, eyes blown wide, pupils shaking. “fuckin’ take it.”

and even then—

even then—

he still didn’t come.

your body was giving out—limbs numb, hands clumsy and damp where they gripped at his sweat-slick shoulders, your nails dragging useless lines down his skin every time his cock punched that devastating spot deep inside you. your thighs burned from the stretch, knees pressed nearly to your chest, ankles hooked around his broad, brutal shoulders as he fucked you like he had something to prove, something to claim, something to bury inside you so deep you'd taste it for days.

and you were taking it. every inch. every slam. every slick, loud, brutal thrust like it was your religion.

your whole body was slick—sweat and spit and tears and the sheer, filthy mess between your thighs, soaking down your ass and his jeans and the stall floor, an unholy tangle of skin and sound and sensation, and through it all, toji kept praising you, whispering filth in your ear, kissing the tears off your cheeks while he broke you in half on his cock.

but something was shifting in him now—his pace stuttered, his thrusts grew frantic, heavier, less rhythm, more desperation, his moans falling lower in his throat, broken and guttural, each one punched out of him like his body couldn’t keep it in anymore.

his head dropped, and your foreheads met—pressed together, sweat mixing, breath shared in the half-inch of air between your open mouths. his eyes were blown wide, glassy with it, lips twitching like he was trying to speak but couldn’t get past the wrecked sound of his own need.

“baby,” he rasped, voice almost too low to hear over the wet slap of his hips against yours. “baby, i’m gonna fuckin’ come.” you whined, mouth open, panting against his lips, your legs trembling where they strained around his shoulders, the muscles twitching every time he sank all the way in.

“toji—fuck—yes, please—”

his mouth was on yours for a second—messy, open, tongues tangling with no direction—before he pulled back just enough to speak, his forehead still pressed to yours. “you on anything?” he asked, breath ragged, voice wild. “you on the pill, baby—tell me now—”

you nodded, fast and desperate, choking on your own moan as his hips slammed forward again, grinding deep.

“y-yeah—fuck—yes—i’m on it, i’m on it—”

his whole body shuddered.

“fuck,” he breathed. “fuck, baby—can i come inside you? gonna come so deep—fuckin’ fill you up—wanna feel it dripping outta you when i pull out, yeah? you gonna let me do that?”

you whimpered, incoherent, grinding against him now, desperate for it, for all of it, for everything.

“yes—yes, yes, toji—inside, please—i want it—wanna feel it—need it—”

he groaned, long and low and destroyed, his whole body tensing like he was fighting it, losing, fighting again—and then giving in completely. “fuck,” he hissed. “you’re so good, baby—so fuckin’ perfect—pussy’s fuckin’ milking me—gonna come—fuck—gonna come inside this pretty fuckin’ cunt—”

and with one final, brutal thrust—

he bottomed out, hips slammed flush to yours, cock buried to the hilt, twitching deep in your heat, and then he broke, coming with a moan so raw and wounded it sounded like worship.

you felt it.

hot and thick and endless, pulse after pulse flooding your cunt, your walls fluttering around him as your body accepted it, welcomed it, every drop, your mouth open in a silent scream, your eyes rolling back as the sheer intensity of it sent you into another trembling orgasm, clenching around him so tight he groaned, pressing his forehead harder to yours.

“fuck—fuck, take it—take it all, baby—look at you—so good—mine,” he growled, voice cracking, “this pussy’s mine now—”

and you believed him.

because you were still shaking. and he was still inside you. and you could feel his come dripping out already. and neither of you could breathe.

but you didn’t want to.

not if it meant letting him go.

he didn’t move—not at first.

toji stayed buried inside you, thick and twitching, still plugged so deep it felt like your cunt was wrapped around the center of him, not just his cock. his head rested against yours, sweat-slick and trembling, breath pouring from his mouth in heavy, broken bursts. the stall felt like it was spinning. the whole world had narrowed to the sound of your breath in sync with his, your pussy fluttering around his softening cock, the hot drip of his come already leaking from where your bodies were still connected.

but your body didn’t stop.

your body wouldn’t stop.

your cunt was clenching, aching, needing, so overstimulated it had gone full circle back into something dangerous—something desperate—your nerves sparking like shorted-out wires, slick leaking down your thighs, the insistent throb of a second orgasm so close it felt like drowning under the weight of not-quite-enough.

you whimpered—your voice soft and high and shaking—and your hips gave a helpless little grind, a roll forward, just enough to make his cock shift inside you.

that made you see stars.

“f-fuck, toji—” your voice cracked, head falling back, mouth open, thighs trembling. “i need—i didn’t—i didn’t come yet—”

that broke through his haze.

his head lifted, barely. just enough to look at you, eyes still dark and dazed but sharpening like a wolf catching the scent of blood. his jaw tightened. his mouth twisted into something that should have been a smirk but was too soft to be cocky. he brought one hand up—palm cupping your face like he needed to hold you there—and pressed his lips to your temple.

“oh, baby,” he rasped, voice torn raw from groaning your name. “you didn’t?” you shook your head, breath hitching, whining as your hips tried again, another roll, another desperate friction, his cock dragging slow inside you and making your whole body spasm.

“’s okay,” you whispered, blinking tears from your lashes. “i just—need a little more—i’m so close, toji, please—”

“shhhh, fuck,” he breathed, kissing your cheek now, your jaw, moving down to your neck, lips hot and open and reverent, “you’ve been so good for me—so perfect—’m gonna get you there, baby, don’t worry—gonna take care of you.”

his hand slid between your bodies, still slick with sweat and the mess between you, until his thumb found your clit—wet and swollen, throbbing with every faint shift of his cock inside you—and he rubbed it, slow and tight, small circles, just enough pressure to make your entire body lock up.

“oh—fuck—” you cried out, hands clawing at his shoulders, clinging to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to your body. “fuck, toji, right there—right there—”

“that’s it,” he murmured, eyes locked on your face, watching you unravel with a look of pure awe. “feel that? how sensitive you are? this pretty little cunt’s so needy, so greedy, just fuckin’ suckin’ me in, beggin’ for it. you’re gonna come for me, yeah? gonna let go?”

“yes, yes—please, don’t stop—don’t stop—”

he shifted his hips again, slow, so slow, pulling back just enough to let you feel the drag of him along your walls, then pushing back in deep, thumb never leaving your clit, just the perfect amount of pressure, the perfect rhythm, your whole body wound so tight you thought your spine might snap.

“fuckin’ look at you,” he whispered, completely mesmerized. “look how beautiful you are when you’re right at the edge. tears in your eyes, pussy wrapped around me so fuckin’ tight—you were made for this, baby. made for me. you wanna come on this cock, don’t you?”

“yes—yes, toji, please, i need—”

“you wanna soak me?” he growled, hips twitching forward, thumb circling harder, your clit so sensitive now you could barely think. “wanna milk my fuckin’ cock while i’m still inside you, stuffed full’a my come? wanna squeeze every last drop out?”

“please—”

and then it hit.

your orgasm ripped through you like your whole body cracked open from the inside, a molten flood of pleasure spilling out, your legs jerking where they hung over his shoulders, your back arching so violently your vision blacked out for a second, mouth open in a silent scream. your pussy clenched hard, gripping his cock in spasms, walls fluttering around him like they were trying to hold him in forever, to wring every drop from him until your bodies fused together.

toji moaned, loud and fucked and wrecked, like your orgasm broke him—his thumb slowing just enough to let you ride the aftershocks, hips grinding forward to keep himself deep while your body milked him through it.

“that’s it,” he groaned, forehead against yours again, voice thick with pride and filth and something heavier. “fuck, you’re perfect. felt you come, baby—fuckin’ felt it—squeezin’ me so tight like your body knows who it belongs to.”

you were crying again—happy tears this time, oversensitive and overstimulated and shaking, unable to speak, unable to do anything but hold onto him while your body spasmed around him, dripping, soaked, ruined.

“you did so good,” he whispered, kissing your lips now, slow and soft, sweet and filthy. “so fuckin’ good for me. made me feel like a goddamn god.”

you laughed, weak and trembling, smiling against his mouth.

and he was still hard. still inside. still not done.

and neither were you.

your legs were still draped over his shoulders, limp now, twitching occasionally, every muscle in your body melted and buzzing with aftershock, like you’d been electrocuted and reborn inside the same wet, filthy breath. your arms were around his neck, weak and slow and unsure whether they were clinging or collapsing, and your forehead was pressed to his again—both of you panting, sweat-slick, your noses brushing with every unsteady inhale.

your eyes were shut.

your mouth was open.

and everything felt too full—too much—and yet, not nearly enough.

his cock was still inside you, thick and insistent, twitching softly, lazily, nestled as deep as it could go like it had roots, like it had decided to live there, and the slow, endless drip of his cum was already leaking out around him, sliding in warm, lazy trails down the crack of your ass, onto the fucked-sticky seat beneath you, pooling into a ruin only the two of you would remember.

and toji—toji was gone.

his hands were on your hips, not moving, just holding, and his eyes were half-lidded, glassy, dazed, wrecked. mouth slack. chest heaving. his tongue wet his bottom lip once, slow and aimless, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it, and he just stared at you like he’d been hit by a truck and liked the way it felt. no smugness now. no smirk. no edge.

he looked like a man who had just gotten possessed by pussy.

and he was struggling to recover.

“…fuck,” he finally whispered, so hoarse it was almost soundless.

you didn’t move. couldn’t.

your lashes fluttered a little but didn’t open, your mouth hanging open like you were still moaning in your head, like your brain hadn’t caught up to the fact that the orgasm was over.

but his voice pulled something from you.

“you alive?” you whispered, barely, lips brushing his.

he laughed—barely—just a quiet, hot breath through his nose.

“barely.”

you smiled, slow and heavy, head tilting to lean into the side of his face, nuzzling your nose against the damp edge of his jaw. his stubble scraped lightly across your skin, grounding you in the afterglow haze, and it made you whimper—small, involuntary—because you were still too sensitive, and his cock was still so fucking deep, and it felt like it was just there now. permanent.

“toji,” you whispered, and you felt his fingers flex on your hips at the sound of his name.

“mm?”

you finally opened your eyes, half-lidded and glossy, barely able to focus, and looked at him—really looked—and your cunt clenched again because his face was wrecked.

his hair was soaked and sticking to his forehead. sweat dripping down his temples. mouth swollen. pupils blown. cheeks flushed. and the look in his eyes—dazed, unfocused, stunned—wasn’t cocky or in control or smug like before.

he looked fucked. like he’d just gotten his soul pulled out through his dick.

you grinned.

“you okay, old man?” you whispered.

toji let out a low groan and dropped his head to your shoulder, body shaking faintly with exhausted laughter. “fuck off,” he muttered, voice thick and raspy. “you don’t get to clown me right now. not when your pussy’s got me seein’ colors.”

“you look like you just saw god,” you said, teasing, brushing your fingers through the damp hair at his nape.

he grunted against your neck. “that was god.”

he pulled back just slightly, eyes fluttering open again, still dazed but soft now, heavy-lidded and so fucking gone on the feeling of you wrapped around him.

“you don’t even get it, do you?” he muttered, eyes locked on your face like he couldn’t stop looking. “pussy this good should be illegal. should come with a fuckin’ warning label. i’m not even sure i’ll pull out if you ask me to.”

you giggled, warm and slow, breath fogging up his skin.

“good thing i’m on the pill.”

“’cause i’d knock you up just to keep this forever,” he said, and it was so low, so dead serious that it made your breath catch.

you blinked, lips parting, not quite able to speak, and he smirked again—but it was soft. less predator, more man being humbled by what he just lived through.

“look at you,” he murmured. “legs still up. pussy still suckin’ me in like she misses me even though i never left. you were made for this cock, weren’t you?”

you nodded, slow and lazy, lips brushing his again.

“mmhmm,” you hummed, smiling. “knew it the second i saw you.”

toji groaned again, a fucked-out, helpless sound, and leaned into your forehead again.

“i’m not done,” he whispered, almost like a confession.

“good,” you whispered back, pulling him down by the shirt. “don’t stop.”

and neither of you moved yet.

just stayed there.

cock still buried.

hearts hammering.

pussy still clenching.

breath shared.

and toji—still absolutely, totally, unapologetically pussy drunk.

he was the one who moved first—finally—because your legs were still draped over his shoulders, bent and trembling and sore, your knees threatening mutiny with every second they stayed folded in that brutal, gorgeous stretch. you weren’t sure if the muscles were cramping or still orgasming. both, maybe. but toji moved slow, reverent almost, hands sliding down your thighs like he wasn’t ready to let them go, like he wanted to memorize them before he let them fall.

“’m puttin’ your legs down,” he murmured, voice thick and gravel-dragged from groaning, still drunk with it, still halfway buried in that distant fucked-out haze that lived behind his eyes now. “you did so good for me. fuckin’ took it like a champ.”

you whimpered when your legs were finally lowered, a dull ache blooming in your hips, your thighs still twitching, your calves sticky and limp against his sides. you were panting again. dizzy. your cunt throbbed around him when the angle changed, his cock shifting just slightly inside you and hitting something new, some bruised-up spot that sent a fresh wave of aftershock through your spine.

toji groaned softly, and his hand immediately came to your waist, like his body was instinctively trying to soothe you. “easy, baby,” he whispered, palm sliding up and down your side. “fuck—I’ll make it up to you. swear it.”

you blinked, dazed. “…make what up?”

he snorted, pulling back just enough to brush his forehead against yours again, still so close you could feel every word against your mouth.

“comin’ first,” he said. “you deserved another round before I fucking lost it. that pussy’s too good—I got greedy. ‘m not usually like that.” you smiled, breathless, your fingers brushing the sweat-soaked collar of his shirt. “what are you gonna do, hmm? kiss it better?”

toji’s mouth curled at the edge, that cocky little smirk returning but softened now—sweetened, in the worst, most unfair way. “yeah,” he said. “kiss it. lick it. spread you open and make you come with my fuckin’ tongue till you forget what year it is.”

you made a choked little sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob, your brain too fogged up to handle that promise.

but he kept talking—of course he did. because he was still in it, still gone, still wrecked and clinging to the only thing in the world that made sense to him now: you. “nine years,” he murmured, voice lower now, less teasing. Real. “nine years with no pussy. not even a drunk one-night stand. not even fuckin’ myself half the time.”

you blinked, still catching your breath.

“jesus,” you whispered.

he nodded once, breathing hard. “but the first one I get… after all that time… is you.” he paused. looked at you. really looked. “and if I could do it all over again—go nine years with nothin’—just to feel this pussy for the first time again?”

he kissed you.

not deep. not greedy.

just a soft press of spit-slick, swollen lips to your mouth.

“i’d fucking do it.”

you stared at him, wide-eyed.

and then snorted.

because your brain couldn’t decide whether to be flattered or feral.

“you are so pussy drunk right now,” you said, laughing into his mouth. “like… you’ve got the symptoms. glazed-over stare, can’t finish a sentence without saying ‘this pussy’ like it’s a holy relic—”

“shut up,” he grinned, nose brushing yours.

“you’re gonna start writing poetry,” you said. “i can see it. ‘ode to my girl’s pussy, it cured my chronic pain and made me believe in god again—’”

he growled low in his throat, a filthy little sound that vibrated through your chest as he shifted inside you, cock still thick and hard and present, buried to the base and making you feel every twitch of his frustration.

“keep talkin’ like that and I’m gonna fuckin’ prove it,” he said. “gonna eat you out till you apologize to your pussy for disrespecting her in front of me.” you gasped, breath catching, clenching around him in instinctive anticipation.

he felt it. and smirked.

“there she is,” he murmured, rolling his hips slowly, pressing his forehead to yours again, eyes fluttering shut like he was worshipping the moment. “sweet, tight little thing. even after I filled her up, she’s still clingin’ to me like she wants more.”

you moaned, body arching weakly, still so oversensitive, and yet—

“maybe she does.”

toji’s eyes opened again, and they were darker now, brighter, something burning deep inside them that hadn’t gone out yet.

“you better not be teasing me,” he said softly.

you bit your lip. hard.

and whispered, “then make me sorry.”

and he smiled. slow. wide. unhinged.

“you’re about to be.”

the air inside the stall was dense, humid, too heavy with sex and sweat and that lazy, humming afterglow that only came when both your bodies had been used—worshipped and wrecked in equal measure. your pulse was still erratic, your breath catching on every inhale like your lungs hadn’t figured out how to restart. toji hadn’t moved much since the last thrust, still deep inside you, cock thick and heavy and leaking, his weight pressing you gently into the wall like he didn’t want to let you go just yet. the scent of him was everywhere—on your neck, in your mouth, between your legs—and you could still taste the sound of his voice in your ears, rasping mine like it was something he meant to tattoo into your bones.

eventually, though, he shifted—reluctantly—lifting his forehead from yours, eyes flicking down your body with a reverence that was almost comical given the mess between your legs. he sighed, deep and low, like a man about to walk away from his favorite crime scene.

“alright,” he muttered, finally easing his hands to your hips and taking a single step back, gently slipping out of you with a lewd, wet sound that made both of you twitch. “moment of truth. you still got legs?”

you blinked at him, dazed, and then wobbled as your feet touched the floor, knees buckling under you like a baby deer just born into a post-orgasm world.

you stumbled directly into his chest with a soft little squeak, your palms catching the damp heat of his skin through his shirt, breathless and already flushed again. toji laughed—really laughed this time, head tipping back, teeth showing, full and rich and dangerous in the way only a man freshly pussy-drunk could be.

“fuckin’ hell,” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you upright, “you nearly took us both out, sweetheart.” you buried your face in his shirt for a second, too embarrassed and too exhausted to do anything but exist. “it’s your fault,” you muttered into the fabric. “you fucked the sense outta me.”

he kissed the side of your head, then leaned you back just slightly and pressed your back to the grimy stall door, holding you there with a hand on your waist while he reached for himself, guiding his cock back into his boxers with a practiced roll of his wrist and a satisfied grunt.

“can’t lie,” he said while zipping up, “she didn’t wanna let me go. took a fuckin’ minute just to get out.”

you gave him a look, somewhere between exhausted and scolding, but the twitch in your lip betrayed the way your thighs clenched again at his voice. he just smirked and hooked his belt back into place, slow and casual like he hadn’t just been balls-deep in you a minute ago.

then he crouched down to grab your shirt from the floor—rumpled, half-dried with sweat, glitter, and maybe a little bit of toji’s spit—and shook it out once before straightening up again, holding it like a gentleman with a gift.

“c’mon, arms up,” he murmured, voice suddenly softer again.

you obeyed without thinking, letting him help you dress like your brain had short-circuited, like you’d handed him the keys to your limbs and were trusting him not to drive you off a cliff. he slid the shirt over your head with practiced ease, tugged it gently down your arms, and just when you thought he was done—when his hands slid past your ribs and down your sides like he was adjusting it—

he bent down and sucked your nipple into his mouth.

you gasped, stumbling back against the door, breath catching in your throat as the sudden wet heat of his tongue flicked over the piercing again, lips wrapping around the cool metal and tugging just slightly.

“toji—”

he groaned low in his chest, then released it with a wet pop, lips brushing over the sensitive skin of your breast before finally tugging your shirt down into place with both hands.

“couldn’t help it,” he said, eyes wicked but half-lidded, dragging over you like a man who already wanted to go back in. “they’re too pretty not to taste again.” you didn’t respond—couldn’t. your brain had short-circuited again, reduced to white noise and heartbeat.

he fixed your hair next. carefully, absurdly gently, fingers brushing back stray strands from your face, pushing it behind your ears like he hadn’t just had you folded in half thirty seconds ago. then he loomed over you, big and warm and grinning like the devil who knew you’d come if he asked again.

“you wanna come back to my place?” he asked, voice low and smooth now. “give your legs a real break. i’ll apologize to your pussy proper for comin’ first. i got a mouth and a lot of guilt.” you let out a weak laugh—giddy and limp and already leaning forward like you might melt if he kissed you again.

“what, you’re feeling guilty now?”

“i’m tryin’ to be a gentleman,” he said, mock-serious. “not every day i meet someone who makes me forget my name and the year.” you raised an eyebrow. “that’s the bar?” he leaned in close again, mouth hovering just beside your ear, breath warm and so fucking good. “no, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice like a knife made of velvet. “you’re the bar now.”

you shivered.

he pulled back just enough to smile again, then glanced toward the door.

“you wanna text your friends? let ‘em know you’re leavin’ with a total stranger?”

“they’ve got my bag,” you said, still dazed, still trying to remember what reality felt like. “they’ll figure it out.”

he stared at you for a second.

then grinned.

“god damn,” he muttered. “you’re perfect.”

and then—toji fushiguro, pussy-drunk, sweat-drenched, still twitching in his jeans with the memory of your cunt—opened the stall door, it creaked open like it, too, had been through something shameful and held it for you, like a man escorting a queen out of her ruined cathedral. the hallway air hit you—cooler, thinner, laced with basslines and spilled drinks and someone screaming off-key to early 2000s pop—and you stepped into it like a newborn deer in heels, thighs slick, hair a little fucked, your shirt tugged low over your hips to hide the fact that your panties were somewhere between ruined and irrelevant.

toji stood beside you, towering and casual, like he hadn’t just rearranged your insides and kissed your nipple before helping you get dressed. his belt was buckled, his shirt clinging damply to his chest, collar pulled slightly off-center from your earlier tugging. his neck was flushed, jaw stubbled, and there were still fresh bite marks trailing along the line of his throat—yours. ownership drawn in tooth and heat.

your heart jumped sideways in your chest. your knees tried to wobble again.

and he felt it.

“there she goes,” he teased, his mouth brushing your temple now, his voice still dipped in that slow-dripping, pussy-drunk molasses tone that made your stomach twist in the most incredible way. “thought I fucked the wobble outta your legs already. guess I gotta go harder next time.”

“if you go harder, I’ll die,” you replied, still grinning, voice raw but teasing, biting down the ridiculous urge to giggle like a schoolgirl on prom night.

toji pulled you closer. you barely reached the height of his shoulder like this, his arm heavy and protective and possessive across your back, his hand idly tracing lazy circles on your side as you walked with him—slow, casual, like he wasn’t still inside you in spirit.

“what a way to go,” he murmured. “split open, stuffed full’a cum, legs over my shoulders while you cry on my cock. shit, if there’s a better death I don’t know it.”

you snorted. “you’re awful.”

“and you’re gorgeous,” he shot back, leaning down to kiss just behind your ear, sending another aftershock rolling through your already wrecked nerves. “tightest pussy I ever felt, baby. no contest. softest moans, sweetest little body—like you were built to break.”

your cheeks burned. your cunt clenched. again.

“you’re obsessed,” you whispered, playful and shaky, tipping your head back to look up at him. “pussy-drunk old man.”

he grinned at that—wide and unrepentant, all teeth and mischief and post-fuck swagger. “damn right. I’ve been starving for nine fuckin’ years and someone just fed me filet mignon soaked in honey. you think I’m gonna be normal after this?”

you laughed, biting your lip, feeling the slow drag of slick between your thighs every time you moved.

he was still talking.

still praising you.

like your pussy had rewired his brain.

“you don’t get it,” he murmured, pressing his mouth to your temple again. “you ruined me. no way I’m goin’ back to jerkin’ off like some lonely divorced fuck with ESPN in the background. I’m gonna be thinkin’ about you next time I close my eyes. about the way you opened up for me. about how you looked when you cried on my cock.”

you whimpered.

out loud.

right there in the hallway.

and toji just chuckled, kissed the corner of your mouth, then pulled you tighter under his arm like he wanted to wear you. “c’mon,” he whispered against your cheek, “let’s get the fuck outta here before I get hard again and we wind up in the janitor’s closet.”

you glanced sideways at him, lips curled up in that smug, fucked-out smirk you couldn’t seem to wipe off your face, and said softly, under your breath—

“may your soul rest in peace.”

he didn’t miss a beat.

“amen,” he muttered with a low snort, before slipping his thick, warm arm around your back, hand resting just above the curve of your ass like he belonged there, like he wanted everyone in this hallway to know that he’d just had you up against a stall door with your legs on his shoulders, crying out his name.

then, like the audacious bastard he was, he leaned in and kissed your cheek. not quick. not pecked. pressed—lingering, hot, lips slightly open, the kind of kiss that said this isn’t over, that said you’re mine now, that said you’re not getting out of my bed without a limp and at least two orgasms on your record.

you didn’t argue after.

you followed.

and you never looked back.

#jjk x reader #toji x reader #toji smut #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji x y/n #toji x you #toji x reader smut #jjk fic #toji fushiguro #toji x you smut

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lilirae00 · 1 day ago

Text

Red, White, and Us

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: none, just Fourth of July fluff.

Masterlist

—

Azzi slouched deeper in the uncomfortable airport chair, arms folded tight across her chest like she was trying to hold herself together. The hard plastic edge dug into her back. She shifted, but there was no way to get comfortable—not with her stomach in knots.

It was supposed to be easy.

Summer workouts had wrapped up that morning. She'd been counting down to it for weeks—days of sprint drills and weight training and 5 a.m. alarms, all of it worth it because it meant she got the next few weeks with Paige. In Dallas. In their space. Not Facetiming at 1 a.m. in her dorm room or texting between practice and classes.

She’d wanted to surprise Paige at the game tonight.

Azzi glanced at the big departures screen overhead.

DELAYED.

Her heart squeezed so hard it made her breath catch.

She hadn’t told Paige. Couldn’t. Not yet. Paige was so hyped about the idea of seeing her in the crowd. She’d sent a selfie from shootaround this afternoon, sweaty and beaming, captioned "Court’s waiting for you."

Azzi stared at the picture until her vision blurred.

She felt so stupid for feeling this crushed over a couple of hours. But it wasn’t just the game. It was this whole week. All the tension in the texts. The way they both snapped at each other over nothing because they were tired and stressed and missing each other too much.

She just wanted to fix it.

To be there. To see Paige’s dumb smug grin in person. To sit in the stands, arms folded, trying to hide how her whole chest puffed up every time Paige hit a shot. To wait by the tunnel so she could tackle-hug her sweaty and exhausted and so damn hers.

Instead she was stuck in this gross terminal that smelled like stale coffee and disinfectant, listening to a baby scream two gates over.

She set her bag on her lap and hugged it.

Her phone buzzed.

Paige: You boarding yet? Paige: Can’t wait to see you in the crowd tonight 😘

Azzi’s thumb trembled over the keyboard. She swallowed hard.

She forced her fingers to type safe.

Azzi: Soon. Just waiting.

It wasn’t really a lie.

She hit send before she could think too much about it.

Her leg bounced so hard her shoe squeaked on the floor. She chewed the inside of her cheek, trying to keep her breathing even.

She didn’t want to ruin it by telling Paige now right before her game started.

Didn’t want to see that disappointment come through even in texts.

She’d figure it out. She’d get there.

She had to.

She wasn’t going to miss this.

She couldn't.

—

Game night in Dallas was a show.

The arena was packed, roaring with energy that buzzed in Paige’s teeth. Lights everywhere. The DJ blasting hype tracks. Her heart beat in time with the bass.

She tried to keep her face calm in the tunnel, even as she bounced on the balls of her feet. She tugged her jersey at the collar, swallowing a nervous laugh.

Azzi’s here. God, she better be here.

She imagined her in the stands, hood up, hair tied back, arms folded like she was pretending not to be excited. Azzi was always so bad at hiding it, biting her lip to keep from grinning, eyes shining every time Paige hit a three.

The anthem ended. Introductions rolled. Paige jogged onto the floor to cheers, nodding once, acting like she’d done this a thousand times.

But her eyes darted over the lower section, scanning faces, searching.

Come on. Be here.

Tip-off.

Adrenaline pushed everything else aside for a while. Paige ran the offense clean, slashing to the rim with fierce purpose. Every bucket felt necessary, like she was delivering a message straight to Azzi, wherever she was sitting.

Third quarter was a blur of sweat and defense, her chest heaving, jersey sticking to her spine. She checked the stands every chance she got, always moving her head too fast so it didn’t look like she was searching.

When she sank a deep three late in the fourth, she knew Azzi would’ve lost her mind, half-standing, screaming her name like it was gospel.

That thought made her bite back a grin, even as she pounded back on defense.

Final seconds. She stole a pass and drove. Contact at the rim, whistle screaming. The ball rattled in anyway.

And one.

The roar of the crowd swallowed the rest.

She didn’t even hear the buzzer.

Teammates swarmed her, slapping her back, pulling her in tight.

Paige smiled wide, breathless, hair plastered to her forehead. She let them hold her. Let herself bask in it for a heartbeat.

Azzi saw that, she told herself. God, she saw all of that.

They made their way off the court, cameras in their faces. Paige forced herself to keep her eyes forward, professional.

But her pulse wouldn’t slow.

In the tunnel, the crowd noise dimmed to a heavy hush.

She let her eyes dart back, just once.

Nothing.

Her gut twisted.

Probably can’t get down here yet. She’s here. She has to be here.

The locker room was a crush of steam and chatter. Coaches talking over each other. Teammates yelling about dinner plans, replaying moments.

Paige kept her head down. She peeled off her jersey, wiped sweat off with the hem. When she finally sat at her locker, hair damp, skin cooling too fast, she reached for her phone with shaking fingers.

She texted. She has to have texted. Maybe she’s outside. Maybe she’s waiting.

Three unread messages.

Azzi: Paige Azzi: My flight’s delayed. Azzi: I’m so sorry, P. I’m still in Hartford.

The words on her screen didn’t even look real at first. Paige stared at them, blinking hard, reading them twice, then a third time, like they might change if she just kept looking.

For a second, the noise of the locker room fell away entirely. Her teammates were still loud—whooping, smacking towels, laughing about the win—but it all sounded distant and underwater.

She felt her chest go hollow, a heavy weight settling behind her ribs in a way that made it hard to breathe. She hadn’t realized how badly she’d been counting on Azzi being here until that hope went crashing down in one stupid text.

Her mouth felt dry as cotton. She set the phone down carefully on the bench beside her, almost gingerly, like it might shatter in her grip.

It wasn’t Azzi’s fault. Flights got delayed. Shit happened. She knew that. But it didn’t stop the ache that clawed at her insides, whispering I wanted you here. She wanted to see Azzi in the stands, to find her face in the crowd and feel that stupid surge of adrenaline and safety all at once.

Paige sucked in a breath that scraped raw down her throat. Her thumb hovered over the screen for a long second before she finally made herself move. She typed with steady fingers even though everything in her felt jagged.

Paige: It’s okay. Just get here safe.

She hit send.

Then closed her eyes.

Just sat there.

Breathing.

Trying not to imagine the empty seat she’d been playing her heart out for.

—

She didn’t rush getting dressed after the game. The adrenaline that had kept her chest tight and her feet light on the floor felt like it had nowhere to go now, dissipating into a dull ache in her ribs.

Paige slung her backpack over one shoulder and trudged through the hallways lined with echoes of postgame chatter. She kept her gaze low, not because she wanted to be rude to staff or security who congratulated her, but because smiling back felt like it might crack her face in half.

Outside, the Texas night was heavy and close, streetlights pooling dull gold on the pavement. The arena buzz was still there—a few lingering fans yelling from behind barricades, waiting for any player they could see.

Paige managed a quick wave as she crossed the lot, but her heart wasn’t in it. She could feel the emptiness of the space beside her like a physical gap.

Her keys jingled in her hand before she remembered to unlock the car. She opened the door too quickly, dropped her bag onto the passenger seat with a thump, and slumped behind the wheel, exhaling hard.

She didn’t start the engine right away.

Instead, she sat with her fingers laced around the wheel, forehead resting on her knuckles.

She pictured Azzi in the stands, sitting forward in that way she always did—elbows on her knees, eyes locked on her like nothing else existed.

Paige knew exactly how she’d look. Knew the tilt of her mouth when Paige made a tough shot. Knew the way she didn’t clap or cheer but just watched, like she was memorizing her.

The image hurt so much it made her eyes prickle.

She let out a long, shaky breath and finally turned the key, the engine’s rumble too loud in the hush of the lot.

—

Her apartment felt hollow when she unlocked it and stepped inside.

Paige didn’t bother flipping the light on right away. She stood there with her bag slipping off her shoulder, letting her eyes adjust. The air conditioning hummed steadily, a cool wash against her sweat-dampened skin.

She imagined Azzi’s laugh in the space. The mess they’d usually make coming in together—shoes kicked off in a heap, bags abandoned mid-floor, Azzi groaning about the Texas heat while she demanded water.

Tonight there was just her.

She set her bag down with more force than necessary and scrubbed her hands over her face.

Get it together. She’s coming. Just late.

The shower was too hot. She didn’t care. Steam billowed around her as she braced her palms on the tile and bowed her head. Water hammered her shoulders, stinging the raw places where sweat and floor burns had abraded her skin.

She didn’t cry.

But she thought about it.

When she stepped out, she didn’t even bother drying her hair properly, letting it drip onto her loose tank top. She padded barefoot into the kitchen, opening the fridge as though Azzi might magically be inside it, waiting to laugh at her.

Paige’s stomach growled, but she ignored it for a second longer, palms pressing into the counter until her arms shook.

Eventually she ordered takeout—Azzi’s favorite. She added extra rice automatically, even though she knew Azzi wouldn’t be there to share it tonight.

When it arrived, she thanked the driver quietly, voice hoarse. She unpacked the food methodically onto the counter, sorting out Azzi’s usual order into a container and sliding it into the fridge. She hesitated with the door open, staring at the labeled container like it was some pathetic offering.

She’ll eat it when she gets here.

She shut the fridge with a decisive click.

On the couch, she curled up on her side, phone gripped in her hand. She kept checking the flight updates, willing the status to change.

Still delayed.

Still hours away.

Paige exhaled hard through her nose and tossed the phone onto the coffee table, letting it clatter.

She yanked the throw blanket over her shoulders, curling tighter.

She could hear the distant booms of early fireworks somewhere over Dallas, little pops of color she couldn’t see from her window.

She wondered if Azzi could hear them in Connecticut.

Closing her eyes didn’t help. The quiet of the apartment settled in around her like something alive, pressing in.

She forced herself to take slow breaths.

Just wait up. She’s coming.

Her eyelids grew heavy despite herself. Her fingers curled instinctively around the edge of the blanket, as if it were Azzi’s shirt.

Finally, despite all her best intentions, she drifted off.

—

Azzi fumbled with the key in the lock, her fingers stiff from hours of travel and clutching her backpack straps too tight.

The hallway outside Paige’s apartment was dead quiet at two in the morning, the air heavy with Dallas summer heat even this late. She exhaled hard, steadying herself. Her pulse raced, not because she was out of breath, but because she was here.

Finally.

She pushed the door open slowly, wincing at the tiny squeal of the hinges. The apartment was dark except for the dull blue glow of the TV screen saver bouncing around the room in lazy patterns.

Azzi stood on the threshold for a second, her bag slipping off her shoulder, eyes sweeping the familiar space that had felt a million miles away all day.

It smelled like Paige. Like clean laundry and leftover chinese and the faint note of her shampoo that always clung to the bathroom even hours after she showered. Azzi’s throat tightened.

She inched inside, nudging the door shut with her foot to keep it from slamming. She dropped her bags gently, letting the straps pool onto the floor without caring if they spilled open. Every muscle in her body ached with travel fatigue, but she ignored it, eyes locked on the couch.

There she was.

Paige lay half-curled under the throw blanket, one bare foot peeking out over the edge. Her hair was damp, sticking to her temple. The TV cast shifting blue and white light over her face, catching on her lashes.

She was out cold, her mouth slack in sleep, fingers loosely curled around the edge of the blanket like she’d been clutching it for dear life.

Azzi’s chest squeezed painfully. She stood there for a moment, taking her in. The hush in the room was so complete she could hear Paige’s slow, even breathing.

God, she missed her.

She padded closer, carefully lowering herself to her knees by the couch. She didn’t touch her at first. Just hovered, watching her sleep. There was something so stupidly vulnerable about Paige like this—no swagger, no bravado, no sharp tongue. Just a tired, slightly sunburned girl who’d clearly showered and eaten and tried to wait up for her anyway.

Azzi reached out with shaking fingers, brushing a stray hair off Paige’s forehead. The contact was so light it was barely there, but Paige twitched anyway, her nose wrinkling before she burrowed deeper into the pillow.

Azzi couldn’t help it. She let out the tiniest, choked laugh. The sound cracked in her chest and she had to squeeze her eyes shut for a second to keep them from burning.

She pressed her forehead to the edge of the cushion, her voice a rough whisper. “Hey. I’m here.”

Paige didn’t respond right away. She was too far under. Azzi lifted a hand again, this time brushing the back of her knuckles over Paige’s cheek, letting the warmth of her skin seep into her cold fingers.

That did it.

Paige stirred, mumbling something incoherent. Her brow furrowed. She sniffed once, blinking groggily into the blue light. Her eyes found Azzi’s face slowly, confusion giving way to relief so sudden it was like watching a storm break.

“Az,” she rasped, voice wrecked with sleep.

Azzi swallowed around the lump in her throat and tried to smile. It trembled. “Hey.”

Paige lurched up halfway, the blanket tangling around her legs. Her hands went immediately to Azzi’s shoulders, gripping tight like she was checking if she was real.

“You’re here,” Paige breathed, voice cracking wide open.

Azzi let out a shaky exhale that was half a laugh, half a sob. She pressed closer, letting Paige haul her up onto the couch in a graceless, fumbling sprawl of limbs and fabric.

Paige’s arms circled her instantly, iron-tight. Azzi buried her face in her neck, inhaling the clean, humid smell of her.

“Missed you,” Azzi mumbled, voice breaking.

“God, I thought—” Paige’s words tangled in her throat. She just held her tighter, burying a hand in Azzi’s messy travel-worn curls. “Missed you so bad.”

Azzi nodded against her shoulder, fingers digging into Paige’s back. She couldn’t stop touching her. Running her hand over the curve of her ribs, the line of her jaw. Anything to reassure herself she was here, whole, warm.

They sat like that for what felt like forever. Breathing each other in. Letting the adrenaline and worry bleed out in trembly sighs and quiet, broken words.

Eventually Paige loosened her grip just enough to pull back, cupping Azzi’s face in both hands. She brushed her thumbs under Azzi’s damp lashes, smudging away tears neither of them would admit to.

“Long day?” she asked softly, the tiniest huff of wry humor in her voice.

Azzi let out a ruined laugh, nodding. “Stupid day.”

Paige’s mouth quirked up tiredly. “It’s over now.”

Azzi leaned in and kissed her, slow and relieved and messy.

“Yeah,” she breathed when they finally parted, foreheads pressed together, eyes closing. “It is.”

—

They didn’t even bother trying to untangle themselves at first. They just slumped against each other on the couch, breathing hard and shaky like they’d run a marathon.

Paige’s hand drifted up and down Azzi’s back in slow, unsteady strokes, her thumb catching on the seam of her shirt. Azzi pressed closer, face buried in Paige’s shoulder, inhaling her like she was oxygen after drowning all day in recycled airplane air and stale anxiety.

Eventually, Paige shifted, muttering something about the couch being terrible for her spine. Azzi huffed a tired laugh against her neck but didn’t let go, so Paige had to awkwardly stand, hoisting Azzi half-upright with her.

They stumbled down the short hall like that, shoulder to shoulder, feet scuffing against the floor, Azzi’s travel bag forgotten in the living room.

The bedroom was cool and dark, the air conditioner humming low in the corner.

Paige didn’t bother turning on a lamp. She just felt her way to the bed by muscle memory, tugging Azzi with her, the two of them shedding clothes in lazy, half-blind movements that had none of the urgency of sex but all of the intimacy of people who had spent weeks missing each other like an ache in their ribs.

They fell into the sheets in a tangled heap. Paige wrapped both arms tight around Azzi’s waist, pulling her in like she was trying to absorb her.

Azzi went without protest, curling in until her face was tucked under Paige’s chin, one leg hooked over Paige’s hip. Her fingers clung to the hem of Paige’s sleep shirt like a lifeline.

Neither of them said much. Words felt too small, too clumsy for the relief pooling in their chests. Instead they let the silence stretch, punctuated only by the hiss of the AC and the slow, gradual sync of their breathing.

Paige dropped a tired kiss onto Azzi’s temple, lips lingering there, and Azzi let out a sound that was half a sob, half a sigh, her whole body going limp in Paige’s arms.

At some point, Paige mumbled a slurred “love you” into her hair. Azzi didn’t answer out loud. She just pressed her mouth to the soft skin at Paige’s collarbone and let her fingers splay wide against her back, the answer written in every inch of contact.

Sleep took them slow but heavy, the kind that comes only after too much worry and too many miles apart. They didn’t even move through most of the night, both of them too afraid that if they let go they might wake up and find it was all a dream.

—

The July 4th sun pushed through the blinds hours later in fat, gold streaks that lit up the edges of the bed. Paige woke first, blinking slowly, her eyes gritty from falling asleep with tears in them. Azzi was a warm weight on top of her, breathing even and deep, mouth slack, hair a dark, tangled mess across Paige’s chest.

Paige didn’t move for a long time. She just watched her. Let herself feel the way Azzi’s breath puffed hot against her skin, the way her fingers were still curled in Paige’s shirt like she’d fought all night to keep her there.

Eventually Azzi stirred, mumbling something incoherent and shifting closer, nuzzling into Paige’s neck. Her voice was raw with sleep when she finally spoke. “Stop staring.”

Paige snorted, her chest shaking under Azzi’s cheek. “Can’t help it.”

Azzi tried to glare but it was ruined by a huge yawn. She blinked blearily up at Paige, eyes still heavy but soft, like the fight had finally bled out of both of them. “Hi.”

Paige’s grin softened. She lifted a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind Azzi’s ear. “Hi.”

They lay there another minute, the smell of fresh sun and old sheets around them. Outside, they could hear distant pops of someone testing fireworks too early, the city slowly coming awake for the holiday.

“Guess it’s the Fourth,” Azzi let out a long sigh against Paige’s collarbone. “We should probably get up.”

Paige hummed noncommittally. “Or…”

Azzi narrowed her eyes but she was already smiling. “Don’t you dare say stay here all day.”

Paige’s grin was pure mischief. “But it’s such a good plan.”

Azzi tried to look stern but it crumpled quickly. She buried her face against Paige’s neck, voice muffled and warm. “Honestly, I wouldn't be mad about it.”

They eventually peeled themselves off the bed only because Paige’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. She squinted at it and let out a small laugh.

Azzi frowned, toothbrush hanging out of her mouth from where she was standing in the bathroom doorway. “What?”

“It’s Arike,” Paige said, thumbs tapping. “Asking if you ever made it to town.”

Azzi snorted, spitting and rinsing before answering. “Tell her I’m alive. Barely.”

Paige grinned, typing back quickly. A moment later, her face lit up again. “She says we’re invited over for a cookout tonight. Lala’s making too much food as usual and they’re doing fireworks.”

Azzi paused, leaning against the doorframe with her towel slung over her shoulder. Her lips twitched. “A real Fourth of July in Texas. How patriotic.”

Paige arched a brow. “So you wanna go?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She walked over slowly, dropping the towel on the bed, eyes locked on Paige’s. When she got close enough, she hooked her fingers in Paige’s waistband and tugged her in until they were chest to chest.

“I’ll go,” she murmured, voice low, “if you promise to hold my hand all night and not abandon me to talk hoops with Arike for an hour.”

Paige laughed, wrapping her arms around her waist. “Deal. I’ll even sneak you extra dessert if you behave.”

Azzi scoffed. “I never behave.”

“That’s what I’m counting on.” Paige kissed her quickly, teasing, and Azzi rolled her eyes but chased her mouth for one more.

They spent the afternoon in the laziest way possible: sprawled on the couch half-watching terrible TV, legs tangled, Azzi’s head in Paige’s lap while Paige idly played with her hair.

They ordered greasy tacos for lunch even though they knew they were eating again later. Paige wiped salsa off Azzi’s lip with her thumb and Azzi bit it on purpose, making Paige jump and swear, both of them dissolving into helpless giggles.

After lunch they sprawled on the couch in a lazy tangle of limbs, appreciating the kind of quiet that only happened when they finally let themselves breathe.

Paige’s phone buzzed against her hip and she groaned, fumbling for it without dislodging Azzi’s head from her shoulder. She squinted at the screen, the light too bright after hours of low lamplight and closed blinds.

That’s when Arike’s message popped up:

Arike: Food at seven. Fireworks at nine. Bring your girl.

Paige showed it to Azzi with a raised brow. Azzi huffed but couldn’t stop the shy smile spreading on her face. She squeezed Paige’s hand tighter.

“Guess we’re going,” Azzi mumbled.

“Guess we are,” Paige agreed.

—

They took their time getting ready once the invitation was confirmed. Paige was sprawled on the bed, one leg bouncing restlessly while she scrolled through texts, but kept sneaking glances at Azzi as she rifled through Paige’s dresser drawers.

Azzi held up a tank top in one hand and a faded UConn tee in the other, squinting at them like they might reveal the secrets of the universe. “Which one?”

Paige looked over lazily. “The tank. You’re not hiding those arms tonight. It’s practically a requirement at a Dallas cookout.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but tossed the tee aside. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously right,” Paige corrected. She tossed her phone away and propped herself up on an elbow. Her voice softened. “You okay? About…all this?”

Azzi paused, turning the shirt in her hands. She let out a slow breath. “Yeah. I just…it’s weird, you know? Like, this whole week felt like forever. I kept thinking about getting here and now I’m here and it’s like—” She broke off, shaking her head with a frustrated laugh.

Paige’s brows drew together, concern flickering. “Like what?”

Azzi’s shoulders slumped a little. “Like I don’t want to waste a single second of this. I’m so fucking tired of feeling far away from you.”

Paige pushed off the bed and closed the small distance between them, resting her hands on Azzi’s hips. “Hey. We’ve got the whole month.”

Azzi’s mouth twisted. “I know. But it’s never enough. I want—I don’t know. I want everything.”

Paige’s thumb brushed a slow, grounding circle at her side. “That’s the plan. Okay? All of it. Every second you’ll give me.”

Azzi huffed a laugh that was closer to a sniffle, burying her face in Paige’s shoulder for a second. “Fuck. Don’t make me cry again before we even leave.”

Paige grinned against her hair, pressing a kiss there. “No promises.”

They moved around each other easily, tugging on shorts and sandals, stealing little touches along the way. Paige adjusted the straps on Azzi’s tank top, fingers grazing warm skin and drawing a tiny shiver she pretended not to see.

Azzi smoothed Paige’s hair back with slow, deliberate strokes before declaring it a lost cause and snapping a ponytail holder on her wrist for later.

They left the apartment with their hands laced tight, a silent vow in every squeeze.

The drive to Arike’s place was short but filled with low music and softer conversation. Paige drummed her fingers on the wheel at stoplights, glancing over often. Azzi leaned back in the seat, legs tucked up, watching her like she was trying to memorize every curve of her face.

“You really played your ass off last night,” Azzi said quietly as they pulled onto Arike’s street.

Paige shrugged, fighting a sheepish grin. “Had someone I was trying to impress.”

Azzi snorted. “Loser.” But she reached over to squeeze her knee, and Paige’s chest went warm.

Arike’s house was already buzzing when they arrived. Lala was outside wrangling folding chairs while Arike messed with the grill. Music drifted out the open windows, something with a steady beat that set the mood for the entire neighborhood.

Arike spotted them first and let out a sharp whistle. “Look who finally made it!”

Azzi groaned under her breath but Paige just laughed, pulling her in tighter with one arm slung around her waist. “Don’t even think about running. We’re in this together.”

Azzi grumbled but didn’t really resist, letting Paige tug her toward the yard.

Lala beamed at them. “Azzi! Texas finally let you in, huh?”

“Barely,” Azzi deadpanned, but her mouth was twitching.

Arike just cackled, already turning back to the grill. “Get yourselves a drink. Food’s almost ready.”

They settled in easily after that. Paige handed Azzi a cold beer she stole from the cooler and snagged a soda for herself. They found an empty lawn chair and squeezed in together, Azzi draping her legs across Paige’s lap despite Paige’s loud, theatrical complaining.

Conversations flowed around them. Teammates, partners, a couple kids running laps around the yard. Lala brought out trays of grilled corn and smoky hot dogs. Azzi ate half of Paige’s potato salad without asking. Paige wiped sauce off her mouth with a thumb and got bit for her trouble.

As dusk settled in, the first fireworks crackled in the distance, little pops of color lighting the edges of the sky. Azzi turned her face to watch them, mouth slack in that unguarded way that Paige loved so much.

Paige watched her instead.

“You good?” she asked low, just for Azzi.

Azzi turned back, eyes softer than the fading light. “Yeah. You?”

Paige kissed her temple, letting her nose rest there a second. “Never better.”

Azzi shifted, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to her mouth that didn’t give a single fuck about the people around them. Paige grinned against her lips, arms tightening.

They broke apart only when Arike hollered from the porch, “Hey lovebirds! Fireworks are starting for real!”

Paige groaned. “Ugh. Community display time.”

Azzi’s eyes lit up. “Wanna make out in the back of your car instead?”

Paige blinked. “God, yes.”

Arike made a face at them. “Gross. Just don’t fog up the windows on my street, okay?”

Paige blinked at her, lips twitching. “Tempting.”

Azzi snickered, biting her lip.

Paige tugged her closer by the belt loop. “C’mon, trouble. Let’s go be good citizens and watch from the crowd.”

They meandered toward the edge of the yard where everyone was gathering, neighbors streaming in with lawn chairs and sparklers. Music still floated from the porch speakers, something mellow and warm that mixed with the laughter of kids chasing each other in loops.

They found a spot near the back where the light was softer and no one really paid attention. Azzi pressed in close, hooking an arm around Paige’s waist and leaning her head on her shoulder. Paige’s arm slipped around her automatically, palm resting warm against Azzi’s lower back.

The first fireworks burst overhead with a deep, echoing boom. Red and white lit their faces, turning their expressions soft and wonderstruck.

Azzi tipped her face up to watch, eyes wide and reflecting every color. Paige, predictably, watched her instead.

Azzi felt it, felt that gaze burning hot on her cheek. She turned slowly, smiling even before their eyes met. “What?” she whispered.

Paige just shrugged, voice low and ragged with honesty. “You’re my favorite view.”

Azzi’s chest ached, but in that good, unbearable way. She reached up and pressed a kiss to Paige’s mouth right as another firework went off, the sound so loud it drowned out the little gasp they both made.

They pulled back only far enough to catch their breath, foreheads resting together.

The sky boomed again and they both jumped, dissolving into quiet giggles against each other’s mouths. Paige pressed another kiss there, slow and certain, swallowing Azzi’s laugh.

All around them, the crowd oohed and aahed at the finale. The sky split open in a riot of color and light, crackling and humming. Azzi didn’t take her eyes off Paige.

She squeezed her a little tighter. “Happy Fourth, Bueckers.”

Paige smiled so wide it hurt. “Happy Fourth, Fudd.”

And for the first time in too many days, everything felt easy again. The noise, the light, the crowd—it all fell away.

It was just them. Together. Always.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #paige and azzi #paige x azzi #pazzi #pazzi fics

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verdanturfwind · 1 day ago

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People with dermatillomania/dermatophagia

People with trichotillomania/trichophagia

People who bite their nails

People who chew their cheeks

People with BFRBs as a whole!

You are not ugly for the damage your conditions cause, and you sure as hell aren't alone. You deserve to exist as fully as people without BFRBs do even though they tell you to hide and call you disgusting.

I love you all ❤️

As someone who is somewhat of a “veteran” of the online ND community, I’m disappointed in the lack of positivity and love for lesser known diverse cognitive conditions, and the opposing abundance of posts about “cures” or outdated criteria or treatments for those conditions. So, without further ado, I want to say hello to anyone with any of the disorders I’m listing, and give them the love and support that hardly anyone else in our community has… Shoutout to:

People with Down syndrome

People with Fragile X

People with William’s syndrome

People with dyslexia

People with dyspraxia

People with dyscalculia

People with dysgraphia

People with Prader-Willi syndrome

People with PANS or PANDAS

People with aphasia

People with a TBI (traumatic brain injury)

People with chronic/early onset mental illnesses

People with cerebral palsy

People with FASD or were otherwise disabled via other substances in utero

And many, many more I may have forgotten to list (but still support and love, I will add more to my list)

You are all beautiful and wonderful, and you all deserve so more love, appreciation, acceptance and support. You are just as neurodiverse as the rest of us, and your voices deserve to be heard and amplified.

I love you all ❤️

#i had a really bad trich flareup so i'm just telling myself what I need to hear #also thank you so much for mentioning early-onset mental illness op

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martiniluvr · 3 days ago

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18+ minors dni

finally processed the unimaginable horror of a second consecutive stanley cup win by the florida panthers. for those who may still be grieving, here’s some more hockey player!jason to ease the pain 💔

warnings: jason drops the gloves, mentions of blood, size kink 🧘‍♀️

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

hockey player!jason who takes his enforcer role seriously. maybe too seriously. he’s only just made it back on the ice after a penalty when a rookie on the opposing team decides to try his luck chirping; jason mostly ignores him, until the kid lets out a line that cuts through the noise of the arena. “hey, todd, y’think that little puck bunny of yours handles a stick better than you?”

hockey player!jason who doesn’t even let the smirk fade off the rookie’s face before he drops the gloves and starts swinging. teammates from both sides swarm to try and pry him off—no small feat when you’re dealing with one of the biggest players in the league. the crowd cheers wildly and the refs are yelling, but all jason can focus on is the bright red blood coating his knuckles as his fist splits the skin on the kid’s cheekbone.

hockey player!jason who sits out the rest of the game in the locker room after an immediate ejection and the promise of a chewing out by the coach and general manager later. he glares down at his bloodied and bandaged hand, and the bruises forming under the gauze, knowing they pale in comparison to the reaming he’s going to get for this. worth it.

hockey player!jason who won’t tell you what the kid did to piss him off like that as you lie in bed after the game, but swears he was justified while you examine his injuries. you meet his gaze, and his expression is nothing short of cocky. typical. “so…how’d he look?” he asks, a coy smirk on his lips. you know he loves this part. “awful,” you reply, feigning disapproval, “but he’ll live.”

hockey player!jason who goads you into recounting the fight, taking note of the way your cheeks flush as you detail the scene. “it took, like, six guys to get you off him,” you say, and he chuckles. there’s a pause as the air thickens between you, and you bite your lip. “I mean, it was…pretty hot.” his grin widens as your hand trails down his abdomen.

hockey player!jason who listens intently to you singing his praises, his green eyes dark with lust as your hand rubs his hardening cock over his boxers. “I forget how strong you are,” you coo sweetly, slipping your fingers under the waistband. he moans quietly as you stroke him, your pace measured despite struggling to fit him in your hand. “even in the gear you were, like, almost two feet taller than him, jay.”

hockey player!jason who has you straddling his lap before you can even begin explaining the aftermath of the fight, your panties lost somewhere in the bedsheets. you whine as you feel his thick cock split you in half, and his calloused hands guide your hips as he slowly bottoms out inside you, groaning at the feeling of your dripping cunt gripping him like a vice. “fuck, that’s my girl, hm?” he breathes, feeling your walls relaxing around his substantial size. his smile is arrogant despite his ragged voice. “nothin’ you can’t handle, right, ma?”

#all the hockey fans to the front #bruins panthers and capitals fans EXCLUDED 😒#leafs fans the exit is that way #hockey player!jason todd #jason todd #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood #red hood smut #red hood x you #red hood x reader #dc comics #batfam #batman #fem reader #martiniluvr

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decayingearf · 2 days ago

Text

speechless

✗ warnings: 18+, mdni, teasing, condescending praise, animalistic!smoke, munch!smoke, oral (f!receiving) wc: 1k

synopsis: an impromptu phone call whilst away from home led to an risqué situation.

[a/n: READ WITH SONG!]

you’ve got me

after an extempore phone call you made to your boyfriend, he was on his way home. the phone was anything but innocent.

you’ve got me

you were currently adjusting your hair and robe knowing that after the call ended he was gonna fly home. you texted him to see what the hold up was. although it hasn’t even been fifteen minutes, you were needy.

you’ve got me

“baby im on the way, five minutes away” he reassured you trying to not let his needs cloud his mind. you scoff dramatically after reading the message and decide to take things up a notch.

you’ve got me..

you lay on the bed opening your robe the slightest bit and then, open the camera app on your phone, angling the phone down towards your chest. afterwards, you forward the message to him, chewing on your finger. just as it’s sent you notice that he’s seen it.

three dots appear and disappear for about two minutes before you hear his car pull in the driveway.

speechless

your heart pounds with anticipation of what’s about to happen once he reaches the door.

where you been, baby?

you run over to the bedroom window looking down at him getting out of the car and walking towards the door, key already in hand.

waited for you all day

you hurry over to the railing of the staircase only to find him on the other-side of the door twisting the key in the lock.

waited for you to use the key

the door opens and you move over, back to the room shutting the door behind you before, sitting on the bed as if you hadn’t been the cause of him feeling pent up. you fiddle with your hair some more as your heart hammers.

that opens my place

you hear your heart louder than anything thing else.

my heart starts trembling

aside from your heart, his shoes can be heard with every step he takes to meet you.

as i hear your footsteps pace

you stare nervously at the closed door seeing the exact moment his hand collides with the cool stainless steel of the door knob.

lock open, door knob turned

your eyes shoot up as the door swings open and you see his dark gaze.

there appears your face

before you have time to say anything he’s coming towards you his gaze none wavering. he pulls his sweatshirt over his head once in front of you—still without a word.

you watch as if you’ve entered a trance. elijah steps away for a moment, grabbing a pillow before placing it down and picking you up. he kisses your mouth, then neck. god.

“lil needy ass couldn’t wait for me to get home, huh?” he speaks between kisses after laying you down, the small of your back resting against the pillow.

going out my head, i think im losing all my mind

you softly bite down on your finger again. he resumes kissing what’s underneath the silk robe. his lips gentle as if he wants to enjoy this. the kisses move lower to your inner thighs.

still missing where you wanted his mouth. then finally, you feel his lips kiss your dripping cunt. you gasped softly as he growls at the sound he was able to get you to make. “that feel good? you happy im down here finna eat this shit?” smoke questioned already knowing the answer but, still wanting you to say it. you nod before he scoffs and rubs his tongue against your bud causing you to squirm. “i said ‘does that feel good?’ baby?” he repeated as you quickly said “yes it feels good” to which he nodded before pressing his thumb against your clit again, and massages it.

drive me crazy, burning candles, making love all night

you huffed needily at his ministrations closing your eyes. that was short lived before smoke chimed in “nuh-uh, look at me while you cream on my tongue”. you whined before he stuck his tongue in your hole still rubbing your sensitive area. only thing you can see was his head peeking over your tummy and up at your eyes. you watched as he deduced you to a desperate, pent-up , brat.

you can feel his tongue curling in you as if he was trying to get all your essence on his tongue. you’ve never had a guy eat it for his own pleasure. not unless he wanted something in return.

feels so strange , it feels so crazy to be in your world

you’d moan and shudder as your pussy would flutter against his tongue. it was so overwhelming. you were already wound up, now he’s eating it like its his last meal? you wrapped your legs around his head whimpering and shaking. he soon pushed your legs apart, “this what you wanted right? wanted to tease me and get me riled up? take this shit” he grumbled locking his arms around your thighs to ensure you don’t move.

in your arms, lost for words, you’ve got me

he pulled his tongue out before sucking on your clit recklessly with no disregard for how overstimulated you were.

you’ve got me

you tried to push away from his merciless mouth before he dragged you back down towards him.

you’ve got me

you cried out as sucked harder. all you could do was cover your face out of embarrassment. which only lasted for a few seconds before you heard him groan.

“move your hands mama” he demanded prior to continuing his licks and kisses.

ooh, you’ve got me

soon enough, you were a puddle beneath his mouth. he didn’t stop, though. just sucked you through the aftershocks. with one final roll of your hips, he raised to his feet, leaned over and kissed you.

lord, you loved that man.

you’ve got me speechless.

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rainscenes · 2 days ago

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ahh 2, 18, and/or 43 if any inspire you! ❣️

tysm cait 🫶🏻 43. falling asleep with their head in your lap

—

They’re off-line for an hour, deep into a forty-eight and cooling off from a pile-up that had Eddie scrubbing the smell of burning rubber from his skin just twenty minutes ago. The station’s near-silent now, in the middle of the night— he could probably sleep if he wanted to, but.

Sleep’s out of the question.

Instead: he’s slowly sinking further into the once-plush, now-worn out cushions of the couch up in the loft, leg beginning to cramp just a little bit, staring ahead at the turned-off tv and trying so, so hard not to move his hands, staying still, still as a statue so as not to disturb—

Then there’s the sound of a coiled spring squeaking in protest to his side, and Eddie whips his head around in time to watch Hen plop herself into the armchair, legs slung over the armrest and head thrown back dramatically. “We need new furniture up here,” she groans. The springs creak with every shift, and Eddie considers telling her to please stop moving, but cuts himself off before the words spill out.

Thankfully. He’d never hear the end of it.

“Oh.” Hen’s staring at him now, eyes trained around his midsection, flitting up to look Eddie right in the eyes, one brow raised, and back down again.

“How’s Chim?” Eddie asks before Hen can say anything else.

She regards him, curiously. “He’s fine,” she says, drawing out the word like it’s a question, “pretty sure he fell asleep before he was even lying down, but he’s fine.”

“Does not surprise me.”

“You’re not sleeping, though,” Hen says. An accusation, almost, that says what the hell is happening here, except she’d need to ask Buck: it was Buck who sat down next to Eddie and, with only a you mind if I just—, turned to his side to lie down with his head pillowed on Eddie’s thigh and proceeded to tilt Eddie’s world on its axis; it was Buck who managed to pencil in one whole answer to a crossword clue before the little book of puzzles dropped, inelegantly, to his chest, his tired eyes drooping closed.

“No, I’m not,” Eddie tells Hen, spiking his tongue with a little extra snark. If only just to distract himself from everything else, from how he feels like he hasn’t moved a muscle in ten minutes, from how plainly it must be written on his face that he wants to shift, just a little, and watch as Buck sleeps with his head turned inwards, nose nearly brushing the fabric of Eddie’s shirt. His ear is digging into Eddie’s thigh.

Because— of course Eddie wants to. He wants to look, wants to comb through Buck’s damp hair with his fingers and feel the frisson of Buck purring like a cat against his leg, wants to lay his hand on Buck’s chest, feel the even rise and fall of his breathing, the solid muscle, the softness of his stomach, the shape of his ribs.

Maybe, if Hen weren’t boring a hole into his side, he would reach for some of it, let his hand hover over where Buck’s heart is beating. Press against his birthmark with this thumb, watch as Buck’s eyes open, bleary and bright, bright blue.

It must be obvious. He’s too tired to hide anything.

Buck shifts in a way that makes Eddie freeze and the crossword book threaten to slide to the side from where it lays abandoned on his chest, so Eddie reaches to catch it before it falls to the ground. It’s half filled-in already from past downtimes, because whenever it’s not his phone in Buck’s hands it’s this, right here in the loft, in the engine, while waiting for Bobby to finish cooking dinner. He has ink smudged on his hands, sometimes. On his lip, once.

Eddie had watched him chew on the back of the pen for a whole minute before bolting, that time.

He scans the clues, book held a little awkwardly against the armrest of the couch. There’s Worn by firefighters or legs that makes his mouth tick into a grin, HOSE in Buck’s neat scrawl; Cruise: ___ Business which should be RISKY but Buck has left empty, which makes Eddie smile so wide he has to bite the inside of his cheek.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie sees that Hen is on her phone, but he still feels watched. Suddenly desperate to fill the silence just to dissolve that tense anticipation where he’s just waiting to be interrogated, he quickly scans the page for things left unanswered, and quietly prompts, “four words. ‘Wanting tree’.”

Hen hums, considering. “Pine.” Her gaze, pointed right at Eddie, is so piercing he almost feels it in his chest.

“Okay.”

“You don’t want to write that down?” Hen asks.

A spike of— something, like a prickling at the back of his neck. Like he’s been caught. “Buck will want to finish it,” Eddie tells her, still looking at the incomplete crossword instead of at his friend. Though he doesn’t miss the way she closes her eyes and shakes her head, a little exasperatedly.

“So, we’re just not going to talk about…” Hen pauses and points, vaguely, in the direction of Eddie’s lap with her phone, “that.”

Eddie ignores her, and since he’s been caught out anyway, and because it’s Hen and he knows she won’t actually judge him for it, finally looks down instead, at the mess of dirty blond curls against the deep blue of his uniform pants; at Buck, his sleep-parted lips, the way his eyelashes rest against his cheeks, fluttering just slightly. Buck must be dreaming.

“No,” he says, voice so low he thinks Hen might not even catch it, not taking his eyes off Buck. He hears Hen sigh, mutter under her breath. She doesn’t say anything else to him, but it’s hanging in the air anyway. “There’s nothing to talk about,” Eddie goes on despite himself.

“You say that,” Hen tells him, “but, you know.”

He hesitates— thinks, for a moment, about telling her about that ache in his chest, something unsettling and familiar all at once spreading over the entirety of him, the way his fingertips feel like they’re on fire, electrified, magnetized and drawn to Buck. What he ends up saying is, “don’t know what you mean.”

And instead of replying, Hen’s eyebrows draw together in a way that looks almost like pity, but, deep down, Eddie knows it isn’t.

Deep down Eddie knows a lot of things.

#never in my life expected i'd write preslash this frequently but i love it #:)#asks #*f #buddie #nessalook #(since you said i could tag you in anything.)

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asksassyjackfrost · 9 hours ago

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Jack giggled at the feeling, biting his lower lip a bit, feeling even more energized on the people around them's energy from the shot

"Mmmh! Will show off for you any day" he purred and moved to place his lips over his husbands, moving while stealing kisses

Pitch noticed Jacks explosion from behind Cass, humming happily as he placed his pointing finger under Cass's chin, taking the chocolate by pushing his tongue in response

"Hmmm... cheeky" he sounded as he chewed through the chocolaty shell, letting the sweet alcohol run over his tongue

"Mmmh... delicious"

💍 (Cuz it be funny xD)

Send me ‘💍’ for our muses to wake up married after a night of heavy drinking

Jack opened his eyes slowly. Ugh.. His head felt like it was about to burst, his stomach felt sore and his mouth was as dry as could be.

The boy curled up and groaned slightly to himself, he could not remember a thing.. All he knew was that this was the last time he would challange north to a shot competition.

Something didn't feel right tho, he could feel there was someone else in the bed... Hold on? Whos bed was this? He rolled over, staring into an unfamiliar face. The white haired boy sat up quickly, only to fall out of bed, noticing that he was naked, instead of one thing, a ring on his left hand.

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emeraldserenade · 1 day ago

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Since we've established that bby falcon has an oral fixation... ;)

Imagine him seeing the reader constantly biting her lips and he just comes over and kisses her or smth like that and probs gets handsy too

Maybe he offers to let her bite his lips instead or maybe she also has oral fixation and let's her bits his neck or smth

Fixations ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: Joaquín and you help each other with your oral fixations

tw: fem!reader, suggestive, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

Hi!! Both Joaquín and his girl have oral fixations and it drives Sam insane. But they're at least respectful enough to wait until he's not in the room, unless it's a kiss. I meant to post this yesterday but fell asleep planning it so it's out today.

➽──────────────❥

You had the habit of biting your lips when you got anxious or when you were thinking too hard. Joaquín noticed, he always did, and maybe he truly was only trying to help; however, you had the suspicion that he was just feeding his fixation. Every time Joaquín noticed you biting your lips, he walked to you and pulled you into a kiss.

The first couple of times, it was innocent. He would keep his hands on your hips or waist as he kissed you for a few long moments. But as he got more comfortable with it, he got more handsy. His hands would slip into your shirt, his hands splayed out on your skin before pulling you to him. Pressing your hips flush with his before pulling away slightly.

You weren't apposed to it because it fed your oral fixation too. One you didn't fully ever indulge in, but you both knew was there. But the next mission was stressing you too much, your lips were red and raw from how much you were biting them. Joaquín found you sitting on the couch biting your lips after his shower. "Baby, your lips are going to bleed," Joaquín gently pulled your bottom lip from between your teeth.

"Oh, sorry," you mumbled, throwing the tablet you were looking at aside.

"Don't apologize, come here," Joaquín pulled you to him, making you straddle his lap. You knew what he was offering, he's done it before.

"Are you sure?"

"Please, I like it just as much as you do," Joaquín said and you leaned in. You pulled his bottom lip in between your lips and slowly started to bite it. The low groan Joaquín let out only spurred you on and you kept going. After a few minutes, you slowly moved to his neck. Gently biting it as you relaxed in his hold, Joaquín's hands were firmly on your hips as you shifted.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Your leg was bouncing and you were chewing on the inside as your cheek as you sat in the office. Sam and Joaquín were both working but you couldn't focus, your mind was running and you couldn't sit still. Your eyes were bouncing from your screen to the exposed side of Joaquín's neck. You could just sink your teeth in, make your brain quiet, get the anxious feeling in your stomach to leave.

"I'm headed to go pick up lunch, I'll be back," Sam called as he got up to leave. He ordered lunch for the bunch of you right before your brain started to unravel.

You waisted no time in leaning over and sinking your teeth into the junction of Joaquín's neck and shoulder. You let out a breath as Joaquín groaned low in this throat. "You ok?" Joaquín wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you and your chair right next to him. You released his neck as your chair bumped into his.

"Can't focus," you told him, pressing a kiss to the bite mark you accidentally left.

"Any specific reason?"

"No, just couldn't," you responded, leaning into Joaquín to press your lips to his. It started out simple but Joaquín had the habit of making every kiss as steamy as possible. His hands worked their way up your shirt and his fingertips brushed the band of your bra. "Sam will kill us if we fuck in the office," you mumbled against his lips, a breathless laugh tumbling out of you.

"So you feel better?"

"Yeah, I do," you responded, not moving away from him. He smirked at you with a knowing look in his eyes. He slowly tilted his head to the side and you bit his neck one last time, letting your teeth lightly sink into him. You pulled away, kissing the spot, before scooting your chair back to be in front of your computer.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests If you want to be added to the tag list, follow the directions on my masterlist

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #mcu #marvel mcu #cabnw #cabnw spoilers #danny ramirez #danny ramirez x reader

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sturnioz · 2 days ago

Text

you want to try new with shy!matt. he’s uncertain and unsure at first, but when the time comes, you’re taken aback by how easily he seems to speak to you when you’re not face to face.

“you… you want to try what?”

matt’s voice cracks as he stares at you with wide eyes, the string of his hoodie slipping from his mouth where he’d been chewing on it absentmindedly in the middle of watching something on your tv. his lips part in disbelief as he blinks at you, like he’s positive he must’ve misheard you. “what did you say?”

“phone sex,” you simply repeat, tone casual as if you hadn’t just suggested something out of the blue. you shift comfortably on the bed, tucking your legs beneath you, keeping your gaze steady and composed as you watch him. “you know… me and you, separate rooms, getting each other off over the phone—phone sex.”

matt’s breath hitches, and he lets out a nervous, breathy laugh as the apples of his cheeks turn a light shade of pink. he lifts a hand to scratch the back of his neck, his fingers brushing through his hair, pulling at the strands.

“i-i don’t… i don’t know about that…” he stammers, turning his head to avoid your gaze, his eyes darting around the room before focusing on a random spot to get his heart rate back to normal. “i don’t think that’s my thing? i mean, not that i’m saying no, it’s just… what we’re doing right now is good, right? why do we... why is that... what—”

“i think you’re overthinking it already,” you tease lightly as you cut him off, a playful smile tugging at the corner of your lips as he glances at you briefly before looking away again, the blush on his cheeks turning a deeper shade. "yes, what we're doing right now is really good. but there's nothing wrong with wanting to have some fun—something new for us to try."

he swallows hard, his throat bobbing as he processes your words, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips as he runs a hand down his face. his thumb tugs at his bottom lip before it's caught between his teeth, nervously biting at the nail.

"what if i'm bad at it?" he asks you, his eyes hesitantly meeting yours, and you see the way he's second-guessing himself. "i... i can't even talk to you normally during it sometimes. what if i'm worse over the phone?"

you immediately jump to reassure him. "matt, you're not going to be bad at it. and if it's awkward or weird or something, that's okay. we'll just laugh about it later." "you make it sound so easy..."

"that's because it is easy," you reply, leaning forward to close the space between you, trying not to grin at the way matt's head ducks to shyly avoid your gaze. "we'll just try it, okay? and if it's not for us, we move on—forget about it. but if it is for us..."

you let the thought trail off, your eyebrow raising with a suggestive, teasing smirk, and matt swallows thickly, his mouth drying up. it takes him a moment longer to nod his head, silently agreeing to try this with you, his fingers trembling as he reaches for his phone from your nightstand.

you watch him as he slides off your bed, clearing his throat quickly as he gives you a timid smile before leaving you alone in the bedroom. you hear him quietly walk down the hallway, muttering to himself as he disappears into a different room.

you're excited.

you're eager.

you're... honestly already turned on at the idea of him even participating in something like this with you.

you'd expected him to shake his head and refuse straight up. you'd prepared yourself for it, fully ready to scrap the idea and never mention it ever again. but for him to surprise you like this? him agreeing and actually trying something so out of his comfort zone?

the thought alone sends a thrill through you.

it doesn't take long for your phone to start vibrating against the mattress, and you grin to yourself, reaching for the device and tapping the green icon to answer with your thumb, bringing the phone up to your ear.

"hello?" you greet, your tone deliberately soft and inviting.

there's a pause on the other end, and for a moment, you wonder if he's frozen up—rethinking his decision—then you hear him clear his throat. "hey," he says, voice quiet and a little shaky. "i'm, uh... i'm on the couch. in the living room."

you smile to yourself, already picturing him; sitting stiff, probably clutching the phone with one hand while the other taps nervously against his knee.

"comfortable?" you ask him, settling back against the pillows and letting your body relax as you stretch out on the bed, your gaze drifting to the ceiling as your palm rests on your tummy.

"uh.. yeah. yeah, comfortable," he replies quickly. you can almost see him nodding, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip the way it always does when he's feeling anxious. "are you?"

you can't help but giggle softly, "you're so cute."

"that's... not what i'm trying to go for," he nervously laughs, and you hear the faint sound of shuffling—maybe the creak of the couch as he shifts or the sleeves of his hoodie brushing against the phone. "i don't really know how to start this."

"start however you want," you hum softly. "you've got this."

the line is quiet again, and you can hear his breathing, like he's struggling to work up the courage. you stay silent, giving him the space to lead as your fingers mindlessly draw circles around your belly button.

"i..." he starts, his voice cracking slightly before he clears his throat once again. "i was thinking about you... before i called."

"oh?" you murmur, your voice dipping lower. "and what were you thinking about?"

"i was thinking about how you looked when i was with you, laying on the bed in my clothes."

"yeah?" a small smile plays on your lips. "what about it?"

"i just... i like seeing you in my clothes, especially when you don't have anything underneath," he whispers tentatively, trying to ease himself into this new territory. "i can see everything, then."

your breath catches slightly, his words catching you off guard, not only because of what he said, but because of how he said it too—spoken so softly yet so raw and honest.

you never expected your usually shy and quiet boyfriend to be so forward with you like this, and you take a moment to regain yourself, opening your mouth to respond until matt interrupts you.

"do you... do you touch yourself while wearing my clothes?" he asks you quietly, and you instantly feel a rush of heat throbbing between your thighs at his sudden question, shocked yet so fucking turned on.

you squirm a little, aware of the fabric of his shirt that's rubbing against your already pebbled nipples while your fingers trace along the waistband of the shorts, pushing beneath the elastic.

"yeah, sometimes," you breathe out shakily, spreading your legs further apart as you lightly touch yourself over your panties. “i think about you when i do it. i imagine you touching me instead with your tongue or your fingers.”

“yeah? i think about you too…” his sudden confession makes you moan quietly, circling your clit over the fabric as you listen to him take deep breaths into the phone. “you always make me feel good when you touch me, but i like touching you more. i love tasting you.”

your cunt clenches around nothing at the words leaving his lips, how he still sounds so shy and timid, yet so confident. it’s a different side of him, definitely something you want to explore even more.

but you keep that to yourself for the moment as you shove your hand down your panties, your thumb pressing harder against your sensitive clit while shoving two fingers into your already slick hole—imagining they’re matt’s instead.

“what are you doing?” you hear matt ask in the midst of your pleasure, his voice quiet, yet you hear the faint rustling of his sweatpants being pulled down, causing the heat in your belly to swirl. “are… are you touching yourself? i can hear it—you’re so wet. i… i like that.”

you moan, fingering yourself harder, pumping two fingers into your heat as matt’s voice fills your ears, making you squeeze tightly around the digits that curl against your gummy walls. your hips roll, meeting your own movements, the mattress creaking beneath you.

“are you imagining it’s my cock in there instead? you… you like the stretch, right?”

that filthy, sudden yet specific question coming from matt makes your eyes bulge as your back arches off the bed, your nipples rubbing against the fabric of his shirt as your fingers thrust deeper—faster—the loud squelching noises heard clear as day.

“y-yeah—yes. i like the stretch. so much,” you whimper. "i like it when you're buried deep inside me, matt."

"i like it too," matt pants, and you can hear the wet noises of his hand stroking his cock. "i like being inside you. you always feel so warm around me. tight too... your pussy is my favourite place to be."

you feel your toes curl as the pressure inside you builds, your hips rocking erratically against your fingers as you chase your teetering high. your walls clench rhythmically around your fingers, moans and whines spilling from your lips, perfectly in time with the sounds of matt frantically jerking himself off over the phone.

"i don't want you to cum like this," you hear matt falter, sucking in a deep breath, more rustling noises being heard on his end. you stop pumping your fingers, your brows knitting together in confusion as you pant down the phone, lips parting to question him until he continues. "i want you to cum on me—around me. i want to cum inside you. please let me come back to the bedroom... please."

"fuck," you breathe out, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your eyes snap to your bedroom door, heart pounding. you tighten your grip on the phone, nodding to yourself quickly. "come here. come back to me, matt."

there's a small pause before the line cuts off, followed by the hurried footsteps across the hallway. when the door swings open and he steps into the room—breathless and flushed—that familiar shyness reappears across his face.

for all the bold things he whispered into the phone a few seconds prior, for everything he spoke to you when the distance made him feel a lot braver than he already is—he still won't meet your eyes when he hovers over you, his cock buried in the place where he rightfully belongs.

divider credits. @/saradika-graphics.

#matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo #☆ shy!matt #꒰ shy!matt prompt ꒱#©sturnioz

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thatonegrimm · 2 days ago

Note

so, I havent been able to stop thinking about this ever since the soul stealing animation was shown- may as well req ot then. Could I request saja boys (separately) reaction to meeting there partner (GN) for the first time and trying to take there soul, only for them to eat it? Like that scene from murder drones with cyn/uzi where they grab the soul and nom. THANK YOUUII <33333 idk I think it would be funny.

Honestly I haven’t seen Murder Drones (it looks interesting), but I think I got what you meant—and this was so fun to write. The image of the Saja Boys trying to go full demon only to be met with a casual soul-chomp?? Iconic. Thanks so much for the request!! 💀🖤✨

🌙 Saja Boys x Reader Who Eats Their Own Soul Mid-Summon

It was supposed to be a warning. Now they’re afraid of you. Or in love. Or both.

--------------------------------------

🧿 Jinu

He was being careful. Respectful. By-the-book.

Your aura was unusual—bright, soft, like starlight trapped in mortal skin—but he had to confirm your identity. Extracting a portion of your soul was the cleanest method.

One graceful motion, and your essence began to rise, golden and pulsing.

He didn’t expect you to just grab it.

He definitely didn’t expect you to bite it.

And he absolutely did not expect you to chew thoughtfully and say:

“Huh. Tastes like warm honey and unfinished trauma.”

Jinu stood frozen. His spellbook slid from his fingers. His patterns dimmed in shock.

“You—you weren’t supposed to eat that.”

“Well,” you shrugged. “You shouldn’t have summoned it hungry.”

His hands fluttered like he wanted to reset the entire room.

“That’s not how any of this works. You should be unconscious. Or cursed. Or—digesting divine essence!!”

You just gave him a cheeky smile.

He hasn’t slept since.

--------------------------------------

💪 Abby

Abby didn’t even mean to take your soul on purpose. It was a reflex—some demon tension, a little spark of power, and boom: there it was, floating midair like a sparkler dipped in ghost juice.

“WAIT—WAIT, NO—”

Too late.

You reached up, plucked it out of the air like a glowing donut hole, and chomped.

Right. In. Front. Of. Him.

Abby dropped his tongs. There was meat still sizzling on the grill and he did not care.

“Did—DID YOU JUST—?”

You licked your fingers. “Was that… cinnamon?”

He pointed at you like you were on fire.

“That was your SOUL.”

“It was hovering. You hesitated. That’s on you.”

He looked like he was about to cry.

Then ran and grabbed you a bottle of water and an energy bar, just in case you combusted.

He’s convinced you’ll either gain powers or explode.

You gained his complete attention instead.

He now flinches every time you yawn. “Please don’t do it again.”

--------------------------------------

📚 Mystery

He moved quietly. No announcement. No drama.

Just a subtle shift in shadow, and your soul lifted gently from your chest—soft, pale, flickering like candlelight on water.

You blinked.

You reached.

You ate it.

In two bites.

Like it was a damn marshmallow Peep.

Mystery didn’t move for a full ten seconds.

Then, calmly, he took one step back, tilted his head, and muttered:

“They bit reality.”

You gave a thumbs-up and a content little “mm.”

He nodded, once, and pulled out his notebook.

“Subject consumed personal soul. No immediate combustion. Possibly immortal. Possibly gremlin deity.”

Later, when you teased him about it, he just stared.

“It was impressive,” he said.

“And hot?” you offered.

He blinked once.

Then nodded.

--------------------------------------

💋 Romance

He was flirting, obviously.

Caressing the edges of your aura with smooth fingers, coaxing your soul into visibility like it was an elegant striptease of the spirit.

“Let me just take a peek at your essence,” he purred. “It’s for compatibility. And science.”

Your soul rose—glowing, perfect, lovely.

And then, without breaking eye contact, you devoured it in two bites like a sugary snack.

Romance screamed.

Like, hands-flung-in-the-air, full-volume dramatic wail.

“YOU ATE YOUR OWN SOUL! WHY DID YOU EAT IT? WHO HURT YOU???”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. “You were being weird.”

He staggered backwards, hand on his chest.

“You just unlocked a new tier of feral, and I… might be obsessed with you.”

You: “Only might?”

“...Okay, no. Fully. Utterly. Tragically.”

He now refers to you as “My Sweet Abomination.”

--------------------------------------

🔥 Baby

He meant to be intimidating.

Soul extraction’s a flex. A way to remind mortals they’re fragile.

So when yours rose up—glowing red-gold, warm and soft and unprotected—he smirked.

Until you looked him dead in the eye, smiled, and took a bite.

Like it was fruit.

Like it was YOURS. (Which it was, but still.)

Baby did not react well.

“WHAT THE F*** IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

“I was hungry,” you said sweetly. “Thanks for the delivery.”

He backed up three steps like you were radioactive.

You kept chewing.

“Tastes like red licorice and minor trauma.”

He stood there, jaw on the floor, silently questioning everything he knew about humanity.

Then, under his breath:

“...That was kinda hot.”

You winked.

He won’t say he’s obsessed with you now. But he does follow you around a little closer. Just in case.

Just in case you ever try to eat something else forbidden.

Like his heart.

--------------------------------------

M-List

#saja boys x reader #baby x reader #abby x reader #jinu x reader #mystery x reader #romance x reader #kpdh x reader #kpop demon hunters #kpdh

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heavenlybodies333 · 1 day ago

Text

They Always Come Back -S.R part II part I

Spencer Reid x Hotch’s daughter!reader

Detox, Day 3

Of course he wasn’t going to send you to some rehab two states away—he was too much of a federal agent and too little of a father for that. No, he wanted eyes on you. So the same hospital that saved your damn life just happened to have a narcotic outpatient treatment program. And what a coincidence: the director just happened to owe Hotch a favor.

Three sessions a week. Random drug tests. Supervised medication protocol. All of it, specifically requested by your father.

Hotch wants you to “earn back his trust.” What trust? The man never gave you any to begin with.

You’re sprawled on your bed in your dad’s house—the one he barely sleeps in, because he’s always at work or with Jack or too busy running the Bureau to remember he has a daughter bleeding out at his kitchen table.

The ceiling fan makes a gentle clicking noise. The blanket smells like dryer sheets and bleach. Like something designed to erase your scent.

There’s a knock at your door. You don’t answer. But the door opens anyway.

“Don’t you fucking knock?” you mumble.

“I did.” Spencer steps into the room like it still belongs to him. Like you still belong to him.

He’s holding a tray. Soup. Bread. Water. You roll away.

“You haven’t eaten,” he says.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You almost overdosed.”

“And you almost choked me out with your concern,” you snap. “So let’s call it even.”

He sighs. “You know you’re not alone in this, right?”

You glare. “Oh my God. Shut the fuck up.”

Silence. Then—“I have sessions too,” he says. “Hotch thought we could alternate appointments.”

You scoff. “Cute. Co-parenting me now, are you?”

Spencer’s jaw ticks. “I don’t want to parent you,” he says. “I want to fix what I broke.”

You feel your heart twist, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you throw a pillow at the door.

“Get out.”

He does. But the tray stays.

Detox, Day 4

The day starts with a lock on the liquor cabinet.

You didn’t even try to open it—Hotch just installed it like a silent accusation. Like he’s afraid you’ll fall into another bottle the second he’s not watching. Maybe he’s not wrong.

He leaves a note on the kitchen counter before heading out to Quantico:

Be ready at 2:00. Therapy. Spencer’s driving.

Nothing signed. Nothing soft. Just instructions. Like a case file. You crumple the note and throw it away. You don’t get dressed.

When Spencer arrives, he knocks once and lets himself in, again. You’re still in one of your dad’s oversized sweatshirts and no pants, curled in the corner of the couch.

“You’re late,” you mutter.

He checks his watch. “I’m not.”

“Well, I don’t want to go.”

“Too bad.”

You don’t move. Neither does he. “Do I have to carry you?” he asks eventually.

You arch a brow. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” His eyes darken—but he looks away. Like touching you is still sacred. Off-limits. You hate how much that hurts.

You finally drag yourself to your feet, brushing past him on the way to your room to throw on leggings and grab your therapy binder—yes, therapy has homework, apparently—and when you return to the living room, Spencer’s standing by the door, keys in hand.

“Ready?”

“No.”

But you go anyway. The car ride is quiet. You stare out the window while he drives. You count the telephone poles. You bite your nail until it bleeds and then chew the skin beside it.

Spencer doesn’t speak until you’re two blocks from the outpatient building. “Have you thought about what you’re going to talk about today?”

You shoot him a look. “Jesus, are you quizzing me now?”

“No,” he says gently. “Just asking.”

You look back at the window. “I’m going to talk about how I hate being watched like a criminal in my own fucking house. How my dad doesn’t trust me. How the one person I thought gave a shit about me abandoned me the second things got hard.”

Silence.

“Good,” Spencer says quietly. “Start there.”

Detox, Day 6

You told yourself it would just be a walk.

Just one lap around the block. Just enough time to clear your head. Just long enough to feel like something—anything—was still yours to choose.

But your dealer lives three doors down. The universe has made it so easy. But you don’t even make it halfway down the driveway before you freeze.

Spencer’s standing in the shadow of the garage. Arms crossed. Hoodie on. Silent. Watching you like he’s been doing it all night. “You’re kidding me,” you mutter.

Spencer. Fucking Spencer.

“Seriously?” he says, voice low, tense. “After everything?”

“I needed air.”

“It’s midnight.”

“Good,” you snap, “then the disappointment won’t show on your face.”

You turn, fingers curled around your hoodie pocket. But his hand catches your wrist. “Don’t run again.”

You freeze. Your pulse jumps beneath his fingers, warm skin to warm skin, familiar in a way that hurts. “Just—don’t,” he says.

“I’m not your problem,” you whisper, voice catching on the tail end.

“You are,” he replies. “I can’t stop caring about you. Even if I should.”

The breath leaves your lungs.

“I keep thinking about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t called me,” he says, stepping closer, eyes searching yours. “If I’d ignored it. If I’d ignored you.”

“I didn’t call you. I called muscle memory.” You yank your arm free. “I didn’t want you, I wanted someone.”

“Bullshit,” he says quietly.

You shove past him. “You should hate me,” you spit. “I’d hate me.”

“I don’t.”

“Then you’re more fucked up than I thought.”

You reach the sidewalk. He doesn’t follow. But when you come back ten minutes later—empty-handed, angry, shaking—he’s still there. Waiting. Tears come hot, humiliating, unstoppable. You hate crying in front of anyone—especially him—but the sob breaks free anyway.

Spencer gathers you before the first tear even falls. He pulls you against his chest, arms wrapping fully, completely—like he remembers the exact shape of you. You fist his shirt, shaking.

“I’m sorry,” you choke.

“For what?”

“For making you see me like this.”

His lips brush your temple. “I’d rather see you like this than never see you again.”

Detox, Day 8

The boredom is worse than the withdrawals.

No phone. No laptop. No exit.

Garcia blocked everything with a parental lock that should be illegal. You tried to ask her nicely. She sent you a selfie of your own hospital intake form. And Hotch? He’s not around. You think maybe that hurts more than anything.

But of course—you’re not alone. You can’t even fucking leave without someone chaperoning you like a toddler on a leash. And Spencer—of all people—is your assigned babysitter when Hotch is spending his late nights at the BAU.

Today, he’s at the coffee table, unfolding a chessboard.

You groan. “If you say one more line of psychobabble I swear to God I will scream.”

“We could play chess,” he offers, ignoring the threat.

“Or you could take your condescending Mensa-ass brain and leave me alone.”

He smiles, faintly. “There she is.”

You scowl. “Don’t pretend to be proud of my bitchy recovery.”

“Not proud.” He sets the board up anyway. “Relieved. Anger’s better than nothing.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why are you doing this?”

He pauses, then quietly: “Because I didn’t last time.”

The room goes still. You don’t say anything until he makes his move. “Pawn to E4.”

“You’re going to regret this,” you mutter, curling your legs under you on the couch.

Spencer doesn’t flinch when you slam your pawn down in retaliation, nearly knocking it off the board. He just tilts his head, studies you the same way he does crime scenes. Like if he stares long enough, the puzzle will unlock itself.

"You always open aggressively," he says.

You roll your eyes. "Maybe I’m just trying to end the game faster so you’ll shut the hell up."

A small smile tugs at his mouth, and for a second, it almost feels normal. Like you’re back in your apartment, ordering Thai takeout and playing chess in your underwear while pretending the world didn’t exist outside of his hands on your waist.

Five moves later you’ve boxed yourself into an unwinnable position, furious at the board, at him, at the four sober days clawing at your nerves.

“Check,” he adds.

You don’t even look at the board. “Fuck your check.”

“Not quite how the game works.”

“I’m not playing anymore.” You shove back from the coffee table, the chair scraping hardwood as the chess board flies with pieces falling everywhere. The motion rattles a nearly empty mug—the chamomile Spencer made you instead of the glass of whiskey you asked for.

He stands too, blocking your retreat to the hallway. “Where are you going?”

“Anywhere you’re not.”

“Running again?”

Your laugh is ugly. “What’s the alternative, Spencer? Sit here sober, saintly, and supervised?”

“No,” he says quietly. “Sit here angry. And seen. And safe.”

You hate that his voice cracks on the last word. It makes your throat burn. “M-Move,” you whisper.

“No.”

You shove his shoulder. He doesn’t budge. “Move,” you repeat, louder.

“Hit me if it helps.”

You do. Open palm, center of his chest—the same place you used to flatten your hand when you kissed him in stolen Quantico stairwells. The memory punches the breath from your lungs. His fingers curl around your wrist, gentle but immovable.

“I’m not your problem,” you say again, voice shaking.

“You keep saying that,” he murmurs. “But you called me. You overdosed, and you called me.”

Tears prick hot behind your eyes—rage, shame, want.

“Why, sweetheart?” His thumb strokes the inside of your wrist, pulse point thrumming. “Why me?”

“Because I knew you’d come.” It spills out before you can stop it. Your voice is raw. “You always come.”

Something fractures in his expression—relief, devastation, desire all at once. He steps into your space, and you don’t retreat. Your back finds the hallway wall. “Are we both making bad decisions right now?” he asks, breathless.

“Probably.”

“Tell me to stop.”

You shake your head, throat tight.

“Say it,” he pleads, nose brushing yours.

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t stop.”

His mouth crashes to your throat, sucking bruises you’ll have to explain to your therapist. “I should stop,” he whispers against your collarbone. “I have to stop.”

You run your hands through his soft hair, meeting his lips with yours. “No. No you don’t get to, not this time. You left,” you gasp against his lips. “You left and you let him win—”

“I know,” he says, kissing you harder. “I know, I’m sorry—” You bite his lower lip. He moans.

“I needed you.”

“I know.”

He lifts you like you weigh nothing and lays you out on the couch, kissing down your neck, your collarbone, your chest. When he slides his hand under your sweatshirt, you don’t stop him. Your shorts are yanked down your thighs. He groans when he finds you bare underneath.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice breaking. “You’re soaked.”

“For you,” you whisper.

He kisses down your neck, your chest, between your breasts, all while his fingers press inside you, curling just right, pulling a cry from your throat.

“I love how loud you get,” he says, biting your inner thigh. “Missed that, too.”

He throws one of your legs over his shoulder. His tongue flicks against your clit and you shudder, a whimper clawing out of your throat as his fingers dig bruises into your thighs to hold you steady.

“Spence—” your voice breaks. “F-Fuck, I can’t—”

“You can.” His voice is a low growl against you. “I’m not stopping until you do.”

You come undone on his tongue, one hand yanking his hair, the other clawing at the wall, thighs trembling around his head as he fucks you through it with slow, punishing strokes of his mouth.

When you finally push at his shoulders, whimpering from overstimulation, he rises slowly—mouth shiny, eyes wild.

“You taste the same,” he says, kissing you before you can respond. “Still fucking perfect.”

You taste yourself on his tongue and moan into him.

He shoves his pants down just enough, lining himself up against your slick entrance as your legs wrap around him like instinct. You’re already whining when he presses forward, slow and deliberate, filling you so deep you choke on it.

“Oh my god,” you sob. “Spence—fuck—”

“I’ve got you,” he pants, voice shaking. “Let me take care of you. Let me make it better.”

He does—long, measured thrusts at first, letting you adjust, then faster, harder when you hook your heels behind his thighs. Sweat beads at his temple; you lick it away. Every push rocks the headboard against drywall; somewhere distant you think Hotch will notice dents, but Spencer cups your jaw, forces focus to him.

You sob against his palm, and he lets you speak. “I missed you,” you cry. “Fuck, Spencer—no one’s ever—Jesus—no one fucks me like you.”

“That’s right.” His thrusts get harder. Sloppier. “Only me. Always me.”

You can’t answer. You’re too close. Your back arches as you clench around him, a strangled moan tearing from your throat. “You’re close,” he pants, grinding into you with precision now, every roll of his hips hitting something devastatingly perfect. “I can feel it—fuck—come for me, sweetheart.”

You dig your heels into his back, pulling him deeper, closer, his hand finds yours, lacing your fingers tight, grounding you.

He follows with a moan punched from his chest, hips jerking forward once, twice—then stilling as he spills inside you with a breathless, "fuck."

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is your breathing—ragged and uneven. You can see Spencer looking up at the ceiling with tight shut eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he murmurs.

“You always say that,” you whisper, lips trembling. “And then you do it again.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Good.”

He leans his forehead to your shoulder. “I need you to stay clean,” he says.

You nod. “I need you to not leave again.”

He kisses the nape of your neck. “I won’t.”

You let him hold you even though you didn’t believe him, because love is the cruelest drug of all.

a/n: I spend too much time with limerence

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds x you #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fanfiction

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queersyourgender · 14 hours ago

Note

hi! could you do something with Robby x diabetic reader. Maybe something where their blood sugar drops and Robby has to help them get it back up!

HR Violating Sweetness — Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x GN!Reader

Notes: Fun fact— diabetes runs in my family! I have no idea if it skipped me or not, but I sure as hell don't want to find out LMAOO

———

Being a charge nurse is no easy job. It's a grueling, heavy task, and as such, not for the faint of heart. You've always been good at prioritizing who needed earlier care than who, minimizing the amount of time wasted deciding what happens when, and directing your fellow nurses and medical assistants to getting the job done, all with the frightening efficacy of a drill sergeant. It's practically the perfect job for you.

Sometimes, though, your body disagreed. With all the stress it puts you under, you're bound to buckle every now and then, and you hate when that happens in front of others. It's kind of on you this time, though, because you'd been late for the first time in decades, and had rushed out of your home without taking your breakfast, blood sugar, nothing. You didn't even have your morning tea.

As such, it doesn't surprise you when two hours into the shift, you start feeling unwell. Your eyes refuse to cooperate and focus on the patient board, and just craning your head to look up at said board was making you feel all types of wrong. Without noticing, you lean back on the nurse's station counter, your breaths shallow and your gaze glassy.

Perlah does notice, though, because you're not leaning on the counter, you're leaning on her. “Woah, hey, you okay?” She asks you, her concern spiking immediately when you try to say something but end up muttering slurred gibberish in her general direction. Quickly, she gets to her feet, holding you up to support you and looking around frantically for the patient's food cart.

But it's busy as fuck today, there's so many people walking and buzzing about, and she can't see it anywhere. “Fuck, could I get some help over here?!” Perlah finally relents, knowing you were probably going to chew her out for it later but not particularly giving a damn at the moment, not when you're about to slip into hypoglycemic syncope.

It's not an uncommon sentence to be yelled out in the ER, but it's who it's coming from that makes Robby immediately drop everything and bound over to the nurse's station at an embarrassing speed. “I'm fine,” is the first thing you say when he swims into your vision, trying to shake your head but just making yourself more dizzy. “Just need something to eat.”

“You haven't eaten?” Robby inquires, his voice sounding far away but still clear enough for you to pick up on his incredulity. You go to say something, only for him to suddenly take something out of his pocket, hurriedly unwrapping it and shoving it into your hands. “Here, take this.”

You blink at it unfathomingly for a moment, because why does he just have that at the ready, but take it from him with shaky hands anyway. The moment you bite into the chocolate bar, you can feel your body rebalance itself, feel your feet become steadier on the ground and the strength seep back into your knees.

“You walk around with chocolate bars in your pockets?” You say, finally sounding a little more like yourself, and both Perlah and Robby sigh in relief. At the question, though, Perlah also turns to the attending, a knowing and teasing smile on her face as she watches him to see how he's going to answer.

Robby flushes slightly, his cheeks dusting a soft pink as he scratches at his beard and looks back at you with a sheepish grin. “They're for you,” he settles on revealing because how the hell was he going to get out of this one? No lie would be believable. “Just in case.”

Your own face heats up in surprise at the words, before you suddenly adorn a shit-eating expression and laugh. “Aww, Robby,” you coo playfully, waving the chocolate bar between you two and winking. “If I'd known you were this sweet, I'd've just kissed you instead.”

And oh, the HR violation is so worth the way his entire head erupts into a violent shade of tomato red, you can practically see steam coming out of his ears to cool off. Perlah throws her head back and laughs, nudging you in the shoulder and turning away to go back to work. She's obviously trying to sneak away before you give her the aforementioned chewing out, but for the moment, you allow it.

#the pitt #x reader #the pitt x reader #reader #michael robinavitch #perlah alawi #michael robinavitch x reader

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lilirae00 · 2 days ago

Text

No Matter the Miles - Part 5

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings: Smut, sexual content 18+

a/n: We made it to the end! I hope you like the way this turned out. When I started writing this idea, it was ending up 10x longer than I intended so that’s how we ended up with five parts. Oops. I'd say it was a happy mistake because I really like this one.

Masterlist

–

Eventually, the quiet between them settled into something warm and unspoken. The teasing faded, replaced by that heavy, knowing hush that always followed their biggest fights.

They didn’t apologize again. They didn’t have to.

Instead, Paige pressed one last kiss to Azzi’s hair and mumbled something about food. Azzi huffed like she didn’t care but her stomach betrayed her with a loud growl that made them both snort.

It broke the tension enough that they finally untangled, shifting from the old couch to the floor below, fumbling for Azzi’s phone to figure out what to order.

They settled on one of their old favorites, ordering with the connection crackling so badly they had to repeat themselves three times before the order went through.

They sat pressed together on the old rug in front of the coffee table, knees brushing, elbows colliding as they giggled and shushed each other like conspirators, breath warm on flushed cheeks while they fumbled with the receipt and card.

Every accidental touch lingered just a beat too long, like neither really wanted to pull away.

When the food came, they sprawled on the floor, boxes steaming in the soft lamp light that threw golden shadows over bare arms and collarbones.

Azzi immediately leaned in and stole a forkful of Paige’s curry, deliberately slow, her lips curling around the fork with exaggerated, obscene delight.

She let out a moan that was far too convincing, eyes fluttering as she pretended to fan her mouth, cheeks flushing pink.

Paige tried to roll her eyes, but it failed spectacularly when her mouth twitched with an involuntary smile. She scooped up rice and fed it to Azzi, holding the fork deliberately steady while Azzi leaned forward.

Azzi didn’t just take the bite—she dragged her tongue along the fork, her eyes locked on Paige’s the entire time.

Paige felt heat curl low in her belly, her breath hitching as she yanked the fork back a little too quickly, swallowing hard.

Azzi just smirked, chewing slowly, deliberately. She shifted closer, their thighs flush now, voice a smoky whisper as she leaned in. “Spicy, huh?”

Paige cleared her throat, trying to sound annoyed but failing as her voice cracked slightly. “Yeah. That’s one word for it.”

Azzi’s grin was slow and dangerous. She didn’t move back.

When they’d eaten enough to push the boxes aside, they stayed where they were, knees brushing, the lamplight casting a warm pool around them, making the old wood floors glow.

Outside, the cicadas droned in the humid dark. Inside, it felt like the world had gotten very small and very quiet.

Paige’s eyes kept dropping to Azzi’s mouth, and Azzi wasn’t even touching her but Paige felt hot all over, her heart thudding like she’d been running.

Her fingers twitched against her own thigh.

Azzi didn’t break the silence first. She just watched Paige with that unblinking, open focus that always made Paige feel like she was seen—really, completely seen.

It shook her to her bones every time.

Paige swallowed hard, voice cracking a little. “It’s been…a week.”

Azzi blinked at her, lips parting like she wanted to respond, but no words came out.

Instead her breath hitched, her chest rising too fast. There was a wet gleam at the corners of her eyes she didn’t bother to swipe away.

Paige’s fingers lifted, slow, tentative, brushing her knuckles along Azzi’s jaw like she was afraid to startle her.

Azzi didn’t pull away. She turned into the touch, exhaling like it hurt to hold anything in anymore.

“I missed you,” Paige whispered, the words breaking on her tongue.

Azzi’s lashes fluttered. Her voice cracked. “You had me.”

Paige shook her head, thumb stroking Azzi’s cheek, catching one warm tear. “Not like this.” Her voice was hoarse, ragged, and the truth of it sat between them like something holy.

Azzi’s fingers came up to catch Paige’s wrist, holding her hand tighter against her face.

Her own voice was wrecked, pleading and certain all at once. “Then take me.”

Paige’s breath stuttered. Her lungs felt too small. She let her forehead fall until it pressed against Azzi’s, noses brushing, breaths mingling.

They were both shaking.

“Are you sure?” she rasped.

Azzi didn’t even blink. “Paige. I’m always sure of you.”

That was it. That was everything. Paige’s thumb kept brushing away Azzi’s tears, her own vision blurring.

She heard Azzi let out a tiny sound that was half a laugh, half a sob.

“Please,” Azzi breathed.

Paige closed her eyes for a second, grounding herself in the heat of Azzi’s skin, the way she was trembling. When she opened them again, there was nothing but Azzi in her world.

“I want you,” Paige said roughly. “But not just…this. I want you you. Even the parts you’re scared to give me. The parts that are mad at me. The parts I hurt.”

Azzi’s mouth trembled. A single tear slid free, and Paige chased it with her thumb. Azzi pressed into her touch like she was starved for it.

“Good,” Azzi whispered. “Because you have me. All of me. Even the parts that want to scream at you. The parts that hate how much I need you.”

Paige let out a broken laugh that turned into a sob halfway. Her forehead pressed harder to Azzi’s. “God, I’m sorry,” she choked.

Azzi shook her head sharply. “No. Don’t apologize for wanting me so bad you’ll give up everything. Don’t be sorry for that. Just—” Her voice broke. She swallowed. “Promise you’ll let me want you back.”

Paige’s answering laugh was wet, hiccuping. “Promise.”

Then she kissed her.

It started cautious. Gentle. Testing. Their mouths fit together slow, deliberate, re-learning the give and take of breath and heat and forgiveness.

Azzi whimpered the moment Paige deepened the kiss, hands scrabbling at her sides like she couldn’t get close enough.

She fisted Paige’s shirt, yanking her in until there was absolutely no space left, chests crushed together, their hearts pounding wild against each other.

Her breath came out ragged, breaking against Paige’s mouth as she twisted to chase every last bit of contact.

Paige kissed her jaw, the corner of her mouth, the damp curve of her cheek where tears had only just dried.

Azzi let out a wrecked, pleading sound, voice cracking with need as her fingers dug into Paige’s back. “God, Paige. Please. I need you. I need you so bad.”

Her words trembled with urgency, raw and unfiltered, like she’d been holding them back for days and they finally broke free.

“Say it again,” Paige groaned, desperate.

Azzi’s eyes locked on hers, glassy but steady. “I need you.”

Paige’s hands slid under Azzi’s shirt, thumbs brushing warm skin that made Azzi shudder and rock against her.

“Off,” Paige mumbled, tugging at the hem.

Azzi lifted her arms obediently. Paige peeled the shirt over her head, tossing it aside. She paused, letting her eyes drink her in, chest heaving.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered, voice cracked with awe.

Azzi let out a watery laugh. “You’re biased.”

“Damn right I am.”

Paige pressed kisses down her throat, over the curve of her collarbone.

Azzi’s head tipped back, a shuddery gasp escaping. Paige took her time, tasting salt and warmth, letting her teeth scrape just enough to make Azzi squirm and whimper.

Azzi’s fingers slid into Paige’s hair, holding her there with a trembling need.

Paige let out a husky, breath-warm laugh against her neck. “Getting impatient?”

Azzi’s voice broke, low and pleading. “Don’t tease me… just….please.”

And neither of them was laughing anymore when Paige’s mouth found her breast. She kissed slowly but with purpose, heat simmering in every press of her lips.

Azzi’s breath hitched, her back arching to give her more, the old rug scraping her skin as she writhed, needing Paige’s mouth like air.

Paige pressed her forehead to Azzi’s chest for a second, just breathing her in, before kissing lower, teasing her stomach with open-mouthed kisses.

Azzi’s hips rolled helplessly, the muscles in her thighs jumping.

Paige paused at the waistband, looking up, eyes blown dark. “Okay?”

Azzi nodded so hard her hair fell into her face. “Please.”

Paige hooked her thumbs into the waistband of Azzi’s shorts and underwear, tugging them down slow.

Azzi lifted her hips without being asked, breath shuddering, eyes locked on Paige like she was afraid she’d vanish.

When the clothes slid over her thighs and pooled on the floor, Azzi was already flushed pink, the lamplight catching every slick, wet, vulnerable part of her.

Paige swallowed hard, something in her chest squeezing so tight she thought it would crack her ribs. She ran her palms up Azzi’s thighs, thumbs pressing into the firm muscles there, grounding her.

“Jesus, baby,” she rasped, voice wrecked.

Azzi’s breath hitched. She tried to joke, but it came out choked. “Don’t you dare make fun of me.”

Paige shook her head minutely, eyes locked on hers. “I’m not.” Her thumbs traced soothing circles. “I just…God. Look at you.”

Azzi’s lip wobbled, tears threatening again. She bit them back, lifting a shaky hand to bury her fingers in Paige’s hair.

“All for you,” she whispered.

Paige’s breath caught on a sob she refused to let out. She kissed the inside of Azzi’s knee, then higher, over trembling skin, leaving a wet path. Azzi’s fingers flexed in her hair, not pulling away but anchoring her there, needing her.

When Paige finally pressed her mouth to her wet center, it wasn’t rushed or greedy. It was slow, open.

Azzi cried out, her back arching off the rug as her thighs fell open wider.

Paige’s hands held her hips down gently, thumbs stroking in slow, patient circles, her own breath breaking against slick heat.

“Azzi whimpered, voice cracking on a sob. “Paige—fuck—please—”

Paige lifted her eyes, dark with want but soft with love. “Shh. I’ve got you.”

She circled Azzi’s clit with her tongue, slow at first, teasing. Azzi’s hips jerked wildly, a sob tearing from her throat. Paige didn’t relent. She sucked gently, then harder, listening to Azzi’s voice break apart on her name.

When she pressed a finger inside, Azzi choked, sobbing so hard Paige had to hush her, kissing the inside of her thigh as she worked her open.

Another finger joined the first, pressing in slow, patient, relentless. Paige felt Azzi flutter and clench around her, heard the strangled sob she tried to bite back.

She didn’t let up. She curled her fingers just right, finding that spot that always made Azzi shiver like she'd been shocked.

Azzi’s back arched clean off the floor, a broken moan tearing from her lips. Her head thrashed side to side, hair sticking to her damp cheeks, breaths hitching in ragged, pleading gasps.

Paige’s name slipped from her lips like prayer, like accusation, like she couldn’t believe how much she needed her.

Paige’s mouth was merciless. She dragged her tongue in slow, teasing circles around Azzi’s clit, then sucked, firm and steady, pulling desperate cries from Azzi’s chest. She let her teeth graze just enough to make Azzi jolt, hips bucking hard against her mouth.

“Right there?” Paige rasped against her, voice low, guttural, but impossibly gentle. She pressed her thumb into Azzi’s hip to hold her steady, breath hot against slick skin.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that.”

Azzi choked on a sob, thighs quivering violently around Paige’s shoulders. Her hands scrabbled at Paige’s hair, not pushing her away, but trying to hold on for dear life.

Paige let her, let her use her, worshipped her in every thrust of her fingers, every lap of her tongue.

Azzi was babbling now—Paige’s name, curses, wordless cries that broke and scattered across the floor. She trembled so hard Paige had to shift to keep her pinned, her own heart pounding in time with Azzi’s stuttering breath

Paige felt her tightening around her fingers, felt the quiver become a shudder, the shudder become a tremor that threatened to break her in half.

She thrusted her fingers deeper, faster, curling, dragging her tongue over that perfect spot again and again.

Azzi let out a cracked, pleading gasp, her fingers clutching at Paige’s other hand that was splayed across her stomach. “Don’t stop,” she sobbed, voice wrecked, raw with need.

“Never,” Paige whispered against her, voice cracking with how much she wanted it. How much she needed it. “Come for me, Az. Let go. Let me hear you.”

Azzi let out one last, strangled sob—and then she shattered.

It was a violent, unstoppable thing. Her body seized, thighs clamping tight around Paige’s head. She screamed Paige’s name like it was the only word she remembered, her voice breaking, raw and desperate.

Paige didn’t stop. She held her through it, hands pressing into her hips to keep her grounded, tongue gentle now, coaxing her through every last wave.

Azzi shook apart, gasping like she couldn’t find air, sobbing Paige’s name softer, pleading, begging.

Paige only let up when Azzi’s hands tugged frantically at her hair, voice cracking with exhausted, overwhelmed sobs of “too much—please—Paige—please.”

Then Paige pulled back, breath heaving, mouth slick and wet, heart beating out of her chest. She pressed kisses along the inside of Azzi’s thighs, up her trembling stomach, her ribs, the frantic rise and fall of her chest. She kissed every inch of her like an apology, like a promise.

When she finally reached Azzi’s face, she cupped her cheeks, thumbs brushing away tears, pressing their foreheads together as Azzi trembled and hiccuped with leftover sobs.

Paige’s voice was wrecked. “God, I love you.”

Azzi’s lips twisted into a wobbly, ruined smile, tears still glittering on her lashes. “Always.”

Azzi was shaking, eyes glazed, cheeks wet.

Paige cupped her face. “You okay?”

Azzi laughed, but it was broken, ruined. “Fuck. Yeah. Paige…”

Paige kissed her forehead, pressing it there for a long moment while she watched Azzi’s breathing slowly even out.

Azzi blinked slowly, eyes clearing, and she let her gaze roam over Paige’s flushed, eager face. She swallowed, voice low, hoarse. “Your turn.”

Azzi pushed Paige gently onto her back, hair falling into her face, eyes shining with something fierce and hungry.

Paige let her, heart in her throat, lungs fighting for breath.

“Azzi…” she started, but Azzi just shushed her with a kiss, deep and claiming. Paige whimpered into her mouth, body arching.

Azzi’s fingers were slow but sure, dancing down her ribs, over her stomach, slipping under the waistband of her shorts.

Paige lifted her hips without being asked, baring herself completely.

Azzi paused, just looking at her, chest heaving.

Paige flushed crimson, trying to close her thighs, but Azzi’s hands were there, spreading her open.

“Don’t hide from me,” Azzi whispered, voice shaking but certain as she looked up, hair falling in her eyes. “Not now. Not ever.”

Paige whimpered, nodding helplessly, hands flying to Azzi’s shoulders, fingers digging in hard. She felt exposed in every way—body flushed, chest tight, breathing like she’d just played a full 40 minutes on the court.

Azzi didn’t rush. She kissed her knee softly, then higher, dragging her mouth along Paige’s trembling thigh. She felt Paige shudder under her, heard the strangled noise in her throat.

Azzi let her lips linger, parting them enough to drag her teeth gently, making Paige jump and curse.

“God, P,” Azzi breathed, voice breaking as she drank in the sight of Paige spread out for her, glistening in the low lamplight. “You’re so beautiful.”

Paige’s hips rolled involuntarily, seeking friction, her breath catching in tiny, desperate sobs.

Azzi pressed a slow, wet kiss right to her clit. Paige cried out, whole body jolting like she’d been shocked, head falling back against the floor.

“Azzi—fuck—please—”

Azzi smiled against her, lips slick, breath hot. “I know,” she whispered, but she didn’t let up. She flattened her tongue and licked a slow, hard stripe that made Paige buck violently.

Azzi settled her free hand firmly on Paige’s stomach, pressing her down. “Hold still,” she ordered softly, voice shaking with heat. “Let me have you.”

Paige whimpered again, fingers twisting in Azzi’s hair, not pushing her away—never that—but pulling her closer, begging without words.

Azzi’s mouth was relentless. She sucked gently, then harder, letting her tongue circle and tease until Paige was thrashing under her, legs trembling violently. She felt Paige’s thighs clamp around her head, heard the wet, wrecked noises spilling out of her.

Azzi let her fingers drift lower, slick with Paige’s arousal. She pressed one inside slowly, carefully, curling it until Paige let out a broken sob.

“Shh,” Azzi murmured against her, voice so wrecked it barely held together. She pressed another finger in, feeling Paige stretch around her, hot and tight and perfect. “Give it to me. All of it.”

She’d been holding so much in all week—every fear, every ache, the terror of losing this, losing her.

But in this moment, with Azzi kneeling between her thighs, looking at her like she was everything, Paige felt it crack open.

She wasn’t losing anything. She wasn’t losing her. Because here Azzi was—inside her, against her, with her. And it hit Paige so deep she almost sobbed with it.

She’s mine. She’ll always be mine.

Paige shook her head frantically, but her hips wouldn’t stop moving, grinding desperately against Azzi’s mouth, taking Azzi’s fingers deeper, chasing the rhythm with mindless, frantic need.

“Azzi—I—I’m—”

“Do it,” Azzi ordered, voice shaking with love and hunger. She crooked her fingers just right, tongue pressing in slow, relentless circles over Paige’s clit. “Come for me, Paige.”

Paige fell apart with a scream, body convulsing violently. Tears leaked hot down her cheeks as she sobbed Azzi’s name over and over, voice gone and ruined, completely, beautifully undone.

Azzi didn’t stop until Paige was begging, voice cracking. She gentled her fingers, mouth slowing, soothing, pressing needy kisses over oversensitive skin while Paige trembled and hiccupped for breath, clutching Azzi’s shoulders with bruising force.

Azzi finally pulled back, licking her lips, eyes dark and glassy. She pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to Paige’s hip, then trailed slow, shaking kisses up her stomach, her ribs, her collarbone, murmuring I love you against every inch of her skin.

When she reached Paige’s face, she cupped her cheek gently, thumbs brushing away tears.

Paige was wrecked—eyes glassy, cheeks wet, lips parted with little gasps of air.

Azzi kissed her forehead softly, then her mouth, slow and deep, letting Paige taste herself, letting her feel every ounce of love and hunger poured into the kiss.

Paige clung to her like a lifeline, chest heaving, body still twitching with aftershocks, her moans muffled in Azzi’s mouth.

Azzi didn’t let go. She just held her there, breathing her in, promising her everything without saying a word. “I’ve got you,” she whispered. “Always.”

Paige laughed, but it was wet and raw. “Still scared.”

Azzi pressed her forehead to hers, their tears mixing. “Good. Me too.”

Paige swallowed hard. “But I’m yours.”

Azzi’s voice broke. “Always.”

They didn’t move for a long time.

Just breathing.

Entwined.

Everything forgiven.

Everything promised.

They lay tangled on the old rug, the quiet of the empty house pressing in around them like a warm blanket. The single lamp cast golden light across sweat-slicked skin, catching on tear tracks drying on flushed cheeks.

Paige’s head rested over Azzi’s racing heart, ear pressed so close she could hear every thump slow from panic to peace.

Azzi’s fingers carded lazily through her damp hair, scratching her scalp in slow, comforting circles.

Paige let out a shuddery breath she’d been holding for too long, trying to let her weight sink into Azzi completely, trusting her to hold it.

For a while, neither of them spoke. It was enough just to be there. Enough to know they weren’t going anywhere.

But eventually Paige lifted her head, just enough to meet Azzi’s gaze. Their eyes were glassy but clear. Honest in the way only exhaustion and release could force them to be.

Her voice was quiet, cracking at the edges.

“I want you in Dallas,” she said. “Selfishly. Always.”

Azzi didn’t flinch. She didn’t look away. Instead she lifted her hand to Paige’s cheek, cupping it, thumb stroking the sticky tear track there.

She pressed their foreheads together until they breathed the same warm air.

“I know,” Azzi whispered. Her voice was gentle, almost heartbreakingly soft.

She kissed Paige slow, careful, like sealing something precious. Like promising. Then she pulled back just enough to see her eyes.

“But I need to see where I land,” Azzi continued. “I need my own path. I need to know I didn’t get there because someone made space for me.”

Paige shut her eyes tight at that. Her fingers dug into Azzi’s ribs, grounding herself, trying not to shake apart again. She felt the words crawl up her throat raw, too big to swallow.

“Okay,” she finally forced out, voice breaking. “I’ll be wherever you are.”

But Azzi shook her head. Soft, slow, sure. Their noses brushed, lips so close they shared the same trembling breath.

“No,” Azzi whispered. It was so gentle it made Paige shiver. “You stay where you need to be. I’ll stay where I need to be. We’ll figure it out.”

Paige swallowed hard, eyes brimming. She blinked, a tear escaping despite her best effort.

Her voice was so small it almost didn’t make it out.

“Promise?”

Azzi’s fingers threaded tighter in Paige’s hair, grounding them both. Her voice cracked too, but it was fierce in a way that made Paige’s heart clench.

“Promise,” Azzi breathed. “Nothing breaks us.”

Paige let out a sob that was half relief, half grief for all the ways they’d hurt each other this week.

Azzi caught it with her mouth, kissing her deeply, slowly, like sealing the promise in both their bones.

The kiss softened until it was just lips brushing lips. The air between them felt too warm, too alive.

Their breathing slowed together.

Their eyes fluttered half shut.

Slow.

Certain.

Them.

Azzi’s hand stroked up and down Paige’s back, the motion so gentle Paige thought she’d melt into her completely.

Paige swallowed again. Her voice was quieter, more shy, like she was embarrassed by how much she needed to know.

“Would you… be upset if you actually ended up in Dallas?” she asked.

She hesitated, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood. “Like… would you feel weird? Being there with me?”

Azzi’s brow softened immediately. She let out a long, steady breath and her thumb brushed under Paige’s eye.

“Upset? No, P.” Her voice was unwavering. “I’d love being there with you. You know that.”

Paige blinked hard. Her eyes flicked away for a second. “Yeah. But… I don’t want you to feel like you can’t have your own path.”

Azzi squeezed her side gently, pulling her attention back. Her thumb traced slow, deliberate circles over Paige’s ribs, like she could calm the worry out of her.

“I just want it to be because that team wants me,” Azzi said, voice thick but sure. “Because I fit. Because I earned it. I want to prove myself. If that’s Dallas? Then hell yes, that’s what it is. I’d be so happy. But I need it to be real.”

Paige swallowed hard again, blinking so fast her vision blurred. She felt heat sting at the backs of her eyes, trying so hard to hold it together.

“Yeah,” she whispered. Her voice cracked anyway. “I get that. I really do. I just… fuck, Azzi. I want you with me so bad.”

Azzi let out a quiet, wobbly laugh, pressing their foreheads together again. Their noses brushed and Paige felt the tears spill hot between them.

“I know you do,” Azzi murmured. She kissed Paige’s nose, feather-light, tender in the way only Azzi could be. “And I love the idea too. I do.”

Paige let out a breath, ragged and relieved. Her thumb brushed over Azzi’s ribs in slow circles, grounding them both.

“Yeah?”

Azzi nodded seriously. “Yeah. It’d be… amazing. But promise me something?”

Paige sniffed hard, voice tiny. “Anything.”

Azzi’s fingers threaded tighter into Paige’s hair, like she couldn’t let her slip even an inch away.

“Don’t get your hopes too high. Don’t… plan for it. I don’t want you to be crushed if it doesn’t go that way. Because we’re going to be fine no matter what.”

Paige felt her chest cave in. She hesitated, fighting everything in her that wanted to say she couldn’t promise that. But she forced herself to nod, jerky and real.

“I’ll try,” she whispered.

Azzi’s thumb brushed away another tear.

“That’s all I’m asking.”

They kissed again. Slow. Deep. Letting the truth of it sink in. Letting it fill every broken place between them.

Paige let out a tiny, shaky laugh against Azzi’s mouth.

“Pretty romantic spot for this talk, huh?”

Azzi snorted, their noses bumping. “Yeah. Hardwood floors and take-out. Very on-brand for us.”

Paige huffed, pushing her sweaty hair back from her forehead. “Ow. My hip’s gonna be so bruised.”

Azzi rolled her eyes with affection so deep it made Paige ache.

“Come on, old lady. Let’s get off the floor before you break something.”

Paige let Azzi help her up. Her legs shook, and she grabbed Azzi’s arms, laughing weakly.

“Whoa. Okay. My legs don’t work anymore.”

Azzi steadied her, fingers digging into her waist. “Gee, wonder why,” she teased, voice low.

Paige’s ears went red. She tried to glare, but it melted into a shy, exhausted smile.

“Shut up.”

Azzi leaned in, brushing the corner of her mouth with a kiss that was all promise.

“Never.”

They moved carefully down the narrow hallway, hands brushing, shoulders bumping, trying not to trip over their own wobbly legs.

The old floor creaked under them like it was greeting them back with every step. Azzi held Paige’s fingers tight, grounding them both, her thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles against Paige’s palm.

The closer they got to Azzi’s room, the more Paige felt her chest tighten. Not with fear anymore—but with that unbearable fullness that was all Azzi.

When they reached the door, Azzi paused. She glanced at Paige, eyes soft, mouth quirked just slightly, like she was nervous in a way that was new and old all at once.

Paige swallowed, blinking at the cracked white paint, at the tiny dent near the knob from when Azzi had slammed it too hard during an argument years ago.

Azzi watched her carefully.

“Hey,” she murmured. Her voice was low but sure, tugging Paige back from whatever memory had grabbed her. “What’s that face?”

Paige blinked hard, eyes stinging for no reason that made sense. She let out a shaky breath.

“Just… a lot of memories here,” she admitted, voice cracking.

Azzi’s chest tightened. She pressed closer, their foreheads bumping, breath mingling. Her fingers tightened around Paige’s hand.

“Good ones?” she asked gently.

Paige sniffed, biting her lip hard before it trembled too much. She gave a jerky nod.

“Yeah. All of them.”

Azzi let out a shaky breath of her own, her eyes glistening. She leaned in, pressing her lips softly to Paige’s temple.

“Same.”

Paige let out a little laugh, wet and raw but real.

“God, we were so stupid,” she whispered.

Azzi cracked a smile, brushing their noses.

“Yeah. Still are.”

Paige huffed, her own smile breaking through. “At least we’re stupid together.”

Azzi kissed her again, slow, deep, patient. Like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like it was the only thing that had ever made sense.

Then she tugged Paige gently inside.

Azzi watched her. Saw every flicker of feeling cross her face. She didn’t rush her. She just held her hand, thumb stroking over her knuckles slow and sure.

“Hey,” she said softly, voice breaking just a little. “You with me?”

Paige turned to her, blinking hard. Her eyes were glossy but certain.

“Yeah,” she whispered. She gave Azzi’s hand a squeeze. “I’m with you.”

Azzi let out a breath that shook on the way out. She tugged Paige closer, until there was no space between them.

“Good,” she murmured, voice so low it was almost lost in the quiet. “Because I’m not letting go.”

Paige let out a sound between a sob and a laugh, her fingers curling into the hem of Azzi’s shirt.

“Promise?”

Azzi nodded.

“Promise.”

They both moved then, crawling onto the too-small bed together. It creaked under their weight, familiar in its imperfection. Paige struggled to untangle the rumpled sheets with one hand while keeping her other tangled in Azzi’s shirt.

Azzi laughed, a quiet, exhausted sound that settled right in Paige’s chest. She grabbed the edge of the sheet to help, and they fought with it for a second, giggling when they got stuck.

Finally they managed to get it half-decent, and Paige collapsed against Azzi with a huff.

She immediately tucked herself close, burying her face against Azzi’s neck. She breathed her in, let that smell of skin and shampoo and everything safe fill her head.

Azzi wrapped both arms tight around her, one leg thrown over Paige’s hip like she was staking a claim.

“Comfy?” she murmured, lips brushing Paige’s hairline.

Paige’s voice was muffled but sure. “Perfect.”

Azzi pressed a long kiss to her temple.

“Good.”

The house creaked around them, settling in the late-night quiet. Faint sounds drifted from outside—the hum of cicadas, a distant car engine, the wind rattling the old window glass.

Paige felt her entire body loosen by slow degrees. She let her fingers draw lazy, mindless shapes on Azzi’s side, grounding herself in the heat of her.

Finally, in a small, almost shy voice, she whispered, “Thanks for talking to me. For… everything.”

Azzi’s arms squeezed tighter. Her fingers stroked up and down Paige’s spine in gentle lines, soothing and anchoring all at once.

“Always,” Azzi murmured.

Paige smiled against her skin, eyelids growing heavy.

“Love you.”

Azzi hummed low in her throat, voice rumbling against Paige’s cheek.

“Love you more.”

Paige mumbled something incoherent, but happy, already half-asleep.

Safe.

Azzi smiled into the dark, pressing one last kiss to Paige’s hair, and let her own eyes drift shut.

Listening to Paige breathe.

Feeling her heart beat slow.

Knowing that no matter what came next, they’d find their way.

–

They woke tangled together in the muted gray of pre-dawn, the air still and close, the whole house hushed except for the occasional settling creak of old floorboards.

Paige was on her back, hair a wild halo against the pillow, one arm crooked protectively around Azzi’s bare shoulders.

Azzi was practically draped over her, one leg thrown over Paige’s hips like she was staking a claim she had no intention of ever giving up.

Azzi made a low, exhausted sound, her nose scrunching.

“God. Everything hurts.” Her voice was a sleepy rasp, muffled as she tried to burrow her face further into Paige’s chest, avoiding the weak morning light filtering in through the blinds.

Paige let out a tired, satisfied laugh, the vibration making Azzi’s cheek rise and fall where it pressed to her ribs.

Her fingers traced slow, lazy circles along Azzi’s spine, memorizing every dip and curve. “Pretty sure you told me not to stop. Multiple times.” She couldn't help the smugness that slipped into her voice.

Azzi groaned dramatically, fingers tightening on Paige’s side. “Regret,” she mumbled. But even that sounded soft, affectionate. Like she couldn’t bring herself to mean it.

Paige’s mouth curved into a real smile, eyes heavy but warm. She turned her head just enough to press a kiss to Azzi’s hairline. “Liar,” she murmured.

Azzi didn’t even deny it, just huffed, pressing closer, as if trying to crawl inside Paige and stay there forever. Paige let herself savor it for a moment. The feel of Azzi’s weight. The heat of her. The way her breathing was slow and even, safe.

And even after everything they’d been through—every fight, every jagged edge—they still ended up here. Tangled together. Like the only thing that made sense.

Then a knock rattled the quiet, sharp and authoritative.

Azzi jerked in surprise, but Paige froze completely as Katie’s voice drifted in, maddeningly calm.

“Breakfast in ten. Don’t be late.”

Paige blinked, eyes wide, mind scrambling. She yanked the sheet up around their naked bodies in pure, mortified reflex. “Yes, ma’am,” she croaked automatically, voice cracking like a teenager.

Azzi let out an actual whine, dragging a pillow over her head. “Mooooom.”

Katie didn’t even react to the scandalized tone. She just stood there in the cracked doorway, that knowing smirk curving her mouth. Like she’d been waiting for this moment. “It’s your last day. Don’t forget to say goodbye to everyone.”

Her eyes flicked to Paige, and they softened, just a little. Paige felt her ears go red immediately. Katie’s voice gentled. “I mean it. Don’t make me drag you back in here for hugs.”

Paige swallowed hard, heat crawling all the way down her neck. She nodded jerkily. “Noted. We’ll be there.”

Katie gave them both that look—equal parts exasperated and amused, with a heavy dose of maternal affection—and closed the door with deliberate finality.

Azzi let out a muffled screech into the pillow the moment it clicked shut. “I can’t believe she just…like…barged in. Oh my god.” Her voice cracked with mortification.

Paige was still giggling helplessly, her face buried in Azzi’s hair. She inhaled the faint scent of sweat and shampoo, refusing to let Azzi’s squirming push her away. “She didn’t even flinch. Queen energy. Truly.”

Azzi turned her head just enough to glare at her, cheeks pink. “She knew we were in here…cuddling.”.

Paige’s eyebrows wiggled exaggeratedly. “Cuddling is one word for it.”

Azzi let out an indignant squawk and smacked her shoulder lightly. “Shut up.” But she couldn’t hide the way her mouth quirked, like she wanted to smile even if she refused.

Paige’s fingers found her chin, tilting it up just enough to press a kiss to the tip of her nose. She let it linger, breathing Azzi in.

When she pulled back, her eyes were bright and teasing and stupidly full of love. “Never,” she whispered, voice low but certain.

Azzi rolled her eyes but melted against her anyway. Paige felt the last of the tension leave her bones.

For all the embarrassment, for all the soreness in places she didn’t want to think about yet, this—this was what she wanted. Azzi warm and real in her arms, grumbling but so clearly hers.

–

After a few more stolen seconds and soft kisses, they finally managed to untangle themselves from the warm tangle of sheets, both of them groaning like they’d run a marathon instead of…well.

Azzi’s hair was a wreck, sticking up in defiance of gravity, and her eyes were barely open as she fumbled around for her shorts.

Paige was no help at all, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, trying so hard to hold back her laughter that her shoulders shook.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Azzi muttered, cheeks pink as she yanked her shirt on inside-out without noticing.

Paige’s grin was wide and delighted. “Can’t help it. You’re adorable when you’re grumpy.”

Azzi scowled, running a hand through her hair in a futile attempt to flatten it. “Oh hush. I’m not awake enough for your bullshit.”

Paige only laughed, that warm, relieved sound she’d missed hearing all week. They were okay. They were so okay.

They padded down the hall barefoot, Azzi still muttering under her breath, and walked into the bright kitchen, blinking against the sudden light.

Katie was at the stove, spatula in hand, flipping pancakes with the ruthless efficiency of a general commanding troops. The smell of butter and syrup filled the air, warm and safe and home.

Tim sat at the table pretending to read the newspaper, but his eyes flicked over the top with the kind of gleeful dad amusement that said he’d been waiting for this.

“Morning, girls,” Katie sing-songed without turning around. Her voice was so smug it was practically illegal.

“Sleep well?” Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she flipped a pancake. “I assume you eventually got some sleep.”

Azzi froze mid-step, eyes going wide in absolute horror. “Mooooom.”

Paige didn’t even hesitate. She sauntered to the table, pulled out a chair, and dropped into it with theatrical flair. Her grin was weaponized. “Oh, we slept great.”

Azzi’s head whipped around so fast her hair flew. “Paige!”

Paige raised both brows innocently. “What? She’s the one who asked.” She leaned back, lacing her fingers behind her head, looking for all the world like she was the queen of the damn universe.

Katie turned just enough to cast them both the smuggest look ever. “I bet you did.”

Azzi let out a strangled groan and slapped both hands over her face. “I hate this family.”

She peeked through her fingers to glare at Paige. “Just because we’re older now doesn’t mean I want to have these conversations with my mother.”

Katie didn’t miss a beat. She arched an eyebrow, spatula in hand. “Oh please. You think we didn’t know what was going on when Paige lived here? You two were about as subtle as a marching band.”

Paige propped her chin on her hand, eyes twinkling. “I mean…we were basically feral back then.”

Azzi’s eyes widened in betrayal. “Paige!”

Katie sniffed theatrically. “Mm-hm. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. For my sake and yours.”

Azzi let out an inhuman noise and covered her face. “I hate it here.”

Paige snickered, sliding closer to press a gentle kiss to Azzi’s hairline. “Good thing you love me.”

Azzi mumbled through her hands. “Debatable.” But she was definitely smiling underneath.

Katie finally wiped tears of laughter from her eyes, giving them both the sternest fake glare imaginable. “You two are the worst. Pancakes are almost ready. Sit. Behave.”

Paige blinked with exaggerated innocence. “I am so well-behaved.”

Tim snorted behind the paper. “Sure you are, kid.”

Azzi just groaned, face falling into her hands on the table. “Kill me now.”

But even as she said it, Paige’s hand found hers under the table. Their fingers laced instinctively, easy, familiar. Azzi didn’t pull away. She just let Paige hold on, thumb brushing gently over Paige’s knuckles once, twice.

Katie turned back to the stove, pretending to be busy, but Paige caught the soft smile tugging at her lips. She watched them from the corner of her eye with that same knowing look she’d always had, the one that said she saw everything.

And she was glad.

And in that moment, with the smell of pancakes, the rustle of the newspaper, the sunlight pouring in the window, Paige felt that usual fear buried deep in her chest go quiet.

–

They stepped onto the porch, bags slung over their shoulders, the early morning air cool and damp against sleep-warm skin.

Dawn was just cracking open the sky in pale pinks and quiet golds, dewdrops clinging to every blade of grass, glinting like tiny promises.

The whole Fudd family was there to see them off, bleary-eyed but determined, clustered in the doorway in mismatched sweats and slippers, hair mussed from sleep but refusing to miss a second of this goodbye.

Tim stood at the front, solid as ever, arms folded over his chest like he was barring the door. His eyes were puffy but alert, watching them the way only a dad could.

When Paige stepped close enough, he reached out and clapped her shoulder with a firm smack that rattled her teeth but somehow settled her heart.

“Don’t kill each other on the road,” he said gruffly, his voice a scratch of sleep and emotion he didn’t dare show.

Paige snorted, rolling her eyes but unable to hide the grin splitting her face. “Low bar, Tim.”

Azzi elbowed her gently, lips twitching despite the tears shining in her eyes. Her throat bobbed hard, trying to keep them back. She looked at Paige for just a breath, soaking her in, before her gaze slid back to her parents, chest heaving with something too big to name.

Katie had her arms crossed, trying so hard to look tough. But she dropped it with a small shake of her head and just opened them.

Azzi didn’t hesitate. She dropped her bag with a thump and buried herself in her mother’s hold, fingers bunching in the back of Katie’s sweatshirt like she was six again.

Katie squeezed so tight Azzi made a startled squeak but didn’t pull away. Her lips pressed to her daughter’s temple, words murmured just for her.

Paige couldn’t hear them all, but she caught the tremble in Azzi’s mouth, the way her eyes squeezed shut as the first tear slipped free. Katie smoothed her hair back and kissed her forehead firmly.

“You know we’ll see you in a few weeks,” she said softly, voice steady despite the catch. “Don’t think for a second we’re missing that first UConn game. Even if it’s just preseason.”

Azzi sniffed hard, swiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Yeah. Okay.”

Katie cupped her face one last time before turning. Her eyes landed on Paige and softened instantly, glistening. Paige shifted on her feet, awkward, her bag clutched tight in one white-knuckled hand.

Katie didn’t wait. She closed the space in two steps and wrapped Paige up in a hug so solid it was impossible to misinterpret.

Paige went stiff for half a second, her breath catching, before she just caved. She melted into it, arms circling Katie’s back, face burying in her shoulder like she was trying to hide.

Katie’s voice dropped to a low, fierce whisper meant for Paige alone. “You listen to me.”

Paige’s whole body tensed like a startled deer. But Katie just held her tighter, grounding her with the press of her hands.

“You’re just as much my daughter as she is. I love you, Paige Bueckers. Always have. Always will.”

Paige made a sound that wasn’t quite a sob, wasn’t quite a laugh. It broke out of her chest raw and shaking. “I love you too, Mama K,” she rasped, voice cracking like old glass.

Katie squeezed even tighter, ignoring the tears dampening her sweatshirt. “Good. Don’t forget it. And don’t you dare forget to call me before you head to Miami.”

Paige laughed then, wet and hiccuping. “Okay,” she whispered, voice falling apart.

Katie drew back just enough to catch the tears on Paige’s cheek with her thumb, eyes shining with pride and worry and endless love. “That’s my girl.”

Behind them, Tim cleared his throat so violently the coffee in his mug sloshed. He lifted it to hide his face but failed spectacularly, blinking way too much.

“Allergies,” he grumbled.

Katie didn’t even turn. “Sure, Tim.”

He huffed but couldn’t stop himself. He stepped forward and gathered both of them in one massive arm, his other clutching the coffee mug like a lifeline.

It was meant to be manly, restrained—but it fell apart halfway through. His hand patted their shoulders, gruff, muttering about “damn kids” under his breath, but there was no hiding the quiver in his voice.

Azzi sniffed hard, voice cracking. She glanced between her parents, swallowing back another wave of tears. “We’re gonna be okay.”

Katie’s eyes shone with fierce certainty as she nodded, voice low but sure. “I know you will.”

For a moment, neither Paige nor Azzi moved. They just stood there, soaking it in.

They both knew—deep down—that Katie and Tim Fudd had always been this way. Ever since quarantine, when they'd first fumbled their way out of friendship and into something more, it was these two who wouldn't let them run from it.

They were the ones who made them talk when they fought, who wouldn’t let them pretend everything was fine. Paige and Azzi had always known they could come here when they felt lost—always knew these two would help them find their way back to each other.

Paige swallowed, her throat tight. Azzi felt her fingers tighten in Paige’s without thinking.

This was family. The kind that wouldn't let you give up.

Katie watched them, eyes moving back and forth, fierce and soft all at once. She let out a shaking breath, blinking furiously. “You two are gonna be fine.”

Paige blinked fast, a tear sliding down her cheek that she didn’t bother to wipe. Azzi bit her lip hard, fighting to keep it from trembling.

They turned, reluctantly, and started down the steps slowly. Gravel crunched under their shoes, too loud in the hush of dawn. Their bags bumped against their hips, shoulders brushing.

When they reached the car, they loaded their stuff in silence, the ritual familiar and comforting. But before they climbed in, they both turned one last time.

Katie stood on the porch, arms folded tight around herself, trying so hard to keep her face together. Tim lifted his coffee in a silent salute, his eyes wet but proud, mouth firm with unspoken support.

Azzi swallowed hard and found her voice. “I love you guys.”

Katie’s voice broke but didn’t falter. “Love you too. Both of you. Always.”

Paige blinked the world clear. Her voice was rough. “Thank you. For…everything.”

Katie’s face broke into something soft and warm, even as tears glittered in her lashes. “Just keep taking care of each other.”

Tim rumbled low, his voice deep and certain. “That’s all that matters.”

Paige nodded, her hand already finding Azzi’s again, fingers lacing so tight they couldn’t tell whose was whose. “Yeah. We will.”

Azzi let out a breath that shook through her whole body but settled something deep. She squeezed Paige’s hand like a promise. “Promise.”

They climbed in together. Doors shut with a thunk that echoed in the quiet. Seatbelts clicked. Their hands found each other over the console, fingers tangling tight, anchoring them both.

Paige turned to look at Azzi. Her eyes were wet but clear. Determined. Unbreakable. “You ready?”

Azzi’s lip trembled but her smile was real. Sure. “Yeah. You?”

Paige let out a long, shuddering breath and leaned her head back against the seat, closing her eyes just for a second. She squeezed Azzi’s hand. “Always.”

They sat like that for one more heartbeat, listening to the world hold its breath around them. Then Paige turned the key. The engine rumbled to life.

Azzi’s thumb stroked slow, grounding circles over Paige’s knuckles. Paige squeezed back.

And they pulled away.

Down the long driveway.

Onto the winding road.

The horizon cracked wide open in front of them, glowing with possibility.

They didn’t know exactly where basketball would take them next.

Which cities. Which teams. How many nights apart.

But they knew this.

Them.

Unbreakable.

Ready.

Always.

#paige x azzi #pazzi #paige and azzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi fics

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